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A wonderful scene, Yogi. :) One wonders how S.P.E.C.T.R.E. will be linked to the Si-Fan. It seems no1 will be recruiting surviving members after the war. Granted this is alternative history so SPECTRE might never be, but surely the good guys will win and facilitate the rise of Blofelt? ;)
 
BTW, I have now revised EVERY post in this AAR to correct inconsistencies in format (indentation, headers, pic texts etc) and spelling (Fah Loo Sue is wrong; it should be Fah Lo Suee) etc. I have also added some pics to posts that had none, and have in most cases adjusted large pics down to a standard width of 660 pixels (in order to fit with the double indentation format).

In short, this never looked better. :D
 
The Yogi said:
...In short, this never looked better. :D

Good work, Yog!
ja1nv.gif
 
Interesting developments.... I suspect the replacement level among the councilmembers is rather high though.
 
An unbelievably awesome update! That's a very wide-ranging council! I can imagine if this were in movie form, just how that update would have went!
 
Mettermrck said:
A great scene, Yogi, brings much together. I'm a little surprised by Fah Loo's shock at her marriage to Hirohito. I would think she'd know her father's mind and would be prepared for such unexpected maneuvers. But I guess Fu Manchu is expert at unnerving his own daughter. Still, I have a feeling who will rule that imperial marriage. :D
I think she would have been prepared for any attempt at shooting, stabbing, poisoning, bombing or even kidnapping and brainwashing her. But given her age (remember, Fah Lo Suee is actually in her fifties, only the Elixir Vitae keeps her young) she just wasn’t expecting to be given away in marriage to an Emperor already under Fu Manchu’s control. But that’s just Fu Manchu’s latest way of using her. :) And yeah, Hirohito won’t be the one with the pants, so to speak.


elbasto said:
Great scene, you could only feel sorry for the Imperial family and admiration for the Council’s achievements.

I was really hoping to see an European in the council… oh well, will have to settle with Julius... :)

EDIT: What?! They haven't broken the billion barrier yet?! Oh the mediocrity!!
Just joking, by the way, they may very well try changing the currency which they use to storage their liquid assets… specially now that Churchill will be messing around with the Empire’s economics!
No, Churchill is no longer the Chancellor of the Exchequer! He remains an unknowing agent provocateur for Fu Manchu (consider for example how he tried to get Britain to continue the war against Germany) but already did his messing around with the economy, by administering the reintroduction of the Gold Standard in 1925. This led a strong deflation (appreciation) of the pound sterling, thus making the Si-Fan richer, since they used the pound as their reserve currency. It also led to a severe depression in the British Empire, which contributed to the Great Depression of 1929. When Britain, ravaged by depression and with its finances in tatters finally abandoned the gold standard in 1931, the pound was devalued by 20%. Before that, of course, Dr No had made sure to sell off pounds and instead bought gold, which had dropped to an all time low in 1931. In the following years the gold price again rose by 100%, hugely enriching the Si-Fan. The whole scheme resulted in the Si-Fan doubling their wealth many times over and the western powers near-nigh mortally wounded by the Great Depression – and it all originated in the recovery ward of St Mary’s hospital in 1922. :)


Jape said:
The House of Fu shall soon ascend :D .

Nice to see one of Fu's professional peers on the council as well ;)
Yeah, and yourworsnightmare is a damn psychic! I mean, after writing this thing for three years now, he guesses that No will appear the post before he was set to do so!


cthulhu said:
A wonderful scene, Yogi. :) One wonders how S.P.E.C.T.R.E. will be linked to the Si-Fan. It seems no1 will be recruiting surviving members after the war. Granted this is alternative history so SPECTRE might never be, but surely the good guys will win and facilitate the rise of Blofelt? ;)
Hmmm, yes, that sounds very plausible. Except the part about the good guys wining of course. Ha! There will be no place for competitors in the globe spanning Empire of FU MANCHU! :D


therev said:
This might have been covered somewhere else.... but.....

With a Pirate member of the Si Fan will we get to see the Phantom? Or have we already caught up with him and I missed it!

Great post BTW
No, he hasn’t been in and he won’t be. I’m sorry if I’m offending someone, but I just find the character a tad silly. As for Sandokan III being a pirate, well, he is but it’s not the same as in the old days of his grandfather, the first Tiger of Mompracem. Bronze-cannon armed junks are just no match for modern destroyers or even gunboats. And thanks!


