WAR
“What was that, Dave?” asked Hiram Dobbs.
“War,” replied the young pilot of the _Comet_, and he used the word very
seriously, “we have taken the wrong course, but there’s no going back
now.”
The champion biplane was sailing over a broad, deep valley two hours
after dusk. Everything was in brisk going trim. The days that had
elapsed since the rescued captive, Morris Deane, had been cared for by
the young airmen had passed pleasantly. They had crossed Russia, had
reported at Teheran, had seen some of the wonders of Arabia, and now
were traversing Turkish territory.
The affairs of young Deane had been adjusted with supreme satisfaction
for our hero. It warmed his loyal heart to think that through the
unselfish efforts of the crew of the _Comet_, the brother of Edna Deane
was now speeding safely and comfortably on his way to those who had
mourned him.
The trader friend of Adrianoffski had done everything in his power to
make sure the homeward journey of the fugitive. The young airman had
insisted on paying him liberally for his cooperation. He had arranged so
that Morris Deane could be provided with money current in the different
countries through which he must pass. The trader was to convey Deane out
of Thibet concealed in a cart carrying merchandise. He was to be
provided with a disguise. Until he passed the Russian frontier and was
placed upon a train bound for St. Petersburg, two trusty agents were to
accompany and protect him.
The boys felt happy over all this. They had lost little time and gained
some experience in doing a humane act. Then the regular schedule of
progress was resumed. Now, as noted, Hiram had put a startling question.
The pilot of the _Comet_ had responded with an ominous assertion.
When Hiram had asked: “What was that?” a sudden glare in the distance
followed by a harsh, detonating crash had caused his sudden query.
Our hero had explained that it was “War.” He intimated further that this
was a possible menace to their expedition, in that they might not
retrace the route they had come.
“I hoped to keep out of the Turkish trouble,” proceeded the young
airman; “but we must take the edge of it, I fear. You know we passed
over a great military camp just before dusk.”
“Yes, and they sent a brisk volley after us,” reminded Hiram.
“Without calculating the way the _Comet_ can fly,” added Elmer, with a
chuckle.
“We had better keep at a pretty high level just the same,” observed
Dave. “I will be glad when we get out of these intricate mountain
ranges. Then we can see what is ahead of us and get our bearings.”
Just then another explosion sounded. It was mingled with a series of
minor reports, echoing from past the ridge of hills to the East.
“That sounded like a powder mill blowing up, followed by a lot of musket
shots,” suggested Hiram.
“I have no doubt that it was a bomb,” replied Dave. “Fighting is going
on somewhere beyond us.”
For some time echoes of near explosions reached the airship boys. Then
there was a lapse into silence. The contour of the country changed and
the hills lessened, and at length a level expanse spread out before
them.
They could make out lights scattered all over the area. Here was a
settlement, beyond it a town. Then in the distance they noticed what the
young aviator decided to be a camp. Still farther beyond, flashes and
booms apprised him that some kind of a combat was going on.
“We had better get out of this,” remarked the young pilot.
“O-oh!” fairly shouted Hiram, in spellbound wonder.
Of a sudden, from the direction of the camp, there shot up a broad,
dazzling beam of radiance. It moved steadily, broadened and began to
sweep the western horizon. Slowly traversing the sky, the sharp rays
focused upon an object speeding through the air. A further sweep, and a
duplicate for just an instant was framed by the piercing glow.
“A searchlight!” cried the startled Elmer.
“And two airships,” added Hiram. “Dave, what are we going to do?”
The young airman’s active brain was busy. He fancied he took in the
situation. They were passing over a camp. Ahead of them was a walled
town, now being attacked. The two airships to the west were probably
bomb-carrying machines, stealing over the enemy to drop death-dealing
projectiles into the midst of their camp.
“Dave,” whispered Elmer, almost too excited to speak, “we have been
seen!”
This was true. A lateral sweep of the searchlight brought the _Comet_
into clear view. The operator of the great eye of radiance focused the
piercing rays directly upon the _Comet_. Then, sweeping along, for an
instant only they showed an airship almost directly over the craft of
the young aviators.
“Another one,” cried Hiram sharply—“ugh!”
He shivered. All hands felt a jar, an impact. They heard a distinct
whiz.
“Something was dropped!” pronounced Elmer, hoarsely. “There!”
Directly beneath them some descending object reached the ground. There
were a thousand darting sparks of fire, then a tremendous boom.
