“By nightfall we shall have him in competent hands there in Vienna,” said Ned, already at the wheel.
“Good luck and tell them there in the capital that Przemysl still holds out,” called the commandant.
“No fear that we won’t do that!” the boys cried, and, amid the increasing whir and roar of the powerful propellers, the Ocean Flyer once more swept up into the sky and out over the great plain where the Russian encampment lay.
Buck threw a large, black, pear-shaped object overboard and down at the crowd below waving good-byes.
“Great heavens, what was that? A bomb?” exclaimed Bob, startled.
“No,” Buck replied solemnly, “that was a smoked ham—our last one, too.”
CHAPTER XXIII
STRANGE SIGHTS IN VIENNA
The course of the Flyer to the Austro-Hungarian capital was southeasterly, and it was already dusk by the time the vicinity was reached. Had it only been lighter the boys might have been treated to a magnificent view of the outlying ranges of the Alps directly in front of them, with the ancient historic city lying there below on the right bank of the lordly Danube.
Their approach had, however, been seen, and long before they reached the city ten or twelve military aeroplanes were hovering excitedly about them. According to directions given by the commandant at Przemysl, the boys hung out two flags—one German, the other Austrian—and, encouraged by the sight of these, one aviator more daring than his comrades, planed up parallel with them, shouting in German: