H. Lee Parten, page 1
The Theft of the Super raider
by Lee Parten
My name’s Knight. “Hawk” Knight. My given name is William, but if anyone but my sweet mother called me that, I’d pop ‘em one. This here’s the story of my reformation. This ain’t your typical ” ya gotta believe me, judge ” tale you hear from a guy in the slammer. you’re probably not goin’ to believe it - I’m not even sure I do and I’m livin’ it !
I don’t got much of a formal education, but I always liked learnin’ things, an’ it was easy for me to pick up information in my brain an’ keep it there. I read books, but I never let any of th’ guys see me with one. I had a rep’ to protect, after all.
I did the doughboy thing against the Hun. I learned that behaving myself was no guarantee against gettin’ shot, so I was in the brig almost as much as I was in the trenches. I guess there just wasn’t enough fight out there, what with the shells and bullets and flashin’ bayonets. I liked to pop people too much, so it didn’t take much to send my fist flyin’ against my fellow soldier.
After the war, I fell in with a bad crowd. What the papers called “gangsters”, actually. I was a chauffeur for one of the biggest mobsters around at the time, Nicholas “Moxy” Pearl, racketeer, bootlegger, and master of the hired rub-out. I mostly drove the boss around in his big Packard, but every once in a while, when Moxy was in a generous mood, he’d let me do some rubbing out for him. For these special occasions I used Sweet Sue, my Colt .45 automatic. I make no apologies. I made some extra G’s, and they always deserved it.
Unfortunately for Moxy, a rival Boss, called Fat Sam, began to see Moxy’s bath tub gin squeezin’ into his territory, and decided it was time to ventilate Moxy.
I was drivin’ for him that day in 1928, as usual, when we got surrounded at a stop light by several flivvers full of Fat Sam’s goons. I recognized one of ‘em, can’t recall his name, but he was an old poker buddy from my reform school days. I remembered those ice blue eyes of his - best poker face in the class. He and two buddies stepped out of the car nearest my side. They were all toting Tommy guns. Moxy, in the back seat, knew his number was up. I kept hearin’ him mumble ” Oh no, oh no ! ” under his breath. Guys with heaters were gettin’ out of the other two autos, too. I counted eight goons in all. All of ‘em packin’.
Then a peculiar thing happened. The guy with the creepy peepers, Ice Eyes I’ll call ‘em, stepped up to the car and opened my door. I wasn’t sure what was up, because he had that grinder pointed at my face.
“Get out”., he said.
I felt the weight of Sweet Sue in the holster against my chest, but I knew one finger twitch in that direction would get me killed in a half-second. Moxy started slidin’ toward his door like Ice Eyes had been talkin’ to him. One of Ice Eyes’ friends shoved the nose of his Tommy through the open window. Moxy stopped slidin’ and started blubbering. Loudly. The man had no dignity.
Ice Eyes motioned toward the street with his gun. “This is for all those poker games we won. ‘Ya got five seconds. Run. Don’t look back.”
I didn’t have to be told twice. I stole a quick glance at Moxy. His pasty puss was wet from cryin’ like a baby. I took off. About three seconds into my hundred yard sprint, I heard all those heaters open up on the Boss. Reachin’ the nearest corner, I stopped to risk a look. It wasn’t pretty.
Those guys were standin’ in a semi-circle and unloadin’ into the car. I saw the Boss rocking and jerkin’ from side to side as the hot lead cut into him like butter. He looked like he was tryin’ to dance the Charleston in the back seat of his car. It was almost funny.
A few hours later I had to claim Moxy’s body from the morgue. Fat Sam’s men had pumped 143 slugs into him. He looked like ground hamburger. I decided it was time to look for a new line of work.
