Flaming Zeppelins (6 page)

“We must hurry,” said the Master Physician, “otherwise, we are up what you Americans call shit creek.”

“This is the creature?” Annie asked. “It is,” said the Master Physician.

“Why, he looks like any other man. Except for that block of wood on his foot.”

“And the green skin,” Hickok said.

“Him look sick,” said Bull.

“What happened to his foot?” Annie asked.

“It would take too long to explain,” said the Master Physician. “And remember, looks can be deceiving. He is not like any other man. Stand closer, away from the direct glow of the lantern. His skin is strange. Touch him. It's like touching a corpse. He is a corpse.”

“Important thing is to grab the rascal, and haul ass before Takeda figures out what's going on,” Hickok said. “Send the message, Physician.”

The Master Physician opened the secret panel in his desk, brought out the machine, raised the antenna, began to tap out a message.

Hickok cut the silk rope around the creature's legs and body. He and Bull raised the creature to his feet. Hickok was amazed at the size of the man. He must have been over seven feet tall, with shoulders considerably broader than his own. Hickok said, “You can understand English, can't you?”

The creature nodded.

“Good. Now I know you can't talk with that gag on, but you can listen good. I got a .44 here, and if you mess with me I'm gonna blow what brains you got — whoever they originally belonged to — all over this place. Savvy? Nod your head if you do.”

The creature nodded.

“You would have to splatter his brains for him to really be affected,” the Master Physician said. “Remember. He is not a man.”

Hickok ignored the physician, spoke firmly to the creature.

“Remember, I'm here to save your patchwork ass.”

The creature nodded.

“I'm gonna have my friend Bull here cut your legs loose when the zeppelin shows up, and you're gonna go with us. Can you stump on that block of wood all right?”

The creature nodded.

The Master Physician stood at the front of the tent, near the flap, looking out at the night and the rain, which had begun to hammer the camp. “A light,” he said.

He was referring to a light from the zeppelin. As planned, all other lights on the craft had been turned off, but the foredeck beam blinked once through the night and the rain, went black.

A moment later, three rope ladders coated with a glowing chemical were dropped from the zeppelin. The Master Physician was the first one out of the tent, the others followed. Hickok, Bull and the creature brought up the rear. The creature with his wood block foot was no runner. He stumped and sloshed mud.

As they grabbed the ladders, began to climb, a cry went up in the camp. They had been spotted. From the ground, at first glance, it appeared they were ascending glowing magic ladders hung in the air; it was only with a bit of eye strain that one could see the shape of the zeppelin through the night and the rain.

The zeppelin's foredeck and open promenade lay under the great interconnecting cells of helium; the ladders were fastened to the railing of the promenade. Annie was the first on board, then the Master Physician, followed closely by Cetshwayo, and Captain Jack.

On the last ladder was Bull, the creature, and Hickok bringing up the rear. The creature, heavy and slow, was climbing with difficulty. An arrow whistled by Hickok's head. He turned and looked.

Down below fire burned in pots, hissed in the rain, coughed white smoke. The flames, fueled by some remarkable propellant, leapt orange and yellow through the smoke. From high above, they were like redheads and blondes hopping on the balls of their feet, bouncing their heads above a morning mist.

Hickok hung to the rope with one hand, jerked his revolver loose with the other, fired at the pots, bursting four of them, smashing the fires in all directions.

More pots were lit, and more arrows were launched. One went through Hickok's trousers, hung there, just below the knee. Hickok slipped his revolver back in the sash at his waist and tried to climb faster, but all he could see was the monster's legs, the block of wood, and under the kimono. Hickok was disgusted to find that he could see the monster's big nude butt. He banged on the creature's leg. “Move it, buddy.”

The zeppelin's motor was fired. Steam kicked out of the boiler room, whistled whiteness into the wet night. The zeppelin jumped toward the sky, nearly jerking Hickok loose of the ladder.

Faster and higher the zeppelin went, the ladder, with Bull, Hickok and the creature, flapping like clothes on a wash line. Arrows buzzed all around them.

