by Don Wilcox
“Wingmen!” Paul shouted. “Venus wingmen!”
Cruising slowly a half mile above Gret’s head, the cargo ship had opened a side door and instantly a flock of wingmen spilled out. Twenty or thirty dark angel-like forms against the sky. Then more—a half a hundred, at least—and still they came.
Paul shadowed his eyes against the sun, trying to guess what the tiny bat-like specks meant to do. Some of them floundered a moment. The air was strange to them.
“They’re after him!” Katherine gasped. “They’re after Gret.”
The air was strange to them, and they were badly organized for an attack, if such they intended. Then Paul saw. They were loaded. The weights they were carrying made them flop and struggle against the air.
“It must be bombs!” Paul shouted. The amplifier carried his cry to the nearest ankle-ears. “They’re after you, Gret Don’t let them come near you. RUN!”
Gret stood as solid as a shaft of rock. His chest swelled. Didn’t he understand the danger? This was all too plainly an attack. Someone had put these creatures up to mischief, and Paul remembered well I the Venus wingmen’s talent for mischief.
“Don’t swing at them!” Paul shouted. “They’ll blast your arms off! Run! Run! Gret!—What’s the matter?”
The closest wingmen were almost near enough to hurl their explosives. Katherine screamed. Terror struck through Paul. Had this friendly giant come all the way from Mogo only to be blown to hell in one unprotected moment?
Pwoooof!
Gret-O-Gret blew a great gust of air from his lips. Before Paul heard it he saw the puffed cheeks give forth with a terrific push, and the mountainous chest suddenly contract. A veritable storm! A flimsy cloud formed around the five wingmen who were closest, and Paul knew it must be a shower of feathers. The giant’s puff of air was blowing their wings clean. They instantly turned in their flight.
“Good Work, Gret!” Paul’s terror suddenly turned to jubilation. “Good work! You’ve got them on the run.”
“Thank heavens!” Katherine breathed.
It was a strange spectacle, as viewed from the ground. About sixty wingmen a mile high in the sky were chasing off in sixty different directions. At the same time they were dropping their loads without reference to any target. The bombs descended toward a section of railroad track, or over the wreckage of what had once been a filling station, blowing pumps and rails and tin roofs upward in a series of fountains. Some of the bombs found dry earth, and a geyser of dust leaped up to celebrate some wingman’s fright.
“Scared to death!” Katherine observed. “Thank goodness, Gret had his head about him. He knew exactly what to do.”
Paul was breathing with relief. If the giant had swung a fist at that flying arsenal, he’d have lost a cluster of fingers, at least, and possibly an arm, or a head.
“There may be more coming,” Paul called to Gret. “Watch it. They’re after your scalp.”
“Why?” the giant asked. “Why, am I an enemy?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Do they think I am the guilty one?” Gret made a wide-arm gesture toward the ruined land.
His question was left hanging in the air. Paul and Katherine were busy watching the flight of the wingmen. They were being called together by one leader, a large fellow whose wings showed green when he turned through the sunlight. Some of the erratic ones refused to follow, but at least three-fourths seemed glad to obey his command.
“The big boy is probably squawking his throat out to try to make them behave,” Katherine said. “He tried to pull them off in another direction the minute they poured out of the ship.”
Leave it to Katherine of the keen eyes to catch such a detail. Either the big green-winged fellow was the biggest coward of the lot, or else he had some ideas of his own. Something made Paul feel that there was a purpose in his maneuver.
According to Gret-O-Gret they were heading for a cliff about seven miles away—the highest elevation anywhere around.
“Where did the space ship go?” Paul asked.
Gret lifted his face and pointed upward.
The cargo ship had spiraled upward and was apparently hovering over the flock of wingmen, trying to direct them. It was completely unsuccessful, however. When it cruised downward, the wingmen scattered in all directions, coming down to the surface and hiding in the rugged terrain.
