“Does that surprise you?” Oberleutnant Schiller said cynically. “You should know us better, Herr Schzoeinhund!”
CHAPTER V
Aton’s Sacrifice
JIM HAWKINS glared at the mockingly twisted features of the German officer, and he moved instinctively forward, his hands balled into hard fists.
The German raised his gun.
“I wouldn’t advise you to make any rash gestures,” he murmured.
Jim fought back the rage that was sweeping over him. There was no point, he knew, in committing suicide, and that would be the inevitable result of an attack on the armed German officers.
The echoes of gunfire had faded away and the vast stretching wastes of sparkling crystal were once again quiet and still. He thought bitterly of Dexlon, probably lying dead now, and Aton, the strangely pathetic leader of these enslaved creatures of the radium planet; and he made a grim resolve that if he died unable to send warning to Earth he would at least make an effort to avenge the deaths of these creatures.
Oberleutnant Schiller motioned them onward with his Luger.
“I know you are in a hurry to reach your ultimate destination,” he said mockingly.
Jim and Phil Roberts marched ahead of the German officers and their eyes were as bleak as the desolate wastes they traveled. They crossed the wide valley and, at its far end, came to another exit, cunningly camouflaged. This passageway led them through a narrow gulley that broadened into a wide, low valley, in which the German camp had been erected.
Jim’s first view of the sprawling German encampment left him with a feeling of stunned helplessness. With typical Nazi thoroughness the camp was complete in every detail. Barracks were constructed along one side of the settlement, and opposite these were giant hangars and catapult apparatus for launching planes. Radio towers spiralled into the air from one low, squat building, and this structure was guarded by patrolling soldiers.
There were not many German soldiers in evidence, but from the size of the barracks and camp Jim knew that there must be at least several hundred of them on the asteroid.
Schiller smiled gloatingly at the expression that flitted across Jim’s lean face.
“You are surprised?” he asked, baring his teeth even wider. “Your stupid comrades on Earth will also be surprised in a few months when we throw the full strength of our radium equipment at them. What they’ve tasted to now is but a preliminary of what’s to come. The war will be over in a matter of months, and the foolish Americans will then be made to pay for their resistance to our new order.”
THEY had been marching down the wide street that cut between the barracks and hangars, and now Schiller ordered them to halt before a small structure, built completely of metal and circled with heavily insulated wires.
The door of this building was open and Schiller motioned them inside.
“For the time being, these are your quarters,” he said. He paused before turning away, and added, as if in amused afterthought, “I can imagine your surprise in being addressed in English by the Radion creatures. They were extremely adept at learning your stupid tongue, as you no doubt noticed. We taught it to many of them as a jest, in our anticipation of the day all English-speaking peoples will be as enslaved as they are on this asteroid right now.”
It was Phil who snarled an answer to this.
“Your sense of humor is gonna kill you, Boche boy. Mark this American’s word on it!”
Schiller’s lips went tight in a smirk. He waved the pistol in his hand menacingly.
“Inside, both of you, before my sense of humor prompts me to kill you!”
Phil’s face was flushed with rage, and his head was cocked beliggerently knots of anger. Jim put a hand on his to one side, while his fists were tight shoulder quickly, restrainingly.
“Don’t be a damned fool, Phil!” he snapped. “He’s holding the tricks in this hand. Come on!”
Jim swung his companion toward the door that was obviously the entrance to quarters which would be their cell. The unpleasant laughter of Schiller sounded harshly behind them.
Jim and Phil stepped into the small cell-room and the door closed behind them. The room was lighted with electricity and there were bunks against the wall and a wash basin in the corner. The windows were heavily barred and wired.
Jim studied the interior of the cell thoughtfully, noticing particularly the heavy steel mesh that lined the walls. Heavy, insulated wires twined through this mesh and a faint crackling of released energy sounded from the places where these conduits made a contact with the steel mesh.
“I’d keep away from the walls,” he said to Phil. “They look as if they’re wired with some kind of a charge. I’m not sure what it is.”
Phil stretched himself out on a cot.
“Well, I’m not going to play guinea pig and find out for you,” he promised. He was silent for several seconds, bitterly regarding the ceiling. “It looks as if we traded one cell for another,” he muttered.
“I liked our other captors better,” Jim said dryly.
“Me, too,” Phil said. “I wonder what happened to Dexlon.”
“He was probably killed in that ambush, along with Aton. For their sakes I’d like to take a crack at these rats before they rub us out for good.”
Phil glanced helplessly about the heavily barred and wired room.
“No chance of cracking out of here,” he said. “What do you suppose Schiller meant about the war being over in a matter of months, when they really begin to perfect their radium equipment? Was that just a typical Nazi bluff, or do you think there was something to it?”
“What do you think?” Jim said bitterly. He shrugged helplessly and moved away.
They were silent then for a while, while Jim paced nervously up and down the narrow room. Finally he glanced out the barred window and turned to Phil.
“It seems to be getting darker outside,” he said.
THE brightness of the crystalline reflections was fading as the sun set in a dull blaze of glory on the far horizon. Soon its last rays had vanished and darkness, swift and complete, settled over the sparkling planet.
