Warbirds of Mars: Stories of the Fight!

by Неизвестный

  “We can’t let them get away,” Violet said.

  “There’s still time.” Apache said. Looking through the shattered window, he stared at Aragones. It was supposed to be the first of its kind. The first of four cities that would be given to the Outlaws to do with as they pleased. To serve as the ultimate reward. “Be a good slave, and maybe you’ll leave Hell and be welcomed to paradise. A place where there are jobs, money, sports, soda pop, fresh milk, homes, and families. Freedom.” Apache wouldn’t let that be lost.

  “Skull, get down there and see if they’re still trapped. If they’re out? Kill them.” He pivoted. “Violet, you cover him from up here. As long as we keep them contained, we can save this thing. Adam, get in a plane. Cover the deck from the sky. Worse come to worst, get to the closest Martian base. Get everyone you can to come back here and help us.”

  “Right.”

  Apache looked out the window again. “I’m going to the hospital. The radio tower there can still get a hyperline up.” He looked back at his crew. The diamond formed again. “I’m going,” Apache said. With a dash, he leapt out the door, his enhancements helping him jump off the banister. He looked for the quickest way down to start his dash for the tower. The Skull powered through the door, staring down at the deck and jumping over the railing. The metal and plastic injected into his body kept his bones from breaking, and the part of his brain that allowed him to feel pain had been augmented long ago. Adam left for the door too, and Violet turned for the control room to reach the armory. Adam turned around, “Violet.” She stopped and turned. “Be safe.”

  “You be safe too,” she replied before they both went to work.

  Hunter held the binoculars up. “Violet just disappeared. Probably going for a weapon.”

  “The others?” Josie asked.

  “Adam was going somewhere. Didn’t catch the other two.”

  “Probably for a plane. Get off and get reinforcements.”

  “You think you can stop him?”

  “I can,” said Jack.

  “Go,” Hunter said. Jack dashed off for the flight area. “Apache’s going for that radio tower in the city, Mask. He’s got a head start. You’re faster, stop him.” Mr. Mask nodded and turned back, looking for the closest way off the boat. “Josie, you and I are going to try to get control of those big guns.”

  “Take out Adam?”

  “And the radio tower.” He put the binoculars away. “Let’s go before she comes back.” Hunter ran around the cargo container. Josie followed through the maze. Hunter had nearly reached the open area to the bridge when a sudden pain struck him in his wrist. He dropped his Colt .45 and turned with his Mauser when the same pain struck him in his other wrist. He suddenly found his guns on the deck. Josie raised her pistol, but with an elegant blur, hers was knocked out of her hands too. The blur came into focus between the two Martian Killers and their guns, and soon took on a disturbing clarity as The Skull stood in front of them, his long metal staff brandished.

  Jack made his way to the landing deck. The Norseman he had piloted in was in flames. Jack looked around. There were a few other planes up. Praying he would be able to fly it, Jack raced toward one that jumped out.

  Mr. Mask reached the edge of the deck. There was a short drop below him to reach the ramp that would take him to the dock and onto Aragones. In the distance, he saw Apache Knight racing toward the end of the dock. He took one look back at Hunter and Josie. He saw the muscular figure spinning and striking, throwing his friends to the ground. He recognized those moves, those strikes. They were precise. Efficient. Delivered without dramatic interjections or flourishes.

  The Skull knew what he was doing.

  Mask stared back at Apache Knight leaving the dock and running onto Aragones.

  Hunter slammed on the ground, landing roughly on his hip. He swung his legs trying to pivot himself closer to the guns. The Skull brought his arm under Hunter’s chin and began cutting off the supply of air and blood flowing to Hunter’s brain. Josie came from behind the Skull, using a similar move Mr. Mask had taught her. With one hand, the Skull reached up, prying her arm off. With a violent twist, he wrenched her wrist sideways. Josie brought her hand in, fingers tensed and outstretched for an eye strike, but the Skull, ducked, pivoted, and flipped her over, landing on Hunter before he could crawl to the guns. As they looked up, the Skull grabbed his metal staff, and held it high, ready to strike.

