The William P. McGivern Fantasy MEGAPACK™: 25 Classic Fantasy Stories from the Pulps

First published in Fantastic Adventures, October 1943.

Chapter I

The interior of the small London flat was bright and cheerful. Strong northern light came in the wide, uncurtained windows and fell in regular patterns across the plain furnishings and the dozens of half-finished paintings which were stacked about the floor and hung from every wall of the high-ceilinged room.

A tall, dark-haired man in a painter’s smock stood in the center of the room studying intently an easel on which a half-completed painting of three roses was spread. He held a pipe in one hand and there was a curious, puzzled expression on his face as he studied the painting.

Tink, Jing and Nastee, the three New York leprechauns, were sitting on the edge of the easel, watching him with bright interested eyes.

“I think he’s terribly handsome,” Jing said.

She was sitting between Tink and Nastee, but she had edged over as close to Tink as possible. Nastee’s sour little face was cupped in his hands and his lips were pressed in a thin dissatisfied line.

“You would!” he said disgustedly.

“What’s the matter with you, Nastee?” Tink asked. “You’re even more bitter today than usual.”

“Mind your own business,” Nastee snapped.

Jing giggled. “He’s still mad at you for dumping him into that well in Ireland.”

“Well,” Tink grinned, “it was Saturday night, wasn’t it? He needed a bath anyway and I just saved him the trouble.”

“Very funny,” Nastee muttered sarcastically. “Pardon me if I don’t roll on the floor laughing.”

“You shouldn’t hold grudges like that,” Jing said. “After all, that happened months ago.”

“By the way,” Tink said, looking at Nastee with a sudden suspicion, “where have you been since then? You showed up here only a week ago. And how did you know where to find us?”

Nastee grinned maliciously.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he jeered. “You two may think you’re pretty smart, but you may be singing another tune before long.”

Tink’s face was serious as he glanced at Jing.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” he whispered worriedly. “Nastee sounds like he’s got something up his sleeve.”

“Oh, he’s just talking,” Jing said. “Don’t pay any attention to him. Anyway, he couldn’t cause any harm here.”

“I know,” Tink said thoughtfully, “but that’s just why I’m anxious.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door. The young painter, with a last worried look at his half-finished painting, crossed the room and opened the door.

A slim, dark-haired girl in the trim uniform of the Ferry Command was standing in the doorway. She smiled happily into the young painter’s incredulous face.

“Ann Masterson!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

Still smiling, the girl saluted smartly and straightened her slim, square shoulders. “Reporting for duty, Lieutenant Diggles,” she said.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” the young painter said dazedly.

He took her by the shoulders and shook her gently.

“What are you doing in that uniform? And how did you know I was a lieutenant?” he asked.

“Oh, Tom,” the girl said excitedly, “I’ve got a thousand things to tell you. But I’m so happy about seeing you I hardly know where to begin.” She grinned into his still incredulous eyes. “Aren’t you going to ask me to come in?”

“Why — why sure,” the young painter said. He stepped aside and the girl walked into the room, glancing quickly about with a pleased little smile on her lips. “Why it’s lovely here,” she said, turning to him. “It’s almost like your studio in New York.”

“Light’s not quite so good,” he said. He was still staring at her unbelievingly. “Now break down and tell me everything,” he said, “or I’ll forget my chivalric background and spank the daylights out of you, uniform or not.” The girl grinned mischievously and pirouetted on slim ankles.

“Isn’t it stunning,” she said breathlessly. She stopped and smoothed the trim, pencil-slim skirt with proud hands. “I wouldn’t trade it for a genuine Schiaparelli,” she said with sudden seriousness.

“I can imagine,” Tom Diggles said with just a touch of irony. “You girls all love uniforms.”

“That’s not fair, Tom,” Ann said. “You should realize that we are proud of what our uniforms symbolize and that’s all. But I see you haven’t changed since New York. You still think girls in uniform are just romantic exhibitionists, don’t you?”

Tom Diggles shrugged and said, “It doesn’t make much difference what I think. But it isn’t girls in uniform I mind. It’s just that most of them are so light-headed and incompetent that it drives you crazy.”

“Oh, you’re impossible,” Ann said, turning away from him with an angry whirl of her skirts. “You’ve got a medieval attitude about women that will never change. You think we should be locked away in cloisters and spend our time doing lace work, and let the great big strong men run the world and make all the decisions.”

“That’s not what I think at all,” Tom said heatedly. “Like every woman, you twist and distort everything I say until the original thought is unrecognizable.

You bring two things to every argument, a closed mind and an open mouth. There are a thousand important things for the woman of today to do, but running around in uniforms, getting in the way of vital work, is not one of them.”

“Well regardless of what you think,” Ann said coolly, “I have been assigned to an aircraft maintenance corps, and my first official duty in London is to bring you these orders from Colonel Langley, of the First Bomber Command.”

She drew a sheaf of sealed papers from a leather pouch at her waist and handed them to the young man.

“And I hope they’re sending you to Iceland,” she said bitterly. “I understand the Eskimo women don’t wear uniforms and do nothing more dramatic than chew whale blubber all day. You’ll love it there.”

The young man glanced at the unopened orders and then looked up at the girl, and there was an unwilling smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I see you still adore me,” he grinned. He put a hand under her chin and tilted her head up slightly.

“I’m sorry for acting like a boor,” he said quietly, and he was no longer smiling. “My reception of a fellow American in London wasn’t very warm, was it?”

“No,” the girl said, “it wasn’t. You did everything but throw me down the steps.”

“Let’s not fight any more,” the young man said. “There’s enough fighting going on in the world today without our making every chance meeting another all-out battle.” He looked out the window and his eyes were serious as he watched a crew of men filling in a huge bomb crater in the middle of the street. The sun was strong and clean and the air was touched with the first breath of spring, but still the signs of war and death were visible on London’s face.

“The Nazis have brought a taste of Hell to the world,” he said quietly, “and things will never be right again until the last one is exterminated. But, in the meantime,” he shrugged and turned away from the window, “let’s put an armistice to our private little war, shall we?”

“Of course,” the girl said gently. The young man smiled at her and then opened his orders. He read them quickly and when he finished he shook his head disgustedly.

“What’s the matter?” the girl asked. She grinned slightly. “Iceland?”

“Nope,” the young man said. “Just a notice that I’m to be engaged in aerial reconnaissance for the next few months.” He folded the orders and shoved them into his pocket with a bitter gesture. “I’ve been begging to be assigned to an active bomber command for six months, and this is what I get.”

“You’re luckier than most,” Ann said. “You’ve seen quite a bit of excitement already. Think of the poor boys who haven’t had any fun at all.”

The young man looked at her and his lips tightened ominously.

“My dear,” he said gently, “you and I just signed a peace pact, and I am most anxious to keep it. But if you don’t want hostilities renewed, please stop referring to the fun and excitement of aerial duty over Europe. I can assure you there is no fun connected with the work. It’s hard and tough, and half the time your heart’s in your mouth, which isn’t a very pleasant sensation.”

“But you are all anxious to be assigned to that kind of work,” Ann protested.

“We want to be in a spot where we make the Nazis bleed and burn,” the young man said quietly. “All of us have memories of comrades shot down, friends killed in bombing raids, and we’re out to settle that score. Not because it’s fun, but because it has to be done, and the sooner it’s done, the sooner this world will return to something like normalcy. And,” he added with something of his old grin, “the sooner we can get our women out of uniforms and back in front of stoves where they belong.”

