The First Doc Vandal Omnibus: Doc Vandal Adventures

By Dave Robinson

From New York, to Africa, to Antarctica this collection takes Doc Vandal and the team around the world with the first three adventures collected into a single volume.

Against the Eldest Flame:
When Nazi gorillas try to crash a Zeppelin full of zombies into Doc Vandal's 87th floor home, he knows he's got trouble.

Doc and his team have to track their attackers to a lost city half way across the world to find the secret behind the aerial attack. It's not just a physical battle Doc has to win, it's a contest for his very soul.

On one side:
An enemy older than time;
Nazi aerial battleships;
Man-eating dinosaurs.

On the other:
Doc Vandal, a man raised by artificial intelligences, and the world's foremost scientific adventurer;
Gus, a gorilla with a fistful of doctorates, and secrets bigger than he is;
Vic, an expatriate Russian countess and daredevil pilot with a predilection for playing solitaire with razor-edged cards.

Can Doc and friends save the world from the tyranny of the Eldest Flame? Can Vic kill a Tyrannosaur with a short sword?

Find out in the first Doc Vandal adventure: Against the Eldest Flame!

When Nazi gorillas try to crash a Zeppelin full of zombies into Doc Vandal's 87th floor home, he knows he's got trouble.

Doc and his team have to track their attackers to a lost city half way across the world to find the secret behind the aerial attack. It's not just a physical battle Doc has to win, it's a contest for his very soul.

On one side:
An enemy older than time;
Nazi aerial battleships;
Man-eating dinosaurs.

On the other:
Doc Vandal, a man raised by artificial intelligences, and the world's foremost scientific adventurer;
Gus, a gorilla with a fistful of doctorates, and secrets bigger than he is;
Vic, an expatriate Russian countess and daredevil pilot with a predilection for playing solitaire with razor-edged cards.

Can Doc and friends save the world from the tyranny of the Eldest Flame? Can Vic kill a Tyrannosaur with a short sword?

Air Pirates of Krakatoa:
When Doc Vandal's cousin is murdered with a bowl of poisonous fish soup, it's not long before Doc and the team are thrown on a collision course with the Air Pirates of Krakatoa!

After Vic escapes a deadly drone attack on the streets of New York City, all clues point to the coffee plantations of Java.

Doc and the team have to fight their way past the Air Pirates' deadly flying wing to get to the root of the mystery. It's a story of international conspiracies, giant robots, and colonial revolutionaries.

Can Doc escape the prison beneath Krakatoa?
Who is Tigress?
...and what about Vic, trapped in the hold of a ship about to explode?

Attacked Beneath Antarctica:
An ancient evil lurks beneath Lake Vostok!

When Doc and the team receive a mysterious message from a lost Antarctic expedition they launch a rescue mission only to find themselves stranded in the coldest place on Earth. Their only hope of survival lies in an 800 mile trek across the icecap, and nothing can prepare them for what they find beneath the ice.

Trapped between an invader from outside space itself and a Nazi expedition seeking secrets humanity was not meant to know the team is caught in a race to save the world from threats it cannot understand.

Travel back to a 1937 that never existed and join Doc and the team in a series of wild adventures that reveal the hidden truths behind his world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: KEH Publishing
• Release date: Apr 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223408796

Dave Robinson

I’m Dave, and I write. I’m also a father, a reader, gamer, a comic fan, and a hockey fan. Unfortunately, there is a problem with those terms; they don’t so much describe me as label me, and the map is not the territory. Calling me a father says nothing about my relationship with my daughter and how she thinks I’m silly. It ignores the essence of the relationship for convenience. It’s the same with my love of books, comics, role-playing games, and hockey; labels only say what, not how or why. They miss all the good parts. If you want more of a biography: I was born in the UK, grew up in Canada, and have spent time in the US. I’ve been freelancing for the last seven years. Before that, and in no particular order, I’ve managed a bookstore, worked in a pawnshop, been a telephone customer service rep, and even cleaned carpets for a living. As a freelancer, I’ve done everything from simple web content, to ghostwritten novels. I’ve even written a course on trading forex online. I’ve also edited everything from whitepapers to a science fiction anthology. Right now, I'm working on the next Doc Vandal adventure.

Book preview

The Doc Vandal Omnibus:

Volume One

by Dave Robinson

A Doc Vandal Publication

Copyright 2017-20 by Dave Robinson

Cover Illustration by Carlos Balarezo

This is a work of fiction. All similarities to any persons living or dead is purely coincidental. All events, locales, and incidents are either purely the product of the author’s imagination or used for fictitious purposes.

The Doc Vandal Series

Against the Eldest Flame

Air Pirates of Krakatoa

Attacked Beneath Antarctica

Giant Robots of Tunguska

The Sunkiller Affair

The Ziggurat of Doom (forthcoming)

Collections

The Doc Vandal Omnibus: Volume One

This collection is dedicated to the memory of Kim, sadly gone all too soon, without whom I would never have written a word; to Kyrie, and to my brother Neil, who always believed I was a writer even when I didn’t. Also thanks to the memory of my parents, Lyn and Clive Robinson.

I would also like to thank everyone who has helped me on this writing journey from the moment I first decided I wanted to create my own pulp heroes to the last word I typed; especially those who have read my works and given the kind of feedback you need to get the best out of a story: Brittany Maresh, Jules Ironside, S.L. Huang, Vincent Collins, Jaap Geluk, and Ian Gill.

