by Jed Hartman<\/p>\n
For Ed C. and Alex W.<\/i><\/p>\n
\n
Hugh Betcha parachuted out of the cloudy night sky to land hard on the flat roof of Building X-9 of the Luftschiffbau Zeppelin airship works. As soon as he was down, he shrugged out of his parachute harness and let fall the heavy oversized duffel bag that was attached to the harness.<\/p>\n
He kicked open the flimsy door that led to the stairwell, and charged down the stairs three at a time. When he was halfway down, a door screeched open a level below him, and loud footsteps clattered up the stairs toward him. Hugh grabbed the iron railing and swung over it and down into the stairway underneath, planting his boots solidly in the face of the uniformed Nazi guard there. The man smashed against the wall; Hugh landed on his feet, and two quick punches knocked out the guard. Hugh yanked the man\u2019s gun from its holster and tossed it over the railing into the dark stairwell, then continued down the steps.<\/p>\n
He moved more cautiously as he descended past the ground floor and into the underground levels. Sounds of industry echoed from elsewhere in the building: the clank and rumble of heavy machinery, orders barked in guttural German, marching feet and rolling wheels. In these dark days the factory\u2019s army of technicians and workers never slept.<\/p>\n
Hugh eased open the door from the stairwell into the subbasement. A concrete hallway led off to either side. Voices and footsteps were approaching from around a corner.<\/p>\n
Hugh held the door open a crack, just enough to see through. He put a hand in the pocket of his leather flight jacket. \u201cKeep still, Scraps,\u201d he whispered; he felt the little ferret in his pocket sniffing inquisitively at his fingers. \u201cLet\u2019s just wait here a minute \u2019til these Nazis go past, then we can search for those plans. They\u2019ve got to be somewhere around here.\u201d<\/p>\n
On the night Hugh had been given his orders, at a secret Corporation airfield near New York City, the weather had been cloudy and dark. Thunderheads had been gathering on the horizon.<\/p>\n
Hugh strode onto the landing strip. General Bore\u2014a wiry man in his sixties, gray-haired but hale\u2014stood waiting, near the Corporation-owned passenger plane that had dropped Hugh off on many previous missions.<\/p>\n
\u201cThanks for coming on such short notice, Betcha,\u201d said the General. \u201cWe\u2019ve received information that the Germans are developing a new class of zeppelin code-named drachenflieger<\/i>\u2014\u2018dragon-flyer.\u2019 The new zeppelin will serve as an aerial platform for a powerful new weapon, a system that can shoot devastating beams of energy and lay waste to entire cities.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo you need me to stop the Nazis from building a death ray?\u201d<\/p>\n
The General\u2019s brow creased. \u201cI suppose you could put it that way, yes. The device will be so massive that only an airship can transport it effectively to inland targets. The blueprints are at the Luftschiffbau Zeppelin airship works in Friedrichshafen. They\u2019ve completed a prototype drachenflieger<\/i>\u2014the LZ-132<\/i>, christened the Hitler<\/i>. Smaller, faster, and more maneuverable than its big brother the Graf Zeppelin II<\/i>, but built along the same lines. The technical details are in your briefing packet. And they intend to begin construction on the weapon system in a matter of days.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can count on me, General,\u201d said Hugh. \u201cThose Nazis won\u2019t know what hit \u2019em.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSubtlety, Betcha,\u201d the General said. \u201cThis can\u2019t make the news. Best if the Nazis never know you were there. The last thing we need right now is an international incident\u2014we don\u2019t want anyone launching a war just yet.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not afraid of the Nazis, sir\u2014they\u2019re a cowardly lot. I\u2019ll do my darnedest to make sure that America won\u2019t fall under Hitler\u2019s tyrannical heel.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd I don\u2019t mean subtle like that weapons cache you blew up in Czechoslovakia last fall\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019re wasting time, General,\u201d said Hugh. \u201cI\u2019d love to stay and chat, but the Nazis won\u2019t wait.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAll right, then,\u201d said the General. \u201cOh, I almost forgot. Sally couldn\u2019t come to see you off, but she asked me to give you this.\u201d He handed Hugh a rubbery chew toy. \u201cFor the ferret.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hugh took the toy and saluted the General. \u201cGod bless America,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
Hard-heeled German footsteps rang out, nearing Hugh\u2019s hiding place behind the stairwell door. A voice, cultured and smooth as mother-of-pearl, gave rapid-fire orders in German.<\/p>\n
Hugh knew that voice: Baron von Sturmdrang, evil mastermind behind many of Hitler\u2019s recent political maneuvers. The last time Hugh had seen von Sturmdrang had been the day Hugh had shot down the Baron\u2019s single-engine Messerschmitt 109 in a dogfight in the skies over Madrid two years before, but he should have known the Berlin Fox was too wily to fall in any ordinary battle.<\/p>\n
Von Sturmdrang\u2019s tall, gaunt figure strode into view, waving a long roll of blueprint paper, a black cloak billowing behind him. He was followed by a dozen other men in military uniforms. Hugh had one glimpse of the Baron\u2019s chiseled features as he passed by the door: the pencil-thin mustache, the high cheekbones, the jagged scar won during the Baron\u2019s days as an Oberkanone<\/i>, a Top Gun, back in the Great War, not long before Hugh was born.<\/p>\n
