Chapter 14
Threats Under Water,
Threats Under Ground
He didn't pause to see his order carried out. Instead he vaulted into the water. There was little splash as his powerful strokes knifed his body through the chop. He reached the seaplane more quickly than if he had rowed in the dinghy.
Clambering aboard and flashing into the cabin, Doc immediately reappeared at the open hatch. "Renny!" he shouted.
The engineer, head bobbing alongside those of the runabout's crew, turned to see Doc launch another of the metal cases in his direction. Renny swam to meet the case as it splashed down. He had no worry of the case sinking; it was designed to be bouyant.
By the time Renny had the case open, Doc was beside him helping pass the contents out to the Navy personnel -- compact scuba devices. Each man swiftly donned a device and checked its operation.
"Stay beneath the surface at all times," Doc directed, then the entire group ducked below the water line.
Moments later, against the surging sounds of the water, the group all heard a pop -- Doc turned to see the rapidly-dwindling-from-existence remains of the dinghy float from sight.
As each of the swimmers fought the bouyancy of the sea water, they craned their necks to peer toward the surface. Renny gulped as he watched the shards of light shatter, form anew, and shatter again where the water met the air. The sky's reddish hue was clearly visible through the shifting presence of the surrounding water.
When the engineer glanced at Doc, he saw the bronze man signalling him with sign language. Renny responded in kind: "After we arrived in the seaplane yesterday, we waited about 20 minutes for the bleeding sun effect to disperse."
Again using his fingers, Doc asked, "And the melting was already far along?"
Renny nodded yes, then added, "The ship was nearly gone when we got there."
Doc replied, "We may have to wait about an hour before returning to the surface."
Renny asked, "Will the breathing gear last that long?"
Doc could probably last twice as long as that period, thanks to his extensive training. But the others? Doc answered: "Almost. But no."
The bronze man directed the assemblage to remove belts, shoestrings, clothing, and anything else they could use to tie together and form a patchwork line. With the articles tied together, Doc then signed to the men to show them how to conserve their air supply by regulating their air flow and breathing. Next, he had each man lash his grip to the crudely fashioned line.
The bronze man slipped his head and one shoulder through a loop at one end of the line. He gestured to Renny and the sailors, then started swimming at an even pace, tugging the others away from the tainted water.
Doc was the best choice for this chore. Trained from birth until as an adult he was a remarkable physical specimen -- indeed, was likely one of the finest athletes on the planet -- he could labor at great exertions seemingly tirelessly. Further, he was able to work with greater economy of motion and expenditure of energy than most normal people. Even Doc had his limits, of course. But everyone in the group had stripped down to his shorts, essentially streamlining their passage through the water.
The boundary of the bleeding sun effect was unknown. It might be a score of yards, it might be miles. But Doc swam on, headed toward the general direction of Norfolk, hoping to reach the extent of the deadly peril, staying beneath the surface of the water, before he and his fellows ran out of air.
The sailors marveled as the shifting light that passed down through the choppy ocean waves drifted over the amazing musculature of the bronze marvel who swam in the lead of their group. Corded tendons popped into sight and subsided, muscles rippled like running water, flowed like fluid bronze. And steadily, unswervingly, Doc pulled the group onward.
Never had the sailors seen the like. Even Renny, who had seen Doc perform incredible feats, was impressed.
After thirty minutes of unwavering exertion, Doc paused, treading water while he rested. Ten minutes later he resumed his efforts. The sailors in tow shook their heads in amazement.
Fifteen minutes later, the bronze man paused again. A few moments later, against the noise of the surging ocean, the steady sound of a churning prop came to the ears of the group. Doc, still cautious regarding the bleeding sun menace, stripped a shirt from the makeshift rope, wrapped his hand and arm to the shoulder, then removed his scuba device. He kicked toward the surface, then lifted the device into the air and waved it around while keeping his head and the rest of his body beneath the water. The shine of sunlight reflected from the scuba's metallic parts and caught the attention of the crew on the approaching craft.
