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"Goes back to 1720. Father to son. That's a lot of tradition to try to
fight."
The King grunted. "That's quite a time!" Then he added, "I only know about my
dad and his dad. Before that - nothing. Least, my folks were supposed to have
come over from the old country in the '80's."
"From England?"
"Hell no. I think Germany. Or maybe Middle Europe. Who the hell cares? I'm an
American and that's all that counts."
"Marlowes are in the service and that's that!"
"Hell no. It's up to you. Look. Take you now. You're in the chips 'cause
you're using your brains. You'd be a great businessman if you wanted to. You
can talk like a Wog, right? I need your brains. I'm paying for the brains
now don't get on your goddam high horse. That's American style. You pay for
brains. It's got nothing to do with us being buddies. Nothing. If I didn't
pay, then I'd be a bum."
"That's wrong. You don't have to be paid to help a bit."
"You sure as hell need an education. I'd like to get you in the States and
put you on the road. With your phony Limey accent you'd knock the broads dead.
You'd clean up. We'll put you in ladies' underwear."
"Holy God." Peter smiled with him, but the smile was tinged with horror. "I
could no more try to sell something than fly."
"You can fly."
"I meant without a plane."
"Sure. I was making a joke."
The King glanced at his watch. "Times goes slow when you're waiting."
"I sometimes think we'll never get out of this stinking hole."
"Eh, Uncle Sam's got the Nips on the run. Won't take long. Even if it does,
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what the hell? We've got it made, buddy. That's all that counts."
The King looked at his watch. "We'd better take a powder."
"What?"
"Get going."
"Oh!" Peter Marlowe got up. "Lead on, Macduff!" he said happily.
"Huh?"
"Just a saying."It means 'Let's take a powder.'"
Happy now that they were friends once more, they started into the jungle.
Crossing the road was easy. Now that they had passed the area patrolled by the
roving guard, they followed a short path and were within quarter of a mile of
the wire. The King led, calm and confident. Only the clouds of fireflies and
mosquitoes made their progress unpleasant
"Jesus. The bugs are bad."
"Yes. If I had my way I'd fry them all," Peter Marlowe whispered back.
Then they saw the bayonet pointing at them, and stopped dead in their tracks.
The Japanese was sitting leaning against a tree, and his eyes were fixed on
them, a frightening grin stretching his face, and the bayonet was held propped
on his knees.
Their thoughts were the same. Christ! Utram Road! I'm dead.Kill!
The King was the first to react. He leaped at the guard and tore the
bayoneted rifle away, rolled as he twisted aside, then got to his feet, the
rifle butt high to smash it into the man's face. Peter Marlowe was diving for
the guard's throat. A sixth sense warned him and his clutching hands avoided
the throat and he slammed into the tree.
"Get away from him!" Peter Marlowe sprang to his feet and grabbed the King
and pulled him out of the way.
The guard had not moved. The same wide-eyed malevolent grin was on his face.
"What the hell?" the King gasped, panicked, the rifle still held high above
his head.
"Get away! For Christ's sake hurry!" Peter Marlowe jerked the rifle out of
the King's hands and threw it beside the dead Japanese. Then the King saw the
snake in the man's lap.
"Jesus," he croaked as he went forward to take a closer look.
Peter Marlowe caught him frantically. "Get away! Run, for God's sake!"
He took to his heels, away from the trees, carelessly crashing through the
undergrowth. The King raced after him, and only when they had reached the
clearing did they stop.
"You gone crazy?" The King winced, his breathing torturing him. "It was only
a goddam snake!"
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"That was a flying snake," Peter Marlowe wheezed. "They live in trees.
Instant death, old man. They climb the trees, then flatten their bodies and
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