Miss Hakkandottir-Example fight #1

	He landed firmly on his feet, face to face with Miss Hakkandottir. Before he could react, she had her metal hand around his throat and had pushed him down to the floor, against coils of ropes. He tried to pry her fingers but they were as strong as the determination in her eyes.

	"I was hoping to capture you, Modo," she said, almost gently. "The Guild Master wants to know what makes you tick."

	The air in his lungs was disappearing. She'd soon crush his windpipe! He'd never break her viselike grip. But Mr. Socratesʼ voice came to him: Fear attacks rational thought.  He'd said it a thousand times. She was only human. Her hand was strong, perhaps stronger than he was. But the rest of her was flesh.

	He booted her in the knee and she spat out a curse, but her metal hand still cut off his airway. He grabbed her hand with both of his and pulled it away from his throat with all his strength, hoping he didn't rip out his windpipe in the process. He sucked in a long breath. Success	! He flung himself up to his feet and stumbled against the side of the car. Bullets cut through his cloak, missing his body.

	In a flash he took in the scene before him: six soldiers with pistols aimed at him were spread out through the car, behind them were the pilot and co-pilot madly working the controls, and next to them the falconer. Modo raised his arms in surrender, which momentarily stopped the shooting. If he could get to the pilots he could toss them overboard. That would put an end to the pursuit.

	Miss Hakkandottir stood up, holding her knee. She was about to say something, but he leapt forward, grabbed her by the hair and spun her around as a shield between him and the Guild soldiers, pinning her metal hand against her side. He dragged her along so that his back was pressed against the steam engine. The red-hot boiler burned through his clothes, the misty steam and smoke making his goggles fog up. He pulled out the pipe wrench and held it high.

	"I'll brain her if any of you makes a move."

	"Dimitri," Miss Hakkandottir shouted. "You are the best shot. Aim between his eyes."

	One soldier raised his pistol, his hand steady. Modo jerked to the left, dragging his hostage with him, and the bullets pinged off the boiler. Miss Hakkandottir ripped her hand from his grip, screamed in rage and swung it back behind her, so that he had to use the wrench to deflect the metal hand. It struck the boiler, making it ring like a bell.

	"Shoot again, you idiot!" Hakkandottir commanded.

	Dimitri's hand was trembling, the pistol barrel wavering. Modo suddenly realized that Miss Hakkandottir didn't care whether or not the bullet went through her first before it hit him, so he shoved her into the soldiers, knocking Dimitri and two others down. Then he turned, grabbed a metal rod on the ceiling and swung to the opposite side of the steam engine and began smashing at it with the wrench. Dials shattered, hoses broke, spraying out water and steam, but the engine continued to roar. It would take hours to dismantle the machine!

	He dropped the wrench and grabbed the bottom of the red-hot boiler, struggling to lift it, ignoring his burning hands. The metal bands that held it to the floor snapped and, to his own surprise and the surprise of his enemies , he lifted the engine and tried to heft it over the side. It was too heavy and he fell back, dropping it, but pipes had snapped and began to smoke and clatter. The whole car lurched to starboard and Modo slipped over the side, reaching out at the last moment to cling to the railing.

	He looked down, searching. No sign of the Prince Albert. He glanced up to find Miss Hakkandottir, bleeding from the forehead, shaking a sabre at him.

	"Die!" she grunted. "Just die like the rat you are!" She swung the sabre.

	The excruciating pain in his hand made Modo let go. (Slade, 186-188)