Newkirk's POV again, just because his side of the story kinda has to go forward to line up perfectly with Deryn and Alek's. And, yeah, there is a battle scene, and hopefully it is as epic as I think it is. R&R, please! I seem to have lost my reviewers :/

Mr. Rigby assigned Newkirk and Ray an air gun each, and then said, "I'm going to tend a gun, too. You lads try not to get killed, and don't leave your post. I need both of my middies after the battle, alive and whole."

"Yes, sir."

"You too, sir," they said. And with that, the bosun strode off.

Newkirk clapped Ray's shoulder. "Well, Mr. Hatfield, been a pleasure knowing you."

"You too, Mr. Newkirk," the boy replied gravely, shaking his hand firmly. Newkirk frowned. Ray seemed hesitant, sort of like he was torn between something, but that didn't make sense that he'd hesitate over a battle with his fighters' attitude. Maybe Newkirk had been mistaken about it.

"You all right there?" he asked Ray.

"Yeah," replied the boy. "It's just that I-"

His words were torn off by the rattle of machine gun fire. Both boys jumped toward their air guns. The battle had begun.

The spray of bullets from the gythrocopters fell short, but Newkirk saw that Ray wasn't afraid of battle, like he'd first thought. He stood his ground at his gun, coolly taking shots at the gythrocopters. But what was it he'd been trying to say?

"What was it you were saying?" Newkirk yelled over the battlefire.

"Nothing!" Ray yelled back. "Just not that important!"

Newkirk frowned, partly because he didn't get what Ray said and partly because he wasn't hitting anything. Unless...

"Ray! Have you hit any yet?" he yelled.

"Nope! But I should be!" Ray yelled back, his voice cracking.

Newkirk leaned over to yell at the rigger on his left side. "Mr. Quincy!" The man turned towards him, and Newkirk continued, "Hit anything?"

"No, Mr. Newkirk. Daniels seems to be having the same problem, and so does everyone else!"

To Newkirk's right, Ray had been asking the riggers near him the same thing the same thing.

"Mr. Quincy's right!" yelled Ray. "We're probably out of range to do any damage!"

Newkirk swore, realizing that they were virtually defenseless from this point, because Captain Hobbes had ordered not to fire any missiles yet or release any strafing hawks. And the Leviathan would probably be in the Germans' range before the air guns could do damage or the captain allowed the missiles to fire.

As if on cue, a rigger scrambled up the hatch and yelled, "Captain Hobbes says you may fire the missiles now!"

A collective sigh of relief went through the crew gathered topside, and Newkirk heard Ray mutter, "And thank the Lord for that."

"Why didn't the captain send a message lizard dorsal to tell us?" Newkirk inquired the rigger who'd brought the news.

"All of them are needed to stand ready for the engine crew," replied the breathless rigger.

"The engine crew?" Ray asked.

"In case they're armed with phosphorus flares," the rigger explained. "Although those lads seem like they will try to board us, it may be a ploy, and phosphorus is just the stuff to grill a hydrogen breather."

Newkirk shuddered. "Let's hope for the best, then."

"Aye," the rigger replied, "There's still hope-" He broke off from whatever he was saying as a cheer went up from the crewmen.

"Looks like we made a fair start of 'em!" said Ray, a rare grin breaking out on his face.

Newkirk looked over, and saw indeed that the men with the missiles had gone to work, and had actually hit a cluster of gythrocopters.

The rigger whooped and then said, "Well, I must be off to my post. You lads fight hard, and stay alive."

"You too, sir," the middies replied.

Ray turned to Newkirk. "Wait a second, if they're firing, we can't send in the hawks."

"The captain will call a cease-fire if they get too close, and then send in the hawks. In the meantime, let's hope they're trying to capture the Leviathan alive so we'll all be spared a fiery death," replied Newkirk, sighting his gun again. He gave the trigger an experimental squeeze, and was satisfied to see a gythrocopter crumple some, sway and then limp forward.

Ray noticed, and yelled out, "Hey! They're within damage range of the air guns now!"

A fresh wave of energy swept through the crew as they scrambled to their air guns, and more gythrocopters fell.

And yet, on the not-so-bright side, Newkirk thought, there were still dozens more, and they had enough range to hit the Leviathan now. The machine guns when to work, tearing at the great whale's skin, sending shudders through the beast.

A rigger suddenly cried out and fell, clutching his shoulder as blood spurted out between his fingers.

Horrified, Newkirk ran to help him, but a bullet whizzed viciously past his forehead, sending him stumbling back to his gun.

More men and a hydrogen sniffer fell, struck down by flying bullets from the gythrocopters', and now zeppelins', machine gun fire.

It was all he could do to keep his shots accurate, his hands were so shaking badly. He remembered that there was a time when he had lived for the thrill of battle. Now, he realized that he could die in it.

Newkirk set his jaw. He would not act like some daft ninny hiding from a bunch of bullies.

Out of nowhere, he saw, in his peripheral vision, something large hurtling toward him. It broadsided him, and then on his other side, he felt pain spurting from his ribcage. The thing that tackled him screamed simultaneously.

Newkirk opened his eyes, but all he could see through the gray fog of pain was a blurry mess. Somehow, he'd landed on his stomach, and he could see blood leaking out from his left side. He turned his head, but even that made him have to stifle a scream. Not a foot in front of him, blood spurting from the top of his head, was Ray. The daft boy must have tackled him to get him out of the way of the bullet, which didn't work very well, as Newkirk had still been hit.

And so had Ray.

"Ray!" he croaked. "Raymond Hatfield!"

Ray turned slowly and painfully to face him, his fine, handsome features contorted in a grimace of pain, but Newkirk was in too much pain to process why the boy was even alive. Ray's face was blurry even at point blank.

"Not Raymond," the boy whispered hoarsely. "Rachel. Rachel Hatfield."

Newkirk wasn't sure if he was dreaming or not by now, but his pain-filled brain couldn't fully process it. Somehow, the feeling felt familiar. "You're a girl?" he asked Raymond- er, Rachel. "But why?" The words sparked a memory...

"Serve..." the boy, no, girl, choked on the blood dribbling into her mouth. "Tell them... if I die..." Then her eyes rolled back into her head.

Newkirk felt a fog wrapping around him. His best friend was a girl, the Leviathan could be captured or killed, and his shipmates were dying. And he could possibly die, too. He knew that the Leviathan was way too high in the air for waves from the ocean to be washing over the sides, but that didn't explain why he felt wetness on his face or tasted salt water on his lips. Then, darkness took him.

Um, not really much to say, but you may be wondering, Why Rachel Hatfield? No, that's not my name. I just thought it was a cool name (yeah, little weird me), and it sounded very Kentuckian. (Awesome state. Been there a bazillion times.)