"Let us hope not," said Jack, softly, and Tom echoed the wish.
Much as he wished he could devote some time to the search for his father, Tom realized that he was working under military orders, and, however dear his father was to him, the sacrifice of his personal affairs must be made. He knew he would only have time to make some brief inquiries, and then he and Jack must go with the squadron to the headquarters assigned to it, as near the location of the big German gun as possible, and there try to silence it.
The train the picked squadron was traveling on was late, and it was dusk when they alighted at the railroad station.
"Think we'll have a chance to see anything of the bombardment?" asked Boughton.
"I was going to say I hoped not," answered Tom, "for I wish the beastly gun, or guns, would blow up. But that would take away our chance to pot 'em, and I know we all want to do that. You may see something, though they don't bombard at night as often as they do by day. Of late, however, before we left, the night firing was more frequent. Possibly they have found some means of hiding the gun flashes or of letting them mingle with others along a line so the exact location of the big Bertha is a matter of doubt."
