by Quincy Allen
“Oh, shit,” Jake mumbled, not nearly loud enough to be heard over the roaring guns around him.
Chapter Four
Defending a Lady’s Honor
“I should be dead … ten times over.”
~ Jake Lasater
The guns from the Jezebel continued to roar, but there was no incoming fire from the enemy zepps. He let go of the crank on his Gatling and looked down at what he could see of the zeppelin that had slid beneath them.
“Hey,” Cole said, barely audible over the comm as he poured a stream of heavy gunfire from El Diablo into one of the enemy zeppelins, “they ain’t firing back. What the hell?” His guns went silent.
“Cease fire,” Wordsworth said into the comm. “We can’t pierce their shields, so save the munitions.”
Jake got a sinking feeling. Szilágyi wasn’t after the Jezebel … just her cargo. And the bastard meant to take it mid-air. “Captain,” Jake said hastily into the comm, “get some men down to the cargo hold. I’m on the way. Cole, stay where you are and call out if they do something.” Jake ran for the door. He flung it open but stopped short, staring up at the looming form of Tyler Jones. “Tyler, I …”
“Helga Olafsen,” Tyler started, gasping to catch his breath, held out a small device. “Back at the San Fran docks, she told me to give you this. She said if we were attacked on the way back to Denver by more than one zeppelin that I should hand it over. She said …” and he paused trying to remember the exact words. “She said that you’d know what to do but couldn’t say how many it would get.”
Jake plucked the small device out of Tyler’s hands, remembering Emperor Norton tossing it into the air. “Well I’ll be damned,” was all Jake said as he dashed to the starboard windows.
“Jump troops!” Cole shouted. “They’ve got jumpers in the doorway!”
El Diablo started grinding again.
Jake rushed to the glass. An enemy zeppelin floated a hundred feet up and away, and he spotted a dozen men in black standing in the open cargo door of the enemy gondola.
Green and yellow flashes danced across the shield as El Diablo’s guns poured into them, but the troopers stood safely—even calmly—behind the barrier. Each man wore a bullet-shaped helmet and what looked like a modified Confederacy jump-pack strapped to his back.
Jake had seen the packs used in the war to great effect, on both sides. Ground troops would use them to hop enemy lines or leap over high fortifications. The small packs could carry a man several hundred feet and were relatively maneuverable with proper training. Jake had even used them once—in an emergency—and while he’d survived, he swore he’d never put one on again.
“Prepare for boarders!” the captain shouted. “Gunners, see if you can pick them out of the air!”
If the troopers get aboard, Jake thought, it’s gonna be a whole different fight. One we probably can’t win. Jake flipped the small cover plate on the device.
“Now let’s just see how crazy ol’ Emperor Norton really is.”
He pressed the button and stared at the zeppelin just as one of the troopers prepared to launch out the doorway.
The side of the enemy airship—still haloed in the blue glow of its shield—erupted into a magnificent blossom of orange and yellow flame. The deafening explosion tore a gaping hole out of the gondola, taking a piece of the envelope with it. Jake smiled as every jump-trooper in the doorway got blown out into the night, tumbling either dead or unconscious toward the ground.
The blue glow flickered out, and the sound of two more explosions from the other side of the Jezebel made Jake smile even more. The black fabric of the enemy zeppelin tore away and fluttered in the wind, revealing a stark white surface underneath.
So that’s how they did it, he thought. The zepps could lower a black cover over the white envelope to hide in the darkness.
He turned as the remains of the double-explosion ripped the tail section almost completely off the other zeppelin. The blue glow around it sputtered and faded away.
“One down, boys!” Jake shouted.
The men around him cheered victoriously as the aft turbines of the enemy zeppelin to port tore free and dropped into the clouds below. The airship dropped back, sinking quickly. Without its rudders and propulsion, it veered rapidly away from the Jezebel. Jake turned and tossed the detonator to a surprised-looking Tyler Jones.
“I GOT YOU NOW, YOU SON-OF-A-BITCH!” Cole screamed into the comm, causing Jake to wince. Everyone on board heard El Diablo spin up again, its four guns making a droning roar. A jagged line of heavy gunfire tore into the envelope of the wounded zeppelin. Cole’s maniacal laughter filled the comm. He was merciless as he chewed great chunks out of the already flaming envelope and gondola.
