by Kevin Olson
“You gotta see this!” Mike exclaimed with his eyes riveted on the Lama.
Rick gritted his teeth. “I am flying a damaged plane here!”
Mike watched as the flames abandoned the wing and engulfed the Green Lama. The flickering fire seemed calm in the ripping wind forces. “I thought you said ‘damn plane’ for a moment, Rick. This here is a damn sight, let me tell you!”
Rick moved over and grasped the co-pilot’s stick so he could see, too. “He’s on fire!”
As Rick said this, the fire went out abruptly. Rick and Mike stared as the Lama walked back toward the fuselage. Rick shook his head clear and returned to the pilot’s chair. The Lama walked into the compartment.
“That was some crazy stuff!” Mike laughed to the Lama. “How the heck did you do that?”
The Green Lama smiled. “Just some fakir stuff, Mike.”
“Call me Twin Eagles,” Mike replied with a smile. “I’ve seen Houdini get out of straightjackets when I was a kid. That was a trick. What you did was real!”
The Lama shrugged. “Twin Eagles…friend. Houdini and I are much alike. He uses sleight of hand, yet he understands more deeply than most.”
Rick saw the rotatank to the left of the plane, lining up the gun. “One thing I do understand is we’ve got to get away from that flying iron lung or one of us is gonna be out of air! Putting out the fire on the wing only puts us right where we started.”
The Lama looked out the window at the rotatank and nodded. “Yes. We have to solve the issue at hand.”
“How will we do that?” Mike asked. “Without using the machine gun, we’re a sitting duck!”
Rick shook his head. “Not necessarily.” He turned the enormous bomber to face the rotatank and gunned the engines.
“What’re you doing!?” Mike demanded.
Rick shrugged. “Sorry, Mike. I’ll need you for this. You’ve got your bow?”
Mike nodded. He mechanically reached behind the co-pilot’s chair and pulling out the thin case carrying his bow and arrows. “What do you want me to hit? It’s gonna be a tough shot with everything considered!”
“The electrical box on the outside,” Rick said. “I saw it earlier.”
Mike studied the approaching rotatank and nodded. “Crazy they’d put that on the outside.”
“It’s probably in its experimental stages still,” Rick said. “This might be a field test where they didn’t expect combat, but they needed the shells to test the cannon. Nazis don’t want their secret weapons shown off, and the wilds of Asia aren’t exactly Times Square.”
Mike sighed. “We can talk about it over tea and strudels if we can knock ’em down,” Mike said. “Just get me close enough, Rick. I can hit it. But they’ll probably blast us way before we get there!”
“Are you always an optimist, Twin Eagles?” Rick continued on his head-ing. “If they do, they can’t guarantee we’ll miss them. They need to decide on a defensive or offensive move now, and I’m betting it’ll be defensive.”
“Hitting the box won’t do much anyway,” Mike shrugged.
“That might be enough to kill the engine,” Rick replied.
“They’ll crash!” the Green Lama protested. “Pari and Ravi will be killed!”
Rick shook his head. “A gyroplane can land safely even without power.” He nodded with admiration. “That was the reason Cierva designed them in the first place.”
Mike walked toward the hatch leading outside. “Just get me in a good range. I’ll take it from there.”
Removing his red scarf, the Lama fell into step beside the Seminole Indian. “Let me help keep you steady, Twin Eagles.”
Mike looked at the Lama. “I’d appreciate that, pal.”
Mike opened the hatch. The wind slammed it against the side of the Whitley. The Lama wrapped his scarf about Twin Eagle’s waist. The Seminole warrior notched an arrow and waited until they got in range.
He saw the rotatank coming toward the plane in a head-on course. It quickly ascended just as it became clear the bomber would not turn. Straight as an arrow, the Whitley flew undeterred through the air beneath the tank. Twin Eagles pulled the string of his bow as taut as possible. He aimed far in front of the tank to account for its motion and the strong wind force. The bow twanged as he let the string go. The arrow flew at the rotatank and struck the box squarely in the bottom, causing sparks to fly. Twin Eagles smiled slightly as the rotatank moved quickly over them. The rotatank dipped slightly, narrowly missing the Whitley’s tail fin.
