The New Adventures of Richard Knight Page 4

  Knight realized what the other platforms he’d seen were for even as the guns mounted on them opened up with a shrieking chatter. He could see them through the windows of the control room.

  The blue Northrop cut a smooth curve around the nightmare dirigible, machine guns chattering. Onboard the sleek little plane, Doyle pushed on the stick and the Northrop’s engines whined as he sent the plane in a loop around the airship. “Damn it, Dick! I might as well be throwing peanuts at it!” he snarled into the radio.

  “It doesn’t matter, pal!” Knight shouted in reply. “Keep it up!”

  Before he could hear Doyle’s reply, a bullet shattered the radio. Knight spun, plugging the gunman in return. The man toppled through the doorway only to be replaced by another. More than one in fact, Knight noted with chagrin. Automatic pistols barked and sparks flew from the control panel as Knight hurled himself flat.

  Sliding across the floor, he fired until his Colt clicked empty. Through the gun smoke, he saw bodies clogging the open door of the bulkhead. He grimaced and rose to his feet. “Five down, too many to go,” he muttered as he reloaded. “Come on Larry!”

  An impossibly long arm speared out of the spreading cordite cloud and a familiar grip fastened itself on Knight’s throat. Another hand grabbed the wrist of his gun arm and twisted the barrel of the Colt aside as it thundered, shattering the glass of a window. Air rushed in, tumbling bodies and sucking out the smoke. Bael grinned at Knight and shoved him backwards. Behind the Hand of Hell came his demons, weapons in hand. Knight twisted, driving his knee into Bael’s side. Staggered, the creature released him and he swung the Colt out, emptying the clip for a second time. Bael howled and grabbed Knight by his harness and slung him bodily toward the broken window.

  “Apostate! Thief!” Bael snarled, his robes whipping about him like flames. “They told me you were coming! Heaven’s Hand as surely as I am Hell’s!”

  Knight said nothing as Bael slammed him into the window frame. Glass broke on his shoulders. He could hear the howl of the wind and the purr of the Northrop. “Hell holds the skies, thief!” Bael roared. “Hell’s legions loom across time’s tapestry! Fire will fall on man as it fell on me! The world will burn and only shadows will be left, blasted across the tombs of cities!”

  “Not if I can help it,” Knight said, his fist careening across Bael’s fleshless jaw. Bael cackled and forced him out the window.

  “We are just the first,” Bael hissed. “I have seen it in the fire. The devil will take his toll in souls.”

  “He’ll have to settle for an IOU this time!” Knight said, catching sight of the Northrop arcing toward the front of the gondola. It was now or never. He brought his legs up and slid over the edge of the window, dragging the frothing Bael with him!

  The madman shrieked as the wind clawed at him. The roar of the Northrop was loud in Knight’s ears as he plummeted downwards and then something hard and metal connected with him and he lashed out desperately, grabbing the edge of the wing.

  He caught a glimpse of Doyle’s strained features through the canopy as the plane dipped from the sudden weight. Doyle forced the canopy open and threw out a hand. “Dick!” he roared.

  Knight reached for his friend’s hand, acutely aware that if he missed, he was dead. He grabbed Doyle’s hand and then something grabbed his hair. Knight’s head was jerked back as Bael gibbered imprecations. His robes flared like the wings of some great crimson bat as his fingers tangled in Knight’s hair.

  “Hell holds us! Hell! Hell!” Bael yowled, his voice carrying over the howl of the wind.

  “Do us a favor and go back there!” Doyle said, releasing the Northrop’s stick to fumble out a pistol and fire. Abruptly, Bael released his hold and was gone. Doyle hauled Knight into the plane’s cockpit as he wrestled them up out of a nosedive.

  “Dick! Are you okay?” he shouted as Knight slammed the canopy home. “Who was that lunatic?”

  “Just a bat out of hell, Larry. Do me a favor and burn his roost, would you?” Knight said.

  Doyle gave a growl of assent and the Northrop curved steeply upwards, engines screaming. The airship’s guns chattered, trying to knock them from the sky, but the Northrop was as agile as a mosquito. It rose in a gentle curve over the vulnerable bag. Doyle depressed the firing mechanism and the bag was lit up like a Christmas tree.

