They had no idea, though, at the moment of an experience in this huge machine that would set a capsheaf on their war zone sky-riding.
So when Billy and Henri studied in detail the points of this wonderful craft it was solely by the prompting of professional enthusiasm and no intent of going into training to handle it.
They noted that the mighty flyer, of biplane type, was fitted with four German Daimler engines, had double control, with two steering wheels, while each of the four engines drove a separate propeller.
“The wind would have to hustle to keep up with that force,” commented Henri, strongly inclined to the mechanical exhibit.
Lieutenant Moppa called attention to the fact that the craft had also been fitted with floats, “which about provides for every emergency,” he concluded.
“Think of an aeroplane pilot working behind glass windows; he will feel as stuck up as a chauffeur in a first-class automobile.”
“And as high-toned as the steersman of an ocean liner, pard,” said Henri, adding to Billy’s comparison.
The council on the hill in the meantime had marked a map with a red line—the Bosphorus at the end of it.
The warships that the aviators had left shelling the cliff battery near the entrance of the strait were to be tremendously reinforced.
“Great news, men,” announced Lieutenant Moppa, after perusing a slip of paper handed to him by a trim sailor who had been serving the war council as messenger. “Everything that flies has been ordered into service for convoy duty with the squadron that sails in the morning. The new airship will lead the way.”