by Lou Cameron
She urged him over on his back and mounted him from above as she replied, “That’s what all the boys say.” Then she planted a bare heel on either side of his hips and began bouncing like a Cossack dancer while he gasped in wonder. She was a shameless little animal and he knew he shouldn’t be enjoying her that much. The other guys would think he was a child molester if they ever found out. But there was something to be said for her light immature frame. It allowed her to move it as no full grown woman could have without collapsing from exhaustion.
The naughty woman-child was insatiable and demanded more after a second mutual climax. He decided as long as they’d gone this far, there was little point in stopping. But if her father didn’t kill him she was probably going to give him a dose. The only difference between Maria and an out-and-out whore was that Maria gave it free for the asking. It helped him overcome any lingering doubts about her physical immaturity as he had her dog style, French style, and a couple of styles she’d apparently invented herself.
By the time she collapsed in his arms and said something about getting home before her father missed her, he was heartily relieved to see her go. She’d wrung him out like a dishrag and he didn’t think he’d want another woman for a month. But as Maria kissed him good-night and fondled his poor limp flesh, she purred, “I’ll come back the first chance I get.”
She sounded like she meant it. He sighed and told himself, “Jesus, we’ve really got to get out of here!”
Chapter Twenty-One
The U.S.S. Denver steamed in on the midnight tide and, as Captain Gringo had expected, tied up to the pier in silence and just sat there. Bomber Girty was the lookout who came to wake him and the groggy Captain Gringo was relieved to find himself alone in bed at the time. He told Bomber to pass the word to the others that the zero hour would be dawn, and that he’d rejoin them, hopefully, at the crossroads on the mainland.
Then he turned over and tried to go back to sleep. He knew he’d hear the ship’s bells sound the dawn watch when it was time for him to rise and shine.
He was beat and dead tired, but too keyed up, it seemed, to go back to sleep. His jangled nerves demanded he get up and check the machine gun over in that dark corner. But he knew the machine gun would be ready any time he was. He was too old a soldier to waste motion and he knew there’d be a deck officer on watch who’d doubtless wonder why anyone was wandering around a little fishing village after midnight. He couldn’t move until the fishermen arose to put out to sea on the next ebb tide, in about six hours. So he lay there, willing himself not to move, and, after a time, he dozed off.
The ship’s bell didn’t wake him up at dawn. Gaston did. As Captain Gringo rose on one elbow, reaching for his pistol in the dim-lit loft, the Frenchman said, ‘It’s me. When do we move out?”
Captain Gringo heard a distant chime and said, “You and the others were supposed to be moving now! What the hell are you doing here?”
“The Detroit Harp has the others up and ready to go. I thought I’d stay close to you and that machine gun, hein! You still haven’t told me the full plan, but I have discovered one’s survival rate tends to rise in your vicinity.”
Captain Gringo swore and began to dress as he said, “Damn it, you know I don’t use other guys to save my own ass. That’s one of your tricks, as I recall.”
“I know. You are tres idealistic.” Gaston sniffed and added, “Have you had a woman up here? My educated nose smells cunt.”
“I’m sorry, we haven’t time for breakfast. I was planning to manage the machine gun solo, but as long as you’re along to feed me fresh belts, we’ll take the ammo boxes, too.”
“Ah? We are going to throw a lot of ammunition at someone, then. May I inquire who?”
“Everybody I can get in my sights.” Growled Captain Gringo, hauling on the last boot and rising lightly. He went over to pick up the machine gun and said, “Grab the ammo and follow me.” Then, they were on their way.
Gaston withheld further comment until he saw they were headed for the one pier ocean-going vessels used. To their right, sails were rising as the fishing fleet made ready in the gray half-light. Gaston said, “I know this sounds silly, but one could swear we are headed for the U.S. gunboat”
Captain Gringo paused at the corner of the last house covering their approach and said, “We are. Shut up and let me think.”
He stared out at the squat gray mass of riveted armor plate as he held the machine gun in his arms like a baby. There was a faint haze of smoke above the funnel and beyond it, swaying gently, rose the great gray bulk of the captive balloon on the fantail. He grinned and said, “I was hoping they’d still have that gas bag filled.”