“Did you get it?” Rick shouted.
“I got it,” Mike returned the shout. “Let’s see if it got the job done!”
The Green Lama continued to watch the rotatank as its barrel spun around. It aimed directly at the plane as the flying tank drifted slowly lower. “Rick!” he shouted. “They’ve got us clear in their sights!”
Rick twisted the stick just as the ship rocked with another explosion. This time the dancing flames engulfed the left wing.
The Lama stood still as Mike dove out of the way. The flames washed through the open hatch, coating the Lama for a second time. He remained unharmed as the flames dispersed. Smoke rose from his robe.
Mike shook his head before turning it toward the pilot’s compartment. “I think the engine’s damaged, Rick!”
“Think what you want, Twin Eagles!” Rick shouted back as he wrestled with the controls. “I know the wing’s damaged! So is the engine! We’ll be lucky to land!”
Mike rose to his feet, walking briskly to the cockpit. He slipped into the co-pilot’s chair. “What should I do, Rick?”
Rick nodded professionally. “Watch the dials. Try getting an engine back. Keep your eyes peeled for a soft landing. I’ll keep us gliding and land us as soon as I find a place—sooner if I don’t! This hawk just became an albatross around our neck, but we can’t cut the strings just yet!”
The Green Lama walked into the cockpit. “Can I assist in any way?”
Mike gritted his teeth. “You can pray, holy man! Your fire-eating act won’t help here!”
The Lama assumed a lotus position and began muttering.
Mike scanned the mountains and valleys. He pointed to a narrow canyon with a dry and ancient river bed. “Can you land it there, Rick? It’s straight with a flat bottom!”
“Are you nuts or soup?” Rick asked. “There’s only a foot or two for the wings!” He laughed. “Of course I can make it!”
Rick Masters steered the plane carefully to aim toward the river canyon. The plane dropped toward the canyon, as the tip of wing broke off with a loud crack. Unbuckling his seatbelt, Rick stood to his feet and pulled at the stick. “This is gonna get rough!” The stick rattled in his hand, the plane following suit. The plane leveled out as it glided between the canyon walls, tilting toward the left. Rick’s arm muscles strained as he pulled against the Armstrong’s unwieldy weight.
The right wing struck the side of the cliff, breaking off to the dead engine. Sweat poured off Rick as he desperately tried to correct, to no avail. The plane tilted sideways. The dry river bottom came toward them.
The plane struck with violence and thrust Rick toward the window. He struck it with force, violently shattering the glass. The shards flew through the air and coated Mike and the still-meditating Lama. The Lama did not flinch from his lotus position.
The fuselage continued to slide down the riverbed as it slogged through the silty, damp sand underneath the surface that had appeared from the air to be solid. The left wing broke of entirely now as it struck the side of the canyon. The Whitley came to a restful halt at the end of its toilsome journey.
The only sounds heard at first were the tired creaks of the crumpled fuselage. Mike breathed in deeply and audibly. He unbuckled and rushed over to Rick’s prostrate form. Cradling his frien
d, he wiped the blood carelessly from his face, the glass digging into Mike’s hands and Rick’s brow. “Are you okay, brother?” Rick’s breathing offered the only reply.
The Green Lama arose to his feet and observed Mike and Rick.
Tears in his eyes, Mike snarled. “Come on, holy man! What tricks do you have to save him?”
The Lama knelt to observe Rick closer. After a moment he stood again. “He will be healed. He is only unconscious. Help me carry him out of the plane.”
Rick coughed blood and blinked the crimson liquid from his eyes. He grimaced as he stood to his feet. “Like hell. I’m just resting my eyes.” He spit out blood with bits of broken glass that clattered on the floor. He pushed his back against the wall to rest. “If any of you two jokers knew about medicine, you might have known to pull the big chunks of glass out of my mouth.” He chuckled, but it quickly turned to coughing again. When he stopped, he said, “I think I just invented a new type of sore throat nobody needs.” The Lama grasped Rick’s arm to steady him as Mike did the same.
A whirring sound filled the air as they opened the hatch. Mike looked down the canyon. “We’ve got bigger headaches.”
