by Todd Downing
Until that day.
On that day, he became the object of her hate.
She was serving a table of French soldiers, playfully slapping the Lieutenant who was getting handsy with her, when McGraw strutted in, flush from victory, the smell of engine oil and smoke still lingering on his flight leathers. He was with two mates: a stocky fellow they called Rivets, and a British munitions officer by the last name of Willis (but everyone called him Duke). They pushed the grinning pilot to the bar, demanded a round of beer, and proceeded to toast the room on behalf of “Captain Stratosphere”.
The man who had just shot down that German devil, Hans Heinrich.
Eva’s tray dropped to the floor, shattered glass flying everywhere. The soldiers around her did their best to help her clean up the mess, but she just focused on the three men at the bar. Reveling in the death of her betrothed. Her true love.
She watched them laugh, and drink, and laugh some more. She watched McGraw relate the story to another group of pilots, even pantomiming the aerial tactics with his hands. He was pleased with himself, wasn’t he?
That night, she packed up her few belongings and left Beauvois, never to return. Never to feel joy again. Never to love again. In its place grew a black hatred of Captain McGraw, and by extension everyone and everything he loved.
And she swore she’d destroy it all.
# # #
Crowley’s eyes were closed and he imagined the scene Maria described.
“And when your friend, ‘Captain Stratosphere’, shot your betrothed down, you pledged your vengeance upon him…” he mumbled the end of a story he never grew tired of hearing.
“Yes,” Maria nodded, lifting a canteen of water to Crowley’s lips to let him drink. “I hated him as my enemy in war, and I hated him as my enemy in life. I pledge death to Captain Stratosphere, and to those he loves.”
“Very well, Maria,” Crowley said softly. “Very well.”
Previously serene, he suddenly opened his eyes and gazed at Maria intently. “You realize the importance of the summoning ritual tonight? Is the temple made ready? Are the sacrifices plentiful?”
“Yes,” she answered, bowing her head.
“For we summon Choronzon,” Crowley explained, “Dweller in the Abyss. He commands a demonic legion which in turn will be mine to command, as I will control Choronzon. No nation will dare stand against the Silver Star. This summoning will allow us to work our will upon the world.”
She knew her master was fully in the “dragon’s embrace” now, rambling plots of which she was well aware, as he leaned to one side and began to slur his words.
“You serve me well,” he said. “And once we have completed the ceremony tonight, I will set you free to finish your vendetta against Captain McGraw.”
Maria guided her mentor in the occult to a resting position with his head on a pillow, gently caressing his bald head as he drifted deeper into his heroin haze.
“Thank you, my master.”
# # #
The arboreal natives were swift and sure-footed through the tangled causeways of the tree canopy, as if the knowledge of every dip and rise, pit and crevasse were inborn. With two hunters at the front of each pole, and two at the rear, the Daedalus crew were carried quickly through the thick branches and leaves. Before long, the tangled vines and branches had become carved wooden planks assembled into paths which led into a magnificent wooden city.
The throb of ceremonial drums echoed through the jungle treetops, and painted natives in simple skins, faces pierced with barbs of bone and wood scurried to and fro in preparation. For what, Doc hadn’t a clue.
Single homes of rattan with thatched roofs stood proudly at the outer perimeter of local political power, concentrating inward in circles—like the growth rings of a tree—and culminating at the city center. The seat of power was the central hall, a round structure easily 100 feet across and roofed like the other dwellings, with an open chimney for the community fire and braced by enormous rattan columns which had been ornately carved with sacred tribal designs. There were no walls as such; the structure was open to the air on all sides between the columns.
The crew were brought into the central hall, and were grateful for the cooler shade. For a moment Jack felt a pang of fear that this had been a bad idea. There was already a fire crackling in the giant ceramic brazier in the middle. It was large enough to accommodate the carrying poles two at a time. He had no desire to end up the main course at a cannibal feast. Then he reminded himself to be more generous—after all, the natives had gone out of their way not to kill them thus far.
