Why is it Always a Zeppelin?

“This is the end of your long journey, Mr. Titan!” laughed the metallic voice of Joseph Goebbels.

The Nazi propaganda chief’s head had been preserved in a translucent jar after World War II, and was now mounted atop a ten foot tall robot robot body arms with a chest laser cannon and shoulder-mounted missile launcher. Robo-Goebbel’s two titanium arms, each of which ended in a hydraulic claw strong enough to crush a car, were crossed thoughtfully behind his back as he stood triumphant in the middle of the cockpit. His jarred head was looking down at my prone, tuxedoed form, strapped to a gurney by metal clamps on my wrists and ankles and surrounded by a dozen black-armored shock troopers. The stupid Nazi bastard actually seemed smug.

“I admit that I did not expect you to infiltrate my mountain top base in the Swiss Alps and interrupt my plans to construct an Aryan Race Transmogrification Device,” continued Robo-Goebbels. “And I really must applaud your resiliency in defeating my Death Squad of brainwashed supermodels kidnapped from around the globe. But you truly surprised me when you hitched a ride on my escape zeppelin! Bravo, Mr. Titan.”

The fool! What he didn’t realize–what super terrorists like him never realize–is that I had allowed myself to be captured. Did he really think Ben Titan would be taken so easily by the dime-store neanderthals he was trying to pass off as shock troopers? Please. The fastest way to any enemy’s inner sanctum is letting yourself be captured. They teach us that on day one of secret agent school.

“Now you will have the unique pleasure of being torn limb from limb by the one true Führer of Earth!” said Robo-Goebbels, jabbing one claw at me for emphasis. “Are you prepared for the hell I will now send you to, Mr. Titan?”

“I just have one question, Goebbels,” I replied. “Did you get dumber after the Nazi scientists cut your head off and put it in a jar, or have you always been this stupid?”

Robo-Goebbels screamed with fury and pounded one claw on a nearby computer console, causing the monitor to explode in a shower of sparks. Nazis were so easy to provoke.

“Laugh while you can, Titan!” shouted Robo-Goebbels. “My perfect Aryan world will be a more perfect place in sixty seconds when you’re nothing but a sharply-dressed corpse!”

“You’re right about one thing, Goebbels,” I said. “I’ll be sharply dressed.”

Goebbel’s didn’t know that I had a ultrasonic vibrating wrist watch that oscillated at the perfect frequency to disarm the electronic locks securing my wrist and ankle restraints, and that I’d set it on a time delay forty-five minutes ago on the assumption that his villainous monologue would have reached its climax at just about this time. Right on cue my watch started to vibrate, emitting the precise sonic pitch that freed my arms and legs.

“Seize him!” shouted Robo-Goebbels, his voice chip crackling with furious distortion.

I pushed off with my feet and did a back handspring, propelling myself up and out of the circle formed by Goebbels and his shock troopers. I landed adroitly on my feet and karate chopped the nearest stunned guard in the neck, pulling him in front of me to block the laser blast that exploded from Robo-Goebbel’s chest. Then I grabbed the pistol from the holster on the dead trooper’s side and shot three if his cohorts before diving for cover behind a console. It was right about the that Robo-Goebbel’s fired a missile from his should mounted launcher at where I’d just been, predictably. An explosion rocked the cockpit, turning too more of his unfortunately loyal shock troopers into bloody chum.

“You should have quit when you were ahead, Goebbels!” I shouted over the gunfire that was now filling the cockpit as his shock troopers shot the console I was hiding behind ineffectually. This was a classic terrible pun that they taught us in spy school; it comes up more than you’d think, and it usually pisses off the bad guys, which is a good tactic to keep them off balance.

I jumped out from behind the console and shot two more shock troopers as I flew through the air, then hit the ground in a forward roll before diving for cover behind a duralumin support strut near the front window. It was at right about this time that the explosive device I’d planted forty-six minutes ago on the gasbag section of the zeppelin went off, igniting the hydrogen cells that kept the airship aloft. The cockpit shook violently, sending the remaining shock troopers, the crew, and. Robo-Goebbels careening into one another.

“Vas is das?” screamed Robo-Goebbels.

“Don’t you Nazis ever learn?” I called back. “Rigid airships are an incredibly inefficient and dangerous method of transportation!”

I shot out the glass of the front cockpit window and jumped out. The wind whipped my face painfully, and I spun myself so I could look up at the flaming dirigible. A second later Robo-Goebbels jumped out after me, just as I’d expected. Nazis never die easy.

“Fuck you, Mr. Titan!” screamed the cyborg as he plummeted groundward.

He unleashed a laser blast which missed by a mile, likely due to my earlier tactic of disorienting him with clever insults.

“No,” I shouted back over the rushing wind. “Fuck you!”

I aimed my pistol and squeezed off a single shot. It whizzed through the air, shattered the glass of Robo-Goebbels’ head jar, and struck the Nazi propaganda chief squarely in the forehead. Not the toughest shot I’ve ever made, but I was proud of it nonetheless. The zeppelin exploded fantastically above us as the now limp titanium husk of Robo-Goebbels reached terminal velocity nearby. I reached out at grabbed onto the lifeless robot armor suit and tore off a manual access panel I’d spotted on the left shoulder earlier. A few quick wire splices later I activated the suit’s foot mounted propulsion jets as well as a concealed set of wings that sprung out of the back torso. I had been banking on Robo-Goebbels diving out after me; otherwise my fall to the earth would have needed to be arrested more creatively.

As I clung to the robot and flew away from the fiery wreckage of Robo-Goebbel’s zeppelin, I decided that I had just enough time to pay a visit to the alluring female scientist I’d charmed into betraying the location of Robo-Goebbel’s base before I needed to report back to HQ.

“Stupid Nazis,” I said to myself, enjoying the way the air rushed through my jet black hair. “Why is it always zeppelins with those guys?”

Advertisements

2 thoughts on “Why is it Always a Zeppelin?

Join the Conversation

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s