“I was afraid of something like this,” said Andy’s father. “The navy people in Washington were inclined to be pretty pessimistic when I talked with them, yesterday. Well, what do you say Captain?”
The commander of the Goliath asked Andy for the latest weather report. It was favorable.
“We’ll start north at midnight,” he said.
“Will you be able to make the trip, Dad?” asked Andy.
“Sorry, son, but I’m due back in Washington tomorrow for a conference that may mean the construction of more ships like the Goliath. The army people have been tremendously pleased with the performance and are anxious for more, semi-commercial, semi-military dirigibles.”
Andy hurried back to the radio room where he communicated the news to Bert and Serge. The message that the Goliath would start north at midnight flashed to Montreal but static delayed its transmission to Hopedale, to which it was finally relayed and from there sent on to the waiting crew of the Neptune.
Reporters assigned to Bellevue to cover various trial flights of the Goliath sent out the news of the Neptune’s fate and the word that the Goliath was starting north at midnight. Through the early hours of the night the hangar was ablaze with light as final preparations were made.
Every motor was thoroughly checked, extra helium put in the gas cells and every precaution taken to insure the success of the long flight.
Andy and Captain Harkins studied charts of the northland, plotting their proposed course.
It was finally agreed that they would fly north and east to Montreal and then almost due north nearly 3,000 miles along the 76th meridian until they reached Etah, Greenland, on the northwestern tip of that ice-covered land. At Etah they would swing east, skirting the north coast of Greenland, then out over the desolate waste of ice on the last leg of their trip to find the crew of the Neptune.