by Peter George
Guano immediately became suspicious again. ‘Why in hell not?’
‘Because,’ Mandrake said slowly, ‘he just took off in his personal plane. And not only is he mad, but he’s drunk as a bloody skunk!’
LEPER COLONY
Lieutenant Goldberg finished his checks on the CRM-114. He said, ‘King, I’ve tried to unravel it but it’s hopeless. All the radio gear is kaput, like I said, and I just can’t repair it.’
He looked down at the CRM-114, which could be seen to be hopelessly smashed and twisted, now he had taken the front off it.
King said, ‘What happened, Goldy?’
Goldberg looked at the gear and shook his head. ‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘the emergency self-destruct mechanism got hit and blew itself up.’
King said, ‘Well, awright, don’t let’s worry too much about that now. Lothar, how about them fire-crackers?’
Lothar Zogg looked quickly at his circuit lights. ‘Everything seems to check out okay.’
‘Sweets?’
‘Okay, King.’
‘Dietrich, ECM?’
Dietrich looked closely at his equipment. He said slowly, ‘King, ECM’s okay.’
‘Awright, keep it blastin’. You figure it’s upset their radar?’
Dietrich said, ‘Ain’t much radar can reach us down here, King, but what there is we’ll sure as hell upset it.’
King said, ‘Okay, keep it goin’. Goldy, you mean all our radio gear is out?’
Lieutenant Goldberg said positively, ‘It’s out. The CRM-114… I just can’t repair it.’
‘So repair somethin’ else.’
Goldberg said patiently, ‘Look, King, when we’re flying on a mission like this, it don’t make no difference. Maybe the other radios are okay, but they’re no good to use if the CRM-114 is wrecked. We just can’t receive any messages.’
‘You sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Can we transmit?’
Goldberg said, ‘Well maybe. I just don’t know.’
‘Okay,’ King said, ‘forget it, Goldy. I guess from here on in we ain’t gonna want any more information. What the hell could those guys tell us anyway?’
‘Well,’ Sweets Kivel said, ‘maybe they could tell us the war’s over.’
Lothar Zogg said, ‘Are you kidding?’
‘Yeah,’ Kivel agreed, ‘just kidding.’
King peered forward at the difficult terrain he would have to cross. He was an expert, a good pilot who could see his way when everyone else turned back. He could feel he was going to get to the target and deliver his load. He hunched forward and concentrated as the snowy terrain flashed past under the bomber.
THE WAR ROOM
In the War Room everyone sitting around the great table was concentrating his attention on the large display map of Russia. As they watched, the arrow-like track indicating the dead reckoning position of each aircraft suddenly began to look off and change direction.
In the room there was a background of short-wave transmissions, which some enthusiast had switched through to let everyone hear the aeroplanes acknowledging the recall code. Around the table there was a general cheer, such as one might hear at an election victory, backslapping by people sitting next to each other, and great high spirits.
A sample radio message went like this: ROGER, SEVEN-TWO ZEBRA ABLE, CONFIRMING, ACKNOWLEDGE AND CONFIRM MISSION CANCELLED, RETURNING TO BASE.
The President put his inhaler to his face, quickly pulled it away, and looked across the table at General Faceman. ‘What was the name of the officer who called me from Burpelson?’
Faceman said, ‘I didn’t speak to him, sir. But Colonel Guano was commanding the airborne battalion. I imagine he made the call.’
‘I want that officer upped to brigadier general and flown to Washington. I want to decorate him personally.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The President turned to Turgidson. ‘Let me know when all the recalls are acknowledged.’
‘They’re almost all in now,’ Turgidson said quickly.
‘They are?’ The President looked at the Big Board.
‘How many planes did we lose?’
Turgidson himself looked at the Big Board. He moistened his lips with his tongue. ‘We’re not certain, sir. You see, the Big Board is only a dead reckoning indicator. It plots the courses the planes would normally be on. It does show four splashed, but that is based entirely on enemy reports.’
‘I see.’
