Somehow, and despite every conceivable obstacle, it had managed to muddle through, and now it was ready for its work. It was not perfect, for there were fifty different ways in which it might be improved, some of them shamefully obvious. But it was fairly sound mechanically, had a little inherent stability, was easily controlled, could climb a thousand feet a minute, and its speed was a hundred miles an hour. In short, quite a creditable machine, though of course the right man had not got the credit.
It is rough, unsettled weather with a thirty mile an hour wind on the ground, and that means fifty more or less aloft. Lots of clouds at different altitudes to bother the Pilot, and the air none too clear for the observation of landmarks.
As the Pilot and Observer approach the Aeroplane the former is clearly not in the best of tempers. "It's rotten luck," he is saying, "a blank shame that I should have to take this blessed 'bus and join X Reserve Squadron, stationed a hundred and fifty miles from anywhere; and just as I have licked my Flight into shape. Now some slack blighter will, I suppose, command it and get the credit of all my work!"
"Shut up, you grouser," said the Observer. "Do you think you're the only one with troubles? Haven't I been through it too? Oh! I know all about it! You're from the Special Reserve and your C.O. doesn't like your style of beauty, and you won't lick his boots, and you were a bit of a technical knut in civil life, but now you've jolly well got to know less than those senior to you. Well! It's a very good experience for most of us. Perhaps conceit won't be at quite such a premium after this war. And what's the use of grousing? That never helped anyone. So buck up, old chap. Your day will come yet. Here's our machine, and I must say it looks a beauty!"
And, as the Pilot approaches the Aeroplane, his face brightens and he soon forgets his troubles as he critically inspects the craft which is to transport him and the Observer over the hills and far away. Turning to the Flight-Sergeant he inquires, "Tanks full of petrol and oil?"
"Yes, sir," he replies, "and everything else all correct. Propeller, engine, and body covers on board, sir; tool kit checked over and in the locker; engine and Aeroplane logbooks written up, signed, and under your seat; engine revs. up to mark, and all the control cables in perfect condition and tension."
"Very good," said the Pilot; and then turning to the Observer, "Before we start you had better have a look at the course I have mapped out (see p. 40).
"A is where we stand and we have to reach B, a hundred and fifty miles due North. I judge that, at the altitude we shall fly, there will be an East wind, for although it is not quite East on the ground it is probably about twenty degrees different aloft, the wind usually moving round clockways to about that extent. I think that it is blowing at the rate of about fifty miles an hour, and I therefore take a line on the map to C, fifty miles due West of A. The Aeroplane's speed is a hundred miles an hour, and so I take a line of one hundred miles from C to D. Our compass course will then be in the direction A–E, which is always a line parallel to C–D. That is, to be exact, it will be fourteen degrees off the C–D course, as, in this part of the globe, there is that much difference between the North and South lines on the map and the magnetic North to which the compass needle points. If the compass has an error, as it may have of a few degrees, that, too, must be taken into account, and the deviation or error curve on the dashboard will indicate it.