All thoughts of the bitter cold, the dying engine, the damage they had taken—were gone. Nothing existed but that airship. It swelled swiftly in size as Cromwell began his dive, straight at the tremendous form. The scream of the wind increased, and suddenly the cold was back again as icy fingers stabbed through bullet holes in the windshield. The cold was physical, like being struck viciously.
Faster and faster dove the Ford, unable to slow its descent in the thin air at their height. 'They're shooting at us!'
Indy called out. He'd just seen the dark areas atop the dirigible becoming large enough to make out what they were.
Machinegun nests atop the airship! Tracers sparkled and danced in the sky as they seemed to float upward against the Ford. They felt bullets striking the airplane. The Ford shuddered and yawed to one side; Cromwell fought her back.
He squeezed a button on his control yoke. The Ford shook and rattled as the two forwardfiring machine guns hurled tracers at the airship. 'That should throw them off!' Cromwell shouted.
The right engine exploded. The sudden violence hurled the propeller away from the engine, flinging it well off to the side. Cromwell shouted to Indy. 'The left rudder pedal! Stand on it, laddie, stand on it!'
Indy pressed down with all his strength, both men pushing left rudder as hard as they could to keep the airplane diving straight. The top of the zeppelin filled the entire world, a monstrous thing beyond belief, machine guns sparkling as they continued to fire.
'The handle! Get ready!' Cromwell shouted.
Indy reached forward, ready for the call.
'NOW! PULL THE HANDLE!'
Indy yanked back, a sharp sudden motion. He looked past Cromwell at the left wing. In a sudden fury of activity, the nose cone blew away from the underwing canister, flame speared backwards as the rockets ignited, and three long tubes rushed forward from the airplane, trailing flame and smoke as they arrowed downward into the spine of the great ship before them.
Dark spots appeared on the shiny fabric, then the rockets were gone. 'What the devil happened?' Indy shouted to Cromwell. 'There wasn't any explosion!'
'There will be—' Cromwell cut himself short as he pulled back on the yoke.
'Ease off on that rudder pedal,' he ordered. The Ford rolled to the right and the nose came around. They sped past the airship, a toy against a giant. As they flashed by, Indy saw a stab of flame appear along the flank of the zeppelin.
To his left, Cromwell was frantically moving controls and switches, to cut off fuel and power to the shattered right engine. 'We've got a fire of our own,' he said grimly. He reached to the panel and pulled another handle.
'Watch the right engine,' he ordered.
White mist engulfed the engine briefly, streaming back through the wreckage, and was flung away by the wind.
'Fire extinguisher,' Cromwell said. 'Did it work?'
'No more fire,' Indy told him. The shriek of wind was overwhelming. Cromwell was pulling back on the yoke, easing the Ford from its crazy dive. He maintained their descent, but under control this time, able to bank the airplane better, to see the airship.
'Take a look, lad,' he said, quietly this time.
Flame billowed from the flanks of the airship. 'What's happening?' Indy asked. 'That thing is filled with helium and helium doesn't burn—'
'Right,' Cromwell told him. 'But it's also got a devil of a load of fuel for those jet engines. That magnesium, once it's ignited, will keep right on burning through the metal structure, and that means the fire worked its way down to the fuel tanks and ate right through the metal. That fire is their fuel.
I'd say we've done a day's good work, be cause—'
There was no need to say more. A savage glare appeared along the sides and belly of the airship. Indy understood now that blazing magnesium had breached the fuel tanks. Fuel spilled outward, ignited violently, and sent flames hurtling through the fuel storage area. The huge airship wallowed like a stricken whale, dying before their eyes as explosions wracked the structure. Debris and bodies spilled outward.
Indy stared as crewmen, arms and legs flailing helplessly, began the long fall toward the earth.
Another blast, a great gout of flame, and the zeppelin buckled amidships, its back broken. The flames continued to spread, and two huge masses tumbled downward, twisting and turning in seeming agony as they dropped to final destruction.
'You need me up here right now?' Indy asked Cromwell.
'Not now. We're below twenty thousand, and I'll keep her going down like an elevator until we're at fourteen. Then we can all take off these miserable oxy systems and breathe like normal people again.'
Indy climbed from the cockpit. Back in the cabin he moved immediately to the side of Foulois. Chino was cradling the unmoving Frenchman in his huge arms.
Foulois's oxygen mask was gone from his face, telling Indy what he feared most of all.
Indy met Chino's eyes. They didn't need words to say that Rene Foulois was dead.
Gale sat to one side, quietly. Indy saw she had been crying. Now she was numb, inside and out. Rene Foulois was gone, and they had been on the thin edge of death themselves. Gale had frostbite on her face; she suffered her own pain. Finally she looked up.
'Did we . . . ' Her voice faltered.
'We did,' Indy said quietly as he could and still be heard over the roar of engines and wind.
'Masks off now,' Cromwell announced from the cockpit. They turned their valves to the off position and removed masks and goggles. Indy unsnapped the heavy mouth cover. It was already much warmer at their lower
