'No worse, young lady, than an incendiary bullet in the gut, let me assure you,' Henshaw said coldly. 'Or being in the direct line of impact from a flamethrower.'
'My God,' Gale said, very quietly.
'Harry's right,' Indy added. 'And then there's poison gas. Back in the Great War they had lewisite, mustard, phosgene. Other types were being developed. Tens of thousands of soldiers died from gas attacks. Maybe they were the lucky ones.
Tens of t h o u s a n d s more became blind or went mad or were crippled by gas.'
'And an unexpecting city doesn't have any protection against that,'
Henshaw said emphatically. 'No, I'm afraid Indy's right on target about these people.
We've sent their carrier ship to the bottom, so they know we're ready to make a stand against them. We attacked their airship— rather futilely, I admit—but those British boys certainly went at it with everything they had. Now the hunt is on, and the sooner we find that airship and knock it out, the faster they'll lose the advantages of emotion and fear stirred up by those saucers and the airship itself.'
'I haven't heard either one of you say what I've been afraid you might say,'
Gale told them. 'Spell that out,' Indy replied.
'If they can attack one city,' she said slowly, 'why wouldn't they attack several, or even many cities?'
'Oh, they could,' Henshaw said quickly. 'But mass destruction isn't the name of their game. It's fear. Mind control. Change the way people think and you can control them. If they believe in their gods, there are gods. If they believe they're helpless—'
'Then they'll be helpless,' Indy finished for him. 'So the sooner we find that airship . . . ' He let the rest speak for itself.
They felt the Ford lurch from side to side. That brought their attention to the moment, to where they were, flying across the North Atlantic to cross by the Faeroe Islands on their way to Iceland. Turbulence increased with every passing moment, and they saw Foulois working his way back from the cockpit.
'Why we ever bothered to give you people intercom headsets is a mystery,'
Foulois said. 'We've been shouting at you for ten minutes!' 'What's up?' Henshaw asked. From the look on his face as he felt the trembling and shaking motions of the airplane, he didn't need the Frenchman to tell him anything.
'We've got to work our way through a front,' Foulois said. 'We're into it now.' He nodded to the cabin windows, and they saw the rain streaking the glass.
'It's going to be a bit bumpy,' Foulois went on. 'Better strap in, put away any loose stuff.'
'Frenchy, I'll take your seat for a while, okay?' Henshaw said. 'You can have some food and coffee—' 'I realize you meant wine, didn't you, Colonel?' 'Of course, of course. I need to use the radio to talk to Iceland.'
'Sorry, my friend. The weather. We lost voice contact with Iceland a while ago. But we're tracking off one of the Faeroes broadcasters and it seems we're right on where we belong. That Cromwell is like a bird dog. I think he can sniff his way to Iceland.'
'You really want wine?' Gale asked, as Henshaw headed for the cockpit.
Foulois rummaged through his bag, bracing himself between the cabin floor and a seat. He held up a bottle in triumph. 'Coffee never won wars, my dear,' he said, taking a long swig from the bottle. 'But if you drink enough wine, you don't even care who wins. A very civilized attitude, I might add.'
The next moment he was hanging in midair as the Ford dropped like a stone dumped from a cliff. He slammed into the cabin floor as the downdraft reversed.
'A true Frenchman,' Indy laughed. 'Never spilled a drop!'
Two hours later, strapped in, hanging grimly to his seat, Indy was ready to swear off flying for the rest of his life.
The promise of 'a bit bumpy' had become a madhouse of slamming about, yawing and wheeling, and pounding up and down, rivulets of water running into the cabin from the cockpit.
'This is so invigorating!' Gale shouted above the din and boom of engines and thunder and wind.
Indy struggled to keep his stomach where it belonged. Bright spots danced before his eyes. He no longer knew what was right or left or up or down. Then, as abruptly as it started, the uproar and violence ceased, and the sky brightened.
Indy's stomach began a slow slide back to where it belonged, and through the cockpit windshield, even from well back in the cabin, he saw the volcanic humps of Iceland waiting for them.
17
A day and a half later they landed in Quebec, boneweary, musclestiff, groggy from lack of proper rest or sleep, and hating sandwiches. Henshaw went to the Canadian authorities, and arranged for American Customs and Immigration to
'forget' the usual procedures for entering the United States on the basis that this was an official government aircraft, crew, and flight. Tired as they were and desperate for showers and clean clothes, there was no rest for any of them. Cromwell put everybody to work on the Ford except Henshaw, who was 'attending to' the tasks he'd received from Indy. They had flown the aircraft hard and long, and the years of experience told Cromwell and Foulois to pay strict attention to the small complaints they could sense and feel from the aircraft and the engines.
Two hours later they were refueled, oil tanks filled, hydraulics and other requirements met. Henshaw returned to the aircraft. 'Will,' he asked Cromwell, 'are we okay for a straight shot to Dayton? When we get there we'll have to take a break, and I can have our top maintenance people go over the bird stem to stern.'
'After the flying we've just done, m'boy, from here to Dayton will be a walk in the park.'
'Okay,' Indy told his team, 'saddle up and let's move on out.'
Cromwell nudged Foulois with his elbow. 'Saddle up, eh? What does he think this bird is? A bleedin' 'orse?'
Indy and Gale strapped into seats near the rear of the cabin. Exhausted, Gale was asleep almost at once.
