THE RAID. 1920.

Sun (Christchurch), Volume I, Issue 153, 4 August 1914, Page 5

THE RAID. 1920.

A RECORD COMPILED FROM THE DIARY OF A SKY SPY, NOW IN THE POSSESSION OF A BALKAN PRINCESS.

With a slight hesitancy the officer With the fierce moustachios raised his hand to the wireless telephone'transmitter that hung just by his right side. He glanced through the transparent walls of the cabin down on to a bank of cloud. Slightly to the left beneath him he could just detect the dark shadow of the land. In the far east a faint tinge of coral was creeping into the sky, and already the stars above his head were beginning to twinkle and dim. But all the while the officer's other hand did not leave his desk, where his index finger was moving slowly over a ■chart that automatically rolled up as he traced the flight of the aerial raiding squadron. : A slight swaying of the cabin seemed to decide the officer. He took down the transmitter. With < his foot he pressed two buttons and turned on the current that was generated just above his head from the engines of the machine, and sent a call signal in code "Hanna Hanna." He studied the chart intently. "'Hullo —hull— Commander Squadron A speaking—That you, Chantun? —Teco here —Any news? —Good, they do .not suspect —Shall I go ahead? —What does the Admiral think? Wind seems to be getting up a little now. We should arrive in another 'half-hour. Off the Heads—Yes, we are about 100 miles from the coast. No sign of the fleet — What's that? —Oh, they have sheltered inside the harbour in the bay—Very well, then, we are to carry out the double venture. —Yes, sir—yes—yes—at dawn precisely.—Thanks, old man —Oh, Hullo? Report to the Admiral that, 'jEimmel, of Might A, had to descend ohi aecbunt of engine trouble. You might be 'able to pick him up. Right—-right — we will hover now to give a chance to the old machines to catch up.'' Immediately on replacing the transmitter the officer rapped twice -on an instrument that was set up on the desk before him. It looked like a tuning fork, and gave the note of A* Almost ■ at once came an answer on another fork j alongside in E. It came more than a dozen times in quick succession. The officer listened, and then gave a long and a short rap twice on the fork. He spoke into a tube to the pilot, whose head was just visible in front of the cabin. ' ' . ' .

*'* We are going to fly parallel to the ifeoast, to the west. Wind only very Blight, isn?t it?— What is your speed? Oh, about 180. TJmph." With, a pencil the officer marked off a spot on the chart round which * the air squadron was to swing. He .looked at the clockj and found it scarcely 5. Dawn would be at' 5.27.

Suddenly the cabin tilted to an angle ©f 60 degrees. Looking over his shoulder, the officer saw in the the £aint grey trail of the 18 seaplanes of his squadron-~the nearest like an albatross, the most"' distant like a sparrow hawk.. Three abreast they swung round and followed the leader. The officer stroked his moustache, and his fingers twitched the ends of the hairs nervously up into the air. He looked more fierce than ever.

Only a slight vibration shook the eabin wherein the director of the raiding aeroplanes sat. No fierce rush of air disturbed his thoughts. There was only the purring of the engine, very smooth, very soft, and yery soothing. The new' silencers were- working' well. - The pilot alone was unprotected except for a transparent gelatinous substance that formed the screen. Each seaplane, the officer mused, could lift a ton, and as he watched them he found the colours they had been painted toned "with the sky. It was a greyish-blue tinge, which covered the wings and the body of the machines. At seven miles on a sunny day they could not be seen, and were almost invisible at five miles. At night even the rays of the most powerful searchlight could not reach far enough into the void to brighten up the steel wires that held the wings so taunt.

A deep frown gathered on the director's brow as he bent over the chart. ''Devilish hard job," he muttered.

His reference was to the work of .the submarines and destroyers, not to his own squadron, that had started for Port Phillip from their base down in an island to the extreme east of Bass Strait! They certainly had a speed of 40 knots an hour. The director of the sea spies made a hasty calculation, and put his pencil point on a corner of one of the squares into wfcieh the chart was divided. It was three minutes to 5. He noted the time. The flotilla would be about twenty -miles off the coast, just waiting to dash for the Heads. He was just rounding Cape Otway. He could see the faint twinkle of the lightship on his right hand. The time was nearly ripe. "Hanna, Hanna."

