The sailor dressed in a fatigue jacket had hung back at first. As blow after blow was aimed at Ralph's head and body, he watched from the edge of the contracting ring.
Ralph kicked out, bringing down another man with the crack of a shattering patella, and the fatigue-clad sailor stepped forward. He was swinging a sledgehammer like it was a croquet mallet.
Ralph was so startled at reading "Maxwell" on the nametape above the jacket's breast pocket he missed parrying the first upswing and had to take a quick step back. He caught the hand on the downswing.
The sailor looked startled by the sensation of running his fist into a brick wall. Ralph plucked the hammer from his grip and used the empty hand as a lever to pivot the man around. He caught the jacket's collar and yanked down, stripping it off the sailor's arms. He tossed the jacket behind him to where Bill leaned against the bars of the cage.
He thought he heard the muttered words "dry cleaner" but couldn't be sure. He was concentrating on the two men that converged from his right and left.
The one on the left attacked first, bringing down a massive boat hook in a sweeping arc. Ralph caught it on the haft of the sledgehammer and hurled both away. Unarmed, the sailor fell back into the mob.
The attacker on the right aimed low, trying to sweep Ralph's legs out from under him with a thick chain. Ralph jumped as the chain rattled toward his knees and the chain continued its travel, taking out two more assailants.
Before they hit the ground, the next man attacked with a crowbar. Ralph caught the man's hand more tightly than he planned. He heard bones crunch before he hurled the man away. The screaming sailor spun across the deck knocking down two more.
"What I want to know is-" Ralph shouted ducking a wildly swinging ice hammer, "Who's driving the boat?"
He heard a snort from Bill and grinned.
Three more bodies went flying before Ralph pushed back the circle of thugs far enough to make room for a take off. He was sure that if they could make it across the room, he could secure the door and trap the sailors in the hold.
He blinked as a bullet tsinged past his ear. In the center of the crowd, a man in a black windbreaker took careful aim and squeezed off another shot. Ralph deflected the bullet with his forearm.
"Ralph!" a voice croaked.
He felt the change in air pressure before he whirled to see the three-foot wrench spinning toward his head. His hair was ruffled by the breeze as it passed.
There was a "crack" and a bullet slammed into his back. As he whirled to face the shooter an ice hammer flew past his head. One razor sharp tine grazed his cheek. He felt the sting and a warm liquid on his face.
There was a rumble in the crowd at the sight of blood. Ralph's stomach pitched. At that moment he knew, they weren't going to make it.
He remembered Bill saying, "We haven't failed yet." He heard Pam say, "That's what they said about the Titanic."
He didn't turn around. He didn't want Bill to see the defeat in his eyes.
A spinning crowbar hurtled through the air. Ralph caught it and parried a heavy blow from a boat hook.
They were going to wear him down by inches, he thought. The Doctor knew exactly what he was doing. He hurled the crowbar back into the crowd and heard a satisfying crunch of bone.
What he needed, he thought, was about 17 more crowbars. A spinning meat cleaver whizzed past his shoulder and clanged off the bars of the cage.
The cage.
He didn't stop to wonder if it was possible. It obviously wasn't. Instead of thinking, he just moved.
He spun around and met Bill's eyes.
"Drop!" he shouted.
The combat-trained professional didn't even blink. He was flat on the floor before Ralph started moving.
Ralph covered the three steps to the cage in one. He gripped the nearest bars, inhaled and pulled.
The massive container came up off the deck with a tearing sound as the bolts holding it to the deck sheared off.
The weight was incredible. Even with the suit, his arms were on fire. He grimaced and hoisted the box high enough to pass over Bill and took a step back.
He suddenly noticed how quiet the hold had become. The shouts and curses of the mob died away.
From the corner of his eye he saw half a dozen men already running for the door. Another handful followed them. There was some disturbance at the door. Ralph guessed they were all trying to fit through at one time. He didn't worry about them. He focused on the remaining sailors.
He would have laughed at the sight of their slack-jawed amazement if his stomach muscles didn't feel like they were about to pop like rubber bands. The important thing, he thought, was these men were too stupid to spread out.
He judged the angle of attack and tried to ignore the feeling that his vertebrae were being ground into powder. He knew he only had one shot and it had to count.
He sucked in a deep breath, took two turning steps, and released. The massive container sailed up and out. The distance wasn't bad, he thought, for possibly the least aerodynamic shape in the universe.
When it hit, the crashing impact made his teeth ache. The box screamed across the deck, rolling like a runaway freight train. Strips of torn metal flew from it like shrapnel.
The sailors who didn't jump out of the way in time went flying. The shooter in the black windbreaker jack knifed into the air and smashed to the deck.
Ralph made a mental note to look up a translation for the words "Ye-bahts kah-pahts!" Everyone seemed to be shouting it now as the few men still standing bolted for the door. Ralph didn't bother to watch them go.
Knees shaking, he sank to the deck. His legs felt like rubber. His arms, although still seemingly attached to his body, felt like they'd been torn off at the roots. With a trembling hand, he pushed his sweat soaked curls back from his forehead, then looked back over his shoulder at Bill and grinned.
Bill had managed to get to his knees and had somehow pulled his fatigue jacket up over his broken arm. He still looked weak and a little dazed, but some of the color had come back to his face. He gave Ralph a lopsided grin.
"Not bad," he said in a croaking whisper. "Next time-"
Ralph saw Bill's eyes shift, heard the intake of breath and the click of a cocking revolver. He was pushing off, diving blindly toward the sound, even before he heard the concussive crack and smelled acrid smoke. But he still wasn't fast enough.
The bullet sang past his shoulder as he leapt forward, forcing his leaden legs to respond. He was halfway to his target before his brain engaged and recognized the Doctor, standing inside the door, feet braced, sighting along the barrel for another shot.
It had just registered that the gun wasn't pointed at him, but aimed past his left ear, when he heard Bill's grunt of pain behind him.
A fraction of a second of indecision was all it took. Ralph stumbled, fell forward, saw a jagged beam of metal coming toward his head, and blackness.
-continued-