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"Giving Real Gremlins a Bad Name"
"Giving Real Gremlins a Bad Name"
5/24/1943
I.
Laura Salerno left the Triumph motorcycle near a pair of mechanics who were watching the Flying Fortress warm up. "It's from Baker Company motor pool," she shouted over all the nearby thrumming engines, taking off at a full sprint toward the giant plane that stretched more than a hundred feet long. Taken by surprise, the men stared at her fleeing figure and said nothing until it was too late to ask her any questions.
Average in height, wrapped in a white trenchcoat that reached to her ankles, Laura had long straight black hair that was tangled now by the winds of speeding that Triumph along the back roads. She ran headlong toward the B-17, seized a support handle and pulled herself up into the open doorway.
An airman who had been about to close and lock that hatch swayed back to avoid a collision. "Hey! What the hell...?"
"I'm under orders from Colonel Racicot," Laura told him, only slightly out of breath from the frantic rush to catch this plane. She pulled three folded pieces of stiff paper from inside her coat and waved them under his nose. "I need to show these to your captain."
"Albertini!" roared a bass from the cockpit. "What exactly is going on back there?"
"It's a dame, sir. Says she has orders for you to read."
"Are you kidding me? We're supposed to be in the air right now. Dammit. All right, let's hear her story."
Brought forward into the cramped cockpit, Laura handed the papers over to a short stocky man in a leather bomber jacket with a fur collar. She knew his name was Robert A Lemister. He took his time examining the documents, not glancing over them but reading them carefully. A full minute crawled by before he glared up at her.
What the Captain saw was a good-looking woman no more than a year or two over thirty, with stern clear-cut features and dark brown eyes that stared back at him fearlessly. The black hair reached down past her shoulder blades, even tangled as it was. Under the open trenchcoat, a bright canary-yellow shirt could be glimpsed with a solid bustline. The woman stood waiting, not fidgeting, not flinching from his eyes.
"I wasn't told about any of this," he snapped.
"The orders are clear, captain," Laura replied without heat.
"So they are. I still intend to radio GHQ before we get too many miles behind us. These papers only refer to you as 'this courier.' Got a name?"
"I'm using the name Jane Ralston for the moment," she said. "I'm a civilian advisor, no rank, answering directly to Colonel Racicot."
"A mystery woman! Just what a combat crew needs to foul things up. Fine. Albertini, see that she's secured and harmless. Have her strapped in back by the rear gun turret."
"She can sit on my lap if there's no room back there," offered a voice which drew several guffaws. Laura acted as if she hadn't heard and followed Airman Albertini down the fuselage walkway to a niche next to the steel and glass bubble which held on of the plane's thirteen 50mm machine gun.
There was enough room for her to squeeze in, and a long canvas strap could reach over across her chest to hold her down. Albertini fastened her in, careful not to take the opportunity to brush a hand up against her breasts. This raised her estimate of him. She had been groped a few times under similar circumstances. The fact that her bra was padded with cotton as part of her disguise comforted her with the thought that the mashers were not getting the cheap thrill they thought they were. The wig and the red lipstick and the bright yellow shirt were also ways to change her naturally rather mousy appearance.
"Thank you," she said, settling back. From the first instant she had entered the plane, Laura had been memorizing faces of the ten crew members and matching them against her briefing the night before. Everything lined up with the descriptions.
Watching from the navigation station, a young man who seemed too callow to need a shave gave a long drawn-out wolf whistle. "I'll tell the world, our new guest sure brightens up this battered old skywagon. What did you say your name was, honey, and most importantly, are you married?"
"I'm all business," she retorted, sharply enough. "You think this is only a cargo run where you won't be in harm's way, don't you? Drugs and supplies and equipment to the medics up at Eisenschoff. There's bad news in store for you."
"Hayll, that ain't what I was hoping to hear," he laughed.
Against her left thigh, Laura could feel the reassuring pressure of the Sceptre under her coat. The strange copper-colored metal of its shaft was always warm to the touch. The glimpse she got by peering down inside her unfastened coat showed the blue gem which topped the talisman was gleaming with its own lambent light.
"Every day brings bad news in this war," Albertini grumbled, strapping himself in behind the metal desk with its maps and charts and hooded lamp on a swivel. "I'm sure glad we have two Mustangs heading out with us today."
At those words, Laura Salerno bent forward to peer out the round observation window nearest to her. The nose of a P-51 could barely be seen, flying above and behind their B-17. She presumed the other Mustang would be on the other side of their bomber. That was comforting. Too many of these Flying Fortresses had not come back from missions before they had started to be escorted by smaller faster fighters.
"Attention," crackled the pilot's voice over the com. "We're in stable flight with a heading east-southeast, our ETA with the medics base is in two hours and twenty minutes. All readings are nominal. Miss Ralston?"
"Yes, captain?"
"GHQ confirms the urgency of your mission but they decline to provide any details of exactly what it is or who you are. That makes me unhappy. Do you have anything you want to spill?"
Laura kept her voice impersonal. "My assignment is on a need to know basis, sir." To herself, she prayed that the threat they faced would not force her to explain what had made eight planes crash without obvious cause in the past six weeks.
II.
One hour rushed by, the flight crew being preoccupied with their duties. There were way too many moving parts that could go wrong on a plane this size and they all needed monitoring. Captain Lemister seemed particular concerned that the left starboard motor was running hot. True, the B-17 had a total of four motors and could in emergencies limp home on one but he fretted over any deviation from best shape.
