One Was Stubbron (6 page)

CHAPTER TWO

Takeoff

F
OR
some days Angel languished in bachelor officers' quarters, all out of gear. He had been nerved up to a job and then it hadn't come off. The frustration resulted in lack of any desire for animation of whatever kind.

It was the sort of feeling one gets when he says goodbye, goodbye, to all his friends at the curb and then, just as he starts off in the car, runs out of gas and has to call a garage.

His room was littered with newspapers which he had long since perused. The messboy brought stacks in every now and then until bed and furniture seemed to be constructed badly of newsprint.

His own personal tragedy was such that he hardly cared for the details. Instead of being the first man to fly to the moon he was again just a simple lieutenant with nothing more than his deserved reputation for angelic wickedness. It came very hard to him, poor chap.

But it came very hard to the world as well. For events had transpired which made any former event, including World War II, a petty incident.

The world had been conquered without firing any other shots than those needed to propel Russian forces to the moon. The head of the Russian state had promptly issued
manifestos
in no uncertain terms demanding that all armies and navies be scrapped everywhere and Russian troops admitted as garrisons to every world capital. Russia had plans.

One by one countries had begun to fly the hammer and sickle without ever seeing a single Red army star.

For it was obvious to everyone. Even statesmen. All Russia had to do was launch atom bombs from the moon at any offender to destroy him wholly.

The mystery of how Russia had solved the atom bomb and had so adroitly manufactured all the plutonium it could ever need was solved when a Russian scientist stated for the press that he had needed but one year and the
Smyth report
. Everybody began to quiet down, for at first there had been talk of traitors and selling the secret.

But now that it was at last obvious that there never had been any secret and that self-navigating missiles could be very easily launched from the moon at any Earth target and that, such was the gravity difference, it would be nearly impossible to bomb-saturate the moon from Earth, even the diehards could see they were whipped.

A demand on Washington had come from Russia for the entire US atom stockpile and Congress was debating right now, without much enthusiasm, a law to give it up.

It had been very striking the way the morale of the world had collapsed, seeing up there in the sky those giant letters, USSR. Communists in every land had begun to crawl out from under dubious cover and prepare welcomes for Russian troops (and the Russians had been bidding the foreign communists to crawl right back again).

To understate the matter, there was some little consternation in the nations and peoples of the world. And whatever labor thought about it they at least remembered that of all the civilized nations of Earth, Russia had been the only one after World War II to employ, use, exploit (and let die) slaves.

And then, just as surrender was being accomplished, the US Naval Intelligence working with the State Department had done some interception and unscrambling and decoding which again gave everyone pause. By great diligence and watchfulness they had managed to tap in on the Moscow-moon circuit to discover that all was not well.

Angel had been reading about the moon commander. The man was General Slavinsky and at first reading Angel had decided, with a bitterness not usually found in celestial
sprites
, that he hated the triply-damned intestines of General Slavinsky.

Slavinsky was known as the “Avenger of Stalingrad” and had been a very popular general in his own country. The Germans, however, had not liked him, jealous no doubt of the thorough sadism of the Russian.

When Slavinsky had not been winning battles he had been butchering prisoners and he had turned his men loose to loot in many a neutral town and conquered province. Slavinsky evidently had himself all mixed up with Genghis Khan, complete with pyramids of skulls.

The pictures in the papers showed Slavinsky to be a big, powerful man, meticulously uniformed, always smoking cigarettes. Typical corporal-made-good, Slavinsky had been Moscow's favorite peasant. About as cultured as a bull, he was quite proud of his refinement. And he had been sent with troops, supplies and bombs to command Russia's most trusted post, the moonbase.

It was here that dictatorship displayed its weakness. Bred by force out of starvation, the Russian state had very scant background of tradition. And trustworthy military forces are trustworthy only by their tradition. Slavinsky owed no debt to anyone but the Russian dictator. The Russian people would not know one dictator from another.

I
t developed, when Slavinsky was well dug in, that he had been a
Trotskyite
since boyhood and the murder of his ideal in Mexico had left him festering very privately. At least that was a fine excuse.

Once there Slavinsky began to make certain demands on Moscow. Moscow was beginning to be acrimonious about it. The dictator had ordered Slavinsky home and Slavinsky had told the dictator where he could stuff Moscow. Moscow was now threatening to withhold needed supplies.

US Naval Intelligence and the State Department were very interested and rumors flew amongst the personnel of the US moon expedition that something was about to break.

Angel lay on his back, feet against the wallpaper and gloomed. When a knock came on the door he supposed it was another load of papers and sadly said, “Come in.”

But it was a colonel who stood there and Angel very hastily bounced up to sharp attention.

“We're having callers, son,” said the colonel. “Be down in the court in five minutes.”

Disinterestedly, Angel got himself into a blouse and wandered out. He wondered if he would ever feel human and normal again. All his life he had been a somewhat notorious but really rather unimportant runt and the big chance to be otherwise had passed, it seemed, forever.

He hardly noticed his fellow officers as he lined up in the court. Most of them were of the moon gang, destined to go, once upon a time, in various capacities on the abandoned expedition. None of them looked very cheerful.

There was hardly a ripple or a glance when the big Cadillac drew up at the curb. Their senior barked attention and the officers drew up. Only then, when ordered to see nothing and be a robot, did Angel note that the car had the
SECNAV
's flag on it.

Four civilians, namely the secretary of state, the secretaries of defense, war and the Navy, alighted, followed by a five-star admiral and a five-star general. They were a dispirited group and they cast wilted glances over the lines of young officers.

The colonel in command of the detachment fell in with them behind the secretary of state and proceeded with this strange inspection.

