Origin: John Thompson

            There it was again. Flint’s hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he scanned the tall buildings. He thought he had seen them. He was sure he had seen movement. Flint turned around, walking up to Elsie Donnahough, who was leaning against the rail, staring stone-faced at the city of Philadelphia.

            “Hey, girl,” said Flint, trying to keep his voice low, “This doesn’t feel right. Where’s all the damn people? Where’s the parade? Ain’t this the city of brotherly love or something?”

            “I felt it, too,” said Elsie, turning to Flint, “Nate, I don’t like this. It’s quite. People are scared. We can’t just… BLAST buildings if something goes wrong.”

            “Spread the word,” said Flint, “Quietly. I want the crew ready for action if it comes down to it. Make sure everyone is armed.”

            “Tense, Lieutenant?” asked Thompson, approaching the pair at the rail.

            Flint turned to the man, smiling, “No worries, John. I’m sure your cargo is safe. Not far now.”

            The Johns. That’s what Flint had been calling them. Stuck up guys that were not so bad to talk to, but they were far too nosey in Flint’s affairs. They insisted on joining the group as they carried his shipment cross-country. They were not even sure they would be able to pay the asking price. Flint didn’t like that.

            John Thompson. He was some sort of War veteran and inventor. He knew guns frontways and backways. His Auto-Ordnance Company had paid the Scorpios to insure the shipment of a new weapon to the US Government, who were unsure if they were even interested.

            And John Blish, his younger, and more rat-like partner. He was far too nosey as to the Scorpios and its inner-workings. The pair had proven to be very annoying during the day, but great company at night. Anytime word turned to music, past stories, even military time it was very laid back. However, as soon as anything pertaining to the mission was brought up Flint wondered how he’d get away with shooting them.

            “Philadelphia is one of the most lively cities in the world, yes?” came the voice of Blish, stroking his large mustache.

            “Supposed to be,” smiled Flint, “What’s the matter, not lively enough for you?”

            “We are serious, Lieutenant,” said Thompson, he crossed his arms and his eyebrows furrowed, “We have made a great deal of enemies with our cargo.”

            “Just some guns, yeah?” said Flint, “I hardly believe that anyone would risk an attack on such a glorious landship such as mine.”

            “So full of yourself,” continued Thompson, “These are powerful people, Flint. They scare me, and I turned down quite an offer from them. These weapons do not belong to the ilk of the world.”

            “Outlaws, they are all the same. Don’t worry,” smiled Flint, “I’ve dealt with pirates and bandits.”

            “There are no Pirates or bandits in Chicago, Lieutenant,” Continued Thompson, “No, our demons look more like politicians then film villains. They are powerful and they ARE scary. Oh, and to them… nothing is untouchable.”

            There it was again. Flint turned and shot up at the tall buildings surrounding them. This time, he caught him. A figure, rushing back into the building. Flint gazed up ahead, and noticed that they were about to go through a denser part of the city.

            With the tall buildings so close together, the Scorpios moved along very controlled and slowly. There would be no way for him to use cannons to his advantage in the tight space, and Flint could now see his mistake in going through the city.

            “Good, you saw it too,” said Thompson, “It’s an ambush. All the signs are there.”

            “So it appears,” said Flint.

            “This idiot led us into a trap!” Yelled Blish, “I swear, if we die!”

            “Never asked you to come along, and this is not a trap it is an ambush. Crap happens!”

            Flint raised the communication tube near him and spoke into it, “Attention, all crew. We are in an ambush situation. I want leg crews to keep going steady and controlled, get us out of the city. Guards posted around them. All else, man small cannon crews on the side but grab some rifles and hit the deck and port-holes. We’re in for a shoot-out.”

            Flint rushed to one of the doors going inside the Scorpios and reached the gun rack inside it. Grabbing the Le Enfields inside, he handed two to Thompson and Blish.

            “Johns, you guys used to be Veterans, yeah?”

            “Used to be?” said Blish.

            “You must be joking, sir,” Thompson almost laughed, “You have blot actions? Le Enfields, right? Know them well… good rifles. But they will not do.”

            “We have a few Gatling’s and Spandau’s. Why, what do you expect?”

            “In this day and age, Lieutenant, I would have thought a man in your business would have thought of that by now. There are so many marketable automatic weapons for such an event.”

            Flint was un amused, but didn’t say anything. Thompson took this as a hint and smiled, gesturing inside the ship.

            “Would you like to lead me to my cargo, sir,” said Thompson, “You are carrying just the thing.”

            Flint sighed, and accepted. Another second or so and they had made it all the way to the cargo bay. Thompson wasted no time in walking over to the cargo and getting the closest available crate open. While the Johns worked on that, Flint was hailed on a nearby communication tube.

            “Lieutenant,” cried the voice on the end, “We have not been hampered yet, but there is an obvious ambush ahead. The windows and doors are barricaded and redy for a fight, and they are hailing us, sir.”

            “What are they saying?” asked Flint.

            “They want us to cease our movement and allow them to come aboard. They claim to only want Thompson and the Cargo.”

            Flint shot a glance at the Johns, but if Thompson heard him he was focusing on opening the crate.

            “Can we see any of their men? Maybe a few standing around looking like muscle?”

            “Yes, sir. They are heavily armed.”

            “Good, tell our boys to open fire. Tell them to only shoot at what they see. We must try to leave as much as the structures untouched as possible.”

            Flint walked over to the two Johns, who had just finished prying open the crate.

            “Please tell me you had a bad loan or a street thug encounter?”

            “As I told you, Lieutenant, there’s a lot at stake,” smiled Thompson, “And these were very powerful people. Chicago is an Urban Jungle if there ever was one.”

            “I enjoy being the hunter, John,” said Flint, “So what do they want so badly.”

            Thompson swept aside the hay, and grabbed a short rifle out of the box. It had a beautiful wooden stock and a forward handle on its short barrel. It seemed incredibly thing and light, and it even got thinner then Thompson/s arm at one point.

            “The hell is that?”

            “This will become known as Thompson’s Sub-Machine Gun. It is the third of its kind. It will replace rifles, and do away with bulky guns,” boasted Thompson, “It is compact, to fit in tight places, it is accurate, to close gaps. Let’s not forget it is quite powerful for a gun of its kind.”

            “Looks like a toy,” snarled Flint, “You really about to use that damn thing?”

            Blish handed a second gun to Flint, and reached further into the crate, grabbing two circular metal objects.

            “Slide the drum up like this,” stated Thompson, slapping the metal object to the gun, “Slide this back here, and you are ready to fire.”

            “What?” said Flint, looking at it, “A… Magazine? Round?”

            “Slide it up there and insert a round in the chamber,” stated Thompson again, “It fires forty-fives. I’m sure there’s enough of those lying around. This means it fires bigger rounds then the others of its kind.”

            “The… sub-machine guns, huh?”

            “It means they are automatic weapons that fire pistol rounds,” stated Thompson, “Keep up.”

            “Don’t judge it until you try it,” said Blish, smiling at Flint’s gaze, “Here, have another drum. The Magazine is specially designed. There’s over fifty rounds in there.”

