Free The Rocketeer by Peter David
Authors: Peter David
Bellamy, or even Cary Grant, who had some of the same airs but at least seemed like he was taking himself a bit less seriously.
“This I gotta see,” he said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.
The show had already started as Cliff and Jenny made their way down the darkened aisle. Cliff was loaded down with popcorn and sodas, muttering, “Excuse me, pardon me,” as people who were already seated reluctantly moved their legs to accommodate him and Jenny squeezing past.
As they moved toward two empty seats, the announcer of the newsreel that was unspooling on the screen intoned, “But as rumors of war haunt the Continent, Herr Hitler claims to be working for world peace . . . and the sovereignty of nations.”
Cliff glanced up and saw the Nazis giving Chancellor Hitler that annoying, stiff-armed salute. It bugged the hell out of him. He’d had a lengthy argument with Malcolm about it one day at the Bulldog Café, when Malcolm—who’d been a pilot during the Great War—stated that Hitler could blow hot air all he wanted, but that he would never dare to start something really big because the Krauts had learned their hard lessons back in 1918. The world had kicked their tails and could do so again at any time, and that knowledge would keep the Germans in line.
Cliff, on the other hand, hadn’t been so sure. There was something in the pictures and newsreels he saw of Hitler that gave him chills. Chills and an uneasy feeling that the world was becoming a trickier place to live with every passing day.
As Cliff and Jenny seated themselves, the image on the screen changed as a zeppelin with a bold swastika painted on its tail descended from the skies over someplace or other. The announcer said with incredible cheerfulness, “And just to prove he’s a swell guy, here comes the chancellor’s latest goodwill gesture—the mighty airship Luxembourg, on a coast-to-coast friendship tour of the United States.”
Jenny and Cliff divvied up the snacks as the zeppelin’s captain and crew mingled with an excited crowd on the screen. “First stop, New Jersey,” said the announcer, “where the locals turn out in droves to meet Captain Heinrick and the crew. Winning friends the old-fashioned way—with good German chocolate!” Sure enough, the German airmen were handing out candy bars to eagerly grabbing children.
Cliff shook his head in disgust. Kids would do anything for a few slabs of candy, and here this stupid newsreel was making that seem like a good thing. To top it off, the Heinrick guy turned and waved to the camera as the announcer said, “Welcome, boys! Look us up when you get to Hollywood!”
There followed afterward a trailer for a new Errol Flynn picture, The Adventures of Robin Hood. There was a quick shot of Olivia de Havilland saying to Flynn, “You speak treason!” Cliff chuckled to himself. She’d said the exact same thing to him in Captain Blood. Apparently Errol never tired of talking treason, and she never tired of hearing it. Flynn seemed like a decent enough duck. Anybody was better than that Sinclair creep.
After that came a trailer for a new cliffhanger entitled The Return of Milo Flint, which looked to be a two-fisted detective flick, and then Cliff settled into the seat as the movie began and Neville Sinclair’s name appeared on the screen in huge letters.
Jenny nudged him. “You’ll love this.”
“I love it already,” muttered Cliff. “If I loved it any more, I’d be in the hospital.”
The nurse emerged from the patient’s room and walked toward the police officer who was seated at the nurses’ station, adjusting the dials on a radio. Spooky music came on, followed by the sounds of ominously creaking doors and hollow, evil laughter. He looked up and asked her, “How’s he doing?”
“I just gave him a sedative,” said the nurse. “He’ll sleep like a baby.”
Inside the hospital room, Wilmer, in heavy traction, lay dozing in bed. The only sounds in the room
“This I gotta see,” he said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.
The show had already started as Cliff and Jenny made their way down the darkened aisle. Cliff was loaded down with popcorn and sodas, muttering, “Excuse me, pardon me,” as people who were already seated reluctantly moved their legs to accommodate him and Jenny squeezing past.
As they moved toward two empty seats, the announcer of the newsreel that was unspooling on the screen intoned, “But as rumors of war haunt the Continent, Herr Hitler claims to be working for world peace . . . and the sovereignty of nations.”
Cliff glanced up and saw the Nazis giving Chancellor Hitler that annoying, stiff-armed salute. It bugged the hell out of him. He’d had a lengthy argument with Malcolm about it one day at the Bulldog Café, when Malcolm—who’d been a pilot during the Great War—stated that Hitler could blow hot air all he wanted, but that he would never dare to start something really big because the Krauts had learned their hard lessons back in 1918. The world had kicked their tails and could do so again at any time, and that knowledge would keep the Germans in line.
Cliff, on the other hand, hadn’t been so sure. There was something in the pictures and newsreels he saw of Hitler that gave him chills. Chills and an uneasy feeling that the world was becoming a trickier place to live with every passing day.
As Cliff and Jenny seated themselves, the image on the screen changed as a zeppelin with a bold swastika painted on its tail descended from the skies over someplace or other. The announcer said with incredible cheerfulness, “And just to prove he’s a swell guy, here comes the chancellor’s latest goodwill gesture—the mighty airship Luxembourg, on a coast-to-coast friendship tour of the United States.”
Jenny and Cliff divvied up the snacks as the zeppelin’s captain and crew mingled with an excited crowd on the screen. “First stop, New Jersey,” said the announcer, “where the locals turn out in droves to meet Captain Heinrick and the crew. Winning friends the old-fashioned way—with good German chocolate!” Sure enough, the German airmen were handing out candy bars to eagerly grabbing children.
Cliff shook his head in disgust. Kids would do anything for a few slabs of candy, and here this stupid newsreel was making that seem like a good thing. To top it off, the Heinrick guy turned and waved to the camera as the announcer said, “Welcome, boys! Look us up when you get to Hollywood!”
There followed afterward a trailer for a new Errol Flynn picture, The Adventures of Robin Hood. There was a quick shot of Olivia de Havilland saying to Flynn, “You speak treason!” Cliff chuckled to himself. She’d said the exact same thing to him in Captain Blood. Apparently Errol never tired of talking treason, and she never tired of hearing it. Flynn seemed like a decent enough duck. Anybody was better than that Sinclair creep.
After that came a trailer for a new cliffhanger entitled The Return of Milo Flint, which looked to be a two-fisted detective flick, and then Cliff settled into the seat as the movie began and Neville Sinclair’s name appeared on the screen in huge letters.
Jenny nudged him. “You’ll love this.”
“I love it already,” muttered Cliff. “If I loved it any more, I’d be in the hospital.”
The nurse emerged from the patient’s room and walked toward the police officer who was seated at the nurses’ station, adjusting the dials on a radio. Spooky music came on, followed by the sounds of ominously creaking doors and hollow, evil laughter. He looked up and asked her, “How’s he doing?”
“I just gave him a sedative,” said the nurse. “He’ll sleep like a baby.”
Inside the hospital room, Wilmer, in heavy traction, lay dozing in bed. The only sounds in the room