Ward stared at the screen, hardly breathing.
For perhaps fifteen seconds the globe was perfectly motionless, then in a sudden erratic shift it dropped to the bottom of the screen. Its steady red glow was flickering strangely. A deep purple light appeared in its center, followed by a brilliant crimson.
Ward’s fixed concentration on the screen was disrupted then by a lurid white light that broke into the room from the wide glass window.
Turning he saw that the entire atmosphere was bathed in a blaze of blinding luminence. And above the atmosphere, miles over the planet, a great awesome display of electrical forces lighted the skies with a boiling crimson light.
The glaring brightness of the illumination almost blinded him. He could see nothing above the great stretches of crimson light, but he could imagine the man-made inferno of electrical energy that circled the planet and the horrible holocaust its scorching disruption would bring about.
A fierce exultation ran through him. If that holocaust had exploded about the giant dreadnaughts there would be nothing left of them but flaky cinders floating in the void.
The light was gradually dimming. The white glare in the planet’s atmosphere was fading and above, the deep crimson blaze was receding.
WARD was facing the window when he heard the metal door slide open behind him. Instinctively he dropped to the floor. The action was purely involuntary, but it saved his life—for a moment at least.
The glass window he had been facing shattered into a thousand molten pieces under a blazing bolt of electrical energy. Wheeling from his crouched position Ward saw two stocky soldiers in the doorway, guns in hand.
The expressions on the faces of the soldiers were hard to define. They both looked as if they had just witnessed the end of the world. Possibly they realized this was the end of their world.
Their eyes flicked from the dead soldier on the floor to the useless directional screen.
In that split second of carelessness Ward sprang toward the screen. A bolt of searing electricity struck his shoulder before he covered six feet.
He threw himself to the floor and rolled frantically for the cover of the desk. Another bolt seared past his temple scorching the hair of his head.
Two more charges missed him by a miraculous chance. Then his hand closed on the gun which he had thrown at the screen and he swung about firing desperately at the door.
His first shots missed badly. The two soldiers had split apart and were firing methodically at him. He tried to crawl to his feet but he discovered that he didn’t have the strength. In a sitting position, gun braced in his lap with both hands, he waited for them.
Blood was streaming down his face but his eyes glinted with an indomitable spirit.
“Come and get me,” he snarled.
One of the soldiers, a pure Jap, was foolish enough to try. Ward’s blazing bolt cut him down before he covered half the distance.
The other soldier fired again, desperately, spasmodically—and scored two wide misses.
From outside Ward heard a sudden blasting noise.
THE sound seemed to come from a great distance. Ward realized that his senses were blurring, that he was gradually losing consciousness.
The comer of the desk cut off a view of the window but he could tell from the confused sounds of commotion that something momentous was occuring outside.
But before he could force his weary arms to bring his gun into firing position the soldier wheeled from the window and raced toward the door.
Ward fired one desperate blast at the fleeing soldier but his aim was badly off. He could feel his fingers numbing on the handle of the gun. A vast weariness was creeping over his body. His shoulder and head ached intolerably where the electric-arc charges had scored hits. Even his eyes were failing. Foggy mists were swirling before him.
With the gun braced on his knees he slumped back against the wall, fighting off the oblivion of unconsciousness through sheer will.
For an interminable interval he waited there, unconscious of the passage of time. Vague sounds drifted to him, and he heard shouts and cries in the corridor outside the room.
Then his burning, bloodshot eyes were playing tricks on him again. For through the fog of pain and weariness that was settling around him, he saw figures pressing through the door of the room, hurrying toward him.
Figures that couldn’t possibly be here on this planet. In the van of the impossible group advancing toward him was the portly figure of Commander Reynolds, the senior officer of the United Space Navy. And beside him was a slim, blonde girl. The girl was crying openly as she sank to her knees and took his bleeding head in her arms.
“Ward,” she sobbed brokenly, “Ward.”
Ward knew he must be living in some wild fancy of his imagination. This couldn’t be real. But the shoulder his head rested on was real and the wet cheek against his was real.
He couldn’t understand.
“Is it you, Ann?” he whispered.
THE wet cheek pressed closer to his face.
“Yes, darling, yes. Please don’t talk.”
Ward fought against the temptation to relax in her arms. There were things he had to know. He couldn’t rest until he knew. With a supreme effort of will he forced open his eyes.
“Is everything all right?” he asked. His voice sounded like a whispered croak in his ears. Its weakness frightened him.
“Everything is all right now,” Ann said softly. “Please believe me. All you have to do is rest for a while.”
Ward shook his head weakly.
“Not yet,” he whispered. “—Must know—what happened.”
Another voice, a deep, heavy voice, which Ward recognized vaguely as belonging to Commander Reynolds, said.
“Better tell him, Ann. A soldier can’t sleep until he knows the outcome of the battle.”
Ward felt a crazy desire to laugh. The good old commander would have a proverb on his lips when he met St. Peter.
Ann’s arms tightened about his shoulders.
