The orange light was coming from something in the clouds – something large. Aubrey frowned, trying to make out what it was, then he gaped as it burst through the clouds. A flaming dirigible staggered across the sky, its nose angling downward, losing lift and sagging in the middle. Fire had enveloped the front third of the stately airship, puncturing the internal gasbags. Flames lit up the airfield and the countryside in a ghastly hell-light.
Aubrey's tiredness vanished. He sprinted out of the hangar, a thousand decisions competing for his attention. He flung open the door of the nearest ornithopter. It was a Falcon model, not his favourite, but it was a six-seater, with a largish cargo bay, and that was what he wanted.
George caught up and seized his arm. 'What are you doing, old man?'
'That's a Gallian airship, an RT-401.Twenty crew members are going to die up there unless we do something.'
'You've never done a night flight before,' George pointed out.
I know, Aubrey thought. And I flew solo for the first time just two days ago. 'How hard can night flying be?' Aubrey vaulted into the pilot's seat. 'It's the same sky, after all.'
'It's not the sky I'm worried about.' George squeezed his broad-shouldered frame into the co-pilot seat. 'It's the ground waiting for us if you make a mistake.' He shook his head. 'This is madness. Shouldn't we send for help?'
'No time. Those poor souls don't have long.' Aubrey ran through his pre-flight checklist, decided it would take too long in the circumstances, then pulled the ignition lever. The engine coughed into life and he seized the controls.
The great metal wings creaked and stretched. Aubrey used the foot pedals and the landing gear whirred into action. He felt the bird-like craft settle, tense, and then a stomach-dropping thrust as its legs kicked upwards. The wings twisted and beat, noisily driving upwards.
Aubrey forced the craft to climb almost vertically. He flicked his black hair as it fell in his eyes. 'Where is it?' he shouted over the crashing of the metal wings.
'Left!' George shouted back. 'Port, I mean! Over there, past the sewage works!' He pointed. Aubrey dragged the wheel around until the dirigible came into view overhead.
He pulled back on the wheel with all his strength, and sent the ornithopter into a testing climb. Then he levelled off and swept toward the crippled airship.
A huge gout of fire erupted from the nose of the dirigible. Aubrey gritted his teeth and wrenched at the controls. George shouted as a jet of flame reached for them, a wave of heat screaming like a flock of harpies. Their craft staggered and heeled, the port wing canting while the starboard wing flailed wildly. His heart hammering wildly, Aubrey held on, glad for the belt that kept him in his seat.
From behind them came the shriek of struts protesting under strain. Aubrey held his breath and eased off the controls. The rending noise slowed, but then he heard the sharp pings of rivets giving up and popping loose. Immediately, metal crashed against metal, grinding horribly. Not a good sign, he thought. With little choice, he ignored it and concentrated on keeping the craft steady.
The Falcon was approaching the dirigible almost directly head-on. Aubrey banked the ornithopter to port and swooped along the vast flank of the airship. The Falcon bucked a little, but Aubrey anticipated and held the line.
The entire front half of the dirigible was ablaze. The smell of burning rubber was harsh in Aubrey's nostrils and he grimaced. He eased the Falcon toward a tight turn around the stern of the airship, aiming to glide along the other side.
George shouted and grabbed his arm. The ornithopter, delicately responsive, dipped and shuddered. Aubrey had to strain the controls, adjusting wing pitch and attack, to right it again.
'Don't do that!' he shouted.
'Someone's in the back!'
Aubrey risked a glance as they rounded the tail of the aerial behemoth. A stocky man in the uniform of the Gallian Dirigible Corps was standing in the rear observation cockpit, waving desperately.
'We'll come back for him.' Aubrey steered toward the bow, where the gondola clung to the belly of the dirigible.
The gondola was the long cabin where the captain controlled the airship. If he was able to come alongside, he might be able to get the ornithopter to hover long enough to take on survivors. The Falcon could carry four passengers, but Aubrey was sure he could manage six, then shuttle back for the rest.
He licked lips that had suddenly gone dry, and began to edge closer to the dirigible. He clenched his teeth and concentrated on keeping his hands steady.
A mighty groan came from the airship, followed by the sharp, bright noise of metal reaching the end of its strength. Automatically, Aubrey sheered off and dropped away. Then he climbed, not wanting to get caught in the rain of debris falling from the crippled dirigible – struts, wire, shattered glass, burning fabric.
He glanced up and, to his horror, saw that the internal frame of the airship was collapsing. Tormented metal screamed and buckled. One of the motor units wrenched loose and fell, still whirring, to the ground far below. Then, without warning, the entire gondola tore away. It tilted and hung, attached along one side, then it plummeted.
Immediately, the remnants of the dirigible lurched upwards, much lighter now. The clouds opened around it, then swallowed the flaming leviathan of the air.
