In the Shadow of Falcon's Wings

CHAPTER 16 THE LAST PLACE ON EARTH

A violent crack split the air, but it was not the sound of a gunshot and it was not Dodge that fell but rather Marten. The scoundrel froze in place, his eyes rolling back in his head, as a brilliant corona of energy blossomed all over his body. Dodge followed the snaking bolt of lightning to its source in the heavens, but it was no natural thunderhead that had reached out to strike the villain down.

An enormous shadow passed over Dodge, a familiar cross shape, and he could just make out the sound of the X-314’s four Wright Twin Cyclone radial piston engines. More tongues of energy leaped out from the massive airplane, striking select targets with pinpoint accuracy. Dodge knew of only one marksman with that kind of skill: Hurricane Hurley! His friends had returned to save him. Dodge felt like weeping.

The pirates had no defense against the aerial assault. They fled back to the surviving fortress, but a heavy bombardment of lightning ripped into the flanks of the baobab and set it ablaze as well. In a matter of minutes, the second tree was fully engulfed in fire.

Dodge struggled to his feet and approached the stricken Marten. The renegade boat operator was still alive — the lightning weapons rarely delivered a lethal injury, as Dodge could well attest — but did not resist as Hurricane’s pistols were plucked from his limp grasp. Dodge knew better than to attempt to use the titanic shooting irons, but he was looking forward to returning them to their owner, personally.

The plane made another pass, picking off a few souls who had managed to escape the flames, then raced downriver. When Dodge saw the plane again, it was surging along the surface of the muddy water, taxiing up to the dock. Hurricane and Father Hobbs stood on the sponson, wearing the familiar exoskeletons — evidently no longer being used as landing gear — over their clothes. The Padre was characteristically dour, but Hurley made no effort to hide his joy at seeing Dodge.

Dodge meekly held out Hurricane’s pistols, and the big man gave a thunderous guffaw of delight as he leaped onto the dock and swept Dodge into a crushing bear hug.

“Dodge, m’boy, I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you. How in blazes did you survive that fall?”

Dodge winced as the embrace exacerbated a multitude of hurts but managed a grin as the big man set him down. “Never mind that, how did you know to find me here?”

“Truth be told we didn’t,” intoned Hobbs, stepping across the gap to join them. “We came back to free the villagers.”

“And deal with Krieger once and for all,” added Hurricane.

“Done and done. Your flock escaped into the jungle, Padre. As for Krieger…” Dodge jerked a thumb in the general area where he had left the fallen pirate, but when his gaze followed he saw only the slithering shape of a crocodile tail as it slipped into the water. “Well, trust me, he won’t be a problem ever again.”

The Padre raised an eyebrow to salute the accomplishment, while Hurley was somewhat more effusive. “Well done. What did I tell you, Padre? He’s just like… he’s a good man in a fight.”

Dodge sensed that the giant had been on the verge of making a very different comment, but ignored the omission. “Is Molly…?”

No sooner had he spoken than the fiery-haired pilot burst through the hatch and gave him a hug to rival Hurley’s, followed by a kiss that was certainly without parallel. Dodge was still savoring the taste on his lips when the girl drew back and slugged him in the shoulder. “I told you to be careful. Don’t you ever listen to anyone?”

He managed a weak smile, then impulsively pulled her close and answered her accusation with another kiss.

Hurley grinned at Hobbs, who seemed to be growing more uncomfortable by the moment, and then cleared his throat. “Son, we’ve got to get moving. We know where he’s taken the President.”

Dodge’s eyes flew open and he gently disconnected from Molly’s embrace. “Where?”

Hurley guided him back into the plane. “The last place on earth: Antarctica. We got a pretty good fix on it from…” He gestured to a trio of men who sat meekly on the cabin floor.

Dodge stared in disbelief at the three mercenaries they had defeated in order to gain control of the exoskeletons. The men were not restrained in any way, yet seemed completely unthreatening.

“I don’t think we’ll need their help any longer,” intoned Hobbs. He knelt beside the men. “Find the people who were captured by the pirates and help them rebuild their village. Tell them I sent you.”

The three former soldiers of fortune rose and began thanking the clergyman for rescuing them from a life of wickedness. Dodge stared in disbelief as Hobbs laid hands on each man and offered a benediction. “Go, and sin no more.” As they filed out of the plane, it occurred to Dodge that, of the original trio of heroes that had led the Fighting Falcons, the peace-loving cleric was perhaps the most dangerous.

Once aloft and on course, Molly engaged the autopilot and ventured out to minister to Dodge’s many wounds. The vibration of the plane, coupled with the abrupt cessation of life-threatening activity, quickly lulled the exhausted Dodge to sleep, curtailing his report on the events that had followed his earlier plummet from the aircraft.

He made only a cursory mention of his rescue at the hands of their enemy and omitted all reference to the strange conversations with both the dark god and the unseen benefactor. The other men did not question the exclusion; they understood all too well. He was in the middle of describing the climactic battle with Krieger when his words became incoherent and trailed off altogether.