Doc brought his arm back under the water and inspected the shirt. There was no evidence that it was evaporating into nothingness, so the bronze man signaled to his companions that it was all right to surface.
When all five heads broke the water to breathe in open air, the first thing each man saw was the Navy tug on its way to the ghost PT. The captain had altered her course to pick up the men after spotting Doc's signal. The craft was ungainly, homely, and her paint job could not hide the scars that years of hard usage had provided, but to the crowd in the water, the tug was the most beautiful sight they had seen in a long time.
After everyone was aboard and Doc had explained the situation to the tug's skipper, the captain notified Norfolk by radio. Then the tug continued on its way to the unmanned PT.
"This is the first chance we've had to talk, Doc," Renny said. "What do you think was behind that attack?"
"Im afraid that my presence endangered you all, Renny," Doc said. "I think the attack was an attempt to get me out of the picture. According to the woman known as Black Cat Jackson, the mystery man behind this plot -- the so-called Blind Man -- is very concerned about my involvement."
"Sounds like he's scared of you, Doc. Or maybe he hates you."
The bronze man had no response.
"So, the bleeding sun attack on us," Renny continued. "Do you think a spy back at the base reported our whereabouts?"
"It's possible," Doc said. "But it's also possible that someone not associated with the Navy was spying on our movements from long-distance with binoculars or a telescope. What sort of plane passed over the PT?"
"I didn't see it," Renny admitted, "but I bet those sailors did."
Indeed, all three sailors saw the aircraft whose passage preceded the spread of the bleeding sun effect.
"It was painted to be hard to spot against the sky," one of the runabout crewmen said. "But it was clearly a German plane."
His fellows agreed. One added, "From my sighting, I'd say it was a Focke-Wulf Condor."
"Didn't the Germans use those as recon ships?" Renny asked.
Doc nodded. "Usually for long-range missions and night-time transport, as well as bombing runs."
"Holy cow!" Renny cried. "Doc -- is there a group of renegade Nazis running loose, refusing to surrender?"
"They might be helpin' the Japs," one sailor suggested.
Doc offered no response, but had this newest information radioed to Norfolk.
The tug continued to the PT. Being careful not to touch any surfaces that might have been exposed to the melting chemical, Doc made a cursory examination: hemp lines, exposed rubber gaskets or other parts not made of metal had thoroughly disappeared. After all, this was the PT's second exposure to the bleeding sun. Indeed, even the metal plates of the deck and hull exhibited pitted marks. Glass, a non-porous material, seemed unaffected except for some marring also caused by the second exposure.
The sailors' runabout, a craft made primarily of wood, was no longer shipshape at all. Only a portion of its hull wallowed in the chop.
Admiral Ryan had sent out a fighter to patrol the area and escort the tug back to Norfolk while underway with the PT. Another seaplane arrived from the base. Doc sent Renny aboard it. "I'll return to land in the plane we came in," the bronze man said. "The crate should be sound. If trouble occurs, I'll land or bail, and the plane you're in can pick me up," he explained to the giant engineer.
Doc was fairly confident. After all, the crate's two wing-mounted engines were completely shrouded, protecting any parts that would have been vulnerable to the bleeding sun menace. And the propellers were alloy instead of wood and showed no scars from the melting chemical.
As things turned out, everyone made it back to Norfolk without incident.
Doc and Renny got outfitted in fresh clothing from Renny's quarters -- the spare clothes aboard the tug didn't quite fit the two adventurers. As they came out into the daylight they were met by Lt. Sherman.
"We've got some information on that German plane," he reported. "Spotted heading inland. Here are the approximate coordinates." He handed Doc a sheet of paper. "Apparently it's been through that area several times, but locals thought it was simply a captured plane used by the Navy for some invasion mission, so no one reported it."
"I'll need a map of the surrounding territory," the bronze man said. "Renny and I will head out to investigate."
"I'll tell the admiral so he can order a squad to accompany you."
"No," instructed Doc, "Renny and I'll go alone. We'll be better able to slip around than if we take a large group."
