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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4d3f923 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #64772 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64772) diff --git a/old/64772-0.txt b/old/64772-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 45ffdbe..0000000 --- a/old/64772-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2181 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Rocketeers Have Shaggy Ears, by Keith -Bennett - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Rocketeers Have Shaggy Ears - -Author: Keith Bennett - -Release Date: March 10, 2021 [eBook #64772] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROCKETEERS HAVE SHAGGY -EARS *** - - - - - THE ROCKETEERS HAVE SHAGGY EARS - - By KEITH BENNETT - - Some day there will be a legend like this. - Some day, from steamy Venus or arid Mars, - the shaking, awe-struck words will come - whispering back to us, building the picture - of a glory so great that our throats will - choke with pride--pride in the Men of Terra! - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Planet Stories Spring 1950. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - -The Commander's voice went droning on, but Hague's fatigued brain -registered it as mere sound with no words or meaning. He'd been dazed -since the crash. Like a cracked phonograph, his brain kept playing -back the ripping roar of jet chambers blowing out with a sickening -lurch that had thrown every man in the control room to the floor. -The lights had flickered out, and a sickening elevator glide began as -Patrol Rocket One smashed down through the Venusian rainforest roof, -and crashed in a clearing blasted by its own hurtling passage. - -Hague blinked hard and tried to focus his brain on what hard-faced -Commander Devlin was saying, something about the Base and Odysseus, -the mother ship. - -"We've five hundred miles before we'll be in their vicinity, and every -yard of it we walk. Hunting parties will shoot food animals. All water -is to be boiled and treated with ultra-violet by my section. The -photographers will march with the science section, which will continue -classifying and writing reports. No actual specimens will be taken. We -can't afford the weight." - -To Hague, the other five men seated around the little charting table -appeared cool, confidently ready to march through five hundred, or a -thousand miles of dark, unexplored, steaming Hell that is Venusian -rainforest. Their faces tightset, icily calm, they nodded in turn as -the Commander looked at each one of them; but Hague wondered if his own -face wasn't betraying the fear lurking within him. Suddenly Commander -Devlin grinned, and pulled a brandy bottle from his pocket, uncorking -it as he spoke: "Well, Rocketeers, a short life and a merry one. I -never did give a damn for riding in these tin cans." The tension broke, -they were all smiling, and saying they'd walk into the base camp with -some kind of a Venusian female under each arm for the edification of -Officers' Mess. - -Leaden doubt of his own untried abilities and nerve lay icy in Hague's -innards, and he left after one drink. The others streamed from the -brightly lighted hatch a moment later. The Commander made a short -speech to the entire party. Then Navigator Clark, a smiling, wiry -little man, marched out of the clearing with his advance guard. Their -voices muffled suddenly as they vanished down a forest corridor that -lay gloomy between giant tree holes. - -Commander Devlin slapped Hague cheerfully on the shoulder as he moved -past; and the second section, spruce and trim in blue-black uniforms, -with silver piping, followed him. Crewmen Didrickson and Davis followed -with rifles and sagging bandoliers of explosive bullets crossing their -chests; and then Arndt, the lean craggy geologist, his arm in a sling, -and marching beside him was rotund, begoggled Gault, the botanist. -The little whippet tank clattered by next with Technician Whittaker -grinning down at Hague from the turret. - -"It pains me somethin' awful to see you walkin' when I'm ridin'," -Whittaker piped over the whippet's clanking growl. - -Hague grinned back, then pinched his nose between two fingers in the -ageless dumb show of disgust, pointed at the tank, and shook his head -sadly. The two carts the whippet towed swayed by, and the rest of the -column followed; Bachmann, the doctor and Sewell, his beefy crotchety -assistant. The two photographers staggered past under high-piled -equipment packs, and Hague wondered how long they would keep all of -it. Lenkranz, Johnston, Harker, Szachek, Hirooka, Ellis--each carried -a pack full of equipment. The rest filed by until finally Swenson, the -big Swede technician, passed and the clearing was empty. - -Hague turned to look over his own party. In his mind's eye bobbed the -neatly typed "Equipment, march-order, light field artillery" lists he'd -memorized along with what seemed a thousand other neatly typed lists at -Gunnery School. - -The list faded, and Hague watched his five-man gun-section lounge -against their rifles, leaning slightly forward to ease the heavy -webbing that supported their marching packs and the sectioned pneumatic -gun. - -"All right," Hague said brusquely. He dredged his brain desperately -then for an encouraging speech, something that would show the crew he -liked them, something the Commander might say, but he couldn't think -of anything that sounded witty or rang with stirring words. He finally -muttered a disgusted curse at his own blank-headedness, and said -harshly, "All right, let's go." - -The six men filed silently out of the clearing battered in the forest -by Patrol Rocket One, and into damp gloom between gargantuan trunks -that rose smoothly out of sight into darkness. Behind them a little -rat-like animal scurried into the deserted slot of blasted trees, its -beady black eyes studying curiously the silver ship that lay smashed -and half-buried in the forest floor. - - * * * * * - -Base Commander Chapman shuffled hopelessly through the thick sheaf of -onion-skin papers, and sank back sighing. Ammunition reports, supply -reports, medical reports, strength reports, reconnaissance reports, -radio logs, radar logs, sonar logs, bulging dossiers of reports, files -full of them, were there; and elsewhere in the ship efficient clerks -were rapping out fresh, crisp battalions of new reports, neatly typed -in triplicate on onion-skin paper. - -He stared across his crowded desk at the quiet executive officer. - -"Yes, Blake, it's a good picture of local conditions, but it isn't -exploration. Until the Patrol Rocket gets in, we can send only this -local stuff, and it just isn't enough." - -Blake shrugged. - -"It's all we've got. We can send parties out on foot from the base -here, even if we do lose men, but the dope they'd get would still be on -a localized area." - -The Commander left his desk, and stared through a viewport at the -plateau, and beyond that at the jungled belt fringing an endless -expanse of rainforest lying sullenly quiet under the roof of racing -grey clouds. - -"The point is we've got to have more extensive material than this when -we fire our robot-courier back to earth. This wonderful mountain of -papers--what do they do, what do they tell? They describe beautifully -the physical condition of this Base and its complement. They describe -very well a ten mile area around the Base--but beyond that area they -tell nothing. It's wonderful as far as it goes, but it only goes ten -miles, and that isn't enough." - -Blake eyed the snowy pile of papers abstractedly. Then he jumped -up nervously as another bundle shot into a receiving tray from the -pneumatic message tube. He began pacing the floor. - -"Well, what can we do? Suppose we send the stuff we have here, get it -microfilmed and get it off--what then?" - -The Commander swore bitterly, and turned to face his executive. - -"What then?" he demanded savagely. "Are we going into that again? Why, -the minute every other branch of the services realize that we haven't -got any kind of thorough preliminary report on this section of Venus, -they'll start pounding the war drums. The battleship admirals and the -bayonet generals will get to work and stir up enough public opinion to -have the United States Rocket Service absorbed by other branches--the -old, old game of military politics." - -Blake nodded jerkily. "Yes, I know. We'd get the leftovers after the -battleships had been built, or new infantry regiments activated, or -something else. Anyway we wouldn't get enough money to carry on rocket -research for space explorations." - -"Exactly," the Commander cut in harshly. "These rockets would be -grounded on earth. The generals or admirals would swear that the -international situation demanded that they be kept there as weapons of -defense; and that would be the end of our work." - -"We've got to send back a good, thorough report, something to prove -that the Rocket Service can do the job, and that it is worth the doing. -And, until the patrol rocket gets back, we can't do it." - -"Okay, Commander," Blake called as he went through the steel passage -opening onto the mother ship's upper corridor, "I'll be holding the -Courier Rocket until we get word." - - * * * * * - -Seven hours later it lightened a little, and day had come. Hague and -the Sergeant had pulled the early morning guard shift, and began -rolling the other four from their tiny individual tents. - -Bormann staggered erect, yawned lustily, and swore that this was worse -than spring maneuvers in Carolina. - -"Shake it," Brian snarled savagely. "That whistle will blow in a -minute." - -When it did sound, they buckled each other into pack harness and swung -off smartly, but groaning and muttering as the mud dragged at their -heavy boots. - -At midday, four hours later, there was no halt, and they marched -steadily forward through steaming veils of oppressive heat, eating -compressed ration as they walked. They splashed through a tiny creek -that was solidly slimed, and hurried ahead when crawling things -wriggled in the green mass. Perspiration ran in streams from each face -filing past on the trail, soaked through pack harness and packs; and -wiry Hurd began to complain that his pack straps had cut through his -shoulders as far as his navel. They stopped for a five minute break -at 1400, when Hurd stopped fussing with his back straps and signalled -for silence, though the other five had been too wrapped in their own -discomfort to be talking. - -"Listen! Do you hear it, Lieutenant? Like a horn?" Hurd's wizened rat -face knotted in concentration. "Way off, like." - -Hague listened blankly a moment, attempted an expression he fondly -hoped was at once intelligent and reassuring, then said, "I don't hear -anything. You may have taken too much fever dope, and it's causing a -ringing in your ears." - -"Naw," with heavy disgust. "Listen! There it goes again!" - -"I heard it." That was Sergeant Brian's voice, hard and incisive, -and Hague wished he sounded like that, or that he would have heard -the sound before his second in command. All of the six were hunched -forward, listening raptly, when the Lieutenant stood up. - -"Yes, Hurd. Now I hear it." - -The whistle blew then, and they moved forward. Hague noticed the -Sergeant had taken a post at the rear of the little file, and watched -their back trail warily as they marched. - -"What do you think it was, sir?" Bucci inquired in the piping voice -that sounded strange coming from his deep chest. - -"The Lord knows," Hague answered, and wondered how many times he'd be -using that phrase in the days to come. "Might have been some animal. -They hadn't found any traces of intelligent life when we left the Base -Camp." - - * * * * * - -But in the days that followed there was a new air of expectancy in the -marchers, as if their suspicions had solidified into a waiting for -attack. They'd been moving forward for several days. - -Hague saw the pack before any of his men did, and thanked his guiding -star that for once he had been a little more alert than his gun-section -members. - -The canvas carrier had been set neatly against one of the buttressing -roots of a giant tree bole and, from the collecting bottles strapped in -efficient rows outside, Hague deduced that it belonged to Bernstein, -the entomologist. The gunnery officer halted and peered back into the -gloom off the trail, called Bernstein's name; and when there was no -reply moved cautiously into the hushed shadows with his carbine ready. -He sensed that Sergeant Brian was catfooting behind him. - -Then he saw the ghostly white bundle suspended six feet above the -forest floor, and moved closer, calling Bernstein's name softly. The -dim bundle vibrated gently, and Hague saw that it hung from a giant -white lattice radiating wheel-like from the green gloom above. He -raised his hand to touch the cocoon thing, noted it was shaped like a -man well-wrapped in some woolly material; and on a sudden hunch pulled -his belt knife and cut the fibers from what would be the head. - -It was Bernstein suspended there, his snug, silken shroud bobbing -gently in the dimness. His dark face was pallid in the gloom, sunken -and flaccid of feature, as though the juices had been sucked from his -corpse, leaving it a limp mummy. - -The lattice's thick white strands vibrated--something moved across it -overhead, and Hague flashed his lightpak up into the darkness. Crouched -twenty feet above him, two giant legs delicately testing the strands -of its lattice like web, Hague saw the spider, its bulbous furred body -fully four feet across, the monster's myriad eyes glittering fire-like -in the glow of Hague's lightpak, as it gathered the great legs slightly -in the manner of a tarantula ready to leap. - -[Illustration: _It gathered the great legs slightly ... ready to leap._] - -Brian's sharp yell broke Hague from his frozen trance. He threw himself -down as Brian's rifle crashed, and the giant arachnid was bathed in a -blue-white flash of explosive light, its body tumbling down across the -web onto Hague where he lay in the mud. The officer's hoarse yells rang -insanely while he pulled himself clear of the dead spider-beast, but he -forced himself to quiet at the sound of the Sergeant's cool voice. - -"All clear, Lieutenant. It's dead." - -"Okay, Brian. I'll be all right now." Hague's voice shook, and he -cursed the weakness of his fear, forcing himself to walk calmly without -a glance over his shoulder until they were back on the trail. He led -the other four gunners back to the spider and Bernstein's body, as a -grim object lesson, warned them to leave the trail only in pairs. They -returned their weary footslogging pace down the muddy creek marked by -Clark's crew. When miles had sweated by at the same steady pace, Hague -could still feel in the men's stiff silence their horror of the thing -Brian had killed. - - * * * * * - -Hours, and then days, rolled past, drudging nightmares through which -they plowed in mud and steamy heat, with punctually once every sixteen -hours a breathtaking, pounding torrent of rain. Giant drops turned the -air into an aqueous mixture that was almost unbreathable, and smashed -against their faces until the skin was numb. When the rain stopped -abruptly the heat came back and water vapor rose steaming from the mud -they walked through; but always they walked, shoving one aching foot -ahead of the other through sucking black glue. Sometimes Bormann's -harmonica would wheedle reedy airs, and they would sing and talk for -a time, but mostly they swung forward in silence, faces drawn with -fatigue and pale in the forest half light. Hague looked down at his -hands, swollen, bloody with insect bites, and painfully stiff; and -wondered if he'd be able to bend them round his ration pan at the -evening halt. - -Hague was somnambulating at the rear of his little column, listening -to an ardent account from Bormann of what his girl might expect when -he saw her again. Bucci, slowing occasionally to ease the pneumatic -gun's barrel assembly across his shoulder, chimed in with an ecstatic -description of his little Wilma. The two had been married just before -the Expedition blasted Venusward out of an Arizona desert. Crosse was -at the front end, and his voice came back nasally. - -"Hey, Lieutenant, there's somebody sitting beside the trail." - -"Okay. Halt." The Lieutenant swore tiredly and trotted up to Crosse's -side. "Where?" - -"There. Against the big root." - -Hague moved forward, carbine at ready, and knew without looking that -Sergeant Brian was at his shoulder, cool and self-sufficient as always. - -"Who's there?" the officer croaked. - -"It's me, Bachmann." - -Hague motioned his party forward, and they gathered in a small circle -about the Doctor, seated calmly beside the trail, with his back against -a root flange. - -"What's the matter, Doc? Did you want to see us?" - -"No. Sewell seems to think you're all healthy. Too bad the main party -isn't as well off. Quite a bit of trouble with fever. And, Bernstein -gone of course." - -Hague nodded, and remembered he'd reported Bernstein's death to the -Commander three nights before. - -"How's the Commander?" he inquired. - -The Doctor's cherubic face darkened. "Not good. He's not a young man, -and this heat and walking are wrecking his heart. And he won't ride the -tank." - -"Well, let's go, Doc." It was Brian's voice, cutting like a knife into -Hague's consciousness. The Doctor looked tired, and drawn. - -"Go ahead, lads. I'm just going to sit here for a while." He looked up -and smiled weakly at the astonished faces, but his eyes were bleakly -determined. - -"This is as far as I go. Snake bite. We've no anti-venom that seems -to work. All they can do is to amputate, and we can't afford another -sick man." He pulled a nylon wrapper from one leg that sprawled at an -awkward angle beneath him. The bared flesh was black, swollen, and -had a gangrenous smell. Young Crosse turned away, and Hague heard his -retching. - -"What did the Commander say?" - -"He agreed this was best. I am going to die anyway." - -"Will--will you be all right here? Don't you want us to wait with you?" - -The Doctor's smile was weaker, and he mopped at the rivulets of -perspiration streaking his mud-spattered face. - -"No. I have an X-lethal dosage and a hypodermic. I'll be fine here. -Sewell knows what to do." His round face contorted, "Now, for God's -sake, get on, and let me take that tablet. The pain is driving me -crazy." - -Hague gave a curt order, and they got under way. A little further on -the trail, he turned to wave at Doctor Bachmann, but the little man was -already invisible in forest shadows. - - * * * * * - -The tenth day after the crash of Patrol Rocket One, unofficially known -as the Ration Can, glimpses of skylight opened over the trail Clark's -crew were marking; and Hague and his men found themselves suddenly in -an opening where low, thick vines, and luxuriant, thick-leaved shrubs -struggled viciously for life. Balistierri, the zoologist, slight wisp -of a dark man always and almost a shadow now, stood wearily beside the -trail waiting as they drew up. Their shade-blinded eyes picked out -details in the open ground dimly. Hague groaned inwardly when he saw -that this was a mere slit in the forest, and the great trees loomed -again a hundred yards ahead. Balistierri seized Hague by the shoulder -and pointed into the thick mat of green, smiling. - -"Watch, all of you." - -He blew a shrill blast on his whistle and waited, while Hague's gunners -wondered and watched. There was a wild, silvery call, a threshing -of wings, and two huge birds rose into the gold tinted air. They -flapped up, locked their wings, and glided, soared, and wheeled over -the earth-stained knot of men--two great white birds, with crests of -fire-gold, plumage snowy save where it was dusted with rosy overtones. -Their call was bell-like as they floated across the clearing in a -golden haze of sunlight filtered through clouds. - -"They're--they're like angels." It was Bormann, the tough young -sentimentalist. - -"You've named them, soldier," Balistierri grinned. "I've been trying -for a name; and that's the best I've heard. Bormann's angels they'll -be. In Latin, of course." - -Unfolding vistas of eternal zoological glory left Bormann speechless -and red-faced. Sergeant Brian broke in. - -"I guess they would have made those horn sounds. Right, Lieutenant?" -His voice, dry and a little patronizing, suggested that this was a poor -waste of valuable marching time. - -"I wouldn't know, Sergeant," Hague answered, trying to keep dislike out -of his voice, but the momentary thrill was broken and, with Balistierri -beside him, Gunnery Officer Hague struck out on the trail that had been -blasted and hacked through the clearing's wanton extravagance of greedy -plant life. - -As they crossed the clearing, Bucci tripped and sprawled full length -in the mud. When he tried to get up, the vine over which he'd stumbled -clutched with a woody tendril that wound snakelike tightly about his -ankle; and, white-faced, the rest of the men chopped him free of the -serpentine thing with belt knives, bandaged the thorn wounds in his -leg, and went on. - -The clearing had one more secret to divulge, however. A movement in the -forest edge caught Brian's eye and he motioned to Hague, who followed -him questioningly as the Sergeant led him off trail. Brian pointed -silently