Retribution Road by Jon Coon (e reader comics .TXT) 📕

pilot’s seat, brought the throttles up to full power, and pulled the yoke back as far as it would go. Rainbow Chaser took her own sweet time responding, and in turn was hit several more times by the ground fire. She climbed slowly as Tom studied the controls, trying to get more speed, or more lift, or both.

“Shift the ballast. Get the bow up,” a feeble voice said from the floor. The pilot was trying to sit up but didn’t have the strength.

“Help him, Gabe. Get him into that seat.”

Gabe lifted the pilot under his arms and helped him into the copilot’s seat. He was bleeding from an abdominal wound and a leg wound. Gabe found a first aid kit mounted on the bulkhead and returned with gauze pads and Ace wraps. He did the best he could packing the wounds and making the pilot comfortable while the pilot gave Tom a crash course in flying airships.

The deadly gunfire stopped as the blimp gained altitude and changed course away from the river. “Henry is going to be pissed,” Tom said, mostly to himself. “Restoring this thing was his pet project. He is not going to like us getting his pilots shot and bringing the ship home full of holes.”

“Let’s just hope we make it home. We’re losing helium. If we lose too much, we’ll lose shape and we’re done,” the pilot said.

“What can we do?”

“We can add air to keep the hull rigid, but then we’ll lose buoyancy. There’s some envelope tape, but someone will have to get into the envelope and patch the holes. Problem is the helium. There’s not enough oxygen in that compartment.”

“Will the tape hold?” Gabe asked. He was standing behind the pilot’s chair.

“Yeah, we had it made just for this job. It will hold.”

“How do I get up there?”

“There’s a hatch, center stern. It releases by twisting the handle and pulling down. But what are you going to breathe?”

“I’m still a good free diver. I should be good for three minutes at least. I should be able to plug a hole or two and then come back down.”

“Okay, tape is in the floor locker back there, and you’ll need a knife to cut it. It won’t tear. There’s a safety harness and there are D-rings in the envelope. Use them. And good luck.”

Gabe assembled the gear and a cloth utility bag. He stuffed the tape, knife, flashlight, and extra nylon strap with a pelican hook into the bag, climbed up on a chair, grabbed the handle, closed his eyes, and began breathing deeply. With deep exhalations, he forced himself to relax, and then quietly offered his predive prayer.

He took one gigantic breath, twisted the handle, released the seal, and hoisted himself up into the hatch. He quickly pulled it closed behind him, turned on the flashlight, and went to work.

Hit several times, the blimp had both entry and exit wounds. Gabe cut generous pieces of tape and covered the holes he could easily reach. His brain began to buzz, and he knew it was time to go. He eased back toward the hatch, but as he did, the blimp bounced, and bounced him several feet away from the hatch. As he tried to claw his way back, he couldn’t get traction on the smooth Kevlar. He tried crawling, but the progress he made was countered by the pitch and roll of the ship, and he ended up where he’d started.

Stars whizzed past, and he was seriously close to passing out and breathing that one fatal breath when the hatch opened and Tom threw him the nylon strap, then hauled him back to safety.

“Well, if you were trying to set a record, I think you did it. I had you at three and a half minutes. How did it go?”

Gabe gasped for breath. “Two more trips. This time I use the harness and safety strap.”

“Roger that. Let me know when you’re ready.”

“How’s the pilot?”

Tom shook his head. “It’s a good thing these ships fly forever, because I haven’t a clue how to land.”

“Whatever goes up . . .”

“True, but it would be nice to come down at a place and time of our choosing. I seem to remember a flight instructor suggesting it works better that way.”

“Oh, you took lessons?” Gabe grinned and Tom cringed.

“I knew oxygen deprivation caused brain damage, I just didn’t realize it could happen so quickly. Isn’t it time for you to go back? That gas we’re losing is pretty important if we want to stay up here.”

Gabe was able to repair the leaks without further brain damage and then cover the bodies of the two dead pilots as Tom got more comfortable at the controls.

“We’re lucky they didn’t hit the engines or our fuel,” he said when Gabe returned to the copilot seat.

“Did you get a fix on the trackers?”

“Yeah, but we’re going to need another way in. We’re too vulnerable in this thing.”

“Roger that. How long till we land … or crash?”

“We’re pushing a headwind. Maybe three hours.”

“Why do you suppose they were shooting at us?” Gabe asked.

“There are several paramilitary groups operating here,” Tom answered. “Looks like we got too close to someone’s hidey-hole. I got the GPS coordinates, but I bet they are out of there before the government troops find them. This jungle could hide regiments with elephants for decades.”

Gabe stood and stretched. He twisted his neck and shoulders and then sat back down. “Well, we’ve got two dead pilots. Are you going to report it?”

“Yep, and when our planes arrive, we just might have to pay those turkeys another visit. You up for that?”

“Only if we’re flying in a real plane with live ammo.”

An hour later they were both startled by the computer alarm. Gabe jumped from his seat to the computer desk. “What do I do?”

“In the tool bar there’s an icon with a push pin. Mark it, and then see if you can see where it’s coming from on the Google Earth