Sickened, Aubrey closed his eyes, grieving for the lost crew. Twenty brave souls, gone in an instant. He banged the instrument panel with a fist, cursing his failure to save them. Should he have gone for help as George suggested? Was he simply being too rash, too overreaching – again?
'What now?' George shouted.
Aubrey narrowed his eyes. He could still do something to help. 'The cockpit. The survivor.'
He scanned overhead and saw the remnants of the dirigible wallowing out of the clouds, shuddering like a great whale in its death spasms. The remaining motor units were whining desperately, but the dirigible had begun its final plunge.
Aubrey realised his jaw was aching from the tension. George grunted, then swore as oil sprayed across the windscreen.
That's all I need, Aubrey thought numbly. He couldn't see a thing through the streaks and smears of black muck.
Doing his best to stay calm, he ran through the commonplace spells he'd memorised since he'd begun learning magic. He seized on one he'd used for practical jokes, an application of the Law of Attraction. The elements were straightforward, the duration easy to handle. Usually the spell was used to make things hard to separate – to humorous effect – but this time Aubrey inverted the spell. The oil fell away from the windscreen as if it couldn't bear to be near the glass.
The ornithopter bucked, then dropped in the turbulent air caused by the burning dirigible. The flames had almost engulfed the entire airship and the heat beat on Aubrey's exposed skin. The ornithopter shuddered, then slipped sideways. He caught it with an upward wing beat, but the strain was causing the metal laminates to shred and peel. There was no natural way to bring the ornithopter close enough to perform a mid-air rescue.
It'll have to be magic, then.
George pointed. The tail of the airship had tipped upwards, like the stern of a sinking ship. A figure was in the cockpit, pressed up against the glass.
Aubrey flinched as violet-white light flashed through the cabin. Hard on its heels was an immense crack that made the ornithopter vibrate like a gong. Dazzled, with coloured specks dancing in front of his eyes, Aubrey groaned. As if they didn't have enough to contend with, the storm was closing in. The ornithopter quivered, as if it were a real bird caught in a storm.
Feverishly, Aubrey's mind seized on the comparison. The Law of Similarities came to him, the well-established components blazing across his mind, clear and sharp.
The ornithopter was like a bird. With an effort, and the properly constructed spell, he could make it more so.
He chanted the spell, dropping the values into the unfolding formula in the way that fitted best. He announced each element as crisply as he could while trying to hold the bucking
craft steady.
'Hold on!' he barked to George. The interior of the ornithopter began to glow, but it was different from the dirigible's flaming red and the harsh glare of the lightning.
Streaked with green and yellow, every surface began to shimmer, a spiky phosphorescence that reeked of magic. Aubrey's magical senses jangled in response.
Another boom and the ornithopter was again rocked by thunder. Aubrey wrestled controls that were growing increasingly sluggish and dragged the craft around the nose of the sinking dirigible.
George let out an oath as the substance of the ornithopter rippled. Wide-eyed, he clutched at the control panel, seeking something to hold onto, then jerked back as it flowed underneath his fingers. His face was rigid with terror as the substance of the machine shifted shape, threatening to dissolve and pitch them both into the ferocity of the storm.
Thunder bellowed, a burst of heat erupted from the dirigible and then they were no longer in the cabin of an ornithopter. Wind screamed and plucked at them as they lay flat on the back of a giant metal bird.
'Hold on!' Aubrey shouted – unnecessarily – and scrabbled for a handhold.
Aubrey was excited. The spell had worked. The ornithopter had been encouraged to assert its similarity to a real bird, to become more than a machine. Exposed to the elements, a long neck thrust out in front of them while a fan-like tail spread behind. Great brass wings feathered in the shifting turbulence, keeping them tracking alongside the stricken dirigible. Aubrey could see that the glass of the windscreen had become the glinting eyes of the creature, while the hydraulic pipes and electrical wiring conduits had merged into the body of the bird, making tendons and muscles.
Aubrey looked down and gulped. The ground was a long way away. He narrowed his eyes against the whipping wind, the heat of the flames and the smoke. His fingers dug into the metal feathers and he was thankful the bird's back was broad.
George stared at him and down at the metal bird, then grinned and gave a nod of approval. 'Don't worry, I'm not letting go!'
The metal bird clashed its way toward the observation cockpit. Aubrey urged it on.
The dirigible had finally given up the struggle. Huge rents ran across the metal skin, exposing the interior fabric and aluminium skeleton. A gasbag ripped free and, intact, shot up through the clouds. Deprived of this lift, the dirigible sank even more swiftly.
The metal bird slid sideways, then banked right in a turn that had both Aubrey and George scrabbling to stop themselves sliding off its back. Just when Aubrey had jammed his left foot against what he suspected had once been a fuel line, the metal bird plummeted and his stomach tried to find its way out of his ears.
As the metal bird dived, it screeched, a wild clanging cry that joined the tumult of the thunderstorm and the burning dirigible.
