white chest band. And they carried Vickers submachine guns.
The marines squeezed the triggers, and a lethal flood of lead rounds screamed toward the intruders.
Lucas was behind the bomb rack, and the heavy guide rails caught most of the bullets headed for him. Several rounds slammed into the wall behind him, but many struck the rails, and ricocheted crazily in the bay.
Then one slug found its way through the framework and tore through Lucas’s calf. He cried out from the trauma and pitched sideways toward the open bay doors.
Morgan yelled for him. “Lucas!” He reached for his friend, but was just out of reach. Lucas stumbled, then fell through the gaping bomb bay.
Eliza saw Lucas fall, but forced herself to focus on the most critical threat. She crouched low, turning sideways to present the smallest possible target and lined up her first shot. The first marine was moving quickly. She led his movement, and smoothly squeezed the trigger. The marine’s jaw exploded and he collapsed. She swung her aim toward the second marine, as her peripheral vision told her three more had entered the bay.
Morgan’s eyes were locked on the open bay doors where Lucas had fallen. Then he turned to those responsible. With a guttural roar, he charged straight at them, both fists eager to pound bone and brain. He saw one marine go down with a shattered jaw, then saw the other one lift his Vickers.
Morgan surged forward to close the gap, but it wasn’t enough. The marine opened fire. One round ripped through Morgan’s bicep. He screamed as another bullet tore through his shoulder, then another hit him in the chest, shredding his lung. He slumped to his knees, blood frothing in his mouth. He fell forward, then went still.
“No!” screamed Eliza. She took aim at the marine who’d killed Morgan, and sent a round into his chest, then another into his temple. The three new marines saw her, and she dove for cover as they brought their guns to bear on her.
Outside, below the airship, Lucas was falling. The cold air roared around his head, even louder than the alarm klaxon had been. He twisted in the air, slipping closer to his death by the second. The massive airship flashed above him, then he spun and saw the airbase and the nearby forest. The rope he’d secured whipped past him, and he reached out, frantic. His arm caught, then lost, then caught the line.
He spun his arm around madly, wrapping the line around it. Then he pulled hard, clenching his arm against his chest. The line tightened like a python, biting deep into his forearm. The friction burned through the thin worker’s uniform, then continued burning through his skin. A vise grip clamped down on his forearm, and the line dug itself into his fragile arm, but it caught.
He stopped with a sickening jerk, and the tendons in his shoulder and elbow screamed in protest. The pain blinded Lucas, and he blinked repeatedly, working the tears from his eyes. The roaring wind wicked them away, and he realized with surprise that he was hanging from the floating airship.
Eliza scrambled away from the three marines as they opened fire. A blistering hail of lead tore through the bay, and she screamed, covering her head as she crouched behind a heavy winch motor. The bullets ripped and shredded the wood shelves above her, and a dozen technical manuals rained down on her. The shelves disintegrated into splinters, and she knew the bullets would do the same to her flesh. Unconsciously, she ran through her tactical options, and came up short. She checked the sidearm. The magazine held five more rounds. More than enough, she figured. She got ready to launch one final assault.
Just then, inside a crate of bananas, a timer’s clockwork clicked. An electrical connection was made, and with one small spark, fourteen sticks of dynamite detonated. The explosion blew through the shunt control room, ripping through the room’s ceiling, and rupturing three of the six petrol tanks
The marines squeezed the triggers, and a lethal flood of lead rounds screamed toward the intruders.
Lucas was behind the bomb rack, and the heavy guide rails caught most of the bullets headed for him. Several rounds slammed into the wall behind him, but many struck the rails, and ricocheted crazily in the bay.
Then one slug found its way through the framework and tore through Lucas’s calf. He cried out from the trauma and pitched sideways toward the open bay doors.
Morgan yelled for him. “Lucas!” He reached for his friend, but was just out of reach. Lucas stumbled, then fell through the gaping bomb bay.
Eliza saw Lucas fall, but forced herself to focus on the most critical threat. She crouched low, turning sideways to present the smallest possible target and lined up her first shot. The first marine was moving quickly. She led his movement, and smoothly squeezed the trigger. The marine’s jaw exploded and he collapsed. She swung her aim toward the second marine, as her peripheral vision told her three more had entered the bay.
Morgan’s eyes were locked on the open bay doors where Lucas had fallen. Then he turned to those responsible. With a guttural roar, he charged straight at them, both fists eager to pound bone and brain. He saw one marine go down with a shattered jaw, then saw the other one lift his Vickers.
Morgan surged forward to close the gap, but it wasn’t enough. The marine opened fire. One round ripped through Morgan’s bicep. He screamed as another bullet tore through his shoulder, then another hit him in the chest, shredding his lung. He slumped to his knees, blood frothing in his mouth. He fell forward, then went still.
“No!” screamed Eliza. She took aim at the marine who’d killed Morgan, and sent a round into his chest, then another into his temple. The three new marines saw her, and she dove for cover as they brought their guns to bear on her.
Outside, below the airship, Lucas was falling. The cold air roared around his head, even louder than the alarm klaxon had been. He twisted in the air, slipping closer to his death by the second. The massive airship flashed above him, then he spun and saw the airbase and the nearby forest. The rope he’d secured whipped past him, and he reached out, frantic. His arm caught, then lost, then caught the line.
He spun his arm around madly, wrapping the line around it. Then he pulled hard, clenching his arm against his chest. The line tightened like a python, biting deep into his forearm. The friction burned through the thin worker’s uniform, then continued burning through his skin. A vise grip clamped down on his forearm, and the line dug itself into his fragile arm, but it caught.
He stopped with a sickening jerk, and the tendons in his shoulder and elbow screamed in protest. The pain blinded Lucas, and he blinked repeatedly, working the tears from his eyes. The roaring wind wicked them away, and he realized with surprise that he was hanging from the floating airship.
Eliza scrambled away from the three marines as they opened fire. A blistering hail of lead tore through the bay, and she screamed, covering her head as she crouched behind a heavy winch motor. The bullets ripped and shredded the wood shelves above her, and a dozen technical manuals rained down on her. The shelves disintegrated into splinters, and she knew the bullets would do the same to her flesh. Unconsciously, she ran through her tactical options, and came up short. She checked the sidearm. The magazine held five more rounds. More than enough, she figured. She got ready to launch one final assault.
Just then, inside a crate of bananas, a timer’s clockwork clicked. An electrical connection was made, and with one small spark, fourteen sticks of dynamite detonated. The explosion blew through the shunt control room, ripping through the room’s ceiling, and rupturing three of the six petrol tanks
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