“Drop the gun,” Van Houten repeated, gesturing towards Doc's friends with his box. “I only need one of them to fly the wing.”
Doc opened his hands and the rifle fell to the deck.
“So you don't try anything,” Van Houten said conversationally, “let me explain the collars. Each one has been connected directly to the wearer's spine. Should I push one button, I can send a wave of electric pain straight to the brain, more than enough to kill anyone in less than half a minute. The liger is stronger, the charge won't kill it, but it will enrage it.”
He glanced back toward the stairs. “Oh Tigress, you and your other cat really should come up before I send its mate to kill you.”
They came up the stairs and into the control room, Tigress with a curl to her lip that would have done Ilsa proud. She didn't say anything, but just stood there, her back straight like a general forced to surrender everything but her dignity.
The Dutchman gestured towards the window. Doc caught a faint whine as Van Houten's arm extended. “Now, would you care to join me as the Dutch fleet is destroyed? Or will we have some unpleasantness to deal with first?”
Silently, Doc stepped forward to where he had a view of the ocean below them. Tigress and Ilsa took up a position on his other side, well clear of Van Houten.
The Dutch fleet was barely in view, three warships steaming alongside a freighter. It was the cruiser Sumatra with two destroyers steaming behind. The four ships looked like toys, the three warships following the freighter like model trains on a track. Van Houten turned towards his enslaved crew, taking obvious care to stay well out of Doc's reach. “Keep us at fifteen thousand yards until I say otherwise.”
None of them answered, but they moved to obey. As Van Houten turned away, Doc caught Gilly's eye just in time to notice a wink in his peripheral vision. He smiled inwardly.
Van Houten stood like a Roman emperor watching prisoners about to die in the Coliseum, one hand idly caressing his control box. A smile twitched across his face. “Launch a stand-off bomb. I want to take the bow off that cruiser.”
Gilly bent to the controls, and a moment later the wing shuddered as a bomb dropped from the forward bay. Unlike a normal bomb, it had cruciform wings and control surfaces on the rear. Doc watched with interest as it appeared to slide down an invisible wire toward the largest warship. The flight took less than two minutes before the bomb knifed into the water, exploding less than fifty yards off the cruiser's bow.
Just then, the freighter exploded.
#
Shrapnel screamed through the superstructure, driven by the shockwave from the exploding freighter. Sumatra heeled over as the shockwave hammered the hull, sending bodies flying. Vic threw an arm across Ming and shoved her down to the deck, shielding the smaller woman’s body with her own. The blast knocked the air from her lungs, and she struggled to breathe. Hot air covered her like a weighted net, holding her down as it almost scorched her lungs. Her ears rang from the explosion. She breathed shallowly, trying not to crush Ming.
Faint screams began to filter through the ringing in her ears, followed by the sound of gunfire. Vic lifted her head to see the ship's starboard Bofors mounts pumping shells toward the wing as the main guns swiveled to bear. Only six guns could bear, but they rattled off a rapid broadside; each shot pummeling Vic with its muzzle blast.
She could make out the rattle of machine guns now, so she looked around for a place to shelter. Deck awnings lay everywhere like fallen sails. Smoke streamed from holes in the funnels as the ship fought back. Both destroyers had pulled out of line, heading toward the flying wing with all guns blazing.
“What's happening?” Ming tugged at her sleeve.
“Captain took too long to believe us,” Vic muttered, not sure if Ming could hear her.
Ming's eyes widened as she took in the scene, and then a determined expression came over her face. Ignoring Vic's attempts to find safety, she headed for the nearest body. Grumbling, Vic followed, catching up to Ming just in time to see her close the eyes of a dead sailor. He looked barely out of his teens.
Vic shook her head, then followed Ming again. There was a crumpled figure in an officer's uniform at the foot of the bridge ladder. It was Captain Doorman, with a three foot spike sticking out of his chest.
“Help me,” Ming mouthed. Blood bubbled around the wound, and Doorman's face was even paler than before. “I have to operate. Can't risk pulling it out here.”
“Here?”
