A Barnstormer in Oz

by Philip José Farmer

  Even so, he felt guilty. Somewhat so, anyway.

  "I'd like to know your orders, Captain," Hank said.

  "What? You're a civilian, suh. You have no need or right to know them. Not all of them, anyway."

  Hank said, "Look, Captain, I've been authorized to act as an interpreter and a sort of ambassador at large. Surely, you must know that. I have to know your intentions."

  "I was told I must deal through you. To a certain extent, that is."

  Longstreet stared over Hank's shoulder. Hank turned. The green cloud was back now, and the planes, which had formed into a circle, were dropping out of it, one by one, and flying into the cloud. As soon as the last disappeared, the haze shrank and was gone within a few seconds.

  The sight of that, Hank thought, must make the captain feel alone and isolated. Perhaps, helpless. Or maybe he was attributing some of his own reactions to the man.

  Hank had counted seventy-five men, enlisted and officers. That did not seem many, but they must be confident that their rapid-fire weapons and their superior stature were the equivalent of an army of pygmies armed only with swords, spears, and bows.

  A number were cutting down trees with two-handled saws. Others were digging a shallow trench near the lake. They meant to erect a three-sided log palisade in front of the trench. The lake would be to their backs.

  Hank said, "Captain, would you mind telling me just how much you were briefed on?"

  "That is not your concern, suh," Longstreet said, looking him straight in the eyes. "I have been ordered to tell you my orders, suh, so that you may transmit them to the chief authority of this place."

  Hank pointed at the small but regal figure in the chariot. Her hair shone redly in the sun.

  "There she is, Glinda the Good."

  Apparently, Longstreet had never read the Oz books. He looked at her through his binoculars, then lowered them.

  "Here's what you'll tell this Glinda," Longstreet said loudly and determinedly. "One, we're not here to make war unless we're treated as hostiles. We're here on a peaceful mission."

  "Yes, looks like it," Hank said, gesturing at the heavy machine guns.

  "You with us or against us?" Longstreet said, but he did not wait for Stover to reply.

  "Two, the United States of America is prepared to protect this country against any enemies from Earth."

  At least, the captain knew that he was not in his native universe.

  "The United States of America offers its aid against any enemies along its border. It is prepared to make a treaty of alliance with Queen Glinda of Quadlingland and to use its armed forces in her struggle against any and all invaders."

  Hank had expected Longstreet to read from an official letter. But the brass were being cagey. They had issued only verbal orders.

  "Three, the United States of America asks permission to establish a base from which its soldiers may operate against the enemies of the Quadlings and which will eventually house diplomats, scientists, and other agents which the United States may see fit to send to Quadlingland, provided, of course, that the reigning authority of Quadlingland agrees to these. Terms will be worked out at the appropriate time."

  "You can stop right there, Captain Longstreet," Hank said. "There's no use wasting time telling me all that. I have a message from Glinda. She told me to tell the commanding officer that you all must get out, leave, scat, scram, immediately. Toot sweet. She won't confer, discuss, or argue about that. She did not invite you here, and she wants you out. Now! She doesn't care if your intentions are good or bad. Your mere presence here is a hideous danger, a terrible peril, to the people of this land. After you leave, she'll have this meadow and the woods along it burned to destroy the bacteria and germs you may have left here. And nobody will be allowed to use the lake for three months. She won't talk about it, she isn't open to compromise or temporizing or anything except your instant departure.

  "Moreover, she does not want the... uh... gate to this world opened ever again once you've returned to Earth. You will take that message back to your superiors."

  Longstreet's face was expressionless, but his cheeks were red.

  "My orders are to hold this base until otherwise ordered! Also, I am to defend this base if I'm attacked!"

  "Then you won't leave?"

  "No! How can I? I depend upon the Air Service for transport! But that has nothing to do with it! I have my orders, and I will carry them out!"

  "Look, captain, this is not an ordinary military situation. The U.S. hasn't officially declared war on the Quadlings. Very few people even know that this universe exists. I'll bet that you're a bachelor and an orphan. You have no family ties. Am I right?"

  Longstreet looked amazed. He said, "How'd you know?" Then, "What's that got to do with anything?"

  "I'll also bet that all your men are bachelors with no kin. Right?"

  "What about it?"

  "You're part of a very secret project. All of you volunteered for this duty, and you were not told much about it. Maybe you were told that it was part of a scientific experiment and that it involved an expedition to another world."

  "The fourth dimension," Longstreet said. "A different universe."

  "Sure. Anyway, it's very secret, as I said. The American public doesn't know about it. Very few people do. Some of the Signal Corps, some of the Air Service, President Harding, a few cabinet members, maybe even a few high Republican Congressmen.

  "Why all this secrecy? Why keep a lid on the greatest discovery in history? I'll tell you why. Look at that castle, Captain!"

  He pointed his finger at the reddish building with the walls set with thousands of twinkling objects.

  "Those aren't glass, Captain. Each one is a genuine ruby worth several millions of dollars. This land is lousy with rubies, diamonds, emeralds—up north is a whole city studded with emeralds—topazes, turquoises, tourmalines. And there's gold, Captain, more gold than in a thousand Klondikes and a hundred South Africas. And there's silver enough to build the Great Wall of China.

