Микки Спиллейн - Primal Spillane - Early Stories 1941-1942

“THE heck we are!” Pete growled fiercely. “There’s no dead man living that can get the better of me! Come on, let’s look around!”

The place was stone-walled. Not even a beetle moved about on the cold floor. The sides were vertical, smooth as glass. There was no chance of climbing those walls. Unlike the rooms above, this one was bare of furnishings. Apparently it was but a pit to trap the unwary! But then... Pete’s sharp eyes noticed a strange thing. There in the floor were two identical marks, as if made by a ladder that had borne a great weight.

He motioned to Hamilton. “Look here, Professor, do you make the same thing out of this that I do?”

The professor gasped.

“Ye gods, ladder marks! The mummy room must be off this!”

Immediately they got to work, and in a moment, by sheer chance, they hit it! A slight indentation marked the secret doorway. Running his fingers over the stone, the Professor touched a concealed spring and a door swung wide. There before their widened eyes, resting on a stone slab, was a sarcophagus of the dead king. This they were sure of, for it was inlaid with precious stones in a royal purple setting!

Only for a moment were they still, then with a little cry they jumped forward to inspect their treasure. The lid raised under their eager fingers and for the first time in many centuries, human eyes looked upon Tut Ken Amen! His body was wound tightly with what were once white strips of cloth, and in the stiffened hands was a sheaf of papers. The written history of ancient Egypt!

Suddenly the two grew rigid... although their find was one of the world’s greatest... it was useless, for they were as good as dead!

Dead, did we say? Not so, for already Pete’s agile mind was planing a way out. For a moment he talked earnestly to Professor Hamilton, then they got busy. Lifting the shriveled body from its resting place, they laid it gently on the floor. Then, getting a good hold, they dragged the mummy case from the slab, letting it thump, to the ground.

It was a hard task, and time passed swiftly, but with their lives at stake, neither paid any attention to its passage. At any moment the chemicals in their masks might give out, allowing the poisonous air to filter into their lungs. Through the open doorway they dragged the huge case, and set it up against the wall. Then the cover was hauled into position. Standing on top of the bottom of the case, Pete lifted the lid so that it stood on top. The way was clear, but the slightest misstep would spoil every bit of their efforts, for it was balanced precariously.

Pete helped the professor up, bracing their crude ladder. Using the designs on the casket as hand-holds, Hamilton reached the top. Then, stretching himself to the utmost, he grasped the floor edge above and pulled himself to safety. Pete followed at once, climbing very carefully. When he was within reach, the Professor grabbed his arms and yanked. They had defeated the curse!

Quickly they made their way to the opening, and stood breathing the fresh air and enjoying the sunlight without speaking for a full five minutes. The sun was low over the horizon, and coming up. They had been in the tomb a whole night!

Pete turned and grinned at Hamilton. “Kind of thought we wouldn’t make it there for a while. What now?”

“Let’s go get something to eat. I’m starved,” the professor said. “We’ll come back later and get the old boy out. I don’t think he’ll run away in the meantime!”

For the first time in his life, Warren Gates didn’t know what to think. The last three months he had been in Australia, the orders of the day bringing no more excitement than a letter from home. All he ever did was fly routine patrols over the broad expanse of blue water surrounding the continent “down under,” until it got to the point where a navigator on the speedy attack bomber was excess baggage. He could have found his way back from any point a thousand miles away on the local map, he was so used to the place.

Now he stood anxiously outside the squadron bulletin board, waiting for the orders to be posted. For days, rumors of some great impending event had circulated about the airdrome, and men had been confined to the limits of the field. Whatever was in the wind was important, and every man worried lest he be left out of the proceedings.

Warren nudged a pilot companion. “Wonder what’s up?”

“You got me, pal! All I hope is that my name’s there when we read off the score.”

“Me, too,” Warren answered. “I haven’t seen a Jappo since I’ve been here, and I’m dying for a crack at the punks!”

Hardly had he spoken when Major Briggs stepped out of the office and tacked a notice on the board: All flying officers and crew report to assembly this afternoon, 3 P.M. In an instant the bulletin was surrounded by men who stood in hushed silence. This looked like the memorable day!

The appointed time came quickly enough. Men grouped about the long table, gazing avidly at the maps spread out before them. Major Briggs had the floor.

“Men, tomorrow you have an important mission to perform. You are raiding Tokyo!”

The sudden news took them flat-footed. For a moment it looked like a cheer would burst out, but the seriousness of the situation quieted the men.

“You will follow this course, and the plan that I will outline to you now.” His voice dwindled, and every eye followed his finger as it went across the map.

Dawn broke clear and warm. On the smooth runway of the field, motors thundered a song of power. Warren climbed into his attack bomber and waited for the signal to go ahead. A green light blinked into his eyes, and the throttle went forward. The raid of Tokyo had begun! With the most precise flying, the group took off and pulled into formation. High up in the blue they leveled off and made themselves comfortable for the ten hour trip.

Below them the sea was dotted with ships. Some, no doubt, were the enemy’s, but there was no time to be wasted on them. Hour after hour went by, then the squadron leader’s voice came on.

“In twenty minutes we reach our objective. Dive to the rooftops then let ’em have it, boys!”

And before they knew it... there was Tokyo, capital city of the invader! In a roaring power dive, the planes swooped down. Faster and faster they went, then pulled out of the dive and went screaming toward the factories of the city, fair military objectives.

Eyes squinted behind the sights, and bomb toggles were pulled. Thunderous blasts from below spelled perfect timing... direct hits! As Warren swept over his targets, he noticed that the sky was free of enemy planes and anti-aircraft bursts. The surprise had been so complete that there was no resistance! Ahead of him was the last plant that was to taste a bomb. He went over it... felt the plane rise a little as it lost its load of explosives... then the sky was a writhing, glaring sheet of flame!

That place was a munitions plant! The plane skidded wildly, and pitched like a leaf in the wind. Warren tugged madly at the controls, but there was no response. In front of him the curtain of smoke parted, and he saw the rest of the squadron speeding toward the horizon, and they were alone in a crippled craft! He tried the controls again, and this time the ship responded but slightly. One look at the shattered wing surfaces told the story.

Greg Holmes, the navigator, poked him and pointed to a hayfield a mile off. Warren nodded and banked that way. The plane was losing altitude fast! It hit the field, bounced, and tore through two haystacks and pulled up against the side of a barn.

Warren looked around. “Everybody okay?”

Two voices, a bit breathless, shouted back.