“When you escaped from Exile Planetoid I knew something was wrong. I realized that you had been right all the time. I tried to get to my ship but the big German, who called himself the Baron, stopped me. I—I shot him and managed to get away with my ship. I returned to Earth, explained everything to the Commander, and we returned to Exile Planetoid with a full fighting force. From the inhabitants we learned of the base on Mars. When we were within a few thousand miles from here the electrical storm area surrounding the planet seemed to explode. That enabled us to land. There wasn’t much resistance and we learned that most of the men and ships had been destroyed in the explosion just beyond the atmosphere of the planet.”
The remaining soldier was suddenly visible to Ward. He was in a position where he could see through the wide window, and Ward was arrested by the expression of incredulous fear that was stamped on the soldier’s face as he stared out at the vast space landing field.
Ward’s eyes closed slowly as Ann finished speaking. A vast feeling of relief crept over him. The mighty fleet of space dreadnaughts had been demolished in the titanic upheaval occasioned by the disruption of the directional apparatus.
The menace to Earth was ended.
“Naturally,” Commander Reynolds was coughing, “suitable recognition of your bravery and foresight will be made, Lieutenant Blackson.”
There were dozens of things Ward wanted to say, hundreds of things he wanted to know, but for the time they were unimportant. There was also much he had to tell Commander Reynolds. That, too, could wait.
There was, however, one thing that couldn’t.
He opened his eyes with an effort and looked up at Ann.
“Please don’t leave me,” he said.
Ann’s smile was lopsided. Her eyes were wet.
“As long as you want me,” she said softly.
Ward didn’t answer. There are times when words are futile things, hopelessly unable to convey the feeling that is in a man’s heart. This was on
e of those occasions.
He closed his eyes.
[*] An unfavorable electrical condition existed about Mars. Scientists were unable to devise shields that would resist its heat, and no pilot had ever been able to approach within more than a few hundred thousand miles of the planet.
The electrical manifestations were attributed to mighty, raging space storms that, for some reason, were attracted magnetically to the atmosphere of Mare. Whatever the reason, the fact stood, that Mars was as alien, as mysterious, and as grimly foreboding in the days of space travel, as it had been in the time when rocket ships were but an impractical dream.
THE AVENGERS
First published in the June 1942 issue of Amazing Stories.
World War II comes to a smashing, glorious climax with the disarmament of the blood-mad nations in this great story by William P. McGivern.
A story that begins in today’s inferno and foretells the future!
Turn the page for the greatest prophecy since the famed Nostradamus . . .
CHAPTER I
Dirk Masters
DIRK MASTERS, chief engineer of the Standard Broadcasting System, made a last minute check-up of his equipment before handing the ear phones to his assistant.
“We’re going to broadcast in about twenty minutes,” he said rising to his feet. He was a big man and in the small, apparatus-clustered cabin he appeared almost huge. His hair was black and unruly, but his eyes were as blue as a baby’s, although not quite so innocent.
Leaving the cabin which had been converted into a control room, he ascended the companion way to the deck. It was a brilliant day, cloudless and clear. The strong hot sun sparkled on the blue expanse of the Atlantic, shooting lances of dancing light into his eyes.
Larry Winters, Standard’s top notch announcer was standing at the rail smoking a cigarette. Dirk joined him.
“Feeling a little nervous?” he asked. “You go on he air in about twenty minutes, you know.”
Larry Winters grinned. “Not particularly. In fact I’m looking forward to this broadcast. After all the bloody battles I’ve been describing for the last eight years I’m fed up with war and misery and death and suffering.”
“I know how you feel,” Dirk said quietly. “Even though Hitler has been dead four years and his armies smashed to bits, it’s still hard to realize it’s all over and done with.”[1]
“It’s all over though,” Larry Winters said emphatically. “Or after today it will be forever. When we send all the armaments of the Earth to the bottom of the Atlantic we’ll be putting an end to war for all time.”
“I’m not so sure,” Dirk muttered. Larry, who had been watching the horizon anxiously, suddenly grabbed his arm excitedly.
“Look, Dirk!” he yelled. “We’re coming into sight of the flotilla. Lord, there must be two thousand ships in that fleet.”
Dirk watched the majestic fleet which comprised all class ships of all the nations in the world as it slowly rose over the rim of the horizon and as their own fast launch approached it.
The vast fleet represented the navies of the world. Each ship was loaded to capacity with tanks and cannons and shells and powder. Many of them were listing dangerously from the heavy loads they carried. The mighty capital ships formed the outer ring of the vast circle, with cruisers, destroyers and submarines next in order. Inside the circle formed by the battle crafts were hundreds of barges loaded to capacity with machine guns, mortars, grenades and the other grades of smaller arms.
In the precise center of the ring was a solitary black barge, isolated from all other craft. On it was built a raised dais. On this dais rested a heavy, square leaden casket, grimly alone.
“I don’t approve of the Tribunal’s action in abolishing all armaments,” Dirk said, “but one thing I’m glad to see go is that damned death ray. Anything that potentially dangerous should be destroyed.”
