"Well, what now?" demanded the Master into the phone communicating with the upper port gallery.
"Smoke to southward, sir. Coming up along the Coast."
"Smoke? A steamer?"
"Can't see, sir." It was the voice of Ferrara that answered. "The smoke is behind the long point to southward. But it is coming faster than a merchant vessel. I should say, sir, it was a torpedo-boat or a destroyer, under forced draft. And it's coming—it's coming at a devil of a clip, sir!"
CHAPTER XXVIII
ONWARD TOWARD THE FORBIDDEN CITY
The Master rang for full engine-power, and threw in all six helicopters with one swift gesture.
"Major," commanded he, as Nissr's burned and wounded body began to quiver through all its mutilated fabric; "Major, man the machine-guns again. All stations! Quick!"
Bohannan departed. The droning of the helicopters rose to a shrill hum. The Master switched in the air-pressure system; and far underneath, white fountains of spumy water leaped up about the floats, mingled with sand and mud all churned to frenzy under the bursting energy of the compressed air released through thousands of tubules.
Nissr trembled, hesitated, lifted a few inches, settled back once more.