The shadow men, p.8
The Shadow Men, page 8
Cargill wondered if this were the Mississippi River. The possibility excited him. He pictured himself standing here in the 24th century, looking down at the great river, its muddy, sluggish water so little changed after all these centuries.
From somewhere in the rear of the group of pilots a man said curtly, “I still don’t approve of this man Cargill being here as an adviser. It’s a Shadow trick of some kind.”
Cargill turned stiffly and saw that the speaker was an intense-looking young man with dark brown eyes and a hawklike nose. The officer, a full-fledged pilot, reminded him of Lauer. There was the same hard questioning tone, the same rebelliousness against the decisions of those higher in authority.
An older officer, who had been introduced to Cargill as Flight Commander Greer, said in a tone of mild reproof, “Withrow, the presence of Captain Cargill makes all our plans possible. Besides, he’s here. We’re committed.
“My own opinion is that if we learn even a little from him about air tactics and strategy of World War Two we’ll be amply repaid in lives saved.”
"And I,” said Cargill, “will try to assure that I also survive the attack.” It was a point he intended to keep driving home—that he had a stake now in their success.
There was no time for Withrow to comment. Dark specks appeared among the fleecy clouds. Almost instantly, the sky was full of volors. They came in over the river, low and in close formation. Even as Cargill watched the rushing machines he was aware of the group of officers around him watching him.
They expected a reaction. The question was—what ought his answer to be?
He strained to recall the thousands of planes that he had seen in action, the scores of times he had stood on the battered soil of Europe and watched allied and enemy planes maneuver for the kill.
The volors whistled by a few hundred feet above the ground. He judged their speed to be as great as that of a jet plane. Cargill, who had seen only two or three jets—and those German—was impressed.
With a hiss of tortured air the volors plunged past. Cargill turned to follow their flight but they were already gone into the glare of the sun in the eastern sky—and the time had undoubtedly come for him to say something.
He began to ask questions. “Just what is the nature of the assault you’re planning. Will you attack in flight formation or is it going to be individual ships diving down?”
Withrow said coldly, "Their protective pyramid of energy goes down and we dive in.”
“We plan to attack without regard for danger,” said Commander Greer.
Cargill was silent He knew that kind of attitude, and it was basically sound —except for one thing. As he examined the possibilities he nodded half to himself. The question was—could he convince them? Could he make them see? He had better think over carefully what he ought to say, and for that he needed delay.
He said, “I’d like to see this from the other side before I tell you my ideas.” He pointed. “From up there. Can we go up?”
He sat in the co-pilots chair in the control room, and watched the volor climb. The machine rocketed upward like a shooting star. Cargill was squeezed back into his seat. The blood seemed to drain from his body. And then they were leveling off and the earth flowed by below.
Cargill watched that unfolding scene for nearly a minute, finally turned to the men who were crowded into a series of small seats in the control room.
He said to Commander Greer, “How many weapons do you have aboard?”
The officer leaned forward and indicated a trigger device in front of the pilot. “From here,” he said, “you can see everything below us. You just have to make these hair lines balance on the target, then press the trigger. The billion-tube goes into action.”
Cargill nodded, unhappily. One times one times one times one times zero equalled a billion with this tube, the power of which could be varied at will. He had learned some trick mathematics at college, where one times one equalled one and a half plus one plus one equalled three. But this was a million, billion, quadrillion times different. Here was the power source of this era. A variable tube. From what he had seen and heard he gathered that it was some kind of electronic tube.
He stopped thinking about that. They had turned and were rushing back toward the city. They crossed the river like a shot from a gun. The city blurred by beneath them, then they were catapulting above a tremendous forest. A second city blinked by below, came into sight again as the volor and its companions made a U-turn in perfect formation, was lost to sight in the distant haze.
The speed of the volors was colossal. Cargill had a singing feeling of wonder at their rate of travel. He asked, “How fast?”
The pilot answered, “At this moment one and a half times the speed of sound.”
Before he could more than grasp the figure the capitol showed ahead and they were diving. The ground rushed up to meet them. He saw the firing fields ahead. The pilot gripped the firing device and pressed the trigger gently.
Flame rolled up from below, a colossal sheet of it. Cargill strained to look back through the transparent floor. He had a brief glimpse of a raging inferno, then that was gone behind them.
From the back of the control room the satirical voice of Withrow said, “Well, Captain Cargill, what advice can you offer us?”
The man sounded smugly arrogant. His tone indicated that he at least took it for granted that the Tweener air force was perfect as it was. Clearly he would attach no value to any minor suggestions made by a man from the remote dark ages of the twentieth century. Cargill drew a deep breath and accepted the challenge.
He said, “The fighting standards of this air force are too low. Any appreciable resistance would, in my opinion, shatter the attack. And unquestionably there will be resistance.
