by Неизвестный
Jack made one final, terrified reach for the edge of the hatch, and he gained it! He removed the hand covering his mouth and grasped at the ledge with both of his hands. Hunter and Josie grasped the sleeves of his jacket, and Jack felt an instant of reprieve as they offset more and more of his weight.
His shoulders were free of the ship when he was suddenly jerked violently down, back into the hatch. His outstretched arms caught the edge of the opening and stopped his fall short. His arms hit the metal shell of the ship with an appreciable thud, and he screamed in pain, arching his back, his hot breath erupting from his mouth like a smoke stack into the frozen night air.
Hunter looked down Jack’s body and froze. Thin tendrils had wrapped around Jack’s right boot and were pulling him down into the greater mass of the creature. The leather of Jack’s boot had already began to dissolve, and the tendrils would be down to his flesh in no time. Thinking quickly, Hunter withdrew his pistols and fired at the pseudo appendages, the bullets slicing the thin strips. Spent brass flew through the air as he sent more and more rounds, splitting the feelers that clung to Jack. Each shot lit up the area, flashing in bright contrast to the moonless night. The screaming from the monster reached a sharp crescendo with each new shot fired.
With every grasping feeler dispatched, another took its place. The leather of Jack’s boot was nearly eaten through. Hunter had two rounds left in his 1911 and one left in his Mauser, which would do nothing against the replenishing feelers. The creature’s massive eye emerged once again, staring at Hunter in mocking apathy. Thinking fast, he aimed at the colossal eye and emptied his remaining shots into it. The bullets ripped through the gigantic pustule, causing a spray of noxious ichor. The blasphemy from beyond the stars contracted and convulsed with apparent pain. The grip on Jack’s boot slackened, and Josie and Hunter quickly pulled him from the hatch. Hunter shouldered Jack, and they headed in the direction of the waiting Black Cat.
Jack’s foot had been burned from the creature’s secretions, though had it been in the beast’s grasp any longer, he might have suffered worse damage or deformation. Despite this, they eventually gained the interior of the flying boat. Josie tended to Jack in the cargo bay, as Hunter ran to the cockpit to get the engines started. Working as quickly as possible, Hunter tried his hardest to get the propellers moving. Something was wrong though. The fuel was frozen in the lines, and the plane wouldn’t respond to any command that Hunter gave it. He pounded the controls in anger, realizing the how futile the endeavor was. Rising from the captain’s seat, he moved to confer with the others. From outside the aircraft, he heard the familiar drone of a B-29 bomber. He stepped out of the plane and searched the sky. The ground quaked as the beast still failed and flopped in the chamber below.
Soon the bomber set down on the snow-covered ground, with specially modified landing gear making the bird look strange. The propellers still spinning, it kicked up swirling currents of frozen soil and snow. Glancing upward, Hunter saw the unmistakable covered visage of Mr. Mask sitting at the controls of the huge plane. Hunter ran back into the Black Cat to retrieve Jack and Josie.
He knelt before the two. “Let’s get a move on. We don’t know if that thing is getting ready for another round!”
“Who’s out there?” Josie asked in a shaky tone.
“I told Mr. Mask to check up on us if we hadn’t given the all-clear within twelve hours,” he replied, helping Jack to his feet. “Looks like we were out for a while.”
The three crossed the windblown expanse between the planes and walked up into the craft’s main compartment through the lowered rear hatch. A large device sat above the bomb bay doors, seemingly ready for deployment.
“What’s that thing?” Jack asked, pointing at the strange object.
“A little insurance,” Hunter said “Get yourself and Jack buckled in, Josie, we’re getting out of here.”
Hunter sank into the co-pilot seat next to the black suited Mr. Mask, “Maybe don’t cut it so close next time.”
Mr. Mask turned his gas-mask covered face and shrugged, then readied the B-29 for take off. Hunter looked down at the hatch to check on the situation of their grotesque antagonist. He was terror-struck to see the monster had reorganized its repulsive eye and was bubbling and oozing out of the buried ship. The bitter cold outside the ship must have been a shock to the thing, slowing its locomotion, lending a stiff and halting quality to every one of its movements.
