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rashed out from home, but could not be expected for another ten days at the earliest, even provided that the Canal remained open. Concentration was consequently being hampered in every way, for the Indian 'planes had been simply swept out of the air, and all day long, and every day, the bridges and main railway junctions were alive with bursting bombs, and heavy with drifting gas-clouds; while at night the burning wreckage of trains and dumps gave the enemy 'planes the most useful of guiding lights.

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The enormously increased range of aircraft placed Delhi within reach of the larger machines; and being the being the capital and an important railway centre, the enemy visited it regularly. During the six days that operations had lasted they only lost one 'plane, and that due more to Arohie's luok than good judgment. The native population had largely fled out into the districts where, as in plaguetime, the country - side was was scattered all over with little encampments wherein the fat Delhi banias sat shivering, while the blue 'planes ciroled overhead, dropping an 0008sional gas-bomb for the pleasure of seeing an encampment break up. The people, however, had learnt by now not to come back after the bomb had burst, but to wait until the evening winds had cleared the haze where the contorted, blue-lipped remains lay.

"I'll just go over and ex

plain things to the pioneers, sir," continued the subaltern. "They ought to get a short run clear for you very soon now. now. Lahore's not reported sighting the beasts yet."

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"I'll walk over too and have a look at the 'Hawk,'" replied the General.

At one corner of the aerodrome a working party of Madras pioneers were putting the finishing touches to a ramp running down below ground, evidently leading to some kind of large dug-out. A camouflage soreen just removed had hitherto concealed the entrance from above. At the bottom of the ramp two mechanics were sliding back steel doors which revealed an electrically-lighted concrete-walled shed.

General Manning walked down and entered the shed, leaving Bob Trevor in consultation with the subaltern of pioneers, who was supervising the clearance of a run between the bomb-oraters.

Inside the dug-out, or hangar as it really was, stood a grey biplane of an altogether new type. It possessed no propeller, nor as far as could be seen any engine. The wings, folded back on either side, were ridged on top from front to back with laminated plates of a peculiar grey metal; while on the under side, let into the featherweight metal skin which, both on fuselage and wings, replaced the fabrio of earlier models, ran row upon row of transparent celluloid tubes enclosing metal fila

ments.

In some respects the machine

approximated to a largish scout type, but thanks to the lack of propeller, the under- carriage was lower than usual. By means of rather ingenious looking levers the pilot could draw it up when in flight, so that it closed upward and forward into recesses in the under side of the fuselage, and resistance became practically nil.

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The centre section of the fuselage consisted of armoured cockpit of bulletproof aero-steel, fitted with a stream-lined cover which could be slid over the top at will, closing the cockpit entirely except for a horizontal slit all round for view. When olosed the pilot was practically immune from danger as regards machine-gun fire.

The controls were of the conventional type, and the instruments normal, except that the rev. counter was replaced by a dial marked "Power" and divided off into a reading of pounds' pressure per square foot. Enclosed in the cockpit were a pair of machine-guns with belts set with armour - piercing, softnosed, and incendiary bullets alternately. Between the machine-guns at the very bottom of the fuselage was a short-barrelled automatic gun, firing a one-pound shell. The extending practice of armouring the engine and tanks, and the pilot's seat, in all except the very lightest machines, had rendered imperative the necessity for some heavier weapon than the rifle-calibered machine-guns.

The teleaxial gear enabled

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The armament was so calibrated that at fifty yards the strike of the machine-gun bullets coincided exactly with the point of impact of the shells. The idea of thus oalibrating and connecting them had been evolved by Trevor, a gunnery enthusiast. The intention was that the percussion-shell should smash up the light armouring, and the accompanying and following flight of incendiary bullets passing through the holes made would complete the work. The armour-piercing bullets might also find weak spots on lightly armoured machines, and the expanding bullets were calculated to do far more damage to struts and cables than would the hardened pointed ones.

The actuating buttons of the guns, with Bowden connections, lay on the joy-stick just under the pilot's fingers, so that either all three or any individual gun could be brought into action as desired.

The cockpit was fitted with all the usual accessories for comfort-racks, electric lighting and heating gear, maproller cases, and so on.

Billy Manning stepped up

to the machine and spoke to the flight-sergeant, who was examining the instruments. "Fully charged, Jenkins?" he asked.

"Fully, sir. You've six hours' power without generating at all, but in this weather you'll start generating as soon as you leave the ground. She's in beautiful trim, giving maximam pressure."

A wireless messenger entered with a signal pad, which he handed to the General.

"Lahore report three enemy 'planes passed over five minutes ago heading south. Frontier also report heavy storms working up, and snow likely in the hills."

"Thank you," said Billy, initialling the pad. "Tell Mr Trevor I'm running her out now." He turned to the flight-sergeant

"Have her run out, Jenkins, and I'll take her up. See that all the guns are ready and the spare belts in position. And bring along my coat and gloves. It'll be cold high up."

He climbed up the ramp out of the dug out, and walked over to where his car stood, reflecting as he went on the perversity of life in general. If this war had only come six months later all would have been well,- trials over, his machine adopted in general use, with plenty of trained pilots, instead of there being only one machine built, though others had been hastily begun. Worse still, there were no pilots, for besides Pat, Jenkins, and himself, only two others knew the secret, which natur

ally had had to be kept very close in the experimental stages. One was Welsh, the head of the aircraft factory at Bombay, and the other was a selected squadron commander whom Manning had sent home to report to the Air Board and arrange for material for India, the wing metal being unproourable locally. Manning himself was to have followed in a couple of months.