and Hague saw Didrickson, Sergeant in charge of Supplies, -seated in the lemon-colored sunlight at the forest edge, an open food -pack between his knees, from which he snatched things and swallowed -them voraciously, feeding like a wild dog. - -"Didrickson! Sergeant Didrickson!" the Lieutenant yelled. "What are you -doing?" - -The supply man stared back, and Hague knew from the man's face what -had happened. He crouched warily, eyes wild with panic and jaw hanging -foolishly slack. This was Didrickson, the steady, efficient man who'd -sat at the chart table the night they began this march. He had been the -only man Devlin thought competent and nerveless enough to handle the -food. This was the same Didrickson, and madder now than a March hare, -Hague concluded grimly. The enlisted man snatched up the food pack, -staring at them in wild fear, and began to run back down the trail, -back the way they'd come. - -"Come back, Didrickson. We've got to have that food, you fool!" - -The madman laughed crazily at the sound of the officer's voice, -glanced back for a moment, then spun and ran. - -Sergeant Brian, as always, was ready. His rifle cracked, and the -explosive missile blew the running man nearly in half. Sergeant Brian -silently retrieved the food pack and brought it back to Hague. - -"Do you want it here, Lieutenant, or shall I take it up to the main -party?" - -"We'll keep it here, Sergeant. Sewell can take it back tonight after -our medical check." Hague's voice shook, and he wished savagely -that he could have had the nerve to pass that swift death sentence. -Didrickson's crime was dangerous to every member of the party, and the -Sergeant had been right to shoot. But when the time came--when perhaps -the Sergeant wasn't with him--would he, Hague, react swiftly and coolly -as an officer should, he wondered despairingly? - -"All right, lads, let's pull," he said, and the tight-lipped gun crew -filed again into the hushed, somber forest corridors. - - - II - -Communications Technician Harker took a deep pull at his mug of -steaming coffee, blinked his eyes hard at the swimming dials before -him, and lit a cigarette. Odysseus warning center was never quiet, -even now in the graveyard watch when all other lights were turned low -through the great ship's hull. Here in the neat grey room, murmuring, -softly-clicking signal equipment was banked against every wall in a -gleaming array of dials and meters, heavy power leads, black panels, -and intricate sheafs of colored wire. The sonar kept up a sleepy drone, -and radar scopes glowed fitfully with interference patterns, and the -warning buzzer beeped softly as the radar echoed back to its receivers -the rumor of strange planetary forces that radar hadn't been built to -filter through. What made the interference, base technicians couldn't -tell, but it practically paralyzed radio communication on all bands, -and blanketed out even radar warnings. - -The cigarette burned his finger tips, and Harker jerked awake and -tried to concentrate on the letter he was writing home. It would be -microfilmed, and go on the next courier rocket. A movement at the -Warnings Room door, brought Harker's head up, and he saw Commander -Chapman, lean and grey, standing there. - -"Good evening, sir. Come on in. I've got coffee on." The Communications -Technician took a pot from the glow heater at his elbow, and set out -another cup. - -The Commander smiled tiredly, pulled out a stubby metal stool, and -sat across the low table from Harker, sipping the scalding coffee -cautiously. He looked up after a moment. - -"What's the good word, Harker? Picked up anything?" - -Harker ran his fingers through his mop of black hair, and grimaced. - -"Not a squeak, sir. No radio, no radar. Of course, the interference may -be blanketing those. Creates a lot of false signals, too, on the radar -screens. But we can't even pick 'em up with long-range sonar. That -should get through. We're pretty sure they crashed, all right." - -"How about our signals, Harker? Do you think we're getting through to -them?" - -Harker leaned back expansively, happy to expound his specialty. - -"Well, we've been sending radio signals every hour on the hour, and -radio voice messages every hour on the half hour. We're sending a -continuous sonar beam for their direction-finder. That's about all we -can do. As for their picking it up, assuming the rocket has crashed -and been totally knocked out, they still have a radio in the whippet -tank. It's a transreceiver. And they have a portable sonar set, one of -those little twenty-pound armored detection units. They'll use it as a -direction finder." - -Chapman swirled the coffee around in the bottom of his cup and stared -thoughtfully into it. - -"If they can get sonar, why can't we send them messages down the sonar -beam? You know, flick it on and off in Morse code?" - -"It won't work with a small detector like they have, sir. With our big -set here, we could send them a message, but that outfit they have might -burn out. It has a limited sealed motor supply that must break down -an initial current resistance on the grids before the rectifiers can -convert it to audible sound. With the set operating continuously, power -drainage is small, but begin changing your signal beam and the power -has to break down the grid resistance several hundred times for every -short signal sent. It would burn out their set in a matter of hours. - -"It works like a slide trombone, sort of. Run your slide way out, and -you get a slowly vibrating column of air, and that is heard as a low -note, only on sonar it would be a short note. Run your slide way up, -and the vibrations are progessively faster and higher in pitch. The -sonar set, at peak, is vibrating so rapidly that it's almost static, -and the power flow is actually continuous. But, starting and stopping -the set continuously, the vibrators never have a chance to reach a -normal peak, and the power flow is broken at each vibration in the -receiver--and a few hours later your sonar receptor is a hunk of junk." - -"All right, Harker. Your discussion is vague, but I get the general -idea that my suggestion wasn't too hot. Well, have whoever is on duty -call me if any signals come through." The Commander set down his cup, -said goodnight, and moved off down the hushed corridor. Harker returned -to his letter and a chewed stub of pencil, while he scowled in a -fevered agony of composition. It was a letter to his girl, and it had -to be good. - - * * * * * - -Night had begun to fall over the forest roof, and stole thickening down -the muddy cathedral aisles of great trees, and Hague listened hopefully -for the halt signal from the whippet tank, which should come soon. -He was worried about Bucci who was laughing and talking volubly, and -the officer decided he must have a touch of fever. The dark, muscular -gunner kept talking about his young wife in what was almost a babble. -Once he staggered and nearly fell, until Hurd took the pneumatic gun -barrel assembly and carried it on his own shoulders. They were all -listening expectantly for the tank's klaxon, when a brassy scream -ripped the evening to echoing shreds and a flurry of shots broke out -ahead. - -The scream came again, metallic and shrill as a locomotive gone amok; -yells, explosive-bullet reports, and the sound of hammering blows -drifted back. - -"Take over, Brian," Hague snapped. "Crosse, Hurd--let's go!" - -The three men ran at a stagger through the dragging mud around a turn -in the trail, and dropped the pneumatic gun swiftly into place, Hurd at -firing position, Crosse on the charger, and Hague prone in the slime -snapping an ammunition belt into the loader. - -Two emergency flares some one had thrown lit the trail ahead in a -garish photographic fantasy of bright, white light and ink-black -shadow, a scene out of Inferno. A cart lay on its side, men were -running clear, the whippet tank lay squirming on its side, and above it -towered the screaming thing. A lizard, or dinosaur, rearing up thirty -feet, scaly grey, a man clutched in its two hand-like claws, while its -armored tail smashed and smashed at the tank with pile-driver blows. -Explosive bullets cracked around the thing's chest in blue-white flares -of light, but it continued to rip at the man twisting pygmy-like in -its claws--white teeth glinting like sabers as its blindly malevolent -screams went on. - -"On target," Hurd's voice came strained and low. - -"Charge on," from Crosse. - -"Let her go!" Hague yelled, and fed APX cartridges as the gun coughed -a burst of armor-piercing, explosive shells into the rearing beast. -Hague saw the tank turret swing up as Whittaker tried to get his gun -in action, but a slashing slap of the monster's tail spun it back -brokenly. The cluster of pneumatic shells hit then and burst within -that body, and the great grey-skinned trunk was hurled off the trail, -the head slapping against a tree trunk on the other side as the reptile -was halved. - -"Good shooting, Crosse," Hague grunted. "Get back with Brian. Keep the -gun ready. That thing might have a mate." He ran toward the main party, -and into the glare of the two flares. - -"Where's Devlin?" - -Clark, the navigation officer, was standing with a small huddle of men -near the smashed supply cart. - -"Here, Hague," he called. His eyes were sunken, his face older in the -days since Hague had last seen him. "Devlin's dead, smashed between the -cart and a tree trunk. We've lost two men, Commander Devlin and Ellis, -the soils man. He's the one it was eating." He grimaced. - -"That leaves twenty-three of us?" Hague inquired, and tried to sound -casual. - -"That's right. You'll continue to cover the rear. Those horn sounds you -reported had Devlin worried about an attack from your direction. I'll -be with the tank." - -Sergeant Brian was stoically heating ration stew over the cook unit -when Hague returned, while the crew sat in a close circle, alternately -eying nervously the forest at their backs, and the savory steam that -rose from Brian's mixture. There wasn't much for each of them, but it -was hot and highly nutritious, and after a cigarette and coffee they -would feel comfort for a while. - -Crosse, seated on the grey metal charger tube he'd carried all -day, fingered the helmet in his lap, and looked inquiringly at the -Lieutenant. - -"Well, sir, anybody hurt? Was the tank smashed?" - -Hague squatted in the circle, sniffed the stew with loud enthusiasm, -and looked about the circle. - -"Commander Devlin's dead, and Ellis. One supply cart smashed, but the -tank'll be all right. The lizard charged the tank. Balistierri thinks -it was the lizard's mating season, and he figured the tank was another -male and he tried to fight it. Then he stayed--to--lunch and we got -him. Lieutenant Clark is in command now." - -The orange glow of Brian's cook unit painted queer shadows on the -strained faces around him, and Hague tried to brighten them up. - -"Will you favor us with one of your inimitable harmonica arrangements, -Maestro Bormann?" - -"I can't right now. I'm bandaging Helen's wing." He held out something -in the palm of his hand, and the heater's glow glittered on liquid -black eyes. "She's like a little bird, but without her feathers. See?" -He placed the warm lump in Hague's hand. "For wings, she's just got -skin, like a bat, except she's built like a bird." - -"You ought to show this to Balistierri, and maybe he'll name this for -you too." - -Bormann's homely face creased into a grin. "I did, sir. At the noon -halt when I found it. It's named after my girl. 'Bormann's Helen', only -in Latin. Helen's got a broken wing." - - * * * * * - -As they ate, they heard the horn note again. Bucci's black eyes were -feverishly bright, his skin hot and dry, and the vine scratches on his -leg badly inflamed; and when the rest began to sing he was quiet. The -reedy song of Bormann's harmonica piped down the quiet forest passages, -and echoed back from the great trees; and somewhere, as Hague dozed off -in his little tent, he heard the horn note again, sandwiched into mouth -organ melody. - -Two days of slogging through the slimy green mud, and at a noon halt -Sewell brought back word to be careful, that a man had failed to report -at roll call that morning. The gun crew divided Bucci's equipment -between them, and he limped in the middle of the file on crutches -fashioned from ration cart wreckage. Crosse, who'd been glancing off -continually, like a wizened, curious rat, flung up his arm in a silent -signal to halt, and Hague moved in to investigate, the ever present -Brian moving carefully and with jungle beast's silent poise just behind -him. Crumpled like a sack of damp laundry, in the murk of two root -buttresses, lay Romano, one of the two photographers. His Hasselblad -camera lay beneath his body crushing a small plant he must have been -photographing. - -From the back of Romano's neck protruded a gleaming nine-inch arrow -shaft, a lovely thing of gleaming bronze-like metal, delicately thin -of shaft and with fragile hammered bronze vanes. Brian moved up behind -Hague, bent over the body and cut the arrow free. - -They examined the thing, and when Brian spoke Hague was surprised that -this time even the rock-steady Sergeant spoke in a hushed voice, the -kind boys use when they walk by a graveyard at night and don't wish to -attract unwelcome attention. - -"Looks like it came from a blowgun, Lieutenant. See the plug at the -back. It must be poisoned; it's not big enough to kill him otherwise." - -Hague grunted assent, and the two moved back trailward. - -"Brian, take over. Crosse, come on. We'll report this to Clark. -Remember, from now on wear your body armor and go in pairs when you -leave the trail. Get Bucci's plates on to him." - -Bormann and Hurd set down their loads, and were buckling the weakly -protesting Bucci into his chest and back plates, as Hague left them. - - * * * * * - -Commander Chapman stared at the circle of faces. His section commanders -lounged about his tiny square office. "Well, then, what are their -chances?" - -Bjornson, executive for the technical section, stared at Chapman -levelly. - -"I can vouch for Devlin. He's not precisely a rule-book officer, but -that's why I recommended him for this expedition. He's at his best in -an unusual situation, one where he has to depend on his own wits. He'll -bring them through." - -Artilleryman Branch spoke in turn. "I don't know about Hague. He's -young, untried. Seemed a little unsure. He might grow panicky and -be useless. I sent him because there was no one else, unless I went -myself." - -The Commander cleared his throat brusquely. "I know you wanted to go, -Branch, but we can't send out our executive officers. Not yet, anyway. -What about Clark? Could he take over Devlin's job?" - -"Clark can handle it," Captain Rindell of the Science Section, was -saying. "He likes to follow the rule-book, but he's sturdy stuff. He'll -bring them through if something happens to Devlin." - -"Hmmmm--that leaves Hague as the one questionable link in their chain -of command. Young man, untried. Of course, he's only the junior -officer. There's no use stewing over this; but I'll tell you frankly, -that if those men can't get their records through to us before we send -the next courier rocket to earth, I think the U.S. Rocket Service is -finished. This attempt will be chalked up as a failure. The project -will be abandoned entirely, and we'll be ordered back to Earth to serve -as a fighter arm there." - -Bjornson peered from the space-port window and looked out over the -cinder-packed parade a hundred feet below. "What makes you so sure the -Rocket Service is in immediate danger of being scrapped?" - -"The last courier rocket contained a confidential memo from Secretary -Dougherty. There is considerable war talk, and the other Service Arms -are plunging for larger armaments. They want their appropriations of -money and stock pile materials expanded at our expense. We've got to -show that we are doing a good job, show the Government a concrete -return in the form of adequate reports on the surface of Venus, and its -soils and raw materials." - -"What about the 'copters!" Rindell inquired. "They brought in some good -stuff for the reports." - -"Yes, but with a crew of only four men, they can't do enough." - -Branch cut in dryly. "About all I can see is to look hopeful. The -Rocket would have exhausted its fuel long ago. It's been over ten weeks -since they left Base." - -"Assuming they're marching overland, God forbid, they'll have only -sonar and radio, right?" Bjornson was saying. "Why not keep our klaxon -going? It's a pretty faint hope, but we'll have to try everything. My -section is keeping the listeners manned continually, we've got a sonar -beam out, radio messages every thirty minutes, and with the klaxon -we're doing all we can. I doubt if anything living could approach -within a twenty-five mile range without hearing that klaxon, or without -us hearing them with the listeners." - -"All right." Commander Chapman stared hopelessly at a fresh batch -of reports burdening his desk. "Send out ground parties within the -ten mile limit, but remember we can't afford to lose men. When -the 'copters are back in, send them both West." West meant merely -in a direction west from Meridian 0, as the mother rocket's landing -place had been designated. "They can't do much searching over that -rainforest, but it's a try. They might pick up a radio message." - -Chapman returned grumpily to his reports, and the others filed out. - - - III - -At night, on guard, Hague saw a thousand horrors peopling the Stygian -forest murk; but when he flashed his lightpak into darkness there was -nothing. He wondered how long he could stand the waiting, when he would -crack as Supply Sergeant Didrickson had, and his comrades would blast -him down with explosive bullets. He should be like Brian, hard and -sure, and always doing the right thing, he decided. He'd come out of -OCS Gunnery School, trained briefly in the newly-formed U.S. Rocket -Service. Then the expedition to Venus--it was a fifty-fifty chance they -said, and out of all the volunteers he'd been picked. And when the -first expedition was ready to blast off from the Base Camp on Venus, -he'd been picked again. Why, he cursed despairingly? Sure, he wanted -to come, but how could his commanders have had faith in him, when he -didn't know himself if he could continue to hold out. - -Sounds on the trail sent his carbine automatically to ready, and he -called a strained, "Halt." - -"Okay, Hague. It's Clark and Arndt." - -The wiry little navigation officer, and lean, scraggy Geologist Arndt, -the latter's arm still in a sling, came into the glow of Hague's -lightpak. - -"Any more horns or arrows?" Clark's voice sounded tight, and repressed; -Hague reflected that perhaps the strain was getting him too. - -"No, but Bucci is getting worse. Can't you carry him on the cart?" - -"Hague, I've told you twenty times. That cart is full and breaking down -now. Get it through your head that it's no longer individual men we can -think of now, but the entire party. If they can't march, they must be -left, or all of us may die!" His voice was savage, and when he tried to -light a cigarette his hand shook. "All right. It's murder, and I don't -like it any better than you do." - -"How are we doing? What's the over-all picture?" Both of the officers -tried to smile a little at the memory of that pompous little phrase, -favorite of a windbag they'd served under. - -"Not good. Twenty-two of us now." - -"Hirooka thinks we may be within radio range of Base soon," he -continued more hopefully. "With this interference, we can't tell, -though." - -They talked a little longer, Arndt gave the gunnery officer a -food-and-medical supply packet, and Hague's visitors became two bobbing -glows of light that vanished down the trail. - -A soul crushing weight of days passed while they strained forward -through mud and green gloom, like men walking on a forest sea -bottom. Then it was a cool dawn, and a tugging at his boot awoke the -Lieutenant. Hurd, his face a strained mask, was peering into the -officer's small shelter tent and jerking at his leg. - -"Get awake, Lieutenant. I think they're here." - -Hague struggled hard to blink off the exhausted sleep he'd been in. - -"Listen, Lieutenant, one of them horns has been blowing. It's right -here. Between us and the main party." - -"Okay." Hague rolled swiftly from the tent as Hurd awoke the men. Hague -moved swiftly to each. - -"Brian, you handle the gun. Bucci, loader. Crosse, charger. Bormann, -cover our right; Hurd the left. I'll watch the trail ahead." - -Brian and Crosse worked swiftly and quietly with the lethal efficiency -that had made them crack gunners at Fort Fisher, North Carolina. Bucci -lay motionless at the ammunition box, but his eyes were bright, and he -didn't seem to mind his feverish, swollen leg. The Sergeant and Crosse -slewed the pneumatic gun to cover their back trail, and fell into -position beside the gleaming grey tube. Hague, Bormann and Hurd moved -quickly at striking tents and rolling packs, their rifles ready at hand. - -Hague had forgotten his fears and the self-doubt, the feeling that he -had no business ordering men like Sergeant Brian, and Hurd and Bormann. -They were swallowed in intense expectancy as he lay watching the dawn -fog that obscured like thick smoke the trail that led to Clark's party -and the whippet tank. - -He peered back over his shoulder for a