Greg Cox - A Touch of Fever

An ingenious mechanism, designed by the famed Dutch aeronautical engineer Anthony Fokker, synchronized the guns’ fire with the motion of the propeller so that the bullets shot through the spinning blades without damaging them. The twin muzzles flared a brilliant purple. The guns rattled over the storm. A round of handcrafted 8mm ammo chipped away at the flying totem but failed to kill it. A neutralizing compound had been mixed with the alloy to give it more punch against renegade artifacts and their effects. Sap, not blood, dripped from the gouged wood. Did the unnatural creature even have any vital organs to hit? The Red Baron had died from a single shot to his heart, but the thunderbird was made of wood, not flesh and blood. Even with the glowing purple bullets, how was one supposed to kill it? He tried targeting its head, but the bird banked hard to the left. Artie wasted a round on empty air. The DR-1 had been faster and more maneuverable than its peers back in the Great War, but the thunderbird had it beat by a long shot. The monster zigged and zagged before him, making it all but impossible to get a bead on. Not that he even knew where to shoot. “Tracer rounds!” he shouted back at Claudia. “Give me the tracer rounds.” Fumbling awkwardly, she reloaded the right-hand gun.

This was a difficult operation to perform in midair, but her agile fingers were used to handling intricate mechanisms under pressure. She had once defused a doomsday bomb with seconds to spare. “Locked and loaded!” she reported. “Light her up!” Artie opened up the throttle to catch up with the bird. An elevated water tower suddenly loomed in front of the thunderbird, which smashed right through it, emerging intact from the other side. Twin cataracts of water poured down onto the already flooded street fair, washing away booths and bandstands, even as the punctured tower loomed directly in the triplane’s path.

“Artie, watch out!” “I see it!” he shouted back. “I’m not blind, you know!” “Could’ve fooled me.” Artie pulled back on the stick, and the Fokker climbed steeply. He held his breath. History recorded that the DR-1 sometimes lost power climbing at high altitudes, but he hoped that wouldn’t be a problem here. The tower filled the view before him, so close that he could read the graffiti spray-painted on its tank.

The Class of 2010 “ruled,” apparently. “Artie?” Claudia asked nervously. “We’re going to make it. Probably.” Climbing at top speed, the triplane barely cleared the towers. Its landing gear scraped the top of the empty tank, sending a bump up his spine. He wondered if Vanessa knew a good chiropractor. “Ouch!” Claudia got bounced as well.

“You have flown this thing before, right?” “I never said that.” He switched into lecture mode. “But this plane is an extension of the Red Baron. His tactical genius and flying skill passed into it upon his death.” The controls felt alive in his hands, guiding him in their use. “It practically flies itself!” “‘Practically’?” Her eyes searched the cockpit. “And the parachutes are…?” “There aren’t any,” he explained. “No room.” “Now he tells me.” “Never mind the parachutes.”

He eased up on the stick, leveling off at about five hundred feet above the town. Fortunately, Univille was not known for its skyscrapers. Few buildings were more than three stories high. “Just keep your eye out for that bird!” He had lost track of their avian adversary. Where had it gotten to? “Incoming!” Claudia shrieked in his ears. “Dead ahead!” The thunderbird brought the battle to them. It dived at the Fokker head-on, its talons extended. The triplane rose to meet it, playing a deadly game of aerial chicken. Artie got the wooden monster in his sights. “Let’s see just how flammable you are.” He opened fire with the tracers. The incendiary rounds, which contained phosphorus as well as neutralizer, burned brightly, blazing through the rain, before strafing the thunderbird’s chest. Flames ignited, causing spilled sap to bubble and blacken. Burnt paint chipped off.

The bird broke away, screeching in rage. Smoke trailed behind it.

Golden sparks flashed amidst the fumes. “We did it!” Claudia cheered.

“Burn, baby, burn!” Artie appreciated her team spirit but held off from celebrating until he knew for sure that the threat was over.

