Emerald Death (16 page)

                                    *****

            Mike Hannigan opened his eyes.  Somehow the plane had lodged itself in the upper branches of a large tree.  McKenzie was still slumped over the controls of the plane in the forward compartment.  Hannigan found his beloved .45 on the floorboards.   He buttoned out the partially spent magazine and slammed a full one into place.  He would take the time to reload the partially spent magazine. 

            Several minutes later, Hannigan dragged Niles McKenzie from the cockpit of the bi-plane.  The branches were thick so he was easily able to maneuver the unconscious priest out of the plane and close to the bole of the tree.  Father McKenzie was his only real lead to reach the kingdom of the Priest King Prester John.  He had to make sure McKenzie could get him there!

Chapter Eighteen

Gregor Shotsky lifted his head, sweat streaming down his face, eyes slit to the point that they were barely open.  Pain exploded from nearly every part of his body, an after effect of the interrogation he had suffered at the hands of the fiend who called himself Doctor Ragnarok.  The name was a term he was familiar with; it translated into another word in English: Armageddon.  The end of all life on Earth.  Shotsky had no doubt that Ragnarok would bring that about if he got his hands on the Emerald of Eternity.

            Shotsky held onto the hope that Mike ‘Hardluck’ Hannigan would reach them in time, before the creature working for the Nazis got his hands on the stone.  Every inch of his body ached and he had listened as Francisco Degiorno had suffered the tortures of the damned during his interrogation.  The Italian lay against the wall, his eyes blank, drool running from the corners of his mouth.  Whatever mind Degiorno had possessed before the interrogation, Shotsky was willing to bet it had been totally shattered by the techniques used by Ragnarok.

            His main concern for the moment was how Bridget was faring in Ragnarok’s hands.  Hannigan was in love with Bridget.  If anything bad happened to her, he knew he would not be able to control his young American friend, nor would he be able to control the priest that had adopted Bridget as a child of his own.  Together, Shotsky had a pretty good impression that they would be unstoppable, especially if Bridget were in danger.

He hoped that Ragnarok would recognize that fact as well and take it easy on her.  A scream ripped the air from the compartment where Ragnarok was interrogating Bridget.  The Russian tore at his bonds, struggling to free himself, but to no avail.  A long silence descended, and Gregor Shotsky feared the worst.

                                   *****

            Bridget Ellen O’Malley struggled against the ropes that bound her hands behind her back.  She had to find a way to escape.  Their captors had separated her from the others.  Her stomach churned with fear at the though of what could be done to her.  Then the door to the room she was in opened and a man with a metal mask walked in.  She looked up as he took the mask off and couldn’t help herself.  The sight of his horribly scarred face made her let loose with a horrified scream.

            “Yesssss, child, scream to your heart’s content.  Let the others hear you, let them imagine you in intense pain, tortured beyond belief,” Ragnarok cackled insanely.

            “Who are you?” Bridget whispered, her voice almost catching in her throat.

            “My name, child, is Doctor Ragnarok. I’m an old acquaintance of Niles McKenzie.  You are familiar with him I believe?”

            “He’s my adoptive father,” Bridget replied before she could stop herself.  Despite of, or maybe because of, his hideous appearance, she felt compelled to answer him truthfully.

            “Your father.  How interesting,” Ragnarok gloated, rubbing his gloved hands together.

            “What do you want with him?” Bridget demanded, some of her fear fading, being replaced with anger and wanting to protect her adopted father.

            “What do I want?  Niles McKenzie was the one who did this to me!  Him and that thrice damned Dane Hawkins!” Ragnarok roared.

“Perhaps I should do some work on that pretty face of yours and see how Daddy Dearest likes it!” Ragnarok said, starting towards her.

            Bridget screamed again, this time the terror in her voice unmistakable.

                                    *****

            Hardluck Hannigan looked up, his blue eyes frosting up to a polar glare as he heard the distant scream of terror.  He was carrying Niles McKenzie across his shoulders as he made his way through the jungle via the large interlocking tree branches.  He recognized the voice and the scream.  It was Bridget.  She was in terrible danger!

