Until the very last moment, the city's defenders looked up at the sky with curiosity, drawn by the majestic wonder of the two cigar-shaped airships, as if spellbound by the industrial marvel. It was only when the rockets' hatches opened and, under Bach Czilevsky's command, tons of death and calamity poured down to the earth that the people realized disaster was upon them.
Hundreds of rockets, trailing smoke and eerie screams, plummeted from the sky; the deafening explosions sent a jumble of debris—stones, wood chips, cloth, and severed limbs—flying into the air. As the fuel packed in the warheads burned and sought out the closest targets, any unfortunate object it touched was consumed by fire, with the terrifying blaze quickly spreading. Before fire brigades and civilians armed with buckets of water and sand could reach the nearby fire scene, the two airships above had already completed their turns, launching every last one of their rockets at the other side.
