Max pursed his lips. “I never seen him out of uniform before. Lots of times on Telly, but never out of uniform. I thought he was taller than that.”
“He fights with his brains,” Joe said, still looking after the craggy field marshal. “He doesn’t have to be any taller.”
Max scowled. “Where’d he ever get that nickname, sir?”
“Stonewall?” Joe was turning to resume his chair and magazine. “He’s supposed to be a student of a top general back in the American Civil War. Uses some of the original Stonewall’s tactics.”
Max was out of his depth. “American Civil War? Was that much of a fracas, captain? It musta been before my time.”
“It was quite a fracas,” Joe said dryly. “Lot of good lads died. A hundred years after it was fought, the reasons it was fought seemed about as valid as those we fight fracases for today. Personally I—”
He had to cut it short. They were calling him on the address system. His aircraft was ready. Joe made his way to the hangars, followed by Max Mainz. He was going to pilot the airplane himself and old Stonewall Cogswell would have been surprised at what Joe Mauser was looking for.
V
By the time they had returned to quarters, there was a message waiting for Captain Mauser. He was to report to the officer commanding reconnaissance.
Joe redressed in the Haer kilts and proceeded to headquarters.
The officer commanding reconnaissance turned out to be none other than Balt Haer, natty as ever, and, as ever, arrogantly tapping his swagger stick against his leg.
“Zen! Captain,” he complained. “Where have you been? Off on a trank kick? We’ve got to get organized.”
Joe Mauser snapped him a salute. “No, sir. I rented an aircraft to scout out the terrain over which we’ll be fighting.”
“Indeed. And what were your impressions, captain?” There was an overtone which suggested that it made little difference what impressions a captain of cavalry might have gained.
Joe shrugged. “Largely mountains, hills, woods. Good reconnaissance is going to make the difference in this one. And in the fracas itself cavalry is going to be more important than either artillery or infantry. A Nathan Forrest fracas, sir. A matter of getting there fustest with the mostest.”
Balt Haer said amusedly. “Thanks for your opinion, captain. Fortunately, our staff has already come largely to the same conclusions. Undoubtedly, they’ll be glad to hear your wide experience bears them out.”
Joe said evenly, “It’s a rather obvious conclusion, of course.” He took this as it came, having been through it before. The dilettante amateur’s dislike of the old pro. The amateur in command who knew full well he was less capable than many of those below him in rank.
“Of course, captain,” Balt Haer flicked his swagger stick against his leg. “But to the point. Your squadron is to be deployed as scouts under my overall command. You’ve had cavalry experience, I assume.”
“Yes, sir. In various fracases over the past fifteen years.”
“Very well. Now then, to get to the reason I have summoned you. Yesterday in my father’s office you intimated that you had some grandiose scheme which would bring victory to the Haer colors. But then, on some thin excuse, refused to divulge just what the scheme might be.”
Joe Mauser looked at him unblinkingly.
Balt Haer said: “Now I’d like to have your opinion on just how Vacuum Tube Transport can extract itself from what would seem a poor position at best.”
In all there were four others in the office, two women clerks fluttering away at typers, and two of Balt Haer’s junior officers. They seemed only mildly interested in the conversation between Balt and Joe.
Joe wet his lips carefully. The Haer scion was his commanding officer. He said, “Sir, what I had in mind is a new gimmick. At this stage, if I told anybody and it leaked, it’d never be effective, not even this first time.”
Haer observed him coldly. “And you think me incapable of keeping your secret, ah, gimmick, I believe is the idiomatic term you used.”
Joe Mauser’s eyes shifted around the room, taking in the other four, who were now looking at him.
Bait Haer rapped, “These members of my staff are all trusted Haer employees, Captain Mauser. They are not fly-by-night freelancers hired for a week or two.”
Joe said, “Yes, sir. But it’s been my experience that one person can hold a secret. It’s twice as hard for two, and from there on it’s a decreasing probability in a geometric ratio.”
