CHARGE ZERO!
Comets, thought Jet, I haven't switched this sled off since I used it in New York! Missy is right. I'm getting too old for this racket. Senile! The desert below was coming up in a huge cone: one spot in the middle was motionless, everything else was speeding away. That's where I splash, thought Jet. Then he thought, the blazes I do! He still had the hand blast-gun hanging on him by its lanyard. He recovered it. He could breathe now: the rush of passage was stacking up enough air to fill his lungs. He must be down to twenty thousand feet. His thumb flipped the levers of the gun. Ten thousand feet. Five thousand feet. Two thousand feet. Seven hundred feet. He pointed the handgun straight ahead at that motionless spot in the desert sand. Would it work? Two hundred feet.
HE FIRED!
Set at maximum blast, the recoil was terrific. It almost tore the weapon from his hand! He pressed the trigger for automatic fire, always on the target. It was like cushioning yourself against a brick wall with a palm. The sled and his body slowed. Blowing sand into a molten turmoil, he halted ten feet in the air. He turned the weapon sideways and blew himself twenty feet to the left of the self-manufactured lava. He hit. He let go of the sled and stood up gingerly. Nothing bruised but his pride. Then-
CRRRRRUUUUUMP!
He was knocked flat! A tremendous concussion wave had gone over him. The ground was shaking! Dazed, he looked up through the rushing dust. The yellow haze! Three miles to the south! The mountaintop, still travelling upward, had curved over in a parabola and, carrying its warped space, had struck! It had not exploded. Underneath that yellow mantle of warped space there must be a hole in the desert floor as big as any ever made by a meteor-no, an asteroid! Thank Heavens it had not been travelling very fast! The secondary concussion waves were washing over him. The shock waves still travelled through the ground: he could hear them rumbling into the distance. Then he saw the tug. It had flown even higher into the air after he had abandoned it. It was falling in crazy spirals as though in pain. It almost righted itself. Flames were spouting from the gaping holes in the shattered hull. It tried to stand and then fell over onto its back. It struck! A flash of fire like a supernova was followed by a bloom of red. He was on his knees when this one hit him but it sent him skidding back. Poor tug. He wondered if it had had anything to say as it expired. It certainly was giving itself a soldier's funeral-all flame and smoke! Then suddenly he realized that all this commotion would be visible for miles! It could not help but bring him company! Dangerous!
The dust was dying down. His sense of location was working now. He had come halfway back to Camp Endurance! Poor old tug had been doing its job all too well! Then he saw a plume of dust. It was no wind demon. The glare of the sun was ferocious, like hammer blows. Heller cleaned his sand goggles and got them on. Not one plume of dust but ten! Suddenly, peering low, he recognized what he was looking at: Apparatus desert patrol cars! They must be running wide-ranging scouts in these times of threat. Heller checked his handgun. If fired at stun, it still had a few shots left: not enough to take on ten cars of a desert patrol. He felt in his belt: he had no spare batteries. Yes, he decided, he was getting too old. After this, if he lived through it, he would sit before the fire with a rug across his knees and, in a quavering voice, tell his grandchildren never to become combat engineers. It got to you in the end. You made mistakes you could not possibly afford. And there went the hopes of grandchildren. Yes, one of those cars had now detached itself from the rest and was speeding toward him. They were flat, chunky cars, Apparatus mustard yellow, ugly things, steel canopied to keep out the sun and hung about with a clutter of equipment. The wheels, with tires three feet wide, were treaded with alternate cushion and metal lugs like knives. He hoped they didn't intend to run over him for sport. He would count on his general's uniform for bluff. Even so, it would be hard to explain what an Apparatus general was doing out here with the yellow haze just crashed. And then another thought struck him: supposing these were rebels who had seized Apparatus cars? Maybe, seeing a "general," they'd shoot first! He hastily looked around him to find a rock to drop behind. There wasn't any. The car was almost on him. Heller held the gun behind his back. He was trying to see through the slots of the armored windscreen. Then a laugh. A voice chortled, "I thought so!"
IT WAS SNELZ!
