The Asgard rose slowly, lifted by the buoyancy of her helium cells, her jet engines idling, waiting for the airship to lift above the highest point of the Acoma plateau and its buildings. At that moment she would be at the mercy of the winds unless the engines were brought up to power. She would continue rising.
'What are the winds, Mister Burgess?' Guenther called.
'Direct on the bow, sir. Twelve knots. I am initiating minimum power to assist in holding our position over the canyon until we have cleared the walls. We will at that moment release water ballast and increase power, sir.'
'Very good, Mister Burgess.' Guenther started to add a comment, then held his silence. Burgess knew as well as any man that the moment of danger would come as they cleared the Acoma canyon, when a sudden side wind could swing the huge bulk of the airship to one side or the other, and even raise or lower the nose in an awkward yawing motion that might bring contact with the upper reaches of the vertical cliffs. He would have to lift her steadily, straight up, and as soon as they cleared the cliffs and buildings, he would bring in power and at the same time lighten the airship by ballast drop. They would then rise away from the surface in a climbing turn. With the ground safely beneath them, Burgess would bring in climb power for full control of the Asgard, starting the steady ascent to their cruising altitude.
They would rise slowly, much slower than the speed and climb rate of which the Asgard was capable. Too swift an ascent would bring the helium cells expanding at a
dangerous rate, especially if any cells developed a double fold in their holding girders that could tear open a cell. The slower ascent would also give the crew time to become accustomed to the thin air at the lower edge of the stratosphere. They would don their coldweather clothing —heavy fleecelined flight suits, boots and gloves—and their oxygen masks. Once at cruising altitude and beyond the borders of the United States, the crew would take turns in the pressurized compartment within the belly of the Asgard. They would be warm there; they could doff their heavy gear and masks, and partake of hot meals.
The remainder of the flight would be six miles above the Atlantic Ocean, and a straight course for London. There the first load of gas bombs would be dropped. The second load would fall on Paris, and the last of the deadly bombs would hurtle down against Berlin.
And nothing could stop them once they reached cruise altitude. Captain Hans Ulrich Guenther was quite satisfied.
Jose Syme Chino came running to the tent where Indy and his team were drinking hot chocolate and finishing off army iron rations for fast energy. Chino wasted no time. 'That thing is in the air!' he burst out.
Everyone sprang to their feet. Before Chino could add another word, the question was on Indy's lips. 'When?'
'An hour ago.'
'How do you know?' demanded Cromwell.
'Telephone. It would have been sooner but the connections from here are crazy and it took forever,' Chino explained. 'I spoke with one of our offices at Acomita. That's on the highway north of the great pueblo. He had several people ready to call him the moment that airship came into view over the cliffs. It's in the air, all right.'
'This makes it a tight go, Indy,' Cromwell said immediately. 'We've just lost anywhere from one to three hours, and when that bloody machine gets going it's leaving us in its wake.'
'I know—' Indy didn't finish his sentence.
'No! Wait a moment,' Chino broke in. 'Remember you said before, when you were trying to figure what route that thing would take to the east? You all figured they'd skirt around Albuquerque to stay away from the heavily populated areas. Well, they're going to have to do a pretty major diversion down Socorro way.'
'Why?' Foulois said quickly.
'Thunderstorms. There's a line of really big storms running north of the Acoma and Laguna reservations. It stretches way up north of Los Alamos, into the Santa Fe National Forest, and that's nasty country. If they try a curving line out of the Santa Fe forestlands, that would take them into the area of Wheeler Peak and Brazos Peak —'
'You're trying to tell us something,' Cromwell said impatiently.
'Joe, you're telling us they won't go north?' Indy queried.
'Yes! That's right! Not unless they're crazy,' Chino responded immediately.
'Brazos Peak is due north of Albuquerque, and it's well over eleven thousand feet high. If they cut northwest after skirting Albuquerque, they've got to work through the area of Wheeler Peak, around the Carson forests, and that mountain is over thirteen thousand feet high. I'm no flyer, my friends, but I'll tell you thunderstorms in that area, over those mountains, would keep even the great spirits hugging the ground. It is really mean up there when those storms build up.'
'Let's cut to it, Joe,' Indy said impatiently. 'You know the area. Which way, man? What's your best bet?'
'South, at first. Down along the Rio Grande past Socorro, then cut east along the lava fields of the Valley of Fire. Beyond that there's a world of nothing, and the mountains all hang at five thousand feet and most of them less than that. From there they can break toward Portales or Clovis. Much the same thing. Open spaces and more lava fields, and beyond that sand dunes and open desert.'
'And by then,' Foulois said, holding up a chart on which he'd followed Chino's descriptions, 'they ought to be at the ceiling they want. So we'd better—'
'Let's go!' Indy yelled. He pointed to an army lieutenant. 'Get that plane out of the hangar— now!' he shouted. 'Will, Rene, fire her up as fast as you can.
Gale, you and Joe do a last check to be sure all our gear is in the airplane. I want to check a few last things. The moment I get on board, you signal to Will to take off, straight ahead.'
He turned to another officer he recognized as the chief of communications for the local military force. 'You the one who keeps contact with Colonel Henshaw?'
'Uh, yes, sir.'
