Against the Eldest Flame

by Dave Robinson

  #

  About four hours after the sun had gone down, Doc stirred. It was time to go. He just hoped the dinosaurs that held them captive slept at night. He thought they were, at least that’s what he thought his memories of his observations indicated.

  Getting up, he quickly ran through a series of exercises, taking advantage of the high ceiling of his cell. They only took about five minutes, but because they had been developed specifically for his particular physique, and did as much for him as an hour’s conventional exercises. As he went through the movements, he systematically stretched all his joints and engaged in a series of mental exercises designed to keep his brain operating as keenly as his body. He had tried developing similar exercise regimens for his associates, but none of them were as effective as his own.

  The whole process left him with a clear mind and a limber body.

  Finished with his exercises, he listened intently for any sounds from above. There were none.

  The wall of his cell was packed earth, much like the floor. It had been hammered flat with some sort of tool so as to provide no purchase for anyone trying to climb out. They hadn’t reckoned with Doc. Despite having been raised on the Moon, he wasn’t raised in its low gravity field. The interior of the base had been set at one g throughout his childhood, and as he entered adolescence the AI had slowly ramped up the acceleration, so that by the time he left he was used to living in a two g field rather than one. Coupled with his special training regimen, this gave him far more strength than most people expected - and hopefully more than their dinosaur captors expected, too.

  Taking a short run, he leapt, just catching the edge. His fingers scrabbled for purchase, then he had it. With one swift motion he pulled himself up and rolled under the thatched cover. Lying on his stomach, he peeked under the edge, looking for guards.

  A single figure hunched in front of his prison, leaning against a spear. There was just enough moonlight for him to discern the scaled hand against the shaft of its spear. A look to each side told Doc that the other cells were the same as his, each with a drowsing guard posted in front of it. For the moment, he seemed to be the only one who had gotten out.

  First things first, time to get out of the guards’ direct line of sight to where he could come up with a plan. Staying on his belly, he snake-crawled to the edge of the clearing to try and get a better look at what he had to deal with.

  There were half a dozen thatch domes on one end of the village, arranged in a rough circle. Four of them had guards in front, including his. The other two did not. Further back, the rest of the village was quiet. Whatever these dinosaurs were, they didn’t snore. They also didn’t post any sort of guards except in front of the cells. They were confident creatures, that much was clear.

  Slipping into the shadows, he took inventory of what he had left. The dinosaurs hadn’t removed his vest, so he still had three sleep grenades - several magazines of ammunition but no guns to fire them - his small survival knife, and his rebreather. The three inch blade wasn’t going to do much against the dinosaurs. Rummaging around in the underbrush, Doc quickly found a short piece of wood he could use as a club. A few quick strokes of the knife gave him a smooth handle.

  The dinosaurs hadn’t killed them, so Doc intended to return the favor. His sleep grenades could handle the dinosaurs guarding his associates, and he figured he could club his former guard into unconsciousness before it could raise an alarm.

  Back down on his belly, he snaked back toward the prison cells. The grass was high enough that it largely concealed him, and their captors eyes weren’t that large so they probably didn’t have much better night vision than the average human, which was significantly worse than Doc’s own. Even so, he did his best to keep the grass from moving too much.

  A few moments later he was in a good position, behind his former guard and off to one side. The others were all roughly equidistant, and none were looking directly toward him. Carefully, he slipped the grenades out of his vest, and laid them out on the ground beside him, then slowly slipped up to a crouch, just out of what he hoped was the nearest dinosaur’s peripheral vision.

  Taking his grenades, he lofted them in perfect arcs so they landed just behind their targets to burst with a soft pop. The three dinosaurs turned, then collapsed. Doc was already in mid-air, club outstretched, ready to take down his erstwhile captor.

  Something must have warned the dinosaur, because it turned as he was in mid air, howling like a banshee.

  Its closest eye went wide as Doc swung, putting all his weight behind the club. He caught it just behind the eye and above the ear hole, hitting so hard the shock ran all the way up his arm to the elbow, almost making him drop the club. The howl cut off with the thunk of club against skull and Doc turned toward Vic’s cell, the closest.

