by Nick Carter
“What did you do?” Sheila cried. Then her eyes opened wide. “Ling!” she shouted. “Kill him, Ling!”
Ling jumped to his feet.
Nick rolled to his side, pulling Sheila with him, using her body as a shield. If Ling had fired into Sheila’s back, he might have got Nick. But he moved the .45 from side to side trying to get a clear shot. And that delay killed him. Nick was holding his breath. He knew it would take just seconds for the odorless gas to fill the room. Ling’s hand went to his throat. The .45 thudded to the floor. Ling’s knees buckled, and he sank down. Then he fell face forward.
Sheila struggled against Nick, but he held her close to him. Her eyes were wide with fear. Tears came to them and she shook her head as though she couldn’t believe this was happening. Nick pressed his lips over hers. Her breathing came in pants, then suddenly stopped. She went limp in his arms.
Nick had to move fast now. Already his head was growing light from lack of oxygen. He rolled off the cot, quickly gathered Hugo, Wilhelmina, one of the Tommy guns, and his pants, then bolted through the open window. He staggered ten steps away from the hut, his lungs aching, his head becoming a black blur. Then he sank to his knees and sucked in the welcome air. He stayed on his knees for awhile, breathing deeply. When his head had cleared, he pushed his legs into his pants, stuck Wilhelmina and Hugo into the waistband, picked up the Tommy gun, and in a low crouch made his way back to the hut.
He filled his lungs with air just before he reached the open window. No soldiers had entered the room yet. Standing just outside the window, Nick pulled Wilhelmina from his waistband, took careful aim at one of the lanterns hanging from the rafters, and fired. The lantern splattered, spreading flaming kerosene all over the wall. Nick fired at the other one, then at the one on the table. Flames licked across the floor and climbed two walls. The door opened. Nick ducked, and, in a crouch, circled the hut. There was too much light in front of the huts. He laid the Tommy gun down and removed his shirt. He buttoned three buttons, then tied the sleeves around his waist. Shaping and working with it, he ended up with a nice little sack on his side.
He picked up the Tommy gun and headed for the front door. The rear of the hut roared with flames. Nick knew he had only seconds before other soldiers started running toward the fire. He reached the door and stopped. Down the row of naked light bulbs, he saw groups of soldiers moving toward the burning hut, slowly at first, then faster, their rifles at the ready. Seconds raced by. With his right foot, Nick kicked open the door; he sent a spray from his Tommy gun, first from the right then from the left. The two soldiers had been standing by the bench, their eyes heavy with sleep. When the spray of bullets cut across them, they bared their teeth, their heads bounced twice against the wall behind them. Their bodies seemed to wiggle, then their heads smashed together, the rifles clanged to the floor, and like two lumps joined at the arms, they fell on their rifles.
The door to the third room was open. Flames were on all the walls now, the rafters were already black. The room crackled as it burned. Two more soldiers were with Sheila and Ling, dead by the poisoned gas. Nick saw Sheila’s skin curling from heat. Her hair had already been burned away. And the seconds became one minute and kept on. Nick crossed to the grenade boxes. He began stuffing his homemade sack with grenades. Then he remembered something—almost too late. He twirled just as the bullet creased his collar. The radioman was about to fire again when Nick cut him from the crotch to his head with a Tommy gun spray. The man’s arms went straight out, hitting both sides of the doorway. They stayed straight out as he staggered back and went down.
Nick cursed to himself. He should have taken care of the radio first. Since the man had still been at the controls, chances were that he had already contacted the patrol boat as well as the house where they had the professor. Two minutes went by. Nick had ten grenades. That would have to be enough. Any second the first wave of soldiers would come bursting through the door. There wasn’t much chance the poisoned gas would have any affect now, but he wasn’t going to be doing any deep breathing. The front door was out. Maybe the radio room. He went through the doorway at a run.
