"Yeah, Will."
The pilots were banking the Ford gently toward the slowly rising airship. "This is important, Indy," Cromwell continued. "Watch those discs coming in. They're sliding about. Wobbling. They're slick in shape, Indy. That means they haven't much lift up here."
"Indy, Rene here. The Britisher is right. They cannot make any real banks for maneuvering. Watch how they turn, like on a flat table. Do you see?"
Indy watched the discs as they approached in wide, very shallow turns. They were right. Those things were devastating down low in thick air, but in this rarefied atmosphere they were barely capable of flight.
"Will, what do you think they'll do?"
"They can't come up sharply from below us," Cromwell answered immediately. "If they try that, leading edge up, they'll stall out. And no pursuit curves, either. Not the way they're flying, like fish out of water. This is a break for us."
"Indy, Rene here. I think they will make a shallow approach from behind. Two of them. Slightly above and behind. They must travel at full speed or they will fall."
"You said two. What about the third?"
"He will attack us from the front."
"Joe, you hear me?" Cromwell called.
"Yes."
"When they come after us from behind I'm going to swing the nose to the right. That will give you a clear shot at the blighters."
"A-all right."
"Not so fast. There's no interruptor mechanism in your weapon. You understand?"
"No."
"It means you've got to be careful you don't shoot our bloody tail right off this machine! Have you got that?"
"I have it. Tell them to hurry up. I'm freezing."
"I'll send them a telegram, Joe."
"Indy, right after that pass, the ones from behind," Foulois called, "we must continue our turn, but put the nose down. You understand? That will let you fire at the disc that comes on us from the front. Gale Parker, the one from the front must pass beneath us. You will have only a moment to shoot as he goes below you. He cannot climb, so that is how he will fly."
"This ends the sewing circle, ladies!" Cromwell said loudly. "Here they come!"
The discs spewed black smoke behind them as they continued their painful slow turn in toward the Ford. "Get ready..." Cromwell said. "Watch those two from behind!"
Chino saw a flashing light at the leading edge of the discs. "They are firing!" he shouted.
Instantly Cromwell shoved in right rudder, swinging the nose to the right, bringing the tail to the left and giving Chino a brief but perfect opportunity. Everything they'd told Chino about short bursts was forgotten as he aimed at a point in space ahead of the discs and squeezed his trigger. Glowing tracers curved out and away in a steady stream.
"Short bursts!" Indy yelled.
His voice went unheard as Chino kept firing. Bullets tore into the Ford's right wingtip, shredding metal, throwing pieces of debris back to vanish from sight. "Hit! Hit!" Chino yelled. "Got him! I see fire! Eeyah!"
His tracers had smashed the glass canopy of the disc, and had apparently gone through the cockpit area into a fuel tank. An explosion wracked the disc. The pilot was trying desperately to climb up and away, knowing another disc was about to hit the Ford from the opposite direction. But with the wind screaming into the cockpit and flames tearing at the structure, he was still descending—straight at the trimotor.
"Turn left! Turn left!" Indy yelled. "Dive! He's out of control coming straight at us!"
It was a perilous maneuver at this altitude, but they had no choice. Immediately the nose swung left and the right wing went up, as Cromwell brought the Ford around in a sudden diving left turn. Over the roar of their engines a tremendous hollow torching sound burst through the airplane. The disc was out of control, flip-flopping crazily, spewing flames and debris. It passed just under the raised right wing of the Ford, scant feet beneath the plane. The shock wave from its passing smacked the Ford like a giant hand. Cromwell and Foulois fought desperately to keep control. A steep bank at this height could stall them out in a split second. Slowly they brought the Ford from its brief descent, wings level.
A machine-gun burst vibrated through the airplane. "He's below us!" Gale shouted into her microphone. Lying prone, looking down, she'd had a glimpse of the second disc coming into sight. Her reaction was to open fire immediately, shooting wildly in the all-too-brief opportunity. The disc raced ahead of the Ford, easing to the left to remain clear of the third disc, now a gleaming sliver of reflected sunlight racing head-on at them.
"Open fire!" Cromwell shouted to Foulois. "If nothing else you'll give him something to worry about!"
