THE FLAG.

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 230, 28 September 1929, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE FLAG.

(By Edward James Coles, aged 15.) The Fokker was on top; a burst of feme spewed from the muzzle of its gun. The British 'plane lurched perilously, then dived, as the pilot* fell forward over the controls. They picked him out of the blazing wreck- that had been his machine. He was mortally wounded, but he .smiled into the eyes of his lifelong pal, Jim Hardly, who was betiduig over him. "He got me, Jim. Von Hoffman got me. Ah, well, it had to come sometime. My pocketbqpk, Jim." Jim took it from the breast pocket. Two bullets had passed through it. "Letter to my— mother. See that she gets it, won't you Jim?" whispered the dying man. "I'm going now. So long, Jim—old —" ■ A mechanic, turning to go back to his work, brushed the back of his hand across his eyes. " Ang them 'Uns," he growled to his neighbours. "There's another fine chap gori) west. But Von 'Offman! Gripes, no wonder 'e was shot down!" As Jim crossed the dead man's arms he noticed something clenched in the left hand. Gently • he loosened the fingers and took from them a small silken Union Jack, which he put in his pocket, at the same time registering a silent vow to "get" Von Hoffman or die trying. At dawn the next day Jim Mas out on it solo flight. He knew who he was looking for. He saw a 'plane far below him. He dived towards it eagerly, then grunted in disappointment. It was not Von Hoffman. The pilot saw him. and, coming to meet him, ran into a hail of lead that sent the Fokker -whirling downwards with a great column of smoke trailing behind it. A year passed. Jim, now a squadroncommander, had become known all along the line as a daring, skilful aviator. He was a hard man, men said, and-when anyone mentioned the German ace Von Hoffman a queer look came into his eyes and his hands clenched until the knuckles shone white. Three times Jim had engaged Von Hoffman in single combat, and°three times he had been shot down, miraculously escaping death each time. Early one morning when the false dawn was tinging the eastern , sky with grey, the six machines comprising the "n'th" squadron of the K.A.F. winged their way across the sky on their daily patrol, with Jim at their head. They had not gone far when they encountered an enemy squadron coming towards them. For a quarter of an hour machine guns spouted death on every -side of Jim. The air seemed to be full of 'planes, swooping, -diving, zooming—or plunging to the earth, in flames. Then the Hun squadron —or what was left of it—made off for the shelter of their "Archie" batteries, and, being slightly faster' than their pursuers, they gained them in safety. Jim looked around him. One, two, three. Only three 'planes besides himself. So two 'of those blazing 'planes he had seen hurtling earthwards had been British. Ah, well, a war could not be fought without loss of life. ■The next encounter came when they found a Hun 'plane, escorted by two others, taking photographs of the Brit-

isli lines. The enemy fought gamely. They shot one British down before he could fire a shot. Jim went for the photographing machine, which attempted to escape with its valuable cargo, but Jim swooped down on it and his gun spat death. The Boche observer, trying frantically to get his machine gun to bear, clutched fit his breast and sprawled over his gun. The pilot, by a clever bit of work with the controls, brought his own gun to bear and sprayed Jim's 'plane with lead. Jim replied, and the German 'plane went to earth a blazing mass. As Jim straightened out Britisher No. 2 went past in a long glide. A bullet had found a billet in his engine. Jim was immediately engaged by another Boche and he had his work cut out to avoid being shot down. However a lucky burst of bullets riddled the Boche pilot and spun the machine to the floor. Jim, getting rid of one enemy, found himself suddenly assailed by another from the rear. The remaining Boche. had the altitude. But Britisher No. 3 came to the rescue. Mortally wounded and his machine ii» flames, Britisher No. ■j crashed his 'plane into the Boche, carrying it down with him. As he hurtled past Jim, the Britisher raised his hand in a last gesture of farewell. Jim was alone in the air. Feeling strangely lonely, Jim fWnv on. Suddenly he spied a. machine coming towards him. It zoomed for altitude, and Jim's teeth came together with a snap and a strange light gleamed in his eyes. He could toll that 'plane anywhere. Once more he and Von Hoffman would light—fight till one or the other perished. The oncoming machine fired and Jim felt a tug as a. bullet passed through his sleeve. He banked sharply and brought his own gun to bear, sending a stream of lead at the German ace. Hoffman zoomed suddenly and got the altitude. In vain did Jim twist and turn and dive and zoom. Always on his tail was that brown machine, which ralced him unmercifully with bullets. A stream of lead came over his shoulder and smashed the dials on his dashboard. A bullet tore its way through his chest and he screamed aloud with the intolerable jjain as the ends of two broken bones scraped together. The Boche 'plane was coming towards him. For an instant he saw a white, leering face, then it was blotted out as the twin muzzles of his guns belched death. As though in a daze he saw the enemy 'plane sideslip and fall away. It came into line with his s-ights and he mechanically pressed the. gun control. Fascinatedly he watched the trail of holes that appeared suddenly on the side of the Boche plane. They crept along, there was a sharp explosion, a tongue of pink flame licked greedily at the Hun's fuselage, and suddenly the 'plane was a blaziug wreck hurtling towards the earth that lay so far below. Jim watched it go and, although he was in great pain, he smiled happily. "I got him, old chap," lie whispered. "I got him —for—you." And he sprawled forward over the controls. An hour later, when the South Blankshires swarmed forward to a victorious assault, they found him lying stone dead by the wreck of his machine. There was a happy smile on his lips when they found him, and tightly clenched in his hand was a small, silken, tattered and bloodstained Union Jack.