Free Vikings battle Zeppelins while forbidden desires spark! (Swords Versus Tanks Book 2) by M Harold Page Page B

axe. It slashed the canvas ceiling and arced towards her skull.
    She pivoted out of the way. Her Stormgun hung from the weapon rack at the far end of the deck. She sprang towards it.
    There was a tearing sound. A warrior’s boots thudded into the deck in front of her. He raised his sword.
    She shot him in the face, dropped the Boarding Gun, then lunged for the gun rack. Her fingers fastened around the oversized shotgun Lowenstein had given her. Coming to her feet, she flipped the sword-bayonet forward and summoned up her battle rage.
    An axe blade scythed at her midriff.
    Jasmine batted at the shaft with her stock, then – screaming — raised her hands for a stabbing counter-attack. The bayonet plunged through the barbarian’s beard and into his throat above the mailshirt. Fresh blood scalded her face. The body fell at her feet. "Bastard!"
    Around the cabin, Boarding Guns snapped darts uselessly into chainmail, bayonets clashed with axe and sword. Blood splashed the Flexiglass and sloshed the deck. The port Escape Hatch swung open. A screaming woman flung herself down the chute and vanished into the dark beyond. An ice wind snaked through the tunnel, tearing at Jasmine’s hair — the hatch had jammed open.
    Sir Ranulph, unperturbed, carved his way yet closer.
    A barbarian hurtled at her, sword raised for the kill, armoured bulk obscuring the knight's approach.
    Jasmine braced against the Chart Table and aimed the Stormgun.
    An Air Marine crossed her line of fire. The other woman side-stepped the sword and stabbed her bayonet into the barbarian’s stomach.
    The blade snapped. Then the sword whirled around tracing red lines in the air. The top of the woman's head flew off like a discus.
    "Bastard." Jasmine fired. All noise ceased. The draught whisked away the white smoke. The mail held, but the chest caved and the barbarian went down.
    A siren screamed, the signal to abandon ship. Crew on the fringe of the melee made for their parachutes. The ship veered and lost headway – nobody was piloting – and the wind howled through the main deck.
    Sir Ranulph burst through the chaos. His brown eyes found her, even as Steelcutter snapped forward, cutting an Air Marine in half at the waist. Internal organs glistened. The two halves of what had once been a human being toppled in opposite directions, connected only by steam rising from the innards. The big knight advanced between the quivering joints of meat.
    Jasmine pumped the Stormgun, jerked it in his direction, curled her finger around the trigger, growled, "Bastard!"… but the word came out half-hearted. The heavy gun barrel dipped.
    And Sir Ranulph was on her.
    With a yell, Jasmine hauled the weapon back on target and fired: a neat heart shot.
    But Sir Ranulph wasn’t there. The heavy slug ricocheted off a structural girder and punched a hole through the decking.
    Ranulph’s sword whirred.
    Screaming, Jasmine met the blade with the wooden stock of her Stormgun. The impact thrummed through the weapon.
    Her hero’s fist filled her vision.

 
    CHAPTER TEN
     
    Ah! To be blessed by daily communication from the Serene Spirits of the Air!
    — Stella Ibis-Bear "My Little Book of Wisdom" (Enlightenment Press, 1910)
    #
    The Sylph tore free of Maud's mind, leaving an odd, empty space. The wind tugged her hair out over her face towards the moonlit ocean. She steadied herself on the battlements and relished the cold shock on her palms.
    Maud didn’t feel magical any more, just breathless with joy. She was probably the only person alive to extract three wishes from a Sylph. The Last Sorceress had a certain ring to it. Her numbed lips stretched into a grin. Perhaps somebody would compose a ballad about Sir Ranulph and herself.
    In the distance, the airship whirled off into the sky. In its wake it scattered strange white mushrooms. Beneath each, a little figure dangled, wriggling and kicking until the wind hurled the man — or woman — into the black waters of the Ocean of Thule.