            “Fifty?” Flint’s interest was now going up as Blish grabbed his own rifle and shut the crate.

            “Let’s go test these babies,” said Blish.

            “Test?” Flint’s eyes narrowed.

            “It’s been tested and re-tested,” said Thompson, sighing, “However this weapons has yet to kill a single soul. Time to tarnish its reputation as an idea. Let’s go make it a weapon!”

            Thompson and Blish headed out the way they had come. Flint looked down at the gun he held in his hand. Shaking his head, he decided to give it a try.

            They had made it to one of the bulkheads when they heard the first of the gunfire. Flint jumped to conclusions that the warning shots had finally been ignored, and the battle was beginning. Thompson had nerves of steal, and peered out of the bulkhead, looking for a target. Blish seemed slightly more nervous, and he fiddled with his gun.

            “Well, let’s go send these boys a message,” stated Flint, “ ‘The Scorpios does not take visitors’. Right back to Chicago.”

            “How fitting,” smiled Thompson, “This has been given a terrible nick-name there, as ‘The Typewriter’.”

            “Oh, cow… why would you tell me that.” Whined Flint, “I am not scared of The ‘Chicago Typewriter’ and neither are they.”

            “Why do you think they want it so badly, Lieutenant?”  pushed Thompson, who tilted his own fedora down over his eyes, “How about a wager? I bet I can kill more then you can.”

            “You are on, sir,” smiled Flint. He pushed past the two gentlemen and into the fray.

Aiming his gun, he pulled the trigger. Nothing. Flint’s eyes bulged, and he gazed at the gun. Turning it to the side, he saw the safety was still left on. Switching it off, he raised the weapon just as Thompson and Blish ran past him, raising their own guns.

Scanning the buildings, Flint saw a group of three guys on a balcony hiding behind a few wooden planks. They brandished shotguns and fired down on the Scorpios recklessly. Raising his new gun, Flint pulled the trigger.

The gun fired very rapidly, and Flint was not ready for the recoil. The gun raised into the air. Only a few bullets slammed into the balcony, and one removed the hat right off one of the thugs. The rest kept rising above the building, hitting a painter’s cart a few stories up. The cart snapped, and the two thugs on the cart fell with it down below, slamming into the balcony, killing all thugs.

Flint was surprised with the gun, and smiled at his luck. Thompson gave him a glare, and mimed holding the weapon tighter. Blish and himself then opened fire on their attackers. Bursts of gunfire rat-tat-tating into the nearby buildings.

Flint raised the gun once more, firing it at the buildings. This time he held the gun tighter, and he followed Thompson’s lead and fired in bursts. As he pumped the trigger, burst after burst of gunfire flew towards attackers. At first, Flint was doubtful of the weapons power, but after realizing a more powerful rifle was useless when he would miss a target, he accepted that this weapon was making him a better killer. Flint’s blood began to boil, and his eyes widened. It wasn’t long before he didn’t even bother pumping the trigger. Holding it down, he fought to keep the gun under control and sprayed the hasty bunkers with lead bullets.

Flint’s heart almost stopped when the Thompson went silent, steam visible from the barrel. He fought with the trigger, but he could not make the weapon fire.

“Out of bullets,” chuckled Flint, wrestling with the gun to remove the magazine.

The Scorpios gave a shudder. Flint was confused. That had been a pretty powerful hit. No grenade or dynamite stick could hit the Scorpios that hard. Flint ran to the side of his ship, and noticed that they had been hit by some sort of shell. Down one of the streets to the side of them, Flint spotted an armored, mechanized walker. The machine was tiny compared to the Scorpios, but it yielded one, large cannon and one machine gun that opened fire on the Scorpios, needlessly pinging against the armor.

“They own a walker?” shouted Flint, turning back to Thompson, “Who the hell has enough pull for one of those? They have a small army!”

“Powerful men, Flint,” said Thompson, firing his own Thompson into a building, “Powerful men.”

Flint opened a communication tube and shouted into it, “Cannon crews, right side, I need three cannons mid-rift to fire upon that walker! Make those shots count.”

A Flint tossed aside the empty drum onto the deck, sliding a second into its place. The Walker fired off a second shot, the round slamming into the side of the ship, but doing very little damage.

“Why bother? They can’t bring us down with one walker…”

“Show of force, Flint,” yelled Blish, “They have no need for power if they can make us think they have power. They might not have expected us to fight back with such vigor.”

Three cannons below Flint opened their ports, and the barrels were pushed out of the ship, aiming down at the loan walker.

“Big mistake,” said Flint, “Hope they hated that crew.”

The cannons fired, their shots not missing as one by one the cannons hit the Walker. The Mechanized walker exploded after the second shot, and it disappeared in a cloud of fire and debris after the third.

Flint’s victory was cut short at the sound of grenades. The crew was ducking from them as they rained down from the buildings. Flint ran to the wall of his ship and pressed against it, cover his eyes as one exploded not far away.

Overhead a vibrating hum became prominent in Flint’s ear. Looking up, Flint saw some kind of flying craft swooping in and hovering overhead. The machine held two persons, one flying it and another tossing grenades from his perch, and firing with a pistol. At the sight of the craft, others from the building started firing back harder, tossing grenades they had stashed.

Flint turned his gun on the machine and pulled the trigger. A hail of bullets sprayed the flying machine, lines bursting and fabric tearing. The one firing the pistol got hit in his hand, and he ducked to cover, shrinking away from the hail. The pilot was not so lucky. Thrashing in his seat, the pilot was shot multiple times, and the machine began to spin out of control. The machine spun more and more wildly, and then it slammed into one of the buildings.

Flint smiled at his kill. Ducking back inside of the Scorpios, he fondled the new weapon as the ship lumbered past the rest of the fighting. After the fall of the flying machine, the gunfire died down and the Landship was passing the last of Philadelphia and clearing the rest of the buildings. As they continued out of the city and through the smaller buildings in the outskirts, Flint looked back at Philadelphia. Some figures could still be seen, watching the Scorpios as it stepped away. Even another Walker could be seen walking to the edge of where the battle had taken place.

“We can open her up,” said a voice of the communication tubes, “We’ll put this city behind us in no time.”

Flint hadn’t heard a thing. He danced around the deck of his ship, swinging the gun back and forth and hooting and hollering. Thompson and Blish  approached him cautiously, their brows furrowed.

“This,” yelled Flint, a grin on his face from ear to ear, “This is seriously… amazing. I could feel it… did you see that? Did you hear it? Rat-tat-tat-tat! WOW! I most definitely see the appeal… A typewriter? I… I love this…”

“Sounds great, Lieutenant,” said Thompson, “You wielded the weapon expertly. I am… impressed…. A bit.”

“Hey, I love this. It’s… it’s amazing. ‘Hello, bad guys. Wanna mess with me? Well, say hello to my… Tommy Gun!’, haha!”

“Please don’t call it that,” sighed Thompson, closing his eyes, “Actually… never…. Ever…. Say that again.”

