THE WONDERS OF THE SECRET BATTLEPLANE
"IT'S a long story," began Athol, having first given their questioner
their names. "We don't want to bore you, Mr. Blake."
"Not at all," the host hastened to assert. "I am all attention."
"Suppose I ought to go back to the early stages of the war," said
Athol. "You see, one yarn does for both of us, since we share and
share alike. Fifteen months ago we were at a boarding-school in the
south of England. It was only a small affair. We were prefects and
all that sort of thing, and had practically finished our education
before entering an engineering college. Dick's father is a major
serving in Mesopotamia, my governor is a lieutenant-colonel and a
prisoner of war at Meseritz. We have no relatives left in England.
After a time we ran away from school and enlisted. You see, we are
fairly big fellows and somehow we couldn't hang back. The training
part wasn't half bad, although we had a couple of gypsies, an
ex-convict, and a solicitor as billet-mates. Then we did five months
in France, and got on jolly well until we were both offered
commissions. That put the hat on the show."
"How was that?" asked Mr. Blake.
"The colonel sent us back to the regimental depot, and while our
papers were under consideration the War Office made us produce our
birth certificates. Then they found out that we were both under
eighteen, so they pushed us out of the army--worse luck."
"Wouldn't even give us a chance to go back to the ranks," added Dick.
"And we were having quite a good time. We'd stuck it through the best
part of the winter, and the warmer weather was coming; but it was no
use. They turned us down."
"And so we thought we'd have a fling before we settle down to
engineering," continued Athol. "We both have a little money. We
bought the motor-bike and side-car--got it dirt cheap from a fellow
who was going to join up. We started off through the Midlands, were
in the thick of the last Zepp raid in Northampton, went on through
Newark, York, Halifax, and Lancashire, and then to Cheshire. From
thence to Shrewsbury and here we are."
"What regiment were you in?" enquired their host.
The lads produced the documents that had effectually floored the
recruiting sergeants at Shrewsbury. They were their discharges from
the Loyal North Lancashires.
"Wonder, with your mechanical turn of mind, that you hadn't tried for
the Royal Engineers or the Flying Corps," remarked Mr. Blake.
"We did have a shot at the R.F.C., but there were no vacancies at
that moment," explained Athol. "We were rather cut up about it. But
we did see some flying out there. Once we saw our monoplanes bring
down a couple of Taubes one after the other; but sometimes we saw
what we didn't want to see--our machines outclassed by those Fokkers.
The brutes have the advantage, you know. They climb much more quickly
than ours. It's not that they are more powerfully engined. It's the
design. Our fellows are frightfully keen, but they are handicapped."
"You seem keen on aviation?"
"Rather," replied Athol, enthusiastically.
"Then, perhaps, my modest workshop may interest you," remarked
Desmond Blake. "Pon' my word I don't know why I should allow you to
inspect my work; I have kept it a strict secret so far, even
dispensing with a staff of assistants in order to be untrammeled by
the unwelcome visits of more or less incompetent factory inspectors."
He paused, pondering over in his mind some debatable point.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed, noticing his guests' empty soup plates.
"We're supposed to be at lunch, and I had forgotten the fact."
In answer to a summons on a bell the old servant reappeared, deftly
removed the plates and served the second course. This done, he went
out.
"Since you have given me a résumé of your career," said Mr. Blake,
"perhaps you might like to hear mine, at all events since the
momentous day, the fourth of August, 1914.
"At the outbreak of hostilities I was in South America, doing
remarkably well in mining engineering. A particular hobby of mine was
flying, and having made three or four successful experimental
machines, embodying features not previously known to aviation, I
naturally thought that my experience would be welcome to the War
Office.
"Accordingly I settled my affairs out there with the utmost dispatch
and hurried home. My first interview with the authorities at
Whitehall was decidedly frigid. They were awfully polite, but somehow
they failed to come to any practical decision. Wanted a scale model,
as if that would serve the same purpose as the actual machine I
proposed to submit. I offered to have a battleplane complete,
including engines, for inspection and test within fifteen days, but I
was informed that this was unnecessary until the plans had been
inspected by a sub-committee.
"Altogether half a dozen sub-committees tried their hands with my
plans and specifications. Afterwards I discovered that hardly a
single member knew anything about practical flying. Some of them
hardly knew the difference between an airship and an aeroplane--asked
questions on a par with those of the Yankee senator at the 'Titanic'
enquiry.
"Without going into details I may say that my offer to the War Office
was finally declined with thanks. I had no better luck with the
Admiralty, for directly they learnt that the War Office had 'turned
me down' I was metaphorically shown the door.
