"I'm placing you under arrest," John snapped, turning on Chuck before he was even through the door.

"What the hell for?" he asked, angry with himself that his voice was shaky.

"Disobedience of a direct order, malfeasance, insubordination, embezzlement, and theft of government property, for starters. I'll think up half a dozen more charges on the train ride back to Hispania."

"John, be reasonable," Chuck said.

"General Mina to you, Lieutenant Colonel Ferguson."

"Goddammit, John we started out as privates together, so don't pull this petty rank business on me."

"Well, damn you, it stands now," John roared. "I've known something was wrong for weeks-workers listed as deserted, trains mysteriously pulled for repairs, powder by the ton unaccounted for. I come up here to look around and I find that!" He pointed up the path toward the hidden rocket factory.

"How much have you stolen?" he demanded, and he stepped closer, his nose almost touching Chuck's. "Ten tons, twenty? How about fifty?"

"Somewhere around there," Chuck whispered.

"Damn your hide. A ton of powder is eighty thousand rounds. We're short by millions."

"Even if you had it, the problem is casting rounds and wrapping them, not the powder."

"Don't argue with me, damn you. What about the workers? I need ten thousand more rifles, better yet forty thousand to replace all the smoothbores. I need everything. Everything, and here you're building your own little empire. Damn you! God damn you to hell!"

His words started to slur into an incoherent scream, the explosion of months of tension at last finding a release. One of the two aides stepped up to John's side as if to restrain him, taking hold of him by the shoulder. John pushed the man off, turning, his rage switching in an instant from Chuck.

"Calm down, sir," the man said quietly.

"And you go to hell too, all of you. I've had it, goddammit, I've had it with everything!

"I've been getting the blame for months, and it was you who was wrecking everything, you bastard. I ought to blow your brains out, and your whore's too while I'm at it."

He started to reach for the revolver in his holster, and one of the two aides was instantly at John's side, grabbing hold of his arm.

"Please, sir, he isn't worth it," and as he spoke he quickly pulled the revolver out of its holster and tossed it to the side of the cabin.

"God damn all of you!"

John turned and staggered off, his voice breaking into a convulsive sob, the one officer following him.

"You'd better come with us," the aide whispered, looking nervously back at John.

"He's mad," Chuck hissed, shaken by what he had just seen. He had believed for an instant that John was going to shoot him down. "The hell with you. I'm staying here. I've got work to do."

"Sir, you'd better come with us." The man's voice was low but insistent.

"He's mad."

"Sir, when he saw that factory of yours he threatened to blow your brains out. We won't let him, but if you don't come with us quietly ..." He fell silent.

"God damn him, I'll kill the son of a bitch if he comes near me," Chuck snapped. "Who the hell is he to break into my home?"

Chuck turned to go back into his cabin to grab his revolver.

The captain reached out, grabbing Chuc arm.

"Sir, I'm telling you. According to General Mina, you're under arrest."

Chuck started to pull his arm back, but the man held on, his grip viselike.

"Please, sir, be reasonable. We'll go see the colonel. Let him straighten this out. Vasiliy over there," and he nodded to his companion, "he'll keep an eye on the general, and I'll watch out for you."

Chuck stood rigid, sensing that this man could disable him with a single blow.

"Please, sir, be a good gentleman about this. He'll calm down. He's had a terrible time of things. Before you know it, you'll both have a drink over this and laugh," and a note of peasant deference was clear in the man's voice, as if he were trying once again to argue sense with an obstinant boyar.

Chuck nodded. "Keep him away from me," he snapped, ashamed that he was forced to give in, struggling to appear in some semblance of control, knowing that Olivia was watching.

"I promise, sir."

Chuck looked back into the cabin and saw Olivia in the corner, out of sight of the officer, a short dagger in her hand.

"It's all right," he said in Latin. "Put that thing down."

"He wants to kill you."

Chuck smiled weakly. "Just a squabble between friends. I've got to go see Keane and straighten it out. I'll be back tomorrow evening."

Her shoulders started to shake, and she ran up to him, grabbing him around the waist as if ready to struggle for possession of him.

The Rus captain looked back nervously to where Vasiliy and John stood in the shadows, Mina still 280 280 William Forstchen William Forstchen shouting and sobbing. "Please, sir, we don't want to set him off again."

Chuck kissed her lightly on the forehead and with his free arm started to push her back.

