Collected Fiction (1940-1963)

by William P. McGivern

  “After a moment.” The general glanced pointedly at Clare Holloway. “Would you excuse us please?”

  The girl smiled. “I can take a hint. Big hush-hush talk, eh? I’ll run along then.” She looked at Rick and shook her head in mock disappointment. “I was hoping you’d be fun. But you’re a grim character.”

  She left the office then. Rick looked after her and in spite of his irritation he noticed that she had a pair of excellent legs.

  “Well?” General Armstrong said, leaning back in his chair. “What do you think?”

  “About what?”

  “About your passenger?”

  “If you told me to take along the front line of the Rockettes I’d do it. But I’d think it was crazy.”

  “You’d be right. You’re right in thinking this thing is crazy. But the pressure came from way up on top. I was helpless. Miss Holloway is a photographer. She is also the niece of a very important person. Something about this trip leaked out and she decided she wanted to go along.

  “I tried to block it, but I couldn’t raise hell without tipping off everybody in the capitol that this trip is a hot one. So I let it slide.”

  “I’ve been studying maps of the terrain. It’s no place for a girl.”

  “I know that,” General Armstrong said.

  “And there’s a good chance of running into trouble.”

  “I know that.”

  “Supposing something happens to her?”

  The general chuckled grimly. “That would make me very happy. But you’d probably be court-martialed anyway.”

  “I’ll see that she doesn’t skin her nose, then.”

  The general came around the desk and patted Rick unexpectedly on the arm. “I’m sorry about it, boy. But remember this. The job comes first.”

  “I’ll remember,” Rick said.

  TWO days later as the first fingers of dawn were probing from the East, Rick walked to the side of a C-47 that was waiting on a hardstanding at Washington airport.

  Peter Rundell came to the port hatch and grinned at him.

  “We’re all set, Skipper. Deveer is up checking the control. The tower gave us a take-off time at four-thirty.” Rick said, “Good. How about the girl?”

  “She hasn’t shown yet.”

  She arrived twenty minutes later in a chauffeur-driven station wagon.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said, smiling at Rick. “But I had a big farewell party last night at which I was taken unexpectedly drunk.”

  “Get aboard,” Rick said.

  “Where do you get the energy to be so unpleasant?” she said.

  “You’re twenty minutes late,” Rick snapped. “This is not a goddam tea party I’m running.”

  “All right.” She took a deep angry breath and turned toward the plane. Rick caught her arm and swung her around. He pointed at her chauffeur who was struggling toward the ship with three grips.

  Beside the station wagon there was a small steamer trunk and two cameras. “What’s all this?”

  “Luggage.”

  “You were told the weight limit of one hundred pounds, I believe?”

  “Yes, but it just wasn’t enough. What’s a few extra pounds, anyway?”

  “Just a few extra pounds that aren’t going aboard, that’s all.”

  “But it’s already here,” she cried. “It will stay here, then.”

  “Oh, you’re impossible.” She turned to the chauffeur. “Put the cameras and one grip aboard. Take the rest back to my hotel.”

  She swung around to Rick, eyes hot. “Now are you satisfied?”

  “Get aboard,” he said, and walked toward the front of the ship. When he came back after checking the motors she was sitting in one of the bucket seats toward the rear of the plane. She avoided his eyes.

  He ordered Peter to close the hatches, then went forward to the cockpit. Deveer nodded to him from the co-pilot’s seat.

  “Tower says for us to get the hell out of here.”

  “Good.”

  He switched on the motors, warmed them for several minutes, then taxied down to the head of the runway. Deveer watched the instruments his face impassive.

  “Flight U-10 to Tower,” Rick said. “Request permission for take-off.”

  “Tower to U-10. Tower to U-10. Use runway seven. Climb to four thousand. Keep your landing lights on until you’re twenty-five miles beyond let down zone. Take off when you’re ready.”

  “Roger!” Rick said.

  He fed gas to the ship, revving the motors to maximum. Then he slacked off the power and cut the brakes. The plane started down the runway, gathering speed rapidly. She was a hot ship for her classification. Rick could instantly tell.

