“This,” Tom said grimly.
He swung the German captain around and said, “I told you we might meet again, and I told you you’d regret it.” He stripped off his leather jacket and walked slowly toward the German, his hands swinging loosely at his sides.
“Prepare to get awfully regretful,” he murmured.
“Oh boy,” Red said happily, “this is all I need to make my day complete.
A ring side seat to watch a can of sauerkraut get punched full of holes.”
The captain backed slightly away, his eyes narrowed in his face. He was heavier through the shoulders than the American and he was fully twenty pounds heavier. There was a fleeting expression of triumph on his face as he raised his fists.
“This may be interesting,” he said.
CHAPTER VII
TINK and Jing settled down contentedly to watch the fight, but after a few minutes their faces were set in worried frowns.
The German, using his greater weight, was driving the American relentlessly back, driving sledge-hammer blows into his face and body with every step.
The lieutenant fought savagely standing toe-to-toe and slugging furiously, but he was forced back steadily under the powerful punches of the German.
“Box him!” Red screamed. “Box him, you fool!”
He almost climbed to his feet in his excitement.
“Jab him, use your left. Who d’ you think you are—Joe Louis?”
The American fought back grimly, desperately, but the terrific punches of the German were sapping his strength. His face was bleeding and his breath was coming in deep, laboring gasps.
The German circled slightly and drove in again, driving the American toward Ann. There was a desperate cunning gleam in the depths of his eyes and his face was a hard mask of hatred.
When he maneuvered the American within a half dozen feet of the girl, he planted himself solidly and snapped across a hard, driving right that sent the lieutenant sprawling to the ground.
Ann swung to watch the lieutenant, a pleading expression in her eyes and, for that second, the German was out of range of the gun in her hand. And that had been his plan.
With a savage cry he lunged for her, his hand grasping for the gun.
Red yelled a frantic warning and the girl spun back, but it was too late. The German was upon her, one powerful arm closing about her waist and drawing her to him, while the other hand grabbed for the gun.
She struggled helplessly in his iron grip.
“Get rid of the gun!” Red yelled.
The German’s hand was inches from her wrist, and there was a gloating expression of triumph on his face as he drew her closer. Ann jerked away from him with every ounce of her strength behind the effort, and hurled the gun into the tangled brush that surrounded the clearing.
With a wild curse the German flung her aside. He glared at the lieutenant who was crawling back to his feet.
“It’s an even fight now,” he snarled. “There’s no gun in my back this time. And when I beat the rest of your brains out, I put a bullet through the cripple’s head and take the girl with me just as I planned. You haven’t won, my stupid friend, you have only delayed the inevitable.”
The American glanced dazedly at Ann’s huddled, limp figure on the ground, sprawled where the German’s powerful shove had thrown her, and gradually the fog faded from his eyes and they hardened to points of cold anger.
“Okay, krauthead,” he murmured, “that was only the first round.”
“Attaboy!” yelled Red.
THE German smiled tightly and moved in, but this time the American circled him, jabbing a fast, blinding left into the face. The German shook his head angrily and threw a half dozen wild punches into the air, but still the left was in his face, stinging, blinding, tipping him off balance before he could set himself to punch.
A flush of rage crept into his cheeks and he lunged forward swinging wildly with his right. The lieutenant let it whistle harmlessly over his head, and then he stepped in and slammed three hard punches into the German’s body.
The German gasped and dropped his hand to cover his stomach. And Tom Diggles set himself and slugged him with a right on his unprotected jaw.
The German’s eyes glazed and he staggered back, trying to lift his arms to protect his face. The lieutenant drove in, both fists flying, and the German fell back another step. A hard right toppled him off balance and his knees began to buckle slowly. As he fell Tom swung his right arm in a vicious chopping stroke that smacked against the side of the captain’s jaw with a sound like a brick falling on a pavement.
The German hit the ground, rolled once and was still.
For an instant the American, swaying slightly on his feet, stared at the limp figure of the captain, then he shook his head and moved to the girl’s side.
She was sitting on the ground, smiling.
“Are you okay, honey?” he asked anxiously.
“What I just saw,” she said, “would cure me of anything. You were wonderful.”
The lieutenant grinned slowly.
“It was kind of fun, too,” he said.
CHAPTER VIII
THE motors of the plane were throbbing powerfully and the young American was at the controls making a last-minute check of his instruments.
Ann was at his side, watching him anxiously.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Our only problem is gas,” he answered. He glanced back at the two Germans, one bound carefully with leather belts and the other stretched out unconscious, and then his eyes moved to Red, who was propped up in the center of the cabin.
He glanced back at his gas gauge and shook his head.
“We’ve got quite a load,” he said, “All we can do is a lot of hoping.”
Tink and Jing were sitting at the edge of the doorway, taking a last look at the green depths of the jungle.
“Isn’t it wonderful how nicely everything turned out,” Jing said, sighing happily. “I just can’t believe all our troubles are actually over.”
“I can’t either,” Tink said nervously, glancing over his shoulder.
“You mean you’re worried about Nastee?”
Tink nodded. “I wonder where he is,” he said.
“Who wants to know?” a familiar and impudent voice said behind him.
