Terrible Swift Sword (38 page)

If any of the Merki airships should come over the countryside now, they would have to be blind not to surmise what was being done. He sketched in the position of the village, noting the burning barns. Feyodor was behind him doing the same, and they would compare charts later.

"Novrod!" Jack shouted, his voice too loud in the voice tube. He pointed to the city, nestled in on a gentle southward slope, going down to the banks of the Vina. A long train of passenger cars was rolling out of the station. Behind it another train—a long line of flatcars piled high with machinery, several boxcars on the end—was slowly climbing the slope into town.

"Not far now!" Feyodor replied. Leaning out of his chair, he bathed the engine drive shafts with a

long-necked oil can. He eyed the float gauge of the first tin drum of fuel and quickly calculated out their remaining supply.

Jack uncased his field glasses and trained them southwestward. Within seconds, he saw the four dark ships on the horizon.

"I see them!" 

Feyodor leaned around, taking his own glasses and training them on the spot where Jack had pointed.

The Rus engineer nodded, saying nothing.

"Taking her up higher." He pulled the up-rudder back slightly, letting the nose rise, and then centered it while the ship continued to climb.

He had spent countless hours debating tactics with Feyodor, both of them often screaming at each other, reminding their companion that if the other was wrong, they would both go down in flames cursing each other.

They had at least agreed on one thing, that whoever came in higher and faster, and with the wind at their backs, would have the advantage.

The rest was all a mystery. He suspected they could climb faster than the Merki, but wasn't sure. The Merki ships were certainly bigger, and he feared their engines were far more powerful. Colonel Keane had given strict orders not to destroy one over a city, fearing whatever mysterious poison was inside the engine if it should break open, but Jack knew if battle was joined that would be the least of his worries. But the Merki ships were simple balloons kept rigid by the gas inside, while the
Flying Cloud
had a wicker-worked structure woven out of a bamboo-like plant that was hollow, light, and extremely tough.

Coming almost to the northwest corner of the reservoir, he turned more westerly. Suzdal was now clearly in view, the gold roof of the cathedral catching the noonday sun and reflecting the light with a golden red. The high log buildings of the old town looked fairy tale-ish, their multicolored roofs a riot of color, while the section rebuilt after the war was dominated by the Yankee Quarter, the twin spires of the Methodist and Congregationalist Churches shining white.

It all had a toylike appearance, which fascinated him as the ship climbed ever higher. The reservoir was now below, stretching for several miles through the low, tree-lined hills. Farther to the south he could see the low ridges above abandoned Fort Lincoln, where the ore and coal mines were. Atop the highest of the hills the slender line of a watchtower jutted up, the position from which the enemy aerosteamers had first been sighted.

Near the earthen wall of the dam, the valley below revealed the vast factory complex, the tracks bordering each building aswarm with workers, disassembled machines piled high, engines backing in to the siding, pushing a long line of empty boxcars. A sea of tiny oval faces was turned upward, and Jack felt a surge of pleasure. He and Feyodor were alone on the stage, like the knights of old going forth to single combat, a David facing four Goliaths. Even at this great height he could hear the faint echo of their cheering.

"Well, now everyone knows!" Feyodor shouted.

"Let's hope we get back to bask in the glory."

The enemy ships were already above the mouth of the Neiper, slowly moving up the river in single file, each ship a mile behind the one in front.

Jack had yet to learn how to gauge relative height and distance, for all the sensations in their realm, both physical and visual, were far too new. But it was obvious they must be having some sort of effect on the Merki ships. The lead vessel was at a near stop, the three behind coming up and spreading out to the east.

Continuing to climb, they rose above the factory and headed straight over Suzdal, the church bell ringing below, those still in the city looking up, shouting and pointing. It was a lovely sight; the old city a warren of narrow lanes leading to the great square, the cathedral, and the partially bombed ruins of the Presidential and Senate building.

"Prelate Casmar!" Feyodor cried, leaning over to point straight down at the cathedral tower, where a lone, black-robed figure stood, waving excitedly. Feyodor again made the sign of blessing, and Jack wondered if prayers could float up to be captured and held.

