Chapter 114 - Extraction

  Air hissed out of the envelopes again as we descended. The deck became a riot of activity as goblins ran about, pulling out guns and squeezing into armored vests. Others began loading the recoilless rifles and priming the slingers. Armstrong handed me one of the plate carriers, and I pulled it on and tapped a fist against the ceramic tile in its front pocket. Since coming to Rava I’d been stabbed, arrowed, bitten, and beaked. Multiple times, those would have activated the head of the snake skill and killed other goblins in my place, had I not been wearing the armor. I’d seen many goblins likewise saved by (and many still killed despite) the ceramic armor.

  We dropped low enough that the tallest trees began to scrape across the underside of the airship’s thin hull. Prometheus had the engines full-bore to get us closer to the fight that had broken out below while the searchlight operators tried to get a fix on whatever was chasing our people. Someone handed me a rifle, and I braced it on the gunwale and peered down through the sights. The rest of the goblins lined up next to me, and the airship tilted. I caught a dark silhouette, framed by the flash of a popper, and fired toward it. All the goblins to my left and right squeezed off shots as well. The treetops erupted in shredded leaves and thrown sticks as the rockettes tore through, and the thump swoosh of the recoilless rifle on the bow sent a plume of earth skyward.

  Something down there roared, low and terrifically loud. I cranked the lever of my rifle and fire again, pointing my muzzle as close as I could to the source of the sound.

  The scanning lights centered on several blue figures dashing toward the ship. They were hauling butt through the trees of the island, and it looked like they were carrying something. A half-dozen scrappers and twice their number in non-variants, running as fast as their short legs could pump.

  “Oy, it’s our lads!” said Armstrong beside me.

  “Armstrong, the ladder!” I shouted.

  My scrapper chief dropped his rifle to Gemini’s deck and ran to the aft of the airship, kicking a bundled rope ladder over the side. It unfurled, swinging down into the trees. The scrappers below pointed to it and redoubled their sprint. But a massive shape crashed through the trees behind them. A six-legged, four-eyed reptile that moved more like a gorilla than a lizard bounded across the floor on its knuckles, sauropod mouth open wide and tiny rear legs scurrying to keep up. It was maned in bright feathers, like the dartwing. Idly, I wondered if it was a muscular evolutionary offshoot. Either way, it had its sights set on my boys, and I wasn’t keen to let it catch up.

  I whistled for attention and pointed down. “Recoilless rifles! Poppers! Anything we’ve got!”

  The goblins shouted and began throwing the small grenades over the side at the beast, and several landed beside it, showering it with shrapnel. It came on anyway—until the recoilless rifle rounds smashed it into the dirt.

  However, it wasn’t alone. Two more of them came out of the woods—strangely in sync in their movements and pace. They even roared in harmony. It was almost uncanny to watch them, as if a single mind worked behind both brains.

  “Reload!” I said. The recoilless rifle teams worked to open the breeches on the smoking guns, but the beasts were moving fast. Ahead of them, the scrappers and their goblins reached the rope ladder and began to climb up with the speed possessed only by those with sharp teeth snapping at their heels.

  The airship sagged again and I waved to Promo and the pilot. “Take us up! Quick!”

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  The pilot signaled to the burner teams to increase the heat, but it’s a lot faster to let hot air escape than it is to make more of it. And we had the added weight of the survivors. Promo at least kicked the throttle up, and the fans began to spin faster and faster. We at least moved forward, back toward the water, as our rescues scrambled up toward the ship.

  Then the airship lurched, and I fell against the gunwale. At least two goblins went over completely, and even Promo nearly lost his balance. He caught himself on the throttle lever, which resisted for a moment before snapping off completely.

  Through the slats on the gunwale, I looked down at the end of the rope ladder to see one of the lumbering lizards had leapt up and caught the bottom rung even as we lifted away from the ground. It reached overhead and began to pull itself up with hungry eyes and salivating jaws. And, with two of my scrappers trying to navigate the climb with loads slung over their shoulders, it was catching up.

  Pushing myself back up, I shoved my gun through the slats and fired down at it, careful to avoid the goblins climbing above it. It jerked as a shot hit its shoulder, and then more goblins on the deck followed my example. Two zealots leapt past me with spears, screaming their heads off with fury—and then panic, as our forward air speed meant their attack was going nowhere near their target. Still, the barrage of rockette fire was slowing it down and letting the scrappers make up the distance. Armstrong was there to begin pulling them onto the deck.

  Despite our fire, the lumbering lizard kept coming. It had a thick, bony crest that seemed hard enough to deflect the rockettes, with four small eyes set deep into it. And on the ladder, it was out of the firing arc of our recoilless rifles.

  “Cut the ropes!” I shouted.

  Goblins started looking around, squawking in confusion as they pulled out knives and cleavers, and a few of them started sawing on the ropes that held the fuselage to the hot air envelopes.

  “No! The ladder ropes!”

  Squawks of understanding passed back and forth between the crew, and they went to work sawing at the thick cords of the ladder as the last of our survivors were pulled aboard. The monster on the ladder must have realized what was happening, because it climbed even faster. My secretive service were at the top with spears, thrusting down at the beast and barely keeping it at bay. Armstrong jumped in with his cleaver held high and brought it down so hard it severed the line and stuck fast in the gunwale. The ladder swayed and spun, held on by only a single cord. But half-shredded in its own right and struggling under its doubled load, it snapped as well.

  The creature fell away, windmilling its arms and roaring up at us. The crew of the airship cheered and fired off their rifles into the air (and more than a few into the balloon itself, I’m sure).

  I began to relax, but something raised the hackles on the back of my neck.

  The roar of the creature choked off, and then started buzzing. A cloud of red mist poured from its mouth and shot up towards us. My eyes widened.

  “It’s not over!” I shouted.

  The rifles came back down, shooting at the mist. But you can’t shoot fog. I looked around, and my eyes centered on the flamethrower. I ran over and grabbed the nozzle, making sure the primer ember was secure at the tip. In an extraordinary display of diligence, the pump goblin had never stopped pumping throughout the whole debacle, and when I tested the pressure on the weapon, the backwards force of the spray knocked me on my butt. A jet of flame shot out into the evening sky, brighter even than the searchlights.

  Hands wrapped around my shoulder and hauled me to my feet, and I looked back at Promo, with his smithing mask down. He picked up the back half of the hose, and suddenly the assembly felt lighter and more comfortable in my own hands. Bonus to heat-based weaponry.

  Running to the extent of where the hose reached, I shoved the nozzle down, angled it at the approaching cloud of red mist, and squeezed the nozzle lever. Flaming kerosene gushed out, dropping into the swamp below. I swept the flame back and forth, bisecting the lance of red mist several times. The heat rising back up was immense, like shoving my face into a kiln. But it was nothing compared to the havoc it wreaked below. The flaming liquid clung to trees and smoldered brush, turning the forest into a flash fire. The red mist faltered, scattered, and then reformed.

  Though we’d diminished it, it kept coming, zig-zagging with purpose to avoid the jet of flame. It hit the side of the airship and began to force its way through the gunwale. I closed my eyes and felt the beat of thousands of tiny wings against my eyelids as I flailed my hands. The air filled with angry buzzing. It wasn’t a spirit.

  It was a swarm.

  And it was on my ship!