"And they may have discovered its location by this time," added Jack. "We know about where it is—somewhere in the sector between Hamegicourt and Condé. The rest ought to be easy."
"Not so easy as it sounds, my friends," put in a French flier. "I know that region. It is a big one; and the Germans no doubt have their gun well camouflaged. It will not be easy."
"But we'll get it!" asserted Tom.
"Naturally," said the Frenchman, as if that was all there was to it.
Tom's wound was painful, but not dangerous, though it would keep him on the ground for a day or two. Though, as a matter of fact, none of the members of the picked squadron was allowed to go aloft after the orders came detailing them for work in connection with the monster cannon. Their places were taken by others who were sent for, some being new fliers who were burning to make a name for themselves.
Besides Tom and Jack, in the picked squadron there were Boughton, another American, Cerfe and Tierse, two intrepid Frenchmen, and Haught, an Englishman, who insisted, but with little success, that his name be pronounced as though spelled "Hoo."
These six were to be depended on to find and destroy the German cannon—all of them if there were more than one, as was likely. And to this picked squadron other members would be added as need arose. All six were skillful fliers, and brave men of the air, as may easily be guessed. They were to use whatever type of machine they liked best—the single seaters, the great bombing planes, and, it was even said, one of the immense Italian fliers. This last was a craft capable of carrying several men and a quantity of supplies and ammunition.
Very soon, then, Tom Raymond and Jack Parmly were on their way to Paris again, accompanied by their comrades, and all would soon be engaged in the difficult and perilous task of finding the new German long-range cannon.
"I suppose you'll make another attempt to find your father?" suggested Jack to his chum, as they rode in on the train.
"Indeed I shall, if I have time. I can't understand why I haven't had some word before this. There are several possible reasons, of course. If it wasn't that we know he got to Rue Lafayette I'd say his ship had been sunk 'without a trace,' as the Germans ordered in other cases. But, of course, he safely reached this side. Then he just seems to have dropped out of sight, for I can't believe he was killed when the shell from the big gun hit the house where he had taken lodging. He may have found it advisable to return home at once, for some reason, and didn't have a chance to leave any word for me, or send me any message. And perhaps he hasn't got back to America yet. Then, too, he may be in Germany, a prisoner."