“Hope so. We’re following the course. Herr Pomposo plotted it himself, so he can’t strafe us if it isn’t.”
Osceola clapped a pair of glasses to his eyes and studied the distant smudge of black that was curling up a blue horizon.
“Three funnels. Looks like a pretty big ship—and she sure is moving along.”
“The Orleans is a three-stacker. Also, she’s plenty big and fast. Push that button on the instrument board marked ‘C.R.’, will you?”
Osceola complied. “What’s C.R. mean?”
“Control room. I want to let his high-mightiness know we’ve sighted his prey.”
“This,” said Osceola, “begins to get exciting.”
“It will,” said Bill, “get a good deal more exciting than we bargained for unless you pipe down, old man. There’s some ticklish business ahead of us and I can’t afford to crack it. Now—get these instructions, and get ’em right. That handle yonder works the bomb release. When I say the word, take hold of it—but don’t pull until I tell you to.”
“But—Bill!” protested the Seminole. “You surely aren’t taking orders from von Hiemskirk or anyone else to bomb that liner!”
“Not if I know it,” Bill answered curtly. “Get your mind on the job. When I say NOW—you pull. Not one instant sooner, or an instant later. It’s a matter of life and death—so be careful.”