by Jerry
They had been miles apart. But in the twinkling of an eye, the distance narrowed as if by magic. The speed was not the only thing which held Norton spellbound. It was the simple physical fact of the ship’s approach. It had been the size of a pea, a silver pea in the black of space. Now it was a silver orange—now the size of the moon—then it seemed to fill all of the universe. And the Murian at the controls of their ship seemed to be completely unaware of their danger.
“The button—on that panel in front of you,” he said suddenly.
Norton roused from the spell of approaching doom.
“Yes?”
“Press it when I give the word.”
Norton didn’t have time to say Jack Robinson.
“Now!” came the command.
They were so close, Norton saw the face of the pilot. Saw the look on his face. It was as if terror, fear, hatred and an odd look of resolve were struggling for supremacy, all the while his hands were at the throttle.
Norton’s fingers pressed at the button, pressed so hard it seemed as if he was going to drive it through the instrument panel. Then the whole sky was filled with an orange glare. Something in the center of that glare glowed with the bright whiteness of molten metal. Then they passed through the brightness and he heard the sound of things metallic striking against the sides of the ship.
He had blown the other ship to bits with one blast of his gun!
A voice shrieked imprecations at them:
“Damn you! You won’t get away with this. I have your son; don’t forget! Comeback or by the Four Forces, I’ll have him torn to bits.”
The pallor of the pilot’s face was pitiful to see. But the lines of determination on his face only deepened as he savagely twisted at the knob of a dial. The voice was no longer heard.
“Be there in a short while. Any place you want us to come in to?” the pilot asked.
Norton looked bewildered. He was as if he were in a fog. The other noticed the look of bewilderment.
“Just name the place,” he said. “I’ll put us down there.”
“It’s just outside Los Angeles,” Norton said.
Once again the other twisted at a knob and the ship’s nose went down. Instantly it was daylight. And Norton saw the familiar serrated edges of the Rockies below. And in the twinkling of an eye, the blue waters of the Pacific were meeting his gaze.
HE PEERED intently through the glass. There it was, gleaming in all the colors of the rainbow, Los Angeles. Slowly the torpedo-shape descended. And a dozen planes rose to meet it. The Murian’s lips tightened, and his brows drew down into a frown.
All their plans could go for nought if they opened fire, without first permitting them to land. He knew such would have been the case on Pa-Mura. It was the moment they had not taken into account and a moment which tried their souls.
But the planes which met them, came only as harbingers of welcome. But Norton noticed, as did the Murian, that the pilots their guns stripped for action . . . in case.
They followed the torpedo-shape down, until it came to rest on the concrete of the huge airport.
Norton was the first to step from the hatchway. And the first face to greet his eyes was the dour one of one of his dearest friends, Eldon Hale.
Hale’s recognition was instant.
“Dale Norton,” he gasped. Then as Witson followed Norton, “Jarvis Witson, by all that’s holy!”
Then they were a close knit group, pounding each other’s shoulders. Norton released himself from his friend’s grasp and looked curiously about him. The airport was filled with armed men. Hundreds of the jet-propelled planes he had invented for the government were parked on the several aprons of the runways.
“What goes here?” he asked.
“What goes!” Hale parroted. “Good heavens, man! Where have you been in the last few weeks, that you ask that?”
The concerted shout of thousands of voices made Norton whirl about. He saw the reason for it. The Murians had descended from the ship. Quickly, he ran.to the group and throwing his arms about the shoulders of their leader, pulled him with him. The rest followed.
“This is . . .” he stopped short, realizing that he had not the time for detailed explanations. He was going to introduce the Murian by the number he was known as. “This is my friend. Our friend! He is going to help us against our enemies.”
“Then you know about what has happened?”
“Perhaps more than you,” Norton said. “What’s the idea of all these ships out here?”
“Why—we were going to try to get through to the east,” Hale replied.
“You mean this is the first time that you have tried to get through?”