“Get us out of here!” Hunter shouted, pointing at the emerging liquiform nightmare.
The bomber quickly took to the air, escaping the reach of the extending pseudo-limbs. The sluggish movements of the cosmic horror became more and more apparent, as it succumbed to the glacial temperatures.
The landscape shrank away from the ascending craft with only the most prominent aspects retaining distinguishing features. The bomber covered the site in huge swathes, staying directly above the wreck. Hunter looked at Mr. Mask and gave a slight nod. Mr. Mask began flipping switches accompanied by solid and blinking lights.
Hunter picked up the microphone for the ship’s intercom and spoke, “Hold on back there, and make sure you’re buckled up tight!” His voice rang through the crackling speakers.
Jack and Josie shot each other a confused look, tightening their belts and gripping the sides of their seats.
Up in the cockpit, Mr. Mask’s three-fingered hand reached for one final lever, and after a moment of hesitation, he pulled it to its furthest extreme. The bomb bay doors swung open, ripping the sealed space of the bay to shreds with icy fingers. Seconds later, the captured Martian object that hung suspended over the open doors dislodged and dropped from sight. With the cargo released, the doors slowly closed, locking the frozen wind out. Jack and Josie looked up to see Hunter standing before them, expressionless and cold.
“It’s a shame we didn’t get what we came for,” Jack started, “but who knew we’d run into…that?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Hunter returned.
“Wait,” Josie snapped, “Are you saying you knew that thing was down there the whole time?”
“I never said that,” Hunter began. “We were looking for something and we found it. The fact that it almost killed us was incidental, but I had everything well in hand.”
“Oh, did you?” Jack shouted, “Tell that to my God-damned foot!”
“Just rest for now, we’ve got quite a flight ahead of us.” Hunter turned and made his way back to the cockpit.
“Hunter, get your butt back here! I’m not done with you yet! Are you just going to let it run rampant? It could make its way to American soil! What are you going to do about that thing?” Jack’s voice sounded weaker with the added distance Hunter put between them.
Reclaiming his seat in the cockpit, Hunter mumbled under his breath. “I told you. I took out an insurance policy.”
The bomber’s engines roared, pulling the huge plane through the night air toward home. The stillness of the night was disrupted for only a moment, as a brilliant flash of strobing blue lightning and hideous green brilliance erupted from the Earth. A gigantic cloud rose above the scene and all was still once again.
REFINED ELEGANCE
By Scott P. Vaughn
It was raining in New York City by the time Josie Taylor finished her afternoon coffee. She pushed herself away from the counter of the tiny café and left her money for Tim.
“Thanks, Josie.” Tim waved once, wiped his hands on his apron, and got back to cleaning the chrome.
A glance in her compact mirror made her wish she’d worn a wider hat—her hair was going to be ruined by the time she got to the Double R. She tried to use some newspaper as a pathetic umbrella to shield her dark waves, but she knew the downpour was going to be too much. Sometimes Josie wondered why she still tried so hard to feel feminine in a world overrun by the changes of war.
Catching a cab to the club didn’t take long, though. Perhaps there was still some advantage to being an attractive female.
/> Ruthie was in the foyer to greet her when she arrived, and as usual Josie kissed her friend on the cheek and made her way to the dressing rooms the girls shared. She gave the briefest of waves to the club owner when she passed him and shut the dressing room door, unpinning her hat.
One look in the mirror was enough; Josie exhaled, frustrated at the façade her life had become. She was thankful still for the Double R nightclub and its place in her reality, but things had become so...complex. When the war against the Axis had broken out, the club had become a place for the locals to gather and feel good for an evening. When the invasion had come and New York became one of the last free cities on the East Coast, it had given Josie a job and enough money to keep her own roof over her head instead of heading back to Cincinnati, throwing in her lot with club girls, or worse, ending up in one of the shelters as so many others had. And it had given her purpose—as a torch singer in a club full of everything from refugees, soldier boys, and well-to-dos, she had gained notoriety. Her voice and looks were appreciated for their ability to help people forget what was going on in the world outside of the artillery lines or across the seas, if only for a few hours at a time.