Luck was with him. The radio room had a window. Heavy feet clumped outside the hut, growing louder as the soldiers approached the front door. Nick made it through the window. Just under it he crouched and pulled one of the grenades from his little sack. The soldiers were milling around in the foyer, with no one giving orders. Nick pulled the pin and counted slowly. When he reached eight, he tossed the grenade through the open window and ran in a crouch away from the hut. He hadn’t taken more than ten steps when the force of the explosion knocked him to his knees. He turned to see the roof of the hut rise slightly, then the unburned side seemed to puff out.
As the sound of the explosion reached him, the sides of the hut split down and across the middle. Orange light and flames spit through open windows and cracks. The roof settled, slightly cockeyed. Nick got to his feet and kept running. He could hear gunfire now. Bullets chewed up the still-damp dirt around him. He ran full speed toward the concrete building and around it to the back. Then he stopped. He had been right. The generator chugged away inside a small, boxlike bamboo shack. A soldier stationed at the door was already reaching for his rifle. Nick cut him down with the Tommy gun. Then he pulled a second grenade from his sack. Without hesitating, he pulled the pin and counted. He tossed the grenade into the open doorway leading to the generator. The explosion immediately darkened the area around him. Just to be sure, he pulled another grenade and lobbed it inside.
Without waiting for the explosion, he took off into the underbrush growing just behind the huts. He passed the first burning hut and went on to the second. He was panting as he crouched along the edge of the brush. There was a slight open space to the open window at the rear of the second hut. He still heard gunfire. Were they killing each other? There were shouts; someone was trying to give orders. Nick knew that once somebody took command the advantage of confusion would no longer be his. He wasn’t moving fast enough! A fourth grenade was in his hand, the pin pulled. He ran in a crouch, and as he passed the open window, tossed in the grenade. He kept on running to the third hut sitting next to the canal. The only light now came from the flickering lanterns through windows and doorways of the remaining three huts.
Already he had a fifth grenade in his hand. A soldier loomed in front of him. Without stopping, Nick sprayed bullets from the Tommy gun in a circle. The soldier jerked back and forth all the way down to the ground. Nick cut between the exploding second hut and the third. Fire seemed to be everywhere. Men’s voices shouted, cursing each other, several trying to give orders. Gun shots echoed in the night, mingled with the crackling of burning bamboo. The pin was pulled. As Nick passed the open side window of the third hut, he tossed the grenade inside. It hit one of the soldiers on the head. The soldier bent to pick it up. It was the last movement of his life. Nick was already under the string of darkened light bulbs, crossing to the remaining two huts, when the hut puffed with explosion. The roof slid down the front.
Nick was bumping into soldiers now. They seemed to be everywhere, running aimlessly, not knowing what to do, firing at shadows. The two huts on the other side couldn’t be handled like the last three. It was possible Kathy Loo and Mike were in one of them. No lanterns glowed in these huts. Nick reached the first one and, just before going in glanced down at the second. The three soldiers were still at the door. They hadn’t been confused. A wild bullet kicked up the dirt at his feet. Nick entered the hut. Flames from the other three huts gave out just enough light for him to make out the contents. This one was used for arms and ammunition storage. Several of the cases were already opened. Nick went through them until he found a fresh clip for his Tommy gun.
He had five grenades left in his homemade sack. He would need only one for this hut. One thing was sure, he’d have to be far away when this one went up. He decided to save it for later. He went back outside. The soldiers were beginning to get organized. Some
one had taken control. A pump was set up by the canal, and hoses sprayed water over the last two huts he had hit. The first had burned almost to the ground. Nick knew he had to get through those three soldiers. And there was no time like the present to get started.
He stayed close to the ground, moving quickly. He shifted the Tommy gun to his left hand and pulled Wilhelmina from his waistband. At the corner of the third hut, he stopped. The three soldiers stood with their rifles ready, their legs slightly apart. The Luger jumped in Nick’s hand as he fired. The first soldier spun, dropped the rifle, clutched his stomach, and went down. Rifle shots still cracked from the other end of the huts. But confusion was leaving the soldiers. They were beginning to listen. And Nick seemed to be the only one using a Tommy gun. That was just what they were listening for. The other two soldiers were turning toward him. Nick fired twice, quickly. The soldiers jerked, bumped into each other, and went down. Nick heard the hiss of water quenching flames. There was little time now. He rounded the corner to the front of the hut and kicked open the door, his Tommy gun ready. Once inside, he gritted his teeth and cursed. It had been a decoy—the hut was empty.