“Let’s not start all that again,” Ann said. “And anyway, a lot of women I know don’t belong in front of stoves. If you ever tasted my biscuits you’d know what I mean.”

“I guess you’re right,” Tom said, with a grin. “Okay, cease firing. Anyway,” he sighed, “maybe I’ll get another crack at my kind of action when I finish this assignment.”

“Everything’s important, you know,” Ann said. “After all, where would the bombers be without aerial reconnaissance?”

“You’re right,” Tom said. “There’s no point in griping. And I’ve been laid up here so long now that I should take anything and be thankful.”

“How long have you been on the sick list?” Ann asked.

“Almost two months,” Tom said. “I got my final okay from the medicos last week, so I expected my orders along pretty soon. But,” he smiled, “I didn’t expect such a charming courier.”

“Well,” Ann said, “this really wasn’t my job. I’m attached to aircraft maintenance, but I heard the colonel giving these orders to the regular courier, so I just took over the job.”

“I’m glad you did,” Tom said. “This is just like old times, isn’t it?” He glanced over his shoulder at his uncompleted painting. “I would have gone crazy if I hadn’t these paintings to work on. None of them are particularly good but they keep me occupied. This one here,” he said pointing to the easel on which the painting of the roses was spread, “has got me stumped.”

He took the girl by the arm and led her to the easel.

“What’s wrong with it?” she asked. “Well for one thing it isn’t finished,” Tom smiled. “But it seems to change during the night. I work as long as there’s light, but the next morning there seems to be something—” He shook his head and laughed. “I guess I am losing my mind.”

Tink nudged Jing.

“I told you last night you’d better stop dabbling with this painting.”

“I didn’t do much,” Jing said. “I just changed the colors a bit. Anyway,” she added defensively, “I know more about flowers than any old painter.” Nastee was staring gloomily at the young man and now he said jeeringly, “Isn’t that a touching sight?”

Tink looked and saw that he had slipped his arm about the girl’s slim waist and she had leaned her dark head against his shoulder.

“I think that’s wonderful,” Jing said softly.

“Bah!” Nastee said. “If I needed anything to make me feel completely happy about my new job, this is it.”

“New job?” Ting asked. He looked suspiciously at the sour-pussed little leprechaun. “What new job? I thought there was something funny about your absence. Come on, out with it. What kind of a new job have you got?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Nastee sneered.

“Yes, I would,” Tink said grimly. “And if you don’t open up, I’ll look around for another well to toss you in.”

Nastee wriggled uneasily.

“It’s none of your business,” he said.

“I think I’m going to make it my business,” Tink said.

The young lieutenant turned and brushed his lips across the girl’s soft cheek.

“I think a lot about you, Ann,” he murmured. “I sometimes dream a bit about — later.”

“What sort of dreams?” the girl asked quietly.

“Very silly ones, I guess,” Tom said, with a short laugh. “I dream of this mess ending and me heading back to the United States and finding you just as lovely as you are now waiting—”

“Waiting for what?” the girl asked, and her voice was only a whisper in the room.

“For me,” Tom said. He laughed without humor. “That’s where the dream gets rather silly.”

The girl turned slowly and looked into his eyes, earnestly.

“Not so silly, Tom,” she said softly.

The young lieutenant looked at her for an instant, then he took her in his arms and held her close.

“I can’t believe it,” he murmured, his lips pressed against her hair.

Nastee squirmed and looked away.

“Will I be glad to put an end to that,” he said.

“How are you going to put an end to it?” Tink asked.

“You’re getting nosey again,” Nastee smirked.

The young lieutenant looked down at the girl and smiled.

“I’ll come back, dear,” he said.

“Oh, be careful, Tom,” the girl said anxiously. “I’ll be worrying for you every second.”

“Don’t be a silly little goose,” the lieutenant laughed. “I’ve got nothing to worry about but the gremlins.”

“The gremlins?” Ann laughed. “I’ve heard about them. You don’t take them seriously, do you?”

“Of course not. But the English lads are different. They’ll tell you a thousand stories to prove that there are actually little creatures maliciously tampering with their planes. But it’s just a silly superstition.”

Nastee laughed unpleasantly.

“That’s what you think,” he sneered.

Chapter II

Tink looked searchingly at Nastee.

The ugly, bitter little leprechaun had an expression of unholy triumph on his face that was unsettling. Whenever Nastee looked so gloatingly happy, Tink knew that trouble was brewing.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked. He knew that the humans couldn’t hear their voices, so he didn’t bother to speak softly.

Nastee chuckled.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he said, hopping to his feet. “And he will too,” he added, pointing one tiny finger at the young lieutenant.

“Nastee!” Tink cried, in a shocked voice. “Have you joined the gremlins?”

Nastee assumed an expression of outraged innocence.

“What a thing to accuse me of?” he cried.

Tink knew from his attitude that he was guilty.

“So you did,” he said grimly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nastee said haughtily.

“Nastee, you’re lying,” Tink snapped. “You’ve joined the gremlins and you intend to sabotage the lieutenant’s reconnaissance plane, don’t you?”

Nastee turned on him, scowling.

“And supposing I am,” he snarled. “What difference does that make to you?”

Jing looked at him in shocked horror.

“I don’t believe you could be that bad, Nastee,” she said.

“Nastee,” Tink said, “you’re going to get yourself in a lot of trouble if you join the gremlins. You know they’re an unsociable, unreliable, treacherous group of little imps.”

“I like them,” Nastee said. “They’re grouchy all the time. They never laugh or smile. They make people unhappy. They’re wonderful.”

“They sound dreadful,” Jing said.

“How long have you been a member?” Tink asked.

“About three weeks,” Nastee said.

“And you came here about three weeks ago,” Tink said keenly. “You were assigned to this job by the gremlins, weren’t you? You came here in advance to spy on the lieutenant, didn’t you?”

“Sure I did,” Nastee said.

“You ungrateful little imp,” Tink said disgustedly.

Nastee looked angry. His little face was screwed into a frown.

“I don’t care what names you call me,” he said spitefully. “I’ve got a job I like and I’m going to keep it. And I won’t have you two around getting in the way of my work.”

With a last indignant glance he swung over the edge of the easel and slid down one of its legs to the floor. He crossed the floor to the open window and climbed to the ledge. He looked back at them and laughed bitterly. Then he was gone.

“Oh, Tink,” Jing cried, “what are we going to do? This nice young man will be killed if we don’t stop Nastee and the gremlins.” She looked away from Tink to the young girl who was sighing happily in the lieutenant’s arms, and her eyes clouded with tears. “And that would break this poor girl’s heart.”

“I know, I know,” Tink said irritably. “We’ve got to do something, but what?”

“Couldn’t we warn the lieutenant to be on his guard?” Tink suggested hopefully.

Tink shook his head.

“There’s only one thing to do,” he said finally. He swung around and faced Jing. His little eyes were gleaming with determination. “It may be dangerous, but it’s our only chance. Are you game?”

“Oh, yes,” Jing cried.

“We’re going with the lieutenant,” Tink snapped. “We’ll go along as his bodyguard, and I’d just like to see Nastee or the gremlins start anything.”

Jing clapped her hands together excitedly.

“Oh, Tink,” she cried, “you’re wonderful!”

Tink smiled modestly.

“That thought has often occurred to me,” he said...

The London airport from which Lieutenant Tom Diggles was taking off, was a large, dark area, with only a few blue landing lights visible.

Tink and Jing arrived there a few days after they had decided to help the young lieutenant. They had heard nothing of Nastee since that time, and Tink knew in this case, that silence meant trouble.