Arilou said:
Interesting developments.... I suspect the replacement level among the councilmembers is rather high though.
You bet! Lao Che very briefly held a seat, and Sandokan III also replaced someone (we don’t know whom, but he had pissed Fu off ) when he was recently admitted to the Council.


anonymous4401 said:
An unbelievably awesome update! That's a very wide-ranging council! I can imagine if this were in movie form, just how that update would have went!
Thank you! Fu has tried to include some great leaders of the oppressed nations of Asia to appoint as viceroys when the time of liberation/conquest comes, in order to make the population pliant. Hence Nana Sahib and Sandokan III (to rule India and Indonesia/Malaysia respectively). Others are in because of the usefulness of their followers, such as Sheik Al Jabal, and his Yedizid assassins, and Nag Po Lama of the Tibetan Warrior Monks of the Black Temple. Finally, of course, there must be place for Fu’s latest generation of children (Fah Lo Suee and Siwan Khan) and that genius of finances and science, Dr No! :)


GoforitPanzer said:
Perhaps the Si-Fan could invest some of it's financial reserves in building up a stockpile of oil?
And my second question; how is the military buildup going?
The Empire doesn’t lack money to buy oil, it lacks trading partners willing to sell it. So it will just take it instead. The military build-up was mostly focused on improving the Navy in preparation for the inevitable showdown with the Royal Navy. Initially, the Empire is building eight carriers (in batches of four), two super-heavy battleships and a very great number of light cruisers and destroyers (since the those of the Japanese Navy were mostly obsolecent). It is also building up an armoured force (for fast operations in America and India), more mountain troops and some more infantry (although in limited numbers for now). For now, the highly mobile and hard-striking Mongolian Cavalry is the most potent weapon in the Imperial Army.​
 
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Dear me.. it seems to me as if hardly anyone in the camp opposing Fu has not been affected by his power.

Is there any faction which has not been infiltrated by his evil? Is there anyone who can withstand him? Can anyone withstand the might of the Devil Doctor and his asian hordes?

Find out in the next exciting installment of:

EMPIRE OF FU MANCHU!

Great tale, Yogi, great tale!

DW
 
Dead William said:
Dear me.. it seems to me as if hardly anyone in the camp opposing Fu has not been affected by his power.

Is there any faction which has not been infiltrated by his evil? Is there anyone who can withstand him? Can anyone withstand the might of the Devil Doctor and his asian hordes?

Find out in the next exciting installment of:

EMPIRE OF FU MANCHU!

Great tale, Yogi, great tale!

DW
Thanks, and my are we getting into the spirit of things! :)

Deus said:
grand plans are for grand schemers.
Quite so, and Fu Manchu is the grandest schemer of all!

Jape said:
Will we see Pan-Asians planes knocking out the Hollywood sign anytime soon?
Soon, very soon, my young apprentice... heheheee
 
San Francisco, Chinatown
United States of America

April 14th, 1940

t029130a.jpg


Four men crouched behind some trashcans in the black, unlit and stinking alley behind the Chinatown flophouse, where the rustle of fat rats carousing in the garbage cowering the pavement like a blanket of leaves broke the eerie silence in the midst of the metropolis. They were just waiting for an opening, for that locked back door to open so that they could enter without giving the warning of breaking down the door.

‘Will it be right this time?’ the Shadow growled, threat and irritation evident in the booming voice.

James Bond cringed inwardly from the sinister crime-fighter his father had introduced him to. Despite the implicit trust in him professed by “Wild Bill” Donovan and shared by Indiana Jones, who seemed to suffer from a bad case of hero-worship, Bond could not help feel uneasy in his company. It was as if that tall, dark man, always, it seemed swept in shadow and always covering his face with that black hat and that red scarf, somehow could see straight into Bond’s soul, laying bare the crimes and misdeeds that festered there, some since a few years back, some just recently sunk to the bottom of the black pond of his sins. When the Shadow’s horrible eyes bore into him, Bond felt like a man of wanton lust, pitiless cruelty and scant mercy, a murderer, a lecher. He didn’t like that one bit.

‘I sincerely hope so!’ Bond answered. ‘This is the last of the addresses I forced from that Pan-Asian agent in Moscow. If it’s not right, either he was lying or Siwan Khan has been warned and moved his base of operations. I still wish we had contacted the FBI though. They could have raided all these places faster than us and there’s no telling how many men he has in there.’

‘No’ The Shadow answered with finality. ‘Far to often, I’ve found Hoover’s outfit to be corrupt – not all the agents, not even most of them, but many enough that you can almost count on Siwan Khan being given a warning. He must not escape this time, and this Secret Weapon of his must be found and neutralized!’

