Warbirds of Mars: Stories of the Fight!

by Неизвестный

  “Kaiser might not have it. Martian leaders might not want the Big Heads to ever get too cozy with one another. Encourage competition to keep them from uniting and posing a threat of rebelling.” Jack swiveled. “Maybe the Fallen Angel got his hands on the tech and wants to show up the Kaiser.”

  Everyone stared at the clues in the middle of the table. “Alright,” Josie said. “Let’s say we do make the deal. How do we get in touch?”

  Hunter looked over the clues. “That’s a very good question.”

  “That was brave.”

  Deep in the underground catacombs of Fort Blackfire were the living quarters of the Last Outlaws. Fifteen feet by twelve feet, there was room for a bed and a few comfort items. No windows. Security monitoring them constantly, but they could lock or unlock their doors. There was a common dining area down the hall, and each Outlaw was allowed a modicum of control over decorations. Adam packed one last item of clothing in his duffel bag.

  “Hi,” Lillian said, leaning in the door. She wore a light white dress. Her arms were athletic.

  He stopped packing. “I’m gonna miss this place, you know.”

  “Yeah.” Lillian leaned against the door. “Starting to feel like home.”

  “Just always looked at it as college. A dorm.”

  “You went to college?”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “They came before...was it fun?”

  “College?”

  Lillian nodded. Her hair was a bun; he imagined her at her mirror, working her hands in her hair, judging her style from whatever torn magazine pictures she could find that were already four years out of date. No other girls to help her or tell her she looked beautiful. “Not really.” He looked past her as he plopped his duffel bag down. “Where’re the others?”

  “Felix is off doing his treatment. Skull’s in his room.” She placed her fingertips on the doorframe. “You ever find out what Skull’s real name is?”

  “No. Seems too late now.”

  “He’s just the Skull.” She shifted inside the compartment, her heels lightly clicking on the sparse Martian floor. “I used to be Lillian.”

  Adam clipped the bag shut. “We are who we are now.” He hefted the bag and put it on the floor. “I just want to fly again. That’s why I do this. All I ever wanted to do. Only time I feel alive. That’s what it takes, Lillian. You didn’t miss out, kid. College was nothing.”

  Lillian stepped forward. “That’s the only time you feel alive?”

  Adam put his hands on Lillian’s hips. She brought her hands down, covering his with her warmth. “Not the only time.”

  “The mask is a mask,” Colonel Jewkes said, holding up a plastic bag with the mask inside. “It’s not like the new one Mr. Mask saw in his encounter, but it seems to be a takeoff of the Mexican wrestling masks they use down South.”

  “That fits with my maps,” Josie said.

  “The lab analyzed the key,” Hunter said sliding another plastic bag into the center. “There’s something carved onto the top. Very fine work, maybe lasers. We think it’s a military frequency. Hard to tell.”

  “Hard to tell?” Jack asked.

  “Yes, Jack. The clue I have was hard to decipher. What did you have again?”

  Josie looked at Jack. His face darkened. “Our radar was jammed. There was smoke everywhere. It was dark out. I told you, it looked like he went southeast.”

  “But where?” Hunter tossed the key onto the table. “The Wastelands?”

  “These maps haven’t been altered in any way?” Josie asked.

  “Copyright lines up with what we have on file at the public library.” Colonel Jewkes nodded to the maps in the bags as he sat down. “They’re the same pages. Nothing’s been altered.”

  “Library?” Jack asked, suddenly relaxing his shoulders.

  “Yes. It’s a common atlas, sold every—”

  “Get another.” Jack suddenly stood up, rearranging the pages, flipping them over to look at each side. “Get it as close as you can make it. But not the same, do you understand? It’s not the pages that have been altered.”

  Jewkes’s aide left the room. “Jack?” Josie said, standing up. “What is it?”

  He looked at her, his blue eyes beaming. “I’ve got it.”

  As Felix stepped in, he felt his body locking up. He felt windows shutting, doors locking, and barricades going up. The Fallen Angel and two other Martians hovered around a rounded chair. The Fallen Angel greeted Felix, while the other Martians readied their instruments. “That went well.”

