Vic: Enemies & Tall Tales

By Jerry Gill

Returning from one trip in late 1924, Vic finds herself in the midst of a fierce gunfight at her father's farm. An air chase half-way around the world ensues. Along the way, Vic is kidnapped by a brutal gang. She escapes to find she is in the densest, least explored jungle on earth - the Belgian Congo! From routine dangers like qu

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ann Darrow Co
• Release date: Dec 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9781889823447

Book preview

Prologue:

100,000 years ago when life was stupendously savage and every day was a test of your will to live, an epic love was born. Two cave dwellers, Nat-ul, daughter of Tha, and Nu, son of Onu, each a stupendously mighty hunter and warrior to match that time, vowed to love each other as long as the moon would rise in the night sky, which, in their primitive fashion, meant forever. They both died in geologic cataclysms on the very day following their sacred oath. Buried by mountains, one would think their story ended. Yet, since that time the wise of every generation and every culture have proclaimed that true love never dies. There is a reason they say this. In 1896, the moon still rose in the night sky when Nat-ul was reborn as Victoria Custer and as a young woman, the educated Nebraska farm girl vividly recalled her former primeval life and eternal vow. One thousand generations did not cool her love and the recall restored her savage, stone-age instincts and defiant boldness.

Now, under the pen name Vic Challenger, she writes adventure travel articles and her work allows her to literally comb the globe in search of present-day Nu. She realizes her quest may take a lifetime and mortal peril may become her regular companion, but she is determined to do whatever it takes to reunite with her eternal love. Perils are inconsequential and time doesn’t matter!

In 1919, Vic remembered her primitive past and swore to find Nu. In early 1920, she began her search in Mexico. In September that year, she traveled with high school friend Lin Li, to Outer Mongolia. The following year, Vic and Lin enjoyed epic travel with excursions to the Grand Canyon, Scotland and a daring trip down the Amazon! In the Spring of 1922, the duo searched for treasure in Australia, and as a favor to O they visited Siberia in the Fall of the same year.

In January, 1923, Vic and Lin were savagely attacked in their hometown. Lin nearly lost a leg and Doc warned her not to do anymore adventuring as another injury might cause her to lose it.

Evelyn Chan called on Vic and Lin in December to help her solve a hairy monster problem as well as a haunting!

Only four months later, in April of 1924, Vic’s editor hankered for new, exotic stories to show up in her column. A visit to Madagascar proved to be more than exotic enough! Vic faced death many times and gained new information valuable to her search for her primitive love, Nu.

Five months after reaching Madagascar, Vic returned to New York aboard her favorite ship, the Olympic. She looked forward to voting on the President and the holidays with friends and her Dad, but it wasn’t to be.

Chapter 1 Surprise

The path was a centuries-old goatherd’s trail. Owing to the surefootedness of those hoofed triple providers of meat, milk, and wool, no one ever considered safety rails along the rocky, sloping trail. A single step too far to the right or a simple trip could introduce the hiker to no less than a hundred feet of vertical space.

There was no moon. Clouds obscured most of the faint starlight. So it was under cover of near-perfect darkness that the two people worked their way down the mountain trail. They moved with care but without hesitation.

Their speed seemed foolhardy yet wasn’t. In preparation for this night, the pair drove the road below often. They also hiked the path during the day, so knew its twists and turns.

The couple chose this moonless night to avoid being seen. To that same end the man wore a black watch cap to cover his lighter reddish-brown hair. The woman sported a black scarf to hide and minimize the nuisance of her bright blonde hair.

Both dressed in black with a black bandana to cover the face below their eyes, like a pair of old-time bandits. A casual observer might well consider them outlaws as they each wore a holstered .45 automatic. The man also carried a lever-action rifle.

The man led the way, but both surveyed their surroundings with eyes and ears. They paid extra attention to their rear.

The two furtive figures moved with assurance, often stepping forward while they glanced back. Their speed never faltered until the halfway point of the two-mile trail.

The roar of an engine reached the pair, causing them to halt and lean against a boulder. The sound moved higher off to their left.