Years of experience had taught him never to underestimate an angry artifact. That wary attitude had kept him alive and sane longer than any other Warehouse agent in recent memory. He wasn’t ready to fly a victory lap just yet. “Not so fast,” he cautioned Claudia. “Keep watching!”’ His reservations proved sadly apposite. Setting the totem ablaze had been a good idea in theory, but the inclement weather worked against them. Soaked timber refused to ignite. Sheets of rain doused the sputtering flames as the thunderbird flapped into the storm, disappearing into a churning black cloud. Wailing winds carried the smoke away. “Blast it!” Artie pounded the dashboard in frustration. “We lost it again!” He climbed after the bird, heading straight into the storm. The Fokker balked; the Red Baron had always refused to fly during thunderstorms, except when directly ordered to.

His plane shared his reluctance. The stick twisted in Artie’s grip, fighting to change course, but he kept a firm grip on the controls and didn’t let the plane veer away from the clouds. A jagged bolt of lightning, frying the airspace before them, tried to warn them off.

Thunder yelled at the plane to keep away. Artie didn’t take the hint.

Claudia blanched behind him. “You sure you know where you’re going?”

“No choice.” They couldn’t let the thunderbird get away. It was too dangerous. There were other towns in South Dakota besides Univille, and many more potential victims. “Brace yourself. This could get bumpy.” The Fokker flew into the clouds. A cold, wet fog enveloped them. Wind and rain buffeted the fragile aircraft, which rocked from side to side. Artie wiped his goggles with his sleeve. A windshield and wipers would have been useful, but those were hardly standard issue back in the days of the Red Baron, who had known better than to wage a dogfight in these sort of conditions. Artie started to wish he had listened to the plane and followed von Richthofen’s example.

Visibility was practically nonexistent. He craned his neck, searching for the enemy. “Do you see it?” “Are you kidding?” Claudia asked.

“It’s like the frigging Mutara Nebula in here!” He didn’t get the reference. “The what? “Dude, you’ve never seen The Wrath of Khan?”

Utter disbelief infused her voice. “We have got to do something about your video literacy!” “Some other time, maybe.” He had been kind of busy for the last forty years, protecting the world and all that.

“Just keep an eye out for that bird!” Lightning flashed on the right, close enough to leave spots before his eyes. That was a close one, he thought, thinking the bolt had missed them. Then he smelled the smoke.

He turned his head in alarm. Bright orange flames danced across the plane’s right middle wing. The crimson canvas crackled and burned, despite the rain. “Leaping lizards!” Claudia yelped. “We’re hit!” “I know!” He doubted the Fokker could fly without all three wings. “Put it out!” “I’m trying!” She dug around for the fire extinguisher, the cramped cockpit slowing her down. Artie scooted forward to give her a little more room, but there wasn’t much to spare. “Hurry!” he nagged her. “The wing’s on fire!” “You think I don’t know that?” She wrestled the extinguisher from the floor of the cockpit. “Got it!” She had to stand up behind Artie to target the blaze. Foam sprayed from the extinguisher as he tried to keep the plane level in the storm, which was no easy task. “Keep her steady, okay?” She shook her head as she fought to maintain her balance. “Seriously, who takes up an old crate like this without parachutes? That’s all I’m saying…” “Less griping, more spraying!” At least the fire extinguisher did its job without complaining. Vaporous bursts snuffed out the flames eating away at the wing. A gust of wind blew some of the foam into Artie’s face. He sputtered and wiped it away… just in time to glimpse a winged silhouette through the fog. He let loose with a round of conventional ammo mixed with tracers. The Spandau machine guns rattled loudly. Muzzle flashes lit up the murky interior of the cloud. “Whoa there!” Claudia dropped back into her seat. The empty extinguisher clunked against the floor of the cockpit. “A little warning next time, hotshot!” Artie lifted his splattered goggles but didn’t see a flaming thunderbird crashing to earth. No indignant squawks had greeted his latest salvo. “Missed it!” “Uh-oh.” Claudia twisted around. “Don’t look now, but we’ve got a T-bird on our tail!” The vengeful totem swooped down on them from behind. Talons raked across the triplane’s upper wings. Canvas tore noisily. Not good, Artie thought. He needed to save the wings before they were shredded beyond repair. He threw the Fokker into a barrel roll, spinning the wings away from the bird.