The Zeppelin Jihad by S.G. Schvercraft Read Free Book Online

catwalk, grabbing the rail so tightly my fingernails cut into my palms.
    I could only see in tunnel vision, a blessing considering the vistas all around me. The only thing I was aware of was the rope in my hands. I quickly tied it with a Boy Scout knot my father taught me a million summer vacations ago.
    I waved back to Speer. He readied to jump, flipping a lever as he did. The small zeppelin turned quickly away as he leapt.
    The Highwhale ’ s driver just then swung his airship back into us. Speer nearly overshot the catwalk, landed on the railing, and doubled over it into the empty space beyond.
    He caught onto the handrails ’ spindles, saving himself. I grabbed hold of him as he climbed back onto the catwalk, and we collapsed onto the decking.
    I was breathing hard. So was he.
    The knot I ’ d made held. Speer had rigged the pilotless zeppelin to run at full power, pulling the Highwhale in the opposite direction.
    “ Not much power compared to this industrial carrier, ” Speer said , “ but it will make the thing harder to steer, and slow them down some. ”
    “ Every second counts. ”
    “ Speaking of which, ” he said, drawing his revolver. “ Ready? ”
    Not especially. I pulled my Glock. “ Of course. ”
    A stairway led up to the gondola ’ s belly. At the top of the stairs was a door. Locked, naturally.
    He leveled his gun at the lock. “ If rockets won ’ t bring it down, I imagine we needn ’ t worry about stray bullets. ”
    “ Let me. More rounds, remember? ”
    “ Use them for suppressing fire. If they don ’ t yet realize we ’ ve boarded them, they ’ re about to. ”
    As he shot out the lock, I kicked in the door and blindly fired two shots into the narrow hallway beyond.
    Speer had been right — my rounds didn ’ t hit anyone, but I scared them enough that their return fire didn ’ t hit us.
    Speer pushed me back and hurriedly closed the metal door, the rounds heavy enough to dent it.
    The shots were overlapping, meaning there was more than one shooter. But one of the guns fell silent with a ping before beginning to fire again.
    “ It ’ s one of our rifles. They ping when they eject their clip, ” Speer said . “ Next ping you hear, we charge. ”
    I nodded. We weren ’ t in a position to see the Towers, but over the railing I could see the city unfolding beneath us, dense with buildings. We were getting close to downtown.
    More shots. One of the enemy rifles pinged.
    Speer shouldered open the door and fired his revolver like a madman. I followed, holding my fire for fear of hitting him. The wall of lead he threw up was enough to suppress the shooters, and we crossed the distance to where the narrow passageway came to a large mess room.
    There was a shooter on either side of the hall, both female, wearing traditional Muslim garb.
    Speer went for the one on the right, who ’ d been ducking behind the wall for cover. His revolver was empty. He grabbed her rifle barrel as she tried to level it and brought his own gun smashing against her temple, continuing to rain down blows as she fell to the deck.
    The one on the left was the shooter whose gun had pinged — when I came on her, she ’ d been reloading.
    Through the slit in the fabric covering her face, I saw her wide green eyes. Then I put a bullet into one of them.
    I looked over at Speer as he pulled off the mask covering his shooter ’ s face.
    She was white and no older than twenty, with a sprinkling of freckles over a nose that, until Speer had shattered it, was no doubt cute. Her hair, once dirty blonde, had been stained an absolute red by the blood coming from her mouth, nose and ear. Her eyes stared up at the ceiling dead and unseeing.
    “ Fairer sex, my eye, ” he muttered.
    I searched their bodies quickly for more weapons we might be able to use, but they ’ d only had the rifles.
    Speer grabbed both of the rifles, slung one over his shoulder, and held the other at the ready.
    “ The airship ’ s bridge will be