At the station next to where Laura sat, a young man with a pointed nose, overbite and sharp chin tried giving her a smile. "Airman First Class Willie Hoffler at your service, miss. It IS Miss, isn't it?"
Keeping her voice unemotional, Laura said, "It doesn't matter to you whether I'm married or not. This plane and those Mustangs are flying into mortal danger. More than the usual ant-aircraft guns or the likelihood of a few Messerschmitts."
"You don't say. And what would that danger be, sweetheart?"
"With luck, you won't find out. With more luck, we'll get back to base and step out on solid ground alive and whole."
Swiveling around in the gunnery bubble across the walkway, a slightly older man with a thick bristling mustache creaked his head around to get a better look at their visitor. "I've heard that tone of voice before! You're not a poser, ma'am. You mean business. You sound like you've seen combat and more than enough of it."
"Yeah. You could say that."
"Goddam, there's a RAT on board! Did you see it?" yelled the gunner.
"Huh? Where? We policed the entire inside of this bird before take-off."
The captain's voice ordered, "Albertini! See if you can spot any rat but do not, I repeat, do not pull your sidearm! A bullet through a fuel line or oil pump would not help our condition. Am I clear?"
"Yes sir." The lanky young airman unbuckled his restraint and moved toward the rear of the walkway. "All the food aboard is packed away good and airtight, I can't see what any self-respecting rodent would want to be aboard.... ACKK!"
His words ended in a scream of pain and alarm as something thumped against his face and began clawing and biting. It was maybe a foot long, lean and scaly, with no visible tail. The wiry body was clinging to Albertini's head and seriously trying to bite his face entirely off.
In the next split-second, the interior of the plane flared with a blindingly bright flash of blue light that crackled and sizzled like high-voltage wires. Caught in that blast, the creature flew apart into bloody fragments.
Everyone cursed. From the cockpit, Captain Lemister roared, "Quiet! Quiet, all of you! I want you to sound off with status, beginning with you, Greenberg!"
"Chin turret station, no damage," came the quick response.
One by one, seven airmen reported they were unharmed. It was only then that everyone's full attention focused on where their unexpected guest was crouched over Albertini. Laura Salerno let the metal rod dangle from its strap around her wrist as she held the injured man down.
"Take a deep breath, take a breath," she urged. "Let me see. You've got bite marks on both cheeks and your chin, bleeding freely. Thank God he didn't get near your eyes. Men, there have to be a few first aid kits onboard."
Handed the tin box with the big red cross painted on its lid, Laura got to work with alcohol swabs, gauze bandages and white tape. "I worked for two years as a nurse at Metro General in Manhattan," she told the watching crew. "I think you can all breathe a little easier now. This man is no danger, unless those bites get infected but nothing we can do about that right now."
"What in the name of God are you packing?" yelled one of the crew. "Some new hand-held howitzer or what? You splattered that rat to kingdom come."
Over the com, the captain's voice came calm and steady. "I recognize her now. She's been in the newsreels, boys, and the Sunday supplements. It looks like we have been blessed with a genuine celebrity. This is the Sceptre herself."
III.
The excited rush of comments and questions from all over the plane had to be silenced by a shouted command from Captain Lemister. "All of you, stay on duty! Keep an eye on your instruments! This bird won't fly herself. All right then, Sceptre it is. We've all seen the footage of you flying and burning through steel walls and flipping trucks upside-down."
"That's me," she admitted, clicking the first aid kit closed and handing it to a crew member, then moving back to sit in her niche.
"I figured you were only Allied propaganda to scare the enemy and boost our morale," the captain said. "Like that Victory Eagle clown wrapped in red white and blue."
Laura scoffed, fastening the restraint across her chest. "If you of you boys isn't squeamish, it'd be a good idea to gather up what's left of that animal. Maybe we can identify it."
"That won't bother me none," Hoffler said. "Back in Blue Valley, I skinned plenty of squirrels and possums for the stewpot." He pulled a voluminous handkerchief from a pocket of his flightsuit and returned with a jumbled mass of scattered limbs and a head. Most of the creature's torso had been vaporized."
"Remain at your stations!" Captain Lemister barked. "Stay focused. Hoffler, describe what you found for everybody."
"Yessir. Um, it's small. Critter stood maybe twelve inches high. I'm looking at a front leg, it's covered with tough hide like a lizard. Green, yeller-green. The paws, well more like hands, they have four fingers and a thumb. Hind leg is thicker, the foot sure looks human enough with a big toe separate from the others. That head'll give a fella nightmares, all sharp teeth and big bug-out eyes and ears like a bat would be proud of."
"What was it doing?" asked the captain.
"Sir, it appears to have been pulling on some wiring back there. That's where our communications gear is located. Some wires is chewed through, could be the radar relay."
"All right. Put the carcass to one side from now. Hoffler, see what was damaged and tie those exposed wires off. I want you and our guest to keep an eye open for any more of these...." His voice trailed off.
"Gremlins, captain!" interjected Albertini. "We all know the word. Goddammit, we've got Gremlins on board!"
The rear gunner spoke up for the first time, showing a strong New England accent. "Gremlins? I thought they were just some lame-ass excuse careless airmen used for their own mistakes. When some equipment is broken or missing, Gremlins are a convenient scapegoat to blame. The little men who aren't there."
"Yeah, that's what I thought," added another. "They're just a running joke. Nobody takes them seriously."
"We do now," Laura Salerno told them in a stern tone. "This is why G2 asked me to accompany this flight. Eight planes lost in six weeks, three of them for no clear reason. There are strange things going on in this war."