Any errors are mine alone.

Table of Contents

Against the Eldest Flame

Attack in New York

Flight to Africa

Survival

Prisoners of Pongo City

Doc on the Run

Flame of Revolution

Air Pirates of Krakatoa

Dinner and a Movie

Batavia

Plantation by Night

Thrown in the Hold

Showdown in the High Skies

Epilogue

Attacked Beneath Antarctica

A Lost Expedition

Iceward Bound

Abandoned in Antarctica

Into the Ice

Nazis Beneath the Ice

The Enemy Below

War with Nothingness

Afterword

Cast of Characters

Against the Eldest Flame

CHAPTER ONE

Attack in New York

Doc Vandal held the autogyro steady over the stricken Zeppelin. Acrid smoke rose from the wounds in the airship’s flanks as it dove towards the New York skyline. It took all his strength to keep his ‘gyro in place against the hot updraft. Without taking his eyes off his target he called to his co-pilot in the rear cockpit.

Get ready to take over, Vic! he yelled over the engine. Just a few more yards and I’m going to jump.

The stick waggled in his hand, telling him that he’d been heard and she was ready to take the controls. Gritting his teeth, he advanced the throttle and the little plane inched forward. Just a few more feet and he’d be in position. They broke past the updraft and the rotor windmilled like crazy as the gyro dropped toward the Zeppelin’s hull. Doc let go of the controls and pulled himself onto the left wing, trusting Vic to keep control.

Winds buffeted his head, sending his scarf streaming behind him. The airship seemed to rush upwards towards him, the forward hatch growing from a quarter to a manhole cover in seconds. Gathering his breath, he bent his knees and leaped, aiming just in front of the Zeppelin’s forward top hatch. The autogyro shot away barely missing his head, Vic’s long red hair streamed behind the cockpit as she dove for safety.

Doc had barely enough time to notice she had reached a safe distance before he smacked into the airship’s skin. Pulling his fighting knife, he drove it through the fabric, giving himself an anchor. Fighting the wind, he twisted back to face the hatch, which had opened during his fall.

A black furry head popped up through the opening - followed by a machine pistol. Doc rolled sideways as a spray of bullets ripped a line through where he’d been laying. His knife ripped free and he stabbed several times at the Zeppelin’s tough skin before halting his slide. Gripping his knife with his right hand, Doc drew his pistol with his left and snapped off two quick shots. His assailant slumped, and Doc started working his way toward the hatch.

Reaching the hatch, he saw that his assailant was a gorilla brown shirt. Damn Nazis, he muttered as he squeezed past the ape’s bulk and into the access tunnel. The metal was hot to the touch, so he knew he didn’t have much time before the ship turned into a torch. Doc slid down the ladder, stopping just before what his memory told him should be the main deck. Slipping his pistol back in its holster, he drew a small rebreather from a pocket in his vest and slipped it in his mouth. Taking two sleep grenades in his right hand, he dropped silently to the deck and drew his pistol.

Moving very quietly for such a big man, Doc made his way forward toward the control cabin. The ship was an older cargo Zeppelin, relying on hydrogen for lift rather than lyftrium, an aerogel of Doc’s invention that had largely supplanted gas on airships built since the end of the Great War. When charged properly lyftrium was either transparent to gravity or fully reflective, and it had created an explosion in air travel few could have predicted. Most of the older hydrogen ships were used in places like Africa and the Mexican Empire, where the lack of roads and other infrastructure let them remain competitive despite their low carrying capacity.

The door to the control cabin had a small window, and Doc pulled a small periscope from his vest. Crouching below the window he extended the periscope to look around. Whistling to high for a human to hear, he counted his targets. The airship had a crew of four, two pilots and two engineers. All four were dressed in rags, and standing strangely still. The flesh that showed through their rags had a pale grayish sheen. A gorilla brown shirt stood in the center of the cabin, a machine pistol slung across his back.

Put your hands on top of your head, you hairless pig. The muzzle of a gun dug into his back.

Doc palmed the sleep grenades and slowly raised his hands to the top of his head.

Now get up! The speaker punctuated his order with a jab of his gun muzzle.

Concealing the rebreather in his mouth, Doc got up and turned to face his captor. As he suspected, it was another gorilla brown shirt, with a cap pulled over its eyes and a machine pistol looking like a toy in its massive hand. In there, the gorilla ordered Doc, gesturing with his gun, and shoving the door open with his free hand. The ape’s eyes held a glint of intelligence, and Doc wondered why it seemed so calm while the airship hurtled toward its flaming death.

Look what I found wandering around, the gorilla said, pushing Doc forwards into the control cabin. Another hairless idiot sticking its flat face where it doesn’t belong.

Don’t worry about vermin, the one from the control cabin snapped. What about Kerak and the plane? I don’t want to be aboard when we hit the Republic State Building.

Kerak’s dead, Doc’s captor replied. Somebody shot him in the face. Plane’s ready to go. I unshipped the links and opened the doors.

That was all Doc needed. He popped the rebreather back into position and triggered the grenades, spraying sleeping gas throughout the cabin. Both apes dropped, but the flight crew just stood there, ignoring the gas.