  He eased back the stick and felt the familiar lifting buoyancy as the ship climbed into its element. He circled the capitol once, then set a course Northeast at six thousand feet. They hit rough weather for a while, but it eased off within a half hour. Rick gave the controls over to Deveer and then went aft.

  The girl was sitting in the door beside the port hatch, glassy-eyed and pale. He knew the rough weather must have snapped the tail of the ship around violently, and he knew what this must have done to her stomach.

  She looked at him and took a deep careful breath.

  He grinned. “You’ll find a bucket back with the gear.”

  “I’m—I’m not sick.”

  She swayed forward a little and then she scrambled to her feet. He pointed aft to the luggage with his forefinger. She staggered away.

  CHAPTER II

  BELOW them clouds formed a white carpet. Ahead and to the left snow-capped peaks broke through the clouds like jagged teeth.

  They were flying the Hump at twenty-two thousand feet. Deveer and Rick were in the cockpit, Deveer at the controls.

  He said, “How much further?”

  Rick checked the grid map that hung above the controls.

  “Not too long. According to the map we’re entering the Vulka chain now. In about an hour we should see Mount Kellar, the highest in the group. After that we change our course to Southeast and drop down to find the plateau.”

  “Think we’ll find it?” Deveer said.

  “I think so.”

  Deveer smiled tightly, and looked over at Rick with his flat green eyes. “Then what? We start our boy scout tactics. Build bon fires and roast marshmallows.”

  “You don’t think much of this deal, do you?”

  “Do you?” Deveer said bitterly. “I’m not paid to think,” Rick said. “If I was I’d probably be making a lot less money. It’s just a job. If they want us to scout around and look for Dinosaur teeth, that’s what we’ll do.”

  “I wish I had your attitude,” Deveer said. “It must be nice going through life without thinking. Sort of like a nice quiet vegetable.”

  “What’s eating you, Deveer?” Rick said curiously. “You’re no kid. If you don’t like the army why not get the hell out?”

  “What else can I do? I’ve been in the army ten years now. It’s all I know.”

  “You should be used to it then.”

  “I’m used to it all right. I’m used to taking orders, to being pushed around like something made out of cogs and wheels.”

  “Well,” Rick said, “What do you want?”

  “I want to do some pushing around myself,” Deveer said savagely. “I was twenty when I joined the army. You know why?” He flashed a hot look at Rick. “I couldn’t find a better deal outside. My old man was a drunk. My mother worked in a cheap gin mill. When they were home together they take turns beating hell out of me. There was never any food in the place. I worked as a bootblack one summer trying to save enough dough to go to a trade school and learn something that would get me out of that life. You know what happened? The old man found the dough and blew it on a three day drunk.

  “I hit him when he came home. Damn near knocked his head off and then I cleared out. I hooked up with the army in thirty-seven and asked for foreign service. I hated them and I hat
ed everything I came from. I wanted to get away. So the army sent me to China. They taught me how to service planes and then they taught me how to fly. When the Nips started acting up I saw what was coming. I got out of the army when my enlistment was up and joined the Tigers. Not for patriotism, not for fun. I wanted that thousand buck premium we got for shooting down Japs. This war might have something worthwhile to you; to me it was just another scramble with the big people kicking hell out of the little people. I like the side of the big people. When you’re on that side, you can do a lot of pushing and shoving and get away with it.”

  “That’s not much of a deal for the little people,” Rick said.

  “Then let ’em get smart. Let ’em get in with the Bigs. I’m taking care of myself and nobody else. If the other people won’t come out of the rain that’s their tough luck. I’ll sell ’em coffins when they get pneumonia and die. And I’ll overcharge ’em if I can.”

  “You sound like Old Scrooge,” Rick grinned. “Better watch out. You’ll get religion like he did and you won’t know what hit you.”