“I don’t think they were expecting much of a fight,” said Blish, “Doesn’t look like they came prepared for an all-out battle. Maybe they just expected to come aboard and take a few in the surprise of it all?”

“Maybe,” said Flint, smiling, “This is just… wow…”

“Well, I am glad YOU like it, at least,” said Thompson, “Let’s hope this makes a similar show when showing it to the Brass at the U.S. Military, huh?”

“Look, Johns,” said Flint, “I know money is tight.”

“Please stop calling us that,” said Blish.

“And I know this is your big break and all… but there are a lot of guns down there,” continued Flint, “Why not say you give me a few Tommys-”

“Please, ‘Thompson’s Sub-Machine Gun’,” correct Thompson.

“Whatever. Give me a few ‘Thompson’s, some of these ammo cajigers.”

“Magazines, Flint,” corrected Blish, “They are called, Magazines.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” continued Flint, “How about a few of the ammo holders and some boxes of ammo and we call it good. The trip is worth it.”

“Ah…well,” said Thompson, looking at Blish.

“John,” Blish tried to whisper, but failed, “We don’t exactly have Flint’s… fee. We are stretching things thin as is… and the military has other offers at this time… It could save us loads to just give him a case.”

“Boo-yeah! That’s what I am talking about,” said Flint, “Woo-hoo! A case! And some other stuff… but… you know… we can work out the details…”

“WOAH!” Thompson bat away Flint’s gun barrel from his face, “Please… I would like to not get shot with my own gun.”

“Typed… got you. So we are cool?” said Flint.

Thompson shook his head, and smiled.

“So, now we got a new conversation waiting for us inside,” smiled Flint, throwing his arm around Thompson, “Why don’t you tell me about how simple this mission is… and about how you make such powerful friends that they can send a small force after us…”

Thompson gave Blish a worried look, but walked with Flint inside.

Origin: A Total Bore

            Max was the first to round the corner and spot the boarded up mine-shaft. Grabbing a nearby pick-axe he began prying the old boards aside. Next came Flint, starring around the grand mountain and taking in the view.

            When Elsie rounded the corner, she didn’t bother taking in either Max or Flint, but just walked up to a lantern and began fiddling with it. Two other of their workers were taking up the rear, and aided in the tearing down of the boards.

            “So,” stated Elsie, finding two lanterns and lighting them, “Where about did you say you were from, Lieutenant.”

            “Don’t believe I did,” said Flint, coldly.

            “I was aware,” replied Elsie, smiling, “Then where did you get back from?”

            “Orient,” answered Flint after a pause, “India. Interesting place.”

            “The world change while you were gone?”

            “Ma’am, the world never changes,” said Flint, turning to stare her down, “And I never left it, I assure you.”

            “Come now, I’m sure the Lieutenant has his reasons,” chuckled Max, throwing aside the last of the wood and resting the pick on his shoulder, “Grab a lantern or a pick. We don’t know what it is like in there.”

            “I’ll keep my guns, thanks,” said Flint, smiling.

            Max picked up a pick and tossed it at Flint, who caught it, “If we try anything, Lieutenant Flint, you can bash our skulls in with that. Come, now. Let’s talk business.”

            Into the mine shaft they went, the five of them. Flint made sure to eye the two workers, but they didn’t seem all that threatening. Elsie, however, was purposefully dodgy and always trying to play him the fool. She put him on edge, and he didn’t like that.

            “So, do tell me,” said Flint, “Elsie Donnahough and Maximus Leadersmith. How interesting that two characters pay a man five-hundred dollars just to follow them into the center of the earth.”

            “We’re taking you to show you the mission,” she said, “Many ears are watching these parts.”

            “So I’ve heard,” spat Flint, “Tell me about these prisoners. Well, why not start with their jailer.”

            “Admiral Haggard? Heartless bastard, round these parts,” stumbled Max, “Was about a year or two back. Republic of Texas gave him full reign over the Oregon Territory right up through the Canadian lands to a place called ‘Alaska’.”

            “There, we know three things,” continued Elsie, “One: That he went crazy. He succeeded from the republic and, there for, the United States and got Russian deserters and local men to build up an army of his own. Two: He somehow came into vast riches. We do not know, or care, how he did, but he has shut off most of his land to visitors and merchants and if anyone is found within his borders who has not been invited… boom.”

            “And, Three,” said Max, “Something happened and he is blaming the Republic of California, now just another State in the United States. He’s declared war on California, and has begun a forceful expansion southward. The United States has warned him to stay back, and his statement was something along the line of harboring criminals.”

            “Great… tensions are high… aren’t they all these days?” said Flint, “How do the prisoners come in?”

            “Fort Border was attacked and over-run about a month ago, and there he has taken up shop,” said Max, “And his forces lashed out maybe a week ago, arresting anyone who they deem to be a threat.”

            “Are those prisoners a threat?”

            “In his eyes, Mister Flint,” said Elsie, “They are members of our order. Architects, writers, postmen… anyone who has schooling or can bring word of his expansion elsewhere.”

            “Uh-huh… nobody too attached to the land.”

            They had walked quite a way by this point. The cavern was beginning to open up.

            “They mined and mined… years back,” said Max, “Looking for Gold. Silver and Iron… that’s all they found. But they took what they could get.”

            “Looks big,” stated Flint, “So, why the mine shaft?”

            “You will see,” said Elsie, almost laughing, “What’s the matter, Lieutenant? Scared to go any deeper?”

            “Just would like not to get shot,” said Flint, “I have been in similar situations. You do outnumber me four to one.”

            “Nonsense, how else will we get our people back!” said Max, laughing.

            “So, they are held in a fort… this man’s base of operations… where his multi-cultured Army is. They are in a prison… guarded,” said Flint, “So you need the Scorpios to… shoot down some airships, barrage the base and provide cover for a real jailbreak? Or…”

            “Actually… you are the jailbreak,” said Elsie, “Your landship has a lot of things that we need, and you’re beginning to gain a reputation, sir. The Scorpios is a landship to be remembered.”

            “That’s great, and I bet we can give them hell,” stated Flint, “However, you are putting way too much faith in me. You need to stop and think. I can’t expect my crew to take on an army.”

            “How much faith do you have in your ship?” asked Max.

            “Normally, unbreakable, but Maximus…”

            “PLEASE, Lieutenant,” said Max, “Do tell me, what is the death of an Airship? How does one truly destroy it?”

            “When it can no longer fly,” answered Flint.

            “Ok, examples.”

            “Gas leak, balloon failure, Scorpios’ shelling, destruction, explosion…”

            “No, no, and no, Lieutenant,” chuckled Max, “The true death of one.”

            “All those impede flight,” answered Flint, “An airship is as good as dead.”

            “But it isn’t… until what?”

            “It crashes.”

            “HOW? Flint? You are so close.”

            “Max, I am not up for games.”

            “Oh, MISTER Flint,” Elsie laughed, “It’s the GROUND. He’s trying to get out the ground. Rock. Dirt. Earth. The Anti-Element of Air in many cultures, religions, and worlds. The long… unforgiving… hard… ground.”

            Elsie had stepped incredibly close to Flint to nail in these last few words.