They found the reconnaissance ship that the lieutenant was flying and went aboard. Tink left Jing in the cabin while he searched the ship. He looked thoroughly, diving into every nook and cranny but he found no evidence of Nastee or the gremlins.

“Everything looks all right,” he said, when he returned to the cabin. “Maybe Nastee gave up his idea.”

“I think we’d better go along, just in case,” Jing said.

They were waiting in the cabin, sitting on a rheostat of the dashboard when Lieutenant Diggles came aboard. He was wearing his heavy, fur-lined leather flying togs and his face was serious as he rapidly checked the instruments.

The plane was a two-engined ship with a large cabin, and a special turret in the top for the cameraman. He arrived a few minutes later, a lanky redhead, carrying a heavy camera under his arm.

“Hi, Tom,” he greeted the pilot.

“Hello, Red,” Tom Diggles smiled. “Got everything you’ll need?”

Red patted his camera affectionately and said, “With this baby I don’t need anything else. If you could manage to fly over Hitler’s mountain resort I’ll tell you what he’s having for breakfast.”

“If I ever fly over Berchtesgaden, I hope it’s not to take pictures,” Tom said.

“Me, too,” Red said fervently. “I’d like to be sitting right alongside the bombardier, watching those block busters land right in Mr. Hitler’s lap.”

Tom looked out the glazed window and then said, “Well, I guess we’re ready to go.” He signalled with his hand to the ground crew and a few seconds later, the great motors thundered to life. The ship trembled for an instant and then was rolling smoothly down the runway, gathering speed with every foot.

The lieutenant pulled the stick back slowly and the ship lifted into the air, dropped momentarily and then soared upward again in a steady climb.

Tom grinned at Red and, over the noise of the motor, said, “We’re on our way.”

Red closed his fist and pointed his thumb in the air with a wink.

The lieutenant turned back to his controls, and Tink and Jing settled down for the trip.

“How long do you think we’ll be gone?” Jing asked.

“Just a few hours,” Tink said. “We’ll cross the channel, fly over France and then return. Shouldn’t take long at all.”

They flew steadily for several moments gaining altitude, and then they saw the wide, bright ribbon of the Thames gleaming beneath them, beautifully silvered with moonlight.

When they reached about thirty-five thousand feet the lieutenant levelled off and headed directly east. The cabin was cold, and despite the automatic oxygen device the air was almost too thin to breathe.

Jing hugged herself and nestled closer to Tink.

“I don’t like this,” she said through chattering teeth.

Lieutenant Diggles glanced at his instruments and a worried frown settled on his face. He joggled a small switch several times, then shoved his goggles up to his forehead and glanced out the window.

“What’s the matter?” Red asked.

The lieutenant shrugged helplessly.

“Can’t tell for sure. We’re losing altitude. I think the de-icers are on the blink. It’s okay unless we run into real weather, then we’ll be out of luck.”

Jing looked at Tink and raised her slim eyebrows significantly.

“Are you thinking what I am?” she asked.

Tink nodded thoughtfully.

“I think it’s about time for me to go to work,” he said. “If the de-icers on this plane aren’t working, I’ll bet anything Nastee’s behind the trouble.”

“Where are the de-icers?” Jing asked.

“Out on the wings,” Tink said.

“Well how’re you going to get out there?”

“Very simple,” Tink said. “Watch.”

He scampered up the instrument panel and jumped into the breech of the machine gun. Using all of his strength he dislodged a cartridge and crawled into the small dark shell chamber. Then he slipped into the barrel of the gun and crawled along its two-foot length until he reached its open end.

The cold, lashing wind that whipped past him almost tore his head off, but he fought his way on, until he was able to drop from the gun to the cowling and then to the broad surface of the wing, dangerously slick from its coating of ice.

He ran along the wing until he reached the de-icer apparatus and there, crouching in the lee of the equipment, he found Nastee, curled up in a small, cold ball.

His eyes were closed and his teeth were chattering. And he was oblivious to everything except his own discomfort.

Tink kicked him with his foot.

“What’s the idea?” he demanded.

Nastee blinked his frost-laden eyes open and stared with incredulous amazement at Tink.

“How’d you get here?” he sputtered.

“That’s beside the point,” Tink said. “What have you done to the de-icers on this plane?”

In spite of his frozen discomfort, Nastee managed to smile triumphantly.

“Wouldn’t you like to know!” he said. He chuckled gleefully. “I suppose we’ll be forced to land pretty soon, won’t we?”

Tink shook his head, then smiled at Nastee’s bewilderment.

“No,” he said, “we won’t have to land. I just heard the pilot say he can get along without the di-icers if the weather doesn’t get worse. And that seems rather unlikely.”

It was Nastee’s turn to chortle.

“That’s what you think,” he laughed. “But I just talked to a gremlin scout and he said we’re heading into a storm within fifty miles. And the temperature is due to drop about fifty degrees.”

“You’re lying,” Tink said.

“All right, then,” Nastee said smugly, “there’s nothing to worry about if I’m lying. You just go on back to the cabin and relax.”

Tink knew that Nastee wasn’t lying. And he knew that if they flew into bad weather, their plane would be forced to drop within range of German anti-aircraft guns.

“You always think you’re so smart,” Nastee jeered. “I suppose you came along to stop me from doing my work. Well what are you going to do?”

Tink stared angrily at Nastee.

“I don’t know, yet,” he snapped, “But get this; this plane isn’t going to crash in France!”

Nastee laughed spitefully.

“We’ll see about that,” he said.

Chapter III

Tink returned to the cabin and told Jing what had happened.

“But what can you do?” Jing asked, when he finished. “If we’re flying into a cold storm and the de-icers aren’t working, we’ll be shot down, won’t we?” Tink nodded somberly.

“We wouldn’t have a chance,” he said.

“Could you fix the de-icers?” Jing asked.

“No. I don’t know anything about them. And you can bet that Nastee’s done a thorough job of wrecking them.”

“But we’ve got to do something,” Jing said worriedly.

Tink snapped his fingers suddenly He glanced up at the lieutenant’s lean, serious features and then his eyes shifted to the dashboard. There was a speculative expression on his face.

Jing watched him anxiously.

“Did you think of something to do?” she asked.

“I think I’ve got it,” Tink said. “We’ve got to dodge that storm or we don’t have a chance.”

Jing’s slim eyebrows drew together in a frown.

“But how can you do that?” she asked.

“We’re flying east now,” Tink said, speaking quickly. “In a few more minutes, we’ll hit the storm. Before we do I’ve got to make our pilot swing south. That will take us out of the storm area.” He glanced at the dashboard again, a bright, beaming light in his eyes.

Jing shook her head helplessly.

“But how are you going to do that?” she asked.

“Watch,” Tink said quietly.

He crawled across the dial-pitted surface of the dashboard until he reached the compass, and then he went to work, his tiny dexterous fingers working with swift sureness. When he crept back to Jing’s side there was a pleased expression of triumph on his merry face.

“What did you do?” Jing asked breathlessly.

“Wait and see,” Tink said.

Lieutenant Tom Diggles was glancing out the window, squinting into the steadily thickening snow flurries that eddied about the plane, and there was a worried frown on his face. The frown deepened when he turned to the temperature gauge.

“I think we’re in for it,” he said to Red over his shoulder. “This weather is thickening and it’s getting colder. We’re dropping pretty fast.” He shook his head bitterly. “If only those damn de-icers weren’t on the blink.”

“Don’t blame our ground crews,” Red said, shaking his head ominously.