"I love you, and don't worry. The colonel will straighten this out. Go find Theodor and tell him what happened, that I've been arrested and taken to Colonel Keane. He'll know what to do.

"Come on let's get going," Chuck said to the captain.

"Thank you, sir." The relief in his voice was evident, and he fell in alongside Chuck.

John, still cursing loudly, followed, and all four disappeared into the dark, leaving Olivia standing alone by the door. Sobbing, she turned away and started to run to the rocket factory.

"All right, Feyodor, give me full power!"

Skimming low over the ocean, the ship turned north, heading into the mouth of the Neiper River. Jack pulled up slightly, passing directly over the lone ironclad at the river's mouth, its deck crowded with men who jumped up and down, waving, shouting.

The shadow of Yankee Clipper II Yankee Clipper II raced over the mouth of the river, less than twenty feet below, flocks of ducks kicking up in every direction at the passage of the ship. He looked back. raced over the mouth of the river, less than twenty feet below, flocks of ducks kicking up in every direction at the passage of the ship. He looked back. China Wind China Wind was a quarter mile behind him, just clearing the ironclad, the pilot pulling up too high. was a quarter mile behind him, just clearing the ironclad, the pilot pulling up too high.

"Stay low, stay low, damn you," Jack cursed.

It would have been better if he had gone alone. Eurik Vasilovich, the new pilot, was still too green, with only four battle flights; he bobbed up and down, surging ahead and falling back. Jack had tried to wave him off, to send him back, but Eurik had acted as if he didn't understand Jack's hand signals and had doggedly kept on.

Jack found that he was starting to shake. He was not sure if it was fear or exhaustion after nearly fourteen hours of flying, which had taken him due south to the sea and then straight west along the coast. At dawn he had dropped down to right above the water, hugging the coast, hoping to avoid being seen. It felt horrible flying this low; he found he couldn't control the obsessive fear that an enemy ship was patrolling a mile or more up, ready to swoop down for the kill. His neck was stiff from constantly leaning over the side of the cab to look forward and up. But the sky was clear.

The other ships, with luck, would be almost back home by now, for their mission was only half the distance of his, just out to Kev and back. Just out to Kev. Damn, that was considered a record in itself. When the first ship had left the hangar to go to war, it had been towed by train across the three hundred miles. If he survived this, it would be over a thousand miles round trip. As it was, there was barely enough fuel for one way.

"How's fuel?" He looked over his shoulder.

Feyodor held up the last five-gallon tin can and with a shrug threw it over the side.

"The last can went into the tank. Five, maybe six gallons."

Jack nodded and turned to look forward.

The ground was hauntingly familiar. The Neiper made its curve to the west and then back north. As they rounded the bend in the river, he saw the weed-choked remains of Fort Lincoln, their first home in this new world. A mile farther up, on the west bank, he saw the scorched section of forest where his first kill had fallen.

A small group of Merki, women clad in silken robes, children running naked, stood on the bank of the river. It looked as if they were fishing. They started to shout and wave.

"They think we're one of them," Feyodor laughed, and leaning out of the cab, he waved back.

Realizing their mistake, the Merki started to shake their fists.

The river turned again, and then straight ahead the city of Suzdal came into view. Jack felt a knot in his throat, remembering the first time he had seen it, coming up the river aboard Ogunquit, Ogunquit, the church bells ringing, thousands of Rus peasants lining the banks of the river. The place looked empty. the church bells ringing, thousands of Rus peasants lining the banks of the river. The place looked empty.

"Home," Feyodor said, his voice shaking, and he made the sign of the cross. "At least they haven't burned it."

"Get ready."

He hit the up elevator stick, pulling it back, closing off the heat exhaust port on the top of the ship. Running light, without the burden of over a hundred gallons of fuel, the ship, even with the exhaust port full open, had wanted to rise, forcing him to keep more and more down elevator.

The ship surged up, and he pushed the rudder full forward. The nose of the aerosteamer swung to the right, heading back east. They turned out of the riverbed, rising up over the east shore of the river, the south walls of Suzdal a mile to his left, the dome of the cathedral glinting in the noonday sun.

As he climbed, he saw the reservoir off his forward port quarter, the lake nearly empty, the smokestacks of the factories poking up out of the forest. Feyodor leaned out of his rear position, craning his head to look forward.

"Where the hell is it?"

"Somewhere south of the lake."

"Did we go too far north?"

"Couldn't have. I remember seeing them coming up from that direction."

