CHAPTER I
DANGER IN NEW YORK
A cheery afternoon sun bore down on the steamer, Carinthia, as a stream of happy passengers swarmed down the gangplank. A brisk, late autumn wind freshened the harbor air and kept the walkers moving briskly to avoid a chill. Friends and family exchanged greetings with long absent loved ones and the atmosphere was alive with laughing and chatter. A smartly dressed young woman descended to the dock and looked about herself, eyes wide at her first sight of New York. Tall and slender, with a shy, almost waifish disposition, she seemed to hold herself separate from the throng about her.
"Gabi!"
Hearing a familiar voice, the young woman looked around herself. Raising one hand to shield her eyes from the sun, she scrutinized the crowd.
"Gabi, over here!"
Gabrielle Rauscher's uncertain features relaxed into a broad smile as she saw the familiar, plump form of her friend, Dr. Mitzi Rowan bounding toward her through the press. She had just enough time to extend her arms before she was enveloped in a well-remembered, enthusiastic hug. Catching some of Mitzi's infectious cheeriness, Gabrielle was soon flashing a sparkling grin and trying to address a few of Mitzi's non-stop questions about the trip, her family, and life in her home country of Greater Neusteria.
It was those questions about Greater Neusteria that Gabrielle passed over with only slight responses, for conditions in her homeland were hard and in the cablegram she had sent from the Carinthia, the Neusterian girl had made it clear she was coming to America to leave them behind. She hoped that she would be able to do so.
As they walked arm in arm toward the line of taxis, Gabrielle looked up at the towering edifices of the city. Although her own country boasted great cities, she had never seen anything like this. She was glad to feel that she was in a new land, beginning a new chapter in her life, far from what she had left behind her.
As she allowed Mitzi to drag her along though, Gabrielle failed to notice sharp eyes that watched her, and a sharp-eyed man in a conservative suit who folded his newspaper and casually followed at a distance. When the two women got into a cab, he hailed another and sped off in pursuit.
* * *
Across town, in her abandoned factory headquarters, the famous aircraft designer and aviatrix, Rachel Rocket, had spent the day lost in the plans taking form on the drafting table in her vast workroom. Rachel's partner, Hank Rowan, the tall and bespectacled husband of Mitzi, worked beside her with equal intensity. A few coffee cups and half eaten sandwiches nestled among the litter of papers, books and ashtrays that overflowed most of the horizontal surfaces nearby. As often happened, they had lost track of time and were debating the use of a new plastic compound versus wood or aluminum for structural members in an aircraft wing when they both jumped at the sound of Mitzi's shouted greeting.
"Didn't you two hear us at the front door? You two get bogged down in those drawings and you wouldn't notice if a plane crashed into the building as long as it didn't land right on the drawing board. Look who's here, it's Gabi!" Mitzi continued her happy monologue as Rachel and Hank emerged, blinking, from their intensely concentrated state.
Quiet as ever, Hank stepped forward to kiss his wife while Rachel beamed her happiness at the reunion with her old friend, Gabrielle. The young Neusterian girl smiled back quietly. Not having warned her friends of her arrival from Europe until she was in mid-voyage, Gabrielle had been slightly apprehensive about how she might be received. Now she saw that her fears had been groundless. Rachel's carefree manner instantly made Gabrielle feel as if the intervening years since their parting had melted away. The young Neusterian girl felt instantly at ease, in a way she seldom did with Americans. Rachel swept a pile of papers off the threadbare couch and the two sat down together. Even under a layer of graphite smudges, Rachel was still a stunning young woman. Her flashing green eyes contrasted with an unruly mass of red hair that fell past her shoulders. Dark, rumpled work clothes seemed to enhance, rather than conceal her feminine charms. Gabrielle found herself slipping once again under the gallant aviatrix's spell, as she had so many years before.
"I hope I am not putting you to any trouble. I feel that I have intruded here, showing up so suddenly," offered Gabrielle.