Zombies. Doc muttered around his rebreather. Clenching his teeth on the mouthpiece he turned and wrested the controls from the pilot’s unresisting hands. Whatever the gorillas were using to control the zombies seemed to still be working, which was one piece of good news. The last thing he needed was to be wrestling over the controls with someone who couldn’t feel pain. A glance at the altimeter told him they were already below a thousand feet, and still sinking. Luckily they were still over the water, but Manhattan was just minutes away.

Slamming the helm over, Doc reached for the throttles, adding the right-side engines’ thrust to the flaming rudder. Buildings were growing in the cabin windows, and he had no time to turn the airship around. His only chance was to try to put her into the Hudson and pray he missed any shipping. The Zeppelin started coming around slowly, but it wasn’t enough. Growling deep in the back of his throat, he shoved the port engines’ pitch lever all the way into reverse. They screamed in protest as the props fought their own turbulence. Just a little longer, just a little longer.

Slowly the Republic State building moved across his view. They were going to miss.

Now all he had to do was get the Zeppelin over the river when the lift finally ran out. Praying everything would hold, Doc reversed pitch on the port props and then dumped ballast, dropping two tons of water on the streets below. A sudden crack from his left told him he’d been too hopeful. One of the port props was locked in reverse thrust. Doc killed the engine, but he had needed that thrust. At least the ballast drop had given him a fighting chance to make the Hudson. They were already so low he could make out people on the streets below. Most were oblivious to the conflagration above their heads, but as he got closer he saw people drop everything and run for safety.

He was going to make it.

Doc could feel the heat of flames licking at the cabin door, but he had no choice. He had to stay on until they reached the river.

Suddenly he felt a hand at the back of his collar, ripping him away from the controls and throwing him on top of one of the unconscious brown shirts. Cold fetid breath washed over his face, making him thankful for the rebreather. One of the zombie engineers glared at him over rotting teeth. Holding the zombie off as best he could with one hand, Doc grabbed the gorilla’s machine pistol and rammed the muzzle into the zombies mouth, shattering teeth. A quick burst blew its head off, buying him breathing time.

Staggering back to the controls, Doc saw they were safely over the river and all the boats in sight were moving away as fast as possible. Not sure if there were any control surfaces left, he pushed the controls forward for a dive and took a running leap for one of the side windows. Crossing his forearms over his face he smashed through the glass and plummeted toward the river.

The Zeppelin had been high enough that he had just enough time to put his heels together and straighten up before he hit the water. The cold river almost knocked the breath out of him - rattling the rebreather he still held in his teeth. Doc kicked hard, driving himself toward the surface in a cloud of bubbles.

His head broke water just in time for him to see the skeletal frame of the Zeppelin hit the water about a hundred yards further out. Something exploded in the cargo hold, but it was drowned by the inrush of river water.

Stowing his rebreather, Doc shook his head and started to swim for the shore where Vic waited with the autogyro.

#

With a grin so broad she would have been eating bugs if not for the windscreen, Vic dove the autogyro away from the dying Zeppelin. She loved flying, and this little ship was almost perfect. It wasn’t fast, and it was terrible for aerobatics, but the way the rotor disk disappeared in the night sky made her feel like she was flying like a bird.

Reducing throttle, Vic brought the autogyro around to follow the Zeppelin; being careful to stay out of the updraft. The airship was streaming smoke, but she was used to flying in bad weather. At least her scarf kept most of it out of her lungs. Once on its tail, she reduced throttle to get below the ship for a better view. From below it looked like a thing out of nightmares, silhouetted by the skyline and lit by a garish combination of flames on its flanks and a handful of running lights. Dark figures filled the control cabin windows like demons in a Renaissance etching.

Stay safe, Vic muttered as the flames coursed higher.

The Zeppelin was getting close to Manhattan, and dropping dangerously low doing it. Vic held her breath as it lined up on the Republic State Building. By this point, it was taking some tricky work on her part to hold the autogyro level and the city up ahead was only going to make things worse. Vic waggled the autogyro’s stub wings and dropped a little further back so she had more room to fly.

Light flared on the underside of the Zeppelin, as someone opened the rear cargo hatch. A slim dark figure dragged a bat-winged shape to the opening and dove out of the doomed craft. Vic banked to follow it, but seconds later, a second hatch opened and another bulkier figure took to its own glider.

Unable to follow both, she swooped back around to follow the Zeppelin while the two gliders descended into the darkness. She tried to keep an eye on the two figures, but they quickly disappeared against the Manhattan skyline. Meanwhile the airship drove through the skies the skyscraper.

Moments later the airship lurched in mid-air, tongues of flame shooting skyward from nose to rudder. Water poured from the ballast tanks like a summer storm, soaking people and cars. Vic pulled back on the stick, pulling up and around as the Zeppelin veered to port heading for the Hudson. Seconds later, she was back on its trail, flying parallel between the shore and the Zeppelin.

The airship was about a hundred feet up when it finally seemed to run out of steam. One moment it was clawing for a few more feet of distance, the next it was heading for the drink. A tall figure flew out through shattered glass and plunged into the water.

Vic grinned, and looked for somewhere to land.

A couple of minutes later, Doc was back in the other cockpit.

You soaked it; you clean it, Vic yelled over the engine noise. Also, you missed a couple. They bailed out in gliders and disappeared into the city.

We can worry about them tomorrow, Doc replied. I need a shower.

Vic wrinkled her nose. He was right.

