Paladin Blake & The Secret City Page 7

  “I need to know where the Commerce is supposed to be now,” Paladin told Eliot. “Any word about her on the news services?”

  Eliot wrinkled his brow. “Is there something wrong with the Commerce?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Paladin replied.

  Eliot picked up a phone and dialed. “Tower? This is Ness. Yeah. Can you guys, off the record, give me the flight plan filed by the Commerce? I can hold.” He pulled a pad and pen from his pocket then jotted down notes. “Thanks-owe you one.” He hung up.

  “She’s on a run for ‘Heartland, Inc.’ They make farm equipment-tractors, fertilizer spreaders, things like that. They loaded the shipment from hangar 1056, and she’s scheduled to deliver it to-” Eliot checked his notes. “-Oklahoma City.” She’s reported in and supposed to returning with a cargo of corn meal in three days.”

  “Checked in, huh?” Paladin rubbed his chin, thinking. “When?”

  “Noon, yesterday.” Eliot stared at his handwriting. “Funny thing is that Heartland doesn’t own or lease hangar 1056. That’s Anvil Manufacturing. They make guns, including a nice .45

  by all accounts.”

  “And, by all accounts,” Paladin muttered, “secretly running guns.”

  Eliot shrugged. “The bogus manifest adds up. They’d do that to protect themselves. A shipment of guns would be a tempting cargo for pirates to hijack.”

  It added up all right, Paladin thought. Anvil Manufacturing could have supplied Die Spinne with the arsenal it had protecting Le Coeur du Minuit. But what was Karina Von Gilder planning to do with another zeppelin full of guns? Two years ago, she had attempted to plunge North America into war-her goal to unite the state nations by conquest. Was this a prelude to another war?

  “Can you get me an appointment to see someone at Anvil Manufacturing?”

  “You bet, Mr. Blake.” Eliot picked up the phone. “What do you want me to tell them when they ask why?”

  “Tell them I’d like to buy a gun,” Paladin said.

  Chapter Ten: The Battle of Midnight’s Heart

  “It’ll be our three zeppelins against a dozen of theirs,” Paladin said.

  The only sound on the bridge of the Aegis was the drone of her 600-horsepower Aerodyne engines. Air Marshall Jed Bouregard, the captain of the Alamo, and Helen Ryan, captain of the Blake Aviation zeppelin, Perseverance, stared at Paladin, dumbstruck.

  “I don’t mind a good fight,” Bouregard said, tugging on his goatee, “but I do mind a turkey shoot…when I’m on the wrong end of the shootin’.” He leaned back against the brass compass pedestal and crossed his arms.

  Ryan cleared her throat and brushed her black bangs from her eyes. “Excuse me, sir…but how are three zeppelins-even ones as heavily armed and armored as ours-supposed to stand against twelve?”

  “We won’t have to.” Paladin stepped away from the chrome control panel of the bridge and walked aft to the map of Le Coeur du Minuit he had sketched on the chalkboard. “The twelve zeps I saw were tethered near the aerodrome…here.” He pointed to the south side of the island. “When they spot us they’ll try to launch everything they’ve got-so we hit them hard and fast before they get airborne.”

  Bouregard squinted at the map. “Might work…if our aim’s dead on.” He tapped the center of the map. “What’s this star in the center?”

  “A complication,” Paladin said. “Antiaircraft guns, at least ten .70-calibers, maybe more.”

  “I can handle those,” Ryan replied. “My ‘Sharpshooter’ squadron fliers claim they can hollow out a quarter at a thousand feet in their Kestrels. Time to let them try.”

  “One more thing,” Paladin told them. “There’ll be at least four squadrons of fighters on patrol around the island. It’ll get dicey if they launch more planes. We’ll keep most of our fighters in reserve to defend the zeps.”

  “They’ll want to bloody our noses,” Bouregard said, nodding, “to distract us and get us fighting the little guys.”

  “And if we get distracted”-Paladin scratched a large cross over the aerodrome on the chalkboard-“if they get those zeppelins into the air first, they’ll have a dozen more squadrons launched out of their bays and twelve more decks of guns aimed at us.”

  “Don’t worry, sir,” Ryan said and stood straight. “I’ll stay on target.”