On the far bank of the river the low hills rose up, their crest marked by felled trees and the raw slashes of gun emplacements. The forest rolled on for miles, the open steppe beyond visible on the horizon, the southward run of the Potomac military railroad an arrow-straight line through the woods, crammed now with a long column of Merki horse warriors. He was tempted to push on, to do a little reconnaissance of his own, but the orders were clear there as well: Do not risk the ship over enemy territory. If the engine should cut out now, the wind would bring them far across the river before Jack could bring her down. He didn't relish the thought of landing inside Merki lines.

The enemy aerosteamers were gathering just above Fort Lincoln, as if waiting to see what he would do. He pushed the rudder over to the left, the
Flying Cloud
turning to run southward with the wind at its back.

"We're definitely above them!" Jack shouted.

The south side of Suzdal passed below, the river just to his right with two ironclads anchored in midstream. The bed of the MFL & S traced southward the few scant miles to Fort Lincoln, which now stood covered in high grass, the old cabins of their first home on this world sitting abandoned and derelict.

The four enemy aerosteamers were drawing up abreast, their noses pointed high, struggling to climb.

"Get ready, Feyodor!"

The Rus engineer tore open a wicker basket lined with straw and gingerly lifted out a thin-walled jar, a linen wick sticking out of the wax-sealed top.

Nervously, Feyodor looked over Jack's shoulder as the range closed.

"A good thousand feet above the bastards!" Feyodor shouted.

Jack nodded and pushed the rudder forward. The nose of the
Flying Cloud
dropped and its speed increased, as the ship went into a slow dive, engine howling.

"I'm lighting it!" Feyodor shouted. With a gloved hand he pulled open the door to the engine boiler and stuck the linen wick inside. Pulling it out, he held the pot nervously, watching the wick flicker, terrified that a burning ember might snap lose and get whisked astern to lodge against the underbelly of the aerosteamer.

He looked back over his shoulder.

"Dropping now!"

He released the jar, flame snapping around it. With a groan, he watched as the jar fell far forward of the center airship and continued to plummet to the ground, the wick going out. The enemy ship soared by beneath them, nose still high, the eyes of the eagle that were painted forward barely visible. Jack steered straight on.

"Give us full power, Feyodor!"

He pushed the rudder hard over, the
Flying Cloud
turning eastward, drifting astern of the enemy ships, which were still climbing.

The enemy airships continued to climb slowly, like black whales of the sky. Reaching a full easterly heading, the wind continued to push the
Flying Cloud
aft of the enemy ships. Jack continued the turn and leveled the ship, coming out a good half mile astern of the enemy vessels, which were still pushing northward and slowly rising.

He singled out the ship farthest to the east and headed straight for it.

Directly below the old forge, the first iron foundry of Valennia passed beneath, the crew of workers out on the track jumping up and down, shouting, urging them on.

The climbing race continued, with the enemy ships slowly pulling ahead, though Jack found he climbed at a slightly higher rate with the exhaust vent fully closed off.

Running parallel to the MFL & S rail line, the five ships moved up toward Suzdal.

"Can't you get any more speed?"

"At full throttle already!" Feyodor cried.

Jack pushed the ship into a shallow dive, wind buffeting his face, the ship rippling up and down in the northerly breeze, a thermal rising from an open field causing an upward surge. They started to gain, and he nosed over even further.

Hands white-knuckled on the controls, he guided the
Flying Cloud
in, coming up astern of the most easterly ship, which was still rising as he dived down. He pushed hard rudder over to the right to avoid smashing into the tail, and then hard left.

"Now, Feyodor!"

The aerosteamer mechanic lifted up a revolver as the cabins of the two ships came alongside with not ten yards separating them, the air bags above brushing alongside each other.

The two Merki looked over at him wide-eyed. Feyodor leveled the revolver and squeezed, cocked, and squeezed again and yet again.

