The two ducked as a round screamed overhead to detonate in the rail yard behind them, a cry of agony rising up seconds later.

"Going to be a long day," Pat said.

Andrew looked up as a thumping noise grew louder and saw Republic Republic turning to run to the west. turning to run to the west.

"Good luck," he whispered, knowing that yet again he was sending someone out to die.

He could hear Feyodor chanting a soft prayer, and though he was a good Methodist he was tempted to join in the prayer to Perm.

This time there was no backing off. Either three Merki ships would be down or he would be down, and even if he survived it would be far behind their lines.

He pulled his revolver out to check the load. Two rounds would be saved.

He crossed over the long columns of the Merki umens, the sea of faces turning up to watch his passage, scimitars flashing, defiant chants rising up, taunting him to come down.

He didn't even bother to lean out of the cab to give a derisive wave. He was too focused on what was ahead.

The three ships were at different altitudes, one almost at ground level, the second at his own, several thousand feet up, the third angling up a thousand feet higher.

He watched intently, calculating. Go for the top one and the low one goes straight through. Go for either of the other two and the top one comes down.

He decided, nervously opening and closing his fist, perspiration beading up under his goggles.

The ships were getting bigger, coming on, one staggered above the other. He started to pull up slightly, as if going for a climbing match against the topmost ship. The Merki aerosteamer raised its nose even higher, continuing to climb.

"Oh Perm, in our hour of need, heed our prayers to thee."

"Shut up and get ready."

He pulled the elevator full back, nose climbing.

"Dump the hot air!"

Feyodor reached up and grabbed hold of the release cord, pulling it full open.

"Going down hard. Hang on!"

The two aerosteamers straight ahead were pitching up higher in an attempt to outrace his climb.

He slammed the elevator full forward.

"Keep that speed at full bore."

The nose of Republic Republic went down, crossing through the horizon, the pitch dropping down and speed increasing as he went through a forty-five-degree dive and then into a sixty, aiming straight ahead of the lowest ship, which was continuing to move straight on in. went down, crossing through the horizon, the pitch dropping down and speed increasing as he went through a forty-five-degree dive and then into a sixty, aiming straight ahead of the lowest ship, which was continuing to move straight on in.

He could not help but admire the courage of the crew in the lowest ship, who were obviously putting themselves in the position of bait to give an advantage to the upper two.

He saw a dark form moving atop the ship. "Jesus Christ, they've got someone on top!" Jack shouted.

The Merki, standing in a small basket, swung a swivel gun up, pointed straight at Jack, and fired. Most of the shot screamed to port, but a round of grape cracked into the forward hydrogen bag, a spar cracking from the impact.

"Son of a bitch! Why didn't we think of that?" Feyodor shouted.

"Hang on."

He continued the dive, pushing the nose farther forward, bracing the elevator stick with his knees, and leaned forward to look down the gun sight.

He swung it slightly to starboard, judging the distance. The front of the Merki ship filled the sight. Three hundred yards. A few more seconds.

"Pull the heat vent closed," Jack shouted. It'd be a minute or more before he needed the additional lift, but when he did it had to be there.

The center of the ship was in the sight, the Merki working with a rammer, reloading his gun.

He put his hand on the telegraph key, sparing a quick look down to check that it was over the first terminal. He looked back down the sight.

He pressed the key down, completing the circuit.

He wasn't really sure what to expect, and in the first instant it scared him to death. A rocket, strapped to a swivel mount below, flared to life, shooting out of its launch tube. The bottom of the basket was protected by a thin layer of tin. The rocket snapped forward, racing straight down at the Merki ship, flame and smoke blowing out the rear, and a curse started to form, for surely it would burn a hole right through the bottom of his own ship.

Directly behind the Merki gunner there was a flash of light even as Jack pulled back hard and slammed the rudder over full to port, still keeping the nose down.

The explosion of the ten-pound charge ripped the bag open, spraying it with grapeshot and burning pitch. A fireball leaped up, and as he started into his turn he leaned over to see the Merki ship collapsing into flames.

"Mother of Perm!"

Screaming, Feyodor was standing up, backing into Jack, the basket swaying, and he looked over his shoulder.

A harpoon was dangling out of the bottom of the bag, directly behind the propeller.

He waited for what seemed like an eternity for the explosion to hit, and then the harpoon started to fall again, a broken piece of rope trailing behind it. To the rear of the ship he saw a smoking board tumble off the aft end and fall to the ground.

Still shaking, he looked back forward. The nose was still down, the ground now only a few hundred feet below.

"The harpoon hit, but the rope broke. We're all right."

"It could still be burning!" Feyodor shouted.

"If it was, we'd be dead. Now shut up!"

He started to pull back hard on the elevator, sparing a quick glance at the mushroom of fire racing out over the steppe as the Merki ship impacted. Coming yet lower, he saw his shadow racing far ahead, another shadow moving across it to the rear at a right angle headed south.

He continued the dive then pulled back hard, fearing for an instant that though he knew the characteristics of his old Yankee Clipper, Yankee Clipper, he had misjudged how this ship would handle. he had misjudged how this ship would handle.

The nose started to swing up, even as they continued to drop and then started to level out. The ground came racing up, the ship cutting an arc, the basket sweeping a dozen feet above the ground, the ship running full out, and then it started up into a climb.