  “Good,” Paladin said, then he turned to Bouregard. “You have confirmation that the Texas navy is sending reinforcements to mop up trouble on the ground?”

  “Yep,” Bouregard replied. “Two destroyers and three troop transports launched from Amarillo with us, should be an hour or so behind. They’ll take care of the rabble…assuming we’ve got control of the air.”

  “And if we don’t?” Paladin asked.

  “Then, as my friends in the navy put it, ‘y’all are on your own.’”

  Paladin scrutinized them as they studied the map of the pirate island. Bouregard’s jaw clenched and unclenched, and Ryan chewed on her lower lip. They were nervous, but not panicky. Both were seasoned combat pilots and good captains…but would the three of them be good enough?

  “I wanted to tell you both how much I appreciate this.”

  “Hell,” Bouregard said, grinning. “The way I figure it, that island’s the rightful property of the Republic of Texas. It’s my duty to take back what’s ours.”

  Ryan said, “If guns were being smuggled to pirates from Chicago, then it was done on my watch.” She crinkled her eyebrows together. “I feel obliged to do something about that, to balance the scales.”

  “Fair enough.” Paladin glanced at his watch. “You two better get moving. It’s going to be a busy day.”

  Both zeppelin captains shook Paladin’s hand, and then they both went aft.

  A moment later, Paladin saw Bouregard’s Peacemaker and Ryan’s Warhawk glide toward the Alamo and the Perseverance, flanking the Aegis.

  From his vantage on the bridge, he spotted the coastline behind them in the distance, ocean sparkling in the sun as far as the eye could see, dappling the clouds in a turquoise sky-and four wings of aircraft spearheading the sky ahead of them-planes from Hollywood and Texas and the I.S.A. Added to the squadrons in the zeppelins’ holds, there were more than a hundred pilots ready and willing to fight-and most likely die-on his command.

  Paladin had never seen so much firepower aloft, not even during the Great War. He hoped it was enough.

  In this fight, retreat wasn’t an option. Many of the Devastators and Furys flying along side him had just enough fuel to get from Amarillo to Le Coeur du Minuit with enough left over for maybe ten minutes of dogfighting. A lot of good people could die today, and the responsibility-and the blame-for every death would rest squarely on his shoulders.

  He regarded the Alamo two feet hundred off to port. She was forty feet longer than the Aegis, held twice as many planes, and had six more engines. The Texas flag had been painted on her side, red and blue fields and a white star thirty feet across. She was fast, and in the right hands, remarkably maneuverable. She had six-inch cannons and plenty of .50-caliber machine guns. Formidable and fast, pure Texas.

  The Perseverance cruised serenely off the Aegis’ starboard side. The zeppelin had a blue castle painted along her side, with the accompanying motto: “Perseverance Always Wins.”

  She was the smallest of the three zeppelins, relying on the extra machine gun nests that replaced most of her broadside cannons. She could fill the sky with lead and cut down any plane foolish enough to get too close. Defensively, she was the strongest among them.

  If Paladin had to pick one zeppelin to command, however, it would be his Aegis. She had extra gasbags in the nose and tail sections and in parts of the cargo hold. The extra lift compensated for her double layer of armor; she wasn’t as nimble as Perseverance, but she could take a beating and keep on coming She had double machine guns mounted on every engine nacelle, seven-inch cannons on the gunnery deck, and between them, racks of rocket tubes. The Aegis had not been desig
ned to carry cargo-she was a war machine.

  Tennyson ran up the spiral set of stairs that led below to the gunnery and machine decks. A streak of grease smeared his usually spotless white coveralls “Cannons locked and loaded.

  Planes and pilots ready to drop. Port and starboard fuel tanks balanced at three-quarters each. Reserve tanks are full.” He paused, then, added, “The crew are a tad nervous, but they’re ready as well.”

  “And you?” Paladin asked. “Are you ready?”

  “Quite,” Tennyson said, looking nonplussed as ever.

  Paladin paced then returned to the chalkboard. “There’s one thing I didn’t tell Ryan and Bouregard,” he said. “Those zeppelins on the ground are probably nothing more than pirate gasbags. Their numbers make them a threat, but they’ll be lucky to be in decent running order, let alone a real match for us.”

