by Nick Carter
"No. I won't let them. Now enough talking. Try to get some sleep. This is going to be a long and, I hope, quiet day. You sleep first. I'll wake you in a couple of hours, then I'll sleep."
"I do not know if I can sleep."
"Try," he ordered. "We both need it. That was one hell of a night."
She was asleep in seconds, stretched on the dirt in a corner, her grimy cheek pillowed on her hands. Killmaster regarded her with half-closed eyes. She was a good kid. Tough as old leather and beautiful, too. That combination didn't happen often. Fan Su was dedicated, too. Nick smiled faintly. That made two dedicated women he'd met in 24 hours — he had not thought of Miriam Hunt since this crazy adventure had begun. He marveled that he was thinking of the Ice Maiden now. That had certainly been a mistake!
He wakened Fan Su after two hours and went to sleep in the same corner. He could imagine that the ancient dirt smelled faintly of her body. Absurd. He enjoyed the fantasy for a moment, then fell into oblivion. It was one of his strong points — he could sleep any time, any place, and he always awoke refreshed and ready for action.
Nick awoke now to a tugging at his shoulder. The girl was whispering, "Nick — Nick! Wake up. Something is happening. I hear trucks and cars — I think in the village."
He sat upright. One glance at the door told him it was late afternoon. She had let him sleep long past the time he had set. But this was not the time for reproach. He could hear the sounds from the village. Definitely truck engines.
Nick shot a glance across the barren room at the general. "How is he?"
"I think not so good. He has a much higher fever and he is more and more delirious. He talks a lot, all in Mandarin, and none of it makes sense."
Nick swore. It was all he could do. It would be hell to lose the general now. "I'll take a look upstairs," he said. "Stay with him. Use that water in the pot to make a compress. Don't let him drink any of it." His own mouth was arid and swollen and he saw that her lips were cracked. They would have to have water soon.
What he saw from the shutters cheered him. The sun was already lowering behind burnt ochre hills beyond the hamlet. It stood in sharp silhouette in the vivid crepuscular light. A large company of soldiers was making camp in the meadow behind the inn. Nick felt delight and hope grow in him. If they were bivouacking it probably meant they wouldn't search the little valley or the temple today. The soldiers would be eager to get to the tavern, to the rice wine and beer and the ladies of pleasure. It meant, also, that the helicopter hadn't spotted them. The soldiers would be here now if it had.
A lot depended on the type of officers in charge of the soldiers. Nick hoped they would be sloppy and inept, but he couldn't count on it.
His eyes glued to the shutters, he counted the soldiers as best he could. There were over a hundred of them. That meant a full company. There were half a dozen trucks. One, judging by the long whip antenna, was a radio vehicle. The mess truck was already being unloaded. Long tables were being set up and kettles and garbage cans were being brought out. A group of soldiers were busy building a fire. Nick scratched his stubble thoughtfully. This was a crack outfit, not militia. These were regulars. People's Army! Still — soldiers were soldiers and there was the tavern and the house of pleasure.
He spotted it then — the tank. It was a little apart from the main camp, down the meadow near the stream, and he noted that the tankers, four of them, were a choosey lot. They were not mingling with the common soldiery. They were already eating from pans and cups, sprawled on the. ground near their tank. An idea, insane, mad, audacious, began to burgeon in the mind of the man from AXE. It was just crazy enough to stand a chance.
He studied the tank carefully. It was in silhouette and he recognized it immediately. It was one of the big ones, Russian made, a T 54. A real monster. They couldn't have many of these, he thought, not with the present deep freeze between Russia and China. But they had this one. And one was all he needed.
His keen eyes roved over the tank again. The light was going fast now, but he could make out a scarlet dragon painted on the tank's turret. The dragon was rearing, clawing, and flames spouted from its open maw. Could it be?
It could. Nick spotted the projecting nozzle beside the turret gun. It was a flame-throwing tank.