“No! But this time we were determined to succeed.”
“Wouldn’t have done any good. You’d have been so many pigeons for them. Uh, uh. I’ve got other plans. Give them orders to stand by. Then we’ll go over to your place and talk over my plans and you’ll see what you think of it.”
Several men in uniform had come over while Norton and Hale were talking and had listened in on the conversation. Norton recognized one of them as one of the highest ranking officers in the army air force.
“So you have something in mind for them, eh, Norton,” the officer said.
“That’s right, General. I warn you, however, that my plans are neither orthodox, nor in a strict sense, military. But in the case of the present they will work for the best—at the least cost.”
“Then I’ll be glad to hear them,” the officer replied.
Hale put his home completely at the disposal of Norton and his friends. Witson experienced a complete letdown after the hectic weeks he had spent. But Norton felt exhilarated and rejuvenated at the realization that here at last was the chance for action. He had taken a bath and had changed his garments for clean ones. He was clean shaven, although his skin was still showing the bruises and discolorations of the beatings he had taken. He had found an old beret which he put on to cover the hideous scars of his lacerated scalp.
THE living room of the Hale home faced the sea, from the hilltop on which he had built it. It was a peaceful scene. The terrors of the past were a long time past, in the quiet of the room. But in the tense features of the men grouped around the huge table was to be seen a fear of the future. They knew how terrible was the enemy’s power.
The eight Murian mutations were grouped in a body at one end of the table. Norton deliberately joined them. The quiet murmur of voices died down at his entrance.
“Gentlemen,” Norton began in somber tones. “I think we can leave what happened to the historians. What we are or should be interested in, is the future. From personal observations, backed up by the intimate knowledge of my friends here, I can say with certainty that we haven’t the slightest chance of waging a successful war with the means we have, such as planes, tanks and guns.
“No! The fastest plane I have ever devised is no match for even one of their freighters. If Jetto, their leader, so wants it, he can devastate this entire continent. Luckily, he doesn’t want to do that just yet. He is interested in one thing only, at the present time. A region in the heart of the bad lands of Utah.
“I say a region because I cannot be more specific. Only my friend here,” he placed his hand on Number 1’s shoulder, “knows the exact location. I imagine that after our escape, Jetto realized that he had best get to this region as quickly as possible. Tell me,” he turned to the Murian, “do you think he’ll be able to find the city without your help?”
“Yes,” the Murian said. “He knows the approximate area. And he has certain men in his party who can determine the exact spot after certain calculations. But that will take a while, after they reach the general location.”
“That’s the answer I had hoped to hear,” Norton said enthusiastically. “Now here’s what I have in mind. This Jetto will see to it that any interference from the air will be suicidal. I imagine he will post air patrols to cover any large scale land attempts to reach him, attempts
by tanks for example, or truck. That type of mobile warfare is out. But we have a means that can avail. The Westerner! The horseman!”
The men around the table had been giving him undivided attention all the time he had talked. But at the mention of, horseman, a hubbub of talk broke out. Some ridiculed the idea. Others spoke for use of air power, still others urged mobile troops against the enemy. Then a voice broke against the general talk:
“It makes sense!” the ranking General said. “And I for one am for it. Let’s hear Norton out.”
“Thank you, sir,” Norton said. He waited for silence to fall, his tall figure, vibrant with a hidden power, arresting in its confidence. They fell under the spell of it as he continued to give the details of his plan. “The three bordering states of Arizona, New Mexico and Nevada were all cavalry stations not so long in the past. It is only in the last two years that they were no longer used as such. But the government still maintained large stocks of horses there. Am I right, General?”
“Right.”
“Then I propose that as the commanding officer in this area you commandeer those stocks. Send authorizations by messenger in fast patrol planes. We’ll use every cowboy, every old cavalry man, any and all who can ride a horse.”
