“Sure and we will,” assured the captain, “for that Russian craft beats all hollow, for size, any airship I ever saw.”
A word that evening from Lieutenant Moppa cinched the belief that it was a certain go, and Billy and Henri joined the other experts employed in preparing for the flight of the mighty machine.
Lieutenant Atlass assumed the responsibility for the storage of the explosives to be carried, and it can be stated that this officer had an assignment of the utmost importance. If anything went wrong in the magazines the travelers aboard the craft would never know what hurt them.
Billy and Henri waved good-bye to Captain Johnson and Josh from the door of the pilots’ cabin on the “Sikorsky” and then set their grips on the steering wheels as the starting signal was given. With the four engines roaring, the great bird of passage soared over the sea.
By the compass, the course was set southwest, for the point at which the expedition aimed is on that extreme quarter of the Turkish domain.
The first fighting viewed from the immense aeroplane was on and off the Gallipoli peninsula, where warships of the allies were hot-shotting the Turkish land positions.
But just about this time the barometer in the air pilot’s cabin was the center of attraction for the commanding officer and the wheelmen.
The indications were of decidedly ugly aspect, and storms in these parts were notable for their violence.
“Hadn’t we better take to the floats, lieutenant?” inquired Billy, feeling new resistance in the wheel.
Moppa from the lookout seat noted the turbulence of the waves far below, and shook his head.