‘Look…’ Bond began, trying to sound reasonable, but was interrupted by The Shadow’s gigantic henchman, Jericho, who carried a heavy and brutal-looking custom made 8-gauge pump-action shotgun.

‘The boss is right, limey!’ the colossal black man answered, his shaved scalp and eyes shining in the darkness. ‘Just too many bad cops among the Feds, and besides, who needs them?’

‘That’s the spirit!’ Indy agreed. ‘Now, stop complaining kid, and be ready, because I believe someone is unlocking that door!’

The four men grabbed their weapons harder and got ready to rush the back door when it opened. The party was small, but heavily armed. Besides his monster pump action, Jericho toted a military flare pistol loaded with a 10-gauge shotgun shell. It was a one-shot weapon, but a very deadly one indeed. Bond and Indy carried Winchester M12 12-gauge pump-action shotguns and had their pockets stuffed with shells. Bond had also armed himself with a M1911 Colt .45 Automatic from The Shadow’s stores, to supplement his dear little silenced Beretta which never left the special holster at the small of his back and Indy as always carried his trusty Webley Mk VI .445 revolver in a hip holster. Only The Shadow had not equipped himself beyond the two Colts he usually carried. He had never needed more.

The back door opened, letting out a shaft of yellow light and a man in jeans and leather jacket stepped out, leaned his Tommy Gun against the wall and faced it. To deem by the stench of urine in the alley, he did not usually bother with visits to the WC, probably it was too far, in his mind, from his post. While he was fumbling with his zipper, The Shadow flowed more than sneaked up to him and felled his unsuspecting victim with a karate blow to the neck. Siwan Khan’s henchman collapsed like a house of cards.

‘Well done boss!’ Jericho hissed, smiling fiercely as he moved forward quite silently despite his great bulk. The raiders moved out of the alley to find themselves in a narrow hall. To judge from the smell of Chinese cooking, it led to the kitchen.

‘Now, remember!’ whispered Indy. We need to take Siwan Khan alive! Only he can answer some questions I have about the coffin of Genghis Khan!’

‘There are other things too, of far more practical use, that he could answer’, the Shadow whispered, and the others nodded in agreement.

The group sprung into the kitchen, in which two Chinese cooks were preparing dinner for Siwan Khan’s men. Bond and Indy gestured to them to be silent, threatening them with their guns, but at the sight of The Shadow and Jericho, the Asians panicked and ran screaming for the door in the other end of the room.

‘So much for silence!’ Indy grated out between his teeth and ran to follow them.

The group now emerged in what looked a lot like a cheap Chinese restaurant, where about half a dozen Chinese men in dirty workman’s clothes were having dinner, spread out among the tables. Upon seeing the intruders, they shouted and began to draw an assortment of guns. Pandemonium reigned, as Jericho screamed a fierce war cry and fired the first shot with his gargantuan gun, which reverberated like cannon fire in the dining hall. The Shadow, Indy and Bond fired too, a deadly fusillade of well-aimed fire hitting the men of the Golden Master and dropping them amid screams and spurts of blood. Tables and chairs toppled, chinaware exploded into fragments as it was hit by buckshot. Suddenly, after fifteen chaotic seconds it was over and silence reigned once more, the only sound being groans from the wounded and some items of china and cutlery which finally succumbed to gravity and crashed into the floor after having been put in a precarious position by the throes of dying and wounded Tong crooks.

‘Reload and move on!’ shouted the Shadow. ‘We can’t let them get organized!’

With frenzied speed, Bond, Indy and Jericho loaded new shells into their weapons while The Shadow deftly changed clips and cocked his automatics. Then, at the head of the party, the Nemesis of Crime moved out from the dining hall into a hotel lobby. The receptionist, a young Chinese girl was on the floor, cowering under the reception desk, and running steps from a large group of men thundered from the staircase. Two guards were in the lobby, and they immediately opened up on the raiders with their Tommy guns. All but the Shadow dove for cover. With bullets whistling past him, with incredible cold blood, he fired a single shot with each of his two guns, and the two thugs dropped like stones, their weapons thumping dully on the carpeted floor.

‘The stairs!’ he shouted, standing wide-legged and aiming both his guns with outstretched arms. Indy, Bond and Jericho quickly picked themselves up from the floor and aimed their shotguns, bracing them against their shoulders.

