But they were going back, and for all that Don knew, the force of rockets might still enable the missiles to reach them.
He knew, with sureness, that no chance celebration accounted for the rockets, by that beam of light coming up at them from a spot where no searchlight should have been!
He wanted to be doubly safe, to return to the proper course.
He began, almost immediately, a banked turn, at the same time going upward. In that climbing turn they both gained altitude and returned gradually to the proper course. Chick clamped his gauntleted hands.
“Good work!” he screamed in shrill elation.
Garry, too, commended, his voice more subdued as he realized that his tones went through a tube directly into ear outlets clamped close to the young pilot’s head.
“Fine, Don!” he complimented the flyer.
Don nodded his appreciation.
His face, though, was still creased with lines of concern.
“That’s somebody with a deadly purpose!” he murmured. “No fireworks were being sent up for fun. They were meant to upset us. Who could be so mean? Where did that searchlight beam come from? The airport? I was too excited to be able to trace it—right in my eyes, the way it was.”