Crimson Skies - Manchurian Gambit Page 5

  Before anything could happen, the voice of the watch officer cried out, "Aft lookouts report engine sounds to the northeast! Four, maybe six fighters, closing fast!"

  Dugan crossed the bridge in three quick strides and got between Kahn and his wingman. "What do you want us to do, boss?" he asked pointedly.

  The pirate leader paused, and took a deep breath. "Battle stations," he said quietly. "Uncover the guns. I'm going topside." Brushing past Hetty, he stormed out the after hatch and headed quickly down the main accessway as the alert klaxon howled.

  In addition to the Machiavelli's four main cannon, the zeppelin also mounted ten heavy machine guns for close-in defense-six .50 caliber guns in dorsal and ventral gondolas, plus four .60 caliber guns in port and starboard blisters located amidships. The dorsal gondola was reached via an enclosed fifty-foot ladder covered by a submarine-style hatch. By the time Kahn threw open the hatch and climbed out into the wintry air the gunners were already at their weapons, loading in belts of armor-piercing ammo. The pirate leader leaned against the gondola's armored bulwark and peered into the gloom.

  The heavy overcast above caught the lights of the city and reflected them back in a kind of diffuse twilight. Kahn could see clearly for maybe half a mile to port and starboard, and the waters of Hudson Bay gleamed black and silver three thousand feet below. After a moment, he could hear the sounds the lookouts described: fighter engines, loud, snarling radials out in the darkness maybe a mile behind them.

  There was a set of earphones and a microphone on a hook by the hatch. Kahn fitted the set over his head, wincing at the feel of the icy bakelite. "All hands, this is Kahn," he called over the ship's intercom. "Everyone hold their fire. This is most likely just a routine patrol, and they won't approach too closely. If we play it cool we can still slip away-"

  He heard the engine sounds swell, and one of the gunners gave a shout. Kahn looked back to see four shapes materialize out of the gloom, flying in close formation. They swept down the starboard side of the airship, seemingly close enough to touch. The thunder of their high-performance engines beat against his face and chest.

  They looked very similar to PR-1 Defenders, but with a shortened fuselage and small, wing-mounted rudders. Their engine cowlings were painted black, and the rest of the airframes were white. Large, red circles on their wingtips stood out like bright drops of blood. Just as quickly as they appeared, they were gone, leaving the airship behind as though it was standing still.

  "Damn!" exclaimed the gunner nearest Kahn. "What the hell were those things?"

  "Japanese fighters," Kahn answered, unable to fully believe it himself. "Here. In the Empire State. Crawford and his Broadway Bomber lapdogs must be slipping."

  Somewhere ahead, the fighters split up and doubled back; the snarling sound of their engines reverberated in the darkness all around the airship. Suddenly a voice cried out over the intercom: "Bandits, nine o'clock high!"

  Kahn whirled in time to see two of the fighters diving on them to port. Yellow flashes winked from their cowlings and wings, and tracer fire clawed at the airship's side. He could hear the bullets punching through the layered fabric of the hull like hail on a paper roof. "Open fire!" Kahn yelled into the mike, and the Machiavelli erupted in noise and light, sending arcs of tracers after the enemy planes.

  "Two more bandits at six o'clock!" one of the spotters called out. The pair of fighters bored in like arrows, closing to point-blank range. The gunner nearest Kahn swung his weapon aft and opened up, sending a short burst of fire lancing at the left-most plane. Hot brass casings, smoking in the cold air, rattled and rolled along the decking at their feet.

  Flame streaked from the fighters' wings. The aft end of the zeppelin was outlined in strobe-like flashes of angry orange as the flak rockets exploded in a string of dull thunderclaps. "Number six engine out!" a tense voice exclaimed over the headset. "We've got holes in the ventral rudder and damage to the hangar bay. Looks like two of the rockets penetrated somewhere aft but didn't go off."

  Lucky us, Kahn thought as the fighters dove beneath the airship and disappeared from sight. He pounded his fist against the bulwark in frustration. They didn't dare launch their own fighters to protect the ship; while the enemy planes could return to a well-lit landing strip, recovering planes aboard an airship in the dark was an invitation to disaster.

