* * *
A metal hand on her leg woke Riette from a deep sleep with a start. Tuck holding a finger over his mouth was the first thing her blurry eyes saw. Knowing something was wrong, she woke Emmet and urged him to remain silent. She might have been better off to leave him sleeping, but she knew how he reacted when awoken by something that frightened him. This was no time for uncontrolled shouting.
The sun was just clearing the horizon, and most of what Riette saw were foggy shadows, but when the shapes grew more distinct, it was apparent what those shadows represented. Hundreds of airships, balloons, and other aircraft gathered. Two ship-borne airstrips longer than any others they'd seen looked wide and smooth enough to safely land even the largest aircraft. Twelve engine diesel props dwarfed smaller planes, but the much smaller U-shaped crafts caught Riette's attention. She'd heard rumors of pulse jets in development, and seeing them in Zjhon hands did not bode well for the future. The allies fell further behind every day.
Beyond the airfields, orderly rows of tents formed small, identical cities. It was efficient, calculated, and frightening. The enemy had but to bide their time and build up an overwhelming force. When she thought back to the floating cities, she realized how close they already were to achieving that goal. It was hopeless.
Crosswinds pushed them deeper inland and caused the carriage to strain against the harness. Carried by the wind, the noise caused a nervous soldier to look up. His voice carried back, shouting in alarm. Dashiq flew with all haste. It wouldn't be fast enough. The air was clear, the faint covering of fog remaining below quickly burning off. The great hollowed mountains of the Heights, visible in the distance ahead, teased of safety just beyond reach.
The captain pulled a string, and the "hold on for dear life" sign fizzed to life.
Riette would have laughed, but aircraft firing behind them made it clear the Zjhon were coming. Only the morning dampness worked in their favor. Even with a target in the air, Zjhon pilots knew better than to fly with cold piston engines. There was one noise, though, that rose in pitch and sounded like an approaching hurricane. Streaking across the sky came a U-shaped plane with backswept triangular wings, the oscillating roar awkward and harsh until it found harmonic resonance. Suddenly in perfect synchronization, the jet engine sang a pure note, its exhaust fumes fading into a shimmering clear wash. No matter how deadly, one had to admire the technical achievement.
At that moment, though, that very innovation was coming right at them. The pilot was willing to give his or her life to take down the dragon, but Dashiq was no easy target.
"I hope they like pickled eggs!" Tuck said, cradling an almost empty jar. Though he was upside down when the jet passed, Tuck made a perfect throw and landed an egg on the jet engine's intake. The jet lost its resonance and for a moment sounded as if it might stall, but then it cleared up and once again found its rhythm.
Three times more jets harried them, doing their best to slow the dragon down. A formation of planes came from behind, and Dashiq did everything possible to maintain speed and still avoid the jets. They had come to expect the jets not to have weapons, but the next carried rapid-fire air cannons delivering a steady torrent of scatter shot. The sickening sound of the shot hitting Dashiq's wing was followed by a slow downward spiral.
Thinking to take advantage of the wounded dragon, the jet circled back for another pass. Again weapons fired but the dragon was more nimble than the pilot had been expecting. With a single rake of her claw, Dashiq crushed the engine's intake. Soundlessly the jet dropped from the sky. The others turned back toward the airstrips, from which a massive flight of diesel props approached.
Dragon Airways Page 19
