J.B. triggered the Uzi on full-auto, throwing flame at the receding sec men. As her Hamp;K blaster clicked empty, Mildred grabbed a reloaded Veri pistol from Dean and shot off a flare. The sizzling green round punched through the leading rocket, making it explode, the blast damaging the Firebird alongside and throwing the rocket wildly out to sea.
Slamming in his last clip for the Steyr, Ryan fired as fast as he could work the bolt. Another Firebird altered course and shot straight upward to disappear into the stormy clouds. But despite the amount of copper-jacketed lead going their way, the last two rockets bore straight in at the companions.
Her hair a wild corona, Krysty released a green flare, but the windsheer threw it away from the incoming missiles. As J.B. slapped in a fresh clip, Ryan fired again and a rocket tore itself apart. As he worked the bolt, the spent shell jammed in the breech. Dropping the blaster to the plastic floor, Ryan drew his SIG-Sauer and started banging away. Meanwhile, Mildred and Krysty sent off a double charge of flares from the painfully hot Veri pistols. The signaling devices weren’t meant to be weapons and were overheating from the constant use. The flares were sticking to the barrel from the accumulated heat, along with the women’s burned fingers.
In a gorgeous mix of colors, the flares curved toward the incoming missile when one abruptly died in midflight. The other erupted in a blinding purple flash, and the missile shot right through the display completely undamaged.
The companions concentrated their attention on the last rocket, but it was horribly close. J.B. abandoned the Uzi and used the last few shells in the shotgun to send off a hellstorm of flechettes. Incredibly, the companions could see the damage it inflicted as the missile appeared to be slowing, and for several breathless seconds it seemed to hang motionless in the sky behind them. Then the flame of its rear exhaust sputtered away and died, the reserve of black-powder fuel gone. Rendered powerless, the lethal Firebird fell away and disappeared into the night.
As the companions relaxed, a salvo of rockets was launched from the Hummers on top of the jagged cliff. But the passengers of the Pegasus withheld shooting and merely watched as the swarm of deadly missiles climbed ever higher into the dark sky, only to slow as their tail flames weakened and died, the dreaded Firebirds tumbling helplessly into the cold sea.
“Finally out of range,” Ryan said, flicking the dead brass from the Steyr over the ropes. As if in reply, thunder rumbled from the clouds so very close overhead.
“Sons of bitches want us bad,” J.B. added, clearing the breech of the empty shotgun.
“Hopefully, that is the last we see of them,” Krysty said, flexing her singed gun hand.
Glancing at the floor, Mildred saw the ejected brass had fallen through the holes in the plastic pallet and couldn’t be gathered for repacking. Great, they were low on ammo, attacked constantly from every direction and riding a makeshift helium balloon mostly held together by spit and baling wire. The situation could only make the physician snort a bitter laugh.
“What funny?” Jak asked, startled at the noise.
“Remember the condors?” Mildred replied, holstering her piece. “Those were an endangered species in my time.”
“So?”
The salty wind blowing her beaded hair, Mildred turned to face the featureless horizon of the east. “Now we are,” she finished somberly.
HOBBLING TO the edge of the crumbling cliff, Mitchum roared defiantly as he emptied his blaster at the departing airship.
“No! Not again!” Mitchum raged, cocking the hammer and dry firing the spent weapon several times. As his fury ebbed, the man turned toward the line of Hummers parked nearby.
“You there!” he shouted, pointing. “Launch another Bird!”
“Belay that shit,” Glassman stated grumpily, stepping out from behind the rocket pod. His face and clothes were streaked with black from the multiple launches, and he angrily tossed aside the glowing piece of oakum he had used to light the fuses. Privately, the former healer wondered what the hell had the outlanders used to stop the Firebirds.
“We failed, Colonel,” Glassman continued, pulling a rag from a pocket to wipe his face and hands. “They’re gone!”