“Wait!” Jael said. “Look up, Walter! Can you pull open door?”
He straightened back up long enough to wrap both hands around the large iron ring and pull on it. But it wouldn’t budge. A three-inch slot—like an odd keyhole—notched the wood beside the ring.
“Look for my pendant! Is there anything you see?”
Mr. Matthew was already reaching for him, a hand on either leg to help him down. Walter scanned the whole length of the ship. A haze of smoke from the explosions and the plane exhaust filled the air. If anything was there, it blended in against the wood and the shadows.
The ship started to move. Ponderously, the tail swung around toward the grandstand.
“Get him down!” Mr. J.W. yelled.
Mr. Matthew hauled Walter off his shoulders and practically dropped him to the ground.
The airship’s long shadow rotated, and the line of sunshine on the ground crept toward them.
Earl yanked the knot tight. “There!”
Walter stood up and turned to see.
The wing skidded through the dirt. Then, as the airship started to rise, the wing flipped up off the ground. The free end spun around, headed straight toward his head.
Earl leapt at him. “Watch it!”
The wing caught Earl’s outstretched arm with a loud crack. The arm flopped, and Earl sprawled, taking Walter down with him.
Twenty-Six
ANOTHER PLANE CAUGHT a cannonball square in the tail. It spun a full circle in the air, then pitched nose down, screaming until it hit the ground in a splash of wood and metal. Hitch swooped into an Immelmann turn and hauled his Jenny back around through the haze of smoke and exhaust. He swiped the heel of his hand across the oil sheen on his goggles. Right after that last pass, the engine had started leaking pretty good.
He couldn’t get close enough to Schturming to hook it. All things considered, that might be a good thing. The way it looked from up here, Earl was probably right about that being a pointless way to die. But that left him weaponless. If he’d kept his .45, at least he could have popped some shots at the envelope. That would have made him feel better even if it didn’t bring down the ship.
_Schturming_’s propellers started chugging. The dirigible eased forward.
He circled prow-ward.
The rope ladder snaked around in the wind; they were letting Campbell climb back down, probably so he could carry their terms to the town.
As Schturming moved out of the way, Hitch could see a huddle of people on the ground, faces raised skyward. Looked like Jael, Earl, and the Berringers. Hopefully, they’d had a sight more luck than he had.
Schturming started to rise: it was leaving.
So far, he’d scored exactly nothing up here. Jael hadn’t been kidding about that cannon. Through the smoke, it looked like some old piece from the early 1800s, wide-mouthed and mounted on a track that ran all the way around the lower side of the envelope. On either side of the prow, a big iron bell snuggled between the envelope and the ship. Whichever side he showed up on, that was the side where the bell started clanging. Everywhere he went, the cannon followed.
What he needed was a wingman. He swiveled his head to scan the sky. Most of the planes had disappeared once the shooting started. Of those that had stuck around for the fight, at least three had been shot down.
A flash of light blue, nearly blending with the sky, winked on the far side of the dirigible.
Rick. Not his first choice for a partner, but at least they’d flown together.
Hitch climbed over the top of the ascending airship and straightened the Jenny into level flight beside Rick. Beneath his goggles, Rick’s grimy face was set in a determined look. Hitch motioned to him. During their six months together, they’d come up with hand signals so they could communicate in the air. Cannons and dirigibles had never figured into those signals, but they’d have to make do.
If one of them could distract that cannon long enough, the other could repeat the trick of diving at the open bay at the ship’s end. It had worked before to get Zlo to lower the airship. Maybe it could work again, and this time they could ram the thing right into the ground. See how Zlo’d like that.
Rick pursed his lips, frowning hard. Either he didn’t understand or… he didn’t want to be a wingman.
Even Rick couldn’t really be that petty and short-sighted. Hitch hadn’t dinged his pride that hard.
“Ah, come on!” Hitch shouted into the wind.
As if he’d read Hitch’s lips, Rick grinned and saluted with two fingers. Then he peeled off to climb skyward.
The cannon circled around to bear on Hitch again.
He dove hard and whipped under the dirigible. A floating red wing, like an amputated limb, flashed in his windshield, and he skidded to the right. The Jenny tore through the narrow tunnel of open space between the undercarriage and the ground. He dared one glance over his shoulder at the dangling wing. That had to be Jael and Earl’s handiwork. At least this little sortie wouldn’t be a total loss.
Wouldn’t be any kind of loss at all, if he could help it.
He burst back into the sunlight and pulled the plane into as steep a climb as he could manage, engine whining. A few more yards and he’d be able to level out and charge straight into that bay. He leveled out, throttle all the way open.
Something hit him. Like a giant outstretched palm, something caught the Jenny and swiped her aside. He slid through the air and wrestled with the controls to try to keep her straight and level. With only a couple dozen yards between him and the ground, he had zero room to maneuver.
The something hit him again.
Ahead, Rick’s blue plane floundered just as hard.
A cold rush of air bit into the side of Hitch’s face. Wind. He craned a look over his shoulder.
Zlo stood at the edge of the doorway, one hand propped against the frame. He seemed to be grinning.
That dirty mug. He’d turned on the storm.
Only an hour ago, the sky had been blue as cornflowers, the few clouds searingly white. Now, thunderheads swirled in overhead. The wind tossed the plane like she was a baseball. If it got any worse, his wings could stall and smash him to the earth.
He had to land, and fast. The round was over. Zlo had won hands down.
He growled deep in his throat and let the wind grab the plane for a second. That was all it took to whip her around, away from _Schturming_’s heading. In his wake, the cannon boomed. But that was the least of his problems right now.
What he needed was another empty field where he could put her down.
The Jenny scudded on the wind, covering the miles way faster than she should have.
The black blot of a burnt haymow showed the field where the lightning had hit Jael the other day. It’d have to do.
He overflew it, then hauled the Jenny around. Landing with her nose to the wind was about the only way to keep any kind of control over her. She bobbled her landing anyway, skidding around in a ground loop, and nearly pitching over. The propeller chewed dirt and clanked to a stop, splintered to its hub.
In the sudden engine silence, he whooshed out a breath. His hands shook, and he looked around. From every direction, dark clouds tumbled in to close off the valley.
He climbed out and took a look at the engine. Other than the busted propeller and the oil leak, the plane was holding up all right. But “all right” wasn’t going to get him back into the air. Even should the wind die down, she wasn’t going to be able to fly back to camp.
A rusty jalopy, the bobbing headlights held on with baling twine, screamed up the road alongside the irrigation ditch. Jael drove, jerking the wheel dramatically every time she made a correction.