The first assault was devastating. The sleek Windblades cut into their enemy, guns spitting, ripping through exposed flanks and keels. The Blackhawks tried to evade, but the ferocity of the attack overwhelmed them. Some went plunging earthward, trailing smoke. Others were torn into dirty balls of fire, their wings spinning away through the sky.
But the Windblades dominance was short-lived. The Blackhawks snapped back into formation with unbelievable speed. Shattered groups of fighters merged into units, locking in as if drawn together by magnets. The Manes were on the counter-attack faster than anyone could have predicted. The Windblades found themselves surrounded and under fire in moments.
A second wave of artillery came in, this time aimed at the dreadnoughts. The powerful guns of the dreadnoughts bellowed in reply. At this range the shots were speculative, but still deadly if they hit home.
Harkins shuddered and shook in his cockpit. He was flying high and to starboard of the main body of Mane craft. Below, beyond his port wing, he could see down on to the deck of one of the dreadnoughts. It swarmed with nightmarish figures, leering and strange. Some wore rags, others wore motley, still others strode among them in outlandish armour. He saw one that was a giant, at least eight feet tall, arms bulging with veined muscles and a neck thick as an ox's. They manned deck guns, ran back and forth with ammunition, or took potshots with rifles as the Windblades flew by. A filthy horde, yowling and shrieking, terrifying in aspect.
His hands gripped the flight stick hard. Blackhawks and dreadnaughts alike had ignored him so far. It wasn't too late to back out. How could a man race up to such daemonic savagery?
Leave. Just go.
No.
She's dead. It's not worth it. Live to fight another day.
But what if she wasn't? He couldn't bear the disappointment in her eyes if she knew he'd left her.
They'll kill you!
He gritted his teeth and let out a high wail that was his best approximation of a battle cry. Then, before he could think any better of it, he thrust the stick forward and plunged into the fray.
The sound of the Firecrow's engines rose to a scream as he dived. Below him were three Blackhawks, flying across his path, apparently oblivious to him. He didn't much fancy taking on three, so he looked about for a single Blackhawk, one that was damaged or detached from the flock. There were none to be seen. It was three, or nothing.
Three it was. He wouldn't let himself back out now. He'd do it for Jez.
He took aim, accounting for speed and distance with an expert eye. He sucked in a deep breath, let it out, and squeezed the trigger.
The brash clatter of his machine guns made him jump. They seemed exceptionally loud. By firing them he'd broken his silence, and invited the attention of the enemy.
But the Blackhawks paid the price for ignoring him. His first salvo caught the formation squarely from above, ripping through the body of one of the craft and tearing the cockpit and pilot to pieces. The other two reacted before he could bring his guns to bear on them. They spiralled away crazily, spinning and turning, drawing G-forces that would have made a human pilot pass out.
Harkins pulled out of his dive and raced away, hoping their evasive tactics would make them lose sight of him. Now that the surprise attack was over, he feared retribution.
But his tactic was useless. The Blackhawks air-braked and came climbing towards him, hard and steep. A third one appeared from nowhere, slipping into formation to replace the one he'd destroyed. Suddenly Harkins found himself pursued by a trio of aircraft, a three-clawed pincer reaching up towards him.
'Oh, this isn't bloody fair at all!' he squealed, as the air around him filled with tracer fire. He threw his craft left and right: diving, rolling, spiralling. Yellow incendiary bullets blazed past his wings. The Blackhawks shot past him. They braked, split apart, and in seconds they were back in formation again, right on his tail.
Harkins craned around in his seat, trying to catch sight of them. He jinked left and then dived, evading them by instinct alone. A salvo of bullets shredded the air where he'd been a moment before.
He tore down towards the heart of the conflict, risking the artillery barrage. Anything to get them off his back. Between evasions, he contorted himself in his cockpit, attempting to locate them. But the bastards were nailed to his blind spot and wouldn't be thrown off.
His heart was thumping and his face was glistening with sweat. This was exactly what he'd feared would happen. The Blackhawks were out of his league. Messing with them was an invitation to get killed.
Oh blimey, damn and shit, what've I just got myself into?
Explosions all around him. Pummelling blasts of sound and flame and fury. He shrieked against the din. The Firecrow was thrown this way and that. He plunged past the flank of a dreadnought and caught a flash impression of the decks, seething with Manes like maggots on a carcass.
Then the explosions faded, and he still wasn't dead. He slammed into a sequence of manoeuvres that pushed him to the limits of his endurance. Turns so steep that his vision sparkled and his head went light. Crushing dives that send the blood pulsing hard in his sinuses and forehead and threatened a red-out.
He pulled up, head pounding. That's the best I've got, he thought. There's nothing more.
Machine guns opened up on his tail. Bullets chipped his starboard wing. He spun away with a curse, craned over his shoulder, and caught a glimpse of them. 'Right there, as if they'd never been away. They'd matched him move for move, implacable, just waiting for him to stop for an instant so they could shoot at him again.
They weren't going to let up on him. He could dodge about as much as he liked. They'd be waiting when he got tired. Harkins felt the sick panic that came with the certainty that he was going to die.
You should've run when you had the chance.
'Shit!' he screamed, pounding the dash with his fist. 'Shit! Shit! Shit!'
Machine guns sounded in a rattle. Harkins closed his eyes.
Sorry, Jez.
An explosion from behind him. His eyes flew open, and he twisted around in his seat.
Behind him one of the Blackhawks was spinning towards the city below, minus a wing. The other two moved to dodge the barrage of bullets slicing up at them from below, but they were too late. The bullets smashed into the flank of the second Blackhawk and sent it spiralling sideways. It crashed into its companion, who was still in close formation. The two of them tangled in a squealing collision and exploded.
'Waaa-hooo!' cried a familiar voice in Harkins' ear.
'Pinn?' he said in disbelief.
The Skylance came spinning through the cloud of smoke left by the destroyed Blackhawks.
'The one and only!' Pinn said. 'Here to save your sorry arse again!'
Pinn cackled. Damn, it was good to be alive! And there was nothing that made him feel quite so alive as murdering some dumb bastard who couldn't fly their aircraft as well as he could.
He glanced at the ferrotype hanging from his dash. A new face was in the frame where Lisinda's had once been. A face infinitely more beautiful to Pinn's eyes. Those red curls. That expanse of white bosom. The adorable way her front teeth overlapped.
Emanda.
He'd already forgotten what his previous sweetheart looked like. She'd faded from his memory without a picture to remind him. Well, who cared anyway? Let her be with her new man. She'd regret it one day, when Pinn was a hero and word of his exploits spread far and wide. She'd weep into her pillow when she saw the ferrotypes of him in the broadsheets, with Emanda on his arm. Someone better, prettier, more witty and charming than her. Someone more perfect in every way.
The face in the frame brought the memories flooding back. Wonderful days in Kingspire, a heady haze of booze, cards and bedplay. He'd borrowed some of her money and turned it into ten times the amount. Just having Emanda by his side put him on a winning streak. And she never left his side, except when she was on top of him, or under him, or in any other position they could think of. Damn, that woman had an appetite! And Pinn liked a woman with appetite.
How had he ever thought he wanted to be with Lisinda? She was a small-town girl with a small-town way of thinking. He'd dreamed of returning as a hero, but could he ever have settled into the dull, homely life she promised? No! What a lucky escape he'd had! The kind of life that Emanda offered, that was a life fit for a hero.