#

Ten minutes later, Doc walked out of his private bathroom toweling the last drops of water out of his short brown hair.

Was that fun? Vic asked from her seat on one of the leather couches in the corner of the room. She hadn’t bothered to change, and was still wearing her flying gear, which made her look like she’d just stepped out of a magazine advertisement.

Doc smiled. Vic always seemed to think that danger was an essential part of fun. She even played solitaire with razor-edged cards sometimes, though Doc comforted himself with the thought that at least they weren’t poisoned. Not as much as it would have been for you, I think.

You’re probably right, said the third member of their little group. Augustus Q. Ponchartrain was a silverback gorilla in a custom-tailored suit, complete with gold cufflinks and an expensive wristwatch. The watch was his latest acquisition, complete with a radium dial that glowed in the dark. However, even if it wasn’t as much fun as it would have been for you, it still raises more than a handful of questions.

Such as why there were talking gorillas in Nazi uniforms in control of an airship from the Belgian Congo piloted by zombies that was apparently going to crash into the Republic State building?

To put it succinctly, said the gorilla, Yes.

That’s not a handful, Vic said, swirling the ice in her coke.

It will be, Doc replied. I’m sure Gus can turn each one of my questions into half a dozen without even trying.

Just a matter of applying a superior intellect.

Doc nodded. I’ve sent Gilly in the submersible to see if he can find anything else out about that airship. Crossing the room, he draped his towel over one of the couches and poured himself a glass of mineral water. From the looks of the crew, they had been zombied in Africa and flown the Zeppelin all the way across without stopping. What I don’t know is what they thought they had to gain?

You do live here, you know. Gus pointed out. I’m sure a flaming airship would have done some damage to the eighty-seventh floor no matter where it hit.

Perhaps. Doc drained his mineral water. We don’t know what was in its cargo hold either. It could have been more than just an airship collision.

I saw the explosion, Vic added. I don’t think the windows would have held up.

You don’t give us enough credit, Gus said, peeling a banana. Doc and I calculated these windows to stop up to a one thousand pound bomb.

And that airship can hold how many tons of cargo?

None at the moment, Doc said mildly, though you do have a point.

The private elevator dinged, and a strange figure in a black leather coat staggered into the room.

Do I have the honor of addressing Doctor James Clark Vandal? he asked in a clipped Teutonic accent.

Doc nodded, keeping one hand on the pistol he always carried holstered in the small of his back. You do.

Good. My name is Schmidt, and I’m here to warn you that your very soul is in danger.

My soul? Doc arched an eyebrow, keeping the man’s attention so that Gus and Vic could get into position in case he caused trouble.

Beware the Eldest Flame, the man said, and then his eyes went wide as he looked at something behind Doc.

Not wanting to take his eyes off Schmidt, Doc started sidling over to where he could catch a reflection of anything that could be sneaking up behind him. The Eldest Flame? Doc asked. What do you mean, the Eldest Flame?

Schmidt didn’t answer. His eyes bugged out as a tide of gray rose from his collar and washed out his face. Raising his arms he jumped at Doc, his teeth and nails growing visibly.

That’s enough of that. Gus reached out with one arm and caught Schmidt, casually snapping his neck before setting the corpse on the floor. Zombie interrupted my banana. I hate that.

Doc. Vic pointed at the window behind Doc.

Doc turned to see a gorilla wearing a feathered headdress hanging onto the window with suction cups. Catching Doc’s eye, the gorilla waved a strange flame-shaped amulet then deliberately pushed himself backward away from the window. Doc and the others rushed to the window, only to see the gorilla’s body as a dark speck falling toward the streets below.

Quick, after him, Doc barked.

Gus and Vic ran toward the elevator. Doc leaned over Schmidt’s body and loosened the coat. Underneath he saw the man was wearing an SS officer’s uniform with the Iron Cross. The body was cool, but there was a burnt patch on the chest. Doc ripped it open to see a stylized flame branded over Schmidt’s heart. He was dead before he got in the elevator.

The elevator door had already closed, but Doc hit the override and jumped into the shaft, landing on the roof of the car with a thump. He opened the access door and dropped in between Gus and Vic. Sorry about that.

Gus brushed debris off his suit. Don’t worry about it, boss. Suit needed cleaning after the zombie anyway.

Doc nodded. Schmidt was SS—wonder why he was trying to warn me.

You do look like you ought to be one of the Master Race, Vic commented. More so than Gus, anyway.

I resent that, Gus complained.

You resent not looking like a Nazi? Vic shook her head. That’s a first.

That wasn’t what I meant and you know it, young lady.

The elevator door opened, cutting off the discussion and Doc led his two associates into the lobby, waving to the elevator operators as they ran toward the door.

Out on the street, the first thing Doc saw was a small crowd gathered on the sidewalk. Pushing forward, he used his six-foot four-inch frame to work his way through the crowd to where he could see the body. Surprisingly it was still recognizable as a gorilla, though from the way it was lying it appeared to have broken the majority of bones in its body. Leaning over the corpse, Doc picked up the amulet which was surprisingly heavy. There was a faint smell of smoke from it, like a circuit that had burned out. Not wanting to draw attention, he slipped it in his pocket and turned back toward his cohorts.

Anything interesting, Doc? Gus asked.

Tell you when we’re back inside. Doc waved away the question. Anybody could be listening. Where’s Vic?