The Baron was still speaking to his subordinates. Hugh\u2019s German wasn\u2019t good enough to follow it all, but he caught the phrase verdammt G\u00f6ring<\/i>, the name LZ-132<\/i>, the word Luft\u00fcberlegenheit<\/i> (\u201cair superiority\u201d), the word London<\/i>, and the word Todesstrahl<\/i>\u2014\u201cdeath ray.\u201d<\/p>\n
The Baron and his men trooped through a nondescript office door at the end of the hall.<\/p>\n
\u201cThose blueprints must be the plans!\u201d Hugh whispered to Scraps. \u201cNow all we have to do is steal them.\u201d The ferret squirmed in his pocket.<\/p>\n
A few minutes later, the Germans came out of the office again, without the blueprints. An oberleutnant<\/i> carefully locked the door and slid the brass key into his pocket, and the group departed.<\/p>\n
Hugh released his hold on his diminutive pet for a moment\u2014 and Scraps leapt from his pocket and skittered across the corridor. \u201cScraps!\u201d Hugh hissed. \u201cThis is no time for games!\u201d The black-masked ferret glanced back at Hugh and then disappeared through a wide crack in the base of the wall. Hugh rolled his eyes and shrugged; he knew from long experience that the ferret could take care of himself.<\/p>\n
After another minute of waiting, to be sure the coast was clear, Hugh went to the office door. He tested the handle; locked, of course. He considered simply shooting the handle off, but decided that it wasn\u2019t worth risking the noise. Sighing, he slid a set of lockpicks from his pocket and knelt in front of the door. Just then, a chirp and a metallic clatter came from the floor nearby. Startled, Hugh looked down; it was Scraps, looking very pleased with himself, and in front of him, a brass key.<\/p>\n
\u201cSometimes I almost think you\u2019re smarter than I am,\u201d said Hugh. \u201cGood work, boy!\u201d He fed Scraps a ferret treat from his pocket, then opened the door. Scraps rushed past him into the room.<\/p>\n
The office was a model of German neatness and efficiency. The desks were clear, the filing cabinets locked. By the time Hugh finished trying the desk drawers\u2014all either locked or empty\u2014 Scraps was standing atop the frame of a large painting hanging on the wall, darting back and forth excitedly, sniffing at everything in sight. The painting rocked to one side, and Hugh caught a glimpse of the metal behind it.<\/p>\n
It was but the work of a moment for Hugh to lift the painting out of the way, crack the safe, and retrieve the plans. It didn\u2019t take much longer for the duo to make their way (Scraps now safely back in Hugh\u2019s pocket) back through corridors and stairways to the roof, where the heavy duffel bag still lay. The bag held a special collapsible autogiro, hand-built by the Corporation\u2019s engineers.<\/p>\n
Hugh assembled the lightweight machine quickly and unerringly despite the velvety darkness. He was just tightening the last bolt when a voice cried out, \u201cAnschlag<\/i>!\u201d Hugh looked up and was almost blinded by a bright flashlight beam. He dove to one side and rolled as the crack of a gunshot shattered the night\u2019s quiet. He came up firing his trusty Colt .45 automatic. The man with the flashlight staggered back off the edge of the roof, his falling scream ending in a crash. Lights began to flick on all over the compound.<\/p>\n
Hugh slipped the roll of blueprints into the waterproof duffel and seated himself in the autogiro\u2019s small open cockpit, checking to be sure that Scraps was safe in his pocket. The engine roared to life and the craft sped across the flat roof and took to the air.<\/p>\n
It wasn\u2019t until hours later, as he flew over a forest somewhere in northern France, that Hugh was sure he was being followed.<\/p>\n
It began with a steady thrum in the distance, drawing ever closer; then the clouds parted and, looking back, Hugh saw a sleek dark shape silhouetted against the moon. \u201cIt\u2019s the 132<\/i>,\u201d he told Scraps. \u201cThey must have had it ready to fly already\u2014there\u2019s no way they could get it moving this quickly otherwise. Good thing the death ray isn\u2019t built yet.\u201d The ferret chirped noncommittally in response.<\/p>\n
Hugh knew the numbers all too well. If the Corporation\u2019s intelligence was accurate, the Hitler<\/i> carried fifty tons of fuel, and could travel for nine thousand miles at ninety miles an hour. Hugh could outrun it for a little while in his autogiro, but running the autogiro at maximum speed would quickly deplete even the special fuel provided by the Corporation.<\/p>\n
Hugh zigzagged low over the trees, looking for a place to hide. Searchlights stabbed out from the airship. One swept across him, and quickly returned; he was pinned in its bright beam.<\/p>\n
Hugh dove for the trees as the zeppelin\u2019s machine guns clattered into action. He swerved and plunged into a small clearing, then sped along just above the ground, the autogiro\u2019s stubby wings barely slipping through the gaps between trees. Bullets tore through the forest canopy all around.<\/p>\n
A train whistle sounded from not far off. Hugh darted between trees and found himself in a long narrow break in the woods, the train tracks below him glinting in the moonlight. He spared a glance upward; the zeppelin hovered nearby, searchlights still sweeping the forest. One light swung toward him.<\/p>\n
The train whistle came again, much closer. Hugh jerked his head around and saw a train engine steaming down the track toward him, a scant few dozen feet away. Hugh desperately pulled up, and the engine\u2019s plume of black smoke engulfed him moments before the searchlight would have found him.<\/p>\n
Hugh hovered in the smoke plume, coughing and spitting and wiping furiously at his goggles. Below him, he dimly saw a halfempty coal car approaching. He cut the autogiro\u2019s engine and plummeted into the open-topped car, landing in the coal with a crunch.<\/p>\n
Above him, the zeppelin\u2019s searchlights swept across the smoke trail and were gone.<\/p>\n
