He rolled toward the break in the camo net at the back, a gap large enough for the fliers to escape through. He almost knocked over a pole, but squeezed past without dropping the netting. The last thing he needed was to get his propeller tangled in his own camo.
“They’re launching something,” Ahn shouted.
“Aircraft?” Ridge asked, thinking of the unmanned fliers. He cleared the netting and jabbed the thruster switch. A steep slope rose right ahead of him, so there was no time for a runway-style takeoff.
Explosive, came a warning in his mind. Get out of there.
“Move,” Ridge barked, not questioning the sword. “It’s a bomb! Out, now!”
He was already in the air, angling up and away from the Cofah craft—he had wanted to pick up speed and come in from above rather than risking its guns from below, but he craned his neck, trying to spot the bomb.
“I hit the gods damned pole,” Duck said.
“Don’t worry about the netting,” Ahn said. “Go straight up.”
Cold wind scraped across Ridge’s cheeks and whipped his scarf about, but he spotted his target. The bomb. He swooped toward the falling cylinder, firing and hoping. If the airship hadn’t been so far above them, there never would have been time, but if he could catch it as it dropped through his sights…
He wasn’t sure he hit it until it exploded with an ear-splitting boom. A fiery sun filled the sky above the camo mound, shrapnel flying in every direction. Ridge ducked as he flew through the explosion zone. Shards slammed into his windshield, and glass cracked. The camo netting itself had been close enough to the blast that it caught fire, and flames leaped up from what had appeared to be a mound of earth a moment before.
He wondered if he had been responsible for hitting the bomb or if the sword had helped him.
That was you, hero. Our flier got out, so I was worried more about what’s going on up there now.
Our flier. Ridge supposed it was good that Jaxi, secured beneath the back seat, considered herself in the same predicament as he even if she might survive an explosion.
Might?
Knowing he would be a target to the airship above him, Ridge didn’t take the time to respond. He banked and picked a weaving route through the air. He also checked on his people as he swooped about.
“Did everyone get out?” he asked, searching the sky. There was Ahn and Apex… “Duck?”
“Over here, sir.” Duck sounded miserable, but he sounded alive too.
Ridge finally spotted him. He wasn’t in the air—his flyer was bumbling and rolling across the snowy steppe, a portion of the netting tangled in his propeller. “Figure that out and get into the air, Duck.”
“Yes, sir.” So that was what mortified sounded like.
Ridge streaked into the air, knowing he would have to distract the airship for a while before his team could form up and fly north, as he had planned. His lack of preparedness embarrassed him. He should have known all along that the Cofah would spot them. What a mess.
A cannonball screamed over his wing, reminding Ridge to focus on the fight and worry about being embarrassed at their showing later.
Jaxi—what did you mean earlier? What is going on up there now?
He didn’t get an answer. He would have to see for himself.
With his unpredictable zigging, he dodged three more cannonballs on his way up. He finally climbed above the airship, firing rounds at the big gray envelope as he rose. He had a look at the deck on his way up and tried to guess what might have been worrying Jaxi. He caught a glimpse of something in the back near the cabin—several large metallic somethings, but the balloon blocked his view before he could identify them.
Duck’s flier had shaken free from the netting and found the air, more than a mile out over the steppes. It would be a couple of minutes before he circled around and got into the fight, but Ahn and Apex were rising behind Ridge, also evading the cannons firing in their direction.
“Keep the men on deck busy for now,” Ridge said. “Remember, we don’t want to bring it down until we reach the mountains. Finish your coffee and join us, Duck.”
“Very funny, sir.”
“It’s my wit that keeps me in the general’s good graces.” Ridge left a few holes in the airship’s balloon, then dove down to follow his own instructions. He aimed at the gunners manning the cannons, but even more, he wanted a look at those metal machines. Were they some kind of new weapon?
A circular disk spun out from an unusual launcher on the aft deck. Ridge avoided it easily, but it surprised him by exploding in the sky. Even from twenty meters away, the force rocked his flier. He kept control, but a cable moaned ominously.
