Pat nodded, a sardonic grin lighting his face.

"Sound the alarm. Get the boys up and ready."

He ran up out of the bunker. The air was thick with smoke. An artillery round screamed overhead, plowing into a torn-up vineyard a hundred yards to the rear, vines and their frames hurtling up into the air.

If the barrage was designed for killing, it was doing precious little. He'd lost four guns and a caisson, maybe a couple of dozen infantry, but to think they could be shaken loose by a bombardment while hunkered down in the trenches was absurd. He looked up at a mortar round hissing down, striking the ground near where the last round had hit, the fuse failing.

He climbed up on the firing step and looked through the firing slot, his staff standing around him anxiously, ducking low as another shot screamed past.

"The Merki couldn't hit the broad side of a barn," he laughed and turned back, remembering with a sudden superstitious dread that old Uncle John Sedgwick had said the same thing at Spotsylvania and was dead before the words were out of his mouth.

The view forward was nothing but smoke. At least the barrage was providing that.

The sound of the bombardment from the far side of the river died away. They must be crossing through the guns. Bugles sounded along the line, drums rolled, and men stepped up to the firing line, muskets poked through the firing slits, loaders standing down in the trench, ready to grab empty guns and pass up reloads. The excitement was electric. No more running withdrawals, abandoning positions; this was going to be a stand-up knock-down, and they were ready. An angry defiant cheering started, swelling, racing down the line, a high rising scream of rage that sent a corkscrew chill down his back.

Officers were walking the line, shouting, chanting the same refrains over and over.

"Wait for the order, wait for the order."

"Aim low, boys, aim low."

A spattering of rifle fire sounded forward in the smoke.

He turned his head, his good ear cocked toward the enemy line. He could hear them now, even above the yelling of his own men. A steadily rising chant, growing louder.

From out of the smoke a thin line of men appeared, running low, skirmishers coming in, weaving their way along the marked paths through the deadfalls and abatis.

"They're coming, millions of them, in the river!"

A man wiggled through the firing slit into the trench next to him, panting hard.

"Got one of the bastards," he said proudly between gasps.

The damn river was too low, calf-deep for most of them, easily passable along its rocky bottom. He wished he could have held it there, but the heights on the other side would have given the Merki a plunging fire that would have been killing.

The chanting was sounding louder, coming forward, a horn sounding, other horns picking up the brazen cry.

He found himself breathing hard. It sounded like an ocean rolling in, a wave of insanity, screaming, advancing at the run, the thunder of their approach filling the world.

The smoke curled, shadows within moving.

"Get ready!"

To his left he heard a roaring explosion, Vincent's divisions opening with a crackling volley. He pulled himself up out of the trench through a narrow sally port, his staff shouting at him angrily.

"Ah, shut the hell up," he roared, and raising his glasses, he looked to the south.

Coming up out of the riverbed and onto the flood plain of the valley was a solid wall of Merki, casualties going down by the hundreds from the artillery and rifle fire to the left, a thick curtain of smoke rising up from Vincent's trenches.

"That's it, Hawthorne!" Pat screamed. "Feed it to 'em, God damn their souls, feed it to 'em!"

"General O'Donald, for Perm's sake get down!"

Pat turned and looked back to the west.

Less than a hundred yards away, masses of Merki were advancing out of the smoke, at the run, screaming their battle chants, standards held high, red flags down, pointed forward.

Pat raised his arm up high.

"Take aim!"

He heard the chilling yet reassuring sound of thousands of musket locks clicking back.

"Fire!" and he dropped his arm.

The volley slashed out, and it appeared as if the entire front rank of the Merki charge simply collapsed, artillery, loaded with solid shot and a load of canister on top, kicked off, the deep-throated bellow of the Napoleons counterpointed by the high cracking whine of the light four-pounders.

The charge continued in. From out of the cloud of smoke a darker wall rose up, the unleashing of over twenty thousand bows, fired by the two umens supporting the assault of the two umens going straight in.

Pat leaped back down into the trench, pressing himself up against the wall.

"Volley coming in!" he screamed.

A hail of arrows slammed down onto the overhead roof of earth-covered boards, the iron-tipped hail rattling with a near explosive roar, shafts suddenly raining down to the front and rear. Other arrows started to come in low on a flatter trajectory. A rifleman wordlessly tumbled back from the firing step, the tip of an arrow driven out the back of his skull.