“An airship from that camp,” said Dave, rapidly. “They took us for one
of the enemy! We must get out of range! Hold steady, fellows!”
The pilot of the _Comet_ knew that the moment had arrived for prompt,
expert tactics. There might be as swift machines as his own among the
war craft in action, but he doubted if any of them was constructed to
take the higher level the _Comet_ could attain. The machine made a
superb shoot on a sharp tangent. Its progress was so rapid that it
almost took away the breath of the excited crew. Again the groping
searchlight sought to reveal the situation aloft.
“Hurrah—safe! beat! They’re not even in the race,” crowed the jubilant
Elmer.
The sweeping glow showed the machine that had dropped a bomb towards a
supposed rival fully a thousand feet below the _Comet_. Now its pilot
put on full speed. Out of range of camp, town and the firing limit the
splendid biplane sailed.
Two days later, none the worse for their unique experience, the airship
boys arrived at Cairo. The _Comet_ seemed to be no particular novelty to
the crowd which greeted its arrival in the center of a great public
square. They greeted the machine and its crew, however, with cheers.
Dave left the machine in charge of his assistants, who were kept busy
answering questions from the curious bystanders.
It was nearly an hour before Dave returned. He arrived seated on a wagon
containing new fuel and food supplies for the _Comet_.
“Going to make any kind of a stop here, Dave?” inquired Hiram.
“Not a minute longer than it is necessary,” was the speedy reply. “We
are third in the race, fellows, and that means no delay.”
“Yes,” nodded Elmer excitedly, “a man in the crowd speaking English said
he knew we were one of the machines in the international race, and that
two others had reported here at Cairo and had left again.”
“That is true,” answered the young airman. “Number seven is three days
ahead of us, number eleven, six hours. Help get things in order,
fellows. We can’t afford to lose any time now.”
When the _Comet_ started up again the cheers and good wishes of the
crowd were renewed. Dave made a fifty-mile run, came down in a lonely
spot, and at once brought out the route charts.
“Look here, fellows,” he said, his finger tracing a course across the
map; “there are three routes to choose from. From Morocco, the Azores,
or Senegal; the Cape Verde Islands, St. Paul Island, and Cayenne. Those
are the routes most talked about at the start. They are favored because
they are the farthest north and the most direct. I have a better, a
least safer, idea.”
“I’ll warrant you have, Dave, if it’s to be found,” declared Hiram.
“What is it?” inquired Elmer.
“The objection to those routes,” explained the young airman, “is that
the water stretches are of wide extent. What I dread most is the fear of
being caught away from land.”
“Is there a shorter route than those you speak of?” asked Hiram.
“Yes, there is,” asserted Dave.
“What is it?”
“Egypt, the Sahara Desert, the French Congo, Ascension Island, St.
Helena, Trinidad, Rio Janeiro, and we are on American soil.”
“Capital!” cried Hiram.
“I wouldn’t lose an hour, Dave,” advised Elmer, with real anxiety. “Ever
since we found out that there are two of the crowd ahead of us, it seems
as if I’d be willing to sleep in the seat in the machine all the way to
get ahead of them.”
It was a warm, clear day when the _Comet_ came to a rest at the city of
Mayamlia, in French Congo. Looking back over the ten days consumed in
making the run across Egypt, through Fezzan, the width of the great
desert, over darkest Africa, and into the Soudan, the airship boys had
viewed a country never before thus inspected by an aerial explorer.
“Baked, boiled, and soaked,” was the way Hiram put it, good-naturedly,
but very grimly.
“And sandstorms and deluges,” added Elmer, with a grimace.
The flight had certainly been a hardy but instructive one. More than
once the adventurous young aviators had a thrilling experience amidst
unfamiliar air conditions. Twice they had been discovered in temporary
camps by natives. The watchfulness and skill of their pilot had baffled
efforts at capture.
“Just to think,” said Hiram, gazing longingly at the ocean—“just a bit
of water to cover, and we are on home territory.”
“Yes,” smiled our hero, “it looks nice and easy on the map. Remember one
thing, though, fellows: here at Mayamlia we take in full supplies. The
food and fuel will be easy as far as Helena or Trinidad. Between those
points and the final flight to Rio, though, the gasoline supply is what
we must look out for.”
“We’re going to make it—I feel it in my bones!” crowed the optimistic
Hiram Dobbs.