"I warrant that if I were a renegade and had taken my plans to Berlin
the German government would have snapped them up, either by fair
means or foul. As it is, their agents have been giving me a deal of
trouble.
"However, foiled in my patriotic efforts I determined to erect a
private factory, build a really formidable battleplane and give a
practical demonstration over the heads of the War Office. My first
trouble was to find a suitable site. It had to be in a remote
district, far from a prohibited military area, yet fairly accessible
from the important industrial centres. I lighted upon this place, and
found it answered my purpose.
"Everything I have to do single-handed. I dare not run the risk of
getting mechanics to help, partly, as I said before, owing to the
Factory Act restrictions, but more especially from a fear lest my
ideas should be filched.
"And now the finished article lies in my grounds, ready for instant
flight, except for one drawback----"
"The snow, I suppose," hazarded Dick.
"Does not affect it to any appreciable extent," rejoined Desmond
Blake. "My battleplane does not require hard, level ground for a
'take-off.' It will rise almost perpendicularly. No, it is not the
climatic elements. To be concise I need a couple of capable and
willing helpers, and judging by what you have already told me, I
think you fellows have sufficient patriotism to volunteer your
services in that direction. Am I right?"
Dick gave his chum an enquiring glance. Athol, naturally cautious,
knew that Dick would have jumped at the offer.
"Your tempting invitation needs thinking over," replied Athol. "We
should----"
"Of course," agreed Desmond Blake. "Of course. Suppose you defer your
decision until you have inspected my invention? You will, I feel
sure, treat the subject as one of a highly confidential nature."
"Rather," agreed both lads simultaneously.
"I knew you would," continued their host. "In any case you will be
here a week at least, for the snow lies about a long time, and the
roads will be simply impassable for motor traffic during the thaw.
That is, if you decide to continue your journey by motor. There is
always a means of getting to Church Stretton on foot and taking train
from there. On the other hand, if you decide to remain, my house is
at your disposal."
"You are awfully kind," said Athol.
"With an ulterior motive," added Desmond Blake. "You are the very
fellows I was looking for. I want to 'rope you in.' That's speaking
bluntly. I believe in saying what I mean without beating about the
bush."
"You mentioned that you had trouble with the German agents," remarked
Dick.
"I have reason to believe so," replied Blake. "I have no conclusive
proofs. I can only infer that spies are at the bottom of the trouble.
On three occasions my grounds were broken into. My gatekeeper,
Harvey, a tough old chap in spite of his years, was able to thwart
two attempts to break into my workshop. On the third instance I
scared the intruder pretty badly by means of a shock with a high
tension wire. At the same time the automatic shutter of a camera was
released in the hope of getting the likeness of the gentleman in
question. Unfortunately the magnesium flashlight failed to explode at
the same moment as the exposure of the lens. What I ought to have
done was to leave the lens uncovered. I shall know better next time."
"Wouldn't the plate become fogged?" asked Dick, who was a successful
amateur photographer.
"Oh no; you must remember the attempt was made at night. The sudden
flash of the magnesium acts much the same as the brief exposure of
the plate in daylight."
The meal proceeded slowly, while conversation flowed briskly. Desmond
Blake knew the value of a good lunch as an incentive to amiability,
and had played his cards well. "Now for the hangar," he said, at the
end of the meal. "You smoke? No, good; I'm glad to hear it. It's an
expensive habit, although I have a great weakness in that direction.
In fact, I sometimes find myself on the point of smoking a pipe in
the petrol store."
"We've seen fellows in the Royal Flying Corps drop the glowing ends
of their cigarettes in petrol just for sheer mischief," said Dick.
"Nothing happened."
"But it might have," rejoined their host. "'Fraid it doesn't speak
for the good quality of the petrol or the common sense of the men who
fool about with it. It isn't the liquid petrol that is dangerous, but
the vapour it gives off. I've been experimenting in that direction,
trying to get a spirit that is non-inflammable under normal
atmospheric pressure and only exploded when under compression."
"Have you been successful?" asked Athol.
"To a certain extent; that is to say, I have treated petrol so as to
make it unresponsive at ordinary pressure except to a very hot
spark."
Still conversing Desmond Blake led the way from the house, through a
dense belt of pine trees, to a small clearing. The greater part of
this space was occupied by a galvanised iron shed, at one end of
which were large double doors. Between the threshold and the nearmost
trees there was a distance of roughly ninety feet, the trees
themselves exceeding a hundred and twenty feet in height.
"Here's the hangar," announced their guide, indicating the shed.
"Curious situation, if you don't mind my saying so," observed Athol.
"You'll have to cut down more of those trees before the biplane is
able to take flight."