There was no sign of the zeppelin for the remainder of the journey to the coast. Hugh and Scraps crossed the Channel in the hold of a small freighter, and made their way to an R.A.F. base outside Ipswich, where Hugh\u2019s old friend Captain Stephen Upperlip kept a watch on the skies for Nazis and other undesirables.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll come right to the point, Captain: I need a plane,\u201d said Hugh, as the two shook hands on the airstrip.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s what I like about you Americans,\u201d said the Captain. \u201cYou come right to the point. \u2018How are you? How are things in Old Blighty? How did you escape from certain death at the hands of Friedrich Blitzkrieg back in \u201935?\u2019 No, none of that for you; it\u2019s just \u2018I need a plane.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s vital to stopping the rise of the Nazis.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd that\u2019s another thing: You\u2019re always helpful. Yes, when the R.A.F. need a hand fighting off Nazis, you\u2019re always right there to lend aid, assistance, and succour. You would never hang back, three thousand miles away, and let your old friends the British prepare to save the world alone; no, you\u2019re right there in the thick of things, helping with the war effort.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt would mean a lot to Scraps and me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cScraps!\u201d The Captain bent down to pet the furry beast as it poked its nose out of Hugh\u2019s jacket pocket and snuffled at him. \u201cHow are you, old fellow? I think I have a bit of a ferret treat somewhere about me\u2014ah, yes, here you go.\u201d Scraps squeaked gratefully and nibbled on the food.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell,\u201d said the Captain, straightening up. \u201cWhen you put it that way, I suppose we can spare a plane, for old times\u2019 sake. Not a big plane, mind you. The only one we can let go is a Percival Vega Gull one-seater. Not much to look at, but she was modified with extra fuel tanks a few years back.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s all right, Captain. Scraps and I will manage. Before I go, may I send a telegram?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBe my guest. Talk to Lieutenant Beasy over in the communications shed.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you, Captain.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGood luck, Betcha. And good luck to you as well, Scraps.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe make our own luck, Captain.\u201d<\/p>\n
\r\nFROM: HUGH BETCHA<\/p>\r\n
TO: GENERAL GARRULOUS BORE<\/p>\r\n
HAVE ACQUIRED PLANS STOP RENDEZVOUS CORPORATION TRANSPORT
NEWFOUNDLAND USUAL LOCATION STOP GOD BLESS AMERICA STOP<\/p>\r\n<\/pre>\n
\n\r\nFROM: GENERAL GARRULOUS BORE<\/p>\r\n
TO: HUGH BETCHA<\/p>\r\n
GOOD WORK BETCHA STOP SEE YOU SOON STOP SALLY SENDS LOVE STOP
WORLD COUNTING ON YOU STOP REMEMBER SUBTLETY STOP<\/p>\r\n<\/pre>\n
\nThe Atlantic crossing was nearly twenty-four hours of frozen hell, an endless rush through frigid air over bottomless water that stretched to the horizon in all directions. The only good side was that there was still no sign of any pursuit. \u201cWe must have lost them, Scraps,\u201d said Hugh. Scraps didn\u2019t respond; he was busy sulking in Hugh\u2019s pocket.<\/p>\n
As they neared Newfoundland, Hugh tapped the fuel gauge worriedly. \u201cIt\u2019s going to be close,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
A dark strip of land grew on the horizon.<\/p>\n
The engine began to sputter as they flew over the choppy waves that beat steadily against the rocks.<\/p>\n
Hugh fought the plane into an emergency landing. The wheels crumpled as they hit stone. He was hurled against the windshield, face-first.<\/p>\n
The last thing he heard as he lost consciousness was the oily voice of Baron von Sturmdrang. \u201cSo. If it isn\u2019t our old friend Hugh Betcha. Guards\u2014schnell<\/i>!\u201d<\/p>\n
\nHugh awoke with a headache the size of Manhattan.<\/p>\n
He was apparently in some kind of a warehouse. Darkness stretched all around; shadowy crates stood stacked nearby. The harsh tang of gasoline suffused the air.<\/p>\n
\u201cExcellent. Mr. Betcha returns to us.\u201d The Baron stood nearby, smoking a cigarette in a long holder, looking out a window into the moonlight.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are you going to do to me, Baron?\u201d<\/p>\n
Von Sturmdrang turned, quirking an eyebrow. His cruel scar was livid in the moonlight. \u201cI? I am not going to do anything to you, Betcha. Why should I? I have the plans safely back in my possession.\u201d He took a puff of his cigarette and exhaled a perfect smoke ring.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo hard feelings, then? So why am I tied up and\u201d\u2014Hugh shifted his arms behind him\u2014\u201chandcuffed to this chair?\u201d He sniffed the air, coughed, and realized why his clothes were wet. \u201cAnd soaked in gasoline?\u201d<\/p>\n
Von Sturmdrang laughed a suave and cultured laugh. \u201cI personally bear you no ill will, Betcha. But the Fatherland cannot allow one of your ability to live, as long as you oppose us. The high explosives that my men have planted in this warehouse will, no doubt, leave very little of you, if you have not yet burned to death by the time they go off. Goodbye, Betcha.\u201d He turned and strode away. As he reached the door, he turned again and said, \u201cYou have been a most . . . stimulating opponent these last few years. Even more so than your father was. I find that I shall miss you.\u201d He considered his cigarette, then took it from its holder between thumb and forefinger and threw it to the ground as if tossing a dart.<\/p>\n
Then his hand shot forward and up, palm down. \u201cSieg heil<\/i>, Betcha!\u201d He laughed again, and was gone.<\/p>\n
A thin line of flame sputtered to life\u2014a fuse, eating its way across the floor toward the boxes.<\/p>\n
Hugh struggled with his bonds, but the Baron\u2019s men had tied him too tightly.<\/p>\n