He slept for more than ten hours, blissfully unaware of the monotonous course they charted through the sky. He did not stir until through the fog of dreams, he felt the tremors of a water landing. Awakening brought with it a host of aches and pains, but a few moments of stretching allowed him to move without visibly wincing. The interior of the plane was dark but there was a dim light burning on the flight deck, and he made his cautiously up to the cockpit where he found his three companions staring through the windscreen. Though he couldn’t distinguish anything in the inky blackness, the pitching of the aircraft was indication enough that they had set down in rough seas.

“Where are we?”

Hurley, the only member of the group not involved in piloting, turned to greet him. “Cape Town.”

“South Africa,” Dodge replied blearily. He was struggling to remember why they would have ventured to the remote southern tip of the Dark Continent, the notorious Cape of Good Hope. He recalled something about… “You said we’re going to Antarctica, right?”

Hurricane nodded. “The fellows we, ah, questioned told us that they only went as far as a base camp on a bleak little lump of rock called Flat Island, a couple thousand miles to the south in the middle of the Indian Ocean. But their leader took the President on to a secret location using that flying disk ship of his.”

He paused long enough to take out a chart of the area in question. He rested a finger on a speck not far from the ice-covered polar region. “Now, we don’t know exactly where he went, but the round trip took about fourteen hours. We know that ship can’t fly faster than about fifty miles an hour, so the furthest he could have gone is about 300 miles. He went due south, and probably kept it in a straight line — no reason not to — which would put his secret headquarters somewhere in this area.” He put his finger on a spot in a section of the continent dubbed Wilkes Land. The region was completely devoid of the sort of markers one usually found on a map, not because the continent was featureless, but because it was so remote and austere that all efforts at charting the geography of the region had thus far met with failure.

“It’s winter below the equator,” Dodge observed. “We’re in no shape to mount a polar expedition even under the best conditions, but this time of year it will be impossibly cold.”

“The force field from the flying suits ought to protect us from the cold and all but the worst of the weather.”

That answer was so obvious that Dodge felt compelled to berate himself for not having thought of it before speaking.

“Don’t trouble yourself about it, son.” Hobbs’ flat voice floated back from the co-pilot’s chair. “We’ve had a lot of time to work this out.”

“And you’ve more than earned the right to lead us.”

“Lead you?” The offhand comment stunned Dodge, but when Hobbs came back to join them, he saw that both men were deadly serious. “Whoa. Hold your horses. I’m not anybody’s leader. The very idea is ridiculous. I’m just a guy who writes stories.”

Hurley was on the verge of speaking, but Hobbs silenced him with a plaintive gesture. “A poor choice of words. I think what my friend meant to say is that we’re quite pleased to have you along, and not just as an extra pair of strong hands. We’re a couple of old warhorses; you bring a fresh perspective that’s sorely needed.”

Dodge wasn’t fooled for a second. Hurley and — to a lesser degree — the Padre were looking to cast him as their new champion, and that was the last thing he wanted. Because that would mean Captain Falcon was truly lost.

At dawn they entered Cape Town to buy food and fuel. Hobbs made surreptitious inquiries to ascertain that their foe had not yet passed this way, but that in itself proved nothing; there were other places in Africa to refuel. Nevertheless, the Grumman’s range was considerably less than the X-314 and it was quite likely that their long, non-stop flight had put them well ahead of the dark god.

By noon they were airborne once more, winging into the turbulent wintry skies over the confluence of oceans. Aside from a scattering of desolate islets, there was nothing but water between the tip of Africa and the ice-locked southern polar region. It would take more than twenty-four hours of flight time, with an open water landing to refuel from their reserves, to reach their destination.

After they settled in for the long flight, Dodge broke the monotony by asking Molly for some rudimentary flying lessons. His motives were not entirely pure; it was mostly an excuse to spend time with her, but his curiosity about the principles of flight was real enough.

With an early winter twilight ruling the sky, he felt confident enough to attempt what proved to be an especially difficult landing. The heavier than air behemoth touched down on rough seas, rolling through twelve to twenty foot swells before finally coming to a stop.

“It’s funny,” he remarked, trying to conceal the edge of adrenaline that had left him slightly breathless. “A week ago I had never even been in an airplane, and now I can fly them.”

The red-haired girl raised an eyebrow. “I’d recommend you do that about a dozen more times before you ask Pan American for a job.”

To take off again, they tried a different approach, running at a slight angle in a trough, just enough to stay ahead of the moving mountain of water as the plane built speed. When they had enough velocity, Dodge angled up the face of the swell and vaulted aloft. Molly had given a little squeal of delight at the maneuver. Hurricane on the other hand retreated from the flight deck in search of a quiet place to throw up.

From that point onward, the atmosphere aboard the plane grew increasingly tense. Not only was the territory into which they were going held by the enemy, it was also well beyond the frontier. The charts of the region were woefully incomplete and unreliable.

The next day, they flew over Flat Island without stopping. The barely visible speck was a part of the mostly submerged Kerguelen Plateau that just happened to protrude a hundred and fifty feet above the surface of the ocean. They had been told that the remaining mercenary force — six men armed with exoskeletons — was lodged there awaiting their leader’s return. Hurricane was able to pick out the tents of their enemy’s camp, but saw no indication of activity. The island was their reference point; from here they would follow a due southerly course, flying as close the icepack as they dared. Every mile they could fly closer in the X-314 would translate to more than three minutes saved off their final approach in the much slower flying rigs.

