les get here?" I ask Wurpz. I shiver. I think of all
the Subterro subs pouring out of a hole under Brazil and sinking all
Earthian merchant marines, and shooting guided missiles that will land
all over the U.S. They could have rays that would reach up over a
million miles and wash up space traffic.

Then we get another jolt. They bring us our chow and say it is angleworm
and hellgrammite porridge as that is what the Subterro denizens live on
mostly. There is a salad made out of what looks like skunk cabbage
leaves. We found out later that Hitler's brain trust had made an
artificial sun for the Subterrors and they had been given greens for the
first time and increased in size over a hundred per cent.

"We have got to escape," I says to my pals.

"That is easy," Zahooli sniffs. "First we have to break through the
walls here, get to the Mole which can't never move again, and then fight
off maybe six million creeps. We would git reduced to cinders by ray
Betsys the minute we hit the street."

I sigh deeply and reach into my knapsack. I find some lamb stew and
tapioca pudding capsules and split them with Zahooli and Wurpz. Then I
come up with a little box and glance at the label. It says, URGOXA'S
INSECT POWDER--Contains Radiatol.

I get up nonchalantly and call the guard to the barred window.
Beetlehead sticks his face in close and asks what I want. I empty some
of the powder into the palm of my hand and then blow it into his face.
The Subterro sentry's eyes cross. His face turns as pale as milk and he
collapses like a camp stool.

"Eureka!" I yelp. "We are in business, pals."

I hide the box of bug powder when I hear two other creeps come running.
They start yakking in Universa and in bug language both. Agrodyte
Hitler appears and looks in at us.

"What happened, Great One?" I ask very politely.

"We will perform an autopsy," Hitler's grandson says, and turns to
another beetlehead. "Open the door," he says. "I am showing my guests
something before we exterminate them. Too bad about Voklogoo. Most
likely a coronary entomothrombosis. Achtung! Raus mitt!"

"It means get the lead out in old Germanic literature," I says to Wurpz
and Zahooli.

"It is curtains," D'Ambrosia gulps. "In about five minutes we will be
residue."

The Neofeuhrer is like all egomaniacs before him. He wants to brag. We
get into a Subterro Jetjeep and drive about twenty miles through the
underground countryside to the entrance to a cave guar