The sky had cleared and looked glorious. The cloud-banks had vanished, and we could distinguish our capital lying far below us in the blue distance like a black spot, on which, however, we could still note the straight line of the Charlottenburger Chaussee, culminating in the thoroughfare Unter den Linden.
I was so carried away by this view that for some time I paid no attention to either watch or barograph. But I suddenly realized my omission with a start. Twenty minutes had passed since I had registered my barograph at 5000 metres, and by now we should have beaten our record. But I was terribly disappointed to see that the needle still indicated 5000. At the same time, Linnekogel began signalling to me to look for the aerodrome, pointing downwards with his hand. That was too bad. I turned away disgustedly, and, when Linnekogel failed to notice it, I kicked his shin with none too much gentleness. I likewise spread out my five fingers and pointed upwards. This meant: Higher, higher! We have only got to 5000 metres!
Linnekogel only laughed. He gripped my hand, shook it hard, and opened and shut the five fingers of his right hand twice. I really thought he had gone dotty. And what confirmed me in my opinion was that Linnekogel throttled the engine. We were just above Potsdam, and glided towards the aerodrome of Johannisthal. It was now my job to find the landing-place. And sixteen minutes later we stood safe and sound before the Rumpler-hangars, joyfully acclaimed by crowds of spectators.
We had done it! The world’s record was broken with 5500 metres.
The flight had only lasted an hour and three-quarters in all. We stood proudly amongst our less fortunate fellow-mortals who had remained on terra firma. Linnekogel was right. My barograph had frozen, whilst his—better protected—resisted the high temperature.
The days passed, and the time came when I had to leave my country.
My Taube, which had been specially constructed for Kiao-Chow, neared its completion, and with a curious feeling I took it out on its trial flight, after it had fulfilled the requisite conditions for acceptance. I was conscious that it was the most beautiful flying-machine in the world.
But my ambition was not yet realized. It seemed imperative that before I left for the Far East I should carry out an important overland flight in Germany.
I was lucky. My request met with ready response from Herr Rumpler, and he kindly allowed me the use of one of his aeroplanes for a several days’ flight over Germany. I quickly passed my examination as field-pilot, and at the end of March, one fine morning at 7 a.m., I sat in my well-equipped Taube, and in the seat in front of me, tall and slim, my good friend Oberleutnant Strehle of the War Academy as observer.