05 Dragon Blood: The Blade's Memory (40 page)

A few heartbeats of silence answered him. Was he being too presumptuous? Maybe it was suicidal, but if they could take out the sorceress, it would demoralize the rest of the Cofah. She might even be the mission commander. Without her leadership, they might decide to retreat. At the least, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to keep the sorceress distracted while Sardelle and the others sneaked around inside the fortress.

“I’ll do it,” Ahn said, her voice deadpan. Or maybe just dead. Ridge hadn’t seen an iota of positive emotion from her since Apex’s death. He hadn’t seen much emotion of any kind at all, aside from dejection.

“Don’t think that’s a good idea, sir,” Crash said. “You saw what she can do, and I’m figuring she’s got more tricks in her magic bag.”

“Aren’t the walls reinforced?” Pimples asked, his voice squeaky as he dove to avoid three fliers gunning for him.

Ridge veered toward his pursuers, loosing bullets of his own. One of the pilots who was focused on chasing Pimples didn’t see him swooping in like a hawk from above. Ridge shot him in the head. The other two scattered in a disorganized fashion. He didn’t think the Cofah had thought of adding an equivalent of the communication crystals. One more tiny advantage.

“Thank you, sir,” Pimples said.

“I’ve got a few of Tolemek’s grenades,” Ridge said, not willing to let his idea drop. “They might accomplish what the shells shot from thousands of feet below lacked the power to do. I’m not ordering anyone to go with me, just asking for volunteers. Anyone besides Ahn?”

Duck sighed. “I’m with you, sir. Like the tick that goes off the cliff with the lemming it’s clinging to.”

Ridge steered for the far corner of the platform, the one with the sorceress’s tower above it. “Thank you, Duck, but in the future, I’d appreciate analogies that turn me into something fiercer than a lemming.”

“No problem with me being a tick?”

“I like my pilots to have more self-esteem than that, in general, but if that’s your animal of choice, so be it.” Ridge knew his humor sounded forced, and it was probably unwelcome right now, but he felt it important to make the others believe that he was confident, that nothing happening here was alarming him.

“A tick’s an insect, sir,” Duck said.

“Thanks for clearing that up. Pimples, Solk, I see you following. You coming to the tower?”

“Yes, sir,” Solk said, her voice calmer than Pimple’s had been. “Don’t have any explosives, but planning to stay on your back and keep the others off it.”

“Like a tick?” Ridge asked.

“Wouldn’t mind being something fiercer, either, sir.”

“Ticks
are
fierce,” Duck said. “Got a powerful bite for something so little.”

“I’m going up.” Ridge angled out from under the platform, then tilted his nose straight up, hoping to surprise the sorceress and anyone else at the top of the tower.

Three variations of, “Got your back, sir,” followed him. Ridge also heard a soft, “Good luck, sir,” from Crash before he pulled his flier upside down and pounded bullets into the top of the wall and the top of the tower.

For a second, and from his upside down position, he had the satisfaction of seeing surprise on the sorceress’s face, a bronze-skinned face with aristocratic features framed by flowing black hair. She wore golden armor that looked like it was made from dragon scales. That was all Ridge had time to see as he zipped past, firing. His bullets took out two startled soldiers on the wall, but, surprised or not, the sorceress had time to shield herself and the gunners atop the tower. His bullets burst into flame instead of striking their targets. He almost crashed into that invisible barrier himself, but tilted his wings at the last second and righted himself. A soft bump to the belly of his craft was all he felt. He had time to arm and toss one of the grenades before flying out of range.

“She blew that up before it struck,” Duck said.

“I can’t hit her or anyone around her,” Ahn said, a tinge of frustration entering her voice.

“Now she’s looking to mow you down like thistles in a field, sir,” Duck said.

Ridge had expected as much. He plunged down the length of the tower and curved under the platform again.

He flinched when two Cofah fliers came into view, right at the edge of the platform. He almost crashed into them, but had the wherewithal to shoot at the same time as he drove hard to the right. Bullets slammed into the back of his craft, riddling the side before he veered out of the line of fire.

“Glad Sardelle isn’t back there now,” he whispered, twisting through the air in case the Cofah came around and tried to target him again.