Two machine guns blazed from the wings of the Ford, tracers flashing ahead, sparkling all about the disc. At the same moment they saw the flashing light of the disc's machine gun, firing at the airplane. It came in with tremendous speed. Before they could maneuver, a spray of bullets hammered into the right wing, walking toward the cockpit.
The Ford shuddered as if hit with a truck. "The rocket pack! Right wing!" Indy shouted. "It's gone!" The attack had smashed into the big rocket canister beneath the right wing, mangling the hard-point connections and blowing away the entire system. They were more than lucky. The force of their speed had ripped the rocket pack free before one of the warheads ignited. Well behind and below them, the rocket canister exploded in a searing burst of flame. The wreckage fell away like confetti in a hurricane.
"Will, go for the airship," Indy ordered. "We've got just those three rockets left."
"Don't I know it," Cromwell answered, already easing the trimotor toward the airship. "We'll make it before he can climb much higher," Cromwell went on. "We've still got about fifteen hundred feet on him—good God..." They heard the strain in Cromwell's voice. "It's Frenchy. He's hit. Bad. Blood all over the place here. Better get him in the back to stop the bleeding and check his oxygen!"
"Disc is coming in!" they heard Chino shouting. "Behind us and lower. I cannot get aim at him!"
"Gale!" Indy called. "I can see him. When I tell you to, aim your weapon behind you in direct line with the fuselage. He may just fly into your tracers."
"But I'll be shooting blind!"
"You have a better idea? Just shut up and get ready to fire! Okay, he's committed... coming in just below us, and he's firing...."
They felt bullets striking the tail. Cromwell shoved hard right rudder, then left, moving the plane from side to side to throw off their attacker's aim. Gale screamed; she was being rolled from side to side herself.
The ball-socket gun mount was a rushed affair. In the bitter cold, the metal had shrunk and become brittle. Indy yelled to her, "Fire now!" and she squeezed the trigger. The sudden movements of the plane, Gale's trying to keep from bouncing around even in her harness, and the bucking recoil of the machine gun were too much for the makeshift system. Metal tore, the cross-mounts snapped like sticks, and the machine gun fell away from the airplane.
Gale had a glimpse of a brilliant disc flashing into view, in line with falling wreckage. She stared in disbelief as the machine gun slammed into the canopy of the disc, shattering the glass and smashing against the pilot. A convulsive jerk at the controls of the disc sent it whirling crazily, all lift gone, the machine in a killer high-speed stall. It spun away like a whirling dervish, spewing forth wreckage and fuel. Far below them, flame blossomed and the disintegrating disc fell toward final destruction.
"Someone help me! HELP!"
Gale's voice... in his headset. Indy looked back to the belly gun position. Gale was gone! He saw her legs snagged in her safety harness. From the knees down she was still in the cabin, but the rest of her body was outside in that punishing frigid air. The air blast buffeted her madly, several times slamming her against the belly of the airplane. Indy started toward her, and saw Chino scrambling forward from the rear of the cabin. The Ford rolled wildly to one side. In their clumsy garments and oxygen tanks, they were helpless to get to Gale. She screamed again for someone to help her.
Indy reacted without time for deliberate thought. There was one chance. He grabbed the zipper toggle of his flight suit and yanked it full down, giving him access within the suit. In a moment he pulled his whip free from its snap-lock by his waist. He knew this would be the single most important throw he had ever done. He aimed carefully, bracing himself, and snapped the whip forward. The far end struck Gale's right leg and wrapped about her ankle. Indy braced himself against a seat, holding on with all his strength.
"Joe! I can hold her a while! Get to her!" In the same breath: "Hang on, Gale...."
She screamed something unintelligible. Indy didn't blame her if she was calling him every rotten name under the sun. Hang on? With her hands flailing empty air?
Chino was on his hands and knees, moving as fast as he could along the cabin floor to reach Gale. Her body swung wildly as one of the two last restraining straps gave way. Her life now hung by one strap and Indy's bullwhip. Time was rushing away from them. Chino braced himself, grasped her left leg, and pulled her up like a child as Indy also pulled with the whip. Then she was partially back in the cabin. Chino's right arm shot out to circle her waist. Holding grimly to her body, he rolled flat on the cabin floor as far from the gaping hole as he could move.
