Shadow Fortress

“Worked once before. Why not again?” Ryan mused.

“How can we steer?” Dean asked bluntly.

“We’ll wet blankets and hold them over the side,” Krysty explained. “That’ll give us some drag, and as we slow down to the left, to drift to the left.”

“Crude and dangerous,” Doc rumbled. “Yet, alas, we don’t really have another choice.”

“Anybody want to row across fifty miles of open sea with those steam-powered PT boats hunting for us all the way?” Ryan asked brusquely.

There was a long moment of silence.

“Didn’t think so,” Ryan said, cracking the knuckles of his hand. “Okay, we start with the ropes.”

Chapter Three

Dean was surprised how easily the craft was constructed.

The sun was hovering just above the horizon by the time the balloon was ready to launch. The cargo netting barely proved adequate to contain the weather balloons as they were filled with helium from the pressurized tanks. With each balloon, another rope had been tied to the plastic pallet to keep the craft from soaring away, and the companions ceased adding balloons only when the overhead net was completely filled, the anchor ropes creaking from the strain of containing the lighter-than-air vehicle.

“These will help,” Krysty said, tying a lumpy bag to the pallet. Trousers from the dead paratroopers were tied off to make crude sacks, and then filled with broken pieces of electronic equipment from the cockpit. The counterweight would give them a hair more control over the flying craft. Not much, but every little bit helped. But the balloons didn’t descend in the slightest until six more of the heavy bags were lashed into place.

“She’s got more than enough lift,” Mildred said, beaming in pleasure at the buoyant craft. The bobbing net filled with the taut balloons nearly blocked out the stars it was so large. “We’ll ride like kings on the wind.”

“Till crash-land,” Jak added grimly, standing guard over the pile of their backpacks. They had all removed their packs to work faster, but wisely didn’t toss them into the rope basket of the flying machine until ready to launch. If a rope broke and the packs soared away with all the food and ammo, they would be good as chilled.

“She needs a name,” Dean said, studying the huge thing, then glanced at the airplane. “Did Hercules have a kid?”

Checking the anchor ropes, Doc paused to scratch his head. “Indeed, he did. Three sons, but I cannot recall any of their names.”

“Don’t need a name, long as it works,” Ryan said, zipping up his pants as he stepped from the plane. “Remember to use the washroom before we go. And throw away anything not needed. Weight is at a premium.” The craft had plenty of lift now, but not with seven people in its basket.

“Never thought we’d leave the island this way,” J.B. observed, placing a cigar in his mouth. The pilot had been carrying a pocket humidor of the best quality, and two of the cigars inside were in smokable condition. The Armorer was trying hard to quit, but sometimes the urge simply couldn’t be denied.

Reaching in a pocket, he pulled out a butane lighter and Doc rushed forward to snatch the device from his grasp.

“Are you mad, John Barrymore?” Doc whispered urgently, brandishing the lighter. “Hydrogen is extremely flammable! One spark and we’ll be blown to pieces.”

“Not filled with hydrogen,” J.B. replied curtly. “Helium.”

Doc paused in confusion. “Helium,” he repeated slowly. “The word sounds familiar, but I fear its meaning eludes me.”

Refilling the canteens from a lotus flower that bled water, Mildred gave a start and stared at the man askance, then slowly recalled that the element was discovered around 1870 by Sir somebody or other. Damn, she couldn’t recall the name. Maybe helium wasn’t in wide usage by the time Doc was trawled.

“Trust me,” Mildred said, topping off a canteen and letting the excess water flow onto the broad wing. “We’re completely safe. Helium is a noble gas, totally inert.”

“Really, madam?” Doc exhaled deeply. “In truth, I had been deeply worried about an aerial conflagration. The Army of the Potomac constantly had their observation balloons destroyed by flaming arrows from Lee’s rebels.”

“Can’t happen here,” she stated confidently, screwing on the last cap and slinging the heavy container over her back.

“How delightful to know.” Doc said, then passed back the light. “Yours, I believe.”

“Thanks,” J.B. drawled, pocketing the lighter. For some reason he no longer had an urge to smoke, the image of the airship exploding into flames filling his mind.

“We are gonna fly,” Dean said excitedly, swatting a skeeter and lifting his head to look at the darkening sky. The fiery storm clouds weren’t bad, lots of distant thunder, but very little sheet lightning. Plus, there was no smell of rotten eggs, so the chances of acid rain were zero.

“I say we wait another hour until night,” Ryan suggested, squatting on the wing. He pulled out a stick of gum from an MRE pack and started chewing. “We disappear in the darkness, then Mitchum and Glassman can search the nuke-shitting jungle for us till they chill as wrinklies.”

“Sounds good,” Jak said, walking carefully up the ramp into the plane. The predark bandage on his ankle eased most of the pain. Running was out of the question, but at least he could walk again without gritting his teeth.

“Mebbe we should leave now. The wind is right,” Krysty announced, her animated hair moving with the tangy sea breeze. “With any luck, it’ll carry us straight to the next island.”