The sun slid behind the lowest hill, a dusky oriflamme shot through with color. Nick took a last look at the soldiers — some of them were digging a latrine not far from the tavern — and went back to the open hatch. He dropped easily to the floor of the temple. The girl, squatting beside the general, looked up.
"The soldiers — they are coming?"
Nick grinned at her. "Not tonight. Our luck is in. They're not coming, but we're going. As soon as it's dark."
Her face darkened. "But where, Nick? He cannot walk at all. We will have to carry him. I do not think we can run far."
"Get him ready to travel," N3 told her. "We're not running. Not right away, anyway. They've got a tank down there and I want it. We're going across the border the easy way."
Chapter 12
Dragon Flame
The moment it was dark enough they left the temple. A hazy scythe of pale moon floated in the east, a friendly moon shedding enough light for travel, yet not enough to drench the landscape. Nick and Fan Su studied the map before they left, then burnt it, along with anything else that might have betrayed their presence, in the hiding-hole. With a gargantuan effort Nick rolled the stone back before the hole. The effort cost him dearly. He was ready to admit that even his tremendous endurance and vitality had begun to flag.
Nick carried the general on his back. After the weight of the boulder, the general seemed lighter than a feather. They started along the narrow track leading to the village. They could see lights flaring in the tavern and hear the wild hubbub of soldiers, already drunk on cheap wine and beer. It began to look promising.
They nearly walked into the arms of the patrol.
Nick heard them first and dragged Fan Su off the track into a patch of bamboo. They lay huddled in the poor cover, Nick's big hand over the general's mouth, while a dozen men passed with rifles and tommy guns in sling position. Most of the soldiers were grumbling loudly in Cantonese because they were on duty, missing all the fun back at the tavern.
When they had passed, Killmaster whispered to the girl, "That was close! Their officer is more alert than I thought. They've gone to seal the other end of the valley — put the stopper in the bottle. We got out just in time. They'll spot the temple now and either search it right away, or post a couple of men there."
There was no going back now even had he wanted to. And no point in skirting the village and making for the main road beyond, the road that led to the border and freedom. With the good weather, the road would be crawling with military traffic and there were sure to be checkpoints. It would have to be the tank. With the tank and a lot of gall, a colossal bluff, plus his own peculiar brand of luck, they just might make it.
The general was in a coma, for which N3 was grateful. They had used his straw belt to bind his hands around Nick's neck, and Nick carried him on his back like a child.
Cautiously, listening, ready to scurry off the track at a moment's notice, they made their way into a thick patch of conifer, banyan and bamboo. The ground was still sodden, but covered with withered sedge and fern. Nick sniffed the air. There was a faint marsh smell. Probably the marsh was beyond the stream at the far end of the meadow.
"We'll go to ground here while I get this thing figured out," Nick told Fan Su. "Don't talk unless absolutely necessary; then whisper." He touched her thin, smooth arm. "All you have to do now is keep him quiet. If he starts muttering, or having nightmares, he can give us away."
Fan Su huddled over the general. "He's terribly hot, Nick. His fever must be way up."
"Nothing we can do," Nick muttered. "He's a tough old cookie — he might make it. Now quiet. I'll be back for you as soon as I can."
The rear of the tavern was a good 50 yards away. Nick studie
d it for a moment before leaving the cover of the thicket. There were two windows in the rear of the place, one on either side of a door. One window was dimly fit. He saw dark figures move in shadow play on the straw matting covering it. The other window was dark. As he watched, someone came to the door and hurled a basket of trash into the yard.
Nick was about to start when two soldiers came around a corner of the tavern. He huddled low again. The soldiers were drunk and happy, chatting in a dialect Nick did not understand. They went to the latrine Nick had watched being dug earlier, where one squatted while the other remained upright and said something which made the squatting man laugh and nearly lose his balance. Nick did catch the word "beer." It must be lousy.
When the soldiers had gone back into the tavern he left the thicket. He shambled toward the rear of the tavern. He walked bent over, to conceal his height, and pulled the shabby dogskin cap low over his features. He weaved a bit and mumbled to himself. In the faint moonlight he might pass as a drunken Chinese, at least until he could get close enough to use the stiletto. Death was going to have to be very, very quiet tonight.