moment. Brian, Bucci, and -Crosse, mud-stained backs toward him, were checking the gun and -murmuring soft comments. Bormann looked at the officer, grinned -tightly, and pointed at Helen perched on his shoulder. His lips -carefully framed the words, "Be a pushover, Helen brings luck." - -The little bird peered up into Bormann's old-young face, and Hague, -trying to grin back, hoped he looked confident. Hurd lay on the other -side of the trail, his back to Bormann, peering over his rifle barrel, -bearded jaws rhythmically working a cud of tobacco he'd salvaged -somewhere, and Hague suddenly thought he must have been saving it for -the finish. - -Hague looked back into the green light beginning to penetrate the trail -fog, changing it into a glowing mass--then thought he saw a movement. -Up the trail, the whippet tank's motor caught with a roar, and he heard -Whittaker traversing the battered tank's turret. The turret gun boomed -flatly, and a shell burst somewhere in the forest darkness to Hague's -right. - -Then there was a gobbling yell and gray man-like figures poured out -onto the trail. Hague set his sights on them, the black sight-blade -silhouetting sharply in the glowing fog. He set them on a running -figure, and squeezed his trigger, then again, and again, as new targets -came. Sharp reports ran crackling among the great trees. Sharp screams -came, and a whistling sound overhead that he knew were blowgun arrows. -The pneumatic gun sputtered behind him, and Bormann's and Hurd's rifles -thudded in the growing roar. - -[Illustration: _With a gobbling yell, gray, man-like figures came -leaping among them._] - -Blue flashes and explosive bullets made fantastic flares back in the -forest shadows; and suddenly a knot of man-shapes were running toward -him through the fog. Hague picked out one in the glowing mist, fired, -another, fired. Gobbling yells were around him, and he shot toward them -through the fog, at point-blank range. A thing rose up beside him, and -Hague yelled with murderous fury, and drove his belt knife up into grey -leather skin. Something burned his shoulder as he rolled aside and -fired at the dark form standing over him with a poised, barbed spear. -The blue-white flash was blinding, and he cursed and leaped up. - -There was nothing more. Scattered shots, and the forest lay quiet -again. After that shot at point-blank range, Hague's vision had blacked -out. - -"Any one else need first aid?" he called, and tried to keep his voice -firm. When there was silence, he said, "Hurd, lead me to the tank." - -He heard the rat-faced man choke, "My God, he's blind." - -"Just flash blindness, Hurd. Only temporary." Hague kept his face -stiff, and hoped frantically that he was right, that it was just -temporary blindness, temporary optic shock. - -Sergeant Brian's icy voice cut in. "Gun's all right, Lieutenant. Nobody -hurt. We fired twenty-eight rounds of H.E. No A.P.X. Get going with -him, Hurd." - -He felt Hurd's tug at his elbow, and they made their way up the trail. - -"What do they look like, Hurd?" - -"These men-things? They're grey, about my size, skin looks like -leather, and their heads are flattish. Eyes on the side of their heads, -like a lizard. Not a stitch of clothes. Just a belt with a knife and -arrow holder. And they got webbed claws for feet. They're ugly-looking -things, sir. Here's the tank." - -Clark's voice came, hard and clear. "That you, Hague?" Silence for a -moment. "What's wrong? You're not blinded?" - -Sewell had dropped his irascibility, and his voice was steady and -kindly. - -"Just flash blindness, isn't it, sir? This salve will fix you up. -You've got a cut on your shoulder. I'll take care of that too." - -"How are your men, Hague?" Clark sounded as though he were standing -beside Hague. - -"Not a scratch. We're ready to march." - -"Five hurt here, three with the advance party, and two at the tank. We -got 'em good, though. They hit the trail between our units and got fire -from both sides. Must be twenty of them dead." - -Hague grimaced at the sting of something Sewell had squeezed into his -eyes. "Who was hurt?" - -"Arndt, the geologist; his buddy, Gault, the botanist; lab technician -Harker, Crewman Harker, and Szachek, the meteorologist man. How's your -pneumatic ammunition?" - -"We fired twenty-eight rounds of H.E." - -Cartographer Hirooka's voice burst in excitedly. - -"That gun crew of yours! Your gun crew got twenty-one of these--these -lizard-men. A bunch came up our back trail, and the pneumatic cut them -to pieces." - -"Good going, Hague. We'll leave you extended back there. I'm pulling in -the advance party, and there'll be just two groups. We'll be at point, -and you continue at afterguard." Clark was silent for a moment, then -his voice came bitterly, "We're down to seventeen men, you know." - -He cursed, and Hague heard the wiry little navigator slosh away through -the mud and begin shouting orders. He and Hurd started back with -Whittaker and Sergeant Sample yelling wild instructions from the tank -as to what the rear guard might do with the next batch of lizard-men -who came sneaking up. - -Hague's vision was clearing, and he saw Balistierri and the -photographer Whitcomb through a milky haze, measuring, photographing, -and even dissecting several of the lizard-men. The back trail, swept -by pneumatic gunfire was a wreck of wood splinters and smashed trees, -smashed bodies, and cratered earth. - -They broke down the gun, harnessed the equipment, and swung off at the -sound of Clark's whistle. Bucci had to be supported between two of the -others, and they took turnabout at the job, sloshing through the water -and mud, with Bucci's one swollen leg dragging uselessly between them. -It was punishing work as the heat veils shimmered and thickened, but -no one seemed to consider leaving him behind, Hague noticed; and he -determined to say nothing about Clark's orders that the sick must be -abandoned. - -Days and nights flashed by in a dreary monotony of mud, heat, insects -and thinning rations. Then one morning the giant trees began to thin, -and they passed from rainforest into jungle. - -The change was too late for Bucci. They carved a neat marker beside -the trail, and set the dead youth's helmet atop it. Lieutenant Hague -carried ahead a smudged letter in his shirt, with instructions to -forward it to Wilma, the gunner's young wife. - -Hague and his four gunners followed the rattling whippet tank's trail -higher, the jungle fell behind, and their protesting legs carried them -over the rim of a high, cloud-swept plateau, that swept on to the limit -of vision on both sides and ahead. - - * * * * * - -The city's black walls squatted secretively; foursquare, black, glassy -walls with a blocky tower set sturdily at each of the four corners, -enclosing what appeared to be a square mile of low buildings. Grey fog -whipped coldly across the flat bleakness and rustled through dark grass. - -Balistierri, plodding beside Hague at the rear, stared at it warily, -muttering, "And Childe Roland to the dark tower came." - -Sampler's tank ground along the base of the twelve-foot wall, turned at -a sharp right angle, and the party filed through a square cut opening -that once had been a gate. The black city looked tenantless. There was -dark-hued grass growing in the misted streets and squares, and across -the lintels of cube-shaped, neatly aligned dwellings, fashioned of -thick, black blocks. Hague could hear nothing but whipping wind, the -tank's clatter, and the quiet clink of equipment as men shuffled ahead -through the knee-high grass, peering watchfully into dark doorways. - -Clark's whistle shrilled, the tank motor died, and they waited. - -"Hague, come ahead." - -The gunnery officer nodded at Sergeant Brian, and walked swiftly to -Clark, who was leaning against the tank's mud-caked side. - -"Sampler says we've got to make repairs on the tank. We'll shelter -here. Set your gun on a roof top commanding the street--or, better yet, -set it on the wall. I'll want two of your gunners to go hunting food -animals." - -"What do you think this place is, Bob?" - -"Beats me," and the navigator's wind-burned face twisted in a perplexed -expression. "Lenkranz knows more about metals, but he thinks this stone -is volcanic, like obsidian. Those lizard-men couldn't have built it." - -"We passed some kind of bas-relief or murals inside the gate." - -"Whitcomb is going to photograph them. Blake, Lenkranz, Johnston, and -Hirooka are going to explore the place. Your two gunners, and Crewman -Swenson and Balistierri will form the two hunting parties." - -For five days, Hague and Crosse walked over the sullen plateau beneath -scudding, leaden clouds, hunting little lizards that resembled -dinosaurs and ran in coveys like grey chickens. The meat was good, -and Sewell dropped his role of medical technician to achieve glowing -accolades as an expert cook. Balistierri was in a zoologist's paradise, -and he hunted over the windy plain with Swenson, the big white-haired -Swede, for ten and twelve hours at a stretch. Balistierri would sit in -the cook's unit glow at night, his thin face ecstatic as he described -the weird life forms he and Swenson had tracked down during the day; -or alternately he'd bemoan the necessity of eating what were to him -priceless zoological specimens. - -Whittaker and Sampler hammered in the recalcitrant tank's bowels and -shouted ribald remarks to any one nearby, until they emerged the third -day, grease-stained and perspiring, to announce that "She's ready to -roll her g---- d---- cleats off." - -Whittaker had been nursing the tank's radio transreceiver beside the -forward hatch this grey afternoon, when his wild yell brought Hague -erect. The officer carefully handed Bormann's skin bird back to the -gunner, swung down from the city wall's edge, and ran to Whittaker's -side. Clark was already there when Hague reached the tank. - -"Listen! I've got 'em!" Whittaker yelped and extended the crackling -earphones to Clark. - -A tinny voice penetrated the interference. - -"Base.... Peter One.... Do you hear ... to George Easy Peter One ... -hear me ... out." - -Whittaker snapped on his throat microphone. - -"George Easy Peter One To Base. George Easy Peter One To Base. We hear -you. We hear you. Rocket crashed. Rocket crashed. Returning overland. -Returning overland. Present strength sixteen men. Can you drop us -supplies? Can you drop us supplies?" - -The earphones sputtered, but no more voices came through. Clark's -excited face fell into tired lines. - -"We've lost them. Keep trying, Whittaker. Hague, we'll march-order -tomorrow at dawn. You'll take the rear again." - - * * * * * - -Grey, windy dawnlight brought them out to the sound of Clark's call. -Strapping on equipment and plates, they assembled around the tank. They -were rested, and full fed. - -"Walk, you poor devils," Whittaker was yelling from his tank turret. -"And, if you get tired, run awhile," he snorted, grinning heartlessly, -as he leaned back in pretended luxury against the gunner's seat, a -thinly padded metal strip. - -Balistierri and the blond Swenson shouldered their rifles and shuffled -out. They would move well in advance as scouts. - -"I wouldn't ride in that armored alarm-clock if it had a built-in -harem," Hurd was screaming at Whittaker, and hurled a well-placed -mudball at the tankman's head as the tank motor caught, and the metal -vehicle lumbered ahead toward the gate, with Whittaker sneering, but -with most of his head safely below the turret rim. Beside it marched -Clark, his ragged uniform carefully scraped clean of mud, and with -him Lenkranz, the metals man. Both carried rifles and wore half empty -bandoliers of blast cartridges. - -The supply cart jerked behind the tank, and behind it filed Whitcomb -with his cameras; Sewell, the big, laconic medical technician; -Johnston; cartographer Hirooka perusing absorbedly the clip board that -held his strip map; Blake, the lean and spectacled bacteriologist, -brought up the rear. Hague waited until they had disappeared through -the gate cut sharply in the city's black wall, then he turned to his -gun crew. - -Sergeant Brian, saturnine as always, swung past carrying the pneumatic -barrel assembly, Crosse with the charger a pace behind. Next, Bormann, -whispering to Helen who rode his shoulder piping throaty calls. -Last came Hurd, swaggering past with jaws grinding steadily at that -mysterious cud. Hague cast a glance over his shoulder at the deserted -street of black cubes, wondered at the dank loneness of the place, and -followed Hurd. - -The hours wore on as they swung across dark grass, through damp -tendrils of cloud, and faced into whipping, cold wind, eyes narrowed -against its sting. Helen, squawking unhappily, crawled inside Bormann's -shirt and rode with just her brown bird-head protruding. - -"Look at the big hole, Lieutenant," Hurd called above the wind. - -Hurd had dropped behind, and Hague called a halt to investigate Hurd's -find, but as he hiked rapidly back, the wiry little man yelled and -pitched out of sight. Brian came running, and he and Hague peered over -the edge of a funnel shaped pit, from which Hurd was trying to crawl. -Each time he'd get a third of the way up the eighteen-foot slope, -gravelly soil would slide and he'd again be carried to the bottom. - -"Throw me a line." - -Brian pulled a hank of nylon line from his belt, shook out the snarls, -and tossed an end into Hurd's clawing hands. Hague and the Sergeant -anchored themselves to the upper end and were preparing to haul, when -Hague saw something move in the gravel beneath Hurd's feet, at the -funnel bottom, and saw a giant pincers emerging from loose, black -gravel. - -"Hurd look out!" he screamed. - -The little man, white-faced, threw himself aside as a giant beetle head -erupted through the funnel bottom. The great pincers jaws fastened -around Hurd's waist as he struggled frantically up the pit's side. He -began screaming when the beetle monster dragged him relentlessly down, -his distorted face flung up at them appealingly. Hague snatched at his -rifle and brought it up. When the gun cracked, the pincers tightened on -Hurd's middle, and the little man was snipped in half. The blue-white -flash and report of the explosive bullet blended with Hurd's choked -yells, the beetle rolled over on its back and the two bodies lay -entangled at the pit bottom. Brian and Hague looked at each other in -silent, blanched horror, then turned from the pit's edge and loped back -to the others. - -Bormann and Crosse peered fearfully across the wind-whipped grass, and -inquired in shouts what Hurd was doing. - -"He's dead, gone," Hague yelled savagely over the wind's whine. "Keep -moving. We can't do anything. Keep going." - - - IV - -At 1630 hours Commander Technician Harker slipped on the earset, threw -over a transmitting switch, and monotoned the routine verbal message. - -"Base to George Easy Peter One.... Base to George Easy Peter One.... -Do you hear me George Easy Peter One.... Do you hear me George Easy -Peter One ... reply please ... reply please." Nothing came from his -earphones, but bursts of crackling interference, until he tried the -'copters next, and "George Easy Peter Two" and "George Easy Peter Three" -reported in. They were operating near the base. - -He tried "One" again, just in case. - -"Base to George Easy Peter One.... Base to George Easy Peter One.... Do -you hear me.... Do you hear me ... out." - -A scratching whisper resolved over the interference. Harker's face -wore a stunned look, but he quickly flung over a second switch and the -scratching voice blared over the mother ship's entire address system. -Men dropped their work throughout the great hull, and clustered around -the speakers. - -"George One.... Base ... hear you ... rocket crashed ... overland ... -present strength ... supplies ... drop supplies." - -Interference surged back and drowned the whispering voice, while -through Odysseus' hull a ragged cheer grew and gathered volume. Harker -shut off the address system and strained over his crackling earphones, -but nothing more came in response to his radio calls. - -He glanced up and found the Warning Room jammed with technicians, -science section members, officers, men in laboratory smocks, or greasy -overalls, or spotless Rocket Service uniforms, watching intently his -own strained face as he tried to get through. Commander Chapman -looked haggard, and Harker remembered that some one had once said that -Chapman's young sister was the wife of the medical technician who'd -gone out with Patrol Rocket One. - -Harker finally pulled off the earphones reluctantly and set them on the -table before him. "That's all. You heard everything they said over the -P.A. system. Nothing more is coming through." - - * * * * * - -Night came, another day, night again, and they came finally to the -plateau's end, and stood staring from a windy escarpment across an -endless roof of rainforest far below, grey green under the continuous -roof of lead-colored clouds. Hague, standing back a little, watched -them. A thin line of ragged men along the rim peering mournfully out -across that endless expanse for a gleam that might be the distant hull -of Odysseus, the mother ship. A damp wind fluttered their rags and -plastered them against gaunt bodies. - -Clark and Sampler were conferring in shouts. - -"Will the tank make it down this grade?" Clark wanted to know. - -For once, Sergeant Sampler's mobile, merry face was grim. - -"I don't know, but we'll sure try. Be ready to cut that cart loose if -the tank starts to slip." - -Drag ropes were fastened to the cart, a man stationed at the tank -hitch, and Sampler sent his tank lurching forward over the edge, and -it slanted down at a sharp angle. Hague, holding a drag rope, set his -heels and allowed the tank's weight to pull him forward over the rim; -and the tank, cart, and muddy figures hanging to drag ropes began -descending the steep gradient. Bormann, just ahead of the Lieutenant, -strained back at the rope and turned a tight face over his shoulder. - -"She's slipping faster!" - -The tank was picking up speed, and Hague heard the clash of gears as -Sampler tried to fight the downward pull of gravity. Gears ground, -and Sampler forced the whippet straight again, but the downward slide -was increasing. Hague was flattened under Bormann, heels digging, and -behind him he could hear Sergeant Brian cursing, struggling to keep -flat against the downward pull. - -The tank careened sideways again, slipped, and Whittaker's white face -popped from her turret. - -"She's going," he screamed. - -A drag rope parted. Clark sprang like a madman between tank and cart, -and cut the hitch. The tank, with no longer sufficient restraining -weight, tipped with slow majesty outward, then rolled out and down, -bouncing, smashing as if in a slow motion film, shedding parts at -each crushing contact. It looked like a toy below them, still rolling -and gathering speed, when Hague saw Whittaker's body fly free, a tiny -ragdoll at that distance, and the tank was lost to view when it bounced -off a ledge and went floating down through space. - -Clark signalled them forward, and they inched the supply cart downward -on the drag ropes, legs trembling with strain, and their nerves -twitching at the memory of Whittaker's chalky face peering from the -falling turret. It was eight hours before they reached the bottom, -reeling with exhaustion, set a guard, and tumbled into their shelter -tents. Outside, Hague could hear Clark pacing restlessly, trying to -assure himself that he'd been right to cut the tank free, that there'd -been no chance to save Whittaker and Sampler when the tank began to -slide. - -Hague lay in his little tent listening to the footsteps splash past -in muddy Venusian soil, and was thankful that he hadn't had to make -the decision. He'd been saving three cigarettes in an oilskin packet, -and he drew one carefully from the wrapping now, lit it, and inhaled -deeply. Could he have done what Clark did--break that hitch? He still -didn't know when he took a last lung-filling pull at the tiny stub of -cigarette and crushed it out carefully. - -As dawn filtered through the cloud layer, they were rolling shelter -tents and buckling on equipment. Clark's face was a worn mask when he -talked with Hague, and his fingers shook over his pack buckles. - -"There are thirteen of us. Six men will pull the supply cart, and six -guard, in four hour shifts. You and I will alternate command at guard." - -He was silent for a moment, then watched Hague's face intently as he -spoke again. - -"It'll be a first grade miracle if any of us get through. Hague, -you--you know I had to cut that tank free." His voice rose nervously. -"You know that! You're an officer." - -"Yeah, I guess you did." Hague couldn't say it any better, and he -turned away and fussed busily with the bars holding the portable Sonar -detection unit to the supply cart. - -They moved off with Hague leaning into harness pulling the supply -cart bumpily ahead. Clark stumbled jerkily at the head, with Blake, a -lean, silent ghost beside him, rifle in hand. The cart came next with -Hague, Bormann, Sergeant Brian, Crosse, Lenkranz and Sewell leaning -in single file against its weight. At the rear marched photographer -Whitcomb, Hirooka with his maps, and Balistierri, each carrying a -rifle. The big Swede Swenson was last in line, peering warily back into -the rainforest shadows. The thirteen men wound Indian file from sight -of