And she had met Jack.
And following in his wake was Hunter Noir.
Then Martians had started slipping into the city at night, and friends had started disappearing. She spent her days wondering if she’d ever see Jack in one piece again and her nights wondering if she would be the next to be snatched away in the night by the slimy, groping digits of the creatures that had so easily succeeded in conquering so much of the planet. The police had enough problems keeping peace in a city caught somewhere between unity and panic, and the army boys were spread thin between the defense lines and the missions still attempting to liberate portions of Europe and America. Fear threatened to turn her back into that scared child that had left home behind so long ago.
But suddenly Hunter was there—a bandaged hero in black with a pair of guns and a new reason to live. And just like that, he was the ‘other man’ in her life, and she was training to be so much more than a club act. She was a Martian Killer now, capable of doing things other than singing forlornly for a handful of free New Yorkers or a USO crowd of whooping boys.
And her life was so much more complicated.
In between sets that night, Captain Jack Paris bought her drinks and introduced her to some of the men for whom she still felt obligated to sing. And everyone smiled and laughed and danced to the big band sounds the orchestra managed to play loud enough to carry over the din. But there were no quiet moments alone, no privacy, and so many secrets—in glances, in corners, and within her heart. Sometimes it was hard to remember to keep smiling.
Midnight came and went. Jack’s car was waiting out front to pick her up when the night was through. He even remembered to get out and open the door for her this time, so she awarded him with a genuine smile.
“Hunter wants us at his lair at 0800,” he reminded her.
“His master’s voice,” she quipped with charm. Jack shut her door and drove them away from another night at the Double R.
At her place, she invited her sometimes-lover up for the night. They would only have a few hours sleep before having to rush to the base under Coney Island in the morning. She didn’t even bother removing most of her foundation garments. The silk and lace of a few items made their way to the floorboards, and the couple rushed headlong into frustrated lovemaking—another symptom of the confined moments their reality suffered during their unreal lives. But then Josie knew how much better she’d had it than most women had during the past few years of alien occupation.
Her alarm clock woke them not long after dawn. Josie disentangled herself from Jack’s arms and began to get ready. She made up her face and brushed her hair quickly, throwing on a simple day dress. She would probably be in her flight uniform later in the day. She expected to find Jack still snoring among tangled sheets, but he was a credit to his retrieved uniform, having even made her bed and thrown coffee into the percolator.
“I thought you were going to cancel the paper,” he said.
“I can’t bring myself to do it,” Josie shrugged. She didn’t even look at the news before throwing the newspaper onto a pile. “I guess it feels like one more way I’m supporting the effort, paying to have that rag delivered.” She sighed, looking around at her modest furnishings. “MacArthur is just going to have to start granting me jump pay for all the time the Martian Killers keep me away from the club.”
His arms encircled her. “Or you could move into the barracks with me and the boys,” Jack suggested, nuzzling her ear.
“Cooped up in the boondocks with a bunch of bowlegs and Buck Rogers men. They get their eyeful enough as it is. No thanks. I’ll just cancel the milk run; he’s a terrible kisser anyways.”
“I knew you were a chippie under those classy evening gowns,” he teased.
Josie feigned shock. “Knock it off, mister, or no more late nights for you!” She picked up his car keys from where they’d been dropped next to the door and tossed them. “Think fast! Now hurry it up, or we’ll be late.” Satisfied by the grin he’d helped put on her face, Josie took a breath, momentarily thankful for Jack’s boyish charms.
Jack’s army-issue jalopy took them across to Coney Island and the subtle parking garage not far from the West End Line and Luna Park. Inside the structure, they checked their I.D.s with a guard and stepped into the hidden freight elevator that lowered them to the secret base below the amusement parks. They crossed the hangar floor, greeted a few familiar faces, and took the hallways to Hunter’s room, a faux office that served as a front for his real chambers, concealed beyond.