She was right behind me. The gorilla shrugged. I can push through a crowd better than she can.

Doc scanned the crowd, but Vic was nowhere to be seen. Then he saw a familiar figure in a black leather coat disappear around a corner. Follow me!

Whistling too high for the average human to hear, Doc chased after the figure, only to find a busy street with no sign of Vic or the figure in the black coat. It was as if they had disappeared into thin air.

#

Doc led Gus back to his suite on the eighty-seventh floor, to find Gilly Chanter waiting for him.

Where’s Vic? Gilly asked.

Gone, Doc said tersely. Like the body that was lying right where you’re standing.

There was no body lying here when I arrived, Boss. Gilly scratched his head. I was surprised to find the place empty.

Gus slapped himself in the head, loud enough to interrupt Gilly and Doc. I knew I should have finished that banana. You can’t kill a zombie by snapping its neck: it’s already dead.

I was the one who left it behind, Doc said. Vic can handle herself. What I need to know is whether you found anything down there Gilly?

Most everything was destroyed by the crash, Doc. Gilly sighed. I poked around a bit with the manipulator arms and only thing I found were some broken pressure tanks. Looked like they were planning some kind of gas attack.

Gas attack? Doc raised an eyebrow. That’s odd. They were acting more like they were just going to crash into the building than spray gas over the city.

Explosive gas, maybe? Gus said brightly.

Could be. Doc started pacing. I wonder what they want with Vic?

Food? Gus padded over and grabbed another banana. Zombies like brains, and for all she covers it with hair, Vic has a pretty good brain for one of you humans.

That’s not funny, Gus! Gilly glared at the gorilla, who simply peeled his banana.

I was only pointing out normal zombie behavior.

Stop it, both of you. Doc didn’t raise his voice but something in his tone stopped the other two in their tracks. We don’t know what happened to Vic and we won’t be able to find her until we get more information. Gilly, I want you to go over everything you got from that wreck. Develop your pictures and find out everything possible. If there’s even a single word remaining on one of those broken pressure tanks I want to know it.

Yes, Boss.

Gus, I want you to run a full autopsy on that gorilla.

Gus nodded.

Tell me what he ate for breakfast, lunch and dinner - as well as any ‘medicinal’ herbs he may have imbibed or inhaled recently. I even want to know everything you can tell me about those feathers he was wearing.

Right, Doc. Gus ate the banana in one bite. I’ll get right on it.

What are you going to do, Doc? Gilly asked.

The phone’s going to ring very soon. I think I’ll wait for it.

#

The phone rang two short buzzes, the signal that told Doc it was the commissioner’s office on the line.

Doc here.

Commissioner Pennyworth wants to see you and your band of blackguards in his office immediately. There was neither friendliness nor any sort of politeness in the voice. Both the mayor and the governor need to know what the hell just happened in the Hudson.

Anger is bad for your blood pressure, Doc replied. We’ll be there.

Calling Gus and Gilly, Doc led the way to the elevator. I hope you’ve secured the body, he told Gus.

You worry too much, Boss. The gorilla smiled. Body’s locked in the cold room; and last I heard it’s kind of hard for even a zombie to move if both legs are broken in six places.

Doc nodded.

They stepped out of the elevator in Doc’s private parking level. More than a dozen cars lined the walls, ranging from sporty roadsters to a plain van which could display any of several signs depending on the situation. Hidden in the back was an armored car of Doc’s own devising with an automatic cannon projecting over the long hood. Doc led the way to a large touring sedan with armored doors and a reinforced suspension. Gilly slipped behind the wheel while Doc and Gus took the back seats.

The garage door opened automatically and Gilly took the car out onto the city streets. Traffic was light and most motorists knew to avoid the long dark green car. It was a short drive to Commissioner Pennyworth’s office and Doc spent the trip in silence. Even the normally garrulous Gus kept his mouth shut.

Gilly parked in front of the station, taking a spot normally reserved for official vehicles.

Once again leading the way, Doc pushed the door open and headed straight for the elevator banks. A police sergeant rose to block his way, but Doc brushed past him as if he wasn’t there. Gus saluted the sergeant with a hand to his forehead as he passed, but got no response. Commissioner Pennyworth’s office was on the eighth floor, and the operator selected it without prompting. Doc didn’t come to the station often, but when he did it was always to see the commissioner.

Commissioner Pennyworth was waiting when the elevator doors opened. Come, walk with me.

Doc fell in beside the tall heavyset commissioner, who was still a good three inches shorter than he was. Gus and Gilly fell in behind them.

So, tell me about your little aerial expedition earlier today.

Doc gave the commissioner a condensed version of what had happened aboard the Zeppelin that morning, doing his best to minimize the zombie aspects, and not bothering to mention that the Zeppelin had been under the control of Nazi gorillas. He knew that Pennyworth was more open-minded than his predecessor, but he had enough trouble with Augustus Q Ponchartrain; adding more gorillas to the mix would only confuse him. Instead he told a tale of foreign agents and an airship with a drugged crew.

And that explains what the German high commissioner was doing in my office, how?

German high commissioner? Doc was taken aback. What was he doing here?

Delivering a formal note of protest. Pennyworth stopped and fixed Doc with the gaze of his monocled left eye. Something about monkeys in party uniforms...

Apes, Gus corrected.

