“Listen to all the racket, will you?” cried Pudge, and indeed the noise of so many motors and whirling propellers did sound strangely.
“It’s like a young Niagara, that’s what I’d call it!” declared Billy. “Why, sometimes you can’t hear yourself think for the Bedlam that’s broken loose. Say, tell me what the Germans up the coast will think has struck them when this flock descends on Zeebrugge, and batters away at the docks and the submarine bases.”
“They’re all under the charge of a central seaplane, too,” added Frank. “For, if you notice, the signals are always sent from that one just passing us now.”
One of the muffled figures in the other aircraft waved a hand at them. Something was said at the same time, which Frank took for granted must be a question as to whether they expected to accompany the raiders.
He nodded his head in the affirmative, at the same time displaying a little red, white and blue flag he carried, and which must have considerably astonished the pilot of the British seaplane, evidently the chief controller.
“I did that so he might know we didn’t expect to drop any bombs, or have a part in the raid itself,” Frank explained, turning to his companions.
“They’re all worked up over seeing such a whopping big seaplane here,” remarked Pudge, with a touch of the old pride in his voice. “They’re having the surprise of their lives right now, let me tell you. I’m glad they know that it’s a Yankee machine.”
“But, Frank, as we understand it, all these bomb-droppers don’t intend to go to one place, do they?” asked Billy, as he watched the whirring machines flit past like so many big dragon flies.
“No,” came the ready answer. “When up the coast a piece, there’ll be a division starting inland to damage the railway station and try to get at the supplies the Germans have gathered at Bruges, as well as some other points.”
“Well, what about us then?” asked Billy.