Al Driscol couldn’t wait to get into the action as he buckled his leather sky-jumping vest. He made sure it was securely fastened as his heart hammered in his chest.

Anna was at the flight controls, dressed in a white blouse, tight pants and brown leather boots. “All right,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “We’ll be in position any moment.”

Jon opened the crate sitting next to the cherry panels under the window and lifted out two .45 caliber sub-machine guns.

Al could smell the packing hay and the gun oil as the short man handed one of the .45s to Khern and the other to McDonal.

Al had hopped he was gonna get to use one of those new choppers, but instead, Jon thrust a revolver into his hand and gave two more pistols to the other toughs, reserving a seven shot semi-automatic .45 for his own use.

“Remember,” Jon said, “we’re not doing this so we can have a grand old time. Remember the plan; Khern, McDonal, you two with me, you three, keep the Mayor’s office secure and make sure we don’t get cornered by the Citadel Guard, got it?”

All nodded. “Got it,” he said in unison with the other two toughs at his side.

“Air-jumping in ten seconds,” Anna called.

Jon moved to the door, opened it, and a rush of humid evening air came into the gondola. It felt good, because Al’s blood was pumping like a wicked Southside undertow.

Anna throttled down the props, turned and gave them a firm nod. “All right.”

Jon was the first to jump, followed by Khern and McDonal, and then the other two men. When it was Al’s turn, he moved up to the door, breathing heavily as he slid his brass-rimmed goggles over his eyes. Suddenly he felt afraid. Not really the mark of a tough, he thought. “I don’t know…”

Anna shoved him from behind and he fell headlong out of the airship, screaming.