Lt. Sherman frowned. "The admiral won't like that. But I'll tell him"
Soon the two were in a nondescript sedan barreling along a narrow country lane. Renny drove, directed by Doc, who occasionally consulted the map appropriated by Lt. Sherman. Trees stood up in the fence rows lining the road, a sign that any farms in this area had had little tending in the recent past. Soon the fences disappeared, and scrub-choked and unmown fields alternated with thick stands of timber and marshy swamp land drained by numerous streams, which the duo crossed on rickety wooden bridges that had seen their most recent maintenance sometime early in the century. The road was little more than a gathering of ruts resembling a cow path. But no grass grew in the wheel tracks, suggesting that the way experienced enough traffic to keep down any plant growth.
"This country looks pretty empty, Doc," the engineer said, jerking the wheel to dodge a sudden hole.
Doc pointed to a break in the shrubby growth surrounding them. "Stop there."
With the car hidden by the undergrowth and the engine switched off, the two men clambered out. Both turned, listening carefully. Renny heard only the twittering of birds, the chirping of insects and the whispering of the breeze in the grass that came to his knees. If Doc detected anything more, he said nothing about it.
Doc nodded away from the road. "This way." The two waded through the grass to enter another stand of trees, whose thick foliage filtered out so much sunlight that Renny wished he had brought a flashlight in case he and Doc had to remain here until dusk.
After trudging through the undergrowth, avoiding swampy areas and quicksand, and dodging tree branches and grasping briars, Doc cautioned Renny for quiet. Brighter light ahead suggested a break in the trees. Indeed, as the two adventurers advanced, it was clear the the forest ended here, giving way to a great meadow that had been trimmed low to the ground. Within this cleared area were a number of hangars housing planes. A seventh building was smaller, but still quite large. Its doors were shut, so there was no knowing what it might hold. The buildings were constructed so that from the air the structures would look like barns. To complete the illusion, a tractor and wagon were parked out in the open. Three cows also stood about. Renny noticed that the cattle didn't stir, and he realized that they were fake bovines -- papier mache or something similar. But a flier passing over would have no time to detect their counterfeit nature.
Doc motioned for Renny to remain hidden in the trees. The bronze man slithered forward on his belly in the short grass, exploiting whatever irregularities the land offered as additional cover. He had spotted only three men visible at a time -- each moving from one building to another -- but there was no clear way yet to determine the full count of men present.
The clearing was long enough for taking off and landing the planes, which Doc could now tell were all of a German design, like the craft that had strafed the group at the ghost PT with the bleeding sun chemical.
Doc squirmed up to a corner of one hangar. Three men tinkered with the engine of one plane. The plinking sound of cooling metal suggested that the second plane inside had recently returned from a flight.
Carefully, quickly but methodically, Doc checked each of the hangars. Two and three planes were housed in each, along with a number of stacked canisters that the bronze man figured contained the melting chemical.
One of the hangars was empty of mechanics. Doc swept about the place, eyes taking in every detail. He clambered aboard one of the three planes and found the device used for dispersing the bleeding sun chemical. After a few minutes, he left that plane and entered first one and then the other of the remaining craft in the hangar.
In the shadow of the trees, Renny watched Doc scurry from building to building. The giant engineer was constantly amazed at how his bronze leader could seemingly flow and glide like a molten metal ghost without being detected.
Renny jerked his head to the side on hearing a twig snap. There had been plenty of rustlings in the undergrowth and leaves. But this noise didn't sound like that caused by rabbits, birds or squirrels. And that soft background noise had gone quiet, Renny noticed.
The engineer flattened to the ground as the chattering of a sub-machinegun erupted nearby. The treetrunk above him shattered into splinters.
Renny crab-crawled deeper into the forest. He pulled out the automatic pistol he'd brought along and snapped off a couple of shots. Fire thundered back in return.
The engineer scuttled into a depression protected on one side by a deadfall. It served him as a natural foxhole. Gunfire racketed around him. His assailants hadn't spotted his hiding place yet, so he held his fire.
Outside the barnlike hangar, Doc peered from one corner to the remaining structure on the property. The men from the hangars all came and went through the man-sized door beside the larger tractor-sized door arranged on the front of this building.
