You see, those people came to us as friends. Our people were desperate for food, water, the necessities of life. A team of strangers came in, both on horseback and with trucks. They had all the right paperwork. They were archeologists and they were surveyors. They were digging out rumored caves which Coronado's invaders had filled with precious artifacts of more ancient times. In return for our cooperation, they promised—and they kept their promises—food, water, electricity for all of Acoma, medical facilities—everything our people needed. I said they had the right paperwork. Licenses, permits, company names. They came in with increasing numbers. There is a huge cavern not visible to the passerby. It is big enough to hold their airship.
"I fear I am wasting time talking, so I will get to the point. The white people who came in cut away a section of cliff.
They did so with our permission. This gave them enough room to settle their airship by descending vertically. It sounds like all the devils of hell when it comes down. Its fumes are choking, but the winds blow them away. As the airship descends, they tether it to cables and engines which reel it in carefully. When it is down, it is secured to the ground and it is safe. Then they bring in provisions and their helium.
In the hill caves atop the mesas they built holding tanks. For helium and their fuel, they told us. What they did not tell us is that they filled many concealed tanks with kerosene and gasoline. They have packed high explosives all through Acoma."
He moved his head slowly to meet the eyes of everyone listening to him. "Do you understand now?" Indy spoke up.
"You're boobytrapped." "Yes. Attack that airship where it is held to the ground, and you will destroy Acoma and kill thousands of our people. Most of them will burn to death in rivers of fire from the fuel tanks which are so set up they will pour their contents into the caverns and caves."
Indy turned to Henshaw. "So we can't go after them where they would otherwise be helpless."
"I have talked with these strangers," Chino said. "I know something of their plans, as I overheard several discussing what they would do. I know little of flying, but I heard clearly that they plan to lift upward from Acoma at night, when they will not be seen and all the law people are occupied with the Zunis and in the Gallup area.
They said they will rise to more than six miles into the sky and then they would go."
He shrugged. "Where, I do not know. All that mattered to me was that they were leaving. Then Colonel Henshaw, here, asked to see me."
Indy looked carefully at Chino. "Could you tell when they planned to leave?"
"Two nights from now. My new friend, you do not have much time to do whatever it is you plan."
"Joe, can we count on you to help us?"
"Yes."
"It would be a great help if you flew with us."
"You want me in the sky?"
"Yes. You know that area. We don't."
"I will go. Until this moment I was always convinced it was the white man who was really crazy. Now, so am I."
"Harry, will you check on Will and Rene and see if all the special equipment is loaded on our plane?"
Henshaw nodded to an aide standing nearby. No command was needed. "Yes, sir," the officer said. "I'll take care of it immediately."
Henshaw turned back to Indy. "If they go above thirty thousand feet, we don't have any combat planes—in service, I mean, ready to go—that can handle them. Your Ford has those special superchargers and weapons. Indy, it's going to be up to you and your people to stop that zeppelin now. Or we're really in for it."
18
They flew most of the night and well into daylight to reach Las Vegas, New Mexico, a sprawling collection of buildings out of an old western novel. The isolation was perfect for them. Several miles east of the town, near the Conchas River, was a huge open desert area the army used for field trials and training exercises. One large hangar stood at the end of the field, surrounded by tents and basic living facilities for the infantry and ground personnel who serviced the fighters and bombers that flew in for exercises. The isolation was better than they expected. An artillery and a bombing range nearby made it clear the area wasn't healthy for uninvited guests. As many bombs tumbled awry as struck their bull'seyes, marked in the desert with whitewashed stones.
"Everybody get some food," Indy told his group. "Find out where the latrines are because I suggest we all use them just before we take off later tonight. You've got one hour to take this break. Meet by the plane then and we'll go over all our equipment and weapons, and see if anything new has come up."
"What time do you plan for takeoff?" Cromwell asked.
"How long will it take us to climb to thirtytwo thousand feet?"
"Good God, Indy, I've never been anywhere near that high!" Cromwell exclaimed.
"Will, how long?"
Cromwell worked some figures in his head. "We'll be lighter than usual," he said finally, "and—"
"Just the numbers, Will," Indy pressed.
"No, Indy. It's going to be very tricky up there, and I think it's best if you understand what we're up against. Since we've never climbed that high, I can't tell you what our rate of climb will be. We've got a highlift wing, and those superchargers, well, I've got great faith in them. But the higher we go, the slower will be our rate of ascent. Do you see?"
Indy waited patiently. No use arguing with Cromwell; in this case he was right. At the altitude they were going for, what you didn't know could hurt you.
"Judging we may have some problems, and all that," Cromwell went on, "I'd say we ought to give ourselves at least two to three hours just to get to the altitude you want. We'll be on oxygen above twelve thousand and we want to be sure that doesn't freeze up on us. I've checked the charts. Figure on a hundred and fifty miles to this Acoma place.
That area, anyway. We'll cover the distance while we're climbing."
