Charlie Steele and the Menace From The Mountains
- A Thrilling "Hollywood Knights" Adventure! -
By Nancy Berman with Noah Dudley

Chapter One: Champagne and Bullets
Damn Loyle Crawford!
Charlie Steele sped along the highway, gripping the steering wheel so tightly her hands stung. She slammed the heel of her right hand against the dashboard. Normally, she would be enjoying her early morning drive, admiring the beauty of the sunrise and the splendid natural surroundings. Instead, her classic features were twisted into a fierce scowl.
Charlie Steele was a very angry woman.
The source of her discontent lay on the expensive leather upholstery beside her: the latest issue of Air Action Weekly. The feature article - "Should Knights Call It A Day?"- had hit her like a blast of acrid exhaust.
Some idiot AAW reporter had interviewed "Show Stopper" Crawford - That obnoxious bastard! she thought. The reporter - researching a story about Charlie's squadron - had asked about the Hollywood Knights. "Oh, I don't think we have to worry about those kids," Crawford had replied. "Flying is just a phase for them, really - today it's planes, tomorrow it'll be polo ponies. They showed some promise at first but they've gone kinda soft. 'Charlie' Steele makes an attractive figurehead, but she certainly hasn't built a winning team."
What really made Charlie angry was that she couldn't very well argue with the article, Crawford's arrogant posturing aside. The Knights had flown fewer and fewer combat missions over the last six months and kill ratios were way down. Stringers staking out the Knights' airfields had managed to generate statistics - and even some photos - for every sloppy mistake her team made during their increasingly infrequent training sessions. As the Knights' performance worsened, their public visibility was through the roof; her team was constantly gracing newspaper and magazine covers, pitching everything from aircraft fuel to expensive cologne.
We've become the current Hollywood novelty act, she thought. Her crack squad of top-notch pilots had lost their edge inside bottles of vintage champagne. Things would have to change, fast.

Foothill Ranch, nestled at the base of south-facing San Gabriel Mountains, wasn't quite as elegant as Palm Springs, but still catered to an upscale crowd. On the map, the place was called Rancho Cucamonga, but the resort designers had opted for a name that sounded a bit less like a Jack Benny routine. 
The admiring gate guard motioned her elaborately towards a hangar behind the main hacienda-style building. She pulled her silver Duesie J Derham Tourster alongside Norm's rusty old Model T Ford. She was glad she'd let Coop talk her into buying the sleek car. It wasn't quite the same as flying, but damn close. She always wondered why Norm still drove that old closed-cab truck. He could certainly afford something better. "As long as she keeps on turnin' over every morning and doesn't collapse under me, I'll keep on drivin' her," he'd say.
Inside the large hangar, Karl "Wrong-Way" Gruner was asleep on a couch with his white silk scarf draped across his eyes. Carmen "Killer" Flores looked anything but, as she slept with her head on the table. A bleary-eyed Irving "Greasepaint" Jolson grimly contemplated the glass of tomato juice in front of him, confirming Charlie's worst suspicions. 
She leaned over the dozing Gruner, whisked the scarf off his face and shouted "Good morning!" She deftly jumped back in time to avoid getting smacked in the face as he flailed his way off the couch.
"Jeez, Charlie! What was that for?"
"To see how alert you are this morning. Very impressive. " She whirled on the others who were all more or less awake now. "What is it with you people? I know this isn't some heroic mission to save Hollywood, but the maneuvers we're doing today are tough. The fact that I can startle you all so easily just proves that none of you are one-hundred percent."
"C'mon, Charlie," said Steve "Glamour Boy" Gardner, flashing her a big grin, "you know we fly better than anyone out there, even when we're half-asleep."
"Or half-drunk?" Charlie retorted. "You've got 15 minutes to pull yourselves together. Think you can manage to look like real heroes instead of day-players?"
She turned on her heel and walked back outside. Norm was waiting for her beside her customized Hughes Bloodhawk.
"Think they can do it?" he asked quietly.
She looked at him with a grim set to her beautiful jaw. "They'd better." 

As the squadron readied for take-off, Charlie was still thinking about the infuriating AAW article. This show called for some pretty fancy maneuvers and Charlie was worried; it had been like pulling teeth to get the Knights to show up for flight drills. What if one of her pilots choked during a critical maneuver? What if someone didn't remember to fly throttle down in the tight formation? What if someone misread the tricky desert winds?
Charlie touched the little medal hanging to the side of her instrument panel, struggling to relax. She never took off without a silent prayer to Jimmy Vega, asking him to watch over her and the rest of Knights. She remembered Jimmy's plane as it went up in flames, riddled with bullets from the Sky Slaver attack. And she remembered what he used to say about his fellow pilots: "These are good guys, mi amiga… they just need to learn how to get their hands dirty." "By God," she vowed, "I'll put them in grease up to their necks if I have to."
When everyone was in place and ready, Charlie gave the order. "Ok, let's show 'em our stuff!" With that, she led them in a blessedly flawless take-off, easing her Bloodhawk up into the shimmering desert air. They had some beautiful aircraft up there today, she thought: two Bloodhawks, two Firebrands, and two Furies. With her right hand resting on the stick, she felt like she was riding a mustang that she had tamed herself. She knew the plane's price tag meant that only people with money or Howard Hughes as a sponsor could afford one. She had both.
She looked to her left to check on Gardner, her wingman, in the other Bloodhawk. He gave her a big thumb's-up and flashed his leading-man grin. Despite the grim mood that had plagued her all morning, she couldn't help but chuckle. Gardner was like a big Golden Retriever; no matter how mad you got at him, you had to love him when he wagged his tail. She signaled for the first maneuver.
The Firebrands were up first. Lacking a tail assembly, they looked like strange birds with immense wingspans. Their ability to peel off and head straight up enabled them to attain a high altitude with surprising speed. 
Charlie was dismayed to see Jolson's Firebrand slip slightly out of formation. She knew that at this low altitude, a bail-out was nearly impossible. As quickly as he fell out, Jolson managed bring his plane back into line.
"Greasepaint! Are you alright? Acknowledge."
"Uh, yeah. I'm fine, Charlie. I dunno what happened - must've hit a thermal, but I'm ok." Charlie made a mental vow that the squadron would practice low-altitude flying so that wouldn't happen again.
Now the Fury was center-stage. This plane had the purest pedigree, descended directly from the original Wright Flyer. Although it was gradually disappearing from first-string service, it was fast and agile. The cockpit sat at the base of its T-shaped tail, presenting the ultimate challenge to a bailing pilot. More than one daring flyer had stared Death in the face while hanging down and aiming for that narrow safety gap between the tail and the wing.
Gruner pulled up into his maneuver - a steep dive - and Charlie held her breath, hoping he didn't suffer the curse of the Fury, stalling during acceleration. To her relief, though, everything looked fine. 
As the Knights moved into the crescendo of their performance, Charlie's radio squawked and Norm's voice filled her cockpit: "Break off, Charlie, break off! Burbank is under attack! Proceed west immediately!" 
Galvanized by the urgency in Norm's usually-calm voice, the squadron altered course, banking to the west. 

As the Knights screamed through the pass into the San Fernando Valley, they saw several Warhawks and Peacemakers strafing the newly-completed Hollywood militia air base, Champion Field. The twisted, blackened hulks of militia planes burned in neat rows on the field, shattered before they had a chance to get off the ground. With the planes neutralized, the pirates targeted the base's anti-aircraft guns, control tower, runways, hangars¼and pilot barracks.
No reinforcements from the locals, Charlie thought, bitterly. Just perfect. Fortunately, Norm had roused the rest of her squadron, so the Knights were there in full force, assembled into their standard two-group elements. 
"All right, folks! Listen up!" Charlie barked. "On my signal: Group one, take out the Warhawks before they hit the barracks; Group two, follow me. We're gonna chew up some Peacemakers. "
For once, the Knights actually outnumbered their attackers. What the Peacemaker lacked in finesse it made up for with brute firepower, but the Bloodhawk's Mustang 30-caliber machine gun was still fairly effective close in. Adding the power of the Firebrand's 50-caliber cannon, a pirate craft in its sights wouldn't have a chance. Charlie was feeling pretty optimistic. 
"It's a trap!" Jolson broke in. "Twelve o'clock! Zeppelin incoming¼ and she's got her boyfriends with her!"
Charlie realized with horror that they'd fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the book. By underestimating the enemy's strength and numbers, she had failed to order some of her planes to remain above the formation as spotters. 
Now she could see the military zeppelin escorted by a squadron of deadly Devastators dropping from above like black dragons. The few remaining Burbank fighters went up in flames from pinpoint rocket fire. 
Charlie's stomach churned, but she had no choice:
"Move in, Knights!" she ordered. "Take 'em out hard and fast!"
She had sent the Knights into pitched battle before, but for the first time, she wasn't sure that they would win - or even survive. 
The zeppelin's turret guns started chattering, smashing at the ground emplacements. While the zeppelin pounded the base, the escort fighters engaged the Knights. The Devastator pilots were good at their trade; cannon fire slammed into the Knight's line with precision. In seconds, at least two of the Knights' planes were billowing greasy smoke.
There wasn't time to call for a flanking maneuver. At the rate the Knights were taking damage, there weren't enough planes to make the maneuver effective anyhow. 
With the new pirates, the odds had changed dramatically - the Knights were outnumbered three to one, and the enemy pilots clearly knew what they were doing. 
Desperate to turn the tide of the battle, Charlie thumbed her cannons' trigger, sending magnesium rounds sizzling into the nearest pirate. The target plane, engine spitting gouts of flame, dropped its landing gear - the signal for surrender. Charlie kept her eye on the enemy plane long enough to be sure he couldn't try a zig-zag re-entry into the fray, then she radioed Gardner. 
"Steve, let's let some air out of that zep!"
"Roger that, Charlie! I'm with you!"
Together, the two Bloodhawks banked hard, turning to attack the silver juggernaut. Charlie knew the longer they waited, the more time the zep had to compensate for their maneuvers and bring her broadside guns into play, finishing off the pilot barracks. She was glad their planes - notoriously under-armed - had been specially modified with newer, more-powerful cannons.
Charlie signaled to Gardner that they would make a close pass alongside the zeppelin, spraying slugs into her starboard flank. With the possibility of catching turbulence from the zep's massive engines, it was a risky plan. The trick was to inflict enough damage while dodging incoming fire. The noise of battle added to the tension - the squad's static-laced voices, the shriek of twisting metal, the staccato rattle of machine guns, and the thrumming and whining of so many planes. 
Charlie and Gardner bore down on the zep and skimmed along its side. This close, Charlie could hear the zing of her bullets as they pitted the zep's sleek metal skin. The smell of exhaust and smoke burned in her nose. Fueled by determination and adrenaline, Charlie worked the rudder pedals and the stick furiously, guiding a deadly stream of armor-piercing and magnesium rounds into the zeppelin's engine nacelles. 
The engines exploded, sparking like fireworks as her bullets found their mark, and shrapnel and flame splashed across her canopy. She banked sharply, cutting across the zep's nose and guided her plane smoothly into a pushover roll as she prepared to come around for another pass. 
"You still with me, Steve?" she shouted.
"Right behind you, Charlie. I think we rattled their cage that time!"
With the zep seriously damaged, Charlie figured that another pass would probably bring her down. As they came in for the second attack, the zep began to turn, breaking off from combat. The pirate fighters broke off as well, taking up escort positions while the thunderous reports of the zeppelin's guns discouraged pursuit.
Gardner let out a piercing whoop of victory that made Charlie's ears ring. "We got 'em on the run!" Charlie was relieved to have survived the fight, but angry that they hadn't been able to finish off the zep.
Charlie radioed the Knights, ordering them into formation. "Let's go home, gang!" Only three of the planes appeared to be relatively undamaged; the rest - including hers - sputtered, smoked, pitched and yawed, as the pilots fought to keep their shot-up fighters aloft. Charlie and Gardner nosed down for a landing. In the distance, she saw the flashing lights of local law enforcement and realized that someone - Norm? - must have called for ground-based back-up. She wanted really wanted to "chat" with the downed pirate pilot, but first she had to see to her squadron.