But Ahn and Duck plowed through the Cofah fliers after him. With guns ablaze, they finished the job he had started. The pilots slumped in their seats, dead, and their craft spiraled toward the ocean, smoke streaming from their engines.

“Appreciate the help back there,” Ridge said, coming around again. He wanted another try at the sorceress, but he didn’t know how he might make his try effective.

He peered up at the thrusters near the edge of the platform, wishing he might direct a rocket into one right under the tower. Still, he doubted that would matter. He had flown up and down around the fortress enough times now that he knew that a layer of machinery or who knew what lay between the bottom of the platform and the top of it.

“Sir,” Duck blurted. “Your tail!”

Ridge gaped over his shoulder. The tail of his flier had burst into flames. Those bullets couldn’t have been responsible for that. With a sick feeling, he knew the sorceress had targeted him, the same way Sardelle had targeted those Cofah fliers earlier in the day.

“I’m going up there for one more try before I can’t maneuver anymore.” He couldn’t bring himself to say before he
crashed
.

“Sir, wait,” Ahn said. “I’ll fly under you and match your speed. You can climb down into my back seat.”

“Then who takes Tolemek home?” Ridge already had no idea who would take
Sardelle
home. He had promised he would be there for her, damn it.

“Don’t get suicidal on us, sir,” Duck said. “It’s a good idea. We’ll figure out the rest later.”

“Yeah,” Pimples added. “We’re supposed to be the ticks, not you.”

“That didn’t make sense, Pimples,” Ahn said. “Colonel?”

“I agree. It didn’t make sense.” With his nose full of the stench of his own smoke, Ridge headed for the edge of the platform again. Already, his craft wobbled, the control affected.

“I meant you should jump down, sir,” Ahn blurted. “I’m right behind you. I can get under you.”

“Let’s get under this sorceress. Or on top of her.”

Ridge climbed as tremors wracked his craft. As much as he appreciated Ahn’s offer, he didn’t want to sit in someone’s back seat like an invalid. If he was going to crash anyway, maybe he could crash in a way that would make a difference, like by taking out a tower with a sorceress on it. If he matched his direction with that of the fortress and cut down on the relative speed between them, maybe he could survive by jumping out before the flier crashed.

“Wishful thinking, soldier,” he mumbled.

But it was all he could think to try. Ridge climbed above the height of the fortress wall, slouching as low in his cockpit as he could. His smoking tail would not keep the riflemen from targeting him. He could just see above the rim of the cockpit, and he spotted the sorceress looking up at him, a sword in her hand. It shimmered blue, ripples of energy coursing along the blade. Even before she pointed it in his direction, he suspected he would be the target. He turned, choosing what was destined to be his crash route carefully. And he hoped that sword wasn’t about to utterly incinerate him.

Ahn rose above the level of the tower, firing at the sorceress from scant feet away. Without bothering to look worried, the woman waved her hand. Ridge did not see the invisible power that crashed into Ahn’s flier, but it hit her like a tidal wave. Her craft flew backward, tumbling nose over tail.

Ridge wished he could do something, but his rudder and tail had burned entirely off. He had no directional control. The course he had set would be his final one.

Though Ahn hadn’t damaged the sorceress, she
had
distracted the woman. By the time she turned her attention back toward Ridge, his flaming flier was almost upon her. He had already unbuckled his harness; he grabbed both sides of the cockpit, pulling his feet onto the seat. The sorceress lifted a hand, but fear—or at least mild concern—widened her eyes for the first time. She turned and jumped from the top of the tower. The gunners had already flown.

Ridge licked his lips—his timing would have to be precise. If he jumped too soon, he would miss any chance of landing on the fortress. If he was too late, the crash would kill him. A quick glance showed him that Cas wasn’t anywhere nearby where she might fly under and catch him, not after she had been hurled across the sky like a bug. Ridge hoped Sardelle never had to face this woman.

“Now,” he whispered to himself and jumped.

He sprang as far as he could, trying to land on the walkway along the wall. But he hadn’t calculated the lightness of the flier well. Even with its rapid downward momentum, the seat—his springboard—gave slightly as he jumped. He stretched his arms toward the wall, terror leaping into his throat when he realized he wouldn’t reach his target.