There was a hiss from across the room; Hugh looked up to see the fuse\u2019s flame split in two. The fuse continued toward the boxes; the new flame was igniting a line of gasoline that ran across the floor to where he sat.<\/p>\n
He jerked in the chair and succeeded in shifting it a few inches. It still had one leg in the puddle of gasoline on the floor. He jumped the chair sideways again. The smell of gas filled his nostrils.<\/p>\n
There was a muffled chirrup<\/i> near his feet.<\/p>\n
\u201cScraps!\u201d<\/p>\n
The ferret poked inquisitively at Hugh\u2019s leg, which was still bound tightly to the wooden chair. There was a gleam of metal at the end of his snout.<\/p>\n
\u201cScraps, up here. What\u2019s that in your mouth, boy?\u201d<\/p>\n
The ferret obligingly climbed up Hugh\u2019s leg, stretched, and curled up in Hugh\u2019s lap.<\/p>\n
The puddle of gasoline caught fire at all once, a small explosion. Hugh\u2019s right trouser leg began to burn.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs that a key?\u201d Hugh asked desperately. \u201cIs it the key to the handcuffs? Come on, Scraps, bring the key around to my hands. Behind my back.\u201d<\/p>\n
Scraps whuffled to himself and attempted to burrow into Hugh\u2019s crotch, wrinkling his nose at the gasoline smell. The chair leg was on fire now, and Hugh\u2019s right ankle was in agony.<\/p>\n
\u201cScraps,\u201d he said through gritted teeth. \u201cLook, there are ferret treats in my pocket, but I can\u2019t give them to you \u2019til I get untied, okay? Now be a good ferret and\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
But at the mention of treats, the intrepid animal had begun clambering along the ropes, around to the back of the chair. Hugh opened his hand, and a bit of metal poked into it, along with a whiskered nose.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood boy, Scraps!\u201d Hugh twisted and tugged. The key fit; the handcuffs clattered to the floor. Hugh grabbed his knife from the concealed sheath at his left ankle. He sliced the remaining rope and threw himself away from the flaming chair. His trousers were aflame; Hugh slapped at them, biting his lip to keep from crying out.<\/p>\n
But there was no time to put the fire out. The door was ten yards away, past the tall stacks of explosive-filled boxes, and the bright sizzle of the fuse was a bare inch from the first box. Hugh stuffed Scraps into his jacket pocket and, ignoring his burning clothing, whirled and leapt through the window, arms bent over his head for protection. Glass shattered all around him as the explosives went off with a mighty boom, hurling Hugh across the clearing outside the warehouse. Hugh hit the boughs of a spruce tree hard, then plunged through the branches to the ground, followed by a cascade of flaming needles. He beat at his burning clothing and rolled in the dirt until the fire was out.<\/p>\n
Across the clearing, the warehouse roof collapsed. Flames shot fifty feet into the air.<\/p>\n
Scraps hissed. \u201cIt\u2019s all right, boy,\u201d panted Hugh. \u201cHere. Have a ferret treat.\u201d<\/p>\n
\nThere was no sign of the zeppelin or the Baron.<\/p>\n
A Corporation car sat at the appointed meeting place; the driver they\u2019d sent\u2014a retired O.S.S. man named Jeeves\u2014lay on the ground nearby, a dozen bullets in his back.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou deserved better than this, old fellow,\u201d said Hugh. \u201cBut don\u2019t worry, they\u2019ll pay\u2014for this and for all their other crimes.\u201d He observed a moment of silence. \u201cCome on, Scraps, we\u2019d better go.\u201d<\/p>\n
He stepped into the car and they were off.<\/p>\n
\nAmalgamated Technologies Corporation\u2019s main offices occupied the house and grounds of an old mansion outside of Trenton, New Jersey.<\/p>\n
The sky was darkening into twilight when Hugh strode across the quiet lawn that surrounded the deceptively peaceful building. General Bore came out to meet him.<\/p>\n
\u201cBetcha! Welcome back,\u201d said the General. And then: \u201cWhere\u2019s Jeeves?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m sorry, sir,\u201d said Hugh. \u201cThey got him. And they got the plans.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHugh!\u201d yelled a feminine voice, and a petite blonde form launched herself at him. It was Sally Firth, the general\u2019s stepdaughter.<\/p>\n
Hugh caught her up in his arms. \u201cSally!\u201d he said. \u201cGosh, am I glad to see you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, Hugh!\u201d Sally said, holding him close. And then, pulling away for a moment, nose wrinkling at the remaining gasoline smell: \u201cLooks like you had a rough time.\u201d She licked her finger and dabbed at the blood and soot on his face.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll gladly bear any hurt in the service of my country,\u201d Hugh said.<\/p>\n
\u201cNever mind that, Betcha,\u201d said the General. \u201cWhere are the plans?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe Baron took them back, sir. I assume he\u2019s returning to Germany with them. I\u2019ll have to follow him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cScraps!\u201d said Sally, laughing. The ferret was investigating the dark space at the back of her neck, under her shoulder-length hair, snuffling down the back of her blouse. Sally retrieved him and petted him. \u201cHave you been taking good care of our boy? Yes, you have! Who\u2019s a good ferret?\u201d She slipped a hand into Hugh\u2019s jacket pocket and came out with a ferret treat, which Scraps happily set to work devouring.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou won\u2019t have to follow the Baron far,\u201d said the General.<\/p>\n
