The New World

[Ella, Aerial Musketeer]

Ela wondered thru the streets every thing was almost unrecognisable and she was having some difficulty finding a way throw all the rubble. She was near the centre of New York when she spotted a body of a man. She stopped in shock. He was just laying there passed out in the street. She slowly waked over and knelt down to check his pulse, he was alive, still breathing but she could do nothing she would haf to stay with him till he came around.

[Thebeastyness]

"Just get it over with and kill me..." Axel whimpered, he knew he couldn't take Mr Smith on he was too weak and his bracelet he had taken from Mr Smith had been taken away from him. The only weapon he still had was his retractable claws but although sharp they weren't half as deadly as they had been with the time bending bracelet.
"Axel, I'm a forgiving man I give you my word I will set you free... on one condition" Mr Smith replied.
Axel was intrigued what could he possibly offer to Mr Smith? He had already taken back his bracelet. Axel did his best to ignore the sluggish numbness throughout his entire body. He focused on Mr Smith.
"What do you want?" he inquired
"I understand you have special skills, skills that a man such as myself could utilize. I ask you to consider my proposal with an open mind" Mr Smith said this in such a composed way as if he was a businessman asking a favor of a friend.
"For goodness sake spit it out!"
"Axel, I want the man they call Falco dead"
A cold silence invaded the room.

[MWBailey]

'Bella called out several times over the aether, trying to get some semblance of a coherent reply. All that she got was a confused series of accounts of some monstrous aerial battlewagon, a former US Airship Corps secret weapon called, apparently, Demologos --But was it an autonomous construct run amok? A secret ship and crew turned pirate? She headed down through the fog, focused ona continuous aetheric bearing toward her home hangar, intent upon getting a refill of water for her flier's reservoir, aethering all the way down for the whereabouts of this rampant, apparently-demonic entity.

No coherent replies in that respect, as it turned out. 'Bella made it home to Hangar Zeta-7, and found only an empty shop, an equally desolate vehicle bay, and the spare-reservoir rack still full of the jetticonable reservoirs that the airbike couriers used for flying from home to someplace far distant (like say, Georgia or Maine) without rewatering. She used the attendant crane to lift one over to her flier and strapped it down in position. 'Bella also topped off the coal oil in the fuel tank, since she had an odd foreboding that it might be awhile before she saw another dedicated military depot. She did not really intend to desert, but she figured it might be a good idea to find a place far away to lay low but keep tabs on the situation. Maybe join one of the itinerant frigates or something...

The feeling of dread and foreboding increased as a sound intensified from the near distance, off to the south and east through the fog. The midmorning sun burned into the top of the fogbank, making shadowy monoliths of nearby architecture -- and one sharklike shape that rumbled, hissed, and whined like a chorus of MOFF units.

THUUMP...

The sound hit the side of the hangar like a giant brickbat, shaking the entire shed like a single gale-force gust.

Immediately there was the report as of a detonating heavy shell, and out of the coner of her eye 'Bella saw the corner of the shed next door, Zeta-6, simultaneously catch afire and go streaking away into the fog, trailing streamers of smoke. The windows on that side of shed Zeta-7 smashed inward; glass, muntins, sashes and all shoved aside by blooms of flame and cordite. Bella lost no time; She quite simply ducked. As was her habit, she had let the boiler and burner sit hot, and thus she straightened in a rush and vaulted onto the saddle and began pedaling up the flame in the flashboiler, bringing the bike up to shoulder-high altitude and ramming down prop and turbine levers in unison.

THUUMMP...

The bike shot out the far end of the shed just as the feared shell crashed in, blasting her former home to fiery flinders. A line of nearly-deadly gatling fire, punctuated by smaller-bore shells, followed her across the pavement of the aerodrome tarmac, chasing her even as she hauled back on the handlebars, yanked the wings in tight against the body of the flier, and forced her beloved mount to shriek skyward, using the escape maneuver they had so forcibly pounded into the couriers at combat flight school, the one that used the momentum and torque of the MOFF unit and the prop shafts to aid in the incredibly-tight, altitude-grabbing corkscrew which even now saved her life by fractions of a millimeter as the gatling rounds sought her where the obviously-experienced gunner thought she should be.

DAMMIT! she raged silently. If only I could shoot back, maybe drop a grenade down the funnel...

An insane , mournful and bereft-hearted kind of courage blossomed in her heart just then, as she turned the flier and dodged back toward the fog-shrounded, sinister shape that was systematically destroying the base. The airbike fliers were equipped with merely rudimentary armament, true, but they did carry bombs -- well, heavy grenades, at any rate.  If the Demologos were all that she was rumored to be, a couple of grenades would hardly be enough to down her, but drop one into an intake of a funnel, and with luck at least some damage could still be done, or so it seemed to her. A forlorn hope, but aqsw she felt right then, she'd be damned if she would just retreat without a fight!

As 'Bella got nearer, she made out the shap of a single funnel, and began to swoop in low. Luckily, no one on board seemed to notice the relatively mosquito-sized airbike as she drew up alongside and above said funnel, ripped out the lanyards of, and dropped two iron-shrapnel grenades toward the funnel and watched as they went home; one fell outside, bouncing off of the grating on top of the funnel, which she had not noticed until just then.

The other, incredibly, managed to fall through the grating, and at that point Arabella decided it was time to stop being so brave and be just a bit self-preservingly cautious, and veered off, again corkscrewing , but downward this time as another damnably-enterprising gatling crew below finally noticed her and began seeking her swiftly-disappearing sihouette as it faded into the foggily-blinding glare of the sun.

Tossers--!

BOOM... one grenade outside, more like a cannon shot than a bomb, and then BOOOMMMM as the funnel magnified the sound of teh other grenade and then, just as 'Bella looked back over her shoulder, burst the funnel, causing smoke to billow out uncontrolledly from both the base of the stack and from several nearby ports. Apparently more than mere minor exhaust damage had been inflicted.

JUBILATION!

...followed by sick dread as a couple of the heavier gatling rounds caught her flier a glancing blow...

[The Corsair]

-Nigel-

The flight back to New York was frustratingly bland. The wind was fairly neutral so the journey time was no slower or faster than the windless standard, the organisation of all the new ships had gone smoothly and the command hierarchy used by Skarssen had been set up, the meals had been eaten at normal times, the skies had been clear of threats, the on-board plumbing worked. It was, all things considered, a fairly basic trip with none of the excitements of the previous days. Nigel found the monotony surprising above all else. He had only just come to terms with how incredibly dangerous the state of the nation was yet here they were in skies that betrayed the image of an imminent collapse of national cohesion. In fact, with Skarssen and other Captains and Commanders forming their own seceded armies it was arguable that the cohesion had already largely disintegrated. He admittedly had no clue of what the situation was like out west but after seeing the state of Seattle he guessed that side of the continent was faring no better.