The man whispered, A truck. It’s them. Good thing we didn’t wait.

A stone building a hundred yards along a side, with a conical turret at one end, stood back up the hill, at the head of the trail. A foreigner might call it a castle, but the woman knew it simply as the manor house. Lights shined in the upper floor where the couple left them burning.

The woman sighed and whispered, I will be so glad this is all behind us, and I am grateful we were able to move many of our heirlooms out of the country to relatives. Still, I will miss the place where I grew up. It was such a source and symbol of family and tradition and was our family home for ten generations.

The man consoled her quickly, We’ll create new traditions and make a new home. Now, we need to hurry.

The man began downhill again. Before following, the woman took a last look at the lights in the stone

manor house and quietly told it and her past goodbye.

Another hundred yards traveled, and a mere hundred yards before the road, flashes flared from three muzzles, accompanied by the staccato pop-pop-pop of three automatic rifles! Men were blocking the trail down!

As practiced as any elite military, the couple dropped as one and sprang left to a meager indentation in the rocks. Against that hint of cover, the woman went prone and watched back up the hill. From her position, she could see anyone coming down the trail as a shadow against the sky.

The man pulled behind the meager outcrop until the initial onslaught of fire subsided. He quickly brought his rifle around the stone and up and fired where he saw the first flashes.

The man fired only once. There was no allowance for waste. His single shot was a message to let the attackers know they were armed. His weapon was a thirty-six inch Marlin 1894. The lever-action was smooth and fast. The man could hit half-dollars at a hundred paces. The only drawback in the present situation was the reload. The tube feed only held six of the .44 Magnum rounds, and it was not a fast fill. The man would have preferred a magazine-fed rifle with extra magazines already fully charged. A prized possession of his wife’s late father, the rifle was coming for sentiment as well as protection.

One of the automatic’s opened up and sprayed the trail beside the couple. They were against the rocks so their forward path was hindered, yet when the rounds broke the ground beside them, they tried.

During a thirty-second lull, the man dug into a pocket and fed a round into the rifle’s tube.

The woman abruptly kicked the man and whispered, Men coming down. I see five. With knowledge of the 45’s deadly power as well as its inaccuracy over distance, she waited until the men were only a hundred feet away. Then she took aim slightly above the one who presented the best silhouette and fired.

The target grunted and fell back. Another man screamed as he went over the cliff. She couldn’t tell if he jumped in the wrong direction, or maybe the target knocked him over. The rest of the men fired from cover.

The woman whispered, How do you like that? One shot, two ducks, and they’re not even in a barrel.

The man chuckled, Not bad. I guess you know now I need to out-do that. By the way, it’s fish in a barrel and ducks in a row.

Don’t waste your time trying to do better. And that guy I hit made a quack, not a splash.

The man peeked carefully around the rock, planning a move.

The woman watched behind. After a minute of silence, the woman heard a faint scrape on the rocks twenty feet out. She estimated the location of the sound and aimed five feet nearer.

Her companion jumped when the woman fired.

Someone on the dark trail jumped or moved. The woman was sure she hit someone because the round did not hit stone. It sounded more like she plugged a melon.

Shots rang out from above and forced the couple to hug the boulders tight again.

The man noted, They are firing one at a time. They are going to start moving down.

The woman asked without emotion, Should we get shot going up or going down?

Let’s don’t get shot. Earlier that day, the two had secreted a pair of bicycles near the bottom of the trail. With that in mind, the man said, Our rides and final escape is downhill. I’m crawling down a ways before the guys up there start down. Give me ten seconds and fire at the guys below. Draw their fire so I can see a flash and have an aim point."

With palms up to hold his weapon, the man did his best to imitate a snake hugging the rock trail. Nine seconds later, he lay prone twenty feet further down the goat path. Now he rested on the opposite side of the trail, an inch from a forty-foot drop-off with a one-foot high stone for cover.

The woman stood and fired twice into the rocks below. Immediately, she went down to her prone position and pressed against the stone.

Automatic fire erupted from above and below. Just above the woman, the rounds gnawed the rock like a rat gnaws cheese.

