In the Shadow of Falcon's Wings

CHAPTER 11 CLASH OF TITANS

Dodge reached the top of the ladder at the exact moment that Hurricane made his charge. He expected one of two things to happen; either the hooded villain would blast the rampaging giant with a stunning electrical discharge, or Hurley would pulverize the mysterious man. To his complete astonishment, neither occurred.

It was easy to believe that Hurricane was nothing but an enraged beast, flailing about and hoping to make up for a lack of fighting skill with the intensity of violence, but such was not the case. He directed his blows carefully, feinting with his right to distract attention from a left hook that should have taken the villain’s head off.

The hooded man remained motionless until Hurley threw the first punch, but when he moved, it was merely to twist his body sideways. Hurricane’s jab shot past his head, but stopped short as he launched the follow through. His left never connected. His foe darted inside the radius of his swing and struck, not with a display of electrical power, but with open hands made rigid like knife blades.

The blows seemed as inconsequential as the buzzing of an insect; the man’s fingers bounced away from Hurricane’s massive chest as from a stone wall. Then the hooded figure twisted out of Hurley’s closing embrace and stepped aside as the big man’s momentum carried him into the bulkhead. Dodge expected the giant to whirl around, but instead Hurley clutched his chest where his opponent had made contact, grimacing as if in the grip of a heart attack.

The villain did not get a chance to savor his mythic victory; the white-haired figure of Father Hobbs appeared in front of him like a wraith and struck a fighting pose. Dodge recognized it as a te stance; an opening position, where all of his muscles were loose and ready for combat. Dodge had written this moment a dozen times; he knew how fast and effortless Hobbs would appear as he lashed out with hands and feet, redirecting his opponents mass and energy to use it against him. Now he would get to witness it first hand.

The robed foe fluidly assumed a mirror image pose, and Dodge’s certitude cracked a little. The confidence exhibited in the villain’s body language was proof enough that he was also skilled in the Oriental martial arts. This was going to be an epic battle like nothing Dodge had ever captured on paper.

Hobbs waited patiently for his enemy to make the first move. His personal code would never allow him to attack first; his skills were only for self-defense. There was however another reason he held back: in his foe’s initial attack, he would be able to discern the best strategy by which to defeat the man.

For a long time, both men regarded each other, two vipers poised to strike at the first sign of aggression from the other. Dodge could not believe that a standoff had been so quickly reached. Hurricane meanwhile was shaking off the stunning finger hits that had left his muscles twitching in agony. He curled his fists and headed back into battle.

The villain saw this as well and recognized that he could no longer wait out the Padre. He stamped forward onto his left foot and swung his left hand, fingers extended, in a chop aimed at Hobbs’ neck. The latter deflected it easily with a forearm block, but even Dodge could tell that the move was a feint, designed to draw Hobbs into combat. The Padre did not commit, but stepped back, mimicking the other man with a knife-hand attack of his own. The two traded chops and blocks, but neither man gained an inch. It might have gone on like that for hours, but Hobbs had one big advantage working for him; it was named Hurricane Hurley.

The giant charged again, capitalizing on the huge blind spot cast by the cowl, and tried to sweep the man up in a bear hug, but the villain must have had eyes in the back of his hood, for he chose that moment to launch a blistering attack on the Padre. Hobbs deflected the first few punches, but one out of every three got through his defenses. The clergyman staggered back as close-fisted punches caught him in the ribs and diaphragm. It all happened in less than a second, and by the time Hurley recovered from his first failed attempt, Hobbs was on the deck, one hand up to deflect overhead blows and his feet lashing out at the other man’s shins in a desperate effort to hold the superior opponent at bay.

Hurricane swooped out with his arms, but the robed figure whirled and struck up at his chin. Impossibly, Hurley’s head snapped back and his eyes rolled up in their sockets. His arms closed reflexively as he toppled forward, and for just a moment, it looked like he would take his foe down with him, but the robed figure squirmed loose from the fallen giant’s grasp and got out of the way as Hurricane slammed into the rough plank floor.