In New York he found the makeshift HQ had been armoured up but had otherwise not been remodelled in any noticeable way. The city as a whole now existed as a set of tents and huts and ramshackle dwellings that had been assembled by the diligent and determined residents, who had returned soon after the battle's end from their hiding spots beyond the city. It seemed they knew there was no hope of reaching a city in better shape than New York and the hardy American spirit all of the civilians showed caused an explosion of pride and patriotism to occur in Nigel's chest.

Skarssen received the news well and was pleased at Garrow's work in rounding up survivors and ships. He was, however, heavily concerned about the Dexter fellow. Skarssen only knew slightly more about the more 'unknown' parts of the US military than Garrow did but it meant he was at least more aware of the general existence of experimental ships, weapons and units. He had no idea what may have been deployed in North Carolina, he wasn't even sure if anything was deployed there, but nevertheless he had to assume that Dexter posed a threat and, now that he knew Skarssen was in New York and could probably make a decent guess at the size of the force available to him, he had to react to that threat.

Patrol duty. He was given patrol duty. He would do it diligently and determinedly but he had no reason to enjoy it. No soldier enjoyed it. He would sit on the ground for days and days while fighters performed regular searches of the surrounding square kilometres. Every so often he would receive fairly pointless reports that he had to pretend to interpret while he thought of how he would dismiss the statements for what they were (which was either exaggeration or human misunderstanding) without offending his rough-and-ready fighter aviators. He had a week of patrol duty to look forward to.

[Thebeastyness]

"Falco?" Axel inquired "What business do you have with Falco?"
"Falco is a key member of this driving force that keeps destroying my airships and angels" Mr. Smith uttered "But the main reason I want him dead is my sources tell me he is becoming more and more powerful. In fact it's only a matter of time before he can take down entire airships on his own. We don't know what yet but... something is affecting him... some otherworldly force you know as the aether. If we don't kill him now he may become..." Mr smith paused Axel could see a cold shiver race its way down his spine "... he may become... unstoppable" he uttered these words in a cold, hushed manner as if he was blaspheming in a church.
"So you see that is why I need you. Someone who is close enough to him to become his friend before you slit his throat." Mr Smith clearly relished these words.
Axel wouldn't do it. The sluggishness had worn off now and he jumped out of the seat. Almost instantly he came crashing back down to the floor writhing in agony.
"Oh I should've mentioned we've fitted you with marvelous new technology, the power to induce pain in the victim from miles away." Axel was still writhing on the floor.
"Stop! Please stop!" Axel gasped
Mr Smith's henchmen looked up at him. He gave the motion to continue. "You see the pain I hear is comparable to having ones body cut in half, very painful indeed. However on top of this we can also kill the subject should we so please. So I ask again will you carry out this task for me?"
"YES! YES! I WILL JUST PLEASE STOP!"
"Excellent" Mr Smith grinned "Do whatever you need to to kill Falco, I don't care how you do it just kill the son of a bitch"
"Fuck you" Axel murmured
Mr Smith grinned. He signalled to one of his henchmen.
"Get him out of my sight"
The henchmen shouted "Will do sir"
Axel heard the click of a button, he heard a metallic hatch click open he looked back and saw they were over a lake of some sort.
Axel felt the henchman slip something into Axel's pocket before gently pushing him through the hatch.
Axel was now in a freefall over a lake in the middle of god knows where. And he didn't know how to swim.

[The Corsair]

Rosie touched his arm in that tender 'I think I need to tell you something' way. He turned to her with a smile, ready to receive her news when she fell quite succinctly to the deck of the airship. Panic immediately barged its way into Falko's conscious mind while it kicked at his stomach and chest. He held on to her in an attempt to stop the writhing and stifle the screaming. Suddenly she shrieked to the open heavens
"I WILL JUST PLEASE STOP!"
then it was over.
He held her closely, helping her up.

[MWBailey]

"Sir," Derek Ishmael, the de facto second in command of the Raptor, said to Fergus as the Irishman walked into the control car of the repurposed police zeppelin, "the bogie is approaching our position on a collision vector at a speed of approximately 30 knots." A scanning system using certain waves from the still-mysterious metal tubes had been rigged, using ideas from a pooling of knowledge from among the other members of Falco's fleet.

"Ready teh coilgun, then, and power her up; I wan' tae be ready if this 'bogie' turns out tae be 'ostile." He peered into the fogbank that the raptor skimmed along the top of. He knew the Atlantic shoreline was only a few miles ahead, but he was not sure where; the Newport News beacon had snapped off amid a storm of static and frantic lower-frequency aetheradio chatter, all concerning something called "Demologos." He gathered it was some kind of giant aerial warship gone Pirate, or amok, or whatever.

"Already done, and Mr. Cenek has been apprised of the situation as well, sir."

"Good." Fergus "Any indication as to th' soize o' th' thing?"

"It appears to be smaller than even a scout- or packet-class vessel, sir, but under the circumstances, I'd say we be careful; who knows what tricks're up the enemy's sleeve."

"Hail 'em, then, an' see if they'll be friendly an' answer us." Fergus paused and then added, "Ye know, I've not been a soldier for a long toime, ye dasn't 'ave ter call me 'sir,' unless ye insist on it."

"I think I must insist, sir, you not only know more about this ship than I, you're also a commissioned officer, albeit furloughed and dicharged from a different country's army."

Ishmael thumbed the transceiver mike and spoke into it, "Unidentified vessel on heading of" he read off the heading from the display, "This is SS Raptor, on relief patrol from the Main Anti Black Fleet resistance sortie. We prefer to assume a protective or helpful role, but if you do not slow or divert your approach, we will have no choice but to consider you hostile and a red level threat," he repeated the message, and then waited for a reply.

Approximately a mile away, down within the fogbank, a very large, very dangerous, and dark-painted sharklike shape turned at the will of its captain and accellerated forward; said captain grinned a predatory grin as he ordered the navigators and helmsmen to intercect and pursue along the vector that Ishmael had so trustingly recited...

[Thebeastyness]

Axel slammed into the water with a painful thud. For a second he floated there he couldn't move... he was in shock. Axel found it ironic that Mr Smith a man who knew so much about him would simply forget that Axel couldn't swim.

But then Axel remembered. The henchman had slipped something into Axel's pocket. Short of breath Axel reached into his pocket he pulled out whatever the henchman had given him. It was what looked like a small inflatable life jacket. Axel quickly ripped the cord and held on.