Charlie threw open the cockpit canopy and practically leapt from her plane. Mechanics - soot-streaked and haggard - sprayed fire extinguishers at her portside engine. The once-pristine paint job was now marred with bullet holes, fire damage and streaks of grease and oil. 
"Damn," she whispered.
A sorry sight greeted her on the Burbank landing strip. Most of the militia planes were in flames. Black smoke filled the sky and the air reeked with the acrid smell of burning aviation fuel and melting rubber. One of the hangers was ablaze and a few of the men were trying to put it out before it spread; the planes inside were a total loss. The control tower was pitted from cannon fire, and it looked like a large bomb had made a total wreck out of the machine shop. Surveying the devastation, Charlie braced herself for the possibility of casualties.
Norm had gathered the Knights into a small office. They were a pretty bedraggled lot, but amazingly, no one had been killed. In fact, they were positively buoyant. Once Charlie assured herself that everyone was unhurt, her anger took over.
"Well, I'm glad that none of you jerks died out there."
Gruner piped up, "Thanks for the sentiment, Charlie."
"Look, you idiots! You're damn lucky you didn't die up there! They took us apart like amateurs! When you signed on, you were full of determination, you had a goal, and you worked hard. A couple of victories and a lot of champagne later, what have you become? Better pilots?" She slammed her fist into the wall in frustration, making everyone present jump. "No. You've fallen for all the Tinseltown hype. You all think you're in some Errol Flynn movie! Well, you're not! This is the real thing. If you get shot down, you're down for good."
"Charlie," Jolson said, "we're all pretty tired of you treating us like Boy Scouts on a wilderness survival march. We know the risks and just because we have a taste for life's finer things doesn't mean that we aren't as devoted to the 'cause' as you are. So let up on the throttle already. We're fine, we're safe, the pirates are gone, and we've even gotten ourselves a prize." The squad members all grinned at her expectantly.
Charlie clenched her fists tightly at her sides, fighting back the anger that threatened to consume her. Sure, they had a downed pirate, but at what cost? The militia forces were a wreck, as was the new landing field. Virtually every Knight plane was in need of repair, and they had barely escaped death. Silently, she spun on her heel and walked away, shaking her head in disgust. 
She'd be damned if she'd let Loyle Crawford - or anyone else - call the Hollywood Knights "has-beens."
Chapter Two: A Glass Half-Full
Charlie Steele was sitting in front of the mirror at her dressing table when the phone rang, startling her out of her contemplation of the recent dogfight in the skies above Burbank. Her carmine-tipped fingernails tapped against the gilt-and-white instrument as she picked up the receiver.
"Yes?" 
"Miss Charlie, your car will be ready in thirty minutes." Her chauffeur's gruff New York-accent brought her back to reality.
"Yes, thank you, Martin. I'll be right down."
"I'll be waitin', Miss Charlie."
Charlie hung up the phone and returned to putting the finishing touches on her make-up. Her gaze fell briefly on the engraved invitation for this evening's party. The Hollywood Knights were being honored at a gala banquet, to celebrate their "thrilling victory" against the pirate forces that had attempted to destroy the new Burbank airfield. Thrilling? Yes, if you called nearly dying a hundred ways 'thrilling.' Victory? Absolutely not.
The outcome of the battle had been close to total disaster. The new airfield was a wreck, most of the local militia planes were destroyed or damaged, and virtually every Knight in the sky that day took a lot of fire. Until their planes were repaired, the Knights were grounded.
When she looked in the mirror, she could see the public's image of the "glamorous Charlotte Steele." Shimmering platinum-blonde hair fell in soft waves around her face. Her violet eyes were large and clear, surrounded by feathery black lashes. Fortunately, she didn't have to use a lot of make-up to augment her naturally smooth complexion, which had just a tinge of color from the recent trip out to Foothill Ranch. A touch of lip rouge and she was finished. Fortunately, it was a beautiful summer evening, so she didn't need to worry about being chilly in her black backless Vionnet gown.
Her shoes tapped softly on the inlaid tile floor as she walked down the corridor from her bedroom and down the main staircase. She loved the beautiful house with its tiled floors, fountains, and alcoves. Certainly not the home one would expect for a tough-minded aviatrix, she thought, as she walked through the lush front garden to the car.
Martin Vitale opened the door for her before taking his place in the driver's seat. He had been her father's chauffeur for years. He was a rough-looking man, but absolutely devoted to the Steeles. Originally from New York City, he had come to the West Coast thirty years ago and had absolutely no intention of returning. "I ain't plannin' to shovel snow ever again and I don't envy them dopes what choose to stay there, that's for sure," he stated every winter when the first reports of snow in the East came across the news service.
The telephone in the right-hand sash pocket rang delicately and Charlie smiled as she picked it up.
"So, Your Highness, where d'ya want this pumpkin to take you tonight?"
Charlie laughed as she settled back against the plush cushioned seat. "We're off to Chasen's, I'm afraid."
Martin barked a laugh. "Ah, c'mon, Miss Charlie, don't you like payin' big bucks for a bowl'a chili?" Charlie smiled back at him and rolled her eyes. It wasn't that she didn't like Dave Chasen's restaurant, but the truth was that the chili wasn't as good as the firecracker stuff that Serena made at home. But the menu wasn't the problem; she was definitely not in a party mood tonight. All this hoopla over the Knights had gotten completely out of hand and she knew how close they had come to losing it all during the dogfight in Burbank. The closer Martin got to the corner of Beverly and Doheny, Charlie's unhappiness steadily deepened.
The reporters' cameras flashed like machine-gun fire when Martin pulled the exquisitely-maintained Cadillac up at the front of the restaurant. Even before the Knights had created such a public stir, Charlie had made quite a splash when she attended such gala events; tonight was certainly no exception. She was not only a celebrity for her wealth and beauty, but also for her leadership of the elite Nation of Hollywood air militia squadron.
"This way, Miss Steele!..."
"One for the front page, Miss Steele!..."
""Hey, Charlie, lookin' good tonight!..."
Just before she entered the restaurant, she turned and smiled brightly, showing her new dress off to advantage as she stood under the green-and-white striped awning. She waved a black-gloved hand, then slipped inside, grateful to escape the blinding glare from the reporters' flash-bulbs. Dave Chasen himself greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.
"Well, well, Charlie, don't you look lovely tonight! Hollywood's very own goddess of the air." The famous restaurateur offered her his tuxedoed arm and escorted her to the banquet room. A lot of people called out to her and she waved and smiled, feeling tired even before she got to the receiving line.
"Dave, really, I'm just a pilot doing my job. I'm certainly no 'goddess.'"
"Honey, they don't give parties like this for 'just a pilot.'"
Charlie smiled ruefully and nodded. She patted his arm as he released her hand. "You're right, I guess. The place looks beautiful, by the way. Quite a crowd."
The vaudeville performer-turned-host looked around happily. "You bet, although there are days when I miss the old circuit and the barbecue shack. Oh well, that's the price of success, I guess. Keep 'em full 'n happy, that's what I say. You really look great tonight, kid." With that, Dave Chasen went off to greet other guests. Charlie took a deep breath and looked around for some champagne.
Surprisingly, she couldn't seem to flag down a waiter; the only person who caught her gaze was a handsome, deeply-tanned man - one of the guests, she thought - who flashed her a brilliant grin that hinted at mischief, appreciation... and promise. All he needs is a gold earring, she thought, and he'd be the perfect Hollywood picture of a sky pirate. She lost sight of him as the throng of partygoers swarmed around them... and then he was gone.
"Charlie!" The shouts of Steve "Glamour Boy" Gardner and Karl "Wrong-way" Gruner distracted her, and she dismissed the odd encounter. Her fellow pilots, exuberant and boisterous as ever, chattering at her enthusiastically and leading her to the dance floor where the evening's hostess, Mrs. Henry O'Mallory, greeted her effusively. Wife of one of the most successful attorneys in Hollywood, Mrs. O'Mallory loved to throw lavish parties, inviting a diverse group of artists, athletes, businessmen, and of course, the ever-present movie moguls and film stars.
"Miss Steele, what an honor to have you here tonight! Why, you and the Knights are really the only thing standing between us and complete barbarism! Mr. Chandler told us how incredibly brave you all were out there. Oh, I just shudder when I think about those dastardly pirates, don't you, Buffy dear?" As Mrs. O'Mallory paused for a breath, she had turned to a quiet young woman standing next to her. Dorothy Buffum Chandler was Harry Chandler's daughter-in-law and beginning to make a name for herself in local politics.
There was a slight twinkle in her eyes as she answered her hostess. "There, there, Mrs. O'Mallory, I'm sure that Miss Steele and the Knights are quite capable of keeping the pirates out of our bedrooms." Mrs. O'Mallory gasped with terror at the thought of such an intrusion and clasped her be-ringed hand to her ample bosom. Gardner and Gruner almost choked on their champagne as Charlie saw her opportunity to make a graceful escape.
"Lovely evening, Mrs. O'Mallory. Thank you so much for inviting us." She nodded conspiratorially to Buffy Chandler. "Very glad to meet you, Mrs. Chandler."
"Buffy, please... and I look forward to seeing you again, Charlie." The two young women shook hands and Charlie beat a hasty retreat, her two sputtering cohorts in tow.
She managed to get them over near a row of booths along the side of the main room. Gardner was feeling no pain at this point.
"Can you imagine some poor unsuspecting pirate finding himself trapped in Mrs. O's bedroom! He'd probably pay her to let him go," Gardner snickered.
Gruner guffawed loudly, slapping Gardner on the back and sending champagne flying out of their glasses. Charlie managed to dodge the golden dollup of Bollingers' before her dress was damaged. She glared at the two men.
"You two are disgusting! And drunk," she hissed
"But, Charlie, it's a party!"
"Everything is a party with you guys these days, isn't it? Next time, we aren't going to be as lucky as we were in Burbank."
"Spare us that old song-and-dance, at least for tonight, Charlie." The two walked away from her, leaning heavily on each other and laughing as they exchanged their half-full glasses for new flutes of expensive bubbly. She heard a burst of raucous laughter and saw Carmen Flores surrounded by a crowd of admirers vying for her attention. One of them had commandeered a bottle of champagne and another one was holding a tray with a bowl of caviar that he was feeding the beautiful aviatrix with a little mother-of-pearl spoon.
Charlie moved through the crowd in the other direction, catching snatches of conversations as she went:
"...there's no question that they are the modern Knights of the Round Table."
"I'm thinking of casting Brandy Noonan in my next feature film..."
"No, really, there we were - just a few of us and about fifty pirate planes..."
"Say, I can fly as well as they do..."
"...so, how d'ya think they'd do against the Broadway Bombers?"
"...but I'm not sure whether they could defend us against someone really tough like 'Marshal' Redmann..."
Charlie felt a wave of claustrophobia descend upon her, as if the peering eyes and prying questions were physical walls closing in on her. Fumbling through the crowd, she found herself outside Dave Chasen's private office. She knocked, hoping that no one was there and she could grab a few minutes of peace. She wanted to get away from the lights and the chatter and the insufferable egos of her crew members. Just for a few minutes, to regain her composure.
"Come in." Relief flooded her as she heard Dave's voice from behind the door. She opened it and stepped into an oasis of quiet.
"Good evening, Charlotte." She was surprised to see Dave Chasen and Norm Houston sitting across from each other.
"Mind if I hole up here for a while?" she asked. "It's getting a little thick out there."
A lean man in a white tuxedo, seated near the window - partially obscured by his chair back and the pools of shadow that bordered the room - spoke, startling Charlie. A glass of something that looked like whisky straight up sat on the windowsill near him.
"I see that someone else is tiring of this overly-effusive paean to the heroes of the hour," he said.
Charlie flung herself onto the couch near the Houston and Chasen. "God, yes! I don't know what I hate more: the fawning people or my inebriated crew."
She leaned forward, concern marking her beautiful face. "We almost didn't make it out of that scrape over Burbank yesterday. We flew like rookies out there. We should have lost. And they're calling us 'heroes.'"
The man in the shadows responded quietly, "Then do something about it, Charlotte. Do something quickly, before you have to bury more of your friends."
Charlie put her face in her hands for a moment as she thought of Jimmy Vega, then ran her fingers down the side of her cheeks as she raised her head. "I'm so tired of what the Knights have become. I just don't know whether it's even worth keeping the group together any more. I can't go through this every time we fly. I was so worried about everyone that I wasn't paying attention to the enemy and the price for that was almost more than we - than I - could pay."
Norm cleared his throat and brought his chair to the carpet. "Charlie, you've done a great job. You can't blame yourself for this. These are rich kids who aren't used to schedules and discipline. They've done some amazing stuff, but we're going to have to come up with a way to get them to buckle down."
Charlie laughed raggedly. "I don't suppose we could just dock their allowance or lock them in their rooms without dinner?"
The man in the shadows stood, grabbing the whisky glass and draining it in one fluid motion. He smiled thinly at Charlie's attempt at humor. "Unfortunately, even in Hollywood, there are laws about involuntary incarceration, although a few weeks at an isolated boot camp might not be a bad idea. However, we cannot afford the publicity if the entire group disappeared, especially you, Charlotte."
"I know, dammit. It was a lot easier when no one knew who we were. Now they know every time one of us-"
"Charlotte," the man interjected, "there is no point in wasting your energy feeling sorry for yourself. You've made a decision and now you must live with it. What did the police learn about the pirates?"
Grateful to have something else to focus on, Charlie pulled herself together. "Not much, I'm afraid. The guy we caught wasn't very talkative, but we do know that the pirates came from Sky Haven in Free Colorado."
"Ah," he mused. "Sky Haven. The modern Tortuga. The pirates there have access to anything their neighbors have parked on a runway or in a hangar. Beyond that, I'm afraid we know almost nothing about them, other than the fact that they have - had - at least one zeppelin. My sources tell me that it was apparently too damaged to make the trip home and has taken refuge somewhere east of the San Gabriels. With one of their prizes gone missing, I suspect that Sky Haven now represents a direct threat to the Nation of Hollywood."
"They sure do," said Norm. "Charlie and I can figure out something to deal with 'em, I suppose. But it's gonna take more than enforced drills and practice to get the Knights up and running; we'll need to hit 'em where it hurts - in their egos."
Charlie began pacing the richly-carpeted office. "What I wouldn't give to have the squadron back in fighting trim right now. We could fly right into the heart of Sky Haven and give 'em hell!"
The man in the white tuxedo leaned forward intently. "Your enthusiasm is admirable, Charlotte, but this is going to take more than clever aerobatics. We have enough information to know that Sky Haven is an extremely dangerous place, but no one has been able to get close enough to find out the true extent of their power. Norman, it appears that you and Charlotte are going to have to solve this problem, and soon. I'll do what I can to help, but you understand..."
Norm took a slug of whiskey and looked over at the anxious aviatrix. "I dunno if it would help, but I've got a couple of markers that probably could be called in right about now. I might have the answer to the problem, but I need a day or two to arrange a meeting. How about your place, Charlie? I don't think we should get together at the airfield; one of the Knights just might decide to take a practice flight."
Charlie snorted derisively. "Oh, that I'd like to see! You're probably right, Norm. My father is going away to film on location, so we'll have some privacy and we won't attract any attention the way we would if we met somewhere in public. Right now, I've had about as much publicity as I can stand."
The man in the white tuxedo set down his empty glass. "Well, it seems that you have much to discuss, but I'm afraid I must be going." He turned towards Charlie, smiling more warmly this time. "Charlotte, the Knights planes will be refitted and ready to fly by the end of the week. Firebrands first, I'm afraid. The Bloodhawks will take a little extra time."
"Thank you Mr. Hughes," she replied.
"It sounds like you are onto something, Norman. Charlotte, I suggest you enjoy the party, since its likely to be the last real relaxation you get for a while. When you are ready to leave, may I suggest that you exit through the kitchen? I have taken the liberty of arranging for Martin to meet you out back."
"You think of everything, Mr. Hughes." She smiled at the Knights' strange benefactor, who nodded slightly, sighed, and quietly moved to the door. As he grasped the handle, he turned to face Charlie, his intense gaze unrelenting.
"You've got a challenging task ahead of you, Charlotte. I'm sure that you and Norman will succeed in your plan." He paused. "I do not think I'm being too dramatic when I say that the fate of the nation rests with you."
Without waiting for a reply, he exited the room.
"I guess that's our cue, boys," Charlie said. "We've got a party to attend."
As she moved back into the turbulent crowd of Hollywood's elite, Charlie did not see the handsome, dark-haired stranger, standing in a corner, watching her intently, a rakish smile on his face...
Interlude: Two to Tango
As Charlie slipped out of Dave Chasen's private office, she could tell from the noise in the main room of the restaurant that the party was in full swing. After her meeting with Norm and their elusive benefactor, she wasn't in any mood to fight her way through the crush and make small talk with the Knights' fawning admirers. She was looking around for somewhere to grab a few minutes to herself when a warm breeze ruffled a draping of sheer white curtains to her left, revealing a narrow door. She glanced around quickly to see if anyone was watching her, then slipped out and found herself in a jewel-like solarium.
A beautifully finished hexagonal parquet floor gleamed under her feet. Nestled among an assortment of palms and ferns was a small comfortable-looking banquette seat. Charlie sank into the rich velvet cushion, grateful to have some privacy. Even with the door closed, she could still hear the music—a tango—although the conversation (no doubt extolling the heroic virtues of her squadron) was blessedly muffled.
Charlie stretched her long, silk-covered legs out in front of her as she leaned back against the soft fabric and closed her eyes. There was so much to think about right now and she wished she had a crystal ball so that she could be sure she would make the right decision. The Marauders needed more training, the Knights were in disarray, and now she had to deal with the looming threat from Sky Haven. She was beginning to feel like the heroine in a Saturday matinee cliff-hanger, wondering what new danger would rear its ugly head, intent on strapping her to the train tracks. 
"Champagne?"
Her eyes flew open at the sound of the deep, rich baritone that had interrupted her contemplation. Earlier that evening, she had made brief, tantalizing eye contact with this handsome stranger, before he vanished into the admiring throng. She had momentarily considered hunting him out of the crowd, before being swept into the party.
He was tall, tanned and green-eyed, sporting the latest in designer evening wear and holding two Baccarat crystal champagne flutes filled with Dom Perignon. The stranger was dark and impossibly handsome. Charlie couldn't tell if he was part Gypsy or perhaps Native American; no matter his background, he was elegant charmer and rakish scoundrel at the same time.
She reached for the proffered glass and sipped, keeping her eyes on the stranger who drained his glass and set it down on the floor. Charlie swallowed the rest of the light amber liquid and looked around for somewhere to put her glass. She wasn't going to put a glass that expensive on the floor. 
The man reached down and, in one fluid motion, managed to relieve her of the glass and pull her up from the banquette. Before she could protest, Charlie found herself drawn into his arms and pressed against him … in a perfect position to begin the tango.
The music swelled and her mysterious partner dipped her back into a brief courteé before guiding her with a firm lead through the intricate steps of the passionate Latin American dance. Charlie had danced the tango before, and in fact had even been partnered by Rudy Valentino at a wild party at Nora Desmond's, but that was nothing compared to this dance. 
She felt light-headed and dizzy, as if she had drunk the entire bottle of champagne, and she could barely catch her breath. The stranger's emerald gaze burned into hers while he whipped them around the room in tight turns and elaborate dips. She tried to ask him his name, but every time she began to speak, he would twirl her, taking her breath away.
As the music reached a pounding crescendo, Charlie felt his strong right hand move from the small of her back up her spine, leaving a trail of fire along her bare skin, until it cradled her neck. He pulled her even closer, then kissed her with a fierce concentration, as if nothing else in the world mattered except gaining possession of her, body and soul. Just when she thought she would faint, he released her, and she staggered back slightly as she felt herself ejected from the whirling vortex of their connection.
Her anger slammed to full throttle; she was furious at him for the insolence of the entire experience … and herself, for her complete lack of control of the situation. She swiftly drew her right hand back and slapped the man hard across his cheek. He didn't flinch in the slightest, but smiled at her and shook his head slightly, saying, "Si supieras, mi amor." With that, he backed away and slipped through the narrow door, leaving Charlie alone, more than a little stirred up and finding that perhaps she wasn't quite as outraged as ought to be.
When she had regained a semblance of her usual self-control, she re-entered the restaurant, but the handsome man was nowhere to be found and none of the people she questioned remembered having seen him.
On the drive home, the cool leather seat of the limousine did little to soothe her skin, which still felt like it was on fire. She kept reliving the sensation of the dance, that embrace, and those piercing eyes. I'm acting like a schoolgirl, she said to herself sternly. He was probably some two-bit publicity hound who had crashed the party. Still, she didn't recall ever having seen such an elegant and accomplished gatecrasher. There was definitely something about this guy.
When she got home, she changed into a light silk nightgown and kimono. In all the fuss of the party, she had not had a chance to eat and she was famished. As she rustled around in the refrigerator, Serena came into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes.
"Miss Charlie, you're up so late. Did you just get in?"
"Oh, Serena, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."
"No es problems. Here, you sit and I'll fix you something." As the housekeeper moved around the kitchen, Charlie remembered that her mysterious dance partner had said something to her in Spanish.
"Serena, can you tell me what 'si supieras' means?"
"It means 'if you only knew,' Miss Charlie. Why do you ask?"
"No reason. Just curious, that's all," she said as she bit into half of a turkey sandwich that Serena had put in front of her. "I'll clean up here, Serena, thanks. Good night."
"Buenas noches, Miss Charlie. Duerme bien."
Chapter Three: Four Aces and a Queen
Norm Houston pointed to the "Private Driveway" sign. "Turn in here," he told the driver. The stunned silence in the car was testament to the reaction of the passengers.
As the car drove slowly down the winding drive to the house, one of the men in the back seat whistled appreciatively. "My, my, the little princess certainly lives in a nice castle."
Norm chuckled. "Nothing but the best for the Steele family." The car came to a stop in front of a large Spanish-style front door and five men, including Norm Houston, got out. As he shut the door of the late model sedan, he added "But I wouldn't advise calling Charlie Steele 'a little princess' to her face."

