Crescendo Of Doom by John Schettler Page A

parachutes snapping out to slow the fall just above the center of the airship formation below.
    The gun crews on the ships below saw the chute deploy, yet it seemed deceptively harmless, perhaps a ballast weight dropped by the other ship, or a range marker for their gunners. The topside crews had only just reached their gun mounts, surprised as they were by the sudden appearance of the massive airship above them. It seemed as if Tunguska had just emerged from a cloud, its flanks rippled with eerie phosphorescent lightning that looked like Saint Elmo’s fire. Then, on Karpov’s command, the forward gondola loaded incendiary rounds and took aim on their own falling parachute. Karpov was lighting his match.
    The resulting explosion was terrible to witness, a massive fireball that expanded to quickly engulf the nearest ship, the unlucky Battlecruiser Salsk . It was a ship about the size of Karpov’s old command on the Abakan , at 120,000 cubic meter volume. Its gunners barely had the time to load and train their topside guns when the explosion engulfed the ship, expanding in a horrific plume of hot fire. Salsk was immolated by the weapon, and the shock of the pressure wave struck the other airships a heavy blow. The tail of Armavir was also on fire where a plume of flame caught it and spun the airship about. Both Anapa and Sochi rolled heavily, yet being forward of the main explosion, they were spared the all consuming fire.
    Salsk had her canvas shell seared off in just seconds, gas bags exploding as the temperatures literally melted away the self-sealing linings. When the intense fireball diminished, Karpov could see the skeleton of the ship glowing hot from the blow he had delivered. Burned and savaged by the heavy shock wave, anyone alive on Salsk would soon be asphyxiated as the searing fire consumed all the oxygen in the immediate vicinity of the explosion.
    It would have been a much heavier blow if the weather had been calm. As it was, the deadly Autumn Mist sprayed by the falling bomb was too dispersed on the wind, and the explosion was only half as intense as it might have been in calm conditions. But it was enough. Karpov had his first kill, as Salsk withered away and began to fall, all buoyancy lost, the ravaged frame of the airship bent and afire. Karpov could see that the tail of a second ship, Armavir , was also engulfed in flames, and he knew that airship would soon lose its ability to steer and maneuver.
    “Come hard to port! Concentrate fire on those forward ships! Give them the bag busters!”
    The gunners on Tunguska were quick to respond, feeding shells to the bigger 105mm breech loading rifles on the main command gondola and firing. The skies bloomed with the black roses of the explosions around the enemy ships, but the gunners were getting many direct hits against the ponderous targets below. Karpov could see the outer canvas of the forward ships torn by the shells, the glow of fire within, and then the trail of heavy smoke from the wound, the vaporous blood of an airship in distress.
    One ship, the Anapa , was still descending, perhaps from loss of lift due to the many holes Tunguska had punched in her outer shell, the rounds penetrating to the gas bags within. Yet the second ship, Sochi , was trying to climb, hoping its lighter weight might outpace the elevation gain of the bigger dreadnought above it. For a moment it seemed as though the ship would succeed, blowing all its ballast in a desperate attempt to gain rapid elevation and get out from under the serried rows of the gondola mounted rifles on the massive enemy above. But Karpov saw what they were doing, and had a quick reprisal in mind.
    “Forward gondola!” he shouted. “Ready on RS82 system. Target that ship and fire!”
    Seconds later the hiss of the 82mm rockets filled the air as a stream of twelve fired out from the rocket mounting. With the rear of the firing tubes venting to open air, the elevation gain of the enemy, quickly rising to