The life jacket inflated. It started racing up towards the surface. Axel was close to death now.

He was halfway. Axel could hardly resist the urge to breathe in.

And then just when Axel could barely hold his breath any longer. He broke the surface of the lake, water rushed all about him. Axel took in a deep breath and started gasping for air. He was floating to shore now. That son of a bitch. He dropped Axel off in a lake just to screw with him.
Axel was floating to shore now. He felt land under his feet and waded out of the lake.

His brush with fate was over. Now it was Falko's turn.

[The Corsair]

Falko was, of course, miles away. The airship still hovered innocently above the sky docks of Nashville with a little orb dangling from the cabin while a girl recovered from her fit of screaming.
Rosie could pick up thoughts. Could she pick up pain?
Still, it was over now and Falko saw no decent reason to worry about it until it happened again. The 3 of them continued their waiting, their glorious waiting.
Rosie had her arms wrapped around his waist, wanting tangible comfort. Falko was, as always, quite simply thankful for her being there.

[MWBailey]

The static- and stress-laden voice of a young woman answered the Raptor's hail, as a girlish figure aboard a motorbike-like flier shot upward from the fogbank toward Fergus' vessel. "This is Air Courier-Scout 2nd Lieutenant Arabella Jiroux, outbound in emergency retreat from Newport News aerodrome," the voice said, "Request permission to board, berth, and asylum. I am being pursued closely by the rogue air dreadnought Demologos --!

BOOOMMM

Seemingly from nowhere, a huge, heavily-armored warship had appeared above the fogbank, armed top , bottom and sides and impossibly floating in midair without any sign of gasbags or other aerial floatation while she snapped off a broadside salvo from her topside turrets, of which there were four. Several smaller high-caliber gatling emplacements hosed shot in the general direction of the Raptor.

"ALL HANDS BRACE FER ORDNANCE IMPACT!" Fergus yelled into the ship's onboard hailer. BATTLE STATIONS! TARGET THAT--!"

The Raptor shuddered, and Fergus broke off the order and grabbed the command console as the ship's armor took the impact of the Demologos' initial salvo. Explosions and the ominously-sharp thuds of solid shot mingled with the screams of tortured and torn metal as the ship took damage. Fergus risked a moment's diverted attention to check the navigational mirrors, and noted that the dorsal aft stabilizer was bent badly out of true, and one of the heavy gatling mounts seemed to have been blasted away -- and about half of the secondary and tertiary Nav mirror arrays were gone or unusable.

Being no fool, the fleeing courier had taken the dubious shelter offered by the bulk of the Raptor's hull. Fergus' ship might not be a dreadnought, but it's hull was the only wall to hide behind at the moment. "Leftenant?" Fergus answered the courier over the aetheradio as he pointed Ishmael toward the fire control board, "I'm Fergus O'Flaherty, commander o' th' Raptor." He blew out some wind and continued, "For Now, I think ye'd better take what cover ye can or fight alngside us're both; in case ye haven't noticed, we're naught but a repurposed and souped-up NYC Copper's zepp. We do have a few tricks at our disposal, though, so take ye a bit o' heart." His dander being up and the prospects being favorable for a good scrap, Fergus' anger was about to bubble over; his worsening accent was tangible proof of his rising ire. "I dinnae s'pose ye'd be the one who damaged yon ship's funnel?"

"Yep!" Came the stout - but rueful - reply. "Dropped one of my grenades down it. Did more damage than I thought possible, too."

"well, then, stay outter our path. we're aboot tae strike back," Fergus said

That initiative was cut short by the hail from the Demologos. "Raptor, this is Captain Hildebrandt, commander of the SS Demologos II. That courier is a fugitive from justice and you are in violation of our airspace. You will immediately stand down and heave to and consent to be boarded, or you will be shot from the sky! We have you outgunned ten to one. I await your answer."

"Cap'n 'ildebrandt, I am Fergus O'Flaherty. You might o'er 'eard the name, since it was I and several of our fellows who stood off the Black Fleet and captured the 'Admiral' 'imself."  Fergus waved at Ishmael as he spoke, and pointed significantly at the controls for the coilgun and then jabbed his finger at the offending battlewagon. When I say Fire, he mouthed at his second-in-command, Amidships.. Ishmael nodded and made the vital targeting corrections, and nodded again when they were done.

"Hildebrandt, ye black villainous spalpeen," Fergus said venomously into the handset, "I says tae HELL Wi' Ye! ISHMAEL!  FIRE!!

With the crack of a sudden thunderbolt, the coilgun spoke and the bolt-like projectile screamed and thundered as it kindled in midair en route to the target, finally hammering into and through the armored side of the sinister juggernaught. Several large explosions blasted plates and other smaller pieces from the sides of the Demologos' hull around the area of the coilgun bolt's impact, as she shuddered and began to behave as though her bouyancy had been somewhat compromised. An ominous whine as of overstressed, spinning mechanisms began to sound from within the massive iron behemoth.

"ALL 'ANDS BRACE!" Fergus added, as he slammed the engines to full and concentrated, unleashing an explosion of heat at the rear of the Raptor, about twenty Yards behind the stern, spurring it forward as if slapped by a mighty tailwind. He also dialed down the lift in the Maneuvering gas bags for what amounted to an emergecy descent. "Ishmael, reload and retarget! I want tae knock 'er nose off next! Everybody, keep firing as ye bear!"

The Raptor shot forward and down toward the Demologos, all her firepower, speed, and her crew's will bent on destroying their adversary.

For her own part, Arabella wound ther mount's gatling mainspring and readied her remaining grenades, shaking her head at the actions of the mad Irishman. But then, she remembered her slain comrades and all that Hildebrandt and Company had taken from her, and with a wild yell followed the Raptor in its headlong plunge at the enemy...

[Thebeastyness]

Axel was ashore now. But he was in the middle of nowhere. He gazed around and all he saw were trees for miles on end. You'd think that Mr Smith would be smart enough to drop him off in town. It would've been much easier that way. But Axel knew that his comfort was of no concern to Mr Smith. Axel now realized Mr Smith had never promised to remove whatever it was that could cause him pain. Perhaps it could be removed with his primitive tools: a knife, a hot iron (to close the wound inflicted), some bandages and a LOT of whiskey. But even if Axel could acquire all these tools he had no way of knowing where the "device" was implanted in his body and even then he wasn't sure if he would go through with it. It would be excruciating. Axel may not even survive...