  Moving quickly, he pushed the thatch dome aside with a grunt, and reached down to help her up. The howl had obviously caught her attention, because she was ready and waiting for him. She wrapped her hand around his wrist, and and jumped as Doc pulled her up and over the lip. Glancing to his left, he saw that Gus had already managed his own escape and was moving to help Gilly.

  “Doc!” Vic hissed, and pointed over his shoulder.

  He turned his head in the direction she pointed and saw dinosaurs boiling out of the domes, howling and screaming and grunting. Moonlight glittered on their spears and the stone-edged clubs wielded by the leaders. There must have been fifty or more of them. Doc pushed Vic behind him and readied his club. He heard her scrabble behind him and then caught a glimpse with his peripheral vision as Vic moved up beside him holding a spear. Gus and Gilly had spears, too and were moving up to join them.

  The odds weren’t good, but Doc didn’t think their former captors were going to settle for just throwing them back in the cells. The onrushing horde divided into two wings, skirting the firepit and reminding Doc of just where they were likely to end up when this was over unless someone pulled a rabbit out of their hat: and none of them were wearing hats.

  Then he heard the crack of rifle fire from behind and the leading dinosaur dropped; a red-rimmed crater in the middle of its face. There was another shot, and another and the dinosaurs started dropping as the gunfire rose to a crescendo. Incredibly the dinosaurs kept coming, charging into fire that reminded Doc of nothing so much as the trenches. Their courage didn’t last. Half of them were down inside the first minute, and then the rest broke and ran, leaving spears and clubs littering the clearing.

  The gunfire continued for a moment, then stopped as suddenly as it had begun, leaving gun smoke to waft across the clearing.

  Doc turned to look for their rescuers, but saw nothing at first, just some movements in the undergrowth. Then, one by one, figures started coming out into the clearing. Their rescuers were gorillas, gorillas in brown uniforms and forage caps carrying rifles pointed in their direction. They filtered out of the woods like trained soldiers, never taking their eyes off Doc and his little band. As they got closer, he could see armbands on their right arms, and the guns had the distinctive shape of German Mausers.

  One stepped forward, the only one armed with a pistol instead of the rifle carried by the others and addressed Doc. “You will come with us.” It was a statement, not a request or even an order.

  Doc nodded and waved the others forward.

  Meanwhile, other gorillas had fanned out to search the dinosaur village. Doc and his friends were clustered together, just waiting. A dozen or so of the gorillas surrounded them, whether as an escort or a guard was unclear.

  One gorilla pulled back his forage cap and scratched his head, then walked a little closer to Gus, bringing his rifle up as he did so. “Hauptman!” he shouted. “They’ve got Gustar!”

  “Gustar?” the leader responded, turning to face Gus.

  “Gustar?!” Vic said. “That’s your name, Gustar?”

  Gus remained silent.

  All the gorillas raised their rifles; it was settled, they were prisoners.

&n
bsp; #

  Vic kept her hands on top of her head as she followed the brown shirted gorilla through the jungle. She was right behind Doc in their little column of prisoners, with Gilly and Gus coming up somewhere behind. The gorillas kept a fast pace, sometimes dropping to knuckle-walk on one hand, but someone always had a rifle pointed at both Vic and Doc. As they walked, she scanned the moonlit underbrush looking for places to hide. She was fairly sure that Doc could get away, and she probably could too. The big thing holding her back was that Gilly probably couldn’t. The gorillas’ swastika armbands had made it very clear they were not the type to worry too much about keeping their prisoners alive unless they had use for them...

  Everyone marched in silence but for the occasional cracking of brush. Vic bit back her words more than once, and her best guess was that Gus was trying to maintain a dignified silence. Their captors weren’t talking, but they were making more noise than she would have expected. The normal night sounds of the jungle had faded away to nothing when faced with a squad of heavily armed gorillas with prisoners.