\u201cSir?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cToo many people saw the Hitler<\/i> on this side of the Atlantic for the Krauts to keep it quiet\u2014it would look like spying, or worse yet, invasion. Germany has declared it to be an official goodwill visit from the Baron, so the zeppelin has made a brief stop in Washington to meet with officials and take on fuel and supplies. The Baron talked with Mr. Ickes and the Munitions Control Board one more time about buying helium from America\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut of course the big boys said nothing doing,\u201d interjected Hugh.<\/p>\n
The General nodded. \u201cSo the Baron and the zeppelin are heading back to Germany tonight\u2014by way of New York.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPerfect!\u201d said Hugh. \u201cI\u2019ll take an autogiro and recover the plans.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought you might,\u201d said the General.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, Hugh,\u201d said Sally. \u201cBe careful.\u201d<\/p>\n
The General said, \u201cAnd subtle. Don\u2019t forget subtle.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPiece of cake, sir. I\u2019ll be back in a few hours.\u201d<\/p>\n
As they walked around the mansion to the well-appointed hangar and landing strip out back, the General said, \u201cBetcha, why are you so eager to get back into the fray?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust doing my duty, sir,\u201d said Hugh. \u201cI love zeppelins and America too much to see the Germans get the upper hand. I owe it to my father\u2019s memory.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat a fine zeppelin pilot that man was,\u201d the General mused. \u201cSuch a pity he decided to take passage on the Hindenburg<\/i> that fateful day. . . . I remember the time that your father and I had the Baron on the run, over Liechtenstein, back in\u2014 But never mind. He\u2019d have been proud of you, Betcha.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI hope so, sir.\u201d<\/p>\n
\nIt began to rain as Hugh took off in a Corporation autogiro, and by the time he reached the coast, storm clouds had blotted out the moon and stars.<\/p>\n
A single lighthouse stood near the end of Sandy Hook, at the northeasternmost tip of New Jersey\u2019s Atlantic highlands. The lights of Brooklyn and Staten Island glittered from a few miles across the water to the north, barely visible through the rain. The lighthouse beam swept out over the water and the land, piercing the growing storm.<\/p>\n
In its light, Hugh could see the great zeppelin approaching from the south. The huge black swastikas on its tail fins stood out in stark relief against the blackness of the night. Hugh gunned his engine, and the autogiro leapt forward.<\/p>\n
Hugh reached the zeppelin just as it overflew the lighthouse. He set down gently on the zeppelin\u2019s upper surface, lit only by a bright flash of lightning, and leapt from the autogiro onto the airship\u2019s rain-slick skin.<\/p>\n
After checking to be sure Scraps was safe in his pocket, Hugh punched a grappling hook through the airship\u2019s skin, hooked it around a duralumin strut, and walked himself backward down the zeppelin\u2019s starboard side, paying out his long rope as he went. As the slope steepened, he began to rappel, kicking out, dropping, swinging back in, kicking out again. When he reached the zeppelin\u2019s widest point, he kicked off with all his might and let the rope slide fast through his gloved fingers in a barely controlled fall. Lightning flashed, and the rumble of thunder merged with the engines\u2019 throaty roar as Hugh swung back in and crashed through the broad starboard window of the control gondola in a shower of glass and rain.<\/p>\n
\u201cDer Amerikaner<\/i>!\u201d came a shout, and guns began blazing. Hugh drew his Colt and fired back, ducking behind a control panel. A stray bullet hit the overhead light, and the cabin was plunged into darkness except for a few small lights on the instrument panel. Wind and rain gusted through the broken window.<\/p>\n
Hugh had apparently kicked the pilot in the head during his entrance; the man lay on the ground in a growing pool of blood, and nobody was at the wheel. Hugh spared a glance behind him, out through the still-intact front window; the zeppelin was headed directly for Brooklyn, and downtown Manhattan beyond. Another gunshot rang out, and a bullet whined past Hugh\u2019s head; he ducked past the wheel, rolled, came up shooting. There was a scream, and the enemy fire stopped.<\/p>\n
Scraps darted from his pocket. \u201cScraps, no!\u201d Hugh whispered, but the ferret was gone.<\/p>\n
Hugh crawled toward the bridge door, staying low, looking for enemies. He could hear muffled shouts to the aft.<\/p>\n
In the passageway leading to the cabins, the lights were still on. Hugh shot them out, one by one, then reloaded. The passageway was empty. Hugh remembered the plans for the Graf II<\/i> he\u2019d admired on an earlier trip to Germany, and hoped this zeppelin had a similar enough layout. The first passenger cabin was probably the Baron\u2019s. Hugh ran toward it.<\/p>\n
Someone shot at him from further along the passageway. Hugh returned fire, and with his left hand tried the door to the cabin. It was locked.<\/p>\n
There was no time to pick the lock. Hugh backed across the narrow passageway and then threw himself against the door. It burst open.<\/p>\n
A flash of lightning from outside the low windows illuminated the Baron\u2019s cabin as Hugh stumbled in. The cabin was trim and clean and very small, with a wash basin, a little collapsible writing-desk, and a neatly made bed. There on the writing-desk lay the roll of blueprints.<\/p>\n
Hugh grabbed the roll, folded it in half, and stuffed it halfway down the back of his trousers. He heard careful footsteps approaching from down the passageway. He stole a glance out the window: they were over open water. There was only one place to go.<\/p>\n