the flatheaded reptilian thing, clutching a sheaf of bronze arrows, -that watched them. - - * * * * * - -Hague had lost count of days again when he looked up into the shadowy -forest roof, his feet finding their way unconsciously through the thin -mud, his ears registering automatically the murmurs of talk behind him, -the supply cart's tortured creaking, and the continuous Sonar drone. -The air felt different, warmer than its usual steam bath heat, close -and charged with expectancy, and the forest seemed to crouch in waiting -with the repressed silence of a hunting cat. - -Crosse yelled thinly from the rear of the file, and they all halted -to listen, the hauling crew dropping their harness thankfully. Hague -turned back and saw Crosse's thin arm waving a rifle overhead, then -pointing down the trail. The Lieutenant listened carefully until -he caught the sound, a thin call, the sound of a horn mellowed by -distance. - -The men unthinkingly moved in close and threw wary looks into the -forest ways around them. - -"Move further ahead, Hague. Must be more lizard-men." Clark swore, with -tired despair. "All right, let's get moving and make it fast." - -The cart creaked ahead again, moving faster this time, and the snicking -of rifle bolts came to Hague. He moved swiftly ahead on the trail and -glanced up again, saw breaks in the forest roof, and realized that the -huge trees were pitching wildly far above. - -"Look up," he yelled, "wind coming!" - -The wind came suddenly, striking with stone wall solidity. Hague -sprinted to the cart, and the struggling body of men worked it off -the trail, and into a buttress angle of two great tree roots, lashing -it there with nylon ropes. The wind velocity increased, smashing torn -branches overhead, and ripping at the men who lay with their heads well -down in the mud. Tiny animals were blown hurtling past, and once a -great spider came flailing in cartwheel fashion, then smashed brokenly -against a tree. - -The wind drone rose in volume, the air darkened, and Hague lost -sight of the other men from behind his huddled shelter against a -wall like root. The great trees twisted with groaning protest, and -thunderous crashes came downward through the forest, with sometimes -the faint squeak of a dying or frightened animal. The wind halted for -a breathless, hushed moment of utter stillness, broken only by the -dropping of limbs and the scurry of small life forms--then came the -screaming fury from the opposite direction. - -For a moment, the gunnery officer thought he'd be torn from the root -to which his clawing fingers clung. Its brutal force smashed breath -from Hague's lungs and held him pinned in his corner until he struggled -choking for air as a drowning man does. It seemed that he couldn't draw -breath, that the air was a solid mass from which he could no longer get -life. Then the wind stopped as suddenly as it had come, leaving dazed -quiet. As he stumbled back to the cart, Hague saw crushed beneath a -thigh-sized limb a feebly moving reptilian head; and the dying eyes of -the lizard-man were still able to stare at him in cold malevolence. - -The supply cart was still intact, roped between buttressing roots to -belt knives driven into the tough wood. Hague and Clark freed it, -called a hasty roll, and the march was resumed at a fast pace through -cooled, cleaner air. They could no longer hear horn sounds; but the -grim knowledge that lizard-men were near them lent strength, and Hague -led as rapidly as he dared, listening carefully to the Sonar's drone -behind him, altering his course when the sound faded, and straightening -out when it grew in volume. - -A day slipped by and another, and the cart rolled ahead through thin -greasy mud on the forest floor, with the Sonar's drone mingled with -murmuring men's voices talking of food. It was the universal topic, and -they carefully worked out prolonged menus each would engorge when they -reached home. They forgot heat, insect bites, the sapping humidity, and -talked of food--steaming roasts, flanked by crystal goblets of iced -wine, oily roasted nuts, and lush, crisp green salads. - - - V - -Hague, again marching ahead with Balistierri, broke into the -comparatively bright clearing, and was blinded for a moment by the -sudden, cloud-strained light after days of forest darkness. As their -eyes accommodated to the lemon-colored glare, he and Balistierri -sighted the animals squatting beneath low bushes that grew thickly in -the clearing. They were monkey-like primates with golden tawny coats, -a cockatoo crest of white flaring above dog faces. The monkeys stared -a moment, the great white crests rising doubtfully, ivory canine teeth -fully three inches long bared. - -They'd been feeding on fruit that dotted the shrub-filled clearing; -but now one screamed a warning, and they sprang into vines that made a -matted wall on every side. The two rifles cracked together again, and -three fantastically colored bodies lay quiet, while the rest of the -troop fled screaming into tree tops and disappeared. At the blast of -sound, a fluttering kaleidoscope of color swept up about the startled -rocketeers, and they stood blinded, while mad whorls of color whirled -around them in a miniature storm. - -"Giant butterflies," Balistierri was screaming in ecstasy. "Look at -them! Big as a dove!" - -Hague watched the bright insects coalesce into one agitated mass of -vermillion, azure, metallic green, and sulphur yellow twenty feet -overhead. The pulsating mass of hues resolved itself into single -insects, with wings large as dinnerplates, and they streamed out of -sight over the forest roof. - -"What were they?" he grinned at Balistierri. "Going to name them after -Bormann?" - -The slight zoologist still watched the spot where they'd vanished. - -"Does it matter much what I call them? Do you really believe any one -will ever be able to read this logbook I'm making?" He eyed the gunnery -officer bleakly, then, "Well, come on. We'd better skin these monks. -They're food anyway." - -Hague followed Balistierri, and they stood looking down at the golden -furred primates. The zoologist knelt, fingered a bedraggled white -crest, and remarked, "These blast cartridges don't leave much meat, do -they? Hardly enough for the whole party." He pulled a tiny metal block, -with a hook and dial, from his pocket, looped the hook through a tendon -in the monkey's leg and lifted the dead animal. - -"Hmmm. Forty-seven pounds. Not bad." He weighed each in turn, made -measurements, and entered these in his pocket notebook. - -The circle around Sewell, who presided over the cook unit, was merry -that night. The men's eyes were bright in the heater glow as they -stuffed their shrunken stomachs with monkey meat and the fruits the -monkeys had been eating when Hague and Balistierri surprised them. -Swenson and Crosse and Whitcomb, the photographer, overate and were -violently sick; but the others sat picking their teeth contentedly in a -close circle. Bormann pulled his harmonica from his shirt pocket, and -the hard, silvery torrent of music set them to singing softly. Hague -and Blake, the bacteriologist, stood guard among the trees. - -At dawn, they were marching again, stepping more briskly over tiny -creeks, through green-tinted mud, and the wet heat. At noon, they heard -the horn again, and Clark ordered silence and a faster pace. They -swung swiftly, eating iron rations as they marched. Hague leaned into -his cart harness and watched perspiration staining through Bormann's -shirted back just ahead of him. Behind, Sergeant Brian tugged manfully, -and growled under his breath at buzzing insects, slapping occasionally -with a low howl of muted anguish. Helen, the skin bird, rode on -Bormann's shoulder, staring back into Hague's face with questioning -chirps; and Hague was whistling softly between his teeth at her, when -Bormann stopped suddenly and Hague slammed into him. Helen took flight -with a startled squawk, and Clark came loping back to demand quiet. -Bormann stared at the two officers, his young-old face blank with -surprise. - -"I'm, I'm shot," he stuttered, and stared wonderingly at the thing -thrusting from the side opening in his chest armor. It was one of the -fragile bronze arrows, gleaming metallically in the forest gloom. - -Hague cursed, and jerked free of the cart harness. - -"Here, I'll get it free." He tugged at the shaft, and Bormann's face -twisted. Hague stepped back. "Where's Sewell? This thing must be -barbed." - -"Back off the trail! Form a wide circle around the cart, but stay under -cover! Fight 'em on their own ground!" Clark was yelling, and the men -clustered about the cart faded into forest corridors. - -Hague and Sewell, left alone, dragged Bormann's limp length beneath the -metal cart. Hague leaped erect again, man-handled the pneumatic gun off -the cart and onto the trail, spun the charger crank, and lay down in -firing position. Behind him, Sewell grunted, "He's gone. Arrow poison -must have paralyzed his diaphragm and chest muscles." - -"Okay. Get up here and handle the ammunition." Hague's face was savage -as the medical technician crawled into position beside him and opened -an ammunition carrier. - -"Watch the trail behind me," Hague continued, slamming up the top cover -plate and jerking a belt through the pneumatic breech. "When I yell -charge, spin the charger crank; and when I yell off a number, set the -meter arrow at that number." He snapped the cover plate shut and locked -it. - -"The other way! They're coming the other way!" Sewell lumbered to his -knees, and the two heaved the gun around. A blowgun arrow rattled off -the cart body above them, and gobbling yells filtered among the trees -with an answering crack of explosive cartridges. A screaming knot -of grey figures came sprinting down on the cart. Hague squeezed the -pneumatic's trigger, the gun coughed, and blue-fire-limned lizard-men -crumpled in the trail mud. - -"Okay, give 'em a few the other way." - -The two men horsed the gun around and sent a buzzing flock of explosive -loads down the forest corridor opening ahead of the cart. They began -firing carefully down other corridors opening off the trail, aiming -delicately lest their missiles explode too close and the concussion -kill their own men; but they worked a blasting circle of destruction -that smashed the great trees back in the forest and made openings in -the forest roof. Blue fire flashed in the shadows and froze weird -tableaus of screaming lizard-men and hurtling mud, branches, and great -splinters of wood. - -An exulting yell burst behind them. Hague saw Sewell stare over his -shoulder, face contorted, then the big medical technician sprang to his -feet. Hague rolled hard, pulling his belt knife, and saw Sewell and -a grey man-shape locked in combat above him, saw leathery grey claws -drive a bronze knife into the medic's unarmored throat; and then the -gunnery officer was on his feet, knife slashing, and the lizard-man -fell across the prone Sewell. An almost audible silence fell over the -forest, and Hague saw Rocketeers filtering back onto the cart trail, -rifles cautiously extended at ready. - -"Where's Clark?" he asked Lenkranz. The grey-haired metals man gazed -back dully. - -"I haven't seen him since we left the trail. I was with Swenson." - -The others moved in, and Hague listed the casualties. Sewell, Bormann, -and Lieutenant Clark. Gunnery Officer Clarence Hague was now in -command. That the Junior Lieutenant now commanded Ground Expeditionary -Patrol Number One trickled into his still numb brain; and he wondered -for a moment what the Base Commander would think of their chances if he -knew. Then he took stock of his little command. - -There was young Crosse, his face twitching nervously. There was Blake, -the tall, quiet bacteriologist; Lenkranz, the metals man; Hirooka, -the Nisei; Balistierri; Whitcomb, the photographer, with a battered -Hasselblad still dangling by its neck cord against his armored chest. -Swenson was still there, the big Swede crewman; and imperturbable -Sergeant Brian, who was now calmly cleaning the pneumatic gun's loading -mechanism. And, Helen, Bormann's skin bird, fluttering over the ration -cart, beneath which Bormann and Sewell lay in the mud. - -"Crosse, Lenkranz, burial detail. Get going." It was Hague's first -order as Commander. He thought the two looked most woebegone of the -party, and figured digging might loosen their nerves. - -Crosse stared at him, and then sat suddenly against a tree hole. - -"I'm not going to dig. I'm not going to march. This is crazy. We're -going to get killed. I'll wait for it right here. Why do we keep -walking and walking when we're going to die anyway?" His rising voice -cracked, and he burst into hysterical laughter. Sergeant Brian rose -quietly from his gun cleaning, jerked Crosse to his feet, and slapped -him into quiet. Then he turned to Hague. - -"Shall I take charge of the burial detail, sir?" - -Hague nodded; and suddenly his long dislike of the iron-hard Sergeant -melted into warm liking and admiration. Brian was the man who'd get -them all through. - -The Sergeant knotted his dark brows truculently at Hague. "And I don't -believe Crosse meant what he said. He's a very brave man. We all get a -little jumpy. But he's a good man, a good Rocketeer." - - * * * * * - -Three markers beside the trail, and a pile of dumped equipment marked -the battle ground when the cart swung forward again. Hague had dropped -all the recording instruments, saving only Whitcomb's exposed films, -the rations, rifle ammunition, and logbooks that had been kept by -different members of the science section. At his command, Sergeant -Brian reluctantly smashed the pneumatic gun's firing mechanism, and -left the gun squatting on its tripod beside charger and shell belts. -With the lightened load, Hague figured three men could handle the cart, -and he took his place with Brian and Crosse in the harness. The others -no longer walked in the trail, but filtered between great root-flanges -and tree boles on either side, guiding themselves by the Sonar's hum. - -They left no more trail markers, and Hague cautioned them against -making any unnecessary noise. - -"No trail markers behind us. This mud is watery enough to hide -footprints in a few minutes. We're making no noise, and we'll drop no -more refuse. All they can hear will be the Sonar, and that won't carry -far." - -On the seventy-first day of the march, Hague squatted, fell almost to -the ground, and grunted, "Take ten." - -He stared at the stained, ragged scarecrows hunkered about him in -forest mud. - -"Why do we do it?" he asked no one in particular. "Why do we keep -going, and going, and going? Why don't we just lie down and die? That -would be the easiest thing I could think of right now." He knew that -Rocket Service officers didn't talk that way, but he didn't feel like -an officer, just a tired, feverish, bone-weary man. - -"Have we got a great glowing tradition to inspire us?" he snarled. "No, -we're just the lousy rocketeers that every other service arm plans to -absorb. We haven't a Grant or a John Paul Jones to provide an example -in a tough spot. The U.S. Rocket Service has nothing but the memory of -some ships that went out and never came back; and you can't make a -legend out of men who just plain vanish." - -There was silence, and it looked as if the muddy figures were too -exhausted to reply. Then Sergeant Brian spoke. - -"The Rocketeers have a legend, sir." - -"What legend, Brian?" Hague snorted. - -"Here is the legend, sir. 'George Easy Peter One'." - -Hague laughed hollowly, but the Sergeant continued as if he hadn't -heard. - -"Ground Expeditionary Patrol One--the outfit a planet couldn't lick. -Venus threw her grab bag at us, animals, swamps, poison plants, -starvation, fever, and we kept right on coming. She just made us -smarter, and tougher, and harder to beat. And we'll blast through these -lizard-men and the jungle, and march into Base like the whole U.S. -Armed Forces on review." - -"Let's go," Hague called, and they staggered up again, nine gaunt -bundles of sodden, muddy rags, capped in trim black steel helmets with -cheek guards down. The others slipped off the trail, and Hague, Brian, -and Crosse pulled on the cart harness and lurched forward. The cart -wheel hub jammed against a tree bole, and as they strained blindly -ahead to free it, a horn note drifted from afar. - -"Here they come again," Crosse groaned. - -"They--won't be--up--with us--for days," Hague grunted, while he threw -his weight in jerks against the tow line. The cart lurched free with -a lunge, and all three shot forward and sprawled raging in the muddy -trail. - -They sat wiping mud from their faces, when Brian stopped suddenly, -ripped off his helmet and threw it aside, then sat tensely forward in -an attitude of strained listening. Hague had time to wonder dully if -the man's brain had snapped, before he crawled to his feet. - -"Shut up, and listen," Brian was snarling. "Hear it! Hear it! It's a -klaxon! Way off, about every two seconds!" - -Hague tugged off his heavy helmet, and strained every nerve to listen. -Over the forest silence it came with pulse-like regularity, a tiny -whisper of sound. - -He and Brian stared bright-eyed at each other, not quite daring to say -which they were thinking. Crosse got up and leaned like an empty sack -against the cartwheel with an inane questioning look. - -"What is it?" When they stared at him without speaking, still listening -intently, "It's the Base. That's it, it's the Base!" - -Something choked Hague's throat, then he was yelling and firing his -rifle. The rest came scuttling out of the forest shadow, faces breaking -into wild grins, and they joined Hague, the forest rocking with -gunfire. They moved forward, and Hirooka took up a thin chant: - - "Oooooooh, the Rocketeers - have shaggy ears. - They're dirty ----." - -The rest of their lyrics wouldn't look well in print; but where the -Rocketeers have gone, on every frontier of space, the ribald song is -sung. The little file moved down the trail toward the klaxon sound. -Behind them, something moved in the gloom, resolved itself into a -reptile-headed, man-like thing, that reared a small wooden trumpet to -fit its mouth, a soft horn note floated clear; and other shapes became -visible, sprinting forward, flitting through the gloom.... - - * * * * * - -When a red light flashed over Chapman's desk, he flung down a sheaf of -papers and hurried down steel-walled corridors to the number one shaft. -A tiny elevator swept him to Odysseus' upper side, where a shallow pit -had been set in the ship's scarred skin, and a pneumatic gun installed. -Chapman hurried past the gun and crew to stand beside a listening -device. The four huge cones loomed dark against the clouds, the -operator in their center was a blob of shadow in the dawnlight, where -he huddled listening to a chanting murmur that came from his headset. -Blake came running onto the gundeck; Bjornson, and the staff officers -were all there. - -"Cut it into the Address system," Chapman told the Listener operator -excitedly; and the faint sounds were amplified through the whole ship. -From humming Address amplifiers, the ribald words broke in a hoarse -melody. - - "The rocketeers have shaggy ears, - They're dirty ----" - -The rest described in vivid detail the prowess of rocketeers in general. - -"How far are they?" Chapman demanded. - -The operator pointed at a dial, fingered a knob that altered his -receiving cones split-seconds of angle. "They're about twenty-five -miles, sir." - -Chapman turned to the officers gathered in an exultant circle behind -him. - -"Branch, here's your chance for action. Take thirty men, our whippet -tank, and go out to them. Bjornson, get the 'copters aloft for air -cover." - -Twenty minutes later, Chapman watched a column assemble beneath the -Odysseus' gleaming side, and march into the jungle, with the 'copters -buzzing west a moment later, like vindictive dragon flies. - -Breakfast was brought to the men clustered at Warnings equipment, and -to Chapman at his post on the gundeck. The day ticked away, the parade -ground vanished in thickening clots of night; and a second dawn found -the watchers still at their posts, listening to queer sounds that -trickled from the speakers. The singing had stopped; but once they -heard a note that a horn might make, and several times gobbling yells -that didn't sound human. George One was fighting, they knew now. The -listeners picked up crackling of rifle fire, and when that died there -was silence. - -The watchers heard a short cheer that died suddenly, as the relief -column and George One met; and they waited and watched. Branch, who -headed the relief column communicated with the mother ship by the -simple expedient of yelling, the sound being picked up by the listeners. - -"They're coming in, Chapman. I'm coming behind to guard their rear. -They've been attacked by some kind of lizard-men. I'm not saying a -thing--see for yourself when they arrive." - -Hours rolled past, while they speculated in low tones, the hush that -held the ship growing taut and strained. - -"Surely Branch would have told us if anything was wrong, or if the -records were lost," Chapman barked angrily. "Why did he have to be so -damned melodramatic?" - -"Look, there--through the trees. A helmet glinted!" The laconic -Bjornson had thrown dignity to the winds, and capered like a drunken -goat, as Rindell described it later. - -Chapman stared down at the jungle edging the parade ground and caught a -movement. - -A man with a rifle came through the fringe and stood eying the ship -in silence, and then came walking forward across the long, cindered -expanse. From this height, he looked to Chapman like a child's lead -soldier, a ragged, muddy, midget scarecrow. Another stir in the trees, -and one more man, skulking like an infantry-flanker with rifle at -ready. He, too, straightened and came walking quietly forward. A file -of three men came next, leaning into the harness of a little metal -cart that bumped drunkenly as they dragged it forward. An instant of -waiting, and two more men stole from the jungle, more like attacking -infantry than returning heroes. Chapman waited, and no more came. This -was all. - -"My God, no wonder Branch wouldn't tell us. There were thirty-two of -them." Rindell's voice was choked. - -"Yes, only seven." Chapman remembered his field glasses and focused -them on the seven approaching men. "Lieutenant Hague is the only -officer. And they're handing us the future of the U.S. Rocket Service -on that little metal cart." - -The quiet shattered and a yelling horde of men poured from Odysseus' -hull and engulfed the tattered seven, sweeping around them, yelling, -cheering, and carrying them toward the mother ship. - -Chapman looked a little awed as he turned to the officers behind him. -"Well they did it. We forward these records, and we've proven that we -can do the job." He broke into a grin. "What am I talking about? Of -course we did the job. We'll always do the job. We're the Rocketeers, -aren't we?" - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROCKETEERS HAVE SHAGGY EARS *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Rocketeers Have Shaggy Ears</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Keith Bennett</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: March 10, 2021 [eBook #64772]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROCKETEERS HAVE SHAGGY EARS ***</div> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<h1>THE ROCKETEERS HAVE SHAGGY EARS</h1> - -<h2>By KEITH BENNETT</h2> - -<p>Some day there will be a legend like this.