'Thank the saints they're below us,' Cromwell said stiffly. 'I don't think the old girl had much left in her. Leveling off, Rene. Gently, gently . . . No, no, keep full power on. We'll need everything we can get. Indy, you with me?'
'Yyes. Go ahead.'
'We've got company, laddie. Look behind and just below the zep. You see what I mean?'
'Uh . . . I don't . . . Got them, Will.' Indy had seen sudden bright reflections.
'There's three of them,' Cromwell said. 'Count on them coming in for a visit.'
'Agreed. Gale, Joe . . . your guns. Confirm.'
'In position. Strapped and hooked up. Oxygen content seventy percent.
Valve full on.' Gale was wisely talking in staccato bursts.
'I am with you,' Chino called.
'What's your tank showing?' Indy demanded.
'Sixtyfive percent. Indy?'
'Go.'
'It is cold out here.' Chino's head and shoulders were exposed to the wind blast down the fuselage.
'It'll be warmer in a few moments, bucko,' Cromwell told Chino. Then: 'Indy, you still have them in sight?'
'Yeah, Will.'
The pilots were banking the Ford gently toward the slowly rising airship.
'This is important, Indy,' Cromwell continued. 'Watch those discs coming in.
They're sliding about. Wobbling. They're slick in shape, Indy. That means they haven't much lift up here.'
'Indy, Rene here. The Britisher is right. They cannot make any real banks for maneuvering. Watch how they turn, like on a flat table. Do you see?'
Indy watched the discs as they approached in wide, very shallow turns. They were right. Those things were devastating down low in thick air, but in this rarefied atmosphere they were barely capable of flight.
'Will, what do you think they'll do?'
'They can't come up sharply from below us,' Cromwell answered immediately.
'If they try that, leading edge up, they'll stall out. And no pursuit curves, either.
Not the
way they're flying, like fish out of water. This is a break for us.'
'Indy, Rene here. I think they will make a shallow approach from behind. Two of them. Slightly above and behind.
They must travel at full speed or they will fall.'
'You said two. What about the third?'
'He will attack us from the front.'
'Joe, you hear me?' Cromwell called.
'Yes.'
'When they come after us from behind I'm going to swing the nose to the right. That will give you a clear shot at the blighters.'
'Aall right.'
'Not so fast. There's no interruptor mechanism in your weapon. You understand?'
'No.'
'It means you've got to be careful you don't shoot our bloody tail right off this machine! Have you got that?'
'I have it. Tell them to hurry up. I'm freezing.'
'I'll send them a telegram, Joe.'
'Indy, right after that pass, the ones from behind,' Foulois called, 'we must continue our turn, but put the nose down. You understand? That will let you fire at the disc that comes on us from the front. Gale Parker, the one from the front must pass beneath us. You will have only a moment to shoot as he goes below you. He cannot climb, so that is how he will fly.'
'This ends the sewing circle, ladies!' Cromwell said loudly. 'Here they come!'
The discs spewed black smoke behind them as they continued their painful slow turn in toward the Ford. 'Get ready . . .' Cromwell said. 'Watch those two from behind!'
Chino saw a flashing light at the leading edge of the discs. 'They are firing!'
he shouted.
Instantly Cromwell shoved in right rudder, swinging the nose to the right, bringing the tail to the left and giving Chino a brief but perfect opportunity.
Everything they'd told Chino about short bursts was forgotten as he aimed at a point in space ahead of the discs and squeezed his trigger. Glowing tracers curved out and away in a steady stream.