"Okay," Indy said.
"Maybe not so much okay," Foulois broke in. "Indy, you must consider something I have not heard anyone speak about."
"Which is?"
"Everything we have heard about this airship, no? It is very fast. It may be faster than we are when we reach upstairs."
"It could be," Indy admitted. "We'll have to find out when we get there."
"Ah, then consider," Foulois said quickly. "If this is the way it is to be, then I urge you and my corpulent English friend, here, to attempt to reach perhaps another two thousand feet or so. We can gain speed in a shallow dive. At that altitude, we will become very fast."
Cromwell laughed, but without a trace of humor. "Don't forget, Indy, we'll likely have company."
Chino listened with amazement to the conversation. He turned to Gale.
"Company? What kind of company is higher than even the eagles fly?"
"Discs."
"Discs?"
"Well, more like scimitars in shape. But discs will do. They have jet engines and they're very fast, and they're likely to do everything they can to shoot us down.
So we'll be ready to give them the works, of course. That's why we've got those machine guns on the airplane."
"This all sounds, like, well, like the wild tales our ancients tell the children."
"It's a gas, isn't it?" Gale said.
Captain Hans Ulrich Guenther, master of the super airship Asgard, listened to the intercom reports as they came in steadily to the control bridge of the great zeppelin. His second in command, Richard Atkins, marked each item on a long checklist. The Asgard was half again as long as the greatest oceangoing vessel ever built, and there existed no room for errors. The airship had to be balanced perfectly, the center of gravity always known. The three men who shifted ballast and coordinated airship attitudes in flight functioned like orchestra leaders. So huge was the Asgard, and so sensitive in balance and inertia, it took several men to operate the vessel safely and smoothly.
By two o'clock in the morning all prelift requirements had been completed.
Guenther, looking straight ahead through the th
ick glass panels of the bridge gondola, watched the ground crew in position to begin ascent. From this height, even tethered in the tightfitting canyon of these American savages, the men appeared like toys. Guenther, without turning his head, spoke to Atkins. "All flight crew aboard. Confirm."
Atkins's answer came immediately. "Three to go, sir. They are boarding now.
Two minutes."
Soon Atkins approached Guenther. He held the checklist before the captain.
Guenther waved it aside. He had absolute confidence in his second. "Mister Burgess!" Guenther announced with raised voice. Andrew Burgess, the most experienced pilot aboard, stepped forward. "Sir!"
"Start all engines, Mister."
"Start all engines, sir," Burgess repeated. He went to the control position.
Three banks of instruments were spread out before him. To each side of the position where he would stand were several wheels for raising and lowering the nose, for operating through an elaborate system of hydraulics and cables the elevators and the rudder, and for dumping ballast when necessary. Burgess secured the standing harness about his body; were the vessel to shift to a steep angle of any kind he would be able to remain in the precise position he required to reach and operate the controls.
Standing behind and to his right were three more of his control team, who would relay commands and information from and to the pilot. They would also keep an eye on their own instrument panels. Backup for backup for backup; it was the only proper way to manage the greatest aerial vessel the earth had ever known.
Vibration beneath his feet. Engines starting. A distant roar as the huge jet engines spun up to proper speed, fuel flow, and temperature, and then ignited for operation. This far forward, the sound was a deep wind roaring through a tunnel, but muted like a faraway bass organ. "Asgard ready for liftoff," Atkins announced. "Stand by," Guenther ordered. He called out another name. "Miller!"
The answer came from amidships. "Weapons Officer Miller reporting, sir." The voice was tinny as the speaker boxes in the gondola vibrated slightly. Miller was four hundred and seventy feet away in the belly of the Asgard. "Miller, confirm security and safeties of the bombs." "Yes, sir. I report the gas bombs in their racks, fuses set for arming on your order, sir. All racks primed for release on your command, Captain."
"Very good, Miller. Confirm all gunners at their stations."
"Confirm all gunners secured at their stations, weapons at the ready, sir."
"Flight Leader Moldava! This is the captain." "Moldava here, sir." "Status of the discs, Flight Leader." "Four discs secured, fueled, armed, and in position for launching at your command, sir. The bay doors have been tested and are ready for power opening, manual backup confirmed."
"Thank you, Flight Leader."
"Mister Burgess, order lift to commence," Guenther ordered his Chief Pilot.
"Yes, sir. Commencing liftoff." A klaxon sounded and echoed mournfully through the cavern, booming outside to the canyon walls. That was the signal for the ground crew to start easing tension on the holding cables. The Asgard tugged at her lines, seemingly anxious to break free of the earth. Burgess would let her lift vertically, the tension cables keeping her moving smoothly forward. Clear of the cavern, the great vessel would be in the canyon, from where she could begin a vertical ascent, the tension cables keeping her enormous rounded sides from brushing the walls to either side.