“This looks like the gremlins’ work.”

“Nonsense,” the lieutenant said irritably. “That’s just a childish superstition.”

“Don’t bet on that,” Red said gloomily. “I’ve seen some mighty queer things happen up here that weren’t caused by any human factor.”

“Rubbish,” the lieutenant said.

He glanced down again at the dashboard and suddenly the expression on his face changed to one of complete astonishment.

“Well I’ll be damned!” he said loudly-

“What’s the matter?” Red said, leaving his turret and coming up to the lieutenant’s side.

The lieutenant was still staring at the dashboard with bewildered incredulity.

“I should be taken out and tossed in the Thames,” he said finally. He pointed emphatically at the compass. “Look at that! I’m a full ninety degrees off course. No wonder we’re heading into blizzard weather. We’re going straight north.”

“No!” Red said dazedly.

He stared at the compass, his lean features blank with astonishment.

“But how could that happen?” he said.

“Search me,” the lieutenant said sourly. “I guess I’m just the world’s worst navigator.” He kicked the right rudder and moved the stick slowly, bringing the ship about in a sharp right angle bank. The needle of the compass swung around to “E” and he straightened the plane out.

“That’s better,” he said. “Now we’re on course again and with a little luck we’ll flank this heavy weather.”

Tink was smiling triumphantly at Jing.

“You see?” he said. “We’re out of trouble.”

“But I don’t see how,” Jing said.

“Simple. I threw the compass off ninety degrees. We were heading east but the compass showed north. When the lieutenant corrected the position to east we actually turned due south.” So, Tink grinned, “we’re heading south now, toward warm weather. The plane won’t need de-icers in a little while.”

Jing clapped her hands together with pleasure.

“Why, that’s wonderful!” she cried.

Tink smiled modestly. “It was clever,” he admitted with only a shade of reluctance.

But an hour later, as the plane continued to wing its way south at high speed, his cheerfulness faded slightly. The weather was warmer but soupy and thick and the lieutenant was flying on instruments, getting farther off course every minute.

“I don’t know what to do now,” Tink confessed worriedly to Jing. “I don’t know where we are. And the lieutenant still thinks he’s flying on course. We may run out of gas and be too far from London to return.”

The lieutenant was scowling anxiously at his instruments and finally he turned to Red and said, “Something’s a bit wrong. I think we’re off course. I’m going to drop down and see if we can’t pick out a landmark.”

The plane started down through the dense massed clouds, the altimeter needle swinging dizzily as the plane slanted groundward.

Red’s loud incredulous voice suddenly broke the tense silence.

“It ain’t possible!” he cried. “My eyes are playing tricks on me.”

“What’s the matter?” the lieutenant demanded.

“We’re over water!” Red cried shrilly.

“That’s impossible,” the lieutenant snapped.

“Maybe so,” Red said dolefully, “but if that stuff below us ain’t water, it’s a darn good imitation.”

The lieutenant straightened the plane out and then scrambled to the side and peered down. He swallowed abruptly.

“You’re right,” he said in a shaken voice. “It is water.”

“Then where the hell are we?” Red asked helplessly. “This sure ain’t Europe unless they been having a lot of rain.”

The lieutenant was staring at” a mistily outlined shore line, and when he turned to Red, his face was pale.

“Red,” he said, in an odd, brittle, voice, “we’re over the Mediterranean, heading for Africa!”

“What!” Red stared at the lieutenant and his adam’s-apple bobbed rhythmically. He pointed feebly at the dashboard. “We can’t be!” he cried. “The compass says we’re heading east.”

“The compass in on the fritz,” the lieutenant said tersely.

“Oh my God!” Red said weakly. “More gremlin trouble.”

“Stop babbling about gremlins,” the lieutenant said. “This is a mechanical breakdown, nothing else. And we’re in a mighty tough spot.”

“Well what’re we going to do?” Red asked.

“There’s only one thing we can do,” the lieutenant answered. “We haven’t enough gas to make London, and if we return to the French coast, we’ll be captured and dumped into a German prison camp. We’ve got to try for Africa and hope we can find an allied airfield to land on.”

“Yeah, but there’s lots of Nazi airfields in Africa,” Red said, “especially along the coast. How’re we goin’ to tell one from another?”

“Let’s worry about that when we get there,” the lieutenant said.

Tink listened to this conversation in silent misery. He turned to Jing with sagging shoulders.

“I’ve certainly made a mess of things,” he said dolefully.

“That’s no way to feel,” Jing said. “You saved them from the storm, didn’t you? It isn’t your fault that this other trouble came along.”

“I know,” Tink said miserably. “But that’s not much consolation.”

The sun was edging an orange shoulder over the horizon when they sighted the ragged coastline of Africa, and after a few more minutes they were able to make out the camouflaged site of an airfield.

“Maybe luck is with us,” Red said jubilantly. “That looks like home-sweet-home to me.”

“Maybe,” the lieutenant said grimly. “If it isn’t, we’re too low on gas to do much scouting around.”

They headed in over the airport at about five thousand feet, coming down out of the early sun to keep out of sight as long as possible.

“I can see some fighters warming up,” Red said excitedly.

“Take a good look,” the lieutenant said. “Are they ours?”

“Can’t tell yet. Drop in a little closer.”

“Okay,” the lieutenant said. He shoved the stick forward slowly. “But make up your mind pretty fast. We’ll be in their laps soon.”

Red was standing in the turret peering downward, his eyes narrowed to thin slits as he strained to make out the insignia of the planes on the ground.

“I think I got ’em,” he said.

“What’s the verdict?”

“Start climbing,” Red said tersely, turning from the turret. His voice was dull and flat as he said, “They’re Focke-Wulf, 109’s!”

“Judas Priest!” the lieutenant whispered softly.

He jerked the stick back into his stomach and gunned the ship, but there was an ominous sputter from the left engine as the plane took the extra gas.

“We’re about through,” he said. “Did they see us?”

“Can’t tell,” Red said. “They’re still on the ground. But it’s a cinch they heard us.”

The lieutenant nursed the plane to eight thousand feet, but then the left engine conked, and a few seconds later, the powerful throbbing of the second engine began to fade to a labored cough.

“We’ll have to land,” the lieutenant said. “Can’t do much about it. It’s the law of gravity.”

They slanted down in a long sweeping dive that carried them toward a distant fringe of vegetation that marked the beginning of the trackless jungle wastes.

“I always wanted to do a little big game hunting,” Red said, and his voice sounded hollow and loud in the unnatural quietness of the cabin.

“Then this is your chance,” the lieutenant said.

At three thousand feet they were over the green carpet of jungle, heading inland at a dead speed of almost three hundred miles an hour.

“We’re going to hit pretty hard, aren’t we?” Red asked.

The lieutenant nodded. “Pretty hard. I’ll try and break it as much as possible with a couple of short climbs, but it’s going to be pretty hard.”

Ten minutes later, the fuselage of the plane was sweeping over the tops of the trees.

Tink took Jing’s hand and held it tightly.

“We’ll be all right,” he said, “and maybe we’ll save the lieutenant and Red.”

The lieutenant suddenly stood up and moved quickly toward the tail of the plane.

“Come on, Red,” he said, speaking quickly. “This is it.”

A moment later, the plane scraped the tops of the highest trees, twisted slightly and then plowed straight ahead into a dense mass of foliage that snapped under its speed with a hissing scrape. It plunged groundward, sweeping a clean wide swash through the underbrush and finally settling with a rocking crash against the yielding mass of tangled jungle vines and foliage.