  “When do you plan to have the films released?”

  “Why don’t we discuss that after you get back from your meeting with the Martian Killers?”

  Felix sat in the chair. “I won’t tell them anything.”

  “Felix. You know I wouldn’t let you do this unless I trusted you. To trust you, I need to know that deep in your heart...” he poked Felix in the chest, “...you believe this. And you do, but what you don’t know can’t hurt you or me.” He laughed. “When you get back, you’ll be the Prodigal Human.”

  “Can we start?”

  “Anything to report?”

  Inside, his body screamed, pleading not to say anything, to run. His throat clenched. His stomach tightened into a fist, and his arms went numb. He couldn’t feel the chair anymore. His mind raced to smashing the Fallen Angel, killing the guards. The treatments might let him do it. He could run...

  Then he thought about the Martian Killers, about the Fallen Angel’s plan, and everything that would come with that victory.

  “My left shin hurt after I landed on the train. The knee too. My shoulders are getting tense. When I sit down I can’t lean back, and I’m having trouble keeping food down.” Kalen Tengel looked at the other Martians, who input the information into the computers on the side of the chair.

  “Anything else?”

  “My teeth hurt, and my jaw itches.”

  “I see you’ve got a bite mark or a boil there,” Kalen Tengel pointed to a red blotch on Felix’s lower jaw. “We’ll have to do something about that.”

  “Can we just get started?”

  “Enthusiasm. Love of the Fallen Angel, that’s what I love to see here.” Kalen Tengel leaned back, staring down at Felix. “Statues, Felix. Statues of Apache Knight to last a thousand years. And an inscription of how he fought the Fallen Angel.” He looked at the scientists and nodded. Kalen Tengel turned and walked down the aisle. Felix watched him for a second before the medical arms of the chair moved into view. Needles to inject him with chemicals. Tubes to vacuum out infected or torn cartilage. More needles to inject a synthetic polyalloy into his damaged bones to reinforce his durability. Small nozzles with more chemicals to spray into his eyes, and half a dozen other instruments designed to tear, probe, collect, and examine whatever he had in his body.

  Felix screamed as the Fallen Angel left the room.

  Jack examined the maps with a magnifying glass. “I’ve found them.”

  “What?” Colonel Jewkes said, stepping in. “How? Where?”

  “Aragones,” Jack said, pointing to a dot on the map on the Gulf Coast. “Adam said he might not save me next time I ‘walked down a trap street.’” He gestured to the maps. “Companies that put out maps put little things in sometimes to protect their maps. For example they might put in a street that doesn’t exist in a map of a city. Any other company ever publishes it—”

  “They can prove it’s stolen,” Josie said.

  “Exactly. That’s why it’s called a trap street. The map in the atlas wasn’t altered. But if we compare it to another one...” he gestured to the atlas on the table “...we find something that’s not there. It’s not a map of a city, so there are no streets, but another way cartographers protect their work is by putting in towns that don’t exist. Same idea as a trap street.” Gently picking up the torn page Colonel Jewkes was looking at, Jack pointed to it again. “There’s a town on here that’s only on this map, it’s not on the others
. Aragones. All the clues point there. Dollars to donuts that’s where the Last Outlaws are hiding.”

  “In a town that doesn’t exist?” Hunter folded his arms. “That doesn’t make any sense. And why didn’t we catch this before?”

  “We’re stretched thin as it is,” Jewkes said, taking the page back from Jack. “We could barely spare the analysts to break down the photos, and you saw how that worked out.”

  Jack squeezed his hands together and motioned his head forward, like he was urging a fighter in a boxing match to stay loose. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, but if we go to Aragones—the town that doesn’t exist—I guarantee you we will find something.”

  He could take the mask off, but why bother at this point?

  Behind him on the wall was a color poster of him, as the Skull, smashing through six cinderblocks in a perfect photograph. There was no trick of photography or prop. To his left was an illustrated poster of him holding one of his Eskrima sticks like a baseball bat. The skull mask glared out at the viewer, as below the illustration the tag line said, “Step up to the plate.” A baseball diamond had been adjusted to show Martian skulls at each base.

