A seaplane was balanced on the polished ways for the sweeping plunge.
"In the name of the Emperor!" he shouted, shouldering aside the men holding the poised craft. The same fierce whisper in the ear of the aviation lieutenant had effect identical with that upon the marine at the docks.
"Get to your places, you moonfaces"—this stern command hurled at the boys. Henri bounced into the motor section, Billy settled behind the rudder wheel, and Roque swung himself into the bow seat.
The long hull was launched with the snap of training, and with motors humming left the water without a wrench from its skimming start.
The Boy Aviators, certified masters of the air, were at their trade.
They had need of all their skill and daring that day!
"Set your course northwest," loudly ordered Roque. "Hit for Helgoland like a bolt."
"Look out that you don't hit something on the way!" shouted Henri from the rear.
The last warning was timely, if Billy had need of warning at all. There was peril in the foggy stretches.