The Asgard rose slowly, lifted by the buoyancy of her helium cells, her jet engines idling, waiting for the airship to lift above the highest point of the Acoma plateau and its buildings. At that moment she would be at the mercy of the winds unless the engines were brought up to power. She would continue rising.
"What are the winds, Mister Burgess?" Guenther called.
"Direct on the bow, sir. Twelve knots. I am initiating minimum power to assist in holding our position over the canyon until we have cleared the walls. We will at that moment release water ballast and increase power, sir."
"Very good, Mister Burgess." Guenther started to add a comment, then held his silence. Burgess knew as well as any man that the moment of danger would come as they cleared the Acoma canyon, when a sudden side wind could swing the huge bulk of the airship to one side or the other, and even raise or lower the nose in an awkward yawing motion that might bring contact with the upper reaches of the vertical cliffs. He would have to lift her steadily, straight up, and as soon as they cleared the cliffs and buildings, he would bring in power and at the same time lighten the airship by ballast drop. They would then rise away from the surface in a climbing turn. With the ground safely beneath them, Burgess would bring in climb power for full control of the Asgard, starting the steady ascent to their cruising altitude.
They would rise slowly, much slower than the speed and climb rate of which the Asgard was capable. Too swift an ascent would bring the helium cells expanding at a
dangerous rate, especially if any cells developed a double fold in their holding girders that could tear open a cell. The slower ascent would also give the crew time to become accustomed to the thin air at the lower edge of the stratosphere. They would don their coldweather clothing —heavy fleecelined flight suits, boots and gloves—and their oxygen masks. Once at cruising altitude and beyond the borders of the United States, the crew would take turns in the pressurized compartment within the belly of the Asgard. They would be warm there; they could doff their heavy gear and masks, and partake of hot meals.
The remainder of the flight would be six miles above the Atlantic Ocean, and a straight course for London. There the first load of gas bombs would be dropped. The second load would fall on Paris, and the last of the deadly bombs would hurtle down against Berlin.
And nothing could stop them once they reached cruise altitude. Captain Hans Ulrich Guenther was quite satisfied.
Jose Syme Chino came running to the tent where Indy and his team were drinking hot chocolate and finishing off army iron rations for fast energy. Chino wasted no time. "That thing is in the air!" he burst out.
Everyone sprang to their feet. Before Chino could add another word, the question was on Indy's lips. "When?"
"An hour ago."
"How do you know?" demanded Cromwell.
"Telephone. It would have been sooner but the connections from here are crazy and it took forever," Chino explained. "I spoke with one of our offices at Acomita. That's on the highway north of the great pueblo. He had several people ready to call him the moment that airship came into view over the cliffs. It's in the air, all right."
"This makes it a tight go, Indy," Cromwell said immediately. "We've just lost anywhere from one to three hours, and when that bloody machine gets going it's leaving us in its wake."
"I know—" Indy didn't finish his sentence.
"No! Wait a moment," Chino broke in. "Remember you said before, when you were trying to figure what route that thing would take to the east? You all figured they'd skirt around Albuquerque to stay away from the heavily populated areas. Well, they're going to have to do a pretty major diversion down Socorro way."
"Why?" Foulois said quickly.
"Thunderstorms. There's a line of really big storms running north of the Acoma and Laguna reservations. It stretches way up north of Los Alamos, into the Santa Fe National Forest, and that's nasty country. If they try a curving line out of the Santa Fe forestlands, that would take them into the area of Wheeler Peak and Brazos Peak—"
"You're trying to tell us something," Cromwell said impatiently.
"Joe, you're telling us they won't go north?" Indy queried.
"Yes! That's right! Not unless they're crazy," Chino responded immediately.
"Brazos Peak is due north of Albuquerque, and it's well over eleven thousand feet high. If they cut northwest after skirting Albuquerque, they've got to work through the area of Wheeler Peak, around the Carson forests, and that mountain is over thirteen thousand feet high. I'm no flyer, my friends, but I'll tell you thunderstorms in that area, over those mountains, would keep even t
he great spirits hugging the ground. It is really mean up there when those storms build up."
"Let's cut to it, Joe," Indy said impatiently. "You know the area. Which way, man? What's your best bet?"
"South, at first. Down along the Rio Grande past Socorro, then cut east along the lava fields of the Valley of Fire. Beyond that there's a world of nothing, and the mountains all hang at five thousand feet and most of them less than that. From there they can break toward Portales or Clovis. Much the same thing. Open spaces and more lava fields, and beyond that sand dunes and open desert."
"And by then," Foulois said, holding up a chart on which he'd followed Chino's descriptions, "they ought to be at the ceiling they want. So we'd better—"
"Let's go!" Indy yelled. He pointed to an army lieutenant. "Get that plane out of the hangar— now!" he shouted. "Will, Rene, fire her up as fast as you can.
Gale, you and Joe do a last check to be sure all our gear is in the airplane. I want to check a few last things. The moment I get on board, you signal to Will to take off, straight ahead."
Indiana Jones & the Sky Pirates Page 26