Rachel shook her head. "Oh Gabrielle, don't even think that. You don't know how happy I was to get your cable. I was just surprised that it was so sudden, after not hearing from you for so long."
"I know," said Gabrielle. "The trip was arranged suddenly. I left home abruptly."
The vivacious redhead nodded her understanding. Even after a separation of many years, she knew her friend well enough to see that there was more to be told. Wisely though, she refrained from asking questions, trusting that all would come out in time. She had her suspicions.
After a couple of hours, Mitzi and Hank were ready to head downstairs to their own apartment. They occupied spacious rooms on a lower floor of the old factory building that Rachel called home. While from the outside, the building appeared to be merely one more abandoned, idle hulk, Hank continued to spend much of his free time in creating a comfortable and cheery home for his doting wife. Now they said their goodnights to Rachel and Gabrielle. Hank cast a final, lingering look at the drafting table as he followed his wife out the door.
Once alone, Rachel and Gabrielle sat down with mugs of coffee from the pot that was kept warm on a hotplate all day. Rachel and Hank took turns brewing the vile elixir that kept them going all day and often all night. The vast room, part of the old manufacturing plant, was quiet and shadowy, save for the few lamps set up around the drafting area. The lights of the city gleamed distantly through tall windows. The two women sat without conversation, each tired and alone with her thoughts.
Rachel could well imagine why her friend would wish to leave Greater Neusteria. The central European nation had paid dearly for choosing to take the wrong side in the World War. Heavy reparations demanded by the Allied Nations had crippled the economy, a situation that spiraled ever downward as the world continued to limp through the Depression. Topping that, the collapse of their ancient monarchy in the aftermath of defeat had stripped the Greater Neusterian Empire of its very identity as a nation. The once-formidable country had been torn apart for nearly a decade by fierce fighting between rival political parties. The present government, a weak coalition that failed to command confidence with the population, struggled to maintain national unity.
Strangely enough though, Gabrielle Rauscher's life should have been made easier in recent years. Her uncle, a right-wing politician, had fought his way to power, eventually winning an influential position in the government. Rachel had met the man briefly during her school days in Europe and had been amused and rather repelled by the eccentric zealot. Years later, she was amazed that this same man had possessed the political savvy to assume the leadership of his nation. Regardless of what she thought of His Excellency, Anton Hessler and his policies, she had respect for his drive to succeed. Until receiving the cable Gabrielle had sent from her ship during the voyage across the Atlantic, Rachel had assumed her friend was enjoying a comparatively comfortable existence as her uncle's favorite niece.
Now though, empty cups were set down. Rachel ushered her guest to the sparsely appointed bedroom where her luggage had been taken. Though the furnishings were simple, it represented the closest thing to luxury in the aviatrix's home. Her own aerie, a room at the very top of the factory tower, boasted little more than a mattress, some shelves for her clothes, and piles of books. After bidding her friend a fond good night, Rachel stepped into the clanking freight elevator that would carry her to her own chamber.
* * *
Outside the factory, the tip of a cigarette glowed in the night. The man behind it, sharp-eyed and clad in a suit, watched intently as lights were shut off one by one and the old factory building surrendered to darkness. Soon the only light that burned was in the window at the top of the tower.
The man crushed out his smoke and walked a block to an all night diner whose lights spilled over the sidewalk in a yellow pool. After ordering pie and coffee, he asked the counterman for permission to use the telephone. A jerked thumb indicated where the instrument was to be found in a far corner. The man in the suit walked over and dialed a number. Looking once over his shoulder to be sure the counterman was not in earshot, he whispered words into the receiver. Apparently hearing an agreeable answer, he smiled thinly and hung up. Again he looked around. The counterman was engrossed in a magazine, unmindful of his customer's activities. Smiling again, this time with real amusement, he walked back to his table to finish his pie.
Not long after, a transatlantic telephone call was placed from a secret location, north of New York City. It passed through switchboards in Paris and Berlin. The signal traveled across Europe until it reached an office in Greater Neusteria.