Across the hall on a raised dais sat an ornate wooden throne, upon which sat a stunningly beautiful native woman of mature age. She was dressed in jaguar skins trimmed with silver, her ebony hair plaited and adorned with the feathers of colorful tropical birds. Armlets of silver and gold sparkled in the firelight, contrasting against her deep tan complexion. She stood, and as she raised her hand, the drumming ceased.
“Atok! Arrendi mah-kor!” she commanded, and suddenly the crew found their bonds cut with sharpened stone knives. They were ushered around the fire to the wooden steps rising to the throne. Strong hands pushed them to their knees, then the native hunters retreated to either side of the steps. Jack realized the psychological effect of placing them on their knees at the bottom of the steps, with a large fire behind them and armed warriors to either side. It gave the woman on the throne a much more diplomatically desirable quality. Why yes, we’d much rather deal with you than the warriors, the fire, or the jungle below.
The woman began to descend the timber stairs. Her feet were bare, like the rest of the natives, but adorned with silver anklets and rings of boar tusk matching those on her arms. She carried a spear that Doc presumed more ceremonial than functional—a rattan shaft wrapped in leather strips, adorned with feathers and tipped in a 14-inch long translucent blade of hand-chipped red quartz. When she arrived at the lowest step, she looked at Jack and his crew with narrow eyes.
“Who are you, strangers?” she said in a low, soft voice.
Jack blinked. He hadn’t expected English. No one had.
“You speak English?” Jack stammered.
“I speak English,” she replied. “We have traded with Yankee priests. You are Yankees, no?”
Doc assumed by “Yankee priests” she meant American missionaries. Such interactions must have taken place on the jungle floor, or word would have spread of this magnificent wooden city in the treetops.
Jack nodded, introducing his crew. “American and British. I’m Jack McGraw, captain of the airship Daedalus. This is Dorothy Starr, Charlie Dalton and Edward Willis.”
The woman straightened, standing tall over the kneeling crew. She planted the butt of the spear firmly on the lower step. “I am Alanna, queen of the Tree People.”
Doc knew a bit about native cultures of the Amazon region, and this revelation followed the norm. Many tribal names translated into English as the dominant quality of the tribe. The Fierce People. The Invisible People. The River People. The only thing that wasn’t “normal” was their home environment and slightly higher technology level, judging from the construction of the place.
“And you live here, in the jungle canopy?” Doc asked.
“Yes,” Alanna answered. “This is my kingdom among the trees. We lived peacefully here, until you sky-people came…”
Jack slowly rose to one knee. “Most gracious Alanna,” he offered. “We’re looking for a giant airship—many times bigger than the one we came in.”
“But you are not like the others,” she interrupted, taking measure of the crew as she paced around and in front of them.
“Others?” Doc wondered aloud.
Alanna fixed Doc with a suspicious gaze. “The others who came from the sky, with their guns and evil magic.”
Duke leaned over to Jack, muttering, “That sounds like a perfect description of the Silver Star.”
Deadeye overheard the comment. “Sure
does,” he agreed.
“Yes!” Alanna snapped, pointing the translucent red spear point at Duke, much to his surprise and dismay. “They wear a silver star, and follow a man called Cro-lee.”
“Crowley!” Doc exclaimed.
Then the spear was inches from Doc’s throat and Alanna circled her like a jungle cat.
“What do you know of this man?” she demanded.
Jack tried as best he could to bring the native queen’s focus back on himself, for better or worse.
“Is he here? In the Amazon?” he asked earnestly.
Alanna turned her attention back to the captain, and Doc sighed in relief.
“His camp is below the Temple of the Elders,” Alanna said. “He has hostages he means to sacrifice in a dark ritual. Some of my people are among them. We have tried to send warriors to bring them back, but the evil sky-people guns are too strong. They kill without thought.”
“I say,” whispered Duke, “this sounds like a golden opportunity, Jack.”