<br /> -Some day, from steamy Venus or arid Mars,<br /> -the shaking, awe-struck words will come<br /> -whispering back to us, building the picture<br /> -of a glory so great that our throats will<br /> -choke with pride—pride in the Men of Terra!</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from<br /> -Planet Stories Spring 1950.<br /> -Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that<br /> -the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>The Commander's voice went droning on, but Hague's fatigued brain -registered it as mere sound with no words or meaning. He'd been dazed -since the crash. Like a cracked phonograph, his brain kept playing -back the ripping roar of jet chambers blowing out with a sickening -lurch that had thrown every man in the control room to the floor. -The lights had flickered out, and a sickening elevator glide began as -Patrol Rocket One smashed down through the Venusian rainforest roof, -and crashed in a clearing blasted by its own hurtling passage.</p> - -<p>Hague blinked hard and tried to focus his brain on what hard-faced -Commander Devlin was saying, something about the Base and Odysseus, -the mother ship.</p> - -<p>"We've five hundred miles before we'll be in their vicinity, and every -yard of it we walk. Hunting parties will shoot food animals. All water -is to be boiled and treated with ultra-violet by my section. The -photographers will march with the science section, which will continue -classifying and writing reports. No actual specimens will be taken. We -can't afford the weight."</p> - -<p>To Hague, the other five men seated around the little charting table -appeared cool, confidently ready to march through five hundred, or a -thousand miles of dark, unexplored, steaming Hell that is Venusian -rainforest. Their faces tightset, icily calm, they nodded in turn as -the Commander looked at each one of them; but Hague wondered if his own -face wasn't betraying the fear lurking within him. Suddenly Commander -Devlin grinned, and pulled a brandy bottle from his pocket, uncorking -it as he spoke: "Well, Rocketeers, a short life and a merry one. I -never did give a damn for riding in these tin cans." The tension broke, -they were all smiling, and saying they'd walk into the base camp with -some kind of a Venusian female under each arm for the edification of -Officers' Mess.</p> - -<p>Leaden doubt of his own untried abilities and nerve lay icy in Hague's -innards, and he left after one drink. The others streamed from the -brightly lighted hatch a moment later. The Commander made a short -speech to the entire party. Then Navigator Clark, a smiling, wiry -little man, marched out of the clearing with his advance guard. Their -voices muffled suddenly as they vanished down a forest corridor that -lay gloomy between giant tree holes.</p> - -<p>Commander Devlin slapped Hague cheerfully on the shoulder as he moved -past; and the second section, spruce and trim in blue-black uniforms, -with silver piping, followed him. Crewmen Didrickson and Davis followed -with rifles and sagging bandoliers of explosive bullets crossing their -chests; and then Arndt, the lean craggy geologist, his arm in a sling, -and marching beside him was rotund, begoggled Gault, the botanist. -The little whippet tank clattered by next with Technician Whittaker -grinning down at Hague from the turret.</p> - -<p>"It pains me somethin' awful to see you walkin' when I'm ridin'," -Whittaker piped over the whippet's clanking growl.</p> - -<p>Hague grinned back, then pinched his nose between two fingers in the -ageless dumb show of disgust, pointed at the tank, and shook his head -sadly. The two carts the whippet towed swayed by, and the rest of the -column followed; Bachmann, the doctor and Sewell, his beefy crotchety -assistant. The two photographers staggered past under high-piled -equipment packs, and Hague wondered how long they would keep all of -it. Lenkranz, Johnston, Harker, Szachek, Hirooka, Ellis—each carried -a pack full of equipment. The rest filed by until finally Swenson, the -big Swede technician, passed and the clearing was empty.</p> - -<p>Hague turned to look over his own party. In his mind's eye bobbed the -neatly typed "Equipment, march-order, light field artillery" lists he'd -memorized along with what seemed a thousand other neatly typed lists at -Gunnery School.</p> - -<p>The list faded, and Hague watched his five-man gun-section lounge -against their rifles, leaning slightly forward to ease the heavy -webbing that supported their marching packs and the sectioned pneumatic -gun.</p> - -<p>"All right," Hague said brusquely. He dredged his brain desperately -then for an encouraging speech, something that would show the crew he -liked them, something the Commander might say, but he couldn't think -of anything that sounded witty or rang with stirring words. He finally -muttered a disgusted curse at his own blank-headedness, and said -harshly, "All right, let's go."</p> - -<p>The six men filed silently out of the clearing battered in the forest -by Patrol Rocket One, and into damp gloom between gargantuan trunks -that rose smoothly out of sight into darkness. Behind them a little -rat-like animal scurried into the deserted slot of blasted trees, its -beady black eyes studying curiously the silver ship that lay smashed -and half-buried in the forest floor.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Base Commander Chapman shuffled hopelessly through the thick sheaf of -onion-skin papers, and sank back sighing. Ammunition reports, supply -reports, medical reports, strength reports, reconnaissance reports, -radio logs, radar logs, sonar logs, bulging dossiers of reports, files -full of them, were there; and elsewhere in the ship efficient clerks -were rapping out fresh, crisp battalions of new reports, neatly typed -in triplicate on onion-skin paper.</p> - -<p>He stared across his crowded desk at the quiet executive officer.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Blake, it's a good picture of local conditions, but it isn't -exploration. Until the Patrol Rocket gets in, we can send only this -local stuff, and it just isn't enough."</p> - -<p>Blake shrugged.</p> - -<p>"It's all we've got. We can send parties out on foot from the base -here, even if we do lose men, but the dope they'd get would still be on -a localized area."</p> - -<p>The Commander left his desk, and stared through a viewport at the -plateau, and beyond that at the jungled belt fringing an endless -expanse of rainforest lying sullenly quiet under the roof of racing -grey clouds.</p> - -<p>"The point is we've got to have more extensive material than this when -we fire our robot-courier back to earth. This wonderful mountain of -papers—what do they do, what do they tell? They describe beautifully -the physical condition of this Base and its complement. They describe -very well a ten mile area around the Base—but beyond that area they -tell nothing. It's wonderful as far as it goes, but it only goes ten -miles, and that isn't enough."</p> - -<p>Blake eyed the snowy pile of papers abstractedly. Then he jumped -up nervously as another bundle shot into a receiving tray from the -pneumatic message tube. He began pacing the floor.</p> - -<p>"Well, what can we do? Suppose we send the stuff we have here, get it -microfilmed and get it off—what then?"</p> - -<p>The Commander swore bitterly, and turned to face his executive.</p> - -<p>"What then?" he demanded savagely. "Are we going into that again? Why, -the minute every other branch of the services realize that we haven't -got any kind of thorough preliminary report on this section of Venus, -they'll start pounding the war drums. The battleship admirals and the -bayonet generals will get to work and stir up enough public opinion to -have the United States Rocket Service absorbed by other branches—the -old, old game of military politics."</p> - -<p>Blake nodded jerkily. "Yes, I know. We'd get the leftovers after the -battleships had been built, or new infantry regiments activated, or -something else. Anyway we wouldn't get enough money to carry on rocket -research for space explorations."</p> - -<p>"Exactly," the Commander cut in harshly. "These rockets would be -grounded on earth. The generals or admirals would swear that the -international situation demanded that they be kept there as weapons of -defense; and that would be the end of our work."</p> - -<p>"We've got to send back a good, thorough report, something to prove -that the Rocket Service can do the job, and that it is worth the doing. -And, until the patrol rocket gets back, we can't do it."</p> - -<p>"Okay, Commander," Blake called as he went through the steel passage -opening onto the mother ship's upper corridor, "I'll be holding the -Courier Rocket until we get word."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Seven hours later it lightened a little, and day had come. Hague and -the Sergeant had pulled the early morning guard shift, and began -rolling the other four from their tiny individual tents.</p> - -<p>Bormann staggered erect, yawned lustily, and swore that this was worse -than spring maneuvers in Carolina.</p> - -<p>"Shake it," Brian snarled savagely. "That whistle will blow in a -minute."</p> - -<p>When it did sound, they buckled each other into pack harness and swung -off smartly, but groaning and muttering as the mud dragged at their -heavy boots.</p> - -<p>At midday, four hours later, there was no halt, and they marched -steadily forward through steaming veils of oppressive heat, eating -compressed ration as they walked. They splashed through a tiny creek -that was solidly slimed, and hurried ahead when crawling things -wriggled in the green mass. Perspiration ran in streams from each face -filing past on the trail, soaked through pack harness and packs; and -wiry Hurd began to complain that his pack straps had cut through his -shoulders as far as his navel. They stopped for a five minute break -at 1400, when Hurd stopped fussing with his back straps and signalled -for silence, though the other five had been too wrapped in their own -discomfort to be talking.</p> - -<p>"Listen! Do you hear it, Lieutenant? Like a horn?" Hurd's wizened rat -face knotted in concentration. "Way off, like."</p> - -<p>Hague listened blankly a moment, attempted an expression he fondly -hoped was at once intelligent and reassuring, then said, "I don't hear -anything. You may have taken too much fever dope, and it's causing a -ringing in your ears."</p> - -<p>"Naw," with heavy disgust. "Listen! There it goes again!"</p> - -<p>"I heard it." That was Sergeant Brian's voice, hard and incisive, -and Hague wished he sounded like that, or that he would have heard -the sound before his second in command. All of the six were hunched -forward, listening raptly, when the Lieutenant stood up.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Hurd. Now I hear it."</p> - -<p>The whistle blew then, and they moved forward. Hague noticed the -Sergeant had taken a post at the rear of the little file, and watched -their back trail warily as they marched.</p> - -<p>"What do you think it was, sir?" Bucci inquired in the piping voice -that sounded strange coming from his deep chest.</p> - -<p>"The Lord knows," Hague answered, and wondered how many times he'd be -using that phrase in the days to come. "Might have been some animal. -They hadn't found any traces of intelligent life when we left the Base -Camp."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>But in the days that followed there was a new air of expectancy in the -marchers, as if their suspicions had solidified into a waiting for -attack. They'd been moving forward for several days.</p> - -<p>Hague saw the pack before any of his men did, and thanked his guiding -star that for once he had been a little more alert than his gun-section -members.</p> - -<p>The canvas carrier had been set neatly against one of the buttressing -roots of a giant tree bole and, from the collecting bottles strapped in -efficient rows outside, Hague deduced that it belonged to Bernstein, -the entomologist. The gunnery officer halted and peered back into the -gloom off the trail, called Bernstein's name; and when there was no -reply moved cautiously into the hushed shadows with his carbine ready. -He sensed that Sergeant Brian was catfooting behind him.</p> - -<p>Then he saw the ghostly white bundle suspended six feet above the -forest floor, and moved closer, calling Bernstein's name softly. The -dim bundle vibrated gently, and Hague saw that it hung from a giant -white lattice radiating wheel-like from the green gloom above. He -raised his hand to touch the cocoon thing, noted it was shaped like a -man well-wrapped in some woolly material; and on a sudden hunch pulled -his belt knife and cut the fibers from what would be the head.</p> - -<p>It was Bernstein suspended there, his snug, silken shroud bobbing -gently in the dimness. His dark face was pallid in the gloom, sunken -and flaccid of feature, as though the juices had been sucked from his -corpse, leaving it a limp mummy.</p> - -<p>The lattice's thick white strands vibrated—something moved across it -overhead, and Hague flashed his lightpak up into the darkness. Crouched -twenty feet above him, two giant legs delicately testing the strands -of its lattice like web, Hague saw the spider, its bulbous furred body -fully four feet across, the monster's myriad eyes glittering fire-like -in the glow of Hague's lightpak, as it gathered the great legs slightly -in the manner of a tarantula ready to leap.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus2.jpg" alt=""/> - <div class="caption"> - <p><i>It gathered the great legs slightly ... ready to leap.</i></p> - </div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>Brian's sharp yell broke Hague from his frozen trance. He threw himself -down as Brian's rifle crashed, and the giant arachnid was bathed in a -blue-white flash of explosive light, its body tumbling down across the -web onto Hague where he lay in the mud. The officer's hoarse yells rang -insanely while he pulled himself clear of the dead spider-beast, but he -forced himself to quiet at the sound of the Sergeant's cool voice.</p> - -<p>"All clear, Lieutenant. It's dead."</p> - -<p>"Okay, Brian. I'll be all right now." Hague's voice shook, and he -cursed the weakness of his fear, forcing himself to walk calmly without -a glance over his shoulder until they were back on the trail. He led -the other four gunners back to the spider and Bernstein's body, as a -grim object lesson, warned them to leave the trail only in pairs. They -returned their weary footslogging pace down the muddy creek marked by -Clark's crew. When miles had sweated by at the same steady pace, Hague -could still feel in the men's stiff silence their horror of the thing -Brian had killed.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Hours, and then days, rolled past, drudging nightmares through which -they plowed in mud and steamy heat, with punctually once every sixteen -hours a breathtaking, pounding torrent of rain. Giant drops turned the -air into an aqueous mixture that was almost unbreathable, and smashed -against their faces until the skin was numb. When the rain stopped -abruptly the heat came back and water vapor rose steaming from the mud -they walked through; but always they walked, shoving one aching foot -ahead of the other through sucking black glue. Sometimes Bormann's -harmonica would wheedle reedy airs, and they would sing and talk for -a time, but mostly they swung forward in silence, faces drawn with -fatigue and pale in the forest half light. Hague looked down at his -hands, swollen, bloody with insect bites, and painfully stiff; and -wondered if he'd be able to bend them round his ration pan at the -evening halt.</p> - -<p>Hague was somnambulating at the rear of his little column, listening -to an ardent account from Bormann of what his girl might expect when -he saw her again. Bucci, slowing occasionally to ease the pneumatic -gun's barrel assembly across his shoulder, chimed in with an ecstatic -description of his little Wilma. The two had been married just before -the Expedition blasted Venusward out of an Arizona desert. Crosse was -at the front end, and his voice came back nasally.</p> - -<p>"Hey, Lieutenant, there's somebody sitting beside the trail."</p> - -<p>"Okay. Halt." The Lieutenant swore tiredly and trotted up to Crosse's -side. "Where?"</p> - -<p>"There. Against the big root."</p> - -<p>Hague moved forward, carbine at ready, and knew without looking that -Sergeant Brian was at his shoulder, cool and self-sufficient as always.</p> - -<p>"Who's there?" the officer croaked.</p> - -<p>"It's me, Bachmann."</p> - -<p>Hague motioned his party forward, and they gathered in a small circle -about the Doctor, seated calmly beside the trail, with his back against -a root flange.</p> - -<p>"What's the matter, Doc? Did you want to see us?"</p> - -<p>"No. Sewell seems to think you're all healthy. Too bad the main party -isn't as well off. Quite a bit of trouble with fever. And, Bernstein -gone of course."</p> - -<p>Hague nodded, and remembered he'd reported Bernstein's death to the -Commander three nights before.</p> - -<p>"How's the Commander?" he inquired.</p> - -<p>The Doctor's cherubic face darkened. "Not good. He's not a young man, -and this heat and walking are wrecking his heart. And he won't ride the -tank."</p> - -<p>"Well, let's go, Doc." It was Brian's voice, cutting like a knife into -Hague's consciousness. The Doctor looked tired, and drawn.</p> - -<p>"Go ahead, lads. I'm just going to sit here for a while." He looked up -and smiled weakly at the astonished faces, but his eyes were bleakly -determined.</p> - -<p>"This is as far as I go. Snake bite. We've no anti-venom that seems -to work. All they can do is to amputate, and we can't afford another -sick man." He pulled a nylon wrapper from one leg that sprawled at an -awkward angle beneath him. The bared flesh was black, swollen, and -had a gangrenous smell. Young Crosse turned away, and Hague heard his -retching.</p> - -<p>"What did the Commander say?"</p> - -<p>"He agreed this was best. I am going to die anyway."</p> - -<p>"Will—will you be all right here? Don't you want us to wait with you?"</p> - -<p>The Doctor's smile was weaker, and he mopped at the rivulets of -perspiration streaking his mud-spattered face.</p> - -<p>"No. I have an X-lethal dosage and a hypodermic. I'll be fine here. -Sewell knows what to do." His round face contorted, "Now, for God's -sake, get on, and let me take that tablet. The pain is driving me -crazy."</p> - -<p>Hague gave a curt order, and they got under way. A little further on -the trail, he turned to wave at Doctor Bachmann, but the little man was -already invisible in forest shadows.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The tenth day after the crash of Patrol Rocket One, unofficially known -as the Ration Can, glimpses of skylight opened over the trail Clark's -crew were marking; and Hague and his men found themselves suddenly in -an opening where low, thick vines, and luxuriant, thick-leaved shrubs -struggled viciously for life. Balistierri, the zoologist, slight wisp -of a dark man always and almost a shadow now, stood wearily beside the -trail waiting as they drew up. Their shade-blinded eyes picked out -details in the open ground dimly. Hague groaned inwardly when he saw -that this was a mere slit in the forest, and the great trees loomed -again a hundred yards ahead. Balistierri seized Hague by the shoulder -and pointed into the thick mat of green, smiling.