The room looked just like the one in the Steel Comet, though the winches here pulled up simple ropes instead of rope ladders.

Rip decided he preferred the ladders. They seemed a bit more solid to climb than the knotted ropes.

While a detached part of his mind came to this conclusion, he swapped out drum magazines, loading his gun with another 100 rounds.

The old one fell out the trapdoor and sailed away, fluttering down to the streets below. Idly, he hoped it did not hit a horse or a person.

The bulkhead leading to the front part of the ship opened suddenly. Rip quickly moved to one side of the doorway.

An older man, carrying some extra weight around his middle but still wearing black, stepped into the room. He scanned the winches, which had all stopped, but he did not see anyone immediately.

As soon as he cleared the door, Rip came up behind him and grabbed the back of his collar and his belt, shoving him out the trapdoor.

He screamed all the way down.

Cautiously, Rip opened the bulkhead door and looked down the hallway. It seemed identical to the Steel Comet, down to the same width of the passageway and the same light wood.

He stepped through, holding his gun ready to shoot.

Remembering the lounge to the right, Rip approached a similar doorway carefully. It was open and he bobbed his head in for a quick look.

Instead of a lounge, the entire room was stripped bare of furniture. It held about 30 elite sewer troopers. They all stood still, in formation, submachine guns strapped behind their backs.

Slowly, the closest one turned his head. Rip saw the man’s eyes behind the glass of the gasmask stare back at him.

He ducked out of the way as the trooper unstrapped his gun.

In one smooth motion, Rip pulled the dynamite from his back pocket, and a match from his front. He struck the match on the wall and lit the fuse. He could hear troopers in the lounge moving toward the corridor, and he waited a moment to try and get the timing right.

Rip tossed the stick in the lounge without looking, then ran toward the front of the ship.

The explosion lit up the corridor and shook the ship.

Rip wondered if the enhanced wooden cabin could take it, or if the dynamite might breach the gas envelope. Whatever happened, he hoped it had a deadly effect on all those troopers.

Smoke filled the hallway as he raced for the passenger seating, up front.

Surprisingly, this area was empty. Like the lounge, this part of the ship had no furniture. The wicker seats Powell had on his ship were gone, replaced by bare floor.

The bridge had people, though. Rip could see a pilot manned the controls, dressed all in black and wearing a gasmask. Standing next to him, as if to give orders, a tall man stood wearing a black peaked cap and a long black leather overcoat.

He turned to regard Rip with cold, silver eyes, just as smoke from the explosion billowed into the front part of the ship.

The tall man wasted no more time staring.

He pointed at Rip and said, “Kill him.”

Two men from the sides of the bridge came out, bounding over the stairs. They were dressed like the other troopers, and armed with broomhandle.

“You guys must have been on the big guns,” Rip said.

They responded by opening up on him, the full auto blast pinging off enhanced wood.

Rip duck back in the hallway and slid, hugging the floor as bullets whizzed over his head.

When their 30-round mags ran out, he twisted and sat up, squeezing off his own barrage back into the passenger area.

Rip scored some direct hits, knocking the men back, but they quickly recovered.

He scowled and decided to aim up.

“Let’s see how enhanced those gasmasks are.”

He shot in a small circular pattern, peppering the head of the one to the left. Bullets slammed into the mask, cracking the glass and hitting the man’s eyes.

He went down screaming.

“Oho! A weak spot. You guys ever hear of Achilles?”

He shifted to the other one and aimed up again. This one tried to duck and cover, but it was too late. The heavy bullets plunked into his face and both eyes. He went down without a word.

“I’ll handle it myself,” the tall man said.

He unstrapped a broomhandle and mounted the steps leading up and out of the bridge.

But the smoke came in stronger now.

Rip, still on the floor, could barely see the front part of the ship anymore.

“Hey, is there a fire back here? Be a shame if you lost this nice airship.”

The tall man shot off a short burst at the sound of his voice. Rip jerked, surprised the man could aim that close through all the smoke. He tried to see the man’s long black overcoat, but the smoke just seemed to get thicker.

Finally, Rip thought he saw some movement. The tall man stood in the middle of the empty passenger area.

Rip looked at the indicator on his drum. Only a few rounds remained.

And that guy is bullet proof. And I can’t see his eyes in this smoke. How’s he even breathing, anyway? He’s the first one I’ve seen without a gasmask.

Rip felt his inside jacket pocket and breathed a sigh of relief. With all the running through the park and climbing on ropes, he had not lost his enhanced wrench.

Inspiration struck. He laid the gun down on the floor at the end of the corridor, propped up at an angle by its large drum magazine.

Quietly, he slipped into the passenger area, to the right and hugging the wall. He pulled out his wrench and reached over to pull the trigger.

The gun spat out a short string of bullets, firing low and wild with no one to hold onto it.

The tall man jumped as a couple shots plunked off his boots. Then he opened fire on the hallway, in the direction of the bullets.

Rip waited until he heard the distinctive click when the 30-round stick magazine emptied.

He let out a loud groan, pretending to be hit.

The man walked forward, confidently. At last Rip could see him clearly as he stepped closer in the smoke.

Rip threw the enhanced wrench at the man’s face as hard as he could.

It did not sink into his forehead this time. It bounced off the enhanced man’s face. But it stunned him. He looked at Rip, dazed, and collapsed.

Rip walked over to retrieve his favorite tool.

“Yeah, I brought a wrench to a gunfight.”

He bent over and wrapped his fingers around it.

Before he could pick it up, the man’s eyes flicked open.