FLYING SOLO
Major McCarthy was quite sure of his pupils. He was certain of their
ability to land, to take off, to fly, to know what to do in case of an
emergency. He had taught them to be not merely flyers, but all around
pilots. For that reason he had insisted that they spend many hours
learning the intricate parts and mechanics of a motor. His plans went
further. He wanted them to learn more of the technical affair that an
airplane is. When the time came, he would teach them as much as he knew
about navigation, how to fly blind, and many other things that had to
do with flying. But all that was a sort of post-graduate course. For
the present, they had earned their wings—and how!
He had absolute confidence in his young aviators. And William was
his star pupil. Technically, not one of his pupils had as yet gone
up solo. However, each one of them had gone up at least once, taken
off, flew, performed a couple of simple stunts, and landed again with
McCarthy in the rear seat, who didn’t say a word or move a muscle; on
that one flight he was merely a passenger. Therefore his confidence
in the boys was based not merely upon his affection for them or his
opinion of their ability, but upon the fact that they had proven their
ability. For that reason he made elaborate arrangements for their solo
flight. It was to be on Wednesday, at about five in the evening, when
the weather is usually not very bumpy and quite mild. Secretly he had
invited the parents of the boys, the Mayor, a few other notables, and
let it be known that the public was welcome. As for the boys, they were
not merely going to fly solo, but to do other things. He had arranged
everything. This was to be their graduation exercises.
When the time came, more people turned out than were expected. A
special section of ground was roped off for the several hundred
spectators. All the boys’ parents were there; even Dr. Morrison had
managed to get away from his office. Some few of the spectators were
jittery and anxious. McCarthy was as calm and serene as ever, smiling
and joking. A few of the boys were at first a bit nervous but they soon
got over it. They realized that they were merely going up in the same
way as when their instructor went with them. This time, however, they
were going alone—solo. And since they were confident of their flying
ability and of McCarthy’s teaching, they felt that they had nothing to
worry about.
Major McCarthy summoned the boys together and they lined up in front
of him. They were wearing their Scout uniforms and flying helmets and
goggles. They were all very happy. The Major addressed them. “Boys,”
he began, “this is your graduation day. Today you are going to make
your first solo flight—that is, you’re going to take up a plane and
land her again all by yourselves. Having completed your solo flight
successfully, you’ll be presented with your wings; the Mayor will make
the presentation. You’re also going to get a letter from me stating
your successful completion of the course.” Pause. He looked from one to
the other of the boys. “Are you ready?” he asked.
“Yes,” they answered in unison.
“Very well then. Each one of you will go up in the Avro, perform any
one simple stunt you choose, bank her several times, then land again.
After each one of you has done that, I’ll have you go up in the air
again, but about that, later. William, you make the solo flight first.”
Major McCarthy had a definite purpose for designating William to go up
first. William was the best of all his pupils, and the others, seeing
him perform well, would be heartened and do as well.
The spectators cheered heartily when they saw William walking toward
the Avro which had been wheeled out of its hangar and was being warmed
up by a mechanic. William climbed in and the chocks were jerked away.
He opened the throttle and the mechanic leaped forward along the
ground. Shutting off the power by means of the thumb switch, the plane
slowed down. He turned the nose into the wind. The next moment he was
off, skimming over the field, then the plane rose lightly into the air
like a bird. Easily and smoothly, the machine climbed fast. Down below,
the spectators craned their necks to see. William climbed until he
was about two thousand feet above ground. He banked and flew directly
over the airport. After circling it twice, he straightened out, then
opened wide the throttle. The machine bounded forward and the nose
sprang upwards. As it rose, the forward speed decreased in spite of
the fact that the engine continued to run at the maximum revolutions.
The machine pointed vertically upwards and for about a moment it
appeared to hang onto the rapidly revolving blades of the propeller.
The spectators below watched the airplane with their mouths open. Some
of them, who had never witnessed such a stunt, were positive that the
machine would come crashing down tail first. But suddenly the nose fell
over to one side, the tail shot up and the next moment the plane was
shooting sharply downward. Two minutes later William was on the ground,
and climbing out of the cockpit. The spectators cheered him. His
friends shook him by the hand, slapped him on the back and told him it
was a fine job. Major McCarthy smiled and called out, “All right, Paul,
you’re next.”
