Operation Paperclip - Chapter 5
The Epic Conclusion!
Table of Contents if you need to catch up before reading this chapter.
CHAPTER 5
Barely feet ahead of their relentless pursuer, Alan and the goggled Spy Smasher scrambled out of the shaft. Their luck had held and the lift car had ascended to a higher floor, leaving the door at ground level accessible to them when they reached it. The two men had desperately clawed at the metal gate, managing to raise it and dive through just ahead of their mechanical pursuer. A second later, the robot’s clawed hand burst through the half raised metal gate and it dragged itself out of the shaft, chunks of metal raining down around it as it ripped through the door behind them.
Neither man wasted time looking back. They simply ran as fast and directly away from the robot as they could. They needed room to manoeuvre and time to plan but were entirely out of both.
“Give me the belt” Alan snapped as he paced Spy Smasher.
The masked Smasher hesitated, then pulled off and handed him the goggles and cowl in one motion. Hop Harrigan’s sweaty, exasperated face looked back at him, bewildered.
“You want the outfit now? Helluva time to accessorize!”
Alan waved off the mask and goggles, snatching the utility belt instead.
“This isn’t about fashion, Hop,” he bellowed between whooping breaths, “The belt’s the key.”
The robot barged through the door of the building behind them like a battering ram with legs. Its eyes glowed hot, chest venting steam, footsteps shaking the ground as it accelerated.
“It climbs. It runs,” Hop complained, “It better not fly or I quit!”
They ran on.
The building, already in disrepair before being battered by a giant robot, collapsed behind them with a thundering boom. Against their instinct, both turned to look at the noise, only to see that the machine was steadily gaining on them. They turned sharply down an alley, hoping that they might have better agility than the surprisingly speedy
metal behemoth.
On the face of it, the two humans were much nimbler than Dr. Satan’s robot, but it was much more single minded. Rather than following its quarry around the sharp corner, it thrust one arm out, into the wall of the building that framed the alley and hauled its massive metal bulk through the wall, cutting the corner and blasting out of the far wall only steps behind the two men.
Voices rose in protest at the thunderous noise of the machine’s passage, only to turn to panic as the remaining walls of the building began to wobble and tilt. People scrambled out and into the streets and alleys in all directions as the entire structure became the second casualty of the robot’s rampage. Hop and Alan, nearing exhaustion, ran on. As they ran, Alan was clawed at the compartment in the large diamond-shaped belt buckle. His hands worked by muscle memory alone, his mind and eyes fully engaged in running desperately for his life.
They barrelled through the village, kicking up dust, knocking over crates, spilling carts, barrels and even an entire fruit stand behind them slow the steel and steam nightmare that was running them to ground. The robot followed like a mechanical hurricane, clay pots, chairs, tables and fruit swirled in its path like a demented tornado. Vendors screamed. Livestock scattered. A goat did a shockingly acrobatic back flip to avoid being stomped into mutton.
The panic surged ahead of the running men like a wave, the screams and crashes of the pursuit alerting the villagers that this was no ordinary afternoon. In the manner of panicked people everywhere, the villagers managed to make matters worse. Instead of running away from the noises, they ended up in the men’s path.
Hop grabbed a baby carriage mid-roll as he vaulted over it and spun it clear of the robot’s oncoming path. Alan scooped a stunned and flailing nun out of his way and deposited her as gently as he could in the shelter of a doorway without missing stride. He still had the belt, his fingers frantically tapping, flipping and spinning the controls within.
“Any time now with the magic trick!” Hop yelled, dodging a wheelbarrow full of melons. On a whim, he hoisted one and tossed it like a football at the robot’s head. It impacted with a splat, but if it had any effect, it wasn’t a helpful one. The robot churned up the dirt of the road as it continued its relentless pursuit.
Alan didn’t look up. Beneath his fingers, the switches and dials finally snapped into the configuration he needed. He snapped the compartment shut and wrapped the belt around his waist, muttering under his increasingly ragged breath.
“Okay, we gotta lead that thing away from the buildings. Find open ground.”
“While we’re running for our lives?!” Hop yelled, incredulous. “The buildings are the only things between us and steaming, crushing death!”
“Open ground!” Alan shouted, wheeling off to his right towards what he hoped was the last line of buildings in the tiny town. Not that there were many buildings left, he thought wryly.
They broke into open ground. No walls. No stalls. No cover, at all. The jungle had been cleared for half a mile around the little village and there wasn’t so much as a tall tree to hide behind. The robot stalked forward, its pace unhurried now.
“Oh no,” Hop muttered. “I don’t want to go out like a tin of beans.”
The robot raised its arms.
Then the sky screamed.
Spy Smasher’s plane dove in from the sun, cannons blazing. The first volley staggered the robot. The second tore open its chest and it lost the ability to walk. It stood, casing ripped open, steam spewing from a dozen holes in its body, arms flailing uselessly in a parody of the deadly menace it had been only moments earlier. The plane wheeled and dove again, the third volley sending the dying robot flying back in a shower of sparks and smoke, arms spinning like broken windmills, beating randomly against the ground.
