A Shield Against the Darkness

by Todd Downing

  “No wonder the radio detector didn’t pick her up,” Duke muttered. “She’s below the trees, totally masked by the jungle.”

  “There’s the Temple of the Elders that Alanna mentioned,” Doc said, pointing at the pyramid of stone steps across the camp.

  Jack nodded. “And the whole place is crawling with Silver Star commandos. Deadeye, what do you make of it?”

  Charlie leaned forward, peering out from the hollow. “I count at least three dozen Silver Star,” he said. “Looks like four, maybe six officers and ten civilian workers, plus native labor.”

  “They couldn’t have all come on that zeppelin,” Doc protested.

  Jack pointed at the handmade pier in the distance. “Some seaplanes moored on the lake,” he said. “And three… no, four troop trucks at the south end.”

  “Which means there must be a navigable road out of the jungle,” said Duke.

  Doc nodded. “And begs the question where they’re getting land-based assistance.”

  “How much heavy armament?” Duke asked.

  Jack squinted through the binoculars. “I can see two heavy machine guns,” he said. “And they’re both trained on that corral full of prisoners.”

  As Jack estimated the dimensions of the slave pen, Deadeye suddenly perked up.

  “I can see Rivets,” he announced. “Looks like he’s okay.”

  Doc fell into her overcautious battlefield nurse persona. “We must assume sidearms and rifles on each of the commandos.”

  Deadeye almost chuckled. “Yeah, but those Mauser rifles are heavy and won’t be much use in close quarters.”

  “Hey,” Jack said, flashing a smile at Doc. “It’s only three-to-one odds. We can take ‘em.”

  “Three-to-one is still in their favor,” Doc chided. “No reason not to be prepared.”

  “Fair enough,” Jack said. His binoculars scanned up the stone stairway to the apex of the ancient pyramid. “We need a diversion to draw attention away from the heavy guns so we can free the prisoners and keep Crowley from completing whatever ritual he has up his sleeve.”

  Doc scowled. “And with this many potential sacrifices, it must be something big. A summoning of some kind…”

  Suddenly Katoc leaped from his perch to meet the trio of scouts he’d sent on the northern trail. They exchanged a few words in a dialect of Kayapô, and Katoc turned to Jack.

  “Jack Mah-grah,” he said urgently. “Silver Star patrol not far. Three men. Not far.”

  Jack brightened. “Charlie, come with me,” he ordered. “Doc, you and Duke stay here with the munitions. I have an idea.”

  - Chapter 17 -

  Katoc led Jack and Deadeye back to the fork in the trail, and the trio headed north along what appeared to be a deer path along the western shore of the lake. After another half mile, the trail intersected with a footpath from the south. They found some high ground in the form of an ancient stone outcropping which towered a dozen feet over the trail. Without a word, Deadeye found cover across the trail at the base of a hollowed-out mahogany tree. Katoc merged with the green veil of ivy and strangler fig vines behind the rock, nocking a long hunting arrow into his bow. Jack looked back at him and pointed at the side of his throat to indicate the desired target. Katoc nodded.

  Three commandos in gray cotton fatigues and black military caps tromped down the trail, Mauser rifles slung over sweaty shoulders. Jack reached instinctively for one of his pistols, but remembered stealth was the name of the game, and he slid it back into his holster. But in doing so, he made the slightest of scratching noises as the shifting leather holster slid across the stone overhang.

  That was all the Silver Star lieutenant needed to hear. He raised his hand in caution, and the other two men stopped, unshouldering their rifles. The lieutenant drew a Luger from his belt holster and stepped forward slowly, eyes scanning the green curtain of jungle.

  Jack realized they’d already lost the element of absolute surprise, and with each passing moment the risk of being discovered increased exponentially. He flagged Katoc and leaped from the rock onto the second man. The lieutenant spun around to see Jack land on his comrade. He aimed his Luger with the intent to fire it, but his neck and throat exploded in pain, and he watched the arrow point thrust out from the indentation above his Adam’s apple. He staggered momentarily, gushing blood from his throat.

