Curtis interpreted this glance for what it was. He smiled ruefully.
“No ideas as yet, Juan. We’re in a tight one, this time.”
Juan grinned confidently, shrugged, and went over into a comer where he sat down on the dank stones of the floor.
“Juan has the right idea,” Curtis said to Joe. “Standing up, pacing back and forth, will only wear us out. Let’s relax. We’ll need all our strength.”
He moved over to the side of the wall and sat down, leaning his back against the stones. Jo sat down beside him.
“You can tell me, Allan,” Jo said.
“Eh?” Curtis looked at her, eyebrows raised.
“We aren’t being held here as prisoners, Allan. I know that much,” Jo answered. “We’ve just been sealed in here to be left to die. An easy method of eliminating us. Isn’t that so?”
Curtis was silent, and when he finally answered his voice was husky.
“You’re a stout fella, Jo. And discerning.”
“I’m not afraid, Allan,” Jo whispered. “I’d always kind of hoped that we’d live to be a ripe old age tog—” She suddenly broke off, flushing.
“Together, Jo?” Allan asked. “Is that what you were going to say?”
Jo didn’t look at him. She nodded her head quietly.
Allan Curtis found her hand, and covered it with his own.
“Maybe we will, kid,” he said huskily. “Maybe we will at that.”
Jo didn’t answer. But the look in her lovely eyes was answer enough. She moved closer to Curtis, until her auburn head touched his shoulder.
DAWN was rising in the jungle. The faint gray light of it poured through the two tiny apertures in the cell. Curtis rose and moved to the candle in the wall niche, snuffing it out with thumb and forefinger, then came back to take his place beside Jo.
In his corner, Juan dozed, his magnificently handsome head slumped forward on his cable-muscled arms.
Quite suddenly, Jo turned to Curtis.
“Allan,” she whispered sharply. Her hand was on his arm, her head tilted to the side.
Curtis frowned.
“What’s up?”
“Listen,” Jo entreated.
In the silence, Allan Curtis suddenly heard the faintly scraping sounds outside the barred doorway. They were growing more audible with every moment.
“Footsteps,” Allan whispered. “Someone’s coming!”
The footsteps were definitely louder now.
“Von Wessel, or Captain Barch,” Jo hazarded.
Curtis, swiftly on his feet, shook his head.
“Those are a woman’s steps,” he whispered.
Curtis moved to the small aperture in the wall, peering out. He turned back to face Jo, his expression one of mixed emotions.
“Von Wessel’s accomplice, the girl, Maria,” he declared. “She’s coming here!”
Jo scrambled hastily to her feet, eyes alight with hope and excitement.
“I had no idea she was here,” Jo began.
Curtis cut her off.
“Neither did I.” He placed his finger to his lips. Then he stepped back to the small aperture. Jo moved up beside him.
“She’s frightened, looking wildly around as she walks,” Curtis reported. “Cross your fingers, kid. Something is in the air.”
Then Curtis stepped back from the wall opening. He stepped to the stone door, placing his ear against it.
“She’s experimenting with the mechanism,” he whispered excitedly. “She’s going to open this!”
Juan opened his eyes, caught the situation at a glance, and rose to stand beside Curtis and Jo at the door. There was the sudden scraping of stone against stone, then the door began to swing outward!
Curtis pulled Joe back to one side with him. Juan stepped swiftly back to the other side. And then gray light streamed into the cave, and Maria von
Wessel stepped inside.
JUAN grabbed one of her arms, Curtis the other. Juan had a hand across her mouth. She didn’t struggle. Her cold-blue eyes flicked from Juan to Curtis, to Jo, trying to convey a message.
At Curtis’ command, Juan removed his hand from her mouth.
“I’m here to help you,” Maria von Wessel said swiftly, urgently. “Please release me. I am unarmed. I would not have come here this way had I meant harm to you.”
For an instant Curtis hesitated, then he released the blonde girl, signaling Juan to do the same.
“All right,” Curtis demanded, “what’s this all about?”
