9 Tales From Elsewhere 2

by 9 Tales From Elsewhere

  Some say Gilly died in the flash flood what almost swept Rook off the map some years later. A grave marker was placed next to Inky and Sunny by the townsfolk, signifying as such. In later years, they even put up a little plaque, commemorating his life, on the last standing timber of the Eastern Wall, now preserved by the Rockton Chamber of Commerce. But others say Gilly never did die, because he knew the secret of Mountain’s Blood and would stay alive forever, living in Humble’s Wood and guarding the secret of the elixir.

  Either way, Mad Gilly is still spoken of, his tale still a part of the town and a part of the people hereabouts. He’s called the hero of Rockton, and because that is what they call him, then that is who he is, to this very day. And so, ya see, it’s true... Mad Gilly Games got his wish. He still lives on, one way or t’other. Not all men die, ya know.

  Well, that’s mah story anyway, and ole Uncle Tim is stickin’ to it. Now where did that jug o’ mine get to?

  THE END.

  GAUNTLET by L Young

  As the blazing North African sun beat down upon them, Walter “Mac” Mackenzie truly knew what hell was. He looked over at the man stumbling beside him, Jack Harris and wondered how much either of them had left in them. He tried thinking of his farm back in New Zealand, sitting under the shade of that old pine tree by the house, but it didn’t help.

  The raid against the Italian airfield near Kuffra had been a disaster. For once the Italians were on the ball and their sentries picked the raiders up on the way in. Mac had seen at least one of their open-topped Chevrolet trucks go up in flames. Pursued by armoured cars, the unit had scattered in the hope of dividing their attention. It worked, unfortunately all the armoured cars had come after them. They had eventually gotten away but the other two members of their crew had been hit and their bullet-riddled bodies had fallen out into the desert.

  Mac hoped the Italians found them so that at least the lads could have a decent burial, instead of being picked apart by vultures. Because he doubted he or Jack would get one. Several miles after losing the Italians their truck spluttered to a stop and burst into flames. They had hurriedly grabbed what supplies they could and set off on the long trek back to Allied lines. Ever the ladies man, Jack started the mission with a thin, Errol Flynn style, blond moustache and insisted on using part of his water ration for shaving but after hiking for several days it was being subsumed by a beard much like Mac’s.

  As they reached the top of a sand dune Jack stumbled to a halt. “Do my eyes deceive me, Sergeant, or is that a canyon?”

  Mac adjusted the sand goggles over his blue eyes. There in the distance was a tiny knot of greenery sticking out from an embrasure in the ground. “Bloody hell. Tell me I’m not dreaming.”

  “You’re not dreaming.” Jack patted him on the shoulder. “Told you, we’d make it, old boy.”

  Mac allowed himself a grin. “Mate, never had a doubt.”

  Despite their aching, tired muscles, they endeavoured to pick up the pace. After several days of wandering they were down to a quarter of their water supply and a chance to top up spurred their efforts.

  With each additional step, Mac worried that the palm treetops swaying before him would dissolve before them, but the trees remained alluringly solid. Reaching the treeline they collapsed into the shade and just lay there for several minutes the scent of surrounding foliage intoxicating. Unlike other oasis’s he’d seen this one was thickly wooded and the bottom of the canyon was blocked from view.

  Mac pulled off the Arab headdress sheltering his head and ran a hand through his greasy, sweet drenched brown hair. Downing the last of his water, Mac said, “I don’t know about you, but I could use a refill.”

  “Best idea I’ve heard in a long time,” replied Jack.

  They got to their feet and started negotiating their way through the greenery. As they walked further in they took a better look at their salvation. The canyon was about a mile in diameter. In its centre a small spring bubbled up from beneath the surface.

  Just as Jack opened his mouth, Mac glanced something from the corner of his eye. Mac shoved him to the ground. “There’s someone here,” whispered Mac.

  Looking through the foliage they saw several vehicles all bearing the palm tree swastika insignia of the Nazi's North Africa force, the Afrika Korps.

  “What the hell are Jerries doing out here?” whispered Mac.

