AN: My sincerest apologies for not posting on Tuesday! DRL got in the way. Here is this week's chapter, albeit a tad late. Sorry!
Chapter Thirty-Six: Not Good!
Once again, STILL in M's Fortress.
In the high keep of the fortress, an iron-hard door flew open, and Moriarty dashed into a stone-walled prison chamber. Quatermain pelted after him.
This room had once been an impenetrable bastion of torture and horror, built by the Cossacks and their power-mad czar- but the place was now forgotten, cobwebbed and filled with opulent detritus. Snow blew through a narrow spy slits and drifted over sealed wooden crates of books, tarpaulin-covered old furniture, and faded tapestries.
Plenty of places to hide in here.
Moriarty dove into the shadows, sinking down spider-silent as Quatermain entered, panting hard. He instantly quieted himself, trying to control his heavy breathing and pounding heart.
Taking the time to study the room, letting his hunter instincts take over, he scanned for his dark-garbed enemy… and saw him crouched in the shadows. He raised the spare Winchester and drew a bead on his adversary. He couldn't possibly miss.
"End of the line, Moriarty," he said quietly, not daring to hesitate. M looked up, reacting with apparent surprise to see the big rifle pointed directly at him.
Quatermain pulled the trigger, and the Winchester let out a roar.
The evil genius… shattered. Long pieces of reflective glass tumbled all around as the bullet utterly demolished a mirror propped up in view of the door.
Quatermain spun, taken aback as the real Moriarty charged out of the shadows with a wild yell, swinging a Mongolian mace. The deadly spiked chain-ball whistled through the air an inch from Quatermain's face.
The old hunter instinctively blocked the second blow with the Winchester in his hands. The spiked ball smashed into the stock of the sturdy American rifle- demolishing both gun and mace handle.
Moriarty took a moment to recover, but he never fought with less than cold determination. He tossed the ruined mace aside and landed a heavy blow with his other hand, punching Quatermain square on the old shoulder wound, where the Fantom's stiletto had stabbed him in the Venetian cemetery.
Quatermain roared in pain and swung the Winchester's broken stock at Moriarty. The evil mastermind sidestepped gracefully and stuck out a long leg to trip the hunter. The old man fell, unable to get his elephant gun free in time. As Quatermain went down, Matilda's straps snapped. The big gun skittered into the cluttered shadows of the old torture chamber.
Moriarty stepped back and snatched up a wicked-looking bent rod of forged iron. It looked as if it had been heated to a red heat many times before being used to burn the flesh off of pitiful victims. Though cold now, the iron bar was still capable of being an effective bludgeon. "To the death," Moriarty growled, advancing once again on Quatermain.
The hunter prepared himself for the next round. "Your death."
M gave a thin, cold smile. "You'll need Hyde here to make it my death, Quatermain."
OSCOSCOSCOSCOSCOSC
Under fire in the mezzanine, the Nautilus crewmen held their own, taking risky shots at M's henchmen whenever they could. But they could not last here forever. The tumult continued below them on the factory floor. Down there, workers shouted and ran as steam tanks exploded, sending shrapnel everywhere.
Nemo himself spotted a way down into the lower level, which was divided into two areas- a laboratory nearest their group, and a assembly area under Dante's side.
"Hold them here, Hyde," he said sharply. "I will take care of what we came for."
The brutish man grunted his assent, still holding the heavy metal door against the furious hail of bullets. He didn't seem at all flustered, in sharp contrast to the panicking Jekyll inside his head. "Go ahead."
Dante called curt orders to his men as Nemo ran. "This takes too much time. Summon the fighter, so that we may finish them off."
The shower of bullets ricocheting off the thick metal door in Hyde's grasp diminished to an occasional patter. Nemo's crewmen tensed, wondering what other bizarre secret weapons the evil mastermind might have in store for them. Hyde growled and let the immense iron sheet rest against the floor, waiting.
Then a clanking noise boomed out even louder than the continuing racket form the factory floor. Something huge and heavy was plodding its way up behind the massed ranks of enemy soldiers. Dante whistled, summoning the massive mechanical threat forward.
Hyde peered around his shelter, his eyes widening at the sight that greeted him.
What IS that thing?? Jekyll yelped inside his mind.
It's bad is what it is.
Thudding forward was a colossal, twelve-foot tall ironclad 'tank man"- a human soldier in a huge, rivet-studded gladiator suit, powered by an electrical motor. Each footstep sounded like a falling boulder.
The tank man paused at the front of Dante's cadre, and the beleaguered henchmen backed away in awe. The Fantom's lieutenant grinned in anticipation at the fate of his cornered prey.
The ironclad tank man raised a titanic, steel-plated arm, showing a circular cluster of long tubes- heavy caliber gun barrels that rotated around a central axis. Captain Nemo would have recognized the design as an extension of the horrifically effective Gatling gun introduced over forty years before during the American Civil War. Edward Hyde only knew- and cared- that it was dangerous.
With a blast of steam and a crackle of power from thrumming electrical motors, the rotating Gatling launcher locked into position and explosive artillery shells thunked into their launching tubes.
