Ulrik and Chef

I ran back to Chef and the case of ammunition at his feet. Shells, of course, with the shotgun fallen three hundred feet below. I kicked it away. A case of bullets lay behind it.

“Rifle?”

The Frenchman looked startled, and searched the floor of the corridor. He sprang on the discarded rifle and brought it to me. Strange fellow, to toss a gun aside and fling saucepans. I suppose he’s had more practice with saucepans.

I loaded the gun, lay on the floor and fired out the open hatch at the gliding warriors. The Schöneluft jerked and shuddered in the increasing storm, ruining my aim. I mourned my shotgun, but at least we were moving.

Four of the War Wings were descending, but another seven caught an updraft. They were blown away from us for the moment, but would circle back to attack as soon as they could catch a thermal coming our way. For centuries the Mongols trained hawks and eagles to hunt and even fight for them; I suppose it was a natural progression to take to the skies themselves. The first flying Khan stole his airship from a Russian noble, and they’ve been leaping off them and pillaging for twenty years. They’re damn good at it.

My ears popped. We weren’t leaving the battle scene; we were still going straight up. I took a few shots at the Mongol fighting platform. No luck – they were a dozen yards out of range. The Lightening Generator blew east with the storm winds, quivering. It quivers like that when it’s building a charge. I glanced back at the ascending War Wings. They were just beginning their return loop a quarter mile away.

Fzzap! My head snapped back towards the generator. A sizzling orange ball of light spun away from it. It circled the balloon twice, three times, and flew towards me like a cannon ball! Hissing and spitting sparks, the lightening ball hit the Schöneluft’s wet silk not ten feet from me. It bounced and rolled up the envelope out of sight. Seconds later I heard shouts and the slamming of a port hatch.

I waited for the explosion, but it did not come. The boiler crew must have gotten the laboratory window shut in time. Ball lightening has been known to move through solid walls and force itself through keyholes, but this one seemed content to roll along.

The Generator was quivering again, but the War Wings were coming closer. I concentrated, feeling the wind and the juddering engines and the coming storm. Load, aim, fire. Load, aim, fire. Three fell, but I missed more often than I hit. I must have been tiring; I was top of my class in marksmanship at the Academy. An iron-tipped arrow struck the wooden hatch, an inch from my heart. I jumped back, as though there were anywhere to run. Then I saw sparks from the fuse. I lunged for it, pinching it off before it contacted the gunpowder. It near burned through my fingertip, and my thumb hurt like Hell. Lucky I’m ambidextrous; I can reload with the other hand.

The rider turned in his harness, another exploding arrow pointed at my heart.