  “I don’t know,” replied Jack. “But we’re going to find out.”

  Mac slumped down. “Mate, I’m knackered. Maybe we should just surrender.”

  Jack’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll pretend you didn’t say that.”

  “Just thinking out loud,” replied Mac raising his hand. “So what do you want to do? Steal a vehicle?”

  Jack tapped his nose. “Bingo, old boy.”

  Mac saw a kubelwagen, a standard German military field car, a couple of halftracks and an eight-wheeled armoured car, all in pale yellow desert camouflage.

  “Strewth, we could be looking at over thirty of them,” said Mac.

  Jack pulled out his revolver. “Then we’ll have to be real careful.”

  “Careful he says,” muttered Mac, bringing out his revolver.

  Moving cautiously through the undergrowth they spotted several tents all camouflaged to prevent them being seen from air and a pair of bored looking sentries smoking cigarettes by a cave entrance.

  “My, my, what have we here?” asked Jack.

  “Let me guess,” said Mac. ‘You want to look inside?”

  Jack grinned. “Amazing. It’s like you read my mind.”

  “You’re crazy, mate,” snorted Mac. “Let’s just kill the guards and take their transport. We’ll be halfway to Cairo before they’ve finished their sauerkraut. We can let HQ know then.”

  Jack shook his head. “They could have scarpered by then. We have to check now.”

  Mac sighed, “Than I guess were going in. You have a plan?”

  Jack grinned. “Don’t I always?”

  The two men separated, with Mac cursing his luck. Probably the only oasis for a few hundred miles and it was occupied by Germans. The way fortune was riding him; he wouldn’t have been surprised to discover this was Hitler’s summer home. Careful not to give himself away, he crouched behind some bushes and waited. Several minutes later there was still no sign of Jack. He ran a hand through his hair. Dammit, Jack, where are you?

  As if on cue, Jack walked out the foliage, his hands held high. “Hello, lads. When’s the next train to Berlin?”

  The two sentries gaped at each other. Flinging their cigarettes aside, they moved to capture him. Using the distraction, Mac came up behind them. He grabbed the closest man, the stench of his sweat wafting back to him as he slit his throat. When his partner turned around to see what was happening, Jack rushed forward and knifed him in the back. Twitching briefly, the sentry fell limply into his arms. “Tough luck, mate.”

  They dragged the bodies into the bushes and grabbed their weapons. Mac snapped up the jerry’s submachine gun, an MP40 and some of his grenades. “I feel a lot better now.”

  They rummaged through the vehicles, but there was no radio and no map detailing their position. “Bloody Nazis,” muttered Mac taking a drink from one their canteens. “Always got to be so secretive.”

  “Let’s head inside,” said Jack. “I think we’ll get our answers there.”

  Mac glanced at the entrance. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  The two men walked into the cave. Despite his apprehension, Mac enjoyed the sudden cooling as they ventured deeper into the tunnel. Several thoughts ran through his mind as he contemplated what might confront them, but an elaborately carved archway and a chamber painted in ancient Egyptian symbols weren’t at the top of his list. He ran his hand along the wall and could feel the carve marks created by the chamber’s long dead builders. One image caught his eye. An Egyptian warrior carrying the head of his enemy.

  “Interesting,” said Jack stroking his chin.

  Mac
snorted. “Spooky would be better.”

  Jack just grinned. “Let’s get going.”

  The Germans had illuminated the interior with a mixture of flame torches suspended from the wall, supplemented by electrical lighting they had installed. Nothing like typical German efficiency, thought Mac. The assortment of lighting sources worked with the life size stone statues bearing long metal swords lining the walls to create a tableau of eerie darkened shapes. Curiously they were made up of warriors from different races. Egyptian, Greek, Roman, Celtic or Germanic, plus some he didn’t recognize.

  “What the bloody hell is all this?” asked Mac.

  Jack gave the chamber an apprising look. “Looks like King Tut’s burial place, old boy.”