After having taken a few steps Axel heard a strange rustle. Like paper. He checked his pockets, in them was a letter in a water proof bag. He retracted his claws and ripped the waterproof bag to shreds in a slight fit of anger. He had avoided the letter and now as he opened it he saw it was from Mr Smith. Axel almost threw the letter away in disgust. But he figured it may be something important, he examined the letter. It mentioned an small airship large enough for three was going to retrieve him from the lake and take him to Nashville. Where Falko was last seen. It also mentioned that when the time came they would use the mysterious device that was somewhere in Axel's body and inject a superhuman cocktail of hormones and experimental drugs into Axel's bloodstream. Causing him to not only be oblivious to pain but to also be ten times stronger than he already was. Ensuring that Axel would kill Falko.

Axel waited by the lake. He felt dirty. Ashamed. Disgusted with himself.

Falko had let him aboard his ship when he was escaping the Warlord and Axel never thanked him. And now because of Mr Smith Axel would have to end his life. Axel would make sure that should it come to that he would make his death as quick and painless as possible. Axel was no stranger to murder, he had had his fair share of the action. And it would be wrong to say that Axel didn't have a few regrets. But he knew that of all his "assignments" this one would be the one that would haunt him for the rest of his life. As Axel thought this a sharp jolt of pain shot up his spine. He yelped and jerked upright on his feet. He looked around. A small airship was approaching with three monstrous menacing men glaring at Axel with untrusting eyes.
"Well" Axel muttered under his breath " Nashville here I come"

[Augustus Longeye]

Julius was roused by Barum entering his room after a polite knock. He turned and look at the man, and Barum saluted.
"Put that hand down, I don't want you saluting every time you see me, it'll get distracting. They're in range?"
"Aye sir... we've got a visual now, they're not running any flags at all, but we've got an id. There are two Destroyer class ships flanking what looks like a Carrier class ship... it's got some sort of protrusion on the front of it though, we're assuming it's a weapon and are avoiding the line of fire."
"Good, how far off are they?"
"We're ten minutes from firing range with the new topside cannons. I've been told that they'll double the range of anything the enemy have got."
"So we're sure it's them?"
"Aye sir, just look at the decks... we've seen those winged people wandering around giving orders. There's no doubt."
Julius nodded and stood. It was going to be a short battle, three against twelve?

He walked onto the deck, and saw it was also teeming with life. People ran backwards and forwards, prepping everything from guns to stretchers for the inevitable wounded. Julius walked through it all as people ducked around him, and wandered to the helm. The captain was, of course, there with the pilot and his first and second mates. He had a rather large rifle with him, that was ornately decorated down thew length of it with delicate silver plating cut to look like vines. He saw Julius glance at it.
"This was a gift from my father. He was a general for a good period, and when I joined the Sky Corps he got me this as a congratulations present. Even though I left the Corps I've always kept this in perfect working order, and it's never let me down." he patted it fondly.
Julius nodded, "It certainly is a fine fire-arm, and what an interesting life it must have lead...."
Julius turned to the enemy ships. The three of them were in formation, the Destroyers guarding the Carrier, but the protrusion worried him. The captain also seemed to be unnerved by it, and began ordering the guns to take aim. There were sixteen a side, and they were all mounted on turning plates. These allowed them a small degree of aiming, by letting them turn slightly in their housing. The crews had all be given targets on one of the ships, and were to take each target out as they could. They were waiting now, taunt with a nervous energy and listening for that command... the one they all dreaded and feared, and yet longed for.
The second mate raised a spyglass to his eye and trained it on the ships. He muttered under his breath for a moment then looked to the captain.
"They're in range in five."
The captain nodded, paused and Julius could almost see everyone there counting down... 5... 4... 3... 2... 1... 0... ... ... There was no command, Julius hesitated and looked over at the captain who was still standing there... then, "FIRE!". All sixteen guns rang out at once, a marvel of training and timing, and no small skill, caused all sixteen projectiles to race across the sky between the two ships, and without a pause they smashed into the hulls of the two Destroyers.
The ships had been coming directly at them, so they were hit straight on. The shells went through the ships and, such was the force of their momentum, dropped through the bottoms of the ships after breaking through the hull. A cheer went up and the gunners began to reload. It took each crew an average of five seconds to reload a gun, but they weren't to be needed.
The remaining ships, which had been moving round, now closed in. Two started to pull level and, aiming carefully, fired a broadside at each of the Destroyers from both sides. Only a handful hit, because the crews were careful not to overshoot and hit an ally several fell short. The ones that did hit only did minor damage to the bottom of the crafts.
There was an explosion on one of the Destroyers, and suddenly the hull dropped away, the supports and fixtures holding it to the balloon snapping. The balloon drifted into the air, and the manned decks all fell to the earth quickly, and with a crash they impacted.
There was another cheer from several ships now, with one of their foes destroyed. The remaining ships of their little fleet were circling, cutting off means of escape and taking aim on the Carrier. Suddenly it burst into life.
A small ship, about the size of a Fighter Class, fired from the protrusion on the front of the Carrier. Suddenly Julius realized what it was, a runway with a strong spring at the back to propel crafts into the air at speed.
The craft was now in the air, and it began moving at speed around then, still moving at speed, began to aim for one of the ships. Shots were fired at it, but it moved too quickly and they missed. In less than ten seconds it impacted, and there was a flash. When Julius looked next, the ship was a burning wreck that plummeted to the earth.
There was a hush across the crews, the shock of a ship taken down so quickly made them hesitate. The captain yelled again, "FIRE!" and they jerked into action, targeting the Carrier this time. Again shots were fired, but the crews were distracted, and most of the shots went wide. The other ship fired another broadside at the destroyer, and it began to slowly sink from its wounds.
Whilst they reloaded, the Carrier fired another ship again. This one aimed for a ship just behind the Aurora. The tiny ship moved past them, and for an instant Julius saw a pilot inside it. Obviously they were using people to pilot the ships to make them more accurate, but it was barbaric.
The captain drew his rifle, and shot the man. There was the bang of the gun, the pilot of the small craft jerked, and then died. The craft began to spin, and went wildly out of control. It shot part the Aurora, but still impacted the ship behind them and sheered through the balloon, dropping it like a stone to the earth. The captain grimaced and turned back to his own ship. He strode out onto the deck and shouted to the crew, "AIM FOR THAT RAMP! TAKE IT DOWN! FIRE AT WILL!".
There was a pause filled with activity as the guns reloaded, and obviously the enemy tried to reload their own craft firer, before shots rang out from the Aurora again. With so many people targeting a single object five different missiles hit it, and tore the ramp to shreds. The Carrier lurched got one side as the shots tore through it.
The other ships, who were mostly now in range to attack, began firing as fast as they could, and a salvo of metal filled the air, quickly cutting the Destroyer into pieces, and the Carrier burst into flames as the boiler was hit. In moments, they were destroyed.
The captain began issuing orders to clean up and restock the guns, and to prepare landing parties. The group were going to check the remains for survivors or enemies, and possibly answers.

