[Illustration: Illustrator: Charles Berger]

BELLY LAUGH

By IVAR JORGENSEN

 _You hear a lot of talk these days about secret weapons. If it's not a new wrinkle in nuclear fission, it's a gun to shoot around corners and down winding staircases. Or maybe a nice new strain of bacteria guaranteed to give you radio-active dandruff. Our own suggestion is to pipe a few of our television commercials into Russia and bore the enemy to death. _

 _Well, it seems that Ivar Jorgensen has hit on the ultimate engine of destruction: a weapon designed to exploit man's greatest weakness. The blueprint can be found in the next few pages; and as the soldier in the story says, our only hope is to keep a sense of humor!_

Me? I'm looking for my outfit. Got cut off in that Holland Tunnelattack. Mind if I sit down with you guys a while? Thanks. Coffee? Damn!This is heaven. Ain't seen a cup of coffee in a year. 

What? You said it! This sure is a hell of a war. Tough on a guy's feet. Yeah, that's right. Holland Tunnel skirmish. Where the Ruskies used thatnew gun. Uhuh. God! It was awful. Guys popping off all around a guy andhim not knowing why. No sense to it. No noise. No wound. Just poppingoff. 

That's the trouble with this war. It won't settle down to a routine. Always something new. What the hell chance has a guy got to figurethings out? And I tell you them Ruskies are coming up with new weaponsjust as fast as we are. Enough to make your hair stand on end. 

Sugar? Christ, yes! Ain't seen sugar for a year. You see, it's likethis: we were bottled up in the pits around the Tunnel for seven damndays. It was like nothing you ever saw before. Oops--sorry. Didn't meanto splash you. I was laughing about something that happened there--to aguy. Maybe you guys would get a kick out of it. After all, we got tokeep our sense of humor. 

You see, there was me and a Kentucky kid named Stillwell in this pit--apretty big pit with lots of room--and we were all alone. This Stillwellwas a nice kid--green and lonesome and it's pretty sad, really, butthere's a yak in it, and--as I say--we got to keep a sense of humor. 

Well, this Stillwell--a really green kid--is unhappy and just plaindrooling for his gal back home. He talks about his mother, of course, and his old man, but it's the girl that's really on his mind as you guyscan plainly understand. 

He's seeing her every place--like spots in front of his eyes--nice spotsdoing things to him, when this Ruskie babe shows up. 

My gun came up without any orders from me just as she poked her pussover the edge of the pit, and--huh? Oh, thank you kindly. It sure tastesgood but I don't want to short you guys. Thank you kindly. 

Well, as I was saying, this Ruskie babe pokes her nose over the edge ofthe pit and Stillwell dives and knocks down my gun. He says, "Youson-of-a-bitch!" Just like that. Wild and desperate, like you'd say to aguy if the guy was just kicking over the last jug of water on a desertisland. 

It would have been long enough for her to kill us if I hadn't had goodreflexes. Even then, all I had time to do was knock the pistol out ofher hand and drag her into the pit. 

With her play bollixed, she was confused and bewildered. She ain't afighter, and she sits back against the wall staring at us dead pan withbig expressionless eyes. She's a plenty pretty babe and I could seeexactly what had happened as far as Stillwell was concerned. His spotshad come to life in very adequate form so to speak. 

 * * * * *

Stillwell goes over and sits down beside her and I'm very much on thealert, because I know where his courage comes from. But I decide it'sall right, because I see the babe is not belligerent, just confused kindof. And friendly. 

And willing. Kind of a whipped-little-dog willing, and man oh man! Shewas sure what Stillwell needed. 

They kind of went together like a hand and a glove--natural-like. Andit followed--pretty natural--that when Stillwell got up and led heraround a wing of the pit, out of sight, she went willing--like that samelittle dog. 

Uhuh. No, you guys. Two's enough. I wouldn't rob you. Well, okay, andthanks kindly. 

Well, there I was, all alone, but happy for Stillwell, cause I know it'swhat the kid needs, and in spots like that what difference does it make?Yank--Ruskie--Mongolian--as long as she's willing. 

Then, you guys, Stillwell comes back out--wall-eyed--realwall-eyed--like being hit but not knocked out and still walking. I knowwhat it is--some kind of shock. I get up and walk over and take a lookat the babe where he'd left her--and I bust out laughing. I told youguys there was a yak in this. I laughed like a fool--it was that funny. As much as I had time to, before Stillwell cracked. It was enough tocrack him--the little thing that pushes a guy over the edge. 

He lets out a yell and screams, "For crisake! For crisake! Nothing but abucket of bolts! Nothing but a couple of plastic lumps--"

That was when I hit him. I had to. He was for the birds, Stillwell was. An hour later we got relieved and a couple of medicos carried him awaystrapped to a stretcher--gone like a kite. 

They took the robot too, and its clothes, but they forgot the brassiere, so I took it and I been carrying it ever since, but I'll leave it withyou guys if you want--for the coffee. Might make you think about home. After all, like the man says, we got to keep our sense of humor. 

Well, so long, you guys--and thanks. 

Transcriber's Note:

 This etext was produced from _Amazing Stories_ April-May 1953. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U. S. Copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.