"On the contrary there is more 'taking-off' space than is absolutely
necessary, and, I might add, the machine is not a biplane. It is
fashioned, as far as possible, on the principle of a bird, and unless
my memory plays me false, I know of no bird possessing more than two
wings. But here we are."
Desmond Blake rolled back one of the doors of the shed. The other,
actuated by means of a flexible wire running over pulleys, slid back
too.
"Merely a labour-saving device," said Blake. "I based my calculations
upon a one-man show. But what do you think of her?"
In the dazzling reflected light from the snow the battleplane stood
revealed to the lads' eager gaze. At first sight it hardly resembled
a flying machine. It was more like a huge cigar raised at an angle of
forty-five degrees and supported by a pair of trellis girders each of
which in turn terminated in a couple of pneumatic-tyred wheels. The
planes were folded against the fuselage; there were no signs of
aerilons, horizontal or vertical rudders and other contrivances
common to aeroplanes. This creation had the appearance of a gaunt,
featherless bird standing erect on a pair of spidery legs.
"What propels it?" asked Dick. "Where is the propeller? And the
planes? You said it was not a biplane. To me it looks like a
_non_plane. Hope I am not asking too many questions," he added
apologetically.
"Fire away; as many as you like," rejoined Desmond Blake. "In the
first place there is no propeller, that is, if you mean a rotary one.
To go back to the simile of birds; they don't cleave through the air
under the action of a two-bladed propeller. That, after all, is a
tacit admission by aeronautical engineers that they are unable to
copy nature; so they make a substitute that fails to perform the
relative task that a bird's wings do with seemingly little effort. I
have dispensed with a propeller and substituted mechanical planes
that approximate very clearly the natural method of flying. Before I
explain further we must get aboard; I'll show you the way. One could
make use of a pair of steps, but they would be awkward things to
carry about, especially at the Front."
With remarkable agility the inventor swarmed up a light aluminium
ladder built into the girder-legs of the battleplane. Thirty feet up
he disappeared from view through an aperture in the underside of the
fuselage.
In a trice Dick followed, Athol ascending with more deliberation. The
latter was puzzled at the great rigidity of the aluminium girders.
Evidently Desmond Blake had solved the task of making the metal as
tough as steel without any marked increase of weight. Another thing
Athol noticed was that all the cross sections of the latticed girder
were pear-shaped, the blunt end facing the direction of flight, the
tapering end being aft. This was expressly for the purpose of
reducing the friction of the air.
Squeezing through the trap door the lads found themselves on the
floor of the chassis, which was composed of a succession of broad
steps on inclined planes in order to afford a firmer footing when the
battleplane was at rest. Between the floor and the curved roof or
deck there was sufficient space for a tall man to stand upright.
Against the concave sides were folded cots, in which those of the
crew "off duty" could sleep during prolonged flights, while at
approximately one-third of the length of the fuselage from the blunt
nose was the motor room, a veritable nest of intricate, lightly-built
and powerful machinery.
"Do you work the battleplane entirely from under cover?" asked Athol.
"Oh no," replied Desmond Blake. "It is essential to have a wide field
of outlook. Here is the pilot's seat. Get in and see what it is
like."
He indicated a circular seat perched about a foot beneath the deck,
from which an oval-shaped opening provided with a raised coaming had
been cut. Overhead was a light metal canopy which, when required,
could be lowered flush with the top part of the chassis. To gain the
seat from the floor of the fuselage it was necessary to make use of a
metal ladder.
"Steady yourself by that horizontal bar," cautioned the inventor,
indicating a short rod on the fore side of the coaming.
The warning was necessary, for, as Athol slid into the seat, the seat
slid from him. It was only by hanging on to the bar and allowing his
feet to dangle in the air that the lad saved himself from falling
four or five feet to the floor.
"Don't say that I didn't give you fair warning," exclaimed Desmond
Blake, while Dick laughed at his friend's predicament. "Now, have
another shot at it. Lift yourself fairly into the seat. That's it."
"What's the idea?" enquired Athol.
"There are four seats like that, and each one is gimballed. That is,
it is suspended in a similar manner to a compass on board ship, so
that in spite of the motion the sitter is always 'right side up.' No
matter how the battleplane banks, nose-dives, or even 'loops the
loop,' the crew, seated in their allotted stations, are always in a
natural position."
"That I can see," said Dick. "But how is a fellow to see where's he
going when the plane is upside down? In that event his head and
shoulders are inside the fuselage."
"Only for a few moments," replied the inventor. "The plane is
self-righting, provided, of course, there is 'air-room.' Just give a
glance at your friend's feet. No, there's nothing wrong with them.
