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diff --git a/31680.txt b/31680.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a09c7a5 --- /dev/null +++ b/31680.txt @@ -0,0 +1,930 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Generals Help Themselves, by M. C. Pease + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Generals Help Themselves + +Author: M. C. Pease + +Release Date: March 17, 2010 [EBook #31680] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GENERALS HELP THEMSELVES *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: _The fleet came in at four o'clock._] + + + _With no one to help him, it seemed the General was lost. But the + enemy was soon to discover that--_ + + GENERALS HELP THEMSELVES + + By M. C. Pease + + +"Did it go well?" the aide asked. + +The admiral, affectionately known as the Old Man, did not reply until +he'd closed the door, crossed the room, and dropped into the chair at +his desk. Then he said: + +"Go well? It did not go at all. Every blasted one of them, from the +President on down, can think of nothing but the way the Combine over-ran +Venus. When I mention P-boats, they shout that the Venusians depended on +P-boats, too, and got smashed by the Combine's dreadnoughts in one +battle. 'You can't argue with it, man,' they tell me. And they won't +listen." + +"But the Venusians fought their P-ships idiotically," the aide +complained. "It was just plain silly to let small, light, fast ships +slug it out with dreadnoughts. If they had used Plan K--" + +The Old Man snorted. + +"Are you trying to convince me? I've staked my whole reputation on Plan +K. They wouldn't give me the money to build a balanced space-fleet, even +when the fleets of the Combine of Jupiterian Satellite States were +staring them in the face. So, I took what I could get and poured it into +P-boats. I threw all our engineering and scientific staff into making +them faster and more maneuverable than anyone ever thought a space-ship +could be. I got them to build me electronic computers that could direct +that speed. And, two years ago, every cent I could lay my hands on went +to install the computers on all our ships." + +"I remember," the aide said. + +"But, now the chips are down, the people have funked out on me. I am one +of the most hated men in the Federation. They say I destroyed their +Navy. And, we are not going to get a chance to try Plan K. They decided, +today, to accept the Combine's offer to send envoys in a month to +discuss possible revision of the Treaty of Porran. When I left, they +were wondering if there was any chance of getting out for less than Base +Q." + +"But, good lord, sir, Base Q supplies nine tenths of all our power. The +Combine will have a strangle hold on us, if they get that." + +"Quite. But the people will give it to them, rather than fight. And the +President will sign." + +"Surely, sir, the people are not all cowards?" + +"No. If they had time to think, they would fight. That's why the Combine +is striking now. The people are panicky. Hysterical. The collapse of +Venus was so sudden, and the disaster to their P-boats so complete. +They've just lost hope. Most people would rather live under a dictator +than die to no purpose. They've just lost hope." + +The pounding of the Old Man's fist measured his words and the depth of +his anger. + +"If we could only make them hope. Somehow. Anyhow." + +Suddenly, his clenched fist stopped in mid-air. He frowned. Slowly, his +hand opened. The frown relaxed and a smile replaced it. + +"Maybe we can, at that. Maybe we can." He leaned back with his eyes half +closed. His aide knew better than to interrupt him. Ten minutes later, +he opened his eyes. + +"Make arrangements to have Commander Morgan take command of Base Q as +soon as possible. Within two days at the outside." His manner was curt +and clipped. "And bring him here to me before he leaves." + +"Yes, sir. But may I say, sir, I do not understand?" + +"You're not supposed to." + +"Yes, sir." + +The aide was a competent man. Orders were written that afternoon, in +complete disregard of normal red-tape. Base Q was advised of the +imminent shift. Commander Stanley Morgan boarded a jet plane on the +Australian desert that night. The next morning, he was shown into the +Old Man's office. + +"Commander," the Old Man said after the preliminaries were taken care +of, "as you are well aware, you have been in considerable disgrace, +recently, for getting too close to the Venusian-Combine war, in defiance +of orders. It has been felt, in certain quarters, that you might have +caused a serious international crisis." + + * * * * * + +The junior officer started to speak, but the admiral waved him to +silence. + +"You could, if you like, point out that the crisis has come, anyhow. As +a matter of fact, I never felt that that phase of your action was too +important. I did, however, deplore your disregard of orders--and still +do." He paused a moment, while his steel gray eyes studied the younger +man. "You are about