Charlie checked the arrangements one more time. She planned to entertain Norm and his guests on the terrace overlooking the Olympic-sized pool, since it was a beautiful early fall day. 
Despite the beauty of the day, she was still struggling to calm her unease. She had to get things straightened out with the Knights. They had become sloppy and lazy, preferring to bask in the limelight of stardom eagerly provided by reporters, fawning hostesses, and a growing fandom that worshipped them for their glamour rather than their flying ability. They were going to get a dose of reality and if all went as planned, they would come to their senses and return to the serious business of defending the Nation of Hollywood.
The doorbell chimed, announcing the arrival of her guests. She reached the top of the landing as Serena ushered Norm and four young men into the foyer.
"Hiya, Charlie. I'd like you to meet a coupl'a my old buddies," Norm drawled. "I thought we could all just spend the afternoon talkin' about flyin' n' stuff." Norm grinned at Charlie, who took his hint to stay relaxed and let him ease into the business at hand.
"Gentlemen, welcome. It's always a pleasure to meet Norm's friends. Shall we adjourn to the terrace?"
She gestured back towards the terrace and led them through the spacious living room and out through a pair of leaded glass French doors. One of the visitors, a stocky older man, whistled in appreciation as he looked out over the gardens.
"That's quite a garden, Miss Steele. It rather reminds me a bit of home." It was clear from his accent that "home" was somewhere in Britain.
"Thank you. The landscaper is particularly fond of maze gardens and couldn't resist. And it's Charlie." She held out her hand in greeting.
"Oh lord, where are my manners? Must be livin' out here on the frontier that's done away with all the social niceties," Norm chimed in, his accent thickening noticeably. Everyone laughed and Norm did the introductions.
"Gentlemen, this is Charlie Steele, as you know. Charlie, this misbegotten lot are some of the best in the business and I'm honored to count them as friends and colleagues." Norm had dropped the hayseed accent and Charlie could tell that she was in for an afternoon of serious business. They poured themselves drinks from the cart and settled down comfortably.
"Howard Easton here—we call him 'Sonny'—fought in the Great War. Started out as a kid flying a crop-duster and got pretty good at handling his machine at really low altitudes and through tight spaces. He's one of the best marksmen I've ever seen. I don't think there's a gun he can't shoot." 
During the introduction, Charlie watched the expression on the face of the tall rangy Midwesterner. He seemed to have a permanent scowl etched across his features and she wondered if he was uncomfortable. When she looked into his slate-gray eyes, she realized that she had only seen such grim determination in the eyes of other returning veterans, men who would never be able to escape the horrors they had witnessed on the killing fields of France and Germany. 
Howard Easton extended a slender, work-hardened hand. In a soft-spoken voice, he said, "Pleased to meet you, Charlie." The handshake was strong, brief, and business-like. She sensed that this was a man who preferred to let his actions speak for him.
Without waiting for Norm, the next man jumped into the conversation.
"I'm James Hale, ma'am. Call me Jimbo." Charlie heard a trace of New England in his accent. She was a little surprised that she liked him right away—not in a romantic way, but rather like a rakish younger brother who is always getting himself into scrapes and fast-talking his way out. Hale had a twinkle in his blue eyes as they shook hands.
Norm grinned at Hale. "Jimbo here can fix just about any engine. He also developed quite a taste for blowing up bridges and bunkers overseas, but he hasn't been able to find a big need for that back home."
"These two here," Norm continued, gesturing at the remaining two men, "are our imports from across the Pond. This bouncy guy is Colin Carter. We call him 'Lightning.' He's got the fastest hands I've ever seen. Definitely the guy you want with you in a dark alley."
Carter blushed slightly under his freckled complexion and brushed his unruly red hair off his forehead. Green eyes appraised Charlie with a direct gaze. "Just so you know right up front, Miss Steele, I don't have a problem with taking orders unless they're stupid. If they're stupid, I'll be telling you so in no uncertain terms." 
She took a sip of her iced tea, continuing to look hold Carter's gaze. "Fortunately, Mr. Carter, I never give stupid orders."
Carter threw back his head and laughed with delight. "I think we'll get on just fine, Charlie."
The fourth man had been sitting back in his chair, watching the interaction. He possessed striking, classical good looks: straight dark hair, warm brown eyes, a slightly aquiline nose, and a cleft in his chin. Charlie pictured him in a maroon smoking jacket with a pipe and a glass of brandy. And probably a hound asleep at his feet, she thought. She was not surprised to hear the voice of a British aristocrat as he rose from the chair and walked over to her, kissing the hand that she extended in greeting.
"Terrence Devonshire, Miss Steele. It is indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance." What she did not expect was the rapid shift in accent as he continued to talk. "Ow, ya fell for that one right enough, lass. Terry Potter is me name, just a bloke from the docks. None'a that posh stuff's fer real." He grinned at her as he settled back into the chair.
"Well, Mr. Terrence Devonshire-Potter, welcome to Hollywood. Something tells me you'll fit in just fine in this town."
"Merci, Mademoiselle Steele, c'est un vrai plaisir pour moi." Devonshire-Potter began rambling in a perfect Parisian accent as Norm broke in on the antics.
"Charlie, Terry here has got a hundred voices and disguises, some of which he perfected while enjoying the hospitality of the Kaiser. Lucky for him no one could tell that he wasn't born in Vienna, or things mighta' gotten ugly. Now, if he could just stay away from the baccarat tables and the beautiful dames, he'd be a lot better off."
"Well, old bean, I'd certainly be a lot richer, but I'm afraid I just cannot resist a sure thing." Devonshire looked at Charlie with open admiration and more than a hint of interest. She arched an eyebrow and cocked her head slightly, as if questioning his intentions.
"Well, Charlie," Norm interjected, "I've filled the boys in a bit on our plan, but I think we'd all like to hear the rest from you." Now's my chance, she thought to herself. If I'm going to save the Knights, it starts here.
"Gentlemen, if you'll follow me." Charlie rose and beckoned the five men to accompany her. Drinks in hand, they crossed the spacious living room and the foyer to another wing of the house. 
When Charlie first conceived of the Hollywood Knights, she turned one of the guest rooms into a combination office and war room, filling it with maps, charts, file cabinets, a large desk, and an immense table that dominated the center. She could tell that the flyers were impressed with the amount of data, and she sensed that they were beginning to realize that she was more than a pretty little rich girl who was flying around for thrills.
"Norm's told you how the Knights got started. Basically, they are a great group of talented pilots, but I'm afraid that the publicity has gotten to them and our true purpose has been lost in a whirl of parties and celebrity. The situation is now untenable, and not just because we need to protect the Nation of Hollywood from local marauders like Los Lobos Negros. We are now faced with a newer—and larger—threat."
She had been pacing during her speech and when she paused, she caught Norm's eye. He nodded slightly, urging her to continue.
"You all probably heard about the raid on the Burbank airfield last week," she said. 
"Champion Field?" Devonshire asked. "I understand those chaps on the ground took quite a pasting, though the papers say that it was a small matter."
"The papers are dead wrong. A pirate battle zep with escorts decided to pay us a little visit from Sky Haven. What the papers neglected to mention was that we got our tails kicked and we almost lost the fight. We weren't outnumbered—at least not at first—and we weren't outgunned. But we were damn sure out-flown. 
"I chalk that up to laziness on our part," Charlie continued. "Although the Knights were originally 'rich kids' and actors, they have talent and they used to have the discipline and drive to go with it. Until that raid last week, things around here have been pretty quiet and I think that's part of the problem.
"We managed to shoot up the zep pretty badly. We're not sure where it ended up, though the police believe it is holed up here"—she gestured to a grid on the map—"somewhere along the San Gabriel mountains. And yes, there's a lot of territory to lose a zep in out there." Her guests' nonchalant, playful demeanor was gone, replaced instead with professional concentration.
"Unfortunately, we don't have a specific location for the enemy," she continued. "The first part of my plan involves bracing our pirate friend who is currently cooling his heels in a cell downtown.
"Leaving that aside for the moment, we've got two goals here, which fortunately complement each other," Charlie said. "Sky Haven doesn't let anyone in who isn't a pirate, so I need a 'pirate squad' with a bad rep… but also one that I can trust. I don't want the Knights to go looking for trouble until they're back in shape. I can't get them to practice regularly because they aren't children and they aren't soldiers, but they do have egos so that's where I'm going to aim my firepower. You gentlemen are my guns."
"My plan is challenging, I'll admit. Under my leadership, you'll form a secret new squadron. Don't worry about aircraft; that's already been arranged. First, we'll nab the zep from under the pirates' noses and take it to a private installation where we can give it a facelift and get it ready for its flight to Sky Haven."
Carter frowned. "You're planning to return the zep to the pirates?"
Charlie's smiled archly. "Not exactly, Mr. Carter. Eventually, we're going to return with the zep, or perhaps I should say in the zep. But that's Part Three of my plan. Before we get to that, I'm going to continue pounding on the Knights. Hopefully, they'll come to their senses, but as an added incentive, a new group of 'very dangerous pirates' is going to launch a daring surprise attack on the unsuspecting Hollywood Knights." 
She pointed to a spot on the map. "Kind of like an unannounced 'drill.' Norm and I will coordinate the maneuvers so that no one gets hurt, and if it looks like the mission is going South, I'll put a stop to it and our covers be damned. But this is the only way that I can be sure that the Knights are ready to return to serious action. And as an added benefit, this new band of pirates will earn themselves a ticket into Sky Haven." 
Carter looked up from the map. "Now hang on, missy. That's a pretty tall order."
"I know it is, but from what Norm has told me, you all can handle it. Listen, I'm not going to bat my eyes at you or beg. Let's be clear from the start that this is a business proposition. You will be well-compensated for your participation."
Devonshire (or Potter; Charlie stifled a grin when she realized that she still wasn't sure what the charming rogue's name actually was) rested both hand on the map table and gazed boldly at Charlie. "How well?"
She drew back from the table and began to pace, as if ignoring his challenging question. "Well enough, Mr. Potter, to get a rather forceful loan shark off your six once and for all." The Brit looked away sheepishly. "And for the rest of you, enough to make your stay here in Hollywood quite comfortable, with a tidy sum left over. The pirates undoubtedly have captured loot; there will be finders' fees for its safe return. In short, gentlemen," Charlie said, "there's a lot of potential profit to be made here."
She looked at each of the men, gauging their response to the plan. Devonshire was the first to respond.
"Count me in, Miss Steele. I hate sharks."
Carter and Hale voiced their assent, and Easton nodded. She grinned at Norm and walked over to the wet bar. She pulled a bottle of champagne out of the ice and popped the cork expertly. Although Sonny Easton flinched slightly at the sound, he managed as close as he ever got to a grin. Charlie poured for each, then raised her crystal flute in a toast.
"Welcome aboard, gentlemen."
Chapter Four: "X" Marks the Spot
"Chief Merrill, Miss Steele is here to see you."
Hollywood Police Chief Archibald Merrill's habitual scowl deepened.
"Perfect. Just perfect," Merrill grunted. "First pirates, now a dame who fancies herself an 'air ace.' This week is just getting better and better.
"Well," Merrill sighed, not bothering to hide his distaste. "Better show the little princess in, Patrolman."

Charlie Steele struggled to hide her own discomfort as she cast her gaze around Merrill's office. The room felt more like a lair than an office to Charlie; crumpled papers, half-empty coffee cups and cigar butts covered every available surface. Somewhere beneath the overpowering odor of cigar smoke that permeated the room, she could swear she smelled dirty socks. At her side, Terry Potter grimaced.
"Ah, Hollywood's finest," he whispered to her.
"Good morning, Chief Merrill," she said with a lot more warmth than she felt. Archie Merrill's opinions—particularly about "lazy, overpaid, overprivileged militia flyers"—were well-documented in a weekly column in Hollywood Today, the nation's largest regular newspaper.
His family—as he grandly announced to anyone who would listen—had come from the old Midwest and he was proud of what he called his "hard-working pioneer values." (The fact that these "values" included fat, foul-smelling cigars, a lot of bootleg gin, and women of questionable virtue didn't seem to bother Merrill.) To be fair, he was hard on criminals, so most of the voters overlooked his personal foibles.
"To what do we owe the honor of your visit this morning, Miss Steele?" Merrill lingered over the "Miss" just long enough to infuse it with sarcasm.
"We'd like to talk to a prisoner, Chief," she replied. "The pirate I downed in the raid on Champion Field."
Merrill blurted out a mirthless laugh. "Oh, you would, would you? Look, sweetie: this is a police station and we've got work to do. You hotshot pilots may think you own the skies, but down here on the ground, well, you're in my jurisdiction. Keep your head in the clouds, lady. We'll handle the real work." His comment was punctuated by another puff of evil-smelling cigar smoke.
Charlie smiled icily at the porcine Chief and responded without raising her voice. "According to militia observers, your interrogation has so far been unproductive." She paused. "Mr. Hughes and President Dunbar asked me to express their thanks for your cooperation in this matter, which they have assured me you will provide. If you'd prefer, I'll take the matter up with them."
She studiously ignored the dark look of rage that clouded his already-unpleasant features. "What's the harm, Chief?" she asked, softening her arch tone. "If we get something out of him, you'll be a hero. If we get nothing, well, you'll have more material for your newspaper column. You win either way."
"Okay, Miss Steele," he said gruffly. "But if you step one inch out of line, I'll slam you both into a cell with him."

The prisoner was seated dejectedly in a small, windowless holding room. The interrogation chamber was starkly lit by a single naked bulb dangling overhead. The room was dank, humid and uncomfortably hot, and the fetid aroma of mildew, sweat and panic assaulted her as Charlie entered.
The captured pilot was older than she expected, maybe in his mid-40s, medium height and build. He was unshaven, scruffy and unpleasant. His face was puffy and bruised where Merrill's interrogators had clearly plied their trade with enthusiasm. He cast his hollow, tired gaze on her, then returned to staring at the floor.
"Thank you, Officer, I'll be fine," she said as she waved off a sergeant, who took up his post just outside the door. She took a seat across from the grizzled pirate.
"I need to ask you a few questions," she said, smiling.
The man's answer was stony silence. 
"It must be pretty awful for you in here," she continued, unperturbed by his refusal to speak. "I'm sure its quite a change from what you're used to. And that god-awful cigar smoke! I don't know which is worse: Merrill or his stogies. I know I'd give anything for a breath of mountain air after that." She was chattering away as if they were at a cocktail party, instead of sitting in a dreary holding cell. 
"Look, lady: save the patter. I ain't got nothin' to say to you," the pirate growled.
"That's a pity. It's understandable though. I've heard stories about 'pirate honor' for years. I particularly enjoy the bits about how you consider yourselves members of a brotherhood, 'silent unto the grave,' and all that jazz.
"Kind of hard to understand, really," she continued, smiling. "If my squadronmates left me to cool my heels in your custody, I'd feel no great loyalty to them."
The pirate glared angrily as Charlie's words found their mark.
"Now, I'm not here to hurt you. This doesn't have to be unpleasant. I just want to find out where your gang is holed up, and how to get into Sky Haven."
The pirate sneered. "Fat chance, sister."
"You know," she said casually, standing and looking around the cell. "I've heard some other stories, too. For example, I've heard dozens of stories about police beating guys like you to death during interrogations.
"Of course, those are just rumors, right? I'm sure there's no truth to them," she continued sunnily. "Just like those rumors that Dunbar is the President of Hollywood in name only, and that he's really a just puppet of the studios. Or Hughes Aviation, depending on who you talk to. 
"My favorite rumor, though, is that Hughes Aviation is actually 'above the law,' and that they employ teams of interrogators and 'pain specialists' to loosen the tongues of enemies of the state.
She spun to face the pirate, boldly meeting his gaze with all pretense at friendliness abandoned.
"Enemies of the state just like you."
She turned to door, and said, "Please send in Mr. Smith, Officer."
The heavy steel door creaked open, and a tall man in a dark grey suit and fedora stepped in.
"I can assure you, my pirate friend," she continued, turning back to the prisoner, "that there is no truth to those rumors. And the rumors that will doubtless spread about what's going to happen to you?
"Those won't be true either."
Mr. Smith—his face a dispassionate, expressionless mask—reached into his pocket, withdrawing a vial of clear liquid.
And a syringe.

Charlie was laughing as she left the station house. "You were brilliant, Terry! Absolutely brilliant!"
"I must admit, our pirate friend turned a lovely shade of white when I pulled out the syringe, Charlie," Terry replied, grinning widely, shedding his sinister "interrogator" persona. "I thought we'd have to sedate him to get him to stop talking."
"Now comes the hard part, though," Charlie said. "Getting to the pirate zep. And then, into Sky Haven.
"But first," she sighed, "we better get the team prepared for tomorrow's raid."

All she could see were clouds. She started into the maneuver as if a chandelle without road reference was the most natural thing in the world. As she eased the nose of her Bloodhawk over, she began to pick up speed. At 120 mph, she banked about 30 degrees and centered the plane, then increased the bank again, applying power smoothly as the nose continued to rise. Funny—no torque seemed normal too. When she reached the 90-degree point of turn, she gradually rolled out until the wings were level and her airspeed was just above a stall. She held it for about 15 seconds and then gradually lowered the nose back to normal.
"Muy bonita, mi hermana!" She heard Jimmy Vega's deep voice fill the cockpit.
"Jimmy!"
"Nice flyin', Charlie."
"Thanks, but you know it isn't the same without you."
"Hey, you've still got the Knights and I'm flyin' with a great bunch up here. We're keepin' our eye on you, mi amiga. Vaya con dios!"
His voice seemed to fade away with the clouds and when Charlie woke up she realized that her cheeks were wet with tears. 

Later that afternoon, Charlotte "Charlie" Steele still couldn't shake the eerie feeling that her dream had brought on. Hearing Jimmy's voice had made her feel both wonderful and terribly sad. She had so many great memories of the days surrounding the creation of the Hollywood Knights. She didn't want to lose the amazing feeling she had experienced flying so high in the clouds. It seemed like she and the plane were one with every motion coming naturally.
Shaking off her mounting sadness, Charlie drove out to meet with her new squad. They had finally decided on a name for their "pirate group"—the Death Ravens. (Norm Houston later told her that the debate had proven to be quite spirited, as the group of pilots struggled to choose a suitably sinister name. "We were almost the 'Blood Ravens,' the 'Knight Stalkers,' and the 'Death Shadows,'" Norm chuckled.)
When she entered the secluded hanger squadron, she saw that the rest of the team had already assembled. Terry Potter made an elaborate display of checking his watch as she entered.
"Well, Miss Steele, it's after four o'clock, so you're almost too late for the first pot, but I think we can squeeze out one last cup for you. Sadly, the crumpets are gone."
Charlie grinned at the Englishman as he handed her a steaming cup of tea. "My, aren't we civilized? Hmm, Earl Grey, hot—just the way I like it. Sorry I'm late, guys."
Carrying her steaming cup of tea, she walked to the large table map, where Norm Houston, and the three other Raven pilots—Howard "Sonny" Easton, Colin "Lightning" Carter, James Ethan "Jimbo" Hale—were standing.
Hale looked across the table at Potter and said, without preamble. "Y'know, we gotta get you a new moniker, Mr. Terrence Devonshire-Potter 'n God knows what else."
The normally laconic Easton chipped in, "How about 'Hamlet?'" 
"Hamlet, eh? I trust that is a commendation for my thespian abilities?" Potter quipped.
"'Hambone' might be more appropriate though," Hale chided.
Charlie and Norm called the group to attention, ending the jocularity.
"With the help of 'Hamlet,' here," Charlie said, "we were able to pin down not only the route into Sky Haven but also the location of the damaged pirate zeppelin. According to our talkative pirate friend, the raiders had a planned emergency landing area near Mount Wilson."
Norm unrolled a map of the region, and pointed to a canyon in the San Gabriel Mountains. "The pirate indicated that his mates planned to use this area as a refuel and resupply base, and, in an emergency, use it to hole up until the heat dies down.
"The terrain is sandy and rocky," he continued, "but the winds aren't so bad that they can't launch once the zep is repaired. We need to go in and get that zep."
"What's the plan?" Easton asked. 
"Simple. We drive in, take out the sentries on the ground as quick as we can, disable any scout planes, then board the zeppelin. Questions?"
Carter asked, "I assume we have a cover story, just in case? You know, the old 'prospector and his daughter in the hills' or—"
Norm cut him off. "If we do this right, we don't need a cover story. If we do it wrong, no story is going to save us. It's dangerous, but I think that we can pull it off if we move in quickly… and forcefully."
Potter got out his theatrical make-up kit and motioned to Charlie.
"Sit down here, luv, and we'll smudge you up a bit. And get a bandanna over your hair; otherwise, it'll shine like a beacon for miles." Charlie did as instructed and was amazed at Potter's artistry. He used some makeup and shading techniques to darken her complexion, added a rather unsightly mole above her lip and gave her some small foam inserts to put in her mouth (giving the impression of a wider face). She couldn't eat or drink with them in place, but speech should be no problem. In short, her transformation from a society belle to a rather drab-looking young woman was nothing short of stunning. 
The rest of the team was also dressing for the occasion. Everyone wore dull khaki and gray clothing, which would blend well with the terrain in the canyon. Norm stood in the doorway, back-lit by the setting sun. "I've loaded everything into Ol' Lizzie, except for you slouchers. Charlie, you ride shotgun with me."
Charlie nodded and followed the rest of the Ravens outside, where Norm's ancient Ford truck was waiting. The light was beginning to fade, promising a beautiful sunset over the rugged terrain. The men climbed in the back of the truck and settled themselves amidst the tarps and blankets covering the gear. Charlie got in beside Norm, who started up the old truck. 
After nearly a half-hour of traveling along bumpy dirt roads, Norm glanced over at Charlie.
"You're mighty quiet, today, missy."
"Just thinking, Norm."
"C'mon, Charlie, this is me. What's bothering you?"
Charlie sighed and told Norm about her dream. She was surprised that Norm didn't laugh at her.
"Honey, I've heard more than one story about guys in the Great War, lost over the dark forests in Germany or flying back through the fog to London. Stories about how they were led home by a friendly who looked like a pilot in another squadron. One guy I know checked out the name of the pilot who had helped him; turns out the guy had been shot down three months before. I dunno if it's true, but I'm not gonna count out any possibilities. Who knows?" he added, pointing towards the sky and smiling. "Maybe that's where Jimmy is."
Charlie shivered in the dusk, wishing that maybe Norm was right, that she really had talked with Jimmy. She continued to stare at the horizon until the Ford came to a stop by a clump of scrub. Norm motioned everyone out of the truck and signaled to them to follow him quietly to a rise where they all dropped down and crawled to the edge. From this elevated vantage point, they could look down into the dead-end canyon where the pirates had made their camp.
"There she is," Norm muttered, pointing at the oblong airship moored below, guarded by four men.
"Only four?" whispered Hale. 
"That we can see," replied Norm. "You better believe there are more of them inside the zep."
"Even so," said Hale confidently, "we can take 'em!"
"Calm down, lad! I don't want to be lugging your dead carcass back to town," Potter hissed.
Norm motioned them back down near the truck. They squatted down while Norm scratched the plan of attack in the sand. He closed the impromptu briefing with a simple warning: "Don't waste bullets." 