Indy stumbled forward, fell to his knees, and grabbed a fistful of flight suit. Together they pulled her back into the airplane, dragging her forward toward the cockpit.
Her face was bloody. Beneath the red smears and splotches, her skin was dead-white from the blasting wind and cold. "Oxygen," Indy said to Chino. "Quickly! She's lost her bottle. Get another one."
Chino was gone. Immediately Indy took a deep breath, held it, and hooked Gale's oxygen line to his own bottle. Almost at once he started feeling dizzy. Fighting to retain his senses, he hooked his bottle to Gale's waist. Darkness began closing in as peripheral vision faded. The next moment the bright lights dancing before his eyes dimmed; then Chino was there by his side with a full bottle, hooking him up.
"Joe, get up front. Try to bring Rene back here from the cockpit. Gale will be okay in a moment. But whatever happens, make sure Rene has oxygen. Stop any bleeding. Gale will help; she knows what to do."
Joe went forward. Indy put his hand to Gale's face. She gripped it tightly. "It's all right. I'll be okay. Just help me up so I can help Rene."
"Indy! Will here. Come forward. Joe's got Rene. He's shot up. I need you with me."
Indy worked his way past Chino as he moved Rene to a sitting position against the cabin wall. He slipped into Rene's seat. "Tell me what to do," he said to Cromwell.
"They've decided to run for it," Cromwell told him. "You can just make out that third disc that was after us. He's behind the airship and trying to get back on board. It's a bloody stupid move, I'll tell you that."
Cromwell was shoving as hard on the throttles as he could, trying to squeeze every ounce of speed from the Ford. "Why... I mean, what you said," Indy asked.
"Why, that pancake can't slow down this high," Cromwell said quickly. "We've just seen that. The way he's going he'll be three hundred miles an hour faster than that gasbag. Go right on through that thing like a nightmare on the loose. If I don't miss my guess, whoever's flying that airship will have to tell that disc to bug off. Otherwise they'll be shooting at their own man."
"All right. What do you want me to do?"
"Indy, m'boy, it pains me to say this, but we're going to get only one whack at that bloated ugly out there. Take a look at the gauges for the right engine."
"Which—"
"The ones marked number three. The oil pressure, laddie. It's going downhill. And so will we the moment that engine seizes up. I've got to stop that before it does, or we may have a fire on our hands. Look under the right wing, Indy."
"I see what you mean." Indy stared at the huge black stain covering the underside of the wing above and behind the engine. "We took some hits. Same time they blew away the rocket canister. Okay, let's get that zep, Will. Now."
"It's in the cards, m'boy. Now, see that red T-handle in the center of the panel?"
Indy leaned forward, pointing, then reaching for the handle.
"Don't!"
"What—"
"Not yet, not yet. When you pull that handle, it ignites the rockets in the canister under the left wing. All three rockets will fire off at the same time. I'll tell you when, and it will be soon, and—Look at that bloody fool!"
They watched the disc approaching the zeppelin from the rear. It was like a speeding bullet racing after a sluggish huge animal trying desperately to get out of the way. "See the landing platform? That works fine at low altitude, but up here that thing simply cannot hover."
"Or even fly slow," Indy observed.
"Right you are. Now, if I'm right, they'll swing the tail of that blimp up and to the left and—there it goes!"
Much closer now to the great airship, they could see in greater detail. The disc pilot was obviously desperate to return safely to the zeppelin. Indy watched a spume of dark smoke whirling about the disc as it slowed for its approach and landing on the zeppelin ramp.
"Unless I miss my guess, off he goes," Cromwell said.
They watched the disc wobble from side to side, a skittering crablike motion. "He's losing it!" Indy called.
"That he is..." Cromwell murmured. "Ah, the bottom is falling out."
The disc slewed wildly, trying to match the sudden motion of the airship as Cromwell had predicted. It was a mistake on the part of both craft. Unable to maintain altitude and control, the disc swept to one side, brushing the lower great vertical rudder of the airship. It tore through, and began a long plunge to the earth more than five miles below.
"We'll never have a better chance," Cromwell said. "We've got to attack before that engine quits on us."