In that room, a uniformed man listened as words were spoken over a crackling line. He nodded grimly as the information he demanded was given to him. His mind worked quickly and he issued orders with the same speed. He made it clear that he would accept nothing less than complete success. He listened with satisfaction to the simpering promises that were made to him.
As he hung up the receiver he leaned back in satisfaction. The early morning light fell across his face, illuminating the cruel smile that played across his lips. In that light was revealed, the grinning face of Anton Hessler, dictator of the revived Empire of Greater Neusteria.
Back in the secret location north of the city, hasty orders were given. A dozen men checked revolvers and tommyguns. In the wee hours of the night, the men piled into cars and began the ride out to the factory district where their mission lay. The men whispered among themselves, discussing tactics. Heavily armed, the group expected no real opposition to their success.
The cars halted and the men got out to walk the last blocks to their objective. Only the drivers stayed behind, ready to effect a quick getaway. Ahead of the group was their goal, the abandoned factory where Rachel Rocket made her home!
* * * *
CHAPTER II
THE MIDNIGHT ATTACK
Rachel stirred reluctantly at the first sound of the buzzer. She had only been asleep for an hour or so. For a moment she was inclined to ignore the insistent noise and return to her slumber, but as it continued, she threw back her blankets and rolled off the mattress. A light over her desk was flashing its urgent warning.
There could be no doubt now in Rachel's mind. She had designed the system to warn her of intruders in the building. Had the light activated by itself, she might have been inclined to think that Gabrielle had left her room in the night and tripped the alarm somehow. But the buzzer was set to warn of a break-in from the outside. Unwelcome visitors had entered the building and were prowling through her home.
Rachel picked up a pair of headphones and settled them over her ears. The wire hanging from the headset ended in a metal jack. On the wall over Rachel's desk was a black box, similar to the switchboard used by a telephone operator. She plugged the jack into one of the outlets in the box and listened briefly, then removed the plug and tried another one. This system had been built by Rachel and Hank in order to pinpoint the location of intruders from the safety of their own rooms. The black box was connected to sensitive listening devices placed in rooms throughout the factory building. By plugging into different jacks and using the earphones, Rachel could listen in on unwelcome invaders, learning their location and gaining an idea of their numbers and plans. An identical device existed in Hank and Mitzi's apartment. Even now they must be going through the same motions as Rachel.
The brilliant redhead moved the jack methodically down the line of outlets, listening briefly but attentively at each, until she finally heard the sounds she sought. The raiders had moved swiftly, for they were now already in her workroom, the vast chamber where she and Hank had spent the day laboring at the drafting table. From the sound of their voices Rachel could tell they were strangers, and from the words they spoke she was sure they were up to no good. She touched a switch on a microphone and spoke softly, "Intruders. Location fourteen."
"Copy," the answer crackled from the other end of the line in Hank and Mitzi's apartment.
"Plan twenty-seven," ordered Rachel.
"Copy," came the answer, once again.
Rachel took one more precaution before going into action. Stepping to a bank of switches on the wall, she activated the device which locked the door to the chamber where Gabrielle was lodged. Her guest was not trapped, for the door could be opened from the inside. However, it would take nothing less than an explosive charge to breach the steel-reinforced portal from without.
With her friend safe for the moment, Rachel manhandled a large piece of equipment onto a handcart and wheeled it into the elevator. Pressing the button, she closed the door and sent the car clattering down the shaft to the ground floor. With controls on the wall beneath the elevator button, she regulated the car's speed so that it descended very slowly on its long trip downward.
When the gang heard the whine of the elevator motor and the rattle of its descent, they crept through the darkness to take positions in front of the door. Holding their guns at the ready, they were prepared to greet the arrival of defenders with a withering hail of lead that would leave no doubt as to their safety to search the premises at their leisure. Pistols and tommyguns were leveled as they heard the car come to rest at the bottom of the shaft. With tense anticipation they waited for the building's owner to step forth.
The door slid open. The gangsters peered closely into the shadowy depths of the car. What they saw did not appear to be human.