            Steeling his resolve, he knew he had to put McKenzie in a safe place.  He tied the priest to the bole of a tree and started to climb.  Several moments later he could look through the foliage and see the huge silver zeppelin.  It appeared to be less than a mile away.  Hannigan was torn.  He didn’t want to leave McKenzie, yet he had to do something to rescue Bridget from the Nazis.  Hannigan worked his way back down the tree to where McKenzie was roped in place.  The priest was showing signs of regaining consciousness at last.  Hannigan knelt beside him.

            “McKenzie, wake up!” his said, slapping the man’s face lightly.  McKenzie’s eyes fluttered open.

            “What happened?” McKenzie asked weakly, shaking his head. 

            “Bad landing,” Hannigan replied with a grin.

            “Why am I tied up, Hannigan?” McKenzie asked softly.

            “To keep you from falling outta this tree for one thing,” Hannigan replied, drawing a knife he had picked up at the Mission and cutting through the knots he had tied earlier.  A moment later the priest was free.

            “Bridget and the others?” McKenzie asked, becoming more alert with each passing moment.

            “The Nazis have them.  The zeppelin is about a mile ahead of us as the crow flies.  Got any ideas on how we can free them?” Hannigan asked.

            “Maybe.  How did we get this far from the crash?” McKenzie asked.

            “I carried you on my back as I ran along the tree branches.  You’re awake now so I’m not doing that anymore.  You’re heavier than you look, Padre,” Hannigan said.

            “On a positive note, we’re just outside the domain of Prester John.  I hope we can free the others before we have to face him and his army.  I don’t want to have to battle the Nazis and him at the same time,” McKenzie said.  His face was even paler than usual, Hannigan noted.

            “You sure you’re up to this, Padre?” Hannigan asked.  He had no desire to nursemaid the priest if it meant he might not be able to rescue Bridget.

            “It’s for Bridget, I have no choice but to be up for it,” McKenzie replied.

            “Then we had better get moving,” Hannigan said.

Turning, he started along the branch.  He heard McKenzie hesitate, then take a deep breath and let it out.  A moment later he could feel the priest starting to race along behind him.

            Running through the trees, leaping from branch to branch over dizzying heights, Hannigan forced himself to focus on getting to Bridget.  If he thought about what he was doing, he would end up missing his target and breaking his neck falling to the jungle floor.  So instead, he focused on the girl he loved, the girl who was in deadly danger from the Nazis.

            When he had first arrived in Africa, Hannigan hadn’t been sure what direction his life was about to take.  Since meeting Bridget, he had found a focus.  He knew what he wanted to do.  He would help fight for those who were oppressed, fight on the side of the underdogs in the third world countries.  Slavery abounded in Africa and their new masters maimed and brutalized the natives, forcing them to work on the rubber plantations.  Some of the more war-like tribes still resisted, but they were the exception, not the rule. 

In Africa, home of the Negro race, the natives were still treated as second-class citizens.  It was something that Hannigan found appalling on a very personal level.  All men had the right to live free with a measure of dignity.  Mike “Hardluck” Hannigan took a moment then to vocalize his future. 

“A soldier of fortune,” he whispered as he ran.

It sounded almost silly when he verbalized it, yet he knew it was the correct choice.  Suddenly, he could see daylight ahead of him through a clearing in the trees, and ropes dangling from above.  They had reached the zeppelin.  Hannigan slid to a halt near the end of the branch he had been running on.  He glanced behind him at McKenzie. 

“We’re here,” Hannigan whispered.  The priest nodded, his shirt soaked from exertion, his pallor worse.

            “How do we get to them?” McKenzie asked.  He was breathing even more heavily than Hannigan, practically wheezing with the effort it was taking to regain his breath.

            “We don’t, not right away.  We watch, we learn, and then we plan and execute it,” Hannigan replied.

McKenzie nodded in agreement.  Hannigan was actually surprised that the Padre wasn’t insisting on taking the lead on rescuing Bridget.  She was, after all, his daughter and he was the one with all the experience according to the folk at the Mission.

            The Priest was making a habit of surprising him, and Hannigan wasn’t sure that he liked it.  He didn’t trust anyone so full of surprises.  They might surprise you at the wrong time in the wrong way, which could prove deadly.