Nick reached the rear of the tavern. Behind the lighted window he could hear a mumble of voices, a man and a woman speaking softly and laughing now and then. Nick crouched below the sill and considered. An inn such as this did not offer much privacy; they would be running the peasant soldiers through like something on a conveyor belt. Automated sex, you might call it.
But there was a coziness, an air of some small privacy, about the room just beyond him. There seemed to be only two people talking, a man and a woman. No question of what they had been doing, or had just finished doing, or were about to do.
All this flicked through Nick's agile brain in a split second and the answer came as if from a computer: Officer!
He had been able to identify only one officer as he spied that afternoon. Probably, for a single company, there would be only one. The man Nick watched that afternoon had worn no insignia of rank — that was forbidden now — but his manner had been indicative enough.
Inside the room the woman giggled. The man laughed and there were the sounds of a friendly scuffle. Then a little silence, broken at last by a gurgling moan of pleasure from the woman. Silently, very slowly, Nick drew back a corner of the mat dangling just inside the window.
A thick candle burned greasily on a table near the floor pallet on which the man and woman were making love. The candle guttered and smoked as Nick lifted the mat, and he stopped breathing, but the couple were far beyond noticing anything so unimportant as a draft.
The woman was on her back, her eyes closed, her fat legs outflung. She was a fleshy slut with a tangled mass of dark hair. The man was slim, small, and Nick immediately spotted the holstered pistol by the side of the pallet. It was the officer.
Nick did not hesitate. If he could kill the officer and dispose of the body, all without creating a disturbance, it would be a giant leap along the escape route. Chinese soldiers were mostly recruited from among the peasants, and thinking for themselves was not one of the things they did best. They were brave, hardy, but also a little stupid. If he could get the officer it might prevent an alarm, and immobilize pursuit, for a long time. It would give them a good head start in the tank.
There was only one means of killing them both silently — Pierre, the gas bomb. Nick took the little pellet from his trousers and turned a dial slightly to the right. Pierre was ready now. As soon as he released it the tiny spring cap would fly off and the deadly gas would spew out under pressure. Instant death!
Nick did not allow himself to think about the woman. Another whore in the world, more or less, did not matter when so much was at stake. He did not like to kill innocents, but he could not hold himself responsible for them. Her luck was bad.
He peeked again. The two on the pallet were approaching the end in a frenzy of writhing sound. Nick put a hand stealthily through the window and flicked the gas bomb with a deft wrist movement, aiming for the foot of the pallet where it would land without sound. The least outcry would be fatal.
Not a bad way to die, he thought. He ducked beneath the window and pulled the mat down taut, breathing deeply of the cool night air, readying his lungs for what he must do. And do very swiftly. His luck had been phenomenal so far.
Nick counted off a slow minute. From the tavern came a fortissimo gust of drunken laughter. Nick wondered if the tankers were drinking with the others, or still remaining aloof. He hoped they were staying close together. If they separated it was going to present a problem. He took a deep breath.
The minute was up. N3 held his breath and went into the room like a big cat, replacing the window mat carefully behind him. He crossed the squalid room in three strides and tried the door. It was held on the inside by a simple latch of wood and thong. Anyone might come in at any time. But the man had been an officer; maybe he had given orders not to be disturbed.
He lifted the dead man off the dead woman. For some reason — he never thought of it again — he pulled the woman's dirty shift down over her nakedness.
The man was totally naked. Nick cradled the limp warm body in his big arms, catfooted to the window and peered out. The moon was a little brighter. It made a delicate silverprint of the thicket where Fan Su and the general waited. There was no one at the latrine.
Nick put the body down for a moment and went back to gather the man's clothing and the belt and pistol. He wanted nothing found that would betray foul play — nothing but the body of the woman. That, he thought with a hard grin, would give the simple soldiers something to think about for a long time. The officer missing, gone into thin air, and his pleasure girl dead! It would give him time — and time now was life itself.
