The upper regions were literally lined with aircraft. No less than seven naval seaplanes had traveled in advance of the British warship invasion of the German bay. Having dropped all the bombs they could through the mist, they were in full return flight to the convoying vessels. Zeppelins and hostile seaplanes zigzagged on their trail, and other dirigibles and fighting craft menaced their retreat still further on.
Billy guided the seaplane he was driving to the higher strata in order to escape mix-up with the contending airships, but on the thirtieth mile recorded, Roque, who had constantly demanded distance figures, ordered a lower flight, and, the fog clearing, the flyers could plainly see on the waves far below the floating warcraft of the invaders—light cruisers, destroyers and submarines. The Germans were combating this array with aircraft and submarines, but so great was Roque's impatience to reach the fortified island that the motors were put by Henri to the limit of speed, and so that part of the conflict is not in the record of the Aëroplane Scouts.
Just off Helgoland, though, the boys had the shock of noting the crumpling of one of the British seaplanes and the end of a brave airman.
"There's no escape when death stalks you up here," sighed Billy.
"Ware away, boy," called Roque, when the seaplane hovered over Helgoland, "wait until they see the color of the bottom of the machine or we will look like a sieve before we light."
Billy "wared away," and with motors at half speed, the seaplane circled over the supposed most impregnable stronghold in the world, awaiting some signal of recognition from the fortress.
It was finally given, and Roque directed immediate descent.
On the ground once more, Billy and Henri relapsed into their dutiful service as "sons" and rear guards of the renowned "Dr. Blitz." The glazed caps had gone the way of the winds, but, as Billy put it, "we are still dressed up to beat the band."
The boys noticed that, barring a few skilled workmen and engineers, they were the only civilians in the streets that evening. They did not count Roque, for he might turn out to be a general, if occasion served.
The latter had a busy hour with the garrison officers, while the boys had an idle one, with about as much activity as is allowed a hobbled horse. It was evident that "Dr. Blitz" held this island as a holy of holies, secret even to his "sons."