The Tongs descending the stairs in leaps stumbled straight into a deadly ambush. Indy, Bond and Jericho fired their weapons as quickly as they could pump them, and The Shadow, wide-legged and laughing his eerie laughter, alternated shots between his right and left gun and felled a man with each one. The gunfire was so intense it turned into a kind of continuous, deafening roar, rather than the staccato of a series of individual detonations. Tong henchmen recoiled and fell in a bleeding, ruined mess down the stairs, pushing and tripping each other over, stumbling, screaming, swearing, dying. Some managed to get off a shot or two with pistols and revolvers before succumbing to the storm of well aimed lead, but none hit his mark. And still they came. Spent cartridges rained like hail over the dirty carpet.

Bond had exhausted the seven round magazine of his shotgun and dropped it, drawing his Colt from its shoulder holster. An instant later, Indy and Jericho also went for their side arms. With the elegance of well-rehearsed choreography The Shadow ejected the magazines from his automatics and drew new ones from his utility belt. Jericho fired his unorthodox gun, which seemed to have the recoil of a battleship cannon. Another thug went down, almost cut in half by the huge 10-gauge slug. Then Bond and Indy, aiming with both hands for greater precision held up a withering fire with their handguns, while Jericho and The Shadow reloaded their weapons. By the time they were done, it was all over. Twenty of Siwan Khan’s men lay dead or dying at the foot of the stairs while a growing pool of blood spread from the mound of corpses to stain the carpet.

As quickly as possible, and almost chocking from the acrid cordite fumes hanging thick in the air in the lobby, the raiders reloaded their guns. The receptionist girl fled crying out through the main entrance without any of them trying to stop her – they had bigger fish to catch.

‘Upstairs?’ Indy asked, and received a nod from the Shadow.

‘Let’s go, I’ll take point!’ Bond offered, and moved ahead before his father had time to protest.

They advanced up the stairs, guns held ready. Halfway up, a screaming Tong in Chinese dress and his scalp shaved save for one long braid jumped out into the staircase with a Tommy gun in his hands. Bond's shotgun cut off his screaming before he had time to loose one shot.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Bond quickly looked up, his head level with the floor. On both sides of the staircase, a hotel corridor extended with rows of doors on both walls. There was no one in sight. The floor was covered in a thick blue carpet, which in contrast to the carefully maintained untidiness of the lover storey was spotless and doubtlessly expensive. Everything else, the restrained but tasteful dark yellow wall-paper, the stylishly art-deco brass lamps on the wall, the dark wooden doors with polished brass fittings, spoke of money and taste. Apparently Siwan Khan did not like to live in the squalor he hid behind.

‘Corridors left and right!’ Bond whispered. ‘Which way?’

‘Let’s split and go both ways’, The Shadow answered. ‘Jericho and me will go left.’

‘Right, boss!’ the Herculean black answered.

Bond and Indy slowly advanced down the corridor, checking each door as they went. They all lead to unoccupied hotel rooms, which however showed clear signs of recent habitation. In one of the rooms a young Chinese girl, presumably naked under the sheet she held up before her chest sat in the bed with wide fearful eyes. Bond smiled comfortingly at her and moved on.

Suddenly a lone shot from behind made Bond and Indy jump in fright and whirl. The girl, who had been naked all right, lay dead on the carpet, a bullet wound between the shoulder blades. A short .38 was on the floor, right next to her right hand. In the opposite corridor, The Shadow lowered his smoking .45.

‘What made you think the girl wasn’t dangerous, Mr Bond?’ the masked crime-fighter asked. ‘Siwan Khan’s followers are fanatics. I’d thought you would have noticed by now.’

Shaken, Bond just shook his head and received a pat on the shoulder from his father. ‘Don’t worry about it kid. We’re just hardwired that way, you and I. Let’s move on.’

A few rooms down the hall, Bond and Indy came into a spacious penthouse that seemed to occupy fully one third of the area of that wing of the building. It was furbished in Chinese style, with gold and red wallpaper and showed clear signs of having been inhabited recently. An open cupboard, as if the resident had hurriedly grabbed some item of clothing from it, displayed rows of golden silk robes.

‘No doubt about it, this is the lair of the Golden Master!’ whispered Indy, his eyes sweeping the apartment again and again for threats. None appeared. After securing the place, Bond put down his rifle on a glass table and began closely examining the walls. It was not like a master criminal to inhabit a room with no second exit.

Sure enough, he soon found a segment of sliding panel. Once the gold-patterned panel had been pushed aside, Bond and Indy found themselves staring into an elevator shaft closed off with an – inevitably golden – grating.

‘Shadow! Hey Shadow! Look what we’ve found!’ shouted Indy. Soon the other half of the raiding party joined them.