</p> - -<p>"Watch, all of you."</p> - -<p>He blew a shrill blast on his whistle and waited, while Hague's gunners -wondered and watched. There was a wild, silvery call, a threshing -of wings, and two huge birds rose into the gold tinted air. They -flapped up, locked their wings, and glided, soared, and wheeled over -the earth-stained knot of men—two great white birds, with crests of -fire-gold, plumage snowy save where it was dusted with rosy overtones. -Their call was bell-like as they floated across the clearing in a -golden haze of sunlight filtered through clouds.</p> - -<p>"They're—they're like angels." It was Bormann, the tough young -sentimentalist.</p> - -<p>"You've named them, soldier," Balistierri grinned. "I've been trying -for a name; and that's the best I've heard. Bormann's angels they'll -be. In Latin, of course."</p> - -<p>Unfolding vistas of eternal zoological glory left Bormann speechless -and red-faced. Sergeant Brian broke in.</p> - -<p>"I guess they would have made those horn sounds. Right, Lieutenant?" -His voice, dry and a little patronizing, suggested that this was a poor -waste of valuable marching time.</p> - -<p>"I wouldn't know, Sergeant," Hague answered, trying to keep dislike out -of his voice, but the momentary thrill was broken and, with Balistierri -beside him, Gunnery Officer Hague struck out on the trail that had been -blasted and hacked through the clearing's wanton extravagance of greedy -plant life.</p> - -<p>As they crossed the clearing, Bucci tripped and sprawled full length -in the mud. When he tried to get up, the vine over which he'd stumbled -clutched with a woody tendril that wound snakelike tightly about his -ankle; and, white-faced, the rest of the men chopped him free of the -serpentine thing with belt knives, bandaged the thorn wounds in his -leg, and went on.</p> - -<p>The clearing had one more secret to divulge, however. A movement in the -forest edge caught Brian's eye and he motioned to Hague, who followed -him questioningly as the Sergeant led him off trail. Brian pointed -silently and Hague saw Didrickson, Sergeant in charge of Supplies, -seated in the lemon-colored sunlight at the forest edge, an open food -pack between his knees, from which he snatched things and swallowed -them voraciously, feeding like a wild dog.</p> - -<p>"Didrickson! Sergeant Didrickson!" the Lieutenant yelled. "What are you -doing?"</p> - -<p>The supply man stared back, and Hague knew from the man's face what -had happened. He crouched warily, eyes wild with panic and jaw hanging -foolishly slack. This was Didrickson, the steady, efficient man who'd -sat at the chart table the night they began this march. He had been the -only man Devlin thought competent and nerveless enough to handle the -food. This was the same Didrickson, and madder now than a March hare, -Hague concluded grimly. The enlisted man snatched up the food pack, -staring at them in wild fear, and began to run back down the trail, -back the way they'd come.</p> - -<p>"Come back, Didrickson. We've got to have that food, you fool!"</p> - -<p>The madman laughed crazily at the sound of the officer's voice, -glanced back for a moment, then spun and ran.</p> - -<p>Sergeant Brian, as always, was ready. His rifle cracked, and the -explosive missile blew the running man nearly in half. Sergeant Brian -silently retrieved the food pack and brought it back to Hague.</p> - -<p>"Do you want it here, Lieutenant, or shall I take it up to the main -party?"</p> - -<p>"We'll keep it here, Sergeant. Sewell can take it back tonight after -our medical check." Hague's voice shook, and he wished savagely -that he could have had the nerve to pass that swift death sentence. -Didrickson's crime was dangerous to every member of the party, and the -Sergeant had been right to shoot. But when the time came—when perhaps -the Sergeant wasn't with him—would he, Hague, react swiftly and coolly -as an officer should, he wondered despairingly?</p> - -<p>"All right, lads, let's pull," he said, and the tight-lipped gun crew -filed again into the hushed, somber forest corridors.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">II</p> - -<p>Communications Technician Harker took a deep pull at his mug of -steaming coffee, blinked his eyes hard at the swimming dials before -him, and lit a cigarette. Odysseus warning center was never quiet, -even now in the graveyard watch when all other lights were turned low -through the great ship's hull. Here in the neat grey room, murmuring, -softly-clicking signal equipment was banked against every wall in a -gleaming array of dials and meters, heavy power leads, black panels, -and intricate sheafs of colored wire. The sonar kept up a sleepy drone, -and radar scopes glowed fitfully with interference patterns, and the -warning buzzer beeped softly as the radar echoed back to its receivers -the rumor of strange planetary forces that radar hadn't been built to -filter through. What made the interference, base technicians couldn't -tell, but it practically paralyzed radio communication on all bands, -and blanketed out even radar warnings.</p> - -<p>The cigarette burned his finger tips, and Harker jerked awake and -tried to concentrate on the letter he was writing home. It would be -microfilmed, and go on the next courier rocket. A movement at the -Warnings Room door, brought Harker's head up, and he saw Commander -Chapman, lean and grey, standing there.</p> - -<p>"Good evening, sir. Come on in. I've got coffee on." The Communications -Technician took a pot from the glow heater at his elbow, and set out -another cup.</p> - -<p>The Commander smiled tiredly, pulled out a stubby metal stool, and -sat across the low table from Harker, sipping the scalding coffee -cautiously. He looked up after a moment.</p> - -<p>"What's the good word, Harker? Picked up anything?"</p> - -<p>Harker ran his fingers through his mop of black hair, and grimaced.</p> - -<p>"Not a squeak, sir. No radio, no radar. Of course, the interference may -be blanketing those. Creates a lot of false signals, too, on the radar -screens. But we can't even pick 'em up with long-range sonar. That -should get through. We're pretty sure they crashed, all right."</p> - -<p>"How about our signals, Harker? Do you think we're getting through to -them?"</p> - -<p>Harker leaned back expansively, happy to expound his specialty.</p> - -<p>"Well, we've been sending radio signals every hour on the hour, and -radio voice messages every hour on the half hour. We're sending a -continuous sonar beam for their direction-finder. That's about all we -can do. As for their picking it up, assuming the rocket has crashed -and been totally knocked out, they still have a radio in the whippet -tank. It's a transreceiver. And they have a portable sonar set, one of -those little twenty-pound armored detection units. They'll use it as a -direction finder."</p> - -<p>Chapman swirled the coffee around in the bottom of his cup and stared -thoughtfully into it.</p> - -<p>"If they can get sonar, why can't we send them messages down the sonar -beam? You know, flick it on and off in Morse code?"</p> - -<p>"It won't work with a small detector like they have, sir. With our big -set here, we could send them a message, but that outfit they have might -burn out. It has a limited sealed motor supply that must break down -an initial current resistance on the grids before the rectifiers can -convert it to audible sound. With the set operating continuously, power -drainage is small, but begin changing your signal beam and the power -has to break down the grid resistance several hundred times for every -short signal sent. It would burn out their set in a matter of hours.</p> - -<p>"It works like a slide trombone, sort of. Run your slide way out, and -you get a slowly vibrating column of air, and that is heard as a low -note, only on sonar it would be a short note. Run your slide way up, -and the vibrations are progessively faster and higher in pitch. The -sonar set, at peak, is vibrating so rapidly that it's almost static, -and the power flow is actually continuous. But, starting and stopping -the set continuously, the vibrators never have a chance to reach a -normal peak, and the power flow is broken at each vibration in the -receiver—and a few hours later your sonar receptor is a hunk of junk."</p> - -<p>"All right, Harker. Your discussion is vague, but I get the general -idea that my suggestion wasn't too hot. Well, have whoever is on duty -call me if any signals come through." The Commander set down his cup, -said goodnight, and moved off down the hushed corridor. Harker returned -to his letter and a chewed stub of pencil, while he scowled in a -fevered agony of composition. It was a letter to his girl, and it had -to be good.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Night had begun to fall over the forest roof, and stole thickening down -the muddy cathedral aisles of great trees, and Hague listened hopefully -for the halt signal from the whippet tank, which should come soon. -He was worried about Bucci who was laughing and talking volubly, and -the officer decided he must have a touch of fever. The dark, muscular -gunner kept talking about his young wife in what was almost a babble. -Once he staggered and nearly fell, until Hurd took the pneumatic gun -barrel assembly and carried it on his own shoulders. They were all -listening expectantly for the tank's klaxon, when a brassy scream -ripped the evening to echoing shreds and a flurry of shots broke out -ahead.</p> - -<p>The scream came again, metallic and shrill as a locomotive gone amok; -yells, explosive-bullet reports, and the sound of hammering blows -drifted back.</p> - -<p>"Take over, Brian," Hague snapped. "Crosse, Hurd—let's go!"</p> - -<p>The three men ran at a stagger through the dragging mud around a turn -in the trail, and dropped the pneumatic gun swiftly into place, Hurd at -firing position, Crosse on the charger, and Hague prone in the slime -snapping an ammunition belt into the loader.</p> - -<p>Two emergency flares some one had thrown lit the trail ahead in a -garish photographic fantasy of bright, white light and ink-black -shadow, a scene out of Inferno. A cart lay on its side, men were -running clear, the whippet tank lay squirming on its side, and above it -towered the screaming thing. A lizard, or dinosaur, rearing up thirty -feet, scaly grey, a man clutched in its two hand-like claws, while its -armored tail smashed and smashed at the tank with pile-driver blows. -Explosive bullets cracked around the thing's chest in blue-white flares -of light, but it continued to rip at the man twisting pygmy-like in -its claws—white teeth glinting like sabers as its blindly malevolent -screams went on.</p> - -<p>"On target," Hurd's voice came strained and low.</p> - -<p>"Charge on," from Crosse.</p> - -<p>"Let her go!" Hague yelled, and fed APX cartridges as the gun coughed -a burst of armor-piercing, explosive shells into the rearing beast. -Hague saw the tank turret swing up as Whittaker tried to get his gun -in action, but a slashing slap of the monster's tail spun it back -brokenly. The cluster of pneumatic shells hit then and burst within -that body, and the great grey-skinned trunk was hurled off the trail, -the head slapping against a tree trunk on the other side as the reptile -was halved.</p> - -<p>"Good shooting, Crosse," Hague grunted. "Get back with Brian. Keep the -gun ready. That thing might have a mate." He ran toward the main party, -and into the glare of the two flares.</p> - -<p>"Where's Devlin?"</p> - -<p>Clark, the navigation officer, was standing with a small huddle of men -near the smashed supply cart.</p> - -<p>"Here, Hague," he called. His eyes were sunken, his face older in the -days since Hague had last seen him. "Devlin's dead, smashed between the -cart and a tree trunk. We've lost two men, Commander Devlin and Ellis, -the soils man. He's the one it was eating." He grimaced.</p> - -<p>"That leaves twenty-three of us?" Hague inquired, and tried to sound -casual.</p> - -<p>"That's right. You'll continue to cover the rear. Those horn sounds you -reported had Devlin worried about an attack from your direction. I'll -be with the tank."</p> - -<p>Sergeant Brian was stoically heating ration stew over the cook unit -when Hague returned, while the crew sat in a close circle, alternately -eying nervously the forest at their backs, and the savory steam that -rose from Brian's mixture. There wasn't much for each of them, but it -was hot and highly nutritious, and after a cigarette and coffee they -would feel comfort for a while.</p> - -<p>Crosse, seated on the grey metal charger tube he'd carried all -day, fingered the helmet in his lap, and looked inquiringly at the -Lieutenant.</p> - -<p>"Well, sir, anybody hurt? Was the tank smashed?"</p> - -<p>Hague squatted in the circle, sniffed the stew with loud enthusiasm, -and looked about the circle.</p> - -<p>"Commander Devlin's dead, and Ellis. One supply cart smashed, but the -tank'll be all right. The lizard charged the tank. Balistierri thinks -it was the lizard's mating season, and he figured the tank was another -male and he tried to fight it. Then he stayed—to—lunch and we got -him. Lieutenant Clark is in command now."</p> - -<p>The orange glow of Brian's cook unit painted queer shadows on the -strained faces around him, and Hague tried to brighten them up.</p> - -<p>"Will you favor us with one of your inimitable harmonica arrangements, -Maestro Bormann?"</p> - -<p>"I can't right now. I'm bandaging Helen's wing." He held out something -in the palm of his hand, and the heater's glow glittered on liquid -black eyes. "She's like a little bird, but without her feathers. See?" -He placed the warm lump in Hague's hand. "For wings, she's just got -skin, like a bat, except she's built like a bird."</p> - -<p>"You ought to show this to Balistierri, and maybe he'll name this for -you too."</p> - -<p>Bormann's homely face creased into a grin. "I did, sir. At the noon -halt when I found it. It's named after my girl. 'Bormann's Helen', only -in Latin. Helen's got a broken wing."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>As they ate, they heard the horn note again. Bucci's black eyes were -feverishly bright, his skin hot and dry, and the vine scratches on his -leg badly inflamed; and when the rest began to sing he was quiet. The -reedy song of Bormann's harmonica piped down the quiet forest passages, -and echoed back from the great trees; and somewhere, as Hague dozed off -in his little tent, he heard the horn note again, sandwiched into mouth -organ melody.</p> - -<p>Two days of slogging through the slimy green mud, and at a noon halt -Sewell brought back word to be careful, that a man had failed to report -at roll call that morning. The gun crew divided Bucci's equipment -between them, and he limped in the middle of the file on crutches -fashioned from ration cart wreckage. Crosse, who'd been glancing off -continually, like a wizened, curious rat, flung up his arm in a silent -signal to halt, and Hague moved in to investigate, the ever present -Brian moving carefully and with jungle beast's silent poise just behind -him. Crumpled like a sack of damp laundry, in the murk of two root -buttresses, lay Romano, one of the two photographers. His Hasselblad -camera lay beneath his body crushing a small plant he must have been -photographing.</p> - -<p>From the back of Romano's neck protruded a gleaming nine-inch arrow -shaft, a lovely thing of gleaming bronze-like metal, delicately thin -of shaft and with fragile hammered bronze vanes. Brian moved up behind -Hague, bent over the body and cut the arrow free.</p> - -<p>They examined the thing, and when Brian spoke Hague was surprised that -this time even the rock-steady Sergeant spoke in a hushed voice, the -kind boys use when they walk by a graveyard at night and don't wish to -attract unwelcome attention.</p> - -<p>"Looks like it came from a blowgun, Lieutenant. See the plug at the -back. It must be poisoned; it's not big enough to kill him otherwise."</p> - -<p>Hague grunted assent, and the two moved back trailward.</p> - -<p>"Brian, take over. Crosse, come on. We'll report this to Clark. -Remember, from now on wear your body armor and go in pairs when you -leave the trail. Get Bucci's plates on to him."</p> - -<p>Bormann and Hurd set down their loads, and were buckling the weakly -protesting Bucci into his chest and back plates, as Hague left them.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Commander Chapman stared at the circle of faces. His section commanders -lounged about his tiny square office. "Well, then, what are their -chances?"</p> - -<p>Bjornson, executive for the technical section, stared at Chapman -levelly.</p> - -<p>"I can vouch for Devlin. He's not precisely a rule-book officer, but -that's why I recommended him for this expedition. He's at his best in -an unusual situation, one where he has to depend on his own wits. He'll -bring them through."</p> - -<p>Artilleryman Branch spoke in turn. "I don't know about Hague. He's -young, untried. Seemed a little unsure. He might grow panicky and -be useless. I sent him because there was no one else, unless I went -myself."</p> - -<p>The Commander cleared his throat brusquely. "I know you wanted to go, -Branch, but we can't send out our executive officers. Not yet, anyway. -What about Clark? Could he take over Devlin's job?"</p> - -<p>"Clark can handle it," Captain Rindell of the Science Section, was -saying. "He likes to follow the rule-book, but he's sturdy stuff. He'll -bring them through if something happens to Devlin."</p> - -<p>"Hmmmm—that leaves Hague as the one questionable link in their chain -of command. Young man, untried. Of course, he's only the junior -officer. There's no use stewing over this; but I'll tell you frankly, -that if those men can't get their records through to us before we send -the next courier rocket to earth, I think the U.S. Rocket Service is -finished. This attempt will be chalked up as a failure. The project -will be abandoned entirely, and we'll be ordered back to Earth to serve -as a fighter arm there."</p> - -<p>Bjornson peered from the space-port window and looked out over the -cinder-packed parade a hundred feet below. "What makes you so sure the -Rocket Service is in immediate danger of being scrapped?"</p> - -<p>"The last courier rocket contained a confidential memo from Secretary -Dougherty. There is considerable war talk, and the other Service Arms -are plunging for larger armaments. They want their appropriations of -money and stock pile materials expanded at our expense. We've got to -show that we are doing a good job, show the Government a concrete -return in the form of adequate reports on the surface of Venus, and its -soils and raw materials."</p> - -<p>"What about the 'copters!" Rindell inquired. "They brought in some good -stuff for the reports."</p> - -<p>"Yes, but with a crew of only four men, they can't do enough."</p> - -<p>Branch cut in dryly. "About all I can see is to look hopeful. The -Rocket would have exhausted its fuel long ago. It's been over ten weeks -since they left Base."</p> - -<p>"Assuming they're marching overland, God forbid, they'll have only -sonar and radio, right?" Bjornson was saying. "Why not keep our klaxon -going? It's a pretty faint hope, but we'll have to try everything. My -section is keeping the listeners manned continually, we've got a sonar -beam out, radio messages every thirty minutes, and with the klaxon -we're doing all we can. I doubt if anything living could approach -within a twenty-five mile range without hearing that klaxon, or without -us hearing them with the listeners."</p> - -<p>"All right." Commander Chapman stared hopelessly at a fresh batch -of reports burdening his desk. "Send out ground parties within the -ten mile limit, but remember we can't afford to lose men. When -the 'copters are back in, send them both West." West meant merely -in a direction west from Meridian 0, as the mother rocket's landing -place had been designated. "They can't do much searching over that -rainforest, but it's a try. They might pick up a radio message."</p> - -<p>Chapman returned grumpily to his reports, and the others filed out.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">III</p> - -<p>At night, on guard, Hague saw a thousand horrors peopling the Stygian -forest murk; but when he flashed his lightpak into darkness there was -nothing. He wondered how long he could stand the waiting, when he would -crack as Supply Sergeant Didrickson had, and his comrades would blast -him down with explosive bullets. He should be like Brian, hard and -sure, and always doing the right thing, he decided. He'd come out of -OCS Gunnery School, trained briefly in the newly-formed U.S. Rocket -Service. Then the expedition to Venus—it was a fifty-fifty chance they -said, and out of all the volunteers he'd been picked. And when the -first expedition was ready to blast off from the Base Camp on Venus, -he'd been picked again. Why, he cursed despairingly? Sure, he wanted -to come, but how could his commanders have had faith in him, when he -didn't know himself if he could continue to hold out.</p> - -<p>Sounds on the trail sent his carbine automatically to ready, and he -called a strained, "Halt."