Ming shook her head, and then pointed back the way they came. Vic hefted the captain, who was heavier than he looked. Her left arm burned where the doctor had put it back in its socket, but not so much as to stop her from carrying Doorman.
For someone who had been almost completely disoriented only a few moments before, Ming seemed very much in control of her faculties as she led the way back to the ship's sick bay. It was all Vic could do to keep up with her girlfriend through the wounded ship. Smoke drifted through the companionway, driven slowly by the ventilation fans that were still working. The engines still thrummed beneath her, but the vibrations were rough.
Sick bay was a disaster. Vic stepped through the hatch to come face-to-face with the surgeon's eyes staring from his dead face. Even below deck the sounds of battle filled the ship, the hull rocking every time the main battery fired.
Ming did not spare him a second glance, striding through the compartment towards the operating theater. Once in the theater she swept the cover off the operating table and gestured at Vic to put Doorman down. “Strap him to the table.”
Vic nodded, laying the captain gently on the operating table. His eyes fluttered open for a moment, and she caught a glimpse of the fire in them, and then they drooped closed. Doorman looked small and old, but she had no time to worry about that. Working quickly, she laid a strap across his shoulders and another across his hips while Ming cut through his jacket and blouse. The captain groaned as Ming worked around the spike in his chest.
“I'm going to need you to put him under,” Ming told Vic as she worked. “We don't have a lot of time, and I may have to open him all the way up.”
Vic nodded and then wheeled the anesthesia machine over to the table. Ming had Doorman's chest bare and was pouring antiseptic over and around the wound. Meanwhile, Vic got the mask over the unconscious man's face and glanced over to Ming.
“Ether, two drops.”
Vic opened the valve, letting the ether drop onto the mask. Doorman took a couple of shallow breaths, and then his breathing leveled out. “I think he's out.”
Ming picked up a scalpel and nodded.
An explosion forward rocked the ship, sending the anesthesia machine flying across the room. Warning klaxons blasted, and then the operating theater went dark.
#
Below them the cruiser rocked as shrapnel from the exploding freighter knifed through the hull and superstructure. From Doc's vantage point it was easy to see everything unfold below. Both destroyers accelerated, turning to open their anti-aircraft batteries. Meanwhile, Sumatra held her course and speed, though puffs of smoke told him she was returning fire. Even the main battery was firing, although there was no way it could engage anything at this altitude.
Van Houten stood quietly at the window, watching the havoc below. His smile widened as the cruiser's speed slowly fell off. The bomb had missed, but the freighter seemed to have done more damage than it first appeared. Doc split his attention between the man above and the drama below. For the first few minutes, it seemed that Van Houten was content to watch the destruction from above. Finally, the Dutchman seemed to make a decision.
“Another bomb,” Van Houten ordered. “Don't miss or you'll be on the next one.”
Doc stepped slightly back from the window, turning just enough to keep everyone in his peripheral vision. Both Gus and Kehla looked drugged, their eyes barely focusing. Gilly, on the other hand, looked much more like himself. Doc hoped that was the case. They needed an opening, and the more Van Houten under
estimated Doc’s people, the better off they all were.
As Gilly worked the controls in front of him, Van Houten walked over to where he could look over Gilly's shoulder. Doc watched as Van Houten adjusted his control box, trying to make sense of how it worked. Now that he had a better look, Doc saw there was more than just Van Houten or a bullet-proof vest under that suit. The man had some kind of mechanism on his back, that followed his movements; it also seemed to be the source of the faint whining noise he made when he moved.
Something must have caught the Dutchman’s eye, because Van Houten suddenly pushed Gilly aside, sending him skidding across the deck. Ignoring the American, Van Houten reached out to press the launch key. Gilly crashed to a stop against the far wall, the collar rattling on his neck.
The wing shuddered as a second bomb dropped away, picking up speed as it dove toward the cruiser. The Dutch seemed to recognize the danger, as all three ships turned their full armament towards it.
Van Houten waved Gilly back to his place, stepping away from the controls and moving back towards Doc. There was a broad smile on his face, as he tracked the bomb with his eyes. Gilly staggered to his feet, using the bulkhead to hold himself up, and then slowly started back toward his place at the controls.