He fired a clip of special armor-piercing bullets into the ceiling in a circular pattern, then used the little writing-desk to smash a hole. He boosted himself up into the space above the cabin just as gunfire tore through the room. He had come up next to a catwalk, with the giant silk gas cells and the spidery infrastructure of the zeppelin\u2019s interior looming in the darkness above him, a dark maze of wires and girders. The air inside the zeppelin\u2019s body was as cold as the outside air had been. His breath steaming, Hugh ran along the catwalk toward the nose of the zeppelin.<\/p>\n
Behind him, he heard shouts, confusion, more gunfire. Then silence. He leapt behind one of the gas cells and stood, heart pounding, listening.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know you\u2019re in here, Betcha,\u201d came the Baron\u2019s silky voice.<\/p>\n
Hugh fired blindly toward the voice.<\/p>\n
A soft laugh in the darkness. \u201cSo that is the way you want to play it, eh? Be careful you do not ignite the hydrogen cells. This would be safer if your Mr. Ickes had given us the helium we asked for.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAmerica will never succumb to your demands, Nazi!\u201d<\/p>\n
The Baron said, \u201cIt will go easier on both you and the girl if you give up voluntarily.\u201d<\/p>\n
And then a female voice, sounding more tired than scared: \u201cDon\u2019t listen to him, Hugh.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hugh stood uncertainly for a moment. Then he said, \u201cSally? What are you doing here?\u201d<\/p>\n
The Baron said, \u201cCome out with your hands in the air and nobody will get hurt.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hugh peered around the curve of the gas cell. He could dimly see a pair of silhouettes on a catwalk not far away.<\/p>\n
Sally said, \u201cI thought you might need some help, so I took an autogiro and\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSilence!\u201d the Baron interrupted. And then, conversationally: \u201cI think the girl will look less pretty with a hole in her head, no?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s bluffing, Hugh,\u201d said Sally.<\/p>\n
Hugh cried, \u201cLet Sally go, you monster!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBetcha. You know it doesn\u2019t work that way. Throw your gun away and then come out.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hugh weighed the heavy Colt in his hand, and then threw it into the darkness. It clattered off into the distance below them.<\/p>\n
He took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the gas cell.<\/p>\n
The Baron\u2019s gun flashed. A bullet whined past Hugh\u2019s head, and the gas cell beside him tore open. With a soft whump<\/i>, the escaping hydrogen caught fire, a small jet of light and heat from just behind Hugh.<\/p>\n
Hugh hurled himself away from the cell as Sally let loose a wordless shout. There was a thud of flesh on flesh, and the Baron screamed a falsetto scream and tumbled from the catwalk. \u201cTake that, you son of a bitch,\u201d said Sally. Before Hugh could reprimand her for her language, or take her to task for following him into danger, she said, \u201cI\u2019m heading for the backup control room. I\u2019m gonna bring this thing down\u2014you get the plans and get out of here.\u201d<\/p>\n
She was gone before he could tell her he already had the plans.<\/p>\n
Another gunshot came from below, where the Baron had fallen.<\/p>\n
Hugh leapt for a girder above his head and pulled himself up. The flash and crash of gunfire followed him. He climbed a ladder, ran along another catwalk, up some steps, along another catwalk. The Baron\u2019s mocking voice and gun were never far behind. Another gas cell ignited, and another\u2014now half a dozen growing jets of flame glowed in the vast space. What a waste<\/i>, Hugh thought. This magnificent machine, dying, all because of that Nazi rat.<\/i> He ran between two gas cells toward the outer shell of the zeppelin\u2014and tripped, sprawling forward and over the edge of the catwalk. He grabbed at a girder and caught it with one hand, swinging from it for a moment, and then pulled himself slowly up to kneel and then stand on it.<\/p>\n
The Baron stood gasping for breath a few yards away, pointing a deadly-looking Mauser pistol directly at Hugh\u2019s head. His black cloak hung from his shoulders.<\/p>\n
\u201cBetcha, it is imperative that you listen to me,\u201d the Baron panted. \u201cThere is more going on than you know. Your Corporation\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
A ball of fur dropped onto the Baron\u2019s face, hissing and spitting and clawing at the Baron\u2019s scar. The Baron screamed and fired wildly into the air. Hugh leapt to another girder and ran.<\/p>\n
He made his way silently past more gas cells, and finally dropped through a trapdoor and into a passageway. He was back in the control gondola, at the entrance to the main control room. He opened the door.<\/p>\n
The Baron stood there, waiting for him, face bleeding. There was no sign of the Mauser, or of the ferret.<\/p>\n
The pilot still lay on the floor; the wheel was still unmanned. The storm raged outside the windows. Below were trees; judging by the airship\u2019s earlier course and the city lights dimly visible in the distance, this had to be Central Park. A dark tower loomed ahead and below: Belvedere Castle, the miniature castle near the middle of the park.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid I ever tell you I knew your father, Betcha?\u201d said the Baron.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou were defeated by my father, you mean.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe was a great man, and a great zeppelin pilot. Such a pity about his death. He and I were very close, you know. Yes, very close indeed.\u201d The Baron smiled and licked his lips.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t talk about my father, you scum!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThere are those who say that the destruction of the Hindenburg<\/i> was not an accident. There are powerful forces arrayed against those of us who love the zeppelin, Betcha. Your father knew\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI told you not to talk about my father!\u201d Hugh launched himself at the Baron, and his momentum carried them through the portside window with a crash. Grappling amid a thousand twinkling shards of glass, the two fell into the storm-wracked sky\u2014<\/p>\n
