CHAPTER VIII
A CROSS-CHANNEL FLIGHT
"I AM off to France to-day, lads," announced Desmond Blake onreturning to the battleplane after the conclusion of the conference."It's sharp work, but now these gentlemen have warmed up they arelike high pressure blast-furnaces. I suggested handing the plane overto one of the Flying Corps camps and remaining until a military crewhad been trained to its use. They weren't keen on that exactly, sothey made me promise to fly the machine across to the Front. I havebeen given a commission as captain in the R.F.C., so the poorneglected inventor blossoms out into a warrior of the aerial blue.Well, lads, the best of friends must part----"
"No, fear," declared Dick stoutly, and Athol backed him up in hisprotest. "It's not fair."
"On the contrary, it is perfectly fair," said Blake. "You haverendered me great service, and I deeply appreciate it. But when thebattleplane goes abroad our implied contract is automaticallybroken."
"I don't see it," objected Athol bluntly. "We agreed to bear a handfor a definite period. Locality didn't enter into the conditions.Haven't we been entirely satisfactory?"
"Entirely."
"Then why are we to be pushed out of it? We are frightfully keen onthe job."
"That I don't doubt," replied Blake. "It isn't that I don't want totake you. It's the official regulations coupled with a desire on mypart not to run you into danger. You were turned back from the Frontonce before, remember."
"Hardly," replied Dick. "We were all right out there. It was cominghome that did us in as far as the Army was concerned. The rotten partabout the whole business is that the authorities insist upon a castiron rule concerning a fellow's age. The number of years that afellow has lived surely ought to be no criterion. A fellow might beabsolutely fit for active service at sixteen or seventeen; another aphysical wreck at thirty. It's jolly hard lines."
"A youngster of sixteen or seventeen might think he's fit," remarkedBlake. "His heart is in his work and all that sort of thing, but hisconstitution is not properly developed. He crumples up under thestrain, and additional and preventable work is thrown upon themedical authorities. That's the Army view of the case, I believe, andit's a sound view to take."
"Yet we maintain that each individual case should be tried on itsmerits," declared Athol. "To put the question bluntly: have you anyobjection to our going?"
"None whatever," replied the inventor.
"Then let us make an application. If you back us up there'll be nodifficulty. You have the whip hand over this battleplane business."
"I'll see," replied Blake, loth to commit himself. Secretly he waspleased at the lads' determination and patriotism. Already he knewthat they were capable. Their previous record at the Front provedthat they were physically fit; and they had been strongly recommendedfor commissions by the commanding officer of their regiment.
"All right," he continued. "Come with me."
Leaving a gang of men at work painting distinctive red, white andblue circles on various conspicuous parts of the battleplane, Blakeset off to find Sir Henry. In the record time of less than half anhour, so strongly did he set forth the charms of his youthfulassistants, Athol Hawke and Dick Tracey were gazetted secondlieutenants in the finest corps of airmen in the world.
The next step was to undo the mischief Blake had practically beenforced to do by giving a public display of the marvellouscapabilities of the battleplane. Accordingly it was announced, withall semblance of a confidential secret, that the machine haddeveloped serious defects, and had been rejected by the authorities.Experience proved that by giving out the news in this manner it wouldspread as quickly or even more rapidly than if it had been proclaimedfrom the house-tops. No doubt there were scores of German agentsmingled with the throng on the Horse Guards Parade, and in spite ofall precautions a fairly detailed description of the battleplane, andparticulars of her destination, would speedily be transmitted toBerlin.
At two o'clock in the afternoon the battleplane started on hercross-Channel flight. She rose awkwardly, side-slipping and missingfire badly, thanks to Blake's elaborate deception, and heading in anor'-westerly direction was soon lost to sight.
Still climbing Blake kept her on a course diametrically opposite toher next landing-place until the battleplane attained the dizzyheight of sixteen thousand feet. At that altitude, favoured by aslight haze, she was totally invisible from the ground. Then swinginground she retraced her course, flying at a rate of one hundred andeighty miles an hour towards the French coast.
Forty minutes later the battleplane planed down. As she swooped downout of a bank of clouds the lads could see what appeared to be acomparatively narrow stretch of silvery plain that expanded almostindefinitely in either direction north-east and sou'-west. It was theEnglish Channel in the neighbourhood of the Straits of Dover. Aheadwere the chalky masses of Cape Grisnez, the frowning promontory"flattened" out of all recognition by reason of the immense altitudeof the observers.
