A bell buzzed and a light flashed twice in the turret. It was the signal to load. The ensign barked out a sharp command. In a moment the load and the projectile were sent “home.” The breech was closed with a snap, the electrical connections made, and Ned, with his hand on the big wheel that controlled the monster gun as if it had been a toy rifle, awaited the next order.
Peering out through the turret opening he could see the rays of the Manhattan’s searchlight sweeping like radiant fingers over the sea. They were searching for the target which had been sent out from one of the other ships. The different ships were to steam by it at a set speed blazing away as they passed.
At last it flashed into view,—a tiny square of white in the far distance. Ned brought the cross-wires on the telescope sights to bear on it. His heart beat tumultuously.
“Wish they’d hurry up that range,” said the ensign nervously.
Suddenly a shrill whistle sounded. The officer snatched up the speaking tube. From the switchboards below came the required information.
“Ten thousand yards. Steady, men.”
Ned’s fingers hovered over the firing device. The other men balanced themselves on their toes prepared for the shock when the actual moment for firing the big gun came. Cotton was stuffed in their ears. The five great searchlights that concentrated on the target showed it as clearly to Ned as a chalked square on a blackboard. But it looked terribly small.
A red light on the turret wall winked.
“Now, Strong,” said the ensign. “Fire!”
Ned’s fingers twitched the firing device. It seemed as if an earthquake had been let loose. Through the night rushed the huge projectile, its course blazed across the night sky by the red glow of a trailer, a flaming attachment that enables the “spotters” to follow its course as accurately as if it were day.