Brilliantly plumaged birds wheeled from nearby trees and circled the spot with high piercing screams of terror, before streaking away into the bright dawn. A curious unnatural silence gradually settled over the wreckage of the once-trim plane...

Chapter IV

Tink held Jing tightly until the plane had come to its rocking swaying stop, then he looked down anxiously at the young lieutenant sprawled on the floor.

The young man wasn’t hurt seriously. He had been thrown to the floor with the impact of the crash, but he was breathing, and even as Tink watched he raised himself with one hand and shook his head groggily.

The cameraman, Red, was lying farther toward the rear of the plane and his eyes were closed and his face was a deathly white. Tink saw that his left leg was buckled under him at a twisted, unnatural angle.

The lieutenant crawled slowly to his feet and stood upright, swaying slightly, his hands pressed to his forehead.

“Is he all right?” Jing whispered.

“He seems to be,” Tink said, “but the other one has a broken leg, I think.”

The lieutenant knelt beside Red and felt his pulse. Then, with a relieved expression on his face, he stood up and stumbled toward the door. He opened it with difficulty, and climbed down to the thick, soft carpeting of jungle underbrush.

The plane had fortunately landed in a small clearing and this had saved it from complete destruction. If it had crashed against one of the towering trees that bordered the clearing it would have been battered into a total wreck.

Tink and Jing followed the lieutenant outside.

“I wonder where Nastee is?” Jing asked.

“We probably won’t see much of him,” Tink said. “He’ll be smart enough to keep out of my way for a while.”

The young lieutenant staggered slowly to the middle of the clearing and looked helplessly about with bleak eyes. He put a hand to his forehead and shook his head slowly.

“He doesn’t look very good,” Jing said. “Isn’t there something we could do for him?”

The lieutenant turned slowly and started back for the plane but he hadn’t taken half a dozen steps before he staggered and dropped to one knee. He made an effort to rise, but his legs gave beneath him and he fell slowly forward on his face. He lay on the rotting floor of the jungle, motionless and inert, and for an instant Tink thought he was dead. But then he saw the slow, uneven rise and fall of his chest and he knew he still lived.

“Oh, the poor man,” Jing cried. “We’ve got to do something for him.”

They started across the clearing, but suddenly, to their left, a mighty rumbling roar sounded, and they froze in their tracks. There was a heavy rustling in the tangled underbrush that enclosed the little clearing, and then a great head appeared over the top of the brush, its great mouth opened wide and another thunderous roar rocked the ground.

Jing clung to Tink, trembling, as the underbrush parted and a mighty lion stalked slowly into the clearing, its red eyes intent on the motionless figure of the man lying on the ground.

“What is it?” she asked fearfully.

“I don’t know,” Tink said. “It’s awful big, isn’t it?”

The lion paused for a second on the edge of the clearing, its tail lashing slowly and its little eyes flicking alertly from side to side. Then it trotted slowly across the clearing toward the lieutenant’s sprawled body.

“Come on,” Tink said urgently.

“What are you going to do?” Jing said, and her voice was almost a wail.

“I–I don’t know,” Tink said. For once in his life he was completely stumped. Nothing in his experience had prepared him for a situation like this, but he knew he couldn’t just stand by and watch the lieutenant be devoured by this great beast.

He started across the clearing running as fast as he could, but the lion reached the lieutenant before him. It paused for an instant sniffing the ground and then it put one huge paw on the lieutenant’s shoulder and turned him over. A deep rumble sounded in his throat and his tail lashed ominously as its little red eyes stared into the man’s white, still face.

Tink and Jing reached the lieutenant’s side and Tink felt his courage deserting him as he stared incredulously at the size of the monstrous beast.

He took an involuntary step backward and something sharp jabbed painfully into his back.

“Ouch!” he cried.

He looked around and saw that he had bumped into a long, shiny thorn. He rubbed his back ruefully, and then a sudden idea occurred to him. He pulled the thorn from the ground and regarded it with speculative eyes. It was almost twice as long as he was, and its thin hard point was as sharp as a needle.

Jing was watching him anxiously.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

Tink’s jaw was set firmly.

“We’re going to attack!” he said grimly.

“With thorns?” Jing asked incredulously.

“It’s all we’ve got,” Tink said. “But,” he added, rubbing his back tenderly, “I think it might be enough.”

He trotted toward the lion, and when he reached the beast’s massive forepaw he extended the thorn like a lance and drove forward, head lowered, with all his strength.

The needle-sharp point dug into the lion’s tender paw with all of Tink’s weight behind it.

The lion roared and lifted the paw into the air. His little eyes flickered with rage. Jing had decided on a rear attack and as the lion stood irresolutely on three feet, glaring in baffled anger about the clearing, she drove a thorn into his hind paw.

The lion wheeled, snarling wildly.

His long tail lashed about and there were flecks of murderous rage in the close-set, red eyes. Tink backed slightly away and then dashed in again, imbedding the thorn in the same spot he had first attacked.

The lion turned and its giant paw flicked out blindly, tearing the thorn from Tink’s hand. The impetus of the blow dumped Tink to the ground a dozen feet away. He crawled to his feet, dazed and bruised, and limped back to the attack.

But the fight was over. Jing’s second thrust drove in between the lion’s claws and with a frightful roar the great beast bounded from the clearing.

Tink hurried to Jing’s side.

“Are you all right?” he asked anxiously.

Jing was smiling widely.

“I feel wonderful,” she said. Her face sobered as she glanced at the young lieutenant who was stirring slightly. “What are we going to do with him?” she asked.

“I think he’s all right,” Tink said. “He just passed out from shock. When he comes to, he’ll feel better.”

The lieutenant opened his eyes slowly and then struggled to a sitting position. He passed a hand dazedly over his forehead.

“I must’ve blacked out,” he muttered. “Childish thing to do.” A frown creased his forehead. “I must’ve had a nightmare. I can still hear something ringing in my ears like a lion’s roar.”

He crawled slowly to his feet and glanced around.

“Just nerves, I guess,” he muttered. “There’s probably not a lion within a hundred miles.”

Jing glanced at Tink and smiled. The lieutenant returned to the plane and came out a few minutes later, carrying Red’s unconscious form. He stretched the young cameraman on the ground in the shade of the plane and loosened the tight collar. While he was holding a canteen of water to Red’s lips the cameraman stirred and shook his head weakly from side to side. The water trickled down his neck.

“What’s the idea?” he said, his voice a feeble whisper. But there was a faint grin at the edges of his pain-stiffened mouth.

“How do you feel?” the lieutenant asked quietly.

“Not so hot. I’d be better if you’d stop trying to drown me.”

The lieutenant smiled. “Just saving you the bother of your Saturday night bath, that’s all.”

Red glanced around the clearing. “Let’s cut the comedy,” he said. “Do we have any chance of getting out of here? Don’t soften the blow. If we’re sunk I can take it.”

The lieutenant shrugged. “Can’t say, yet. We may be within range of allied reconnaissance planes. If so, we’ve got a fair chance of being spotted and picked up.”

“Doesn’t sound too good to me,” Red said. “That ‘if’ is a little too large. Now, how about my leg?”

“Is it bothering you much?”

Red grinned whitely.

“Not much.”

“I can set it,” the lieutenant said. “And a couple of these saplings around here will make fine splints. So you haven’t got a thing to worry about.”

“Wonderful,” Red said. “And how much food and water have we got.”

“Plenty,” the lieutenant said. “Anyway,” he added wryly, “we’ve got some.”

