Marcus guided the crosshair across the landscape, creeping toward the plateau where the knight Arminius along with a battery of cannons were firing upon the Firestorm.

  "Get them!" Timur shouted, leaning over the gunner's seatback and pointing at the plateau.

  If Marcus fired on the group, that was the end. They would sink the Firestorm into the terrain; it would be a slow, suffocating death as the marsh consumed the upright. He was counting on Layne jumping out from the engine compartment to ambush Timur, but something was wrong. He didn't emerge when Marcus shouted the signal.

  Another volley of cannonballs rained down on the Firestorm, bouncing off the head and upper torso armor plating. Deep resonate droning of metal hitting metal filled the cockpit. Likewise, with the machine at a standstill, the upright was already slowly sinking into the muck of the marsh.

  Marcus needed to figure out a way to take Timur out fast and find out what happened to Layne.

  Timur was taller than Marcus, but lankier. Likewise, it seemed he was still injured from the battle near the tent city a few nights ago, he favored his right leg, and when standing still, propped himself up with his left arm. While his opponent having a bad leg wasn't going to offer much of an advantage in such close quarters, it wasn't nothing.

  And Marcus still had the pistol hidden in his overalls.

  With Timur distracted and leaning over his shoulder, this was the perfect time to let slip a shot into his chest from below. Marcus tried to retreat his hand, but once again found it glued to the gunner's joystick. The mechanic stifled a grunt and spoke in his mind to the voice.

  Let me go.

  The voice responded with deep intensity. Free me.

  We're all going to sink to the bottom of this bog if you don't let me go right now. Marcus breathed intensely.

  The supernatural grip that bound his hand to the joystick eased.

  "Why did you stop turning? Get them!" Timur gritted his teeth and put his nose almost up against Marcus's right ear.

  Riled from the voice's unexpected meddling, Marcus reached to grab the pistol that was wedged between him and the seat back with his left hand. Pulling it from his overalls, he turned and aimed at Timur while retreating onto the gunner’s control console.

  The barbarian gasped and stumbled back into the pilot's chair.

  Marcus aimed center of mass and pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  The mechanic blinked. Then he tried again.

  No shot rang out.

  Marcus looked down and inspected his weapon. He was sure it was loaded. Then he realized he had to cock the hammer.

  Timur bounded from his chair and threw a punch while charging his opponent. "You worm." His voice, filled with hatred.

  Marcus realized what was happening and tried to duck but wasn't fast enough. He caught a fist to the forehead. Like a church bell that was just rung, Marcus tumbled up over the gunner's controls and panel. Then he slammed down against the viewport, slumped over his straightened legs.

  Getting his bearings, he realized his hand was empty. His weapon landed on top of the platform that propped the pilot's seat higher over the gunner's chair.

  Timur's leg buckled the moment after his fist connected with Marcus's head. The barbarian recovered as fast as he stumbled, scooping up the mechanic's pistol in the process. He righted himself, stood upon the closed cockpit hatch, and pointed the weapon at Marcus, brandished just out of arm's reach.

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  "You gotta cock it, you dumb bastard." The barbarian cackled and reached to draw the hammer back.

  Marcus swung his legs up and around, kicking the pistol away and used the momentum to hurl himself forward, throwing a punch just like Timur did.

  But the barbarian threw a backhand and struck Marcus across the face.

  The hit dazzled Marcus and his arm went limp for just long enough for it to bounce harmlessly off Timur's shoulder.

  "Only I can pull off something like that, dumbass." He recovered the pistol that swung wide and pointed it at Marcus.

  Marcus tumbled down and reached out with both hands, latching onto the barbarian's bad leg. Just above Timur's knee was a crusty bloodstain. Using his thumbs, Marcus dug both into the bloodstain and pushed through a cloth binding underneath. Stitches popped loudly as the mechanic's fingers broke through already-torn flesh.

  Timur howled and writhed. He hammer-struck Marcus's back with the pistol’s handle.

  The mechanic gripped hard and started to open the wound more, widening it with his fingers.