A steady staccato roar of gunfire raced up and down the line. Pat looked up forward. Merki continued to drop, sprays of canister wiping out whole sections at a time. Yet still they continued in, tumbling into pitfalls, tripping and falling on top of sharpened stakes, tumbling and writhing in agony. A steady, near-hysterical screaming thundered up from both sides, the deep-throated booming roar of the Merki, the higher-pitched screams of the men, the pent-up fury and rage of both sides released in a maniacal frenzy of killing.

Yet as fast as they dropped them, more sprang up to take the place of the fallen, archers moving in, crouching low, firing with deadly skill, arrows slicing in through firing ports.

The covered trench was filled with a choking cloud of smoke, the view forward obscured, men firing at shadows. Pat started to walk up and down the line.

"Feed it to them, God damn their souls, feed it to them!"

He paused, climbing up to where a battery was deployed above the trench, protected by high earthen walls and a roof of planking. The gunners were taking casualties, bolts slamming through the wide firing ports. He pushed a gun sergeant aside and peered down the barrel. Cursing, he grabbed hold of the screw handle under the breech and cranked it up higher so that it seemed as if the shot would almost strike the ground directly in front. The loader finished, the crew ran the gun back up, and Pat sighted once more.

"Stand clear!"

He jerked the lanyard back, the Napoleon leaping, the smoke in front swirling from the load of canister screaming downrange, striking into the Merki line at knee height.

"Keep it up!"

He climbed back down into the main trench and started back to his command bunker, stepping over the bodies of the fallen, moving aside as two stretcher-bearers carried a soldier to the aid station, the old man choking on his own blood, the broken end of an arrow sticking out of his mouth.

"Pressure's building with Morrison's brigade," an aide shouted, looking up from the telegraph station. "Merki into the trenches."

Pat nodded, listening as the key continued to chatter.

"Requests support of the reserve division."

"Not yet, not yet," Pat growled. "The goddam day's only started."

Cursing angrily, Jack paced up and down in front of China Sea's China Sea's hangar. hangar.

"Get the damn engine going, get it going. Goddammit, you never should have come back in. Republic's Republic's the only one up there." the only one up there."

The pilot looked up at him, just as angry.

"The piston's cracked! It's got to be replaced!"

Jack knew the man was right-the ship had barely limped in, minutes behind his own-but not now, why did it have to be now?

The warning bugle continued to blow, and Jack looked back at the watchtower. In the distance he could hear the staccato of musketry from the fight on the other side of the river. But there was a closer sound, four-pound artillery, close by.

"They've stopped over the powder mill. Republic's Republic's got one of them. The powder mill guns are firing." got one of them. The powder mill guns are firing."

The watcher started to jump up and down excitedly.

"They've got one, right over the mill, it's going in!"

Jack started to run back to Yankee Clipper. Yankee Clipper. Atop the bag he could see his own crew chief. Atop the bag he could see his own crew chief.

"How is it?"

"Broken spar. Some bastard didn't retie it right- it's ripped a hole through bigger than my Aunt Mari's ass. All the hydrogen's gone."

"Get the hell down. We're going back up."

"You're crazy!"

"Get the hell down, or they'll burn us on the ground."

A dull whoosh cut through the air, and he started to turn. From the corner of his eye he saw a tremendous fireball rising up from out of the forest, and a split second later a thunderclap explosion snapped over him, the blow staggering him. The sound of shattering glass washed over the field, the fireball continuing to climb.

He steadied himself and looked back.

"Merciful Perm, it's the powder mill," Feyodor shouted, running up to Jack's side.

"We've got to get her up," Jack shouted, and turned to run to his ship.

He reached the basket, and Feyodor started to climb in.

"Just set the engine on full. I can work the throttle from up front."

"Like hell."

"It's leaked too much gas-it'll never get off the ground with both of us! Now do it!"

Feyodor hesitated, and Jack forced a weak grin.

"You said you were sick of flying with me."

Feyodor stepped out of the cab and took Jack's hand.

"I never meant it."

"Liar."

Jack climbed into the cab, and reaching over into Feyodor's side, he grabbed the engage for the propeller and pulled it forward. He looked to his port side and saw the crew chief sliding down from a support rope and landing heavily.

