Until 1911 Germany had pinned her faith almost wholly to the Zeppelin as the unit for the aerial fleet which she had hoped to build up, and she had confidently expected it to prove its superiority to the heavier-than-air machine in the event of war. No funds had been spared to rush the work of designing and constructing these huge air monsters. Carefully and quietly the perfecting and standardizing of the Zeppelin under government supervision had moved forward, and German engineers had not been behindhand in designing engines particularly suitable to aircraft. While France was amusing herself with the clever little monoplanes and biplanes of the pioneer days—machines which could fly but a few yards at low altitude, Germany, possibly with the dream of world conquest tucked away in her mind, was sparing no expense to get ready her fleet of lighter-than-air craft. Imagine her chagrin when the feeble winged birds of 1908 and 1909 became the soaring eaglets of 1911, swiftly circling the sky, swooping, climbing and performing aerial tricks which made the larger and clumsier Zeppelin appear as agile as a waddling duck.
Whatever the feelings of the German military authorities were on the subject, they wasted no time in crying over spilt milk, but at once began a policy of construction by which they hoped soon to outstrip their brainier French neighbors. As in everything German, method was the characterizing feature of the airplane program they instituted. France had sought to encourage makers of all types of planes, and thus obtain a diversity of machines of wide capabilities. The plan did not appeal to Germany. From the very beginning she aimed at reducing everything to a fixed standard and then turning out airplanes in large numbers. When the War broke out it seemed for a time that she had been right, but it was not long before she looked with sorrow upon the sad lack of versatility of her fleet of standardized biplanes. They were hopelessly outdistanced and outmaneuvered by the small, fast fighting machines of the French, while they were by no means so strong as the heavy service planes the French could put into the air.
Italy, Austria, Russia, America and Japan began also to make plans for the building of aerial fleets about 1911. The Italian Government relied at first on machines secured from France, or on those copied from French designs. Soon her own clever engineers began to be heard from and she was responsible for developing several of the powerful modern types. Russia would scarcely seem a country where aerial progress might be expected, yet she has given a good account of herself in aviation, and one of her machines, the giant Sikorsky did splendid work on the several fronts during the war.
I. I. Sikorsky, the inventor of the big Sikorsky machine was a little while ago merely a clever student at the Kieff Polytechnic. Like many other young men he dreamed of aerial conquest, but received little encouragement in carrying out his projects. At twenty-four, however, he became a student aviator, and almost immediately began work on original airplane designs. He succeeded in building a small monoplane which in some ways resembled the Blériot, except in its habits of flight. In these it was quite balky, refusing to fly except in short hops and jumps. Sikorsky's friends good-naturedly nicknamed it The Hopper. But the young student was not one wit daunted. He plugged along steadily at new designs, and in the autumn of 1910 he actually took to the air in a tractor biplane of his own construction. Several other machines of somewhat the same type followed, and his efforts finally won the attention of the great Russo-Baltic Works. They offered him financial assistance to carry on his study of the airplane problem. With this backing Sikorsky moved forward to sure success. In the meantime he had secretly prepared plans for an enormous airplane which at first he dared not divulge for fear of ridicule and disappointment. Finally he took courage and laid them before his friends at the Russo-Baltic Works. Whatever they may have thought of his wild scheme of air supremacy they consented to give it a tryout, and in the Spring of 1913 the first of the giant “Sikorsky” machines stood awaiting a flight. It was viewed with grave misgivings by a number of experts, but to their frank surprise it took to the air with ease and flew well. The sight was a strangely impressive one. In wing span the big machine measured almost 92 feet, while the body or fuselage was over 62 feet long. The weight of the amazing monster flying machine was 4 tons. In the forward part of the fuselage cabins had been fitted, with a small deck on the bow. The fuselage construction was of wood, with a strong 8-wheeled landing chassis beneath it. Four 100 h. p. German “Argus” engines, driving four tractor propellers sent it racing triumphantly through the air. Its weight lifting ability was enormous, and it made a world record for flight.
Prodigious as this first great master of the air had seemed it was followed in 1913 by one still larger. The new machine was to the fullest extent an aerial wonder. Its enormous body consisted of a wooden framework covered with canvas, and in its interior a series of cabins were provided. There were three decks: the main one in the center of the fuselage, designed to carry heavy armament of machine guns and a searchlight; a small deck at the stern; and one set in the undercarriage, where additional heavy armament could be placed. Only a few months before the storm of war broke over Europe this Air Leviathan was born, and at the time no one suspected it would so soon be called into active service. In the Spring of 1914 it made flight after flight, scoring a succession of triumphs by its record breaking performances, and winning for its designer a decoration from the Emperor.
Sikorsky was a man of wealth but so recklessly did he lavish his personal funds on his airplane ventures that on many occasions he came very near to want as a result. It was no unusual thing to see him during those years of reckless experiment, braving the bitter winter weather of Russia in threadbare garments, shivering, but grimly and sternly determined. Then came the War, and at the first call his machines were ready to prove themselves in the battle against the Hun.
CHAPTER IV
The Airplane in the World War
Picture to yourself a scene outside one of the Allied hangars or airplane sheds, just back of the front lines, while the Great War is in progress. It is early morning, gray and chilly. Small fighting machines, which their trusty mechanics have carefully gone over for the tiniest flaw, now stand ready to take to the air. Pilots, wrapped in their heavy clothing—leather jacket, helmet and overcoat, gloves, goggles and muffler—prepare to face the frigid atmosphere above the clouds. The whirr of the motor, a short run over the ground, and up they go, one by one, until they become so many blackbirds, driving and looping and skimming through the sky. Over in this corner is a large reconnaissance machine, with pilot and observer, waiting to ascend. It is one of a squadron that will fly over the German lines to take photographs of the enemy's positions. With its rapid-firing machine guns it is prepared to give battle to the swifter enemy craft that will flash out to challenge its onward flight. Its rôle is a difficult one. It cannot climb to safety as the fighting machine can do and then swoop down on its enemy from a favorable height. Its duty is to bring back accurate views of the territory on the other side of No Man's Land. No matter what the dangers, it must fly straight on, sticking close enough to earth to accommodate its camera's range, and deviating as little as possible from its course, though the enemy's speed scouts blacken the air with bullets and the anti-aircraft guns spit at it maliciously from below. All the machines in the squadron may not return, and there will be vacant chairs at the dinner table to-night when those pilots who have braved the stern hardships of the day relate their little experiences with the Hun. But those who do come back will bring information which will enable the Allied commanders to plan with intelligence the next move in the battle that is raging.
A tour of inspection would disclose still other machines, large and small, each designed and equipped for its special duties over the lines. There are heavy, slower-flying day “bombers,” and—silent this morning but waiting patiently for the curtain of night to descend,—enormous night bombing machines, the fiercest and hugest of all the great birds of the flying force. To-night, under cover of darkness these machines will speed upon their way, far over the enemy's lines. They carry fuel for a journey of many hours' duration, and heavy bombs which they will drop upon railway junctions, ammunition factories, staff headquarters and important positions deep in the territory of the Hun. Before they turn their noses homeward they will have crossed over the borders of Germany, and along their silent course fires will shoot up and enemy supplies and storehouses will be smoldering ruins when day breaks. Unlike the night bombing machines of the Germans these great Allied aircraft will not drop their missiles upon open towns along the Rhine, nor will they leave behind them any toll of little children and civilians maimed and killed by their brutality. Their instructions are to bomb military objectives only, and when they have done that they will fly back silently through the night, passing over quiet villages and towns, where the sleeping inhabitants never will know that the great blackbirds have hovered so close to them.