"Yeah, and you're one of them, lady!" came the captain's voice. "You brought an unauthorized weapon on board MY plane without telling anyone? What exactly is that thing you're carrying?"
"Not a gun," she said. "Nothing any of you would recognize. The Sceptre doesn't work by scientific law. Captain, how close are we to our ETA?"
"Another thirty minutes. We're in enemy territory now. I'm contacting our escort pilots to check their status, I don't want anyone yelling about what happened here. Is that clear?"
Huddled next to Laura, the navigator Albertini whispered, "Geez, Tell the truth, I'm glad you're here, ma'am. You got any more of them magic wands you could share?"
"Sorry, there's only one. Every attempt at duplicating the Sceptre resulted in an explosion that killed everyone for fifty yards around. I guess it's unique."
"Ain't that the world's luck?" he replied, still in as low a voice as he could rasp. "I read plenty about you in the New York papers. You're one of those mystery men or maybe mystery women would be more fitting. Mark Drum, the Sting, the Archangels, the Victory Eagle... that's your trade, right?"
"For the duration, anyway. What's your first name, Mr Albertini?"
"Cornwall. I know. My daddy named me after where he met my mom. What's yours?"
"Ah, I'm not at liberty to say, sorry. Orders. Colonel Racicot has got me thinking like a spy, I don't even remember what I really look like at this point..."
Down and across the walkway, one of the gunners screamed into the com so loud there was the squeal of feedback. "Jesus save us! Look! Look at our escort on port side, one of those monsters is under his wing!"
It was true. Everyone rushed to see, causing the plane to tilt dangerously so that Captain Lemister yelled, "Every man back to his station RIGHT NOW! Are you trying to flip this plane over, you know better! I'm calling that Mustang now to warn him."
"What can that pilot do? He's alone, it's a one-seat fighter," Albertini told the Sceptre. "And we sure can't pick it off, not even Annie Oakley could make a shot like that under these conditions."
Laura Salerno tightened the rawhide strap of the Sceptre around her wrist. The blue gem at its top was bright as a welding arc by now. Without a word, she jumped up, wrenched open the nearby hatch and dove headlong into empty air at twenty-five thousand feet. Wind slammed the hatch shut behind her.
IV.
The Sceptre surrounded herself with an unseen nimbus of gralic force that gave her lift and thrust according to her wishes. It was by no means effortless. Laura had to concentrate fiercely to keep from plummeting to her death. Trenchcoat flapping wildly, she leveled off even with the B-17 and then rose up until it was below her. The air was both freezing and thin, but she didn't dare split her focus to generate warmth at the moment. There! To her left, the P-51 hurtled along, keeping pace with the much larger Flying Fortress it had come to protect.
Something moved on the underside of the right wing, out of the pilot's line of sight. Laura swooped down, pointing the Sceptre as if she were being towed by it, and spotted a small scaly figure clinging beneath the wing. As she caught sight of the Gremlin, she realized to her horror that the little monster was prying an access plate loose on the wing and tugging out a handful of color-coded wires. The tiny creature intended to cause a crash.
Closing in fast, near enough that she could see the large reptilian green eyes swing up to watch her, Laura launched a narrow bolt of pure concussive force that slammed the Gremlin free and sent it tumbling far away. She caught a glimpse of the creature spiraling down, its arms and legs spread wide to reveal a tough membrane between them. Like a flying squirrel, she thought.
As soon as that was done, the Sceptre wheeled around and hurtled back toward the B-17. She couldn't catch her breath and her fingers were numb. The crew inside must have been watching because, as she reached the plane, that hatch swung open and four strong hands yanked her inside.
Lying on the metal fuselage walkway, wheezing and gasping, Laura Salerno could not answer any of their questions. It was Albertini who lifted her up into the vacated port gunner bubble and clamped an oxygen mask over her face. After a few minutes, her desperate breathing slowed to normal and she gestured that she was all right.
"Thank you," she said, pressing a hand to her chest. "Whew. I knew the air was thin out there but it still took me by surprise. My hands are like ice."
"We saw you shoot that Gremlin off the Mustang's wing!"
"You're a real-life super-hero, like in the funny papers," added Hoffler. "I will never say I've seen everything if'n I live to be a hunnerd."
"Just doing my bit," she managed to get out. "I'm better now. If I'm going back out there, maybe I need an oxygen tank or something."
"Let's hope you don't have to," Albertini told her. "Your face was white as chalk when you came back in."
From the front, Captain Lemister added, "You have our gratitude, Sceptre. That pilot saw what you did. Medals'll be heading your way."
"I'm afraid not, captain." Laura got to her feet and found she was steady enough. "Today's events are going to be classified by G-2, and I'm sure each of you will be sworn by the Official Secrets Act not to ever reveal any of it. I was never on this plane, there were no Gremlins, it was a boring cargo run."
"Hell, that ain't fair. I want to brag to my chillun and their chillun that I saw the Sceptre flying around like an avenging angel."
Laura belted her trenchcoat tighter around herself and thrust her hands into its deep pockets. "Not up to me, airman. There are more weird and terrifying things going on in this war than the public will ever know."
For the first time, Lemister left his copilot in charge for the moment and got out of the cockpit. Standing next to where Laura was recovering, he said, "I've asked the Mustangs to fall back fifty feet and give our outside a visual inspection. We'll do the same for them. Any more of those bastards clinging to any of our birds, we'll know about it!"
"Good thinking, captain. Any coffee available?"
"Where are my manners? Albertini, get the lady some Joe, pronto. Sorry it'll taste like machine oil but everything on a plane does. You going to be all right?"