Aubrey hung on, desperately, fingers whitening with effort. Suddenly the metal bird lunged and struck the observation cockpit with its talons. Aubrey cried out as the glass shattered and the crewman fell, flailing, through the air.
Aubrey hammered at the bird's metal skin, shouting wordless oaths of anger and disbelief. What had he done? Created a monster and loosed it on the world?
The metal bird folded its wings and dived after the falling Gallian, and Aubrey was forced to cling with both hands. He squinted and tried to think of a spell to stop the creature's madness.
Then Aubrey's grip was tested again. With a crack like a giant's whip, the bird thrust out its wings and stopped its dreadful descent. The jolt threw him aside and, for a desperate moment, he had nothing to hold onto. He slid, his back scraping on bolts and ridges, until his head hung over the bird's flank. Far below, the dark and hard ground beckoned. Above was the blazing immensity of the dirigible. Of course, there now also existed the possibility of being pecked to death by a rampaging metal avian.
Another jolt sent him head first over the bird's flank, and he was only prevented from tumbling into the empty air when he grabbed a feathered ridge. While his heart raced, the world wheeled around below, a great, flat dish waiting to catch him.
Wind ripped at his clothes and made his eyes water. Desperately trying to think of a way out of his predica- ment, he saw the great talons of the metal bird a few feet below him. They were clutching the Gallian crewman. His uniform was scorched, his eyes were closed. Aubrey couldn't tell if he was breathing or not.
His collar jerked and, for an awful instant, he thought he was about to fall. He looked up to see George grimacing and holding onto his jacket. With George's help, Aubrey managed to scramble up until he was again flat on the back of the bird, panting with exertion and exhilaration at his rescue. His fingers ached from clinging to his handholds, but he was alive!
He put his mouth close to George's ear. 'The Gallian! The bird has him! He's safe!'
'Like we are?' George shouted. Aubrey grinned.
Blinding white light peeled the sky apart and the metal bird was flung across the heavens. Its wings flapped in wild, jerky sweeps. Aubrey, blinked, dazzled and deafened, alarmed at the smell of hot metal and ozone. Through black spots that wandered in his vision, he looked over his shoulder to see that half the bird's tail was missing – melted, with black charred streaks.
It had been struck by lightning.
The creature almost tumbled, then righted itself and began a descent that was a combination of vertigo-inducing drops and a controlled tight spiral. Aubrey peered over the side. The flames of the still-descending dirigible reflected in the ponds of the sewage treatment works bordering the airfield.
Their descent continued to slow. Aubrey cheered on the plucky bird, but the rasping tickle that signalled the presence of magic made him alert. The feathers beneath his fingers rippled and flowed, rearranging themselves, shifting shape. The creature heaved, plunging a little, then Aubrey was in the battered cabin of the ornithopter again. The windscreen was cracked and the smell of scorched metal was thick in the enclosed space.
Aubrey had time to see that George was in the seat next to him and that the unconscious Gallian airman was in the seat behind. George was hastily strapping on his seat belt and Aubrey managed to do the same before the ornithopter splashed into the sewage works.
Aubrey was thrown forward and hit his head on the steering column. He jerked back, blinking, as water cascaded on the cabin roof. He gasped for air and was soon rewarded by the rich fragrance of the settling ponds. Through the window he saw, in the distance, the tattered remains of the dirigible settling with relative dignity into the swampy morass. A cloud of steam and smoke rose to the heavens.
A dense, ponderous feeling settled on Aubrey's shoulders, making them sag. It took him a moment to be able to identify it as relief. He spent a moment wondering about the flawed spell, and how he could have made the ornithopter's change last longer, but he gave up, pleased that such a quickly cobbled-together effort had worked at all.
George coughed and cleared his throat. 'Good landing.'
'What?'
'WingCo Jeffries said any landing you walk away from is a good landing.' George peered out of the window. 'Or in our case, swim away from.'
'Oh.'
The ornithopter wobbled, slipped, paused and then began to sink.
Aubrey shrugged. Just when things couldn't get any worse, they did. He glanced over his shoulder to see that the Gallian was still unconscious, but breathing. He was sprawled across the back seats like a rag doll.
Aubrey rubbed his forehead. He felt weary to the bone. The magical exertion had drained him and he knew he'd pay for it later. 'You know, George, I was just wondering why you jumped into the ornithopter with me. What were you going to do? You don't know the first thing about flying.'
'Just habit, old man. You go off on a hare-brained expedition, I tag along to try to stop you from killing yourself. Or, at least, to minimise the damage to innocent bystanders. It's a hobby, I suppose.'
'Couldn't you have taken up stamp collecting?'
'Allergic to glue, old man. You know that.
'
Aubrey was silent for a time and watched the discoloured water rise up the windows. Then the ornithopter bumped and stopped sinking. Nearby, frogs started croaking.
'George?'
'Mm?'
'You remember that holiday I said we should take after the examinations?'
'Of course.'
'I think now could be a good time to take it.'
Blaze of Glory Page 33