It landed in pieces. Then caught fire. Then exploded for good measure. A pile of scrap metal once again, this time for good.
The plane landed a dozen yards away, hissing and ticking. Its canopy opened with a hiss.
“That. Was. Amazing!” Hop shouted, breathlessly. He sounded like he would have jumped and whooped for joy but he was too busy doubling over to catch his breath and keeping himself from throwing up.
“Belt does more than hold my pants up,” Alan replied as he sent more commands to the plane as it taxied to a stop. Still gasping for the breath to speak, he clicked the device decisively shut. “But it helps with that too.”
Alan put a friendly hand on Hop’s shoulder, giving his buddy a grateful shake. “You swooped in there like my guardian angel, Hop. I’m glad you got the message when I used the old code. I figured those zombie goons had at least one or two guys held back to report, so I couldn’t just tell you the plan. Thank you.”
“No sweat, buddy,” Hop answered. “Your outfit was a tight fit but t was kinda fun playing hero. Terrifying. But fun.”
Hop took a breath and continued, “So how many people could have leaked your identity to Dr. Satan?”
“Not many,” said Armstrong, “but he’s got working mind control, so I don’t think it was a leak, more likely Satan extracted the information against someone’s will.” He gave Harrigan’s shoulder a friendly squeeze and added, “Your grand entrance might make him rethink the reliability of intelligence gathered via syringe.”
“We can hope,” said Hop. An audible grinding sound came from his left leg as shifted his weight and he had to reach out and steady himself against Armstrong’s arm. “Damn. Dode’s gonna kill me!” he spat.
“Why, what’s wrong?”
“I busted my leg!” he exclaimed. For emphasis, he tugged up his pant leg and lifted his left foot off the ground, balancing himself against his friend. The foot dangled grotesquely. He shook his leg and the foot fell to the ground with a metallic clunk. “She swore I couldn’t break this one. Mr. Wang spent a weak on the gyro stabilizing stuff and she used some special alloy to strengthen the frame. Said it was ‘Hop-proof’.”
“Well, whoever ‘Dode’ is, she couldn’t have expected you’d be running from giant killer robots,” observed Armstrong.
“You don’t know the company she keeps,” said Hop with a sly smile.
“So, can you...hop?” asked Armstrong. As he spoke, Harrigan was unfastening the cape from his borrowed uniform and handing it to him.
“I’ll manage. At least my plane isn’t on fire this time,” Hop answered with a grin. “Might as well live up to my nickname.”
“The cape suits you. You should get one of your own,” Armstrong suggested, turning toward the village in the dying light of the day. With practiced movements, he fastened the cape around his neck.
“And what, run around calling myself ‘Super-Pilot’ or something? Nah. I’ll leave the cape and cowl to you and Captain Midnight. I’m no hero, just a crazy fly-boy with a bunch of weird friends.”
“I’d take ‘Super-Pilot’ over ‘Spy Smasher’ any day. I’d love to get my hands on the nitwit that hung that code-name on me. Sounds like something out of the funny pages.”
“You’re talking to a guy with one leg that everybody calls ‘Hop’, Spy Smasher. I’ll see your nitwit and raise you the knucklehead that hung that on me while he was cinching up the tourniquet. I should have left him in the burning crate after I got us back on the ground.” He sighed deeply and finished, “But, I protect small children and knuckleheads.”
“And Spy Smashers,” smiled Armstrong.
“They always seem to need it.”
Smoke rose from a half a dozen small fires and at least two more collapsed buildings in the village. The villagers were gathered at the last line of intact buildings, curiously peering out towards the two men and the pile of metal that had just destroyed their home.
“Time to go, Hop,” said Spy Smasher. Somehow, in the few moments since the robot’s destruction and the plane landing, he’d managed to don his signature cowl and goggles. He was still wearing his open, civilian shirt beneath the cape, but his identity was hidden and Spy Smasher had work to do. “See that the gang puts together an air drop to help these people rebuild, will you?”
“Aerodrome City will take care of it, no sweat, Spy Smasher.” Harrigan knew his friend well enough to use his code name again now that he was back in uniform. The secret that OSS Special Agent Alan Armstrong was actually Spy Smasher, the former national hero now wanted for espionage by every agency in the United States was known only to a few and with any luck they had muddied the waters enough with their ruse to keep Dr. Satan guessing, where ever he had slunk away to.
They climbed into the cockpit, Alan behind the stick, Hop in the backseat.
“So what now?” Hop asked as they lifted off. “Dr. Satan has a head start and you can’t be seen in the states like that,” he finished, gesturing at Spy Smasher’s outfit.
“Alan Armstrong goes back to work at the OSS, without the fancy get up. Then we call in some muscle. Satan isn’t done and with his technology and some time he has the ability to create a small army.”
“Captain Midnight?”
“Yeah. Tell her to start with Silk City.”
END
Spy Smasher and Hop Harrigan Will Return
This story is available to own. It is a backup feature in Dr. Satan and the Element of Evil.
If you enjoyed the story, please leave a comment, like or restack.
If you buy a copy of the book, please consider leaving a review at Amazon.
Sales help today, reviews help for life!