"I—I'm going to!" muttered Tom through his set teeth.
Inch by inch he fought the big craft through the storm. Inch by inch the indicator showed the turning, until at last the grip of the gale was overcome.
"Now she's headed right into it!" cried Tom in exultation. "She's nosing right into it!"
And the Mars was. There was no doubt of it. She had succeeded, under Tom's direction, in changing squarely about, and was now going against the wind, instead of with it.
"But we can't expect to make much speed," Tom said, as he signaled for more power, for he had lowered it somewhat in making the turn.
But Tom himself scarcely had reckoned on the force of his craft, for as the propellers whirled more rapidly the aerial warship did begin to make headway, and that in the teeth of a terrific wind.
"She's doing it, Tom! She's doing it!" cried Ned exultingly.
"I believe she is," agreed the lieutenant.
"Well, so much the better," Tom said, trying to be calm. "If she can keep this up a little while I'll give her a rest and we'll go up above the storm area, and beat back home."
The Mars, so far, had met every test. Tom had decided on ten minutes more of gale-fighting, when from the tube that communicated with the engine-room came a shrill whistle.