I was reading the Boss’s obituary in the paper when I happened to see something else that caught my eye. It was an article about a recently discovered gas, used for medical purposes, called “Somnus”. Somnus was, near as I could tell from the short write-up, a natural gas discovered by accident in the hills of Pennsylvania. This tiny, rocky area of hillside the newspaper spoke of was the only source for this gas, so far. It was bein’ hailed as a ” miracle vapor ” because it put animal test subjects into a state of ” suspended animation “. ( There was some speculation among the scientists and docs about weather the gas worked on people in the same way. ) This meant that they looked dead, but they weren’t. It was some kinda sleep that could last for days, weeks, or even months. The whole time the subject was under, it didn’t need to move, eat, or even breathe. All it took was an infusion of fresh air to bring ‘em around. Ain’t that a kick ?
It didn’t take long for me to start scheming. I thought that if I could get my mitts on some of that Somnus, I could become my own Boss ! I could put, say, a bank full of people asleep and loot the joint at my leisure. I could knock over a hundred banks with this stuff.
Or why stop there ? Why just banks? I could put a whole block, or even an entire city, to sleep, then take over ! Admittedly, my plans weren’t too well thought out at this point, but I was on a roll. I needed an “in”.
The paper said that samples of the Somnus was to be flown from the Pittsburgh Airfield to France aboard the zeppelin “SkyQueen” in two days, for further tests and refinements by a bunch of European eggheads. I had begun to get uneasy in Chicago - people was startin’ to talk about how I must’ve been in on Moxy’s murder on account’a I got away without a scratch. I decided to beat it outta there and try to catch that airship.
Two days later I was at the Pittsburgh Airfield lookin’ across the aerodrome at the “SkyQueen”. ( I say ” airfield “, but the whole area was hardly more than a flat stretch of land with a runway, a couple of mooring towers for those big floaters, and a command buildin’ that looked like a big tool shed. )
The paper said that it was supposed to snow; an early blizzard was heading our way, and I had my doubts about weather the ship would take off. But from all the activity on the ground an’ in an’ out of that big balloon, the flight looked to be a “go”.
There was this one little guy I kept watchin’ from my spot behind the command building, a mechanic or engineer from the look of ‘him. It looked like his coveralls would just fit me, if you get my meanin’. I knew I could take him, if only he would stray within my reach.
Finally he did. I didn’t want to risk squeezin’ a round off with Sweet Sue, just in case it could be heard over the noise of the airsfield. I just pointed the gun between his beady eyes when he rounded the corner of the building. Once I had him pinned to the wall, I popped him one, a quick rabbit punch to the face that knocked his lights out. As he slid to the ground, I started liberating him of his coveralls. By that time it had started to snow.
Ten minutes later I was in the engine room at the rear of the “SkyQueen“‘s undercarriage, tryin’ not to be seen as I made my way to the cargo hold where I figured the Somnus was being stored. I was hoping to grab it and beat it outta there before anyone knew what hit ‘em.
Much to my surprise, while I was monkeying around from compartment to tiny compartment, the “SkyQueen” left the ground ! When I felt the ship lurch and shift slightly, I looked out the row of windows and saw nothin’ but clouds and fallin’ snow. I had to wedge my face against the glass to see the ground moving away from me, fast. The ground crew looked like a bunch of ants. My heart fell into my shoe. This was a problem that, in all honesty, I hadn’t figured on.
I suddenly felt air sick, and the noise of the engines was givin’ me a headache. I had to find a place to hide so’s I could collect myself. It looked like my simple theft was goin’ to have to become something big.
I found a dark corner in the very rear where I sat and made some decisions. Outside, the storm was worsening into a blizzard. I figured the Captain had thought that he could beat the storm, but it had caught us. The airship rocked and creaked around me as the wind began to whistle loud enough to be heard even over those blasted engines. A couple of times, as I watched out the window, a gale would send us reeling dangerously close to the mountains. Too close for my comfort. I suppose the real engineer would have been doing somethin’ to help, if I hadn’t taken his place. It was time to take action.
I whipped out Sweet Sue and walked to the center of the carriage like I owned that big balloon. In the hallway I saw a kid in coveralls like mine with his face pressed against the window. the scene outside was one big howling mass of white. Ice was strartin’ to form on the windows.
I walked up behind the kid and stuck the Colt against his back. ” Stick ‘em up. ” ( I always wanted to say that. )
“Hey !”, he yelled. I let him turn around to face me. ” Who the heck are you ?” , he said, and when his eyes fell on my coveralls, “Where’s Frank ? We’ve been looking for him. the Captain’s having a fit !”
