"No more blanks! The real thing, now--but hold your fire till we drift over the dune!" "Drift over!" echoed Leclair.

"But, _monsieur_, we'll never even make the beach!" "So ?" asked the chief.

He switched to the engine-room.
"Frazier! Lift her a little, now! Rack everything--strain everything--break everything, if you must, but lift her!" "Yes, sir!" came the engineer's voice.

"I'll scrap the engines, sir, but I'll do that!" Almost as if a mocking echo of the command and the promise, a dull concussion shuddered through _Nissr_.

The drone of the helicopters sank to a sullen murmur; and down below, waves began combing angrily over the gallery.
"Ah, _nom de Dieu_!" cried Leclair, in sudden rage at seeing his chance all gone to pot, of coming to grips with the hated Beni Harb.
From the penetralia of the air-liner, confused shouts burst forth.