“Certain comments I have heard seem to indicate the belief that the Shadows will be overwhelmed in the first minutes of the attack. Such a notion strikes me as utterly fantastic.”
He did not look directly at any individually, as he went on, coolly He described how entire divisions had been withdrawn from battle because the men had been trained by officers who did not know how to put fighting spirit into their soldiers.
“Such divisions,” he explained, “can be massacred by resistance forces that would normally not even be able to slow down a fighting division.”
He continued in an inexorable tone. “The shock to the nervous system of a man under fire for the first time has to be experienced to be understood. On the ground the method used was to land him on an enemy beach or otherwise commit him to battle—and depend on his training to carry him through.
“Those who survive a series of such engagements become seasoned veterans, all this providing they have been handled well by their officers. In the air force bombers made their bomb runs and then headed for home. In this way the crews were under heavy fire for only a few minutes at a time and so those that survived became enormously cunning and skilful.”
He dared to pause at that moment and take a lightning glance around the faces of the officers. It was a long time since he had seen so many white faces. He pressed on quickly.
“As for specific suggestions for the volors, here’s my picture. You’ve got to have weapons in the rear, so that you can fire at the target coming and going. In addition, I think you should have fighter protection for the volors that actually attack the target. And any attack should be in broken formation from all sides, unevenly and without pattern. Practise that.”
He broke off. “So far as the pilots are concerned let me give them lectures during the next few weeks and accustom them to the idea that they may have to endure fire for hours. And now”—he shrugged—“I'll have to think over any further points. Let’s go down.” The landing was smooth as glass. They drew up before a huge, streamlined building. Absently, as he talked to Greer, Cargill watched Withrow walk over to a group of officers under an alcove.
When he looked again a minute later the group seemed to be in earnest conversation. Presently one of the men sauntered over and Cargill recognized the officer who had ferried him from Ann Reece’s home to the airfield that morning—a man named Nallen.
The man said casually, “Whenever Captain Cargill is ready, I’ll take him home.”
Commander Greer held out his hand. “We’ll be seeing you again, Captain. Your recommendations shocked me but I can already see what you mean.” Cargill accepted the proffered handshake, half-minded to object to Nallen. He stopped himself deliberately. This was another group. He must find out their purpose.
A few minutes later he was in a floater, heading out over the city. He had not long to wait. Withrow stepped out of the control room, followed by two other officers. He sank into the seat across the aisle from Cargill. There was a faint ironic smile on his face.
“Captain,” he said, “I have to make an apology to you. I put on an arrogant front in order to conceal my true intentions. I represent a group which is opposed to the Shadow war. It is our opinion that you cannot be violently in favor of the attack.
“Accordingly we want to ask your advice, and to offer you some in turn. You must try to win Miss Reece to our point of view. Grannis tells us that the best method would be for you to try to make love to her—”
“Grannis!” Cargill echoed.
He sat blankly, letting the shock waves subside. But, he thought finally, with an almost owlish seriousness, that didn’t make sense. Grannis was the Shadow behind these murderous schemes. Why should he advise— Swiftly, the weight of doubt lifted from him. It was possible there was no hope here. The deadly thing in all this was that if Grannis didn’t like any particular development he could use his control of time to nullify it.
But a man in Cargill’s position could not seriously consider such a limitation. He must fight for his life with every tool at his disposal. Here, in Withrow and his group, was possibly such a tool.
Cargill looked up alertly. “Just what kind of organization have you got?” Later, he said, “We’ll have to change it. Too many people know each other. Set up the following system—” He described the infiltration tactics necessary for a successful revolution.
Just before they landed he explained seriously, “In our time we watched the process of forcible transfer of governmental control a score of times. You make a list of all the people who are likely to be troublesome or who are in positions of power.
“At a set moment you put them under arrest, take control of the centers of communication and start issuing orders. Get the important military leaders on your side. If there’s doubt of the outcome a leader with a large force at his disposal can sway the balance.”
As they were separating, he said with a laugh, “Yes, I’ll woo Miss Reece. I don’t think there’ll be any result but at least it will distract her attention from other things.”
But it was a week before he even saw her again. And then, annoyingly, she chose an evening to be home when he and Withrow had a rendezvous in the terrace garden.
CHAPTER XIII The Wooing of Ann
NIGHT. And time for Withrow. The trouble was, it seemed to the irritated Cargill, Ann Reece showed no inclination to leave the living-room. He watched her from his chair as she paced the floor. She stopped suddenly and stared at him with narrowed eyes.
“In spite of all my efforts these last few days,” she said, “you’ve done it.” Her tone was accusing.
“You’ve put off the attack at least a month, possibly longer,” she said. "I tried to convince them it was a trick on your part but Commander Greer swore that your criticisms showed a grave weakness in our attack tactics. The leaders have accepted that”
She came close to him and there was not even a hint of the satirical lightness of manner which he had come to expect of her.
