Nick Carter - A Korean Tiger

Nick turned to his left as he slammed out of the compartment. The Kotos were two cars back. A massive, slab-shouldered goon at the end of the car was just getting to his feet, a dazed expression on his flat features. Nick shot him in the head. At that moment lead traced down the corridor and bounced off metal, whirring about him like angry bees. Nick turned as he gained the vestibule. Two more of her men were charging down the corridor after him. He fell to one knee, the Luger an extension of his pointed arm. He sighted carefully, brought them down with two shots. This was no time to waste ammunition. He was carrying only two spare clips.

He pelted through the next car as fast as he could run. Heads were popping out of compartment doors now and Nick kept yelling at the top of his voice: "Bandits — bandits! Stay in your compartments! Everybody stay in their compartments!" It might help keep the aisles clear and certainly it would add to the confusion.

As he ran through the next vestibule and entered the car where the Kotos were hiding he saw that it was going to be a narrow thing. Four or five rough-looking types were just spilling into the car from the other end. The "peasants" who had come aboard at Pusan-Ju hadn't taken long to figure out the deal. They were here to protect the Kotos — the Yellow Widow and Bennett!

The lead man had a Tommy gun. He saw Nick and raised the weapon, hailing lead down the corridor. Nick fell away to one side and down, fiat on his belly, feeling cold and naked. There was no cover! He poured a stream of fire down the corridor — if that bastard got off another burst with the Tommy gun, he was cooked. The man with the machine gun was running toward Nick now, but instead of spraying the coach at random he wasted time sighting the gun. That was his mistake. Nick shot him in the guts and he fell forward heavily, sprawling and blocking the narrow passage. The machine gun skidded nearly to Nick's outstretched hands. He fired twice more with the Luger, saw the other men turn and start running for the vestibule again. They had only pistols and knew what was coming.

Nick picked up the Tommy gun, stepped over the still twitching corpse, and sent a hell of fire down the corridor in short stuttering bursts. One of the retreating men screamed and lurched sideways in the vestibule. The others ran back into the next coach and slammed the door behind them.

He had gained a minute or two. Nick ran to Compartment B. This was no time for formalities. He shot away the lock and kicked in the door. All the time he was acting he was thinking — change of plans. Don't kill Bennett or the Widow right away. Might need them for hostages!

The window of the compartment was open. Her face was framed in the square against a background of hard sloshing rain. Nick got his one and only look at the infamous Yellow Widow. It was a face to haunt his dreams. Pale yellow flesh stretched taut over bone, the mouth slittcd and thin now but hinting of past sensualities. The eyes narrow and wide set, carbon black, hurling defiance at him even as she released her grip on the window sill and fell away. He caught a flutter of dark clothing; then she vanished.

Nick ran for the window, covering the little compartment in two leaps, sheathing the stiletto and jamming the Luger into his belt. He threw a leg over the sill and dropped to the shoulder of the track bed beside the train. He was instantly wet through, soaked to the skin, the downpour heavy on his head and shoulders. He kept the Tommy gun ready and peered toward the head of the train. No sign of them. He could see a few scattered lights and the sound of sporadic firing came to him. The lights of the first class cars sent narrow druggets of yellow into the wet gloom.

He spun around. Damn fool! They wouldn't go that way, to the front! The Widow knew what she was about. They would run back, back to where she had her peasants planted in the third class coaches. Nick started to run along the narrow, dangerously sloping shoulder. It fell steeply away here to a ditch. As he ran, stray bullets whimpered around him, parting the rain curtain with a sighing zing— sing— sing…

He saw them. The Widow had the slight figure of a man by the hand and was pulling him along over the treacherous footing. Nick increased his pace and brought the Tommy gun up and ready for firing. If worst came to worst, if they looked like getting away, he would have to kill them both. At least make sure of Bennett!

Somewhere in the gloom just beyond the fleeing couple a door opened and a glare of white light shot out and invaded the night. There was a tumble of figures down the car steps, out of the vestibule, silhouetted in the light. It was the military car, the tiger hunters! They had been drinking, and they were all armed, and the train was being attacked by the goddamned bandits and they all wanted in on the fun.

The little tableau took only a micro-second to enact. A ROK officer, staggering, with a bottle in one hand and a machine gun in the other, lurched away from the car. He saw the Widow and Bennett just as they ran into the band of light. Nick Carter, some twenty yards behind, could do nothing but watch. He saw an American officer leap from the car, yelling, heading for the ROK too late. The Tommy gun in the ROK's hand spewed a short burst of flame and the Widow fell.

Nick, gaining all the time, heard Bennett scream something. The man turned sharply to his left and plunged down the embankment, losing his footing and sliding head first into the gloom and out of the aura of light.

Nick Carter cut to his own left and slid down the bank. Gravel and sand carried him to the bottom on a miniature avalanche. A final glance into the light showed the end of the tableau — the Yank officer snatching the Tommy gun from the ROK and felling him with a smashing blow. The Widow was a crumpled dark figure near the car steps.

Nick fell into a deep ditch bordering the embankment at the bottom. It was totally dark here, away from the train, and rain smashed down without mercy. He was up to his knees in water. He stood perfectly still and listened, Bennett must be within a few yards of him. Nick's heart skipped a beat at the thought of losing the man now.

Something moved in the rain-encased night, a blob of something darker than the other shadows. Nick tensed, listening, straining every nerve. The man was coming toward him along the same ditch. There it was — the splash and suck of feet going in and out of mud and water. Nick crouched in the ditch and waited. Bennett was coming to him. From overhead came a long and frenzied burst of gunfire mingled with shouts and curses. Nick's grin was tight as he recognized a few choice Americanisms — the tiger hunters were getting into the fray in earnest. A nasty surprise for both groups of guerrillas — neither the Widow nor Colonel Kalinski could have reckoned on so many unfriendly guns.

Bennett had almost reached him by now. Nick stood like a statue, hardly breathing, as he ran the possibilities rapidly through his mind. His orders were to kill Bennett Not in so many words, perhaps, but it had been implied. A bullet in the soft tissues of the brain.

Yet there was the matter of positive identification. In this business you took nothing for granted. He thought the man edging toward him now was Raymond Lee Bennett — he was sure it was Bennett — yet he had to be positive, sure without any shadow of doubt. Nick's smile was harsh in the blinding rain. So ask the little creep! Point blank! Right out of the literal black of night — the reaction was sure to be a true one.

He could hear a whimpering sound now, an animal sound like a dog in pain. A whimpering and a breathy squealing and muttering. He realized that the man was crawling on all fours in the ditch, making very slow progress. And the muttering, the moaning, the complaining! Killmaster knew then that he had nothing to fear from the creature in the ditch — and also knew that he had a whole new set of problems.