“Watch the disks,” he said. “They’re bombs.”
Ridge looped upward, then flipped and came down again, this time gunning for the man hurling those disks. His bullets strafed the deck, and his target ducked down behind the big artillery weapon. Ridge shot at it, hoping he might cause one of the disks to explode.
“The Cofah have been busy upgrading their weapons this past year,” Apex observed.
“They could have had the technology for a while,” Ridge said, not taking his eyes from the launcher he was targeting. “They’re probably trying things out at home before revealing them to us.”
“Or maybe they just think we’re so unimportant that they don’t bring their best equipment when they attack our homeland,” Ahn said.
“I don’t have a problem with that,” Duck said. “I have trouble enough with our own equipment.”
“So we see.”
One of Ridge’s incendiary bullets found the ammunition pile. The explosion demolished the launcher and blew away a chunk of the deck and railing.
Before he could congratulate himself, a grim-sounding Ahn spoke. “Those are fliers. Manned ones this time.”
“Four of them,” Apex added.
Ridge banked, turning away from the smoke and fire he had created, and coasted along the length of the airship, closer than he should have dared—he wanted to see what his pilots had seen. Yes, the metallic contraptions he had glimpsed earlier had wings, bodies, and propellers. These must be the new Cofah fliers he had heard about. They were in motion, too, rolling along the deck, toward an opening in the railing. They were picking up speed to take off, using the airship as a launching pad.
A number of Cofah warriors with rifles were racing toward Ridge’s side of the deck. He turned his belly toward them and flew down and away. They weren’t going to catch him gawking. A few bullets streaked in his direction, but they missed as he bobbed and dipped.
“Now’s the time,” Ridge said. “Head north. Let them think we’re afraid of them.”
“Afraid?” Duck said. “I can’t wait to see what they can do.”
“This from the man who got his propeller tangled in his own camo netting,” Apex said.
“Well, I wasn’t planning on challenging them personally. I thought I’d fly around, distracting them so Raptor can tear into them with her guns.”
“What are you going to do to be that distracting?” Ahn asked, rare amusement in her voice.
“Haven’t you seen me in the annual Harvest Show? I juggled pumpkins last year while flying with my foot.”
“Yes, that was the third time you ended up in the harbor.” Ridge took point, and the three other fliers fell into position beside and behind him. “We didn’t put that one on his official record, since he was flying in some retired festival plane for a private businessman, one who will be carrying more insurance for future festivals, I understand.”
“The flier was still perfectly serviceable after the event,” Duck said. “And it wasn’t as if I crashed. Water landings are a legitimate option. The passenger fliers that take the doctors around in the country do them all the time.”
“Those fliers have floats instead of wheels.” Ridge twisted to look behind him. The four Cofah craft were in the air and had formed a modified arrowhead formation, not dissimilar to that of Ridge’s
own squadron. He wondered if the empire had studied Iskandian techniques. Either way, the enemy fliers were coming after them, and it looked like the airship was giving chase too.
“A minor detail,” Duck said.
“They’re not as fast as us,” Apex said. “They’re falling behind.”
“Ease back a bit. Let them think they can catch us. In fact…” Ridge fished in the emergency supply kit fastened to the side of his seat. He pulled out a flare, lit it, and tossed it into the foot well of the seat behind him. It would fall out as soon as he flew upside down, but in the meantime, a stream of gray-blue smoke poured from the end.
He wobbled his wings and started dipping, then pulling back up, as if he were having trouble controlling the flier.
“That’s an act, right, sir?” Duck asked.
“Yup, pretending to be a little injured.” By now, the snow-covered steppes had turned into snow-covered mountain slopes, with thick stands of evergreens blanketing the hillsides below. They flew over a craggy ridge, and more peaks rose up, along with numerous rocky cliffs and crevices. “I believe I’m going to have so much trouble that I nearly crash in that canyon.”
“You want us to go in with you, sir?” Ahn asked.
