K. Weiland - Storming

The Jenny swooped over the last ledge. The ground fell away and the wide-open sea of air rushed up to float the plane once more. Jael leaned over one side; Hitch leaned over the other.

He blinked hard, straining to see through his water-spotted goggles.

Rock, tree, rock, weeds, more weeds. Nothing that looked like a very large, very obvious dirigible.

And then— there .

Nestled in the corner of the Bluff, the vast, off-white envelope exploded into view.

His heart about exploded along with it.

Jael darted a look back and jerked her head toward it.

He spared a nod, and then dragged in all the air his lungs could hold.

Here went nothing. If this didn’t work the first time, it probably never would. He eased the Jenny’s nose down and dove, straight for _Schturming_’s propellers.

No time to go over the plan in his head. No time to make sure the cavalcade of motorcars were swinging around the end of the Bluff and bumping over the field into position. Hardly even time to think about what he was doing. They had to get in there and get in there fast. As soon as Zlo heard them coming, he’d rev those big propellers and the jig would be over.

Below, _Schturming_’s stern surged up fast. Jammed against the Bluff like it was, there was zero space to maneuver. Hitch slowed the Jenny as much as he dared, but the wingtip still reached the propellers a darn sight too soon.

One of Schturming_’s prop fins was busted clean in half. _That explained why Zlo hadn’t beat it out of here before now. Looked like that cannon misfire yesterday had done some good after all. The dirigible would probably still be able to move, but not nearly as fast.

In another minute, with any luck, it wouldn’t move at all.

As best he could, he angled toward the dirigible’s props with the ladder on the landing gear.

“Hang on!” he shouted, more for the Jenny’s benefit than Jael’s. If he miscalculated this, it either wouldn’t work—or his landing gear would get ripped clean off.

They zipped past the propeller.

He exhaled and craned his neck. The wheels were still there. So was the ladder.

He’d missed. To bring down the ship, they first had to knock out its engines. This was the only way to do that. And he’d missed.

On the walkway atop the envelope, a man stood and started shouting.

So much for the element of surprise. Hitch pulled up hard to keep from crashing against the ground.

The cannon sat on its track, down toward the bottom of the envelope, but it wasn’t moving. Maybe Zlo hadn’t had time to get the pulley system back together.

Jael looked at him again and twirled her finger in the air, like she’d seen Earl do.

He nodded. One more shot. Good Lord willing, there’d be time. He pulled back on the stick, and the Jenny shot straight up, all the way past Schturming , right to the point of stalling. Then, with a roar, he yawed the nose around into a hammerhead turn.

The sentry atop Schturming must have gotten word to the engine room. Slowly, slowly, the mismatched propellers started to turn. Even busted, they had enough power to inch the dirigible forward.

The Jenny swooped down once more. Hitch got her lined up with the propellers and pushed her in even closer. It’d be the landing gear or the ladder this time. One way or another, something was coming off and sticking to that thing.

In a whoosh, the dark bulk of the propellers shot past the plane. The Jenny’s whole frame shuddered. The stick twitched in his hand.

In front, Jael, who had been watching over her shoulder the whole time, broke out a wide grin. Her laugh was almost audible.

His heart pounded so hard he could barely see straight. He dared a look under the plane.

The wheels still hung in place, revolving in the airflow. At least whatever else happened, Earl wouldn’t kill him once he got back to the ground. He turned to look over his shoulder.

The dirigible’s propellers still turned. But with every turn, they pulled the sturdy rope ladder deeper into the gears. A few more revolutions and the whole thing would be stuck fast.

If he’d had any breath left, he would have laughed too. But that had been the easy part.

He faced forward and pulled the plane up for a low pass over the field.

The two dozen motorcars were careening across the prairie meadow, some of them bouncing dangerously high over the grass tussocks. Half of them rumbled right under _Schturming_’s bow. The other half got in close to the stern. Twelve of them—six from each end—stopped long enough to spin all the way around until they were facing away from the Bluff and the other dozen cars.

Jael looked back again and raised her eyebrows, questioningly.

He gave her a nod. “Your turn, kiddo.” Then he eased the plane around for another climb.

Jael tossed the end of one of the long ropes out of the cockpit and let it slip down off the lower wing. She fed it out and kept feeding it as the Jenny screamed back over _Schturming_’s choking props. By the time they reached the motorcars on the far side, Jael had come to the end of the first rope and tossed it out. It hung, beautifully, right over _Schturming_’s propeller shaft, both ends nearly touching the ground below.

He swung the Jenny around to make another pass. Jael waited until they were once again lined up over the propellers, then immediately started spilling the second rope.

Below, the men from the motorcars ran to collect the rope ends and secure them to their bumpers.

Jael dropped the tail end of the second rope, and more of the motorcar drivers raced to secure their ends.

Now to get the prow equally trussed.

Inside Schturming , barely visible in the crack between the bottom of the envelope and the top of the gondola, men scrambled, most of them headed aft toward where the propellers strained and groaned against the net.

The dark spot, where the cannon had been, had disappeared.

By the time the significance of that sank in, Hitch was already over the top of the envelope, headed for the bow.

The cannon appeared on the far side. It trundled up its track, headed straight for the Jenny. Two men clambered after it. They were taking no chances with their aim this time—or maybe the pulley system for moving it around still didn’t work. At any rate, as soon as they saw the plane, they started shouting. The cannon stopped. One man reared it up to point at the Jenny. The other man fired her.

Hitch pulled on the stick. The plane pitched up. In the corner of his vision, the cannon exploded, and a great black ball hurtled at them. Every muscle straining, he willed the plane higher. An inch—just a bare inch—was all he needed to escape the dad-blasted thing.

With a mind-numbing thud of displaced air, the ball hammered past. From the feel, it was just beneath the fuselage. The Jenny bobbled in his hand, but that was it.

He held his breath all the way up over the top of the Bluff, then turned around and swept back. If those mugs reloaded and started shooting at the drivers on the ground, this whole thing could get messier than mud in a bare second.

The first set of drivers had caught the ends of the two ropes over the propellers and were securing them to their automobiles. Some of the other men were hurriedly chaining car to car to create a better anchor.

But they were too slow.

_Schturming_’s tremendous buoyancy hoisted her skyward. She dragged the two foremost automobiles right off their front wheels. Another two seconds, and she’d be floating away with both the cars and their drivers.

The men—Griff chief among them to judge by his slouched fedora—scrambled among the cars, fastening the locks on the chains.

Schturming kept right on going. She hoisted the first set of cars completely off the ground and hauled the second set forward yard after yard. The front wheels of the second set of cars inched off the ground.