to receive new orders. It is absolutely imperative +that these orders be obeyed explicitly." His pointing finger punctuated +his words with slow emphasis. + +"These orders place you in command of Base Q. The Treaty of Porran, +among other things, designates the asteroid Quanlik, or Base Q, as being +the territory solely of the Federation and suitable for the +establishment of a delta-level energy converter. Because this converter +is the prime source of gamma-level, degenerate matter which is used as +the fuel for nearly all our power generators, Base Q is recognized as a +prime defense area of the Federation. A sphere, one hundred thousand +miles radius about Quanlik, was designated by the treaty as a primary +zone. Any ship or ships entering this zone may be ordered to leave +within one hour. Upon failure to comply, our military forces may take +such action as they deem necessary. A sphere, twenty thousand miles +radius, is designated as the secondary zone. Assuming the prior warning +has been given upon their entrance into the primary zone, full action +may be taken against any ship entering this without delay or further +warning. + +"Standing orders with regard to Base Q are that any ship entering the +primary zone shall be warned immediately. Upon failure to comply, after +the one hour period, full action shall be taken with the forces +stationed on Quanlik. Any ship entering the secondary zone shall be +brought to action as soon as possible without warning. + +"Your orders direct you to assume command of Base Q and to comply with +existing standing orders regarding the maintenance of its security until +and unless advised of a change in the standing orders or the Treaty of +Porran." The Old Man paused for effect. "Any questions?" + +"Yes, sir," the younger man said. "I am wondering if I should inquire +what events you are anticipating. Would it be wise for me to ask?" + +"No!" The monosyllable cracked out like a shot. + +"No further questions, sir." + +"I have one. While you were in Australia, I presume you kept well +informed on recent developments of Plan K?" + +"Yes, sir. The school I commanded taught advanced theory of Plan K." + +"Very good. You will proceed immediately to Base Q. As a final word I +will repeat the absolute necessity of obeying your orders _to the +letter_! Good luck." + +The young man saluted, collected his orders and walked out. Two hours +later, he was in space. + + * * * * * + +Commander Morgan's office was perched in a plastic bubble high on a crag +overlooking Base Q. Directly below it lay a few of the multitude of +locks that provided haven for the protecting fleet of P-ships. A vast +array of domes and other geometrical shapes bore witness to the hive of +machine-shops, storerooms, offices, et al, that kept the fleet +operating. And on the far horizon towered the mighty structure of the +delta-level converter, the reason for the existence of Base Q. A quarter +of a million tons of high-test steel and special alloys, machined to +tolerances of less than a thousandth of an inch, with another hundred +thousand tons of control equipment, it was yet delicate enough so that +it could not have functioned in the gravity field of any planet. This +asteroid, small as it was, was barely below the permissible limit. + +The Commander sat at his desk, watching the latest flashes in the +news-caster. They were not good. At this very moment, the President of +the Federation was in conference with the representatives of the +Combine, discussing the wording of the protocol that would probably be +signed in a few hours. And no word--no hint--that anyone in the +Federation outside the services was willing to dare anything at all. A +red light flashed on his desk. A buzzer sounded a strident call. He +flipped a switch. "Commander talking." + +"Far-Search talking. Report contact with large group of ships, probably +dreadnought warships. Range, two one oh. Bearing, four oh dash one nine. +Speed, seven five. Course, approaching. That is all." + +"Keep me advised any change or further details. Advise when contact +range is one five oh." + +"Wilco." + +The Commander pressed a button on his desk. In response, his staff +quickly assembled to brief him on the immediate status of Base Q as a +war-making machine. As a matter of routine, it was always kept fully +ready. His staff merely confirmed this for him. + +Seventy-five thousand miles out in space, the Radars of the Far-Search +net swept their paths. Men labored over their plotting tables, noting +the information the radar echoes brought back; slowly piecing together +the picture. Tight communication beams relayed the data back to the base +as fast as it was obtained. + +About an hour later, the red light flashed again. The assembled staff +fell quiet as the Commander flipped the switch, again. "Commander +talking." + +"Far-Search talking. Contact previously reported now range one five oh. +Bearing, four one dash one seven. Course, approaching. Speed, six nine. +Estimated twenty-three