Mystery Plane
The change of the seasons was at hand and the last dirty patches of snow
melted under the rays of the March sun. Andy spread the news that the
first official flight of the Goliath would take it into the polar
regions and the crews inside the lofty hangar were filled with new
enthusiasm and energy. They were making history, placing America in the
forefront of the air-minded nations, and they thrilled at their task.
In the afternoon Andy helped Bert check over the damage which the agent
of the Gerka had done to the radio apparatus and they were greatly
relieved to find that the set intended for installation on the Goliath
worked perfectly.
When Andy returned to his office, Bert accompanied him and they
discussed the outlook for the polar flight.
“It will be a real test of the Goliath,” said Andy, “and it means we’ll
make plenty of trial flights before we undertake a cruise into the
northland.”
“Why do you suppose your father decided on such a daring trip?” asked
Bert.
“There has been some criticism of the government for appropriating a
part of the money necessary for the construction of the Goliath,”
explained Andy. “This was especially true when it became known that the
dirigible would eventually be used for transcontinental passenger
traffic. What most people do not realize is that the Goliath will be a
veritable airship of the skies, a craft that can be turned from a
peace-time airship into an aerial battleship if the United States is
ever attacked by an enemy force. With its enormous cruising radius of
15,000 miles without refueling it will be able to scout far from our
own shores and uncover the approach of any enemy fleet.”
“Then the whole idea of the polar flight will be to popularize the
Goliath with the general public,” said Bert.
“I expect that’s about how Dad’s figured it,” agreed Andy. “The trial
flights will take us to a good many cities in various sections and as
soon as people get a glimpse of the Goliath they’ll be glad Uncle Sam
appropriated funds to help build it. Once they’ve seen the airship
they’ll follow its polar flight with double interest and when the
Goliath comes back from the north it will be a familiar name to everyone
in the country.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” nodded Bert. “This country needs to be
air-minded or foreign nations like Rubania, which have dictators
ambitious to extend their powers, will put us on a shelf.”
The afternoon mail arrived and with it was a letter addressed to Andy
and from the war department.
“Wonder what’s up now?” he mused as he silt open the envelope. He read
the letter carefully for the war department communications were usually
lengthy affairs which required careful scrutiny.
“We’re going to have company,” Andy told Bert when he finished. “The war
department has granted permission for a dirigible expert from the
Friedrichshafen works in Germany to come down here and study the general
plans for the Goliath. He will probably remain until after the trial
flights have been completed.”
“How about our construction secrets we’ve been guarding so closely?”
asked Bert. “It doesn’t seem right that we should let this fellow have
the run of the works.”
“We won’t exactly do that,” explained Andy, “for this letter outlines
definitely just what information to which the Friedrichshafen man is to
have access. Our own research department has had much help and advice
from Dr. Hugo Eckener and his co-workers in Germany and it is only fair
that we return the favor as long as we do not divulge any of the
military secrets of the Goliath.”
“Wonder what kind of a fellow he’ll be?” asked Bert.
“You know as much about him as I do,” replied Andy. “Except that I have
been told his name is Herman Blatz.”
“That sounds like a brand of near beer,” grinned Bert. “Wonder if he’ll
be able to talk much English?”
“I expect so,” nodded Andy. “Those chaps at the Friedrichshafen
works are cosmopolitan; they have to be the way the Graf Zeppelin
has been hopping from one hemisphere to another. A fellow certainly
has to hand it to Doctor Eckener for his work in proving how capable
lighter-than-air craft can be.”
“When will this expert from Germany arrive?” Bert wanted to know.
“This letter doesn’t give an exact date, but I should imagine it would
be within the week. I’ll show it to Merritt Timms so he won’t have his
secret service men chasing Blatz out of here when he tries to get
through the guard line.”
Bert stepped to the door of Andy’s small office and scanned the clear
afternoon sky. He sniffed at the air eagerly. There was no mistaking it.
There was a real tang and zest of spring on the breeze. Beyond the great
doors of the home of the Goliath stretched a meadow which had been
turned into an airport for the aviation experts who made visits to
Bellevue usually came in their own plane and ships of the National
Airways dropped down several times a day.
“It’s a wonderful afternoon,” said Bert suggestively.
Andy left his desk with its blue prints and stepped to the door. He
chuckled as he looked at the sky and then at the wind sock on the beacon
tower.
“That wasn’t, by any chance, a hint that it would be a nice afternoon
for a little vacation in the clouds?” he grinned.
“Take it that way if you want to,” chuckled Bert. “There’s nothing that
would suit me better than a hop over the hills. I’ve been on the ground
for nearly a month; it’s been slushy and muddy underfoot and I’d like
nothing better than a joy hop.”