Then the zeppelin was too high for arrows. The camp lights receded. Turning, Hickok could see the airfield, the planes there outlined by lanterns and fire pots. Half a dozen of the little Japanese hornets rose up in the airfield light, dissolved into the darkness. Hickok could hear them buzzing.

Hickok prodded the creature again, and he began to climb. Bull had long ago reached the top, was looking over the railing, calling to the creature. “Green face. Get move on.”

The creature had to work carefully to free its woodblock foot from the ropes with each step, but finally it reached the railing, and Bull, with the help of Cetshwayo, pulled him on board.

Hickok was swinging back and forth as the storm increased in savagery and the zeppelin rose faster and higher.

Cetshwayo and Bull began pulling the ladder up. Eventually, Hickok rolled over the railing and collapsed on the promenade deck. He sat up, and removed the arrow from his pants leg.

Buntline appeared on deck, a clutch of Winchesters under his arm. He passed them to Hickok, Annie, Bull and Cetshwayo.

“You, physician fella. Get that damn green man inside.”

The Master Physician grabbed the monster at the elbow, led him off the promenade, onto the enclosed deck. Through the great glass windows he could see the vague shapes of the biplanes in the darkness.

Annie was the first to fire. Her shot, as always, was a good one. She hit a pilot in his cockpit. The plane jerked, dove. Moments later there was an explosion and a flash of light as the biplane slammed into the shore near the Pacific Ocean.

The biplanes were trailing the dark cigar shape, firing their simple guns.
Blat.
A beat.
Blat.
A beat.
Blat.
The guns were designed to fire with the beat of the propeller, slicing through at the precise moment of the blades' spacing. It was clever. It was tricky. And it didn't always work.

Hickok was glad they were not the new German planes which fired dual Gatling guns as fast as they could work till the ammunition ran out.

On the downside for them, the zeppelin had no real maneuverability. They were like a dying albatross besieged by falcons.

Wood splintered on the promenade deck, bullets pocked, cracked, or exploded glass on the main deck. One bullet went through the glass, drove splinters into the creature's face. A bullet tore through his upper left arm.

He didn't bleed.

Another bullet took Buntline's bowler hat, caused him to prostrate himself on the deck. The monster stood his ground, glass dangling from his chest. His kimono was torn and burned where the bullet had ripped through it and through his arm.

The planes were attacking the zeppelin itself. Bullets slammed into the great rubber casing, and though it was designed to take terrific impact from hail, flying birds, and small arms fire, the heavy bullets were succeeding in pounding through.

Hickok heard a hissing sound as the zeppelin let loose some of its helium. The good news was the big bag was actually a series of smaller gas cells. It could lose considerable helium and still stay airborne. The bad news was there was a limit to anything.

A biplane passed in front of the promenade deck. Bull shot it the finger, then they all raised their Winchesters and fired at its rear end.

Their shots smacked into the biplane's tail assembly. A stream of fire raced along the fuselage, rolled around the plane as if it were a hoop the craft was jumping through. Then the flames grabbed at the seat and the pilot, burst him into a human torch. The plane spun. The blazing pilot freed himself from his seat, and even as the plane turned over and over, he dropped free, a burst of meteoric flame driven hard into the ocean.

The plane exploded on the water. Flames spread on the surface, waves leapt wet and fiery until the fuel burned itself out.

The zeppelin sailed along rapidly, propelled not only by its motors, but by a strong tail wind. The Japanese pilots no longer exposed themselves to the zeppelin's defenders; they knew how unerringly accurate they were. Instead, they flew high above it, firing at the defenseless structure of the craft, causing it to collect damage.

On the zeppelin's bridge, pilot William Rickenbacher needed more steam. He was not used to working without a copilot, but Cody had insisted on a skeleton crew. William felt sick. Why had he agreed? Cody had given him a choice. He could have gone back with the others. His copilot, Manfred Von Richthofen, had been eager enough. But no. He wouldn't let him. He didn't want a dumb kid in command of his ship. Wanted to spare him the danger. What an idiot he had been. He had a wife and children. This was idiotic. He wasn't a spy, and he wasn't a fighter pilot. He was the captain of a luxury airship.

Jesus. What had he been thinking?

Had he been thinking?

