Bringing many additional nationalities with them, the B.E.E returned. From Archangel, Syria, Spain, Poland, Estonia and Turkey, all summer the detachments continued to arrive. They numbered, in all, nearly seven thousand men and one hundred and ninety-four officers.
The process of elimination which had gone on for nearly thirty years had been very harsh but very thorough. No man without knowledge of men had lived. No officer unfit to command had continued to command. Death had been the ultimate reward for foolishness in any direction. Thus they were an iron crew, those officers, able to gauge any situation by its true values and with neither attention nor patience for any slightest attempts to swerve from the issue. The troops alone might have been said to have suffered by the exodus from Europe. For they were not overly clever at construction, schooled only in destruction, and though nearly all of them were assimilated by the National Police, saving those few kept about the officers as guards of honor, the men were very morose for a while at the prospect of inaction.
Soon, however, the spirit of construction came to them and they saw what had to be done and helped do it. In view of what the Lieutenant had done at G.H.Q. and to the B.C.R, thus avenging all of them, they were anxious to please him, the more so when they came to know him. Ruthlessly they suppressed the brigandism, which had arisen in the back countries.
Zealously they expedited commerce. And, which was a strange paradox, they were utterly merciless with thieves.
The officers were given great grants of land for themselves and wide districts to administer-and for this there were few enough of them. They did not abuse their rights and powers because there was no reason. Not ten followers could have been found in all the land for a project which involved removing the Lieutenant. Hence, an aristocracy was founded on the basis of skill and leadership. And it was very far from a fascism, for money and military were not combined. There was no money as such beyond the food currency. And making money for its own sake has always been a thing which a real soldier finds hard to understand. Additionally, there was no need for indirect and cunning controls over the populace. The leaders were there walking among their people, serving more than they were served. In such a way were the first nobilities of antiquity founded.
The agricultural problems which arose from the infestation of the land with insects had solved itself Certain plants, like the few remaining people, were impervious to the insects and only these were planted. This had been started three or four years before the Lieutenant had come and by now it was arriving at a goal of extinction of plant pests.
Thus, there was plenty of food and warmth and work for all, and the country settled down into cheerful activity, forgetting its wounds and its hates.
For who, with a full body, can talk earnestly of revolt and sedition?
Hogarthy's corpse had been borne on the tide to the sea. The Continent was licking its wounds and wanted only to be left alone. The King of Scotland was quick to send gifts when Hanley had taken the surviving soldier Scots home with their tales of the Lieutenant.
For years affairs progressed in even tenor and then, one day, a boat was reported off Sheerness by the government at Blinker Towers.
The Lieutenant was in audience with a major from up Hereford way and was so deeply engrossed that he did not immediately hear what Weasel said.
Weasel, at the risk of being insistent, repeated it and popped his heels together to demand attention.
"Sir, there's a boat. A motor vessel. It come into the estuary about twenty minutes ago off Sheerness and dropped its hook."
"Well?" said the Lieutenant.
"A boat, sir. A big one. Big as these wrecks in the river and bigger. And it runs by engines just like our tanks used to in the old days."
The Lieutenant dismissed the major with a motion of his hand. "Any report on its flag?"
"Yessir," said Weasel, mollified now that he had his officer's attention.
"It's got horizontal bars, red and white, according to the message, and a field up in the corner with a bunch of white stars."
The Lieutenant looked at the window in thought. "I can't remember any such flag. And we've no books on it, either. Weasel, run down to the barracks and see if any of the troops there know of it."
"Yessir. You think it's bad, sir?"
"How do I know? Be quick!'
The Lieutenant sat down at his desk and stared unseeing at the documents there which awaited his signature. He had a chilly premonition like that time they had stormed the fortresses outside Berlin, when only himself and his colonel had come back with less than five hundred men out of six thousand. He shivered. Strange it was to feel this way, to remember suddenly that a man had nerves. He picked up his pen and then laid it down. It couldn't be cold in here, not with the mid-August sun beating down outside.
Weasel came back. "Old Chipper knows it, sir. He says he saw it once on an American vessel in Bordeaux just after the war began. He says he was just a kid, but he said the flag was so pretty he couldn't help remembering!'
"And what nation is it?"
"The Union States, sir. I never heard of it myself."
"Union States!" The Lieutenant stood up and took another turn around the room. "He means the United States of America. I recall studying the tactics of Robert E. Lee at Rugby when he was fighting that country. The United States of America¯the country that started the atom bombing¯"
He sat down at his desk and dismissed Weasel and then, alone in that frowning old throne room, he tried to think clearly. It was a strange thing not to be able to. There was some sort of conflict in his mind that he could not disentangle. He reached for his solitaire deck and dealt out a hand. But he did not play it.
Every part of his being told him that he had to act swiftly. But he was a soldier and, as a soldier, he primarily thought of repulsing an invasion.
And now, having become, perforce, a statesman, he knew that there was a chance that this ship merely wanted to establish trade like that he had with Scotland.