  On the back of the door was another photo, a black-and-white one, of the Skull in a nondescript gym. He stood in front of a boxing ring. It showed the Skull lifting a barbell weighing seven hundred pounds above his head. The caption at the bottom said “Never give up!” There was no trick there either. They’d just pumped him full of chemicals and had him working out every waking hour of the day, blasting his body with Martian technology. Posters like that were going up all over the free territories.

  Taped on the mirror was another black and white photo. It showed the Skull with his arm out straight. Four kids were hanging off it, smiling and laughing. Violet took that photo. Every child was still alive and safe. He knew they were probably playing war right now, arguing who could be the Skull and who would be the deceptive wicked Martians.

  In the solace of his room, he buried his masked face in his hands and cried.

  The engine hummed as the plane soared through the clouds.

  “I don’t like this,” Josie said.

  “Nobody does.” Jack leaned back. “Hunter, you ready to meet the only guy in the resistance surlier than you?”

  “Watch it,” Hunter growled.

  “I’d really like to be a fly on the wall when Mask and the Skull meet for the first time,” Jack added.

  “And me?” Josie asked.

  “I don’t know. See which one of you can sit up straight the longest?” Josie’s eyelids drooped. “‘Cause your chests are both—”

  “I get the idea.”

  “Unidentified flier, please identify yourself,” the radio crackled.

  “Read the code,” Noir offered, as Jack replied.

  “Martian Hunters coming in. Six-One-Seven-Eight-Three-Four.”

  The radio crackled again. “Good to hear your voice again, Jack. Welcome to our abode.”

  “Where should we land?”

  The radio crackled. “You’ll know the Alamo when you see it.”

  As Jack began his descent there was an audible gasp from the passengers. “What is that?” Josie asked, straining forward in her seat.

  As Jack descended, the base of the Last Outlaws became clearer. On the coast of Mexico, an immaculately-preserved town dotted the landscape. Even from this height, Jack could make out the green lawns. It had been a long time since he’d seen a town that wasn’t bombed out by Martians or half-cannibalized to make the most of their resources. Descending, he could make out other landmarks. A baseball diamond. A building with a strange dish-shaped structure on the top. An outdoor swimming pool. There were things there that felt American, that felt safe.

  But the sight that took their collective breath away, the sight that prompted Josie to ask what they were looking at, was floating in the water.

  “It’s a Montana,” Hunter said, peering out the window.

  “Biggest battleship class ever created. I thought we never made it into production,” Jack brought the plane lower.

  “Looks different. Montanas weren’t designed to be aircraft carriers,” Hunter scowled.

  “They might’ve refitted it. Heard Japan were working on something like this for their Yamamotos. Montana was supposed to be the only ships we had that could go toe-to-toe with the Yamamotos, so it does make some sense.”

  “Some,” Hunter repeated.

  “Some,” Jack agreed. “We’re coming in.” The landing was smooth. As the plane skidded to a stop the familiar crackle of the radio echoed in the flight cabin again. “Welcome to Aragones by way of the Alamo.”

  “Where should we meet you?”

  “We’ll come to you. I’d imagine you have questions.”

  “I guess we’re going to get answers,” Josie said.

  “I guess we’re going to get something,” Hunter said

  They disembarked from the plane. On the landing strip, the chilly ocean breeze brushed their skin. Only Mr. Mask was protected from the deep chill. A door opened off to their right at the base of a tower. Four silhouettes slowly came into focus.

  Apache Knight.

  Adam Holiday.

  Violet King

  The Skull.

  For a moment, everyone stared at their counterparts. Apache’s perfectly-tailored outfit, complete with the scarf, billowed in the wind. Violet wore a flight suit similar to Josie’s. The Skull’s mask seemed to once again have changed slightly. Adam Holiday stood in his dockers, boots, and leather jacket. “Now let’s see...” Adam lightly pointed to Josie. “Dorothy.” Over to Jack, “Scarecrow.” He pointed to Mr. Mask. “Now it’s tempting to call you the Tin Man...” He pointed at Hunter instead, “but I think you’re the one looking for a heart. Which makes you the Tin Man and Mr. Mask the Cowardly Lion. Care to see Emerald City?”