Pennyworth swung around to face the gorilla. When I want your opinion I’ll give it to you. Monkeys, apes, it’s all the same to the high commissioner. He turned back to face Doc, color rising in his cheeks. Either one is an insult to the German Reich, and he’s blaming you and wants to know what I’m going to do about it. There’s also the small matter of a military attaché who went missing somewhere in Africa but was last seen getting on the elevator for the eighty-seventh floor.

Doc nodded, his mind racing. It had been less than two hours since Schmidt had walked into his office. There was no way the high commissioner would know he wasn’t coming back unless he had inside information. How could he have known about the gorillas? None of the bodies had been recovered, had they? What was the high commissioner up to, and why was he telling Pennyworth? At least now he knew for sure that the Germans kept a watch on his home. Doc started whistling silently, letting the back of his mind do the work.

Do you have anything to add? Pennyworth tapped his foot impatiently.

You might have noticed that Vic’s not with me, Doc said softly."

I had, Pennyworth said. Hopefully she’s come to her senses and realized nothing good will come from traipsing after you like a red-headed camp follower and decided to do something useful with her life.

Your high commissioner’s precious attaché just kidnapped her. Doc caught Pennyworth’s gaze with his own, trapping the other man’s attention with his steel gray eyes. I was waiting for a call when you summoned me.

Pennyworth nodded. The mayor still wants to know why you put a flaming Zeppelin into the Hudson. That’s a bit extreme even for you.

It wouldn’t have lasted long enough to reach the three mile limit; and anything was better than the Republic State Building.

I’m surprised it’s not airship proof.

It is, Doc replied, but I didn’t know what the airship was carrying. He shrugged. I don’t know everything.

Pennyworth smiled. Regardless, I do have to tell you that the German high commissioner is probably going to bring a lawsuit against you, and the papers he provided included a bill from Congo Air Cargo for seventy-five thousand dollars. There’s also some mention of insurance.

I’ll file a counter-claim. Doc responded. Their property was heading straight for my home. Their insurance company can argue with mine and all the lawyers involved will buy new cars next year.

Don’t count the high commissioner out yet. One of the assistant district attorneys is a bundist, and the high commissioner is trying to get him to bring charges against you for reckless endangerment. Something to do with piloting a flaming Zeppelin over a populated area.

Let him try, I have my airship license.

Pennyworth laughed. I don’t think that would matter. He grew serious. Nobody is being charged with anything. Yet. However, I do have to tell you that it would be in your best interest if you did not leave the city. In the meantime, if you wish to fill out a missing persons report for Miss Frank, the sergeant can help you downstairs.

It was an obvious dismissal.

Doc took his leave and led his associates back to the elevator. There was no point filing a missing persons report. All the police would do was call the FBI and Hoover’s boys were more likely to make things worse than better. If Vic couldn’t free herself, it would be all up to Doc and the team.

#

Vic’s head ached and her mouth tasted like it had been stuffed with cotton balls. Chloroform. Damnit she’d been chloroformed again. Doc and Gus never got chloroformed, noooo, not them. It was always her. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Doc had been chloroformed, too; but never when they were all together. He always got chloroformed on his own. Realizing her mind was wandering, Vic tried to slap herself, only to come up short as she realized she was bound against a wall.

Good, you’re awake. Schmidt’s voice penetrated the fog in her head.

She opened her eyes to see the Nazi standing in front of her, his head dangling to one side. It was barely connected, making her wonder if a strong wind would send it flying.

That looks painful, she managed to say. Next time I need to remind Gus to rip your head clean off.

"Very funny, Fräulein."

I try. Vic tried to shrug but she was bound too tightly to do more than wriggle a little. At least it felt like rope, so maybe there was a chance. So, what do you want to do with me?

Nothing, nothing at all.

Seems like you went to a lot of trouble to kidnap me if you didn’t want to do anything with me. Are you one of those who just likes to watch?

Schmidt leered. With his head hanging over one shoulder it was easily the creepiest leer Vic had ever seen. Just because I didn’t want anything, doesn’t mean my Master doesn’t.

"Your Master? Don’t you Nazi types have a Führer?" Vic controlled herself enough not to spit the words; better to direct her anger against her bonds.

That was before I died. Schmidt reached up and set his head straight on his neck. "When the Eldest Flame touched me I became His. I could see the Führer for what he truly is, a pale imitation of the Eldest Flame."

His eyes glowed redly, and Vic was sure she could see stark terror behind the glow. Schmidt was no ordinary zombie. Vic had no idea what he actually was, but she was sure he was the one person she least wanted to be tied up in a room with right now. Even a wild gorilla would have been better.

Schmidt fell silent, and turned away from her, moving jerkily more like a puppet than a man. Vic followed him with her eyes to a small brazier that stood in the corner. Schmidt reached out and grabbed what Vic thought was a poker, stirring the coals. Lifting it out of the brazier, he revealed its true nature: it was a branding iron!

The stylized flame on the end glowed red hot from the brazier, and Schmidt muttered to himself in German as he examined it. Finally, he thrust it deep into the coals and turned back to Vic. "Once you bear the Master’s mark above your heart, you will truly belong to Him.

You will be the tool that brings your leader home to the Congo. Schmidt cackled like a movie hag. Once the Master has the Moon Key he will truly rule the world, and you will forever remember your part in His victory.

