by Todd Downing
“What’s this?” Rivets asked.
“It’s called a ‘radio detector’,” Deadeye said.
Duke pushed up the brim of his cap. “Not like a normal receiver, surely?”
Deadeye shook his head. He loved educating the proper Englishman. “Not at all, Duke,” he said. “This baby sends out its own wave, which bounces back to us. We can use it to find moving ships at sea.”
Jack inhaled sharply. “…or a zeppelin.”
Rivets looked doubtful. “Well if you’re gonna use it to chase zeppelins, you can’t use it for too long a stretch. That thing is gonna put one heck of a drain on the electrical system.”
Duke nodded. “Understood. I shall sip it like a fine, single-malt whiskey.”
As Duke and Rivets carried off the crate to install the console on the Daedalus, Deadeye retrieved his gear from the truck: a canvas Army duffel bag, an M1903 Springfield rifle with a telescopic sight, and a Winchester Model 1894 carbine—which he slung over his shoulder.
Jack picked up Deadeye’s duffel bag, and Doc hefted the Springfield. They walked to the airship together.
“So where’d this little gift come from, Charlie?” Jack asked.
Deadeye cleared his throat. “It’s courtesy of the US Army,” he offered. “But maybe don’t mention it to Edison.”
Jack stopped, giving Deadeye a sidelong glance. “Why not?”
“Because it was made by a certain Mr. Tesla.”
Doc winced. “That old feud?”
“I can’t believe they’d still be at it,” Jack muttered.
“I can’t believe Edison would still remember Tesla ever worked for him,” Doc added. “That was so long ago.”
Deadeye shrugged as the others hefted his gear through the gondola door. “Telsa’s been working on some new stuff for the military—they’re taking good care of him, but with the bad blood between him and Edison, I figured we might wanna keep mum.”
Doc shook her head. “If there’s any trouble at all, I’ll talk to Edison.”
Jack sighed. “Agreed. Until then—”
Suddenly Deadeye was unslinging the Winchester. A hundred feet away, near the stern of the ship, an airfield worker in coveralls screamed, “Death to Captain Stratosphere! Death to the Daedalus crew!” while brandishing a bundle of dynamite with a lit fuse. In a single motion, Deadeye cocked the lever on the Winchester and fired from the hip, severing the fuse.
“Not today,” he said, keeping the carbine trained on the would-be saboteur as Jack closed the distance and pummeled him to the ground.
“Hold it right there, friend,” Jack ordered as he grabbed the pale man by the collar of his coveralls. “Who sent you?”
The crewman regarded Jack almost drunkenly. “Agents of the Silver Star are everywhere, Captain Stratosphere…”
Jack shook the man savagely. “Where is the Luftpanzer?” he demanded. “Tell me, you rat!”
The saboteur’s face began to swell and bubble, and an awful-smelling smoke began to rise from his skin. The same process which had claimed the two agents back in the hangar in New Jersey.
“My essence joins with his…” the man said, almost joyously. “I become one with The Beast…”
Then his body was reduced to bones and ash, and Jack found himself holding an empty pair of scorched coveralls.
Doc and Deadeye approached with obvious concern.
“What the devil—?” Deadeye muttered. “He just… he just…”
“Melted away,” Doc finished for him. “I’ll fill you in later.”
“Did you hear that?” Jack asked them. “What did he mean by ‘The Beast’?”
Doc’s brow furrowed. “Crowley,” she said. “He often refers to himself as ‘The Great Beast of Mankind’.”
Deadeye frowned. This was far more serious—and scary—than he’d assumed it would be. He put his trust in things that were real, solid. “Ain’t met a beast yet who was immune to bullets.”
Jack was suddenly all command. “Have Rivets check the hull. We need to cast off right away.”
Deadeye ran aft to the cargo ramp, and Jack offered his hand to Doc as she climbed into the side door in the gondola. They sprinted up to the bridge, surprising Duke, who was still installing the radio detector console into the comm station.
“Sir?”
Jack grabbed his headset and strapped in. “Radio in to headquarters, Duke. Silver Star attempt on Daedalus ship and crew, foiled.”