“Fine,” Red said. “Imagine! I thought we were in a tough spot and it turns out to be a flyer’s Valhalla. Better get busy on this leg, Doctor. I’ve got a date with a blonde tonight.”

“Right away,” the lieutenant said.

The two leprechauns had crept close to listen, and now Jing turned worriedly to Tink and said, “We’ve got to do something to help these poor men. They won’t be able to stand it here more than a few days.”

“That’s right,” Tink said, “but I don’t know what to do. Do you think we could find our way to an allied air field?” He shook his head and answered his own question. “No, that wouldn’t work.”

“How long do you think they can last here?” Jing asked.

Tink looked up at the sky and shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said moodily. “Well, we simply can’t disappoint that poor girl,” Jing said heatedly. “She’s expecting her lieutenant back and I intend to see that he gets back!”

But four days later, Jing’s confident resolve was fading with each passing hour. On the first day, an allied plane had flown overhead, but apparently the pilot hadn’t seen the lieutenant’s frantic signaling. Two days had passed since then, and there was no evidence of any rescue party.

“Oh, Tink,” Jing said desperately, “we simply must do something!”

“But what?” Tink said. He glanced across the clearing to the small lean-to which the lieutenant had built for Red. The cameraman was resting fairly comfortably in its shade, his splinted leg propped up on a pillow of moss. But the food and water situation was becoming critical. Tink knew that the lieutenant hadn’t been eating or drinking his share of the rations, but had given them to Red. Still there was only a crumb or two and a few drops of water left.

It was evening of the fourth day when they heard the sudden, out-of-place sound of a motor reverberating through the drowsy stillness of the jungle. And a few minutes later, they could hear the dry crackle of underbrush and the bouncing, jogging noise of a truck as it plodded its way through the tangled trail.

The lieutenant appeared at the door of the plane, his face alight with hope. Red crawled out of his lean-to and waved joyfully at him.

“Pack my grips,” he yelled. “I think I’m checking out of this hotel.”

A second later, the underbrush parted and the hood of a gray truck broke into the clearing. The truck stopped and the powerful cough of the motor faded into silence. A slim figure under a crash helmet slid from behind the wheel and dropped to the ground.

“Hello there, Lieutenant Diggles,” a light voice called.

The lieutenant was staring at the slim driver with dazed, incredulous eyes.

“It’s a mirage,” he said hoarsely. “If I shut ray eyes it’ll go away.”

“No it won’t. The air corps maintenance is a lot more substantial than you think,” the light, clear voice said.

The driver pulled off the huge, cowled crash helmet and lustrous dark hair fell down in long waves. A pair of smiling eyes laughed at the lieutenant.

“Ann Masterson at your service, Lieutenant Diggles,” the overalled driver said.

Chapter V

Jing smiled happily as the lieutenant vaulted from the door of the plane and ran across the clearing to the girl’s side.

“Darling!” he cried. “I can’t believe it’s really you.”

He took her in his arms and kissed her impulsively.

Ann put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him slightly away.

“That should convince you,” she laughed.

Red whistled approvingly.

“Lady,” he yelled, “I don’t believe in you, either. Come on over here and convince these poor old eyes of mine.”

“And he doesn’t mean eyes,” the lieutenant said. He grinned and shook her gently. “Come on now, honey, give! How’d you get here?”

“It’s very simple,” Ann said. “The day after you left I received my orders, transferring me to an allied air base here in Tunisia. This was my first job. One of our reconnaissance planes spotted you two days ago and I was sent out with supplies and equipment. Our base is only about twenty-five miles from here, but I was the only one there the colonel could spare for this trip. It wasn’t a bit dangerous, because all of this territory is controlled by the Allies and we have the entire region under constant aerial reconnaissance.

I’ve been in radio contact with the base since I left this morning, so they know I found you.”

She glanced at the plane with competent, experienced eyes.

“How are the chances of flying out?”

“Fair,” the lieutenant said. “Provided you brought along the right parts, I can do the repairs.”

“If it’s a chance,” the girl said, “I won’t take it. I can pile you all in the truck and have you back at the base in eight hours.”

The lieutenant glanced in Red’s direction and then lowered his voice.

“We’ll have to fly him out,” he said. “He couldn’t stand eight hours bouncing around in the back of a truck.”

“I heard that,” Red suddenly cried belligerently, “and it’s a lot of nonsense. I’m not going to risk everybody’s neck just so I can be flown out of here on a rubber mattress. We’ll go back in the truck.”

“We’ll go back as I see fit,” the lieutenant snapped. “I’m in command here.”

“I’m sure I’ve got everything you’ll need,” the girl said. “But I don’t know if I’ve got enough gas. I’ve got some, but it will be barely enough to get us from here to the base if we take the plane.”

“Well, that’s all we need,” the lieutenant said.

“Shall we get to work on the repairs right away?” Arm said.

The lieutenant ran a hand through his dark hair and his teeth flashed whitely against the black stubble of his four-day’s beard.

“Dou you bring along anything to eat?” he asked wistfully.

“Why, certainly,” Ann smiled. “I have some canned broth, sandwiches, a thermos of coffee and even a pint of whiskey.”

“Stop it!” Red begged, holding both hands to his ears. “I can’t bear to hear those things mentioned.”

“I think we’d better eat first and then tackle our repair job,” the lieutenant said.

Tink and Jing went aboard the plane while the lieutenant, Ann and Red were eating, and in one of the dark corners of the cabin Tink stumbled unexpectedly upon Nastee.

Nastee crouched in the corner as Tink stared down at him, hands resting belligerently on his hips.

“So,” he said, “This is where you’ve been hiding.”

“I haven’t been hiding,” Nastee said. He glanced warily from Tink to Jing. “You aren’t mad at me, are you?” His eyes met Jing’s in a mute plea for sympathy. “I froze my left ear out on that wing, you know.”

“It serves you just right,” Jing said. “Aren’t you ashamed of all the trouble you’ve caused these poor people?” Nastee started to reply, but Tink cut him short.

“Nastee isn’t ashamed of anything he did,” he said. “But he’d lie and say he was, to save his own skin. You’re lucky everything’s turned out all right or you’d have me on your neck for life, because this time I’m really mad.”

“Did everything turn out all right?” Nastee asked cautiously.

“Yes,” Tink said grimly. “A unit from an allied field just arrived with food and supplies. The plane will be ready to take-off in a day or so.”

Nastee looked humbly at the floor. “That’s good,” he said, sighing heavily.

Cut it out,” Tink said disguestedly. “Your acting isn’t impressing anyone.” He turned to Jing decisively. “While we have him here I think we ought to make sure he doesn’t cause any more trouble. Let’s lock him in the machine gun breech until we reach the allied field.”

But Jing’s eyes had softened as Nastee looked pleadingly at her.

“I think this time he’s learned his lesson, Tink,” she said. “Let’s give him another chance.”

“All right,” Tink said grimly, “but no more monkey business or into the gun breech you go.”

“I’ll be good,” Nastee said humbly.

“I doubt it,” Tink said.

“You’re just too callous, Tink,” Jing said, coming to Nastee’s defense.

Tink shrugged helplessly.

“Maybe the lieutenant was right,” he muttered.

“About what?” Jing asked.

“About women in war time,” Tink said. “They should be home baking bread while the men do the fighting.”

Jing sniffed. “You’re just as vain and unreasonable as all men.”

“All right,” Tink sighed, “let’s don’t argue about it.”

They left the plane and started across the clearing where the lieutenant and the girl were packing away the remains of their lunch.