‘It goes down it seems, but not far. We could probably slide down the cable to the roof of the cabin’, The Shadow commented.

‘Dare we climb down?’ Indy asked. ‘They could be waiting for us downstairs. We’d be sitting ducks.’

‘Dare we not?’ Bond countered. ‘Remember the Secret Weapon!’

‘Mr Bond is right’, The Shadow agreed, and after shaking the bar door added. ‘It’s locked. Jericho!’

The huge Shadow agent leaned his shotgun against the wall and stepped up to the grating. He grabbed two bars with his ham-sized fists, inhaled and pulled apart with all his might. The muscles in his arms and neck twisted and bulged like snakes under the ebony skin, and his black T-shirt looked like it might rip at any moment. The centimetre-thick gilt-covered bronze bars groaned, curved under the assault and then snapped like dead twigs. The black exhaled lightly and straightened.

‘Done. Go ahead, boss!’ He again picked up his weapon.

Scarcely able to believe his eyes, Bond looked at the cleanly snapped bars while The Shadow’s pushed himself between them. Inside, he pulled out a short piece of steel cable from a pocket and wound it around the elevator cable.

‘Wait here!’ He ordered. ‘I’ll send up the elevator for you!’

‘Bullshit!’ Indy protested, but the Nemesis of Crime had already jumped, holding on the coil of cable to slow his descent.

The Shadow landed easily on the wooden roof of the cabin and opened a hatch to peer into the interior. He spotted a lever, which being the only visible means of control, was sure to be used to go up or down. A grating similar to the one in the penthouse above was open, inviting. Certain that the men of Siwan Khan had taken up position in front of the elevator, The Shadow untangled his piece of cable, made a coil with it and carefully lowered it down into the cabin to hook around the lever and pull it upwards. Immediately, the cabin began to rise and shouts were heard from inside the room below, which had a quality that made him think it was large and spacious.

They would be ready when the cabin returned, but not before. With lightning speed, The Shadow dropped through the hatch onto the floor of the cabin, and the instant before the opening was closed by the wall descending like the blade of a brick guillotine, he rolled out of the diminishing opening to fall on his feet, cape outstretched like the wings of a giant black bat. His guns were already in his hands, and spat death at the surprised henchmen of Siwan Khan who had ran forward towards the elevator shaft as soon as the cabin began to rise.

Gunfire and the eerie, demented laughter of The Shadow echoed through the large, dark and grimy room, by the looks of it a kind of workshop or assembly hall, as he coolly cut down half a dozen men who fired, screamed or tried to turn and run, all of which did them no good whatsoever. When Bond, Indy and Jericho jumped out of the cabin, guns swinging in all directions, The Shadow was already running through the great room, where machine benches held heavy tools for metalworking.

‘They assembled it here!’ Bond shouted. ‘Look at those pieces of sheet metal, it looks almost like segments of an enormous bomb shell!’

‘Quickly! They’re getting away!’ The Shadow shouted, running towards a door at the far end of the assembly hall. He pushed it open and found himself in a spacious garage, with place for half a dozen trucks. The far wall opened into another alley than the one the raiders had entered through. A smell of engine exhausts still hung in the air.

‘They’re gone!’ Bond shouted with chagrin. ‘The damned coward Siwan Khan has escaped us!’

‘Not yet!’ The Shadow said grimly. ‘I suspected it would come to this so I had Moe circle around the block with my special pursuit car while we were inside. He should be here shortly, and with any luck he will have seen what way they went…’

Moments later, the Shadow’s driver, New York yellow-cab pilot extraordinaire Moe Shrewnitz drove a very special vehicle into the garage, braked to a screeching halt and threw up the doors.

‘Well, move on then! They’re getting away!’ he shouted, making place for The Shadow in the drivers seat while Jericho folded up to go through the door on the passenger side. Bond and Indy stood flabbergasted for an instant, looking at the fantastic-looking car before jumping into the back seat.

AUTHORS NOTE: In order to be consistent with the pulp style of the thirties and forties, I have used the denomination "black" for the African-American Jericho. This is not intended to be derogatory in any way. The term African-American would feel, to me at least, anachronistic in a 1940 setting. If anyone is offended by this, I apologise profusely.
 
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Wow, gunry and action! What an exciting update!

And Yogi, The, I'd say you have quite nothing to worry about. I mean, if you used the word 'Negro' to be consistent with time period, I'd understand if you'd want a disclaimer, but 'black'? :confused: And didn't you have a character while back calling Asians 'yellow apes'?
 
anonymous4401 said:
Wow, gunry and action! What an exciting update!

