"Two fired!"

Jack looked down, following the harpoon as it sliced in, the flaming board catching the same as the first one. Beyond the fifth ship a knot of Merki, bows raised, were waiting. He pulled back hard on both the elevator and the rudder stick, and Yankee Clipper II Yankee Clipper II arced up into a sweeping graceful turn to the east. arced up into a sweeping graceful turn to the east.

As they passed over the last hangar, Feyodor leaned out and struck the friction-match fuse atop a jug filled with benzene. The flare ignited and the jar tumbled down, striking the roof, liquid flame splattering.

Jack looked over his shoulder as they continued the turn. Two fireballs were igniting, the ships exploding, half out of their hangars. Flame was shooting straight up, and from out of each building a blue-and-yellow fireball exploded straight out parallel to the ground. The roof of a third hanger ripped open, flame soaring a hundred feet into the sky. Merki on the ground were running in every direction like a stirred-up nest of ants.

He watched in awe, stunned by the destruction.

"Star of the West," Feyodor shouted, and pointed back across the far side of the clearing. Feyodor shouted, and pointed back across the far side of the clearing.

The ship was slowly floating across the field on the light westerly breeze, nose pointed down, tail high, barely underway. Jack snapped his field glasses up to look.

"The damn bastard's out of fuel!" he screamed. "Idiot! Damn him, damn him!" He slumped back in his chair, stunned that Eurik had been so insane as to not break off and head back out to sea before running out.

The ship's propeller was still. With headway lost, the ship was out of control, the engine most likely running dry only a couple of minutes too soon.

He felt a sudden guilt for cursing two dead men. Chances were that, overeager to impress Jack, they had forged ahead, thinking they could attack and still get out and away.

On the far side of the field a swarm of Merki raced toward the ship as if to capture it as it came down. A thin trail of smoke shot up, and within seconds a steady stream.

Puffs of smoke burst from the cab, a defiant last blow, the trading of a ship and its crew for the final chance of a pistol shot killing a lone Merki.

A tongue of flame started to lick up the side of the ship. The silken bag peeled away, fire exploding straight up into the heavens, and the ship slammed into the ground, fire bursting out its sides.

Jack pushed the rudder stick to the left and the elevator back forward.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"We've still got two harpoons. Get ready."

"You're crazy."

"You knew that when you signed on with me. Now get ready."

"I pulled your ass out of the last crash-I won't do it again."

"You've got that girl Svetlana and I don't, so it's even. Now shut up and get ready."

He brought the ship full around and started into a dive. It would be impossible to do a right-angle run again. The first and fourth ships were still burning fiercely, their hangars exploding into flame, and the hangar of the fifth ship was starting to flare as well. He lined up to run straight down the length of the second hangar. The ship was completely out of it, nose already starting to edge up.

On the back end of the building, a small knot of Merki were gathered, bows raised, arrows snaked up, fortunately none with flames. Several arrows struck the ship directly in front of Jack, the arrows disappearing.

He raced down along the roof, going slower than he wanted to into the headwind. Fifty yards to his right, the first hangar was exploding with fire, the heat glaring. A hundred yards to his left, the other building was awash with flames.

They cleared the edge of the hangar.

"Three fired! Let's get the hell out of here," Feyodor screamed.

Afraid of turning into the fires to either side, Jack pushed straight ahead into the headwind. A dull thumping whoosh sounded behind him, and he looked back to see the tail of their third target peel open, 288 William Forstchen William Forstchen flame racing along the top spine of the ship, splitting the bag.

Merki were running across the field in front of him, bows raised, this time smoke coiling around them.

The fire arrows came up, another striking the basket. To his horror, one came straight up, slamming into the bag overhead.

He held his breath, expecting the end.

Nothing happened, the arrow having struck the hot-air section. He watched the bag for several seconds, afraid that the arrow might still be burning inside.

A sharp crack snapped behind Jack, startling him, and he looked down to see several Merki crumple up, caught by the blast of Feyodor's swivel gun. Straight ahead, the Star of the West Star of the West continued to burn, the wicker framework collapsing into a heap. continued to burn, the wicker framework collapsing into a heap.

With full back elevator and exhaust port closed, the ship angled straight up. He turned southward.

The field was chaos. The third ship flared, tent-size sections of burning silk soaring up from the heat. The hangars to either side crackled, dark smoke coiling up.

But two of the ships were still intact, and out of the confusion they started to rise up.

Jack was tempted to turn back in, and fight it out above the range of the ground. A dull thump shook the ship, and he looked back to the field, saw a puff of smoke snapping from a cannon.

"How much fuel?"

"Barely enough."

That decided it.

He pushed on to the south. Behind him, from out of the wreckage of the field, the two remaining ships rose, the flame of four dying aerosteamers and burning hangars filling the sky.

He crested back up over the hills, afraid to put on too much altitude for fear that it would be impossible to get back down when the engine finally died.

Straight ahead he saw the low hills that marked where the iron ore mine was. He shot over the abandoned site, great piles of slag littering the side of the mountain, the small first foundry nearly directly below. Atop the hill was the watchtower which had been built to keep an eye on the southern approaches, back when this land had still been theirs.

He felt heat, and looked down to see flame licking up between his feet. The bottom of the cab was on fire. He turned to look aft and saw a trail of smoke whisking out behind him, caught in the prop wash and swirling around in tight circles behind the ship.

"We're on fire!" Feyodor shouted.

"Shut up! I know it!"

He swerved slightly to avoid the lone Merki, not wanting to take any more chances. From this vantage point he saw how his approach in had worked, hugging the shore and staying low-the coast, blocked by the next series of hills, was not visible. He aimed for the hills, racing over the valley.