"Fine. Thank you." She took a deep appreciative sip of the steaming black liquid. "At least this is hot, that's what I need."
Turning to his crew, Lemister roared, "Back to your stations, you good for nothing goldbricks! This isn't a USO show. Do you want to be a gold star in your momma's window? A dozen Messerschmitts could shoot us down while you're all staring at our guest. Not you, Albertini. I want you to go as far into the tail as you can. Take a flashlight. Open every panel, look under everything, make your way up to the cockpit and then do it again. Do I make myself clear!"
"Yes, sir!" The young airman unclipped a big flashlight from its bracket on the bulkhead and hustled back toward the rear of the plane. Over the deep steady hum of the engines, he could be heard opening and closing compartments, grunting as he knelt down or stretched over counters.
Listening, Laura Salerno turned her talisman over and over in her hands. She should have prepared better, she thought. An insulated flightsuit. Maybe one of those ten pound oxygen tanks hooked up to some kind of mask? She had expected to be out there blowing away German or Japanese planes by now, but she hadn't given enough thought to the conditions thousands of feet up.
"I want each station to sound off that they haven't seen anything out of the ordinary," Lemister ordered. "Chin turret, you start."
"Nose gunner Greenberg reporting," came a voice over the com. "Everything normal. Ready for any head-on attack."
One by one, all the stations reported in, even the belly gunner in his glass bubble protruding beneath the plane. Satisfied for the moment, the captain said, "Keep your eyes peeled, men. We don't want to be the ninth plane to never return."
By now, Airman Albertini had worked his way up to the cockpit and said, "Only one thing suspicious, sir. The bomb bay hatch bar was loose. I looked down in there, couldn't find anything and tightened it good with this wrench."
"Wait five minutes and search again. After that, someone else will take over the chore."
"Aye, sir." Albertini fetched himself a tin mug of coffee from the tiny galley and returned to plop down next to Laura. "You know something about these godforsaken Gremlins that we don't, I bet."
"I have suspicions," the Sceptre replied. "They might sound crazy to you. This is Black Magic, witchcraft, sorcery, call it whatever you want. A madman named Karl Eldritch is getting funded by Hitler personally to sabotage the Allied effort any way he can."
"After what I saw this past hour, nothing sounds crazy any more. So this Eldritch fella, he's behind the Gremlins?"
"I think so," Laura said. "There were rumors of similar creatures going back to the late 1920s, but they were rare. In the past few years, the RAF have reported a dozen sightings of the animals. Our own Army Air Corps has done the same. And now, everyone on this plane is witness. Wherever he's bring them from, if he's breeding them or changing them from ordinary lizards, Eldritch is launching a sabotage campaign that's diabolical in its sneakiness."
"Now hear this," Lemister interrupted over the comm. "Coming up on rendezvous point estimated fourteen minutes. We are going to circle twice and dump our cargo with parachutes deployed. It won't be a regular landing field, only a cow meadow. As soon as the last crate is away, we spin and head home."
"No bombing a factory while ack-ack tries to nail us," said a voice. "Piece 'a cake."
"Don't relax until you're back in your barracks! German fighters are thick as mosquitos in this part of France. Everyone is still watching for Gremlins. I don't need to stress that, do you?"
"No, suh," Hoffler promptly responded. "Them damn things have me jumpy as a fourteen year old bride."
Beside Laura, Albertini grunted and stood up. "One more sweep of this crate and I'll let someone else take over."
The Sceptre had been examining a severed forelimb of the dead Gremlin. "The more I check this monster out, the less I like it. Look. The bones are flexible, like gristle. When I squeeze them, they flatten out. That's how Gremlins sneak aboard without being seen. They can force their way through cracks and under doors..."
With her last word, a furious chittering sounded and a small scaly form catapulted along the metal floor from the rear of the plane. The Gremlin slipped right past clutching hands, moving in a blur as the Gremlin dove upward directly toward the cockpit.
Laura had reflexively raised the Sceptre but she dared not loose a blast. If she missed, if she destroyed half the instrument panel, a crash would be inevitable. She was up on her feet right behind Albertini, moving forward in that bare second.
Then she stopped short and her mouth dropped open.
With one hand, Captain Lemister had caught the beast around the neck, his thumb pressing under its chin. The Gremlin clawed and gnashed its fangs, but could not do much damage to the tough leather sleeve of the bomber jacket.
"You poor little fool!" laughed the captain. "I was wrestling champion at West Point three years in a row." He tightened his grip, forcing the monster's head back with his thumb until a low sodden crack sounded and the beast shuddered before drooping lifeless. He flung the limp body back behind him.
Turning his head back to where Laura and Albertini were staring goggle-eyed, the captain gave a pleased chortle. "There! Hope I didn't steal any glory from you, Sceptre."
"No, sir," Laura said at last. "Even without mystery men and women, I know the war effort is in good hands."
Albertini bent and picked up the carcass. "With your permission, sir, I'll put this with the other parts in a storage basket. Maybe the eggheads can make something of them."
Sitting back down, heartbeat slowing after that unexpected burst of excitement, Laura Salerno was tempted to close her eyes. But she might doze off. She had not gotten more than an hour nap in the past two days and her eyes burned. Maybe on the way back, she could curl up somewhere.
From behind her ear, a thin squeaky voice whispered, "Those jokers give real Gremlins a bad name." She swung her head around so fast her neck hurt, but there was no one there. Laura waited, listening, holding her breath, but nothing more was heard. This was something she decided not to mention to anyone.