General Turgidson suddenly climbed on a chair and asked for silence. As the Big Board continued to show the bombers turning and heading back from their targets, he said, ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen.’ All gave their attention to him. The room was very quiet.
Turgidson said piously, ‘Gentlemen, I’m not a sentimentalist by nature, but I wonder now if I don’t know what’s in every heart in this room.’ He paused, then continued. ‘Gentlemen, I want to suggest that we get down on our knees and say a short prayer of thanks for our deliverance.’
The President inclined his head gravely, pushed back his chair, and slowly sank to his knees. Soon all were kneeling except De Sadeski and Doctor Strangelove. But Strangelove made the gesture of leaning forward, while at the same time appearing to have some difficulty in controlling a tendency of his right arm to jerk upwards.
De Sadeski looked round the room. He said with some scorn, ‘Excuse me, but I’m afraid I have far more urgent matters to attend to.’
There were angry and astonished murmurs from the group.
De Sadeski ignored them and continued. ‘But before I leave, I wish to state unequivocally that my Government will not be satisfied with a polite note of regret over this shocking aggression against the peace-loving people of the Soviet Union.’
The President rose slowly to his feet. He inhaled thoughtfully on his inhaler while he glared at De Sadeski.
Around the room comments were heard.
‘Well, that cuts it,’ from Turgidson.
‘That commie punk,’ from Randolph.
President Muffley slowly raised his hands for silence. The buzz of comment died away.
The President said, ‘Damn you, De Sadeski! Damn you! This was the result of one man’s action, a mentally unbalanced person, and we have no monopoly on lunatics.’
Ambassador De Sadeski’s heavy face was sneering. He said, ‘It is very convenient for you to place the blame on someone not present to answer.’
‘How dare you address me in such a manner!’ The President was really angry now, working himself up into a rage, which those who had seen him in conference with political leaders in the past knew would be violent.
De Sadeski said coldly, ‘Please don’t shout, Mister President.’
The President said, ‘I have warned about this danger for years. During those futile disarmament conferences at Geneva I have stuck my neck out time and time again.’
De Sadeski said contemptuously, ‘Bah! You’ve never wanted disarmament. It would wreck your economy.’
‘That’s nonsense! We could spend exactly the same amount on schools, highways, and space.’
De Sadeski also was now becoming bitter and angry. ‘All you ever wanted to do was spy in our country.’
President Muffley was becoming angrier. ‘You know that is a lie, De Sadeski. You could not expect us to destroy our weapons without having the faintest idea of what you were doing inside your country!’
‘And you, Mister President, could not expect us to let you spy in our country before you destroyed your weapons.’
The President said nothing for several seconds. His face became whiter and in his temple a small vein was beating heavily. And then he exploded. ‘Now listen to me, De Sadeski! Despite total mistrust and mutual suspicion, we both place an incredible trust in each other; a trust far greater than disarmament and inspection would ever require. We trust each other to maintain the balance of terror, to behave rationally and to do nothing which would cause a war by accident or miscalculation or madness
. Now this is a ridiculous trust, because even assuming we both had perfect intentions, we cannot honestly guarantee anything. There are too many fingers on the buttons. There are too many reasons both mechanical and human for the system to fail. What a marvellous thing for the fate of the world to depend on – a state of mind, a mood, a feeling, a moment of anger, an impulse, ten minutes of poor judgment, a sleepless night.’
The President took his handkerchief again and blew his nose loudly. A little colour was back in his face, but he still glared at De Sadeski.
He continued in a quieter voice. ‘And so what is the hope? The behaviour of nations has always been despicable. The great nations have always acted like gangsters, and the small nations like prostitutes. They have bribed and threatened and murdered their way through history. And now the Bomb has become an even greater enemy to every nation than they ever have been, or ever could be, to each other. Even disarmament is not enough. We can never entirely get rid of the Bomb because the knowledge of how to make it will always now be with us. Unless we learn to create a new system of law and morality between nations, then we will surely exterminate ourselves, just as we almost did today.’