“I AGREE there,” Larry said. He shuddered slightly as his eyes focused on the black barge with its ominous burden, the leaden casket on the raised dais. “It won the war for us undoubtedly, but it’s too hellish to remain in existence. Anyway it has the spot of honor in the day’s proceedings.”[2]
“With that on the bottom of the ocean,” Dirk said grimly, “We can all feel safer. If that instrument of death ever got into the hands of another Hitler it doesn’t take much imagination to figure out what would happen.”
“There’ll never be another Hitler,” Larry said impatiently. “A dictator rules by force of arms. And with no arms in the world, and every munitions factory under Tribunal surveillance, it would be impossible for a dictator to flourish.”
“Let’s hope you’re right,” Dirk said. He glanced at his watch. “Well, it’s about time for us to get ready. Churchill and the President have finished their speeches and the radio-controlled planes are on their way now to blow this fleet into the middle of next week. And the public is waiting for you to tell them all about it. I’m going back to the control room now. I’ll signal when I get the flash for New York.”
“Okay.” Larry said. He moved to the microphone which was set up near the rail and adjusted it to his height.
Dirk descended to the control room and took the headphones from his assistant. While he awaited the signal from New York, he made a few last adjustments on the control board.
In a few minutes he heard the first faint thunder of the thousands of radio controlled fighting planes which were heading to meet the vast flotilla in a rendezvous of roaring death.
Dirk felt a peculiar feeling of pride in the people of Earth as he heard the increasing sound of the planes nearing their suicidal meeting with the armada of naval forces. This destruction of the terrible weapons of war was tangible evidence that the people of Earth had learned their lesson and that they were prepared to make a future for themselves in which the horrors of war would be an impossibility. It was proof that civilization was advancing to its ultimate goal, that it was eradicating forever the most malignant cancer spot on the structure of peace and harmony.
As the huge squadrons of planes roared overhead he heard the signal from New York clearing the channels for the broadcast from the sea. With a flick of his finger he cut Larry Winters in and signaled him to go ahead.
An instant later Larry’s clear, dramatic voice was in his ears describing to him and to the anxiously listening world the spectacular, devastating destruction of Earth’s weapons of war.
THE vast fleet of radio-controlled planes is hovering over the mighty circle of ships and barges,” Larry’s voice was loud in his ears and Dirk cut the gain down to check the volume.
“Like swarms of black buzzards waiting to swoop, the planes are poised, waiting their wireless orders to plunge downward and unload their lethal loads on the thousands of ships and barges in this two mile circle of death.
“And now their noses are dipping downward and thousands of the radio-controlled planes are screeching for their targets, a mile below them. In about another twenty seconds you will hear the first thunderous reverberations as tons of high explosives smash into the armor of the ships of the navies of the world.”
Dirk cut the volume down quickly, but when the terrific explosion burst in his eardrum it was like thunder magnified a thousand, a million times. He could feel, it seemed seconds later, the boat swaying as gigantic man-made waves rocked against it.
Their captain had backed at least ten miles from the circle of ships in the last half hour, but still the force of the explosion, as felt through the water, was terrifying.
Larry’s voice came in again through the booming, echoing sound:
“That was the first dive. The planes are pulling out and zooming up for another attack. The smoke and flame make it impossible to describe this scene with accuracy, but I think I can see a number of great ships listing from the impact of bombs. Others are in flames . . .
At the control board, Dirk listened carefully as Larry described the epic scene of machine destruction. He heard, subconsciously, the
motors of their launch thrum into life and then realized that they probably were moving still farther from the danger area.
A few seconds later the captain opened the control cabin and confirmed his guess.
“We’re proceeding under full steam,” he announced. “It’s too dangerous to remain in this vicinity any longer. In a few minutes those planes are going to finish their job and then they just aren’t going to pull out of their next dive. I can’t take the responsibility of staying here any longer.”
“Okay,” Dirk said. “You’re the boss.”
He turned to his volume rheostat and rode it up a bit. Larry’s voice seemed to be fading out. Strange . . .
Then—so suddenly that Dirk could hardly believe it—Larry’s voice stopped abruptly and cold empty silence replaced it.
CHAPTER II
A Mysterious Attack
DIRK’S first frantic thought was that his apparatus had broken down, but a hasty check-up convinced him that the trouble was of some other nature. What, he didn’t know.
For ten seconds he tried desperately to connect again with New York but it was a futile attempt. There was nothing but silence in the ether.
Dirk felt a cold hand of sweat heading his forehead. This was serious. It just wasn’t possible that the Standard Broadcasting System had completely faded from the air.
Dirk bellowed for his assistant.
“Hang on here,” he told him, shoving the headphones at him. “I’m going on deck.”
He sprinted up the companion way and hurried to Larry’s side. It seemed to be growing darker, the sun was halfhidden behind an ominous bank of heavy clouds and a hazy green phosphorescence was drifting across the surface of the ocean like a dank, strange fog.
They were drawing away at full speed from the explosive area, but the thick green fog that was rolling in on them blotted out everything within a hundred yards of the ship.
Collected Fiction (1940-1963) Page 98