  The third commando ratcheted the bolt back on his Mauser rifle, but didn’t have time to aim before Deadeye spun from behind the mahogany tree and opened the man’s throat with his trench knife.

  Jack leveled a wallop to the second commando’s jaw, sending him sprawling to the dirt, unconscious. He turned toward the lieutenant, who remained standing, looking awkwardly at the arrow shaft protruding from his neck. Jack cocked back a fist and knocked his lights out. The lieutenant fell, and almost immediately the three bodies began to smolder and smoke.

  Katoc watched the spectacle from atop the overhang, unwilling to come into closer contact with such magic. Jack and Deadeye wasted no time in stripping their uniforms and weapons, leaving nothing but three piles of rapidly decaying bones which they kicked into the gullies on either side of the trail. Jack didn’t like the idea of not giving human remains a proper burial, especially given the chances of them coming back strapped to a rocket. But he knew these men had made their choices, and a proper burial was never part of the plan. The Silver Star were all about the essence of life, and each and every one of them had pledged theirs to Crowley.

  The uniforms themselves were unharmed, although two of them were stained with a fair amount of blood.

  They folded the uniforms, shouldered the weapons, and headed back to the camp overlook at a quick run. As they approached the tangled mess of tropical trees and vines, they were met by Duke’s service revolver.

  “Who goes there?” he demanded.

  Jack walked out of the foliage carrying the new uniforms. “The one and only Captain Stratosphere,” he quipped.

  Doc was on her feet immediately. “What are you holding—? Are those Silver Star uniforms?”

  Deadeye smiled. “That’s right.”

  Jack tossed the uniforms on the ground and winked at Doc as he unshouldered one of the Mauser rifles. “Doc,” he said, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to take you prisoner.”

  # # #

  Jack didn’t like the stiff collar of the Silver Star uniform. Although made for tropical climes, it was still heavy, itchy, and far too hot. The lieutenant’s uniform was also black, as opposed to the charcoal gray of the lower ranks, and Jack shook his head as he tried to figure out what they were thinking, sending black uniforms into hot environments such as this.

  Perhaps, thought Jack, it’s a form of torment for Crowley’s pleasure.

  Once Jack, Duke, and Deadeye had squirmed into captured uniforms and crammed feet into boots a size too small, Katoc sent the other hunters scattering into the jungle around the camp to await the signal. And Jack had made sure it would be unmistakable.

  Jack bound Doc at the wrists with tent cord in a knot she could easily escape, and the three “Silver Star commandos” marched their captive toward the camp. Deadeye was worried at first that he might not pass among the Silver Star’s Aryan majority, however Doc assured him their membership included acolytes and soldiers from all peoples of the world, and she’d seen a couple Hindustani soldiers at this very camp. Though not East Indian, Deadeye wouldn’t arouse suspicion unless he drew unnecessary attention to himself. He was used to playing it cool.

  Jack took point, dressed as the late lieutenant. Doc followed, flanked by Duke and Deadeye, rifles at the ready. To their absolute surprise, nobody took notice of them. Business continued in all corners of the camp, with captives hauling debris and soldiers supervising work details. Jack began hearing a faint voice of doubt in the back of his mind, telling him this had been too easy. They’d gotten within a few yards of the prisoner corral when a tall, uniformed figure stepped into their path, blocking the way.

&nb
sp; “Who is this?” Captain Ecke demanded. His blue eyes pierced the dappled haze of the campground, his grizzled face a throwback to an earlier era of bearded sea captains, shipwrecks, and tall tales.

  Jack stopped in his tracks, thinking quickly. Ecke spoke in English, which meant he was used to dealing with a multicultural force. Still, he felt he’d trigger fewer alarms if he at least feigned a modicum of Germanic background. “Dorothy Starr, mein Kapitän,” he said in slightly German-accented English. “Medical officer on the Daedalus.”

  Ecke looked Doc over, noted her bonds were secure, and turned his attention back to the blond junior officer before him. “I don’t recognize you, Lieutenant,” he said, looking sidelong at Jack. “You are not assigned to the Luftpanzer?”

  “Nein,” Jack replied, hoping it wasn’t too overdone. “I was in the advance guard, with Herr Crowley.”