“I wonder how long ‘night’ lasts here?” Jim said thoughtfully. He frowned and turned to Phil. “Our only chance for a break would be in this darkness. In the daylight we wouldn’t have a ghost of a chance.”
“Sure, so all we have to do is find a can opener and cut our way through these wired walls,” Phil said.
There was a sudden tramp of feet outside and then the cell door swung open. Two Nazi troopers appeared in the doorway, holding a small, frail figure between them.
“Company for you swine,” one of them growled at Jim.
The two soldiers shoved the small figure into the cell, then stepped back and slammed the heavy door.
Jim started in surprise as he recognized the small form, mild features and soft blue eyes of Aton, the leader of the creatures of Radion. The small creature stood in the center of the room, regarding Jim and Phil with a strangely helpless and pitiful expression.
“I am Aton,” he said. His voice was soft, but it had the same stilted, precise accent as had Dexlon’s.
“We thought you were dead by this time,” Jim said. He introduced himself and Phil to the leader of the Radion creatures. “Where is Dexlon and the others who are fighting the Germans?”
“Dexlon was killed in the ambush,” Aton said in his soft, sad voice. “I was not killed because I am worth more to them alive. They know that by holding me they can force my people to obey them more readily.”
“I tried to talk sense to Dexlon,” Jim said bitterly, “but he refused to believe me. I told him that the Nazis would never keep their end of the agreement.”
“I knew that, too,” Aton said softly, “but there was nothing that I could do.” He glanced slowly about the small room. “This has been my home for the last three years. Now it seems I shall be here until I die. I have tried to keep hope alive, but I now see that I have been fooling myself. My peopl
e will never be able to throw off the yoke of their oppressors.” He regarded Jim steadily and there was deep puzzlement in his eyes. “But why are you imprisoned here with me? Are you not the same as they?”
“Thank God, no!” Jim snapped. Briefly, he told Aton of the struggle on Earth and how he and Phil had come to the strange planet of radium.
Then he asked, “How many of your people are still free and willing to fight the Germans?”
“Free or enslaved, they are all willing and anxious to fight the Germans,” Aton answered with pride in his voice. “But the great majority of them are chained in the mines of the fields and forced to produce the radium the Germans seem to want so badly. Hiding in the hills are possibly a hundred and fifty or two hundred of my people, who have not yet been caught by the German scouting parties. When they hear of Dexlon’s death I fear that they will storm this camp in a foolish attempt to liberate me.”
JIM began pacing restlessly.
“If there was some way we could get out of here,” he said explosively, “we might have a chance. With your people behind us, we could—” He broke off and stared with sudden intent at the mesh sheathing that covered the walls. “What kind of a set-up is this wired inner wall?” he asked Aton. “We assumed the sheathing was charged with electric current. Is that right?” Aton shook his head. “This cell was designed by the Germans especially for me. You see, we natives of Radion have developed an immunity to radium rays. Our bodies are completely saturated with them and we are able to resist the effects they have on cellular organisms, such as you from Earth possess. So the very clever Schiller devised this energy shield which short-circuits the radium which is absorbed by our bodies. It is not an electrical ray; you would not be affected by it; but to us it is fatal. It severs the double purpose of making me an absolute prisoner, and of making a rescue by my people impossible.”
Jim nodded thoughtfully. The information that the power shield which lined the interior of the cell would not affect him or Phil was interesting; but it didn’t make their escape any easier, for there were still the barred windows and door to consider.
Aton said, as if reading his thoughts, “The doors and windows are operated by the same source of energy which powers the ray shield in the cell. Unless the entire unit could be short-circuited some way, there is no possibility of opening the door from the inside.”
Phil sat up, a sudden interest on his rugged face.
“Well, is there any way of shorting this ray shield?”
Aton shook his head slowly.
“I do not believe there is,” he said. Jim shrugged helplessly and seated himself wearily on the other cot. He didn’t mind dying, but he hated the realization that he was unable to strike a blow at the enemy before his final blackout.
“There must be a way,” he muttered. “There must!”
“How long does this darkness last?” Phil asked Aton.
“Only for a few hours. Light will be breaking in a very little—”
He didn’t finish the sentence. His head cocked to one side in a listening attitude.
“What is it?” Jim asked tensely. From the darkness outside drifted faint, far-away cries and then the silence was shattered by a rapid burst of pistol fire.
“It is an attack by my people,” Aton cried. “Oh, the poor blind fools!”
Jim sprang to his feet, his pulses pounding with excitement. The sound of the conflict was drifting closer.
Harsh guttural voices were shouting orders; gunfire sounded in rattling, sporadic bursts; and these furious salvos were answered by single shots.
ATON stood in the center of the room, an expression of anguish distorting his seamed face. His deep, calm eyes were clouded with an inexpressible misery.
“Oh, the fools,” he moaned. “Their loyalty will cost them their lives.”
Jim paced nervously up and down the room.
“We’ve got to get out and help them,” he spoke through tight, hard jaws.
Phil said bitterly, “There’s no chance. We’re caught here like rats—”
“Listen!” Aton said sharply. “There is a way for you two to make an escape. At least you can get out of this cell.”
