The Flying Legion by George Allan England
page 69 of 477 (14%)
page 69 of 477 (14%)
![]() | ![]() |
|
These stupendous wings, the captain now saw, were not braced together
by hampering struts and wires, but seemed cantilevered into position, giving a clean run to the structure, great simplicity, and the acme of mechanical beauty. This giant bird of heaven lay in its nest, free of pattern, powerful beyond any air-mechanism ever built by man, almost a living thing, on whose back its captors might ride aloft defying man and nature, to whatsoever goal they chose. "Everything is ready," said the Master. "That is quite obvious. Let us get aboard now, with no further delay, and be off!" He drew a little notebook from his pocket, took a pencil, and faced the gathering group inside the second stockade. "Stow your equipment," he directed "according to your orders. Ten minutes will be enough for you to unload your machine-guns and all gear, each in the assigned space. Bring out all the sleeping men and lay them down along the stockade, here. Injure no man. Valdez, are the take-off gates, over the Palisade, correctly opened?" A dark, thin man saluted, as he answered with a Spanish accent: "Yes, sir. Everything is ready, sir." "Very well. Now, all to work! And then, each to his place, in engine-room, cabins, or however and where assigned. Come, come!" As the men trailed up the gangplank, that steeply rose to the sliding door in the fuselage, the Master checked them on his list. Not one was absent. He shut the notebook with a snap, and slid it back into his |
|