Staccato bursts erupted from the Tommy Guns. Other agents fired their .45 pistols. Flash watched bullets spark off the torsos of Ming's robowarriors.

They continued marching toward the North Portico.

"Daniels! Knott! Get The President to the garage," ordered Phillips. "We'll hold 'em off."

"There's no way you can-"

"Go!" Phillips cut off Flash. He turned and emptied his .45 into an approaching robowarrior. It continued forward.

Marguerite needed no further prodding. She grabbed the handles of Roosevelt's wheelchair and pushed him down the hallway. Agents Daniels and Knott ran alongside them.

Flash grimaced and went after them, along with Dale, Zarkov and Harry Hopkins. He checked over his shoulder. Phillips and his agents crowded the doorway of the North Portico, blazing away. A sick feeling formed in Flash's stomach. He knew what was about to –

Two pencil-thin lightning bolts sliced through the torso of one agent. He crumpled to the ground, clothes and flesh smoldering. Another agent was hit. Phillips and the survivors backed away.

A flurry of bolts struck the North Portico. Crackles turned to crashes. Fire swept over the North Portico, and the agents. Flash turned away, eyes closed. Agonized screams followed him and the others down the hallway.

They rushed down one hallway, then another and another. Several White House staffers and employees ran around them. Some screamed, some cried, some shouted at the agents, "What's going on?"

Daniels and Knott responded with, "Out of the way! Make way for The President!"

Even in their panic, the White House employees moved aside for Roosevelt. Flash figured it was half out of deference to The President, and half due to the Secret Service agents waving their guns.

When they reached the garage, Flash pulled up and stopped. He bent at the waist and drew in a couple of deep breaths. He was still in as good of shape as when he played football and baseball at Yale. Even so, a long run like that would leave any athlete winded.

"Barricade the door!" ordered Daniels, who also sounded out of breath.

Knott slammed the door shut and shoved a work bench against it. Dale found a stool and put it against the door. Hopkins did the same with a tool box.

"That will not keep the robowarriors out for long," said Zarkov. "In fact, it will not keep them out at all."

Daniels scowled at the scientist. He then scanned the garage, which housed several long-bodied Buick 80 Roadmaster convertibles and Buick sedans with sloped roofs. All the cars were black in color.

Daniels sprinted to one of the sedans. He hopped in, started it and threw the car in reverse. Its clam-shaped trunk just touched the makeshift barricade against the door.

"That should keep them out for a bit." Daniels exited the sedan.

"So what's the plan?" asked Flash.

Agent Daniels turned to him. "We pile in two cars and blow past those tin cans."

"It won't work," said Zarkov. "None of these cars are strong enough to withstand a blast from those ray guns."

Daniels rubbed the back of his head. His eyes flickered from the sedan against the door to Zarkov, then to Flash. "So what the hell are we supposed to do? I have to get The President to safety."

"You won't do it in any of these cars. Even if you do, Washington's probably crawling with robowarriors. You'll never get out of the city. Our only chance of getting out of here is in the Defender."

"Which is probably being guarded by robowarriors," said Dale.

"Well after what happened at the North Portico, these are useless." Daniels held up his .45, then looked at Flash. "What about you, Captain Gordon? You've been on Mongo for how long? You must have something that can knock out those rustbuckets."

"We do have ray guns."

"Where are they?"

Flash frowned. "Back on our ship."

Daniels snorted. "Fat lot of good they're doing us there."

Flash eyed the door. How much longer before the robowarriors reach the garage? Probably minutes.

He weaved his way around people and cars, searching for anything he could use as a weapon. He didn't see much. The hammers, wrenches and screwdrivers that filled the tool chests would be useless against metal soldiers.

Come on, Flash. Think!

The only thing that could destroy a robowarrior was a ray gun. Right now, the only ray guns in the White House belonged to the robowarriors.

Flash's gaze halted on a pair of fire extinguishers hanging from the wall. An idea formed.

"Dale, Zarkov. Grab those fire extinguishers. Get on either side of the door."

"What are you up to?" Daniels' brow furrowed.

Flash explained his plan. The corners of the Secret Service agent's mouth curled.

