WAR

From 1300 metres the country is spread out below exactly like a map—the
canals and rivers, towns and villages, roads and railroads, even the ponds, are
there exactly where they are supposed to be.
One last flight—an endurance test. The student must climb above 2000
metres and remain there for an hour. Although it is chilly, even in June, the
flight is no strain on the student; the endurance being tested is that of the temper.
To hold the frail, underpowered, and not particularly stable Bleriot above 2000
metres for an hour was an exasperating chore. Even so, for Biddle, the hour was
soon up, and the student had won his wings.
Biddle's first real test as a pilot was an honest-to-God forced landing during
an endurance flight, out of which he brought himself and his machine most
commendably.
His motor had been behaving badly one day and cut out abruptly at an
altitude of 450 metres, or about 1500 feet. He immediately pushed the stick
forward to put the nose down so as to maintain flying speed. Glancing rapidly
about the terrain below, he picked out a promising-looking field. He glided
toward the field, but just as he was going into it over the trees, the engine caught
and roared back to life. He decided to continue his assigned flight and eased
back on the stick to begin to climb back to the proper altitude. He had no
sooner passed over the field he had chosen than the engine died again, this time
permanently.
There was little time to be choosey about a spot to land. He was too low
to glide very far and the country below was much cut up with hills, hedges, and
trees. One field presented itself as being the most promising, a narrow strip full
of wild flowers with a stream bordering it on one long side. There was a chance
that the field would be marshy because of the stream, which appeared to have
no banks, but mud is better than trees, so in he went. Holding the Bleriot's tail
low he glided down at near stalling speed. Just before he touched he pulled the
stick back further and the machine mushed down, the tail settling into the tall
grass and hitting the ground before the main wheels. Mud and water sprayed
in all directions, but the machine stayed right side up, rolling only about 15
feet before it stopped, the wheels six inches deep in the goo.
Biddle clambered out of the dripping aeroplane and walked around it to
make sure nothing was broken. The usual crowd of French peasants soon began
to collect and with their help he pushed the machine to dryer ground. After changing
the spark plugs from his tool kit he instructed the most intelligent-looking
man how to spin the prop without decapitating himself, climbed back in and
got a start from his extemporaneous ground crew. The ground was still pretty
soft and he had a job to get up flying speed, but he horsed the aeroplane off
and got home safely.
The authorities probably want these little emergencies to crop up, Biddle
reflected, just to see how a man takes care of himself.