[The Corsair]

-Arch-

Vancouver. Home. Depressing.
Everything was awful, just awful. He had found his bed uncomfortable, he had found his food bland, he had found his journey boring. The flight had simply been squalid and sad with the nightly card games and banter offering no help to Arch's mood. And what a mood it was, hanging over him so insistingly. It was violent to his mind, kicking it about this way and that into ever darker alleyways of thought letting common thugs take their pot shots at him while it followed him, grinning, brutish.
Still, they were here, where they had to go for the sake of unspoken duty, knuckles breaking the comfortable but sickening silence as they tapped out their greeting on graceful wooden curves. The door soon swung its way open and the Halstat's butler graciously waved them in, recognising them from images in letters and postcards Kevin had sent home. Cliff spoke up.
"We need to see Mr and Mrs Halstat, kind sir. It regards their son, this most important of matters."
At that point the butler noticed the lack of Kevin's face among the group and, with a look of speculative understanding, he waved them onward and lead them to a considerably excessive lounge. Draped on a chaise longue was a lady who had stolen the eyes of Kevin laughing with a few other ladies while a moustachioed gentleman with Kevin's nose discussed something clearly highly civilised with a group of similarly opulent dress. The Halstats were entertaining guests, and the four of them were here to tell them their son was dead. Even the pretty whites and blues of the room were now horrid and overbearing.

[MWBailey]

A huge, shuddering, crunching and shrieking of tortured armor and ripped machinery echoed through the innards of the Demologos as the first coilgun bolt struck. Crewfolk screamed as boilers burst, high-voltage lines ripped apart, and steam and lightning alternately flashboiled and flashfried everything and everyone in their path -- and that was not all; the Demologos also shuddered in midair, then wallowed as if it were an overloaded seaborne freighter about to sink from a ripped-out keel. It was as if the bottom of the hull had been ripped away, and seawater were rushing in, but here they were at 3500 feet of altitude, and the only sea that of the fog below them.

"Engineering! damage reports! NOW!" Hildebrandt screamed into the relevant speaking tube.

There was a response, but it was unintelligible beyond the obvious: that Engineering would not be responding in the usual manner.

"Agawagah. AAAAGGGHHHH...hissssssssss..." And then, nothing.

"Chief Yeoman? Send a runner to Enigineering --" He cut off as a soot, oil and blood-stained crewman dashed up onto the bridge, obviously just having come from the damaged area..

"Sir, Machinist's mate Piltdown reporting from Engineering, sir. Chief reports major damage. Engineering and entire ship holed amidships, several hull plates blasted away by unknown projectile type. Chief thinks it was some kind of high explosive molten-metal  shell. Major damage to 'Midships Flotation --" Piltdown paused, seemed to sob, then got ahold of himself and gasped for breath, and then continued, "MOFF units five and six damaged beyond repair and offline. 'midships units seven through nine are accellerating out of control and must be jettisoned before they self-destruct. That leaves 'midships units one through four and number ten, and tertiary  stabilization units eleven through twenty, to keep the ship airborne. Propulsive effort capability at seventy percent. Engineering casualty rough estimate is forty percent. Sir."

"Sir, we are heavily damaged, and casualties are high. Should we retrea--!" ther second officer cut off as the second bolt struck and the Raptor's shells and gatling rakes began to strike the Demologos at full force; the forward stabilization MOFFs squealed in protest as the nose and its ram literally shattered upon the bolt's impact, and the entire ship was forced to nose over more than seventy degrees to starboard. Apparently the forward trim MOFFs had been damaged as well, for the ship began to point what was left of it's bow down, down, and down until it pointed at the fog-shrouded ground below at about a thirty degree angle.

"There's your answer, Number Two," Hildebrandt answered the Second Officer, as charts, equipmentg and wounded slid forward and teh effectives grabbed what they could and held on for dear life. "We can't retreat until we can fight free. He managed to snag the General address tube, and said, loudly, all hands remain on station. Adapt and continue the fight...!"  

[Thebeastyness]

They had arrived in Vancouver. The menacing men had barely spoken a word the entire journey. Axel barely managed to pick up that they were changing course. As threatening as the men seemed there was one Axel liked. He had taken up the job as a means of earning money for his family who lived in New York. I didn't tell him that New York was now in ruins. His name was Zeke although he preferred Z. He had informed Axel on anything going on on the ship that wasn't top secret.

Axel wanted to say goodbye to Z before he left. He saw Z casually relaxing, legs dangling off the side of the docked airship. "Z!" Axel called out.
"Axel! Hows my man going?"
"Good I need to perform my task now... I have something to tell you"
"Whats the matter Axel?"
"Your family, in New York... well... New York's been attacked.... a good part of it's been destroyed... I'm sorry"
"My god... who would do such a thing?" Z replied, his voice full of dread and sadness
"I don't know, but I think the man you work for... Mr Smith... was behind the attack"
"How can I be sure you're telling the truth?"
Axel patted Z on his muscular shoulder "I'm sorry Z but you'll have to find that out for yourself"
With that Axel shook his hands and left his new friend behind confused and worried. But at least he knew the truth.
Now Axel had only one thing on his mind. How was he going to kill Falco?


 

[MWBailey]

'Bella had seen it done many times during the Battle for Virginia, and had done it herself twice.  Swoop in low, throw the grapnel, don't rely on the saddle shackle! Frap* it off on the tack iron, thats  the ticket, she thought rapidly, as the moored the airbike to a bit of the Demologos' ravaged hull, right next to a hole made, apparently, by one of the internal explosions triggered by the first coilgun salvo. The battlewagon's crew were apparently too preoccupied to do anything to stop her as she checked her revolvers and secured her cutlass for her foray into the stricken metal beast. She pushed the lofting lever down slightly, and threaded a bit of the slack through a set of notches on the lever's surface and set the knurled stop bead, so that even as she shinnied down the line and into the hole in the Demologos' side, the airbike began to descend, and would stop itself when the line went vertical and pulled the lever back up again.

