But if your stubborness prevents an agreement, I can declare war on you in the usual manner and be no worse off than I was. The choice is, therefore, yours.
Belug swallowed. Even his guards lost some of their blankness. One does not speak in that fashion across the negotiators table.
Finally, only his lips stirring, he said: Your frankness is appreciated, my lord. Some day I would like to discuss that aspect further. As for now, thoughyes, I can see your point. I am prepared to admit some of your troops to our ships of the line. After another moment, still sitting like a stone idol: But this question of returning prisoners of war. We have never done it. I do not propose to begin.
I do not propose to let poor devils of Norrons rot any longer in your camps, said Rusch. I have a pretty good idea of what goes on there. If were to be allies, Ill want back such of my countrymen as are still alive.
Not many are still sane, Belug told him deliberately.
Rusch puffed smoke and made no reply.
If I give in on the one item, said Belug, I have a right to test your sincerity by the other. We keep our prisoners.
Ruschs own face had gone quite pale and still. It grew altogether silent in the room.
Very well, he said after a long time. Let it be so.
WITHOUT A WORD, Major Othkar Graaborg led his company into the black cruiser. The words came from the spaceport, where police held off a hooting, hissing, rock-throwing mob. It was the first time in history that Norron folk had stoned their own soldiers.
His men tramped stolidly behind him, up the gangway and through the corridors. Among the helmets and packs and weapons, racketing boots and clashing body armor, their faces were lost, they were an army without faces.
Graaborg followed a Kolreshite ensign, who kept looking back nervously at these hereditary foes, till they reached the bunkroom. It had been hastily converted from a storage hold, and was scant cramped comfort for a thousand men.
All right, boys, he said when the door had closed on his guide. Make yourselves at home.
They got busy, opening packs, spreading bedrolls on bunks. Immediately thereafter, they started to assemble heavy machine guns, howitzers, even a nuclear blaster.
You, there! The accented voice squawked indignantly from a loudspeaker in the wall. I see that. I got video. You not put guns together here.
Graaborg looked up from his inspection of a live fission shell. Obscenity you, he said pleasantly. Who are you, anyway?
I executive officer. I tell captain.
Go right ahead. My orders say that according to treaty, as long as we stay in our assigned part of the ship, were under our own discipline. If your captain doesnt like it, let him come down here and talk to us. Graaborg ran a thumb along the edge of his bayonet. A wolfish chorus from his men underlined the invitation.
No one pressed the point. The cruiser lumbered into space, rendezvoused with her task force, and went into nonspatial drive. For several days, the Norron army contingent remained in its den, more patient with such stinking quarters than the Kolreshites could imagine anyone being. Nevertheless, no spaceman ventured in there; meals were fetched at the galley by Norron squads.
Graaborg alone wandered freely about the ship. He was joined by Commander von Brecca of Ostarik, the head of the Double Kingdoms naval liaison on this ship: a small band of officers and ratings, housed elsewhere. They conferred with the Kolreshite officers as the necessity arose, on routine problems, rehearsal of various operations to be performed when Earth was reached a month hencebut they did not mingle socially. This suited their hosts.
The fact is, the Kolreshites were rather frightened of them. A spaceman does not lack courage, but he is a gentleman among warriors. His ship either functions well, keeping him clean and comfortable, or it does not function at all and he dies quickly and mercifully. He fights with machines, at enormous ranges.
The ground soldier, muscle in mud, whose ultimate weapon is whetted steel in bare hands, has a different kind of toughness.
Two weeks after departure, Graaborgs wrist chronometer showed a certain hour. He was drilling his men in full combat rig, as he had been doing every day in spite of the narrow quarters.
Ten-SHUN! The order flowed through captains, lieutenants, and sergeants; the bulky mass of men crashed to stillness.
Major Graaborg put a small pocket amplifier to his lips. All right, lads, he said casually, assume gas masks, radiation shields, all gun squads to weapons. Now lets clean up this ship.
He himself blew down the wall with a grenade.
Being perhaps the most thoroughly trained soldiers in the universe, the Norron men paused for only one amazed second. Then they cheered, with death and hell in their voices, and crowded at his heels.