He went through the window with the body in his arms. The next 50 yards were going to seem like a mile. If he were seen now there could be no dissembling. He would have to kill again. Kill or run.
No one came. Nick threw the body into the latrine and turned to where a long-handled shovel was thrust into a pile of damp yellow earth. A few shovelfuls and the body was covered. Face down in excrement, Nick thought, but with the good earth of China over him. His shrug was minuscule. He had not wished this struggle into existence — he was an instrument, nothing more. Carrying the man's uniform and pistol, he went rapidly back to the thicket of fir and bamboo. He had been gone a long time. Fan Su might be worried.
Fan Su was worried, but not about Nick. She was squatting beside the general, chafing the thin arms. The old man was still in a coma, his breathing labored and harsh. "I'm afraid," the girl whispered to Nick. "Sometimes he nearly stops breathing. Oh God, I don't want to lose him now! It will mean so much if we can get him across — for him and for the West and for Undertong. Maybe we could get some real support then."
Nick tossed the dead officer's uniform at her. "You sound like you're getting a little hysterical, kid. Cut it out. Put those on — the pistol and belt, too. You're going to be in charge of this tank, if we get it. You'll ride in the turret in that uniform and give orders. Hurry, woman! All hell is going to break loose in that tavern any minute now."
He wanted to get the tank and get moving before the dead woman was discovered. With the officer missing the soldiers would be confused. They might think anything — perhaps even that the officer was in the tank and that it was moving out under legitimate orders.
He saw the shimmer of the girl's white panties and bra as she stripped and put on the uniform. "Lucky you," he said quietly. "Clean clothes. Reasonably so, anyway. Me now, I'll never dream of a white Christmas again. Only of a hot shower and lots of soap. You ready?" He was kidding her intentionally, to ease some of the tension he sensed in that slim lovely body.
"I'm ready." In the moonlight she might pass for the officer at a distance. She had put her dark hair up beneath the felt khaki cap with its big red star. The pistol belt hung on her too loosely and Nick made a new hole with the stiletto, then pulled the belt snugly around her slim waist.
&n
bsp; "You'll do," he told her gruffly. "Follow me and don't make any noise."
He stooped to pick up the general. The old man moaned loudly. Nick swore and put him down again. "This won't do. Tear a strip off your old clothes and gag him."
This done, they left the thicket. No outcry from the tavern yet. The soldiers would hesitate to disturb their officer at his love-making. But sooner or later it would come.
Nick headed toward the stream at the bottom of the meadow, keeping in a thin fringe of bamboo and willow. Damp earth and leaves underfoot deadened their footfalls. They reached the steep bank of the stream and Nick motioned the girl down into a clump of thick growing brake. The marsh smell was thicker here. He put his mouth against the girl's ear and whispered, "I'll leave you again now. Watch the general; don't let him move or make a sound. We're only going to get one chance at this."
She nodded and, for a fleeting moment, nuzzled his rough cheek with her lips. Then he left her, stealing out of the bracken and along the lip of the stream like a wraith. He flexed the stiletto into his hand. More silent work ahead.
He could see the iron loom of the big tank in the moonlight. The dragon, rampant in moonlight, appeared to move. The long snout of the gun cast an ugly thick shadow, jutting from the larger shadow like a deadly phallus.
Nick heard nothing as he crawled toward the tank. He went inch by slow inch, flat on his face in the sere meadow grass, hating the moon now. If the tankers spotted him he would just have to charge and start shooting. He doubted he could get away with it.
Beneath the tank, something stirred. Nick froze. A very long minute oozed past. He relaxed a trifle. A man turning and mumbling in his sleep, that was all. The tankers, or some of them, were sleeping under their tank. It was common practice.
How many? Nick wanted them all. They were an elite little group and none of the others would dare question their movements, except the officer. And he was dead.
Nick was close to the tank now, within the blobby shadow of the monster. He could hear men breathing, twisting restlessly. There was a gentle snore.