HE LEFT his place at the table and walked over to the walled section of the room. A huge map of the western states hung suspended from the ceiling. Norton pointed to three cities on the map and continued:
“At Goldfield, Nevada; at Santa Fe, New Mexico; and at Falstaff, Arizona; we will establish staging bases for the assemblage of our horse cavalcade. Everything will be done at night so as to escape all attention from Jetto’s men. Time, however, is the essence of which our success is distilled. Sir,” he asked the General, “do you think that you will be able to establish the proper contacts and correlate all activities in a week?”
“Yes,” came the succinct answer.
“Very well, then! For that is all it should take for me to do my part. As you gentlemen know, my field is thermodynamics. I had completed a new heat ray, an improvement on the one which I invented for jet-propelled vehicles, and decided that I needed a vacation. Hale, I hope you still have those blue prints?”
“That I have, my bucko friend,” the dour-faced man said smiling broadly. “And as your partner, I thought that since they were complete, why we might just as well put the machines into production. After all, their purpose was to provide this country with a weapon which would make it invincible in war. Yes, Dale, I wanted to surprise you on your return.”
Norton’s face was alive with joy. Good old sour-face! Wait till Jetto got a taste of these things! They’d make his blast guns seem like toys!
“How many have we?” he asked. “Enough to equip all the men the General can give us.”
“There you are, sir,” Norton said. “Leave it to me. One week!”
* * *
FIVE days later, a huge cavalcade of motor cars left Los Angeles by three different roads. They left in the still and dark of night. And each section of these motorcades had a different destination. In the lead car of the one bound for Santa Fe, were Norton, his Murian friend, and Witson. The smooth surface of the concrete led for speedy driving. Norton’s plans called for their arrival before the night had ended.
“It’ll be almost impossible to detect us,” Norton explained. “We’ll travel without lights. Each car has had a special paint job that will not reflect light and more, so camouflaged that from the air, they will seem part of the ground.”
“You did a wonderful job, Dale,” Witson said.
“Thanks. But the real job will come when we arrive in the area of operations. If our schedule works as planned, we should be an army of ten thousand men. Enough! What do you think, my friend?”
The Murian, to whom Norton had addressed the question merely shrugged his shoulders. He knew the power Jetto held and was capable of letting loose. And Norton’s weapon was untried, as yet. Until he saw it in effect, he couldn’t answer. His thoughts were also on his son, captive in the hands of the tyrant. He shuddered inwardly. If anything happened to the boy . . .
Norton saw the look of concentration and guessed the reason for it. His own face mirrored the grim determination in his breast. Jetto and his minions must be wiped from the face of the earth!
It was the hour before dawn when the caravan of cars entered the outskirts of the picturesque city. At the very edge of town a road block had been established. Armed men in nondescript clothes patrolled the highway. Some were mounted, some, afoot. Hooded flashlight gleams broke the blackness of night. Their car stopped at a command given by several men. One of them came forward and thrust his head in through the window. In the dim light, Norton saw only a beaked nose and slitted eyes.
“Norton?” the man asked.
“I’m Norton.”
“Good! Right on time. Colonel Conners and his men are in the X-2 corral. We’ve got markers on the road. Follow it until the marker to the cut-off. Somebody there’ll direct you to quarters.”
The road led through the heart of town. There was an odd holiday air manifest. People stood about in large groups. Mounted men rode in constant parade through the main street. Voices came to them, like the distant murmur of a muted wind in the first blow of a storm.
A highway marker gleamed momentarily and showed that the road took a turn at that point. A half dozen men were stationed there as traffic guides. Their flashlights waved them around the curve. Another few minutes and they were in open country. Then another road block. Once more a face in the open window, this one chubby, with open, grinning mouth showing snuff-stained teeth.
“Yore Norton, reckon. The boss man’s waitin’. I’ll ride the sideboard—show ye the way.”