Every gun aboard the Jezebel opened up again, riddling the wounded zeppelins to port and starboard.
“I guess Emperor Norton ain’t as crazy as people say, now is he?” Jake muttered under his breath.
“What?” Jones asked, bewildered.
Jake winked, dropped the headset on the floor, and darted past the big man, making a beeline straight for the cargo hold of the Jezebel. “C’mon, Jones! We ain’t out of this yet!” he yelled over his shoulder.
He hit the spiral stairs at a run and slid all the way down the railing to the lower level. Jones clumped behind him as he slammed open the door to the rear passenger compartments and bolted forward through the ship. Just as he was entering the dining room, he spotted Ghiss sitting at one of the tables, cool as a cucumber as he wiped an oiled rag over the thick barrel of a chaingun. The mercenary sat upright with a foot up on a chair and leaning back casually. It seemed Skeeter had been able to get him fully functional—or at least mostly so. Once again Jake marveled at his ward’s ability to fix anything she got her hands on.
Two loud thuds vibrated through the gondola, as if something heavy had rammed into the bottom of it. Then a sharp explosion rocked the Jezebel from stem to stern. Wood splintered and men screamed from the deck below. The Jezebel lurched and shuddered, nearly knocking Jake off his feet while Ghiss grabbed the table and kept himself upright.
Jake bounced off a table and kept running, suddenly fearful for Skeeter, remembering she had said she was going to check out the hold. He felt the ship lurch again and suddenly rise, as if the Jezebel had lost a great deal of ballast, and then the ship jerked harshly, anchored from below.
Jake dashed through the open passenger compartment, running past the frightened gunners who stared at each other with shocked looks on their faces. Ignoring them, Jake slammed into the door leading down, tore it open and slid down the spiral staircase, hitting the floor at a dead run.
Lady Dănești’s massive box, its carved, pale surfaces gleaming, lay on the floor to the right of the large double doors that opened onto the cargo hold. Someone must have moved it into the room during the day, and Jake suddenly felt very comfortable knowing it was there and not in what might be left of the cargo hold.
He yanked open one of the doors to the hold, and a blast of cold air hammered into him. Smoke and the smell of explosives swirled around the room. As he stepped into the hold, he saw open sky below and the enemy airship sliding up underneath. It was reeling itself up on long cables that had been anchored to the bottom of the Jezebel.
A gap about fifteen feet across and as wide as the cargo hold had been blown open in the floor, and the edges were exceptionally straight, almost enough to look like they’d been cut by a large saw. Beyond that, the wagon had been secured against one wall of the animals stalls.
Jake realized that Szilágyi’s men had come aboard the Jezebel on the way to San Fran in order to lay down whatever explosives had cut the floor open.
“Jake!” Skeeter yelled as she stepped out from one of the stalls. She was wearing the baggy, black duster he’d bought for her, and it fluttered in the wind swirling around the cargo hold. She was wearing her goggles and held a stun-bomb in her hand.
Jake heaved a sigh of relief; delighted to see h
er safe but worried she might get mixed up in the fight.
“Get back there and under cover!” he screamed as he approached the opening. He was certain the situation was about to go from bad to worse. “These guys mean business!”
She darted back into the shadows.
When he stepped up to the edge, he spotted six men standing within an open recess on the top of the enemy zeppelin. Two of them wore the uniforms Jake had seen on Szilágyi’s men during the first encounter, and they manned Gatling gun emplacements at the rear of the compartment. The other four stood in the middle of the compartment. All wore black, bullet-shaped helmets, and had on jetpacks. Jump-troopers, Jake thought. Szilágyi must have gotten a bargain at a Confederacy Surplus sale.
Each of the jump troops also held a chaingun, and as one they hit the controls on their chests. Clouds of white smoke burst out from the packs, and they shot up toward Jake.
The men in the gun emplacements spotted Jake at the same time he spotted them.