The jungle was quiet and there was only the whisper of a breeze moving the brush. Night was dropping quickly.

“It seems as if we’re on another planet,” Ann said, glancing about at the brooding darkness of the jungle. “It doesn’t seem possible that there’s another human within a thousand miles of us.”

A twig snapped suddenly at the edge of the clearing. The lieutenant looked up quickly, his lean face tense.

His hand started for the revolver at his belt, but a harsh voice suddenly said, “Please, do not move.”

The brush parted and two uniformed figures moved into the clearing. Each held a German Luger in his right hand, and the muzzles of the guns were pointed unwaveringly at the three Americans.

Chapter VI

“Germans!” Jing whispered tensely in Tink’s ear.

Tink took her hand in his and held it tightly.

The Germans stopped a dozen feet from the Americans. Their breeches and leather jackets were stained and torn, and their eyes were red-rimmed with fatigue. But the hands that held the guns were steady as rocks. They both wore wings over the sharp peaks of their garrison caps.

“Permit me,” one of them spoke, his voice harsh and mocking. “Captain Myers, of the Luftwaffe, at your service.” He gestured negligently to the man who stood beside him. “Oberleutnant Schmidt, my navigator. You are Americans?”

Lieutenant Diggles stood up slowly. “Yes, we are Americans,” he said. “We crashed here a week ago. My cameraman’s leg was broken.”

“What a coincidence,” the German captain said. “We too crashed, but many miles from here. We are on our way to the coast. This territory is temporarily in British hands and isn’t too healthy for our Nordic blood.”

He glanced at the plane and then back to Lieutenant Diggles.

“Can your ship be repaired?”

He intercepted the warning glance the lieutenant flashed at Ann, and smiled.

“I see,” he said. He looked at the gray service truck that was parked on the opposite side of the clearing. “Your ship can be repaired. I gather the young lady came here in the truck from some nearby allied field with the necessary equipment. How convenient.”

“What do you mean?” Lieutenant Diggles said.

“We will need your plane to make our escape,” the captain said. “Frankly our chances of working our way through this territory to the coast are not good. But we can fly to one of your bases from here in the matter of an hour or so. Tomorrow we will repair your plane. And now we will eat.”

Ann angrily dropped the large tin food receptacle at their feet.

“There,” she said, “with all my love. “You’d take it anyway.”

“Quite right, my dear,” the captain murmured. “We Germans discovered long ago that only fools and weaklings ever ask for anything.”

He looked steadily at Ann until a slow angry flush colored the girl’s cheeks.

“How lovely you are, my dear,” the captain said, bowing slightly. “This may be the start of a beautiful friendship.” His voice suddenly hardened again as he swung on Lieutenant Diggles. “We need sleep. My comrade, Oberleutnant Schmidt, will watch while I rest, and I will watch while he rests. If you have any foolish ideas of resisting, get rid of them before they cause you trouble. I warn you, if you make a move we will shoot the girl first.”

He sat down on the ground beside the container and opened it greedily.

“While we are eating,” he said, smiling gently, “I think you had better gather some moss and make me a nice comfortable bed.” He gestured impatiently with his gun as the American lieutenant hesitated, his face hardening angrily.

“You had better do as I say,” the captain murmured, “or I might find it necessary to put a bullet through one of your arms. That wouldn’t be pleasant. Quickly!”

He chuckled contentedly and dug into the food container as the American lieutenant began to gather armfuls of moss and spread them on the ground.

The next morning, under the armed supervision of the German officers, the job of repairing the plane was begun. The American lieutenant had prepared an inventory of the damage and the type and number of replacement parts that would be needed.

Captain Myers studied the list for a while and then ordered the lieutenant to get busy.

“And remember,” he added. “I am completely familiar with these machines, so don’t make any foolish attempt to sabotage the plane. And I also know how long each job should take, so I will not tolerate any stalling. Now get busy! We intend to take-off before dark tonight. Oberleutnant Schmidt will help you and also see to it that you don’t do anything foolish.”

All through the heat of the day Lieutenant Diggles worked on the plane, replacing damaged parts, inspecting every instrument; and the oberleutnant dogged his heels, watching his every move with small, suspicious eyes.

Finally the lieutenant straightened up from the undercarriage where he had tightened several loose bolts, and wiped his streaming face with a grease rag.

“That does it,” he said, and he couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice.

Captain Myers was lying in the shade watching the American work.

“Excellent,” he said heartily. “Are you sure that everything is in good shape?”

“Perfectly sure,” Tom Diggles snapped.

The captain nodded contentedly.

“Now, if you’ll be so kind as to clear away the brush from the clearing and swing the plane about, we won’t impose on your hospitality any longer. One other thing,” he added, with a soft little smile, “if the plane isn’t in excellent working order it will be most unfortunate for the young lady.”

“What do you mean?” Tom demanded.

The German captain flicked a speck of dust from his breeches before replying.

“Because,” he murmured, “she is coming with us.” He smiled. “She looks as if she might be amusing under different circumstances. So you see it would be a great pity if the plane wasn’t in excellent condition. Because if it crashes, she will crash also. Are you sure now that there isn’t something you’ve overlooked? Some little detail which just escaped your mind?”

“I said the plane was ready to go,” the young American lieutenant told him frostily, “and I meant it.”

“I’m quite sure you did,” Captain Myers smiled, “but still the best of us are sometimes forgetful.”

“What about my cameraman?” Tom asked. “That leg of his needs medical attention badly. Will you take him along too?”

The captain shook his head.

“I’m not interested in his condition,” he said.

“I didn’t think you would be,” Tom said grimly. “You may get away with this Captain,” he said, and his voice was as hard and cold as ice, “but if we ever meet again I think you’ll regret what you are doing.”

“I admire your sense of the dramatic,” Captain Myers smiled, “but it is extremely unlikely that we will ever meet again. For when we take-off from this place you will be bound securely to one of these trees. It’s only a logical precaution; you must see that. But after we leave there won’t be anyone left to set you free, so you will undoubtedly have a nice long wait before anyone happens along this way. The chances are that some hungry animal with no discrimination will find you a satisfying meal. But it will have to be very hungry before it will eat an American.”

He leaned back, smiling at his joke. “Now get busy, my young friend, before I decide to shoot you immediately. Your usefulness to me is over, but I enjoy seeing you clear away rubble, and slave like a stupid mule under my orders. That is quite satisfying to me, but I will forego that satisfaction and kill you quickly if you don’t get busy.”

In an hour’s time the American lieutenant had cleared a section of the ground and, with Oberleutnant Schmidt’s help, had swung the plane about to face it.

Captain Myers got to his feet then and walked across to the lean-to where Ann was changing the dressing on Red’s broken leg.

“You will “not have time to finish that errand of mercy,” he said ironically.

“I understand you are taking me with you,” Ann said evenly.

“That is correct,” the captain said. He smiled and bowed politely. “Don’t look so cold, my dear. In Nazi Germany there can be a great future for a young woman who is both intelligent and beautiful.”

“Listen, you Nazi rat,” Red yelled, “if you lay a hand on her I’ll tear your head from your shoulders.”

The captain clapped his hands together in mock applause.

“Bravo!” he cried. “Spoken like a true American. Full of fury and indignation and stupidity.” He gestured sharply to the oberleutnant.

“We must be leaving,” he said. “See that these two are bound securely.” The oberleutnant worked with methodical speed and thoroughness. He removed the American’s belts, forced them to sit with their backs to thick trees and bound their arms behind them, with swift sure loops of the stout leather.

