I stepped past the crouching forms of the Russian and Angelica. I took care to not get too close to her gun or her boots. The Achilles heel of these wraith cloaks was extremely restrictive. I stepped around the boulder. There was something like a dozen golems, but I didn't count. The ones with cannons worried me. Those rounds probably had steel cores for armor penetration. I was gambling they wouldn't shoot them at a small target like me. I was gambling an awful lot.

In unison, the golems all turned to face me.

A forest of revolvers and submachine guns turned my way.

The feeling of a bullet passing through your body when it's magically protected feels like a cold shiver running up your spine. Only instead of up your spine, it was through your spleen and your lower intestine and your lungs and your heart. Bullets ripped through me and into the trees beyond. I felt bits of bark flying through me from the other direction.

It took about four seconds. And then every golem in the clearing, except the ones with cannons on their shoulders, was holding an empty weapon.

I shoved the cloth bundles in my hands through the armholes in my wraith cloak. Strips of cloth fell away, revealing Steyr machine pistols in each hand. I charged forward. Fully automatic, one-handed weapons, or clumsy at best. They are the epitome of spray and pray. With only 16 rounds in each of the guns, I wasn't going to take any chances. I weaved past the first golem I came to, taking care to avoid the metal revolver in his hand. They didn't have speed loaders. Instead, he was stuffing bullets quickly, but one at a time, into the revolver. As I passed, I jabbed the muzzle of my left-hand gun into his ear and fired a burst. Three rounds of 9mm exploded his skull. The golem pitched over. I was already past. The next one was shoving a magazine into his submachine gun. I blew off his head too.

Ahead, two golems stood close together. One was just closing his revolver, and I poured a long burst from my left gun into his chest. I simultaneously sent a burst from my right gun at the other.

Firing two guns at the same time from separate hands is much more difficult than they show in the movies. It's impossible to aim both at the same time. The best you can do is point and fire. Even then, you must be able to do it without lining up the gun down your eyeline, which is the natural inclination. If the weapons close enough to aim they hit each other. If they're semi-automatic, they most likely will injure your hands. Ask me how I know. Oh come on! Everyone tries that at least once, when they get their hands on two guns and no one else is at the shooting range. Just don’t do it while jumping. That is fucking stupid.

To dual wield handguns you have to be trained in point shooting. But in reality, a trained gunfighter with a modern detachable magazine weapon can fire a full magazine of aimed shots and reload, and fire a second magazine more quickly than firing off those same two magazines worth of bullets from two different weapons. They will both be faster and more accurate by firing those same two magazines through a single weapon. This is because shooting with two hands on the same gun lets you get their sights back on target faster and shoot faster. All things being equal, it's simply faster to train to shoot two-handed and reload quickly.

All things were not equal. I had been loaded with the skills that would make old west gun slingers green with envy. I simply pointed them like they were an extension of my body, as easy and as naturally as pointing a finger.

All this means I knew just how fucking badass it was when I mowed down two golems at once with point-blank bursts.

The final had finished reloading his submachine gun and was raising it as I approached. I threw myself to the ground, dropping my hands low to get the vulnerable parts of my body out of his line of fire. Bullets ripped through the air around my head and shoulders, some of them passing through my magically protected skull. I hit the ground at his feet and fired up into his body. My left gun clicked empty, and my right fired two rounds before also running dry. The golem staggered back but didn't fall.

I sprung up and plucked the submachine gun from his hands. Keeping my arms well forward and away from my body, I was able to keep the weapon's steel from touching my cloak. The golem was taken by surprise. I yanked the weapon up, smashing the barrel into its face, and then stepped back taking the weapon with me. To late the golem grabbed for the barrel. I ripped his chest open with a burst.

There were still three squads of golems ahead, in clusters of three with one anti-mech rifle between them. Even as I leveled the submachine gun on the first group, the ammo bearers were drawing their sidearms.

I dashed to one side, firing the submachine gun as I went. The weapon clicked dry, and I tossed it aside.

I could feel my cloak flapping against my leg. It must have hit some metal, disrupting the magic. I ducked behind a tree as two of the golems in the second heavy weapon crew opened fire. Bullets thudded against the trunk. Under my cloak, I drew my 1911. I didn't care if it hit the cloak now. I was in a rush to finish off these last few before they decided to turn their heavy weapons on me.

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I crouched low and leaned around the far side of the tree. The .45 automatic bucked once, twice. The group I had sprayed with submachine gun fire was scattered. One of them was down on his face, and the one with the anti-mech rifle had fallen to one knee. His side streamed with blood. The ammo bearer still stood, revolver pointed in my direction as I ducked back around the tree. Bark sprayed and bullets whipped where my head had just been.

I threw myself to the other side of the tree, flopping to the ground in the open, gun hand extended before the golem could react. I put a round of .45 through the bridge of his nose. I shot him twice more as he fell, just to be sure.

I rolled back behind the tree and reloaded. There were still rounds in my magazine, but I wanted a full one. I climbed to my feet, keeping the tree between myself and the final group. I felt I only had an instant before they turned their cannon on me.