The younger Haer’s stick rapped the side of his leg, impatiently. “Suppose I inform you that this is a command, captain? I have little confidence in a supposed gimmick that will rescue our forces from disaster and I rather dislike the idea of a captain of one of my squadrons dashing about with such a bee in his bonnet when he should be obeying my commands.”
Joe kept his voice respectful. “Then, sir, I’d request that we take the matter to the Commander in Chief, your father.”
“Indeed!”
Joe said, “Sir, I’ve been working on this a long time. I can’t afford to risk throwing the idea away.”
Bait Haer glared at him. “Very well, captain. I’ll call your bluff, come along.” He turned on his heel and headed from the room.
Joe Mauser shrugged in resignation and followed him.
* * * *
The old Baron wasn’t much happier about Joe Mauser’s secrets than was his son. It had only been the day before that he had taken Joe on, but already he had seemed to have aged in appearance. Evidently, each hour that went by made it increasingly clear just how perilous a position he had assumed. Vacuum Tube Transport had elbowed, buffaloed, bluffed and edged itself up to the outskirts of the really big time. The Baron’s ability, his aggressiveness, his flair, his political pull, had all helped, but now the chips were down. He was up against one of the biggies, and this particular biggy was tired of ambitious little Vacuum Tube Transport.
He listened to his son’s words, listened to Joe’s defense.
He said, looking at Joe, “If I understand this, you have some scheme which you think will bring victory in spite of what seems a disastrous situation.”
“Yes, sir.”
The two Haers looked at him, one impatiently, the other in weariness.
Joe said, “I’m gambling everything on this, sir. I’m no Rank Private in his first fracas. I deserve to be given some leeway.”
Balt Haer snorted. “Gambling everything! What in Zen would you have to gamble, captain? The whole Haer family fortunes are tied up. Hovercraft is out for blood. They won’t be satisfied with a token victory and a negotiated compromise. They’ll devastate us. Thousands of mercenaries killed, with all that means in indemnities; millions upon million in expensive military equipment, most of which we’ve had to hire and will have to recompensate for. Can you imagine the value of our stock after Stonewall Cogswell has finished with us? Why, every two by four trucking outfit in North America will be challenging us, and we won’t have the forces to meet a minor skirmish.”
Joe reached into an inner pocket and laid a sheaf of documents on the desk of Baron Malcolm Haer. The Baron scowled down at them.
Joe said simply, “I’ve been accumulating stock since before I was eighteen and I’ve taken good care of my portfolio in spite of taxes and the various other pitfalls which make the accumulation of capital practically impossible. Yesterday, I sold all of my portfolio I was legally allowed to sell and converted to Vacuum Tube Transport.” He added, dryly, “Getting it at an excellent rate, by the way.”
Balt Haer mulled through the papers, unbelievingly. “Zen!” he ejaculated. “The fool really did it. He’s sunk a small fortune into our stock.”
Baron Haer growled at his son, “You seem considerably more convinced of our defeat than the captain, here. Perhaps I should reverse your positions of command.”
His son grunted, but said nothing.
Old Malcolm Haer’s eyes came back to Joe. “Admittedly, I thought you on
the romantic side yesterday, with your hints of some scheme which would lead us out of the wilderness, so to speak. Now I wonder if you might not really have something. Very well, I respect your claimed need for secrecy. Espionage is not exactly an antiquated military field.”
“Thank you, sir.”
But the Baron was still staring at him. “However, there’s more to it than that. Why not take this great scheme to Marshal Cogswell? And yesterday you mentioned that the Telly sets of the nation would be tuned in on this fracas, and obviously you are correct. The question becomes, what of it?”
The fat was in the fire now. Joe Mauser avoided the haughty stare of young Balt Haer and addressed himself to the older man. “You have political pull, sir. Oh, I know you don’t make and break presidents. You couldn’t even pull enough wires to keep Hovercraft from making this a divisional magnitude fracas—but you have pull enough for my needs.”
Baron Haer leaned back in his chair, his barrel-like body causing that article of furniture to creak. He crossed his hands over his stomach. “And what are your needs, Captain Mauser?”