Gaston said, “It means they have found nothing and are still looking, non?”
“Right. And by now they’ve had a peek at everything to be seen from the air along this whole coast.”
“Then Greystoke was wrong. The German base was simply a wild rumor.”
“Quiet. I’m thinking. The morning watch are probably watching the fishing boats. But we can’t just walk out on that pier with a fucking machine gun.”
“You are mad! They would grab us if we walked out there empty-handed!”
“No they wouldn’t. Why grab a couple of strange civilians who are headed toward you, anyway? Why not just wait and see what they have to say?”
“Perhaps, But what do wanted men say to the captain of a gunboat? Excuse me, Sir, but is this the place where one gives up?”
The tall American spotted a wheelbarrow across the dirt street and said, “That should do it.” He stepped over and put the Maxim in the wheelbarrow, telling Gaston to put the ammo boxes in beside it. Then he took off his linen jacket and covered the load as Gaston watched, totally confused.
Captain Gringo picked up the wheelbarrow handles and said, “Let’s go.”
Gaston gasped, “Go? You go, you maniac! That gunboat has six-inchers mounted on its bow!”
But, as Captain Gringo started wheeling out on to the pier, the little Frenchman followed, cursing in Spanish, French, and Arabic.
They trudged past the bow hawser and were even with the bridge before a petty officer called down to them, “Hey, where do you think you’re going?”
Captain Gringo kept his hat brim low as he called back, “No comprendo, señor.” and kept moving. The petty officer turned from the rail to call, “Hey, Smitty, get Vasquez up on deck. I need somebody who can ask these spies what they’re doing.”
They were abaft the funnel now and the petty officer yelled, “Hey, stop! No vamoose back there, you stupid greasers!”
“The man says to stop,” murmured Gaston as they cleared the superstructure and were even with the afterdeck’s flat expanse, at the level of the pier. The observation balloon was tethered to a winch, straining to rise as the warmth of daylight expanded its gas bag. A crewman mopping the afterdeck stared curiously at them as Captain Gringo put down the wheelbarrow, threw the cover aside, picked up the machine gun, telling Gaston to bring the ammo as he stepped aboard. The seaman with the mop gasped, “What the hell?” Then ran for cover as Captain Gringo trained the muzzle on him with a snarl. Gaston pleaded, “What in God’s name are we doing, Dick?” and he said, “Toss the ammo in the basket and get in!”
“Get in the balloon? Oh my God!”
Then men were running aft, yelling foolish things, and as Captain Gringo braced the Maxim on his hip and started shooting, Gaston did as he was told. The big American aimed low, trusting to the armor plate as he bounced screaming lead all over the superstructure and occasioned a mass evacuation of the sternward area. An unseen voice roared out, “Well kill you for this, you son of a bitch!” as he backed to the balloon, tossed the machine gun over the rail of the basket, and reached under it to cut the line with one hand as he clung to the basket with the other. There was a loud twang and the balloon rose with an arm-wrenching jolt as they soared skyward with Captain Gringo still outside. He dropped the knife and got hands on the rail to hau
l himself up. Gaston helped him in, but sobbed, “We are doomed, you idiot! We have no way of getting this thing down]”
Captain Gringo reached up for g, dangling cord and tied it to his belt before picking up the machine gun and bracing it over the rail. He said, “Relax, This line controls a valve in the top of the balloon up there. When we want to go down, we just valve some gas. When we want up we drop one of those sandbags tied to the outside of this gondola. It’s really quite simple.”
There was a faraway crackle of small arms and Gaston said, “They are shooting at us from the gunboat.”
Captain Gringo said, “Yeah, they’re probably a little pissed off.”
He looked down and was pleased to see how small the gunboat looked, now. He said, “We’re really climbing.” Gaston looked over the edge and gagged. The fishing village below them was a rapidly shrinking throw rug of tile roofing as they drifted southeast. Captain Gringo aimed the Maxim and pissed a stream of bullets down at the gunboat, most of his fire splashing whitely in the water off her bows. He swung his gaze east and said, “There go our guys! I knew Harp would follow the plan.”