\u2014and landed hard on stone a few feet down. The zeppelin had just cleared the top of Belvedere Castle. The airship slid by overhead, blotting out the clouds and the rain.<\/p>\n
Hugh gathered himself to his feet, nursing his left shoulder. The Baron had rolled away and had regained his footing at the edge of the parapet; he stood arms akimbo, cloak trailing behind him in what little moonlight filtered through the clouds. Thunder rolled. Hugh took one unsteady step toward the other man, and then another, then threw himself forward with a roundhouse swing.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis,\u201d he gasped as his punch connected, \u201cis for the red.\u201d The Baron staggered back. \u201cThis is for the white!\u201d Hugh said, his voice gaining strength, and he landed an uppercut that snapped the Baron\u2019s head back. \u201cAnd this,\u201d Hugh yelled, \u201cis for the blue!\u201d And with one final mighty blow he knocked the Baron flat.<\/p>\n
Hugh stumbled over to a corner, holding himself up against the low stone rail by sheer force of will. He bent over, hands on knees, gasping for breath. A gust of wind and rain made him lurch off-balance\u2014just as the Baron leapt for him, a long jagged knife flashing in his hand with reflected lightning.<\/p>\n
Hugh threw himself to the side, and the Baron went over the rail.<\/p>\n
Hugh grabbed for the man as he went by, but only succeeded in catching his foot. It took all of Hugh\u2019s waning strength to hold on. The Baron was flailing, dangling from Hugh\u2019s hands over the long drop below. \u201cHang on, Baron,\u201d said Hugh. \u201cI\u2019ll help you up\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
The Baron twisted, lunging upward, slashing at Hugh with his knife\u2014and his foot came out of his boot.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll be back, Betchaaaaaaaa!<\/em>\u201d he screamed as he fell. There was a sickening thud as he hit the rocks below; then he rolled off them and into the icy waters of the shallow lake at the castle\u2019s foot.<\/p>\n
Hugh stood silently for a moment, but saw no movement. \u201cIn that case, Baron,\u201d he said at last, \u201cyou\u2019ll need your boot.\u201d And he dropped the boot into the lake.<\/p>\n
From Hugh\u2019s left came a gigantic rending noise. He turned. The zeppelin, in flames, was grinding its way into the trees at the water\u2019s northern edge.<\/p>\n
\u201cScraps!\u201d he yelled. He ran to the castle\u2019s stairs, and leapt down them three at a time. As he hit the bottom, a huge ball of red and orange flame leapt from the trees as several gas cells exploded at once. The heat and light washed over him. \u201cScraps!\u201d he yelled again. And then, \u201cSally! Oh my gosh.\u201d And then, \u201cOh, that poor zeppelin.\u201d<\/p>\n
He ran through the rain and mud around the pond\u2019s shore, toward the site of the explosion. There was no way anyone could have survived.<\/p>\n
But the thrum of an autogiro\u2019s engine made itself heard over the rumbling thunder, and in a moment Sally was leaping from the aircraft and into his arms, a sopping wet Scraps scolding them both from her shoulder.<\/p>\n
\nIn the midst of their joyful reunion, Hugh heard another engine sound, a growing rumble in the sky like approaching thunder. He looked up and saw a sleek black DC-3 airliner touching down in a perfect short landing on the new Great Lawn to the north. As it grew closer, Hugh saw that it wasn\u2019t quite like any DC-3 he\u2019d seen before: the fuselage and fairings were more streamlined, the engines smaller, the wings longer. It taxied to a stop not far beyond the edge of the burning copse of trees.<\/p>\n
Hugh looked around for a weapon or a hiding place\u2014but it was only the General who stepped out of the plane\u2019s passenger door and jumped to the ground. Rain slid off the man\u2019s gray fedora and trenchcoat.<\/p>\n
Hugh and Sally\u2014the latter still carrying a complaining Scraps\u2014walked to meet the General near the still-burning remains of the zeppelin.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood work, Betcha,\u201d said the General. He looked at Sally, an eyebrow raised under the brim of his hat. \u201cThe plans?\u201d<\/p>\n
Sally nodded in Hugh\u2019s direction.<\/p>\n
\u201cHere you go, General\u2014safe and sound!\u201d Hugh pulled the battered blueprints from under his jacket. \u201cNow we<\/em> can build the death ray! With these plans, we can create a zeppelin fighting force the likes of which the world has never seen! America will become the greatest air power in the world! We can knock out those Nazi rats\u2019 military capabilities before they even know what\u2019s coming!\u201d<\/p>\n
The General took the plans, unrolled them, glanced over them, and rolled them up again. \u201cGood,\u201d he said, and tossed them deep into the zeppelin\u2019s burning wreckage.<\/p>\n
\u201cGeneral!\u201d cried Hugh. \u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d<\/p>\n
The General looked at him sadly. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, Betcha, but none of that is going to happen. The age of the zeppelin is over.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hugh gaped at him in shock.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s the airplane\u2019s turn,\u201d the General continued. \u201cYour mission was to keep the weapon out of the Nazis\u2019 hands; you did a fine job. But the world doesn\u2019t need superweapons any more than it needs zeppelins. This \u2018death ray\u2019 of yours is too horrific a weapon to unleash on the world regardless of who owns it. Anyway, we don\u2019t have an airplane that can carry a device like that\u2014and airplanes are the future.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are you talking about?\u201d Hugh managed. He started to move past the General, toward the wreckage. Maybe if he dove through the flames, the rain would protect him long enough to rescue the plans, and then\u2014<\/p>\n
