Schiller could clearly feel his right hand going numb. He had to retract his judgment that revolvers were unaffected by the weak-wrist effect. He had no doubt that if he fired another shot now, his radius would fracture, and the bullet would punch straight through the plane's fuselage.
All he could say was that Diana had put too much faith in his marksmanship. If that last shot had missed the hijacker, the plane would already be on its way down. Fortunately, his shooting was good enough. The bullet hit the hijacker cleanly without damaging the fuselage. In a sense, they had saved the plane once already.
Schiller staggered to his feet. Just as he braced a hand against the back of a nearby seat, bang! A gunstock smashed into his neck. He stumbled forward, pretending to collapse. Just as the other man straightened up to finish him off, Schiller kicked the man behind him in the calf, instinctively turning and raising his gun to aim—then forcibly stopped himself from pulling the trigger.
This gun was a trap! Schiller cursed inwardly as he swiftly changed tactics. He curled up and rolled to the other side, then pushed himself up with the armrest and kicked the man in the crotch again.
Fortunately, the man had also seen Schiller fire earlier and was clearly intimidated by the black muzzle pointed at him. He froze for that single second. That second cost him his advantage. First, Schiller kicked him into a stagger, then grabbed the barrel of the rifle in his hands.
Bang!
A bullet struck upward at an angle and was blocked by the overhead luggage compartment, leaving the fuselage undamaged. Then came another bang! The shot grazed past a flight attendant's scalp and hit the galley door.
Schiller gripped the muzzle of