'Short bursts!' Indy yelled.
His voice went unheard as Chino kept firing. Bullets tore into the Ford's right wingtip, shredding metal, throwing pieces of debris back to vanish from sight.
'Hit! Hit!' Chino yelled. 'Got him! I see fire! Eeyah!'
His tracers had smashed the glass canopy of the disc, and had apparently gone through the cockpit area into a fuel tank. An explosion wracked the disc. The pilot was trying desperately to climb up and away, knowing another disc was about to hit the Ford from the opposite direction. But with the wind screaming into the cockpit and flames tearing at the structure, he was still descending— straight at the trimotor.
'Turn left! Turn left!' Indy yelled. 'Dive! He's out of control coming straight at us!'
It was a perilous maneuver at this altitude, but they had no choice.
Immediately the nose swung left and the right wing went up, as Cromwell brought the Ford around in a sudden diving left turn. Over the roar of their engines a tremendous hollow torching sound burst through the airplane. The disc was out of control, flipflopping crazily, spewing flames and debris. It passed just under the raised right wing of the Ford, scant feet beneath the plane. The shock wave from its passing smacked the Ford like a giant hand. Cromwell and Foulois fought desperately to keep control. A steep bank at this height could stall them out in a split second. Slowly they brought the Ford from its brief descent, wings level.
A machinegun burst vibrated through the airplane. 'He's below us!' Gale shouted into her microphone. Lying prone, looking down, she'd had a glimpse of the second disc coming into sight. Her reaction was to open fire immediately, shooting wildly in the alltoobrief opportunity. The disc raced ahead of the Ford, easing to the left to remain clear of the third disc, now a gleaming sliver of reflected sunlight racing headon at them.
'Open fire!' Cromwell shouted to Foulois. 'If nothing else you'll give him something to worry about!'
Two machine guns blazed from the wings of the Ford, tracers flashing ahead, sparkling all about the disc. At the same moment they saw the flashing light of the disc's machine gun, firing at the airplane. It came in with tremendous speed. Before they could maneuver, a spray of bullets hammered into the right wing, walking toward the cockpit.
The Ford shuddered as if hit with a truck. 'The rocket pack! Right wing!'
Indy shouted. 'It's gone!' The attack had smashed into the big rocket canister beneath the right wing, mangling the hardpoint connections and blowing away the entire system. They were more than lucky. The force of their speed had ripped the rocket pack free before one of the warheads ignited. Well behind and below them, the rocket canister exploded in a searing burst of flame. The wreckage fell away like confetti in a hurricane.
'Will, go for the airship,' Indy ordered. 'We've got just those three rockets left.'
'Don't I know it,' Cromwell answered, already easing the trimotor toward the airship. 'We'll make it before he can climb much higher,' Cromwell went on. 'We've still got about fifteen hundred feet on him—good God . . . ' They heard the strain in Cromwell's voice. 'It's Frenchy. He's hit. Bad. Blood all over the place here. Better get him in the back to stop the bleeding and check his oxygen!'
'Disc is coming in!' they heard Chino shouting. 'Behind us and lower. I cannot get aim at him!'
'Gale!' Indy called. 'I can see him. When I tell you to, aim your weapon behind you in direct line with the fuselage.
He may just fly into your tracers.'
'But I'll be shooting blind!'
'You have a better idea? Just shut up and get ready to fire! Okay, he's committed . . . coming in just below us, and he's firing. . . .'
They felt bullets striking the tail. Cromwell shoved hard right rudder, then left, moving the plane from side to side to throw off their attacker's aim. Gale screamed; she was being rolled from side to side herself.
The ballsocket gun mount was a rushed affair. In the bitter cold, the metal had shrunk and become brittle. Indy yelled to her, 'Fire now!' and she squeezed the trigger. The sudden movements of the plane, Gale's trying to keep from bouncing around even in her harness, and the bucking recoil of the machine gun were too much for the makeshift system. Metal tore, the crossmounts snapped like sticks, and the machine gun fell away from the airplane.
Gale had a glimpse of a brilliant disc flashing into view, in line with falling wreckage. She stared in disbelief as the machine gun slammed into the canopy of the disc, shattering the glass and smashing against the pilot. A convulsive jerk at the controls of the disc sent it whirling crazily, all lift gone, the machine in a killer highspeed stall. It spun away like a whirling dervish, spewing forth wreckage and fuel. Far below them, flame blossomed and the disintegrating disc fell toward final destruction.
'Someone help me! HELP!'
Gale's voice . . . in his headset. Indy looked back to the belly gun position. Gale was gone! He saw her legs snagged in her safety harness. From the knees down she | was still in the cabin, but the rest of her body was outside in that punishing frigid air. The air blast buffeted her madly, several times slamming her against the belly of the airplane. Indy started toward her, and saw Chino scrambling forward from the rear of the cabin. The Ford rolled wildly to one side. In their clumsy garments and oxygen tanks, they were helpless to get to Gale.
She screamed again for someone to help her.
Indy reacted without time for deliberate thought. There was one chance. He grabbed the zipper toggle of his flight suit and yanked it full down, giving him access within the suit. In a moment he pulled his whip free from its snaplock by his waist.
He knew this would be the single most important throw he had ever done. He aimed carefully, bracing himself, and snapped the whip forward. The far end struck Gale's right leg and wrapped about her ankle. Indy braced himself against a seat, holding on with all his strength.
'Joe! I can hold her a while! Get to her!' In the same breath: 'Hang on, Gale.
. . .'
She screamed something unintelligible. Indy didn't blame her if she was calling him every rotten name under the sun. Hang on? With her hands flailing empty air?
Chino was on his hands and knees, moving as fast as he could along the cabin floor to reach Gale. Her body swung wildly as one of the two last restraining straps gave way. Her life now hung by one strap and Indy's bullwhip. Time was rushing away from them. Chino braced himself, grasped her left leg, and pulled her up like a child as Indy also pulled with the whip. Then she was partially back in the cabin. Chino's right arm shot out to circle her waist. Holding grimly to her body, he rolled flat on the cabin floor as far from the gaping hole as he could move.
