“I never try to correct my superior officer,” laughed Bill, and they shook hands.
Commander Thomson slit the envelope and read the message.
“The Old Man says you are to lead us over,” he announced. “And I take it you know what to do when we get there.”
“Yes, sir. Received instructions from Commander Bellinger. I’ve got the letter in my pocket. He sent his best regards to you, sir.”
“Good old Pat. I bet he’d give half a stripe to be with us. We’ll shove off directly. Run your boat up to thirty-five hundred and retain that altitude until you zoom the stockade. Then climb until you are above us and don’t land until you see me on the water. Got that?”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Let’s go, then. Good luck!”
“Same to you, Commander.”
Bill returned to the cockpit of his plane and presently the Loening was taxiing ahead, preparatory to her take-off.
Once in the air, he climbed to the prescribed thirty-five hundred feet. A sharp flipper turn brought the little amphibian on a compass course slightly west of north. Directly on his tail came Commander Thomson’s PB-1, with the other four planes of the squadron bringing up the rear in V-formation.