Doc regarded Alanna plaintively. “What about Rivets?”
Jack clarified, “One of my crew went missing in the crash. Have your people seen him?”
Alanna regarded Jack. He could tell she was softening to their presence. All he needed was an opening to propose an alliance.
“Was he a short, angry man with whiskers like a capybara?” she asked.
“I don’t know what that is,” Jack said, “but it sure sounds like Rivets.”
Alanna’s tone darkened. “He was taken by the gray suits of the Silver Star,” she said. “They are to sacrifice him… with many of my people.”
“Oh no,” Doc gasped.
Duke frowned. “Heavens.”
Jack spread his arms in a gesture of openness, palms upward. “Alanna,” he said softly. “Can your scouts guide us to this… Temple of the Elders? To Crowley’s camp?”
The Amazon queen stared at Jack, weighing every possible option and outcome.
Finally, Jack added, “We’ll try to rescue your people as well as our friend—and stop whatever evil plan Crowley is up to.”
Suddenly the spear point was at his neck and he felt it lift his chin. He accepted her invitation to stand. Then the spear was at her side and she looked hard into his eyes.
“You are a very different sky-man, Jack Mah-grah,” Alanna said.
She turned on her heel and ascended back up the stairs to her throne on the dais. Taking her seat, she nodded at the group. “We will help you,” she said. “If you swear to release my people.”
Jack bowed his head respectfully. “We’ll do our best, your majesty.”
- Chapter 16 -
The crew were ushered to an open-air assembly area, and all four immediately began to sweat again. Sunlight blazed down over the green blanket of the jungle canopy, bathing the tree city in a saturated white haze. Native warriors, both male and female, armed with spears, bows and javelin-like hunting arrows began to congregate around them. Some took an interest in Deadeye’s features, which were similar to their own. They delighted when he spoke to them in Cherokee, although they couldn’t understand a word. One slender scout took Duke’s cap and put it on, mugging for the audience. There was a burst of communal laughter, which increased when the scout put the hat onto a young girl.
Doc squinted through the harsh light at Jack, who appeared distracted. She thought she knew why.
“That Alanna is quite a woman,” she said innocently.
“Sure,” said Jack. “If you like that sort of thing.” Then he added, almost under his breath, “She’s no Doc Starr,” and wandered toward a group of warriors near one of the wooden gantries leading out of the city.
Doc’s heart swelled. “Good answer,” she smiled.
The group was introduced to one of Queen Alanna’s personal guards, Katoc, a tall man with bronze skin and a face painted clay red from the nose to the shaved crest of his proud skull. As a revered warrior among the Tree People with some command of English, Katoc had been assigned to lead the Sky People through the jungle to the Temple of the Elders, and aid them in liberating the native hostages there.
“If you trick us or fail to free our people,” Katoc threatened, “we will leave you in the jungle to die.”
Jack knew the importance of honor among elder civilizations; it was a quality the imperialist cultures of Europe and America had largely lost contact with. He clapped a hand on Katoc’s shoulder.
“We will not trick you,” he promised. “We wish only peace and friendship with your people.” He turned to address the crowd. Those who comprehended English translated haphazardly for those who didn’t. “But we face a uniquely evil enemy. One who kills without conscience. One who distorts the world with dark magics. One who would enslave not just your people, but all of the tribes of the Amazon.”
Jack paced in a circle, looking into the eyes of every native man, woman and child. “We must show this enemy no fear, and we must not rest until we have saved your people and driven every last one of the Silver Star from your jungle.”
Jack glanced at the great hall where Alanna was emerging into the noonday sun.
“Or killed them,” he added.
A murmur of approval and primal aggression swept through the crowd.
Jack turned back to Katoc, fixing him in a solemn stare. “Katoc, we swear to fight side by side with the Tree People, unto victory… or death.”
If Katoc had any prior reservations about the motives of the Sky People, he shunted them from his mind. At least for now, and the foreseeable future, they would be his brethren in battle. He responded with his own hand on Jack’s shoulder.