But before the trials were properly finished war had broken out, and now the railways were busy rushing every available man and horse and gun to the frontier.

He and Pat-mostly Pat, he always said-had found the secret at last, stumbled on it, as they always said they would, and hit on the absurdly impossible fact that the back pressure generated by the wing of a soaring bird under certain conditions of light oauses the forward reaction of the whole wings, and consequently produces the necessary lift.

Then followed the years of patient research before they and Welsh of the Aircraft Factory evolved a combination of metals and chemicals which would produce the same result. Just two years ago they had found it, and made the first model. He could see Pat now, as with bated breath she launched it on the aerodrome. It dropped, and failure seemed certain, when it fluttered, steadied into horizontal flight, and then banking to the set of the rudder Pat had given it, oiroled round and round, trailing a long line of hairlike

silk which they had attached for recapture if necessary.

But the little model wouldn't fly at night, and they had to seek some means of producing an artificial light action so as to be independent of atmospheric conditions. It was Pat who proved that electricity applied properly to the artificial nervures of the wings gave the same result as light; but it was Welsh who had devised a storage plant light enough to be of practical value.

Now the first machine was ready and had been flown, Manning himself bringing her up from Bombay with a dummy propeller run by electricity fitted on for the occasion. She had done all they asked of her and more, showing undreamedof possibilities, and to-day Billy was taking her up to see if she could drive down the enemy 'planes as they had driven down the antiquated machines opposed to them.

He had settled it the night before. It was not his place to go out scrapping on his lonesome, but the "Grey Hawk" was the only machine that stood a chance, and he was the only man who could fly her. He could send up other machines as well, the few he had left, but they would only get downed to ne purpose, and their slow speed would tie him down. Better save them for night-work, where in the darkness they might be less at a disadvantage, and superior skill and grit make up for mechanical failing. Also there Was 8 distinot shortage of pilots, and Billy's face grew

grim as he thought of the men he had lost, shot down without a chance. He had the gift of making friends of the men who served under him, and every loss had been a personal one.

Last but not least, his best flight commander, young Saunders, lay a still, white, uncomplaining mass of bandages in the big hospital, and the "Babe," Billy's daughter, had only been engaged to him a fortnight. He would be lucky to live, still luckier if he ever walked again: the doctors had told the General privately the night before, when he had driven round with the "Babe," a little, white, tearless, pathetic slip of a girl, dark-eyed from three nights without sleep. Luckily he had been shot down close to home, and his observer, a sergeant of exceptional coolness, though wounded himself, had brought the machine, half the engine olean blown away from a direot hit with a small shell from one of the big blue 'planes, down in uncertain giddy spirals, and landed her, or rather crashed her gently, just as a smouldering longeron burst into burst into flame near the leaking petrol tanks.

"The filthy swine," muttered Billy. It was so utterly unnecessary and unprovoked, such typical war of the kind we thought we'd finished with in 1919-the inevitable war bred by a materialistic people, with their foul teeming breeding-grounds, their shibboleth of the "earth to the strong"i.e., to the bestial unrestrained mob; its worship of mere num

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bers as the be-all and end-all of a nation, its glorification of the State at the expense of the individual family.

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Pat Manning, sitting in the oar, leant forward as he came She was pale, and her hands were very tightly clasped, but she spoke bravely. "Any news, dear?" "Yes. Three of the blue beasts have passed Lahore, coming this way."

He got into the car and lit a cigarette. Pat's hand found his under the rug. The chauffeur was talking to a mechanic some distance away.

"You'll take her up now, I suppose." The tone was a statement, not question. Much as she loathed letting him go, Pat was not the one to stand in the way of what she conceived to be her man's duty; and this job was particularly his or "theirs," as she preferred to call it. Had it been a two-seater, she would most certainly have gone too, if she could have prevailed on Billy to take her.

"Yes. They're just running her out. It'll be her first real work, and she carries enough, Heaven knows. If we can't stop them in a few days, the whole of our concentration will go west."

Pat tightened her hand on his. "You've got the best of all possible machines-haven't you, dearest? and you'll have me with you, for we've put the best of us into her, you and I together. But you won't take any unnecessary risks-promise.'

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She broke off a minute, and VOL, CCVIII.-NO. MCCLVII.

then pointed towards the "Hawk's" hangar. "There she is now. Doesn't she look ripping?"

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The grey biplane had been brought up the ramp, and the riggers were bolting the 'planes into flying position. The first rays of the gilded the edges of the 'planes where the metal blades turned over in a sweeping ourve, and lit up the streamlined silvered boss in front, which terminated in a beautifully modelled little hawk's head, the "Babe's" design.

"Come along then, dear, and give her your blessing before we start." He got out of the car, and turning, held out both hands to help Pat out.

She stepped down, a slim, straight, girlish figure still, despite the grey streaks in the heavy hair.

They walked silently over to where the flight - sergeant had guided the machine into the best bit of level ground he could find, and the pioneer working-party had cleared a narrow track running into the wind. The subaltern was talking to the sergeant, and both saluted as the Mannings came up.

"Good morning, Mr Trevor. Good morning, Jenkins," said Pat. "It's lucky she can take off so quickly, as they've made such 8 mess of the landing-ground. How is she to-day, Jenkins?"

"Beautiful, Mrs Manning. You can feel her like a live thing under your hand."

"Well, come along and let me see for myself."

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