  The airship captain regarded them for another moment.

  “Very well,” he said finally. “Take her to the pen with the others. I presume Crowley’s madness will get underway momentarily.”

  “Jawohl, mein Kapitän,” Jack saluted, clicking his boot heels together like he’d seen German officers do in the war. To his delight, Ecke returned the salute and stalked off toward the motor pool. Either Silver Star protocol was steeped in German military tradition, or their ranks were filled with veterans who maintained them out of habit.

  As they watched him leave, Doc whispered, “Jack, that was Captain Jonas Ecke of the Luftpanzer. He was a zeppelin captain during the war.”

  “He destroyed a quarter of London,” Duke muttered, “and they say he never lost a ship.”

  Jack stared after him. “Let’s make sure that record gets challenged before we’re through here,” he said, nodding to Duke. “You know what to do.”

  “One rather large diversion, coming up,” said Duke.

  “Okay, Charlie,” Jack said. “Let’s get Doc into the pen.”

  Doc scowled. “I won’t forget this, Jack.”

  “I don’t suppose you will.”

  They began to close the remaining distance to the corral, and Duke silently pulled away from the group, trudging off toward the trail head.

  There was a single guard posted at the corral gate, and he saluted Jack as he approached with Doc, with Deadeye bringing up the rear.

  “Another sacrifice for our master,” Jack informed the guard.

  “Sehr gut!” the man replied, unlatching the rattan gate and opening it for his superior officer.

  Jack stood to the side as Deadeye guided Doc into the corral, which was filled with exhausted natives and one very demoralized mechanic. Jack leaned in as she passed, whispering in her ear.

  “See to Rivets and follow our lead.”

  Doc nodded. The gate was barred behind her, and Jack strolled across the last quarter of the camp, toward what looked like an access road through the jungle. Deadeye wandered over behind one of the two machine gun emplacements and leaned on the heavy Mauser rifle.

  Doc angled her way through the crowd of natives to where Rivets leaned against the rattan corral walls. She immediately pulled her hands free of the ropes which had bound her, and slipped a camp knife out of her left boot.

  “Boy, am I glad to see you,” Rivets muttered as Doc cut his hands free.

  “Are you hurt?” Doc asked.

  “Just my pride,” Rivets answered. “What’s the plan?”

  “Keep your eyes open and follow Jack’s lead.”

  Rivets grunted a half smile. “Oh, so the usual plan.”

  Doc worked through the crowd, cleaving their bonds.

  The low crash of a metal gong echoed through the camp.

  Jack looked toward the sky above the lake clearing. The sun had dipped below the treetops, coloring everything in bold hues of purple and orange. He took up a nonchalant posture near the motor pool, watching as a procession of Silver Star acolytes filtered out of the camp tents and traversed the clearing. Each wore mystics’ robes, the result of a European fetish for Egyptian occultism, complete with an iridescent blue uraeus headdress. Arms bared, they marched single file toward the temple pyramid, carrying lit candles before them. At the temple base, they broke into two equal lines, climbing either side of the main stairway toward the altar before they stopped and faced inward across from each other.

  A figure clad in the robes of a high priest appeared at the summit of the stairway, arms raised. It must be Crowley, Jack realized. His hunch was confirmed when Silver Star troops began to point up at the altar, exclaiming things like, “Look there! Atop the temple! Our master speaks!”

  Crowley’s voice was higher-pitched than Jack had imagined, but it carried through the natural resonating chamber of the jungle clearing. “Behold this bleeding breast of mine—gashed with the sacramental sign!” he blared, drawing a large ceremonial knife across the bulk of his chest. The wound became a red stripe, seeping blood.

  Jack stared, awestruck at the ritual taking place at the altar above. He became suddenly aware of the bulk of his .45s, pinching his calves from within his Silver Star boots. He was itching for a fight he knew to be inevitable.

  Crowley lifted what appeared to be a round hardtack biscuit from the altar above his head, then wet it in the blood oozing from the wound on his chest. An ominous crack of thunder came from nowhere, sending a chill through all present.