And Yogi, The, I'd say you have quite nothing to worry about. I mean, if you used the word 'Negro' to be consistent with time period, I'd understand if you'd want a disclaimer, but 'black'? :confused: And didn't you have a character while back calling Asians 'yellow apes'?

Yes, but that was in dialogue. Anything goes in dialogue, I also had Nazi's going on about "kike" and "Yid" in Master Plan. I thought that the whole racial issue is extremly sensitive to Americans (of which we have a lot on the board) and I just don't want to offend. Maybe I was over-cautios.
 
That was one hell of an update, Yog. Very fine writing, sir. I look forward to the showdown with Siwan Khan and the rest of his thugs!
 
A solid update, you wrote it with a cinema quality, the narrative-descriptive style enables readers to picture the action in their heads. To my best knowledge that kind of bond between the writer and the readers is a definite sign of quality literature.
 
cthulhu said:
That was one hell of an update, Yog. Very fine writing, sir. I look forward to the showdown with Siwan Khan and the rest of his thugs!
Thank you, you shall not have to wait long!

Deus said:
A solid update, you wrote it with a cinema quality, the narrative-descriptive style enables readers to picture the action in their heads. To my best knowledge that kind of bond between the writer and the readers is a definite sign of quality literature.
I'm happy you enjoy my work, Deus. And now for the conclusion of this hunt!
 
Black Oak, Placer County
California, United States of America

Early morning of April 15th, 1940


shadowdevaux.jpg


All through the night, The Shadow’s “special pursuit car”, a roaring arrow of glistening sable metal, had sped through the darkness in pursuit of Siwan Khan’s convoy of trucks. As he moved ever in a north-westerly direction, the lead of the Golden Master, originally not more than a few minutes by the time they had reached the Bay Bridge, had despite their dizzying speed grown considerably due to several wrong turns. There was something fishy about the progress of the convoy. Sometimes, just minutes after it had passed through some small outback village, nobody could remember seeing it, or they gave directions that soon proved to be entirely inaccurate, so much so that The Shadow soon began to take any direction except the one indicated by locals.

‘What’s wrong with these people?’ Bond wondered from the back seat or the car. ‘It’s as if they tried to help Siwan Khan shake us. But why would they?’

‘Siwan Khan knew how to cloud the vision of men, just like I do!’ The Shadow said, his gloved hands expertly guiding the car through small and tortuous woodland back roads. ‘I thought his brain had been damaged so that he had lost that ability, but is seems it has returned in spite of everything… damn! I... We nearly had him!’

‘We can’t give up, boss!’ Jericho protested in his deep, rumbling voice. The enormous black had stoically endured his many-hour confinement in a seat designed for men of lesser stature. ‘Remember the Secret Weapon they carry in those trucks!’

‘I know it, how well I know it Jericho. Don’t worry, we’ll catch him still!’

As if speaking in prophecy, the road parted again. Going on, the road remained as decrepit and crude as it had so far. Turning into the woods, it was little more than a dirt track. The Shadow stopped the car.

‘Let me check the ground’ Indy said, who had the best wilderness skills of the group. ‘Several trucks going in there must have left some tracks.’

The archaeologist needed little of them, however. Obvious even to an untrained eye, the dirt road had clearly been churned up by a number of heavy vehicles.

‘They went in here!’

As dawn began to shroud the eastern sky in rosy pink, The Shadow’s car, with lights doused, reached the edge of a very large clearing in the forest, lying at the bottom of a small valley. Outside in the clearing, bright lights showed several crude buildings made of corrugated steel sheet and also…

‘Air planes! A hidden airstrip! I think this must be Siwan Khan’s destination!’

‘Everybody out!’ The Shadow ordered with urgency tingeing his dark voice. ‘Look, those planes are being loaded, we can’t let them take off! God alone knows what devilry would be unleashed on our country if they do!’

The four men jumped out of the plane. The Shadow walked to the back of the car and opened the trunk. Rows of rifles, sub-machineguns and assorted handguns fitted in special racks and cases filled the cargo compartment.

‘Gentlemen, those shotguns will do you no good fighting in a large open space like an airfield. Here, take whatever you like, all weapons are loaded and ready. There’s extra ammo in that box.’

Jericho, consistent in his liking of huge, powerful weapons went without hesitation for a double-barrelled elephant gun. Each gleaming brass-cased round was almost as long as a fountain pen, and twice as wide.