  The hydrogen filled bag burst into leaping flames and the red ship began to tilt and roll through the air like a wounded beast. Knight remembered the fate of the Skanderbeg and said, “Give it another burst, Larry. Put paid to the damned thing.”

  “Right,” Doyle said. The Northrop circled the dying airship like a wolf around a bison, adding to its miseries. Knight felt no triumph as it sank toward the blue of the sea, only a grim satisfaction. For some reason, Bael’s final words in the gondola tugged at him like knives. The pirate had been as mad as a hatter, that much was certain. A lunatic. But, what if...

  Knight grunted and shook his head. No. No, there would be no fire from the sky. The world was safe. It would stay that way, even if he had to die to see to it. He realized Doyle was speaking.

  “What the hell do you think you were playing at, man?” Doyle sputtered. “I mean, climbing aboard like that?”

  “If I hadn’t, I’d be dead, and they’d be free to continue wreaking havoc,” Knight said, resting his head back as he watched the wreck hit the water. The red ship went to its watery grave, clutched in talons of fire and smoke. Then Hell’s hand closed fast about its burning bulk and it was gone.

  Richard Knight closed his eyes. “I guess you could say it was divine providence, all in all, eh?” he murmured.

  THE END

  RICHARD KNIGHT AND THE STONES OF HEAVEN

  by Barry Reese

  Chapter I

  Dead Things in the Snow

  Gretchen Nast trudged through the ankle-high snow, her legs aching and her lungs burning. Every breath escaped her parched lips in a tiny cloud and her long eyelashes were caked with ice, making it hard to see. She had no idea how long she’d been wandering through the wintry wasteland but she knew that her journey was going to end soon, one way or another.

  Gretchen fell to her knees as she began her ascent up a steep incline. She reached forward with her gloved hands and used the last of her strength to pull herself up the hill. When she finally reached the top, her limbs gave out and she sagged face first into the snow. Strangely, the chill had begun to fade, replaced by soothing warmth that spread throughout her body, making her fingers and toes tingle with pleasure. She wanted to sleep so badly, to lose herself in the moment and regain her energy.

  From deep within the recesses of her mind, a pair of voices roused her from the slumber she so desperately desired. One of them was deep and charmingly masculine but the other was far rougher and less refined. With a groan, Gretchen lifted her head from the snow, peering down the hill at two figures that were moving past. Both men wore fur-lined parkas that hid their features but the stockier of the two men was definitely the coarse fellow whose words had disturbed her.

  ***

  “For th’ luvva Pete! Explain to me again why we’re the ones who are out here!”

  Richard Knight cast a bemused glance over at his longtime friend and confidante. Doyle was an ex-Marine with the homeliest features that Dick had ever seen but he was a good man to the core and despite his appearances, he had remarkable luck with the ladies. “Doyle, can you go a good ten minutes without complaining?”

  “I ain’t complained a bit,” Doyle said in protest. “I’d just like to know how we ended up on rescue duty!”

  Knight stopped in place, looking about them. The trees were so full of snow and ice that many of them dipped almost to the ground. “General Brett says that the boys at the airfield lost track of a plane somewhere in this area. When it vanished, Brett got worried – especially since an important plane was due in at around that time, carrying Professor Nast and his daughter - along with an object that’s vital to national defens
e. A couple of guys who have cabins in the area say they heard the engines of two planes – and gunfire.”

  Doyle grumbled but put an end to his protests. He was as loyal an American as they came but Knight knew the real reason behind his frustration was that he was missing a date with a pretty little senorita he’d recently met on a trip through Texas.

  “Hey, you smell somethin’?” Doyle asked, suddenly sniffing the air like a dog.

  Knight took a deep breath but shook his head. “No.”

  “Smells like Chanel No. 5.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “I never kid about dames and how they smell.” Doyle turned on his heels, following his nose. He pointed up to the top of a nearby hill, where Gretchen’s blonde hair could barely be seen beneath a ground mound of snow. “Up there!” he yelled, taking off with great speed.