I smiled. “Frank’s takin’ a nap in his drawers back on the earth. Where’s the Somnus ?”
His eyes got big. “Jeez, we need that guy! We need Frank !”
“The Somnus, kid !” I put my piece against his tender jaw.
“Okay, okay !” He led me straight to it. Finally, the prize. The cargo hold was the biggest place I’d seen on this thing yet. And there it was, four canisters of the magic gas, each about three feet tall and six inches around, siting in the middle of the floor and surrounded by assorted junk in crates and bails.
Suddenly, the steady drone of the engines became a coughing sputter. The “SkyQue
CRASH !
Some kinda alarm started goin’ off, as the port wall became the new floor. The kid’s face went green as we both fought to keep on our feet. I had a hard time keepin’ a bead on the kid with Sweet Sue.
“Look!” , he shouted, pointin’ out the window. ” We’re going down !”
He was right. At the window I saw the mountains looming close enough to touch, clearly visible through the swirling snow. Our angle was steep and by the way that rocky scenery was zippin’ by, we were droppin’ like a lead weight.
“Ice is weighing us down, we’re going to crack up !” The kid was screamin’ now. Suddenly he bolted outta the room and slammed the door shut in my face. “I’m getting out of here !” , I heard him say, as he half-ran, half-stumbled down the hall. I let him go. Besides, where was he gonna “get out” to ? It looked like all our numbers were up.
The lights flickered once, twice, then went out completely. The “SkyQueen” must’ve started tumbling at that point, ‘cause I think I hit every wall available. I could hear men screamin’, glass breakin’ and metal crunchin’ in the other parts of the ship. All of that cargo and me must’ve spun around together a bunch’a times, like bein’ in a cement mixer with a load of bricks. At some point in all of this my lights went out too. All I remember hearin’ after that was silence, an’ th’ strange, far-off hiss of escaping gas.
I didn’t remember anything else for a long, long time….
Slowly, I became hip to a little light seeping into the eternal darkness. My mouth felt like it was full of sand. I sat up, not sure exactly were I was or what happened. Quarters were cramped. I felt around and found Sweet Sue in the dirt. I brushed her off and put her in my holster. I could dimly see a buncha rubble around me, a few chucks’a glass, and a twisted girder, all covered with a thick layer of dust ! The light seemed to be comin’ from behind and just above me, so I moved as best I could in that direction and felt around for some kinda opening. I felt like a blind man groping around in a grave, a little scared that I might bring something down on my head, because all I felt was boulders. I must’ve been in a cave. How’d I get in here ?
After scratchin’, pullin’ and pushin’ on all that rock, I finally managed to dislodge a big boulder, and bright daylight poured into my little space. I was free. I staggered out into the warm sun ‘n the fresh air of a beautiful warm and cloudless day. Where the heck was I ? Where was the snow ?
I walked a little piece away from the hillside where I found myself, and looked around. Things became a little clearer.
There, flattened against the side of the hill, was the twisted, rusted skeleton of the “SkyQueen”. Long, thin girders and beams stuck out here and there from under the craggy rocks and brush.
Somethin’ was screwy here. I reached out and ran my hand along one of the girders. It crumbled to dust at my touch. Either this was real shoddy workmanship, or this thing had been here for a hundred years !
My foot struck something and sent it rolling. It was a skull. I picked it up and, as it stared up, jawless, from my hand, I thought of that scared kid.. I figured the rest of the crew of the “SkyQueen” was around here someplace. Tough break.
Then, it dawned on me. The Somnus ! The crash must have burst open one of those canisters, causin’ me to take the Big Sleep. But for how long ? I almost wanted to panic, but being the tough guy that I was, I didn’t. I started lookin’ around, quick like, tryin’ to figure out where, and when, I was.