Not only were the biplanes tearing his craft apart, the storm was slamming it about. He was no longer sure of the difference between sea and sky. The only thing to do was to try and let the ship rise, propel it forward with full throttle.

“Gib eet more steam,” he called through the command tube, trying to shape his words carefully, so his heavy German accent would not be misunderstood. “Gib eet more steam. Power ees dying. Ve are losing altitude.”

In the steam room the workers struggled valiantly with coal scoops and chunks of wood, tossed them into the great oven. The heat was unbearable. Steam hissed. Motors hummed. Men groaned. The ship moved slightly faster, rose gradually.

A biplane buzzed the bridge. William saw it as it passed. A moment later it turned in the darkness, came back. It fired a shot that blew out a fragment of the glass. Cold air embraced William, the blast nearly knocked him down. He turned, could see the plane's shape, flying fast toward him.

In that moment he knew there was no time to do anything, knew what was about to occur. His last thought was not of God, but of his wife Elizabeth, and his children, especially his favorite child, his little boy Eddie.

Then a bullet spat from the biplane, zipped through the already destroyed window, caught Rickenbacher in the throat, opening a wound that looked like two rose petals falling apart. He fell face forward against the control console, blood rushing over the gears and dials.

Before William's corpse fell against the panel, the biplane's pilot realized he was in trouble. In getting close to the zeppelin's bridge, he had not allowed himself enough time to turn. He didn't even pretend to work the control stick. The pilot threw his hands over his eyes as the plane struck the command deck, knocked off the propeller, and was driven into the side of the zeppelin like a dart. The front of the plane rubbed William's body into a red smear. Fuel dripped from the damaged plane, trailed into the night air. Some of it dripped along the floor of the command deck, ran toward the door, slipped under the crack, fled along the corridor, was absorbed by the carpet.

When the plane struck the zeppelin, there was such a jerk, on the promenade, Captain Jack was tossed forward. He caught the rail, and just when it looked as if he would regain his balance, the zeppelin lurched once more, and Captain Jack went over the side and was silently swallowed by darkness.

Hickok tried to grab him as he went, but it was too late. The zeppelin tilted dramatically. All the defenders were tossed about. They struggled valiantly to hang on, grabbing at the rail, scratching at the promenade deck with their nails.

Buntline felt himself flying forward, toward the broken window on the main deck. He knew he was a goner. Through the gap in the glass he went, out into blackness. But just when he was trying to remember the Lord's prayer and decide if there was time to say it before he was splattered all over the Pacific, his jacket collar was snagged, and he was jerked inside, tossed on the floor.

Buntline looked up to see the creature looking down on him with a solemn expression.

“Thanks, old boy,” Buntline said. “You're peachy by me.”

Frankenstein's creation did not reply.

In Cody's cabin, the collision of the plane hurled his head off its perch on the dresser. Had it not hit Goober in the side of the head, knocking him down, it might have smashed against the wall.

The jar lay on its side, the liquid in it sloshing. Cody yelled through the tube. “Get me up. Get me out in the open where I can die like a man.”

Goober, a knot forming on his head, put one hand to his wound, got his feet under him. He picked up Cody's head, tucked it under his arm, darted out into the slanting hallway.

“Check the bridge,” Cody said.

Goober rushed forward, his head feeling as if it were giving birth to a child. When he reached the hallway that led to the bridge, he could smell the fuel from the Japanese plane. He hustled along, feeling colder as he went.

When he reached the bridge, he saw a lumpy red smear that might have been Rickenbacher. It was smeared all over the console. The Japanese plane's nose poked through the side of the zeppelin, and the pilot lay slumped in his seat. A freezing spray was blasting in from the outside.

“Goddamn,” Cody said, when Goober turned his head upright, moved the jar around so he could see.

“We're done,” Goober said.

“Hush your mouth, shorty. You are not dead till you're dead. And you do not quit till you quit. I thought I was dead when I fought my duel with Yellow Hand. He was a tough customer. I was about ready to give up and die. But something in me said, ‘Don't do that, Buffalo Bill. You stick in there.' So, I stayed with it. Yellow Hand slipped on his own knife, stabbing his ownself to death. You got to stay with things. You never know how they will work out.”