Part 12

Having described the instructional work at the French flying schools, it may be interesting to show how practical tests are carried out—almost every day—to prepare the officer-airmen for the duties which they will be called upon to perform, in time of war.

As has been mentioned, the French authorities have now organised flying schools, and air-depots, in many parts of the country; and, when any general movements of troops is being made, the officer in charge of the nearest aviation centre is frequently ordered, by a message from Headquarters, to carry out some special aerial manœuvre.

One example of this excellent system is sufficient. Not long ago, a fairly large body of troops was manoeuvring between Rheims and Chalons. Seeing an opportunity for a practical test of aeroplane efficiency, one of the Generals engaged in the operation sent a message to the officer in charge of the air-depot at Chalons, requesting the services of four airmen, without delay.

The summons was quite unexpected, as it was intended to be; but the military school was not unprepared. Within a few minutes of the receipt of his instructions, the officer commanding the aeroplanes had detailed four lieutenants for service. Their machines were made ready, by the mechanics, with practically no delay at all; and, in less than half an hour, the officers were in the air, and on their way to the point where they had been instructed to report themselves.

They arrived at the appointed place without hitch or delay, and immediately received orders to reconnoitre specified tracts of country. They were quickly in the air again; and each of the four air-scouts was able to carry out his task with complete success.

Returning to their starting-point, the four pilots duly presented their reports, made out according to the system in vogue. They were then informed that their work was, for the time being, at an end. Whereupon all four took their seats in their machines again, and flew back to the aviation camp.

The point to be emphasised, in this connection, is that the manœuvre was carried out by four scouts. Had one, or even two, performed these flights, it would not have been so noteworthy. But the fact that four machines could make a series of test flights, without prearrangement, and yet without mechanical breakdown of any kind, provides a convincing tribute to the reliability of a well-built military machine.

When no specific reconnoitring flights are on hand, officers from the various French schools are frequently instructed to leave Headquarters in the early morning, and make as long an aerial tour as possible before nightfall, traversing a specified route, and returning to their starting-point.

Such tests as these, of course, demonstrate the reliability of aeroplanes and engines, and also the skill and endurance of the pilots.

One officer, for example, started away early in the morning, and succeeded in flying for a distance of 250 miles between St Omer and the Belgian frontier. A military observer accompanied him; and brief reports, describing the country surveyed, were sent back by means of carrier pigeons.

This flight—typical of many now being performed—occupied practically the whole day. Descents were made, occasionally, to replenish petrol and oil tanks, the aeroplane being followed, on its pilgrimage, by motor-cars laden with fuel and spare parts.

Motor-car gangs, equipped with all material likely to be necessary in connection with a breakdown, are now in readiness at the French air-stations; and they will play a highly-important part when aeroplanes are employed upon active service.

Mention has been made of the thoroughness of the German War Office in regard to military flying schools; and, while citing practical instances, it may be interesting to extract an item from the German general programme.

In one batch, during the summer of 1911, seventeen officers were selected to undergo a special flying course at Doeberitz. These courses lasted a specified number of months, and the officers were drafted from one class to another according to their state of proficiency.

The adequacy of the training, given to the German officer-airman, is revealed in the practice flights which are attempted, immediately the pilots have obtained full control over their machines. Here, for example, is a typical reconnoitring trip. Two young airmen left the Doeberitz aerodrome, and flew over a distance of 400 miles, weathering two severe storms while upon their aerial journey.

The machine they employed was a military-type, weight-carrying biplane, and they took it in turns to steer. Their tour lasted several days; and, in one flight, extending over three and a half hours, they traversed a distance of 149 miles. Motor-cars, bearing spare parts, kept in touch with the airmen; the whole undertaking was admirably organised, from the military point of view.

It is in work like this, of course, that definite progress is made. In connection with such long reconnoitring tours, a German officer of experience has placed upon record the view: "However good you may imagine your organisation to be, a practical test will generally reveal at least one or two false links in the chain; and, of flying, this is truer than of anything else. Once an air-corps is proficient, actual war conditions should be represented as frequently as possible. This will polish up the entire system, and make each unit sure of its work. Unless reconnoitring tests, carried out on a practical war basis, are frequently made, it is idle to assume that your corps is ready to do any valuable work during a campaign."

There is no need, at any rate, to impress the wisdom of this observation upon the French military authorities. Whenever a long reconnoitring flight is accomplished, from one of the flying schools, the officer who is acting as observer is instructed to send a concise service telegram to Headquarters, describing the journey that has been made.