The pirate guards had been on duty all afternoon, and the combination of tension, long hours, desert heat, and boredom had lulled them into complacency. They figured that if the "pretty-boy Hollywood militia" knew where they were, they would have arrived in force by now. The pirates had long since relaxed their vigilance and were well into exchanging numerous obscene jokes and exaggerated accounts of their romantic prowess. 
As a result, they were more curious than alarmed when they heard the sound of an old truck laboriously making its way through the canyon. Two of the pirates reluctantly took cover behind some of the crates they had offloaded from the zep, while two of their compatriots went to check out the noise. When they saw the truck come around the curve, the pirate guards relaxed a little. It was only two men in an ancient black Ford truck, and the driver seemed pretty harmless. A bit of a hayseed, but no trouble.
"Afternoon, fellas. Y'all havin' some trouble with your balloon?" said Terrence, in an almost flawless Southern accent. Colin, sitting next to him, muttered, "Easy on the grits, Hamlet."
The two guards walked closer to the truck; one was waving a Tommy gun menacingly, while the other brandished an old U.S. Army-issue .45 automatic. "Okay, you two. Get this heap turned around and-" 
A sudden bang erupted from the hillside overlooking the camp and the young pirate with the machine gun convulsed and crumpled to the ground. The pistol-waving pirate, who had reached the passenger side of the truck, "whoofed" and dropped to the dirt as the truck door swung open and slammed him in his gut. Colin immediately jumped on the fallen pirate and knocked him unconscious with a sharp, precise blow to the jaw.
The guards behind the crates were caught completely by surprise by the speedy attack. Startled by the suddenness of the assault, they didn't see Charlie and Jimbo Hale leap out of the back of the truck and take aim. One of the pirates—with the instincts of a criminal—swung around and yelled a warning to his comrade, firing wildly at Charlie and Hale. 
"Damn!" said Norm, who was perched next to Sonny Easton back on the hillside. "So much for a quiet entrance."
The two remaining pirates, who apparently had no intention of coming out from behind their cover, began to pop up and fire at the oncoming intruders. Terrence, Colin, Charlie and Jimbo quickly retreated behind the Ford.
"It's okay," said Charlie, as she hunkered down, wincing as a ricochet whined overhead. "We'll just wait until Norm and Sonny can work their way around and take them out."
"Sorry," said Terrence, who was peeking out from behind the now-flat rear tire of the truck. "I'm afraid time is a luxury we now no longer have. Look!" Terrence pointed towards the zep. The sleek silver craft had begun to rev its engines and was slowly straining against its lines. The pirates on board were apparently more interested in getting their prize out of the canyon than rescuing their brethren under fire.
The remaining pirate guards saw this too. As the last line gave way, they broke from behind the crates and ran towards the slowly rising zeppelin, firing as they went. They were obviously hoping to catch the trailing lines and climb up into the safety of the zep cabin. The Ravens opened fire and one of the guards, who was slightly ahead, stumbled and fell lifeless to the ground. The other, aware that he was outgunned and about to be abandoned, stopped and threw up his arms in surrender.
Charlie jumped up from behind the truck. "Hamlet, you keep an eye on that one. Jimbo, Colin, follow me!"
"Where the hell are you going?" protested Terrence, yelling over the noise of the backwash from the zep's mighty propellers.
"I'm gonna join the pirates, of course!"
Initially, the zep had been struggling to gain height but now it was almost thirty feet up and the ends of the remaining lines were just brushing the ground. Charlie and Jimbo each jumped for the rapidly rising ends of a rope and managed to catch on, but Carter missed his jump and was left behind as the zeppelin took to the air.
With the ground rapidly falling away below them, Charlie and Jimbo slowly climbed hand-over-hand up the wildly swinging ropes, sometimes blown almost horizontal by the wind and the movement of the accelerating zeppelin.
Charlie, fighting against the wind, heard a noise above her. Looking up, she saw that a black-bearded ruffian had come out onto the catwalk that she was struggling to reach. The pirate spotted Charlie, grinned, then slowly drew a large Bowie-style knife. He began to saw at the heavy rope that Charlie was clinging to.
Charlie searched frantically for a new handhold, to no avail. Was this going to be it? There was no way she was going to get to the top of the rope before it was cut. Casting her gaze at the desert floor hundreds of feet below her, she realized that she didn't stand a chance if she fell.
The pirate laughed savagely as the rope began to part under his knife. Charlie saw the exultation in his eyes—
—until he dropped the knife and clutched his arm, blood blossoming beneath the fabric.
Staggering to his feet, he suddenly jerked as if hit by an unseen fist. He staggered back and flipped backwards over the rail. Charlie heard the man scream as he plummeted past her to his death.
Happy landings, you bastard.
Looking around wildly, Charlie saw Jimbo, hanging one-armed onto an anchor rope at the rear end of the zep. He grinned, holstered his sidearm and shimmied up the rope. Charlie followed suit.
When she reached the catwalk, Charlie saw the knife the pirate had dropped. She impulsively picked it up and slid it in her belt, then ran towards the ladder that connected the catwalks with the main cabin. As she ran, she saw Jimbo heading back towards the engine room. 
When she reached the main deck, she crept on all fours, keeping below the wide windows which afforded the pilot a panoramic view of the sky around him. Cautiously, Charlie peeked into the bridge. One pirate was standing at the helm, steering the craft. Another, with headphones on, sat on the far side of the cabin at a radio console. 
She quietly stood up and drew her pistol, brandishing the knife in her other hand. She kicked the door open, yelling: "Sorry, gentlemen, the ride is over. Put up your hands." 
The helmsmen whipped his head around, startled into immobility. The radio operator turned to face her as well, a large revolver in his hand.
Reacting instinctively—Norm'll be pleased that I haven't forgotten the pistol training he gave me!—Charlie fired first. He screamed, clutching his wounded arm and dropping his gun.
"Don't make me repeat myself, gentlemen," she commanded. "This ride is over."
Chapter Five: Mayhem at Midnight
Charlie Steele strode into the war room at the Ravens' "secret base"—a Hughes Aviation testing field that had been cleared for their sole use. Norm and her "secret squadron" of new recruits were waiting for her.
"We're all set for tonight, boys," she said. "How's our 'fierce pirate band' shaping up?"
"Well, the planes are painted, and the zep is almost ready to go," Norm replied. "C'mon, lemme give you a tour." 
Norm led Charlie to the 20,000-square-foot hangar behind the war room. What she saw took her breath away.
The refurbished pirate zeppelin hung serenely in place, looking like a sleek diamondback rattler with a realistically-mottled envelope. Her nose was graced with a pair of fangs—two wicked machine guns. Twin .70-caliber guns were mounted on top of the turret at her tail. The zeppelin's tail fins had been modified to enhance her reptilian appearance.
"Charlie, up here." Terry Potter (or "Devonshire" depending on the disguise expert's mood) called to her from the gondola. She scrambled up the metal stairs and into the plush six-seater cabin. Whoever had owned the zep before the pirates grabbed her had clearly spent a bundle outfitting her. "Nothin' but the best, eh?" Potter crowed. 
The seats were covered in a glove-soft buff colored leather. The instrument panel gleamed as if every gauge and dial was new. There was even a small wet bar in the galley area. 
Charlie smiled appreciatively at the Brit and asked, "Can she fly?"
Norm responded. "With a few more modifications here 'n there, we figure she can handle just about anything they throw at her. That lizard skin isn't just for camouflage; she can take a cannon shot if need be. And she can dish out punishment, which is more important. We added some additional firepower to the fore and aft weaponry, and we decided to go with magnesium rounds, just in case we need a little extra punch."
Jimbo Hale chimed in. "She ceilings at 10,000 feet, which should be plenty for what we need."
The squadron members were grinning, eager for a chance to take their prize into the heart of pirate territory, and into battle.
"This refurb must have cost us a pretty penny," she commented.
Norm put on what she called his "inscrutable" face and said, "Our patron was, as always, plenty generous." Charlie nodded. This wasn't even a dent in Mr. Hughes' wallet.
"You've all done a fantastic job," she said, picking up her coat and moving to the door. "I'm off to host our little party for the Knights. Don't be late, boys."

The celebration with the Marauders was just getting underway at the Hollywood Knights' airfield. Charlie had arranged a lavish spread, complete with imported caviar and the fine champagne, and everyone turned out in style. Her invitation had indicated casual dress and they had taken her at her word, although casual for this crowd looked more like formal wear for the average Joe.
Steve "Glamour Boy" Gardner put his arm around his hostess and raised a crystal champagne flute in a toast. "Here's to the toughest—and the prettiest—commander in the skies!" 
She raised her glass in a return salute and sipped as the cheers and claps around her subsided into chit-chat and laughter.
She checked her watch anxiously. Five more minutes.
As the Marauders poured themselves fresh glasses of champagne, the alert klaxon sounded throughout the hangar.

"What gives, Charlie?" asked "Greasepaint" Jolson. "This is supposed to be a party."
"Not anymore, Irv," Charlie replied, her face and manner grave. "The party's over. Spotter stations have reported a big pirate zep on the way, with escorts. Time to go to work."
Champagne glasses were dropped and flight jackets zipped up over tuxedos and gowns. Well, Charlie thought. They can still hustle when they have to.
She started shouting commands. "Gardner: get the squad up there. We need a better idea of what we're dealing with. The spotters couldn't tell us what kind of birds the pirates are flying, so get me some facts, fast."
In minutes, the night was filled with the sound of revving engines, and the Hollywood Knights, Metro Marauders squadron, was airborne in a loose formation.
Charlie met Norm's gaze. 
"Showtime, Norm."

"Damn it!" Charlie shouted over the radio from the cockpit of her customized Bloodhawk. "Knights, this is Knight Leader: I've got a problem!"
"What's the matter, Charlie?" Gardner's reply crackled through her radio headset.
Charlie felt a twinge of remorse at lying to her squadron-mate—her friend. He sounded like a hunting hound straining at the leash to join the rest of the pack.
"Some kind of magneto failure. My plane is dead." She paused for a moment, trying to put controlled frustration into her voice. "Steve, you're Lead now. I'll coordinate from here."
"Uh, roger that, Charlie." Gardner sounded nervous; he had never led a defensive action before. 
Charlie slipped out of her "grounded" plane and ran to the radio shack. Norm had everything set up and slapped a pair of headphones into her hand as soon as she sat down.
"I'm heading up, Charlie. You gonna be okay down here?" he asked, concern evident on his lined and weathered face.
"Sure, Norm. I'll have the best pilot in the business as an extra pair of eyes." She tossed a tired smile at her mentor. "Get up there…and be careful."
Charlie positioned herself so that she could keep her powerful binoculars trained on the sky while managing the radio. This would be tricky, but she and Norm had practiced rapid radio frequency switching until her fingers had ached. If she was going to pull this off, she couldn't afford a fumble at the controls.
A quick survey of the situation showed the two squads—the Metro Marauders and the "Death Ravens," her secret confederates—about to do battle in the starlit midnight skies. 
The attack on Champion Field a few days prior had conveniently left the Ravens a few Devastators richer, so re-creating a convincing "pirate" band hadn't been too difficult. The Death Ravens brought four escort planes to the fray, along with the refurbished zep. The Marauders were up in their regular aircraft: Steve "Glamour Boy" Gardner in his Bloodhawk, Irv "Greasepaint" Jolson and his wingman Brandy "Wine" Noonan in the Firebrands, and Carmen "Killer" Flores and wingman Karl "Wrong-way" Gruner in the Furies.
Charlie murmured as she flipped to the Knights' frequency.
"What do you see up there, Knight Leader?" she asked.
Gardner's voice came over the crackling line. "Looks like some tough stuff, Charlie. These bandits have Devastators, and they're loaded for bear. We're gonna have to take 'em out from a distance."
"Roger that, Leader. Keep our people together. The bad guys are gonna do everything they can to protect Big Mama." The Ravens wouldn't fire directly on the Marauders, Charlie knew, but that wasn't her problem; the problem was keeping the Knights from ripping into the Ravens and their zep.
She twirled the radio knobs until she reached Terry "Hamlet" Potter's frequency. 
"Time to take the stage, Terry," she said. "Just tease them a little. I think I can keep them from taking any serious shots at you."
"That's comforting, Charlie," came Potter's dry reply, spotted with static and the drone of the zeppelin's engines.
"Hey, Hamlet—remember, its in a good cause!"
"But of course it is, my dear girl. Your check cleared. 'Raven Leader' out."
She turned her attention from the action overhead, grabbed the phone and placed a call to police headquarters. All by the book, she thought. 
"This is Charlie Steele at the Metro Marauders' hangar. We're under pirate attack. It doesn't appear to be too serious, but you'd better send a couple of patrol cars in case we take prisoners," she said.
She hung up the phone without waiting for a response; the Hollywood police would respond in roughly fifteen minutes. Time enough, she hoped, to finish the mission and allow the Death Ravens to escape into the night. And, with any luck, the ubiquitous reporter who just happened to be filing a report at Police HQ would tag along.
She switched back to Gardner. "Knight Leader: what's the situation?"
"Don't worry, Charlie," responded the always-confident "Glamour Boy." "By the time we're done with this little tango, there won't be a pirate in the sky."
She answered quickly. "Negative, Steve! Do not, repeat, do not engage unless fired upon. We need to get our hands on a live pirate...and preferably that zep!"
She could almost see his look of frustration. "You're kidding, right?"
"I mean it! Let's wait a few more minutes." She realized that she couldn't push this too long before her squad got suspicious about her uncharacteristically passive attitude about the invaders.
"Affirmative," came the grudging reply.
She radioed Norm. "How're we doing, Norm? I can't hold Gardner back much longer."
"Hale is in position now, Charlie. Potter's scheduled to go...now." 
Charlie adjusted the radio yet again, ignoring the tension and ache in her fingers. "Knight Leader: I'm getting an incoming message from our guests. Piping it through to you now..."
Potter's voice—layered with a thick Slavic accent—hissed from the speakers.
"—ttention Hollywood militia forces: pull back now, or ze Death Ravens vill begin bombing civilian targets. Zis is your only varning." 
Charlie held her breath, hoping that Gardner would take the challenge seriously. She quickly dialed in Potter's frequency:
"Hamlet, let Jimbo start his run, and tell him to try not to hit me," Charlie called, before switching back to the Knights' channel.
"—on't even think about hitting a civilian target, pirate," Gardner growled—exactly as Charlie had expected. "Back off now before we pop that oversize balloon and you with it." 
Perfect. Gardner was seconds away from disregarding his orders and attacking the pirates.
She flipped over to Hale: "Hit it, Jimbo!"
"Affirmative," Hale said, cool as ice. 
His Devastator screamed out of the sky, leveling off and rocketing above the tarmac. His guns roared, strafing parked planes. He pulled up at the end of his run, releasing a bomb. 
The bomb arced towards a collection of fuel tanks that Charlie had made sure were strategically positioned along Hale's projected line of approach.
The explosion was spectacular, as fuel drums burst and rocketed skyward on columns of flame. 
"Nice work, Jimbo," Charlie said. "Watch your back, though; they're gonna come after you."
"I'm ready," he replied.
She quickly switched back to the Knights' frequency. "—lie! Charlie! Are you alright down there?" Gardner sounded like he was about to have a heart attack.
She coughed a little for effect. "Yeah, I'm fine. The fire doesn't look too bad, so just let him go for now and keep your eye on the zep."
"Forget it," Gardner snapped. "We've got enough guns up here to babysit the zep and nail that pirate's coffin shut." 
Gardner immediately began issuing commands to the squadron. "All right, Knights: we're gonna show our new friends who really owns the skies of Hollywood. Jolson and Noonan, form on me! We're going after that bomber!" 
Flores and Gruner held back to keep an eye on the zep and the Death Ravens' Devastators, while the Firebrands fell into formation behind Gardner. 
Charlie could see that Hale was pretty far out of range at this point, but she knew that once Gardner started tracking his prey, it would be damn hard to talk him down. 
Switching back to the Raven's frequency, she radioed: "Jimbo, be careful! Gardner's heading in your direction and he's out for blood. Watch it!"
"Roger, Charlie. I'll make sure none of that blood is mine." 
Charlie switched frequencies again. "Gardner's moving in as planned, Norm. Are you ready?"
"Affirmative, Charlie. One 'wounded bird' ready to go."
"Be careful, Norm," she muttered. Here's where it all comes together...or goes down in flames. 
Flores and Gruner circled the zeppelin and her "pirate escorts." Norm Houston's plane, a Fury, moved into position with them. "Thought y'all could use a hand," he drawled.
Without warning, the two Death Raven Devastators fell away from the zeppelin, moving south. "Norm, you keep an eye on the zep. We're goin' huntin'," Flores radioed. 
"Flores, our orders are to stay on the zep," Norm replied.
"Negative, Norm. You can handle it, right?"
Charlie smiled. "Killer, you are just so predictable," she said to herself. She switched to Norm's private frequency and said: "Okay, Norm...here we go."