“Well,” Paul said, after both ship and wingmen were out of sight, “I don’t know what to make of it, Katherine. But I know this. We can’t let those winged boys get a-hold of any more munitions.”
“Don’t you realize, Paul, that Garritt Glasgow is back of all this?”
“If he is—” Paul began thoughtfully.
“Of course he is!” Katherine wailed. “Oh, Paul, you’re so slow. Can’t you do something?”
CHAPTER XIX
When the sixty wingmen were blown back by an unexpected storm from the lips of the giant, their natural leader, Green Flash, was ready to make the most of his opportunity.
“Now, Black Cloud, you’ll listen to me!”
Not many of the flock heard Green Flash cry his hard challenge, but everyone saw what happened. Among those who did hear, there were enough wagging tongues to spread the story to the others.
“Come with us, Black Cloud, before you lose your last feather.”
The wingmen heard Black Cloud roar with humiliation. The black feathers were showering from his wings. The left wing was almost stripped white from the tornado-like blast.
“I’m coming!” Black Cloud shrieked. “Help me! I’m coming.”
It was an awkward flight, with one naked and bleeding wing. Green Flash and two others offered help. Together the flock retreated toward a cliff that promised protection. Out of danger, they talked excitedly as they flew. Some were angry over their own cowardice and wished they could have another chance at their colossal target. But there were many who said, “Green Flash warned us. We should have listened to him. Why should we risk our wings to do some earth man’s killing for him?”
All along the skyway from Venus Green Flash had done his best to put this idea across with his fellow prisoners in the cargo ship. “It’s not our grudge, comrades. It’s our chance to escape the cage” he had said over and over.
But his idea had been tossed aside by his comrades right at the last minute. When the crew had given them a chance to grab some bombs as they jumped out, and yelled at them that they were free to go hunting for big game, the excitement of the moment had gotten the better of them.
Big game, indeed. They had gone for it with a vengeance, ignoring the cries of Green Flash.
Now they were a soberer lot, as Green Flash paced the edge of the cliff talking to them like a father, and they sat before him, panting and perspiring.
“Don’t moan, you silly ones. You’ll grow new wing feathers. And you’ll find all the big game you want, too.”
“You mean we’ll go back and get that walking tornado?” Black Cloud asked.
“I mean we’ll find our share of food somewhere on this planet. But I mean we won’t do any indiscriminate killing—not if I can help it.”
Green Flash stood before them, strong and wise. The evening sun burned bright in his keen eyes.
“For the first time in many many weeks we are free from our cages. The land feel beneath our feet is the land of a planet called the earth. If your ears have served you, you know that a great catastrophe has recently occurred here. This land is no longer inhabited.”
The winged female, Purple Wings, the victim of the recent lashing at the prison, was watching Green Flash with admiration. She stepped forward and said, “But we are here, Green Flash. So the land is inhabited.”
Several of the flock murmured their applause. Plucky little lady, Purple Wings. She had come through her recent injury bravely. Though she was still sick and in pain, she carried herself proudly.
“So you think,” said Green Flash, “that we might inhabit this land ourselves? My comrades, that de
pends.”
Black Cloud started to break in, but someone hushed him. Everyone waited for Green Flash to explain.
“It does not depend upon the land or its resources. From what we have heard of the earth, we know that it would reward us richly. From what we know of its recent civilization, we could be assured of bountiful hunting in its ruins. In its torn and uprooted condition, it welcomes us more than it welcomes the wingless.”
“Yes! Yes! It is right for us!” several of his listeners cried.
Green Flash lifted a hand. “But wait. If we are to inhabit this region and claim it for our own, we must face the greatest obstacle first.”
“What obstacle?” several wingmen asked. “We can fly around the giant.”
“Who’s afraid of a giant?”
“There’s lots of room.”
“He’ll not blow our wings off the next time.”
“We’ll lay a trap for him.”
All their pent-up feelings came rolling forth at once. But Green Flash silenced them.
“The greatest obstacle is not the giant. The greatest obstacle is ourselves.”