Just as he came up behind Van Houten, Gilly winked at Doc, and then threw himself at his captor. He caught Van Houten in the shoulder, straining to reach the control box. Gilly was a big man, well over six feet, but amazingly Van Houten didn't move an inch from the impact. Instead he just reached out and pushed a button on his control box.
The moment Gilly moved, so did Doc. There wasn’t going to be a better chance, and if they didn’t act now the Dutch fleet was doomed.
Taking a deep breath, Doc gathered his strength and leaped straight for the box in Van Houten's hand. His world shrank to just a forearm, two hands, and a black box. The pain in his back dropped away to a dull ache as he stretched out his hands. His fingers closed around the box, and he ripped it out of Van Houten's hands with the snap of breaking bone.
Doc's world returned; Gilly was on his knees, shaking; his face covered with sweat. Ilsa was past Doc, riding the back of the other liger, her jaws tearing at its collar. Tigress had somehow managed to get her hands on a rifle and was covering the guards.
Pain rocked him backwards as Van Houten elbowed him in the stomach. Fighting for breath, Doc barely managed to side step a kick that would have put him through the deck if it connected. Metal rods poked through rips in Van Houten's jacket, and the whining from the mechanism he wore grew louder.
Doc dodged sideways, trying to keep Van Houten turning. He threw a kick, but it bounced off steel. Hopping now, Doc put his foot down gently. It held his weight, but not much more. He was stronger and faster than any normal human, but still no match for Van Houten.
As Doc slowed, Van Houten took advantage of his hesitation, lunging forwards. It was all Doc could do to dive out of the way, but he took a blow across his back that opened another cut. Van Houten held up a bloody forearm and smiled. “You're dead.”
Doc shook his head, taking the opportunity to catch his breath. Van Houten had him backed up against the window, and the smile on the man's face had never been broader. “Give up Doctor Vandal. You know you cannot win against someone five times as strong as yourself. You would not survive a boxing match against a gorilla, let alone my mechanically enhanced strength.
“You had your chance,” Van Houten dropped his head, and charged just as a single shot rang out.
The 6.5mm Arisaka wasn’t a particularly powerful round, but Tigress was a good shot, and the bullet was more than enough to put a star in the massive window behind Doc.
Doc let Van Houten take one step, then two, and then dropped to one knee. He caught Van Houten in the stomach with his shoulder. Flesh and bone bruised against steel, but only for a moment. Doc grunted from the impact, and then straightened his legs, throwing Van Houten over his back and into the window. Doc had timed it perfectly, redirecting all Van Houten’s momentum onto the same place on the glass Tigress’ bullet had hit.
The Dutchman screamed as he shattered the window. Glass flew everywhere. Doc spun just in time to watch Van Houten bounce twice off the leading edge of the flying wing before plummeting into the sea.
By the time he turned back to the rest of the compartment the two ligers had most of the guards lined up against the rear wall, and Tigress was alone at the controls. Gus and Kehla were sitting on the deck beside Gilly, who had a screwdriver in his hand but was still shaking badly.
Tigress smiled when she caught his eye, and then threw him a mock salute. “Orders, sir?”
Doc couldn't help smiling. “Let's call off the attack and go down there and help those people. Something tells me they are going to need it.”
“Aye aye, Captain.” Tigress laughed as she turned back to the controls.
CHAPTER SIX
Epilogue
Doc winced as Ming added another stitch. He was back in his room in the Hotel des Indes, and she seemed to be taking her frustrations from the last few days out on his back. Dealing with the Dutch navy had been difficult at first, but the fact that Ming had saved the squadron commander's life had made the difference. Tigress had taken the flying wing and disappeared, along with her two ligers; but not before she had managed to take Ming aside. Ming had been oddly silent when she returned, but Doc had noticed she was wearing Tigress' hair pins.
She had also brought Tigress’ promise to leave the coffee trade alone. Apparently Tigress had seen enough in the last few weeks to make her want to rethink her methods, though not her goals.