The rotatank floated toward the ground, its gun aimed at the damaged remains of the Armstrong Whitworth Whitley. The Lama shook his head. “They remain without power.”
Mike gritted his teeth. “Yeah, sure. That’s how they shot us down!”
Rick coughed blood. “They’ll have manual controls for the gun. They can still fire a shell.”
The rotatank drifted to a landing. The nose of the tank sunk in the wet sand, burying the barrel. The Green Lama looked over at Mike, releasing Rick’s arm. “Can you get Rick behind those rocks, Twin Eagles?”
Mike nodded. “I’ll take care of him. Where are you going?”
His robe billowing behind him as he walked away, he said, “I am going to finish this. Now.”
Twin Eagles waved after the Lama. Take care, my friend!”
Chapter Eight
Jewel in the Lotus
Breathing deeply, the Lama approached the sinking rotatank. The hatch on the top sprung open. The Lama smiled at the figure presenting itself before recalling the weight of the matter. Pari’s form pushed through the round opening, a Hindu goddess with sad eyes.
A German-manufactured pistol pressed into Pari’s back as the Lama focused on Kellen following behind the young woman. The Nazi mystic smiled fiendishly. “I cannot tell you how glad I am you followed, Green Lama. I wanted you to, of course.”
The Lama nodded. “Of course. Otherwise, you would have taken me from the Clouded Temple and tortured the secret you desire from my lips.”
Ducking to avoid the slightly rotating props, Pari crawled onto the rotatank. Tears fell copiously from her eyes. Kellen kept the pistol trained on her as he shook his head. “No, Lama. That would not do. You are too headstrong to have fallen that way. Besides, think not that I am unsporting. You are the hunter, I am the leopard.”
The Lama shook his head. “A leopard is a majestic creature. You have no honor, no sense of justice.”
Kellen laughed. “Honor? You sound like a Japanese Samurai! You are like no Lama I have heard.” Kellen shook his head mockingly. “You speak as an American, with none of the subtle beauty of a humble Buddhist! As for justice; Germany has waited too long to receive justice! Now it is our turn to take that which is rightfully ours!”
“Let the woman and child go, Kellen. I will give you what is rightfully yours.”
Kellen smirked. “Certainly Lama. Take the woman,” he shook his head, “it is too late to give you the boy. He is dead.” Using his boot, he kicked Pari off the tank. She rolled to the sand, weeping.
The Green Lama’s eyes widened. “What!?”
“Have you taken a monk’s vow of dumbness instead of silence? The boy is dead.” Kellen laughed at his own joke. “You could have just given me what I wanted, Lama!”
With the roar of a leopard, the Green Lama traversed the distance separating him and the tank with uncanny speed and celerity. “Om! Ma-ni pad-me Hum!” he shouted as he ran.
Kellen fired twice at the Lama, yet the bullets failed to find purchase. The Lama leapt onto the tank and knocked the gun from the Nazi mystic’s hand.
“You wanted the power of the Jade Tablet, mystic?” The Green Lama’s eyes glowered. “Very well then,” he seethed. “I will show you!”
The Lama pushed Kellen through the tank hatch and slid in behind him. Surveying the scene, the Lama’s eyes halted for a moment on Ravi’s lifeless body, slung into the cramped corner of the small tank by the violence of Kellen’s bullet. Captain Adalbrecht pulled his gun, too slow to fire. Kellen tried to stand as the Lama smacked the pistol out of the pilot’s hand. The Lama grabbed the pilot’s jacket and threw it and the pilot through the open hatch with a great, barely-human force.
Kellen grasped the pilot’s Luger and fired at the Green Lama. The Lama pushed Kellen against the wall and yanked the gun from his hand. “I am going to show you what you wanted to know.” He threw Kellen into the corner and removed the glove from his right hand and displayed a rainbow-colored finger-ring made of woven hair. “The six Sacred Colors,” the Lama explained, pointing them out as he spoke. “White, green, yellow, red, blue, and black.”
Kellen tried to charge the Lama, yet met the resistance of a Sherpa boot. “Calm down,” the Lama said. “This will be over soon.”