In a blur, Jake yanked the Peacekeeper, aimed, and started fanning the hammer at the nearest of the jumpers coming at him. His first two rounds hit one in the head, but the shots ricocheted off harmlessly. His third and fourth shots hit the pack dead on. It sputtered once and then the right-hand jet cut off while the left one erupted in a gout of red flame twice the volume of what it had been before. The poor bastard shot sideways and spun off into the clouds, screaming like the doomed son-of-a-bitch he was.
That’s when the two gun emplacements opened up at Jake. He dove backwards as a hailstorm of bullets tore apart the ceiling above where he had been standing. He rolled backwards as bullets tore through the floor, marching their way toward him. He rolled backwards again, figuring that the three remaining jump troops would be hitting the deck as he rolled. He was in a bad spot, and there wasn’t a whole hell of a lot he could do about it. He heard the scream of jump packs and then heavy boots hit the deck near the opening.
The all-too-familiar whine of a chain gun spinning up hit his ears and he figured he was about to buy it. The whine was coming from in front and behind. Two chainguns started chattering just as Jake finished his roll. He looked up into the barrel as the trooper’s chaingun spat flame and lead directly at him.
The other two jump-troopers landed on the far side of the opening just as several rounds hammered into Jake. Pain flared across his abdomen and shoulder, and the impact spun him around. Ghiss stood in the doorway with a chaingun leveled and spitting its own torrent of lead. An explosion buffeted Jake as he came to a stop at Ghiss’ feet, and he lifted his head. Only flames and smoke remained where the jump-trooper that shot him had been standing a moment before.
The two jump-troopers on the far side of the opening split up, one turning toward Jake and Ghiss while the other moved back toward the stalls. Ghiss grabbed Jake by the collar and yanked him out of the way just as the trooper started firing. Ghiss pulled Jake around the corner, closing the door behind him, and didn’t stop until they were beside Lady Dănești’s box. A hailstorm of bullets tore through the door and wall where they had been standing and then stopped.
They were pinned down, and Jake could feel blood spilling out of his belly and shoulder. Ghiss propped him up against the Lady’s box and stepped back, looking down at Jake grimly.
“How are we doing?” Jake asked, wincing at the agony streaking through his chest. His voice gurgled as blood rose in his throat. He suddenly started coughing, and crimson spatters dotted down his vest and pants.
Ghiss looked down at him, his eyes tracing along the spatters, the pool of blood spreading out beneath Jake. He locked eyes with Jake and slowly shook his head. “I believe you have a problem, Mister Lasater.”
Jake nodded, his situation hitting him full force. “Gimme that chaingun,” he ordered, holding out his clockwork left.
Ghiss handed the weapon over wordlessly.
“Now, get upstairs and round up some help … bring every man you can.”
Ghiss nodded, turned, and moved towards the stairs.
“And Ghiss …” Jake called out.
The mercenary turned and set steely eyes on Jake.
“If I buy it, you finish this, right? We still have a deal, even if I’m dead?”
Ghiss paused for a moment and then nodded his head. It was enough for Jake. Ghiss would see it done if there was a way to do it. Ghiss turned without a word and disappeared up the spiral staircase.
Jake propped the chaingun up with his left arm and tried to focus on the door to the cargo hold, but it was getting hard to see straight. He shivered, and the details of the room around him turned fuzzy. It occurred to him that he was dying, and oddly enough, the idea didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. He wanted one last cigar before he checked out, though. A haze closed in around his senses, and he figured there wasn’t time.
Must be the blood loss, he thought and then got to thinking about his life like he was supposed to.
He’d already had more time than he should have thanks to the Buffalo Soldiers who’d dragged him off that Virginia hillside.
The fog reminded him of the morning he’d lost his arm and legs. It wrapped around him, chilling his body. As he felt himself slipping away, he realized he’d done more since the war than most men would do in a lifetime. He did wish he’d been able to kiss Lady Dănești one more time, though. Funny, that, he thought. He barely knew her, but there was something about the woman that he just got lost in, something he’d never felt before.