Ridge slammed into the metal barricade so hard, he almost blacked out. Pain struck him like a boulder to the chest, and his ribcage bent with the impact, bone crunching. Some primitive instinct kicked in, overriding the pain, and his fingers caught and curled around the top of the wall.

Shock clutched his torso, and he couldn’t breathe—or think. He was scarcely aware of his flier crashing into the tower—it was probably the only thing that kept ten soldiers from running over to shoot him. He couldn’t have done anything to stop them. He could barely fight back the intense waves of pain to keep holding on. When he could finally suck in a breath, that only made the pain worse. Unwelcome tears blurred his vision, and he lost sight of the smoke billowing from the top of the tower. He hoped he had taken out the gun, and that the gun had fallen over the edge and onto the sorceress. He wanted his last action in life to count, since he couldn’t imagine how he was going to pull himself up with however many broken ribs he had just given himself. Even uninjured, it would have been a struggle. The smooth metal wall didn’t offer so much as a deep scratch that he could wedge his boot into.

“Someone’s hanging on over there,” came a shout from the side.

Not good. Ridge’s fingers were already quivering. He had his pistol and a knife belted at his waist, but neither would do him any good if someone leaned over and pointed a rifle in his face.

The buzz of propellers increased in volume behind him. Ridge risked more pain to glance over his shoulder. A Wolf Squadron flier barreled straight toward him.
Almost
straight toward him. Right away, he realized what the pilot had in mind. He was going to fly under Ridge, giving him a chance to drop down into that empty rear seat.

Not
he
, Ridge corrected, recognizing the slight form in the cockpit even before she turned, lifting her Mark 500 to fire twice behind her. It was Ahn. Coming in fast. Two Cofah fliers were on her tail, firing indiscriminately. Ridge winced as bullets bounced off the wall a few feet below him.

A soldier leaned out above him, staring down, his expression somewhere between surprise and delight. Ridge still hung from his fingers, helpless to do anything as his forearms quivered from the strain.

Ridge glanced down again. Ahn was almost there, and her aim was precise. She would fly right under him. But the drop would be more than twenty feet, even if she skimmed under the platform as close to it as she could. And the speed—who in all the hells could time that fall and not miss the flier?

Above him, the grinning soldier raised his rifle. Ridge wished he could pull himself up with some great feat of strength and punch that grin right off his face. But he was as good as dead if he stayed here. He might as well try the jump.

Another soldier leaned into view. Four seconds and he could drop. But it didn’t look like they would give him that long.

“Wait,” the second soldier said, pushing the rifle aside. “That’s Colonel Zirkander.”

As the man added, “If we can capture him…” Ridge glanced down, almost letting go. He met Ahn’s eyes through their goggles as she flew under him. But his mind did an instant calculation, tracking the angle and the altitude of the Cofah craft right behind her. He wouldn’t be a useless invalid in the back seat if he could take over
that
flier.

“Too dangerous,” the first soldier said, swinging his rifle back toward Ridge’s face.

He barely noticed. He was counting in his head. Two… one… now.

Ridge heard the bang of the rifle as he fell, but it fired into the space he
had
occupied. He was falling, the wind whipping his scarf, terror clutching his heart. His fear almost immobilized him, but he forced himself to yank out his knife as he dropped, to ignore the stabs of pain from his chest.

He slammed onto the body of the flier right
behind
the pilot. The entire craft shuddered under his weight, the give softening his landing somewhat, but he still came hard down. Pain erupted in his leg when one knee twisted the wrong way. He couldn’t bite back a scream as his boot almost slid off the fuselage. Only his one-handed grip on the rim of the cockpit kept him from tumbling to his death.

The pilot jerked around as much as his harness would allow, surprised but already reaching for his pistol. Ridge turned his scream of agony into a battle roar and jabbed the man in the side of the neck with his dagger. Knowing he couldn’t win a confrontation from his precarious perch, he stabbed the Cofah again and again, feeling more like a dying animal than an officer. Pain made his attacks clumsy, and had the man not been strapped in and unable to fight properly, Ridge never would have won. But from behind the cockpit, he overcame the pilot quickly. There was no time for relief. The flier was out of control and heading for a bank of thrusters.