            “It’s Lieutenant, Miss Donnahough,” said Flint, “So, what’s your point?”

            “Landships, yours especially, need to learn how to use this key fact against them,” said Max, smiling, “In the Aquatic Navy, many seaships have take to using the water against their airship aggressors, and sink beneath it as a shield, as a cloak, and as a weapon.”

            “Submarines, yes,” said Flint, “Had the pleasure of being aboard one or two. Not all seaships have taken beneath the waves however.”

            “All the ones that cannot afford the guns or the connections to stay above the waves has,” said Max, “Or the ones who can’t afford the safety.”

            “What are you suggesting?” asked Flint, stopping dead in his tracks,” Wait a minute… are you saying we turn the Scorpios into some sort of… Submarine? What? Are we going to use these tunnels to weave it underneath the Fort like a rat or a groundhog?”

            “In a way,” said Max, “Look, right around this next bend… we will show you.”

            Max hurriedly walked ahead and caused Flint and Elsie to pick up their pace as well. After rounding the bend, Flint and one of the other guys removed some debris from a cave in and opened a large opening. Max and Elsie were eager to get in, and their lanterns were turned up to full-blast. Flint and the two workers were next, and they gazed around the chamber they had opened.

            It was a very large chamber, one of the largest Flint could have ever deemed possible. They stood on a platform that jutted out from the side, but a cliff brought the cavern down several stories before the bottom. Flint could barely see the floor in the gloom. The light of the lanterns stretched far into the cavern, before the beams were eaten up by more darkness. Flint was surprised at the scale of the room.

            “This way, Lieutenant,” giggled Max, quickly walking towards some old scaffolding, “And light as many lanterns as you can along the way. As much light as we can have the better!”

            Along the way they went, making their way deeper into the chamber. Along the way they lit whatever they could for light. Lanterns, torches, even leftover candles; nothing escaped Elsie of Max’s gaze along the way. Soon, the room was looking rather dim, and a trail along the path, down scaffolding, and along another stone path shined brightly into the darkness. At one point, one of the workers actually found an old electrical floodlight used by serious mining crews at that time. After starting the generator, several floodlights around the giant cavern burst on, flooding it with light.

            Max stated they should still light as much as they could due to the uncertainty of the generator’s power or fuel amount, so they continued on. Flint now saw that this cavern was nearly entirely man-made. The rock had been chiseled and mined for any precious ore that could be found. The cavern had strange mounds and room carved out of it for the retrieval or the ore, stopping when only rock was yielded. The cavern gave way to a large shaft, or what used to be several close shafts, that cleared a path upwards at an angle for what seemed to go on forever. Similar shafts seemed to continue on at the other end of the cavern, heading downward at the same angle, but Flint could see that at least a few of the shafts ended after only a few paces downward.

            Besides leftover equipment and carts, Flint could see the main objects in the room. A pair of large drills sat off their tracks on the ground. They were bigger then anything he had ever seen. The drills themselves were quite long, with the spiral blade curling up the drills length. They were attached to a machine meant to drive on the dirt, pushing the drills forward, as well as be pushed by a team of men. The large engines were steam powered, their boilers sitting beside them on carts. They were big enough for three large men to stand on each other’s shoulders and walk comfortable down its path. In fact, these bores could probably clear a path for an army through the ground. Steam walkers and large armored trains could follow just behind this machine through a mountain or through a wall.

            Then Flint smiled.

            “My God… what are these,” he asked, walking up to touch the large drill.

            “What you think they are,” said Max, “My daddy used to work for the old mining company. Their history is full of wonder and excitement. Nobody remembers where they really came from, but legend had it back in the old days the ancient race of Dwarven miners worked day and night to design these drills. However, the power needed for them to run didn’t exist. They say it was the mixture of Dwarf, Elf, and Gnome technologies that gave us our Steam powered visionaries, you know.”

            “Child’s talk,” said Flint, “Do not believe it.”

            “Well, either way, the legend continues. They built the drills out of the hardest stone, the strongest steel, and the greatest design that ever did happen. It was decades until they were found, they say, and sold to the humans. They were used in Europe to revolutionize mining. Now, legend turns to fact. Over the years these massive drills have been upgraded. From men pushing and turning it themselves to water power to other such technologies. It was bought out by the Germans many years ago, and brought into the new age. They outfitted the engines with Steam power, the first of their kind, and sold them as industrial machines.”

            “It’s amazing the Earth isn’t torn apart by now,” said Elsie, “Drills like these went all over to the wealthiest bidders and helped shape the world as we know it.”

            “I’m sure you’ve seen many like it,” said Max, continuing, “The company bought out many of them when they first started, and mined in Africa and India. However, they moved to the States when the American territories started expanding. A Mixture of mining operations as well as insuring the transportation business paid them for any and all needs kept them busy for many, many years.”

            “But they closed down about… three years back,” said Flint, smiling, “I heard the news. Airships make trains and automobiles last years fling, huh?”

            “But these Drills are some of the originals,” said Max.

            “If we could get these big old things to work for us, then they could dig through anything… anywhere,” said Elsie, pointing at Flint, “Even right underneath the fort… and right through their walls and defenses into the cell itself!”

            “I see,” said Flint, “Jailbreak right through the jail. Pop up, screw with their minds, get the Prisoners, then back through the ground where their air superiority will be useless.”

            “They won’t know what hit them,” said Elsie, “We can disorient them and claim our people!”

            “Why the Scorpios?” said Flint, not wanting to put two and two together on his own.

            “If we can find a way to attach a drill to your Landship, we can use it to drill your landship underneath like a land submarine,” smiled Max.

            “We cannot be accurate enough to get into each cell unnoticed to have them escape,” said Elsie, stroking a lever on one of the drills, “Or even accurate enough inside the Prison. If we go anywhere else, we are still susceptible to Airship and troop fire.”

            “And we can’t expect these prisoners and possibly wounded to run down miles of tunnels on their own without getting caught by troops following us.”

            “Perfect,” said Flint, almost laughing, “So, we slap one of these on the ship, we dig out way under, I pop up like a demon from hell and begin firing and causing hell from INSIDE the base. You guys get yours poor souls onboard just in time for stuff to get too hot for our taste then suddenly… BOOM, we are back underground and digging away.”

            “You think it could work?”

            Flint thought a moment, but his heart began to pick up pace and his head was racing. He began to pace, looking at the one drill, then the other. After a second he began to murmur before his pacing picked up pace.

            “Not one,” said Flint, pointing at the drills, “They are two small, the Scorpios couldn’t fit. We’d need two. Two will also pick up digging pace. We would need to be fast. It we are too slow we will just alert them. We’d have to travel just as fast as a Submarine would in water for it to work in our advantage.”

            “They say these drills are so well aligned you cannot even fill the rumble of the earth beneath you while they dig,” smiled Max.

            “Bull-spit, says I,” said Flint, “However, let’s pray that is sort of true. However, with enough power they can feel an earthquake for all I care. We just need to hit them like an underground lightning bolt.”

            “You’d need some serious power,” Elsie said, crossing her arms.