Joe said evenly, “If I can bring this off, I’ll be a fracas buff celebrity. I don’t have any illusions about the fickleness of the Telly fans, but for a day or two I’ll be on top. If at the same time I had your all out support, pulling what strings you could reach—”
“Why then, you’d be promoted to Upper, wouldn’t you, captain?” Balt Haer finished for him, amusement in his voice.
“That’s what I’m gambling on,” Joe said evenly.
The younger Haer grinned at his father superciliously. “So our captain says he will defeat Stonewall Cogswell in return for you sponsoring his becoming a member of the nation’s elite.”
* * * *
“Good Heavens, is the supposed cream of the nation now selected on no higher a level than this?” There was sarcasm in the words.
The three men turned. It was the girl Joe had bumped into the day before. The Haers didn’t seem surprised at her entrance.
“Nadine,” the older man growled. “Captain Joseph Mauser who has been given a commission in our forces.”
Joe went through the routine of a Middle of officer’s rank being introduced to a lady of Upper caste. She smiled at him, somewhat mockingly, and failed to make standard response.
Nadine Haer said, “I repeat, what is this service the captain can render the house of Haer so important that pressure should be brought to raise him to Upper caste? It would seem unlikely that he is a noted scientist, an outstanding artist, a great teacher—”
Joe said, uncomfortably, “They say the military is a science, too.”
Her expression was almost as haughty as that of her brother. “Do they? I have never thought so.”
“Really, Nadine,” her father grumbled. “This is hardly your affair.”
“No? In a few days I shall be repairing the damage you have allowed, indeed sponsored, to be committed upon the bodies of possibly thousands of now healthy human beings.”
Balt said nastily, “Nobody asked you to join the medical staff, Nadine. You could have stayed in your laboratory, figuring out new methods of preventing the human race from replenishing itself.”
The girl was obviously not the type to redden, but her anger was manifest. She spun on her brother. “If the race continues its present maniac course, possibly more effective methods of birth control are the most important development we could make. Even to the ultimate discovery of preventing all future conception.”
Joe caught himself in mid-chuckle.
But not in time. She spun on him in his turn. “Look at yourself in that silly skirt. A professional soldier! A killer! In my opinion the most useless occupation ever devised by man. Parasite on the best and useful members of society. Destroyer by trade!”
Joe began to open his mouth, but she overrode him. “Yes, yes. I know. I’ve read all the nonsense that has accumulated down through the ages about the need for, the glory of, the sacrifice of the professional soldier. How they defend their country. How they give all for the common good. Zen! What nonsense.”
Balt Haer was smirking sourly at her. “The theory today is, Nadine, old thing, that professionals such as the captain are gathering experience in case a serious fracas with the Sovs ever develops. Meanwhile his training is kept at a fine edge fighting in our inter-corporation, inter-union, or union-corporation fracases that develop in our private enterprise society.”
She laughed her scorn. “And what a theory! Limited to the weapons which prevailed before 1900. If there was ever real conflict between the Sov-world and our own, does anyone really believe either would stick to such arms? Why, aircraft, armored vehicles, yes, and nuclear weapons and rockets, would be in overnight use.”
Joe was fascinated by her furious attack. He said, “Then, what would you say was the purpose of the fracases, Miss—”
“Circuses,” she snorted. “The old Roman games, all over again, and a hundred times worse. Blood and guts sadism. The quest of a frustrated person for satisfaction in another’s pain. Our Lowers of today are as useless and frustrated as the Roman proletariat and potentially they’re just as dangerous as the mob that once dominated Rome. Automation, the second industrial revolution, has eliminated for all practical purposes the need for their labor. So we give them bread and circuses. And every year that goes by the circuses must be increasingly sadistic, death on an increasing scale, or they aren’t satisfied. Once it was enough to have fictional mayhem, cowboys and Indians, gangsters, or G.I.s versus the Nazis, Japs or Commies, but that’s passed. Now we need real blood and guts.”
