Wings over England by Roy J. Snell
_Chapter_ XIX Thrilling Sky Drama
That night watchers on the rooftops of London, those hardy men who allnight long, with bags of sand at their side, scan the skies for bombingplanes, witnessed a moving picture against the sky that they would notsoon forget.
A few minutes after the alarm had sounded, just as Big Ben rang out thehour of nine, the thunder of powerful motors was heard.
At this instant, far above them in the sky, there appeared a light thatwas like the bursting of the sun. A flare beyond a doubt, but such aflare as had never before been seen. Every housetop, turret and towerstood out in bold relief. Beneath the flare, but far up in that sky,like a gigantic silver bird, a four-motored Nazi bomber appeared to hangmotionless.
As the watchers stared speechless something very like a silver batappeared to drop straight down from the sky.
“It’s a Spitfire,” muttered one hardy watcher.
“An’ it’s suicide,” exclaimed his mate.
As the silver bat curved down toward the bomber it let out a sound as ofthe ripping up of every sidewalk in London.
At this every watcher threw himself flat on his face, for from abovecame such a roar as had never been heard before, no, not even in London.
A moment more and fragments of metal came showering down far and wide.
The flare above was still burning. One watcher, braver than the rest,scanned the sky. What he saw was a pair of balloons belonging to aballoon barrage, a trap set for enemy planes. Between the balloons rancables that in this strange light shone like threads of silver. Thething that caught and held the watcher’s eye was a silver spot clingingto those cables.
“That will be the Spitfire,” he said to his mate who now was sitting up.“The blast from that exploded bomber blew him there. I told you it wassuicide. I said—
“And now may the Saints be praised!” His voice rose as he turned hiseyes. Some distance below that silver spot a ghost-like circle hadappeared.
“A parachute!” the watcher exclaimed. “And may the Nazis be confounded!That pilot of the Spitfire is still alive.”
“You’re quite right, Tim, me boy,” the other agreed. “What’s more, if Ijudge the movement of air rightly, he’ll be landin’ just about here.”
The roof on which the men stood was broad and flat. As the two menwatched, the parachute and the dark spot hanging beneath it, whichappeared to be the pilot, grew in size. Carried first to the right, thento the left, as if directed by the very breath of the Gods, it came evercloser to that broad rooftop on which the watchers stood.
“Sure he’s alive,” Tim murmured. “I saw his arm move.”
“He—he’s almost down now,” muttered his companion. “There now, he—”Breaking short off the speaker dashed for the far side of the roof.
Just as the daring aviator’s feet touched the roof a sudden, violentgust of wind caught his parachute and sent it skyward. Lifting him offhis feet, it carried him forward at a rapid rate. Then, as if tocomplete its work of destruction, over empty space the parachutecollapsed.
The parachutist found himself balanced on the parapet, leaning back withall his might, but apparently doomed to crash to the earth a hundredfeet below. Then, of a sudden, a voice said:
“Here, young man, where y’ think y’re goin’?”
A pair of husky arms were wrapped about him and he was dragged tosafety. His savior was Tim’s powerful companion.
“Why, you’re little more than a boy!” The big man exclaimed afterpeering into the rescued one’s face.
“I’m more than that,” the youth replied huskily. “If I were to tell youwho I really am you might be a little surprised. But I’m not telling.”
“Whoever you are,” said Tim with a wave of his strong arms, “you’re adarling of the gods. What you done tonight no other man could do an’live.”
“What’s more,” Tim’s partner added, “you’ve saved the life of many awoman an’ child. There was two tons of bombs in that big ship an’ shewas ’angin’ over blocks an’ blocks of tenements. It was early. The firstalarm had ’ardly sounded. They don’t get to the subway that quick, thewomen an’ the children, they don’t.”
The young flyer was pulling at his chute. It caught and tore. “Here,” heexclaimed impatiently, handing the strings to the big guard, “take thishome to your Missus. There’s some fine silk in it. And now how do youget down from this place?”
“It’s right over ’ere,” said the astonished Tim as he led the way to atrap door. “You just go down that stairway. There’s a door at thebottom. You’ll find stairways leadin’ to the ground floor an’ the backoutside door’s got a spring lock. Spring it an’ you’re outside.
“An’ ’ere’s wishin’ ye luck,” the big man added. “’Ow about shakin’ yourhand?” Two hands met in a hearty grip. “’Ere’s ’opin’ we meets again,”said the watcher.
Five minutes later the mysterious flyer reached the good earth onceagain to lose himself at once in the avenues of darkness that are Londonin the blackout.