'Talk about the airplane,' Indy growled.
'Touchy, touchy,' Cromwell grinned. 'All right, bucko, I'll add this to the litany of learning. Never, absolutely never, try to fool this machine. I mean that, Indy. You can fool anybody on the ground. You can tell grand stories to your mates.
But if you lie to your machine, it will kill you. It will do so in a heartbeat. Learn to love your aeroplane as you might love a true mate. You're bonded to it as closely as you ever will be to a human being, and your life depends on it.'
He turned to Foulois. 'Frenchy, they all strapped in back there?'
Foulois glanced back at Gale and their newest member, Jocko. 'I don't believe our dark friend is all that happy about flying,' he said, smiling.
'He'll get used to it quickly enough. All right, Indy, as I begin to get us under way, I'll be talking every move, every step of the way, so you will know what happens and can start to learn that secret of anticipation. You ride the controls with me. Do it gently. And if you ever hear me, or Frenchy if he's in this seat, say 'I've got it,' get your bleedin' hands and feet off the controls at once. Got it?'
'Shut up and fly,' Indy growled.
'Ah, the enthusiasm of the wingless young pup,' Cromwell laughed. 'All right, here we go. Yoke full back; that's it. Brake pedals depressed to hold us in place. Scan the gauges. All of them. The throttles start forward now, keep your eyes scanning, check all the temps and pressures, doublecheck the wind outside, it can change in a flash, throttles all the way forward, feel her shake, she wants to fly, call out RPM, oil temp, cylinder head temp, pressure, fuel flow, quantity, check the revs, see how close they are, look outside, be quick about it, blast you, look for other traffic! All right, you check the trim, you clod? Forget it, I did; now, last glance across the panel, the windsock, look for any animals or people that may have wandered into our takeoff run, everything's set? You strap in your seat belt, and brakes coming off, there's good acceleration, ease off the yoke back pressure a mite, that's it, get in steady pressure on the right rudder, DON'T STOMP LIKE A CLODHOPPER, GENTLY BUT FIRMLY! Feel the tail coming up, the vibration is easing, HOLD HER STRAIGHT, YOU NIT, that's it, KEEP YOUR HAND ON THE
THROTTLES SO THEY DON'T BACK OFF! You've got speed coming up, watch it, you're drifting left, blast it, Indy, look at your airspeed, why aren't you FLYING?
Indy, did you ever think of becoming a cobbler to earn your living?'
Beads of perspiration appeared on Indy's brow and upper lip as Cromwell lambasted him every foot of the way up to three thousand feet where they leveled off and the noise and vibrations eased. 'What were you in your former life, Will, a galley slave master with the Romans?'
Cromwell ignored him. 'We took off from Roosevelt Field, we're going to that private grass strip on Block Island just east of Montauk Point, right?'
Indy nodded.
'Well, this isn't by guess and by gosh, Professor. Have you noted temperatures, humidity, dewpoint, density altitude? What's our ETD, ETE, ETA?
Fuel time aboard, how many gallons do we burn every hour at this setting?
When's the last time you scanned the gauges? If your name wasn't tattooed on your forehead you would by God forget that, too! Would you like to meet George?'
'George?' Indy looked puzzled. 'Who the devil is George?'
'George, m'lad, is the latest wonder of the ages. Directly from the development laboratory of Sperry Gyroscope.
It's a device that's linked to our directional gyroscope and to our artificial horizon. George is our automatic pilot; consider the name as a shameless sign of affection. When I turn on George, it derives heading and bank information from the gyros. It will keep this machine flying with wings level. Here; watch. And stay off the controls.'
Cromwell moved several controls and leaned back in his seat. Nobody touched the foot or hand controls. 'George'
was slaved to the gyro instruments and locked the Ford in level flight on the heading determined by the directional gyro. To Indy, it was magic. The airplane was flying itself. It flew as though invisible hands and feet were on the controls, rocking gently in mild turbulence, but flying with dazzling precision.
'Where are we, o ace of the sides?' Cromwell nudged Indy.
'What? Oh. I was watching how this thing flew, I mean—'
'You mean you forgot to keep track of where we were flying, where we were, how long it's been since takeoff, how far we are from Block Island, when we're supposed to start our descent, right? Other than that,' Cromwell sneered,
'you're doing a splendid job. I always wonder how a slip of a girl like Gale is so good at this game, while the world-famous explorer and adventurer, the Professor Henry Jones, can't keep track of where he is over Long Island!'
'I may kill you,' Indy glowered.
'Tut, tut, my friend. Today was simply an introduction. Piece of cake. Simple for a ten-year-old child. It shouldn't take you more than ten or twenty years to get the hang of it.'
'Ignore him, Indy,' Foulois said, leaning forward. 'It's just been a long time since he screamed and shouted at any students. He's in his element, that's all.'
Indy turned to Cromwell who grinned broadly at him. 'All right, mate, we'll be starting a long descent. On the controls, gently, just follow me through for the feel. I don't want you doing any work. You've had enough for one session, so this is cheat time for you.'
Fifteen minutes later Cromwell, arrowing downward, feeling the headwind fading away, crossed the controls and nudged the Ford into a forward slip, the wings askew and the airplane descending in an unnerving sideways crab. At the last moment Cromwell straightened out everything, and the big airplane sighed onto the grass strip in a masterful touchdown. 'There's a barn over to your left,' Indy told him.
'Taxi over there. By the time we get there the doors will be open front and back, so you can taxi right inside