  "I tell you, Captain, the men who get their hands on this wealth will be super-Croesuses. But they'll have to keep a tight control on it. Otherwise, Earth'll be flooded with precious stones and metals, the bottom would drop out of the market, and Earth would be in financial chaos.

  "So, it's greed that's behind this. The big shots who sent you here to die don't care about you. If you're wiped out, they'll have a good excuse to send in more poor devils to fight and die for them. For the wealth they want. I wouldn't put it past them to send in men suffering from smallpox and cholera and all the sicknesses in Pandora's box. They'd spread their diseases, and just about everybody in this world would die. I..."

  "No!" Longstreet shouted. "We were given very thorough medical examinations. There's not an unhealthy man among us. We're clean!"

  "You may be. But if military force can't get them what they want, then they'll use disease. Anyway, you're all expendable. If you die here, you'll be buried here, cremated so you won't spread disease. Your deaths will be announced in America, but the truth won't be told about where or why or how you died. There'll be fake reports, you'll be supposed to have died of accident or illness."

  "Shut up!" Longstreet said. "I was told that you might not be trusted, and, by God, I see that they were right! You're a traitor!"

  "You son of a bitch!" Hank said. "I'm not a Benedict Arnold! I'm just trying to talk you out of this insanity, show you why you're here! I don't want this tragedy! I want to save you!"

  "I have my orders," Longstreet said. "Now, I haven't given you the message to deliver to the queen yet."

  Hank only half-listened to the rest. But when he went to Glinda, he repeated the captain's words almost verbatim.

  "Did he say when the gate would be opened again?" she said.

  "No. He said that that was classified information."

  "It's a pity, the whole thing. Very well. What must be must be."

  She commanded that the party return to the castle. Stover
climbed to the top of the highest tower and looked with his binoculars at the meadow. The log fortifications would soon be complete. Pup tents were being put up within the enclosure, and there were four large bonfires. Dawn would see the base completed. What would happen next? Would the soldiers stay inside the base or did they have orders to attack?

  There was nothing he could do about them except to plead with Glinda. That would be futile. She had determined her course with logic that he could not prove false.

  He went down to the hangar and worked for five hours on Jenny. She was then ready for flight, but he had nowhere to take her. Jenny wanted to talk, but he was not in the mood. He walked away from her while she plaintively asked what was troubling him.

  He had hoped to talk to Glinda about the soldiers. She, however, did not invite him to dine with her. He ate in his suite alone, Lamblo being on guard duty. Afterwards, he left the castle and walked down the road until the queen's guards stopped him. He could see the fires and the figures moving around them and could hear, faintly, the singing. The words were indistinguishable but the melody was recognizable. They were singing a popular tune from 1922, "Toot, Toot, Tootsie, Goodbye." He felt homesick for a moment; tears welled. He also felt a desire to go down and join the soldiers.

  "Here I am, an American. I'll stand by you even if you're wrong."

  That was succeeded by a momentary rage against the men who had sent them here. They should be exposed, punished. Perhaps, if he could somehow get back to Earth, he could publicize their crime and see to it that those fat old men were disgraced.

  Now the men were singing Julia Ward Howe's "Hymn to the Republic." That must be making their Southern captain angry. But, immediately thereafter, "Dixie" came to him. Longstreet should be pacified by that.

  There was a flare of light, the sound of scraping feet, and the flap of cloaks in the wind. He turned. Glinda and six guards were there. She came to his side and stood silently for a while. Now the soldiers were singing George M. Cohan's "Over There."

  He looked down at her profile. The achingly beautiful face was expressionless. She said, "It's sad. Such things should not have to be. I should be hardened to them, but I'm not."

  She was not talking about the songs. She was thinking of what would soon be done to them.

  "Couldn't you use your ‘magic' to transport them back to Earth?" he said. "That would convince the chiefs that they were up against an invincible force, someone with powers they couldn't understand or cope with."

  "No, I can't. There are too many. I would have to use special tools, and I don't have nearly enough. Besides, they'd have to cooperate with me if I did have the means, and they wouldn't. Also, it would exhaust me, leave me wide open for an attack from Erakna. And I doubt very much that the chiefs would just give up."

  "When are you going to attack?"

  "It's better that you don't know. Don't think about trying to warn them. It wouldn't do any good. I can, however, understand why you would want to do that."

  He walked away without saying goodnight.

  Lamblo did not come to bed; she sent word that she had been ordered to attend Glinda all that night. Hank tried to sleep but could not. He got up and drank some of the expensive imported Gillikin liquor which was much like scotch. After smoking several pipes and downing half a fifth, he reeled to bed. He did not drop off at once, however. He could not find a comfortable position, and he was about to get up again when he became aware that someone was shaking his shoulder. He sat up. Dawn light was flooding the room.

  Mizdo, looking tired, black under the eyes, had awakened him. His head hurt, his eyes were gummed, and his mouth tasted like the bottom of a chamber pot.

  "The queen wants you."

  "O.K., O.K., give me a minute."