The sound vibrated through the cabin. Thj; officer shifted his position slightly, and took the wireless receiver off its hook. It was the submarines calling. Where was the aerial squadron? They could not be detected; was it not nearly time? The director gave the desired information, and asked in turn of the submarines. "Was everything ready?" It was.

The director of the seaplanes then detailed for the last time his signal for the-advance of the submarines. It was a single stroke on the thing like a tuning fork. Thereupon the ships were to make their rush.

A curious smile hung on the officer's lips as he replaced the receiver. He twisted up his black moustache. For a few minutes longer he seemed to be pursuing a vein of thought that even in its grimness had a touch of the ludicrous.

As he mused, the air fleet swept onwards five miles at a height of 5000 feet. The time had come for action. The director of the raid stood up and looked, round the four points of the compass. With a swift glance he saw the streaks of dawn in the west, saw above him and below him, following, his raiding squadron. They were like kites, but more steady; the swifter machines, he thought, looked like giant fireflies. They were monoplanes. He counted them with the aid of his binoculars. There were seventeen. He gave a sharp signat, and the whole fleet dropped 1000 feet, swung round in a great curve, and headed direct for the entrance to Port Phillip Bay. For the last time the director spoke into the wireless telephone. Seventeen Bther officers in seventeen aeroplanes •Were listening to his curious directions. His points he had jotted down on a strip of paper. They were like this:— Twelve aeroplanes (two flights) will fly direct through the Heads; six will approach round Point Lonsdale and six round Point Nepean.

Each of the six machines in the two sections will carry smoke bombs. They will obscure the headlands, leaving the fairway clear.

Inside the harbour wait directions for location of fleet. •

On a signal at onco attack, the fleet by dropping fire bombs amongst the ships.

Co-operate with submarines as far as possible iu sinking the fleet by the use of atomic aerial bombs.

Remaining five seaplanes to destroy the forts with fire and shell.

The squadron will rendezvous at King Island.

Into action, 5.25. Swifter than the dart from an arrow now fled the director of the raid in his monoplane from the remainder of the fleet. Driven by two 150-h.p. engines, the monoplane had soon melted into the mist, and left behind the remainder of the aircraft. Through a great spyglass the officer watched. His mouth was close to the speaking tube. It was set in a line, like a piece of wire. His jaw was square; determination showed in every line of his face. His eyes danced fire. He was constantly directing the pilot. A. mist hung above the land, but still through the telescope the director caught the rays of the lighthouse when still 90. miles distant.

The monoplane was 600 ft high. Clouds began to intercept the view, and the pilot dived his machine to earth. Clinging to the handrail, the officer gripped even more tightly as the sea seemed to be rising up to meet the fast falling machine. But at 3000 ft the pilot checked the descent. The headlands were now % T isible. Looking down into the seething waters beneath, he searched for the submarines. Knowing their probable position, he was able in a short time to trace them. He saw the dimly outlined forms beneath the waves like phantoms of the deep. At once the officer struck the thing like a tuning fork with two short and two long strokes, and there came an answer on the fork with the note E. Then the phantoms vanished. It was enough banking at an angle of 70 degrees, the monoplane glided towards the harbour's mouth. Right between the two headlands it passed, just 250.0 ft highr In the pale morning light, the sleeping town of Queenscliff spread out beneath the aircraft. But the Director of the Raid did not give more s than a fleeting glance at the town. It was asleep; that was enough for him to know. His eyes rested a little longer on the lighthouses and the forts that surrounded them on his left.