Suddenly, every one of the intruders screamed. Many dropped their guns as they hastily raised their hands to shield their tormented eyes. A dazzling flash of light had burst from the device Rachel had placed aboard the elevator car, leaving the raiders temporarily blinded.
The gallant aviatrix had not been aboard the elevator when the door opened. Instead, she had descended the stairs and waited on the landing behind a door with a small, tinted glass pane. When she saw the flash, muted by the darkened window, she flung open the barrier and leaped forth.
With her own eyes still accustomed to the dim illumination of the factory at night, Rachel knew she had several seconds to subdue the intruders or escape if the odds against her were too great. She required only the briefest glance at the twenty men before she made her decision. Without further hesitation, she charged.
Her bare feet silent on the concrete floor, her dark clothing rendering her nearly invisible, Rachel was among the blinded gangsters before they knew it. Their first clue that a fighter had appeared among them was outraged howls of pain that erupted as the baseball bat she had carried with her cracked against knees or thudded heavily into midsections. In moments, the space in front of the elevator was aswarm with stumbling raiders who shrieked, collided with each other, and shouted contradictory orders. Some of those who still had their guns began firing wildly, placing their own compatriots at greater risk than the swiftly-moving redhead. Realizing the danger, Rachel's bat smashed into the gun hands of the blinded shooters.
The battling aviatrix had no interest in a fair fight, preferring to use her wits to score as quick and decisive a victory as possible, but she had no desire to see death or serious injury if it could be prevented by quick action. In disarming the gunmen, she acted to protect the invaders as well as herself.
By now, half the intruders were writhing on the floor, clutching various aching parts of their anatomies. Rachel, winded by her furious exertions, was glad to see Hank storm into the midst of the fray. The raiders were beginning to regain their sight now, and would soon be dangerous. Yet even had they the full command of their vision they would have had trouble following the movements of Hank's hands and feet, so quickly did he move. The spectacled technician was a master of oriental techniques of unarmed combat. Moving like a human whirlwind, he disabled one raider after another with precisely aimed kicks and jabs.
In moments, the gang was subdued and the two defenders stood panting over a floor carpeted with fallen men. The battle had been swift and the outcome sure ... or so they thought! A shot cracked out and a humming slug smacked into the brick wall behind them. Rachel and Hank hit the floor. Even as they dropped, their eyes were darting about, searching for the source of the gunfire. Rachel pointed toward the machine shop. Quickly, she rapped out an order.
"Stay here."
And with that she was up and running into the darkness.
The machine shop was a long cavern of a room that intersected at right angles with the main factory floor where Rachel had set up her workspace. Having been arranged to accommodate the production of a large workforce, the giant room was filled with rows of great, hulking metal-working machines. The shadowy spaces between the iron behemoths provided excellent hiding spots from which a sniper could mount an effective ambush.
Still, Rachel believed that her intimate knowledge of the place gave her a sufficient advantage to go after the man on her own. In the uncertain moonlight that poured in through the windows, neither she nor the gunman could see more than fleeting silhouettes and so Rachel stayed away from open spaces as she searched. With sudden inspiration, she picked up a screwdriver as she passed by a workbench. Considering briefly, she tossed it toward the other side of the room where it clattered as it struck machinery and fell to the floor. As she had hoped, the nervous raider fired.
Spotting the muzzle flash, Rachel altered her path to circle around a huge metal press and come up behind the skulking gunman. Cradling the baseball bat in her hands, she moved forward with a stealthy tread. Her senses, sharpened by darkness and danger, pierced the gloom to give her a sense of the space around her. To her left, she heard the sound of some small metal object knocked to the floor. Without thinking, she turned.
She shook her head, furious at her own gullibility as she heard the words behind her.
"Drop the bat and get your hands up."
The gangster had fooled her with her own trick, tossing an iron bolt off to one side to attract her attention. Rachel let the baseball bat slide from her hands to clatter on the floor. She turned around and looked into the jittery gunman's eyes. He held his revolver pointed at her face.