After a long chase, Steve Gardner finally caught up with the Devastator.
The rest of the squad was behind him, but now he could see the Death Raven dead ahead. The enemy pilot was good, but there was no way he was going to escape from a Bloodhawk piloted by "Glamour Boy" Gardner. No way. As the Devastator banked and rolled, Glamour Boy lined him up in his sights and began to squeeze the trigger.
Suddenly the cockpit was filled with Norm Houston's voice, yelling: "I've got two Devastators coming in fast! I need help back at the zep! Where the hell is everybody?"
Steve cursed as he swung away from his target. "We're on our way, Norm. Just sit tight."
Carmen chimed in, "Where the hell could they have come from? We were only gone for a minute—"
As the two groups of Hollywood Knights screamed back towards the zep's position, they searched the sky for any sign of the airship, her escort fighters or Norm's Fury. 
Nothing. 
They were gone.

"I've been hit! Mayday! Mayday!" Norm Houston's normally calm, laconic voice had been replaced by urgency and near-panic. With sinking hearts, the Knights watched Norm's plane trailing smoke and hurtling towards the earth. The plane slammed into the ground, sending smoke, fire and metal debris raining across the area. A moment later, the engine exploded in a brilliant ball of flame.
"Did he get clear? Where is he?" Gardner yelled.
In the darkness and the smoke, it was impossible to tell whether Norm had managed to get clear of the plane in time. In the stunned silence, Steve said, "Okay, folks. Show's over up here. Let's go home."
By the time the Marauders were on the ground, the police had arrived, lights flashing, and—as expected—a reporter was pressing Charlie for information. 
"So what happened, Miss Steele?" The reporter was frantically scribbling in a small notebook, hanging on her every word.
Charlie wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. "I'm not sure. We were having a private party when the attack came. These 'Death Ravens' hit us very hard."
"Death Ravens, huh?" The reporter chewed his pencil thoughtfully. "Never heard of 'em, but they must have had some serious firepower to down a Hollywood Knight. Is Mr. Houston hurt?"
"Yeah, how is he, Charlie?" Brandy Noonan asked as she and the other members of the squadron—minus Norm—joined them, haggard, sweaty and dispirited.
"He's fine," said Charlie, and there was a collective sigh of relief from the team. "Norm bailed out in time. He's going to be all right."
Gardner ushered the reporter away, his normally carefree demeanor forgotten. He turned to Charlie, stricken. "I'm sorry, Charlie. We were lucky. We performed like amateurs out there. 
"I'm going home," he concluded. "I'll be here tomorrow, Charlie, early. I think we've got a lot of work to do." The others murmured in agreement, and walked off, their heads hanging. 
Charlie ached for them, but she knew in her heart that this was what they needed, and that they would be a much stronger unit after tonight. They needed the discipline and focus that loss brought—like Jimmy Vega's death had brought her. This way, at least, nobody actually died.
She headed off to her car, struggling to conceal her mounting elation. By morning, the papers would establish the Ravens as a pirate crew to be reckoned with and the Knights would be back on track.
"Next stop," she murmured, "Sky Haven."
Interlude: Morning in the Mountains
As the sun rose on a sparkling mountain morning, Nathan Zachary wrapped his cold hands around a hot cup of joe and watched the rising steam. Despite the beauty of his surroundings, his mind was a thousand miles away, in a noisy kitchen in Hollywood where a pair of emerald eyes had knocked him off his feet. Dangerous eyes. He could hear his old gypsy nana waving her bony finger at him and warning, "You watch out for evil eyes. A girl's eyes, they break your heart someday." His heart wasn't broken, but it sure was intrigued. 
The snapping of twigs behind him brought him out of his reverie. A gloved hand ruffled his dark hair, as Harmony Brown sat down next to him. "Damn, Zachary! It's cold out here, y'know! There's a nice fire back at the cabin."
A nice fire and a warm bed, Zachary thought to himself, grinning. Harmony was good company, a laughing, friendly girl who reminded him of hot apple cider and cinnamon rolls. If he were going to settle in the mountains permanently—an unlikely proposition—Harmony would be the perfect companion. She was without pretension, a girl who didn't worry about trivialities like broken fingernails, dirt on her face, or the style of her clothing. 
She came from a famous Colorado family, but she also had an enduring positive attitude—which earned her the nickname "Unsinkable." She was quite unlike the rich society girls in Manhattan or Hollywood.
Which brought him back to Charlie Steele. 
Harmony pressed her cold nose against his ear and whispered, "Never mind the fire, Nathan. 'His Eminence' wants to see you, pronto."
Zachary turned his head and grabbed a quick kiss, then rose to his feet. "Well then, " he quipped, a sardonic grin etched on his handsome features. "I'd better hurry. It wouldn't do to keep such an important person waiting, would it?"
Harmony laughed as she stood up, tossing a mock-stern glare at the handsome gypsy pilot. "Oh my, no! We must be punctual." She snapped to attention with a salute. 
Zachary threw his arm around her shoulders and they walked back to the heart of Sky Haven together.
Sky Haven was a pirate's paradise. There was no law or government, save perhaps the law of the jungle. Only the strong called the shots. 
Sky Haven was a almost literally a city in the clouds. The town was surprisingly large, occupying a large portion of mountainside. It was a collection of ramshackle, makeshift buildings, some large, some small. Prefabricated huts and shacks, buildings constructed from tin and discarded aircraft fuselages, and simple log cabins and lean-tos all competed for space on the massive girder-elevated platforms that had been erected on the side of Mt. Wausa, in the heart of the Free Colorado Rockies. 
Most of the summer tents had been taken down as the weather turned cold, but a few lean-to's were still up, used as impromptu trading areas for tools, fuel, clothing, and weapons. Although it was early in the day, a fair number of people walked through the main area of the camp, dressed in the Sky Haven "uniform": boots, pants, flannel shirts, and a variety of flight or field jackets. 
Zachary ambled into Karl Regen's "office." As expected, the self-appointed head of Sky Haven was already at his desk, deep in work. The desk itself looked like a pretty pricey antique. Despite the amount of paper on its polished surface, everything was in neat piles. If Zachary had to pick one word to describe Karl Regen, it would be "meticulous."
Without looking up from his work, Regen gestured imperiously to the empty chair facing the desk. "Be with you in a moment, Zachary. Sit."
Zachary sat, careful not to spill what was left of his coffee. Aside from the muffled noise of people outside in the common area, the only sound in the room was the scratching of Regen's pen across the paper. Zachary thought briefly about putting his feet up on the desk as a way to get Regen's attention, but he couldn't bring himself to damage the exquisite piece of furniture with his muddy boots. 
"Nice desk, Karl," he said. 
Regen stopped writing and put down the pen. He ran his long-fingered hand across the surface as if he were caressing a lover. "It's an antique."
Zachary yawned elaborately. "I know, Karl. Late Regency I'd say, around 1835 or so. Maybe a bit later, from Surrey, perhaps?"
Regen raised one eyebrow slightly, but refused to be impressed. "Ah, yes, I had forgotten. Cambridge, wasn't it?"
"Oxford, actually. But I don't think you summoned me here to talk about antiques."
"Quite right." Regen rose from the desk and turned his back on Zachary as he reached to pull down a map of the Rockies and the West Coast, with notations on various points along Hollywood's southeastern border. Zachary put the coffee mug down on the floor and walked around the desk. Regen held a short pointer in his hand and indicated spots on the map as he spoke. 
"One of my zeppelins has been detained over the border. The first reports indicated that it was taken out by Charlie Steele and the Metro Marauders. This may be an error, however. If the papers are to be believed, it looks like a new player has entered the arena—some group calling themselves the 'Death Ravens.'"
Zachary grimaced. "Melodramatic bunch, aren't they?"
"Hardly relevant, Zachary," Regen snapped. "The fact remains: I want that zeppelin back. You are the best man to lead the rescue mission. I trust you appreciate this opportunity to prove your loyalty to Sky Haven."
"Let's get something straight, Karl," Zachary replied, his pretense at amiability abandoned." I have nothing to prove to you or to anyone else. My loyalty is to my crew, not to you. You and I both know that your so-called 'leadership' of Sky Haven is a sham. The only thing that rules this place is greed."
"So, you're refusing to assist?" Regen replied, struggling to maintain his composure.
"I'll help you get your zeppelin back, Karl," Zachary said, smiling broadly. "But it'll cost you."

The morning after the raid, Charlie and the "Ravens" quietly celebrated while they read the headlines. The Hollywood papers—and even some news rags from Utah and Texas—described the attack of the "mysterious new pirate group." It was evident that Charlie's mission to establish the Death Ravens as a viable pirate group had succeeded; the Ravens were now regarded as the newest desperado squad in the West Coast skies.
"Now comes the fun part," Charlie said to her crew. "We're going to take our prize right into the heart of Sky Haven and bust the place wide open."
She unrolled a map on the war room table that pinpointed the location of the pirate base: Mt. Wausa, Free Colorado. 
Carter leaned over the map for a few seconds, then said, "Charlie, getting there isn't going to be a picnic." He traced his finger along their proposed route, frowning. "We have to fly across Arixo...and then Utah. Or worse, Navajo territory. Either side is plenty skittish."
Norm broke in. "Carter is right. We'll all have to be extremely careful. I'm not too worried about Utah's forces—they're good, but they don't cross the border. Its Salawa and his crew of Wind Warriors I'm worried about. They ain't likely to respect the border if they think we're pirates."
The Navajo Nation's premier "headhunter" squadron, the Wind Warriors, were legendary fighter pilots, known for striking without warning before disappearing like ghosts. 
"And he's not the worst we have to worry about out there," Norm continued. "Within the Navajo Nation, there're a couple of militant groups that don't tolerate incursions across their air space."
"Well, why don't we just cut up through Utah?" Hale asked.
"We've been asked not to," Charlie replied, quietly. "Our...benefactor has indicated that there are some political considerations to consider. If we're caught in Utah, we'll be something of an embarrassment to Mr. Hughes, and to Hollywood."
The room grew very quiet. Potter broke the silence with a customary quip. 
"Well, then, mates, the Navajo Territory it is," he said calmly. "Now, enough of this coffee nonsense. Tea anyone?"

The Ravens left just before sunrise, heading northeast over the Mojave, before beginning their run across the lower tip of the Disputed Western Territories and the northwest corner of Arixo. After Arixo, their flight plan was to skim the border between the Navaho Nation and Utah. If we make it that far, Charlie mused, all we have to contend with is Sky Haven.
They planned to refuel twice, once just before entering Navajo territory and again in Durango before heading up into the mountains. They weren't worried about the second refueling, but the first one was going to be tricky. For once, Norm's connections failed them. 
"Well, I have an old war buddy who retired out that way back in '30," Carter said. "He lives in some godforsaken outpost on the border, and he owes me a favor. He also knows every Navajo trader along the border, so he's our best source of local news."
Potter and Norm were assigned to the zeppelin, The Cobra. Charlie flew with Hale as her wingman, while Carter and Easton flew as the other team. The squad had debated whether a zeppelin escorted by only two planes would look ridiculous, but adding another team to the squad would have involved taking some of the Marauders or the Knights into their confidence, and possibly blowing their cover. Their Devastators looked amazingly deadly, painted a matte black. The lurid nose art, depicting a red-eyed raven, outlined in silver with bloody talons, added to the menacing appearance.
Carter guided them down to a dusty little landing strip where they were able to set the Devastators down without any problem. Once the zep was secure, the six "Ravens" were greeted by a piercing wolf whistle as a short, red-haired man came towards them.
"Carter, you reprobate! Where'd you steal that beauty?" It wasn't immediately evident whether the newcomer was referring to the plane or Charlie. Carter and his buddy hugged each other without embarrassment, then the pilot turned to introduce his friend.
"This poor excuse for a soldier is my old buddy Rusty Lawson," Carter said. "We saw some action in Europe, but now he's doing his best imitation of a miner. Rusty, I'd like you to meet the team: Norm, Lightning, Hamlet, Jimbo, and Charlie." They all shook hands, but when Rusty got to Charlie, he whistled again.
"Pretty fancy company you're keeping, Carter. Bet you'd like a hot cup of java, wouldn't you, Miss Charlie?" Before she could respond, Rusty had gallantly folded her hand over his arm and was leading her towards a little tin hut at the end of the path. Carter laughed as they walked ahead of the others. 
"Who knew Rusty had real manners?" he asked. 
"Charlie can have that effect on a fella," responded a grinning Norm. 
After they stretched their legs and refilled the thermoses, they were ready to take off again. Rusty seemed reluctant to let them go, but as expected, he asked no questions. Just before he helped Charlie onto the wing of her plane, he took her hand and put something in it.
"What's this?" she asked.
"Consider it a good luck token. I don't know where you all are headed, but I've got a pretty good idea that you might need a little special Navajo magic. Indulge an old soldier."
Charlie put the little beaded bracelet on and impulsively leaned over to kiss Rusty's cheek. "Thank you," she said. With that, she hopped up onto the wing and into her plane. He was still standing on the strip waving, as they became airborne once again. 
Norm's voice came across the radio. "Alright, we'll be entering the Navajo Nation shortly. Stay in formation, and remember: don't fire unless fired upon. Ready, Lightning?"
"Affirmative. Here we go. "With that, the squadron crossed the border and continued flying east. It was as uneventful as the earlier part of the trip, although Charlie couldn't shake off a sense that she was being watched. She wanted to ask if anyone else felt it, but they had agreed that they would keep radio chatter to a minimum. She realized that she had been holding her breath and made a conscious effort to relax. 
As she exhaled loudly and loosened her grip on the controls, she caught the flash of metal out of the corner of her eye. She glanced quickly over her left shoulder and realized that they had company. 
A lot of company.
Screaming out of the sun, a squadron of planes fell into position behind the Ravens, led by a Ravenscroft Coyote. 
"Charlie, we've got Wind Warriors on our backs," Hale called out. "At least one Coyote and some Brigands and Vampires."
"Quite a lot of firepower, my friends," Potter added. 
Over the open channel, Charlie heard the sound of a man's slightly accented voice filling the cockpit. 
"Unidentified air group: this is the Wind Warriors. State your intentions."
There was a brief hesitation before Carter sent back his answer. "We are traveling to the mountains to return stolen property. We are carrying no alcohol, nor are we hostile."
"That may be," came the reply. "But your presence taints the air and the land beneath it."
"We're not looking for a fight, Wind Warriors," Carter said, nervous.
"That doesn't matter, intruders. If we wished, we would have blown you out of the sky already. Today we choose not to do that. Tomorrow we may not be so forgiving."
The relief in Carter's voice was palpable. "My thanks, Wind Warriors."
"Save them, pirate," the Navajo pirate replied. "We have been...informed of your mission and it suits my plans. So, it is not your time to die. Now leave as quickly as you can and do not come back this way."
Carter had the good sense not to ask how the man knew about their plans. He accelerated and the others followed suit, with the Wind Warriors behind, as if they were sweeping the Ravens out the door. As they got closer to the border, their escort seemed to drop back further and further, until they were out of sight. Charlie was about to radio Norm when she heard the Navajo pilot's voice one last time. 
"Thank your friend for the bracelet, Miss Steele. Salawa out."
Chapter Six: Making Old Acquaintances
When Charlie stepped out of her plane in Durango, she was pale and unsettled. The encounter with Soloho Salawa during the last leg of the Ravens' run had been bizarre and left her feeling exposed. Even Norm had seem disturbed by their close call. "I'll be damn pleased to be back in Hollywood," he told her.
While the Devastators were being refueled, Terry Potter—the squadron's resident disguise expert—led Charlie away to do perform one of his "patented" make-overs. 
When she reemerged, the rest of the Ravens were stunned at the change in her appearance. In place of the platinum blonde beauty, they were confronted with a sallow, black-haired woman of indeterminate age who wore a partial mask beneath which a few scars could be seen.
Carter shook his head in amazement. "Hamlet, you are a genius."
Charlie felt terribly self-conscious and glared at her compatriots. "Jeez, guys, it's just makeup. Let's just get this show on the road."
Charlie spread out a small map and went over the route into Sky Haven, deep in Free Colorado. "We'll fly north from here and head into the mountains. Local forecasts are looking good...we shouldn't encounter any weather problems. It won't be easy, though. Mountain flying is difficult under the best circumstances."
The Ravens all nodded their acknowledgement of Charlie's caution.
"Does everyone have our story straight?" Norm asked.
Potter gave a quick recap. "We're the Ravens, we've brought back their zep as our ticket into the place, and we want a piece of the local action."
Charlie nodded. "We won't discuss the skirmish in Hollywood unless they do. If they bring it up, we'll pass it off as 'no big deal.' Remember that my name is Dotty MacLeish, and I don't want to fly with the pretty girls in the Ninety-Nines for obvious reasons."
Norm said, "Sounds like we're set. Once we're inside, it's game faces only no matter what. If something goes wrong, you get your tails right the hell outta there. Understood?" 
As the rest of the squad headed for their planes, Norm stopped Charlie. "Are you gonna be okay?"
As she fingered the Indian bracelet, she gave Norm a big grin, which was more confident than she actually felt. "Sure, Norm. I'm fine—just got a little spooked over Navajo turf, that's all. And this damn make-up is itchy."
The old pilot looked her straight in the eyes, knowing that her nonchalance was forced, but going along with it anyhow. "Well, put your game face on, Miss MacLeish...we've got a big job ahead of us." He patted her on the back and watched as she bounded up into her plane.
Not usually a religious man, Norm said a little prayer—Dear God, let this work!—because he sure as hell didn't want to be the one to tell Eddie Steele that Charlie had died on a pirate raid.