            “Easy,” said Flint, “However, I’d need to put them on their own… things… to have more control.”

            “So, you’ll do it?” said Max.

            “What?” said Flint, pulled from thought, “Oh… well… I am interested in these drills… and how to make them work. Look, Maximus and Miss Donnahough, I can’t promise anything. You are still talking about the Scorpios going after a small military fleet on its own, maybe even more. On top of that, you are suggesting we attack a fort. In fact, you are suggesting we not only do these, but we start off right in the middle of the mess without promise of proper escape. We are… screwed if anything were to happen!”

            “So?” asked Elsie, smiling.

            Flint sighed, “What I am promising is I will immediately start designing a way to hook these up. I’ll have to call in some favors and get into debt, but I think this could work. But I will not do ANYTHING until this is tested and we see how the Scorpios handles this.”

            “Oh, so you accept to work for us, Mister Flint?”

            “Look, Miss Donnahough,” stated Flint, being more forward then he had yet, “If we are going to be working together you are going to have to address me correctly or not at all. It’s Lieutenant, whether you like it, believe it, or neither. Lieutenant Flint. I will even accept Flint. If you can’t do either… then… you call me Nathaniel, Nathan, or Nate.”

            Elsie seemed to laugh with happiness in an awkward show of glee, and she stepped forward, eyeing Flint, “And you… can call me Elsie.”

            Flint smiled, giving her a wink, “Alright then. Elsie it is. So, gentlemen… let’s get to work before these lights go out!”

Origin: The Scorpion's Sting

            “SIR! There they are!”

            Lieutenant Flint rushed to the side of the bridge, staring up into the sky. The large Sky-Station Hierophant could be seen among the clouds, lowering as it approached the city of Jalandhar. Flint tensed. The Sky-Station was a lot bigger then he imagined it was, and it looked beautiful and sleek compared to the English model it was based off of. Prince Ramaya was truly a fine craftsman of war machines.

            Unfortunately, those machines were now turned on Flint. Flint spotted a flurry of activity from the Station and his eyes narrowed. Tiny biplanes, sleek in design and golden in color, were being launched to face them. Flint hated this type of aircraft due to their maneuverability, speed, and lack of firepower. All they did was harass, like the airship equivalent to a fly.

            Two larger forms were seen rising over the platform and then descending. Flint’s eyes narrowed, and he walked to a set of binoculars by one of the observation windows. The contraption was on a singular track that swiveled around the bridge. The binoculars were far too heavy to lug around due to their complex lens crafting. Flint had bought it in New York, off a Turkish vendor selling these types of optics.

            Peering into the binoculars, he flipped some switches to adjust the view and zoomed on the group. Besides the elegant planes two airships had joined the fight. Flint noticed they wore basic armor and were golden like the biplanes. They were royal aircraft, designed so their looks were just as powerful as their guns.

            “Tell those Sepoy to take their battle stations,” said Flint, smiling, “Let the ‘Boxers’ down in the engine room know we need all the power the Scorpios has!”

            “Yes, Lieutenant,” said a Sepoy Sergeant, running to a communication tube.

            Flint hoped these Indians could fight. The Boxers (the Chinese) were incredibly smart, but they could not operate the same weapons and systems they helped upkeep and clean. Besides, this was more the Indians’ fight then his anyway.

            Just as the roar of the Biplanes rose over the din of the landship, Flint saw his landship come to life. On the deck, troops scurried around looking for their positions. The anti-aircraft turret positions hissed to life, spinning and jerking before beading towards the sky. Certain teams lugged the few Gatling attachments to positions on the railing, plugging them in and preparing them for battle. Finally, a small vibration was added to the mix, and Flint could tell the large, main cannon was preparing for battle.

            “Lieutenant Flint,” said the same Sergeant from early, “The troops will be ready to attack soon, but your cannon will be no match against those smaller fliers!”

            “It’s not for them, it’s for those airships!” said Flint, “But don’t be shy in taking a few of them out while we try to hit those balloons!”

            “Those airships will be out of range soon,” said the Sergeant, “I am uncomfortable with your strategy!”

            “Those airships are royal show ships,” said Flint, “Your Prince Ramaya is too proud for his own good. They are air-to-air combat! They cannot attack well without broadsiding us!”

            “What about their warriors? They can board.”

            Just then the farthest Anti-Aircraft gun turret opened up, its large cannon firing specialized bullets into the sky. About the same time the biplanes began to open fire, their duel machines guns spraying bullets towards the deck.

            “Let’s see them try,” smiled Flint.

            The battle had begun. Biplanes swooped in their first run, all opening fire. Their bullets pinged off the metal hull, Sepoy riflemen diving for cover. The Scorpios’ anti aircraft guns began to fire into the sky. Two biplanes exploded under the shear firepower of the guns. The Gatling crews began firing as well as the biplanes circled overhead. Their bullets continued to harass the planes. The biplanes had tail gunners at the rear of the plane, so even as they flew away they continued to fire down at the ship.

            A few of the planes had small bombs on board, and they dropped them as they swooped overhead. Two landed short of the landship. Their explosions throwing dirt and smoke onto its mighty metal legs. A Third overshot, the bomb shrieking as it flew over the deck and landed in some trees behind the ship. A fourth hit, however, its explosion vibrating the entire ship and its explosion sweeping some Sepoy off their feet.

            At the sight of the battle, the two airships began to rise higher into the sky. Flint almost held his breathe as he calculated in his head the rough range the were at.

            BOOM!

            The landship shuttered as the main cannon fired. The shot streaked through the air, missing the first airship but slamming into the broadside of the second. The ship shuttered at the force, and its elegant features did nothing to stabilize the ship after the hit. The airship capsized and spun in the air, plummeting to the ground.

            The ship continued to tremble and shake, and Flint grabbed hold of a consol nearby, feeling as his ship dived a little.

            “The hell was that!” he yelled, “YOU! Stabilize starboard legs! Full thrusters to port! Other jargon and stuff! Stabilize it!”

            “Lieutenant!” yelled a Sepoy from the communication Tube area, “The Chinamen are yelling something! I cannot understand their accent!”

            “Give me a sec!” Flint yelled, rushing to the communication tube, “Lieutenant Flint, what the hell happened? We’re tipping!”

            “We can stabilize, sir,” came the choppy English from the otherside of the tube, “We can no fire while moving! This walker no-good for that. Shoot big gun while standing! We no-good!”

            “Can you save us!”

            “This no problem. We’ll be right in a second,” shouted the voice, “No more firing while motion!”

            “I got it, you just keep us alive,” said Flint, he turned to the others, “We’ll be fine, how are we doing?”

            “Lost that airship, sir,” said the Sergeant.

            “What? Lost it? How did we lose it?”

            “It was there one second, and now it is gone!”

            “Damnit, Sergeant… how do you lose a giant ship!”

            “Bridge! This is turret four,” cried a voice through the tubes, “That issue screwed with our steam line. We have regained power, but we have a bad jam!”

            The speaker repeated his ply in Indian as Flint ran to the window. Sure enough, a close gun turret was spewing black smoke and the Sepoy supposed to be showing it were running around it with tools, some of them yielding British Le Enfield Rifles and firing into the sky.