It may be interesting to reproduce the text of such a message, in order to show the business-like way in which the French air-work is carried out. This was a telegram, for example, received in Paris in connection with a typical practice flight:—

"Lieut, in command aeroplane 11 to War Office. Lieuts. Cammerman pilot. Vullieume observation officer. Left Mezieres 7.10 a.m. Passed over Vervins, Guise, St Quentin, landed north of Amiens at 9.55 a.m. to inquire direction aerodrome. Landed aerodrome 10.30 a.m. Voyage difficult owing mist, which frequently obscured ground. No incident."

Messages, such as this, are now being dispatched and received daily, in connection with the flights organised at the French flying schools. The dispatching of such telegrams is, of course, only a detail of the general work; but it is one of those items, nevertheless, which needs practice to make perfect.

In the arrangement of non-stop flying tests, the officers in charge of the French schools leave no stone unturned to promote the efficiency of their pupils. As a contrast to long tours, lasting several days, continuous flights, involving a return to the aerodrome before descending, teach an airman useful lessons.

Three instances of such non-stop flights, selected more or less haphazard from the reports received, from day to day, in connection with French military aviation, are sufficient to indicate what excellent work is being done. They are appended:—

"A lieutenant flies with an observer, without descending, over a prearranged course of 100 miles. The flight lasts two and a half hours.

"A lieutenant, carrying a special observation officer, remains in the air for three hours fifteen minutes.

"A lieutenant, taking up a captain as observer, flies for 125 miles, non-stop."

It is by means of flights such as these, carried out regularly, and without ostentation, that the French air-corps obtains the efficiency which is the admiration of those who are in a position to realise what complete organisation means.

As regards England, it should be mentioned that the few officer-airmen who have, so far, been permitted by the authorities to study military flying, have done their utmost to perfect themselves in the art. They are making experimental flights, whenever possible, and are becoming thoroughly competent.

They have proved indeed, beyond question, that England has the right material. All that is wanted, as has been pointed out again and again, is practical encouragement. As a matter of fact, both in "dash" and judgment when flying, British pilots have shown that they need fear no foreign competition.

The cool nerve which is possessed by the English officer-airman was revealed, in a most striking way, by an experience, while flying, which befell Lieutenants Reynolds and Barrington-Kennett—two of the most ardent officers of our Air Battalion.

The adventure occurred while the two airmen were reconnoitring in Cambridgeshire during the autumn of 1911; and it possesses a unique interest, inasmuch as it affords an example of the most remarkable escape from death yet chronicled in connection with the aeroplane.

The two pilots, flying separate machines, were reconnoitring from a temporary aviation camp during the evening, and were passing across country at an altitude of a little less than 2000 feet. The weather was oppressive—a thunderstorm threatening.

Suddenly a violent wind, the forerunner of the storm, began to sweep across country. So powerful was this wind that it tore roofs off sheds. Lieutenant Barrington-Kennett, flying a little lower than Lieutenant Reynolds, felt the force of the wind first; his biplane tossed and rolled ominously.

Pointing his machine earthwards, and keeping his engine running at its full power, he began to descend as rapidly as possible. But the wind increased in violence, to a remarkable extent. The biplane gave a sudden leap into the air. Then it dropped sheer for many feet. The airman was flung upwards from his driving-seat, and came into abrupt contact with the lower part of his upper main-plane. Then he was jerked back again, coming down half in, and half out of his seat, and smashing the side of it. Fortunately, however, he was able to grip the lever actuating the elevating-plane and "ailerons," and so maintained control of his machine until he made a hurried landing in a field.

Lieutenant Reynolds had an experience far more alarming. Apart from the fact that he was flying higher than his companion, the machine he was piloting was a military biplane fitted with weight-carrying extensions, which made it more difficult than an ordinary machine to control in a wind.

When the first gusts struck him. Lieutenant Reynolds sought to follow the other pilot’s example, and make a descent. He had actually come down from 2000 feet to about 1500 feet, when a sudden and overwhelmingly powerful rush of wind caught the biplane, and turned it completely upside-down.

As the machine swung helplessly over, entirely beyond its pilot’s control, Lieutenant Reynolds had the presence of mind to switch off his engine. This probably prevented the biplane from rushing pell-mell to destruction. The next thing that the young airman remembers was clinging desperately to the edge of the lower main-plane, having been swung abruptly out of his driving-seat—which was now above his head.

Upside-down, and beyond any possibility of control, the aeroplane began to fall to the ground, which was more than 1000 feet below. It would appear that nothing but a miracle could save an airman under such circumstances as these; and Lieutenant Reynolds, certainly, regarded his chances as being slender.