Paul went through the same performance, and then the rest of the boys.
Not one of them faltered. The spectators were delighted, and the
parents were proud. As for Major McCarthy, he said nothing and revealed
no emotion. To him, it seemed as though the whole affair was merely the
successful completion of his teaching job. Inside, however, he felt
very much pleased and proud. It was a pleasure to have such an able
group of boys as pupils.
The Major had some other things in store for the boys. He was going to
have them do some more flying. He had them lined up in front of him and
addressed them. “That was well done, fellows,” he said, “but I expect
even more from you. I’m going to have you do more flying. You’re all
going up into the air again—and all together.” The boys opened their
eyes wide and looked surprised. They wondered what the Major was
up to. He smiled and continued, “You’re going up in pairs—Paul and
William, Jack and Bobolink, Wallace and Bluff. While I’m talking to
you, the mechanics are wheeling out two more machines, another Avro and
a Bristol. William and Paul will fly the Bristol because William has
already flown the machine. The others will fly the Avros. One of you
is going to take the machine up and his partner will land it. You’ll
change controls after every stunt. As to what you’re going to do in the
air, follow William. Are you ready?”
“Yes!” They answered in unison.
“Alright, then. William and Paul will take off first, Jack and Bobolink
next, and Wallace and Bluff last. Go to it.”
The Major had discussed his plans with William and had instructed the
boy as to every move. The entire flight had been planned in advance and
William knew it by heart.
The Bristol was somewhat larger and heavier than the Avro. William got
into the front cockpit, Paul in the rear one. William was to take off,
and he warmed up the engine. A minute later the chocks were jerked
away. Turning into the wind, he skimmed the ground for a distance,
then the machine rose gracefully and continued to climb. A minute
later, Jack and Bobolink took off, and finally Wallace and Bluff.
They were about two thousand feet in the air. William gave the signal
and the three machines lined up in formation—the two Avros on either
side and a little to the rear of the Bristol. They circled the airport
twice. Again William signalled and the three planes lined in a row;
they made believe it was a race. The earth seemed to shake with the
drone of the motors. After that, they fell into line one behind the
other. William signalled and each pilot was ready. The first machine
did an Immelmann turn, followed by the second and third planes. Soon
they were in the same formation as they had started but flying in the
opposite direction. The Bristol now went into a “half-roll.” By pulling
the stick back and kicking down the rudder, the machine turned over
completely on her back with her nose pointing down. The pilot shoved
the nose further down, flying at a steeper angle towards the ground;
the pressure of the air against the wings forced the nose up again, and
as the pilot kept pulling the nose of the machine up, it leveled out
and continued to fly in the opposite direction. Both Avros followed the
Bristol.
William next signalled for a “barrel roll.” To those on the ground,
it seemed as though the machine, with a kind of cork-screw movement,
had wriggled on her back and then wriggled back again. What actually
happened was that the machine went through the same tactics as before
in the “half-roll,” with the exception that instead of ending up in a
dive, the plane continued to turn after being upside down and ended up
on a level keel, flying in the same direction as before.
The next stunt the boys did was a “loop the loop.” The nose of the
Bristol went up and the next moment was flying upside down, followed by
a swift dive earthwards.
When all three planes completed the stunt they fell into formation.
William signalled for number three—Wallace and Bluff—to land. Jack
and Bobolink landed next. The Bristol with William and Paul became the
only machine in the air. They were directly over the airport. William
communicated with his friend to take over the controls. A minute later
William slipped over the side of the plane and went hurling toward
the ground. The spectators let out a scream of dismay. Ten seconds
later, William pulled the rip cord of his parachute and went sailing
majestically downward to the ground.
Again the boys were lined up, with all the spectators at their backs.
The Mayor made a little speech and then presented each boy with his
wings. He turned to the major and asked him to say a few words. “Very
few,” replied McCarthy. “All I will say, boys, is—I’m proud of you.”
The young aviators were cheered. Then the boys cheered McCarthy. The
Mayor held up his hand for quiet and then said, “And I want to add,
major, that we, the people of Stanhope, are also proud of these boys
and we are also proud of you.”