“Tell you what,” said Andy. “I feel the same way about it but I’ve got
to check over the final specifications on the assembly of the control
room in the gondola. I’m about half through now. It will take half an
hour to finish the job. As soon as I’m done I’ll meet you down on the
field and we’ll take a ride in my sportster. The sunset this afternoon
is going to be grand.”
“I’ll be waiting,” promised Bert and he left Andy alone to study over
the intricate set of blueprints. Final assembly of the main control room
was to start the next day and Andy wanted to be sure that he had every
detail in mind. In the absence of Captain Harkins this task would
require his closest personal supervision and the son of the vice
president in charge of operations for the National Airways concentrated
on his task before him.
Andy was a natural airman. He had first flown a plane at fifteen and at
eighteen had qualified for a transport license, which he had never had
time to use for from that time on he had devoted his attention to
dirigibles. A year at Friedrichshafen under Doctor Hugo Eckener had
given him a firm foundation for his later experiments in his father’s
own laboratory and he had watched the building of the Akron at the
Goodyear-Zeppelin plant in Ohio. When the National Airways had decided
to go into the dirigible field and construct the Goliath, suitable for
passenger service in peace time or as a battleship of the skies in time
of war, Andy had been given an important role in the construction
program. His technical advice was sound, based on his thorough schooling
at Friedrichshafen and Akron, and his more advanced ideas were supported
by the experiments he had made in his father’s laboratory.
Plans for the Goliath had been worked out by Charles High, Andy’s
father, Captain Harkins, the chief engineer and pilot, and a special
board of army experts designated by the war department. If the Goliath
lived up to the expectations of its builders, more ships of the same
type would be constructed in the Kentucky hills while the aircraft plant
at Akron was enlarged to handle the construction of other ships the size
of the Goliath. Secret plans of the National Airways and the war
department called for the eventual construction of ten of the giant sky
liners, five of them at the Bellevue plant of the National Airways and
the rest at the Goodyear-Zeppelin factory at Akron.
Andy completed his minute study of the blueprints and straightened up.
He was six feet one tall, with broad shoulders and a well-developed body
that revealed his love for sports in his hours away from his work. His
eyes were a clear, bright blue and his light hair had just a tinge of
red, an indication of his temper when he was aroused to a fighting
pitch.
The sun had dropped behind the arched roof of the main hangar when Andy
left his office and started for the meadow beyond the huge structure. He
had been inside it at least a dozen times that day to watch the progress
of the work on the Goliath but now, with the crews through for the day,
he couldn’t resist the urge to step in and gaze in silent admiration at
the great hulk that was soon to rule the skies.
The hangar was silent except for a few birds, which made their home
there. They wheeled high over the framework of the Goliath, chirping
their defiance.
Structural work on the Goliath had been completed several months before
and crews of riggers had been busy since then testing and placing the
great gas bags which would contain the precious helium, the life-blood
of the great craft.
Specifications for the Goliath called for 12 of the large gas bags,
which in reality were balloons held captive by the duralumin framework
with its covering of sturdy metal cloth. Ten of the large bags had been
tested and were in place while the last two would be in place before the
end of the week. There would be six in the forward half of the Goliath
and six in the after section. In the space between them was the
especially designed hold which in peace time would be used for
cargo-carrying and in war as the hold in which the Goliath would carry
its swarm of fighting planes.
The framework of the Goliath was 850 feet long, sixty-five feet longer
than that of the Akron. It’s diameter was 135 feet, only three feet more
than the Akron but a new manufacturing process had increased the tensile
strength of the duralumin used in the Goliath so that it could stand
double the strain of the metal used in any previously constructed
airship. This process, which had been worked out by Captain Harkins with
the assistance of Andy, was one of the great features of the Akron. It
was expected that the ship would be able to withstand any storm of less
than cyclonic intensity and such an accident as befell the Shenandoah
was practically impossible.
The increased strength of the Goliath’s framework also allowed the
mounting of more powerful engines, which meant greater speed. If the
hopes of Andy and the other engineers were realized, the great craft
would cruise at 100 miles an hour with a top speed of 120, a decided
advantage over any other craft then in service.
Mechanics had been busy the last three weeks mounting the 12 engines
which were to provide the power. Each engine was mounted in a separate
engine room, completely insulated from the rest of the ship to do away
with the danger of fire and lessen noise. Power shafts would project
through the side with six propellers on each side.
All of these facts Andy knew by heart and in the silence of the sunset
hour he stood in awe before the sky king he was helping to create. In
two more months the great doors would roll open, the huge mooring mast,
with the Goliath in tow, would waddle out on the concrete runway, and
the world’s greatest airship would be introduced to its public, some of
whom would welcome it enthusiastically while others would gaze at it
with questioning eyes, waiting for its trial flights to prove the claims
of its builders.
Andy knew that Bert was waiting for him out on the field and he finally
forced himself to leave the hangar. He had lived with the Goliath for
months and the great ship was almost a part of him.