But, extraordinary as it may seem, the extent of his injuries, in this 1000-feet fall, were a sprained ankle and a general shock; and this is how the miracle happened. The big biplane, being very lightly laden, did not fall sheer to the ground, but came fluttering down like a box-kite. At first, after overturning, it dived a short distance, tail-first; then it came to a halt, and floated down for a second or so, following up this manœuvre by a forward dive, and another period of floating.

Lieutenant Reynolds continued to cling grimly to the lower plane; and the machine came down in a field, still upside-down, and with its running wheels thrust up in the air. At the actual moment of striking the ground, the aeroplane was fluttering, and not diving. This was fortunate for the pilot, as the biplane came in contact with the earth without any great violence.

Many a man’s nerve would have been shattered by such an experience, but this was not the case with Lieutenant Reynolds. He was soon flying again, as though nothing had happened. There is, therefore, reason for stating that England has the right material among her few military airmen.

ELEVENTH SECTION THE COST OF WAR AEROPLANES

I. Why manufacturers charge high prices—Cost of experimental work—Building of trial machines.

A decidedly interesting question is that of the cost of aeroplanes. It represents a consideration, also, which is of practical importance from the military point of view.

So far, the price of any aeroplane of a well-known make has been high. An ordinary-type biplane, for example, fitted with a "Gnome" engine, has been selling for approximately £1000. A monoplane of established repute, built to carry a pilot alone, has been listed at £900.

A military-type biplane, capable of carrying three men, has been selling at something like £1200, and a reconnoitring monoplane, for two occupants, has been priced at a figure in excess of£1000. There has, as a matter of fact, been good reason for manufacturers to demand high prices for their machines.

The expenses of a builder of aeroplanes are extremely heavy. His business is not at all like any ordinary commercial undertaking. He does not merely build a machine, and then sell it. He has costly researches to undertake, and wearisome and expensive experimental work to carry out.

Let us take a typical example. A prominent manufacturer in France designed a monoplane, which embodied improvements upon existing practice. Having the facilities of a well-equipped workshop, he speedily put his ideas to a practical test, and commenced the building of a machine.

This occupied some weeks, during which time, of course, the builder had the wages of his engineers to pay. Then, when the machine was ready for tests, he had to hand it over to his professional aviator—another well-paid employee. The monoplane was taken to the private flying ground which the manufacturer found it necessary to rent; and here, for a week or so, first experiments were carried out, the wages of the aviator being augmented by those of a regular staff of mechanics.

The result of the trials was that, after securing useful data, the monoplane was irretrievably wrecked, in landing after a flight. Whereupon, the manufacturer had to face the expense of building a second machine, embodying further improvements suggested—and going through the whole routine again.

This he did, devoting several weeks of his men’s time to constructing the new machine. Once more, when it was finished, the professional aviator took it in hand. This time, after an even shorter career than the first machine, the monoplane was broken up. Again, however, improvements suggested themselves; and so the maker embarked, patiently, upon the construction of a third model.

To cut a long story short, this process of evolution went on until six monoplanes had been built, each one more reliable in action than its predecessor. It was only, in fact, when a seventh machine stood ready, that the manufacturer considered he had a flying machine he could offer to prospective purchasers, as a safe and improved type.

In fixing the price that he should ask for this new model, the manufacturer was guided, naturally, by the outlay that had been necessary in perfecting it. It would have been unreasonable, under such circumstances, for the purchaser to expect to buy the machine at a figure which represented a small profit for its builder, over and above the actual cost of production of that one model. Having spent thousands of pounds upon his experiments, the manufacturer was obliged to recoup himself, by charging a high price for his goods.

Another factor would also govern price in such circumstances as these. The manufacturer would have no guarantee as to selling any fixed number of machines. In the case of a new motor-car, for instance, the machine is standardised; and, if it is a good one, a large number are sold. This, naturally, reduces the price per machine.

But, in the case of this new monoplane, even if it is the best produced at the moment, the question of the number to be sold is an unsatisfactorily vague quantity. After only two or three have been disposed of, for instance, another machine may be put upon the market which is a few miles an hour faster; whereupon, the aviators who are intent upon winning speed prizes quickly devote their attention to the new machine.

As may be imagined, therefore, what with enormously-heavy first costs, and a doubtful sale even when a good machine is produced, the manufacturer of aeroplanes has no alternative but to charge a high price for the machines he does succeed in disposing of.

Let us consider, for a moment, the experience of such a famous manufacturer as M. Louis Blériot. It was in 1906 that he began experimenting with monoplanes, entirety at his own expense; and he was spending money lavishly on new machines, and devoting a vast amount of time to the problem, until the summer of 1909. Apart from the money he spent, and the aircraft he broke up, he risked his life, on many occasions, in attempting to fly on machines which were entirely experimental.