  “Then why do you look like a mother cat who’s lost her kittens?” Tennyson asked.

  “The Commerce.” Paladin gritted his teeth. “If that monster is still there, she’ll be at least an even match for the Aegis-and probably the Perseverance and Alamo, too.”

  Tennyson stepped closer to Paladin and whispered, “And what of Flora?”

  “She’ll be down there somewhere.” He sighed. “This fight is about much more than my family now. As much as I want to go in and get her the hell out of there first, I can’t. Flora will have to take care of herself a little while longer.”

  Paladin returned to scanning the horizon. Soon, he spotted Le Coeur du Minuit in the distance, a smear of gray upon the water.

  He positioned himself at the wheel and flicked on a bank of radios set to the frequencies of the Alamo, the Perseverance, and their escort wings. “Target sighted. Descend to one thousand feet and rig for flank speed.”

  Paladin switched on the Aegis’ intercom and gave the order to bleed helium. The zeppelin gently nosed down.

  The island looked far less impressive in the daylight. No lights, no neon, just worn hills and swamp and mudflat shores.

  “Ryan, send your Kestrel sharpshooters in. Take out those antiaircraft guns.”

  “Aye aye, Mr. Blake,” she piped over the radio.

  The Kestrels broke their orderly “V” formation, banked and dove straight toward the center of the island.

  “Tennyson, get below and make sure the exhaust vents on those rockets are set up. I don’t want to set ourselves on fire when we launch.”

  Tennyson nodded briskly and ran below decks.

  There were five miles from Le Coeur du Minuit and Paladin spotted swarms of planes circling the island-not the four or five squadrons he had seen here, but five times that number. A dozen planes dipped lower, chasing the Kestrels.

  “My men are getting cut to shreds,” Ryan yelled through the speaker. The Perseverance opened fire.

  “Jed, let’s give her a hand,” Paladin said. “All escort wings: bank to port.”

  Their fighters moved out of the way, and the Aegis and the Alamo fired their machine guns.

  The air became a shower of shooting-star tracers. Enemy craft exploded into fireballs and trails of smoke.

  A hundred planes turned toward the zeppelins.

  “That got their attention,” Paladin muttered. He shouted into the radio: “Escort wings, take them out! Perseverance and Alamo launch your reserve fighters now and have them bank to starboard.”

  Warhawks and Devastators and Peacemakers dropped from the bellies of the zeppelins.

  Paladin couldn’t count the number of planes in the air. They circled and swooped and dove and barrel-rolled-all the while spitting fire and launching rockets, peppering the air with flak, smoke and shrapnel.

  A series of explosions ripped through the center of the island. A moment later, columns of fire and inky black smoke spiraled into the sky. One of Ryan’s “Sharpshooters” spun wildly out of control in the updraft; the Kestrel slammed into the ground, adding more fuel to the conflagration. No one bailed out.

  “Sharpshooters report AA guns down,” Ryan said.

  ” Alamo: flank speed,” Paladin barked. “Punch straight ahead. Perseverance: hang back.

  You’ve got the firepower to handle the fighters. Keep them busy while we take out those grounded zeps.”

  There was a moment’s hesitation, and then Ryan replied, “Roger, Aegis. Give ‘em hell for me.”

  “Tennyson,” Paladin called into the intercom. “Flank speed.”

  The Aegis’ engines roared and the zeppelin surged ahead.

  It wasn’t a clean break from the swarms of enemy fighters. A handful dogged the Alamo and the Aegis, firing their rockets, and then diving away. The Aegis rocked as explosions detonated on her port side. Paladin grabbed the brass rail to steady himself as the zeppelin suddenly decelerated.

  “Engines four and seven destroyed,” Tennyson yelled through the intercom.

  The Alamo pulled ahead. Smoke trailed from half her nacelles and fire flickered inside her launch bay.

  Paladin grabbed a pair of binoculars and scanned the runway and aerodromes in the distance. He made out the misty outlines of zeppelins docked there. Three started to rise-ten, twenty, fifty feet above the tarmac. He could see names painted on their sides, in lurid calligraphy: “Vainglorious” and “Hustler” and “Prophecy.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief. None of them were the Commerce.

  ” Alamo: prepare to fire all guns.”