            “Crap,” said Flint, his eyes scanning the sky, “I guess we really did lose it. Sergeant, bridge is yours. I’m going hunting!”

            Flint crossed the length of the bridge to a gun rack in the back and he grabbed a Le Enfield himself. Before heading through the exit hatch, he gazed through the bridge at the large Platform making its way towards Jalandhar. He glared once more and headed out the hatch.

            After rushing through the corridors of his landship, he exited a hatch out into the daylight, and into chaos. He must’ve missed the impacts while rushing through the ship, but two more of the biplane bombs had hit the landship. Chinamen and Sepoy rushed around, bringing tools and water to soldiers and lugging away the dead and wounded below deck.

            The rise and fall of the hum of biplane engines filled Flint’s ears as they flew overhead, shooting their twin machine guns. Flint ran out onto the deck, starring up into the sky. He could not see the airship, only the biplanes and the trail of his gun’s bullets into the sky.

            Flint did not bother wasting bullets on firing into the sky. He rushed across the deck of the ship and ran to the turret, which had stopped spewing black smoke. As Flint reached it, he ducked inside. A few of the Chinese engineers were working tirelessly with the gun. The large clip of anti-aircraft rounds was out of the receiver and tossed aside, and the engineers worked to dislodge a bullet from the gun.

            “What’s the status. We need every gun moving, boys,” said Flint.

            One of the engineers spouted off in Chinese and Flint rolled his eyes. One of these days he’d have to learn their language. Outside, the Sepoy yelled to each other in their own native tongue. If he kept up traveling like this, he’d have to learn many more languages.

            Flint decided to man-handle the gun, walking up to the receiver and slamming his foot down on it. The bullet moved slightly, sliding further into the firing mechanism. Flint grabbed the massive shutter that exposed of used shells, and with the aid of a few chinamen, he pulled the mechanism back, shooting the damaged shell out of the gun.

            “Hey, Sepoy,” yelled Flint, poking his head out of the armored turret, “Load it up and fire it. She’s fixed.”

            The engineers had barely packed up when the Sepoy loaded the clip back in and aimed the cannon, firing again into the sky. Flint fixed himself next to the gun, helping to aim it just ahead of the fast moving biplanes. The cannon fired large anti aircraft shells, looking like oversized bullets. It could fire it continually as long as the shooter could pull the trigger. This meant that the Scorpios could adjust its shots faster then other anti-aircraft means, and catch the biplanes by surprise.

            The gun fired three shots continually. The first was just behind a biplane’s tail, the second slammed into the tail, and the third was forward just enough to ignite the gas tank under the pilots seat. The plane dropped from the sky.

            Flint smiled and cheered with the Sepoy, but his cheers were cut short when the ping of bullets was heard outside and screams followed. He patted the gun team on their shoulders and he took his leave from the turret.

            Outside, Flint could see that in the wake of a biplane’s strife one of the Gatling crews lay wounded and bleeding on the deck. Flint ran to them and check their vitals. Some of the Sepoy would live, but two of them were all but gone already. Flint heard more gunshots too close for his liking and he ran to the Gatling. Slinging the Le Enfield over his shoulder He grabbed the Gatling turret and checked the steam connection. It was still attached, and he flipped the switch so the steam would flow. The gauge stated that he was at full power, and the barrels began to spin quickly. Flint aimed down the sights and spun the gun, aiming at the first plane he spotted. Pressing the duel triggers down, he heard the pit-pat of the gun as it spit bullets into the air. The bullets panged and dented at the armor of the biplanes, but Flint couldn’t get them to pierce the armor, or actually kill any of the pilots or tail gunners.

            “Lieutenant!” came a cry from the Sergeant in the bridge over the tube-PA system, “The Airship Indra is at our flank!”

            “No… how?” cursed Flint under his breathe and he turned around to face the other side of his ship.

            Across the deck he could see the bow of the landship, and the Airship swooped in quickly, positioning itself a ways away from the landship. The ship slowed, and Flint eyes the broadside.

            “Everyone down,” he said, slightly quieter then he meant to, and he ducked his head.

The airship fired, the five cannons on its elegant side bursting with flame. The old-fashioned cannon shells streaked overhead. Only two landed on the broadside of the landship, exploding on impact, the other streaked overhead and landed somewhere behind the ship.

Flint rose, feeling the rumbling of his ship. The Scorpios took the barrage, but after they adjusted it wouldn’t survive another one. Gazing back to the stern, Flint saw the large cannon making its way to bead on the ship. That Airship would not withstand a blow from it at this range. Flint leaned to a communication tube close to him and opened it.

“Prepare the broadside, Sergeant,” he yelled inside, “Tell the cannon to fire when ready!”

Flint flipped the switch from the steam source and shut power to the gun. Unlocking the hose from the steam port he release a burst of leftover pressure. Flint unlatched the gun from the ammo dispenser and lifted it from the port. Slinging it over his shoulder, he turned and began a trot across the landship’s deck, heading to the opposite side of the ship.

“This side,” said Flint, “Sepoy, on me! This side!”

Flint reached the other side of the deck and set the Gatling down on an unused port. Two other Sepoy helped him attach the steam connection and the ammunition supply. Flint allowed one of them, whom had lost his rifle, to man the gun and he un-slung his Le Enfield.

“Lieutenant,” a nearby soldier called out, “They are a danger!”

“Those are old-styled cannons,” said Flint, “They cannot do another broadside while we got them in our sight. We’ll shoot them out of the sky!”

“They will fly out of range, sir,” said the Sepoy again.

“They can’t do it fast enough,” said Flint, eyeing as thee main cannon was almost moved into position, “That gun’s range is too long.”

“Not farther away, sir,” cried the Sepoy, “They will get closer. They are preparing to board!”

Flint had to take a moment to allow the words to sink in, but then he remembered the Corporal’s words before he left the bridge. His eyes narrowed.

“Aim, boys,” he yelled, raising his rifle, “Prepare to fight them! Just let them try to board. Let’s make them realize their own mistake!”

The Sepoy stood firm, watching as gunshots could be seen shooting towards them from the airship. One of the Corporals yelled something in Indian and the soldiers that could, grabbed their bayonets and fixed them to their rifles. Flint felt ashamed, but he knelt down to a nearby wounded man awaiting to be carried off and he grabbed his bayonet and affixed it to his rifle.

“AIM” yelled Flint.

The Sepoy leveled their rifles and the airship, which was now tilting in their direction and getting noticeably closer.

Shoot, damnit. Shoot… Flint’s thoughts ran, they cannot board.

The Sepoy on gun emplacements allowed the steam to spin the barrels, and they pressed the triggers. Bullets shot off, streaking through the sky at the Indra.

“FIRE,” came Flint’s quick response as he raised his own rifle.

The deck ignited with the spurts of gunfire as all the nearby Sepoy fired. The Airship was still far enough out that Flint was unsure of their actual effectiveness. But the Indra was approaching quickly, and Flint could hear their own gunfire beginning to ping off the metal of the Scorpios, and wiz by his head.

