ON THE AIR BARRAGE

Dominion, Volume 12, Issue 79, 28 December 1918, Page 7

ON THE AIR BARRAGE

GUARDIANS OF THE COAST

A WARTIME PICTURE

A tiny cluster of tin hats, surrounded by, a rough fence and hundreds of acres oi' desolate marsh. Thn only sound is the wailing cry of the curlews and the ceaseless beating of.the waves on the white shell beach. A rough' track, deeply rutted by the wheels of heavy lorries, stretches away to the sky-line, marked regularly with the thin poles of the field telephone wires that link up the station to that other tiny cluster of tin huts away on the horizon. !

The tinkle, of a telephone bell dribbles into the silence, and the khaki-clad figures dozing in the dying sunshine come slowly and grumblingly to life. With a borell nir two or three begin to drag the heavy tarpaulin off the lorry guns that stand like'jjmnt setters, with seeking muzzles Btilfly skyward. There is « distant clatter of tools on iron, and then the steady chug-chug of an oil engine. A couple of minutes and the sound dies away. An uily mechanic comes from behind the hummock I hat masks the searchlight engine—the projector itself is a quarter of niilo a.way—and rubs his hands down his khaki trousers. "She's running fine!" he announced to no one in particular. A boy, with the pip of a second lieutenant on his sleeve, with the brightness of expectation in his eyes, comes from the hutment. "Enemv activity reported, sergeant—seo all ready!"

Everything is ready, except the shining heap of shells. These are brought out and stacked near the lorries. Tlip big guns are now swung hither and thither; they work smoothly, and the gun-layers go in search of cocoa. The oil engine starts up again, and a thin beam of light, weak and attenuated in the rays of the setting sun, flares out from a distant hillock. It swings aimlessly over the sky for a few second?, and then dies down. A tinklo of the telephone bell, nnd the oil engine, stops suddenly. The sun sinks, the clouds turn to indigo, and the cold stars wink out in the amethyst pky. The curlews go to rest, the -waves leave the shore and a vast area of sighing sand appear.* where the white breakers were, and with a weird, long-drawn call a homeseeking heron bids the world good night. And two hours later an electric gong wakes everyone to action. Tin hats are donned and ears lilted with' wadding. The oil engine begins its steady beat again, and the tiny screened lights on the gun dials and indicators shows that the men are at stations. Somewhere out at sea a white beam flares out, and immediately answering beams begin to search those squares of sky which are allotted to them by Control.

From north to south, out at sea and inland alike, the. winking beams converge and diverge, meet and cross each other, and wander away.

Suddenly there is a distant rumble of guns; a battery nearer at hand begins to bark like an angry dog, A black figure wearing a telephone headpiece begins calling out cryptic numbers and initials, and the first shell is swung homo into each waiting breech-block, "Thirteen, Sixteen, Eighteen, TwentyGunfire!" calls out the boy with the pipped sleeve.

"Yip! Hi! Yip! Gunfire!" barks the sergeant.

A lorry jumps like a frightened' horse and a satisfied gun wipes its own muzzle with a tongue of yellow flame. There is a twinkle of bursting shrapnel in tho sky, and, a few seconds later, a dull thud.

Now there is another note in the orchestra of the night, a steady, persistent, monotonous boat; a drone as of some great overfed boe.. "Ceaee fire!" orders the lieutenant, and the telephone operator begins to reel off more numbers and the waiting , muzzles of tho guns move noiselessly round in r.nsiver to the turn of the shining wheels. "Thirty-eight hundred—thirty-sis hundred." "Control I" 'In bearing, sir." "Thirty-four hundred—" "Gunfire!" "Whan?!" and and again. Fivo shots in less than thirty-four seconds; fivo shots from each enii! Over there are tiny puffs that show where tho shrapnel burst, and the telephone operator calls out "Thirty hundred—twenty-eight hundred." And tho lorries jump and rock, and the big guns bark out in raving anger, and the'slur and thud of the shells fill the air, and the clatter of the empty shell-cases as tney pro flung out of tho smoking breeches rinn. like tho jingling bells of soma mad sleighing race. And then "Target obscured!" There is a stunning silence. A wretched wisp of cloud has crept up. ami into it the hunted Gotha lias turned and twisted and climbed.

A solitary battery from somewhere at eea. pumps high-explosive shell into the cloud until it is torn to shreds; blinding beams swing hither r nnd thither in hnfflcd imnotonce.

The men take off their tin huts nnd unstop their car?, and the lieutenant goes back into the hut. The noise of the oil engine ceases, and :i\vav in Hie distant inland towns the buglos of the Tiov Scouts blow the "All clear!"—o. Basil Bfti'liiim.