For the next fortnight they were busy every day at the aerodrome, trying new machines, testing, carrying out imaginary reconnaissances over the German lines, bombing raids, studying war maps and plans, night flying and a score of other things that would prove useful when they found themselves in France. One morning, about two weeks later, a telegram was delivered to Dastral at his rooms. It came from the War Office, and ran as follows:-- "Second Lieutenant Dastral and his observer to proceed overseas forthwith, on one of the new fighting 'planes, and to report his arrival at -- Squadron, British Expeditionary Force, France." After the customary interview with the C.O., it was arranged that early next morning the two aviators were to make their first attempt at flying the Channel. CHAPTER II THE FERRY PILOT IT was an hour before dawn, and the stars had not yet faded from the skies, when a group of air mechanics at one of the aerodromes just north of London were busy about the ailerons and fuselage of a new machine, which was destined to fly across the Channel that day, and to join one of the British Squadrons on the other side. The secret of the machine had been well kept, and only a favoured few had been permitted to see the "hornet," as she was called. Great things were claimed for her when she joined one of the active squadrons, now fighting in France for the supremacy of the air. Just a few folk in Old Blighty had been scared by the advent of the Fokker, the new German aeroplane which had recently come into existence, and for which such wonderful things were being claimed daily by the German "wireless." "Double up there, you sleepy imps!" yelled Old Snorty, the aerodrome sergeant-major, a short, stout, florid, shiver-my-timbers type of disciplinarian. And another squad of sleepy air-mechanics, just out from their blankets, doubled up smartly to give a hand. In a few minutes the hornet in question was ready for her long flight overseas. Every wire and strut had been carefully examined and proved, for men's lives depended upon the testing, and oiling, and straining. And now the silent, filmy thing was waiting only for the pilot and observer. A sound of footsteps upon the soft turf of the aerodrome was heard, and voices carried lightly down the soft morning air. "Halt! Who goes there?" called the sentry, standing near by, and at the same instant a hand lamp was flashed in the direction of the newcomers. The sentry, however, appeared to recognise sonic important personality approaching, like the mastiff who knows, as if by instinct, the approach of his master, for, without waiting for an answer to his challenge, he shouted:-- "Guard, turn out!" And instantly, the men in the guard tent turned out in time to salute the Commanding Officer of the Squadron, who came by with Dastral, the pilot, and Fisker, the observer.