War Story by Derek Robinson

Author:Derek Robinson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pan Books
Published: 1988-09-10T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

It was like trying to sneak up on a guard dog. At a certain point the dog began to snarl. Get closer and it barked. Push your luck and you’d probably get bitten. Back off and the dog would shut up. But it was always watching.

Frank Foster in one FE and James Yeo in another had crossed the Lines to see how near they could get to an observation balloon before the dogs barked and bit. Only one balloon was flying that day, opposite the southerly end of the British sector, near the river Somme. The wind had probably grounded the others. It was strong and gusty. Even from a distance Foster could see the basket swinging as the balloon wallowed. What was worse, the gusts sometimes forced the balloon sharply down, making the cable go limp; then as the wind eased, the balloon leaped again. The observers must have had strong stomachs and their observations must have been urgently needed.

At first the two FEs had pretended to bypass the balloon, as if they were flying from north to south on some other business and the prevailing westerly wind just happened to push them near to it. It was a poor excuse and nobody believed it. A few ranging shots came and went, high and low, looking as harmless as tufts of black wool. Within twenty seconds the German batteries had adjusted for height. A string of shells burst in quick succession, starting wide and racing in for the kill. The last missed by less than fifty yards. Foster heard their gruff barks. The closest was as loud as his engine. Maybe its blast shook the plane, maybe the wind gusted. He dropped a wing and turned away. Yeo left by a different route, just to divide the targets.

For the next half-hour they tested the defences. Nothing made any difference. Come too close and you got shot at.

Yeo loathed archie. The FE gave him a lovely view of the world but no protection in front. Other planes had a big heavy engine in front, something to hide behind when the shell splinters came fizzing through the air. Nothing to hide behind in the FE, not even your observer, who was sitting in the stalls while you were in the balcony. It wasn’t the risk of death that upset Yeo. Where would the Army be without death? Like roulette without chips. You had to have something to lose, otherwise what’s the point? Nothing wrong with killing people in war. That was the only way to win medals, and Yeo accepted pain and mutilation and blindness and all the other unpleasantnesses as unavoidable side-effects of the process. But what he loathed and resented about archie was its stinking ugliness. It was worse than being attacked with a filthy bayonet by a chap who needed a bath. It was squalid. It was unmilitary. He despised the Hun for having dirty archie. British archie was white, or at least off-white.

Foster waggled his wings and pointed upwards.

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