A TRIAL TRIP
"A WILLING heart goes a long way," declared Desmond Blake. "On the
other hand there's a verse:--
"Give every act due deliberation;
Make no man your friend
Until his heart you know."
"We'll risk that," rejoined Dick.
"In that case we'll compromise matters," said the inventor. "Since
you have offered yourselves in all good faith, we'll run in joint
harness for the next fortnight. I'll show you the ropes, and if at
the end of that time you wish to dissociate yourselves with the
enterprise you may. In a fortnight's time I hope to be ready for an
experimental flight to London just to show the authorities what my
invention can do."
"Hope the weather will be warmer," said Athol. "It must be cold work
flying on a day like this."
"Not in a covered-in artificially-heated chassis," corrected Desmond
Blake. "Even the pilot's and observer's heads are protected by
transparent screens."
"I should have thought that the snow driving against the screen would
obscure it," remarked Dick.
"Then we'll put your theory to the test," declared the inventor
briskly. "No time like the present. I'll open the doors to their
widest capacity and fill up the tanks with fuel. You might also fix
the two automatic guns to their pedestals; it's as well to have a
trial flight with the normal weights on board."
The hose communicating with a powerful suction pump was coupled on to
the tanks, and fifty gallons of fuel taken on board.
"I've doctored the petrol," explained the inventor. "I introduce a
quantity of benzine in tabloid form. The result is--I am judging by
results obtained on a car--that I can get fifty per cent. more power
out of the motors. Now hold tight for the take off."
The floor of the shed being slightly on the down grade the vibration
of the engines was sufficient to set the battleplane in motion until
it reached the open space in front of the doors.
It was now snowing heavily. The tops of the pine trees were almost
hidden in the blurr of falling flakes.
"Pull that slide over the rearmost seat, Dick," ordered the inventor.
"It won't be needed this trip. That is good. Now, stand by with the
ignition lever. That will be your only job for a while."
Desmond Blake had climbed into the pilot's seat, and had raised a
hinged wind screen fitted with side wings and overhead covering.
Athol followed his example, taking his place at the second, or
machine gunner's seat.
The snow laden air reeked with petrol fumes and the smoke from the
exhaust, but the noise of the motors was hardly audible without. The
throbbing sound seemed to be confined to the interior of the
fuselage.
Both lads, agog with excitement, held on tightly. For some seconds
nothing appeared to happen; then with a sudden, powerful jerk the
battleplane seemed to stand on end. Kept in a natural sitting
position by a delicately-balanced seat, the two chums were forcibly
aware of a pain in their necks, as if they had banged their heads
violently against a door-post. The sudden starting or stopping of a
lift was nothing to the jerk, for the battleplane had to clear the
tree-tops with little lateral space to spare.
For the present they could see nothing except the whirring tips of
the wings and the streaks of white as the machine soared against the
falling snow. Already the manometer registered a height of four
hundred feet and the needle was still moving rapidly round the dial.
Presently the fuselage assumed a horizontal position. The movement
was now regular and free from vibration, for the direction of flight
was no longer in an inclined motion.
"Easier than I thought," remarked the inventor.
Without raising his voice he could comfortably communicate with the
rest of the crew, since the rush of air did not disturb the interior
of the fuselage. Nor did the snow accumulate upon the wind-screens as
Dick had surmised, for the nature of the transparent substance caused
the impinging flakes to disperse without any suspicion of moisture
being deposited upon the glass.
Owing to the design of the wing-screens it was now possible for the
lads to learn and observe the ground almost immediately below them.
Eight hundred feet beneath was a blurr of white, across which were
traced several winding dark lines, for the battleplane had run out of
the falling snow and was now heading southwards.
"Not much of a day for observation purposes," said Blake, who had
relinquished his grip on the levers and was now trusting solely to
the "stabilisers" or automatic devices for maintaining a straight
course. "We are now over Ludlow. That patch is the ruins of the
castle. You can just discern the town."
"I thought Ludlow was built on the side of a steep hill," remarked
Athol.
"It is," assented the inventor. "That street is almost as steep as a
roof of a house. Altitude tends to impart an appearance of flatness
to the landscape, especially in the snow. We'll turn now, and follow
the Shrewsbury railway. I don't like getting too far afield on an
experimental run when so many landmarks are obliterated. Now, Athol,
make your way for'ard and I'll show you how to manoeuvre the plane.
Dick will have his turn later. It is essential that every man of the
crew should know how to handle the steering and elevating gear."