He continued to climb.

Feyodor raised his field glasses, scanning the ground ahead.

"There it is!" He pointed forward and slightly to the south.

"Going back down," Jack shouted, pulling the exhaust vent full open and pushing the elevator stick forward. The ship responded slowly, picking up speed.

They skimmed over the hills east of town, Jack sparing a quick glance to the north, where the burial mound of Jubadi, shaped like a pyramid, rose up out of the fields. He knew what the pyramid was made of, and he quickly turned away.

The ship dived down reluctantly, because of its light load and the heat of the sun, which had warmed the hydrogen, causing it to expand. He was tempted to open the vent and bleed some of the gas off, but knew that come nightfall he was going to need it. He pushed the stick forward even farther and then eased back. The ship leveled out at treetop level, racing forward at full speed. The low rise continued. At the top of the crest stood a watchtower, and he aimed straight at it. The lone Merki raised his bow, fired, and then ducked as they skimmed over, the Merki crouching not a dozen feet below.

And on the reverse slope he saw what he had come for. Eight hangars were spread out in a long row at the opposite end of the field. The ground below was swarming with Merki, their harsh cries rising up in anger even as they ran to the buildings.

"Get ready!" Jack shouted, and he eased back slightly on the throttle.

A puff of smoke snapped off from the north side of the field, a shot screaming past, the gunner far too eager in his excitement. There was another puff. Jack ignored it, pressing on.

"First hangar on the left's empty," Feyodor shouted. "Two's empty, so is the third."

He hadn't expected to get all of them on the ground. Eight hangars, three empty. There were ten more at Kev, and he hoped that the other three ships had burned the lot. With luck, maybe the three empties were already abandoned, the air fleet moving forward as new hangars went up.

On the far side of the field, he could see straight in. A dark nose appeared out of the fourth, the same with the other four.

"Five ships!"

He looked back.

Star of the West was nowhere in view. He couldn't worry about it now. was nowhere in view. He couldn't worry about it now.

He edged to the north, preparing to turn south when he reached the hangars for a run straight down the line.

The Merki ground crews were at the open doors, pulling on ropes, struggling to drag their ships out.

"They're bringing the ships out. Get the harpoons ready!"

Almost parallel to the line and a quarter mile north, Jack turned the ship hard, diving down lower, lining up for his pass.

"Get ready!"

Another shot screamed past. From a shed alongside the northernmost hangar Merki started to run out, bows raised, flame and smoke flickering from the tips.

"Jesus Christ!" It was a simple enough defense he had never thought of.

He ignored them, pressing on. Feyodor, leaning over the side of the cab, unsnapped an oil-soaked board which was fastened to the side of the cab. With a sharp jerk he raked a rough iron file across the top of a fist-size friction-head match attached to the board. It flare to life, and he let go, the board falling a dozen feet before jerking to a stop, dangling by a length of rope, which was tied to the end of a harpoon that Feyodor now undipped from the side of the cab.

Grabbing hold of the harpoon with both hands, Fey-odor held it up. The flaming board swayed and bobbed below the cab, and Jack spared a quick anxious look back at the trail of smoke and fire.

A flaming arrow suddenly arched up from below. Another one snapped past, slamming into the propeller, and a third struck the bottom of the cab.

The shadow of Yankee Clipper II Yankee Clipper II raced over the nose of the first enemy ship. Feyodor leaned out, held only by his safety belt. raced over the nose of the first enemy ship. Feyodor leaned out, held only by his safety belt.

"One fired!" he screamed and threw the harpoon down. It was nearly impossible to miss the enemy ship barely twenty feet below. The harpoon sliced into the Merki airship, punching a hole through the silken bag and disappearing. The flaming board followed, slamming lengthwise across the hole and jerking to a stop on the outside of the bag, burning brightly. Instantly a tongue of nearly invisible blue flame shot up, the hydrogen pouring out of the hole from the harpoon hitting the flaming board and igniting. The tail of Yankee Clipper II Yankee Clipper II rose up on the wave of heat. rose up on the wave of heat.

Jack pulled the nose up. The second ship was almost upon them. It was impossible to slow down. Feyodor struggled with the board of the second harpoon, striking it into flame, dropping it, and then grabbing hold of the harpoon. The third ship in the line was already directly beneath them. He was tempted to throw, but let it pass. The fourth ship in line was half out of its hangar.

Jack aimed for the midsection.