He could no longer hear rifle shots. The soldiers were beginning to gather into one force at the dock. Nick’s mind raced. Where could they be? Did they take them somewhere else? Was all this for nothing? Then he knew. It was a chance, but a good one. He left the hut and cut directly across to the first one he’d hit. The flames had died to a glimmer here and there. A charred skeleton remained of the hut. Because the fire had been so advanced, the soldiers did not even attempt to put it out. Nick went directly to where he thought Ling had fallen. There were five charred bodies, looking like mummies in a tomb. Smoke still curled up from the floor, which helped hide Nick from the soldiers.
His search was a short one. All the clothes, of course, had been burned from Ling’s body. The .45 lay next to Ling’s corpse. Nick pushed at the body with his toe. It crumbled at his feet. But as he moved it around, he found what he was looking for—the ash-colored key ring. It was still hot to the touch as he picked it up. Some of the keys had melted. More soldiers had gathered at the dock. One of them was giving orders, calling others to the group. Nick moved away from the hut at a low run. He ran along the string of burned-out lights until they ended. Then he cut to the right and slowed when he reached the low, concrete building.
He descended the cement steps. The fourth key unlocked the steel door. It creaked open. Just before Nick went inside, he glanced toward the dock. The soldiers had fanned out. They were beginning their search for him. Nick entered the dark hallway. At the first door, he fumbled with the keys until he found one that unlocked the door. He pushed it open, the Tommy gun ready. He could smell the stench of dead flesh. A body lay in the corner, the skin pulled tightly over the skeleton. It must have been there quite a while. The next three cells were empty. He passed the one he’d been in, then he noticed one of the doors was open down the hall. He went to it and stopped. He checked the Tommy gun to be sure it was ready, then went inside. A soldier lay just inside the door, his throat cut open. Nick’s eyes scanned the rest of the cell. He almost missed them at first; then the two forms became clear to him.
They were huddled in a corner. Nick took two steps toward them, then stopped. The woman had a dagger at the boy’s throat, point piercing his skin. The boy’s eyes showed fear, the woman’s horror. She wore a shift, not unlike the one Sheila had worn. But it was ripped up the front and across her breasts. Nick looked down at the dead soldier. He had probably tried to rape her, and now she thought Nick was there to do the same. Nick realized then that in the darkness of the cell, he looked as Chinese as the soldier. He wore no shirt, his shoulder was bleeding slightly, there was a Tommy gun in his hand, a Luger and a stiletto in the waistband of his pants, and a sack of hand grenades hanging from his side. No, he didn’t look like the United States Army come to rescue her. He had to be very careful. If he made the wrong move, said the wrong thing, he knew she would slice the dagger across the boy’s throat, then plunge it into her own heart. He was about four feet from them. Gently he knelt to a crouch and laid the Tommy gun on the floor. The woman shook her head and pressed the point of the dagger harder against the boy’s throat.
“Kathy,” Nick said softly. “Kathy, let me help you.”
She made no move. Her eyes watched him, still filled with fear.
Nick formed his words carefully. “Kathy,” he said again, even more softly. “John is waiting. Are you about ready to leave?”
“Who . . . who are you?” she asked. A trace of the fear had left her eyes. She didn’t press quite so hard with the point of the dagger.
“I’m here to help you,” Nick said. “John sent me to take you and Mike to him. He’s waiting for you.”
“Where?”
“In Hong Kong. Now listen carefully. There are soldiers on their way here. If they find us they’ll kill all three of us. We have to move quickly. Will you let me help you?”
More of the fear left her eyes. She took the dagger away from the boy’s throat. “I . . . I don’t know,” she said.
Nick said, “I hate to push you like this, but if you delay much longer it won’t be your decision to make.”
“How do I know I can trust you?”
“You have only my word. Now, please.” He held his hand out to her.
Kathy hesitated for a few precious seconds longer. Then she seemed to have made her decision. She handed him the dagger.