Because of his own victory on the Thames, he knew well how weak it was. He had caused several guns to be laboriously repaired and a few hundred heavy shells to be literally carved out of metal dug up from old bombardments. Nothing could come up the Thames unless he passed the word. Why this spirit of war which mounted so steadily in him?
Weasel came in. "Sir, another message. I just picked it off the Wapping relay tower. The vessel is landing a small party at Sheerness in a boat which is also driven by motor and very swiftly. Fast as plane, the message said, sit."
"Keep me informed," said the Lieutenant.
He sat where he was, not touching the food Mawkey brought at tea time.
Weasel came down from the upper battlement. He had a written message this time, handed him by the girl who was on duty there, for Weasel could not write, even though he could read the Gravesend Tower before Wapping could get it down.
To the Lieutenant. From Commanding Officer Sheerness Battery, Via Blinker, helio.
U.S.S. New York anchored this afternoon and landed captain of vessel and twenty marines and three civilians. States pacific intentions.
Wishes permission of interview with the Lieutenant.
He read the message through twice. He could find no reason to refuse such a request, though he knew that he should. But would it do any harm to talk to them?
"Send word that 'permission is granted," said the Lieutenant. "Wait. Send word to Swinburne, wherever he is, that he's needed here. And wait again, Weasel. Have the adjutant issue Order A."
Weasel was startled, not to have Order A issued, which was the manning of all guns and garrisons, but to hear a note of tired kindness in the Lieutenant's voice. Another might not have detected it. But Weasel, who had seen many officers face defeat and death, recognized it for what it was.
He stayed for a little longer and then, unwillingly, turned and went out.
The Lieutenant dealt another hand of solitaire, but he did not play it.
Bugles began to bla
re about the keep. Commands barked. He wandered to the window and, half sitting on the ledge, looked down at the Inner Ward.
Troops were hurrying out, dragging their equipment after them and getting into it as they jolted each other, straightening out their lines. These were infantry scouts whose positions lay about the base of Tower Hill. A company of snipers was hurrying from their quarters in the Bloody Tower to man the battlements of the outer wall, hands full of bandoleers and spare rifles. Gian was checking his men as they leaped by him and up the steps to their guns on the twelve towers of the Inner Wall.
Mounted messengers were saddling skittish Scot horses, holding their orders in their teeth and swearing as only couriers can swear. Bit by bit these streamed out of the Inner Ward and thundered through the Byward Tower and across the moat to be swallowed from sight by the stone houses which circled the base of the hill.
The scout company of the Fourth Brigade, to which was entrusted the defense of the piece de résistance, the White Tower where the Lieutenant had his quarters and offices in company with the ghosts of England's monarchs, followed hard on the heels of Carstair up the steps.
The hot August sun slanted its rays upon the swirling cloaks and helmets, brightened in peace officers who came up from the town to be detailed by Carstair on special duty.
The Lieutenant raised his eyes from the gray walls and blue uniforms below and looked at the banner which floated lazily from its staff upon the Byward Tower, over the gate. Satiny white it was, with the insignia of a lieutenant embroidered upon it in gold. It had been presented to him by the people and, to them, represented peace and security and justice. To him it represented the confidence reposed in him by his people, not unlike that which he had received from the Fourth Brigade. No questions were asked or had ever been asked by his soldiers or his people.
From his vantage point he could see far down the Thames and he looked in that direction now. The river was spotted with traffic, ships from his coasts, sailing up to London, barges plying across the stream or bringing produce down from the upper reaches, small skiffs filled with pleasure seekers. But these, as bugles resounded at the batteries, were now making for shore, leaving the river a great yellow expanse, hot in the sunlight.
. Weasel came in. "Everything is ready, sir. I took it for granted you did not want to be bothered with reports."
"Thank you, Weasel."
"Sir¯"
But whatever Weasel said was engulfed in a roar of sound. The Lieutenant instinctively moved back from the window and Weasel threw himself down flat on the pave. But no following scream resulted, no machine guns chattered and, in a moment, Weasel picked himself up. His gesture was so thoroughly a part of training ingrained by the years that he did not even remark upon it. Curiously he advanced to the window beside the Lieutenant.
Mawkey hurled himself into the room and stood there, big-eyed and hunched up. "A plane just went over!"
The snarl resounded again and Mawkey pushed himself flat against the wall and tensed. The ship took two turns above London and then vanished so swiftly to the east that it appeared to have shrunken suddenly to nothing.
"Reconnaissance," said Weasel. "I haven't seen one of those for years!"
Carstair came in from above. "Sir, Gian signaled me to ask if you want to shoot the next time it comes over."
"With what?" said the Lieutenant.
Carstair stood a little straighter. "Yes, that's so. I've never seen anything so fast. All motors and guns and bombs."
The Lieutenant did not turn from the window. "Pass the word if anyone wants to leave this fortress, he has my permission!'
"I can answer that now," said Carstair. "When we leave it will be over the wall into the riverdead."
The Lieutenant did not speak.
Carstair beckoned and Weasel and Mawkey slid out, closing the doors behind them. The Lieutenant hardly knew they were gone. Suddenly he turned around and marched to his desk. He picked up his cards and then hurled them to the floor. He went back to the window.
