Dodge did as instructed, and then busied himself pulling Fiona up. As soon as she was with them, he outlined the plan. The conversation was brief and punctuated with the sound of rifle fire, both from Hurley and the attackers.
“I’ll be a sitting duck until I can get aloft,” the archaeologist observed.
“We’ll do our best to cover you. I’m afraid we’re fresh out of good plans.”
Hurley popped up to fire again, but the rifle only clicked impotently. “Damn it.” The big man tossed the gun aside and drew his pistols again. “Whatever you’re going to do, you’d better do it now. I’ve got maybe four shots left.”
Fiona nodded tersely and started crawling toward the parked autogyros. Dodge and Newcombe hastily pulled Rahman up, then went to work putting the wave projector in position.
Newcombe loosened a couple bolts and swiveled the device so that its business end was pointed out horizontally. He then pointed to a switch. “That turns it on.” He swallowed. “I guess since I’m the expert on this device, I should be the one—”
Dodge covered his friends hand and moved it away. “I’ll take care of it. Just tell me one thing. What will this do to them?”
“You don’t want to know.”
There was the sound of another gunshot, but this one came from the autogyros — Fiona had reached the aircraft and started its engine. As the rotor began to turn, Dodge called Nora to him. “Next time Hurricane fires, you and the Doc get to that gyro.”
There was no argument. Hurley shot out the last of his ammunition as they reached their destination. A few seconds later, the autogyro started rolling toward the edge of the rock, and then almost gracefully leapt into the sky.
Dodge tore his eyes away from escaping aircraft and focused on the wave projector. Hurley crouched next to him. “They’re on the move. Creepin’ now, but I reckon they’ll grow some stones once they realize we’re out of ammo. Is this thing going to do the trick?”
“It had better.” Dodge flipped the switch. Newcombe had cautioned him that there wouldn’t be any fireworks, but the complete absence of any sort of activity from the machine made him wonder if it had malfunctioned somehow. Then, without any warning, a corner of the wall in front of the device seemed to melt away.
Suddenly a turbaned figure was standing there, pointing a rifle at him, and there was another man right behind him. The leading man shouted something, doubtless a demand for surrender, but even as the words were uttered, his face twisted into a snarl of pain. The rifle fell from his grasp as he clapped his hands to his head, and then he simply collapsed. A fraction of a second later, the man behind him went down as well.
Dodge felt a spasm of revulsion as his mind caught up to what he had just seen. The men hadn’t simply fallen down; it was as if their skeletons had evaporated, leaving only shapeless sacks of skin, muscle and viscera. Almost without realizing it, he switched the machine off.
“That spooked ‘em,” Hurricane called. “They’re falling back. Oh.”
Dodge saw the big man’s gaze fixed on the remains of the two attackers. Then, with the kind of caution one might use when trying to snatch a snake from its hole, Hurricane reached out and collected one of the fallen rifles. “Maybe we won’t have to use that thing again.”
Dodge nodded. Dead was dead, but somehow a bullet seemed a kinder fate than what Barron’s device dished out. Not that they had many bullets left. Dodge picked up the rifle Hurricane had earlier discarded and gripped it by the barrel, hefting it like a club.
A low wail rose up from across the open battlefield, a war cry as the remaining attackers gathered their courage for a mass attack. Dodge knew that their foes were probably smarting from the losses they had suffered, and rightfully terrified of the strange death ray, but once they made their move, they would quickly realize that they still held the advantage.
Hurricane aimed the rifle over the wall. It barked twice then was silent, and the big man sank back below cover. “Well, that’s that. They’ll be comin’ now.”
The war cry reached a fever pitch as the attackers charged.
Chapter 13—Reunion
Suddenly, a different sound filled the air, the sound of cheering, and it was coming from the huddled crewmen. Dodge followed their hopeful gazes skyward, and saw the reason for their elation.
Majestic was descending.
The autogyro was still aloft, circling the airship like a horsefly, but Dodge saw that there was another aircraft in the sky now, a small bi-plane. The dual-winged aircraft performed an acrobatic loop, and then swooped down toward the ruins. Even before it passed overhead, Dodge saw the smoke and fire of its machine guns, spitting lead at the advancing attackers.
“Finally, something breaks our way,” Hurricane chortled.
Dodge risked a look out at the battlefield. The turbaned men were scattering under the withering aerial assault. He sagged against the wall, breathing a sigh of relief.
The bi-plane made two subsequent passes, but no more shots were fired. The surviving attackers had not simply fallen back; they had fled the Rock completely.
The airship continued to descend, its engine nacelles tilted so that the propellers were pushing against the buoyancy of the helium that held it aloft. Dodge saw that the tail end of the ship was open, split apart like a banana peel. It was low enough that he could see inside.
After completing the final pass, the biplane lined up and flew into Majestic’s cavernous interior. The pilot cut the engine as the wheels touched the landing platform, and the plane came to a dead stop, like a fastball hitting a catcher’s mitt. A few seconds later, a man whom Dodge assumed to be the pilot — he wore a black aviator’s helmet that matched his leather jacket — appeared at the end of the platform. As Majestic came in a little closer, the pilot began shouting orders to the crewmen on the ground.
With practiced efficiency, the uniformed men rallied on the nearest dangling mooring line and began tugging the airship closer. When the open end was only a few feet off the ground, the black-clad pilot jumped down strode over to where Dodge and Hurricane had been preparing to make their last stand.
“I’ll bet you fellows are glad to see me.” Beneath his immaculate coal-black mustache, the man was smiling, but his demeanor and the ragged scar that wasn’t quite concealed by the helmet’s chinstrap made it seem more sinister than welcoming.
Dodge returned the smile and accepted the handclasp, though strangely he wasn’t as enthusiastic about the rescue as, by all rights, he should have been. It wasn’t just the pilot’s confident, almost arrogant manner; Dodge had seen nothing to indicate that Barron wasn’t every bit as dangerous as the men who had just attacked them, and even though they were still alive, they were no more in control of their destiny than they had been a few minutes before. He glanced at Hurricane and could see that his friend shared his apprehension.
“I’m Tyr Sorensen,” the man continued. “There’ll be time for proper introductions later. Right now, I suggest you get yourselves aboard the Majestic.”
“You’re the boss,” Hurricane drawled.
Sorensen nodded, then promptly turned on his heel and headed for the remaining autogyro.
Hurricane nudged Dodge with his elbow. “I can tell you’re just as excited about this as I am, but unless you’ve got a better idea…”
“Not yet, but I’m working on it.” Dodge looked back to the ruins. “Anya’s run off again, hasn’t she?”
Hurricane’s eyes grew wide with embarrassment. “I kinda lost track of her in all the confusion.”