A hurried command, and the monoplane dived to the right. The forts again lay beneath them, but it was not that that caused. the officer to rap sharply, once on- the thing that looked like a tuning fork. It was the grim ironclads anchored in the fairway, protected from the passing scout by the high headland, but unprotected from the sky spy. Three battle cruisers he counted, and light cruisers to the number of twelve. There were twenty or more- submarines and destroyers. Submarines! So much the greater danger, and the greater need of speed. It was 5.27. The pilot, prompt to obey a signal, dived down, and then, turning obliquely, doubled back like a hare. The monoplane sped out to sea into the strait. On either side smoke was rising out of the water. The raid had begun. It was the break of dawn.

In swept the air squadron round the headlands, leaving in their wake a smoky trail on the water, a trail at first thin and faint, which broadened out and thickened and rose up like a grey sheet, blotting out the headlands the one from the other. The aeroplanes were flying only 500 ft above the waves, The smoke bombs were released by the officers by the. turning of a switch. Electric motive power was used; they exploded when they touched the water. They belched forth their vile smoke. In single file the seaplanes advanced, six along either shore, until, inside the bay, they met and formed a double column. The smoke bombs now ceased as abruptly as they had begun.

Overhead the Director of the Eaid was signalling. It was 5.30, and in the next second the first of the battle cruisers leaped into silhouette as the first firebal spluttered into life on contact with the water. Another minute—a minute of agony for all —and a hundred balls of fire shot a hundred tongues of flame into the crisp morning air. Ship after ship was revealed coming out of the blackness, and still the silent 'fireballs dropped from the heavens and blazed into whiteness.

As a spectacle it was magnificent; as a revelation it was terrific. Not.a sound had been heard until — Boom! The firing of a distant gun vibrated in the air. The Director of the Eaid did not feel it, but the tell-tale instrument on the wall indicated the direction of the waves and. the point from which the. shot came. The forts had spoken a word of warning. What use their warning now?

Down the narrow lane between the banks of smoke charged the raiding flotillas. There was no need for beacons. The passageway was between the two walls of. smoke, and the pilot was the director of the seaplanes, who flew ahead 1000 ft above the water.

The forts were .firing into the smoke. Too late the mines in the channel rent the water and drove great gulfs into the depths. A wail arose from the anchored ships. Bugles sounded and chains rattled; signals flew from peak to peak.

The Director of the Raid watched it all from his little cabin. No sound reached him, but he knew by the little indicator on the wall that the guns were firing. Yes, it was too late!

s.3l.—The flotilla had arrived. No need to seek the fleet. There they lay in the lurid, leaping lights rising gently on the calm waters. How magnificently they rode revealed. What use to them now of torpedo nets from a submarine attack, or the bomb proof decks. Swift from each seaplane leaped a toi'pedo, its polished, glistened point directed to the heart of the inert cruisers. From beneath the waters the submarines struck at the ships like sword thrusts given in the dark. Explosion followed explosion. The iron decks of the ships opened to vomit forth their powder and their engines of war. Man had built his own coffins and paid nearly £2,000,000 for each. With a gurgle and subdued sigh the ships sank beneath the sprawling waves into the womb of the ocean, and the gulf they left closed over them in silence.

Not a. gnu was fired by the captive fleet. •

The few ships that remained afloa were paralysed. Athwart the brokci deck of a cruiser stranded on a reel lay the wreckage of two seaplanes. Tin Director of the Raid saw them collidi and crumple like egg-shells, and droj their contents into the'burning waters He saw, too, the three submarines, witl their noses bent, sink -without a' sigi into the waves. The little indicator shivered and thei grew still. For some minutes it had no moved. It was 5.40. The bent rim oJ the sun, like an illumined bow, appearei above the distant blue hills. The fire: had died down, and only an occasiona tongue of flame lit up the empty waters, from which came faint, piteous cries, They reached the ear of the pilot as the air squadron, like birds of prey circling over the carcase of a denizen of | the deep, dived and darted above the

scene of desolation, until, dropping from the higher heavens, the Director led hjs fleet—the nine that -were left of them — '< out through the Heads, flying just over the bank of smoke that now quite obscured the entrance. 5.42.

And as he went he telephoned to the ships of the line and the transport approaching on the horizon:— "We have been entirely successful; losses small."

The Great Raid of 1920 had begun.