</p> - -<p>"Okay, Hague. It's Clark and Arndt."</p> - -<p>The wiry little navigation officer, and lean, scraggy Geologist Arndt, -the latter's arm still in a sling, came into the glow of Hague's -lightpak.</p> - -<p>"Any more horns or arrows?" Clark's voice sounded tight, and repressed; -Hague reflected that perhaps the strain was getting him too.</p> - -<p>"No, but Bucci is getting worse. Can't you carry him on the cart?"</p> - -<p>"Hague, I've told you twenty times. That cart is full and breaking down -now. Get it through your head that it's no longer individual men we can -think of now, but the entire party. If they can't march, they must be -left, or all of us may die!" His voice was savage, and when he tried to -light a cigarette his hand shook. "All right. It's murder, and I don't -like it any better than you do."</p> - -<p>"How are we doing? What's the over-all picture?" Both of the officers -tried to smile a little at the memory of that pompous little phrase, -favorite of a windbag they'd served under.</p> - -<p>"Not good. Twenty-two of us now."</p> - -<p>"Hirooka thinks we may be within radio range of Base soon," he -continued more hopefully. "With this interference, we can't tell, -though."</p> - -<p>They talked a little longer, Arndt gave the gunnery officer a -food-and-medical supply packet, and Hague's visitors became two bobbing -glows of light that vanished down the trail.</p> - -<p>A soul crushing weight of days passed while they strained forward -through mud and green gloom, like men walking on a forest sea -bottom. Then it was a cool dawn, and a tugging at his boot awoke the -Lieutenant. Hurd, his face a strained mask, was peering into the -officer's small shelter tent and jerking at his leg.</p> - -<p>"Get awake, Lieutenant. I think they're here."</p> - -<p>Hague struggled hard to blink off the exhausted sleep he'd been in.</p> - -<p>"Listen, Lieutenant, one of them horns has been blowing. It's right -here. Between us and the main party."</p> - -<p>"Okay." Hague rolled swiftly from the tent as Hurd awoke the men. Hague -moved swiftly to each.</p> - -<p>"Brian, you handle the gun. Bucci, loader. Crosse, charger. Bormann, -cover our right; Hurd the left. I'll watch the trail ahead."</p> - -<p>Brian and Crosse worked swiftly and quietly with the lethal efficiency -that had made them crack gunners at Fort Fisher, North Carolina. Bucci -lay motionless at the ammunition box, but his eyes were bright, and he -didn't seem to mind his feverish, swollen leg. The Sergeant and Crosse -slewed the pneumatic gun to cover their back trail, and fell into -position beside the gleaming grey tube. Hague, Bormann and Hurd moved -quickly at striking tents and rolling packs, their rifles ready at hand.</p> - -<p>Hague had forgotten his fears and the self-doubt, the feeling that he -had no business ordering men like Sergeant Brian, and Hurd and Bormann. -They were swallowed in intense expectancy as he lay watching the dawn -fog that obscured like thick smoke the trail that led to Clark's party -and the whippet tank.</p> - -<p>He peered back over his shoulder for a moment. Brian, Bucci, and -Crosse, mud-stained backs toward him, were checking the gun and -murmuring soft comments. Bormann looked at the officer, grinned -tightly, and pointed at Helen perched on his shoulder. His lips -carefully framed the words, "Be a pushover, Helen brings luck."</p> - -<p>The little bird peered up into Bormann's old-young face, and Hague, -trying to grin back, hoped he looked confident. Hurd lay on the other -side of the trail, his back to Bormann, peering over his rifle barrel, -bearded jaws rhythmically working a cud of tobacco he'd salvaged -somewhere, and Hague suddenly thought he must have been saving it for -the finish.</p> - -<p>Hague looked back into the green light beginning to penetrate the trail -fog, changing it into a glowing mass—then thought he saw a movement. -Up the trail, the whippet tank's motor caught with a roar, and he heard -Whittaker traversing the battered tank's turret. The turret gun boomed -flatly, and a shell burst somewhere in the forest darkness to Hague's -right.</p> - -<p>Then there was a gobbling yell and gray man-like figures poured out -onto the trail. Hague set his sights on them, the black sight-blade -silhouetting sharply in the glowing fog. He set them on a running -figure, and squeezed his trigger, then again, and again, as new targets -came. Sharp reports ran crackling among the great trees. Sharp screams -came, and a whistling sound overhead that he knew were blowgun arrows. -The pneumatic gun sputtered behind him, and Bormann's and Hurd's rifles -thudded in the growing roar.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter"> - <img src="images/illus1.jpg" alt=""/> - <div class="caption"> - <p><i>With a gobbling yell, gray, man-like figures came leaping among them.</i></p> - </div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p>Blue flashes and explosive bullets made fantastic flares back in the -forest shadows; and suddenly a knot of man-shapes were running toward -him through the fog. Hague picked out one in the glowing mist, fired, -another, fired. Gobbling yells were around him, and he shot toward them -through the fog, at point-blank range. A thing rose up beside him, and -Hague yelled with murderous fury, and drove his belt knife up into grey -leather skin. Something burned his shoulder as he rolled aside and -fired at the dark form standing over him with a poised, barbed spear. -The blue-white flash was blinding, and he cursed and leaped up.</p> - -<p>There was nothing more. Scattered shots, and the forest lay quiet -again. After that shot at point-blank range, Hague's vision had blacked -out.</p> - -<p>"Any one else need first aid?" he called, and tried to keep his voice -firm. When there was silence, he said, "Hurd, lead me to the tank."</p> - -<p>He heard the rat-faced man choke, "My God, he's blind."</p> - -<p>"Just flash blindness, Hurd. Only temporary." Hague kept his face -stiff, and hoped frantically that he was right, that it was just -temporary blindness, temporary optic shock.</p> - -<p>Sergeant Brian's icy voice cut in. "Gun's all right, Lieutenant. Nobody -hurt. We fired twenty-eight rounds of H.E. No A.P.X. Get going with -him, Hurd."</p> - -<p>He felt Hurd's tug at his elbow, and they made their way up the trail.</p> - -<p>"What do they look like, Hurd?"</p> - -<p>"These men-things? They're grey, about my size, skin looks like -leather, and their heads are flattish. Eyes on the side of their heads, -like a lizard. Not a stitch of clothes. Just a belt with a knife and -arrow holder. And they got webbed claws for feet. They're ugly-looking -things, sir. Here's the tank."</p> - -<p>Clark's voice came, hard and clear. "That you, Hague?" Silence for a -moment. "What's wrong? You're not blinded?"</p> - -<p>Sewell had dropped his irascibility, and his voice was steady and -kindly.</p> - -<p>"Just flash blindness, isn't it, sir? This salve will fix you up. -You've got a cut on your shoulder. I'll take care of that too."</p> - -<p>"How are your men, Hague?" Clark sounded as though he were standing -beside Hague.</p> - -<p>"Not a scratch. We're ready to march."</p> - -<p>"Five hurt here, three with the advance party, and two at the tank. We -got 'em good, though. They hit the trail between our units and got fire -from both sides. Must be twenty of them dead."</p> - -<p>Hague grimaced at the sting of something Sewell had squeezed into his -eyes. "Who was hurt?"</p> - -<p>"Arndt, the geologist; his buddy, Gault, the botanist; lab technician -Harker, Crewman Harker, and Szachek, the meteorologist man. How's your -pneumatic ammunition?"</p> - -<p>"We fired twenty-eight rounds of H.E."</p> - -<p>Cartographer Hirooka's voice burst in excitedly.</p> - -<p>"That gun crew of yours! Your gun crew got twenty-one of these—these -lizard-men. A bunch came up our back trail, and the pneumatic cut them -to pieces."</p> - -<p>"Good going, Hague. We'll leave you extended back there. I'm pulling in -the advance party, and there'll be just two groups. We'll be at point, -and you continue at afterguard." Clark was silent for a moment, then -his voice came bitterly, "We're down to seventeen men, you know."</p> - -<p>He cursed, and Hague heard the wiry little navigator slosh away through -the mud and begin shouting orders. He and Hurd started back with -Whittaker and Sergeant Sample yelling wild instructions from the tank -as to what the rear guard might do with the next batch of lizard-men -who came sneaking up.</p> - -<p>Hague's vision was clearing, and he saw Balistierri and the -photographer Whitcomb through a milky haze, measuring, photographing, -and even dissecting several of the lizard-men. The back trail, swept -by pneumatic gunfire was a wreck of wood splinters and smashed trees, -smashed bodies, and cratered earth.</p> - -<p>They broke down the gun, harnessed the equipment, and swung off at the -sound of Clark's whistle. Bucci had to be supported between two of the -others, and they took turnabout at the job, sloshing through the water -and mud, with Bucci's one swollen leg dragging uselessly between them. -It was punishing work as the heat veils shimmered and thickened, but -no one seemed to consider leaving him behind, Hague noticed; and he -determined to say nothing about Clark's orders that the sick must be -abandoned.</p> - -<p>Days and nights flashed by in a dreary monotony of mud, heat, insects -and thinning rations. Then one morning the giant trees began to thin, -and they passed from rainforest into jungle.</p> - -<p>The change was too late for Bucci. They carved a neat marker beside -the trail, and set the dead youth's helmet atop it. Lieutenant Hague -carried ahead a smudged letter in his shirt, with instructions to -forward it to Wilma, the gunner's young wife.</p> - -<p>Hague and his four gunners followed the rattling whippet tank's trail -higher, the jungle fell behind, and their protesting legs carried them -over the rim of a high, cloud-swept plateau, that swept on to the limit -of vision on both sides and ahead.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The city's black walls squatted secretively; foursquare, black, glassy -walls with a blocky tower set sturdily at each of the four corners, -enclosing what appeared to be a square mile of low buildings. Grey fog -whipped coldly across the flat bleakness and rustled through dark grass.</p> - -<p>Balistierri, plodding beside Hague at the rear, stared at it warily, -muttering, "And Childe Roland to the dark tower came."</p> - -<p>Sampler's tank ground along the base of the twelve-foot wall, turned at -a sharp right angle, and the party filed through a square cut opening -that once had been a gate. The black city looked tenantless. There was -dark-hued grass growing in the misted streets and squares, and across -the lintels of cube-shaped, neatly aligned dwellings, fashioned of -thick, black blocks. Hague could hear nothing but whipping wind, the -tank's clatter, and the quiet clink of equipment as men shuffled ahead -through the knee-high grass, peering watchfully into dark doorways.</p> - -<p>Clark's whistle shrilled, the tank motor died, and they waited.</p> - -<p>"Hague, come ahead."</p> - -<p>The gunnery officer nodded at Sergeant Brian, and walked swiftly to -Clark, who was leaning against the tank's mud-caked side.</p> - -<p>"Sampler says we've got to make repairs on the tank. We'll shelter -here. Set your gun on a roof top commanding the street—or, better yet, -set it on the wall. I'll want two of your gunners to go hunting food -animals."</p> - -<p>"What do you think this place is, Bob?"</p> - -<p>"Beats me," and the navigator's wind-burned face twisted in a perplexed -expression. "Lenkranz knows more about metals, but he thinks this stone -is volcanic, like obsidian. Those lizard-men couldn't have built it."</p> - -<p>"We passed some kind of bas-relief or murals inside the gate."</p> - -<p>"Whitcomb is going to photograph them. Blake, Lenkranz, Johnston, and -Hirooka are going to explore the place. Your two gunners, and Crewman -Swenson and Balistierri will form the two hunting parties."</p> - -<p>For five days, Hague and Crosse walked over the sullen plateau beneath -scudding, leaden clouds, hunting little lizards that resembled -dinosaurs and ran in coveys like grey chickens. The meat was good, -and Sewell dropped his role of medical technician to achieve glowing -accolades as an expert cook. Balistierri was in a zoologist's paradise, -and he hunted over the windy plain with Swenson, the big white-haired -Swede, for ten and twelve hours at a stretch. Balistierri would sit in -the cook's unit glow at night, his thin face ecstatic as he described -the weird life forms he and Swenson had tracked down during the day; -or alternately he'd bemoan the necessity of eating what were to him -priceless zoological specimens.</p> - -<p>Whittaker and Sampler hammered in the recalcitrant tank's bowels and -shouted ribald remarks to any one nearby, until they emerged the third -day, grease-stained and perspiring, to announce that "She's ready to -roll her g—— d—— cleats off."</p> - -<p>Whittaker had been nursing the tank's radio transreceiver beside the -forward hatch this grey afternoon, when his wild yell brought Hague -erect. The officer carefully handed Bormann's skin bird back to the -gunner, swung down from the city wall's edge, and ran to Whittaker's -side. Clark was already there when Hague reached the tank.</p> - -<p>"Listen! I've got 'em!" Whittaker yelped and extended the crackling -earphones to Clark.</p> - -<p>A tinny voice penetrated the interference.</p> - -<p>"Base.... Peter One.... Do you hear ... to George Easy Peter One ... -hear me ... out."</p> - -<p>Whittaker snapped on his throat microphone.</p> - -<p>"George Easy Peter One To Base. George Easy Peter One To Base. We hear -you. We hear you. Rocket crashed. Rocket crashed. Returning overland. -Returning overland. Present strength sixteen men. Can you drop us -supplies? Can you drop us supplies?"</p> - -<p>The earphones sputtered, but no more voices came through. Clark's -excited face fell into tired lines.</p> - -<p>"We've lost them. Keep trying, Whittaker. Hague, we'll march-order -tomorrow at dawn. You'll take the rear again."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Grey, windy dawnlight brought them out to the sound of Clark's call. -Strapping on equipment and plates, they assembled around the tank. They -were rested, and full fed.</p> - -<p>"Walk, you poor devils," Whittaker was yelling from his tank turret. -"And, if you get tired, run awhile," he snorted, grinning heartlessly, -as he leaned back in pretended luxury against the gunner's seat, a -thinly padded metal strip.</p> - -<p>Balistierri and the blond Swenson shouldered their rifles and shuffled -out. They would move well in advance as scouts.</p> - -<p>"I wouldn't ride in that armored alarm-clock if it had a built-in -harem," Hurd was screaming at Whittaker, and hurled a well-placed -mudball at the tankman's head as the tank motor caught, and the metal -vehicle lumbered ahead toward the gate, with Whittaker sneering, but -with most of his head safely below the turret rim. Beside it marched -Clark, his ragged uniform carefully scraped clean of mud, and with -him Lenkranz, the metals man. Both carried rifles and wore half empty -bandoliers of blast cartridges.</p> - -<p>The supply cart jerked behind the tank, and behind it filed Whitcomb -with his cameras; Sewell, the big, laconic medical technician; -Johnston; cartographer Hirooka perusing absorbedly the clip board that -held his strip map; Blake, the lean and spectacled bacteriologist, -brought up the rear. Hague waited until they had disappeared through -the gate cut sharply in the city's black wall, then he turned to his -gun crew.</p> - -<p>Sergeant Brian, saturnine as always, swung past carrying the pneumatic -barrel assembly, Crosse with the charger a pace behind. Next, Bormann, -whispering to Helen who rode his shoulder piping throaty calls. -Last came Hurd, swaggering past with jaws grinding steadily at that -mysterious cud. Hague cast a glance over his shoulder at the deserted -street of black cubes, wondered at the dank loneness of the place, and -followed Hurd.</p> - -<p>The hours wore on as they swung across dark grass, through damp -tendrils of cloud, and faced into whipping, cold wind, eyes narrowed -against its sting. Helen, squawking unhappily, crawled inside Bormann's -shirt and rode with just her brown bird-head protruding.</p> - -<p>"Look at the big hole, Lieutenant," Hurd called above the wind.</p> - -<p>Hurd had dropped behind, and Hague called a halt to investigate Hurd's -find, but as he hiked rapidly back, the wiry little man yelled and -pitched out of sight. Brian came running, and he and Hague peered over -the edge of a funnel shaped pit, from which Hurd was trying to crawl. -Each time he'd get a third of the way up the eighteen-foot slope, -gravelly soil would slide and he'd again be carried to the bottom.</p> - -<p>"Throw me a line."</p> - -<p>Brian pulled a hank of nylon line from his belt, shook out the snarls, -and tossed an end into Hurd's clawing hands. Hague and the Sergeant -anchored themselves to the upper end and were preparing to haul, when -Hague saw something move in the gravel beneath Hurd's feet, at the -funnel bottom, and saw a giant pincers emerging from loose, black -gravel.</p> - -<p>"Hurd look out!" he screamed.</p> - -<p>The little man, white-faced, threw himself aside as a giant beetle head -erupted through the funnel bottom. The great pincers jaws fastened -around Hurd's waist as he struggled frantically up the pit's side. He -began screaming when the beetle monster dragged him relentlessly down, -his distorted face flung up at them appealingly. Hague snatched at his -rifle and brought it up. When the gun cracked, the pincers tightened on -Hurd's middle, and the little man was snipped in half. The blue-white -flash and report of the explosive bullet blended with Hurd's choked -yells, the beetle rolled over on its back and the two bodies lay -entangled at the pit bottom. Brian and Hague looked at each other in -silent, blanched horror, then turned from the pit's edge and loped back -to the others.</p> - -<p>Bormann and Crosse peered fearfully across the wind-whipped grass, and -inquired in shouts what Hurd was doing.</p> - -<p>"He's dead, gone," Hague yelled savagely over the wind's whine. "Keep -moving. We can't do anything. Keep going."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">IV</p> - -<p>At 1630 hours Commander Technician Harker slipped on the earset, threw -over a transmitting switch, and monotoned the routine verbal message.</p> - -<p>"Base to George Easy Peter One.... Base to George Easy Peter One.... -Do you hear me George Easy Peter One.... Do you hear me George Easy -Peter One ... reply please ... reply please." Nothing came from his -earphones, but bursts of crackling interference, until he tried the -'copters next, and "George Easy Peter Two" and "George Easy Peter Three" -reported in. They were operating near the base.</p> - -<p>He tried "One" again, just in case.</p> - -<p>"Base to George Easy Peter One.... Base to George Easy Peter One.... Do -you hear me.... Do you hear me ... out."</p> - -<p>A scratching whisper resolved over the interference. Harker's face -wore a stunned look, but he quickly flung over a second switch and the -scratching voice blared over the mother ship's entire address system. -Men dropped their work throughout the great hull, and clustered around -the speakers.</p> - -<p>"George One.... Base ... hear you ... rocket crashed ... overland ... -present strength ... supplies ... drop supplies."</p> - -<p>Interference surged back and drowned the whispering voice, while -through Odysseus' hull a ragged cheer grew and gathered volume. Harker -shut off the address system and strained over his crackling earphones, -but nothing more came in response to his radio calls.</p> - -<p>He glanced up and found the Warning Room jammed with technicians, -science section members, officers, men in laboratory smocks, or greasy -overalls, or spotless Rocket Service uniforms, watching intently his -own strained face as he tried to get through. Commander Chapman -looked haggard, and Harker remembered that some one had once said that -Chapman's young sister was the wife of the medical technician who'd -gone out with Patrol Rocket One.</p> - -<p>Harker finally pulled off the earphones reluctantly and set them on the -table before him. "That's all. You heard everything they said over the -P.A. system. Nothing more is coming through."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Night came, another day, night again, and they came finally to the -plateau's end, and stood staring from a windy escarpment across an -endless roof of rainforest far below, grey green under the continuous -roof of lead-colored clouds. Hague, standing back a little, watched -them. A thin line of ragged men along the rim peering mournfully out -across that endless expanse for a gleam that might be the distant hull -of Odysseus, the mother ship. A damp wind fluttered their rags and -plastered them against gaunt bodies.</p> - -<p>Clark and Sampler were conferring in shouts.</p> - -<p>"Will the tank make it down this grade?" Clark wanted to know.</p> - -<p>For once, Sergeant Sampler's mobile, merry face was grim.</p> - -<p>"I don't know, but we'll sure try. Be ready to cut that cart loose if -the tank starts to slip."