  They crept silently down the main sand covered passageway, passing several smaller tunnels, until they entered a large cathedral sized chamber with several other doors leading further inside. A twelve-foot tall red stone statue dominated the front chamber. The figure had the body of a man wearing Egyptian robes, but its head was a cross between an aardvark and a jackal. Before the statue was a carved stone throne. Flanking the throne were several more stone warriors. Apparently oblivious to the twenty German soldiers watching, two men, one a German officer and a woman were deep in conversation.

  Jack advanced further inside until he was just a few feet from the nearest German. Cursing inwardly, Mac joined him behind a statue of a warrior. Jack had been teaching him German so Mac was able to follow their conversation. He suddenly became aware of how strong he smelled after several days of wandering the desert and prayed the Germans didn’t notice.

  The German was flashing an exasperated look at a middle aged man with curly brown hair wearing small round glasses and dressed in a sand colored safari jacket, baggy trousers and black boots. With them was a bespectacled woman in her twenties, with shoulder length pale red hair dressed similarly to the middle aged man.

  The officer put his hands on his hips. “Professor Molder...”

  The middle-aged man raised his hands dismissively. “Herr Colonel if you please, Captain Schmidt. I have an honorary rank in the SS antiquities department. As does my niece here.”

  The woman gave a tiny nod.

  Schmidt scowled. “The operational orders state that you and your assistant are in charge of the dig, but I am in charge of expedition as a whole. We are behind English lines. I would prefer to take the box or whatever it is you’re looking for safely behind our lines where the two of you can examine it at your pleasure.”

  The woman stepped forward. “Reichsfuhrer Himmler himself has taken a personal interest in this mission. If we return with the wrong item,” She shuddered, “The consequences for all of us would be unpleasant.” She put an arm on his shoulder. “Please, Herr Captain, we can complete the ceremony within the hour.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Schmidt replied, “Fine, but right after that we head back to Axis lines. We have been here far too long.”

  Molder smiled. “Herr Captain, if this is what we believe it is. Then the war will be over and it won’t matter where the English, the Russians or even the Americans are.”

  Schmidt looked sceptical. “Ja, Ja, just get to work.”

  The two civilians pulled out some notes and began poring over them.

  Mac whispered, “What is this all about?”

  Jack frowned. “Some sort of superstitious nonsense, old boy.”

  Mac didn’t like where this was going. “So can we go now?”

  Jack shook his head. “I want to see this.”

  I bloody knew it, thought Mac.

  “Once I have an idea what they’re doing,” said Jack. “We’ll machine gun the troops and take those three prisoner.”

  Mac didn’t like the idea of shooting men in the back, but he liked it a hell of a lot better than having them shoot back. “Simple. I like it.”

  After consulting their notes for several minutes, Molder made his way to the base of the large statue and kneeled. He raised his hands and started chanting in an unknown language. The German troops looked at each other and smirked. In different circumstances Mac would have found it funny too, but in a dimly lit underground ancient Egyptian temple he was losing his sense of humour. He shuddered and it wasn’t from the cold. Jack however, was taking it all like a giddy schoolgirl.

  The statue began glowing white and the Germans abruptly stopped muttering among themselves.

  “Bloody hell,” whispered Mac.

  “Fascinating, isn’t it?” said Jack never taking his eyes off the spectacle.

  Mac stared at him incredulously. “That’s one word for it, mate.”

  Molder ceased his chanting. A small drawer opened from the base of the statue. He reached down and extracted a gold embossed metal glove decorated in ancient Egyptian carvings. After a second’s hesitation Schmidt moved in closer. “So this is what all the fuss is about?”

  Molder stroked the artefact. “Ja, the Gauntlet of Set.”

  “The Fuehrer will be pleased,” said the woman.

  Even from this distance, Mac could see something strange come over Molder. “This is too good for that Austrian ignoramus.”

  Molder put the gauntlet on and a surge of yellow light washed over him. Light shot out from the gauntlet, striking all those Germans without the wit to dive for cover. The smell of burnt fleshing filling the room. Those struck shook briefly, when they stopped their eyes were red. A halo of light enveloped the warrior statues beside Molder. They turned fleshed coloured and sprang to life, leaping from their pedestals. The two forces combined to attack any who had not succumbed to the light.