"Do you really think that's going to work?"

"If you have a better idea, I'm willing to listen."

Daniel's whole face tightened into a mask of intense thought. It soon morphed into a mask of frustration.

"Fear not, Agent Daniels," said Roosevelt. "I have the utmost confidence in Captain Gordon's abilities."

"Thank you, Mister President." Flash only wished he had as much confidence in this harebrained scheme as FDR.

He directed Roosevelt, Marguerite, Hopkins and the agents to hide behind the cars. Flash then crouched beside Dale, who, like Zarkov, had the nozzle of the fire extinguisher pointed at the door.

Next came the worst part. The waiting. Seconds turned into hours. He waged a mental battle to push down his doubts and fears. The plan would work. It had to work. He'd be damned if those metal menaces kill Dale or Zarkov, or The President.

He glanced up at Dale. All her concentration was on the door, her finger tensed around the trigger. Flash had to smile. Even in the most dire of situations, Dale remained cool and collected. That, and her stunning beauty, had been what attracted him to her during their days on the air racing circuit. He recalled how so many male pilots felt intimidated, even jealous, that this slender, blond aviatrix could fly rings around them. Not that they would admit it. They attempted to salvage their masculinity by suggesting, "No sense trying to get her in the sack. Dames like her don't like guys, if you know what I mean."

Dale's piloting skills never intimidated Flash. He found her intriguing, challenging, much more than the fawning, vapid women who liked to attend air shows hoping to snag a pilot.

He also found out that Dale did like guys.

A thumping sound filtered through the door, like a line of distant base drums.

Flash held his breath and tensed. Get ready.

The thumping grew louder. Any second now.

The door opened a quarter of the way. Debris clanged and clattered as it was pushed along the floor. The door banged against the trunk of the sedan.

All was still for several seconds.

A horrific crash blasted through the garage. The sedan shot forward. The door flew open. Dale jumped back. The door missed her by inches. The sedan smashed into the side of another car.

Two robowarriors stood in the doorway, both their arms extended.

"Now!" Flash shouted.

Dale and Zarkov shot streams of foam into the faces of the robowarriors.

"Vision impaired," they both croaked. "Vision impaired."

Flash rolled forward. He stopped in front of the nearest robowarrior and looked up. A ray gun clung to the side of its right leg, secured by a magnetic clamp. Flash had banked on this, that the robowarriors would need both hands to push the sedan.

He tore the ray gun from the metallic leg. Dale and Zarkov kept spraying the robowarriors.

"Vision impaired. Vision impaired," they repeated.

Flash blasted the nearest one at point blank range. He swung the ray gun to the other robowarrior and fired. A shower of sparks exploded from its torso. Flash slid backwards along the floor as the monstrosities teetered and fell. They struck the concrete floor with an ear-splitting crash, just missing Flash.

He ignored them and looked through the door, down the hallway.

Two more robowarriors marched toward him.

Flash fired two quick blasts from his ray gun. Sparks and smoke belched from the robowarriors' chests. Both collapsed.

Flash looked behind him. Agents Daniels and Knott looked over the hood of one of the Roadmasters in wide-eyed awe.

"Gentlemen, we now have ray guns."

Dale snatched the gun off the leg of the other robowarrior in the doorway. Daniels and Knott ran into the hallway and retrieved the guns from the fallen metal soldiers. Daniels then peered around the corner.

"Oh crap."

He hurried back to the garage, Knott on his heels.

"We've got a dozen more of those tin cans headed this way."

"Then we'd better get out of here, hadn't we?" said Hopkins.

"I couldn't agree more." Flash glanced at the sedan that had t-boned the Roadmaster.

"Daniels. Put some rounds in that car's fuel tank." Flash pointed at the sedan.

"What for?"

Flash explained his plan. This time, Daniels didn't question him. He pulled out his .45 pistol and pumped all seven rounds into the fuel tank. Thin streams of gasoline trickled down the side and pooled on the floor.

Marguerite and Hopkins helped load President Roosevelt into one of the Roadmasters, with Knott behind the wheel. Dale slid into the driver's seat of a sedan, with Zarkov next to her. Flash stood on the car's left running board, holding his ray gun one-handed. It reminded him of a scene out of some gangster movie.