Baron Haer snapped finally, “All right, Nadine. We’ve heard this lecture before. I doubt if the captain is interested, particularly since you don’t seem to be able to get beyond the protesting stage and have yet to come up with an answer.”
“I have an answer!”
“Ah?” Balt Haer raised his eyebrows, mockingly.
“Yes! Overthrow this silly status society. Resume the road to progress. Put our people to useful endeavor, instead of sitting in front of their Telly sets, taking trank pills to put them in a happy daze and watching sadistic fracases to keep them in thrills, and their minds from their condition.”
Joe had figured on keeping out of the controversy with this firebrand, but now, really interested, he said, “Progress to where?”
She must have caught in his tone that he wasn’t needling. She frowned at him. “I don’t know man’s goal, if there is one. I’m not even sure it’s important. It’s the road that counts. The endeavor. The dream. The effort expended to make a world a better place than it was at the time of your birth.”
Balt Haer said mockingly, “That’s the trouble with you, Sis. Here we’ve reached Utopia and you don’t admit it.”
“Utopia!”
“Certainly. Take a poll. You’ll find nineteen people out of twenty happy with things just the way they are. They have full tummies and security, lots of leisure and trank pills to make matters seem even rosier than they are—and they’re rather rosy already.”
“Then what’s the necessity of this endless succession of bloody fracases, covered to the most minute bloody detail on the Telly?”
Baron Haer cut things short. “We’ve hashed and rehashed this before, Nadine and now we’re too busy to debate further.” He turned to Joe Mauser. “Very well, captain, you have my pledge. I wish I felt as optimistic as you seem to be about your prospects. That will be all for now, captain.”
Joe saluted and executed an about face.
In the outer offices, when he had closed the door behind him, he rolled his eyes upward in mute thanks to whatever powers might be. He had somehow gained the enmity of Balt, his immediate superior, but he’d also gained the support of Baron Haer himself, which counted considerably more.
He considered for a moment, Nadine Haer’s words. She was obviously a malcontent, but, on the other hand, her opinions of his chosen profession weren’t too different than his ow
n. However, given this victory, this upgrading in caste, and Joe Mauser would be in a position to retire.
The door opened and shut behind him and he half turned.
Nadine Haer, evidently still caught up in the hot words between herself and her relatives, glared at him. All of which stressed the beauty he had noticed the day before. She was an almost unbelievably pretty girl, particularly when flushed with anger.
It occurred to him with a blowlike suddenness that, if his caste was raised to Upper, he would be in a position to woo such as Nadine Haer.
He looked into her furious face and said, “I was intrigued, Miss Haer, with what you had to say, and I’d like to discuss some of your points. I wonder if I could have the pleasure of your company at some nearby refreshment—”
“My, how formal an invitation, captain. I suppose you had in mind sitting and flipping back a few trank pills.”
Joe looked at her. “I don’t believe I’ve had a trank in the past twenty years, Miss Haer. Even as a boy, I didn’t particularly take to having my senses dulled with drug-induced pleasure.”
Some of her fury was abating, but she was still critical of the professional mercenary. Her eyes went up and down his uniform in scorn. “You seem to make pretenses of being cultivated, captain. Then why your chosen profession?”
He’d had the answer to that for long years. He said now, simply, “I told you I was born a Lower. Given that, little counts until I fight my way out of it. Had I been born in a feudalist society, I would have attempted to batter myself into the nobility. Under classical capitalism, I would have done my utmost to accumulate a fortune, enough to reach an effective position in society. Now, under People’s Capitalism …”
She snorted, “Industrial Feudalism would be the better term.”
“… I realize I can’t even start to fulfill myself until I am a member of the Upper caste.”
Her eyes had narrowed, and the anger was largely gone. “But you chose the military field in which to better yourself?”
“Government propaganda to the contrary, it is practically impossible to raise yourself in other fields. I didn’t build this world, possibly I don’t even approve of it, but since I’m in it I have no recourse but to follow its rules.”
The Mack Reynolds Megapack Page 104