  He looked towards the bow to see how close they were to the relative safety of a cloudbank-and saw danger instead. He yelled into the microphone: "Bandits, bandits, twelve o'clock high!"

  The two planes struck from the darkness like thunderbolts, machine guns blazing. He watched the tracers march along the upper hull towards him. The gunners behind him opened fire as he dove to the deck, shells whizzing back and forth over his head like angry hornets. The fighters roared overhead and were gone before his knees touched steel. When he looked up again the gunner closest to him was lying motionless on the deck in a spreading pool of blood.

  "Searchlights to starboard!" one of the remaining gunners cried, pointing with a gloved hand. Kahn raised his head over the bulwark. White beams slashed through the darkness at their altitude, nearly two miles away.

  He could just make out the sleek shapes of not one, but two Empire State patrol zeppelins, heading their way. As he watched, there was a bloom of yellow-white fire from the lead ship's port quarter. Seconds later came a sound like ripping canvas as a five-inch shell raced across their bow.

  Wisps of mist trailed through the air, obscuring the Empire State warships. Suddenly the air turned clammy, and then the zeppelin plunged into a tunnel of fog as the Machiavelli at last found sanctuary within the depths of a cloudbank. The gunners both let out loud sighs of relief. Kahn pulled off the headset and opened the hatch, disappearing below.

  His thoughts raced as he ran to the bridge. Japanese fighter planes were bad enough, but Empire State zeppelins meant serious trouble. He'd never expected the Japanese to yell for help from the Empire State, much less have the whole Navy sent out after him. While there was no love lost between the Empire State and the ISA-especially pirates from the ISA-the military response was far too strong for a simple kidnapping. Something didn't fit.

  Kahn made his way to the bridge. Shards of plexiglass littered the deck from where a round had punched through one of the forward viewports. The door to the radio room, just right of the hatchway, was open. The radioman had tuned onto one of the New York radio stations, and the muffled, scratchy sound of a news program traveled out into the room.

  "Good evening people of the Empire State and all the ships at sea," the news announcer said. "A fierce battle is raging over our heads tonight as our fair city has come under attack by none other than the infamous 'Genghis' Kahn and his ruthless band of cutthroats, the Red Skull Legion.

  "According to reports from city hall, the treacherous pirate has struck the Japanese embassy on Park Avenue and left the venerable old building in flames. Dozens are feared dead tonight, but worst of all, it has been revealed that the object of this dastardly raid was none other than Miss Chiang Liu-Mei, daughter of President Chiang Kai-Shek-the embattled leader of the Republic of China.

  "The motive for the kidnapping is unknown, but President La Guardia has put the Navy on full alert, sending every available airship in the sky to track down and apprehend the pirates. A reward of no less than ten thousand dollars has been offered leading to the capture of Kahn and his gang. Our prayers go out to Chiang Liu-Mei, and to the brave men and women determined to bring these villains to justice."

  Kahn felt a finger of ice trace its way up his spine. He saw Hetty step from the radio room, her face pale. Her hands were trembling. She met his gaze, scowling in fear and anger.

  "What in the hell have you gotten us into?"

  Chapter Six: Old Friends

  The pale moon was a vague silver glow above the rapidly moving clouds, limning the edges of the rolling hills in frosty light. The pirate zeppelin Machiavelli cruised high over the sleeping countryside, her sil
very hull just brushing the undersides of the wintry overcast as she navigated by compass and the sharp eyes of her shivering lookouts. The airship's flanks were ragged with holes and her two aft-most engines were silent-the starboard motor a burnt-out shell and the port motor shut down to keep the ship's thrust in balance.

  After a fierce air battle over the People's Collective and another skirmish with Japanese fighters in the skies above New York, the Red Skull Legion's zeppelin was nearly crippled, fighting a headwind over the Empire State as she struggled to make it across the border before dawn.

  Jonathan Kahn stepped aside to let a pair of the ship's riggers make their way down the narrow passageway. Their faces were taut and weary, smudged with smoke stains and grease from long hours spent struggling to keep the zeppelin in the air. The lead rigger stood a little straighter as he passed Kahn and gave the boss a tired smile as the men made their way aft to head off another crisis. The pirate leader waited until they were out of sight before rubbing fiercely at his aching eyes. He checked his watch. It was just after three in the morning.