  Knight was past him easily though, his long legs carrying him to the fallen woman. He had already knelt at her side and rolled her onto her back by the time Doyle skidded to a halt.

  “Is she--?” Doyle stammered, staring at Gretchen’s blue-tinged lips.

  Knight felt for a pulse. “She’s still alive.” He lifted her up, slinging her over one shoulder. “She can’t have wandered far from the plane crash.”

  “Surprised we didn’t see any plumes of smoke,” Doyle murmured, his eyes traveling quickly over the shapely derriere on display on Knight’s shoulder.

  Knight set off in the direction that Gretchen had come from, following the few tracks she’d made that hadn’t yet been filled in with snow.

  Doyle was hot on his heels, always ready to help a damsel in distress. “We need to get her someplace warm, Dick. She’s gonna get frostbite.”

  “I agree but if her father or the pilot of their plane’s hurt, we have to help them, too!”

  Doyle nodded in agreement and the two men finally located the downed plane: it was a decade-old E-2 Cub. The plane flew with a 37-hp Continental engine and was a beaut to handle. The plane had survived its unexpected landing quite well: both wings had been sheared off and a tiny waft of smoke was drifting out from the engine but it was so small that it was lost in the swirling winds. Through the shattered side window, a single figure could be seen: an older man with white hair and glasses. He was slumped forward, his head resting against the controls.

  “That must be her dad,” Doyle reasoned. “He’s a pilot?”

  Knight gave a small shrug. Brett had been so insistent that they get on the case that he’d failed to give them a whole lot of details. Knight passed Gretchen to his friend and yanked open the door, catching Professor Nast as he tumbled free. The older man had a bad cut on his forehead and, like his daughter, was a victim of the elements.

  Knight set the professor gently in the snow and clambered into the plane. It creaked under his weight and he was surprised that it hadn’t sagged further into the snow. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was that he was looking for but according to Brett, the professor had been carrying some sort of important artifact. After digging through several spilled papers, Knight spotted what had to be the item in question.

  The artifact was housed in a small gray box that could fit in the palm of a man’s hand. The lid was open, revealing a pockmarked rock of some sort. The rock was ebony in color, with a few patches of white on its pitted surface.

  As Knight lifted it from the floor, he felt a tingling go through his body. The fillings in his teeth ached, like someone was pulling at them.

  “Uh, Dick… We’ve got problems.”

  Knight dropped back out of the cockpit, the box in his right hand. When he looked over at Doyle, he realized why there had been a slight tremor in his friend’s voice.

  Three men had emerged from the snow-covered trees, each dressed in oversized jackets, black gloves and black boots. The man in front had a Van Dyke beard and close-set eyes. Like the two who stood behind him, he held a German Mauser P-38.

  With a German accent, the man with the Van Dyke said, “Please hand over the box, Herr Knight. If you do as I ask, no one has to get hurt.”

  Knight smiled, despite the fact that he was outnumbered. “A Nazi? You’re a little far from home, aren’t you?”

  “Just visiting lands that will be ours eventually,” the man countered. “Now. Hand over the box.”

  Knight nodded, adopting the attitude of someone who realized they were beaten. “Okay. Can you at least tell me who you are, though? Are you really Nazis?”

  “I am Captain Wilhelm von Papen.” Papen smiled. “And you and Herr Doyle are well known to us. Your cover as a playboy aviator might fool some but the Fuehrer is quite aware of your actions.”

  Doyle, still holding Gretchen in his arms, grinned. “Ya hear that, Dick? We’re famous!”

  Papen’s smile vanished. “Enough! Hand over the box. Now!”

  Knight glanced at Doyle and a silent communication passed between them. He then yanked his arm back and hurled the box with such precision that Dizzy Trout would have been impressed. The box struck Papen on the temple, cutting his head and knocking him off-balance.

  Doyle dropped Gretchen as gently as possible, though the girl still slammed into the snow distressingly hard. The ex-Marine lowered his shoulders and charged, slamming into one of the Nazis. The force of the impact knocked the man into his companion and all three went to the ground, where Doyle quickly unleashed a windmill of fists and elbows.

