'Blue Seven to Blue Three. Come in. Over."

After a moment's silence Steve came on the air. 'Blue Three, have

been, uh - hit. Can you, uh - can you - cover me?"

'No chance, good buddy,' said Gus. 'My gun's still out.

The only thing I can hit 'em with is a pair of dirty socks and I can't

get my boots off. How are you fixed for taking out that lump with the

crossbow?"

A long gasp preceded Steve's reply. 'Can't reach my rifle."

'That's tough,' said Gus. 'You hurt bad?"

'Yeah, but - as far as I can tell it's, uh - nothing that Keever can't

handle."

Keever was the surgeon-captain who led the medical team aboard The

Lady.

Gus made a wide circle around the burning cropfield.

'Okay, listen - you hang on in there, good buddy. I'll go get some

help."

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw Gus rock his wings in salute as

he climbed away in the direction of the forest.

The anaesthetising shock of the bolt's impact was beginning to wear off

and Steve was now increasingly conscious of the pain emanating from his

right arm. He also found it difficult to breathe. He was lying on his

left side, with his left leg twisted at an odd angle in the crumpled

wreckage of the cockpit pod. Steve managed to undo his safety harness

but found that any attempt to move his left arm in any other direction

generated an excruciating pain in his shoulder. He could also feel

blood seeping out of the wound in his scalp. It was running down over

his face and neck. He managed to get his left hand up far enough to

unclip his visor but he could not raise it more than halfway. Its

movement was blocked by his pinned right arm. He began to fumble at

the helmet chin straps. If he could loosen the helmet and somehow get

it off his head he might then...

He stopped for a moment, breathing with short quick gasps, willing

himself not to cry out in pain. It was going to be all right. Gus

would come back with Fazetti and Naylor.

He would come back and...

When it was clear that the remaining cloud warrior had turned tail and

fled, Cadillac and several of the She-Wolves plunged back into the

burning cornfield to rescue more of the M'Call Cubs.

Hovering on the edge of unconsciousness, Steve saw a straight-limbed

Mute run past him without giving him a second glance. The thought that

he was going to be left to burn to death filled him with dread. He

could already feel waves of heat from the approaching flames and was

beginning to choke on the acrid smoke drifting over him.

Cadillac passed the broken arrowhead with a group of singed,

smoke-stained children. They stopped and looked down at the trapped

cloud warrior with expressionless faces.

Steve stretched his left hand out towards them in a pain-filled gesture

of supplication. 'Help me,' he gasped.

' Please..."

The straight-limbed Mute eyed him for a moment then ushered the silent,

dull-eyed children out of his line of sight.

Steve cursed them silently. Bastard, fucking lumpheads.

His thoughts drifted back to his own predicament. What an end to all

his high hopes! And what a dumb way to go roasting in fire that he had

helped start! The irony of the situation did not escape him. He clung

desperately to the hope that all was not lost. He could not really

trust that yellow sonofabitch but if Gus did manage to unjam his gun he

might come back with Fazetti and Naylor. All it needed was someone

with enough balls to land and pull him out while the other two flew

cover. A Skyhawk without any ordinance could carry a passenger. It

would mean a fresh air ride on the external racks