“Thought you were not going to make your move until the warships got ready to break through the straits,” interposed Billy.
“That is just it,” said the lieutenant; “they are not in quite the shape for the grand rush, and in the meantime I want to get in a helping stroke wherever else I can. There is too much of the ‘Sikorsky’ to knock about in these little scouting operations, but the kind of an engagement now going on at Enos, I believe, is something nearer our size.”
This talk was interrupted by terrific cannonading. Four British warships had entered the Dardanelles and were shelling the Turkish forts—getting vigorous response from the shore batteries.
The boys caught sight of Captain Johnson hustling for the water front, and so apparent was their anxiety to get on the trail of their old friend that the Russian officer told them to skip out, but on no account to fail in reporting to him the following morning.
“Hold on there, my lads,” called Josh Freeman, whose track they crossed, and who also seemed to be answering an emergency summons, “Johnson isn’t going to start till I catch up, and maybe we will give you a lift.”
For this very invitation the boys were hoping, and they immediately reduced speed to correspond with the slower stride of the veteran aviator.
“Ordered to signal work,” announced the captain, as Josh and the boys joined him.
“Who’s up for pilots?” queried Freeman.
“The commander left the details to me,” rejoined Johnson.
“We’re ‘it’ then,” declared Billy.