Doc was glad to notice that Ming and Vic seemed to have made up. In fact they were a lot closer now than they had ever been. Gus and Kehla had recovered very quickly from their ordeals as prisoners. Gilly had taken longer, but he had also been the one to suffer most from Van Houten's collar. At least there didn't seem to be any ill effects. Doc had asked him how he'd known the collar wasn't going to work as well on him as it had on the gorillas.
Gilly's answer had been as succinct as it was blunt. “Arrogant bastard set all three the same way, like I was just another ape.” He rubbed his neck. “Damn thing hurt, it hurt a lot, but it didn’t sap my will like it did them.”
Once Tigress had vanished, Doc had been able to piece most of the story together. Tigress was the genuine article, a revolutionary fighting for independence in the Indies. She'd got the flying wing, and most of her support from the Japanese, who had been funding a lot of independence movements lately. Van Houten was an opportunist. He'd been Tigress' contact with the Japanese; secretly playing everyone against the middle in the hope he would come out on top. Luckily for everyone, he hadn't.
The worst part of being a patient was lying on his stomach while Ming worked on him. The bed was comfortable enough, but he didn't like having his back to the room. Getting fresh stitches hurt, but he was lucky that they were the worst of it. Vic and Ming had both suffered more than he had.
“Who did these stitches?” Ming demanded, breaking his reverie.
“Tigress.”
“Hmmph.” Ming sniffed. “She should have paid more attention to grandfather when she had the chance.”
“She knows your grandfather?” Gus sounded surprised.
“It's fairly common for people to know their parents.”
“Parents?” It was Vic's turn to sound surprised. “Tigress is your aunt?”
“No, my mother.” Ming snapped. “Now, let me finish fixing the mess she left behind.”
The door opened, and Doc turned his head to see who it was, earning himself a smack on the back of the head from Ming. “Don't move until I'm done.”
“It's me, Boss,” Gilly said. “Just heard back from the airfield. Flying Cloud is out of impound, and someone seems to have found a replacement engine for her. Captain Doorman has some of his mechanics working on her and swears she'll be ready for takeoff by morning.”
“Good, I think it's t
ime we all went home to New York.”
Afterword
While this is obviously a work of fiction, and set in an alternate history, there are some elements of the story that do reflect our world. Any differences, whether accidental errors or deliberate changes are entirely my responsibility. As always, I want to make the disclaimer that yes, the physics are wrong. Doc Vandal lives in a world where pulp technology works.
Pulp fiction is all about going for something bigger and better. As the saying goes, “nothing exceeds like excess.” That’s why I’ve included talking gorillas and as many oversized flying machines as I can possibly justify.
Technology and the Flying Wing
Tigress’ flying wing is actually based on a real design, Norman Bel Geddes’ Airliner no. 4, which he designed in 1929. With a wingspan of over 500 feet, and 38,000 horsepower, the historical version was actually larger and more powerful than the one in the book. However, like my fictional variation, the original never left the printed page.
Bel Geddes designed the airliner for a crew of 155; with a ballroom, a gym, and even a manicurist Airliner no. 4 would have provided an incredible flying experience, more like the Hindenberg or Graf Zeppelin than any contemporary airplane.
While Bel Geddes’ design was not armed, nor intended for air piracy, it did contain hangars for two parasite aircraft. Following the Japanese connection in the novel, the Nakajima Ki-27 was a real fighter plane of the period with its first flight in 1936. It was not, however a torpedo bomber. The Type 89 machine gun Doc removes from the Ki-27 aboard the flying wing is also correct to both the plane and the period.
Batavia, Jakarta, and the Dutch East Indies
Throughout the novel I use the name Batavia for the city now known as Jakarta. That was the name during the Dutch colonial period, so that’s the name the characters use. It didn’t officially become Jakarta until after Indonesian independence. Also, while giant robots have no place in recorded history, the steam tram Doc and Tigress commandeer did actually exist; although for the purposes of fiction I have extended their service life by a few years. In our history they were all gone by 1933, but given the differences in technology in Doc’s world it makes sense that they might have survived a few more years.
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