"I oughtta kill you right now, lady," he hissed. "But all I want is to get clear of this place and you're my ticket out."
Rachel looked terrified. She gasped for air, trying to gain control of her emotions. "Whatever you say," she answered.
"That's right," said the gunman. "We're gonna walk out of here nice and easy, because you're coming with me."
Rachel raised her hands a bit higher. She continued to take deep, fearful breaths. Despite himself, the gunman's eyes wandered downward from her face to rest upon her ample, heaving bosom.
Suddenly his eyes snapped wide. He made a strangled, gurgling noise. With mouth wide open and back arched, his body quivered uncontrollably. The gun slipped from his nerveless fingers. His legs buckled and he collapsed to the floor, paralyzed.
"Good work, Rache!" It was the chirping voice of Mitzi. She stepped up from where she had stood behind the man as he held Rachel at gunpoint. Looking down at the twitching gangster, she remarked, "Shocking!" and giggled.
Rachel groaned at the joke and picked up the mobster's revolver. She emptied the chambers and slipped the unused bullets into a pocket. "Thanks, Mitzi," she said.
Mitzi grinned happily. In her hands she held a long, black tube which ended in two metal prongs. When she pressed a switch with her finger, an electric spark leaped between the prongs.
"Careful you don't run down the battery," warned Rachel.
"Oh, that's okay," said Mitzi. "I don't think I'll be needing it anymore tonight, will I, hon?" She nudged the fallen man with her toe.
The weapon Mitzi held had been dreamed up by Hank. His wife refused to carry a gun and he felt she needed some means of protection, given the adventurous nature of their lives. The device was powered by a compact battery, and when the metal prongs were pressed against a living creature, in this case the gunman who had invaded Rachel's factory home, a simple press of the button on the handle would deliver an electrical shock which would overwhelm the nervous system and leave the victim temporarily paralyzed. The effects were short term and not intended to inflict any lasting damage. Mitzi considered the device to be amazingly clever and loved using it.
"We need to get this guy back to the group before he recovers," said Rachel. "He won't stay down for long."
"Great!" chirped Mitzi. "Let's get to the bottom of all this."
)
The Pulp Thrills Continue In This All-New 1930s Style Magazine! Fans of The Spider, Doc Savage, and The Shadow won't want to miss the second pulse-pounding issue of Nemesis, featuring Rachel Rocket, the Winged Nemesis of Foreign Terror, in the book-length novel of Nazi treachery in the skies, "Hell Wings over Manhattan." It's the late 1930s, and enemy spies have honeycombed the cities of the United States with their corrupting burrows. Like termites, they shun the light of liberty, even whole they seek to snuff it out and replace it with the sinister darkness of Fascism. Then their leader, The Demolition Master and his fifth columnists launch an assault of death and destruction upon the heart of New York City. This merciless agent of the Gangster Nations rains terror down on to the great metropolis with an unstoppable armada of explosives-laden robot planes, and all a helpless populace can do is watch the skies and prepare to evacuate the city. But the American spirit of youth and freedom refuses to submit meekly. Rachel Rocket, the beautiful, red-headed pilot, and her comrades have vowed to man the nation's defenses against the threat of Totalitarianism. When Nazi treachery puts her best friend, Dr. Mitzi Rowan, in a hospital room hovering between life and death, and lays her partner, Hank Rowan, low with a gangster's bullet in his body, Rachel Rocket must take to the skies alone to save America from the evil plans of a mad, Axis dictator and his evil henchmen. Aided only by her skill and daring, Rachel pits herself against gangster hordes, the Axis' greatest aerial Aces, and the masked spymaster from an enslaved, central European country, when the heavens explode and "Hell Wings Over Manhattan." Plus spine-tingling science fiction stories, including EPPIE nominee Stefan Vucak's "Hunger," author J. D. Crayne's disturbing "Point of View," Hugo Award winner Larry Niven's "No Exit," written with Jean Marie Stine, and a classic novelette of space ship mystery by the king of space opera, Edmond Hamilton. Cover: Stephen Adams.