Maria von Wessel’s shapely body was trembling visibly. There was no mistaking the strain she was under. When she spoke, her sensuous red underlip quivered.
“Kurt von Wessel brought me here with him to kill me. He figured it would be much more easily accomplished in, the jungle. He was acting on orders from our High Command, which considered my usefulness to the fatherland at an end. Kurt didn’t tell me. Three hours ago, unable to sleep, I rose and started from my tent. I overheard Kurt instructing the captain to have one of his soldiers put a bullet through my skull within the next ten hours.” Looking carefully at the girl, Curtis knew instantly that she spoke the truth.
“I went back to my tent,” Maria von Wessel continued, her voice strained. “I could not sleep. I racked my brain for means of escape. I realized the futility of any attempt on my own to escape through these horrible jungles. At last I realized that only through you people could I bargain for my life.” Maria von Wessel shuddered visibly. “I have freed you,” she said. “I beg of you, now, to take me with you in your flight.”
Curtis hesitated for but an instant.
“Very well,” he said, “the bargain is made. But I can’t promise you anything after we reach Lima.”
“I am asking only safe guidance through the jungles,” Maria von Wessel answered.
“There are no sentries out there?” Curtis demanded, indicating the courtyard that lay some eighty yards from the cave entrance.
Maria shook her head.
“There was no need for posting them,” she said. “The entire group still sleeps.”
“You know where we can obtain supplies?” Curtis asked. “We’ll need guns, food.”
Maria nodded, her blonde hair shimmering in the growing dawn.
“Yes. But we will have to be swift. Follow me.”
JUAN moved beside Maria, and Curtis walked with Jo as they started cautiously down the slope from the cave that led to the crumbling ruins below them.
Less than a minute later, the four were moving through the crumbling, weed-tangled ruins of the courtyard. Decaying, vine-webbed walls of ancient stone encircled them on all four sides. And against one of these walls, on the far end of the courtyard, there were six or eight tents pitched.
Beyond the walls, and in the outskirts of the ancient city, Curtis knew, were the rest of the German troops. Their tanks, perhaps from twelve to fifteen of them, and armored motorized equipment had also been stationed out there. Against the wall to their left was a tall stone platform, similar to an altar. A series of steps, twenty or thirty, led up to that crumbling edifice.
They were halfway across the courtyard, when Maria paused.
“One of those tents contains officers’ supplies,” she whispered. “Food and guns and ammunition you will find in there. We must not all advance at once. They might be roused. Kurt, the captain, and several lieutenants are in those other tents.”
Juan turned to Curtis.
“I go, amigo. I move as silent as the cat.”
Curtis debated this an instant.
“Guns first, Juan. Then we’ll be able to cover any possible awakening on the Hun’s part.”
Juan nodded, starting off with incredibly swift stealth. They watched him moving noiselessly, running lightly, toward the tent Maria had indicated as containing supplies. Juan moved not the tiniest pebble in his approach. Then they saw him cautiously entering the supply tent. He reappeared moments later, his arms stacked with three revolvers, a submachine gun, and boxe
s of cartridge rounds. Then he was back at their side, breathing easily, grinning broadly.
Curtis swiftly strapped one of the revolvers to his side, holstering it on a cartridge belt. He gave the other to Jo, while Juan donned the third.
Then Curtis took the submachine gun, and nodding to Juan, said:
“Now for the food we’ll need.”
JO and Maria remained behind, this time, while Curtis, four steps behind the swiftly moving Juan, backed the giant negro’s advance with the protection of the submachine gun.
Curtis took a position some ten yards before the line of tents, holding the tommy gun in sweeping command of the scene. Juan reentered the supply tent. When he emerged, moments later, laden with four small crates.
“Concentrates,” Curtis observed, as Juan came up to him. “Splendid. They won’t take room, and will provide all the nourishment we’ll need.”
Curtis took two of the oblong crates under one arm.
“Give the other two to Jo until we reach the outside of these walls safely,” he ordered Juan. “I’ll remain here and keep the tents covered. Go with the senoritas as far as the wall. See they are covered well, then return.”