The desert car pulled up alongside of him. Snelz had his boots up on the dash, lolling beside the driver, laughing fit to burst. Heller took the canteen one of the grinning ten soldiers in the back handed him. He washed out his mouth and then sponged his face. "You didn't think I was going to stick around and get my head blown off, did you?" said Snelz, his laughing dying down. "You're not the only one who knows explosives. I put a radio-firing remote on one of your spears and then put a time-delay fuse tuned into it in the camp magazine. I knew you were going to fire those spears from somewhere in the sky and wanted the magazine to go up shortly after. "Any fool could guess that your next target would be Palace City, so I told them the general had ordered me on to desert patrol. So I got ten desert cars, loaded my company and here we are. What the blazes have you been up to? Isn't that the tug that crashed over there?" "Poor tug," said Heller. "I thought I recognized it when it was wobbling around the sky. And isn't that yellow mist over there warped space? Don't tell me you took the lid off Palace City." "That's where we're going," said Heller. "Move over." "No you don't," said Snelz. "A colonel of Fleet marines is higher than a mere Grade Ten. I outrank you now, so I am giving the orders." "Look, I am in an Apparatus general's uniform! I've got to get back to Palace City!" "That general's uniform doesn't count," said Snelz. "The Apparatus can't order Fleet marines. I swore in my whole company. So I give the orders. All right?" "If you say so," said Heller. "Good, we've got that settled. Driver, signal the other cars to follow and head for Palace City." "That's what I ordered," said Heller, climbing in. "No," said Snelz. "It's what you suggested to a superior. And I just happen to be in a benign mood. Get going, driver." As they sped south and west, Snelz began to sing and the men in back joined in and then the whole convoy was roaring it: The Fleet marines, The Fleet marines, Have comets in their crap. The Fleet marines, The Fleet marines, Drink liquid lightning pap. The girls all run to Mama, The farmers hide their stock, For they know a Fleet marine Has got a hungry (bleep). We're the heroes of the battle, As long as it's in bed. The reason I'm a Fleet marine Is better left unsaid. I'm loyal to my seniors, As long as they are bold. But I don't think I'll live long enough To see them very old. Come march upon the spaceways, And help me sing this song. The one thing that I'm sure of Is that if you're a Fleet marine You won't live very long! The yellow and green and red desert fled under them. Heller had one more target: LOMBAR HISST!
The rebel forces, in the interim, had landed in the desert well south of the city. The rumble of guns and flashes of explosions tore the air in that sector. They evidently had found a weak spot in the outer three rings of defenses and were hitting it with ferocity. Apparatus artillery was holding the rebel fleet at bay and the result was a massive infantry action that must be taking a heavy toll of lives. Heller, in the desert car, still rolling south, looked up at the sky far to the east. "Hello, hello, hello," he said. "Snelz, look over there on the horizon." Snelz squinted his eyes against the desert glare. Then he raised his binoculars. "Apparatus warships. Must be from the invasion staging areas. Hey, this don't look good. They're going to hit the rebels in the rear. The Fleet is neutral. I think, as a colonel, we have an appointment anywhere else but Palace City." "Look," said Heller. "The east gate is not under attack. We can roll in." "And get to be a part of battle hash?" said Snelz. "As a general, I demand you enter Palace City. You are still in Apparatus uniforms. I am in an Apparatus general's uniform. That settles it. Roll!" "Haven't I got time to write my memoirs?" said Snelz. '"The Short and Happy Life of Colonel Snelz of the Fleet Marines.' You can do the introduction: 'My Friend Snelz, by the late Jettero Heller.' Driver, pull over while I get out a pad and pen. It shouldn't take very long." "Colonel, could I suggest," said Heller, "that you might be able to sign it Brigadier General Snelz if you go through the east gate?" "Well, it would look better on the cover," said Snelz, "even if they have to add 'post-humorous.' East gate, driver." They rolled toward the tumble of wire and posts which had been this side entrance to Palace City. Even chunks of the road were gone. "What the Hells hit them?" said Snelz. "No dead rebels on this side. Did you do that?" "Things got a little spinny a while back," said Heller. "I should say so," said Snelz, staring at the ripped-up litter of defenses as they drew to a halt at the barricade. A hundred men and a cannon barred the gate remains. A frantic-looking Apparatus major raced up and peered into the car. Heller put on his sand goggles and flashed an iden-toplate. Heller said, "Apparatus Desert Patrol 17 with vital data on rebel attack forces, urgent for relay to Apparatus General Staff!" The major jumped back and saluted. "Pass, General!" The barricade