Vic shivered, she couldn’t dwell on his rantings; this maniac was going to burn her. Grinding her teeth, she twisted feverishly at the the ropes that held her.

Ignoring her expression, Schmidt approached and ripped the front of her blouse, exposing her undergarments. Vic squirmed and tried to pull away but the bindings held her tight. The ropes on her right wrist started to give and Vic redoubled her efforts. She was not going to let this puppetized zombie turn her into some kind of slave. The rope burned against her wrist, but she gritted her teeth and kept going.

Something caught her captor’s attention; Schmidt turned away and lurched back toward the brazier. Taking advantage of his distraction, Vic squeezed her hand as small as she could make it and pulled until it felt like her arm was going to come out of its socket. Amazingly, Schmidt didn’t react to her struggles.

From the way he was moving, Vic doubted he was really in control of his own movements. He seemed more like a passenger in his own body. Vic shrugged, wincing at the pain from her right shoulder. It didn’t matter if he was a self-aware zombie or some kind of puppet. Either one could kill her if she didn’t escape.

Schmidt turned back to her, the brand glowing in his hand. Something in the white-hot shape drew her attention and she couldn’t take her eyes off it. The air wavered around the flame, and even from across the room she could feel the heat on her chest. With an effort of will she pulled her attention away from the brand, focusing on how Schmidt’s head looked balanced on his broken neck. His eyes blazed red, seeming to draw energy from the heated brand.

Ignoring the pain, Vic ripped her hand out of the bindings. The hemp rope scratched her skin, but she didn’t care: her hand was free.

Schmidt lunged forward, driving the brand toward her chest. Without thinking she caught the hot steel in her right hand. The pain was intense, and she almost blacked out as the smell of burning flesh rose from her palm, but she kept enough presence of mind to deflect the iron onto the ropes that held her left hand. The rope caught fire and she pulled free, putting her whole body behind a left handed punch. Her fist caught Schmidt in the side of the head, knocking it off his shoulders.

Immediately, the body dropped the iron and started feeling around on the floor for its missing head. Fighting the urge to vomit, Vic ran for the door. Her right hand was curled into a useless claw, but her left was only slightly singed from where the brand had burned away the ropes.

The door wasn’t locked, and Vic found herself in an unfinished basement with a packed earth floor. Small windows gave enough light for her to find her way to the stairs, and she hurried up them. Again, the door at the top wasn’t locked and she let herself into the lobby of a brownstone. An old woman opened her door, saw Vic and crossed herself before backing into her apartment and slamming the door. Vic heard half a dozen locks clicking as she passed the door. So much for using the phone. She consoled herself with the thought that maybe the woman didn’t have one. Her apartment probably smelled of stale cooking anyway.

Holding her blouse closed with her right wrist, Vic pushed out into the afternoon sunlight.

#

Vic’s on her way. Doc announced to the room.

What happened? Gilly poked his head up from his research, developer dripping from his rubber gloves.

Schmidt had her as we suspected, but she was able to break free and escape. Doc smiled. It takes more than an undead Nazi to hold Vic.

She gets captured often enough, she should be an escape artist, Gus said, stripping off his surgical coat. I finished the autopsy; it appears that our intrepid friend hadn’t had anything more than tea in the last week.

Tea?

I haven’t nailed everything down yet, but this gorilla appeared to have been subsisting on some kind of mind-altering tea. No Scottish Breakfast for him.

Doc smiled, Gus always managed to make a point of how much more cultured he was than most of their opponents. He had even been known to call Vic on some of the finer points of etiquette.

One thing I did find that was interesting, Gus went on, was that he had a stylized flame branded over his heart. I believe you’ll find that it’s an exact match to the one you found on Herr Schmidt.

At that point, Vic entered the room. She was still dressed in her flying clothes, though the blouse was ripped enough to show the lace below. Her right hand was curled up in a claw and she grimaced whenever it moved.

That was fun, she said brightly. Well, all except the being tied up by an possessed undead Nazi who wanted to brand me. She tried to open her hand. but winced and stopped before she’d uncurled more than a finger. That and catching the branding iron on my palm. That wasn’t fun either.

Gilly was already on his feet and helping her to a couch, ignoring her attempts to brush him off.

I think it’s a little more than a scratch, she said.

Doc came over and took her hand, turning it upwards gently so he could see her palm. The stylized flame was burned deeply into her hand, though from what Doc could see it wasn’t quite deep enough to do any permanent damage. It was just going to hurt like hell for a while. At least it’s a clean burn, he said. Nothing else got in it so it should heal well. No infection.

That’s easy for you to say. Vic’s face was even whiter than it usually was. I can’t use my hand.

Hold it out for me, Vic. Doc reached into his vest and withdrew a small medical kit. Opening the kit he removed a roll of synthetic gauze and a small tube of ointment. This will feel very cold for a moment, but don’t worry. It’s just part of the healing process.

What is it?

Just a new burn treatment I’ve been working on. Doc spread a generous amount of ointment on the gauze and then applied it to Vic’s palm. She gasped as he wrapped it around her hand three times.

C-cold.

Good, that means all the nerves are working. You should be able to use the hand in a couple of hours.

Vic nodded, then walked over to a closet and pulled out a gun belt. I’m not going to let one of those corpse Nazis catch me unarmed again. It took a couple of tries, but she finally got it fastened one-handed.