  Despite the urgency, he took his time. He shaved and showered and brushed his teeth with salt and drank some berry juice. Then he dressed slowly. He knew that he was not going to like this day, and he was putting off the inevitable as long as he could.

  Glinda was not, as he had expected, waiting for him in her suite or in the conference room. Lamblo, who looked even more worn and pale than Mizdo, met him at the foot of the staircase on the first floor. She greeted him but did not ask him how he was. She said, "We'll take the chariot to the meadow."

  They rode out on a road empty of people and animals until they got to the meadow. Here were many soldiers, male and female, and hundreds of hawks and eagles. Some of the birds were stained with dried blood.

  Hank looked around. There must have been a great noise late last night, screaming, shouting, rifles, and machine guns firing. He had not heard it; his suite was on the far south side of the castle and the walls were thick. Now there was silence except for the shuffling of feet, the clink now and then of metal against metal, and the occasional soft orders from officers.

  Glinda stood on top of the embankment by the ditch. Hank went to her side and looked down on the dead. Most of the Americans were lying behind the log palisade, but some must have tried to escape across the meadow and into the woods. They had been caught by the birds and their faces and throats torn out. Dead hawks and eagles lay by them, but most of the slain birds were among the corpses behind the logs. Several dozen of the defenders had arrows sticking from them.

  "The attack was launched an hour before dawn," Glinda said. "It caught most of them asleep. I sent in archers in the third wave, and they finished up those still fighting and the wounded."

  Soldiers clad in white baggy clothes and face masks were pouring methyl alcohol and oil over the bodies. When this was completed, the torches were applied. Black smoke rose from the flames. Even though the wind was from the southwest, Hank could smell the burning flesh. Hank fought against getting sick. He had never before seen wholesale carnage close up. He had been far above the bodies lying on fields churned up by artillery barrages.

  The white-clothed soldiers carried in branches and narrow logs and set them over the bodies. Then they threw buckets of alcohol and oil on the wood.

  The wounded birds were being treated with watered alcohol. Some of them screamed with pain.

  "I don't think that's necessary," Hank said. "I doubt very much if any... of my people... were diseased."

  "I don't want to take any chances."

  Hank returned to his suite in the castle, put paper, ink bottle, and pen on the desk, and then walked for a while around the room, his lips moving. Having composed his text roughly, he sat down and began writing.

  July 10, 1923 Henry Lincoln Stover American Citizen Castle of Queen Glinda Quadlingland, Amariiki

  Warren Gamaliel Harding President of the United States of America White House Washington, D.C., U.S.A. Earth

  Dear Mr. President:

  Doubtless, you will know in a few days what happened to the soldiers who invaded this world.

  As commander-in-chief of the armed forces of the U.S. A., you are responsible for the invasion and (heir deaths.

  You were ill-advised to permit this, but you are the one with the final responsibility.

  Surely, you were fully informed of the possible, indeed, inevitable, consequences of this invasion. My report must have been sent to you, sir.

  I just cannot understand why the project was not terminated, why there was not only a failure to cease communication but why this criminal invasion was ordered.

  I am very angry, and I am very ashamed, and I grieve deeply.

  I feel that the officers and the civilian scientists and the government officials who have participated in this project are guilty of a crime. But their guilt is little compared to yours, sir.

  I have always been proud of being an American, though I realize that we Americans have done and are doing certain things that we should be deeply ashamed of. But I've always felt that, though we are far from perfect, there is something in the American spirit that is always struggling to rectify the evils in our society. I've always felt that we were not the only ones distinguished by these evils. That is, that all o
ther nations have their evils, some like ours, some of a different nature.

  My mother taught me that, though I like to think that I would have been objective enough to realize that myself when I became an adult.

  I am speaking, of course, of the position of the Negro, of the treatment of Chinese, Japanese, and the American Indian, of the vast and deep corruption in our government, federal, state, municipal, of the corruption and deaths and ruined lives resulting from the stupid Prohibition law, and... but why go on?

  These are our problems, and I have faith enough in our political system and in the spirit of the times to feel that, with time, we'll solve them.

  It's what's going on now with this world that concerns me.

  I have tried to find excuses for the invasion, but I have absolutely failed. There are no acceptable ones. They are unacceptable to me as an American and a human being. There should not be any differentiation in those words, to be an American should mean to be a human being. Sometimes the two terms are synonymous; more often, they're not. But I am an individual, a person, my own self, and I strive to be both. That means that I don't support the slogan, "My country, right or wrong." I want it to be always right, and, if it sees that it's wrong, to become right.

  I would think the same if I were a Frenchman or a Russian or a Chinese or a British citizen or a Siamese.

  Queen Glinda does not want you to enter this world. She wants all entrance and communication stopped. She does not want, and I don't want it, either, plagues that will kill hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of the citizens of this world. She speaks only for one of the nations here, but I am one hundred percent certain that the other governments here would feel exactly as she does.

  I am not a traitor because I oppose you or whoever might succeed you. I had no part in the destruction of the invasion force that you sent, and I did my best to find some other way of dealing with the force. I still think of myself as a citizen of the U.S.A., a loyal citizen. But one who's deeply ashamed and grieved because of what his country is doing now.