was opened. The ten desert cars sped in. It was a very different-looking Palace City, exposed now to the glare of the desert sun. The light which hotly struck the round, gold palaces was blinding. The power was off and the fountains had no lights under them; the waterfalls had ceased to run. The grass in the parks was scorching, turning brown. Shrubs and flowers were wilting under the searing breath of desert wind. "Marijuana?" said Heller, staring at a plot of ground around a painted statue as they passed. Snelz had never been in Palace City before. The jewelled balustrades and golden windows were blinding him. They were rolling down a wide boulevard. "I don't know what marijuana is but I must be looking at a billion credits worth of gems. No wonder they kept this place secure: acres and acres of diamond-plated palaces!" "Square miles, not acres," corrected Heller. "See that wall and shade trees up ahead? I suggest we pull under them." Snelz looked at the streets. They were crawling with men in black Death Battalion uniforms, the shock troops of the Apparatus. Every hundred yards an artillery piece had to be gotten around. The troops looked deadly and alert but very, very nervous, under strain because of the removal of the city's cover. "You mean you're going to stop?" said Snelz. "Amongst these killers? Doesn't a brigadier general outrank you?" "No, I'm in a major general uniform." "I knew there was a catch in it," said Snelz. "Driver, pull under those trees along that wall." The ten desert cars drew up. They were about three long blocks from the Imperial Palace. The Death Battalions had grown very thick. Artillery was everywhere. Heller swung out of the car and looked southward at the sky through the withering leaves of the trees. The sound of high-up firing was coming from there. Warships were engaged in the stratosphere. Along the ground, as through the pavement, came the thunder of artillery as rebels hit the south gate and tried to penetrate it. That fight was going to be amongst them shortly if the rebels broke through. But something ominous was going on in the sky. Was the rebel spacefleet being wiped out? Heller turned to Snelz. "Could I suggest-order your men to cover up their ears and get down on the floorboards of their cars?" "It's a funny order," said Snelz. "Any particular point in it?" "A tactical diversionary involution that earlier flubbed is about to take place." "I'm sorry I asked." He whistled up his three lieutenants from the other cars and gave them their instructions. A Death Battalion colonel came over from an artillery piece. He was very edgy. He peered under the canopy at Snelz. "What's going on here?" The men in the back of this car and the rest were getting down on the floorboards and cupping their hands over their ears. "Desert Patrol 17," said Snelz. "Just stopping to take a pee." "You're in our field of fire," said the colonel. Heller glanced back at the other cars. The three lieutenants gave him a sign in the affirmative and then clapped their hands over their own ears and ducked out of sight. Heller saw that Snelz was hunched down and protecting his hearing. Heller put the remote that earlier hadn't worked between his knees and put his hands over his own ears. "You're in ours," he said to the colonel and shut his knee down on the remote button. The thousands of pellets he had earlier fired throughout Palace City began to go off at intervals. The colonel stared. He did not connect what now happened to what Heller had just done. He must have supposed these men had heard it already. The colonel's mouth opened. His eyes dilated. With a wild, agonized look, he began to scream! Whole companies, battalions, regiments of men stood rigid for an instant, began to scream and then, with a dreadful rush, began to thunder down the boulevards in panic. They leaped off their gun ledges, they threw down their arms, they tossed away belts and equipment with violence. They ran in circles. They collided with each other. Then men and tanks in roaring disorder scrambled pell-mell for the city gates, letting nothing stop them. They burst into the rear of the Apparatus defenders to the south-overran their own positions-and the men there, catching the panic, rushed out of the trenches and bunkers, out into the desert and straight into the shattering thunder of rebel guns. Heller waited for another five minutes. There were still people in the depths of these palaces for they would not have been affected. He had kept his eye on the Imperial quarters across the park. No one had come out. Heller uncovered his ears. He put the remote back in his pocket. Snelz was a little awe-struck. He was staring at the empty streets, the discarded weapons and overturned artillery. "What the Hells was that?" "Several thousand small noise bombs," said Heller. "I earlier fired them in for a diversion. They emit the sonic saw-toothed wave for terror. You can signal your men to uncover their ears now." Snelz listened to the screaming rout at the south end of the city. "Comets, I'm glad I'm on your side," he said as he passed the signal to his men.