Red twisted in pain and beads of sweat broke on his forehead. But not a sound passed his tightly locked lips.

Ann watched the scene with hot, dry eyes. Her cheeks were flaming with an anger that was too deep for tears.

“You beasts!” she cried. “You inhuman beasts! You can’t leave these men here to die.”

“That is where you are wrong,” Captain Myers smiled. “You don’t appreciate our philosophy yet. It isn’t that I enjoy doing this, but it is necessary, therefore it must be done. When you have spent some time with me you will better understand our methods and principles.”

“You have none,” Ann cried, in helpless fury. “You’re like jungle beasts masquerading in human form. There isn’t a decent emotion in your body.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” the captain said blandly. “But our method is successful and that is what counts.”

“But how long will it be successful?” the American lieutenant asked quietly, but there was a better anger in his voice. “For every one of us you kill there are a thousand to step forward to take our places. And even the Nazis can’t kill enough to silence every man who is joining the fight against them.”

“I am not interested in these idle discussions,” the captain said. He nodded to the oberleutnant. “You may put the girl aboard now. And it might be a wise idea to bind her also. She is a bit too temperamental to be left loose. She might do something foolish. We must save her from herself.”

The oberleutnant pinioned the girl’s arms behind her before she could make a move, and with his own belt, strapped her elbows tightly to her sides.

He led her to the plane and helped her inside.

When the girl had disappeared into the plane, Jing turned furiously on Tink.

“If you don’t do something, Tink, I’ll never speak to you again,” she blazed.

“I’m trying,” Tink said desperately. He scratched his head anxiously. “Let’s go inside,” he said.

They went aboard the plane. The German oberleutnant had shoved the girl into a chair and was standing at the controls, just in front of her.

“Couldn’t we untie her?” Jing suggested.

“How?” Tink said miserably. “We can’t reach the straps on her elbows. They’re too high.”

The German officer was bent over the controls and Jing looked at him with a sudden speculative gleam in her eyes. She glanced at the small, stout boots that Ann was wearing and then looked up again at the stooped form of the German. And as she made a mental measurement, an odd smile curved her lips.

“Tink,” she said, “I think I’ve got it.”

“Got what?”

“A way to untie the girl.”

“How?” Tink asked excitedly.

“Watch.”

She crept under the chair until she reached the booted feet of the girl. With an inch-long piece of straw in her hand, she raised herself on tip-toe and moved aside the cuff of the girl’s trousers.

Tink watched her in open, undisguised bewilderment.

“What’s the idea?” he asked.

Jing didn’t bother to answer. With a prayerful, beseeching expression on her face, she jabbed the tiny piece of sharp straw against the girl’s bare ankle.

“Ouch!” Ann cried.

Instinctively her foot lashed out and, without deliberate intent on her part, the stout toe of her shoe collided with the most prominently exposed section of the German officer’s anatomy. She hadn’t kicked him purposely. The movement of her foot had been simply a reflexive reaction against a sharp little scratch on her ankle.

Oberleutnant Schmidt straightened with an indignant cry and with both hands clasped the injured section of his body. He swung about and glared angrily at Ann.

“So?” he cried. “You are up to schweinhund American tricks already!”

“I didn’t mean to kick you,” Ann said. “I’m not sorry, of course, but it was quite accidental. And I wish more accidents would turn out so satisfyingly,” she added scathingly.

“We will make sure that no more ‘accidents’ like that happen,” the German snapped.

He grabbed a piece of wire and bound her ankles together. Then he lifted her from the chair and dumped her to the floor.

“Now there will be no more smart tricks,” he cried.

“I can still bite,” Ann said grimly, from the floor, “and all I want is a chance.”

The oberleutant laughed and turned back to the controls, and Ann twisted herself on one side and stared helplessly at the wall of the cabin. And in that position the straps that secured her elbows were touching the floor.

Tink patted Jing solemnly on the shoulder.

“You,” he said, “are a genius.”

“Oh, hurry,” Jing cried. “You can untie her now, can’t you?”

“Sure thing,” Tink said.

He was tugging at the prong of the buckle when Captain Myers climbed aboard and said. “We are ready to leave, Schmidt?”

“Right away,” the oberleutant said. He turned the ignition switch and the smooth, powerful roar of the twin motors was soon reverberating in the cabin.

The captain smiled down at Ann and nudged her with the toe of his boot.

“And how is our spirited and beautiful prisoner?” he asked genially.

“Hurry, Tink!” Jing said pleadingly.

“I’m trying,” he said, through set teeth. But the prong of the buckle was under pressure and he couldn’t budge it.

“Not very talkative, eh?” Captain Myers murmured. “Well, you’ll change that attitude soon enough.”

He turned his back to Ann and nodded to his junior officer.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said, “you may take-off. I will take the controls when we get in the air.”

The oberleutnant released the brake and the plane started forward slowly. And at that same instant Tink put all his strength into one last effort and the prong slipped from its hole in the leather and the straps hung loosely on the girl’s arms.

Ann felt the pressure of the straps release and she moved her arms incredulously. She was free! In some miraculous fashion the buckle must have slipped.

She raised herself cautiously to a sitting position. There was no time to remove the wire from ankles; the captain was standing directly in front of her and the gun at his hip was within reach of her hand.

She reached for it, and with one quick motion, jerked it from the holster. The captain spun around, his hand snapping frantically to his hip, but he was too late. He found himself staring into the muzzle of his own gun, held unwaveringly in the hand of a girl who looked as if she would relish shooting the eyes out of his head.

“Tell him to stop the plane!” Ann snapped, and there was no mistaking the grim gesture she made with the gun. She was ready to fire — immediately!

“Schmidt! Stop!” Captain Myers said frantically.

The oberleutnant looked over his shoulder and his eyes widened with sudden incredulous horror as he saw the gun pointing at his head.

He stopped the plane and swung around in the pilot’s seat.

“Don’t shoot!” he said, his lips trembling so that he could hardly get the words out.

“Open the door and get out,” Ann said grimly. “And I wouldn’t advise you to make a run for it.”

The oberleutnant stood up and moved slowly toward the door, but when he passed behind the captain, he suddenly ducked low, slipped to one side and dove for the girl.

She shot him in the right shoulder without changing expression. He fell at her feet, moaning softly.

“I didn’t like doing that,” Ann said quietly to the captain, “but I borrowed a little of your philosophy for the moment. They fight fire with fire in America, and we can learn to fight you with your own tactics if that’s the only way we can exterminate Naziism.”

The captain licked his lips and said nothing.

“Now back up,” the girl said.

When the captain backed away, the girl unwrapped the wire from her ankles with one hand and then stood up, still covering the German with his gun.

“Open the door and step out,” she ordered.

Tink and Jing hugged each other as the captain climbed out of the plane with the girl close behind him, pointing the gun squarely at his head.

Red and the young lieutenant watched the two emerge from the plane with incredulous expressions on their faces.

“I don’t believe it,” Tom Diggles said feebly. “It’s a mirage.”

“You’re still underestimating the air corps maintenance,” Ann said. “We’re pretty substantial.”

Red yelled happily, “That ain’t the half of it. Where’s the other kraut-head?”

“In the plane,” Ann said, as she came to a stop before them. “He’s not feeling awfully good right now.” She jabbed the gun into the captain’s back. “Get down on your knees and untie those two men,” she said.

When the lieutenant climbed to his feet he grinned at the girl.

“Will you pardon me a minute, I’ve got a little job to handle?”

“What, Tom?”

“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.