He looked at his shadow, seeing the shadow of the Merki ship moving to the south. He pushed the rudder to starboard and started into a spiraling climb, nose now passing through thirty degrees. He realized he was rising a bit too slow; the harpoon hole in the hot air section was letting the lift escape. As he turned he saw the Merki ship leveling out, fifty feet off the ground, now alongside.

"Harpoon!"

Feyodor stood up, striking the friction match, dropping the board over. Continuing to climb, he aimed for the middle of the Merki ship, passing over it. A gunner was atop this one as well, firing, the shot tearing another hole in the bag.

"Harpoon away!"

Jack looked down, groaned as the spear seemed to be heading for the ship and then passed over it, skimming by to one side and continuing on down to the ground.

Another harpoon dropped past, this one forward. The other Merki ship.

He continued to pull back on the elevator and the nose rose yet higher, passing through sixty degrees, Feyodor cursing wildly.

He suddenly saw the bottom of the Merki ship passing overhead, a hundred yards straight ahead. He crouched over the gunsight, lining up. The hell with the range.

He looked down at the key, swung it to the middle terminal, and pressed down.

The rocket snapped out, racing forward, then turn-378 William Forstchen William Forstchen ing on a long graceful arc straight into the ground, exploding just before it hit.

"Goddamm it, Ferguson!"

He threw the key to the third terminal and pressed down hard.

There was another flash. The rocket climbed straight up, less than a second later slamming into the bottom of the Merki ship forward of the cab. Republic Republic continued to climb straight at it, and Jack was tempted to try ramming. continued to climb straight at it, and Jack was tempted to try ramming.

And then ever so slowly the nose of the ship started to crumple up, and he saw the explosions racing along the top, the hydrogen ignited by the rocket's going clean through from bottom to top, even though the warhead had failed to explode.

Jack pushed into a turning corkscrew dive, and as he watched to port, not fifty feet away the Merki ship tumbled down, the screams of the two crew members clearly audible even above the roar of the flames.

Shaking, he watched as it hit the ground several hundred feet below, one of the two crew actually crawling out of the wreckage, writhing in flames, and then collapsing.

The third ship was turning back to the north while he continued south, and he shot past it, not fifty yards away.

The other pilot was clearly visible as they approached, the Merki looking down at the wreckage of the two ships, and then back at Jack.

And to his astonishment the Merki did not shoot. Instead, he raised his hand almost in defiance, and yet almost in salute to a fellow aerosteamer pilot who had won, and then turned his ship away, heading back to the west.

"Did you see that?" Jack shouted.

"Guess he's had it."

"Flying fleets of one to a side," Jack said. "Maybe he wants to keep it that way."

He watched warily, expecting at any moment that the Merki would turn or go into a climb to position himself for another attack. But he continued straight on.

"Let's go home and get repaired," Jack said wearily, aware that he was beginning to shake violently. "The war's over for today."

"They're coming in."

Andrew, who had been dozing in his office, was instantly awake, heading out the door and into the glaring heat of day.

Eyes gummy, he looked up at the station clock, which miraculously had withstood two days of bombardment, its glass panes still intact.

Almost eleven. Six hours. Good.

He crossed the tracks and went up to the line of breastworks. A battery of light four-pounders to his right was kicking into action, adding its weight to the heavy fire of the grand battery that was now going into rapid fire.

It was difficult to see through the smoke. He raised his field glasses, and trained them on the opposite shore.

The checkerboard blocks were coming down the opposite slope at the run, the front lines well past the batteries, advanced skirmishers already into the river, the calf-deep water splashing as they crossed it at a slow run.

He looked back down to the valley. Through the haze he could see several guns being withdrawn to the rear, gunners clinging to the caissons, riders lashing the horses, skirmishers coming up out of the trenches and running for the rear.

"Any more word from the north?"

Pat shook his head.

"Telegraph line's still down. Last report was that they had two, maybe three regiments across. The rail lines are still cut."

"Damn."

He ran a quick calculation. Sending Barry's reserve division back up would strip the line here. Schneid's entire corps was positioned from a couple of miles north of Hispania all the way down to here and a third of the way out along the ridge, only two regiments pulled to be reserve. Marcus was stretched on the far south and Vincent in the center. The Third and Fourth, both of them shattered, were in the center aboard trains, ready to be shifted.

Damn.

"What do you think?"

"Their mobility's down," Pat said meditatively, leaning over the parapet to eject a thin stream of tobacco juice. "Otherwise we'd be in the manure pile. Detach two regiments by train north, and keep the rest of the division here. That'll still give you eight fresh regiments."

Andrew looked back at the advancing host and then turned to a messenger.

"Send one regiment north from Barry's corps. Have 'em clear the line."

He looked back at Pat.

"The battle's here, and here's where we concentrate. If they cross north we'll deal with that later."

"What about the aerosteamer field, and that other factory of Chuck's?"

He hesitated.

Ferguson was supposed to bring his contraption up today. The damn thing might work, but most likely not. He couldn't wasted more reserves just to try to retrieve it.

"I can't spare the men," Andrew said coldly. "I'll need every regiment, every battery, right here before this day's finished."

The thunder of battle swelled closer.

Chuck Ferguson stood in the doorway of his factory, wiping the sweat from his brow, watching as the columns of smoke rose out of the woods.

"Getting damn close," Theodor said, coming up to join him.

He looked back to the rail siding running parallel to the factory. Three long trains were drawn up, crews working feverishly, bolting the frames down, loading the tubes. Not as many as he wanted, but still enough for one damn good shot. He'd soon be ready, but where the hell to go?