  DEEVER looked sideways at him without smiling. “Think it’s a joke, eh? A lot of funny stuff. Well you’re way off. I stuck in the army hoping for a break. I thought I had it when I was transferred to Washington. I thought I could make myself important to somebody and trade these captain’s bars in for an eagle, maybe. That’s working fine, isn’t it? Here I am now off on a boy scout camping expedition. Well, I’ll get what I want some day. I’ll find a grip on this stinking world and make it yell for help.”

  “That’s been done before. The trouble is help generally comes and the guy with the grip finds himself in a big fat mess.”

  “I’ll take that chance,” Deveer said quietly.

  “ ‘Better to reign in hell than serve in Heaven’ ” Rick quoted.

  Deveer looked at him carefully. “Who said that?”

  “A guy named Lucifer,” Rick said. “Oh. Well he had the right idea.”

  “Look where it got him.”

  “Maybe it won’t work in fairy tales. That’s because the people who write fairy tales want everybody else to believe there’s no use fighting. Then when everyone is standing around like cows, hoping for the best and talking about ‘Fate’ and ‘The will of God’ they can take over. The world is full of people who want to be slaves because they can stop worrying then about doing their own thinking. Well, I’ll find me a bunch of slaves before I get through and they won’t have anything more to worry about.”

  “You’ve got some cute ideas,” Rick said. “Just don’t let them shake around too much or they’re liable to explode. There’s nothing sadder than the pieces a Fascist leaves around when he blows up.”

  “I’m not a Fascist. I’m just thinking of myself.”

  “A very fine distinction,” Rick said dryly.

  He stood up and went aft. Clare Holloway was lying on an improvised bed, made of blankets folded over four of the bucket seats. She was wearing a sweater and scarf under a leather flying suit but she looked cold.

  “Do we have to stay up so ridiculously high?” she asked.

  He stopped and looked at her. “No we could go down where it’s warmer and crash into the side of a mountain. Would that appeal to you?”

  “I asked a civil question.”

  “I didn’t notice any civility.”

  “Do you always wear brass knuckles on your tongue?” she said quietly. “Are you afraid people will think you’re soft if you don’t keep snapping at them?”

  “I never thought about it that way,” Rick grinned, “and I can promise you I never will.”

  He left her and walked down to Peter who was studying a chart of the Vulka range. He sat down beside him and glanced at the chart.

  “Looks like nice country, doesn’t it?” Peter shook his head sadly. “Wonderful. Just the place for a spring vacation. Hot and cold running snakes. Exposures on all sides. Best canned food this side of Calcutta.” He smiled at Rick. “Do I sound like the Chamber of Commerce?”

  “Not quite. But we should be landing in an hour or so. You’d better break out the ammo for the forty-fives. There’s no point-in not being ready to take a pot at those snakes of yours.”

  “Okay, I’ll get at it.”

  “Good.”

  HE WALKED back toward the control room. Clare Holloway turned on her side and grinned sourly at him. “Still the little ray of sunlight, aren’t you?”

  He stopped. Am I supposed to understand that?”

  “I heard your instructions to Peter about ammunition. Was that for my benefit, or are you actually scared?”

  “The only thing I’m afraid of is that you’ll get bit by a snake.”

  “How considerate of you,” she said, mockingly.

  “Yes, isn’t it? You see I’m worried about the snake. He probably won’t recover;”

  He saw the color mount in her cheeks and he grinned and went on forward to the cockpit. Deveer looked at him, then pointed ahead.

  “There’s Kellar, I think.”

  Rick saw a twin peak jutting up through the clouds several miles ahead. The peaks were knife-sharp and they looked like the prongs of a tuning fork.

  “I think you’re right,” he said. He checked the chart carefully and compared the position of Kellar on their small scale grid map. “Not much doubt about it. Swing Southeast and start dropping down.”

  Deveer nodded and shoved the stick forward. The clouds came up to meet them and then they were suddenly blinded by swirling whiteness as the nose of the plane burrowed into the soft banks.

  “Creepy, isn’t it?” Deveer muttered.

  “Not-much fun.”

  They broke through the clouds into brilliant sunlight. Ahead, of them lay a broad plateau, formed by the sheer cliffs of the mountains.