“How?” demanded Jim.
Aton regarded them for an instant and a faint smile touched his lips. He backed slowly toward the wall.
“I didn’t think of this a moment ago,” he murmured. “The only thing that will short this power shield is a radium conductor like—myself.”
“What do you mean?” Phil cried.
Aton took another step backward. He was only inches from the charged metal sheathing.
“It is the only thing I can do,” he said softly. “My people are sacrificing their lives against the enemy; I cannot do less. My death is nothing. Strike hard, soldiers of America, for Aton and for free men everywhere.”
His smile faded and a resolute line hardened his jaw. He stepped backward another step and his small, frail body touched the metal sheathing.
A sputtering, cracking sound roared through the room. The metal guard glowed a vivid, cherry red and blinding flashes of energized light forked out from its gleaming surface.
Aton’s body stiffened convulsively as the blasting power coursed through him with shattering force. For an instant he was impaled on the glowing screen and then, with a convulsive twitch, his charred, lifeless form fell forward to the floor.
The raging red glow of the screen faded; the leaping lights disappeared and the electric illumination of the cell seemed lifeless and pale.
Jim Hawkins stared in shocked horror at Aton’s crumpled form. He was so dazed that he didn’t notice the door of the cell swinging slowly open.
Phil clutched his arm.
“Look,” he said tensely. “The door! We’ve got our chance.”
Jim was still staring hard-eyed at Aton’s body.
“We’re going to take that chance,” he said. And added harshly, “For you Aton, and the millions of poor devils like you on Earth!”
WITH Phil at his side he headed for the door. The darkness that cloaked the small planet of Radion was complete, and as they stepped from the cell they were instantly swallowed in its stygian, engulfing blackness.
From the sporadic sounds of the fighting Jim knew that the unequal battle was raging in the main avenue of the camp, about two hundred yards from where they stood.
“We need weapons,” he snapped to Phil. “We’ll try to make our way to the German ammunition storeroom. I spotted it when we arrived. It’s on the other side of the barracks.”
They wheeled and started down the dark street, but before they had taken a dozen steps, Jim jerked Phil to a stop. Directly before them, vaguely discernible in the darkness, were two German sentries, babbling at each other excitedly, uncertainly.
The sound of the firing had covered the approach of the two American flyers.
“Come on,” Jim whispered savagely.
He rose from his crouch and hurled himself at the first sentry. His forearm closed over the man’s neck like a bar of steel. There was a hoarse bleat of fear from the man before Jim’s powerful arm cut across his windpipe, silencing him.
His knee dug into the German’s back. With his forearm locked under the man’s chin, he leaned back sharply, straining with all the whipcord strength of his powerful body.
There was a sharp, cracking snap that was like the breaking of a rotten limb; and the German’s body was suddenly limp in his arms.
He hurled the man aside and wheeled about; but Phil was already climbing from the still form of the second sentry.
“One, two; just like that,” Phil said.
“Get his gun,” Jim snapped. “We’re just starting.”
He retrieved the gun from the man lying at his feet. The feel of its heavy bulk in his hand was comforting. His fingers closed over the butt with savage anticipation.
“Let’s go!” he said.
They ran now, side by side, along the darkened street, toward the sound of the fighti
ng. When they passed the looming bulk of the barracks, Jim grabbed Phil’s arm and pulled him to a stop.
They turned at the corner of the barracks and crouched in the darkness, pressed flat against the wall of the building. Ahead of them was the ammunition storeroom, a darker shadow against the blackness of the night.
The door was open and an oblong of light fell from the doorway against the night. There were two sentries guarding the door, but both of them were standing with their backs to the Americans, staring in the direction of the street fighting.
Jim and Phil moved toward them cautiously; but within six feet of the sentries, Phil’s foot scraped against a discarded metal container, and the sound seemed loud as an artillery barrage in the comparative stillness.
Both sentries wheeled toward the sound.
“Who goes?” one cried in guttural German.
The second wasted no time in conversation. His gun coughed and a livid orange streak blasted from the muzzle.
JIM felt the bullet fan past his cheek. He threw himself to the ground as the second sentry opened fire. He heard Phil smother a cry of pain as the two Germans blasted a quick round of shots at them.
He raised the gun he had taken from the sentry and fired deliberately and methodically at the two Germans. They were both outlined against the light streaming from the munitions storeroom; and at six feet he couldn’t miss.
He didn’t. One of the sentries fell forward, cursing chokingly; the other slumped backward against the storeroom, a neat, blue hole drilled cleanly between his eyes.
Jim crawled quickly to Phil’s side.
“Where’d they get you?”
“It’s all right,” Phil said, through set lips. “Just my left arm. Let’s go.”
They covered the remaining distance to the lighted door in a plunging dash. The interior of the large storeroom was deserted. Jim’s eyes ranged quickly over the stocked bins and shelves until he sighted the round, gleaming, masherheaded grenades.
“That’s what we want,” he said grimly.
The two Americans were moving toward the bin of grenades when a voice behind them said quietly,
Collected Fiction (1940-1963) Page 166