The General pulled out a pistol, a shiny new black Luger of a model Hugh didn\u2019t recognize, and aimed it at Hugh. \u201cI\u2019m afraid I\u2019ll have to ask you to let them burn, son,\u201d he said quietly.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut, but\u2014\u201d Hugh stammered. He looked at Sally; she was watching him sadly. Scraps was nowhere to be seen.<\/p>\n
\u201cBetcha,\u201d said the General. \u201cThe Corporation has longer-range plans than this upcoming war. We envision a day when huge airplanes cross the skies, carrying hundreds of people. The war won\u2019t last long\u2014a half-dozen years at the most\u2014and when it ends, we\u2019ll be in a perfect position to take advantage of the new global economy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut Germany has to be stopped!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGermany isn\u2019t the enemy, Betcha. Men like Minister G\u00f6ring are forward-thinkers who recognize what\u2019s coming\u2014now that the energy weapon is gone, you won\u2019t see the German zeppelin program continue under G\u00f6ring\u2019s leadership. The enemy are the men who can\u2019t see that the world is changing, men who don\u2019t recognize the new age that\u2019s dawning. Men like the Baron. Men like your father.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLeave my father out of this!\u201d<\/p>\n
The General held up a placatory hand. \u201cIt doesn\u2019t matter. What matters is that the airlines see what\u2019s coming, and are preparing for it. The Corporation sees it too; we\u2019ll be launching new businesses after the war, a world-wide network of airlines. We\u2019ll have a place for a man like you; we\u2019ll need a lot of pilots. What do you say?\u201d<\/p>\n
Hugh drew himself up to his full height. \u201cI would die first.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust like your father,\u201d said the General. \u201cWell, have it your way.\u201d He cocked his pistol.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis can\u2019t be happening,\u201d muttered Hugh. \u201cYou must\u2014you must be under the Baron\u2019s control! That\u2019s it\u2014he must have had some kind of mind control device, and\u2014look, General, I\u2019m sorry about this, but you\u2019ll thank me later.\u201d He leaped at the General.<\/p>\n
The General fired. Hugh felt the sharp pain of a bullet tear through his right bicep; it threw him off-balance, and he and the General went down in a heap together. Hugh scrabbled for the gun and knocked it away, but the old man\u2019s fist slammed into his jaw.<\/p>\n
Hugh rolled away, came up in a crouch. The General got to his knees, shaking his head as if to clear it. Hugh darted forward and punched the General one-two in the gut, clenching his teeth against the agony in his right arm.<\/p>\n
The General went down. Hugh bent, grabbed the man\u2019s collar in his left hand, and lifted, holding the General up off the ground one-handed. The General\u2019s head lolled back, and a thin line of blood trailed from the corner of his mouth, but his eyes were open. \u201cBetcha . . . ,\u201d he managed.<\/p>\n
Hugh cocked his right fist back for the knockout blow, ignoring the pain.<\/p>\n
\u201cHugh,\u201d said a voice.<\/p>\n
Sally\u2019s voice, from behind him.<\/p>\n
\u201cHugh. Please don\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
Hugh half-turned, still holding the General off the ground.<\/p>\n
Sally stood, chin high, in the rain nearby. A flash of lightning lit up the blonde hair framing her face. She said, \u201cLet him go, Hugh. There\u2019s nothing to be gained from this. Nobody will believe you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAre you on his side?\u201d Hugh said.<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course I am. I\u2019m going to fly for one of the new airlines. He\u2019s right, Hugh. Zeppelins have had their turn. It\u2019s time to let go.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can\u2019t accept that.\u201d<\/p>\n
Sally turned slightly so Hugh could see what she cradled in her arms: Scraps. The firelight danced red on Sally\u2019s face. She stroked the ferret gently, letting her fingers curl tightly around the little animal\u2019s neck. She said, \u201cDo you want your ferret to live?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSally!\u201d cried Hugh.<\/p>\n
Sally said, \u201cWe can all still walk out of this. You go your way, we\u2019ll go ours.\u201d<\/p>\n
A sudden roar made both of them turn. The last of the zeppelin\u2019s gas cells went up in a magnificent gout of flame.<\/p>\n
Hugh closed his eyes and took a breath. After a moment, he lowered the General gently to his feet.<\/p>\n
Sally moved to take her father\u2019s arm. She let the ferret jump to the ground; Scraps ran to Hugh, who picked him up.<\/p>\n
Sally and the General walked off toward the DC-3, the General limping. Neither of them looked back.<\/p>\n
Hugh watched them climb into the airplane, then turned to watch the last remnants of the zeppelin sputter and spark in the rain.<\/p>\n
At last, Hugh said, \u201cNever mind, Scraps.\u201d He patted the ferret and winced at the pain in his arm. Then he turned away from the flames. \u201cWe\u2019ll come up with something to do. I hear there\u2019s a war on the way; America will need defending.\u201d And as the last of the zeppelins burned behind him, Hugh Betcha strode off, whistling, to face a gray and uncertain dawn.<\/p>\n
\nThanks to Arthur, Mary Anne, Chris, Rick, and Don (for a little of Hugh\u2019s dialogue).<\/i><\/p>\n
Notes<\/h2>\n
This story was published in 2004 in All-Star Zeppelin Adventure Stories<\/a><\/cite>, ed. David Moles and Jay Lake.<\/p>\n