In a few minutes he saw the sun glance off metal far downriver. And even as he looked the boat grew in size. It hurled back very little spray, but it scudded upstrearn like some possessed water bug. It went into reverse and shot sideways to the Queen's Steps at, the Tower wharf and out of it leaped a guard of marines, resplendent in blue.
The Lieutenant could not see what passed, but, in a moment, Carstair came in. "Sir, they are armed, each man with a sort of miniature machine gun.
Your orders?"
"Is Swinburne here?"
"He came a moment ago."
"Send him up. And let them come in immediately after. I'll appreciate it if you and any other officers who happen to be here will step in for the reception. "
"Let them in armed?"
"Why not?"
"Yes, sir." Carstair went away.
Presently Swinburne came up the steps. He was just back from a long trip inland, inspecting some of the new homes of the countryside, and he was still lathered by his horse and his boots were muddy. But his one good eye blazed and his empty sleeve was thrust angrily into his tunic pocket.
"What's this, old fellow?"
"United States of America. A battleship standing off Sheerness. Its captain and some civilians coming up for an interview."
Swinburne scowled and laid his crop and cap upon the window seat. "Anything I can do?"
"Just stand by."
Carstair stepped in. "Everyone else at his post along the river."
"All right. Show them up."
Swinburne was sensible of a stiffening in the Lieutenant's bearing as he sat down in the great chair. Swinburne stood on his right, hand on the chair back.
A double file of soldiers could be heard taking positions on the landing, to their side of the door, and then Carstair opened it and, standing at attention, said, "Three Americans to see you, sir."
"Let them come in," said Swinburne.
Carstair stepped back on the inside. A glint of polished metal gleamed where the marines stood at the top of the steps. The three Americans marched between the honor-guard files and into the room. Carstair dosed the door and stood with back against it, arms folded. Probably he was the only man in the garrison who knew the United States from actual contact, for he had crossed it on his way to England fourteen years before.
The two gentlemen in the lead were dressed in somber clothing of a loose cut which gave their rotund figures even more breadth. They were both rather soft-looking, for their jowls were loose and their stomachs protruded. One was clearly a dynamic fellow, whose head was bushy with gray hair and whose eyes held a piercing look which was almost a challenge. He was the leader.
"I ' " he said with unction, "am Senator Frisman of Arkansas. This is my brother in diplomacy, Senator Breckwell, Jefferson Breckwell, who represents the proud State of Ohio in our nation's capital at Washington. And while we are party enemies, he being a Socialist and myself a Social-Democrat, we are firm friends. May I present Senator Breckwell?"
Breckwell bowed. He was a rather vacant-faced fellow, completely bald, having a pair of very mild and apologetic eyes which dropped the instant they met the Lieutenant's.
Senator Frisman cleared his throat. "And may I also present that very able captain of our nation's powerful fleet, who commands one of our finest cruisers as well as our admiring respect, Captain Johnson."
Stealing an uneasy glance at Senator Frisman, Captain Johnson bowed. He was a gaunt, hard fellow who smacked of the sea and the bridge. He did not approve of Senator Frisman.
"And so," said Frisman, unaware of the silence which was greeting his loquacity, "we are proud to be able to meet your majesty, for we have excellent news for our English brothers."
Swinburne's voice had always had the quality of a sputtering fuse, but now it sizzled. "You are ad dressing the Lieutenant, gentlemen. He has been good enough to grant you audience. Please come to the point. "
"The Lieutenant?" said Frisman. "But we have nothi
ng to do with your army.
We wish to speak to your dictator or king or Communist leader¯"
"'The Lieutenant' is a title," said Swinburne. "He rules here."
"But said Frisman, "a lieutenant is just a lower rank in the army and we¯"
"The title," said Swinburne, keeping his patience, "has been removed from our army list out of respect. You said something about a message!'
Frisman realized suddenly that he wasn't doing so well. Captain Johnson was glaring at him and even Senator Breckwell was fumbling with his collar.
They had suddenly become acutely aware of the Lieutenant.
He sat quite still. Altogether too still. His eyes were calm, as though masking a great deal, a fact which was far more effective than an outright glare. He was slender and hard and good-looking, having yet to celebrate his thirty-second birthday. His tunic was blue, faded but well pressed and clean, innocent of any bright work other than the simple insignia of his rank. He wore, as a habit too old to break, crossbelts of dull leather, to which was holstered an automatic pistol. His small blue fatigue cap sat a little over one ear, but his helmet, with visor raised, was close by upon his desk. His cape, patched where a hundred and more bullets had struck, lay over the back of his chair. He did not feel comfortable without these things at his hand, for they had been part of him too long. A shaft of late-afternoon sun came like a beam through the upper windows and lay in a pool upon the desk before him, rendering the Lieutenant all the more indefinite of image behind it.
The antiquity of this place with its thick, scarred walls began to enter into the trio. They were sensible that here was England, whether in the garb of a soldier or in the gaudy robes of a king.
Final Blackout: A Futuristic War Novel Page 13