  The last time a lookout had seen searchlights had been nearly an hour ago, some four miles to the east. The Empire State Navy apparently believed he would head back to the I.S.A., the Red Skulls' home ground, and had thrown every ship they could into his path. Up until now events had occurred too quickly for La Guardia's forces to organize a coordinated search, but now the Machiavelli was struggling to make half her rated speed, and time was no longer on her side.

  Kahn pictured the Empire State patrol zeppelins gliding through the darkness like sharks, peering through the darkness with searchlights and flares, drawing ever nearer to his stricken ship. They'd been lucky to lose their pursuers in the clouds over New York City, where a sane pilot couldn't risk groping blindly through the overcast with all the traffic filling the skies. The same didn't hold true out here, near the border, and Kahn couldn't shake the feeling that his luck was about to run out.

  Kahn took a deep breath and tried to push the worries out of his mind. As long as he could still think, he could always find a way out. The pirate leader reached into his jacket and pulled out a cigar as he worked his way a little farther down the passage and pushed open the door to the zeppelin's sickbay.

  The cold air in the small room smelled of smoke, blood, and death. Five of the sickbay's eight beds were occupied, and two more men sat dejectedly on the room's operating table, clutching bandaged limbs. One of the men stretched out in the beds moaned fitfully in a morphine-induced sleep. A short, broad-shouldered man with a grizzled crewcut stood in the center of the room and watched the moaning man worriedly, wiping his hands on a bloodstained apron. "Doc" Adams turned as Kahn entered the sickbay and nodded a tired greeting.

  "How bad is it?" Kahn asked around his cigar. He had his lighter in his hands, but looking over the wounded men, he resisted the urge and put the battered Zippo away.

  "All told? Two dead, eight injured," Adams said with a sigh. He gestured at the beds. "I did the best I could for the worst cases, but about all I'm really good for is simple first aid. Murphy took three rounds in the gut; I'm not sure he'll last the night." The former horse doctor looked guiltily at Kahn. "I've been giving him morphine pretty steadily, and it's used up almost a third of our stocks. I know how expensive the stuff is-"

  "Don't worry about that," Kahn said quietly. "Make him as comfortable as you can. We'll worry about the rest later." His eyes settled on the room's eighth bed, hidden from the rest of the room by a curtained screen. "What about our guest?"

  Adams shrugged. "I gave her some laudanum, so she's sleeping now. Somebody roughed her up pretty good-a lot of bruises, maybe a cracked rib. Looks like she hasn't been fed much, either. You can look in her eyes and tell she's been through hell."

  Kahn frowned. He'd only recently learned that the girl behind the screen was Chiang Liu-Mei, the daughter of none other than Chiang Kai-Shek, the President of the Republic of China. Supposedly she had been kidnapped to silence a Chinese delegation en route to the League of Nations to report Japanese atrocities in Nanking. Yet what purpose did torturing her serve? If anything, it would only add more fuel to the fire.

  Kahn shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs from his sleep-deprived brain. Clearly there was more going on than Hayes, his old partner in crime, had led him to believe. Now Hayes was dead, and Kahn found himself fumbling in the dark, unsure of how to proceed but certain that there was no turning back now.

  "Has she said anything, Doc? Anything at all?"

  "Not a word," Adams said. "Boss, she's in deep shock. I wouldn't expect anything out of her for a good long while." He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I don't know what else to do. All I know are horses and airplane engines."

  "Yeah. Okay." Kahn did his best to keep the desperation out of his voice. "You're doing okay, Doc. Stay here and keep an eye on everybody, and if she wakes up and wants to talk, you let me know."

  Kahn stalked out into the passageway and headed aft, deeper into the shadowy interior of the ship. He could still smell smoke from the fire that had broken out in the hangar bay. The Red Skulls were in deep trouble, far worse than they'd ever been before. His hands curled into fists, but there was nothing and no one he could strike at that would drive out the frustration that he felt. If there was one thing his father had taught him, it was that a man survived by controlling events that surrounded him. Kahn wasn't in control any more, and he knew it.

  He lit his cigar and started walking again, trying to think. Kahn's thoughts kept going back to his recent conversations with Hetty. The girl was worried; she was no dummy, and could see the signs as well as he could. She was afraid he was going to bail out on them.