"Do you remember the first time we crossed Channel?" asked Dick ofhis chum. "Sixteen solid hours of physical discomfort betweenSouthampton and Havre. We were jolly bad."
"A submarine alarm would not have spurred us to energy," agreedAthol. "Four hundred and fifty men who had been singing 'RuleBritannia' at the top of their voices were lying on their backs, andbewailing the fact that the lady with the trident didn't rule thewaves straighter. And now we are crossing the ditch in absolutecomfort."
"Put on your flying helmets, lads, and lower the wind-screens,"ordered Blake. "Nothing like getting used to Service conditions. Becareful as you lower away."
The warning was most necessary, for when the struts supporting thewind-screens were removed, it took practically all the strength atthe lads' command to resist the fearful pressure of the wind upon thetransparent panes.
Speaking, save by means of the voice-tubes, was now an impossibility.The furious air-currents, whirling past the airmen's heads, soundedlike the continual roar of a mountainous sea breaking upon arock-bound shore. The keenness of the wind cut the lads' faces; itsviolence almost took their breath away. For the first time they fullyrealised the sensation of speed through space.
Suddenly Blake, leaning outwards, pointed at something almostimmediately beneath the fuselage. Following the direction of hisoutstretched hand, the lads could see a small glistening speckseemingly but a few feet above the sea. It was a monoplane.
Bringing their glasses to bear upon the machine the lads coulddistinguish it clearly. It was a British aircraft also making for theFrench coast, although owing to the relative difference of speed itlooked as if it were flying stern foremost in the opposite direction.It was staggering in the teeth of a strong north-easterly gale, theeffect of which was hardly noticeable in the upper air. The use ofthe binoculars also revealed for the first time that there was quitea mountainous sea running, while a patch of swirling foam betokenedthe presence of the dreaded Goodwin Sands.
Blake raised his wind-screen. His companions followed his examplewith alacrity. Peace reigned within the body of the battleplane, andconversation could be resumed.
"Plucky fellow, that airman," remarked Blake. "It wants a bit ofnerve to set out across Channel on a day like this. Yet it is aneveryday occurrence, and mishaps are few and far between. Contrastwhat that flying mail has to encounter with the conditions underwhich Blériot flew from Grisnez to Dover. The Frenchman'sachievement was the talk of the world; probably only half a dozenpeople know of that fellow's flight. Of course I don't want todetract anything from Blériot's splendid feat, but--hulloa! what'sthat?"
Instead of the rhythmical purr of the motors came the unmistakable"cough" that precedes the stoppage of the engines through carburationtroubles. In a trice Dick slid from his seat and made a hastyexamination. As he did so the motors ceased firing.
"We're out of petrol," he reported. "Nonsense!" exclaimed Blakeincredulously. "The tanks were refilled when we started from London."
"They're empty now, at any rate," added Dick. "Yes, I see what
itis, the pet-cock on the draining pipe is open."
"Some of our visitors must have knocked it accidentally," declaredthe inventor. "Be as sharp as you can, Dick. There are some sparetins in the after compartment. One will save her. We're volplaningrapidly and against the wind we won't be able to fetch the land."
With her wings rigidly extended the battleplane was descending at anangle of thirty degrees to the horizontal. In ordinary circumstancesshe ought to be able to cover a distance of ten or twelve miles--morethan sufficient to land her in French territory--but owing to theforce of the hard wind her relative speed over the "ground"--whichhappened to be a raging sea--would be less than a couple of miles.
While Athol unscrewed the cap of the tank Dick crawled for'ard with atwo-gallon tin of spirit. Recklessly he poured in the preciousfuel, "tickled" the still warm carburettor and swung the engine.Without hesitation the motors began purring in their normal andbusinesslike manner.
"Hurrah!" exclaimed Blake. "You were just in time. We were only fiftyfeet up when she fired. Carry on with the other cans. There'll bejust enough to get us home."
Dick was now painfully aware, as he carried can after can of petrolfrom the store compartment, that the battleplane was in the grip ofthe storm fiend. In her downward glide she had passed from the regionof comparatively uniform wind pressure to a stratum in which viciouserratic currents assailed her on every side. In spite of the lad'sutmost caution he was continually hurled violently against the sideof the fuselage, while it was a matter of greatest difficulty to keephis footing upon the heavy floor of the steeply-inclined machine.