The crew were taken completely off guard; even as the Raptor hove in at close quarters, they had still not as yet formed a repelling party; rapid reports that made the decks tremble, but began to taper off almost immediately as shouts for ammo and fireboys began to ring out in the cordite-shrouded air spoke of gun crews still frantically making the best of a hopeless cause. Maybe that was why. Sauce for the Goose, 'Bella thought, as she drew her pistols. Grinning like a fiend, a hellish light in her eyes, she clambered aboard the listing, drunkenly-down-nosing ship, the cleats on her standard-issue airshipman's boots finally serving a useful purpose as she stomped them down for traction and gunned crewfolk down right and left, male, female, armed, unarmed, pleading for mercy, it made no difference to her. They had killed, whether directly or indirectly, several thousand people, her people, without quarter or parley over the last couple of days and nights -- and 'Bella gave it back with a ferocity that bordered on mania. Emptying and holstering her pistols, drawing the spare peppermill as she thumbed the catch on a pouch containing a spare revolver cylinder (there were six such pouches on her belt, plus individual rounds in loops on the same belt between the pouches).

Running out of targets for a moment, She leaned against a bulkhead to rest her taxed leg muscles (stomp-walking and -running on a steep slant was hell on legs used to level decks and hard terra firma) popped loose and replaced the cylinders of her converted Navy Colts, then holstered them and reached into her dispatch case and removed one of the two small hollow-ball grenades she kept there, poking the fuse into a fire that still smoldered among a pile of wreckage. Stomp-running forward, she tossed the now-lit grenade into an open ventilation hatch, then drew her Colts again and ducked around the corner, scraping dust out of and furrows into the floorboards -- and ran straight into the tardy repelling party. She ducked to the side as muskets roared, and blasted away with both revolvers with a surprised yell -- just as the grenade exploded somewhere below the deck, and started a new series of explosions. Roughly half the combatants went down to her guns, a quarter fell back in confusion, and then the whole remainder fled as the deck bucked, and flooring blasted upward in a couple of places. "Was that just my grenades, or did Raptor hole them?" She wondered aloud.

A little sanity crept back into her head then, and she made her way back through the smoke and carnage toward the hole she had entered through --to be faced with another party of the Demlogos' crew. Bullets hissed and sang past, gun and oil and coal smoke mixed together, the red light from the fires and the flashes of gunfire making a nightmarish scene in the darkness below decks. Somewhere above, an alarm klaxon had begun to sound, and some pair of lunatics with a bugle and a drum were pounding out the Battle Stations tattoo back in the depths of the ship behind her in the smoke and darkness, as several heavy THUNKs sounded through the gangways. That Relief ship -- what was it's name...Raptor -- was grappling and preparing to board.  "Welcome to the party! 'Bella yelled with a hellish cackle as the last of the latest party went down with a ball in his gut, and a party of what looked like Air Pioneers or Air Rangers with helmets stenciled with the word USAS RAPTOR, led by a stocky, bluff-and-gruff man with bushy sideburns and a short and oddly-serrated cutlass swarmed through the hole they had somehow just burned through the hull...


-------------------------
*Frap: Old-ish term for the stage of lashing something with or tying off a rope in which the excess cordage is wrapped around and around the item in question. (also called 'frapping')

[Augustus Longeye]

The Aurora gently descended to the carnage below. It got to around fifty feet from the ground, then the Skimmers were deployed. They were little more that hot-air balloons, but they were suitable for heavy lifting and simple ascent/descent in a rush. Only eight went down, four with a skeleton crew so as to allow the heaviest lifting, and three crewed by fifteen of the best soldiers the Aurora had to offer. The last contained the Captain, Julius, Barum, the First Mate and five airmen.
They touched down in moments, the airmen leaping out of the balloon and aiming weapons around, covering all the angles before any could become problematic. The rest of the balloon's crew were less energetic, and climbed out with a great deal more decorum.
"Julius, you and Barum take squads one and two, I'll take three and this group. Search wide not deep, we can't waste too much time here. If you can, head for captains quarters, that's where you're likely to find the good stuff." the captain quickly explained, then called over the squads. Whilst he shouted them into order, this time giving orders directly, Julius pulled out his rifle. It was a standard military grade rifle, not good for use on most ships due to the tendency of sparks, but the Aurora was well protected against that... at least in the firing range.
"Right men, form up on me! I want three groups, search left, search right and protect our rear. Quickly now!" Julius yelled to his party. They jumped to attention and in seconds he had three groups. He nodded, saluted the captain and headed off.
They made quick progress, shifting through the larger corpses of ships. The Carrier was further from their landing, so it would take them a while to get there. In the meantime they were content to pick through the rest of the wrecks.
There wasn't much to interest them, a few papers that turned out to be nothing more than personal affects, some ammunition spilt, some weapons lying around... bodies.
It was grim work, and they didn't uncover much. There was a moment of excitement when they discovered a code sheet, only to find that it was out of date and useless. The mood turned grimmer as they continued, finding nothing but death and disappointment in the rubble. They quickly left the smaller ships behind, and headed for the Carrier, plannigg on meeting the Captain and his group there. Hopefully that would have something useful on it.

[The Corsair]

-Arch-

The butler had the manners to ask Mr and Mrs Halstat to see the four of them privately but only so much indication of the seriousness of the visit could be conveyed by the butler as all he knew was what his own hunches had made him believe. And so the Halstats excused themselves and allowed themselves to be ushered into an adjoining study.

The next few moments, those that involved the butler leaving and the guests being assured they should carry on as normal, were tense and sickening.

It was in moments like these that Arch found himself looked at by his friends. They looked to him as a leader as much as they considered themselves all equals. It was in moments like these that Arch wished someone else would charge in and take the reigns, like they sometimes did in altercations and deals-gone-bad. He liked the feeling of responsibility but he didn't deserve to be singled out like this, to be looked toward when hell hit the earth.

"Mr and Mrs Halstat, we visit you-" He suppressed a sob, "At this most inopportune of times..."
His voice didn't steel itself into definition like it would have normally done in these terrible moments. It was weak, and thin, and boyish.
"To pass on news of the worst kind."
It was then that Mrs Halstat seemed to legitimately notice the gap in their formation. She broke into hysterical wailing that looked to Archibald as though it spread over her body in a slow flood, making sure to drench every inch of her being in ravaging realisation and grief.
"And that news is that of the passing of your son Kevin." He managed to finish, little more than a whisper tiptoeing its way behind the cries and sobs of the lady, now nestled firmly on Mr Halstat's torso. The man himself let his eyes grow red but only slightly watery while his moustache quivered for a few moments before it was reigned back into reason and pragmatism. The butler had had the sense to place a lively record on the gramophone for the guests to enjoy when the wailing began. He now cautiously entered the study where Mr Halstat faced him and passed him some low-voiced instruction, again hidden beneath the only slightly reduced hysteria of his wife.
"What happened to him?" Asked the considerably softened Mr Halstat.
"New York recently came under attack. The five of us found ourselves needed in its defence and it was during the closing movements of the engagement that he boarded the ship upon which his life was taken. He died upon arrival in the triage centre." He responded, frank but kind and now a little less shaky.
"You may leave with the guests." explained Kevin's father, now swaying close to tears again. It wasn't an offer, not in the least. It was an instruction. Everyone was to leave the grieving couple to themselves. Even the butler would likely take a day's leave.