                                   *****

            Gregor Shotsky looked up as Bridget O’Malley staggered back into the room, tripping and falling onto the floor of the cabin.  “Bridget!  Are you okay?” Gregor asked urgently.

            “Yes, God he was horrible looking!” she gasped, pushing herself up and brushing the hair from her face.

            “He?” Gregor asked.  He had almost managed to free his hands.  The Nazis had missed a small folding knife he had tucked under his belt and he had gotten it out and managed to open the blade, using it to saw through the rough hemp ropes.

            “That horrible man!  He called himself Doctor Ragnarok!  He claims to know my father, and that Dad is responsible for his horrible burns.  He seems to be their leader,” Bridget replied.

            “Ragnarok?  I’ve heard stories about him.  He was some sort of bigwig during the Great War.  Ragnarok was finally taken down by the Fighting Hawks.

Wait a minute!  Bridget, are you telling me that the Padre is that Niles McKenzie?  The one that fought along side Captain Dane Hawkins?”

            “He was with Captain Hawkins, Devil Dog and the rest.  But from what he says, he was the Chaplin for the unit,” Bridget replied, surprise written across her expression.

            “Chaplin?  Niles McKenzie was much more than that, Bridget.  He was a spiritual advisor sure, but also an expert on the Occult.  He was one of the core members of the Fighting Hawks!  Which means he probably did all Ragnarok said and more.  We heard of the Hawks even in Russia.  They were great men, fearless and capable, who fought like demons and gave no quarter.  They lost a lot of men, but they always emerged victorious,” Gregor replied as the last rope snapped across the cutting edge of the knife’s blade.

            “I know Dad was in the war, Gregor, but are you sure about all of this?” Bridget asked her voice still carrying signs of doubt. 

Shotsky tossed the ropes that had bound his hands away and started sawing at the ones around his ankles. “I am very sure, Bridget.  But I know one other thing that even Michael doesn’t know.  His father knew your father!  They were both a part of the Flying Hawks.  Look closely at the .45 that Hannigan carries.  The slide has an inscription engraved into it.  ‘To Wild Bill Hannigan for special services, Dane Hawkins.’  I have read the inscription, Bridget.  You all were linked years before either of you was born,” Shotsky told her.

            “That’s impossible, Gregor.  You’re making it sound as if all that has happened was predestined,” Bridget told him, climbing to her feet.

            “Can you honestly say it was not?” Gregor asked her as the last strand of rope parted.  He kicked off the ropes and sprang to his feet.  The knife went back into hiding.  There was always a chance that he might need it again.  They heard footsteps outside the door.  Shotsky flattened himself against the bulkhead next to the hatch.  It swung open and one of the khaki-clad Nazis entered the room, an MP-36 submachine gun slung from his shoulder.  Bridget waved him on in and Shotsky slammed both fists into the back of the man’s head dropping him like a pole axed steer.

            The Nazi crumpled to the deck but Shotsky was there, catching him and easing him down so he didn’t make any noise.  Bridget moved forward quickly, taking the soldier’s Lugar P-08 9mm pistol and the spare magazines from his belt.  She worked the safety on the pistol after making sure it had a round chambered and stuffed it into her waistband.  The spare magazines went into her trouser pockets.  Shotsky availed himself of the submachine gun and the extra magazines for it.  Now at least they had a fighting chance.

            Gregor had no idea how they were going to get off the zeppelin, but he knew they would go down fighting at least!  He looked at Bridget.  “Got any ideas how we might get off of this thing?” 

She looked back at him for a moment and then nodded. “Maybe,” she replied then eased open the door.

The corridor was empty.  “We might have a chance if we can reach the cargo hold,” she whispered.

            “Exactly where might that be?” Gregor snorted, unconvinced.

            “Just down this corridor if I remember the article I read about these lighter than air craft,” Bridget replied winking at him.

            “Article?” Shotsky asked, puzzled.

            “Yeah, aircraft are one thing I keep up on.  I get all the latest aviation magazines and journals at the Mission.  Got to keep up with what’s going on in the world,” Bridget whispered mischievously.