  Papen had recovered very quickly, firing twice at Knight, who dove for the ground. He landed in a rolling crouch, springing back up to his feet and finding his own pistol, holstered beneath his jacket.

  To Knight’s surprise, Papen had broken into a sprint, heading into the snow-covered trees. As he raced away, he scooped up the gray box out of the snow. With a sudden groan of regret, Knight realized that not only had he done exactly as the Nazi had asked and given him the artifact but now the German was making his escape.

  Without a backwards glance at Doyle, Knight took off in pursuit. Two against one were hardly daunting odds for Doyle, who had bested a score of men in bar brawls all over the world.

  Even under the best of circumstances, Papen probably would not have been able to outrun the American. Though the German was in good shape, Knight spent his days and nights dodging bullets, knives and other nasty implements. His body was honed to its physical peak and it showed as he quickly gained ground on the fleeing Nazi.

  Throwing himself forward, Knight tackled the German. He delivered a roundhouse punch to the back of the man’s hand, eliciting a grunt of pain. He was about to repeat the action when a shadow fell over him and he looked up.

  Standing there was a veritable bear of a man with a nose that looked like it belonged to a boxer, a bald head lined with scars and mallets for hands.

  The man grinned, showing a mouth full of jagged teeth. “Ich werde Sie jetzt verletzen,” he said. Knight knew enough German to understand the meaning of those words – the big man had just stated his imminent intentions of causing him pain.

  The German raised one of those oversized hands and punched Knight in the face. One blow and the American aviator was sliding off of Papen’s back, completely unconscious.

  “Danke, Dieter.” Papen stood up, checking to make sure that the strange rock had not tumbled free from his grip. He shoved it into the pocket of his coat and stared down at Knight.

  Dieter looked at his commander with obvious questioning.

  Papen shrugged and began to walk away. “Kill him so he will not trouble us again.”

  ***

  Doyle dispatched his own foes relatively quickly. They were strong men, no doubt, but they weren’t used to facing someone who fought as ferociously as Doyle.

  The ex-Marine hated leaving the professor and his daughter out in the elements but he had no choice. He set off after Knight and Papen, trying to move with enough stealth that he might reach the scene undetected. It always helped to be sneaky when it came to brawling, Doyle had learned.

  As he approached the
scene, however, Doyle was surprised to see Knight lying on the ground. There was no sign of Papen but a big fellow was lifting up a rock bigger than Knight’s head – and it was obvious what he intended to do with it.

  Discarding any pretense at hiding himself, Doyle roared like a bull elephant and charged from the trees. Dieter turned in shock, lowering the rock. Doyle stopped right in front of him, punching the big man in the jaw before following it up with a roundhouse right that would have staggered a prizefighter.

  Dieter held his ground, however, a grin spreading over his face. The German looked down at Doyle, speaking in broken English. “You hit good, ja? I hit good, too. You see?”

  Before Doyle could respond, Dieter had grabbed him by the ears. The German slammed his forehead into Doyle’s, bringing tears to Doyle’s eyes. Dieter then shoved Doyle away from him and drew back his fist. The blow connected with Doyle’s already ruined nose and lifted him right off his feet. He flew back a couple of feet before landing on his heels.

  Through the blood-red haze that was his consciousness, Doyle saw Dieter striding toward him, eager to finish off the fight.

  Realizing that he couldn’t win this battle by any kind of honest method, Doyle elected to go outside the standard rules of fighting. He was glad that Dick wasn’t awake to see what he did next.

  When Dieter came within reach, Doyle kicked him hard in the privates. The German’s mouth flew into an o-shaped expression of alarm and Doyle claimed the opportunity this presented. He belted Dieter with all his might and nearly toppled over with the force of his own punch.

  Dieter swayed, his eyes unfocused. When he finally tilted over and began what seemed like a slow motion crash to the ground, Doyle couldn’t help but yell out “Timmmmmbbbbbbbeeeerrrrrr!”