"Get the hell out," the chief screamed, running up alongside Jack even as he started to taxi Yankee Clipper II Yankee Clipper II out onto the field. "You've got no lift-the gas in the forward bag's gone!" out onto the field. "You've got no lift-the gas in the forward bag's gone!"

"Out of my way!"

Throttle full open, he pushed the rudder stick forward, the airship bouncing along the ground. There was no need for a ground crew to restrain the ship. He floated up slowly, gaining only a couple of feet. The woods on the east side of the field were straight ahead, coming up fast.

He reached back into Feyodor's cab and disengaged the propeller, pushing the rudder hard to the left. The ship turned ponderously, its nose barely missing the edge of the forest. And as the ship turned around, he looked back to the west and saw them.

To either side of the fireball that had once been the powder mill, two Merki ships were bearing in, the first already over the far side of the field, barely above the trees, coming on fast.

"No, God damn you!"

He grabbed hold of the propeller engage and slammed it, the blades humming up to a blur. With elevator stick full in his stomach he started forward, the nose ever so slowly lifting up as he gained speed.

The Merki ship continued straight on, passing over China Sea. China Sea. He saw the harpoon go down and hit. There was a moment as if nothing had happened, and then the blue flame started to race across the top of the ship, blowing into the tail end, which was still inside the hangar. He saw the harpoon go down and hit. There was a moment as if nothing had happened, and then the blue flame started to race across the top of the ship, blowing into the tail end, which was still inside the hangar.

China Sea disappeared in a fireball explosion, the victorious Merki ship now turning slightly to come straight on. disappeared in a fireball explosion, the victorious Merki ship now turning slightly to come straight on.

Ground crew, armed with crossbows, the flaming tips of the bolts wrapped with kerosene-soaked cotton, ran across the field, aiming up at the enemy ship, firing, the bolts disappearing into the vessel. Jack didn't even see them, he was looking up, the nose of Yankee Clipper Yankee Clipper rising slowly, the cab barely hovering above the ground but slowly gaining height. rising slowly, the cab barely hovering above the ground but slowly gaining height.

The shadow of the enemy ship was racing straight at him, his own vessel now blocking the view. He felt something hit. The shadow of the enemy ship was past, and for a brief second he thought he was going to make it. He looked to one side and saw ground crew, running-away from him, and the ship started to sag down, twisting on its long axis at the same time.

He vaulted up to the side of the basket and leaped out, hitting the ground hard, feeling something in his ankle give way with a crack. He went down and then came back up, feeling the heat of the fireball on his neck. Men to either side were running, but one came straight at him, Feyodor, grabbing him around the waist and bodily picking him off the ground, running hard. The fireball washed out around them, and Feyodor went down, covering Jack with his own body. The scorching flame shot over their heads, not touching the ground, the burning hydrogen racing up into the sky.

Feyodor came back up, grabbed Jack by the collar of his flight overalls, and ran a bit farther before collapsing down to the ground by his side, panting.

"Second time you've done that," Jack gasped.

"If I didn't save your ass I'd have to fly with some other damn fool with even worse luck."

Jack turned to looked back at Yankee Clipper II Yankee Clipper II as it collapsed in upon itself, flame soaring to the heavens. Another shadow raced pass, the ship climbing steeply, no targets left on the ground for it to kill. as it collapsed in upon itself, flame soaring to the heavens. Another shadow raced pass, the ship climbing steeply, no targets left on the ground for it to kill.

"They got the bastard," someone shouted, and Jack looked up to see the Merki ship that had hit him buckling up over the forest a half mile to the north, flame gushing out of both ends of the ruptured bag. The Merki ship, which had no internal support, collapsed in upon itself, sections of the paper-and-silk bag spiral-ing up, the basket underneath and what was left of the ship going down in flames.

All around him was chaos, two ships burning in the field, the powder mill a mile away burning fiercely.

Feyodor helped Jack up, supporting him as he walked on his good leg, and they hobbled across the field back to the headquarters building. High overhead another engine sounded, and he looked up to see Republic Republic swinging out in pursuit of the Merki ship. swinging out in pursuit of the Merki ship.

"One ship left," Jack said, his voice weak.