  After about an hour, they came to another clearing - and the great silver shape of the ZL-38 hovering under the moonlight. The destroyer filled the clearing, floating a dozen feet above the ground, its engines idling. Gangs of zombies hauled on ropes under the vigilant eyes of more Nazi gorillas, keeping the Zeppelin centered in the clearing. The guns in the side blisters swung back and forth lazily, while the main guns lay fore and aft, their barrels faired up against the hull.

  Their guards speeded up, pushing the captives toward a gangway that hung just inches above the ground. Vic stumbled, but was lifted to her feet with a cuff from one of the guards, and then was hustled up the gangway and into the main hull. She blinked furiously as her eyes tried to adjust to the harsh electric lights that lit the companionway. Her boots caught on the catwalk grating, but a quick step let her recover without falling. Surprisingly, the interior wasn’t as fastidiously clean as she normally expected from the German military.

  A gorilla took Doc’s arms, holding them roughly behind his back and frog-marched him toward the control cabin. Seeing that, Vic found her footing and straightened her spine. She might be a prisoner, but damn it she was going to make her own entrance and not be dragged. Back straight, shoulders back, glide don’t stride. Her grandmother’s lessons echoed in her head. Scuffling sounds from behind told her at least one of Gus and Gilly was following Doc’s example rather than hers.

  One of the gorillas holding Doc knocked on the door to the cabin, then opened it without waiting for an answer. Without ceremony, Doc and Vic were thrust through the door and into the cabin where she found herself staring at the back of Schmidt’s damaged head. Vic turned to glare at the gorilla who shoved her, only to find a zombie taking her arm. It guided her to an open space beside Doc, who was already facing off against the revenant. Schmidt said nothing, simply snapping a finger at a zombie which hustled Gus and then Gilly up beside Vic and Doc.

  Schmidt walked up and down the line, a swagger stick clasped under his right arm, looking somewhat incongruous. One foot dragged a little, but it didn’t seem to slow him down. Schmidt’s mouth moved slowly as he passed each person, though no sounds came out. Suddenly he stopped and whirled to face Gilly, stamping his foot. Schmidt whipped the swagger stick across Gilly’s face, drawing blood from his mouth. Gilly made a wordless whimper, but otherwise said nothing.

  “This one is useless, it cannot answer questions,” Schmidt snapped. “Take it away.”

  Two gorillas appeared from behind Gilly and dragged him back down the companionway further into the ship. Vic shivered despite the heat, the revenant was clearly mad.

  “Now, where was I?” Schmidt stood in front of Doc, his head wobbling on top of his neck. It was all Vic could do not to laugh, but she controlled herself as Schmidt went on. “I would very much like to deal with you myself, but the Master has decreed otherwise.”

  “What do you want with me?” Doc asked, his voice mild enough that Vic envied his control.

  “I want to remove your head and piss down your neck,” Schmidt said. “Luckily for you, my Master has other wishes, and I no longer possess the ability to urinate.”

  “I knew it had to be small, but I didn’t know it was missing,” Vic muttered, no longer able to control herself.

  Schmidt whirled and struck her across the face with his swagger stick, raising a welt; and then quickly raised a hand to keep his head from falling off.

  “Losing your head over me?” Vic smiled sweetly despite the pain, then spat a bloody tooth in Schmidt’s face.

  “Take her away!” Schmidt fairly screamed. “ Take them all away! I will deal with the insolent witch later!”

  Two gorillas stepped forward and grabbed Vic by the arms, pulling her towards the same companionway that Gilly had disappeared down moments earlier. Vic tried to struggle, but her captors were far too strong. The last she saw Doc and Gus were still lined up in front of the raving revenant like misbehaving pupils in front of a grammar school prefect.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Prisoners of Pongo City

  As the two gorillas dragged Vic away, Doc stood and took everything in. Whatever Schmidt was, and he was certainly undead, he was not a zombie. Far from it. If anything he was more emotional now than he had appeared in the brief time that Doc had known him in life. He also was no longer a loyal Nazi. This Eldest Flame, if that was indeed Schmidt’s master had some serious abilities.

  Schmidt visibly calmed himself, and then turned back to Doc.