One of the Merki flinched and the other shook its fist, its cries of rage heard above the roaring of the caloric engine. The enemy ship continued to rise as they shot past. The revolver empty, Feyodor lifted a musket, the barrel sawed off. Leaning far out of the cab, Feyodor fired it off with an explosive roar, the recoil of the double load of buckshot slamming him back with such force that he dropped the weapon, which tumbled end-over-end to the ground below. One of the Merki slumped back, clutching its shoulder.

"Got him!" Feyodor screamed.

Shouting with joy, Jack pointed the nose of the
Flying Cloud
up, as the enemy ship started to turn to the west and continued on through, putting its stern to the wind.

Jack swung the
Flying Cloud
into a shallow turn to the left, then pulled the nose up again, angling in toward the other three vessels. The nearest one suddenly turned head-on, nose pointing up at a forty-five-degree angle, the two Merki engineers hanging in their side-by-side chairs.

Jack was tempted to run head-on, plowing the nose of the
Flying Cloud
straight into the cabin dangling below the balloon, but the thought of what might happen caused him to push the rudder forward, dropping
Flying Cloud
back down, pushing it hard over to the north again. The two vessels crossed, the Merki above. He felt a thump.

"Bloody Kesus!" Feyodor screamed.

Jack looked aft to see a Merki bomb tumbling end-over-end toward the ground, sparks trailing from its fuse. The bomb turned into a black point, an explosion detonating in a field just south of the city.

"Dropped it on us, and it didn't explode," Feyodor gasped.

Jack's legs started to tremble, feeling as if they had turned to jelly. The other two ships were turning as well, coming straight at him.

"Hang on, Feyodor!" He pulled the up-rudder full back.

The ship started to surge upward, and he prayed that the Merki ship that had bombed them had cleared, since the vast bag overhead blocked all view in that direction.

The nose climbed past forty-five degrees up to sixty, and he leveled the rudder and pressed back in his chair, Feyodor behind him cursing wildly as he dangled from his safety belt.

Like two lines of a triangle climbing toward the apex, the Merki and Rus ships rose heavenward. Jack pushed the rudder over to the right, pivoting the vessel toward the northwest. The next Merki ship passed to the right, climbing in the opposite direction, the engineers on board shaking their fists in rage. Jack pulled out a revolver and, Feyodor following suit, they blazed away. The two Merki ducked down as the ships passed, and when the shooting had stopped they rose back up, shouting insults.

The last ship was before him, and he could see they were climbing at a slightly faster rate than the enemy.

"Get another one ready!"

Feyodor reached over to his side, this time cutting free from alongside his chair the wicker basket filled with the fragile jars. Balancing the basket on his lap, he pulled a jar out. He stuck the wick into the boiler for a moment, then pulled it out and placed it back in with the other containers.

He held the basket over the side as it started to flame.

"Hurry up!" Feyodor roared.

Jack turned the ship back toward the southwest, and the nose of the enemy ship passed by not a hundred feet below.

Feyodor dropped the flaming basket. It slammed into the top of the enemy balloon, even as the Merki pilot started to turn to the west in a vain attempt to run parallel with the
Flying Cloud.
The basket slid off the side of the balloon, a burst of liquid flame trailing behind it.

The enemy ship continued to turn, the flame licking the silk covering. It seemed to wink out with a wisp of smoke.

Feyodor leaned out of his chair, watching. The silk top of the ship suddenly appeared to melt open, a barely visible tongue of blue flame rippling along the top of the ship where a river of benzine from the broken jug had soaked the silk.

"It's catching!" Feyodor roared.

Jack looked over his shoulder.

The melted circle of silk rolled back, and a jet of blue flame roared up.

"She's going up!" Jack screamed.

A shudder passed through the Merki ship, the bag buckling in. It started to nose over, wisps of flaming silk shooting skyward on a river of heat, soaring straight up into the underside of the
Flying Cloud
which surged upward, bucking wildly.

Terrified, Jack pushed the rudder hard to the right and turned to the northwest, going straight over the Neiper. The enemy ship started to fold in, pointing a trailing arc of fire down across the river, which caught and reflected the fiery glow of the death plunge. In a river of flame, the ship tumbled from the sky in a fireball. A smoke-wreathed body