"We would recover promptly, unless the exposure had been unduly prolonged. Why?"
"Because," said King, "I can stand an acceleration of fifty-four meters for two hours, and Breckenridge here tests fifty two meters. I can navigate anything, and Breckenridge can observe as well as any of your own men. Build a plane to accelerate at forty-five meters and we will blow those hexans out of the ether. You will have to revive and do the shooting, however—your gunnery is entirely beyond us."
"That is an idea of promise, and one that had not occurred to any of us," Czuv replied and work was begun at once upon the new flyer.
When the super-plane was ready for its maiden voyage, its crew of three studied it as it lay in the catapult at the portal. Dead black as were all the warplanes, its body was twice as large as that of the ordinary vessel, its wings were even more stubby, and its accommodations had been cut to a minimum to make room for the enormous stores of fuel necessary to drive the greatly increased battery of rocket motors and for the extra supply of torpedoes carried. Waving to the group of soldiers and citizens gathered to witness the take-off of the new dreadnought of space, the three men entered the cramped operating compartment, strapped themselves into their seats, and were shot away. As usual the driving rockets were cut off well below the rim of the shaft, and the vessel rose in a long and graceful curve, invisible in the night. Such was its initial velocity and so slight was the force of gravity of the satellite that they were many hundreds of miles from the exit before they began to descend, and Breckenridge studied his screens narrowly for signs of hexan activity.
"Do you want to try one of your long-range shots when we find one of them?" the pilot asked Czuv.
"No, it would be useless. Between deflection by air-currents and the dodging of the enemy vessels, our effective range is shortened to a few kilometers, and their beams are deadly at that distance. No, our best course is to follow the original plan—to lure them out into space at uniform acceleration, where we can destroy them easily."
"Right," and Breckenridge turned to King, who was frowning at his controls. "How does she work on a dead stick, Chief?"
"Maneuverability about minus ten at this speed and in this air. She'd have to have at least fifteen hundred kilometers an hour to be responsive out here. See anything yet?"
"Not yet ... wait a minute! Yes, there's one now—P-12 on area five. Give us all the X10 and W27 you can, without using power—we want to edge over close enough so that she can't help but see us when we start the rockets."
"Be sure and stay well out of range. I'm giving her all she'll take, but she won't take much. With these wings she has the gliding angle of a kitchen sink."