It was a puzzling statement. Green Flash paused. Then—
“Do not forget that we have been living in cages for so long that many of us have been called mad. Maybe we are. Maybe we have forgotten the things we used to know about flying together. And working together. And fighting together. Maybe some of us are mad—irresponsible—ungovernable.”
Black Cloud was frowning deeply. He was annoyed because several of the flock glanced at him. And there were others, as well, who felt the sting of Green Flash’s words. It was Purple Wings who relieved the tension, speaking in her quiet musical voice.
“Tell us what to do, Green Flash, and we will listen to your counsel. We want to work together.”
Several of them nodded their approval. Someone asked pointedly, “What about that giant? If you’re the leader, Green Flash, what is your order? Do we kill him? Or ignore him? Or run from him?”
Green Flash eyed his questioner and asked, “I have my own answer ready. But first, what is your answer?”
“Kill him.”
“Why?”
“So the land will be safe.” The wingman spread one of his pinions to stress his words. He had lost several feathers from the point of his reddish-black wing. “Now what is your answer?”
“I intend,” said Green Flash, “to learn why the giant is here and what he means to do. After I have learned these facts I will know whether he may be our worst enemy or our best friend.”
“How are you going to get the facts?”
“By spying on him,” said Green Flash. He glanced at the darkening sky. “I shall go forth at once. Are there two comrades who will come with me?”
Of the several who gestured their willingness, Green Flash saw his two choices at once.
“No, not you, Black Cloud. Your wings aren’t equal to it. But your brother I will take. And you, Purple Wings—I need you, too. Are you ready? We’ll go at once.”
And so the three of them flew low over the land toward the great creature, whose head and shoulders towered among the summer clouds.
CHAPTER XX
Early that night Gret-O-Gret lay down along a smooth stretch of earth where a cool, fresh breeze came up the valley.
“Are you ill?” Paul asked him.
“I need sleep,” the giant replied. “I need to breathe more good air.”
“We’ll keep watch. You sleep until daybreak if you can.”
“Waken me at daybreak or I might sleep for many days.”
Within a few minutes Gret-O-Gret’s low, deep, rhythmic breathing proved that he had lapsed into a deep sleep. He lay on his belly, with his upper arms folded under his head for a pillow and his lower arms relaxed at his sides. A few times he squirmed for a closer snuggle against the warm earth, his elbows thumping like mountain landslides. Then he slept like dead. The moon rose and shone across his great bare back, its light glinting off the coating of giant hairs making Paul think of a field of wheat.
“I believe he is sick,” Katherine said. “Do you suppose the excitement was too much for him?”
“It’s the thin air. It’s not like Mogo air.”
“What can we do for him?”
“Let him rest—for two or three days, if possible. There’s not much else we can do.”
“I’m worried. Suppose he’d get down and couldn’t get up. Suppose he’d need some medicine.”
“He’ll have to instruct us. We could never guess how many barrels of aspirin to pour down his cavernous throat—or castor oil.” Paul smiled as he tried to imagine how big a dose would be needed for a creature who could swallow a space ship or two with no ill effects.
The bed in their car was comfortable enough, but tonight Katherine couldn’t sleep. She kept hearing noises. No doubt all her imagination, Paul thought. Nevertheless he himself didn’t intend to sleep. The skies would bear watching tonight. Wingmen would have little trouble locating Gret-O-Gret if they took a notion to fly over. At least they would be able to see the broad cream-colored surface of his back, if they were seeking a target for bombs.
Katherine roused up, startled.
“Do you hear that, Paul?”
“S-s-s-sh! Listen!”
“It’s the space ship. It’s coming back. Can you see it?”
“It’s a different space ship!” Paul declared. Katherine’s sharp ears should have caught that. It was a different hum from that of the afternoon visitor. “The traffic is getting thick around here.”
“You’d better waken Gret.”
“I wish I could radio them. How do we know—Look! They’re heading up the valley!”