So they left. They left straight away. Their ships lifted off and set their courses for New York and the four men could finally consider their duty to Kevin done. The Halstat's knew it wasn't the responsibility of the four of them to move Kevin's body around and of they wanted it for a funeral they could cross the ever more dangerous America to collect it themselves. Arch didn't normally drink on the flight deck but right now nothing could be better for him than a stuff scotch. The next few hours of flying didn't look as though they'd be easy for Archibald.

[MWBailey]

Bella and the Raptor Crew: Demologos Boarding Action over Western Virginia
" 'Din mind if'n we do!" the stocky fellow shouted back as the four loose squads of Raptor crewfolk were told off to their respective boarding assignments. At second glance, 'Bella realized, the stenciled helmets were about the only uniform item the group as a whole had in common. a wild assortment of blades -- some actual swords, bowies, a rapier or two, one fellow had a truly monstrous cleaver -- and several different issues of Enfields, slug throwers, even a hand mortar or two... These people, for all their obvious hard-bitten professionalism and efficiency, looked more like odds-and-sods privateers than actual troops, truth be told; there wasn't a single complete common uniform among them, 'Bella noticed.  The stocky fellow 'Bella knew immediately from his voice to be the one from the aetheradio; there couldn't be two accents like that within a hundred miles, she thought to herself with a smirk. He walked over as the squad that accompanied him moved forward.

"Fergus O'Flaherty, Cap'n o' th' USAS Raptor, at yer service, Miss...?" The question hung in the air; 'Bella noticed that when the man said 'Captain,' he sort of winced a bit, as if he were not entirely sure that he wanted the title or the rank. No offered hand, either, as if he were unsure of her true allegiance.

"Air Lieutenant Arabella Jiroux, of the Courier Corps of the Air Corps of the Independent Commonwealth of Virginia, reporting, Cap'n O'Flaherty. Request permission to join your crew for this action?"

"Request Granted, Leftenant," Fergus said, returning her salute with one of his own, and feeling faintly odd; He'd seen other officers do this, he realized, but had never expected that he would do so, field-brevet brass that he had been and apparently was again. "Reload and forage the enemy for spare munitions on the way," he said, slinging a sawn-off double-barreled shotgun of truly huge bore over his shoulder as he plucked cartridge clips from a fallen Demologos marine's bandolier and shoved the unfortunate fellow's revolver into his own waistband, pocketing several rounds from the gunbelt as well. "Dinna try tae carry too much, but keep yerself supplied, and keep a thought fer yer fellows, aye?" HE felt no truly itching desire to use his powers to kill; he'd do so if it came to that, of course, but he preferred to shoot and slash, giving his opponents a sporting chance, rather than immolate them like Vulcan throwing magma, if he had a choice. He also wasn't sure how this young slip of a hellion might take his transformation into an atavistic fire-thrower. Best not to scare off a promising recruit...

[thefrozenwulf]

oregon was a disaster. i was out with uncle when a squad of enemy soldiers grabbed me. "you've been conscripted into the army" one of them said. deciding that i couldn't take them all on my own, i played bumb. "an army for what?" i asked. "havn't you heard anything? god, you must be really stupid. anyway, a group of army soldiers have gone rogue and they need to be destroyed. you're in our army now, boy." as i was led away to the docks, my uncle confused and worried, i resolved to do whatever i could to destroy the operation from the inside out.

[MWBailey]

"It's gonna be a hard fight to take this vessel from this entry point, sir," 'Bella told Fergus.

"Whatever we kin do, Lass, we must do, whether we take this beast'r nay," Fergus answered. "I canna believe this shedevil's shown us all she 'as, yet, though. My invention's good, aye, but it's nae that good."

The sounds of gunfire, and the boiler-shop cacophony of swordplay at close quarters told of the battle being waged on three fronts. Fergus fished his pea whistle, hung from a cord around his neck, from the depths of his sweat-and-cordite-stained shirt, and wound the lead around a button of his frock coat. "it's best we join the others, Leftenant.  I suggest ye take the starboard passage, and I'll take t'other. you take command of whatever boardin' squad's left, an, have 'em head for the sound o' me whistle, aye? One deck'll nae defeat the 'ole ship's company."

Both fell on the rear of the enemy that had hedged in their respective squads, and though far separate from one another, acquitted themselves almost identically well, catching the enemy by surprise and blasting (literally flaming and burning, in Fergus case), hacking and shoving through, subsequently leading their parties to annihilate their attackers.

Fergus blew the prearranged recall on his whistle, then, and the two squads came together in the midst of the charred and smoldering shambles that had been Officer's Country, joined a few minutes later by the third squad, which had descended to Hold level and fought their way back up again.

"Sir," Machinist's Mate Jacobson (who had taken over when their lieutenant had got himself run through) said, "It's uncanny, everybody on the enemy crew either gave over or just ran off outright. It's like they're expectin' somethin' "...
----------------------
Captain Hildebrandt and Crew at the Demologos' Bridge and Countermeasures
"Jicaroux," Hildebrandt addressed the Fire Control Officer, "Have we enough power yet?"

"All repaired, restarted, or replaced MOFF units are coming back online, sir," the downy-cheeked FCO answered, "Optimum power should be available in three...two...one..." There was a cheer as the telltales lit up green, the red neon emergency lights were replaced by white cathode, and  ammeters and ohmmeters swung back out of the red or away from zero.  "We have full optimum quasi-Galvanic capability, Captain," one of the engineering liaisons announced.

"Prepare a positive- and negative-arc oscillatory attack, Lieutenant, Hildebrandt said, a diabolical light entering his eyes, and an evil crackle coloring his voice as he added, "include a full skin charge as well."

Dials were spun and knife and toggle switches tripped and flipped, and the actinic, angry hum of capacitance arrays charged almost to bursting (as it were) filled the air amidships where Fergus and company crouched and prepared to press on, while outside, the Raptor's first officer felt the air between surrounding the grappling ships begin to feel almost greasy and to stink of fried ozone.
----------------------
Aboard the Raptor
"Slack to the grapples! he roared, the enemy's about to try something!" A junior to Fergus he might be, but he did not forget his own experience aboard electrically-equipped ships. Reluctantly, after some frenzied cajoling, the crew that had stayed behind to see to the ship complied, and Raptor swung away to a distance of about five feet on all quarters.