The squad began the climb northwest from Durango, alert for the "escorts" they knew could appear at any time to challenge their intrusion into Sky Haven's territory. Charlie quickly forgot about her disguise as she concentrated on navigating the terrain. She had a brief thought that she'd like to come here some day when she had a chance to enjoy the scenery, but today she'd be happy to land safely and get some sleep. Although it was only early afternoon, she felt like she'd been flying for days.
Potter's voice broke across the radio static. "It's showtime!"
Charlie could see a small cadre of planes racing towards them. She crouched forward slightly in her seat, stretching her back as best she could, then straightened up, checked her instruments, and radioed back. "Ready, Raven One."
"You have trespassed in private air space. State your business immediately." The disembodied voice sounded tense and definitely humorless. Charlie crossed her fingers, praying that Potter's fast-talking would at least prevent the Ravens from being shot out of the sky. Below her, the terrain—snowy crags, close—packed pines and massive boulders-definitely did not look like a comfortable place for an emergency landing.
"We ran into a spot of trouble back there, I'm afraid—had to circle the wagons—and we've got a bad engine," Potter replied. "We're just looking for a place to land and make some repairs." Terry had opted for his standard upper-class British voice—his "Terrence Devonshire" persona—because he didn't want to risk bluffing his way through any regional disputes that might prevent the welcome mat from being unfurled. "Besides," he had quipped during one of the group's planning sessions, "sticking with a cover I know like the back of my hand will make it easier to avoid an...embarrassing oversight."
The patrolling planes closed in, close enough to see that the Devastators weren't exactly a pack of Sunday tourists. No response was immediately forthcoming, so the squad kept going, as slowly as possible. After a lingering, tension-filled pause, the radio crackled again:
"So who the hell're you supposed to be, anyway?"
"We're...independent flyers-for-hire," Potter responded, somehow managing to convey a certain shiftiness despite the static and whine of the radio. "We're privateers...of a kind."
"We don't recognize your planes, mister, and until we do, you don't land."
"Ah, I see. Well, perhaps if you don't recognize our colors, you'll recognize our name, my friend. We're the Death Ravens."
God, Potter, this isn't a drawing room comedy! Just get us down already! Charlie gripped the controls and scanned the terrain. The cockpit was usually cold, but up here in the mountains, it felt like an icebox. It was growing more difficult to feel her hands, and she periodically had to one-hand the stick as she flexed her numbing, cramped fingers. Fortunately, flat land appeared below them now, or at least flat enough to land. 
"Alright, Ravens. Set your birds down easy...and don't pull any stunts. Any funny business, and you're gonna be the first to die, Brit."
The pirate birds had herded the Ravens towards a small airfield, about a mile distant. Charlie could see several planes parked at the field, a garish combination of color schemes and gaudy insignia. Pirates just love to color their crates, Charlie grimly mused. And it looks like they used every color in the rainbow... lotta numbers down there. 
The heavy vegetation below had been cleared away and the amenities were surprisingly modern, considering how far up into the mountains they were. She noted that there was a hangar, big enough for a zep, but it looked empty. The various visible structures were built on wide, haphazard gantries and scaffolds. For a moment, Charlie was briefly reminded of a storybook marketplace, all random stalls and strange sights. None of the stories she was reminded of featured flak cannons, anti-aircraft guns and rocket emplacements, though. 
She watched as the other Ravens landed, following them in with Hale on her wing. There were people all over the place, many of whom were armed with rifles, pistols and knives. Nice welcoming committee, she thought. She patted her left side under the bulky jacket to make sure that her pistol was there. 
She adjusted her mask, then lifted the canopy of the cockpit and stepped out onto the wing. The clean mountain air hit her like a shot of smelling salts and for a moment she was dazed. She heard Hale on the ground below her.
"C'mon, Dottie, you can't hide in there all day. We gotta anchor the zep." With Hale's help she leaped onto the dirt to face a group of armed pirates who didn't look at all happy about having new guests.

Norm had insisted on staying with the planes, and apparently the locals felt that the "old geezer" wouldn't be a threat, so they left a well-armed young woman with him. She introduced herself as Harmony and chatted rather pleasantly, keeping a watchful eye on the airfield all the while. Norm was just as happy to sit outside—it has been a long time since his gold mining days, he explained, and he really missed the mountains. Although his ramblings seemed to satisfy Harmony, he had the sense that she was a lot cagier than she appeared to be.
Meanwhile, the rest of the crew was marched up what passed for the center of town, to the stares and mutterings of the Sky Haven residents they passed on the way, mostly at Charlie, who pulled up the collar of her flight jacket and tried to keep her head tucked down. Potter attempted some conversation with the man leading the little parade, but was unsuccessful. At the end of the main path they came to a largish two-story log building. The interior décor was eclectic, with rough-hewn benches interspersed among an array of somewhat moth-eaten fabric-covered easy chairs. The overall effect was somewhere between pawn shop and military outpost.
Their guide had disappeared behind a large wooden door, and reappeared about ten minutes later, signaling them into an office with a wave of his rifle. They walked through the doorway into a large, immaculate room. A magnificent dark wood desk dominated the center of the room, behind which sat a tall handsome square-jawed man with straight silvery-blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. He did not rise when they entered but leaned back slightly in his chair with his long elegant fingers steepled before him in contemplation of their ragtag state. He tapped his fingers several times against his thin lower lip before he spoke.
"So you're the Death Ravens, eh? How incredibly kind of you to return my stolen property to me, although I can't say that I'm pleased about the changes you made to her. Tell me, is there any reason why I shouldn't have you all shot where you stand?"
Potter spoke for the group. "Well, for one thing, the fact that we were able to steal it and return it tells you something about our abilities—or a weakness in your ranks that should be corrected, don't you think?"
The man behind the desk narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw. Apparently Potter's flippant remark had not done much to plead the case for mercy.
"He's got a point there, Regen." The voice came from a man who was lounging in an easy chair behind them in the right-hand corner of the room. The five Ravens looked over their shoulders and Charlie had to stifle a gasp as she shrank against Potter. It was the mysterious dance partner she'd met—encountered might be a better term—at Chasen's. What the hell was he doing here? she thought.
"I don't like it when people take things that belongs to me. I am Karl Regen and this is my associate, Nathan Zachary."
Potter whistled appreciatively and saluted Zachary. "Well, it is an honor to be in such distinguished company, I must say. We had no idea you were up here."
Regen responded. "Mr. Zachary joined us shortly after your theft of our property. I felt that we needed his expertise to avoid further losses."
"So you're the leader of Sky Haven, then? Well, I guess this is where we turn in our application to join."
At that, Nathan Zachary unfolded himself from the chair and walked over to the group, circling them slowly. When he tried to get a better look at Charlie, she turned her face away from him. Regen asked, "What is wrong with that woman?"
Potter put his arm protectively around Charlie. "Are you referring to this lady? This is Dottie MacLeish, one of our crew and a damn fine pilot...despite appearances."
It was apparent from the look on Regen's face that Charlie's appearance disgusted him as he focused his attention back on Potter, taking pains to avoid having to look at her scarred face.
Zachary covered the awkward moment. "Doesn't like to be stared at, eh? I can understand that. Looks like you had a tough time."
Potter answered for her. "Dottie doesn't like to talk much either. Got caught up in some action over in Africa, and the doctor out in the bush wasn't exactly well-trained in plastic surgery."
"Sorry," Zachary said, turning his attention back to Regen. "Karl, I say check with the Council. In the meantime, we can at least offer them our hospitality. If the Council says yes, then we'll give them our standard initiation test. You pass, you're in; you fail, we won't have to waste our ammo on you. Sound fair?"
Potter laughed, perhaps a little more heartily than he felt. "Very sporting of you, chum. I'm sure we're up to whatever you can throw at us."
Regen was not pleased at Zachary mentioning the Council. Looks like Mr. Regen doesn't want us to know he isn't the one running the whole show, Charlie thought. If Zachary was on their side, the squadron had a chance, but Charlie knew that she would have to stay away from him or blow the whole charade. She whispered something to Potter, who squeezed her shoulder.
"If you gentlemen don't mind, we are rather fatigued and would appreciate it if we could rest for a while. It has been a long day and Dottie isn't used to the altitude."
Zachary walked over the door, and opened it, calling for one of the men in the waiting room who he instructed to take the squad to the "guest quarters," which turned out to be a very cozy if somewhat cramped cabin, where they were joined shortly by Norm.
Potter stretched his legs before a nice crackling fire with a contented sigh. "Just like being at a ski resort," he said, grinning.
"Yeah, except for the guards," retorted Easton as he surveyed the armed men stationed outside.
Norm warmed his hands and drew closer to the fire. "Let's all just cozy on up here and keep our voices low," he warned. They drew together and reviewed the next part of their plan.

The "Council" of pirates that maintained a Sky Haven's nominal government had arrived for an "emergency session." Regen, Zachary and Harmony had all shared their impressions of the Ravens.
"So, what do you think, Karl?" asked Guzman, a Mexican bandit on the run from Texas Rangers.
"I don't like it. I don't like it at all. There's something about them that doesn't ring true, but I can't figure out what it is. We've checked their story and they were indeed credited with the raid out in Hollywood. There's no question that it's our zep, despite the garish paint job."
"We could sure use a couple more good pilots," offered Guttenberg, an older man who had seen a lot of action in the Great War, on behalf of the Kaiser. "If that woman pilot has flown in the African bush, she's probably good."
"Yeah, as long as you don't have to look at her," Zachary quipped.
"Her appearance is rather…unsettling," responded Regen.
"We don't care about how people look, Karl," Lady Kali—a dark-haired beauty with arms festooned with flame tattoos—replied. "We care about how they fly and how well they can keep their mouths shut. I say let's give them shelter tonight and spend a little time with them. If we divide them up, we may find a chink in their story. 
"And if we discover they're lying," she added, grinning savagely, "then we dump them right off the mountain." 
"All right, then," Zachary said. "We need a consensus. Do they stay, or do they disappear?"

Easton saw Zachary walking towards the cabin first. "Heads-up, folks: we've got an incoming pretty-boy."
Charlie ducked into a little alcove so that she could hear the conversation. Hale answered the knock at the door.
"Well, the meeting is over and I'm come to give you the good news. Mind if I come in?"
Hale motioned him in. Zachary looked around and asked, "Where's your bush pilot? Dottie?"
"She's lying down for a bit. So, what's the verdict?" asked Potter.
"You're safe for tonight, at least, but you'll have to stay in the cabin. Just a precaution, you understand. In the morning, we'll want to ask you some questions." Easton looked a little apprehensive, but Zachary laughingly reassured them. "Don't worry, we don't let Karl use any of his torture devices." His comment was met with chuckles of manly relief.
Zachary rose and offered his hand to Potter. "I'm sorry, we haven't really been introduced."
Potter responded, "I'm Hamlet, this is Lightning, Jimbo, Sonny, and Sam. You've met Dottie."
Zachary nodded and said his good-nights. As he walked away from the cabin, he recalled what Regen had said about the disfigured bush flyer and he had to agree—there was something unsettling about her, and it wasn't just her scars...
Chapter Seven: The Grand Tour
"Will you please hold still?" Potter said, as he struggled to apply the last of the cosmetic scars to Charlie's face. "The last thing we need is for one of these scars to smudge or fall off."
"I can't help it! It itches!" Charlie moaned. "I swear I will never, ever wear a mask at Hallowe'en again."
"Oh, do butch up there, dear, it's all in a good cause." Potter said, his patronizing tone sending Charlie perilously close to punching him right in his handsome kisser.
Despite the jocularity in his banter, Charlie saw that Potter was actually worried. The mission was a difficult one, to be sure—posing as pirates, Charlie and her fellow "Death Ravens"—had infiltrated Sky Haven. The pirate port, nestled on top of Mt. Wausa, in Free Colorado's Rockies, was a hotbed of criminal activity.
The Hollywood government—and the Hollywood Knights' benefactor, Howard Hughes—had sent Charlie and the Ravens in to this lion's den. Even with Hughes' funding and resources, it was still incredibly dangerous. Her orders were pretty cut and dried, at least as presented by Johnny Johnson—the number-two man at Hughes Aviation. "Eliminate targets of opportunity, where you can, of course. But the more important goal is to determine the nature and extent of Sky Haven's defenses...and survive to report them to us. None of your characteristic heroics, Miss Steele."
There was a knock at the cabin door. Quickly, Sonny Easton and Jimbo Hale moved into defensive positions, ready to jump the newcomer at the first sign of trouble. Norm moved to the door, glancing back to make sure that everyone was ready for trouble—
—as Harmony Brown's lilting voice rang out from the stoop: "Room service!"
Without waiting to be invited, Harmony breezed into the cabin, brushing past Norm with a brief smile. She set her burden—an aluminum coffeepot and a heavy picnic basket—down on the room's table. "There you go! Fresh coffee and a bite to eat."
As the rest of the Ravens clustered around Harmony, Potter slipped out from the alcove, yawning and stretching as if he had recently awakened. He sauntered over and poked about in the basket until he found a muffin he liked. Popping a bit into his mouth, he said, "I say, Miss Harmony, I could get used to this rather quickly!"
Harmony blushed and smiled at the handsome Englishman. "Well, I could get used to listening to you talk pretty quickly myself." The Ravens made good-natured jeering sounds at Potter.
Hale laughed. "I'll tell you, Miss Brown, after a while, you'd get tired of it. We all have!" 
Harmony looked around the room and asked, "Where's Dottie?"
Potter jerked his head towards the alcove. "She's over there. I let the poor thing sleep in a bit. Yesterday was rough on her."
Harmony looked sympathetic. "I understand." She paused for a moment before getting down to business. "Well, here's the plan for the day. We're going to split you up and show you around a bit."
"Ah, divide and conquer, eh?" asked Potter, half-jokingly.
She looked directly at him and winked. "Something like that."
"Do I get the pleasure of your company, Miss Brown, so that you can torture me mercilessly?" Potter asked.
"No, sir, I'm afraid not. You have been assigned to another cruise director." Harmony could obviously give as good as she got, and it was clear to the rest of the group that there were some definite sparks flying between their disguise expert and the lady pirate.
"Well, if we're going to have a walk-about, we need to finish our morning routine." Potter began ushering Harmony out of the room as if he were the host rather than a captive. "Give us about a half-hour more and we'll be willing little tourists."
"All right, but don't dawdle. Karl hates dawdlers."
Potter snapped a salute. "Aye, aye, me pirate queen." 
Harmony was laughing as she left the cabin.
Carter fell back on one of the easy chairs groaning. "God, Hamlet, you're laying it on a little thick, aren't you? I thought this was supposed to be a no-nonsense mission."
"A man's gotta have a little fun, doesn't he?"
Before anyone could respond, Charlie came out of the alcove. In addition to the bandanna around her hair and the half-mask, she had a grey turtle-necked sweater with the cowl pulled up. She poured herself a cup of coffee and cradled it in her hands. Norm walked over and put his hand on her shoulder.
"You still okay with this?" He was careful not to use her real name in case someone was listening at the door.
"Sure," she said, "but let's try to get out of here as soon as we can, all right?" She found herself touching the Indian bracelet—a gift from a friend of Carter's that had already gotten them past the Wind Warriors—as if it were a talisman.
"I'm with her," Easton said. "The longer we stay, the more likely it is that someone'll twig to who we are." 
Charlie felt the chill of premonition at his words.

Thirty minutes later, the Ravens assembled outside the cabin, bundled up and ready for a brisk walk in the mountains. Potter had been careful to carry the small make-up kit in his jacket because they were all pretty sure that someone would search the cabin while they were on their "tour." Other than the theatrical cosmetics, there was nothing in the cabin that would reveal their true identities.
Several of the Sky Haven people, led by Harmony, came up the path to meet them. A tall young man named Ned took off Carter, Easton, and Hale, while Norm and Potter were under the watchful eye of a middle-aged woman, Gail. Harmony instructed them to meet back at the lodge in about an hour, then walked over to Charlie. None of the Ravens were very happy about this whole tour business but there wasn't much they could do about it. They were unarmed...and at the mercy of their "hosts."
"I'm going to show you around myself, Dottie, kinda give you a personal tour." Charlie nodded and muttered her thanks. Harmony and Charlie headed down the main road when they heard the sound of footsteps behind them. Nathan Zachary was heading in their direction at a dead run.
"Harmony," he said, slightly out of breath, "I was hoping to show Miss MacLeish around myself."
"Well, Nathan, I think that Dottie would rather be with someone who isn't going to gawk and stare at her, so why don't you run along and catch up with Ned. Maybe you can help out with his group." 
With that, Harmony tucked her arm through Charlie's and almost pulled her down the road, leaving the somewhat disgruntled pirate standing in the middle of the street.
Charlie was grateful to her guide; she was afraid that if she spent any time in Zachary's company, he'd figure out who she was.
And if that happened, they were dead.
She quickly pulled herself together as Harmony nattered on about the mountains, the encampment, the settlers—at first, it sounded more like a history lesson about the pioneers than about one of the most successful band of pirates and mercenaries in the northern hemisphere. 
After a while, Harmony casually asked: "So, that Hamlet's really a funny guy, isn't he?"
"He can be," said Charlie.
"What I guess I'm asking is, is there anything going on between the two of you? I mean, I hope you don't mind me being so blunt, but it's a family trait."
Charlie gave the girl a lopsided grin and laughed. "No, there's nothing going on. He's been a really good friend. They all have."
Harmony heaved a dramatic sigh of relief. "Well, that's good to know. Now I can make a complete fool of myself without having to worry about you blasting me out of the clouds for moving in on your fella."
Charlie felt another chill. I still might, she thought. Charlie wished she could reassure Harmony that she'd never do that, but it likely that she would soon face Harmony in a battle.

"So, Sky Haven started as a bootleggers camp, eh?" Potter asked.
Nathan Zachary smiled and nodded agreement; he had joined Norm and Terry on their "tour" of Sky Haven and was filling them in on some of the pirate base's history.
This was exactly the kind of information the Ravens needed to know, so Potter nonchalantly kept the conversation going, asking a question here or there. So far, he'd learned that between the people who wanted to make money off of smuggling and the people who would support Sky Haven to strike back at organized government, the enclave was building a network of support that reached far beyond the mountain stronghold.
During their "tour," there was something of a verbal dance between the two clever men, both accustomed to talking fast and sizing up the opponent as they went. Norm found himself liking Zachary. 
He wondered what Charlie thought about Zachary and then was surprised at his almost paternal feelings for her. It was too bad things couldn't work out differently, but they had a war to wage and that didn't leave a lot of time for sentimentality, as Norm remembered all too well.
Norm and Potter had done quite a bit of camouflage work in their military careers, so they could appreciate the high quality of the work that had been done at the mountain stronghold. The pirates had taken full advantage of the mountainous terrain with its shifting patches of browns and greens to hide heavy weapons emplacements and even some defensive turrets that looked like normal caves at first glance. The patchwork nature of the structures looked at first almost like a junkyard but after studying the placement and the traffic patterns for a while, a cohesive layout revealed itself. A broken chunk of airplane fuselage provided a secure storage area, while the dense cover of thatch and pine needles kept it hidden from immediate sight and silent when heavy rain fell on it.
There was plenty of fresh water and game on the mountain, and the people of Sky Haven took the lessons of the Native American people very seriously. There was enough food stored away for those infrequent spells between raided convoys and if need be, the people could withstand a truly horrendous winter or a long siege.
Most surprising was the scope of the site. What was once a small collection of ramshackle lean-tos and sheds had grown into a literal city in the clouds, complete with bars, brothels and even a diner. According to Zachary, the sprawling, curved platforms that supported many of the larger structures were fairly new—but were still impressive. Repair hangars, zeppelin docks, and other larger structures ringed the western face of the mountain, connected by scaffolds, rope bridges, ladders...even a fire pole.
But all this "progress" wasn't in the name of law and order, that was for sure. "Regen talks a good game," Zachary said, "but there really is no leader up here." The various pirates that staged from Sky Haven had long since carved out their own turf, but the boundaries of their "territory" changed frequently, as new elements moved in. Such disputes were routinely handled in duels, since everyone generally agreed that personal grudge matches could lead to widespread chaos—and loss of profit.

