Alistair couldn't suppress a smile beneath his moustache. For all the trouble the imp caused him on a daily basis - and there was rather a lot of it - Nate possessed an uncanny instinct for battlefield chaos. Most commanders sought to scatter an enemy formation. Nathanael somehow managed to arrange one.

"That's it, Nate." Blackwood muttered to himself. "Teach those Krauts how to queue up - the British way."

The flying Germans banked after the daemon in exactly the formation he'd hoped for. He relinquished the wheel without ceremony, trusting the little boat to continue charging over the harbour. It skipped violently across the waves, sending spray over the bow as he rested The Surveyor against the control console.

With practised movements he twisted the crook of the cane. The polished cap at its tip rotated free, unfolding into a compact telescopic sight, whilst the ebony shaft split almost imperceptibly as a slim rifle barrel extended from within. It remained unmistakably a gentleman's walking cane - it simply happened to be an exceptionally accurate and deadly one.

The first Silverwing swept into view behind Nate. Blackwood steadied his breathing, holding his breath to steady his aim. Finally he exhaled to the noise of a loud [i]CRACK[/i] echoing through the air.

The leading German spun violently as the round struck the rocket pack slung between his shoulders. Flames blossomed across the apparatus before it cartwheeled into the harbour with an enormous splash.

"One."

He worked the reload almost lazily. Another shot fired off not long after the first. A second rocket pack erupted, sending its unfortunate pilot spiralling straight through the wake of his companion.

"Two."

A third darted wildly, trying to compensate for Nate's infernal trickery. He was getting wise to what was going on, perhaps all too late. He was zigzagging through the air, reaching out with a gloved hand to the flying boy as his other aimed a pistol at Blackwood.

"Oh, don't overthink it, old chap."

The shot clipped one of the stabilising vanes. The Silverwing lurched into another flyer with all the grace of two drunken pheasants colliding mid-flight, both disappearing into a spectacular tangle of smoke, wings and German profanity.

Blackwood lowered the rifle and flicked out the casing onto the boat below. He smiled up at his weird ward and gave a friendly overhead wave.

"Good show, old boy!" he called over the wind. "Would you terribly mind bunching the next lot a little closer together? Kill a few Krauts with one stone, eh?" He guffawed.

His laughter was cut short by the rattle of machine-gun fire. A Silverwing had broken from formation - no doubt enraged by the childish trickery his comerades had been killed by.

The first burst stitched across the launch's bow, showering Blackwood with splinters. The second chewed through the engine housing. Steam hissed skyward as the motor sputtered and coughed once, twice and then died altogether.

The boat slewed violently across the harbour, waves crashing over the sides. Blackwood steadied himself against the console. "Well that's rather put a damper on things." He rushed to the engine and fiddled with the machinery, pulling parts out and rearranging him as best he could.

The German banked hard for another pass just as the crippled engine coughed back into life. It sputtered and protested, but found just enough strength to keep the little boat skimming across the harbour. It wouldn't last long, but it was enough to stop Blackwood becoming a sitting duck.

Blackwood's eyes darted to the stern. His mind a race at formulating a plan. He had to get off this boat and fast - and he didn't fancy getting his uniform soaking by swimming. Finally his eyes rested on the console at the back of the boat. Of course, the emergency harpoon.

He'd insisted it be fitted after an unfortunate incident involving smugglers in the Aegean.  Yanking the brass firing lever, the launcher discharged with a thunderous noise. The steel harpoon screamed through the air, cutting through the wind like a knife. 
It struck the diving Silverwing square through the chest, not even giving him time to cry out before he was impaled. The combined momentum of the harpoon and rocket pack carried the body onward. There came the horrible shriek of straining steel against the rocket's furious roar as the cable hissed from its drum.

It snapped taut with a crack that nearly capsized the little boat. Dragged behind the still-flying corpse, the launch lurched violently across the harbour, the line stretched tight between them.

Blackwood grinned.

"I knew that would come in handy."

Before the cable had a chance to slacken, he vaulted onto the stern rail, clipped the Pathfinder Harness onto the line and launched himself outward. His gloved hands moved from grip to grip as he hauled himself skyward with astonishing speed, boots braced against the cable as though scaling an Alpine cliff rather than a flying corpse.

The wind howled in his ears. Hauling yourself hand over hand up a steel cable being dragged through the sky proved considerably harder than climbing a mountain. By the time he reached the dead Silverwing his arms burned with the effort, but with careful hands he unclipped the rocket harness, making certain the line never lost its tension, before shrugging into it himself.

The body disappeared into the water below. Blackwood glanced down at the unfamiliar controls. "Let's see, here..."

He pressed one of the switches and the engines promptly died. His stomach lurched as he began plummeting towards New York Harbour. "Good Lord!"

He frantically jabbed at the remaining levers and buttons until one answered with a deafening roar. The engines burst back to life, hurling him skyward. He immediately listed sideways. Every correction became an overcorrection somewhere else. One moment he was climbing, the next he was nearly flying backwards.

"I really should have asked for an instruction manual."

Another Silverwing came screaming towards him. Blackwood instinctively raised the Surveyor in its rifle configuration, only for the sights to dance wildly with every wobble of the unfamiliar machine.

"Blasted thing." His thumb found the release catch and the telescopic sight folded neatly away just as the rifle barrel disappeared into the polished ebony. Not a second later he'd removed the bottom of the cane to reveal the ornate sword hidden with in. "Let's do this the old fasioned way."

He lowered the cane-sword into a fencer's guard. Then, with all the enthusiasm of a cavalry officer hearing the charge sounded, Lord Alistair Blackwood accelerated straight towards the oncoming German.