Nathaniel Cannon and the Secret of the Dutchman’s Cross No. 60

Choufeng clicked his microphone and pulled past Hendersen, then led him in a knife-edge turn, lining up on a row of British fighters parked on the tarmac. Choufeng’s wing sprouted columns of white smoke as his rockets leaped off their rails. Three seconds later, the rockets burst among the parked planes. Smoke rose into the sky, joining the plume from the fuel tanks.

“Stay in front,” Henderson said. “Four bandits taking off, three o’clock.”

Choufeng rolled into a steep dive toward them, and Henderson followed him in.


Cannon dropped his machine gun and shoved the crate toward the rear of the bed, then ducked behind it as a British soldier’s head and rifle appeared over the cab of the pursuing truck. The rifle cracked, and a bullet struck one of the guns left in the crate, whizzing away. di Giacomo, flattened against the slatted side of the bed, faced the British truck and emptied a magazine at it. The driver ducked, running through an awning as he chased Masaracchia around a corner. Cannon caught a brief glimpse of the sea between two buildings at the far end of an alleyway, then drew his Mauser pistol from its holder at his side. Another bullet whistled by, and the windshield shattered in front of Masaracchia. Cannon peeked over the top of the crate as di Giacomo vaulted it to land beside him. Raising his pistol, Cannon looked down the sights and pulled the trigger. Another hole appeared in the British truck’s windshield. Burr and di Giacomo opened up again, machine guns rattling, and steam erupted from the British truck’s radiator. It skidded, then ran into the corner of a brick building with a crunch.

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