Indy whistled softly. ‘Handmade elephant gun, chambered for .600 Nitro Express! I once saw a big game hunter use one to fell an enraged elephant bull with a single shot. It was in Kenya a few years back, I think his name was Quartermain. You know, Jericho, if those planes manage to take off, you might be able to down them with that monster!’

Bond was going to pick the weapon he was most familiar with, a Lee-Enfield rifle but his father made grumbling noises. ‘No, no kid, trust me, take this one instead; it’s our Army’s new semi-automatic, the Garand rifle. A crack shot like you, you’ll love it. I’ll take the Enfield.’

Bond agreed to this, while the Shadow picked out a Springfield M1903 rifle. New York City was his usual haunt and his Colts were perfect for it’s dark alleys and cramped warehouses, but this was a whole other type of fight. Without another word, the heroes walked out into the open, advancing boldly in line down the runway tarmac towards the planes, four Douglas DC-3s painted in USAAC markings. There was no time for any kind of subterfuge or tactic.

A group of around two dozen Tong thugs were busy loading the planes through their non-standard ventral bays using a kind of pulley-powered lift cradle. In each cradle rested something that looked like a grotesquely oversized and fat aerial bomb the size of a car. Noticing the four men walking towards them, they began to shout and a number of them, who also sported rifles stopped working and ran forward to intercept the interlopers.

As one, the four men stopped, lifted their rifles against their shoulders and took careful aim as bullets from the Tong riflemen began to crack past. The distance was some three hundred metres, and Bond wished he had had a telescopic sight. He missed, and immediately appreciated the advantage of a semi-automatic rifle. The shot had gone low, making a small puff of debris to the left and in front of the intended target. Without having to loose his aim from pulling the bolt, Bond adjusted his aim somewhat and dropped the Tong rifleman.

Indy whopped in glee as he too eliminated an opponent and The Shadow calmly worked his way down the line of enemies, killing one with each shot. Jericho’s huge elephant gun thundered and one of Siwan Khan’s henchmen flew backwards, as if hit by a car. As he took aim to fire his second barrel, he suddenly grunted in pain and fell to his knees, blood spurting through the fingers of the hand he pressed against his side. Bond immediately shot the Tong and he and the Shadow both kneeled by the stricken giant.

‘No!’ Jericho moaned, ‘Get away from me, boss! You’ve got to stop those planes from taking off! I’ll be fine, go now, those punks are just about done loading!’

The Shadow nodded, looking more serious if possible than usual. He then picked up Jericho’s elephant rifle, aimed it at the giant bomb just going into the bay of one of the DC-3s in the middle of the group and fired. It was a clean hit, but there was no noticeable effect, and he dropped the gun again.

‘Run!’ the masked crime-fighter shouted. ‘Look, they’re beginning to board the planes! We’re almost to late!’

They reached the hangars right next to the planes which were now turning to begin their takeoff runs. The Shadow stared in impotent fury at the great machines and lifted his rifle.

‘Concentrate your fire on the engines of the first one, maybe if we knock it out, it’ll block…’

His words were interrupted by a savage kick to his back which sent him flying and his rifle fell clattering on the tarmac surface. Jumping to his feet, The Shadow saw that Bond and Indy were prone in the long dark shadow of the hangar, having been struck down behind his back by an unseen assailant. Suddenly the air shimmered and a man appeared standing wide-legged as if from thin air. He was tall and powerful for an Asian, with thick, raven hair and a thin beard and moustache. His high forehead had the smoothness of youth, but was marred by a vertical scar in the middle. He was clad in a long robe of golden silk and his green eyes shone with cruel triumph.

‘Siwan Khan!’ The Shadow shouted, feeling the old hate course through his body like liquid fire. He jumped to his feet, assuming a traditional offensive stance of Shaolin Kung-Fu.

‘Ying Ko! We meet again!’ the Golden Master said, and advanced with arrogance against his old nemesis, not bothering to adopt the corresponding defensive stance.

‘Your brain was damaged.’ The Shadow said, almost as if in accusation. ‘You lost your ability to cloud the vision.’

‘The Elixir Vitae of Fu Manchu can cure the most grievous wound, Ying Ko. And now, let’s end this properly, the way it was always supposed to end – with you and me, man to man, and with your death!’

Without warning the Golden Master pounced, and seemingly flicked out of existence. But the Shadow did the same, and invisible in the dark shadows of the hangar, he avoided the deadly kick, which would otherwise have torn of his head.