Tink swung around and saw Nastee standing behind him, a contented smirk on his face. His hands were in his pockets and he was rocking impudently back and forth on his heels.
“Oh, oh,” Tink said.
And then he saw that Nastee was not alone. At his side was a wizened, sullen looking little imp with bulging eyes and a small bitter mouth.
Jing was tugging at Tink’s arm.
“Who’s that?” she whispered.
“A gremlin,” Tink said grimly.
“You bet he’s a gremlin,” Nastee said, chuckling happily. “He got here just a while ago and he showed me a lot of clever little tricks.”
“Do you mean that you two have sabotaged this plane again?” Tink said angrily.
Nastee laughed gleefully. “Just wait’ll we get in the air and you’ll see.”
“Now, just a minute you two,” Tink said, getting to his feet and staring from one to the other with determined eyes. “I’ve stood all I intend to of your interference and orneryness. And I’m sick and tired of your stupidity.”
“Stupidity?” the gremlin queried, his eyes sharp and bright. “How do you figure that?”
“I’ll tell you,” Tink said disgustedly. “We exist because people believe in us. If everyone stopped believing in us we’d stop existing. Even a gremlin should be able to figure that out. And yet you’re working for the Germans. And do you think they’ll believe in us. They don’t believe in love or honor or decency, so what makes you think they’ll believe in fairies.”
The gremlin scratched his head. “You got a good point there,” he said, at last.
“Now, you’re going to tell the rest of the gremlins what I’
ve told you,” Tink said, “and if they don’t think it makes sense, tell them I’m going to be on their necks until they do.”
He swung the gremlin around in the front of the door and kicked him out of the plane.
“Don’t forget,” he shouted after the gremlin, “you’ve had your last warning.”
The gremlin sat on the grass and looked up at Tink with respect in his eyes.
“Okay, chum,” he said, “I’ll talk to ’em.”
ANN walked to the door and closed “All set, Tom,” she said.
“Okay.” He released the brake and the plane slowly gathered speed as it rolled slowly down the make-shift runway. With a slight tremble it left the ground, lagged for an instant and then began a slow, steady climb that took it over the tops of the surrounding trees with several feet to spare.
“Now,” the lieutenant said, relaxing in the pilot’s seat, “we have nothing to worry about as long as the gas holds out.”
Tink turned to Nastee.
“What did you do to this plane?” Nastee laughed. “You can shove gremlins around, but I’m different.”
“Then you aren’t going to tell me?”
“Why should I?” Nastee said scornfully, “if you’re so smart, why don’t you find out for yourself.”
Tink started for him but Jing grabbed his arm and Nastee took advantage of the opportunity to scurry away.
“Why did you do that?” Tink demanded.
“I’ve got a little idea,” Jing said with a smile. “I’m going after Nastee now and you follow me in a little while.”
“All right,” Tink grumbled, “but you should of let me beat it out of him.”
“Just like a man,” said Jing with calm superiority. “Only one approach to every problem, brute force.”
“Hurry up,” Tink said. “Don’t stand here making wise-cracks.”
Jing hurried away, and after a few minutes search she found Nastee up in the nose of the plane, sulking.
“Nastee,” she said, “I think you’re just terrible.”
Nastee grinned at her. “You aren’t fooling me. Tink sent you to get me to tell you what I did to the plane.”
“Oh no he didn’t,” Jing said. “I wasn’t even thinking of that. I was talking about the terrible way you fool everybody.”
“Fool everybody?” Nastee said blankly. “What do you mean?”
“Just what I said,” Jing said firmly. “You’re so anxious to impress everyone with how bad you are, that you even lie about it. You know you do. And actually you’re just quiet and nice and afraid to do anything wrong. But it’s lying about it and making people think you’re bad when you’re really not, that’s terrible.”
“But I am really bad,” Nastee protested. “I don’t lie about that.”
“Oh yes you do,” Jing said. “You lied when you said you’d done something to the plane. And I know you didn’t.”
“How do you know?” Nastee challenged.
“Because I just heard the pilot talking,” Jing said, “and he said everything is working perfectly.”
Nastee grinned slyly. “He doesn’t know yet, that’s all. Just wait a while.”
“Now you’re just lying again,” Jing said.
Nastee looked at her in quick irritation.
“Oh, is that so,” he snapped. “Well, just you look here.”
HE BENT down and pulled aside a metal disc under which ran one of the main gas lines. There was a slow, steady leak from the pipe. Gas had collected at the base of the small steel chamber in a three inch puddle and it was rising steadily.
“You see,” Nastee chuckled, “We punctured the gas line.”
Jing looked helplessly at the steady trickle of gas that was dripping from the pipe into the small chamber. Nastee was on his knees peering gleefully at the slowly rising pool of gas and, suddenly, Jing stood up, and from sheer helpless irritation raised her foot and kicked Nastee squarely in the rear.
He squawked loudly and fell forward into the small, gas-filled chamber. She saw his legs threshing about wildly, and then he got himself straightened out and stood up sputtering indignantly-
“What’s the big idea?” he squeaked wrath fully.
The gas was at his neck and rising steadily. He looked at her and suddenly the belligerence left his face. He swallowed nervously.