Little resistance was met until Graaborg had picked up von Breccas naval command, the crucial ones, who could sail and fight the ship. The Kolreshites were too dumbfounded. Thereafter the nomads rallied and fought gamely. Graaborg was handicapped by not having been able to give his men a battle plan. He split up his forces and trusted to the intelligence of the noncoms.
His faith was not misplaced, though the ship was in poor condition by the time the last Kolreshite had been machine-gunned.
Graaborg himself had used a bayonet, with vast satisfaction.
MKATZE UNDUMA ENTERED the office in the Witch Tower. You sent for me, your lordship? he asked. His voice was as cold and bitter as the gale outside.
Yes. Please be seated. Margrave Hans von Thoma Rusch looked tired. I have some news for you.
What news? You declared war on Earth two weeks ago. Your army cant have reached her yet. Unduma leaned over the desk. Is it that youve found transportation to send me home?
Somewhat better news, your excellency. Rusch leaned over and tuned a telescreen. A background of clattering robots and frantically busy junior officers came into view.
Then a face entered the screen, young, and with more life in it than Unduma had ever before seen on this sullen planet. Central Data headquartersOh, yes, your lordship. Boyishly, against all rules: Weve got her! The Bheoka just called inshes ours!
Hm-m-m. Good. Rusch glanced at Unduma. The Bheoka is the superdreadnought accompanying Task Force Two. Carry on with the news.
Yes, sir. Shes already reducing the units we failed to capture. Admiral Sorrens estimates hell control Force Two entirely in another hour. Bulletin just came in from Force Three. Admiral Gundrup killed in fighting, but Vice Admiral Smitt has assumed command and reports three-fourths of the ships in our hands. Hes delaying fire until he sees how it goes aboard the rest. Also
Never mind, said Rusch. Ill get the comprehensive report later. Remind Staff that for the next few hours all command decisions had better be made by officers on the spot. After that, when we see what weve got, broader tactics can be prepared. If some extreme emergency doesnt arise, itll be a few hours before I can get over to HQ.
Yes, sir. Sir, Imay I say So might the young Norron have addressed a god.
All right, son, youve said it. Rusch turned off the screen and looked at Unduma. Do you realize whats happening?
The ambassador sat down; his knees seemed all at once to have melted. What have you done? It was like a stranger speaking.
What I planned quite a few years ago, said the Margrave.
He reached into his desk and brought forth a bottle. Here, your excellency. I think we could both use a swig. Authentic Terrestrial Scotch. Ive saved it for this day.
But there was no glory leaping in him. It is often thus, you reach a dream and you only feel how tired you are.
Unduma let the liquid fire slide down his throat.
You understand, dont you? said Rusch. For seven centuries, the Elephant and the Whale fought, without being able to get at each others vitals. I made this alliance against Earth solely to get our men aboard their ships. But a really large operation like that cant be faked. It has to be genuinethe agreements, the preparations, the propaganda, everything. Only a handful of officers, men who could be trusted toto infinityhis voice cracked over, and Unduma thought of war prisoners sacrificed, hideous casualties in the steel corridors of spaceships, Norron gunners destroying Kolreshite vessels and the survivors of Norron detachments which failed to capture themonly a few could be told, and then only at the last instant. For the rest, I relied on the quality of our troops. Theyre good lads, every one of them and, therefore adaptable. Theyre especially adaptable when suddenly told to fall on the men theyd most like to kill.
He tilted the bottle afresh. Its proving expensive, he said in a slurred, hurried tone. It will cost us as many casualties, no doubt, as ten years of ordinary war. But if I hadnt done this, there could easily have been another seven hundred years of war. Couldnt there? Couldnt there have been? As it is, weve already broken the spine of the Kolreshite fleet. She has plenty of ships yet, to be sure, still a menace, but crippled. I hope Earth will see fit to join us. Between them, Earth and Norstad-Ostarik can finish off Kolresh in a hurry. And after all, Kolresh did declare war on you, had every intention of destroying you. If you wont help, well, we can end it by ourselves, now that the fleet is broken. But I hope youll join us.
I dont know, said Unduma. He was still wobbling in a new cosmos. Were not aa hard people.