Finally the group drew off and stood beside the Cadillac talking in low tones until they nodded agreement and then waited.

The colonel sang out, “Lieutenant Gray!”

Angel started from his trance, came to attention, paced front and center and automatically saluted the group. The colonel looked baffled as he came forward.

In a voice the others could not overhear, the colonel said, “I have no idea why they chose you, Angel. They were looking specifically for the tamest officer here. God knows how or why, but you won. They couldn't have looked at the records!”

“Thank you, sir,” said Angel.

The colonel gave him a hard look and led him off to the car.

They didn't say anything to him. Angel got in beside the driver, and, when the doors had shut behind the rest, they moved off at a dispirited speed.

Nothing was said until they arrived in the driveway of the White House and then the general told Angel to follow them.

The abashed lieutenant alighted on the gravel, looked up at the big hanging lantern and the door, then quickly went after his superiors. This was all very deflating stuff to him. The closest he had ever come to the president was leaving his card in the box for the purpose in the Pentagon Building—and he doubted that the president ever read the cards dropped by officers newly come to station or passing through.

He hardly saw the hall and was still dazed when the general again asked his name,
sotto voce
.

“Mr. President,” said the five star, “may I introduce First Lieutenant Cannon Gray.”

Angel shook the offered hand and then dizzily found a chair like the rest. All eyes were on him. Nobody was very sure of him, that was a fact. Nobody liked what he was doing.

“Lieutenant Fay—” began the president.

“Gray, sir.”

“Oh yes, of course. Lieutenant Gray, we have brought you here to ask you to perform a mission of vital importance to your country. You may withdraw now without stigma to yourself when I tell you that you may not return from this voyage.

“We considered it useless to ask for volunteers since then we would have had to explain a thing which I believe we all agree is the most humiliating thing this country has ever had to do. We are not prepared just now for publicity. You may withdraw.”

This, thought Angel, was a hell of a way to force a guy into something. Who could withdraw now? “I am willing,” he said.

“Splendid,” said the president. “I am happy to see, gentlemen, that you have chosen a brave officer. Here are the dispatches.”

A
ngel looked through them quickly and then at the first page of the sheaf, which was a brief summary.

He learned that one Slavinsky, late general of Russia, had finally forever parted company with his dictator and had declared himself master of Russia
and
the world. The United States was now addressed in uncompromising fashion by Slavinsky and ordered to do two things.

One, immediately to prepare a land, sea and air attack on Russia—one city in the United States or one city in Russia to pay for the first use of atom bombs by either—in order to secure the government of that nation to Slavinsky. And two, to send instantly a long list of needed supplies by one of the spaceships known to be ready in the United States. Angel knew that he was to be interested in “two.”

“This situation,” said the president, “is unparalleled.” And with that understatement, continued, “Unless we comply we will lose all our cities and still have to obey. We are insufficiently decentralized to avoid these orders.

“Humiliated or not, we must proceed to save ourselves. Slavinsky holds the moon and is armed with plentiful atom rockets. And he who holds the moon, we learn too late, controls all the Earth below.

“We are asking you,” he continued, “to take the supplies to the moon. We have secretly loaded a spaceship with the required items and need only one officer and two men as crew.

“The reason we send you at all is to ensure the arrival of the supplies in case of breakage on the way and, more important, in the hope that Slavinsky will let you go and you can bring back data which, if accurate enough, may possibly aide us to destroy Slavinsky and his men.”

“Mr. President,” said the secretary of state, “we have chosen this man not for valor but for reliability. I think it was our intention that whoever we sent should attempt no heroics which would anger Slavinsky. I think Lieutenant May should be so warned.”

“Yes, yes,” said the president. “This is of the utmost importance. You are only to return
if
Slavinsky permits it. You are to attempt no heroics. For if you failed in them we would pay the price. Am I understood in that, Lieutenant?”

Angel said he was.

“Now then,” said the president, “the spaceship is waiting and, when you have picked your two crewmen and Commander Dawson gives the word, you can leave. These dispatches”—and he took up a sheaf of them—“are for General Slavinsky and may be considered important only as routine diplomatic exchanges.”

Angel took the package and stood up.

“One thing more,” said the admiral. “You will be carrying a small pilot rocket aboard. You will take the rolls from the automatic recording machines, place them in it just before you reach the moon and launch the missile back to Earth before landing. If we have enough data, though it is a forlorn hope, we may someday fight Slavinsky.”

“I doubt it,” said the secretary of state, “but I won't oppose your thirst for data, admiral.”

They shook hands with the president and then Angel found himself back in the Cadillac, rolling through the rush-hour traffic of Washington. Soon they made it to the Fourteenth Street Bridge and went rocketing into Virginia to a secret takeoff field.

“Could you get me master sergeants Whittaker and Boyd?” said Angel timidly to the general.

“I'll have them picked up on the way by the barracks,” said the general. “No word of this to anyone though.”

“Yes, sir,” said Angel.

When darkness had come at the secret field Commander Dawson turned up with a briefcase full of calculations from the US Naval Observatory and began to check instruments.

“Two o'clock,” he told the general.

“Two o'clock,” said the general to Angel.

Angel walked out of the hangar and joined Whittaker and Boyd.

Whittaker spat reflectively into the dust. “I shore miss the brass band this time, Lootenant.”

“And the dames,” said Boyd. “Boy, how I'd like me a drink. We got time to go to town, Lootenant?”

Angel was walking around in small circles, his beautiful face twisted in thought. Now and then he kicked gravel and swore most unangelically.

T
hey were handing Slavinsky the world, that was that. And without a scrap. The slaughter of a Russian war was nothing to anyone compared to the loss of Chicago. Maybe it was logical but it just plain didn't seem American to be whipped so quick.