  “For some reason you are needed by my Master, and so you will be brought before the Eldest Flame in Pongo City. Do not try to escape. I know it is almost impossible to hold you against your will, so I will make it undesirable for you to leave. Rather than securing you like a common prisoner, I will simply let you know that should you try to escape your friends will die slowly and horribly.”

  Schmidt turned and activated a monitor. The screen flashed and the image rolled for a moment before it stabilized. Gilly lay bound to a pallet, with a tube running from a needle in his arm. “Do you see your compatriot on the monitor?”

  Doc nodded, clenching and unclenching his fists as he looked on Gilly’s helpless form.

  “Should you attempt escape, I will release prussic acid directly into his veins, leaving him to die horribly as he burns from the inside.” Schmidt flipped the switch, letting the image fade to a white dot in the center of the screen before it winked out. “The Reich’s doctors have determined that while death is prolonged and painful, the hide is not damaged leaving it in perfect condition for making lampshades.”

  Doc shivered involuntarily at Schmidt’s calmness.

  “Your remaining associate,” Schmidt gestured toward Gus, the gorilla’s watch shining on his wrist, “would make a fine pair of boots.”

  Gus growled, but did not respond. Schmidt pointed at two of the guards, who escorted Gus from the control cabin, leaving Doc alone with Schmidt and the crew.

  Schmidt ignored Doc and turned back to where two zombies stood at the Zeppelin’s helm. Apart from the two gorillas standing behind him, Doc was the only living thing in the control cabin. The flight passed in an eerie silence, broken only by the occasional clicks of control knobs and the soft breathing of Doc’s guards. As they flew, the temperature in the cabin rose steadily, bringing the ripe scent of rotting flesh to Doc’s sensitive nose. One of his gorilla guards sniffed loudly, causing the other to move to a control panel and turn on a set of fans that sent warm air flowing through the cabin.

  The cooling effect was minimal, but Doc was just glad the air movement was carrying the stench away.

  After an hour or so Schmidt left the cabin, leaving Doc with his thoughts. The revenant wasn’t gone long, less than half an hour, but by the time he came back Schmidt was visibly more erratic pacing up and down the cabin. He stayed like that for another hour before returning to his place and falling back into the stillness only possible for the dead.


  Taking a look out the windows, Doc tried to figure out just where they were. He had studied Africa from orbit often enough that he thought he had some chance of recognizing the terrain, but he couldn’t make out any landmarks he recognized. They were probably just flying too low for him to get a good view. Doc could see what was around him, but not enough to get any idea of where it was relative to anything else. They could be flying over any of half-a-dozen rivers, or toward any of several mountain ranges.

  Most of what he saw below was jungle, an indistinct mass of green cut by the occasional flash of sunlight on a river. This was a part of Africa the twentieth century had barely touched. Just as airships had made even the most remote areas more accessible, they had also made it easier to bypass those same places. With no need for railroads or canals, there was no incentive to clear a path and so even the explorers who had once flocked to Africa had pulled back. What was in the jungle no longer mattered.

  The mountains ahead grew more distinct, changing from a black mass on the horizon to a handful of distinct individual peaks. One in particular stood out, an almost perfectly symmetrical cone that towered a good thousand feet above its surroundings. Clouds wreathed the top of the volcano, draping down its sides like a cape.

  One of the zombies made an adjustment and the airship turned towards the mountain, accelerating slightly. At this speed the Zeppelin began to move a little, almost like a boat in a swell, as they bored through the sky. Schmidt spread his legs a little but no one else appeared to react to the increase in speed. Doc watched silently, using the time for the mental exercises that kept his mind agile.

  Doc estimated their speed at a hundred miles an hour or more, very near the top speed of the Zeppelin. Whatever Schmidt or his master wanted, they clearly wanted it soon.

  It took perhaps another half hour according to Doc’s internal chronometer to reach the peak. As they approached, the zombie pilots angled the nose of the Zeppelin upwards, trading off speed for altitude. To Doc’s eyes the gray slopes of the mountain matched the color of Schmidt’s skin, though they flashed beneath him too quickly for a good look. Moments later everything went white as they plunged into the clouds.