ships, dreadnought type, plus small ship screen. +Battle formation. That is all." + +"Advise at range one one oh." + +"Wilco." + +The Commander turned to his staff. "Sound a general alert." His words +were clipped and clear. He flipped a second switch on his desk. "Radio, +this is the Commander. Get me a direct beam to the Chief of Staff. +Highest urgency. Scramble with sequence Charlie." + +His office had emptied by now, with officers running to their posts as +the siren of the general alert wailed through the corridors. As its +urgent call died off, a green light showed on his desk, indicating +contact with earth. "Morgan, Commander, Base Q, requesting direct line +to Chief of Staff. Highest urgency." + +"Go ahead, Morgan." The Old Man's voice sounded peculiar after passing +through the scrambling and unscrambling machines that twisted the sounds +into queer pieces and distributed them among several frequencies and +methods of modulation. But, even so, it had a note of strain in it that +was not artificial. + +"Sir, when you gave me my orders, here, you directed me to obey them _to +the letter_, without question or cavil. Is that right, sir?" + +"Yes, it is." There was a threat in the Old Man's voice. + +"Then, sir, would you tell me if there has been any change in those +orders since my arrival? Aside from administrative details, of course?" + +"No. Absolutely not." + +"Very good, sir. Sorry to have bothered you." + +"Not at all. Quite right. Good luck. Signing out." + +Morgan thought the Old Man sounded relieved at the end. And he could not +be quite sure, but he thought he heard the Admiral mutter "And good +hunting," as the connection broke. + +He summoned his aide to take over the office while he went down to the +center of the asteroid where I.C., the information center, was located, +where he would assume direct command of the base. + + * * * * * + +As he entered I.C., the Ships Supply Officer reported all ships fully +loaded and fueled with gamma-matter, ready for flight. The Missile +Officer reported all ships equipped with war-head missiles. The Lock +Officer reported all locks manned and ready. Base Q was ready. + +As he climbed to his chair over the plotting tank, he noted with +satisfaction the controlled tautness of the men's faces. They too, were +ready. + +As the glowing points of yellow light that represented the enemy fleet +crossed the dimly lit sphere in the tank that indicated the one hundred +thousand mile radius marking the edge of the primary zone, he took a +microphone from a man waiting, nearby. + +"Base Q to unknown fleet. I have you bearing four one dash one seven. +Range one oh oh. Identify yourself. Identify yourself. Over." His words +were spaced out with painful clarity. A hush had fallen over I.C. + +The loud-speaker on the wall came to life with a squawk, after a few +seconds. + +"Fleet Four to Base Q. This is Fleet Four, operating under orders from +the Jupiterian Combine. Over." + +"Base Q to Fleet Four. According to the Treaty of Porran, space within a +radius of one hundred thousand miles of Base Q has been designated a +primary defense zone of the Federation. I therefore order you to leave +this zone within one hour. Failure to comply will make you liable to +full action on our part. I have the time, now, as one three four seven. +You have until one four four seven to comply. I further warn you that an +approach within twenty thousand miles will make you liable to immediate +action, regardless of time. Over." + +The men in the room stared, open-mouthed. All had dreamed of hearing +these words spoken in these tones to the Combine. A cheer might have +been given, had it not been for discipline. + +In a few seconds, the loud-speaker squawked again. "Fleet Four to Base +Q. Our orders are to assume a position at twenty-five thousand miles +radius pending renegotiation of the Treaty of Porran. I suggest you +contact your headquarters before doing anything rash. Over." + +The Commander sat with a smile on his lips. Quietly he handed the +microphone back to the radioman. In a minute, the loud-speaker squawked, +again. "Fleet Four to Base Q. Did you receive my last transmission? +Acknowledge, please. Over." + +The radioman looked at the Commander, questioningly, but he only shook +his head. + +"Can't you turn that damn squawk-box off? It's distracting." + +As the minutes crept by, the bright dots in the tank moved closer. The +Commander took the Public Address microphone. + +"Attention, all personnel, this is the Commander talking. The Fourth +Fleet of the Combine entered the Zone twenty minutes ago. They were +given an ultimatum but are showing no indication of compliance. +Therefore, we are going to blast hell out of them." The echoes from his +voice rolled back from speakers all over the base. "The people at home +do not think we can do it. I know we can. I have not asked their +permission. It is not needed. My orders are explicit and fully cover the +situation. My orders to you are equally explicit. Go out there and teach +the bloody bastards a lesson." He turned back to the men in I.C. +"Scramble flights one, two, three, and four. Others to follow at +intervals of five minutes until all are in space. Flight plan King +Baker. Initial Time, one four five oh. Execute." + +The talkers took up the chant. + +"Flight one. Flight one. Scramble. Scramble. Execute." + +"Flight two ..." + +Etc. + +In the tank, green points of light moved out. The first four came into +position and stopped in the four quadrants of the circle of which the +center was the point at which the enemy would be at Initial Time. The +following flights moved out to other points on the circle. + +Time seemed to stop. In I.C., the Flight Directors gave the orders that +moved their flights into position and briefed them on future tactics in +quiet voices. The electronic computers and other devices moved silently. +The clock made no noise as its hands moved towards the final moment. + +The Commander moved some dials under his hands. He pushed a button and a +red light showed on the lead dreadnought of the enemy column. + +"This is the initial target." The designation was relayed to the +flights. + +The second hand of the clock was making its final sweep. All voices +quieted. The Commander raised his fist. As the clock's hand came to the +top, his fist slashed down. + +"Execute!" The battle was on. + + * * * * * + +Flight Commander Dennis, Flight One, heard the final word as he sat in +the small bubble on top of the dense package of machinery that was a +P-ship. Swiftly, his hands closed switches. The course had already been +chosen and fed into the automatic computers under him. He merely gave +the signal to execute. In response, the ship seemed to pick itself up +and hurl itself down the radius of the circle to the waiting enemy +fleet. + +He could not see them, but he knew that, behind him, lay the other nine +ships of the flight, in column, spaced so close that an error in +calculation of but a few millionths of a second would have caused +disaster. But the automatic and inconceivably fast and accurate +calculators in the ships, tied together by tight communication beams, +held them there in safety. + +As he came within range of possible enemy action, Dennis pressed another +button, and the Random Computer took command. Operated by the noise a +vacuum tube generates because electrons are discrete particles, it gave +random orders, weighted only by a preference to bring the ship's course +back to the remembered target. + +The column behind obeyed these same orders. The whole flight seemed to +jitter across space, moving at random but coming back to a reasonably +good course towards the target, utterly confusing any enemy fire-control +computers. + +To the men in the ships, one to each, it seemed as if their very nerve +cells must jar apart. They felt themselves incapable of coherent action, +or, even, thought. But they did not need coherency. Their function was +done until the ship was out of danger, when a new formation would be +made, a new target designated, and a new order to execute given. + +Because the electronic computers took care of the attack. They had to. +No human could react as fast as was needed. Out from the enemy ships +reached fingers of pure delta-field, reaching for gamma-matter. The +touch of a finger meant death in a fiery inferno as the gamma-matter +that fueled the ship and formed the war-heads of their lethal eggs would +release its total energy. There was only one defense. The delta-field +could be propagated only in a narrow beam, and at a rate much slower +than the speed of light. By keeping the enemy computers confused, they +kept those beams wandering aimlessly through space, always where the +little ships might have been, but were not. Unless their luck ran out. + +Flight One kept moving in, with constantly increasing speed, except for +random variations. Once through the outer screen of small ships, a relay +closed and the link was broken between the ships of the column. Each +then moved in independent manner. The designated target was an area to +the computers, rather than a ship. Radar beams reached out to find +specific targets. As they found them and moved close, the random +computer switched off for a small moment of time, while the missiles +were dispatched on a true bearing. And then the ships moved on, leaving +their eggs behind them. + +The eggs moved in with fantastic acceleration to their targets. Half +their energy went into that acceleration, to get them there before the +delta beams could find them. The other half was given up in incandescent +heat when they found their targets. Becoming pinpoints of pure star +matter, they seared their way into the enemy vitals. But, even with +their fantastically concentrated energy, it was not enough. For the +dreadnoughts were armored with densely degenerate matter, impervious to +any but a direct hit, and compartmented to require many hits. + +The flights moved in and passed on through. And other flights came in. +And others