  “You proposed an alliance,” Hunter Noir said.

  “The offer still stands,” Apache Knight said from under his mask. Hunter stared at him. Something about his voice sounded different now. Was it the scarf? The ocean waves in the background?

  “Like I said,” Adam gestured to the command tower they’d just exited. “Care to see Emerald City?”

  “Let’s go,” Hunter said, stalking forward. Apache Knight squinted at Hunter as he followed him. Violet raised her eyebrows and reached into her breast pocket.

  “Gum?” she offered Jack.

  “No, thanks,” he said.

  “Your loss. Ask if you change your mind.” Her fingers deftly unwrapped the stick of gum, and with a precise movement, she opened her mouth and folded the gum in, onto her tongue. Smiling, she turned at Josie and began walking to the tower. Josie shared a look with Jack before walking next to Violet.

  “Your girl’s sweet, but mine’s better,” Adam said.

  Jack turned, fists balled. “Listen—”

  “What is she?” He was looking up at the plane Jack had piloted down to the Montana.

  “A Norseman,” Jack said, following Adam’s gaze to the bush plane.

  “Nice.”

  Jack looked at Josie and Violet. “Should we catch up?”

  “We should.” They turned to follow the two women into the control tower. Only Mr. Mask and the Skull remained. They stared at each other across the flight deck, neither one moving. Each tried to read the other’s body language, watching for a tell or some weakness. Neither gave any sign and neither moved until Jack and Adam were almost completely inside the ship. Then the Skull made a simple “after you” gesture. Mr. Mask obliged, and the two walked in, side-by-side.

  Leaning back against the foot of the bed, Violet felt the soft fabric of Adam’s shirt on her cheek. His arm was around her shoulder. “Can I ask you something?” she said.

  “Sure.”

  “Is Adam Holiday your real name?”

  His shoulder bounced slightly from the laugh. “Yeah.”

  “You think they’ll figure out the trap street?”

&
nbsp; Adam reached into his pocket, slightly jostling Lillian. He pulled out another stick of gum, offering one to her first. “Jack Paris seems like he knows his stuff.”

  “And if they don’t?” she asked, taking the gum.

  “We’ll get them another way. I don’t like the Fallen Angel, but...” Adam sighed. “Devil’s kept his word so far. You think he’d build Aragones if he didn’t think we could live there?”

  “I could live there.”

  “So could I.”

  There was a brief pause as they chewed their gum, the flavor slowly dissipating. “You know the Wizard of Oz?”

  “Never seen it.”

  “The book?”

  “No, sorry kid.”

  “I read it when I was little. My dad loved it. Said it was an American fairy tale. They’re trying to find the wizard in Emerald City. He makes a deal with them to give them what they want if they go kill the witch.”

  “The Fallen Angel is like the wizard?”

  “I don’t know.” She looked at him. Kalen Tengel had dropped chemicals into her eyes to make them a brighter blue. “The thing is, there is no Emerald City. In the book it’s just a trick the wizard uses to make everyone think there’s one.”

  Adam cupped his hand around her shoulder. “You can read it to me sometime.”

  “You ever hear of the Lost Eagles?” Adam asked. Hunter, Jack, and Josie shook their heads.

  “Neither did we,” Apache said.

  “They were a group of rebels operating off an offshore drilling platform.” The Last Outlaws walked up the steps. “We worked with them until the Martians got them.”

  “Biological weapons,” Violet said.

  “That’s where we got the Montana. We lost the rig, but not the ship,” Adam continued.

  “You seem to have lost the Eagles too,” Hunter said, following Apache onto the tower bridge. The sunlight shone through the glass windows. “Convenient.”

  “Nothing’s convenient about people rotting alive in front of you,” Violet said. “That’s The Last Judgment.”