Dodge was likewise stunned, but not because of any physical blows. It wasn’t unthinkable that there might exist a fighter better than either Hurley or Hobbs, nor would he have expected either man to be invincible against the electrical weapons in the enemy’s arsenal. But the villain had eschewed use of that superior technology to meet both men in hand-to-hand combat, and had beaten them.

Who is this guy?

Dodge entertained no illusions of being a fighter on par with his companions. He could hold his own on a wrestling mat against someone of equivalent weight and stature, but he knew when he was outmatched, and this opponent was way out of his league. But Dodge also knew that Marquess of Queensbury rules had no place in a fight for survival. He clasped his belt and stabbed the gauntlets at the triumphant figure.

“Dodge this!”

Electricity sizzled in the close quarters of the cabin and twin tendrils of light lashed out at the hooded enemy. Amazingly, the man twisted around the lightning bolts like a piece of eggshell slipping through the tines of a fork. The man was fast; faster than anyone Dodge had ever seen.

But he wasn’t faster than light.

One of the discharges caught him in the shoulder and threw him back against the bulkhead. Dodge tried to focus both gauntlets on his foe, but the tongues of fire vanished before he could press his advantage; the electrical charge had been expended and needed a few moments to rebuild. The other man shook his head to clear away the lingering effects of the stunning attack and then drew his staff from the folds of his robe. As the dull metal rod began to flicker with violet sparks, Dodge grimly realized a few moments might just be too long to wait.

“What have you done with the President?”

It was the first thing that came to his mind, and he said it before he could even weigh the value of such a question. His shouted inquiry was almost lost in the roar and tremor of engine noise vibrating through the airframe, but his foe’s momentary hesitation signaled that he had been heard. That was all the answer he got. The villain raised the staff, centered on Dodge’s chest and unleashed his full fury….

Or would have, had Father Hobbs not lashed out with his foot in that instant and struck the rod from his hands. The contact knocked the Padre backward, his leg numb from the shock, but it was a small price to pay. The metal staff bounced once on the deck then rolled through the access hole, caroming off the ladder rungs. The hooded villain lost interest in everything else, and dived for the opening, vanishing through it like a wisp of smoke in the wind.

Dodge quickly deactivated his force field and hastened to Hobbs’ aide. The prematurely aged priest gazed up at him, stone-faced despite what must surely have been an agonizing injury. “Dodge Dalton, I presume?”

Dodge cracked a grin, grateful that the Padre was relatively unhurt. “Is that what passes for a joke in the Congo?”

“Actually it is.” He extended a hand, which Dodge shook briefly before pulling the other man to his feet. “Hurricane has told me good things about you son, but I’d say he was being stingy with the praise.”

“Thanks, Padre. I hope you’ll forgive me for being so familiar. I feel like I’ve known you for years.”

Neither man had forgotten the imminent peril posed by the villain below decks, but the brief respite from battle was welcome. Their next immediate thought was of Hurley, who was just beginning to stir as they reached his side.

“How are we doing?” he asked, still trying to clear the cobwebs.

Hobbs gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. “Holding our own, with a little help from our new teammate.”

“You mean you guys didn’t finish him off already?” Hurley didn’t sound terribly disappointed.

“We were saving him for you, Hurricane.” The almost playful banter seemed like a foreign language when issuing from Father Hobbs’ dour, expressionless lips.

“Well, then, let’s do it!” Hurley heaved himself erect and looked around. “Where did he go?”

A concern that had been nagging at the back of Dodge’s mind finally reached the surface. “Fellows, I hate to change the subject —”

That was as far as he got, for in the next instant, the entire deck erupted in a shower of smoke, splinters and electricity. The three men tumbled amidst the debris, crashing onto the lower platform. Dodge’s exoskeleton, while deactivated, nevertheless helped him absorb some of the impact, while Hobbs and Hurley managed to land cat-like on their feet. Through the haze of dust and ozone, they could make out the hooded villain, shimmering scepter in hand, standing at the rear of the cabin.