“Reload,” said Flint, lowering his rifle to pull back the bolt, “RELOAD!”

The Sepoy all put a new round in the chamber, some of them beginning to get antsy. One shot fired slightly too close for Flint’s liking.

“We’re gonna need some help up here,” said Flint, “And someone tell the gun’s crew to shoot her down. FIRE!”

The group let loose another flurry of bullets. Flint could see the crew on the Indra’s deck take cover, but could not see if anyone had been wounded. The ship was now picking up speed, and Flint could see that they were gonna get slammed. On the side, pick-like hooks were raised, preparing to clamp down on the Scorpios’ deck and hold tight.

“Roload, and prepare for boarding,” called out Flint, “Do not fire until they are right on us. Be sure to take them out before they can get onboard!”

The shadow of the Indra’s balloon was getting cast on the crew, and the decks were almost ready to touch. Flint could see the crew of the Indra throwing aside their rifles. Some raising pistols and firing at the group. Others, however, drew swords and waved them above their heads, giving calls ready for boarding.

Right before the ship head, Flint gave the signal and the last barrage of bullets streamed from the Scorpios. This time Flint could spot the blood splatters off several warriors. Flint fired, watching his bullet pelt a man in the shoulder. He reloaded quickly before the board.

The Indra creaked as the ships collided. The hooks slammed down on the metal deck, latching the ships together. The Landship shuddered, but the Legs were ready for the impact and they steadied the ship. Using the momentum, the boarding party leapt from their ship, firing pistols and swinging their sword in a hail of battle cries.

Someone gave a command and the majority of Sepoy lunged at the falling attackers with their bayonets. Flint, and two other unknown soldiers that had reloaded, fired upward, shooting two attacked right from the sky. Afterward, metal on metal screeched and clanged against each other. Screams rang out from attackers being stabbed by bayonets as well as defenders being slashed by swords.

Flint was lost in the fray. He parried a strike from a large attacker. Flint swung up the butt of his rifle and slammed it into the attacker’s face. As the attacker recovered, Flint rammed his rifle into his gut, burying the blade. The attacker dropped his sword, closing his eyes.

Flint pulled back, allowing the attacker to fall backward in agony. Flint pulled back the bolt, loading another bullet into the rifle. He raised the rifle and aimed at another attacker who was wailing on a cowering Sepoy’s gun. Flint fired, the bullet spraying blood forward with the bullet. The attacker reeled, the bullet digging into his back.

Flint had enough time to spin his rifle around and slide in a new round for an attacker who had killed his target and ran towards Flint. Flint pulled the trigger before he was within range of his sword.  The attacker fell, dead.

“Sir,” cried a soldier, running up to the fray with reinforcements behind him, “We need to dislodge this ship!”

“I figured,” said Flint.

“The Scorpios cannot move,” he continued.

The reinforcements joined the fray, and helped deal with many of the first boarding party. A few soldiers jumped back onto their ship, and they readied some pistols and rifle to fire at the Scorpios’ crew.

“How do we dislodge it,” said Flint, firing the last shot in his rifle’s clip and he ejected the clip, preparing to put a brand new one in.

“The controls should be on the ship,” the soldier said, “We have to board their ship!”

Flint finished reloading his Le Enfield, and pulled the bolt to load the fresh bullet. All the attackers onboard his ship were almost dealt with, and many of the Sepoy had begun firing onto the enemy ship.

“Board,” ordered Flint, raising his rifle and shooting an enemy who peeked his head up to fire on the crew, “We must dislodge the ship!”

One Sepoy tossed a lit mini-bomb onto the Indra, and it exploded seconds later. After that, Flint’s Sepoy fired wild shots as they leapt onto the deck of the Indra. Flint joined them, leaping the small gap and japing at the enemy crew with his rifle.

Flint raised his rifle and fired at a man wielding a pistol by the upper deck. Flint then turned to a screaming swordsman who was running towards the new boarding crew. Flint lunged out with the rifle and impaled him. With the man falling to the ground, Flint surveyed the ship.

Fighting had broken out on the deck, and Flint’s Sepoy along with the Indra’s crew were locked in combat everywhere. Although heavy fighting had occurred, and still continued, it appeared most of the Sepoy who boarded were killed by gunfire or counter-attack after boarding, and a great deal of the Indra’s crew lay slain on the decks as well.

“Sir, over there!” yelled a soldier, pointing towards a contraption in the middle of the ship.

Flint rushed over to it, and realized that it was the controls to the ship’s boarding hooks. One side’s handle was flipped up, and the others was currently sideways. Flint assumed the sideways one was what was keeping the Indra hooked on. Flint pulled it upward, and braced himself as the Indra shuttered, and the giant boarding clamps released and returned into the ship. The Indra shuttered again, and Flint was cast to the floor. When he rose, his Sepoy were leaping from the side to get back onto the ship.

Flint rushed to the edge, and cursed. The Indra was too far from the Scorpios to jump now, and it was drifting farther and farther away. Flint looked around the Indra’s deck, and realized the reason why was because of an empty helm.

Flint saw only him and one other Sepoy remained onboard, and the Indra’s crew was bearing down on them.

“Well,” said the Sepoy, looking towards Flint, “We die with honor! Fight on!”

With a few battle cries in his native tongue, the Sepoy threw himself at a few crew members and emerged himself back into the fight. Flint turned to notice three crewmen with their eyes on him, approaching quickly and angrily.

Flint drew his revolver, firing a shot into the closest crewman’s gut. With two more shots the other two fell as well. His gunfire had caught the attention of more remaining crewmen, who either grabbed guns and took cover or drew their swords and rushed at him.

Flint ducked behind some debris on the ship, firing at the attackers and killing a few crewmen.

“Ok, got to think of a way off,” thought Flint allowed, looking back at the Scorpios.

Flint noticed a flash coming off the Scorpios, then he noticed the entire broadside of cannons he had below deck light up. Flint’s eyes widened.

“Get DOWN!” he yelled, to no-one in particular a second before the impact.

Cannon shells from his ship ripped through the Indra. Many overshot of flew over the deck without much damage. Flint could feel the shutter of one slamming into the deck, then exploding. Another shutter as two more hit the side. Flint could feel wood shards and heat as the deck began to explode around him.

Flint pulled down the brim of his fedora to aid in shielding his eyes and he rose, looking around pleadingly.

The Indra was coming apart, and yet it was rising rapidly. The deck was cracking if half, the rooms were bursting in flame. Wood and metal was raining down from the balloon and from below.

Flint walked to the edge of thee ship and gazed around. The Airship’s armor was coming lose from the balloon and from the hull and falling towards the earth, allowing the airship to rise due to the lack of weight, and quickly. They were almost triple the height they were a second earlier. Crew and supplies were also being lost overboard and plummeting to their deaths.

Flint spied his ship. The Scorpios’ main cannon was turning to aim at the Airship, and by the looks of it it already had them in its sights. Flint’s eyes widened.

“Oh no,” he whispered, eyes widening, “Don’t shoot me! That’s my ship! Don’t you DARE shoot me with my own ship!”