“We will fight… or die… together,” he said.
A cheer went up from the crowd, and Jack smiled at his crew. “Ammo check!” he ordered.
Doc had never seen him so completely in command, and not in some blustery, macho, military way. This was a man invested in the safety of his crew, pledging his life in the service of others. She tried to present a front of all-business, but even in the simple act of checking the cylinder of her revolver, she felt an almost adolescent giddiness—feelings she hadn’t felt since Paris.
A group of native scouts escorted Jack and the crew to the wrecked Daedalus, where they stocked up on ammunition and a few necessities. Doc took the opportunity to slip into a fresh shirt, which she tied above the navel. It would have been a daring fashion choice back home in New Jersey, but here in the jungle—among nearly-naked warriors—function won out over propriety. She stocked every loop in her gun belt with a fresh cartridge, looking very much like a western silent movie star. The lodestone was tucked into her right front trouser pocket, just in case. She realized the risk of taking it into a Silver Star camp where she could easily be killed or captured, in which case it would become the property of an enemy who would abuse its power. But it might also be a useful weapon in their fight. So along it came.
Deadeye asked Jack his preference for weaponry: the Winchester carbine or the Springfield. Jack told him they needed every person on the ground in this operation, thus the only sniper cover would be a small unit of natives. Deadeye loaded the Winchester full and stuffed a box of .45 long Colt rounds into his ammo pack.
Duke grabbed a canvas satchel full of the strange new grenades they’d been given in Port au Prince, and took some extra ammo for his Webbley service revolver.
Jack reloaded his pistol magazines and added a couple of spare clips each to the pouches on his belt. He kept his trench knife and a small pair of binoculars, and tied a cotton bandanna around his neck to absorb the sweat running down from his head.
Then they were back on the maze of thick limbs and branches that made up the elevated highway through the jungle trees. Doc was envious of the barefoot natives who were able to take the path at a brisk jog, rather than carefully tread each step worrying about a twelve-story fall to the rainforest floor. For the Daedalus crew, it was slow going. Traversing miles of the crisscrossed limbs of giant rattan, lapuna and rubber
trees, scampering down vines and ducking under mossy overhangs, the crew was a ragged, sweaty mess. Deadeye recalled his Army basic training at Wilmington, but not even North Carolina was this hot and humid.
After about five miles travel above the jungle floor, the trail linked up with a network of deer paths on the ground, and the group was able to move much faster. Finally, the sun dipped in the western sky and the mosquitoes came out in swarms. Katoc showed the Sky People how to crush leaves of the Citronella mucronata into an oily balm that would keep the insectoid vampires at bay.
They continued over a small creek and up a trail thick with beautiful, toxic plants. The trail forked at a 45-degree angle, and Katoc sent three scouts to northward. Then he led everyone else on the easterly trail, which curved through a half-mile of dense foliage. The path ended at a cluster of massive wimba trees and strangler figs clinging to a rocky hillside which overlooked the Temple of the Elders. The vine tendrils wove a perfect screen to hide behind, allowing the party to watch the goings-on within the camp with impunity, almost a natural hunting blind. Katoc shimmied up a natural ladder of vines and footholds in a massive tree trunk to keep watch above, while the Daedalus crew found themselves collapsing in a larger hollow. The rest of the natives were so adept at stealth and camouflage that they almost literally disappeared into the surrounding trees.
Jack scanned the area though his field glasses, noting the slave corral, the temple steps, the lagoon, and the relative distances between each landmark. Hold on—the lagoon! His binoculars panned back along the still water of the lake, and there she was: colossal, black, and torpedo-shaped, bearing the Silver Star insignia.
“Whoa there!” Jack exclaimed in a harsh whisper.
Deadeye squinted out through a grid of strangler fig branches. “Well I’ll be…”
Doc took the glasses from Jack and looked toward the lagoon. “The Luftpanzer,” she hissed.