The X-2 was the largest ranch in all New Mexico. A wire fence opened in a modest sort of way to the tremendous acreage it encompassed. Norton became aware of a vast movement in the semi-dark area of the huge compound. There was the constant sound of whinnying horses and the smell of their sweat. The road led in a winding path to the center of a large cluster of low-roofed houses.
“This is it,” said their guide.
A tall, slender man, lean with the taut hunger look of an athlete, detached himself from the group of uniformed men huddled around a large, plain table, on which Norton caught a glimpse of maps. He advanced with outstretched hand.
“I’m Conners,” he said.
Norton grasped the hand and introduced his companions. Conners gave the Murian a masked look of curiosity but only nodded in greeting.
“Well, Colonel,” Norton said. “I’ve combed all of Hollywood for men who could ride and shoot. There are six hundred of us out there.”
“And a thousand here,” Conners volunteered. “All armed,” he continued in afterthought.
“Fine! So are we. Ought to be a good party.”
“Right. Well let me introduce you around. Then we’ll show you our schedule of operations.
NORTON saw in the first seconds of the introductions that these men had been hand-picked for the job. There was something in their faces and bearing which told him that they seemed to have all been cast from the same piece of bronze; they had that look of indestructible hardness about them.
“Shall we get down to business?” Conners suggested.
Norton nodded and they gathered around the table. There were several scale maps of the region which was their goal. Conners pointed to an area on one of the maps and said:
“This is the focal point of our drive, right?” he asked in appeal to the Murian.
“Right.”
“Okay. Colonel West and twelve hundred regular cavalry men will start from Flagstaff in six hours, approximately noon. Special Indian guides will take details of thirty men each, over appointed trails until they reach,” he pointed to a spot marked in red on the map, “here.” Of course we broke up the battalion into groups to avoid crowding the highway, thus making it less suspicious to any prying patrol.
“The first group
should reach the rendezvous at sunset and the last at about midnight. That spot is our junction point. General Sanders, being at the closest point of contact, will not leave until noon. As you see, we got these maps drawn to scale. Each group leader will have one. The final phase will begin, of course, when we make our contact with General Sanders.”
“The army thinks of everything,” Norton said in admiration.
“Not quite,” Conners said in reminder. “We never thought of an invasion from space.”
“N-no,” Norton drawled. “Nor did any one else.”
“Send Chief Tall Pine in,” Conners commanded the orderly standing at the door.
Chief Tall Pine was a Navaho. He was dressed in faded whites. A brilliant feather protruded from a brightly colored head band. His smooth, bronze-colored features were immobile. He stood, silent, waiting for Conners’ words.
“Your men have their instructions, chief?”
“Yes. We are ready to leave at any time.”
Norton’s brows lifted at the chief’s use of English.
“Good!” Conners said. “Then let them take the first detail.”
The chief turned and without another word, left.
“Of course you and your friends will be in our party,” Conners said, as he turned from Norton and stepped to a bench along the wall. He selected a hat from the rest on the bench.
His words had been a signal for departure. The other officers selected the map they needed from the pile on the table. And suddenly the room was full of small talk, the kind common the world over when a tension has been broken. One by one the others left until all that remained was Norton and his friends and Conners.
“Good men, eh?” Norton asked reflectively.
“The best!” Conners answered and snapped the switch to the room lights.
“Oh, by the way, Norton,” the Colonel said as they stood on the path and waited for their mounts. “We sent out those large caliber guns, by pack animals, earlier this evening.”
“Large caliber guns?” Witson asked.
“Yes,” Norton explained. “Hale made up thirty of them on my order. You see, I remember that ray Jetto used. Number, I, told me that certain ships only, carry the weapon. They have distinct markings. And they must fly at a constant speed and at not too high an altitude. That night we put you to bed early, we went over to the General’s quarters and our friend drew a picture in color of the ship. The men who are going to operate those guns are picked anti-aircraft specialists. They’ll be clay pigeons for those boys.”