Read Online Clockwork Chaos by C.J. Henderson, Bernie Mozjes, James Daniel Ross, James Chambers, N.R. Brown, Angel Leigh McCoy, Patrick Thomas, Jeff Young - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: C.J. Henderson, Bernie Mozjes, James Daniel Ross, James Chambers, N.R. Brown, Angel Leigh McCoy, Patrick Thomas, Jeff Young
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away!”
“Bombs away,” we all echoed. Below, another glider attempted to sweep up at us, but he couldn’t find the right current, and he was caught in a flak explosion thrown by one of his own. Behind us, the remaining dirigibles lined up for their runs.
We buoyed up several hundred feet and sped away as the bay doors closed. The satisfying, chest-thumping explosions shook the air as our heavy bombs slammed into the Vinegar Whore’s palace.
I cheered along with the others. If she had been stupid enough to remain within her palace, she would almost certainly be dead. At the very least, the sight of the palace exploding had to be devastating to the morale of the whore’s people.
I grabbed a heavy wrench from my box. This high up, we were out of range of the flak, and only the luckiest of gliders could slingshot up and catch us. The biggest danger was now the boiler. I had to vent.
The heavy bolt could be turned to create a controlled breach. Orders or not, now that the danger had momentarily passed, I...
Ka-boom! The boiler exploded, throwing me backward halfway across the top level of the ship as the tank soared into the air like a missile.
Even as the iron rocket ascended, cleaving the balloon in two, and taking half the suspension cables with it, I stared in horrified fascination. Very few engineers lived to see how their boilers failed. This one had failed at its base, something I’d never heard of happening before.
Below, high-pitched screams rose above the explosions as both the pilot and bombardier burned to death in a shower of steam and boiling water. It happened so fast I didn’t have time to register what that meant. My friends. Gone. The gondola lurched as the stern plummeted.
I thought of Zelena, plunging a knife into her own heart.
I tumbled, spreading my arms and legs as the wreckage plummeted with me. Ahead, the boiler plunged from the sky, taking out the balloon of the Bride of Old Moscow and cutting their gondola in two. The poor bastards didn’t know what hit them. The heart of Wine into Blood continued to descend out of sight, still red-hot and steaming.
My training taught me to pull the ripcord immediately. But I knew if I pulled it now, it’d take a good three to five minutes to hit the ground, and there’s no way the angry gunners of the Whore’s air defenses would pass me up. I had to wait until the last possible moment.
Above, I didn’t see any chutes.
A black, oily cloud spread beneath me, and I didn’t know how deep it was. I entered the choking cloud, and I pulled the cord. The black chute ripped open, jerking me back up into the air.
Almost nine months before, a group of conductors had rounded up the prettiest slave girls and put them all together in a single train car. These were newly captured villagers from the line of farming communities in the fertile plains of the whore’s northern lands. Not a single one had yet been reeducated or visited by the soul tinkers, which made them wild and dangerous.
They stared at us through the bars, most of them quivering with red-tinged eyes. Not a single one wore any clothes, and we all ogled, amazed at their smooth bodies. Women from my village used to be like these women, with no hair on their underarms and legs, but very few had continued on with the tradition, as the local politruk had decreed that shaving was a sign of a loose, immoral woman. They were even clipped down there , with just a light dusting of hair on most of them. It fascinated me.
The first conductor stepped forward, dressed in his full leathers. “You deserve this. If you hadn’t taken out that armored column, this train would never have made it.” He handed a key to the major. “Have at ‘em, boys.”
The pilots, gunners, bombardiers, supply officers, and my fellow engineers all bristled with excitement. The girls, sensing what was about to happen before I even did, all scampered to the back of the car.
“There’s enough to go around,” a conductor
“Bombs away,” we all echoed. Below, another glider attempted to sweep up at us, but he couldn’t find the right current, and he was caught in a flak explosion thrown by one of his own. Behind us, the remaining dirigibles lined up for their runs.
We buoyed up several hundred feet and sped away as the bay doors closed. The satisfying, chest-thumping explosions shook the air as our heavy bombs slammed into the Vinegar Whore’s palace.
I cheered along with the others. If she had been stupid enough to remain within her palace, she would almost certainly be dead. At the very least, the sight of the palace exploding had to be devastating to the morale of the whore’s people.
I grabbed a heavy wrench from my box. This high up, we were out of range of the flak, and only the luckiest of gliders could slingshot up and catch us. The biggest danger was now the boiler. I had to vent.
The heavy bolt could be turned to create a controlled breach. Orders or not, now that the danger had momentarily passed, I...
Ka-boom! The boiler exploded, throwing me backward halfway across the top level of the ship as the tank soared into the air like a missile.
Even as the iron rocket ascended, cleaving the balloon in two, and taking half the suspension cables with it, I stared in horrified fascination. Very few engineers lived to see how their boilers failed. This one had failed at its base, something I’d never heard of happening before.
Below, high-pitched screams rose above the explosions as both the pilot and bombardier burned to death in a shower of steam and boiling water. It happened so fast I didn’t have time to register what that meant. My friends. Gone. The gondola lurched as the stern plummeted.
I thought of Zelena, plunging a knife into her own heart.
I tumbled, spreading my arms and legs as the wreckage plummeted with me. Ahead, the boiler plunged from the sky, taking out the balloon of the Bride of Old Moscow and cutting their gondola in two. The poor bastards didn’t know what hit them. The heart of Wine into Blood continued to descend out of sight, still red-hot and steaming.
My training taught me to pull the ripcord immediately. But I knew if I pulled it now, it’d take a good three to five minutes to hit the ground, and there’s no way the angry gunners of the Whore’s air defenses would pass me up. I had to wait until the last possible moment.
Above, I didn’t see any chutes.
A black, oily cloud spread beneath me, and I didn’t know how deep it was. I entered the choking cloud, and I pulled the cord. The black chute ripped open, jerking me back up into the air.
Almost nine months before, a group of conductors had rounded up the prettiest slave girls and put them all together in a single train car. These were newly captured villagers from the line of farming communities in the fertile plains of the whore’s northern lands. Not a single one had yet been reeducated or visited by the soul tinkers, which made them wild and dangerous.
They stared at us through the bars, most of them quivering with red-tinged eyes. Not a single one wore any clothes, and we all ogled, amazed at their smooth bodies. Women from my village used to be like these women, with no hair on their underarms and legs, but very few had continued on with the tradition, as the local politruk had decreed that shaving was a sign of a loose, immoral woman. They were even clipped down there , with just a light dusting of hair on most of them. It fascinated me.
The first conductor stepped forward, dressed in his full leathers. “You deserve this. If you hadn’t taken out that armored column, this train would never have made it.” He handed a key to the major. “Have at ‘em, boys.”
The pilots, gunners, bombardiers, supply officers, and my fellow engineers all bristled with excitement. The girls, sensing what was about to happen before I even did, all scampered to the back of the car.
“There’s enough to go around,” a conductor
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