followed them. The first flights halted, found each other, +turned, and drove in again. Pass and repass. A myriad of blue-white +flashes gave measure of the struggle. + + * * * * * + +On Base Q, in the I.C. room, the Commander watched the tank. Curt orders +designated new target areas as the enemy fleet broke up under the +whiplash. Slowly, one by one, the points of light that marked the enemy +vanished, leaving only the void. + +Finally, as must any fleet that faces annihilation, they turned and +fled. The battle was over. All that remained was to give the orders to +bring the flights home. And that was soon done. + +The Commander got up. He stretched. He was tired. He glanced at the +clock. Two hours and forty minutes. Very quick, indeed, as space battles +usually went. But, then, he thought grimly, this had been the first +battle ever fought under the whiplash of Plan K. + +But, now, there was a report to be made. And he did not know how to do +it. As he walked back wearily to his office, he tried out phrases in his +mind. None seemed to fit. + +His aide was bending over the facsimile machine as he came in. "Priority +orders from the General Staff, just coming in, sir." + +The Commander looked at the machine. "General Staff to Commander, Base +Q, Urgent, Immediate Action," he read. "You are hereby advised that a +protocol has been signed at Washington, D.C., with representatives of +the Combine, revising the Treaty of Porran to the extent that Base Q +shall be jointly administered by yourself and the Commander, Fourth +Fleet, Jupiterian Combine, until such time as its further dispensation +shall have been agreed. You will, therefore, admit said Fleet upon +demand, permitting it to take up such stations as it may desire, in +either zone, or to land, in whole or in part, and to disembark such of +its personnel as its commanding officer may direct. You will make +arrangements with its commanding officer for the joint administration of +the base. You will be held responsible for the smooth operation and +successful accomplishment of this undertaking. These orders are +effective immediately." + +Commander Morgan smiled. + +"Send this reply immediately," he said to his aide. "Open code. +Commander, Base Q, to General Staff, Highest urgency. Acknowledge +receipt recent orders regarding protocol revising Treaty of Porran. +Regret unable to comply. Due to recent argument over interpretation of +Treaty of Porran, Fourth Fleet, Combine, no longer exists. Request +further orders." + +He laughed. + +On earth, the officer who took the message gaped at it. Seizing a +telephone, he dictated it to the Old Man's aide. But when the Old Man +saw it, he only smiled, coldly. + +And his smile was bleak and cold, too, when he laid it before the +President and the Cabinet an hour later. Shortly afterwards, when the +President broadcast it to the people, they sat, stunned. It was not +until the next day that they finally read its significance and started +celebrating. But the Old Man had ceased smiling by that time, and was +planning possible future battles. + + * * * * * + +A month later, Morgan sat again in the Old Man's office. Having +presented his report and swallowed the unpleasant pill that, as he was +now a hero, there were speeches to make and banquets to be bored at, he +was talking informally. + +"What I can't understand, sir, is why they came in. They only had to +wait a couple of hours and the whole kit and caboodle would have been +dumped in their laps. Yet they come barging in and give us exactly the +opening we want. I don't get it." + +"That _is_ an interesting question," the Old Man replied with a shadow +of a twinkle. "You might almost think they had intercepted an order I +sent to our Intelligence Officer, on Q, to sabotage the Converter if the +protocol was signed." + +The Commander jumped. "Was that order given, sir?" + +"Yes, it was. But it was countermanded an hour later. Different channel, +however. I remembered they had broken the code of the first channel." + +He paused a moment. "That illustrates a good point to remember, Morgan. +You intercept enemy messages and break their code. A very useful trick. +Also very dangerous, if the enemy discovers you have broken it, and you +don't know that he knows. Very dangerous, indeed." + +The young man laughed. The older one smiled, bleakly. + +As Morgan looked out the window, he saw the public news-casters spelling +out the full mobilization of the Federation. A glow filled his heart as +he realized the people were now willing, if they had to, to fight to +defend their freedom. + + +THE END + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _If: Worlds of Science Fiction_ + November 1952. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that + the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling + and typographical errors have been corrected without note. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Generals Help Themselves, by M. C. 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