For some time they walked parallel to the fence, which ran roughly north and south. After they had covered nearly half a mile Rex halted suddenly; Simon stopped too, having, at the same moment, caught sight of a grey figure among the trees. De Richleau instinctively followed their movement as they flung themselves on the ground. He looked at them questioningly.
“Sentry,” whispered Simon, pointing. And there, between the trees, on the other side of the wire, they could make out the form of a Red Guard. He was standing quite still, with his back to them, as he leant on his rifle. He was a little man, and his overcoat was too big for him; his hat was thrust on the back of his head, and his attitude bespoke dejection. He was a pitiful, rather than a frightening, figure — nevertheless they had no desire to be seen, and crept stealthily back until they were well out of view.
“God-forsaken job,” said Simon, as they proceeded on their way again. “Standing in the snow all day — guarding an air-park a thousand miles from anywhere, that no one knows exists!”
“That’s just why it’s so important,” remarked the Duke. “Nobody knows it exists!” Even as he spoke they came out of the belt of trees, the ground sloped sharply away to their left front — a wonderful panorama was spread in front of them.
The electric fence came out of the wood and ran down the hill a quarter of a mile to their left; beyond it stretched a great open amphitheatre of at least three miles across in each direction, the whole surrounded by the dark ring of forest.
Line upon line of aeroplane hangars lay spread below them — squadron after squadron of ’planes: bombers, fighters, scouts, looking like toys in the distance, their wings flashing silver in the afternoon sun. Row upon row of hutments and barracks, offices, and repair sheds. All the time little flights of ’planes rose and descended with perfect precision on the numerous landing grounds. In every part of the park some sort of activity was going forward — tractors were pulling ’planes in and out of hangars, little groups of soldiers were drilling or being marched from place to place; for many minutes the friends stood silent, watching this amazing spectacle.
“The Forbidden Territory,” Simon laughed, suddenly.
De Richleau nodded. “Yes, this is the secret they are so anxious to preserve — it must have been in order to create this gigantic air-camp that they finished the railway to Tobolsk, and put the road we came on last night in such good repair.”
“I reckon Jack Straw ’ud like to give this place the once-over,” said Rex.
“He’s given us the name of Colonel Marsden, at the Thatched House Club, in London. If we get through we must let him know of this,” De Richleau replied, thoughtfully. “How many ’planes do you think there are, Rex?”