  A shot rang out. The bullet cut past the Skull. Everyone turned to see Mr. Mask standing with his gun out. Nobody moved for a second. Mr. Mask pointed to Hunter, then at Aragones. “Go,” he said. He nodded his head at Josie, then the observation tower.

  “Don’t have to tell me twice,” Hunter said, grabbing his guns. He took off for the side, chasing Apache Knight, while Josie ran for the tower. Mr. Mask stared at Skull for a moment, Mask with his gun out, and the Skull with his staff.

  Then Mr. Mask crouched down and kicked his gun off to the side. Standing, he made a similar motion with his shotgun and his rifle.

  The Skull stared at him for a moment, then reached into his holster and removed his own gun, setting it aside.

  Mr. Mask drew his sword.

  The Skull adjusted his stance, leveling his bo staff in front of him.

  Mr. Mask moved first, coming in with a downward slice. The Skull easily deflected it, moving past Mask and bringing the other side of the bo toward Mask’s back. Mask turned in time to make a deflection of his own.

  As they stared back at each other, they analyzed their opponents. Mask studied the Skull’s staff. Not a mark on it.

  Flawless.

  Twenty steps away.

  Josie ran to the stairs. Staring up at the ruins of the bridge, she kept waiting to see Violet emerge with a gun.

  Fourteen steps.

  The weight of Josie’s own .38 slowed her down as she pumped her arms.

  Ten steps.

  Something appeared at the window.

  Eight steps.

  It was a gun.

  Seven.

  It pivoted at Josie.

  Six.

  Violet pulled the trigger.

  Josie leapt.

  The Thompson sprayed bullets over the deck. Josie hid under the stairs, making as small a target as possible. Sparks danced off the metal stairs.

  The bullets stopped. Josie chanced a glance up at the bridge. The barrel of the gun was being redirected, aiming toward the Skull and Mr. Mask’s dance of death. Pulling herself up under the railing, Josie fired at the gun. The bullets struck the muzzle of the gun. Violet pulled it back inside, as Josie raced up the stairs. Shoulders squared, she leveled her gun at the open door at the top. The bridge was empty. Josie scanned for a sign of Violet. Out of the corner of her eye, Josie saw something move.

  The glass? No, the reflection.

  Josie pivoted and fired at the control room as Violet stepped out. Violet hid back inside the control room. “Pretty handy, sweetie,” Violet purred. “The Army boys all show you how to fire their guns?”

  “Pretty handy with that Thompson yourself,” Josie said. “Seems like you’ve had some experience too.”

  Josie watched Violet’s reflection change in the glass. There was the sound of a door opening. Josie lost the reflection. She walked to the control room. Turning, she held the gun out to face an empty control room with an open door on the far side.

  Josie peered down the hall and slipped through.

  Jack felt the lift as the plane took off. It was a German plane, a Heinkel He 162. There were a few Martian upgrades to it, but they seemed mostly to help the plane be ready to fly. With only four people on the ship—and only one with aviation knowledge—it made sense that Adam would need to make these planes ready to fly at the drop of a hat.

  As Jack took off, there was a burst of radio static.

  “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

  Jack pulled up, scanning the sky for a trace of Adam. Adam’s voice was relaxed and calm. Jack approached the clou
ds, leaving the Alamo far below him.

  “Man to man. Plane to plane. The way war should be.”

  Jack leveled off. “It’s not my plane, Adam. You made sure of that.”

  There was a slight pause. Jack scanned the skies.

  “I do feel bad about that,” Adam replied.

  Jack heard the hum of an engine nearby. He looked up as the sound suddenly vanished and the Liberator flew by, nearly clipping Jack’s wings. Jack turned to pursue. As he raced downward, the Liberator grew smaller and smaller. Jack urged his plane to go faster. He went into a freefall, chasing the plane. When he got it in his sights it pivoted, making a sharp ninety-degree turn. He soared up at Jack. The two ships fired on each other. The green lasers of the Liberator narrowly missed Jack’s ship, while his bullets rained down on Adam. The two planes passed unharmed.