10/28/2021
5/24/1943
I.
Laura Salerno left the Triumph motorcycle near a pair of mechanics who were watching the Flying Fortress warm up. "It's from Baker Company motor pool," she shouted over all the nearby thrumming engines, taking off at a full sprint toward the giant plane that stretched more than a hundred feet long. Taken by surprise, the men stared at her fleeing figure and said nothing until it was too late to ask her any questions.
Average in height, wrapped in a white trenchcoat that reached to her ankles, Laura had long straight black hair that was tangled now by the winds of speeding that Triumph along the back roads. She ran headlong toward the B-17, seized a support handle and pulled herself up into the open doorway.
An airman who had been about to close and lock that hatch swayed back to avoid a collision. "Hey! What the hell...?"
"I'm under orders from Colonel Racicot," Laura told him, only slightly out of breath from the frantic rush to catch this plane. She pulled three folded pieces of stiff paper from inside her coat and waved them under his nose. "I need to show these to your captain."
"Albertini!" roared a bass from the cockpit. "What exactly is going on back there?"
"It's a dame, sir. Says she has orders for you to read."
"Are you kidding me? We're supposed to be in the air right now. Dammit. All right, let's hear her story."
Brought forward into the cramped cockpit, Laura handed the papers over to a short stocky man in a leather bomber jacket with a fur collar. She knew his name was Robert A Lemister. He took his time examining the documents, not glancing over them but reading them carefully. A full minute crawled by before he glared up at her.
What the Captain saw was a good-looking woman no more than a year or two over thirty, with stern clear-cut features and dark brown eyes that stared back at him fearlessly. The black hair reached down past her shoulder blades, even tangled as it was. Under the open trenchcoat, a bright canary-yellow shirt could be glimpsed with a solid bustline. The woman stood waiting, not fidgeting, not flinching from his eyes.
"I wasn't told about any of this," he snapped.
"The orders are clear, captain," Laura replied without heat.
"So they are. I still intend to radio GHQ before we get too many miles behind us. These papers only refer to you as 'this courier.' Got a name?"
"I'm using the name Jane Ralston for the moment," she said. "I'm a civilian advisor, no rank, answering directly to Colonel Racicot."
"A mystery woman! Just what a combat crew needs to foul things up. Fine. Albertini, see that she's secured and harmless. Have her strapped in back by the rear gun turret."
"She can sit on my lap if there's no room back there," offered a voice which drew several guffaws. Laura acted as if she hadn't heard and followed Airman Albertini down the fuselage walkway to a niche next to the steel and glass bubble which held on of the plane's thirteen 50mm machine gun.
There was enough room for her to squeeze in, and a long canvas strap could reach over across her chest to hold her down. Albertini fastened her in, careful not to take the opportunity to brush a hand up against her breasts. This raised her estimate of him. She had been groped a few times under similar circumstances. The fact that her bra was padded with cotton as part of her disguise comforted her with the thought that the mashers were not getting the cheap thrill they thought they were. The wig and the red lipstick and the bright yellow shirt were also ways to change her naturally rather mousy appearance.
"Thank you," she said, settling back. From the first instant she had entered the plane, Laura had been memorizing faces of the ten crew members and matching them against her briefing the night before. Everything lined up with the descriptions.
Watching from the navigation station, a young man who seemed too callow to need a shave gave a long drawn-out wolf whistle. "I'll tell the world, our new guest sure brightens up this battered old skywagon. What did you say your name was, honey, and most importantly, are you married?"
"I'm all business," she retorted, sharply enough. "You think this is only a cargo run where you won't be in harm's way, don't you? Drugs and supplies and equipment to the medics up at Eisenschoff. There's bad news in store for you."
"Hayll, that ain't what I was hoping to hear," he laughed.
Against her left thigh, Laura could feel the reassuring pressure of the Sceptre under her coat. The strange copper-colored metal of its shaft was always warm to the touch. The glimpse she got by peering down inside her unfastened coat showed the blue gem which topped the talisman was gleaming with its own lambent light.
"Every day brings bad news in this war," Albertini grumbled, strapping himself in behind the metal desk with its maps and charts and hooded lamp on a swivel. "I'm sure glad we have two Mustangs heading out with us today."
At those words, Laura Salerno bent forward to peer out the round observation window nearest to her. The nose of a P-51 could barely be seen, flying above and behind their B-17. She presumed the other Mustang would be on the other side of their bomber. That was comforting. Too many of these Flying Fortresses had not come back from missions before they had started to be escorted by smaller faster fighters.
"Attention," crackled the pilot's voice over the com. "We're in stable flight with a heading east-southeast, our ETA with the medics base is in two hours and twenty minutes. All readings are nominal. Miss Ralston?"
"Yes, captain?"
"GHQ confirms the urgency of your mission but they decline to provide any details of exactly what it is or who you are. That makes me unhappy. Do you have anything you want to spill?"
Laura kept her voice impersonal. "My assignment is on a need to know basis, sir." To herself, she prayed that the threat they faced would not force her to explain what had made eight planes crash without obvious cause in the past six weeks.
II.
One hour rushed by, the flight crew being preoccupied with their duties. There were way too many moving parts that could go wrong on a plane this size and they all needed monitoring. Captain Lemister seemed particular concerned that the left starboard motor was running hot. True, the B-17 had a total of four motors and could in emergencies limp home on one but he fretted over any deviation from best shape.
At the station next to where Laura sat, a young man with a pointed nose, overbite and sharp chin tried giving her a smile. "Airman First Class Willie Hoffler at your service, miss. It IS Miss, isn't it?"