“Keep flying and see how many of them take the bait. If they all swoop down after me, you’re welcome to help.” Ridge wanted a close look at one of those fliers. The intel he had heard placed some kind of fossil fuel as the source of their power, and he wanted to know if that was true, or if this dragon blood might be responsible for the manned Cofah aircraft too. This might not be the intelligence the king had sent Ridge’s team to retrieve, but it was the kind he cared about. General Ort would care too.
“But if only three swoop down after you, you’ll be fine?” Ahn asked dryly.
“Use your discretion, Lieutenant.” Ridge was approaching the canyon, so there wasn’t time for greater discussion. “Just don’t lose track of the airship. Gunfire is irritating, but one cannonball could knock us out of the sky.”
“Understood, sir,” Ahn said, and the others responded with, “Yes, sir” as well.
“Time to make this look good,” Ridge muttered.
Ridge jerked on the stick a couple of times, ducking and rising, like a man struggling to stay horizontal. In the end, he lost the battle and dipped toward the canyon, tailspinning as smoke streamed up behind him. Between rotations, he glimpsed the other fliers against the blue sky. One veered away from its formation to follow him.
He felt a little indignant at the lone stalker. Even injured, shouldn’t the Cofah consider him, the infamous Colonel Ridgewalker Zirkander, dangerous? Maybe they didn’t know he was the pilot. He wasn’t in his usual craft, after all.
Does Sardelle find that arrogance appealing?
Even though the sword had been in his head earlier, Ridge flinched at the intrusion, nearly scraping his wings off on a cliff wall.
Sorry.
“It’s fine,” Ridge said, regaining his concentration and moving farther from the rocks.
“Sir?” Ahn asked.
“Nothing.”
As he abandoned the tailspin and leveled off, he reminded himself that he could talk silently to the sword. He headed back the way he had come, hoping the Cofah flier would enter farther up the canyon. He sailed toward a shadowy ledge blown bare of snow; it might be dark enough to hide the bronze of his flier from someone sweeping in from the top, especially if that someone was looking up canyon. He slowed down and activated the thrusters, so he hovered over the ledge.
I keep the arrogance inside my head where it doesn’t bother most people, Ridge informed the sword as he watched the blue slice of sky above the canyon. It made him a little nervous that he couldn’t see the rest of his pilots, but he wanted to spring this trap, and he trusted the others to take care of themselves for a couple of moments.
Now that you have more people poking around in your head, you should watch your thoughts.
Thanks for the advice.
Here’s some more: I’m not an expert on engineering, but their engines look to be near replicas of yours.
Bastards. Ridge barely kept the curse from spilling from his lips.
And they’re powered by little vials of dragon blood.
Hells, are you sure? Where are the Cofah getting all of this blood?
I could only speculate, but I’m imagining a dragon working with them. Or imprisoned by them, though it’s hard to imagine how humans could hold a dragon against its wishes. Their power, magically and physically is—
Ssh, Ridge thought. The Cofah flier had come into view. Ah, and there was a second. They weren’t streaking recklessly into the canyon but following cautiously. They were wary of him after all. Good. That would make this more interesting.
Interesting will be when you realize the repercussions for shushing a soulblade, Jaxi grumped.
Focused on the fliers, Ridge barely registered the comment. The Cofah craft dipped into the canyon, flying in the direction he had been heading when he had disappeared from their view. They would look behind them, but it was hard to keep track of enemies on one’s rear, especially enemies located lower than one’s own flier.
When the two Cofah craft were committed to the search, flying side by side in the narrow canyon, Ridge switched from thruster to propeller power and took off after them. He stayed below them, putting himself in their blind spot, believing their inexperience would allow him to sneak up on them. Of course, he was gambling on inexperience due to the newness of the Cofah fliers. He couldn’t let himself get too cocky or make too many assumptions.