As Doc considered ways of entering the shed undetected, suddenly the sound of gunfire broke out. The bronze man recognized the sound of a .45 automatic -- likely a Navy sidearm brought along by Renny. The other guns were most certainly sub-machineguns.
Sentries had stumbled across Renny, Doc decided.
Three armed men erupted from the front of the barn. One stopped halfway across the clearing, the next halted a third of the way farther, and the third continued toward the disturbance in the trees. A human line of communication for reporting to the people in the barn, Doc noted.
While attention was directed toward the firefight in the forest, Doc rapidly approached the barn from the opposite side. Staying low, he whirled around the corner and, counting on luck and surprise, whipped into the smaller door.
No one was present within the structure, which consisted of a single large room. The floor was paved with flag stones. A black sedan faced the shed door. More than a dozen windproof lanterns were stacked in a corner. A complex radio setup was arranged against a wall. Any figures and words marked on it were written in gothic German script. Doc saw that it was cleverly wired so that the barn's roof served as the antenna.
There was room enough to park a second veicle beside the first. Doc compared the tire treads to the tracks in the empty space. They didn't match.
At the back of the room, two metal plates were set into the floor, one larger than the other. Doc lifted the pull ring on the larger to reveal a lift such as one might see built into a Manhattan sidewalk to move freight from the street to the basement of a business.
Lifting the second hatch revealed a ladder set into the wall of a vertical tunnel. Doc paused to listen. Sporadic shots let him know that Renny still eluded the guards. The bronze man entered the tunnel and descended.
The basement just below the level of the barn was studded with metal beams to support the floor above. The lift was constructed to continue downward below this basement level. Several feet away, Doc located a fiireman's pole and a metal spiral staircase that led to a lower level. Peering through the hole through which the brass shaft plunged, the bronze man made sure the coast was clear. Then he went down the spiral steps.
The walls were not covered but were raw earth and stone, left just as the diggers had cut through the ground. Thick beams shored up the roof and walls at regular intervals. Small lights were attached to the walls every fifty feet or so, connected by a metal conduit. Other shafts broke off at right angles. Clearly whoever was behind this scheme had been working on this plan for quite a while -- perhaps years. For it would take much time and effort to create what appeared at first glance to be an extensive network of tunnels.
The floor was hard-packed earth. Still, it showed multiple wheel tracks as though heavy loads had been carted to or from the lift that connected the tunnels to the barn above.
Doc advanced rapidly along the main tunnel. He investigated a few of the offshoot tunnels, entering about fifty or sixty feet into each. These secondary tunnels were narrower than the primary artery, and the wall lamps were set farther apart. Other than that, Doc spotted no details that explained their purposes or destinations.
The sound of tromping feet suddenly broke into the quiet of the tunnels. A group was running toward Doc. Before they came into sight, the bronze man dodged into one of the side tunnels. He stepped far enough away from the main tunnel to be hidden when five men, armed with German-made machine pistols fitted with 35-round magazines, dashed past. Small arms such as these were what Doc had heard used against Renny.
After Doc heard the group using the lift to ascend to the barn, he continued along the main tunnel, briefly investigating the secondary tunnels. All but one of these latter proved mysterious, boring on into the distance. That exception turned out to be a short passage to a wooden door.
Doc quickly used his picking tools to open the padlock that secured the door. On the other side was a store room. The bronze man used a pen-sized flash to illuminate the area. He twisted the barrel of the pen to charge the light.
Cannisters and barrels of liquids and powders filled the room, floor to ceiling. Each container was marked in German, Japanese or Italian. Doc judged these to be the raw materials used in fabricating the melting chemical.
Doc didn't linger. He knew his time here was limited. He shut and relocked the door. He was back in the main tunnel when he heard the elevator descending again.
He bolted for one of the side tunnels. The sound of approaching men grew closer. Then they turned into the very tunnel in which Doc hid!
Written By:
Duane Spurlock
based on notes by:
Kenneth Robeson
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