It was estimated, indeed, that—before this famous airman and constructer flew the Channel, in July, 1909—he had expended a fortune upon aerial research work. It was perfectly legitimate, therefore, that he should endeavour to recoup himself, for all his time and expense, when a sale did spring up for his machines.

It has not been a case, since then, of producing machines of a standard type. Directly he had perfected the simple, low-powered monoplane upon which he crossed from France to England, M. Blériot began experimenting with a more powerful machine; and so he has been engaged ever since.

In his works in Paris, for example, M. Blériot employs a skilled staff of draughtsmen, who are busy every day upon designs for new machines. He must keep pace with his rivals, and he must meet the growing demands of the military service. Faster and more reliable machines are demanded every day, and strenuous efforts must be made to fulfil these demands. Therefore, the expense of running an aeroplane factory is exceptionally high.

These facts are interesting, as they explain why "a few bits of stick and canvas, and an engine," as an aeroplane has been described, should cost as much as £1000. It is not so much the wood, and the canvas, and the engine that the purchaser is paying for, as the months, and perhaps years, of patient toil and ceaseless expense, which have gone to the production of a practical machine.

High prices are charged for aeroplane engines. Here, again, the same causes are at work. Most costly are the preliminary expenses connected with the production of a new petrol engine. In the case of the famous "Gnome," for instance, many thousands of pounds were spent upon a series of experimental engines, before a reliable model could be obtained.

II. Economy of a large military order for machines—The incidental expenses.

The idea has been conveyed, by the previous notes, that the aeroplane is an expensive machine. So it is, at present, so far as the private purchaser is concerned—although its champions are already prone to point out that a first-class flying machine does not cost more than a high-powered, luxurious motor-car.

When the aeroplane is regarded as a weapon of war, however, it should not be considered expensive. It is, in fact, remarkably cheap, particularly when compared with the cost of other forms of armament.

The prices, previously quoted, as representing the cost of the best makes of aeroplane, have been for individual machines; and this introduces a point which is greatly in favour of any War Department, when it seeks to equip itself with a number of aeroplanes. Through placing orders for a batch of machines, instead of buying one here and there, any Government should be able materially to reduce the price of any make.

Grant, for the sake of argument, that a country decides to provide itself with a fleet of a hundred war aeroplanes. The policy, in such a case, would be to look round, at the beginning of any flying season, and make a selection, say, of the three types of machine best suited for the tasks arising in military work.

It would certainly not be wise to buy a hundred machines all of one type, although, by so doing, the price for each machine could be more reduced than in the case of splitting up an order between several manufacturers. But such a policy of having "all one’s eggs in one basket" would not be judicious—or fair to the industry as a whole. Government policy, in this regard, should be to support as many manufacturers as is reasonably possible, and thus ensure the industry maintaining a healthy position.

Orders placed with a number of makers would be necessary, in fact. But, even with such a distribution as this, a considerable saving of expense could be made. Expert estimates have been given as to the cost, per machine, of a hundred war aeroplanes, all ordered at the same time; and a reasonably exact figure places the average price, for each machine, at £600.

This represents a very definite reduction upon the price of a single machine; and it also indicates that, in the future, when aeroplanes are bought in even larger numbers, for war purposes, the cost of each machine will become an almost insignificant item—insignificant, that is to say, when compared with the cost of other forms of armament. When a thousand machines can be ordered, and built at one time, for example, the cost per machine will be enormously reduced.

There should be no outcry, indeed, as to the cost of war aeroplanes. The Admiralty embarks, without question, upon the construction of a great battleship, although it knows that each huge craft will speedily become obsolete. This money is not grudged; it is for the defence of the country.

The same attitude should be taken up as regards the creation of a fleet of war aeroplanes. They, too, have become essential weapons.

War aeroplanes are, in their own sphere, quite as important as battleships. And the contrast between the two weapons, in the matter of price, is extraordinary. For the price of one Dreadnought it is, indeed, estimated that a fleet of a couple of thousand aeroplanes could be created.

An enthusiastic advocate of the war aeroplane puts this matter of cost very forcibly. "It is as nothing," he declares. "A vote of a few hundred thousand pounds would place the whole air service on a sound basis, so far as England is concerned. The net cost of each aeroplane, in a squadron, is an absolutely insignificant item of expense, when we reckon what we are spending, in other ways, on our Army and Navy. One aircraft represents only about twice the amount spent in making one of the great shells fired by our biggest naval guns. It is this astonishing cheapness of the aeroplane, having regard to its revolutionary work, which is the surprising factor of the situation. It will mean, of course, that flying machines will be used, eventually, in huge fleets."