De Sadeski remained impassive. He was about to speak, when Staines plucked urgently at the President’s sleeve. He said, ‘Mister President, Soviet Premier Kissof is calling again. He is back in his office.’
The President looked again at De Sadeski, then reached forward and picked up the phone.
LEPER COLONY
Leper Colony was only a few feet above the ground
King smiled. This was flying. He looked ahead and saw he would have to turn in to a valley between two big rises.
He said, ‘Sweets, terrain ahead looks pretty rough.’
Sweets said, ‘Gets easier later, King.’
‘Okay.’ King expertly piloted the bomber through the valley. This was real flying.
Sweets said, ‘King, we’re still using too much fuel down here. It’s gonna be a long walk after we hit the primary target.’
Lieutenant Goldberg said, ‘Okay, so we walk.’
Dietrich said, ‘I can walk.’ He moved forward to look at Ace Owens.
Lothar Zogg said, ‘Well, a walk is a walk is a walk.’
Dietrich bent over Ace. He had already administered an injection of morphine, from the package in the aeroplane, to the wounded co-pilot.
He returned to his position and said, ‘King, Ace is sleeping.’
‘Well, that’s good.’
‘Yeah, but his breathing is kind of light.’
King frowned. ‘That’s bad.’
‘That’s bad,’ Dietrich repeated.
Lieutenant Goldberg said, ‘King, the CRM-114 is definitely right out. There ain’t nothing I can do to make it work, and that’s all there is to it.’
King said equably, ‘Okay, Goldy, so fergit about it.’
Goldberg said, ‘Forget about it?’
‘Sure, fergit about it. What you think they want to talk to us now fer?’
Sweets Kivel finished some calculations. He said, ‘King, that fuel consumption is still working out pretty bad.’
‘Roger,’ King said.
‘Can’t we go higher?’
King looked out at the terrain ahead of them. He thought about Sweets’s query.
He banked the plane expertly to port to evade a long slope which was tilting up toward them.
After he straightened out he said, ‘Listen, Sweets, this is the deal. With the ECM workin’ an’ us stayin’ on the deck, I don’t figure they kin track us with radar, an’ we oughta be able to make it to the primary target. Now I know we’re burnin’ a lotta juice down here an’ we may not have enough left to git us back to a usable base. The way I see it, after we hit the primary we’ll head fer the coast an’ then bail out when she drinks it all.’
‘Well,’ Sweets said, ‘if it’s okay with you, King, I guess it’s okay with me.’
Dietrich, who had been watching his radarscope closely, put a transparent overlay on the surface of the tube and checked his chronometer. The movement of three blips had appeared against the range scale marked on the overlay. Then he noticed a fourth blip appear.
He said urgently, ‘King, I’ve got four blips. They must be fighters.’
‘Are they on an intercept course?’
‘Right on the button, King. And they got a lot of closing speed, on a dead intercept course.’
‘They must have got lucky and made a visual contact.’
Dietrich said, ‘They’re fighters all right. Closing speed about Mach one-eight. Range thirty miles. Altitude fifteen thousand.’
‘Four, you say?’
‘That’s right, four.’
‘How kin they see us from up there?’ King said musingly. ‘We’re close enough to the ground so the radar returns would get mixed up in the ground returns. Like I said, they must have got lucky and made a visual contact. You’re sure they’re on to us?’
Dietrich made another mark on the overlay and said, ‘I’m sure, all right. They’re losing height, down to eleven thousand now, steady on an intercept course.’
Lieutenant Goldberg said quickly, ‘Could be they’ve got a heat-seeking guidance system as well as radar. We had a lecture about it last month from the A-Two boys.’
‘Yeah, could be,’ King said. ‘What range now, Dietrich?’
‘Range twenty miles.’
‘Prepare to fire missiles.’
‘How many, King?’
‘Many as you think you need.’
‘Okay,’ Dietrich said, ‘preparing missiles one through eight. That leaves four to use if another fighter gets to us before we reach the primary.’