  Jack swerved, bringing the plane about for another attack, but the Liberator was already bearing down on him, firing its machine guns at him this time. Jack pulled away as the Liberator came down, adjusting again to stay on Jack’s six o’clock.

  Jack pulled up. Eventually, he reached a cloud, losing the Liberator. “You can’t hide, Jack,” Adam’s voice said over the radio. “The Liberator’s equipped to see through all kinds of weather.”

  “An ace fighter who needs Martian technology to hunt down a Heinkel? That’s ‘the way war should be?’” Silence. Jack smirked. “Does Violet know you use these enhancements?”

  Silence.

  “I can kill you pilot to pilot.”

  Jack looked outside at the endless white surrounding him, worried for a second that Adam Holiday might be right.

  Apache Knight stopped behind a streetlight for a moment to catch his breath. He’d chanced a glance back at the Alamo earlier, just in time to see Hunter Noir leap from the deck to the ramp and chase after him. Apache took out his Colt, reaching into his belt with his other hand. He watched around the streetlight.

  These next few moments would determine everything. Here was a place where people could live and be civil, where elections, baseball games, and fireworks still could exist beyond increasingly darkening memories. Kids could grow up having never seen a Martian slave camp. If the Fallen Angel was generous, maybe they’d never even see a Martian.

  All he had to do was make it to that hospital.

  He would have to make a sacrifice, but hadn’t they all? The sting in his jaw and the cuts on his gums were proof of that.

  Hunter’s footsteps were coming closer, pounding the asphalt. Apache turned as Hunter rounded the corner, spraying the corner store with bullets, smashing the window with his perfect vision. Hunter darted back, taking cover. Apache Knight hurled a grenade at Hunter Noir. The explosion rocked the corner store, smashing more windows. Apache stepped closer. He rounded the corner.

  The gun was at his temple. Apache glanced sideways. There was Hunter Noir on the inside of the corner store, his arm reaching through a shattered storefront window. “Drop it,” Hunter said.

  “Are you always so clever?”

  “Why don’t we—”

  Apache turned, deflecting Hunter’s arm. The gun went off, shooting harmlessly into the wreckage. Apache came up with his own gun, but Hunter used a similar blocking motion with his own free arm. Hunter pulled his gun hand free and brought it back to Apache’s scarred face. Apache pushed the gun to the side while dropping his own gun. Reaching into the shadows of his coat, Apache pulled out a tomahawk. Slicing up, he cut through Hunter’s right arm. Hunter recoiled momentarily with his right arm. Apache slammed the tomahawk into Hunter’s left sleeve, pinning his arm to the wreckage. He punched at Hunter, momentarily knocking him back before releasing a small smoke bomb disorienting Hunter further.

  Apache picked up his gun and ran.

  It didn’t take long before he heard the telltale sound of a trench coat ripping.

  Apache had been lucky that time. He’d underestimated Hunter Noir, and it took tricks to defeat him. Running, Apache knew soon he’d enter the uncompleted section of town, and from there the tower loomed.

  He knew Hunter was nearby.

  But there were still a few tricks left.

  Yin and Yang.

  Hard and soft.

  The internal and the external.

  Opposites in conflict coexisting simultaneously. Mr. Mask and the Skull fought across the deck. Each knew to attack and not retreat. To go forward, stand your ground, or go sideways. To go back was an error. Mask waited for the Skull to make an error. Strikes were precise, parries and blocks were executed perfectly. It was a dance where no one lead. Mask kept his emotions reserved, controlled, but he admired the skill his opponent possessed. At every move, the Skull was there. There was only move into counter, sometimes several times in a row.

  Then the Skull did something different; taking a chance, he split his staff in two. The smaller sticks came at Mr. Mask in a fury. The Skull moved in closer, and for the first time, Mr. Mask felt the blows landing. He sliced in, aiming for a decapitation, but the Skull was quick. With his left arm, he grabbed Mask’s sword arm at the wrist, wrenching it. This jostled him just enough for the Skull’s follow-up strike to his wrist to be effective. Mr. Mask dropped the sword. The Skull’s next strike came in to Mask’s temple. Mr. Mask could feel his custom-reinforced gas mask cracking. He staggered back as the Skull advanced, metal batons still in his opponent’s hands.