  “I stanch the Blood; the wafer soaks

  It up, and the high priest invokes!”

  He broke off a small bit of the hardtack and ate it. Jack shuddered.

  “This Bread I eat. This Oath I swear

  As I enflame myself with prayer:

  ’There is no grace: there is no guilt:

  This is the law; DO WHAT THOU WILT!’”

  Another clap of thunder echoed through the jungle.

  Ready, Charlie, Jack thought. Come on, Duke…

  Then Crowley stepped in front of the altar and glared down over his followers, still brandishing the long knife in a bloody hand. “Bring forth the sacrifices!”

  Jack cast a worried glance at the slave pen and saw a tall, slender woman in a black officer’s uniform gesture with the familiar bejeweled Cross of Cadiz, pointing one of the prisoners out to the guard.

  No surprise this is where that thing ended up, Jack thought.

  The woman stood by the gate as the soldier entered and pushed his way through the natives, returning with Doc at gunpoint. The tall woman drew her own Luger pistol and directed Doc toward the pyramid, and the soldier locked the corral again.

  He didn’t recognize the rank of her insignia, but Jack realized the woman must be of some importance in the Silver Star organization, possibly subordinate only to Crowley himself, judging by the deference shown her by the other soldiers. Jack cautiously knelt down as if adjusting an uncomfortable boot, watching as Doc was pushed up to the stone stairway that led to a bloody death.

  Doc scanned the crowd for Jack, and they locked eyes briefly. The nod he gave was all but imperceptible, but it meant the world to her.

  Then Maria’s gun was pressing into her back and they began climbing the steps. Another crack of thunder, and Doc could see the red shimmer of the world being warped behind the altar.

  - Chapter 18 -

  Duke got to the trail head and disappeared along the deer path heading north along the lake, shedding the Silver Star uniform jacket and cap as he went. Katoc was waiting for him at the edge of the forest on the north shore of the lake, the canvas satchel from the Daedalus slung across his body. A group of four Tree People warriors stood by in the darkening jungle.

  Without exchanging a word, Katoc handed the satchel to Duke, who waved them all to follow him. Then he was off the trail and scurrying overland, cutting across the lake shore under the shadow of the trees. Before long, they stood alongside the impressive silhouette of the Luftpanzer, colossal and black and bristling with weapons. It was moored at the surface of the lake, anchored at the nose and tail, plus an additional anchor from each si
de. The electric lights in the gondola were on, but Duke could sense no movement within.

  He pantomimed swimming to Katoc, who nodded enthusiastically. Fortunately, Duke didn’t need to worry about his munitions getting wet, as they functioned on friction and not black powder. He slung the satchel around on his back with the strap cutting across his neck, and quietly waded into the water, followed by Katoc and his warriors.

  The half-dozen raiders pushed silently through the silky lake, now black with orange highlights from the sunset. A few paces in, the soft sand floor dropped away and they were swimming. Thirty yards through the dark water and they found themselves at the Luftpanzer’s gondola. Dim amber light shone out through the windows, creating small fractals of gold on the shimmering lake surface.

  Katoc and two of the warriors swam to the anchor line at the nose and began to shimmy up, toward the bridge. Duke found himself amidships with the two remaining warriors, both female, from Queen Alanna’s royal guard. They made their way under the gondola to one of the boarding hatches, and Duke grasped the locking handle. He gestured for the two royal guards to quickly enter the ship, and that is exactly what they did.

  Duke propped the hatch open and the royal guards were already inside, rolling to the floor and coming up with weapons ready. A solitary Silver Star airship trooper who’d been snoozing in the main saloon woke and turned on the boarding party with Luger drawn. He was neutralized instantly by one of the guard women, his throat opened with her antler knife. He immediately began to sizzle and decay. Duke pulled himself into the gondola, struggling with the weight of the now-soaked canvas satchel.

  The royal guards took up defensive positions by the hatches at either end of the main saloon, and Duke found himself reverse-engineering the giant airship in his mind. He’d never been on an aircraft this massive, but he reckoned the gas cells were pretty much in the same place as any other dirigible. They had to find a ladder up.