There was no hesitation on the part of the old warhorses. Hurley and Hobbs, as if by some previously choreographed arrangement, split to opposite sides of the cabin and rushed the enemy. Dodge, intuiting their purpose, clasped the exoskeleton belt and started lobbing lighting shots at the hooded foe, more to distract him than anything else.

The villain focused on him first, deflecting the bolts with his staff and lashing back with a different hue of power. Dodge was ready for it this time, and sprang into the air. Using the flying rig was just like riding a bike, once learned never forgotten. He curled around in the air, darting into the upper reaches of the cabin, and returned fire until his friends could close the trap below.

The hooded head turned in every direction, darting glances at the three-pronged attack, unable to do anything but weather the storm. It had taken a concerted effort, but they had done it; they had brought this titan to heel.

But the villain had one more trick up his sleeve. As Hurricane closed the final distance, the cowled figure produced what looked like a coin and dropped it at arm’s length.

The cabin was suddenly filled with a sphere of dull silver, as though a balloon had been inflated under high pressure. The men below Dodge’s feet were lost from view as the bubble pushed them back against the bulkheads. The manifestation lasted only a few seconds, the bubble began to recede almost right away, leaving a stunned Hurley and Hobbs to peel themselves away from the sides of the cabin.

Abruptly, a fierce wind filled the plane, creating a tempest of debris. Dodge’s force field protected him from the storm, but he could see nothing through the swirling mass, except for the shrinking metal globe. He angled himself down to the lower deck just as the ball, now only a few feet in diameter, was yanked through a hole in the side of the fuselage and out into daylight. There was no sign of their nemesis.

The air rushing past the opening was creating a sucking vacuum inside the plane, but the initial ferocity of the icy blast had somewhat abated. Gripping the exposed beams that ran the length of the cabin, Dodge advanced toward the hole, which he saw to be the main hatchway. The door was still attached by its hinges, but stuck in the open position against the exterior of the plane. He leaned out into the rush of air, scanning behind for some sign of their enemy, but saw only a golden expanse of grassland beneath an azure sky. Grimacing from the effort, he pulled the hatch back into place, shutting off the sucking wind.

The battle had lasted only a few minutes, but in the abrupt silence that followed, Dodge felt as though he had lived an entire war in that short space of time. Hobbs and Hurley were likewise winded. The clergyman was characteristically stoic but Hurricane wore a grim smile of satisfaction.

“We showed him!”

Dodge nodded breathlessly, and gazed about the plane to survey the damage. He recalled that he had been on the verge of asking a very important question in the moments before the final showdown, and it came back to him in pieces. What’s missing here? “Molly!”

Hobbs jerked as if receiving a latent jolt from the dark god’s scepter. “What about Molly? Where is she?”

Dodge shook his head. That was the wrong question; there was something even more urgent that he was forgetting… Something about the… “The plane! There’s no one flying the plane!”

Hurley was already moving, scaling the broken remains of the ladder to reach the cockpit, but Hobbs focus had not shifted. He grasped Dodge by the shirtfront. “What about Molly?”

Before Dodge could answer, Hurricane’s voice roared over the engine noise, thundering down through the gaping hole in the upper deck. “She’s here, Padre. She’s flying the plane!”

Both men hastened up to the flight deck, where they indeed found her seated at one of the two red captain’s chairs in the foremost quarter of the long cockpit. She gripped the steering wheel-like control column and looked very much like she knew what she was doing. Hobbs, in a rare display of emotion, hugged her shoulders, unable to suppress the tears that welled from his eyes.

Dodge sagged against a bulkhead in relief. “You can fly?”

She laughed at the silliness of the question. “I told you; you’ve got to be able to do a little bit of everything out here.”

The joyous reunion was short lived and punctuated by a flashing red light on the instrument panel. Molly frowned and inspected the gauges. Her fingers brushed over a bank of switches, and then came to rest on a t-bar handle which had been left fully extended. “Damn.”

“What is it?”

“He dumped the fuel tanks,” she answered grimly. “We’re out of gas.”