"Enough," ordered Blake. "Stand by. We're nearly there. I spot anaerodrome. It may be a British one. At any rate, we'll land."
Dimly wondering how the pilot would bring the huge battleplane toearth in that howling wind, the lads "stood by." Their confidence inBlake was unbounded.
Head to wind the machine planed earthwards. The whole expanse of theaerodrome seemed as if it were rising to greet the unique mechanicalbird. Men, to whom the almost hourly arrival and return of flyingmachines caused little or no comment, emerged from their huts towitness the landing of the weirdest battleplane they had ever seen.
With almost an imperceptible jerk the landing wheels struck the sandysoil. Simultaneously Blake "switched off" the motors and thrust alever hard down. The wings folding without a hitch no longer offeredresistance to the wind, and the battleplane, pinned down to the earthby its own compact weight, rested firmly on the soil of France.
* * * * *
"So you have arrived," was the Wing Commander's greeting. "We wereexpecting you. Had a fair passage?"
"Fairly," replied Blake. "A slight mishap over the Channel well-nighlanded us into the ditch. It was blowing very hard at the time.""Seen anything of a monoplane on your way over?" enquired the flyingofficer. "We had information that one of our latest type of machinehad left Newhaven a couple of hours ago."
"Yes," was the reply. "We passed her about half-way across. She wasflying low and apparently making slow progress against the gale."
"A tough task for a new hand," commented the Wing Commander. "Theyoungster took his certificate only a fortnight ago, and this is hisfirst cross-Channel flight."
"He would have done better if he had kept eight or ten thousand feetup," hazarded Blake.
"Possibly," rejoined his new chief drily. "Only it happens that ournew pilots are specially warned to fly low when making for the Frenchcoast."
"I had no such instructions," declared Blake.
"Therefore it would not have been a great surprise to me if you hadcarried on right over our lines and dropped gently on one of theGermans' aviation grounds. We have already had one or two cases likethat. Our new pilots, not being sufficiently acquainted with thelocality, have overshot the mark. Deplorable of course, but the factremains."
"Here comes the expected monoplane, sir," reported a youngflight-lieutenant.
Still flying low and rocking under the influence of the eddying aircurrents the monoplane battled towards the aerodrome. At thataltitude there was no mistaking the nationality of the men awaitingthe aviator's arrival. Two mechanics, detaching themselves from theircomrades, made ready to steady the planes when the machine touchedground.
With admirable precision the airman "flattened out." So well timedwas his descent that it was almost impossible to determine theprecise moment when the monoplane was air-borne and when it wassupported by its landing wheels.
Rolling over the ground for nearly fifty feet the monoplane stoppedhead to wind. The pilot descended, removed his goggles and flyinghelmet, revealing the boyish, clear-cut features of a man barely outof his teens.
Numbed by the cold he walked unsteadily, rubbing his hands as he didso in order to restore the circulation.
"A bit nippy," he remarked casually, after he had formally reportedhis arrival. "She did it jolly well, though. By the bye, I see you'vegot here ahead of me," he added, addressing Blake and nodding in thedirection of the securely held battleplane.
"I didn't imagine that you saw us; we were ten thousand feet up whenwe overtook you," said Blake.
"Neither did I," admitted the flight-lieutenant.
"Then how----" began the battleplane's inventor, surprised at theconfession and at a loss to understand why the pilot of the monoplanewas able to report on the former's progress.
"I'll let you into a secret," rejoined the young lieutenant laughing."Last Friday at a quarter to nine in the morning that weird-looking'bus," and he nodded in the direction of the battleplane, "ascendedfrom a shed at a spot roughly twelve miles south of Shrewsbury, andproceeded in a south-westerly direction. Quite a short flight, outand home. Now, am I not correct?"
Almost dumfounded, Blake had to admit that the airman's informationwas correct.
"How did you know that?" he asked.
"Simply that instead of your being ten thousand feet above me I wasthat height above you," was the astonishing reply. "The IntelligenceDepartment is not so sleepy as some people would have it believe. Wehad orders to try to locate a mysterious battleplane that waspropelled by means of movable wings. I happened to be the lucky oneto spot you, so you see we are not exactly strangers."
"And let us hope," added Desmond Blake, extending his hand, "that weshall be pals."