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
jolly 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, ``Tank 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.
Pages:
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61