Why was he trying to brand you? Gus was the one who asked the obvious question.

He didn’t make much sense, Vic admitted. He was ranting about how his ‘Master’ would be able to control me once he branded me over my heart.

That’s where the gorilla was branded, Gus told Vic and then turned to Doc and wrinkled his brow. I forgot to mention one other thing. The feathers were unusual; they didn’t fit any bird I have ever heard of. They had a very primitive structure, almost like proto-feathers.

Vic ignored Gus and continued. There was one other thing Schmidt mentioned. He said he wanted to use me to get to Doc and bring him to the Congo. Something about a ‘Moon Key’ that would give his master the world. Vic looked at her bandaged hand. My biggest concern at the time was that I didn’t want to be tied down and branded whether it was going to work or not.

Vic grinned. I did get to knock his block off, though. So it wasn’t all bad.

Too many ifs to say for sure, Doc muttered, mentally filing away the ‘Moon Key’ reference. At least he didn’t manage to put the brand where he wanted. It’s amazing the effects pain and drugs can have on people. Especially those who’re already predisposed to believe, such as I believe our late enemy was.

Vic shrugged. I don’t feel any different.

You already do what Doc says. Gus put in. So why should it feel any different?

Gus! Vic spluttered. You over-haired banana eating clothes horse!

Gus preened. At least one of us needs to have some appreciation for the finer things in life.

Children must play, Gilly said.

An alarm went off, and Doc turned to answer it; hiding a grin from his associates. Vic must be better since she was already arguing with Gus. The ointment worked.

Heading over to his electronics workbench, Doc turned on a small television display. Armed men were coming up the stairs, led by Commissioner Pennyworth. Flipping switches, he toggled between several cameras he had placed in the stairwells. Pennyworth had half a company of New York’s finest with him, armed with shotguns and tommy guns. They were already above the eightieth floor, which was where he had placed his alarms.

Pennyworth had a document rolled in his hand, and Doc was sure it was a warrant for his arrest. He didn’t recognize the man beside Pennyworth, but he was probably from the District Attorney’s office. He was wearing a pinstripe suit and wire-rimmed glasses. Doc was pretty sure this was the Bundist that Pennyworth had mentioned earlier. Zooming in, he saw that the man had a swastika on his tie pin.

Load up, people! Pennyworth’s on his way with a warrant. It’s time for us to leave!

Moving quickly, they headed toward the elevator. Doc took a moment to grab four packs, one much heavier than the others and tossed three of them toward the team. Gus took the largest pack, and passed the other two to Vic and Gilly. Doc shrugged into his own pack, which was only slightly lighter than Gus’s and picked up an extra pistol, loaded with explosive bullets.

Doc was the last one into the elevator, and as the doors closed he turned back to see fire axes breaking through the door from the stairwell. They’d just made it clear in time.

So what’s the plan, Doc? Vic was bouncing a little as they rode the elevator down. Are we going to have to fight them?

Not unless you’re loaded with rubber bullets.

Rubber bullets? Vic shook her head. What’s the point of shooting someone you don’t want to kill?

I think it has to do with a desire to avoid the electric chair, Gus said, though I believe Doc would ascribe it to some sort of reverence for human life.

Doc remained silent, planning. Somebody wanted him off the board. The question was who? All he had at the moment were questions, and what he needed were answers. More to the point, he knew there were questions he knew that he didn’t have enough information to ask. The one thing he did know was that there were answers in Africa.

Once the doors opened, Gilly sprinted toward the armored car. I’ll drive.

We’re not taking that one.

Why not? Vic complained. I like the upholstery.

We don’t want to shoot anyone we don’t need to, and that car’s temptation on four wheels. Doc gestured. We’ll take the sedan.

Gilly took the driver’s seat while Gus and Vic hopped into the back. Doc jumped onto the running board. Head for Cibola, we can discuss the rest in the air.

Gilly floored it and the sedan roared up and into the street. Police officers were already flooding out of the lobby, led by the Bundist. Reaching into his vest, Doc pulled a sleep grenade and threw it into the crowd. It shattered silently at the Bundist’s feet, and he collapsed with a dozen cops around him. Pennyworth came out the door, waving a warrant and yelling something Doc couldn’t quite hear.

The police officers obviously heard Pennyworth, and they dropped to their knees and raised their guns to their shoulders. Gilly took them around the corner just before the officers opened fire.

Sirens screamed from behind them as Gilly wove through traffic, taking turns a racing driver would have envied. Doc rode the running board like a surfer riding a wave, keeping his balance despite Gilly’s driving. Cibola Holdings was only a few minutes away, but they had to get there before the police stopped them. Once they reached Cibola they could get a plane. If Pennyworth’s men caught up with them they would be sitting ducks for whatever this Eldest Flame wanted. The Zeppelin had come from the Congo, Schmidt wanted him in the Congo; maybe answers would be in the Congo too.

#

Doc hopped off the running board and lowered the door behind them while Gilly parked the car against the wall. They were in the Cibola Holdings warehouse which Doc used to store his private air fleet. One corner held a monoplane pursuit ship that was faster and more maneuverable than anything the Army Air Corps had in its inventory. A twin to the autogyro he kept at the Republic State Building sat beside it. Not for the first time, Doc wished there was room to store his own private airship so that he didn’t have to keep it upstate, but there was no getting around the fact it was