Keeping her voice unemotional, Laura said, "It doesn't matter to you whether I'm married or not. This plane and those Mustangs are flying into mortal danger. More than the usual ant-aircraft guns or the likelihood of a few Messerschmitts."
"You don't say. And what would that danger be, sweetheart?"
"With luck, you won't find out. With more luck, we'll get back to base and step out on solid ground alive and whole."
Swiveling around in the gunnery bubble across the walkway, a slightly older man with a thick bristling mustache creaked his head around to get a better look at their visitor. "I've heard that tone of voice before! You're not a poser, ma'am. You mean business. You sound like you've seen combat and more than enough of it."
"Yeah. You could say that."
"Goddam, there's a RAT on board! Did you see it?" yelled the gunner.
"Huh? Where? We policed the entire inside of this bird before take-off."
The captain's voice ordered, "Albertini! See if you can spot any rat but do not, I repeat, do not pull your sidearm! A bullet through a fuel line or oil pump would not help our condition. Am I clear?"
"Yes sir." The lanky young airman unbuckled his restraint and moved toward the rear of the walkway. "All the food aboard is packed away good and airtight, I can't see what any self-respecting rodent would want to be aboard.... ACKK!"
His words ended in a scream of pain and alarm as something thumped against his face and began clawing and biting. It was maybe a foot long, lean and scaly, with no visible tail. The wiry body was clinging to Albertini's head and seriously trying to bite his face entirely off.
In the next split-second, the interior of the plane flared with a blindingly bright flash of blue light that crackled and sizzled like high-voltage wires. Caught in that blast, the creature flew apart into bloody fragments.
Everyone cursed. From the cockpit, Captain Lemister roared, "Quiet! Quiet, all of you! I want you to sound off with status, beginning with you, Greenberg!"
"Chin turret station, no damage," came the quick response.
One by one, seven airmen reported they were unharmed. It was only then that everyone's full attention focused on where their unexpected guest was crouched over Albertini. Laura Salerno let the metal rod dangle from its strap around her wrist as she held the injured man down.
"Take a deep breath, take a breath," she urged. "Let me see. You've got bite marks on both cheeks and your chin, bleeding freely. Thank God he didn't get near your eyes. Men, there have to be a few first aid kits onboard."
Handed the tin box with the big red cross painted on its lid, Laura got to work with alcohol swabs, gauze bandages and white tape. "I worked for two years as a nurse at Metro General in Manhattan," she told the watching crew. "I think you can all breathe a little easier now. This man is no danger, unless those bites get infected but nothing we can do about that right now."
"What in the name of God are you packing?" yelled one of the crew. "Some new hand-held howitzer or what? You splattered that rat to kingdom come."
Over the com, the captain's voice came calm and steady. "I recognize her now. She's been in the newsreels, boys, and the Sunday supplements. It looks like we have been blessed with a genuine celebrity. This is the Sceptre herself."
III.
The excited rush of comments and questions from all over the plane had to be silenced by a shouted command from Captain Lemister. "All of you, stay on duty! Keep an eye on your instruments! This bird won't fly herself. All right then, Sceptre it is. We've all seen the footage of you flying and burning through steel walls and flipping trucks upside-down."
"That's me," she admitted, clicking the first aid kit closed and handing it to a crew member, then moving back to sit in her niche.
"I figured you were only Allied propaganda to scare the enemy and boost our morale," the captain said. "Like that Victory Eagle clown wrapped in red white and blue."
Laura scoffed, fastening the restraint across her chest. "If you of you boys isn't squeamish, it'd be a good idea to gather up what's left of that animal. Maybe we can identify it."
"That won't bother me none," Hoffler said. "Back in Blue Valley, I skinned plenty of squirrels and possums for the stewpot." He pulled a voluminous handkerchief from a pocket of his flightsuit and returned with a jumbled mass of scattered limbs and a head. Most of the creature's torso had been vaporized."
"Remain at your stations!" Captain Lemister barked. "Stay focused. Hoffler, describe what you found for everybody."
"Yessir. Um, it's small. Critter stood maybe twelve inches high. I'm looking at a front leg, it's covered with tough hide like a lizard. Green, yeller-green. The paws, well more like hands, they have four fingers and a thumb. Hind leg is thicker, the foot sure looks human enough with a big toe separate from the others. That head'll give a fella nightmares, all sharp teeth and big bug-out eyes and ears like a bat would be proud of."
"What was it doing?" asked the captain.
"Sir, it appears to have been pulling on some wiring back there. That's where our communications gear is located. Some wires is chewed through, could be the radar relay."
"All right. Put the carcass to one side from now. Hoffler, see what was damaged and tie those exposed wires off. I want you and our guest to keep an eye open for any more of these...." His voice trailed off.
"Gremlins, captain!" interjected Albertini. "We all know the word. Goddammit, we've got Gremlins on board!"
The rear gunner spoke up for the first time, showing a strong New England accent. "Gremlins? I thought they were just some lame-ass excuse careless airmen used for their own mistakes. When some equipment is broken or missing, Gremlins are a convenient scapegoat to blame. The little men who aren't there."
"Yeah, that's what I thought," added another. "They're just a running joke. Nobody takes them seriously."
"We do now," Laura Salerno told them in a stern tone. "This is why G2 asked me to accompany this flight. Eight planes lost in six weeks, three of them for no clear reason. There are strange things going on in this war."