James Bond groaned, returned to consciousness and looked up to see the most bizarre thing he had seen in his life. The Shadow and a man in golden robes who could only be Siwan Khan were fighting hand to hand, with the dance-like, flowing ease of movement of two masters of Shaolin Kung Fu. But as they jumped, kicked, struck or blocked, they flicked in and out of visibility like a pair of fighters in a dark room, intermittently lit by a stroboscope. As they fought with their bodies, The Shadow and The Golden Master also pitted mind against mind, each trying to cloud the vision of the other and pierce the obfuscation of the other. And behind them, the planes had started their takeoff run!

Swearing, Bond brought up his rifle, aimed it at the first plane and emptied the clip. He was sure he had hit, but it had little apparent effect. Bond drew his Colt and ran past the two mystic antagonists. Without much hope, he aimed it at the receding tail of the last plane and emptied the entire magazine. Sparks flew from the aluminium hide of the DC-3 as bullets pierced it. No effect. Bond threw down his gun, screaming in frustration as the planes gained speed. They were aiming for a risky simultaneous take-off, all in line, and nothing seemed to stand in their way.

Half-conscious on the tarmac, Jericho saw the DC-3 transports bear down on him, and remembered Indy's earlier comment. Wincing with pain, he reached for his huge rifle. He removed his other hand from his wound, causing a fresh gush of blood, and fumbled for cartridges in his pocket. His hands, sticky with blood and the pain from the wound made producing the rounds, breaking open the rifle and loading the twin barrels a slow, tortuous process. The DC-3’s achieved take-off speed a bare fifty metres before crushing the wounded giant and lifted off, one after the other. Jericho finally got his rifle loaded and ready to fire. Resting the stock against the ground he aimed straight up.

‘You’re… going… DOWN! Punk!’ he hissed out between teeth clenched in agony.

As the last DC-3 passed overhead, blotting out the faint dawn pre-dawn light, he fired off both barrels straight into the cockpit. The giant bullets tore through the hull and the layers of machinery to pierce the Tong pilot, exiting through and shattering his head. The plane immediately listed over, dipped one wing and with deceptive slowness, it crashed into the edge of the woods and exploded into a gigantic ball of orange fire. The other three planes continued on their way, flying off towards the dark western horizon.

By the hangar, the fight between the Lord and Nemesis of Crime continued unabated, pitting martial arts and powerful minds against each other in an unforgiving test of skill and will. The Shadow had taken many blows, and bled from his large, beaklike nose and from his mouth, but he fought on with grim determination. Siwan Khan had taken less punishment and was slowly gaining the upper hand. Suddenly, the explosion of the plane caught his attention and he looked up towards the bright orange mushroom cloud that lit up the night.

‘NO!’ he shouted, and in the next moment he went down, The Shadow having delivered a shattering round-kick straight to his jaw.

****

The Golden Master woke up to find himself cuffed and inside The Shadow’s fantastic black car, speeding back towards San Francisco. Jericho Druke was outstretched in the back seat, with Bond and Indy trying to stem the flow of blood from his terrible wound. Siwan Khan had been placed in the passenger seat with his hands cuffed behind the back of the seat to prevent him from moving. The Shadow was driving.

‘Don’t try your mind tricks, Siwan!’ The Shadow warned him. ‘I’m ready for them, and at the speed we’re going, you’d only get yourself killed even if you succeeded.’

‘Don’t worry, Ying Ko!’ the Golden Master said, ignoring the pain in his head. ‘I'll be your meek prisoner, you will feel forced by your sickening morality to spare me and in the end I will escape again and defeat you another day. In the meantime, hurry all you want. The planes got away, and your country is doomed!’

‘What was in those bombs!?’ Bond shouted from the back seat.

‘You’ll soon find out. I don’t want to spoil the fun for you!’

Bond didn’t insist, but concentrated instead on dressing Jericho’s wound. Indy, however had a question that he couldn’t repress any longer.

‘You’ve got to tell me… that coffin you appeared in… was it really Temujin’s coffin? How did you find it? Are you really his descendant?’

‘A fake would have been beneath my dignity as Heir to The Great Lord of The Earth!’ Siwan Khan replied grandly. ‘I used the real coffin of Genghis Khan!’

‘So you’ve found his tomb then?’ Indy asked, looking eager as child waiting for his Christmas presents. ‘How did you find it? Was it an ancient map? A half forgotten oral tradition? An inscription in the ruins of Karakorum? What? Tell me!’

‘Oh, you ignorant American lout! You know nothing, NOTHING! Why could I learn of the location of the tomb of Genghis Khan? Because HE TOLD ME!’

The Golden Master laughed as a madman as the gleaming black car raced the dawn to San Francisco.
 
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