For half an hour Desmond Blake kept his understudy hard at it,
showing him how to make the battleplane bank almost horizontally, and
how to change the speed gear to enable the wings to overcome the
force of gravity during the vertical flight.
"You'll do," declared the inventor admiringly. "Now back to your
perch. We are going to have a shot at looping the loop."
Desmond Blake waited until Athol had regained the gimballed seat,
then, depressing a lever that had the double effect of lowering the
gearing of the engine and elevating the "aerilons," or wing-tips, he
caused the battleplane to soar almost vertically upwards.
The lads wondered why the terrifically acute angle of ascent did not
cause the fuel to flow to the rearmost of the four connected tanks,
and thus affect the aircraft's lateral stability. The inventor,
glancing over his shoulder, must have read their thoughts.
"Climbing to get a better chance in case she jibs," he called out.
"No need to worry about the petrol. Each tank has a reserve valve
that only operates when the angle of inclination exceeds fifteen
degrees."
The arrangement of the tanks was another instance of Blake's
forethought. At normal flying positions the petrol in each tank was
practically at the same level in order to ensure constant trim of the
machine. But directly the tilt of the battleplane tended to allow the
volatile spirit to flow to the lowermost tank, automatic valves in
the connecting pipes came into action, thus causing each tank to
retain approximately the same weight of liquid fuel.
For three minutes the battleplane climbed steeply and at a high speed
that had never yet been approached by the most daring aviator. Then,
following a hasty caution from the pilot, the aeroplane began to
describe a circle in a vertical plane. Although the seats retained
their normal positions, the centrifugal force tended to throw Athol
and Dick off their balance. The next moment their heads were within a
few feet of the up-turned floor of the fuselage, while their feet
were dangling in the space enclosed by the wind-screens. Five seconds
later the battleplane had regained its normal position, having
described a complete loop of a radius of less than a hundred feet.
"That's good!" exclaimed the inventor with pardonable pride. "Now
look out to enjoy the sunshine."
To the lads' surprise the battleplane was bathed in bright wintry
sunshine. The aeroplane had emerged above the bank of snow clouds and
was cleaving her way through the clear air. Away to the south-west
the sun was low in the heavens, for it was now within an hour of
sunset.
"Time to get back," declared Blake briskly. "We've got to drop
through the snow-clouds beneath, and trust to luck to pick up our
bearings. 'Fraid I've overstepped the bounds of discretion, but it
was jolly well worth it."
Actuating a lever he "locked" the wings. Like a giant seagull
swooping down from a lofty cliff the aeroplane began a steady
volplane towards the bank of clouds a thousand feet below.
At a speed of well over a hundred and fifty miles an hour the
battleplane cleft the bank of suspended vapour. Almost pitch darkness
succeeded the clear sunshine of the upper air. The sudden transition
temporarily blinded the three aviators.
Desmond Blake spoke not a word. With his eyes fixed upon the dials of
the manometer he gauged the earthward flight. At five hundred and
fifty feet, an altitude well above that of the highest hills on the
Welsh border, he checked the descent. Although the gloom was now less
it was still impossible to discern anything of the country beneath.
Evidently the battleplane was encountering a snowstorm heavier than
she had previously experienced.
Standing by, ready to "flatten out" at the first sign of terra firma,
the inventor allowed the machine to continue its downward flight,
although at a greatly retarded velocity.
Suddenly he thrust the vertical rudders hard over, at the same time
unlocking the wing mechanism. As he did so he had a momentary glimpse
of a tall slender spire within fifty feet of the tip of the left
wing. Immediately afterwards the battleplane almost skimmed a lofty
pinnacle that resolved itself into another snow-outlined spire.
"By Jove!" ejaculated Blake as he set the battleplane to climb above
the danger area. "We're slightly out of our bearings."
"Where are we, then?" asked Dick, who had also seen the fleeting
vision.
"Over Coventry," replied the inventor. "We've narrowly escaped
colliding with two of the city's three famous spires. Take her,
Athol, and keep her as she is while I look at the map. It will be a
compass course back, with a good deal of guesswork thrown in."
A hurried consultation told Blake that, allowing for the almost
cross-set of the northerly wind, half an hour's flight in a
north-westerly direction ought to bring them within recognisable
distance of home.
"Birmingham's beneath us," observed Blake after a few moments'
interval. "Fine city, Birmingham, but a nasty place if one has to
make an involuntary landing."
He had hardly uttered the words when with a disconcerting jerk the
motors faltered, picked up for a few pulsations, and then ceased
firing.
The battleplane began to drop towards the labyrinth of buildings
that, hidden by the thickly-falling flakes, lay less than three
thousand feet below.