Juan started off toward Jo and Maria. From the corner of his eye, Curtis saw Juan escorting the two women toward the wall gate. And then Curtis heard the shot ring out, felt the stinging flash of pain in the soft flesh of his shoulder, and saw Kurt von Wessel, smoking automatic in hand, moving from the farthest tent toward him.
And even as Curtis realized he was hit, even as he dropped to one knee and trained the submachine gun on Kurt von Wessel, he realized that this shot had spelled their doom. The camp would come alive, and it would be impossible to escape from the walled courtyard.
Then the tommy gun was rattling in Curtis’ arms, spitting flame and death at the figure of Kurt von Wessel.
The Nazi agent had time to fire twice more before the flame from the tommy gun cut him down. Curtis felt the spat of stone flicking at his feet, and thanked God that von Wessel’s last shots had missed.
Kurt von Wessel was sprawled face forward in the dust. But in seconds later, Curtis knew, the occupants of the other tents would be spewing forth, weapons in hand. He rose, wheeling, to see Juan, already aware of what had happened, dashing with Jo and Maria away from the wall gate and toward the tall stone platform at the other side of the courtyard.
Mentally Curtis thanked God for
Juan’s presence of mind. The massive negro had known, the instant Kurt von Wessel’s shots rang out, that it would be suicidal to attempt an exit through the wall gate. He had immediately sized up the situation and decided swiftly that the only vantage point in the courtyard would be that stone platform. There were buttresses along its edge that would be protection.
Curtis set out across the courtyard toward the same objective as Juan, Jo, and Maria dashed for. He’d traveled less than a hundred yards when the first shots sounded behind him.
HE wheeled, then, dropping to his knees, training the tommy gun on figures of German officers emerging from the tent line. His fire caught two of them instantly, and sent the third to cover.
Then Curtis was on his feet again, dashing once more toward the high stone platform against that far wall.
And now two soldiers dashed through the wall gate, rifles in hand. They sighted Juan and the two girls instantly. And even as they raised their rifles to their shoulders, Juan turned, stopped, and whipped out his revolver.
The huge negro dropped to one knee, steadying his aim, and with incredible nerve drew careful bead. He dropped the first of the soldiers with his first shot.
But the second German had fired, now. And Curtis saw Maria sprawl headlong as his rifle barked. She didn’t move, even though Jo had stopped and was trying to help her to rise.
Then Juan’s second shot dropped the second rifleman before he could fire again. Juan was on his feet then, dashing to where Jo bent over Maria. He paused an instant, then grabbed Jo’s arm and hurried her up to the first of the stone platform steps.
Curtis turned again now, sweeping his tommy gun back and forth to cover Jo and Juan’s ascent to the platform. He moved backward as rapidly as he could, finally gaining the first steps himself. Then he turned and dashed up the crumbling flagstones.
Jo and Juan had gained the stone platform, and were covering his ascent. And then Curtis was beside them, helping Juan drag a tripod-mounted machine gun from its position overlooking the other side of the wall. They speedily turned the gun about, so that now it covered the courtyard.
“They must have had this posted to cover any outside approach,” Curtis grunted thankfully, as they tugged the gun into position. He found a crate with sufficient ammunition rounds, then.
Jo, revolver almost concealing the tiny hand in which she held it, looked grimly beautiful, and deadly determined.
“Maria caught the shot in the back,” she said briefly. “It went through her heart.”
Curtis was breathing more easily for the moment. They were now in a position that would be costly to attack. The buttressing of the stone boulders on the platform’s edge gave them protection enough, with luck. And Juan, behind the machine gun, was a coolly efficient marksman.
“Get into concealment,” Curtis ordered Jo. She took a position behind a boulder three times her size.
And then, through the wall gate to their right, more than a dozen German soldiers swarmed.
GRINNING at the opportunity, Juan swung the machine gun muzzle on them. And as Curtis dropped beside him to feed the belt through the gun, Juan opened fire.