  Sensei Yoritomo had taught Mr. Mask the deadliest secrets, and trained him to use them without hesitation. Mask stepped in, blocking one of the Skull’s arms. He brought his right hand up, perfectly positioned, striking the Skull’s throat. A single strike could shatter the larynx, if properly executed. He’d done it before.

  Mr. Mask’s hand met the unmistakable feel of metal just below the Skull’s soft skin.

  They stared at each other a moment.

  The Skull raised his jaw. Mask took the invitation and struck again, striking the polyalloy coating the Fallen Angel had injected over the Skull’s vital organs.

  Mr. Mask and the Skull stared at each other a moment longer.

  The Skull swung again, and Mask sidestepped. He tried moving toward the blade, but the Skull was there, advancing again.

  Another hail of bullets narrowly missed Josie’s head. They had passed the officer’s quarters and sick bay. Josie knew Violet could maneuver her into a trap. Gunfire rang out again. The hall got darker, and there was a sound of glass hitting metal. A few seconds later, there was another burst of gunfire, a little further away, and more broken glass. It got darker again.

  Violet was shooting out the lights.

  A third light broke.

  It was a trap. It had to be, but as Josie listened in the dim light, the path ahead shrouded in darkness, she thought of where Violet might go. Where she might be able to use the resources to kill the rest of the Martian Killers or contact the Fallen Angel.

  Josie stepped into the hall. Slowly, she put one foot in front of the other, trying to step around where she thought the glass would be. With every step the field in front of her got darker.

  Turning, the new hall was almost completely shrouded in darkness. Stepping slowly down the hall, Josie strained her eyes, pushing herself to adjust to the darkness. She could make out vague shapes in the darkness, but nothing clear.

  Glass broke underneath her foot.

  Cursing herself, Josie heard it echoing. Up ahead, a shadow moved. Josie squeezed the trigger, the flash of the gun momentarily illuminating the hall just enough for Josie to see the grenade bounce down the hall toward her. To run back would take too long, and in the confines of the hall, the shockwave would have been lethal.

  Desperately, Josie leapt over the grenade. There was one small chance, something Josie saw in the flash of gunfire. Josie reached out to where she thought she saw the flash of a window in the hall. Below it was a wheel. With all her strength, Josie turned it, counting the seconds she had left. Opening the door, she slid inside, half-closing it as the grenade exploded.r />
  The door slammed shut, smacking Josie in the head. Knocked to the floor, she struggled through the pain, taking in her surroundings. Standing, Josie traced along the wall for a light switch. Activating it, she illuminated the mess hall. Across the room, another door opened. Josie raised her gun. As Violet stuck her head in, Josie ran to the closest table, firing at the open door. Violet disappeared as Josie reloaded. As the new magazine slid into Josie’s gun, she looked up at the door just in time to see Violet lob two more grenades into the mess hall.

  Dashing through the tables, Josie ran up to the serving counter, jumping and sliding over, taking cover just as the grenades detonated. The shockwave shook the counter behind her; the cupboards shook open.

  Crouching, she listened carefully, holding her breath.

  The door opened.

  Footsteps.

  Josie listened.

  Come on...come on...closer...away from the door.

  Slow footsteps. Closer to the center.

  A step toward the light switches.

  Josie stood up, gun out. Violet heard and turned as Josie fired. Violet leapt behind a table while firing her machine gun at Josie. With the hail of bullets coming her way, Josie backed up, returning fire, stepping through the swinging doors to the kitchen. She hid for a second.

  Josie risked a glance through one of the circular windows, but they hadn’t been cleaned. Bits of grease and smoke distorted the view. Violet was still out there.

  “Are you serious?” Violet laughed. “Are the two girls really going to fight in a kitchen?”

  “Couldn’t find a shoe closet.”

  “That’s good.” Violet raised her gun, then lowered it a fraction of an inch. “Josie...girl to girl...if you switched, if you recorded your support, the Fallen Angel might let you live.”