‘Roger, one through eight,’ King said.
Firing the missiles was a task for a team which consisted of Goldberg and Dietrich. Dietrich was primarily responsible, since he controlled the detection radar. But Goldberg had the responsibility for seeing that the air-to-air missiles were primed and ready to go.
Dietrich said, ‘Okay, make one through eight ready.’
Goldberg rapidly flipped the switches in front of him. He said, ‘One through eight ready.’
Dietrich placed his overlay on the tube of his radarscope, watched while the blips slid down the etched line on the transparency, and said, ‘Fire missile salvo one through eight.’
Lieutenant Goldberg pressed the button.
The rockets slid from the tail of the bomber. Above them two black radar blisters gave the initial guidance they needed to direct them toward the fighters. As soon as they had locked on to the target they would need no more guidance. Their detection system was sensitive enough so they could home on the attacking fighter without more guidance from the bomber. They had to have the path shown to them, but they did not need to be taught how to walk it.
Dietrich said, ‘Missiles fired!’
‘Roger.’
Dietrich and Goldberg watched the scopes as the traces moved out toward the attacking fighters.
The traces, after moving fast across the screens, merged in with the fighter blips. When they touched, the fighter blips flared up brightly for a second on the screens, then disappeared.
Dietrich said, ‘Got ‘em!’
Goldberg said, ‘Got ‘em all!’
And suddenly another explosion rocked Leper Colony.
A small fire broke out in the rear of the bombing-navigation section. Lothar Zogg pushed a button and grabbed an extinguisher.
The flight deck filled with smoke again, but it dispersed very quickly, drawn off through the holes in the side of the aeroplane.
King said, ‘What the hell was that?’
Lieutenant Goldberg said, ‘I think one of those fighters must have gotten something off before they were hit.’
‘How’s Ace?’
‘Still out,’ Dietrich said.
King had held back on the controls while the smoke obscured his vision. Now as it cleared he took Leper Colony down to the deck again.
; He said, ‘Check on damage.’
Lothar Zogg said, ‘We got another hole in the starboard side low down.’
‘Equipment?’
‘Seems okay.’
‘Mine’s okay,’ Sweets Kivel said.
‘Joe?’
‘No more than already, King. The CRM-114 is still out, but Dietrich’s equipment looks good.’
‘Where the hell is Dietrich?’ King said. There was a trace of irritation in his voice.
Dietrich responded immediately. ‘Why, King, I’m right here with old Ace. See, Goldy’s watching the ECM and I thought I’d better administer to Ace.’
‘Well awright,’ King said, slightly mollified. ‘I wouldn’t want you to neglect ole Ace.’
‘I’m not neglecting him.’
Sweets Kivel broke in on them. ‘King, you noticed our fuel state?’
King looked at the fuel gauges. It was impossible, he thought, but there it was. He said, ‘We must of been hit in the starboard tanks, huh, Sweets?’
The navigator said, ‘That’s what it looks to me, King. Maybe the tanks, maybe a transfer line. I don’t know what the answer is now.’
King looked at the ancestral portraits. ‘Neither do I,’ he said, ‘but I’ll sure as hell figure it out.’
Dietrich suddenly said, ‘King, Ace is dead.’
‘What the hell you mean he’s dead?’
Dietrich’s voice was quiet. ‘He’s dead, King, that’s all there is.’
King said, ‘Hell. He was a good guy, Ace, but that’s war, men.’
Lieutenant Goldberg assisted Lieutenant Dietrich to close Ace Owens’s eyes and cover him with a blanket. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘that’s war.’
THE WAR ROOM
Everyone seated round the great table listened attentively as President Muffley spoke to the Russian Premier.
He said, ‘Hello? Premier Kissof? That’s right, it’s Merkin.’ He frowned. ‘Oh no, there must be some mistake. Uh-huh, yes I did get you, but just a second.’ He looked toward General Turgidson. ‘The Russian Premier claims one plane is still attacking, and his staff believe its target might be Laputa.’