“Good,” Nick said. He turned to the boy. “Mike, can you swim?”
“Yes, sir,” the boy answered.
“All right; here is what I want you to do. Follow me out of the building. Once we get outside, both of you head directly toward the rear. When you get to the back, go into the brush. Do you know where the canal is from here?”
Kathy nodded.
“Then stay in the brush. Don’t show yourself. Move at an angle toward the canal so that you get to it downstream from here. Hide yourselves and wait until you see a junk going down the canal. Then swim for the junk. There will be a line over the side for you to grab onto. Can you remember that, Mike?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You take good care of your mother, now. Be sure she makes it.”
“Yes, sir, I will,” Mike answered. A slight smile worked on the corners of his mouth.
“Good boy,” Nick said. “Okay, let’s go.”
He led them out of the cell and along the dark hallway. When he reached the door leading out he held his hand for them to stop. Alone, he went outside. The soldiers were spread out in a staggered line between the huts. They were coming for the concrete building and were now less than twenty yards away. Nick motioned for Kathy and Mike.
“You’ll have to hurry,” he whispered to them. “Remember, stay deep in the forest until you get to the canal. You’ll hear some explosions, but don’t stop for anything.”
Kathy nodded, then followed Mike around the side of the building and toward the rear.
Nick gave them thirty seconds. He heard the soldiers drawing closer. The fires were burning low in the last two huts, and because of the clouds there was no moon. The darkness was on his side. He pulled another grenade from the sack and took off at a low run across the clearing. Halfway across, he pulled the pin then hurled the grenade over his head toward the soldiers.
He already had another grenade pulled when the first one exploded. Nick noticed by the flash that the soldiers had been closer than he had thought. The explosion took out three of them, leaving a gap in the center of the line. Nick reached the skeleton of the first hut. He pulled the pin of the second grenade and threw it where he’d thrown the first. The soldiers were shouting now and firing at shadows again. The second grenade exploded toward the end of the line, taking out two more. The remaining soldiers started running for cover.
Nick circled the burned-out hut to the opposite side, then he took off across the clearing to the ammunition hut. He had another grenade in his
hand. This would be the big one. At the door of the hut, Nick pulled the pin and lobbed the grenade into the hut. Then he felt movement to his left. A soldier rounded the corner of the hut and fired without aiming. The bullet creased Nick’s right earlobe. The soldier cursed and swung the butt of the rifle toward Nick’s head. Nick swung his body to the side and kicked his left foot into the soldier’s stomach. He completed the swing by bringing his half-closed fist down on the soldier’s collarbone. It cracked under the blow.
Seconds had ticked by. Nick bad to move. He started running back across the clearing. A soldier blocked his way, the rifle aimed straight at him. Nick hit the ground, rolling. When he felt his body hit the soldier’s ankles, he swung for the groin. Three things happened almost at the same time. The soldier grunted, falling on top of Nick, the rifle fired into the air, and the grenade in the ammunition hut went off. The first explosion set off a chain of larger explosions. The sides of the hut blew out. Flames rolled up like a huge, orange, bouncing beach ball, lighting up the whole area. Pieces of metal and wood scattered as though fired from a hundred shotguns. And the explosions kept coming, one after another. Soldiers cried out in agony as debris struck them. The sky was bright orange, with sparks falling everywhere, starting fires.
The soldier lay heavily on Nick. He had absorbed most of the shock, and pieces of bamboo and metal were imbedded in his neck and back. The explosions weren’t as frequent now, and Nick heard the groans of wounded soldiers. He pushed the soldier off him and picked up the Tommy gun. There seemed to be no one left to stop him as he moved toward the dock. When he reached the junk, he noticed a case of grenades next to the plank. He picked it up and carried it aboard. Then he dropped the plank and cast off all lines.
Once aboard, he hoisted the sail. The junk creaked and slowly moved away from the dock. Behind him, the tiny village was ringed with small fires. Burning ammunition fired now and then. With the skeletons of huts almost waving in the orange light of the flames, the village looked ghostly. Nick was sorry for the soldiers; they had their job to do, but he had his also.