The chief Engineer called up to the bridge, "What d' you think they'll do, Number on--!"
--------------------------------------
Demologos' Bridge
"Charges set, Cap'n!" Jicaroux Announced.

"Prepare to fire," Hildebrandt ordered. "Now, Cap'n effing O'Flaherty, let's see how your Irish Arse likes this! FIRE ONE!! FIRE TWO!!" The bridge lights dimmed once again, and then the portholes were lit from without by the actinic blue-white glare of man-made lightning, and the screams of Fergus and 'Bella's squads echoed from below -- and the Raptor's Chief Engineer's call was cut short as the Demlogos arcing skin set up a static field that momentarily fuzzed all wire and wireless traffic beyond intelligibility...

[The Corsair]

It was with little warning that the device dangling innocently below their airship swung itself about and stayed quite fixed in a certain direction.
"We have a winner..." he muttered, looking forward to see where they would be heading.
His eyes widened with alarming speed as he stumbled backwards, Rosie let out a startled scream of terror which drowned out the noises of alarm Gebbert made. A rocket was perhaps a dozen metres away from them and an ominous black ship lay a few hundred more metres behind it. How stupid they had been, so transfixed on the device and each other. They had missed a whole damn ship that had made no attempt to keep itself hidden.

Something primal slashed its way forward in his mind. He moved like an animal, a sleek tiger leaping over the railing, landing on the rocket. He wrestled with it like a frantic bear, doing all he could to tear it off its path in the milliseconds before impact. It wasn't happening, he had no way of turning it fast enough, powers or no.
The next few sounds happened in what seemed to be a simultaneous fashion but to those involved they seemed minutes apart. Falko himself gave a beastly bellow as he smashed his fists into the rocket, sending a mass of current through it and forcing its detonation. Rosie shrieked out something blood-curdling and heartbreaking. The explosives in the rocket boomed their war call out across the Nashville morning.
And suddenly the black ship was upon them, slicing through the smoke and dying flames of the rocket that had spun the old Vancouver ship about on every axis.

[YetAnotherMatt]

"Not good, not good, not good!" While Falko made a leap at something that he had seen off to one side, Gebbert panicked, ducking back inside the ship, hoping to get to the controls, or anything that could help them get out of there. There was an enormous boom, and the ship spun end over end. Gebbert found himself stuck in a piece of cargo netting that had absolutely no right to be there, and he flailed helplessly as the ship tried to right itself. Legs stuck fast in the netting, he started looking through his pockets for anything that could help get them out of this mess. His hands closed round a small cylinder, a small compression implosive that he had been carrying around. Peering in the direction of the door, he yelled for Rosie, trying to make his voice heard over the relentless din.

[Mark Peiterson]

After what seemed like an age , the survivours of boston where accounted for and loaded onto the ships back to safety. Engineers and the mechanics had assessed and taken any items of value from the boston repair stations. Such as rare aetherdials and steam instruments. It was becoming apparent that as the war streatched out into a fully blown caimpaign that items like those where becoming less than commonplace. As mark directed the last of the engineers to the refitbays, he realized he had one small matter to forfull. He quickly paced over to the survivors quarters on the ship.
"26. 28 .30 .... Ah! 36." he said to himself.

With that he softly knocked on the door. No sooned had his knuckles touched the door he felt a draft of cool air tickle his forehead as the door was pulled open. In frount of him stood the native woman who had asked to talk to him almost two days ago. As per usual his natural awkwardness kicked in.
"hello. Um so I was just coming here to umm.. talk? Yes! Talk to you because um yea.." he drifted off. Inside he was kicking himself. Why whenever he talked to anything vaguely femine he froze up and made a tit of himself. Renembering the conversation and snaping out of his thoughts he looked up at her.She looked slightly puzzled as to what he was actually doing here.
"um, sorry about the hold up but with all though malnourished and battered people we couldn't waste any time I guess! Not that this conversation's a waste of tim...." he trailed of nervously. Digging himself a deeper hole.

[MWBailey]

Fergus felt it again; He'd felt it on that riverbank in Africa when the blood stained both the mud and the water, just before he kicked and cursed his squad into charging the captured maxim gun and the three Impis (roughly a hundred Native rebel troops) clustered around it. A feeling that something had to be done, NOW, or everything would be up -- and he had to be the one to start it in motion. Charge, regroup or get everyone the hell out -- he chose the third option this time. Six of his people would never rise again, and that was a bolt of hell straight to his heart, but there was no time yet for that. Give it back a 'undredfold after ye git back, he roared in his own head.

He grabbed the new leftenant ('Bella Jiroux? was that her name?) by the shoulder and shook her awake, kicked the feet of his bo's'un and his Number One, and got them to rousing the others. The fried-ozone sensation was no longer in the air, but he could feel it, the heat of it, building again, like when Falco called the lightning. "People," he said urgently, hotly, "we gots tae get gone, nowe, we 'ave no ither choice. Back to th' Raptor, an' Miss Jiroux tae yer bike, an' get away before they zap us again! Get back 'ome and then shoot and kick bloody 'ell outter this crap-bucket 'til she falls!"

The others cheered raggedly. Then, they began the business of making their way back to the hole they'd boarded through. It turned out to be another bloody battle, as the crew of teh Demologos came out of their protected hidey-holes, and proceeded to try and harry them. The erstwhile boarders gave as good as they got, which saw them back to where they'd entered and 'Bella out the shot-hole and shinnying down the cable to her airbike. There was no hesitation, now; no sould searching for Fergus as he began loosing fireballs and bulkhead-piercing bolts of flame and heat. there came the moment when the Raptor hove close again and took them aboard by way of the hold-door; no grapnels to steady the portal, it hemmed and yawed like a monstrously-mobile mouth -- but they clambered, leapt, and struggled back through anyway, and remarkably lost no one else.

Still, no reprisals from Demologos' guns. "Get us away!" he yelled a the helm, "a thousand yards at least, and load the coilgun while ye're at it! We en't a-runnin, we're attackin' fer fightin' room!" His orders were followed, and he marveled at the feverish efficiency of his odds-and-ends crew, people who'd joined together for the nonce and formed into a force to be reckoned with, almost without any real teaching from him.

The Raptor turned just as someone aboard Demologos woke up and began marshalling the gatlings and port casemates into a firing sequence. "No standin' fight! No grapplin'!" Fergus roared, "Run right at 'er full tilt an' rake as ye go!"