I lunged into the open and took off, running forward and diagonally to the right. As I’d expected the one with the anti-tank rifle was just leveling it on my position. The gun was weird, designed to rest on top of a golem's shoulder and be aimed by another one standing behind it. It wasn't the most efficient system, but it let them carry a very heavy caliber weapon. I wasn't sure what caliber it was, but I knew if it hit me, I was finished. And even a near miss would probably shred me with bits of rock and tree.

As I ran, I put two rounds into the abdomen of the gun carrier and then turned my gun on his companions. The one with the revolver had turned and was firing at someone off to my right. Probably the red widow. I gunned that one down next, with two rounds to the chest and two more to the head, just to be sure.

The one carrying the cannon had dropped it and fallen to one knee. The final golem, the gunner, was just now drawing its sidearm. I emptied the rest of my magazine into its torso. Someone off to my right was also firing. The golem was down and dead almost before I finished my reload.

Light stabbed down from between the trees as the last golem fell. "Gunship! Gunship!" someone was calling. I saw it was the Red Widow. Even as I glanced her way, she ducked back under cover.

What the devil was a gunship?

A droning, throb of airship engines filled the clearing. The light shining down through the trees from above was getting closer. I took off running for the nearest clump of trees. A large dark shape loomed over the clearing. Blinding beams from spotlights shone down, searching the area.

The Red Widow had shouted the warning, so this wasn't likely to be a Russian vehicle. Something flickered through the spotlights, catching my eye. It was a rope falling from above, and then another. Shadows flickered across the beam. Golems were rappelling down into the clearing.

I skidded to a stop just short of the trees. I didn’t want to let them land and get set. While they were on the ropes I had the advantage. I ran toward them. The first golem landed and I put two rounds into his chest. I shifted aim and I emptied my .45 one-handed into the next one who was almost down. In my previous life, this would have been a waste of bullets. But with my hand strength and newfound skills, I was confident most of the shots struck home.

I reached the first body and grabbed the machine gun on its back. The machine gun almost hit me in the face as it sling snapped. I spun the weapon around just as the final golem was raising his own weapon. I gave him a long burst, stitching him from crotch to chin.

Dirt fountained around me. Someone above was firing. I dove to the side. I hit the ground, rolled over, then I raised my Lewis gun. I sprayed bullets into the shadows clustered around the muzzle flashes far above. A couple more rounds whipped through me, sending chills through my body. Then the fire stopped. Had I gotten him? There was only one way to be sure.

The ropes had been dragging across the clearing, probably because the air machine was struggling to maintain position in the wind. I tossed my empty machine gun aside and scooped up another one from the pile of bodies. I slung it over my head and shoulder as I made for the ropes.

The engine overhead roared to life, roared louder, and the ropes started to lift off the ground. They were getting away. Some distant part of my brain thought it strange that I would consider the departure of a flying machine gun platform bent on killing me as them getting away. I was starting to think this golem body had a sort of bloodlust once the action started. But I didn't pause to consider this. Instead, I dashed forward and made a leap for the rope that was lifting off the ground.

I caught the last two feet. The thick rope was almost perfect for a grip in my massive fists. I started up it, hand over hand. This would have been a difficult feat in my own body, although slightly easier after I had lost my leg. In this slab of meat of my new body, this seemed like it should have been impossibly hard. I had to weigh 300 pounds. But I also had biceps bigger than my head. I was lifting up the rope like a rocket.

The spotlights were no longer in my eyes, and I caught a glimpse of my quarry. Of my destination. It was the mad scientist version of a steampunk helicopter. It had rotors fore and aft that were comically too small to lift it. Fins jutted out from the nose and tail. Gun ports bristled all over. It had no gas bag. As I noticed this, my implanted knowledge told me its lift was provided mostly from a luff machine. While I had no idea what made such a device work, I knew it was desh-powered. And I also knew I would be able to take one apart and put it back together in working order if the need arose.

I could see why the Red Widow had called this a gunship. It looked like someone had taken the gondola of an airship, cut it away, loaded it up with guns, and added a few extra fins and rotors. A door gaped on the side. The rope hung from a pole that jutted out from the opening. The double sliding doors were made of corrugated metal and had no windows. They looked more like they belonged on a shed than on a helicopter.

I reached the top of the rope and swung into the interior. The deck tilted as the flying machine picked up speed and started to turn. A machine gun on a pintle mount was nearby, and a golem body lay slumped across it. As the gunship turned, the body slipped off the gun and tumbled into the darkness below.

Now that I had made it to the top, whether it was the exertion or the pause in fighting, my head was momentarily clear of the bloodlust. I glanced down. The trees were already dropping away, and going back down the rope seemed like suicide. That left only one real option. Attempt to commandeer the vehicle or force it down.

The metal rifle slung over my back, had disrupted my wraith cloak completely. I unslung the weapon and then took the wraith cloak off carefully. I folded it hastily and shoved it under the straps of a nearby canvas seat. After a moment’s hesitation I slung the machine gun and drew my .45.

The floor, a mesh of metal under my feet, flexed under my feet as I made my way to the hatch. Cautiously I moved deeper into the gunship.