Just the Flint noticed a few of the falling crewmen began to float, and they had small parachutes appear above their heads. Flint spun around and scanned the dying deck of the ship. On the other side of the deck was a rack of parachutes, and a few people had already taken a few off of it. Two crewman aided each other in getting them on, then they leapt off the side of the ship.

“I’ve had worst ideas” stated Flint, sprinting across the deck and aiming his pistol.

Three parachutes left. A wounded crewman went to grab one of them and Flint fired, the crewman falling over dead. Another crewman noticed the shot, and turned to fight Flint head-on. Flint shot him as well. A third grabbed a parachute and attempted to strap it on. Flint aimed and fired. The bullet slammed into his chest, and the dead man fell back and overboard, the parachute with him. Two left.

Flint had made it across the deck, and he holstered his revolver. Flint picked up a parachute. Before he could put it on, he was grabbed. Flint spun around, and a large Indian punched him square in the face. Flint stumbled back, tripping over the broken railing and falling back, out of the airship.

Flint’s fedora flew off in the sudden wind, and Flint awoke with the blast of cool air after all that hot air. He let out a scream, but held tightly to his parachute.

Flint spun around, attempting to slip the parachute on while falling through the air. He had trouble focusing. The ground seemed so big now… and the debris and dead bodies didn’t fall, but seemed to just float and spin in the air. Flint eyes his Landship. A flash came from the cannon, and quicker then he could follow a large shell streaked through the air and passed him, slamming into the Airship.

BOOM!

The sound of the gunshot reached him as the Airship above exploded into splinters. Flint had just affixed the second strap around his arm and awaited a chance to pull the string.

Flint yanked the cord, the ground now too close for his liking, and gazed upward. Flint’s shoot opened nicely, but as it rose and opened, Flint wished he would’ve waited. The Airship had burst into many flaming piece, and it now made its way downward and toward him. The shoot finished opening and it covered his view from the burning hellhole now approaching him quickly.

Flint looked around, his face scrunching. He was going to die if he couldn’t think of something. Flint spotted one of the Biplanes that was heading straight for him, and his heart quickened.

“Hey… go away!” was all he could manage to say.

The biplane must not have seen him, but by the time it quickly came towards him, it would’ve been too late to do anything. The plane flew above Flint, but went almost straight through his shoot.

Flint closed his eyes, and felt himself get yanked roughly to the side. After a second, he had the sensation of being dragged. When he opened his eyes again, Flint was sideways, and his shoot had tangled in the biplane’s wings. Flint was getting closer to the plane, and he realized the cords wrapped in the propeller were reeling his in like a fishing rod.

Flint slammed into the tail of the plane, hard, and held on tight. He slipped off the pack before it could drag him any closer to the front of the plane and into the propeller. Flint grasped the tail with his life, and he looked around.

The tail gunner was shocked that they had hit a parachute, and the pilot worked to clear his vision and, hopefully, the propeller. The tail gunner stood up and reached out his hand to aid Flint.  Flint grasped it, and wwas pulled farther up the tail. Suddenly, the gunner let go, and Flint heard him yell something in Indian.

Flint grabbed his pistol and pointed it at him, hardening his face. Sure enough, the gunner had recognized his foreignness and was grabbing the tail machine gun to aim at Flint. Flint fired, the tail gunner’s head being jerked back and he slumped into the plane.

Flint smiled, and attempted to crawl forward to deal with the pilot, who was still standing. Suddenly the plane jerked, and Flint looked up. The pilot began to slump, and Flint noticed the gunshot in his back. Crap, Flint shot him too!

The plane shuttered again, and began tilting downward. Flint holstered his pistol and scrambled up to the tailgunner seat. He leapt over it onto the wing, and scurried to the pilot’s seat. Pulling the dead pilot out and tossing him off the plane, Flint leapt into the seat and grasped the lever.

“No worries, eh Flint?” Flint laughed, “Just got to… keep… going. I’ll half-land it somewhere…”

Just then the rest of the parachute ripped away. The cord was whipped into the Propeller, and the engine puttered and snapped. The Propeller stopped dead, and smoke began to billow from the engine.

“Cool,” said Flint, “That’s alright. I’ll just coast down.”

Suddenly bullets streamed past Flint’s head, causing him to duck. Shots ripped through the wings, and the tail of the Plane was hit as well.

“What NOW!” yelled Flint.

Looking to his left, Flint spotted the Scorpios. The Anti-Aircraft cannons were now pointed in his direction, and shells and bullets sprayed towards him.

“Crap…” thought Flint, “Not again.”

Flint glanced around the plane. If he could find another parachute maybe he could make it. Flint spotted a red lever, and it had a picture of a man parachuting above it. He shrugged, and a flurry of bullets pinging the light armor on the plane caused him to yank it as hard as he could.

Flint could feel a new rumbling coursing through the plane. Flint looked around, but could see nothing. He looked back at the dead tail gunner. Suddenly, the gunner’s body fell into the plane and vanished. Flint’s eyes widened, and he looked at the floor of his own cockpit. The floor was moved away, and many of the mechanics were being pulled. Flint rushed to strap himself in as his chair rumbled with a few last clicks and then it fell, right through the bottom of the plane. The plane drifted over head, then sailed away.

Flint wrestled with the buckle, and snapped it in just as the parachute was released from the back of the chair. A few shots could be heard whistling past him, but then they left him, following the plane farther and farther away. One of the shots hit true, and exploded. The smoking plane spun from the force, and dived towards the ground.

Then it was…. Relatively quiet. Flint could hear his own breathing. His fast… jagged breathing. A few gunshots rang out from the Scorpios, and he could even hear the rat-tat-tat from some surviving biplanes. Flint leaned back in the chair, and gasped for air.

“Woah” was all he could muster.

He watched the Scorpios’ main cannon stop as it swiveled, and fired a shot, the sound following a second afterward.

BOOM!

The round flew into the air, and slammed into the still lowering Hierophant. It exploded, and one of its rear thrusters faltered. Suddenly it began to rise in the air, and Flint saw it was recalling its planes. He smiled.

One loan Landship… and it stopped it from raiding the poor town. Crippled, probably. Flint figured he couldn’t destroy it.

BOOM!

A second shot streaked across the sky, and slammed into the hull of the Hierophant. The Sky-Station was very wounded now. Flint could see they dumped all their ballasts and garbage to soar into the sky and escape the Scorpios’ range.

Flint wanted to go limp in the chair. Smiling, he raised his hand. They had done it! Wounded the Indian Prince and his almost unstoppable rampage when the British Government could not. With his flagship wounded, he’ll stop raiding the small towns and cities. He might even stop harassing the British enough for them to regain control of this country… and then even if he regained his strength he would have to face their full force, and with them having time to deal with him. Flint smiled.

A gust of wind cooled his face. With it, something fluttered down from above, and was swooped toward Flint. Flint reached out and grabbed it eagerly. It was his hat, his Fedora. Flint wanted to laugh, but instead he just tucked it into his coat. He wasn’t going to lose that it again.