“Captain Cargill,” she said grimly, you’re playing this game altogether too well to suit our group. We’ve decided to accept the delay this time but—” She stopped. Her rather full lips were drawn into a menacing smile.
Cargill studied her, fascinated. In spite of his will to get her out of the way, the very depth of her determination caught his interest.
He said slowly, “What puzzles me is that a young woman as good looking as you should be a conspirator in man’s game of war."
The words were seriously spoken. Not until he had uttered them did he realize they could be an opening wedge for the lovemaking Grannis had suggested. They even had a secondary possibility. He stood up.
“Where I come from,” he said, “we were just coming out of a period when a girl had a pretty clear idea that a man in uniform who whistled at her didn’t want to talk about the ideals we were fighting for.”
The remark must have been unexpected, its import far from her thoughts. She gave him a startled look and then a frown creased her forehead.
She said curtly, “Stay away from me.”
Cargill walked slowly toward her. It seemed to him Grannis had definitely misread this cold young woman but more sharply now he saw in her visible perturbation the solution to that secondary problem of his.
“You must,” he said, “have grown up under very curious circumstances. It’s unusual to see a woman of your courage so afraid of herself. Did the death of your parents put you on the defensive with men ?”
She stopped backing away. Her voice showed that his words had struck deep. She said too sharply, "Our group has a single purpose, to destroy the Shadows. When that is accomplished there will be time enough to think of marrying and having children.”
Cargill paused five feet from. her.
"I can tell you right now,” he said, “you’ve got the wrong slant about what goes on during a war. The birth rate goes up, not down. Every hospital is filled with women carrying out some man’s desperate determination to survive the war if only by proxy.”
“We shall marry the survivors,” said Ann Reece calmly. “It would be silly for a girl, particularly one in poor circumstances, to burden herself with a dead man’s child.”
Cargill said drily, “When I lecture to the volor pilots I’ll be happy to tell them the girls feel a civilian is the best bet for a husband.”
"I didn’t say that. I said—”
Cargil cut her off. He was not going to get anywhere with this girl and therefore the sooner he put her to flight the better.
“And what,” he asked, “about the man to whom you’ve so casually assigned the job of disengaging the pyramid switch in the heart of Shadow City ? Do you mean to tell me he’s not even going to get a kiss from a pretty girl ?”
He stepped forward and tried to take her in his arms. She evaded him and retreated to the door. Laughing, careful not to move so fast that he would actually catch her, Cargill followed.
For one moment Ann Reece hesitated and then, her face scarlet with anger, she fled precipitantly along the corridor and up the broad stairs. He heard the door of her bedroom suite slam shut.
His amusement faded quickly. Cool and intent, Cargill hurried across to the French windows and out into the darkness. A minute later he was talking to Withrow, learning what he had half-expected—that it would require at least a month to set up their underground organization on the cell basis. The first week had shown the general speed of development that could be expected.
Cargill’s final comment was, “The important thing is that if anything goes wrong individuals may suffer but the organization itself will remain intact.”
They separated on that note.
Later, on his way to his bedroom, he paused on impulse, and knocked on Ann Reece’s door. “May I come in ?" he called.
There was silence and then an outraged answer. “Don’t you dare even try the door.”
Cargill twisted the knob noisily. The door was locked. He went on, smiling to himself and quite without shame or guilt. He believed firmly with ninety per-cent of all the soldiers he had ever met that during war time every woman was a possible conquest—and how else could you find out her attitude unless you pursued her?
Having started to pursue Ann Reece he intended to continue. The trouble was that he caught only fleeting glimpses of her. Every night he tried her door but only occasionally could he be sure that she was actually inside. After the first evening’s outburst she gave no further hint of her presence.
A month went by. And still the secret organization was not of satisfactory size. The trouble, according to Withrow, was that men known to be opposed to the war adjusted slowly to .the concept that a government could be seized from within. It was apparently a brand new idea in this remote age.
For six weeks the air force kept Cargill busy. He was flown to distant stations to give his lectures, and he was able to form his first estimate of the size of the Tweenerland—the Tweeners called it America, which was something of a presumption considering their small numbers. But still it pointed the direction of their thoughts.
The new civilization was bounded on the west by the foothills of the Rockies, on the north by what Cargill guessed to be about the southern border of Montana, in the east by a line curving southwest from the lower tip of Lake Michigan, and in the south by northern Texas.
It was a tremendous area for three million people to control but there was no doubt of the control. Cargill could imagine that eventually they would extend their dominion over the entire continent.
He learned that far-sighted Tweeners were already filing claims to vast acreage. He remembered the landless millions of the twentieth century, and it struck him that already the errors of the past were being repeated.
“If I get out of this business alive,” he told himself, “I’ll try to put a stop to that.”
Wherever he looked he saw things that his personal, casual observation of end-results in his own age made it possible for him to evaluate. A score of times he mentally filed away the notation, “I'll have to do something about that—later.”
