<strong>GRAF HEINZ VON OBERAMMERGAU, </strong><br/><br/>There'd been a loud bang a kilometre or two away, but seeing as I'd been falling from the zepp at the time, I knew it hadn't been hit. I couldn't care less about that silly diva, whose undergarments would require a team of scouts to unknot, but I'd hate to see her take Johnston down with her when Mortensen cleared up her last airship. I'd miss him at our occasional poker game.<br/><br/>My eyes went back to scanning the skies as I felt the remaining engine shudder and grumble back to life. The plane was already headed more or less back towards Haven, and turning towards a heading of 220, I spotted a greenish speck in the sky. Must have been one of the communists, but why the dickens was he flying away from his socialist utopia of a homeland with his plane in the state it was?<br/><br/>Muscling the stick against my left thigh, pressing on my right rudder pedal and powering up the engine almost up to the red line, I followed the Marxist in the distance to investigate as I kept my protesting flying brick limping steadily on. If they were planning to bring the revolution to Haven in a flying toast rack, they had another think coming.