Gaston gingerly peered down at the line of tiny dots fanning out across the lava flats toward the mainland and asked, “This is a plan? Merde alors!”
Then he stiffened and added, very softly, “Dick, we seem to be headed toward the volca—”
Captain Gringo nodded and said, “I know. There’s a constant onshore breeze. The wind ought to sweep us right over the crater in a few minutes.”
“Damn you, you lunatic, that’s what I just said! First you attack the U.S. Navy and now you ride a runaway balloon into an active volcano!”
Captain Gringo smiled thinly and said, “What active volcano? Monte Purgatorio has been dormant through recorded history.”
Gaston stared at the billowing evil colored smoke rising from the mass they were approaching and said, “I spit in recorded history! Look at those billowing clouds of smoke the wind is taking us into!”
“Smudge pots,” said the American, adding, “They’re burning sulfur all around the rim. That’s why those other guys didn’t see anything the last time this balloon came by. There’s no eruption going on. Those thuds we kept feeling in the earth were dynamite blasts. They’ve been using the sulfur mine tunnels to get into the crater. They fenced the top off from everyone and if any curious kids get near the summit they roll a rock or splash some acid on them.”
“You mean those acid streams are artificial?”
“What acid streams? The ones they told us were acid? I tasted water running from deep in the lava and it was pure enough to bottle and sell. Haven’t you gotten it yet? The whole thing’s a fake! The secret base everyone’s been looking for is in the crater of a defunct volcano!”
“I don’t believe you,” said Gaston, as the up-slope breeze carried them closer to the rising smoke plumes. Then a rifle bullet smashed into one of the sandbags on the outside of the basket and he said, “Now I believe you. Over there, behind those boulders!”
Captain Gringo moved across the basket to train the Maxim on the boulder field just outside the crater s rim and opened up. A man in the uniform of a mining company guard rolled limply down the steep slope as others ran wildly over the rim to vanish in the smoke.
Captain Gringo said, “So far so good, but let’s see if we can get some action around here.” He moved the gun around to the seaward side, braced the muzzle skyward, and sent a stream of plunging fire in the direction of the gunboat near the shore.
Gaston said, “They are not going to like that!”
There was a cotton ball puff of smoke from the gunboat and as a six-inch shell screamed just under their dangling basket he said, “I told you they wouldn’t like it!”
Captain Gringo grinned like a kid stealing apples and really tried to hit the boat this time. Gaston sighed and said, “I see. Since we can’t commit suicide by dropping into a live volcano, you intend to see us blown out of the sky, hein?”
“They can’t elevate their guns quite high enough to hit us, but they’re too pissed off to care.”
Another shell screamed under them to drop down into the smoke screen and explode far below, in the crater. The balloon was drifting into the smoke, now, and as Captain Gringo sniffed the rotten egg odor he nodded and said, “I told you they were burning sulfur.” Then he fired another burst at the gunboat for luck before they vanished in the smoke. As they floated out the far side, an eerie view was revealed to them. The balloon drifted to the center of the dead air above the crater and while there was a high wall of smoke all around, the sky above was blue and they could see clearly down to the water-filled lagoon thousands of feet below. There were frame buildings and docks around the circular basin and a shark-like vessel was moving across the water like a swimming rat that had fallen in a rain barrel. A mighty splash spread near the submarine’s stern as another six-inch shell slammed down into the crater. The sub was sinking lower in the water.
As it finished submerging, Captain Gringo told Gaston, “They either drilled an underwater tunnel or found a lava tube leading to the rough south coast nobody sails near. The surf is only rough on the surface.”
Gaston said, “Ah, that is why they needed no landing over by, the sulfur mine. I see it all, now! They have been landing supplies by lighter from those harmless looking merchant ships standing offshore to take on sulfur. But, that submarine is getting away, non?”