Charlie sensed that there was something more to Sky Haven than just pirate gangs in an excellent location. She could feel the sense of pride that Harmony and others seemed to have about their independence. These were not villains or desperadoes or evil people; rather, it was almost as if they were some fiercely independent band of political rebels who had walked away from the rampant confusion that resulted from the dissolution of the United States and had returned to an earlier and simpler time, preferring to take their chances in the wilderness where they could be free. Except for Karl, Charlie found the people she encountered very likable. Karl Regen was another story altogether, the kind of person Charlie had met throughout her life—power-hungry, fiercely controlling, and in the end, usually blinded by their own ambition.
Which is his Achilles heel, Charlie thought. Now all I need to do is figure out how to exploit it.
After the requisite hour was up, the three groups re-assembled at the main building, the "lodge." The smell of hot coffee wafted out onto the porch, a welcome respite from the chilly mountain air of early fall. As they were standing around, a bit awkwardly, Norm said that he'd like to check the planes. 
"What's the matter, Sam, don't trust us?" asked Zachary.
"It's not that, young fella, it's just that I've been checking on my mount every morning of my life, whether it was my horse or my plane, so it's a habit I'm too old to break. I just don't feel like the morning's complete without it."
"I understand," replied the pirate. "I picked up that very habit in the Great War."
"You were over there too?" Norm asked, genuinely surprised. Zachary didn't look a day over twenty-five.
Zachary chuckled. "94th Pursuit Squadron. And yes, before you ask, I'm older than I look."
The 94th...Rickenbacker's boys, Norm thought. If he flew with Eddie Rickenbacker, he's no slouch behind the stick.
"Ned will take you over to check out your crates." Zachary jerked his head toward the earnest young man who has served as a tour guide, who shouldered his rifle once again and held the door for Norm. 

The wail of an air-raid siren pierced the mountain tranquillity like a knife.
"Incoming!" Harmony shouted as everyone scrambled to their feet. Zachary motioned to the Ravens. "C'mon!" 
They ran out onto the porch to see a flurry of activity across the road as people ran to their various stations. Regen burst from his office at a dead run, strapping on a pistol as he went. Several Jeeps squealed to a halt outside the lodge and Regen leaped into the passenger seat of the lead vehicle. "Get in, all of you!" He settled down and turned to the driver. "What've we got?"
"It looks like a convoy, sir, a nice fat unsuspecting caravan heading West."
When they arrived at the airfield, he motioned for the Ravens and Zachary to gather around. "A convoy is crossing our airspace, and I'm sure we can make far better use of their cargo here at Sky Haven than they can at their intended destination. Harmony, you take Dottie and these two for a recce," pointing to Easton and Hale, "and I'll take the rest."
Potter grinned at Regen. "A little action sounds great! We were beginning to think we were at summer camp."
Regen ignored the jibe and barked his instruction. "Just follow my lead and don't try anything fancy. Do you understand?"
Potter saluted insolently, a mocking grin on his face. "Aye, aye, sir."
For a brief moment as their eyes locked, but there wasn't time for a full dressing-down and both men knew it. Regen returned Potter's grin. "Later, 'old chap.'"
Charlie wanted to get out of there before the smoldering dislike between the two men erupted into full-fledged violence. She leapt into her plane, strapped herself in and pulled the canopy down in a series of fluid, well-practiced motions. 
As the Devastators taxied down the short runway, she lifted up her mask, grateful to be seeing clearly out of both eyes and happy to be up in the air, even if it meant playing pirates for a little while longer.
Playing pirates, she thought. Good God. We're about to become real pirates.
Very soon, under the watchful eyes of every pirate at Sky Haven, she was going to have to prove that she was one of them—by firing on a civilian zeppelin convoy. And if she refused?
She'd better have a damn good reason why, or she—and the rest of her squadron—would be as good as dead...
Chapter Eight: The Loyalty Test
The roar of the Devastator's powerful Tornado G450 engine rumbled through the cockpit as Charlie Steele brought her plane into position. She fought with the stick as her crate chopped through the turbulent air pockets that typically formed above mountain terrain. Its gonna be a rough flight, Charlie thought. In more ways than one.
As Charlie lined up near the tail end of the pirate flight's formation, Harmony Brown's cheerful voice crackled from the radio. "Hope you don't mind doing the menial work, Dottie. I'm afraid Karl doesn't really trust a woman with anything more dangerous than a frying pan."
Charlie responded, "Well, a frying pan can be pretty deadly under the right circumstances." 
Harmony's laughter rang across the headphones. "So you do have a sense of humor after all, huh?" 
Ahead in the distance, they could see the convoy of zeppelins floating across the sky like fat silver balloons. 
"Now that's a pretty sight," quipped Harmony. "Kinda like the Wells Fargo wagon comin' to town. Let's see if we can get an idea of how tough the outriders are."
It was just the four of them—the three Raven Devastators and Harmony in her Fairchild F6II Brigand—making up the advance guard. She could see the logic of Karl's plan: he had banked on the fact that they wouldn't try to abandon their mates who were flying in the other group and they wouldn't attack Harmony with whom they had established a bond of sorts. If they were attacked by the zeps' escorts, that meant three fewer Ravens he would have to contend with. An elegant plan.
"Looks like Kestrels doing the herding," Harmony radioed.
"Not the kind of fire power you'd expect with a convoy that large," Carter responded. "Makes me wonder whether the cargo isn't valuable enough or—"
"—or," Harmony broke in, "whether there's something we're missing out here."
"If these boys are deployed right," said Hale, "we're probably facing six-packs of 'em, which may be just one or two more than we can handle at the moment."
"Good point," Harmony noted. "Dottie, what do you see?" Charlie was flying on Harmony's right while Carter was on the left, and Hale was guarding the rear. She had an idea, but wasn't at all sure whether she could pull the ruse off. What the hell, it's worth a try, she thought. The worst that happens is that I'm wrong and the Kestrels bomb Sky Haven to bits...
"Harmony, I'm not sure, but I think I see something a few miles off, too small to be zeps..." 
She didn't want to push her credibility too far. Regen had been initially skeptical about her ability as a pilot, assuming that her eyesight was compromised by the mask, but Potter had assured him that she had sustained no damage in that department. He had started to describe in graphic detail about the other problems resulting from "Dottie's crash," but fortunately he had gauged Regen's reaction correctly when that topic was abruptly dismissed.
Carter picked up on the cue and broke in: "I think Charlie's right. I see something on my side as well. We don't want to lead a bunch of bomb-lobbers back to Sky Haven, do we?"
"Hell, no!" their young leader exclaimed. "I'm going to take a chance that whatever's in those zeps isn't worth the risk and tell Regen we should head back..."

After the small recon group had returned to Sky Haven, Regen ran a quick debriefing over lunch. Then, Zachary and Harmony had gone into a closed-door meeting with the German crime boss. 
Dinner was fairly quiet that evening. Karl Regen seemed to be in a foul mood, due no doubt to having lost the opportunity to capture the convoy. Zachary, who usually tried to flirt with "Dottie" during the evening meal, looked somewhat morose as he chased his food around the plate with his fork. Even Harmony seemed less chipper than usual and her eyes were red as if she had been crying. 
The sense of menace that had descended on Charlie after the Ravens arrived at Sky Haven deepened. Charlie's sense of foreboding grew as she looked around the dining room and realized that there were fewer people there than the previous few nights, and the ones who were eating with them looked like former football players and ex-fighters. Killers, Charlie thought. Trained killers.
Her appetite fled fairly rapidly and she just kept her eyes focused on her plate, hoping to get out of there as soon as possible. Thankfully, no one seemed to be in the mood to do much socializing after the meal. As the meal came to a close, Regen stood up and addressed the table. 
"Regrettably, today's mission did not go as we had planned. While our resources for winter will not be strained by the loss of one convoy, I am not happy with what occurred. Perhaps Sam and Hamlet would do us the courtesy of meeting in my office to review some revisions to our strategy?" 
The Ravens looked up in surprise. Regen had not indicated that he held any of them in much regard, and now he wanted to consult with them? It was odd, uncharacteristic behavior, but there wasn't much they could do at this point. It was too dark to fly out of there, and the locals knew the woods better than they did. They would obviously have to go along with the charade and hope that the invitation was a genuine request for advice.
Carter and Hale helped clear the table and made a show of helping in the kitchen, which at least would give them an opportunity to stay in the Lodge if there was trouble. That left Charlie and Easton, who offered to escort her back to the cabin. Zachary rose from his chair and walked over to her. 
"Actually, I was hoping to have that pleasure myself," he said.
Charlie's heart sank to her toes. Easton wasn't glib enough to press the issue without making it look like an obvious ploy, so she would have to handle things by herself. If she could get to the cabin—and the gun hidden there—she had a fighting chance, assuming Regen was about to drop the hammer on the Ravens. 
They walked back most of the way in silence. Charlie had turned up the collar of her jacket and tugged down on her hat as they left the Lodge, as much for warmth as to protect herself from Zachary's piercing gaze. Without actually shrugging him off, she was careful to keep as far away from him as she could. 
It was a beautiful night, with a full moon. That high up in the mountains, there were no city lights to obscure the stars. Under other circumstances, it would have been an astoundingly romantic walk but all Charlie could feel was a mounting terror as she heard her own ragged breathing and the blood pounding in her ears.
For all she knew, he was going to take her out in the woods and...she shuddered and pushed the thought from her mind.
When they reached the cabin, she started up the wooden steps when Zachary grabbed her arm and wheeled her around to face him. He pulled her against him and kissed her hard on the mouth, holding her arms tightly so that she could not raise her hands. Then he pulled back and look at her fiercely. His voice broke the silence with a harsh whisper.
"Did you really think I wouldn't recognize you?"
Her eyes opened wide for a second as she said, "I...I don't know what you mean."
"Yes you do, Miss Steele. You know very well what I mean. And now I'm going to have to do something I really don't want to do." 
She tried to appear calm and brave. "Mr. Zachary, I have no idea what you intend to do, but I think you're being a bit dramatic."
His laugh was harsh and bitter. "I'm being dramatic? Oh come now, who flew into Sky Haven and pretended to be a pirate?"
His voice got very serious. "You don't get it, do you? This is a war, and you and your buddies are spies for the other side. Karl Regen takes a very dim view of spies. A very dim view." 
She saw the glint of a dull metallic finish on a gun barrel as he drew a pistol out of his pocket.
"I'm afraid, Charlie Steele, that you and your buddies are about to learn the finer points of pirate justice first-hand."
Chapter Nine: Walking the Plank
"You can walk in on your own, or I can carry you, Miss Steele."
Nathan Zachary pushed open the door to Karl Regen's office and motioned his prisoner inside. Charlie Steele briefly entertained the notion of duking it out with her captor, but knew that would be a losing proposition.
Zachary smiled thinly and holstered his pistol.
As she entered the rough-hewn room, she was greeted by the sight of her comrades—ace pilots specifically recruited for the secret mission to infiltrate this nest of sky pirates—sitting on a cluster of chairs, their hands bound behind them.
From what she could see, her boys hadn't been taken without one hell of a fight. Terry Potter had a cut over his eye and Hale must have taken a fist to the jaw; a thin trickle of blood laced the corner of his mouth. "Lightning" Carter's flannel shirt was torn and he was bent over slightly, obviously smarting from bruised or busted ribs. Her mentor, Norm Houston, didn't show much damage, though his knuckles were skinned and raw from landing a few right crosses.
Charlie realized with a start that "Sonny" Easton was not in the room. That meant one of two things: he had evaded capture...or he had been left for the vultures.
Zachary nudged Charlie into a chair in front of the desk, Karl Regen's "seat of power."
Karl Regen—Sky Haven's self-appointed aristocrat—stood by the window, his back to the room and his hands clasped behind him, practically a parody of a military leader. 
Charlie knew it was all for show, though. No one ruled Sky Haven, certainly not Karl Regen. The only law up here on this lonely Free Colorado mountain was "survival of the fittest." Sure, Regen had managed to buy some peace and order in his little corner of this pirate port, but it was just a matter of time before someone meaner, stronger—or smarter—took it all away.
He turned to face his captives, his features clouded by an angry scowl.
"Miss Steele, I presume."
Charlie met his gaze, the picture of defiance.
Regen paused for a moment, then continued, unimpressed by her bravado. "One would have thought the Hollywood Knights' vaunted leader would not have been so foolish as to beard all these lions in this particular den."
Charlie tried to look amused but the effect was hampered by her disguise: scar make-up and a mask. 
"'Lions,' huh?" she snorted derisively. "Rats would be more appropriate."
Regen's eyes flashed with anger and he turned to Zachary. "I think we've had quite enough of this amateur charade. Zachary: assist our 'guest' in removing this ludicrous disguise."
"No thanks," Charlie replied coldly. "I'd prefer to use my own handkerchief."
She pulled a bandanna out of her pocket, removed the mask, and wiped as much of the greasepaint from her face as she could. Despite the drab hair color and the few streaks of make-up that remained, she was quickly restored to her normal appearance.
"Ah, I see," Regen observed, eyeing Charlie appreciatively. "The reasons behind Hamlet's devotion to you become apparent. It is indeed a great pity that such radiance will shortly be lost to the world."
"Piracy is one thing, Karl," Charlie said calmly. "Are you sure you want to add murder to your list of crimes?"
"Good heavens, my dear. This won't be murder...it will be an execution." Karl smiled broadly. "You forget, Miss Steele: on this mountain, you are not a duly-designated representative of the Hollywood militia. Right now, right here, my word is the law.
"And you, and your pathetic little band," he added, "are the criminals."
He straightened, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Sadly, we're not at sea. The spectacle of having you all walk the plank into shark-infested waters has a certain drama to it that would be most appropriate for the Nation of Hollywood's star squadron, don't you think?"
"I wouldn't know; I don't like pirate movies. I prefer comedies," Charlie replied dryly. 
Behind her bravado, Charlie was thinking as fast as she could. If there was some way she could parlay her imminent death into a hostage situation, she might be able to buy enough time for and escape.
"Defiant to the end, Miss Steele? That's good. It will make the show much more interesting." Regen said stiffly.
"The show?" Charlie asked, an icicle of dread working its way up her spine.
"Yes, well, you've made quite a number of enemies here today," Karl said, "to add to the number of people here who have no reason to love the Hollywood Knights. Your treachery has made an enemy even out of Miss Brown."
Karl leaned very close to Charlie, his eyes radiating a mixture of rage and menace.
"And many of them demand that your exit from Sky Haven—and this mortal coil—be as dramatic as can be arranged."
"I misjudged you, Karl. I thought you were smarter than this," Charlie said. "Pirates love to hammer on militia pilots, sure. But mostly they fly for money. I can't believe that you would overlook the opportunity to negotiate for my release. My family and friends are not without wealth. A lot of it."
Regen smiled icily at her suggestion. "Actually, I had considered the possibility of holding you hostage, but then I realized that the possible outcomes from such a course of action end with our little mountain hide-away in flames. The longer you're here, the more likely it is that the rest of the Hollywood Knights—or forces in the employ of your 'mysterious benefactor,' Howard Hughes—will arrive and attempt to take the mountain.
"Of course," he continued, "it is equally likely that the delicate order I've maintained here would be shattered by pirates battling each other for the right to kill you or ransom you off. Either way, your presence here is a destabilizing element...one that will be eliminated right away."
But there was more to it than that, Charlie thought. Regen was scared of something, damn scared. Then it hit her: Regen "welcomed" the Death Ravens into Sky Haven and allowed them safe passage, if only temporarily. The fact that he had allowed the famous leader of the Hollywood Knights access to Sky Haven would probably get Regen killed by another would-be pirate chieftain if he didn't take immediate, decisive action.
That meant there were no options, no bargains to be struck. They were all dead, if they didn't get out of Free Colorado.

"It's going to happen at dawn, Miss Steele," Zachary said. 
Charlie—sore and tired after being bound to her chair—glared at the pirate.
"Why so long, Zachary?" she growled. "Need that time to work up the nerve to pull the trigger?"
"Actually," he replied easily, smiling, "the locals insisted. There's a lot of pirates here who want to watch you die in broad daylight. It should be a real show."
"How much of a show did Easton put on?" Charlie replied, barely containing her rage.
"Easton? Oh, so that's his name. Your friend has been missing for hours. I wouldn't expect any last-minute heroics, though...there are plenty of folks out looking for him. He'll die a bit before you, that's all."
"So, what happens now, Zachary? You just here to gloat?"
"Not at all, Miss Steele," he replied.
The office was empty, save for the Ravens, Charlie and Zachary...which is why no one heard Charlie's yelp of surprise when Zachary drew his knife.
"No point in cutting off your circulation any sooner than we have to," he said, slitting through the ropes that bound her hands.
"Now, Miss Steele," he said, "you understand that a few of my colleagues will be waiting outside, in case you decide that you'd like to end your lives sooner than planned? Good."
Zachary gave the group an off-handed salute and left the cabin, slamming the door tight. Although the curtains covered the few windows, the glow of torches could be seen outside as the sounds of muffled conversation rose and fell.
Charlie untied the rest of her bonds, then freed the rest of her companions.
"Damn it," she said, "this whole thing is my fault."
"Hardly, Charlie," Norm replied. "We all knew what we were getting into."
"No! You don't get it! Zachary is the one who recognized me. We'd met before."
"What do you mean?" Potter asked. "He's never seen you before."
"Yes, he has," she said miserably. The room got very quiet as the squad members waited to hear Charlie's explanation. She couldn't look at any of them as she relayed the story.
"He was at Chasen's after the attack on Champion Field. He followed me out onto the terrace and danced with me and...well, I thought he was a friend of Dave's, or some actor. He disappeared after we danced but no one I talked to had seen him. I forgot about it until I saw him in Regen's office the first day we were here."
"Why didn't you tell us, Charlie?" Norm sounded just like her father did when he was very angry at her.
"When he didn't seem to recognize me, I figured we were safe, and I tried to stay out of his way. I didn't figure on him blowing the whistle on us."
Potter paused thoughtfully before responding. "It's understandable, I guess. Nathan Zachary is well-known—not like the Black Swan or 'Genghis' Kahn, but known—for being a smart fellow.
"Now, chaps," Potter added. "We have to be just as smart. We can't bust out of here, and if we try we'll just be shot on the spot. I suggest we get some rest, and wait for Easton."
"Agreed," Charlie said.