That's not what I meant. His feet are resting on a step, behind the
step is a sheet of burnished metal inclined at an angle of
forty-five. Now, in the event of the 'plane turning over on its major
axis that mirror would project below the inverted deck of the
chassis, and thus the pilot would still be able to 'look ahead.'"
Facing the pilot's seat were a few indicators and levers, whereby the
altitude and speed of the plane could be determined and the aircraft
steered on her course. A voice-tube communicated with the
motor-mechanic who occupied the third seat. The second and fourth
seats were raised slightly above the others, and were intended for
the machine-gunners.
"The offensive armament is not yet on board," explained the inventor.
"I have turned out a couple of automatic weapons firing eight hundred
shots a minute. Here is one of the cartridges," he continued, drawing
a metal cylinder from his pocket. "The calibre is 303, the same as
that of the small arms of the British Army, but you must observe that
the bullet is longer and different in other respects."
"It certainly is longer," agreed Dick, as he handled the cartridge.
"But beyond that I see no difference."
"Do you notice a minute line round the bullet?" asked Blake. "The
projectile is made in two parts. On leaving the muzzle the parts fly
apart, but are held together by a length of flexible wire. Thus each
bullet resembles a miniature chain-shot of the days of the old wooden
walls. A hostile plane would stand little chance if under the fire of
a hail of these bullets. There would be no clean holes in the fabric;
struts and tension wires would be severed and the whole contraption
would fall like a stone."
"Then what propels the plane?" asked Dick, his interest in the motors
claiming precedence above all other constructional details.
"This pair of engines, each of two hundred horse-power," was the
reply. "See, I actuate this lever and the wings--I prefer to call
them wings rather than planes--unfold."
Swiftly, yet with an even movement, wings, hitherto lying snugly
against the chassis, were outspread. Taking into consideration the
length of the battleplane from nose to tail--barely fifty feet--the
space from tip to tip of the wings looked disproportionately small.
Each wing projected fifteen feet from the side, and curved backwards
like that of a bird. The fabric from which the wings were made was
composed of thin, specially-treated aluminium, in plates overlapping
each other like tiles on the roof of a house.
"Now, Tracey," continued Desmond Blake, "see if you can coax the
motors to start. If you can manage a car-engine you will be able to
get them to fire. There's no danger of the bird taking flight. She's
pinned down to the floor securely. At the same time I don't think I
would run the motors all out, if I were you."
Deftly Dick set to work turning on the petrol and flooding the
carburettor.
"Is it necessary to prime the motors?" he asked.
"They ought to fire without," replied the inventor. "There's the
self-starter--that lever on your right."
At the first attempt the engines fired easily. In spite of being in a
confined space there was very little noise, thanks to the efficient
silencer. It was doubtful whether the purr of the motors could be
heard beyond the limits of the grounds.
Yet, although the fabric of the battleplane trembled under the
pulsations of the motors, the wings remained motionless save for the
vibration imparted to the whole contrivance. Seeing Dick's look of
enquiry the inventor pointed to a lever close to the lad's right
hand.
"Gently with it," he cautioned. Depressing the lever Dick was aware
of a terrific air-current rushing overhead. Dead leaves and pieces of
aluminium sheeting that were lying on the floor of the shed were
whisked up and flung about with great velocity. Peering over the edge
of the coaming Dick could see that both wings were now beating the
air with terrific violence, being actuated by a number of rods
working on concealed cams. Supplementary rods imparted a second
motion to the wings, the innermost and rearmost edges of which moved
up and down independently of the primary movement of the fore part.
Stretching out his hand the inventor cut off the electric current,
and the motors came to a standstill.
"Cannot afford to waste petrol in these hard times," he said with a
smile. "You've seen enough to form an idea of how the plane flies.
The mere up and down flap of the wings is insufficient; it is the
peculiar twist of the after part that does the trick--something after
the principle of a man sculling a boat by means of a single oar
working over the transom. If he were to waggle the blades of the oar
to and fro without giving a dexterous twist nothing would result
except a see-saw motion of the boat. It certainly would not move
ahead through the water, except for the tortuous movement of the
oar."
"I should have thought that the wings were far too small," observed
Athol.
"On the contrary they are just the right proportion compared with the
weight and power of the motors," replied Desmond Blake. "I have not
modelled my invention on the lines of an albatross, whose spread of
wings is enormous. I had the lark in my mind's eye. That little bird,
as you know, soars almost perpendicularly, yet the wings are small in
proportion to the size and weight of its body. Now you have had a
general idea of the secret battleplane. To return to the attack: are
you fellows willing to sign on as crew?"
"Rather!" replied both lads without hesitation.