Hyde had just enough time to raise the thick iron shield again before the tank man opened fire.
OSCOSCOSCOSCOSCOSC
Nemo fought his way to the guarded laboratory where captive scientists were being forced to develop ever-more sophisticated weapons for the world war that M and the Black Hawks were planning to wage against the entire world. Though he had reached his destination, the Nautilus captain's struggle was just beginning.
The Fantom's guards shouted, and Nemo crouched, keeping his limbs loose in his blue-sleeved uniform, his hands extended as weapons. The scientists watched the strange turbaned man, not daring to hope. Outside of the laboratory prison, they could all here the clamor of continuing battles.
Nemo moved farther into the room. Seeing only one opponent, the guards drew their thick Mongolian swords and strode toward him. He gave them a welcoming smile.
Had the guards had any sense, they would have been petrified by that smile and run for the nearest exit.
In a flash, Nemo waded into the group of armed men, kicked a guard squarely in the chin with his left foot, and used his right fist to crush the larynx of a second. The bellowing guards swung their swords, but he moved too fast. Their curved blades swept like threatening whispers through empty air, a few striking sparks form the stone wall.
Surging into the laboratory, the captain grabbed up a stool vacated by a scrambling scientist and punched a charging guard in the stomach with the long hard legs, then swung the seat around in a smooth lightning strike to his head. The unfortunate guard crumpled to the floor, his skull split open.
Seven guards remained. Not that Nemo was counting. Or cared, for that matter.
To a certain extent, he let his body act and react at a subconscious level, flying in an ecstatic flurry of blows and moves. He had seen the wild gyrations of the true Sufi dervishes in back home in India, enlightened ascetics who threw themselves into a state of complete abandon. That style was more than just dancing, it was a possession, like the ancient Viking berserkers. Nemo had incorporated elements of this approach into his fighting.
But he also prized his sharp and insightful mind. Even as the captain flung himself into battle, he remained aware of both himself and his goal. All the Fantom's henchmen together could not possibly withstand the onslaught of this lone man. Trying to stand against him would be like standing against a hurricane. Actually, one would be more likely to succeed with the hurricane.
Nemo used tools and laboratory instruments to deadly effect, proving once and for all that a long metal T-square snatched up from a blueprint table could be as dangerous as a sword. He smashed beakers, threw boiling acid, struck with his fists, and even sent a blackboard full of equations smashing down on the shoulders of his foe.
Something shiny and falling caught his eye. Reflexively, he reached out and snatched it from the air. A leather-wrapped hilt thumped neatly into his hand, and Nemo realized with a small start that he was now holding a heavy broadsword. He glanced up at a large conveyor belt that, when activated, would carry enormous crucibles of molten metal to the nearby foundry. There were two shadowy figures up there, standing on the belt itself. He heard voices speaking, but couldn't make out the words.
Nemo shrugged. Daria seemed to have things in hand up there. He flung the broadsword at an approaching guard and launched himself at another.
Before long, he had taken out every guard. Catching both his balance and his breath, Nemo turned to the stunned scientists who had watched him in awe. All around him the laboratory lay in ruins: tables splintered, chalk-scrawled blackboards shattered, plans strewn on the floor, vials and beakers in shards. It looked more like the handiwork of the average tornado than that of a single man.
The captive scientists and engineers stared, as speechless with fear of this stranger as they were of the masked Fantom- that is, until he told them what they needed to hear.
"You are free."
OSCOSCOSCOSCOSCOSC
Hyde struggled to hold the thick iron door steady against the coming attack. With a whistling cry in flight, the first of the large-caliber shells from the tank man's Gatling gun slammed into the heavy shield. Hyde staggered backward. The sound of the impact was deafening.
"Get back!" he roared to the Nautilus crewmen, who still held their weapons ready, still hoping to take shots at Dante's cadre, though the remaining henchmen had taken shelter to leave the battle to the armored colossus. "Go!"
Another artillery shell struck the iron shield like a meteor, making it shudder in Hyde's grasp. Two impact craters now bent the barrier inward, but the shield held. The projectile ricocheted off to one side, striking high on a wall and making a stone arch crumble.
He got the glimmer of an idea. It was enough.
The ironclad tank man took two heavy steps forward. The Gatling cylinder rotated, bringing the next shell into position. He fired a third heavy projectile, than two more.
The shells flew at Hyde in rapid procession, and each time he used the bent shield to deflect them. One shell struck the ceiling, bringing part of it down. He tilted the door in a crude attempt in aiming the ricocheting shells.
The second careened off toward Dante's huddle henchmen, detonated, and made a general mess. Hyde's third attempt, however, flew true, blasting the ironclad colossus in the armored torso and exploding with spectacular results.
Shrapnel showered everywhere. The remains of the ironclad tank man toppled backward like a fallen Goliath. Armor plates, weapons, and jointed metal lay collapsed in a pile of wreckage.
When the smoke and dust cleared sufficiently, Hyde surveyed the mess with pride and satisfaction.
The rest of Dante's followers turned and fled.