"Yeah, and you're one of them, lady!" came the captain's voice. "You brought an unauthorized weapon on board MY plane without telling anyone? What exactly is that thing you're carrying?"
"Not a gun," she said. "Nothing any of you would recognize. The Sceptre doesn't work by scientific law. Captain, how close are we to our ETA?"
"Another thirty minutes. We're in enemy territory now. I'm contacting our escort pilots to check their status, I don't want anyone yelling about what happened here. Is that clear?"
Huddled next to Laura, the navigator Albertini whispered, "Geez, Tell the truth, I'm glad you're here, ma'am. You got any more of them magic wands you could share?"
"Sorry, there's only one. Every attempt at duplicating the Sceptre resulted in an explosion that killed everyone for fifty yards around. I guess it's unique."
"Ain't that the world's luck?" he replied, still in as low a voice as he could rasp. "I read plenty about you in the New York papers. You're one of those mystery men or maybe mystery women would be more fitting. Mark Drum, the Sting, the Archangels, the Victory Eagle... that's your trade, right?"
"For the duration, anyway. What's your first name, Mr Albertini?"
"Cornwall. I know. My daddy named me after where he met my mom. What's yours?"
"Ah, I'm not at liberty to say, sorry. Orders. Colonel Racicot has got me thinking like a spy, I don't even remember what I really look like at this point..."
Down and across the walkway, one of the gunners screamed into the com so loud there was the squeal of feedback. "Jesus save us! Look! Look at our escort on port side, one of those monsters is under his wing!"
It was true. Everyone rushed to see, causing the plane to tilt dangerously so that Captain Lemister yelled, "Every man back to his station RIGHT NOW! Are you trying to flip this plane over, you know better! I'm calling that Mustang now to warn him."
"What can that pilot do? He's alone, it's a one-seat fighter," Albertini told the Sceptre. "And we sure can't pick it off, not even Annie Oakley could make a shot like that under these conditions."
Laura Salerno tightened the rawhide strap of the Sceptre around her wrist. The blue gem at its top was bright as a welding arc by now. Without a word, she jumped up, wrenched open the nearby hatch and dove headlong into empty air at twenty-five thousand feet. Wind slammed the hatch shut behind her.
IV.
The Sceptre surrounded herself with an unseen nimbus of gralic force that gave her lift and thrust according to her wishes. It was by no means effortless. Laura had to concentrate fiercely to keep from plummeting to her death. Trenchcoat flapping wildly, she leveled off even with the B-17 and then rose up until it was below her. The air was both freezing and thin, but she didn't dare split her focus to generate warmth at the moment. There! To her left, the P-51 hurtled along, keeping pace with the much larger Flying Fortress it had come to protect.
Something moved on the underside of the right wing, out of the pilot's line of sight. Laura swooped down, pointing the Sceptre as if she were being towed by it, and spotted a small scaly figure clinging beneath the wing. As she caught sight of the Gremlin, she realized to her horror that the little monster was prying an access plate loose on the wing and tugging out a handful of color-coded wires. The tiny creature intended to cause a crash.
Closing in fast, near enough that she could see the large reptilian green eyes swing up to watch her, Laura launched a narrow bolt of pure concussive force that slammed the Gremlin free and sent it tumbling far away. She caught a glimpse of the creature spiraling down, its arms and legs spread wide to reveal a tough membrane between them. Like a flying squirrel, she thought.
As soon as that was done, the Sceptre wheeled around and hurtled back toward the B-17. She couldn't catch her breath and her fingers were numb. The crew inside must have been watching because, as she reached the plane, that hatch swung open and four strong hands yanked her inside.
Lying on the metal fuselage walkway, wheezing and gasping, Laura Salerno could not answer any of their questions. It was Albertini who lifted her up into the vacated port gunner bubble and clamped an oxygen mask over her face. After a few minutes, her desperate breathing slowed to normal and she gestured that she was all right.
"Thank you," she said, pressing a hand to her chest. "Whew. I knew the air was thin out there but it still took me by surprise. My hands are like ice."
"We saw you shoot that Gremlin off the Mustang's wing!"
"You're a real-life super-hero, like in the funny papers," added Hoffler. "I will never say I've seen everything if'n I live to be a hunnerd."
"Just doing my bit," she managed to get out. "I'm better now. If I'm going back out there, maybe I need an oxygen tank or something."
"Let's hope you don't have to," Albertini told her. "Your face was white as chalk when you came back in."
From the front, Captain Lemister added, "You have our gratitude, Sceptre. That pilot saw what you did. Medals'll be heading your way."
"I'm afraid not, captain." Laura got to her feet and found she was steady enough. "Today's events are going to be classified by G-2, and I'm sure each of you will be sworn by the Official Secrets Act not to ever reveal any of it. I was never on this plane, there were no Gremlins, it was a boring cargo run."
"Hell, that ain't fair. I want to brag to my chillun and their chillun that I saw the Sceptre flying around like an avenging angel."
Laura belted her trenchcoat tighter around herself and thrust her hands into its deep pockets. "Not up to me, airman. There are more weird and terrifying things going on in this war than the public will ever know."
For the first time, Lemister left his copilot in charge for the moment and got out of the cockpit. Standing next to where Laura was recovering, he said, "I've asked the Mustangs to fall back fifty feet and give our outside a visual inspection. We'll do the same for them. Any more of those bastards clinging to any of our birds, we'll know about it!"
"Good thinking, captain. Any coffee available?"
"Where are my manners? Albertini, get the lady some Joe, pronto. Sorry it'll taste like machine oil but everything on a plane does. You going to be all right?"