“What are you going to do? he asked weakly.
“I don’t know,” Jing said.
Tink suddenly appeared at her side. He patted her back again solemnly. He peered down at Nastee and chuckled as the drenched little leprechaun shook an angry fist at him.
“Get me out of here,” Nastee shrieked. “This gas will be over my head soon.”
“Not if you’re smart,” Tink said.
“What do you mean?” Nastee cried.
“Well,” Tink said, “you can reach the leak, can’t you?”
Nastee stood on tip-toes and reached up until his hand closed over the small puncture in the gas pipe.
“Why, yes,” he said, “I can.”
The gas had reached his chin, but it stopped rising as the trickle from the pipe stopped.
“Well you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Tink grinned. “As long as you hold the leak, you won’t drown.
“But I’m soaking wet,” Nastee cried. He stared at Tink and Jing grinning down at him over the edge of the chamber, and his little face suddenly flushed with anger.
“It was all a trick,” he shouted. “You did this just to save the gas. Well I won’t do it. I’ll drown first.”
“I don’t think so,” Tink grinned.
He waved cheerfully at Nastee and then closed the cover of the metal chamber.
He put his arm around Jing’s waist and smiled at her.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he said.
And in the cabin of the plane the young lieutenant duplicated the gesture but he added a little something to it that the leprechauns haven’t gotten around to imitating yet.
He kissed her soundly.
THE NEEDLE POINTS OF DEATH
First published in the January 1944 issue of Amazing Stories.
Jeff was about to lose both his life and his wife. Then a wavering needle pointed to an odd solution!
JEFF MORAN made several last-minute adjustments on the square apparatus which was in position on his lab bench. The equipment was constructed of gleaming metal and its four smooth sides were studded with rheostats and gauges. On top of the box-like device was a calibrated bar that recorded a measurement of temperature down to within a fractional decimal point of absolute zero. There was a barometric gauge above this, and a sensitive pressure indicator.
Jeff’s lean face was anxious as he studied the equipment and made the last final checks. Everything was right. He’d know in a few more moments whether his months of research and work had achieved a practical result.
Twenty, thousand miles above the tiny Venusian weather-base his partner, Bill Dexter, was circling slowly in a space ship, waiting for word from Jeff.
A door opened behind him and Jeff turned quickly. Ann, his wife, smiled at him as she came toward him.
“Kind of jumpy, aren’t you, mister?”
“I guess so,” Jeff said, feeling his nerves slowly relaxing again. He knew he was keyed up to an impossible tension—had been for the last few months. It hadn’t been easy for Ann, he knew, but if things went well today, they could both forget the harrowing, nervous strain of those months.
“You’re about ready for the final test, aren’t you?” Ann asked.
Jeff nodded. “Dexter’s waiting for my signal right now. We’ll know in a few minutes—one way or the other.” Ann put her hand on his arm. “Jeff, if things don’t turn out the way we hope, it won’t really matter to us. We’ll just go on trying until it does.”
Jeff patted her shoulder and smiled into her eyes. At moments like this he realized how lucky he was to have Ann at his side. She was a small girl, with a quick smile and short brown hair, and in h
er leather trousers and shirt she looked like a young boy.
“I think I’ve got it this time,” he said, “but there’s always a chance I overlooked something.”
“I wish I understood more about your work,” Ann said. “Sometimes I feel that you’d like to talk to me about things, but can’t because I’m such a ninny.”
“That’s nonsense,” Jeff grinned. “You’re the perfect listener and that’s all any scientist wants. Anyway, this device isn’t particularly complex. It’s simply a means to determine the temperature in space at any given time. You know, of course, that the temperature in the void is always pretty close to absolute zero; but it would be a great help in rocket construction and navigation if we could know that temperature exactly, especially in areas like this where there is considerable variation. If my reasoning and work has been correct the Allied Research Council will have me on its staff inside of two weeks to superintend mass production of the altoscope. And that will be living again for you, honey. This drab hole is no place for a woman.”
“I’ve never minded,” Ann said.
“You’d say that anyway,” Jeff said. “But you’ll appreciate Earth a lot more after your two years here.”
JEFF TURNED to the radio switch and contacted Dexter. In a minute his partner’s brash, confident voice was in the room.
“All set, Jeff?”
“Yes. Let me check your position again.”
“Twenty thousand miles on the head, northeast of the base by 21 degrees. Got it?”
“Okay. Now what’s the temperature reading?”
There was a short silence and Jeff felt a film of perspiration beading his brow as he waited. Finally Dexter’s voice came.
“.005,” he said. “Check?”
“Got it,” Jeff said.
He wiped his hands after he made a notation of the figures on a chart. Then he turned to the box-like device on the bench and slowly closed a switch. The lab seemed unnaturally still as the delicate registering needle began to flicker back and forth across the calibrated bar.
He could feel his heart beating loudly and rapidly and his hands were clenched tightly. Finally the swinging needle came to a stop and Jeff bent quickly down and read the number. He felt a sudden singing sensation in his ears. “Ann!” he yelled. “Look!”
Collected Fiction (1940-1963) Page 193