Duke stowed a small crescent wrench and slid into his chair, powering on the wireless. “Affirmative!” he acknowledged.
Jack hit the TALK button on the internal comms. “Rivets, report. I don’t want to power up engines if they’re compromised.” He turned to Doc at the nav station. “Shall we plot a course due south, Doc?”
Doc winked at him, but he had already turned away. “Aye aye, ‘Captain Stratosphere’,” she quipped.
Jack winced. He’d earned the nickname during the war for his strategy of pushing the service ceiling of his plane beyond factory specifications, diving on targets from a much higher altitude. He’d never actually made it to the stratosphere, but as a colorful call-sign, it had stuck. He wondered how the saboteur had known who he was.
Static erupted in Jack’s ear, followed by Rivets’ thick Bronx accent. “Hull looks fine, Cap. We’re okay to take off.”
Jack flipped each power switch in succession. “Get aboard, you two,” he ordered. “Charlie, scurry topside and man the turret, in case we run into trouble.”
The engine pods began to whir, pitching up to the whine of a swarm of bees. Rivets flagged a couple of ground crew personnel and told them to untie the stakes—or just knock them out of the ground. The Daedalus lifted into the air like an angry bird of prey.
In the pilot’s seat, Jack throttled forward and nosed up, muttering to himself. “Crowley tried to draw first blood, but he missed the mark. And we’re not sticking around to let him try again.” He hit the TALK button. “Charlie,” he addressed. “How’s it look topside?”
Deadeye’s monotone crackled into Jack’s ear. “Looks clear, Captain!”
Jack made a southerly turn and throttled to cruising speed. “The Silver Star appears to have some reach,” he offered.
Doc glanced up from her charts. “They do indeed.”
“Which is why I want Duke to radio back and make sure all ground crews pass muster with AEGIS,” Jack ordered. “We can’t afford this happening again.”
“Aye, Captain,” Duke nodded.
“And Duke,” Jack added. “Get ready on that radio detector.”
# # #
The radioman on the Luftpanzer bridge clutched his right earphone and turned nervously. “Captain,” he announced. “Our agent at Fairfield has failed!”
Ecke didn’t wait for Maria to explode. Turning on his heel, he muttered, “Crowley has tipped his hand too early.”
To his endless surprise, Maria remained collected. Her eyes narrowed. “Perhaps,” she admitted, “but it flushed them out. And now we know we’re ahead of them.”
Ecke wondered what her game was. Any top-level strategy came from Crowley through Maria. Ecke was only responsible for commanding the Luftpanzer herself. Perhaps Ecke had criticized policy once too often. Whatever the case, he was not privy to the planning. “So…” he stammered, “we’re not turning to engage?”
Maria pursed her lips. “Not yet,” she said, so softly as to almost be a whisper. “As we fulfill our orders, we shall lead them far from their homeland, then strike when they are vulnerable.”
Ecke turned to see her mutter a last curse, barely under her breath.
“Captain Stratosphere will die.”
- Chapter 6 -
“Ready, Duke?” Jack throttled down and leveled out the angle of the airship’s envelope. The Daedalus drifted forward on inertia alone, buffeted slightly by an easterly wind.
Duke signaled OK from his seat. “Ready, Captain.”
Jack hit the TALK button and hailed
the engine room. “Rivets, I’m cutting the engines for a few seconds.”
“Affirmative,” the Bronx mechanic responded.
Switches were flipped to OFF positions. Engines whined as they spun down.
“Engines off,” said Jack. “Let ‘er rip, Duke.”
“Aye,” Duke answered, flipping on the master power switch on the radio detector console.
There was suddenly a high-pitched deet-deet-deet-deet and Jack could picture the radio waves spreading outward from the ship like ripples from a stone dropped into a lake. Duke scanned the round monitor with discerning eyes.
“I’m picking up several readings,” he said. “Narrowing the band…”
“How about it, Duke?” Jack pressured impatiently.
Duke gently adjusted the band control dial. “Aha!” he shouted. “I think I have something!”