The man aimed as the firing began and put his first round above and to the right of the flash. A distinct thump followed his shot.

Between his single round and the telling thump, the man rolled to the other side of the trail as he cocked the 1894.

When the second shooter below fired, the man used the same tactic as with the first. The result was another thump.

The man rose and turned as he whispered, Hands and knees below my fire. Hurry.

The man fired slowly, decreasing the shots to once every two seconds. The intent was to prevent the men from firing or moving until the woman was at his level.

When the woman was beside the man, she came up from hands and knees and barked, Come on! Then she sprinted!

The rifle was empty so the man pulled his .45. The couple each fired twice at the point where men fired from ahead. They heard a thump and slump. The last man ahead dropped with two slugs in him.

It took only a duo of seconds before the men above realized the couple was running and followed.

The pair was just yards from the road and the stashed bikes. The three remaining men in pursuit were less than a hundred yards behind and firing.

The sound of a truck’s engine interrupted the firing spree, emerging from the direction of the manor.

The truck’s headlights revealed its future direction: around the corner, then straight towards the couple. The headlights would spotlight the pair!

Forget the bikes, the man said and angled for the far side of the road and the continuation of the goatherd’s trail. Before he could say more, a voice yelled from ahead, off the road in the rocks.

Barney Custer? Hit the dirt!

The caller was unknown to them, but he seemed friendlier than those behind. The couple dove and the unmistakable automatic blast of a BAR erupted!

They could hear the whiz of rounds above them. From behind, they heard one grunt, one yelp, and three thumps. The sound of a fresh magazine slapped into the BAR instantly followed.

The truck appeared seconds later, highlighting the couple rising in the center of the road. The couple fled to the side.

Unbeknownst to the couple, another man waited offside the road. As the truck approached, he armed a grenade.

When the truck came around, men in the back readied their rifles and peered over the cab.

The man in the dark tossed the grenade in front of the truck. The vehicle was centered over the explosive when it detonated.

As the truck tumbled onto its side, the unseen man lobbed another grenade high and yelled, Cover!

The grenade landed in the middle of the mess with men still moving and exploded.

Gas was leaking out of the half-full tank. The second grenade served as a fuse to ignite the fuel.

The couple and the new arrivals were down off the road when the tank exploded.

With their weapons readied, the couple stood. The man asked, Who are you guys?

The man who fired the BAR stepped toward them and said, I’m DM. O sent us. He has a plane waiting across the border.

That’s ten miles… Barney began.

DM said, Quarter mile back, we stashed two nifty Harley’s with sidecars. We’ll be there in no time.

Chapter 2 Another Surprise

Vic’s trip to Madagascar turned out to be more difficult than expected. Mkodo was savage, deadly, and tested Vic many times in many ways. She had no idea that Mkodo would soon seem like a picnic.

Vic wrote a bundle of articles during the return trip. She would give them to her editor upon arrival, then take some time off. She would spend time with her dad and her wolfhound Terkoz. Vic definitely planned to eat lots of egg sandwiches and wash them down with root beer floats at Lin Li’s Drug & Drygoods. She wanted to go fishing and turkey hunting. It would be nice to get turkeys for herself, Lin’s family, and Emma and Clyde. Vic figured if she mentioned a turkey hunt to Lin’s youngest sisters, Mai and Yana, they would want to go. She knew Lin would.

Her ship from the Union of South Africa docked in Southampton midmorning. Vic rented a room as fast as it could happen and then called to see if the Olympia was in port. Luck was with her and Vic immediately worked to contact her friend Joan who worked on the magnificent ship. Within three hours of docking in England, Vic had a ticket on the Olympia set to depart in two days. Her fun, short stay began that evening dining with Joan at Rules, where she and Lin dined in 1921.

Vic’s stay in London and the cruise aboard the Olympic flew by and were pleasant. By the time they docked in New York, Vic had a ten-pound bundle of articles for her editor, thanks to a ship’s typewriter.

Vic bid Joan farewell and hailed a cab for Grand Central Station. Her only luggage was the replacement pack she bought in Tuléar. She bought several souvenirs for friends, but they were