Almost at once he started feeling dizzy. Fighting to retain his senses, he hooked his bottle to Gale's waist. Darkness began closing in as peripheral vision faded. The next moment the bright lights dancing before his eyes dimmed; then Chino was there by his side with a full bottle, hooking him up.
"Joe, get up front. Try to bring Rene back here from the cockpit. Gale will be okay in a moment. But whatever happens, make sure Rene has oxygen. Stop any bleeding. Gale will help; she knows what to do."
Joe went forward. Indy put his hand to Gale's face. She gripped it tightly.
"It's all right. I'll be okay. Just help me up so I can help Rene."
"Indy! Will here. Come forward. Joe's got Rene. He's shot up. I need you with me."
Indy worked his way past Chino as he moved Rene to a sitting position against the cabin wall. He slipped into Rene's seat. "Tell me what to do," he said to Cromwell.
"They've decided to run for it," Cromwell told him. "You can just make out that third disc that was after us. He's behind the airship and trying to get back on board. It's a bloody stupid move, I'll tell you that."
Cromwell was shoving as hard on the throttles as he could, trying to squeeze every ounce of speed from the Ford.
"Why . . . I mean, what you said," Indy asked.
"Why, that pancake can't slow down this high," Cromwell said quickly.
"We've just seen that. The way he's going he'll be three hundred miles an hour faster than that gasbag. Go right on through that thing like a nightmare on the loose. If I don't miss my guess, whoever's flying that airship will have to tell that disc to bug off. Otherwise they'll be shooting at their own man."
"All right. What do you want me to do?"
"Indy, m'boy, it pains me to say this, but we're going to get only one whack at that bloated ugly out there. Take a look at the gauges for the right engine."
"Which—"
"The ones marked number three. The oil pressure, laddie. It's going downhill. And so will we the moment that engine seizes up. I've got to stop that before it does, or we may have a fire on our hands. Look under the right wing, Indy."
"I see what you mean." Indy stared at the huge black stain covering the underside of the wing above and behind the engine. "We took some hits. Same time they blew away the rocket canister. Okay, let's get that zep, Will. Now."
"It's in the cards, m'boy. Now, see that red Thandle in the center of the panel?"
Indy leaned forward, pointing, then reaching for the handle.
"Don't!"
"What—"
"Not yet, not yet. When you pull that handle, it ignites the rockets in the canister under the left wing. All three rockets will fire off at the same time. I'll tell you when, and it will be soon, and—Look at that bloody fool!"
They watched the disc approaching the zeppelin from the rear. It was like a speeding bullet racing after a sluggish huge animal trying desperately to get out of the way. "See the landing platform? That works fine at low altitude, but up here that thing simply cannot hover."
"Or even fly slow," Indy observed.
"Right you are. Now, if I'm right, they'll swing the tail of that blimp up and to the left and—there it goes!"
Much closer now to the great airship, they could see in greater detail. The disc pilot was obviously desperate to return safely to the zeppelin. Indy watched a spume of dark smoke whirling about the disc as it slowed for its approach and landing on the zeppelin ramp.
"Unless I miss my guess, off he goes," Cromwell said.
They watched the disc wobble from side to side, a skittering crablike motion.
"He's losing it!" Indy called.
"That he is . . ." Cromwell murmured. "Ah, the bottom is falling out."
The disc slewed wildly, trying to match the sudden motion of the airship as Cromwell had predicted. It was a mistake on the part of both craft. Unable to maintain altitude and control, the disc swept to one side, brushing the lower great vertical rudder of the airship. It tore through, and began a long plunge to the earth more than five miles below.
"We'll never have a better chance," Cromwell said. "We've got to attack before that engine quits on us."
"How long . . . how much longer?" Indy asked. "I'm getting into position now.
We've got to come around for a frontal attack. That will give us only one shot at them. We'll dive toward the blighter, and I'll hold the dive angle so you can yank on that handle. Starting to turn now."
The airship loomed impossibly huge. Whoever was commanding the monster realized what the Ford pilot was attempting, for dark smoke suddenly increased behind the zeppelin. "He's gone to full power, Indy. Get ready. It's now or never."
All thoughts of the bitter cold, the dying engine, the damage they had taken—were gone. Nothing existed but that airship. It swelled swiftly in size as Cromwell began his dive, straight at the tremendous form. The scream of the wind increased, and suddenly the cold was back again as icy fingers stabbed through bullet holes in the windshield. The cold was physical, like being struck viciously.
Faster and faster dove the Ford, unable to slow its descent in the thin air at their height. "They're shooting at us!"
Indy called out. He'd just seen the dark areas atop the dirigible becoming large enough to make out what they were.
Machinegun nests atop the airship! Tracers sparkled and danced in the sky as they seemed to float upward against the Ford. They felt bullets striking the airplane. The Ford shuddered and yawed to one side; Cromwell fought her back.
He squeezed a button on his control yoke. The Ford shook and rattled as the two forwardfiring machine guns hurled tracers at the airship. "That should throw them off!" Cromwell shouted.
The right engine exploded. The sudden violence hurled the propeller away from the engine, flinging it well off to the side. Cromwell shouted to Indy. "The left rudder pedal! Stand on it, laddie, stand on it!"
Indy pressed down with all his strength, both men pushing left rudder as hard as they could to keep the airplane diving straight. The top of the zeppelin filled the entire world, a monstrous thing beyond belief, machine guns sparkling as they continued to fire.
"The handle! Get ready!" Cromwell shouted.
Indy reached forward, ready for the call.
"NOW! PULL THE HANDLE!"
Indy yanked back, a sharp sudden motion. He looked past Cromwell at the left wing. In a sudden fury of activity, the nose cone blew away from the underwing canister, flame speared backwards as the rockets ignited, and three long tubes rushed forward from the airplane, trailing flame and smoke as they arrowed downward into the spine of the great ship before them.
Dark spots appeared on the shiny fabric, then the rockets were gone. "What the devil happened?" Indy shouted to Cromwell. "There wasn't any explosion!"
"There will be—" Cromwell cut himself short as he pulled back on the yoke.
"Ease off on that rudder pedal," he ordered. The Ford rolled to the right and the nose came around. They sped past the airship, a toy against a giant. As they flashed by, Indy saw a stab of flame appear along the flank of the zeppelin.