"CAPTAIN ALDEN" MAKES GOOD
The crash of shattered glass mingled with the volley flung by the
murderously spitting automatic of the stowaway. From the forward
companion, at the top of the ladder, "Captain Alden" fired--one shot
only.
No second shot was needed. For the attacker, grunting, lunged forward,
fell prone, sprawled on the down-slanting plates of the take-off
platform. His pistol skidded away, clattering, over the buffed metal.
"As neat a shot as the other's was bad," calmly remarked the Master,
brushing from his sleeve some glittering splinters of glass. A lurch
of _Nissr_ threw him against the rail. He had to steady himself there,
a moment. Down his cheek, a trickle of blood serpented. "Yes, rather
neat," he approved.
He felt something warm on his face, put up his hand and inspected red
fingers.
"Hm! A sliver from that broken shield must have cut me," said he, and
dismissed it wholly from his mind.
Major Bohannan, with chromatic profanity, ran from the gallery.
"Captain Alden" drew herself up the top rounds of the ladder, emerged
wholly from the companion and likewise started for the wounded
interloper. Both, as they ran aft toward the fallen man, zigzagged
with the pitch and yaw of the stricken airship, slipped on the plates,
staggered up the incline.
And others, from the aft companion, now came running with cries, their
bodies backgrounded by the leaping flames and smoke that formed a wake
behind the wounded Eagle of the Sky.
Before the major and Alden could reach the stowaway, he rallied. Up
to hands and knees he struggled. He dragged himself away to starboard.
Trailing blood, he scrambled to the rail.
The major snatched his revolver from its holster. Up came the
"Captain's" gun, once more.
"No, no!" the Master shouted, stung into sudden activity. "Not that!
Alive--take him alive!"
The stowaway's answer was a laugh of wild derision; a hideous, shrill,
tremulous laugh that rose in a kind of devilish, mockery on the air of
that high level. For just a second the man hung there, swaying, at the
rail. Beyond him, up the tilt of the falling _Nissr_, brighter flames
whipped back. Came a burst of smoke, another concussion, a shuddering
impact that trembled through the whole vast air-liner. White-hot
fire ribboned back and away, shredded into little, whirling gusts of
incandescence that dissolved in black smoke.
"Take me alive, eh?" the stowaway shouted, madly. "Ha-ha! I see you!
You're all dead men, anyhow! I'll go first--show you I'm not afraid!"
With astonishing agility he leaped. Hands on rail, with a last supreme
burst of the energy that innervated his dying body, he vaulted clear.
Out and away he hurled himself. Emptiness of space gathered him to its
dizzy, vacant horror.
The Master, quite unmindful of the quickening bloodstream down his
face and neck, looked sharply--as if impersonally interested in some
problem of ballistics--at the spinning, gyrating figure that with
grotesque contortions plummeted the depths.
Over and over, whirling with outflung arms and legs, dropped the
stowaway. Down though _Nissr_ herself was plunging, he fell faster.
Swiftly his body dwindled, shrinking to a dwarf, an antlike thing, a
black dot. Far below on the steely sea-plain, a tiny bubble of white
leaped out, then faded. That pinpoint of foam was the stowaway's
grave.
"Very good," approved the Master, unmoved. He lurched against the
rail, as a sudden maneuver of the pilot somewhat flattened out the
air-liner's fall. The helicopters began to turn, to buzz, to roar
into furious activity, seeking to check the plunge. The major came
staggering back. But quicker than he, "Captain Alden" was at the
Master's side.
"He shot you?" the woman cried, pointing.
"Bah! A splinter of glass!" And the Master shook off the blood with
a twitch of his head. "That was a neat bull's-eye you made on him,
Captain. It saves you from punishment for forgetting you were under
arrest; for climbing the ladder and coming above-decks. Yes--I've got
to rescind my order. You're at liberty. And--"
"And I stay with the expedition, sir?" demanded Alden, her hand going
out in an involuntary gesture of appeal. For the first time, she
was showing eagerness of a feminine sort. But she suppressed it,
instantly, and stood at attention. "If I have done you any service,
sir, reward me by letting me stay!"
"I will see. There may be no expedition to stay with. Now--"
"Life-belts, sir? And take to the small planes?" came a voice from
the companion-way. The face of Manderson--of him who had found the
stowaway--appeared there. Manderson looked anxious, a trifle pale.
Aft, more figures were appearing. In spite of the iron discipline of
the Legion, signs of disorder were becoming evident. "We're hard hit,
sir," Manderson reported. "Every man for himself, now? Orders, sir?"
"My orders are, every man back to his post!" cried the Master, his
voice a trumpet-call of resolution. "There'll be no _sauve qui peut_,
here!" He laid a hand on the butt of his pistol. "Back, every man of
you!"
Came another dull, jarring explosion. _Nissr_ reeled to port. The
Legionaries trickled down the companion-ladders. From somewhere below
a cry rose: "The aft starboard float--it's gone! And the stabilizer--"
Confused sounds echoed. _Nissr_ sagged drunkenly, lost headway and
slewed off her course, turning slowly in the thin, cold air. Her
propellers had been shut off; all the power of her remaining engines
had now been clutched into the helicopter-drive.
The Master, indifferently smearing off the blood from his neck, made
his way toward the forward companion. He had to hold the rail with one
hand, for now the metal plates of the observation gallery were sharply
canted. _Nissr_ had got wholly out of control, so far as steerage-way
was concerned; but the rate of her fall seemed to have been a trifle
checked.
Alden and the major followed their chief to the companion. All three
descended the ladder, which hung inward and away from them at a sharp
angle. They reached the strangely inclined floor of the main corridor,
and, bracing themselves against the port wall, worked their way aft.
Not all the admirable discipline of the Legion could prevent some
confusion. Such of the men as were on duty in pilot-house, pits,
wireless, or engine-room were all sticking; but a number of off-duty
Legionaries were crowding into the main corridor. Among them the
Master saw Leclair and Rrisa. No one showed fear. The white feather
was not visible; but a grim tension had developed. Death, imminent,
sobers the boldest.
From the engine-room, shouts, orders, were echoing. The engine-room
door flung open. Smoke vomited--thick, choking, gray. Auchincloss
reeled out, clutching at his throat.
"What chance?" the Master cried, staggering toward him.
"If--the fire spreads to the forward petrol-tanks, none!" gasped the
chief engineer. "Aft pit's flooded with blazing oil. Gorlitz--my God!"
"What about Gorlitz?"
"Burned alive--to a crisp! I've got four extinguishers at work. Two
engines out of commission. Another only limping! And--"
He crumpled, suddenly, dropping to the metals. The Master saw through
the clinging smoke, by the dimmed light of the frosted disks, that the
skin of the engineer's face and hands was cooked to a char.
"If he's breathed flame--" began the major. Alden knelt beside him,
peered closely, made a significant, eloquent gesture.
"Volunteers!" shouted the Master, plunging forward.
Into the fumes and smother, half a dozen men fought their way. From
the bulkheads they snatched down the little fire-grenades. The Master
went first. Bohannan was second, with Rrisa a close third. Leclair in
his forward rush almost stumbled over Alden. The "Captain," masked and
still unrecognized as a woman by any save the Master, was thrust back
from the door by the Celt, as she too tried to enter.
"No, not you!" he shouted. "You, with only one arm--faith, it's worse
than useless! Back, you!" Then he and many plunged into the blazing
engine-room.
Thus they closed with the fire-devil now licking ravenous tongues
about the vitals of _Nissr_.