Fifty-Fifty O'Brien by L. Ron Hubbard

was aware of a raging bulk beside him. The mighty-bodied Kaslov. Boards creaked in the doors. Shots splintered through. Kaslov swore in a loud bellow, holding the gate with his shoulders.

    Suddenly the thing was closed. Hardesty snatched at the bars and pulled them across. A moment later, he sagged back, glowing with the knowledge that he had won.
    The machine gun roared above them. Death smashed into the pass. A Chauchat started up with its hysterical clatter. They were clearing the pass with enfilade fire. Grenades exploded down on the incline, setting the night on fire with their blinding flashes.
    Abruptly everything was still. A murmur started along the embrasure. The murmur grew and became a shout. Kaslov looked at Hardesty and said, “You got a cigarette?”
    Hardesty handed one over and lighted it for the Russian. Kaslov dragged thankfully at it and then dug in his tunic for a flat bottle. The warmth of the fluid slid easily down Hardesty’s throat.
    After Kaslov had taken a drink, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand and said, “About those empties. Was that right? Did they leave a pattern around me?”
    Hardesty laughed. “It was a good story, wasn’t it?”
    Kaslov chuckled, then sobered. “Too bad he got away, wasn’t it?”
    â€œWasn’t it?” said Hardesty. He swung back the small inner door and pointed out. Kaslov looked through and grunted.
    Riddled by the first burst, and sprawled in death amid the tribesmen, lay Corporal Bereaux, victim of ideas. Even in the pale moonlight they could see that the sand beneath the body was turning red.

Story Preview
    N OW that you’ve just ventured through some of the captivating tales in the Stories from the Golden Age collection by L. Ron Hubbard, turn the page and enjoy a preview of The Iron Duke. Join Blacky Lee, a man wanted by nearly every government in Europe, who happens to be the spitting image of a leader in the Balkan kingdom of Aldoria. With nowhere else to hide, the enterprising Lee flees to Aldoria and attempts to make the most of his mistaken identity in a startling tale of intrigue, humor and romance.

The Iron Duke
    S TUB always had an uneasy feeling about Blacky Lee. Stub’s state of mind was that of a man watching another holding a cannon cracker and not knowing just when he’d let that cracker explode. At least once a day Stub wondered why he had ever allowed himself to become associated with as nerve-racking a fellow as Blacky Lee. One never knew what was going on in Lee’s mind and never, never knew just when those thoughts would amalgamate with a bang. And sitting there watching Blacky just now, Stub forgot all about how grateful he was for the warmth in the radiator.
    Blacky Lee had come out of his reverie and was now, by aid of his reflection in the glass, carefully twirling his ginger mustache into a pair of military points. Stub, who always ran on the assumption that now, at last, he knew everything about Blacky Lee, was sorely jolted by the little container of mustache wax which Blacky was using. Never in all the years he had been with Blacky had Stub known him to carry wax or use wax, and now, with their baggage abandoned in Austria, a thing as nonsensical as mustache wax was here in Blacky’s possession! Certainly Blacky was attempting no disguise, for pointing a mustache would be a very weak attempt in that direction.
    Stub gave over wondering. He sighed and rested his little round face in his pudgy hands. “There was such a nice bottle of anisette in my trunk,” he sighed. “Do you suppose I’ll ever see that bottle again, Blacky?”
    â€œProbably never.”
    â€œAnd that nice new suit with the yellow stripes—”
    â€œIt’s probably adorning the porter of the King’s Hotel—if his taste in clothes is as bad as yours.”
    â€œGosh! You really think so, Blacky?”
    â€œYou’re lucky,” said Lee,