"Fine. Thank you." She took a deep appreciative sip of the steaming black liquid. "At least this is hot, that's what I need."
Turning to his crew, Lemister roared, "Back to your stations, you good for nothing goldbricks! This isn't a USO show. Do you want to be a gold star in your momma's window? A dozen Messerschmitts could shoot us down while you're all staring at our guest. Not you, Albertini. I want you to go as far into the tail as you can. Take a flashlight. Open every panel, look under everything, make your way up to the cockpit and then do it again. Do I make myself clear!"
"Yes, sir!" The young airman unclipped a big flashlight from its bracket on the bulkhead and hustled back toward the rear of the plane. Over the deep steady hum of the engines, he could be heard opening and closing compartments, grunting as he knelt down or stretched over counters.
Listening, Laura Salerno turned her talisman over and over in her hands. She should have prepared better, she thought. An insulated flightsuit. Maybe one of those ten pound oxygen tanks hooked up to some kind of mask? She had expected to be out there blowing away German or Japanese planes by now, but she hadn't given enough thought to the conditions thousands of feet up.
"I want each station to sound off that they haven't seen anything out of the ordinary," Lemister ordered. "Chin turret, you start."
"Nose gunner Greenberg reporting," came a voice over the com. "Everything normal. Ready for any head-on attack."
One by one, all the stations reported in, even the belly gunner in his glass bubble protruding beneath the plane. Satisfied for the moment, the captain said, "Keep your eyes peeled, men. We don't want to be the ninth plane to never return."
By now, Airman Albertini had worked his way up to the cockpit and said, "Only one thing suspicious, sir. The bomb bay hatch bar was loose. I looked down in there, couldn't find anything and tightened it good with this wrench."
"Wait five minutes and search again. After that, someone else will take over the chore."
"Aye, sir." Albertini fetched himself a tin mug of coffee from the tiny galley and returned to plop down next to Laura. "You know something about these godforsaken Gremlins that we don't, I bet."
"I have suspicions," the Sceptre replied. "They might sound crazy to you. This is Black Magic, witchcraft, sorcery, call it whatever you want. A madman named Karl Eldritch is getting funded by Hitler personally to sabotage the Allied effort any way he can."
"After what I saw this past hour, nothing sounds crazy any more. So this Eldritch fella, he's behind the Gremlins?"
"I think so," Laura said. "There were rumors of similar creatures going back to the late 1920s, but they were rare. In the past few years, the RAF have reported a dozen sightings of the animals. Our own Army Air Corps has done the same. And now, everyone on this plane is witness. Wherever he's bring them from, if he's breeding them or changing them from ordinary lizards, Eldritch is launching a sabotage campaign that's diabolical in its sneakiness."
"Now hear this," Lemister interrupted over the comm. "Coming up on rendezvous point estimated fourteen minutes. We are going to circle twice and dump our cargo with parachutes deployed. It won't be a regular landing field, only a cow meadow. As soon as the last crate is away, we spin and head home."
"No bombing a factory while ack-ack tries to nail us," said a voice. "Piece 'a cake."
"Don't relax until you're back in your barracks! German fighters are thick as mosquitos in this part of France. Everyone is still watching for Gremlins. I don't need to stress that, do you?"
"No, suh," Hoffler promptly responded. "Them damn things have me jumpy as a fourteen year old bride."
Beside Laura, Albertini grunted and stood up. "One more sweep of this crate and I'll let someone else take over."
The Sceptre had been examining a severed forelimb of the dead Gremlin. "The more I check this monster out, the less I like it. Look. The bones are flexible, like gristle. When I squeeze them, they flatten out. That's how Gremlins sneak aboard without being seen. They can force their way through cracks and under doors..."
With her last word, a furious chittering sounded and a small scaly form catapulted along the metal floor from the rear of the plane. The Gremlin slipped right past clutching hands, moving in a blur as the Gremlin dove upward directly toward the cockpit.
Laura had reflexively raised the Sceptre but she dared not loose a blast. If she missed, if she destroyed half the instrument panel, a crash would be inevitable. She was up on her feet right behind Albertini, moving forward in that bare second.
Then she stopped short and her mouth dropped open.
With one hand, Captain Lemister had caught the beast around the neck, his thumb pressing under its chin. The Gremlin clawed and gnashed its fangs, but could not do much damage to the tough leather sleeve of the bomber jacket.
"You poor little fool!" laughed the captain. "I was wrestling champion at West Point three years in a row." He tightened his grip, forcing the monster's head back with his thumb until a low sodden crack sounded and the beast shuddered before drooping lifeless. He flung the limp body back behind him.
Turning his head back to where Laura and Albertini were staring goggle-eyed, the captain gave a pleased chortle. "There! Hope I didn't steal any glory from you, Sceptre."
"No, sir," Laura said at last. "Even without mystery men and women, I know the war effort is in good hands."
Albertini bent and picked up the carcass. "With your permission, sir, I'll put this with the other parts in a storage basket. Maybe the eggheads can make something of them."
Sitting back down, heartbeat slowing after that unexpected burst of excitement, Laura Salerno was tempted to close her eyes. But she might doze off. She had not gotten more than an hour nap in the past two days and her eyes burned. Maybe on the way back, she could curl up somewhere.
From behind her ear, a thin squeaky voice whispered, "Those jokers give real Gremlins a bad name." She swung her head around so fast her neck hurt, but there was no one there. Laura waited, listening, holding her breath, but nothing more was heard. This was something she decided not to mention to anyone.
10/28/2021