  “I hope it’s okay for a landing,” Deveer said.

  “According to the dope they gave us it’s like a pool table,” Rick said.

  “With all the balls on it?”

  “I think it’s okay. Make a pass at it and we’ll try and get a look.”

  Deveer swung the ship around and roared across the valley, dropping down to a height” of several hundred feet. He banked sharply at the end of the valley, and while the plane was on its side both men peered downward, trying to get an impression of the ground.

  “Not bad,” Deveer said, straightening out. “Hard to tell though. We can’t do much more than crash and set the gas on fire.”

  “That’s a consolation,” Rick said dryly. “Okay, set her down. If you feel like it.”

  “I don’t feel like it,” Deveer said, using one of his rare grins. “But I guess I’m about the best damn pilot in the world so I couldn’t be in better hands. If there is a billiard ball on the table I can land right on top of it.”

  “Give me one of your smokes when we get down,” Rick said. “I want to enjoy your rosy dreams, too.”

  “I’m good,” Deveer said. He wasn’t smiling now. He was serious and his jaw was set hard. “I’m good, brother, and that’s no pipe dream. Here we go!”

  THE landing was perfect. Deveer set the plane down lightly and taxied across the plateau to the base of a towering peak. He cut the ignition and glanced over at Rick. “I’m good, all right,” he said.

  “You’re good,” Rick admitted.

  He went aft and picked up a forty-five from the seat. He took off his heavy flying clothes and strapped the gun about his lean waist. None of the men wore army uniforms. Just gray whipcord slacks and shirts. The heat in the plane was already growing intense. Clare Holloway stripped off her flight jacket and said. “If you gentlemen will excuse me I’m getting into something comfortable.”

  “You’re excused,” Rick said.

  He opened the port hatch and dropped to the ground. Peter hopped down beside him. The ground was dry, hard-baked and covered with a six inch stubble of coarse vegetation. Overhead the sun hung in the sky like a fiery brass ball. Peter mopped his forehead and said, “This is just
what I was hoping for. Nice balmy weather. Hell you could sun tan here in five minutes. If you stayed out any longer you’d be like an old boot.”

  Rick walked around the plane and took a good look at the plateau. It was almost ten miles long and about two miles around. The entrance was a narrow aperture formed by the twin peaks of Mount Kellar. Ranges on three other sides made a bowl of the valley. Close to the bases of the mountains forests and underbrush grew in a tangled snarl. There were gashes visible in the ring of mountains that surrounded the valley; but whether these led to outer territory was impossible to tell without investigation.

  He came back to Peter. Deveer was also standing beside the plane, a cigarette hanging from his lips, his face hard and bleak.

  It was three o’clock in the afternoon. Rick took a small-scale map from his pocket and squatted down, spreading the map on the dusty ground.

  “Take a look,” he said. Deveer and Peter hunched beside him and he went on: “Dr. Norton’s plane crashed roughly within a five or six mile radius of here. It might have been in the valley we’re in, but anyway, that’s what we’re going to look for. But first we’re going to take a look around this immediate area and get an idea of what we’re up against. Before we set up a camp tonight I want to look around. We’ll split up in two teams and cover about a square mile on each side of the ship. Then we’ll come back here and break out the supplies. Keep your eye out for water and a camp site.”

  “Two teams,” Deveer said. He jerked his head toward the plane. “Does that mean somebody takes Miss Rich-bitch along?”

  “We can’t leave her here,” Rick said. He dug a coin from his pocket and said, “Do likewise, gentlemen. Odd man loses.”

  Deveer grinned as he and Peter took coins out and flipped them in the air. They caught them, put them on the backs of their wrists.

  Rick flipped his and they took their hands away and looked at the results. Deveer and Peter had tails; Rick had a head.

  Deveer stood up quickly. “Let’s go Peter. The Skipper loses.”

  “Okay,” Rick said. “Take the left side of the ship. Cover a square mile and try and get back in two hours. And take care of yourselves.”