Mechanics had warmed up Andy’s plane and the trim red sportster was
ready for the late afternoon spin.
“I thought you weren’t going to show up,” Bert shouted. “Been in
‘talking’ with the Goliath?”
Andy grinned and nodded.
“I don’t blame you,” shouted back Bert. “I go in there every once in a
while and just sit down and look at it. Some ship!”
“I’ll say,” replied Andy. “You’d better get into a sheepskin coat. The
air will be a little nippy when we get up five or six thousand feet.”
Bert agreed with the suggestion and ran to one of the airplane hangars,
which was dwarfed in the lengthening shadows from the Goliath’s home. He
returned with two coats, one for himself and one for Andy.
The sportster was an Ace two-place biplane with stubby wings, painted
silver, and a crimson fuselage. Andy had ordered up dual controls the
week before and had promised to give Bert flying instructions whenever
they had a spare hour during the spring.
“Let your feet and hands rest lightly on the controls,” Andy told his
friend, “and whatever you do, don’t hang onto them. If you do I may have
to clout you over the head with a wrench.”
They slipped into their parachute harnesses for Andy was a safe and sane
flyer who believed in taking commonsense precautions. Bert climbed into
the forward cockpit and Andy slipped into the rear seat.
The motor was warm but he tested it thoroughly before waving to the
mechanics to pull the blocks. The sun was a great red disk of flame when
they skipped down the meadow and raced into the air.
Bert, who had learned his radio knowledge at a department of commerce
station, had never had the opportunity to do much flying until he joined
the National Airways radio force and was assigned to Bellevue to take
charge of the installation of the equipment on the Goliath. He had
arrived the previous fall and during the winter had become Andy’s
closest friend. They were almost inseparable and Andy, realizing Bert’s
ambition to become a flyer, had promised to give his friend
instructions.
Bert studied each move of the controls and its effect on the maneuvers
of the plane. At Andy’s suggestion he had read up on the principles of
aeronautics and understood the reason for the shifts in the stick and
the rudder bar.
At three thousand feet Andy leveled off and waggled the stick,
indicating that Bert was to take control. The chunky little radio
operator felt his heart go into his throat, but he took a firm grip on
the stick and moved it cautiously backward. The nose came up slowly. He
moved it ahead. The nose went down ever so slightly. He could fly; he
was flying!
He turned around and shouted at Andy in his excitement. The next moment
his head was snapped back against his seat. He gasped and jerked around
to look at the controls. To his surprise the nose of the plane was in a
steep dive and he felt the pit of his stomach start to turn a flip flop.
He knew the thing to do was to pull back on the stick and he did so
enthusiastically. The nose came up, the ground disappeared and he found
himself staring toward a bank of fleecy clouds that rolled along lazily.
His safety belt snapped tight and to his astonishment the ground whirled
into view again.
Andy was signaling for the stick and Bert gladly turned over the
controls. Andy throttled down and grinned at the radio operator.
“Nice work,” he shouted. “I guess you’ve set a record. At least you’re
the only fellow I know who looped on his first flight.”
“Who what?” cried Bert.
“You looped,” replied Andy. “You did a nice piece of flying but I’ll bet
it was more luck than sense.”
“You’re right,” admitted Bert, who slumped down in his seat, glad enough
that Andy was back at the controls.
Andy loafed around the field in easy circles, gradually gaining
altitude. The sun was dropping over the horizon and the purple shadows
that preceded night were wrapping the countryside in their soft shroud.
It was a glorious feeling to be able to take to the air and for the
moment forget the pressing cares which he felt around him every minute
he was on the ground.
The sportster handled beautifully and Andy found himself at the six
thousand foot level almost before he knew it. The air was growing colder
and the shadows below deepened rapidly. He throttled down, preparatory
to drifting down when he heard a cry from Bert.
The radio operator was shouting and pointing excitedly toward a bank of
clouds in the east.
Andy turned and saw a large gray monoplane, traveling fast and high,
above the cloud bank. The plane was different from any machine with
which he was familiar and he decided to get a closer look at the
stranger.
The other machine must have been up 10,000 feet and Andy opened the
throttle and sent the Ace scooting upward. At eight thousand he knew the
pilot of the other ship had seen him and the gray machine seemed to leap
ahead with a sudden burst of speed. They were directly over Bellevue, a
prohibited flying area for any except army or National Airways ships,
and Andy was curious to know who this flyer was who dared to defy strict
air regulations.
The sportster was fast but in less than a minute he knew the other ship
was superior in speed. It was a squat, low-winged craft, evidently an
all-metal machine and distinctly foreign looking in appearance. Andy
made a mental note that he’d get out his design guides when he landed
and find out just what make of plane it was that could pull away from
his with such apparent ease. It was a useless chase and after five more
minutes Andy gave up and swung the Ace back toward Bellevue while the
strange ship disappeared in the south.