His nerves jittered as he crept closer. Coming in for the kill, as his old flight instructor would have called it. Except this wasn’t some slow-moving airship; these craft were much more maneuverable, something demonstrated by the way they glided up and around the contours of the snowy canyon, rock formations, bends, and sometimes dipping low to follow the frozen river meandering below, its banks just visible beneath the layers of white. Watching them was surreal; if the craft had been painted bronze instead of black, Ridge might have believed them to be from his own hangar.
His thumb massaged the trigger of the guns. Almost time.
The drumming of the propellers echoed off the canyon walls, his own melding with theirs. One of the pilots glanced back. Ridge didn’t think the man saw him, but he must suspect a tagalong.
Ridge angled his nose up, toward what should be the engine area of one of the fliers, and fired. He pounded several rounds into the rear of the craft before both pilots reacted. His target pulled up, doubtlessly intending to fly upside down, make a loop, and come down behind Ridge. Having performed that maneuver countless times, Ridge knew it well and he followed, but let himself pummel the second flier with rounds on his way by.
The Cofah pilot’s face was obscured by goggles and some kind of head wrap, but Ridge knew what the angry shaking of a fist meant. The man was yanking a pistol out as Ridge zoomed upward beside him. He better focus on his flying, or he would end up smashing into that rock formation coming up. Not Ridge’s problem. He corkscrewed upward, flying parallel to the canyon walls for a moment, then angled away in time to fire at the first craft. Bullets ripped into the hull near the cockpit, and the pilot ducked, his head disappearing from view. A ribbon of smoke flowed into the air behind his craft. It should already be done for, but Ridge circled to come in again to make sure—and to make sure the other pilot hadn’t figured out an effective attack, either.
He needn’t have worried about that flier—its distracted pilot had flown it into the rock formation. Or maybe the damage Ridge had done on the way by had stolen its ability to steer. Either way, he only had one flier to finish off, and he cut in mercilessly, targeting the engine again. The smoke streaming behind the craft doubled. The pilot was trying to land, but there was nowhere safe in the rugged canyon. His wing clipped a cliff wall, and the craft spun out of control, then bashed against the cliff again and tumbled to the snowy floor.
&nb
sp; “Sir, the airship is veering away, but we’re having trouble with our—” Ahn grunted, cursed, and resumed, her voice tense. “If you have any suggestions on how to deal with the rockets, we’d appreciate it, sir. Duck is—” the screech of some projectile whistling near her cockpit drowned out the rest of the words, and she didn’t speak again.
“Ahn?”
Ridge zoomed for the top of the canyon, needing to see what was going on up there. Rockets? What rockets?
“Ahn, give me your status when you’re able. Or Duck or Apex.” He kept his voice calm, but their silence filled him with anxiety.
He twisted in his seat to look in all directions as he neared the top of the canyon. If he had dealt with two fliers, and the others were having trouble with one, that left one unaccounted for.
As soon as he crested the lip of the canyon, he spotted it. It was flying along the rim and zipped by so close, it almost gave him a haircut. The other pilot jerked in his seat, as surprised to see Ridge as Ridge was to see him. They were heading in opposite directions, and Ridge banked to turn back toward the other flier without hesitation. He expected the Cofah pilot to do the same, to want a fight with him, especially if he hadn’t seen what happened to his comrades in the canyon, but the man kept flying in the direction he was already going. Ahead of him, the three Iskandian fliers were playing cat-and-mouse with the other Cofah craft, weaving in and out around a pair of craggy mountain peaks. Ridge couldn’t understand how one lone enemy flier could be giving his people so much trouble, but he gunned his flier to gain ground on the craft that was now ahead of him. His people were in the sky still; that was enough for now. He would get the news later.
The pilot ahead of him jerked his arm and fired something large, much larger than a bullet or even a cannonball. The sleek oblong projectile leaped into the sky with such power, that a recoil coursed through the craft, making it shudder and buck. For a moment, the pilot struggled to bring his flier under control again. Ridge couldn’t understand what he had been firing at—the four craft darting around the peaks were too far ahead to hit—but he arrowed in, hoping to take advantage of the pilot’s brief struggle. A few more seconds, and the Cofah flier would be in range…