You ought to be, said Rusch. Hard enough, anyway, to win a voice for yourselves in whats going to happen around Polaris. Important frontier, Polaris.
Yes, said Unduma slowly. There is that. It wont cause any hosannahs in our streets, butyes, I think we will continue the war, as your allies, if only to prevent you from massacring the Kolreshites. They can be rehabilitated, you know.
I doubt that, grunted Rusch. But its a detail. At the very least, theyll never be allowed weapons again. He raised a sardonic brow. I suppose we, too, can be rehabilitated, once you get your peace groups and psychotechs out here. No doubt youll manage to demilitarize us and turn us into good plump democrats. All right, Unduma, send your Civilizing missionaries. But permit me to give thanks that I wont live to see their work completed!
The Earthman nodded, rather coldly. You couldnt blame Rusch for treachery, callousness, and arrogancehe was what his history had made himbut he remained unpleasant company for a Civilized man. I shall communicate with my government at once, your lordship, and recommend a provisional alliance, the terms to be settled later, he said. I will report back to you as soon asah, where will you be?
How should I know? Rusch got out of his chair. The winter night howled at his back. I have to convene the Ministry, and make a public telecast, and get over to Staff, andNo. The devil with it! If you need me inside the next few hours, Ill be at Sorgenlos on Ostarik. But the matter had better be urgent!
Poul Anderson
War of the Wing-Men, The Day of Their Return, and The Game of Empire. Anderson has tackled many of science fictions classic themes, including human evolution in Brain Wave (1954), near-light-speed space travel in Tau Zero (1970), and the time-travel paradox in his series of Time Patrol stories collected as Guardians of Time. He is renowned for his interweaving of science fiction and mythology, notably in his alien-contact novel The High Crusade. He also has produced distinguished fantasy fiction, including the heroic sagas Three Hearts and Three Lions and The Broken Sword, and an alternate history according to Shakespeare, Midsummer Tempest. He received the Tolkien Memorial Award in 1978. With his wife, Karen, he wrote The King of Ys Celtic fantasy quartet. With Gordon R. Dickson, he has authored the popular comic Hoka series. His short story Call Me Joe was chosen for inclusion in the Science Fiction Hall of Fame in 1974, and his short fiction has been collected in several volumes, notably The Queen of Air and Darkness and Other Stories, All One Universe, and The Best of Poul Anderson.
SECOND VARIETYPhilip K. Dick
THE RUSSIAN SOLDIER made his way nervously up the ragged side of the hill, holding his gun ready. He glanced around him, licking his dry lips, his face set. From time to time he reached up a gloved hand and wiped perspiration from his neck, pushing down his coat collar.
Eric turned to Corporal Leone. Want him? Or can I have him? He adjusted the view sight so the Russians features squarely filled the glass, the lines cutting across his hard, somber features.
Leone considered. The Russian was close, moving rapidly, almost running. Dont fire. Wait. Leone tensed. I dont think were needed.
The Russian increased his pace, kicking ash and piles of debris out of his way. He reached the top of the hill and stopped, panting, staring around him. The sky was overcast, with drifting clouds of gray particles. Bare trunks of trees jutted up occasionally; the ground was level and bare, rubble-strewn, with the ruins of buildings standing out here and there like yellowing skulls.
The Russian was uneasy. He knew something was wrong. He started down the hill. Now he was only a few paces from the bunker. Eric was getting fidgety. He played with his pistol, glancing at Leone.
Dont worry, Leone said. He wont get here. Theyll take care of him.
Are you sure? Hes got damn far.
They hang around close to the bunker. Hes getting into the bad part. Get set!
The Russian began to hurry, sliding down the hill, his boots sinking into the heaps of gray ash, trying to keep his gun up. He stopped for a moment, lifting his field glasses to his face.
Hes looking right at us, Eric said.
The Russian came on. They could see his eyes, like two blue stones. His mouth was open a little. He needed a shave; his chin was stubbled. On one bony cheek was a square of tape, showing blue at the edge. A fungoid spot. His coat was muddy and torn. One glove was missing. As he ran, his belt counter bounced up and down against him.