“Toward Gret’s space ship. That’s a deadly maneuver. They’ll bomb it first so we’ll have no escape.”
“That wouldn’t be wise,” Paul said. “If they know they’ve got him in the open, they could save the ship for a souvenir. Ugh! Flares!”
Like slowly falling stars, three tiny flares dropped through the distant blackness. The new space ship was evidently searching the camp where Gret-O-Gret had left his Mogo boat and his half-mile box of supplies. If so, its calculations had missed. The flares were falling, Paul guessed, several miles this side of the camp.
The sound of the new invader was entirely lost.
Nevertheless, Paul worked hard at the microphones, trying to warn Gret of the danger.
“Gret! Gret! Gret! Do you hear me?” the amplifier boomed. “It’s a new space ship. Maybe more wingmen. Do you hear me? They’re looking for you.”
The massive form refused to stir. The slow even breathing continued.
“Save your voice,” Katherine said. “He’s dead to the world.”
Paul drew his pistol. “I hate to do this but I don’t know of any other way to wake him.”
“Careful. You don’t want to hit one of his hearts. Careful—”
Paul pressed the trigger and the fire flashed at one of the great arms. The hairs caught the blaze and flared up for a moment, then blacked out. The great giant didn’t stir. Another blast from the pistol. He didn’t feel it.
“Don’t, Paul. It’s dangerous. If you did wake him up with gunfire, he might not understand.”
“It’s less than a mosquito bite to him. And it’s damned risky letting him sleep—”
“But if he doesn’t move, they may not know. If they’ve never seen a Mogo giant, they could fly right over without ever realizing—”
“You win!” Paul admitted. “I had forgotten—listen!”
No, the space ship could no longer be heard. Only the nearby swishing noises intruded upon the stillness—grasses waving in the soft breeze—or was it the field of giant hairs over the broad cream-colored back?
“Go to sleep,” Paul whispered.
“Not tonight. I still feel as if someone is close by, listening to us. Didn’t you hear something like the flutter of a wing?”
Before Paul could answer, a small space ship s
ailed over, coasting along soundlessly. Paul caught a glimpse of it against the moon—a model unlike any he had ever seen, with sleek copper lines running the length of the fuselage. It was too late to do anything now. The fates would have their fling this time.
Three flares dropped from the ship as it passed above Gret’s back. It was looking for a place to land. The flares fell two hundred feet and started three fires in the field of hair. A moment later the small craft switched back and swung in for a landing on the giant’s back.
Before it had come to a stop, Paul and Katherine were scrambling up over the giant’s side as fast as they could go. They knew the tricks of racing over his warm, hairy hide. A flare of fire threw its glow on the coppery fuselage of the small ship as it rolled to a stop.
“The fires, Paul!” Katherine cried. “Go after them!”
In the awful excitement Paul’s only concern was Gret. The landing party, whoever they were, were secondary. The spread of flames must be stopped. Katherine was flaying them with her jacket. Gret was in no condition to endure burns. If he awakened, anything could happen.
“Give us a hand here, you!” Paul yelled. He was aware that two young folks had emerged from the airlocks—a big brawny young pilot and a tall athletic girl. Not wingmen, but humans. Thank goodness for that. Those young folks were good to look at—it had been a long time since Paul had seen any new earthmen’s faces. “Give us a hand! These fires have got to be stopped! Use your coat—hey, what’s up?”
Far from helping put out the fires, the husky young man was approaching Paul with a pistol ready for business. By the flickering fires Paul saw his big hand twitch.
“Drop your damned gun, you boob!” Paul cried. “These fires—”
The fellow struck back with a flint-edged answer. “What’s one fire more or less on this earth, after you’ve already blasted hell out of it? I’m after you, you damned traitor!”
CHAPTER XXI
“Put that gun away,” Paul commanded. “Do you know where you are?”
“I said it, didn’t I?” the young pilot snapped back. “I’m facing the traitor that sold us out!”