He sprang from his chair and turned to the nav station. “Doc,” he said, “where’s your chart for the Caribbean Sea?”
Doc stood and unrolled a chart from her cubby. “Right here,” she said.
Duke poured over the map. “I picked up an aerial vehicle on a southerly heading. Estimate their speed at seventy-five miles per hour..”
Jack was back on the headset. “Rivets,” he called. “How fast can Daedalus go?”
“Dunno Cap,” Rivets crackled back. “There’s no manual and we’ve never taken her out before.”
Jack allowed himself a chuckle. “Good point,” he said. “Then let’s answer the question, shall we?” He pulled a stick of Black Jack from his pocket and jammed the licorice-flavored gum into his mouth. “Duke,” he ordered, “shut down the receiver. Rivets, I’m putting full power on the engines. We’ve got a zeppelin to catch.”
The Daedalus climbed and headed south until an Atlantic system threatened from the east. They adjusted course to follow the coastline to the southwest. Two and a half hours later, they were over Charleston, South Carolina. The sun was beginning dip in the sky, and Jack realized they’d be over open ocean during the night. This would be a real shakedown cruise, he thought.
After another hour, Rivets relieved him at the helm, while Deadeye manned the comm station.
The moon was just rising when a headwind found them. Jack sat, tilted back in one of the upholstered aluminum chairs in the main saloon. He gazed out at the stars, the soft blanket of clouds beneath them. Doc found him with his forehead pressed against the window. His feet were crossed atop the small square table. He looked exhausted.
“She’s a good ship, Jack,” said Doc, as if she could read his mind.
Jack didn’t look up. His gaze was fixed on the waxing moon.
“Seems so,” he said. “Quiet too—even with the engines at full.” Jack could feel the envelope rumble.
“We hit a headwind,” Doc informed him.
“I was wondering,” said Jack. “What’s our speed now?”
“We’re averaging between 80 and 90 miles per hour,” she said. “It’d be faster if not for the headwind.”
Jack finally turned to look at Doc, standing over the table with a rolled chart in her hand. The years since the war hadn’t been kind to her, yet she still maintained a natural beauty unmarred by the horrors she’d faced, the losses she’d suffered. Jack imagined her little girl—Ellen, was it?—looking like a miniature version of Doc, with the same dark brown hair and laughing green eyes. She was probably strong, and smart, like her mother. He wondered if he would ever have the opportunity to peek into that world. The world of a stable home and loving family.
“Like you said,” Jack winked, “she’s a good ship.”
He sat up, removing his feet from the table and gesturing for her to take the chair opposite him.
Doc settled into the other chair, gazing for a moment through the same gondola window at the glowing moon. Then she unrolled the chart onto the table in front of him. “There’s something I need to show you,” she said.
Jack sat forward.
Doc traced a line along the Florida peninsula into the northeast Caribbean area. “We’ll have to track them with the radio detector to be sure,” she said, “but I think I know where the Luftpanzer is going.”
Jack was intrigued. “Where?” he asked.
“If they continue their present course,” she answered, “it puts them over the Bahamas, and then straight on to Haiti.”
“And what’s of interest in Haiti?”
“A lot, to a man like Crowley,” Doc said. “Voodoo rituals, spells, fetishes, and very old Spanish or French religious icons.” She pulled a piece of notepaper from her shirt pocket and unfolded it. “There are a number of lost artifacts of power in the area,” she explained. “But his most-likely target is the Cross of Cadiz.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think that? Just a hunch?”
“I’ve been studying Crowley’s habits, strategies and operations for the past three years,” she explained. “This artifact fits his modus operandi. Whether he’s actually after it or not, it’s something we need to keep from falling into the hands of the Silver Star.”
“Fair enough,” Jack nodded. “So how do we find it?”
Doc reached into her shirt, fishing a hidden pendant around to the front on its leather thong. “With this,” she said.
Jack squinted at the shard of what looked like hematite. It was about 2½ inches long and the thickness of a finger, silvery and rather ordinary looking, Jack decided.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“It’s a lodestone, of sorts,” she explained. “Except it doesn’t point north. It points toward items infused with mystical power. The more powerful the item, the stronger the glow and the pull.”