The attackers wilted under the deadly chatter of the gun, sprawling backward as the bullets scythed through their numbers like a harvester through wheat. Only three lived to flee back through the gate entrance.
“Nice work,” Curtis commended.
Juan grinned. He was a first class fighting man in paradise.
“Thank you, amigo,” he said.
Moments passed, while outside the wall gate there was the sound of voices raised excitedly. But no one reappeared in the courtyard. The moments crawled into fifteen, then thirty minutes.
“Wonder what they’re up to?” Jo asked quietly.
And then, through the wall gate and out into the courtyard toward them, strode the slim, uniformed arrogant figure of the German captain, Brach. He held one hand aloft, with a white handkerchief in it.
“Keep a bead on him, Juan,” Curtis ordered. Then he rose into view behind his boulder.
Captain Brach halted some fifty yards away from their position.
“Curtis,” he shouted, “do not be a fool. You cannot hold that position more than a few hours, even though it be momentarily advantageous. I guarantee the safety of the girl if you surrender instantly.”
Curtis looked grimly to Jo. She grinned.
“I don’t believe the liar,” Jo said coolly.
“Start running, Brach!” Curtis shouted. “You’ll take this position, undoubtedly, but you’ll pay the price it’ll cost.”
“Curtis,” Brach snapped, “you are a fool. Consider. The gir—”
“Make him dance,” Curtis ordered Juan.
The machine gun chattered briefly. Almost at Brach’s feet, bullets kicked up dust. The arrogant little captain retreated in undignified haste.
Juan, grin wide on his ebon features, opened fire again, following the racing little captain from a distance of four feet with bullets. He broke into laughter as Brach scurried through the wall gate.
Curtis smiled grimly.
“They’ll be back,” he promised. “Plenty soon, and with plenty of trouble.”
And then, as if to confirm his words, they heard the sudden thrumming of motors snarling to life. Juan looked up, the smile gone from his face.
“That noise, amigo, come from many tanks!”
Curtis picked up the submachine gun he’d discarded when he’d started feeding ammunition to Juan’s larger gun. His lips were tight . . .
CHAPTER IX
A Panzer Attack I
JO was suddenly beside Allan, then, her hand lightly on his arm, her eyes answering his own swift glance with equal fearless resolution.
“They’re coming this time meaning business,” Allan said tautly. “Our argument with a brace of tanks can’t be more than a short one, a very short one, Jo.”
The sound of the tank motors was steady and menacing, now. It seemed, moments later, as if they were moving into action, approaching the wall gate down the courtyard.
Juan’s grin was unflinching.
“Must shoot plenty damn sharp now, eh amigo?” he grunted.
Curtis nodded.
“And sharper still, Juan. Unfortunately we’ve nothing even looking like an anti-tank gun here on the platform.
We’ll have to make the best of a very bad bargain.”
Jo’s sharp exclamation of discovery knifed the air, even before Curtis had finished speaking.
“Allan, look!” Jo was pointing to a hitherto unnoticed concealment under one of the boulder buttresses.
Following her pointing finger, Curtis saw a small crate concealed there under the rock. He stepped swiftly over to it, dragging the crate forth.
His own exclamation was one of rekindled hope.
“Good God, luck is still with us.” He rose, pointing down at the crate. “Grenades, a dozen of them. The old potato masher style. They aren’t the same as anti-tank guns, but they’ll be more than what we have!”
“Madre de Dios!” Juan said softly. “It is fate!”
And suddenly the thundering of the tank motors came to them with definitely increased vibration.[1]
Curtis dragged the crate swiftly behind their boulder buttresses, and picked up his submachine gun once again. Jo returned to her place of safety, at Curtis’ urgent signal to do so.
And then the first of the tanks nosed through the wall gate into the courtyard, and rumbling directly behind it in a single file formation followed three more!
“Brach is taking no chances,” Curtis said bitterly. “A tank for each of us and one to spare!”
The four tanks were of the light panzer action type, Curtis saw, that had been used so successfully in action against France and in Poland.
Collected Fiction (1940-1963) Page 86