"How long... how much longer?" Indy asked.
"I'm getting into position now. We've got to come around for a frontal attack. That will give us only one shot at them. We'll dive toward the blighter, and I'll hold the dive angle so you can yank on that handle. Starting to turn now."
The airship loomed impossibly huge. Whoever was commanding the monster realized what the Ford pilot was attempting, for dark smoke suddenly increased behind the zeppelin. "He's gone to full power, Indy. Get ready. It's now or never."
All thoughts of the bitter cold, the dying engine, the damage they had taken—were gone. Nothing existed but that airship. It swelled swiftly in size as Cromwell began his dive, straight at the tremendous form. The scream of the wind increased, and suddenly the cold was back again as icy fingers stabbed through bullet holes in the windshield. The cold was physical, like being struck viciously.
Faster and faster dove the Ford, unable to slow its descent in the thin air at their height. "They're shooting at us!" Indy called out. He'd just seen the dark areas atop the dirigible becoming large enough to make out what they were. Machine-gun nests atop the airship! Tracers sparkled and danced in the sky as they seemed to float upward against the Ford. They felt bullets striking the airplane. The Ford shuddered and yawed to one side; Cromwell fought her back.
He squeezed a button on his control yoke. The Ford shook and rattled as the two forward-firing machine guns hurled tracers at the airship. "That should throw them off!" Cromwell shouted.
The right engine exploded. The sudden violence hurled the propeller away from the engine, flinging it well off to the side. Cromwell shouted to Indy. "The left rudder pedal! Stand on it, laddie, stand on it!"
Indy pressed down with all his strength, both men pushing left rudder as hard as they could to keep the airplane diving straight. The top of the zeppelin filled the entire world, a monstrous thing beyond belief, machine guns sparkling as they continued to fire.
"The handle! Get ready!" Cromwell shouted.
Indy reached forward, ready for the call.
"NOW! PULL THE HANDLE!"
Indy yanked back, a sharp sudden motion. He looked past Cromwell at the left wing. In a sudden f
ury of activity, the nose cone blew away from the underwing canister, flame speared backwards as the rockets ignited, and three long tubes rushed forward from the airplane, trailing flame and smoke as they arrowed downward into the spine of the great ship before them.
Dark spots appeared on the shiny fabric, then the rockets were gone. "What the devil happened?" Indy shouted to Cromwell. "There wasn't any explosion!"
"There will be—" Cromwell cut himself short as he pulled back on the yoke. "Ease off on that rudder pedal," he ordered. The Ford rolled to the right and the nose came around. They sped past the airship, a toy against a giant. As they flashed by, Indy saw a stab of flame appear along the flank of the zeppelin.
To his left, Cromwell was frantically moving controls and switches, to cut off fuel and power to the shattered right engine. "We've got a fire of our own," he said grimly. He reached to the panel and pulled another handle. "Watch the right engine," he ordered.
White mist engulfed the engine briefly, streaming back through the wreckage, and was flung away by the wind. "Fire extinguisher," Cromwell said. "Did it work?"
"No more fire," Indy told him. The shriek of wind was overwhelming. Cromwell was pulling back on the yoke, easing the Ford from its crazy dive. He maintained their descent, but under control this time, able to bank the airplane better, to see the airship.
"Take a look, lad," he said, quietly this time.
Flame billowed from the flanks of the airship. "What's happening?" Indy asked. "That thing is filled with helium and helium doesn't burn—"
"Right," Cromwell told him. "But it's also got a devil of a load of fuel for those jet engines. That magnesium, once it's ignited, will keep right on burning through the metal structure, and that means the fire worked its way down to the fuel tanks and ate right through the metal. That fire is their fuel. I'd say we've done a day's good work, because—"
There was no need to say more. A savage glare appeared along the sides and belly of the airship. Indy understood now that blazing magnesium had breached the fuel tanks. Fuel spilled outward, ignited violently, and sent flames hurtling through the fuel storage area. The huge airship wallowed like a stricken whale, dying before their eyes as explosions wracked the structure. Debris and bodies spilled outward. Indy stared as crewmen, arms and legs flailing helplessly, began the long fall toward the earth.
Indiana Jones and tyhe Sky Pirates Page 26