Since I was here, and the blimp was here, it was a pretty safe bet I was somewhere in the Northern Appalachian Mountains of Pennsylvania, probably near the Pittsburgh airfield we took off from. It looked like our crash into the mountain had caused an avalanche, which mostly buried the wreck. Since it was warmer and spring-like, I must’ve been snoozing for about six or seven months. Had a searchparty come in that time ? Just then, my brilliant detective work was interrupted by the unmistakably piercing wail of a child.
I grabbed Sweet Sue and went around a clump of bushes to see what was up. I had to put on the breaks real quick or I would’a run right up on a dangerous scene. I back-peddled a few steps and ducked behind a convenient tree, as I tried to make some sense outta what I was seein’.
Just spitting distance from where I stood, somebody’s little boy was stuck up in a tree. The tree wasn’t very high, which was a bad bit of luck, ‘cause a very tall bear was standin’ on two legs and leanin’ against it, taking broad, open-pawed swipes at the kid. With each swat at the little kid’s vulnerable legs, the bear came inches closer to hittin’ his mark, causin’ the kid to holler like a banshee. The kid’s cries seemed to infuriate the bear, or maybe he was just really hungry.
Quickly I took in more details of the scene. I saw a little tool pouch and some kind of buckled harness thing lying at the base of the tree. A few sparkly rocks were spilled outta the pouch, so my guess was that the kid had been taken by surprise while collecting samples or somthin’. No other grown-ups were in sight, and none within earshot, either, from the look of it. It was up to me to help this kid if he was goin’ to get any help.
What transpired next took place in a matter of seconds. I drew Sweet Sue and stepped out from behind the tree. I stood barely an arm’s length from that furry monster.
” Hey ‘ya walkin’ throw rug, why don’t ‘ya pick on someone your own size ? “
Then I pulled the slide-bolt an’ aimed Sweet Sue with both hands, and pulled the trigger.
Click !
Nothin’ happened. Sweet Sue’s pin struck the shell, but nothin’ came out of my gun. The bear, glancing over his shoulder, gave a low, distracted growl and turned his full attention to me. He stood up on both legs, and drawin’ himself up to his full height, sniffed the air in my direction.
I hoped the first shot had only been a dud. I adjusted my aim, and squeezed off three more rounds.
Click ! Click ! Click !
Obviously sensing he was in no danger from me, the bear took a step closer. Opening that big maw of his, he roared at me loud enough to make my clothes ripple.
“RRROOAARR !”
I took a step back, for my own safety of course, and tossed Sweet Sue aside. She had let me down. It was time for plan “B”.
Just then I remembered readin’ somethin’ long ago about the nature of bears. Desperate for ideas, I decided to give it a try. I took a step forward, closin’ the space between him an’ me to mere inches. I was close enough to smell his rotten breath. I threw my arms up, waving them menacingly back and forth, and yelled my deepest, scariest yell right in the bear’s face ! For an instant the monster was confused :
“GGGRRUUNNKK ?!”
Takin’ advantage of his surprise, I drew back my fist and popped him dead in the nose as hard as I could. His sniffer squashed inward like an’ overripe tomato, and blood gushed all over his face. He staggered back and grabbed his honker with both paws. That critter’s howl of pain was indescribable. He gave one last feeble, choking roar, sprayin’ bloody bubbles though his ruined nose, and bounded away through the brush without givin’ me or the kid a second look.
I helped the little boy down, and for the first time really got a good look at him.
He looked like a typical American kid - blond, blue-eyed, tan. I guessed he was about ten years old. He had a funny haircut, cropped close on the back ‘n sides, long on top. Who was this kid’s barber ?
He was wearin’ military-like clothes, similar to a Boy Scout, but without the scarf and badges.
“Thank you, kind sir !” , he said, as he reclaimed his pouch and that funny harness thing. He strapped it on, fretting over it until he got it to fit just right. “How did you get here ? Where’s your Null-G belt ? My name’s Zech. I haven’t seen you around the FreeZone before. Are you a transfer ?” He looked up at me with that shinny face of his with somethin’ close to awe.
He sure was a formal talker. The King’s English, I guess. All those questions were gratin’ on my nerves, ‘specially since I wasn’t sure of the answers.