"How we doing?"

"Two ships up and after us, maybe two miles back. But Perm damn it, it's getting hot back here."

It was going to be tight.

He crested the hill, and before him, hugging the shore, the ironclad stood waiting.

"We'll have time for only one pass. Miss it and we're finished," Jack shouted. "So be sharp."

"You're the one at the controls," Feyodor shouted, "not me."

He leaned forward, judging the approach, swinging slightly to the left as they crossed the shoreline and then turning to point straight into the wind.

He lined up on the ironclad, pushing the nose down and yanking down hard on the exhaust vent, watching the green flag on the ship, which told him that they had received the fuel, and using it to judge any shifts in the wind.

"Quarter power."

Feyodor eased back on the throttle, and their forward speed died.

"You handle it."

As they slowed, the flame, which had been licking to the rear, started to come straight up. He lifted his feet, and smoke billowed up into the cab.

Jack leaned over the side, gauging the approach, easing back slowly, edging it up to meet an eddy of wind, then dropping it off again.

Jack nudged the nose of the ship down till it almost hit the water, wanting to touch down, but afraid that with the forward speed of the ship it would cause the nose to plow into the ocean. He had to hang on. He lifted the nose up slightly, drifting forward. The ship was anchored. There was no smoke from the stack, which had been taken down, the crew having dampened the fire. The green flag was dropped down, clearing the top of the ironclad.

The nose of Yankee Clipper II Yankee Clipper II edged up over the stern of the ship, moving forward. Sailors standing on the deck of the ironclad tentatively reached up to grab the dangling ropes. edged up over the stern of the ship, moving forward. Sailors standing on the deck of the ironclad tentatively reached up to grab the dangling ropes.

Several sailors came out of an open gunport carrying buckets. They ran to the side of the ship, leaned over, filled the buckets, and passed them up to men standing atop the gundeck.

"Grab hold, damn you!" Jack roared, and the men responded.

Feyodor edged the throttle back up. The aerosteamer moved forward down the length of the ironclad, the sailors adding their muscle, pulling on the ropes, more grabbing hold. Jack edged the elevator forward, and the cab hovered above the iron grating of the gundeck. A sailor came up alongside and threw a bucket of water straight in at Jack, soaking him. Steam and smoke swirled around. Another bucket splashed along the bottom, and then another, putting the fire out.

Sailors grabbed hold of the cab, steadying it, pulling it down to rest atop the ironclad. The ship's captain stood alongside, as awestruck as his men.

"Load us up quick!" Jack shouted, choking on the steam and smoke. "We've got two ships after us!"

"Where's the other one?"

"Dead."

The captain grabbed hold of the first can of kerosene and hoisted it up. Jack passed it back to Feyodor, who dropped it into one of the brackets to either side of his legs.

Jack looked down and saw that most of the bottom of the basket was scorched black, and several holes had been burned clean through. He grabbed a bucket of water and poured it down to make sure the fire was out. A sailor pulled on the side of the basket and stood back, holding up a four-foot-long Merki arrow, a scorched bundle of straw tied to the head.

Jack stood up to stretch, and one foot went through the bottom of the basket. He pulled it back up, steadying himself, suddenly realizing that he had a terrible need to relieve himself. He'd have to wait.

"The message galley came up with this load of kerosene yesterday. I thought the captain was insane when he told me what you were going to do."

"Well, dammit, I wouldn't have had to if your damn admiral hadn't gone gallivanting off to the south."

"Admiral Bullfinch was doing his duty," the captain shouted back defensively. "And you're crazy if you think we could have cut ten miles inland to that place. We'd have been wiped out."

"Well, I lost a good ship doing it."

"I'm sorry," the captain said. He pulled a flask out of his pocket, looked at it for a moment, and then, as if reaching a decision, passed it over. "Keep it."

Jack nodded his thanks.

292 William Forstchen William Forstchen "Aerosteamers!"

Down on the main deck a sailor was pointing to the north.

"How far?"

"A mile, maybe less."

"Hurry it up!" Jack shouted, grabbing a tin of kerosene from a waiting sailor and dropping it into his section of the cab. Reaching up, he pulled the exhaust vent closed; the load of fuel now firmly anchored the aerosteamer to the ironclad.

"How many, Feyodor?"

"Sixteen."

"I've got two," and he grabbed another one.

"Twenty! Let's go!"

"Cast us off!"

The captain stepped back from the cab.

"Cast away all lines!"

He came to attention and saluted.

"Good luck to you."

'Goddammit," Jack growled, forgetting to return the salute.

Feyodor, without waiting to be told, pushed the throttle full forward, the propeller humming up to a blur, while Jack pulled the elevator stick back to his stomach as he sat back down.

Yankee Clipper II started forward, the cab dragging across the deck. started forward, the cab dragging across the deck.

Reaching the end of the gundeck, the cab started to slip down the sloped side of the ship, and in a moment of blind panic Jack looked aft, expecting to see the propeller slam into the deck.

The nose of the ship started to angle up, and the tip of the propeller nicked the deck, splinters howling, and then they were up, moving slow, their former buoyancy replaced now by a heavy sluggish action. They turned slowly over the water.

"Throw that damn gun overboard."

"Like hell! We're going to need it."

"If they're above us, we're dead. Throw the damn thing over."

Cursing, Feyodor grabbed the small one-inch cannon, pulled it up out of its mount, and tossed it into the sea. The ship rose up, responding, helped as well by the gathering heat inside the now tightly sealed hot-air bag.

"Where are they?"