IN THE FALLING ’PLANE
In an emergency, thoughts leap through some minds quicker than lightning
crosses the sky.
Bob’s mentality was of that type. Whether his mind worked through what
is called instinct, or whether he put together many things he had
learned about airplanes, or whether he worked through a chain of
reasoning from beginning to end in a fraction of a second does not
matter.
The important thing was his action.
In an airplane which is falling with wingtips toward sky and earth, the
ailerons which usually tilt it are practically useless, because it has
no forward movement sufficient to bring the air against the leading
edges of the wings for lift, or to press against the ailerons to cause
them to function properly.
Furthermore, when the ship is falling “on its side” the elevators which
in level flight serve to lift or to drop the nose, are no longer
elevators; they, because of the position of the ship, are really the
rudders, while the rudder, because it is then parallel to the ground,
assumes the position and functions of the elevators.
But Bob knew, in a flash, from the action of the ship, from the free
movement of the rudder bar, that the rudder cable had come loose or had
snapped.
Bob knew, furthermore, that unless he could drop the nose, “give her the
gun,” and thus—by partly diving instead of falling sideways, and by
partly using the propeller pull—could regain flying speed, Lang could
not get the craft under control and save them from a crash.
There were seconds, not more, between them and eternity!
That rudder must be operated.
It must be done before they came too close to earth to make the
maneuvers, necessary to a safe landing, possible.
Even as he called to Lang, “Give her the gun!” his hand smashed through
the thin side of the cabin wall, down where it came together with the
sturdy, but light plates of the flooring.
Because the airplane fell on its side, the side he smashed was under
him, the flooring was at his side, acting as the sidewall.
He knew that if the lower of rudder cables in the ship’s present
position was broken he could get it there; if the upper one was severed
its end would have dropped down, perhaps caught on a longeron or on a
longitudinal fuselage brace; he might be able to catch hold of it.
It took but a second to thrust his hand through the cabin wall, to grip
the edge of a floor plate, to rip it from its temporary fastenings which
were not completed until the tests made it sure that no further
adjustments under the flooring would be necessary.
Thus disclosed, he could see the under framework of that part of the
fuselage.
Braced so that his body would not crash down through a window, he
looked, and grappled for the cable end. His fingers touched cable!
For all the exigency of their desperate situation he tugged very gently
and was glad. That cable was fast! It might lead to the elevators, the
ailerons. Anyway it was not the right strand.
Again he felt under the edge of what was in the ship’s position, the
plate above the one ripped away. His fingers touched a loose strand.
“We’re all right!” he panted, grasping the plate and tugging it partly
free so that his arm could go further in and secure in his gripping
fingers the loose cable end.
In the brief time that this had taken, Lang had obeyed the call for gas
to be fed to the engine. Idling, it roared into its power pulsations.
There was an instant of fear in Bob’s mind.
If the cable he held were pulled and it depressed the rudder, which
would act in their position as an elevator or “flipper” acts, all would
be well. In that case, the propeller blast striking the rudder airfoil
would push the nose downward, and the ship would begin to dive; then the
air, rushing against the leading edge of the wings, would cause them to
be operative, even in their sidewise position, and with the dive and the
engine pull giving flying speed, they could then maneuver.
But if the rudder went upward, it would lift the nose. Already deprived
of all but the little speed the engine had picked up, the blast on the
rudder, lifting the nose, would cause another stall, and they would
perhaps fall too far to get the other side of the rudder cable before he
could help it.
“I’ve got the end of the cable,” he cried. “Set yourself, Lang!”
Lang, with a swift glance toward the windows, which faced the earth, saw
the ground seeming to leap upward toward them. Above was the silent sky.
There was a little margin of time—if——
“Pull easy!” Lang shouted.
“Pull easy!” Instantly Curt relayed the message.
“Easy!” cried Al.
Bob tensed his muscles, braced himself, gave a gentle tug and held it.
The nose lowered.
“Hold it!” shrilled Al, relaying Lang’s relieved cry.
The rudder had sent the nose a little downward, the drop changed into a
dive.
“Can you pull the rudder further?” The message came swiftly from Lang,
through Curt and Al, to Bob, almost out of one mouth before the other
said it, so quick was the response.
“Yes!” Bob did so.
Slowly the ship swung onto a more level keel, and while Bob clung with
fingers that were growing numb from his excitement, the ship got flying
speed, in a sort of descending spiral, the elevators could again be made
to lift the nose as flying speed was attained, and the ship was in
control.
The signal to ease off did not come at once. Lang preferred to hold his
present bank and circle, while he looked over through the lower cabin
windows to sight their position.
In that brief time Curt, also keyed up, had located the loose end of the
cable that led from the rudder bar; with a piece of strong twine he made
a splice, securely reaved onto the loose end, led it to the free end in
Bob’s fingers, and, since the rudder was hard down and could be held
there by grasping further along the cable, Bob shifted his grip until
Curt was able to get his twine, doubled, fast on that part of the cable
also. Then, while Lang held his rudder bar steady, Curt tightened gently
until the ends of the severed strand were almost touching, made several
knots that could not slip—and the entire control of the ship was in
Lang’s hands again!
They did not feel like going on to the airport, but Curt, always cool,
generally far-seeing, urged that they do so.
“If we go back, we’ll have to tell about this, and create new excitement
and talk,” he counseled, and Lang saw the good sense of the idea.
“We’ll go on, and land at the airport,” he agreed, above the sound of
his motor. “After we get over our excitement we can think better.”
When they got there, and Lang telephoned the aircraft plant, the trio,
outside the booth, heard him ask for Griff.
Moodily, sorrowfully, with common consent, they moved away.
One and all they linked Griff’s uneasiness and Lang’s curious anger and
immediate call to the one he called “a very good friend.”
It was bad enough to suspect Griff. But Lang—Bob’s cousin——
That was dreadful!