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
pocket.
"This goes on well," he commented to the major. "So far, we are within
three minutes, eighteen seconds, of schedule."
The little group of four stood waiting, watching, while the others
carried out all orders, aboard. There was no hesitation, no confusion.
Each had already learned the exact plan of the airship. Each knew
precisely where every door led, what each passageway meant; each
understood perfectly his own post and what to do there.
Two by two, Legionaries came down the gangplank, bearing limp bodies.
These they laid in a row along the stockade, till seventeen had
accumulated. No more came.
A figure appeared in the sliding doorway, and saluted.
"The last sleeper is out, sir," he reported.
The Master nodded, and gestured to his three companions. The group of
four ascended the sharp tilt of the plank and entered the airship. As
they did so, Legionaries hoisted the plank aboard, with its tackle,
and lashed it to the waiting chocks.
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