Daniels opened the garage door and hurried to the Sedan.

"Let's move out." He hopped onto the right running board.

Dale gunned the engine. The sedan shot forward. Flash braced his right arm against the inside of the door to keep from being thrown off.

The sedan roared onto the lawn. The Roadmaster carrying The President was right behind them. Flash twisted around. Two robowarriors stepped into the garage.

Flash extended his left arm and fired the ray gun. The bolts struck the concrete floor. Flames swept over the pool of gasoline and up the side of the wrecked sedan.

Half-a-dozen robowarriors had entered the garage. All their conical heads swung toward Flash.

The sedan exploded. Seconds later the Roadmaster went up in flames. The fireball consumed the robowarriors.

The two cars raced along the South Lawn. Flash's eyes swept left and right. The large expanse of grass was devoid of robowarriors.

Except for the four by the Defender.

Flash leveled his ray gun and fired. Daniels also let loose bolt after bolt. Several missed. One blew apart the head of a robowarrior. Another got clipped in the shoulder. Flash missed it with his next two shots before the third finished it off.

Another robowarrior fired. The bolt sizzled just a couple feet past Flash. He returned fire. The robowarrior's chest exploded in a shower of sparks.

The last robowarrior fired. A bolt tore across the sedan's roof. Wisps of smoke wafted from the small, smoldering crevasse. Flash and Daniels fired at the same time. Both missed. The robowarrior returned fire. Flash ducked to avoid the bolt. The blond hair on his head stood on end. He fired two quick blasts. Sparks and smoke leapt off the robowarrior's chest. It toppled over.

Dale slowed as they neared the Defender. Flash jumped off the running board and pressed the button on his bracelet. The rocketship's side door slid open and the stairs descended automatically.

He and Dale covered the agents and Marguerite as they helped Roosevelt up the steps. Hopkins and Zarkov followed. Flash took one last look around. He saw no robowarriors on the South Lawn.

"Let's go," he told Dale.

She sprinted up the steps, as did Flash. He retracted the steps and closed the door. Already the hum of the engines droned throughout the rocketship. Zarkov must have started them up.

Flash checked on Roosevelt. He was strapped into one of the rear passenger seats. The Secret Service agents, Marguerite and Hopkins were also seated. Dale stood in the turret that housed the aft batteries.

"We're ready to depart at your convenience, Captain Gordon," said Roosevelt.

Flash nodded and raced to the pilot's seat. He flicked on the switches for the thrusters. The Defender rose from the South Lawn with a deep buzz.

"My God," Zarkov uttered as he stared out the window.

Flash followed the scientist's gaze. A cold, invisible blade pierced his stomach.

Over a hundred rocketships soared over Washington, D.C. Deathstalker-class pursuit fighters, Onslaught-class frigates, Annihilator-class dreadnaughts, Scourge-class troopships. Ray beams and rockets rained down on the city. Flames swept across the nation's capital. Thick clouds of ugly gray-black smoke stained the sky.

Flash's grip on the control yoke tightened, to the point his muscled arms trembled. The dome of the U.S. Capitol had collapsed into a pool of fire. The Washington Monument was nothing but a jagged stump of marble. Union Station and Griffith Stadium, the home of the Washington Senators, had both been reduced to rubble. The Washington Navy Yard drowned in a sea of fire. Still, tracers flew up from a destroyer moored at one of the piers.

A Deathstalker dove on it and launched two rockets. Flash's jaw clenched as he watched the contrails streak through the air and strike the destroyer. A gusher of flame ripped the ship in half.

Flash seethed. His brain screamed to charge at Ming's fleet, all guns blazing, shooting down every damn one of those bastards.

The logical side of his brain kept him from doing that.

You have the President of the United States aboard. Keeping him safe is Priority One.

Flash swung the Defender west and accelerated. "Where to, Mister President?"

"Roswell, New Mexico. Doctor Goddard's base. We need to -"

"Flash!" Zarkov blurted. "The electro-scanner."

He stared at the circular scope on the console.

Three Deathstalkers were on the Defender's tail.

TO BE CONTINUED