“Wow,” Jack marveled. “Where’d that come from?”
“Viking tomb in Ireland,” Doc answered.
Jack sat back and folded his arms, smiling. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”
Doc flashed an adorable smile. “Did I mention I’m an occult expert in addition to being a qualified field surgeon?”
“You may have mentioned it,” Jack smiled, but then the smile faded and his face became as earnest as his words. “But say, Doc, don’t let that rock out of your sight. It’s not something we want to fall into Crowley’s hands.”
Doc delicately let the lodestone fall against her chest. “I know, Jack. Don’t worry.” She looked into his tired eyes. “And now, as your doctor,” she said, blatantly, “I recommend you go get some shut-eye.”
# # #
Four hours became six because Deadeye fell asleep at the comms, and Rivets was enjoying the quiet too much to wake anyone. Jack ducked onto the bridge, taking in the brilliant hues of pink and gold saturating the deep blue Caribbean sky.
Rivets heard him, and shrugged out of the pilot’s harness. “Approaching Grand Bahama, Cap,” he said.
Deadeye woke and made efficient work-like motions, which were lost on his captain.
“Great,” Jack said. “I want to kill the engines again and take a signal reading.”
Rivets just yawned and trudged aft toward his quarters. “You can do that on your own time, Cap’n. Far as I’m concerned, there’s a bunk with my name on it.”
Duke passed Rivets in the hatchway, and Deadeye stood to give the primary comms officer his seat.
Jack began flipping switches and adjusting dials. “You gonna catch a few winks, Deadeye?” he asked.
Charlie nodded. “In a bit, Cap,” he said. “Gonna have a quick look topside.” He ducked out the hatchway, climbed nimbly up the ladder and was gone.
Duke sat and picked up the headset. “Apologies, Captain,” he said as Doc made her way onto the bridge. “It’s been years since I was on a four.”
He referred to the four-hour watch from his military days, and Jack nodded in understanding.
“It’s okay, Duke,” he answered. “We’ll get the duty schedules sorted out.”
Doc yawned as she sat at her duty station. “I really liked those extra two h
ours this morning.”
Jack smiled, powering down the turbofans. “Cutting engines,” he said. “Fire up the detector.”
“Aye, sir.” Duke powered up the radio detector console, which erupted in the same familiar deet-deet-deet-deet sound as the radio waves rippled outward from the Daedalus. Duke’s eyes widened. “Well it’s good Deadeye went up to the guns,” he said. “Good God, look at them all…”
Jack peered through the forward windscreen. “What have you got, Duke?”
“A dozen or more small craft coming in fast!”
Jack hit the TALK button on his control panel. “Deadeye! Heads up!”
Charlie’s steady voice crackled back in response. “Way ahead of you, Cap!” he said. “Seaplanes, look like Sopwith Babies—about a dozen. Pirate markings!”
Immediately, Jack was barking orders into the headset. “Shut off the detector! Engines to full power! Everyone hang on!”
The seaplanes buzzed out of the dawn sky like big-footed hornets, spraying the air around the Daedalus with lead.
Deadeye leaned in the open turret atop of the airship, bringing the twin Hotchkiss guns to bear, but then the Daedalus banked and nosed down, and his shot disappeared—taking his equilibrium with it.
The planes broke and banked away, circling around for a second pass. Deadeye spun the turret to face the rear.
“Hang on!” Jack ordered. “Evasive maneuvers!” He throttled to full speed and hauled back on the stick, nose up in a tight corkscrew. The Sopwiths swarmed again, spraying bullets around the ship’s envelope. Charlie could barely hang onto the gun grips as his stomach did cartwheels and he suddenly saw the crystal blue water of the Caribbean a thousand feet beneath him. Years of swimming and high-altitude exploration had taught him to equalize the pressure in his inner ear simply by swallowing, but even that was a difficult proposition right now.
Rivets half-climbed, half-fell through the bridge hatchway. “What the heck—??”
Doc gripped the navigation console with white knuckles. “Rivets!” she shouted. “Strap in or start praying!”