It was mutually agreed that Molly would remain behind with the plane, tending the engines which they dared not shut down for fear that they might freeze up. Dodge was mildly surprised that she put up only a token argument against being excluded. It wasn’t until they threw open the hatch and felt the icy embrace of the polar wind that he understood her decision; born and raised in the steamy jungles of Africa, Molly had little physical tolerance for the cold.

Dodge had complete faith in Hurricane’s ability to navigate the remainder of the journey, which was more than Hurley could say. In a normal environment, the big man could easily chart a true course from memory, but here, where there were no landmarks to use as reference, it would be blind guesswork. As they left the shelter of the plane and glided out over the choppy seas, he discovered another monkey wrench in the works. Although their destination lay somewhere along the azimuth that ran to magnetic south, the compass did not work inside the force field. Hurricane would not be able to check the accuracy of their course until they reached hard ice.

The exoskeletons did however afford excellent protection from the elements. As they raced along, faster than an automobile could travel on open road, they felt no breeze on their faces. The air inside the force field was cold, but the warm clothes they had purchased in South Africa were more than enough to ward off the chill. Hurley and Hobbs had no difficulty mastering the intuitive control system, and within a few minutes they were all confidently gliding through the seemingly endless polar night.

They soon began to see large icebergs, pale blue against the inky ocean, and at the first opportunity, Hurricane dropped down and deactivated his exoskeleton while the other men hovered nearby. When he rejoined them, a dusting of ice crystals had formed in his eyebrows.

“Cold,” he said through chattering teeth. “It’s only going to get worse the further we go.”

“Are we on course?”

The big man scowled. “No. According to the compass, we’re twenty degrees from where we ought to be. Evidently we’re not keeping as true a course as I thought.”

“How is that possible?” Dodge’s question was understandably rhetorical; none of them possessed enough knowledge about the exoskeletons to even attempt an answer.

“I can make an educated guess to get us back on course, but if we can’t keep to a straight line, we could very well miss it completely.”

The dire prediction was underscored half an hour later when they reached what appeared to be the main icepack and Hurley risked another blast of bitter cold to check their progress. Despite their best efforts, they had deviated from their southerly heading. Taken with their first error, they now faced the very real possibility that they might never find the enemy’s headquarters.

“What now?” asked Hobbs in his usual dispassionate monotone.

Dodge glanced at both men and realized the clergyman had been asking him. “We keep going,” he declared. “We can always double back, or run some kind of search pattern once we reach the turnaround point. It’s not like we really have a choice.”

The Padre’s lips curled in a faint grin, and Dodge knew he had once again said something that reminded the men of their former leader. Big shoes to fill, he thought.

The weather grew steadily worse as they progressed. Although they could not feel the frigid wind blasting against their energy shields, the force of the air mass was nevertheless pushing against them, nudging them further off course. By the time they reached their turnaround point — an arbitrary position determined by the estimate of how far their enemy could have traveled in three hours — they were engulfed in blizzard-like conditions. Not only was it completely out of the question for Hurricane to drop his force field, even for a few seconds, to check their position, but it was quite likely that they had passed right by their objective and not seen it.

Dodge was beside himself. He had failed his duty to the President and worse, he had failed his friends. Unable to get their bearings, they faced the very real possibility that, if the weather didn’t change, they might wander the icy wilderness until they perished. He turned to offer a futile apology to the other men, but they weren’t there. Though they had diligently maintained visual contact throughout the night, a curtain of ice had fallen between them for the briefest instant. When he tried to push through, he found only more swirling ice.

He called their names, shouting into the maelstrom, but heard only the rush of wind against his force field. Seconds of panic grew into minutes of desperation, and ultimately a final, horrible revelation: He was lost and alone in the most desolate place on earth.

Molly pulled the blanket tighter in a vain effort to shut out the pervasive chill. She knew part of it was in her head; the absence of her friends and the inky blackness outside the windows made it seem much colder than it really was, and the constant pitching of the hull as it rolled over the swells didn’t help.

She drew some comfort from the old shotgun resting on her lap. It had belonged to her father — the sire of her blood, if not also her heart — once upon a time, and while it hadn’t been enough to save his life, she liked to think of it as his way of looking out for her.

After a while, the rolling deck and the rumble of the engines lulled her to sleep. It was a deep but peaceful repose; her body succumbed to a depth of exhaustion that her pride had denied. Yet, despite the depth of her dreamless state, she came instantly awake when she heard the noise.

It was soft sound and ought to have been inaudible given the constant chugging of the idling engines, but it was just different enough that she was immediately alert and on her guard. The blanket fell away as she leaped to her feet, brandishing the shotgun.

But she was already too late.

She fired off a blast of buckshot at the nearest figure, point blank range, but the pellets never reached their target. Before she could load another shell, the weapon was torn from her hands, and then a blast of brilliant white light returned her to the dark void of unconsciousness.