“Yeah, but I doubt it will ever be back, even if its feeble power gets it anywhere. Look down there to the east. A lucky shot has set some buildings on fire.”
Gaston had just said he saw it when two more six-inchers lobbed down into the crater. One exploded harmlessly in the lagoon. The other hit something along the shore that went off with a horrendous roar and sent a mushroom of flame and smoke up at them. As the shock wave swayed the basket under them, Captain Gringo said laconically, “Ammo dump.”
Gaston said, “This is all most interesting. But now that we have seen the show, how does one go about leaving the theater?”
Captain Gringo said, “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask that. We seem to be stuck in dead air here. I know how to go down and I know how to go up. But I’m not sure how you get one of these things to go sideways.”
“I vote for up!” said Gaston, “If those things down there that look like ants are German navy personnel, going down would not be our best move at the moment.”
Captain Gringo said, “I think you’re right.” He started dropping sandbags, and then, since he wanted to lighten the load anyway, he held the muzzle of the Maxim over the side and started shooting down at the confusion in the bottom of the crater as they slowly started to rise.
Further aloft, the thinning clouds of smoke seemed to be drifting toward the mainland on the morning sea breeze. As they slowly moved toward the landward rim of Monte Purgatorio, they saw the smudge pots were laid out along a pathway just inside the crater wall. The smudge pots were not alone up here. Rifles started winking at them from the rocks as they approached. Captain Gringo said, “Hand me another belt. Some guys just never learn.”
They floated over the east lip of the crater in a blaze of gunfire with most of the advantage to Captain Gringo and Gaston as they aimed the machine gun, blasting anything that moved. And then they were clear of the summit and bobbing toward the east as something hissed above them. Gaston said, “I hope I’m wrong. But I fear we have some bullet holes in our brave balloon!”
Captain Gringo said, “I noticed. Saves having to valve gas, since we wanted to go down, anyway.”
“Merde, I said nothing about going down suddenly!”
The ground did seem to be rising to meet them a bit suddenly for comfort. Captain Gringo started dropping sand to slow their descent as they were swept eastward. Then he pointed with his chin at a rusty line in the brushy terrain below and said, “We made it. That’s the north-south trail along the main coast.”
“Oui, I see the crossroads. But where are t
he others?”
Captain Gringo didn’t answer. The balloon was coming in at a forty-five-degree angle and moving faster as a fresher breeze near the ground caught them. He saw a wall of thorny trees ahead and said, “Hang on! We’re about to hit!”
They did before Gaston could reply. The basket caught in some branches and spilled them awkwardly on a dusty slope. As Captain Gringo sat up, spitting grit and cursing, he saw the empty basket rise again and drift further inland after dumping its load.
Gaston rolled over and said, “That was all very interesting, but let’s not ever do it again, hein?”
Captain Gringo said, “Get the ammo boxes. We have to move back down to the trail and find the other guys.”
They both rose and started down slope through the brush, carrying their weapons. Later, Captain Gringo would get more credit for what happened next than he deserved. Nobody could have timed a thing so well.
They were almost to the coast trail when they heard the sounds of shooting. Captain Gringo frowned and ran up on a flat-topped boulder for a better look. He saw most of the men he’d sent across the lava flats past the mine had made it to the trail, where they’d flattened out, pinned down by gunfire from the west. A skirmish line of mining company guards and men in dark blue uniforms were advancing on his own men. There were at least fifty of them.
Captain Gringo sat on the rock, braced the machine gun, and opened up as the attackers got within range, almost on top of Harp, Bomber, and the others. He caught them flat-footed in the open as they made their final charge, and the results were awesome. Some few of- the surprised and panic-stricken attackers staggered out of range still on their feet as most of their comrades were blown to bloody hash. Then the Maxim’s belt ran dry and he felt a ringing in his ears as he stood up. The Detroit Harp got to his own feet on the dusty trail and stared up thunderstruck as Captain Gringo waved. Then the others rose and ran up the slope to him, cheering fit to bust. Harp said, “Jasus, we thought we was done for! Where on earth did you come from, Cap?”