Charlie managed to drift off into a light sleep which was plagued with half-formed visions of her father, her friends, Jimmy Vega, her mother—people floating in and out of the mist, trying to talk to her...but she couldn't hear them.

Charlie awoke with a start, unable to breathe. Someone had a hand over her mouth.
She opened her eyes to see Zachary bending over her. There were dark circles under the handsome pirate's eyes and the rough shadow of his beard showed along his jaw. She tried to struggle and alert her squadronmates but Zachary pressed his hand more firmly against her mouth and shook his head. 
There was a muffled commotion in the darkened office. 
Oh God, Charlie thought in panic, they're not going to wait until morning!
Potter's concerned face moved into her view. "Is she ready?" he asked tersely. 
Zachary turned his head slightly and said, "Yeah, she's awake." 
He took her hand off her mouth and yanked to her feet. "We've got to stop meeting like this, y'know. Now get a move on!" 
She didn't have time to reply as he ducked out of the little room, leaving her to shove her hair under a bandanna. At least I don't have to put that damn make-up on.
The Ravens were standing with Zachary and several of the Sky Haven guards, including young Ned...who had been one of their "tour guides."
Zachary spoke in a low voice. "I don't have time to explain, but you can trust these guys, and we're gonna get you out of here right now." 
"Wait a minute, Zachary. Where's Easton?" she demanded.
"He's fine, Charlie. Just helping set up a little diversion in case we need it. No more questions now...just move. And no matter what happens, get in your planes and get the hell out of here. There's some fog, but the sun will be up very shortly. We're almost out of time."
They left the cabin and moved as quietly as they could towards the airfield. Smoke from a few hearth fires were beginning to rise into the pre-dawn sky. Zachary and the Sky Haven guards were well-armed, and it appeared that the other Ravens had somehow gotten firearms as well. 
Charlie's mind was a whirl as she ran. One minute she was preparing to die, the next she was running to safety through the woods, apparently thanks to Nathan Zachary, the man she thought had betrayed them. She had a million questions for him—What had he been doing in Hollywood? How had he gotten into the party? Why hadn't anyone else seen him? What was he doing in Sky Haven?
Zachary motioned to the group to drop down behind the low dense shrubbery that ringed the airfield. The area looked clear, but there was no point in taking a risk this close to the planes. At some unseen command, "Ned"—his name was actually Jack Mulligan, Nathan's wingman in his pirate group, the Fortune Hunters—rose up and walked calmly towards the planes, as if he were a guard on a routine patrol. 
When no one challenged him, he turned back towards the woods and jerked his head. The other guards stood and urged the Ravens towards the planes, but Zachary held Charlie back.
"We don't have a lot of time, but I want you to know that I'm not the one who sold you out to Regen."
"So who did, pirate?"
"You did, Miss Steele. Or rather, your performance with the convoy gave you away. Karl arranged for a zeppelin flyby—it was one of Kahn's, I think—to test you out. And you didn't attack. That, and you were conspicuously absent at the premier of Lana Cooper's new film two days' ago. He put two-and-two together and came up with...you. He's an arrogant bastard, but he's no dope."
"So where do you fit in all this mess?"
"I volunteered to handle your 'execution.' I figure that way, well, you'll get out of here alive."
"Oh, really?" she replied, arching an eyebrow skeptically. "And if you were so bent on helping us, why wait so long before springing us?"
"Because Sky Haven is a valuable asset to me in my line of work," he replied. "I couldn't tip my hand too early, because I'd like to be able to come back here again. But I just couldn't stand by and watch you be murdered, Miss Steele. Its one thing to shoot down a militia pilot during a raid. Its quite another to stand by and watch a woman be butchered."
Charlie smiled. "So, now you're a pirate helping the 'poor little rich girl' out of danger? Keep that sort of thing up and you'll develop a nasty reputation for being a gentleman, Mr. Zachary."
Zachary grinned, but before he could reply, footsteps crashed toward them from the woods. 
"Damn!" Zachary hissed. "It's a patrol! I'll handle this, but you'd better get going!"
As Charlie turned to run to her plane, she heard a man's voice calling out in alarm:
"What the hell is going on here?"
Well, Charlie thought, so much for a quiet exit...
Chapter Ten: Don't Look Back
"Hold it right there."
The two pirate guards moved into view, exiting the tree line and brandishing Tommy guns. "What the hell is going on here?"
"Now what do we do, Nathan?" Charlie Steele whispered.
There was no response. She tried to spot her would-be rescuer, the pirate Nathan Zachary, to no avail.
He was gone.
The two pirates moved closer, raising their weapons. Charlie's gaze shot frantically around the area, looking for something, anything, to use as a weapon. 
No dice.
The guards' fingers tensed on the triggers of their .45 caliber machine guns, seconds away from spraying a lethal hail of fire at her—
—and a figure burst from the shadows, moving quickly up behind the two pirates and slamming into them like a freight train. There was a flurry of punches and then silence.
"You cut that one a little close, didn't you, Zachary?" Charlie quipped.
Zachary dusted himself off, surveying the two unconscious guards. He grabbed one of the Tommy guns and smiled. "Better late than never, Miss Steele."
More shouts rang out from the woods, and Nathan's smile vanished. "Move it, Charlie," he growled. "Get to your plane...and get the hell out of here. And for God's sake, next time stay out of Free Colorado!"
He shoved her towards the landing field and faded back into the darkened woods.
Charlie caught a glimpse of scores of pirates coming out of the woods, and the deadly flicker-flashes of gunfire strobed eerily in the dark. Bullets crashed through the foliage and ricocheted madly around her.
To Charlie, the world seemed to shift into slow motion. She turned and sprinted towards her plane, fully expecting that last, deadly burst of gunfire to slam into her back.
Even though part of her knew that she had reached her plane at a dead run, she felt like she was running in place, like in a bad dream. The sounds of revving engines and propellers ratcheting up their rotation were muffled in the early morning fog, and the shouting was getting louder and more frantic, like a battle scene in a war movie.
Except, of course, she was living the battle, not passively watching it.
She leaped onto the wing of her plane, tears running down her face from the icy morning wind and the fumes from the Ravens' planes.
As she dove into the cockpit, the zing of bullets whizzed above her head, bringing her back with a jolt to reality. As she started up the engine, she struggled to keep focused, to ignore the sounds of approaching guards and gunfire, and concentrate on getting her crate into the air. 
Any minute now, the field would be flooded with armed Sky Haveners who would probably be happy to shoot the Ravens dead where they sat. The moment of exhilaration she had felt at being free swiftly turned into frantic terror as she realized that her plane might become her coffin.
She slapped on her leather helmet and jammed the headphones down over her ears as she began flipping switches on the dashboard.
"Charlie! Are you all right?" It was Potter on the radio and Charlie didn't think she had ever been so glad to hear anyone's voice in her life.
"Yes! I'm fine! What the hell is going on?" she shouted.
"The endgame, love. We've got about a minute to get out of here before—"
A series of explosions drowned out the rest of Potter's reply. Flames sprouted from the main hangar where Karl Regen's treasured zep was berthed. Charlie realized that this must have been the "diversion" Zachary had mentioned. 
But was Easton safe? As grateful as she was for his efforts, she hoped the quiet veteran hadn't pulled some heroic self-sacrificing stunt to save the rest of the squad.
"Potter!" she called into the radio. "Where the hell is Easton?"
More explosions ripped through the hangar, blossoming fire and smoke. Charlie snapped off the radio in disgust; between Easton's pyrotechnics and the commotion she couldn't hear a word of Potter's reply.
Her primary task now was to get herself off the runway and out of Sky Haven, but that was easier said than done. A fierce fire had begun to spread to other buildings, making visibility extremely poor. Oily black smoke roiled up through a huge blasted-out hole in the hangar's roof.
She could see another Raven plane moving to take off—is that Norm?—and she tried the radio one more time. The static on the channel hampered her ability to hear anyone else in the squad, and the smoke and fog made finding the rest of the Ravens visually a difficult proposition at best.
The hell with it, she thought. She clicked to the squadron frequency and yelled into the radio: "Ravens: we are leaving. Scramble and rendezvous five miles south."
She eased the throttle forward, praying that no one on foot was in her way. The propwash blasted a path through the smoke, and she could see pirates diving for cover. She mashed down the left rudder pedal, sending the Devastator into a slow, counter-clockwise spin. As the prop cleared the fog and haze from her field of view, she could see a handful of jeeps and dozens of pirates moving to block her path to the runway. Already, a number of vehicles were parked on the taxiway, an inelegant—but effective—blockade.
She grinned fiercely...and squeezed the trigger on her control stick.
The Devastator's four .40-caliber cannons roared, sending streams of magnesium rounds sizzling overhead. The pirates dove for cover as Charlie's fire found a nearby stack of oil drums.
With a jarring crash, the drums exploded, shooting into the air like rockets.
Several of the pirates broke and ran, their resolve forgotten. Charlie could just make out Karl Regen, standing in the back of one of the jeeps, screaming at his men to finish her off.
"Finish this off, Karl," she muttered.
Regen turned and saw Charlie just in the nick of time. He dove from the jeep and ran for cover just as the aviatrix launched a quartet of rockets at the makeshift barricade.
The vehicles detonated spectacularly as the high-explosive rockets blasted them into tinfoil.
More shrapnel rained down, this time clattering across the wings of Charlie's Devastator. A large shard of steel streaked at the plane like an arrow, embedding itself deep in the canopy and creating spidery cracks across Charlie's field of vision. More fiery debris rained down on the Devastator and Charlie could smell smoke.
"Ravens: I've taken some damage to my canopy, and I think I may have taken a hit," she called out on the radio. "Can anybody see how bad I'm hurt?"
"Just get airborne, Charlie! Now!" Potter shouted. "You're fine! Just take off and don't look back! We're out of time!"
Charlie rammed the throttle forward, and was rewarded with the Devastator's characteristic rumbling roar. The plane surged forward, moving quickly through the burning debris field across the taxiway.
As the plane began to roll, she tried to see what happening to her left, but there was too much fog and smoke to get a clear view. She thought she might have seen someone—Zachary?—facing down an armed pirate, but she couldn't be sure. 
There wasn't anything she could do for him now.
Charlie was slammed forward against her harness as the biggest explosion yet ripped through the hangar behind her, pushing the Devastator in front of it. The main hangar was now fully engulfed in flames, sending metal bits flying through the air in all directions. Little rattling noises rapped sharply in her ears as bits of debris peppered the tail of her plane. Pure instinct took over as she finished the take-off maneuver and the plane lifted into the dim morning sky, seeking shelter amongst the clouds. She banked slightly to the right but all she could really see was mass of black smoke and angry red flames.
"Are we all away, then?" Potter initiated the radio check-in. 
All the Ravens, including Easton, had escaped the hellish scene on the ground, and were heading for home. 

Nathan Zachary watched from the shelter of a dense clump of bushes as the Ravens took off into the clouds. By his feet, one of the Sky Haveners lay in the dirt, out cold from an encounter with Zachary's wicked right cross. No need to kill the kid, he thought, just knock him out long enough to get to safety. 
So far, so good. No one had seen him help Charlie; he'd managed to deck everyone he came across in the combat zone. Maybe this dizzy rescue attempt was going to work, after all.
As the first explosions burst from the hangar, he ran in a jagged pattern, ducking and darting, until he reached the far side of the airfield where his own plane was parked. 
"Don't move, Zachary," a familiar, feminine voice said, accompanied by the oily, metallic click of a revolver's hammer being cocked.
Damn, he thought. He spun, bringing his own pistol to bear.
Harmony Brown stood, silhouetted by the fire from the hangar, her gun pointed at the pirate. "Why did you do it, Zachary?" she said, her voice laced with anger and pain. "How could you sell us out to the Hollywood militia? To her?"
"I didn't sell you out, Harmony," Zachary replied quietly, his voice even and level, devoid of its typical bombast. "Charlie Steele and her boys made their own way in here. I just helped them find their way back out.
"And as for Charlie Steele," he continued, "Well, I don't think even you wanted to see what Karl would have done to her. I sure as hell didn't."
He lowered his gun. "You don't really want to shoot me, Harmony. I know you better than that."
"So why shouldn't I hand you to Karl?" she demanded. "Maybe I can't shoot you, but he damn well can."
"Because, this fiasco will weaken Karl's hold on Sky Haven. That's a good thing for sure...for everyone, including you. And because you'd have to shoot me before I'd let that happen.
"Can you do it?" he concluded. "Can you shoot me in the back?"
He turned his back on Harmony, and started to walk away.
"Damn you, Zachary!" she yelled. Zachary paused, turning back to face her.
"No, I can't shoot you," she growled, "and I'll keep my mouth shut about this. I owe you that much."
She walked over to Zachary and punched him square in the jaw, sending the pirate straight to the ground.
"But we're through, you bastard. And if Charlie Steele ever shows her face here again, I'm going to blow her right out of the sky."

Nathan rubbed his sore jaw, chuckling ruefully. Not a lot to show for this trip, he thought. I didn't get the girl, I've made a mortal enemy out of Karl Regen if he ever finds out I helped spring Charlie, and Sky Haven is a wreck. His jaw ached like crazy, too; apparently the lovely Miss Brown could throw a punch like Joe Louis. 
For now, it was time to head back to the Pandora—his zeppelin—and nurse what appeared to be a broken right hand. The temptation to fly west was strong, but that would have to wait for another day.
But he knew that he had to see Charlie Steele again. Zachary had known a lot of beautiful, capable women—Harmony Brown, Lady Kali, even the Black Swan—but Charlie was different.
She was an intriguing combination of brains and beauty, vulnerability and fierce independence, and a smoldering sensuality that he definitely wanted to explore further. Zachary began to hum the tune of a tango to himself as he pointed his plane southward.
Maybe the trip hadn't been a total waste. The world was full of possibilities, after all.

Charlie had taken the hottest, most luxurious bath of her life, followed by a long, deep sleep that was blessedly free of nightmares. Although they had been gone less than a week on the expedition to Sky Haven, she felt like she had been gone a year. Fortunately, her father was still out of town, so she didn't have to answer a lot of questions; Edward Steele would have been very displeased at Charlie's dangerous undertaking. At least Serena appeared to believe her when she said that she'd gone camping as she dumped her filthy clothes into the laundry hamper. Maybe her father would buy the cover story, too.
But probably not, Charlie groused to herself. The man can smell a lie a mile off.
Life, it appeared, was returning to normal. There were the usual parties to attend, flying lessons to take, and meetings to arrange with the Knights, who were finally introduced formally to the "Death Ravens." Thank heaven for Potter's sense of the absurd, as he was able to deflect any resentment from the old squad with his usual antics, and peace was restored.
Once the Knights had a chance to get to know the quartet of veterans, Charlie was sure that they would find their new colleagues to be a valuable resource, which would only make the Knights stronger. To that end, the Ravens had been hired as "consultants" to the Hollywood Knights, where they would continue to act as a covert strike and infiltration squadron. Provided they could keep their names and faces out of the papers, she thought. That'll just kill Hamlet.
She tried to keep herself busy but thoughts about Zachary would creep into her mind at the strangest times. She would sometimes remember how he had looked sprawled in the chair in Regen's office or when he had run down the road towards her the first morning that she was at Sky Haven. She kept hearing his voice, like a whisper just behind her.
Without wanting to appear like a lovesick schoolgirl, she had queried Norm and Potter about Zachary, under the guise of "learning all there was to know about the Nation of Hollywood's enemies." She suspected that both of her comrades saw through the thin charade, but fortunately they were too polite to tease her about it.
There wasn't much to learn: Zachary was mysterious and adept at covering his tracks. She learned a bit from newspaper and newsreel archives—he was former pilot in the Great War, Rickenbacker's wingman of all things; a former Wall Street tycoon who turned pirate a few months after the Crash of '29; reputed to be a good pilot. Little else was known, but Charlie was sure of one thing:
Nathan Zachary and his pirate gang, the Fortune Hunters, wouldn't stay unknowns for long.
One evening, two weeks after the escape from Sky Haven, Charlie was out for a drive. She found herself in front of Chasen's and realized belatedly that it was actually dinnertime, and that she was fairly hungry.
She pulled her car around to the back of the restaurant and parked. As she walked through the kitchen, she was greeted by the staff who didn't seem to find her presence at all unusual. She wasn't the only celebrity who chose to come in through the back door to avoid the inevitable posse of lurking shutterbugs and reporters. 
When Dave Chasen saw her, he hurried over and gave her a warm hug. "Charlie!" he exclaimed, clearly delighted. "I haven't seen you for weeks! Where have you been? Hungry? Let me get you a table." 
She didn't really have time to give her host a detailed answer to his questions, which was probably just as well—the mission had been declared Top Secret by no less than President Dunbar.
Dave Chasen seated her in a quiet corner, right near the door to the private terrace, the site of her first encounter with Nathan Zachary. Her usual drink order—vodka and tonic, very cold—arrived.
She ignored the door to the terrace.
She ordered lamb chops and a salad. She sat quietly, pushing the lime in her drink around the glass with the little cocktail sword for a minute or two...and steadfastly vowed to continue ignoring the memories that Chasen's sparked.
A moment later, she sighed, and rose abruptly...and went out onto the terrace.
She felt like a heel, like a silly child with a crush, but she couldn't help herself. There was just something about that pirate...
She stood looking at the little area as memories of the night she met Zachary came flooding back into her mind. She closed her eyes for a moment and thought she could actually hear the strains of the tango that had been playing. As she touched the little Indian bracelet—a good luck charm that she had procured during the mission—she heard the terrace door open with a soft click and she held her breath in anticipation.
"Your dinner is served, Miss Steele." 
The waiter's polite voice broke through the reverie, bringing her back to the present like a splash of cold water. She turned and walked through the door without looking back.