“Get on with it Lama,” Kellen sneered. “Show me the Jade Tablet!”
“If you will stay still, I will.” The Green Lama gently slipped the ring from his finger and set it on the floor. He kneeled and began to unravel the hair of the ring, making a square mat about two-feet-wide. “You see, my excitable friend, the Jade Tablet has power. Indeed, removed pieces are fashioned into green jewels of power used to defend the innocent. The information written on the Tablet is the true power, and like the Gutenberg Bible, it can be copied.”
The Green Lama continued to order the threads of colored string to reproduce a pattern framed by the green hair. When done, he put his hands on his knees. “It is true, the copies are not as powerful. You see, I would have gladly given to you my Jade Tablet. You could not read it except if on a few points of knowledge. There are billions of ways to place the strands of hair, and only one way they read correctly.” He shrugged. “It takes a Lama an entire lifetime to learn to do this. I am blessed to have memory of my transmigrations and have perfected the rite through many centuries. This will be the last time I see you on this road for quite a while.”
The Green Lama stared into Kellen’s eyes. The Nazi mystic shriveled beneath the gaze. “What are you going to do, Lama?” Kellen’s quivering voice asked. “You cannot kill me! You cannot stop me!” The mystic was thwarted in his attempt to stand by the Lama’s left palm against his chest.
“Peace, Kellen,” the Green Lama said, his eyes closed in meditation. The mat of hair on the floor fluttered as the Lama held his right palm toward Ravi’s unconscious body. The tank shifted as it sunk further into the soft, damp sand. The hatch cover slammed shut at the motion and Ravi’s body slid forward to answer the call of gravity. The Lama’s hand reached out to grab the arm of the corpse. He gently pulled toward him, still pressing his other palm against Kellen.
The Nazi mystic licked his lips. “What are you doing, Lama?”
“I am not doing Kellen,” the Green Lama kept his eyes closed serenely. “I am undoing an imbalance. This boy has a future you have not seen.”
“He has no future!” Kellen said. “He is dead!”
The Lama shook his head slightly. “Kellen, you do not understand. Nothing is dead. Everything is pregnant with life. You said I cannot kill you. You, I, and nobody conscious are all that remain in this tank. I am free to do as I wish. Have you not understood the secret of the dried leaves i
n Autumn?” The mat of hair floated upward and shivered as if caught in a warm breeze.
Tears began to fall from Kellen’s eyes. “You are sworn to preserve life, Lama!”
“Oh I am,” the Green Lama said. “Om! Ma-ni pad-me Hum.”
“You cannot harm me, Lama!” Kellen’s mouth frothed. “You can’t!”
The Lama nodded. “True. I cannot harm you. I can do nothing not meant to be.” He repeated the chant. “Om! Ma-ni pad-me Hum.”
Kellen grasped his chest and pulled his hand away. It was covered with blood. “What are you doing?” he asked again.
The Lama shrugged. “I am returning the gift you offered the world. Om! Ma-ni pad-me Hum.”
“You are killing me!” Kellen said.
“I am not. I am giving life.” The Lama breathed deeply. “Om! Ma-ni pad-me Hum.”
Kellen looked to see Ravi’s chest raise slightly with breath. The mat of hair slowed in its vibrations and waved as a lily floating in a Monet painting. He touched his chest again and brought away his blood-soaked hand. He tried to arise. “I can’t move!”
The Green Lama nodded. “Now you are only beginning to understand. Nothing may move. Om! Ma-ni pad-me Hum.”
The hair fluttered wildly again. Kellen was crying profusely now. “Let me live, Lama!”
The Green Lama opened his eyes, glowing with green illumination. “As you said, I cannot stop you. Do you still not see? I am doing nothing to you. You are killing yourself.” The Lama’s eyes softened. “Truly, I pity you.”
Kellen’s eyes widened as he let out a desperate, last gasp. The gasp fluttered against the hair floating between the Lama and Kellen. Taking his hand off Kellen’s chest, the Lama placed it with his other hand in a crossed position over his own chest. The mat of hair fell to the floor as Kellen slumped against the wall.