  A second hit from the barbarian caused the weapon to tumble from Timur’s hand.

  Marcus squeezed as hard as he could while spinning the barbarian in place. Then he dragged him up toward the pilot's seat and away from the pistol that fell on the floor near the gunner's chair.

  Screaming and kicking, Timur landed a solid hit on Marcus's arm that finally freed him from the mechanic's grip, but in doing so left his leg torn open and bleeding profusely.

  Marcus, stumbling back from the kicks, spotted the pistol resting on top of the pilot's control panel and jumped to reach for it.

  But despite shouting in agony, the barbarian noticed what was happening and thrust his good leg straight in front of Marcus.

  The mechanic tripped and fell onto the pilot's control panel, squarely smacking the golden medallion hung next to the shifter. The keylet that kept the Firestorm running was dislodged. Marcus’s hand went through the hole that the medallion covered.

  In a heartbeat, the engine came to a stop with a sigh and the upright felt into a parking squat. As the viewport slowly faded back to its opaque gunmetal material, all that could be seen was the machine still sinking into the marsh.

  Red emergency lighting engaged, just bright enough to make out shapes in the cockpit.

  The sudden jolt of the Firestorm coming to a stop sent the pistol on the console sliding off, right onto the barbarian's chest.

  Timur, bleeding profusely from his leg, started laughing as he turned and sat up against the wall.

  Marcus tried to turn to face the barbarian, but the same force that kept his hand bound to the gunner's joysticks restrained his hand inside the pilot's control panel.

  The voice returned. You must free me.

  Marcus desperately tried to yank his hand away but was pinned to the panel.

  "Killed by your own machine." The barbarian cackled, panting between words. "What a shit mechanic you are." He lazily brandished the pistol, the barrel bobbing and weaving as he trained it on Marcus. "Useless fucking idiot."

  Marcus gripped his pinned arm with his other hand and tugged to no avail, eyes wide.

  The engine room door swung open. With a leaping kick, Layne emerged and knocked the pistol away. Then with a frantic cry, he fell to a crouch and with a knife in his hands, repeatedly stabbed the barbarian in the chest. He kept going, even after Timur stopped moving.

  Layne stopped and stood, covered in the barbarian's blood. "Who's useless now?" He bent down and got in Timur's dying face.

  Marcus stopped trying break away from the panel and stared at his best friend, then swallowed hard.

  Out of breath Layne sighed and righted himself, then spun. "Am I late?"

  Marcus shook his head.

  "Did I ever tell you how hot it gets in that engine compartment?" Layne wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.

  "You hinted at it once or twice, yeah." Marcus nodded.

  Layne shrugged. "I might have taken a little nap." He motioned to Timur's corpse. "You're not going to tell him I was sleeping on the job, right?"

  Marcus loosened his tight shoulders and couldn't hold back a laugh, despite still trembling. "I think he's setting a bad example."

  Layne slumped his shoulders. "I'm thirsty."

  With his free hand, Marcus reached across his stomach and pulled the water skin out of the opposite side of his overalls. "Here."

  "Oh good." Layne grabbed and chugged the entire waterskin in one go. "I hoped that I wasn't going to have to guzzle bog water." He sighed with satisfaction.

  Marcus continued to try and free himself. Despite the engine off and the reserve power disengaged as indicated by the emergency lighting, something still kept hold of him.

  Layne motioned to his friend's arm. "What's going on there?"

  "This thing won't let me go for some reason." Marcus grunted with each painful pull.

  You who dares. It is time. The voice boomed in Marcus's mind.

  "You just got your hand stuck again, didn't you?" Layne said smugly, squinting.

  "Yeah, totally. I thought the best time for a tune up was in the middle of a gunfight." Marcus pursed his lips and groaned, trying to pull away from the console while trying to free himself.

  Layne chuckled.

  Marcus looked at the ajar engine room door. "We need to figure out how to fire this thing up without a jump box or we're dead."

  Layne looked down at the gunner's seat and then jumped to the lower platform. He ducked for a few moments then stood, displaying two pistols, one in each hand. "I have two really bad ideas."

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