“One more kiss, Lady,” he mumbled, his voice sounding hollow and distant in the thickening fog that left him seeing only white. “It would have been enough.” Jake figured that single regret wasn’t so bad for a lifetime. His eyes drifted closed just as the fog seemed to take shape. “Just … one …” His eyes closed completely, and for one last instant of consciousness he swore he felt something brush up against his lips that set his heart on fire.
Then his heart stopped beating altogether.
Chapter Five
Breath of Life
“There is nothing quite like the helpless feeling you get inside a plummeting zeppelin.”
~ Captain Jane Wilson
An explosion followed by a man’s screaming startled Jake out of unconsciousness, and then the scream drifted away to silence. Jake sucked in a deep breath and opened his eyes. Ghiss—now holding the chaingun he’d given to Jake—and five men from the Jezebel’s crew stood around the door, apparently preparing to rush in. Gunfire from the Jezebel’s emplacements filled his ears, and muffled return fire from the zeppelin came from the starboard side.
Jake realized that his chest didn’t hurt, and as he sat up, he expected fire in his shoulder and belly. There was nothing. No pain. He looked down to see his clothes covered with blood. He poked a finger through a bullet hole in his shirt. There should be a hole in the flesh beneath, but as he ran his finger around, he found only whole, healthy flesh.
“What the hell?” he asked, his voice surprising even him. Ghiss and the men at the door jolted, and they all turned shocked faces in his direction.
“Jake?” Matthew O’Malley said, the Irishman full of disbelief. “We thought you were dead!”
Jake got to his feet slowly, not because he felt any pain, but because he was expecting to and was surprisingly disappointed. He looked himself over and ran his fingers across where he knew the bullets had entered his body. “So did I. I certainly should be.”
Ghiss’ eyes drifted from Jake to the box behind him and then back to Jake. “You feeling alright, Mister Lasater?” Ghiss asked smoothly. There was a knowing smile in the mercenary’s voice that Jake didn’t understand.
“I feel right as the mail,” Jake replied as he stretched out his shoulders. “Which don’t make one damn bit of sense.” He looked down at the crate, wondering what might be inside. “How long was I out?”
“A little over a minute, Mister Lasater,” Ghiss replied. “Just enough time for me to go upstairs, get these fellows, and com
e back down.”
Jake’s eyes went wide in disbelief, and the mercenary nodded slowly, emphasizing the impossibility of it all.
Another explosion went off in the cargo hold, and Jake recognized it as one of Skeeter’s poppers. It was followed by a burst of chaingun fire, another popper, and a man screaming.
Skeeter was giving them hell in there, but she was running out of time.
Jake checked his pistols and started reloading the Peacekeeper. “Well, I ain’t one to look a miracle in the mouth, and I reckon we ain’t got time to sort it out this second. Skeeter’s on the other side of that door. What say we tidy up this little fiasco, pull her hide out of that fire, and then I can get to figurin’ out why the hell I’m still breathing.”
Jake pulled his other pistol, spun them both just for the pure pleasure of being alive, and stepped up to the door.
“You just wanna rush ’em?” O’Malley asked, his voice full of fear.
“Unless you got a better idea,” Jake asked. “Look, them chainguns take a bit to get rolling. Ghiss here is gonna follow me in. Any of them boys start things a-rollin’ we’ll burn ’em down where they stand.” Jake turned to the mercenary. “Ghiss, you hear any more of them jump packs?”
“Six, but I believe the little lady in there was able to attend to two of them.” Ghiss sounded more than impressed. “And they know we’re here, effectively blocking them in. I’m not sure what they might be waiting for, though.”
“I reckon the loss of them troopers from the other two zepps put a kink in Szilágyi’s master plan. We were all supposed to be upstairs fighting boarders, not getting ready to rush his men down here. And I’m guessing he figured this here crate,” he motioned to the Lady’s box, “was going to be in the hold. Right now, I bet he’s figuring out if this fight is worth it or not. O’Malley, the door if you please. Just keep them from getting past us.”
O’Malley nodded and grasped the handle. Ghiss pulled his own, strange pistols and stepped in behind Jake. Jake took one deep breath, let it out hard and fast, and then nodded to O’Malley, who yanked the splintered door wide open.