  And the more he thought about it, the more he saw that skipping out would be the smartest thing he could do.

  Kahn kept walking, turning the problem over and over in his head. Without consciously intending to, he found himself wandering through the cargo deck. One of the cargo lockers was padlocked shut. There was no guard. Kahn considered the door for a moment, puffing thoughtfully on his cigar, then reached a decision. He pulled out a set of keys and undid the padlock. The cargo locker was windowless and black as a cave. Kahn figured Morton was probably asleep. Standing in the doorway, he reached for the light switch, and realized with a start that it was still turned on. She'd put out the light.

  And that was when something came flying out of the darkness and smashed against his head.

  Everything went white. Kahn fell to his knees. He felt a lithe figure try to force its way past him, and he grabbed blindly with both hands. His left hand closed on a small foot, and he jerked backwards, hard. Morton fell to the deck with a loud grunt, and he knew he'd knocked the wind out of her. The pirate boss forced himself to his feet, holding the trapped foot as high as he could and blinking furiously at the stars that danced in front of his eyes.

  Morton thrashed and writhed in his grip like a snared tiger, kicking furiously with her free leg. Kahn's head began to throb with a dull, pounding ache, but the passageway came back into focus. He let go of Morton, who quickly sprang to her feet, ready to kill or be killed. Kahn looked over her diminutive form and scowled. "Save it, sister. You've got the brass, but not the muscle. And even if you did, there's nowhere to run." He looked down and saw pieces of porcelain scattered around the deck. Kahn picked up a shard, wincing at the pain in his head. "You hit me with a chamber pot?" He said, examining the fragment in the light.

  "It seemed appropriate," Morton replied. She hadn't relaxed in the least, her small hands balled into fists. "And if you don't cut me loose you can expect a hell of a lot worse than that."

  Kahn pulled his gun. "Of course, I could just shoot you and save myself the trouble."

  Surprisingly, Morton gave him a humorless smile. "If you were going to kill me, you'd have done it a long time ago, pirate."

  The pirate boss tossed the shard aside. "Touché," he said, and put the pistol away. "You're proving to be a
headache in more ways than one, Captain Morton. In fact, I do have certain uses for you. Do you have any medical skill? A number of my men are seriously hurt, and need a doctor's attention."

  Morton's lip curled in a sneer. "If I did, do you think I'd actually waste it on thugs like you and your men?"

  "Where is your sense of humanity, Captain?"

  The Collective pilot let out a derisive snort. "That's rich, coming from a man like you."

  "Fair enough," Kahn conceded. "Then I'll settle for using you as a hostage if need be, or ransoming you back if the Collective will still have you." He picked out a piece of ceramic on the deck and methodically ground it under his boot. "If not, I'm sure we can find someone in Hawai'i willing to take you off our hands."

  Morton's eyes narrowed appraisingly. "So you rescued the girl, then? You're the last person in the world I would peg for a knight in shining armor, Kahn."

  "I'm not," Kahn replied darkly. "A long time ago, Artemus Hayes took a headstrong young man named Jonathan Kahn under his wing and taught him a great number of things, including how to fly a plane. He also saved my life." The pirate shrugged. "I owe him. And I don't like being indebted to anyone. It's as simple as that.

  "Unfortunately this little errand has become a great deal more complicated than I'd bargained for. It's nearly dawn, and if we aren't across the border into the I.S.A. by then, things are going to get unpleasant." Kahn gestured down the forward passageway. "Let's go."

  "You're not going to lock me up again?" Morton asked.

  "I don't have enough healthy crewmen to keep an eye on you, Captain, and I don't want you left alone so you can come up with any more mischief."

  The Collective Captain raised her chin defiantly. "Watch me all you want, Kahn. I'll still find a way to escape."

  "Feel free, Comrade," the pirate said with a wolfish grin. "Assuming we can clear up the debris on the hangar deck to launch any planes there is a big enough reward on our heads that you'd get shot down or captured by the first militia you ran across, and I doubt they'd be inclined to believe your story. After all, the Red Skulls have earned something of a reputation for misdirection. For the time being, you're much better off with our company than without it."