Hunter Noir and Mr. Mask were waiting within, standing silently, like statues unable to sit patiently. Josie glanced at the clock and smiled, relieved that they were a minute early.
Mask was armed to the hilt, but that was nothing unusual. Every inch of his skin except for his three-fingered hands was covered in black. His German helmet and gas mask never revealed the half-breed’s visage, but sometimes he would swap the sniper rifle on his back for a shotgun or the samurai sword at his hip for a very large Bowie knife. Hunter was no better; under a wide brim hat, scarf, bandages, and a black overcoat was at least one .45, a Mauser, knives, a Martian-Killer radio/TV wristwatch, and an extreme hatred of the alien invaders.
Jack practically looked undressed next to them in his A2 bomber jacket and a single sidearm.
I certainly trade in strange circles these days, Josie thought.
Hunter began handing wristwatches to his team. “Let’s get to work.”
The lights to his office suddenly went out, and the pitch black of the room became illuminated by a single opening aperture that led to his secret rooms behind the office. The group of four filed in, and the door closed behind them.
A sophisticated table with a sort of screen inset to its center switched on, and Hunter gestured to the flickering image as the tubes warmed. “We’re leading an MK squadron on a bombing mission into enemy-held United States territories today,” he said gravely.
Gesturing at the map that showed the American Midwest as it now was, he continued. “For lack of a better term, the higher-ups are calling this a Martian ‘oil-refinery’. It actually seems to be some sort of factory that is now converting Earth’s resources into whatever it is the enemy’s birds use to lubricate their engines. As far as we know, this is the only such site so far on American soil. Its destruction would mean a serious shift in enemy resources to hold North American lines. In short, a viable setback.”
“That’s pretty deep in Martian territory,” Jack pointed out. “I haven’t read up on the defenses of Milwaukee, but if its anything like Chicago…”
“The season is on our side.” Mask’s voice was an eerie warble from behind the air purifier.
Hunter nodded. “It’s been confirmed; the cold months see a reduction in the number of Martians stationed in many of the northern states, an
d the upper Midwest is no exception. We have agents within our target area that say the annual migration happened one week ago.”
A thrill went through Josie. “Their numbers will be down.”
The large, underground hangar was a buzz of activity.
Josie walked briskly to her Corsair, orders under her arm while adjusting the communicator device on her wrist. She glanced once at the R&D wing, wishing that they could be taking up some of the advanced fighters with their reverse-engineered alien tech integrations, but those designs were still under wraps. Jack caught her gaze and his own expression was indiscernible. She smiled at him, then looked away.
“You have your orders. The planes are fueled and ready for take off,” Hunter said. His long black coat billowed around him despite the confining harness of his parachute. “We rendezvous with the force flying out of Fort Dix in fifteen minutes.”
“Give ‘em hell, Martian Killers,” Jack grinned.
“Last one to bag a Big Head buys the drinks at the Double R,” Josie called. She pinned the faux rose from her hair onto her jacket’s lapel and donned her flight cap. Lifting one jodhpurs-covered leg, she planted a booted foot on the step of her plane, propelling herself onto the wing and over into the cockpit.
Each of their craft turned for the exit from the secret base, as it lifted from the beach of Coney Island, opening their way to the blue skies beyond. Jack had been assigned a modified B-17 to lead the bombing run. Hunter and Mask followed, each of them in standard P-51 mustangs, and finally Josie’s Corsair took flight behind them. She shot through the hanger tunnel at high speed and pulled up, heading into the open air.
Josie’s craft climbed high, her engine growling. She found herself smiling, and she began to sing her rendition of Blue Skies while gunning the throttle. Josie laughed, alive and untouchable, resisting the urge to barrel roll the craft before the mission had even begun.
“Stay in formation,” came Hunter’s command. “Let the escorts take care of this wave. There will be plenty of action for us when we get to the target.”