  “Roger that,” Bouregard replied. The Alamo was a half-mile closer to the runway now than the Aegis.

  “Bridge to Weapons Deck: make sure those rockets have long-range fuses,” Paladin called into the intercom. “We can’t afford to have one of those birds blow up in the tubes.”

  A moment later, Tennyson’s preternaturally calm voice crackled from the speaker.

  “Confirmed, sir. All rockets ready.”

  “Fire!”

  Thunder rumbled from the starboard side of the Aegis as her seven-inch guns blasted shells at the enemy. A moment later, a salvo of rockets streaked groundward, leaving behind a solid sheet of white exhaust.

  There were flashes from the Alamo’s gun deck as well and she tilted thirty degrees off her center.

  Explosions sprinkled the runway, the aerodromes, and the zeppelins tethered there; shells rained down and shattered concrete, cratered the tarmac, and tore open the sides of the zeppelins. Rockets impacted next, flashes of fire magnesium bright; fuel ignited and splashed onto the runway, metal skeletal frames twisted and burned.

  Only the Vainglorious rose above the inferno. The pirate zep was less than a quarter-mile from the Alamo. Bouregard had just started to turn her port side to toward the enemy-when the Vainglorious fired.

  Shells punctured the side of the Alamo, her fore gasbags deflated, and she tilted nose first to the ground and the firestorm below.

  “Tennyson,” Paladin said, “reverse the starboard engines and give me best speed on the port.”

  The Aegis came about, agonizingly slow.

  “Target that pirate zep,” he said. “Fire everything you’ve got.”

  Rocket and shells blazed from the Aegis.

  The Vainglorious reeled from the impact, then her frame groaned and distorted as rockets detonated. Her gasbags ruptured…and she sank into the flames.

  The Alamo dumped ballast and halted her descent, rose slightly, and with only four engines turning, moved off the coast.

  Paladin slumped over the wheel. “Too close,” he muttered. “Too damn close.”

  Bouregard’s voice crackled over the radio: “Thanks for the save, Aegis. Looks like your plan was aces after all.”

  Paladin saw movement in his peripheral vision: a school of shark-like projectiles moving with eerie grace, glided past the Aegis. Aerial torpedoes.

  ” Alamo! Break off!” he cried into the radio. “Get out of there!”

  The torpedoes slammed into the Alamo’s gunnery decks and bridge. She shuddered, hung in the air…then her gas cells rippled and split.

/>   Scarlet and orange flame burst from the bridge. The Alamo gracelessly fell to earth, her superstructure twisting and crumpling in on itself.

  Paladin angrily toggled the intercom. “Bridge to spotters,” he snarled. “Where the hell did those torpedoes come from?”

  Before the spotters could reply, a shadow eclipsed the sun. Paladin’s head snapped up.

  Another zeppelin dropped into view. It broke free of the glare, and Paladin watched her head straight towards the Aegis.

  It was the Commerce.

  Chapter Eleven: The Sky Dreadnought

  Paladin watched death glide toward him. The Commerce slowly maneuvered to point her starboard guns at the Aegis. She was the same size as his zeppelin, but had double gun decks, a dozen seven-inch pieces on each side. She was the color of lead, and moved with hypnotic grace.

  He tore his gaze from the combat zeppelin-glanced at the Alamo. The Texas Air Ranger zeppelin was now a heap of twisted metal atop the other destroyed pirate airships. She was burning like a funeral pyre.

  He glared at the Commerce. He’d been angry before-had fought for his life, sometimes with murderous rage-but this was different. His blood ran cold when he thought about the fallen Texan crew.

  This time he didn’t want to see justice done. He wanted revenge. He’d bring down that zeppelin no matter what the cost.

  Paladin hit the intercom. “Tennyson, cut starboard engines and bring us about. Get every port side gun and rocket ready to fire.”

  The roar of the starboard engines dulled to a purr.

  “Port guns ready,” Tennyson reported. “Our rockets, however, were spent on the grounded zeppelins.”

  “The guns’ll have to do then,” Paladin replied. “Stand by.”

  With starboard engines idling and the port engines at full speed, the Aegis spun in place, her nose turning toward the wreckage of the Alamo, her guns rotating into the proper firing line to target the Commerce.