  Jack scurried backwards. “Think I’ve seen enough, old boy. Time to scarper.”

  “Me too.”

  They sprinted out and heard the chamber come alive with the sound of screams and shooting. In the distance Mac could just make out the entrance and ran just that extra bit faster.

  “Move it!” said Jack.

  “What the bleeding hell do you think I’m doing?”

  They were nearly outside when they saw the chamber’s stone entrance rumbling closed. Mac pushed his legs as fast as he could but the exertions of the past five days proved too much. The door slammed closed. Mac pounded his fists on the stone. “Dammit. What do we do now?”

  “We’re not staying here,” replied Jack. “There’s got to be another way out. We just have to find it.”

  Mac shook his head. “Mate, I ain’t going back there. I signed up to fight jerries, not flippin monsters.””

  “I’m open to ideas, old boy,” replied Jack leaning against the wall.

  Mac took a long look down the dark corridor. “Bugger, I don't have any.”

  Jack checked his gun. “Then we’ll just have to be real careful. One of these other doors must lead somewhere, we’ll try that.”

  “Fine, but we die, remember I told you so.”

  Jack smiled wryly. “Duly noted.”

  Though most of the lighting had blown out, giving them the cover of darkness, Mac didn’t feel any safer. Avoiding the main chamber, they headed down one of the side passageways. More large statues of ancient warriors lined the walls. They froze in place, but after several seconds they gave no sign of coming alive. Covering each other they advanced from statue to statue. When they reached the base of the last one in the row, they paused. Mac scanned the darkness. It looked quiet, so he signalled Jack to nose forward. Jack moved past and took up position beside him.

  With Jack covering him, Mac walked further into the passageway. He was about to signal Jack to advance when something slammed into him with a yelp and they both fell to the stone floor. Despite his throbbing shoulder, Mac swung around and scrambled for his gun. As his hand gripped the handle his assailant gasped in German, “Dummkopf. They’re coming.”

  It was the woman from the ceremony, her jacket torn, hair dishevelled. As soon as the words left her mouth, Mac heard footsteps coming from the dark. Ragged shots lanced out of the blackness. They dived for co
ver as several red-eyed Germans lumbered into the half-light.

  Mac let loose with his MP40. The gun shook in his hands as the bullets ripped into the advancing Germans. Despite his direct hits they kept coming, raising their guns and firing like some sort of clockwork soldier. Wincing as another bullet whizzed past him, Mac fell back to another statue, Jack and the woman falling in beside him. “These bloody things won’t stop,” said Mac.

  “You have grenades, ja?” said the woman.

  They nodded.

  “Then use them!”

  They pulled the stick grenades from their belts and threw them at the lurching German soldiers. The grenades exploded, showering them with dust, stone and flesh. The explosions still ringing in his ears, Mac glanced back around the corner. The Germans were down, though some were still twitching. Then he remembered there was still one left. He spun around, his gun aimed at her. She had the same idea and her luger was aimed at him.

  “You lower your gun, my girl,” said Jack. “And we’ll lower ours.”

  “I didn’t agree to that,” said Mac.

  “Humour me, old boy” said Jack.

  After a second’s hesitation, she lowered her luger and tilted her head. “Raiders?”

  “That’s right,” said Jack before Mac could tell him not to tell her anything.

  She looked around, her expression hopeful. “Are there more of you?”

  “Sadly not,” replied Jack, a melancholy tone in his voice.

  She pointed down the corridor. “We need to keep moving. They might be following me.”

  “Lead the way,” replied Mac.

  Frowning she led further into the complex. Keeping his voice low, Mac asked, “So who are you? What are you doing here?”

  Keeping her attention focused on the corridor, she replied, “My name is Lieutenant Elke Harpe, and the man trying to kill us is my uncle. The men were like you, specialising in long range desert patrolling. Uncle Heinrich is an expert in Ancient mythology. He believed there was an object of great value here and convinced the SS to send us here to find it. Unfortunately Uncle Heinrich decided to keep it for himself. Under the Gauntlet’s influence he’ll kill or convert all of us.”