“Mebbe,” Ryan muttered thoughtfully.

“How about the Jules Verne, or better, the Papillon,” Mildred said out of the blue. “That’s a good name. She’s not a war wag, after all, just an escape pod.”

“The Papillon,” Doc said, arching a snowy eyebrow. “And if I recall my French correctly, why should we christen it, the Butterfly, madam?”

Before Mildred could explain, from somewhere in the growing darkness came the long drawn-out howl of a hound dog. Immediately, the companions pulled blasters and waited, listening hard. His boots softly tanging on the metal deck, Jak appeared at the hatch-way, his belt partially undone, both knife and Magnum blaster at the ready.

The barking of hounds grew fainter, then came back strong until it seemed the beasts were directly under the plane. Seconds later came the roar of Hummer engines, and the voices of men.

“Look at the dogs, sir!” a man cried. “They must be in the trees!”

“Shut up, you damn fool!” a deeper voice snapped. “Now they know we’re here.”

“Open fire!” a third voice commanded, and a fusillade of blasters cut loose, the big .75-caliber mini-balls from the flintlocks peppering the tree branches and ripping the flowers apart. A stray shot punctured one of the lower balloons of the airship, and with a long blubbering hiss it began to deflate.

“Stop firing!” another man shouted angrily. “Glassman wants them alive!”

There came the sounds of grunting from below, and the companions knew that armed sec men were climbing the trees. Fast and silent, Mildred grabbed a backpack and heaved it into the rope basket. Jak joined her efforts, and when the airship was loaded, he awkwardly climbed in himself.

Standing on the wing of the great plane, Ryan felt hot blood pumping through his veins and fought to control his terrible temper. He hated to run from a fight, but if the balloons got damaged they would be trapped there. It was now or never.

Getting into the basket, he accepted the handful of canteen straps from Doc, who climbed in, closely followed by J.B. and Krysty. Holding his knife to an anchor line, Ryan whistled softly, but his son ran to the edge of a wing and drew the Veri pistol. Taking a balanced stance, Dean fired the magnesium charge straight down. The flare hissed away, and seconds later there came a blinding flash of light from below, followed by numerous screams. Dean fired twice more, changing the angle of the shots, and there came a large explosion, bitter smoke fumes rising into the trees. He had to have hit a Hummer.

Turning, the boy started for the balloon when a sec man appeared amid the gently waving leaves of a nearby banyan tree. Blaster in hand, the soldier paused for a moment, startled at the sight of the bizarre floating craft, and that split second of indecision was all Ryan needed to ace the man with the SIG-Sauer blaster. The sleek weapon gently coughed twice, and the sec man’s eyes disappeared, instantly becoming bloody holes. The lifeless corpse released the branch and plummeted into the foliage below.

“Black dust, it’s Jimbo!” a voice cried.

A second replied, “Screw Glassman! Let’s ace the fuckers!”

Suddenly, a .50 cal burped into life, the bottom of the plane rattling with incoming rounds, the skeletons in the jumpseats shaking apart as if dancing. Holes were punched through the wing, the flowers exploding into tiny sprays of juice and petals. Dean remained motionless until the barrage stopped, then he raced to the airship. He barely got a leg over the ropes when another sec man swung into view on a vine and landed on the wing of the plane. Jak jerked his arm forward, and the invader staggered backward, blood gushing around the knife jutting out of his throat. As the man dragged the flintlock pistol from his belt, Ryan fired his SIG-Sauer once more, the 9 mm slug spinning the man off the wing. His scream lasted for brief seconds, then abruptly stopped.

More rounds peppered the hull of the craft, and another balloon was punctured as the companions rapidly cut through the anchor lines. Another face appeared in the leaves, and Doc had no choice but to trigger the LeMat. The massive blaster thundered flame at the invader, the soft-lead miniball blowing away half of his face. But even as the mutilated corpse fell, two more men swung out of the trees holding on to vines. Both landed on the wing of the plane and dropped flat, opening firing with their flint-lock pistols. One sec man fired at the Hercules, while the other turned his attention to the waving balloon and basket. A miniball hummed past Ryan as he returned fire with the barking H&K, but the smoky discharge from the black-powder weapons effectively masked the position of the prone invaders.

From the jungle below, the crackling of the flames steadily became louder, and it was soon apparent that the trees were on fire. Extending his arm as far as he could reach, Ryan managed to slash another anchor rope. The other ropes would have to be cut by whoever was near them. The companions were packed like sardines in the little basket, and it was difficult to move.

Their rifles spent, the sec men pulled pistols and fired again. While they hastily reloaded, the companions shot blindly into the smoke, eliminating both. But with the wing directly beneath them, the companions were unable to shoot at the sec men until they peeked into view from the trees. Sniper fire erupted from the shadows, but most of it was concentrated on the Hercules. The darkness worked both ways, and it was obvious that the ville sec men thought the companions were hidden in the plane.