</p> - -<p>Drag ropes were fastened to the cart, a man stationed at the tank -hitch, and Sampler sent his tank lurching forward over the edge, and -it slanted down at a sharp angle. Hague, holding a drag rope, set his -heels and allowed the tank's weight to pull him forward over the rim; -and the tank, cart, and muddy figures hanging to drag ropes began -descending the steep gradient. Bormann, just ahead of the Lieutenant, -strained back at the rope and turned a tight face over his shoulder.</p> - -<p>"She's slipping faster!"</p> - -<p>The tank was picking up speed, and Hague heard the clash of gears as -Sampler tried to fight the downward pull of gravity. Gears ground, -and Sampler forced the whippet straight again, but the downward slide -was increasing. Hague was flattened under Bormann, heels digging, and -behind him he could hear Sergeant Brian cursing, struggling to keep -flat against the downward pull.</p> - -<p>The tank careened sideways again, slipped, and Whittaker's white face -popped from her turret.</p> - -<p>"She's going," he screamed.</p> - -<p>A drag rope parted. Clark sprang like a madman between tank and cart, -and cut the hitch. The tank, with no longer sufficient restraining -weight, tipped with slow majesty outward, then rolled out and down, -bouncing, smashing as if in a slow motion film, shedding parts at -each crushing contact. It looked like a toy below them, still rolling -and gathering speed, when Hague saw Whittaker's body fly free, a tiny -ragdoll at that distance, and the tank was lost to view when it bounced -off a ledge and went floating down through space.</p> - -<p>Clark signalled them forward, and they inched the supply cart downward -on the drag ropes, legs trembling with strain, and their nerves -twitching at the memory of Whittaker's chalky face peering from the -falling turret. It was eight hours before they reached the bottom, -reeling with exhaustion, set a guard, and tumbled into their shelter -tents. Outside, Hague could hear Clark pacing restlessly, trying to -assure himself that he'd been right to cut the tank free, that there'd -been no chance to save Whittaker and Sampler when the tank began to -slide.</p> - -<p>Hague lay in his little tent listening to the footsteps splash past -in muddy Venusian soil, and was thankful that he hadn't had to make -the decision. He'd been saving three cigarettes in an oilskin packet, -and he drew one carefully from the wrapping now, lit it, and inhaled -deeply. Could he have done what Clark did—break that hitch? He still -didn't know when he took a last lung-filling pull at the tiny stub of -cigarette and crushed it out carefully.</p> - -<p>As dawn filtered through the cloud layer, they were rolling shelter -tents and buckling on equipment. Clark's face was a worn mask when he -talked with Hague, and his fingers shook over his pack buckles.</p> - -<p>"There are thirteen of us. Six men will pull the supply cart, and six -guard, in four hour shifts. You and I will alternate command at guard."</p> - -<p>He was silent for a moment, then watched Hague's face intently as he -spoke again.</p> - -<p>"It'll be a first grade miracle if any of us get through. Hague, -you—you know I had to cut that tank free." His voice rose nervously. -"You know that! You're an officer."</p> - -<p>"Yeah, I guess you did." Hague couldn't say it any better, and he -turned away and fussed busily with the bars holding the portable Sonar -detection unit to the supply cart.</p> - -<p>They moved off with Hague leaning into harness pulling the supply -cart bumpily ahead. Clark stumbled jerkily at the head, with Blake, a -lean, silent ghost beside him, rifle in hand. The cart came next with -Hague, Bormann, Sergeant Brian, Crosse, Lenkranz and Sewell leaning -in single file against its weight. At the rear marched photographer -Whitcomb, Hirooka with his maps, and Balistierri, each carrying a -rifle. The big Swede Swenson was last in line, peering warily back into -the rainforest shadows. The thirteen men wound Indian file from sight -of the flatheaded reptilian thing, clutching a sheaf of bronze arrows, -that watched them.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Hague had lost count of days again when he looked up into the shadowy -forest roof, his feet finding their way unconsciously through the thin -mud, his ears registering automatically the murmurs of talk behind him, -the supply cart's tortured creaking, and the continuous Sonar drone. -The air felt different, warmer than its usual steam bath heat, close -and charged with expectancy, and the forest seemed to crouch in waiting -with the repressed silence of a hunting cat.</p> - -<p>Crosse yelled thinly from the rear of the file, and they all halted -to listen, the hauling crew dropping their harness thankfully. Hague -turned back and saw Crosse's thin arm waving a rifle overhead, then -pointing down the trail. The Lieutenant listened carefully until -he caught the sound, a thin call, the sound of a horn mellowed by -distance.</p> - -<p>The men unthinkingly moved in close and threw wary looks into the -forest ways around them.</p> - -<p>"Move further ahead, Hague. Must be more lizard-men." Clark swore, with -tired despair. "All right, let's get moving and make it fast."</p> - -<p>The cart creaked ahead again, moving faster this time, and the snicking -of rifle bolts came to Hague. He moved swiftly ahead on the trail and -glanced up again, saw breaks in the forest roof, and realized that the -huge trees were pitching wildly far above.</p> - -<p>"Look up," he yelled, "wind coming!"</p> - -<p>The wind came suddenly, striking with stone wall solidity. Hague -sprinted to the cart, and the struggling body of men worked it off -the trail, and into a buttress angle of two great tree roots, lashing -it there with nylon ropes. The wind velocity increased, smashing torn -branches overhead, and ripping at the men who lay with their heads well -down in the mud. Tiny animals were blown hurtling past, and once a -great spider came flailing in cartwheel fashion, then smashed brokenly -against a tree.</p> - -<p>The wind drone rose in volume, the air darkened, and Hague lost -sight of the other men from behind his huddled shelter against a -wall like root. The great trees twisted with groaning protest, and -thunderous crashes came downward through the forest, with sometimes -the faint squeak of a dying or frightened animal. The wind halted for -a breathless, hushed moment of utter stillness, broken only by the -dropping of limbs and the scurry of small life forms—then came the -screaming fury from the opposite direction.</p> - -<p>For a moment, the gunnery officer thought he'd be torn from the root -to which his clawing fingers clung. Its brutal force smashed breath -from Hague's lungs and held him pinned in his corner until he struggled -choking for air as a drowning man does. It seemed that he couldn't draw -breath, that the air was a solid mass from which he could no longer get -life. Then the wind stopped as suddenly as it had come, leaving dazed -quiet. As he stumbled back to the cart, Hague saw crushed beneath a -thigh-sized limb a feebly moving reptilian head; and the dying eyes of -the lizard-man were still able to stare at him in cold malevolence.</p> - -<p>The supply cart was still intact, roped between buttressing roots to -belt knives driven into the tough wood. Hague and Clark freed it, -called a hasty roll, and the march was resumed at a fast pace through -cooled, cleaner air. They could no longer hear horn sounds; but the -grim knowledge that lizard-men were near them lent strength, and Hague -led as rapidly as he dared, listening carefully to the Sonar's drone -behind him, altering his course when the sound faded, and straightening -out when it grew in volume.</p> - -<p>A day slipped by and another, and the cart rolled ahead through thin -greasy mud on the forest floor, with the Sonar's drone mingled with -murmuring men's voices talking of food. It was the universal topic, and -they carefully worked out prolonged menus each would engorge when they -reached home. They forgot heat, insect bites, the sapping humidity, and -talked of food—steaming roasts, flanked by crystal goblets of iced -wine, oily roasted nuts, and lush, crisp green salads.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">V</p> - -<p>Hague, again marching ahead with Balistierri, broke into the -comparatively bright clearing, and was blinded for a moment by the -sudden, cloud-strained light after days of forest darkness. As their -eyes accommodated to the lemon-colored glare, he and Balistierri -sighted the animals squatting beneath low bushes that grew thickly in -the clearing. They were monkey-like primates with golden tawny coats, -a cockatoo crest of white flaring above dog faces. The monkeys stared -a moment, the great white crests rising doubtfully, ivory canine teeth -fully three inches long bared.</p> - -<p>They'd been feeding on fruit that dotted the shrub-filled clearing; -but now one screamed a warning, and they sprang into vines that made a -matted wall on every side. The two rifles cracked together again, and -three fantastically colored bodies lay quiet, while the rest of the -troop fled screaming into tree tops and disappeared. At the blast of -sound, a fluttering kaleidoscope of color swept up about the startled -rocketeers, and they stood blinded, while mad whorls of color whirled -around them in a miniature storm.</p> - -<p>"Giant butterflies," Balistierri was screaming in ecstasy. "Look at -them! Big as a dove!"</p> - -<p>Hague watched the bright insects coalesce into one agitated mass of -vermillion, azure, metallic green, and sulphur yellow twenty feet -overhead. The pulsating mass of hues resolved itself into single -insects, with wings large as dinnerplates, and they streamed out of -sight over the forest roof.</p> - -<p>"What were they?" he grinned at Balistierri. "Going to name them after -Bormann?"</p> - -<p>The slight zoologist still watched the spot where they'd vanished.</p> - -<p>"Does it matter much what I call them? Do you really believe any one -will ever be able to read this logbook I'm making?" He eyed the gunnery -officer bleakly, then, "Well, come on. We'd better skin these monks. -They're food anyway."</p> - -<p>Hague followed Balistierri, and they stood looking down at the golden -furred primates. The zoologist knelt, fingered a bedraggled white -crest, and remarked, "These blast cartridges don't leave much meat, do -they? Hardly enough for the whole party." He pulled a tiny metal block, -with a hook and dial, from his pocket, looped the hook through a tendon -in the monkey's leg and lifted the dead animal.</p> - -<p>"Hmmm. Forty-seven pounds. Not bad." He weighed each in turn, made -measurements, and entered these in his pocket notebook.</p> - -<p>The circle around Sewell, who presided over the cook unit, was merry -that night. The men's eyes were bright in the heater glow as they -stuffed their shrunken stomachs with monkey meat and the fruits the -monkeys had been eating when Hague and Balistierri surprised them. -Swenson and Crosse and Whitcomb, the photographer, overate and were -violently sick; but the others sat picking their teeth contentedly in a -close circle. Bormann pulled his harmonica from his shirt pocket, and -the hard, silvery torrent of music set them to singing softly. Hague -and Blake, the bacteriologist, stood guard among the trees.</p> - -<p>At dawn, they were marching again, stepping more briskly over tiny -creeks, through green-tinted mud, and the wet heat. At noon, they heard -the horn again, and Clark ordered silence and a faster pace. They -swung swiftly, eating iron rations as they marched. Hague leaned into -his cart harness and watched perspiration staining through Bormann's -shirted back just ahead of him. Behind, Sergeant Brian tugged manfully, -and growled under his breath at buzzing insects, slapping occasionally -with a low howl of muted anguish. Helen, the skin bird, rode on -Bormann's shoulder, staring back into Hague's face with questioning -chirps; and Hague was whistling softly between his teeth at her, when -Bormann stopped suddenly and Hague slammed into him. Helen took flight -with a startled squawk, and Clark came loping back to demand quiet. -Bormann stared at the two officers, his young-old face blank with -surprise.</p> - -<p>"I'm, I'm shot," he stuttered, and stared wonderingly at the thing -thrusting from the side opening in his chest armor. It was one of the -fragile bronze arrows, gleaming metallically in the forest gloom.</p> - -<p>Hague cursed, and jerked free of the cart harness.</p> - -<p>"Here, I'll get it free." He tugged at the shaft, and Bormann's face -twisted. Hague stepped back. "Where's Sewell? This thing must be -barbed."</p> - -<p>"Back off the trail! Form a wide circle around the cart, but stay under -cover! Fight 'em on their own ground!" Clark was yelling, and the men -clustered about the cart faded into forest corridors.</p> - -<p>Hague and Sewell, left alone, dragged Bormann's limp length beneath the -metal cart. Hague leaped erect again, man-handled the pneumatic gun off -the cart and onto the trail, spun the charger crank, and lay down in -firing position. Behind him, Sewell grunted, "He's gone. Arrow poison -must have paralyzed his diaphragm and chest muscles."</p> - -<p>"Okay. Get up here and handle the ammunition." Hague's face was savage -as the medical technician crawled into position beside him and opened -an ammunition carrier.</p> - -<p>"Watch the trail behind me," Hague continued, slamming up the top cover -plate and jerking a belt through the pneumatic breech. "When I yell -charge, spin the charger crank; and when I yell off a number, set the -meter arrow at that number." He snapped the cover plate shut and locked -it.</p> - -<p>"The other way! They're coming the other way!" Sewell lumbered to his -knees, and the two heaved the gun around. A blowgun arrow rattled off -the cart body above them, and gobbling yells filtered among the trees -with an answering crack of explosive cartridges. A screaming knot -of grey figures came sprinting down on the cart. Hague squeezed the -pneumatic's trigger, the gun coughed, and blue-fire-limned lizard-men -crumpled in the trail mud.</p> - -<p>"Okay, give 'em a few the other way."</p> - -<p>The two men horsed the gun around and sent a buzzing flock of explosive -loads down the forest corridor opening ahead of the cart. They began -firing carefully down other corridors opening off the trail, aiming -delicately lest their missiles explode too close and the concussion -kill their own men; but they worked a blasting circle of destruction -that smashed the great trees back in the forest and made openings in -the forest roof. Blue fire flashed in the shadows and froze weird -tableaus of screaming lizard-men and hurtling mud, branches, and great -splinters of wood.</p> - -<p>An exulting yell burst behind them. Hague saw Sewell stare over his -shoulder, face contorted, then the big medical technician sprang to his -feet. Hague rolled hard, pulling his belt knife, and saw Sewell and -a grey man-shape locked in combat above him, saw leathery grey claws -drive a bronze knife into the medic's unarmored throat; and then the -gunnery officer was on his feet, knife slashing, and the lizard-man -fell across the prone Sewell. An almost audible silence fell over the -forest, and Hague saw Rocketeers filtering back onto the cart trail, -rifles cautiously extended at ready.</p> - -<p>"Where's Clark?" he asked Lenkranz. The grey-haired metals man gazed -back dully.</p> - -<p>"I haven't seen him since we left the trail. I was with Swenson."</p> - -<p>The others moved in, and Hague listed the casualties. Sewell, Bormann, -and Lieutenant Clark. Gunnery Officer Clarence Hague was now in -command. That the Junior Lieutenant now commanded Ground Expeditionary -Patrol Number One trickled into his still numb brain; and he wondered -for a moment what the Base Commander would think of their chances if he -knew. Then he took stock of his little command.</p> - -<p>There was young Crosse, his face twitching nervously. There was Blake, -the tall, quiet bacteriologist; Lenkranz, the metals man; Hirooka, -the Nisei; Balistierri; Whitcomb, the photographer, with a battered -Hasselblad still dangling by its neck cord against his armored chest. -Swenson was still there, the big Swede crewman; and imperturbable -Sergeant Brian, who was now calmly cleaning the pneumatic gun's loading -mechanism. And, Helen, Bormann's skin bird, fluttering over the ration -cart, beneath which Bormann and Sewell lay in the mud.</p> - -<p>"Crosse, Lenkranz, burial detail. Get going." It was Hague's first -order as Commander. He thought the two looked most woebegone of the -party, and figured digging might loosen their nerves.</p> - -<p>Crosse stared at him, and then sat suddenly against a tree hole.</p> - -<p>"I'm not going to dig. I'm not going to march. This is crazy. We're -going to get killed. I'll wait for it right here. Why do we keep -walking and walking when we're going to die anyway?" His rising voice -cracked, and he burst into hysterical laughter. Sergeant Brian rose -quietly from his gun cleaning, jerked Crosse to his feet, and slapped -him into quiet. Then he turned to Hague.</p> - -<p>"Shall I take charge of the burial detail, sir?"</p> - -<p>Hague nodded; and suddenly his long dislike of the iron-hard Sergeant -melted into warm liking and admiration. Brian was the man who'd get -them all through.</p> - -<p>The Sergeant knotted his dark brows truculently at Hague. "And I don't -believe Crosse meant what he said. He's a very brave man. We all get a -little jumpy. But he's a good man, a good Rocketeer."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Three markers beside the trail, and a pile of dumped equipment marked -the battle ground when the cart swung forward again. Hague had dropped -all the recording instruments, saving only Whitcomb's exposed films, -the rations, rifle ammunition, and logbooks that had been kept by -different members of the science section. At his command, Sergeant -Brian reluctantly smashed the pneumatic gun's firing mechanism, and -left the gun squatting on its tripod beside charger and shell belts. -With the lightened load, Hague figured three men could handle the cart, -and he took his place with Brian and Crosse in the harness. The others -no longer walked in the trail, but filtered between great root-flanges -and tree boles on either side, guiding themselves by the Sonar's hum.</p> - -<p>They left no more trail markers, and Hague cautioned them against -making any unnecessary noise.</p> - -<p>"No trail markers behind us. This mud is watery enough to hide -footprints in a few minutes. We're making no noise, and we'll drop no -more refuse. All they can hear will be the Sonar, and that won't carry -far."</p> - -<p>On the seventy-first day of the march, Hague squatted, fell almost to -the ground, and grunted, "Take ten."</p> - -<p>He stared at the stained, ragged scarecrows hunkered about him in -forest mud.</p> - -<p>"Why do we do it?" he asked no one in particular. "Why do we keep -going, and going, and going? Why don't we just lie down and die? That -would be the easiest thing I could think of right now." He knew that -Rocket Service officers didn't talk that way, but he didn't feel like -an officer, just a tired, feverish, bone-weary man.</p> - -<p>"Have we got a great glowing tradition to inspire us?" he snarled. "No, -we're just the lousy rocketeers that every other service arm plans to -absorb. We haven't a Grant or a John Paul Jones to provide an example -in a tough spot. The U.S. Rocket Service has nothing but the memory of -some ships that went out and never came back; and you can't make a -legend out of men who just plain vanish."</p> - -<p>There was silence, and it looked as if the muddy figures were too -exhausted to reply. Then Sergeant Brian spoke.</p> - -<p>"The Rocketeers have a legend, sir."</p> - -<p>"What legend, Brian?" Hague snorted.</p> - -<p>"Here is the legend, sir. 'George Easy Peter One'."</p> - -<p>Hague laughed hollowly, but the Sergeant continued as if he hadn't -heard.</p> - -<p>"Ground Expeditionary Patrol One—the outfit a planet couldn't lick. -Venus threw her grab bag at us, animals, swamps, poison plants, -starvation, fever, and we kept right on coming. She just made us -smarter, and tougher, and harder to beat. And we'll blast through these -lizard-men and the jungle, and march into Base like the whole U.S. -Armed Forces on review."</p> - -<p>"Let's go," Hague called, and they staggered up again, nine gaunt -bundles of sodden, muddy rags, capped in trim black steel helmets with -cheek guards down. The others slipped off the trail, and Hague, Brian, -and Crosse pulled on the cart harness and lurched forward. The cart -wheel hub jammed against a tree bole, and as they strained blindly -ahead to free it, a horn note drifted from afar.</p> - -<p>"Here they come again," Crosse groaned.</p> - -<p>"They—won't be—up—with us—for days," Hague grunted, while he threw -his weight in jerks against the tow line. The cart lurched free with -a lunge, and all three shot forward and sprawled raging in the muddy -trail.</p> - -<p>They sat wiping mud from their faces, when Brian stopped suddenly, -ripped off his helmet and threw it aside, then sat tensely forward in -an attitude of strained listening. Hague had time to wonder dully if -the man's brain had snapped, before he crawled to his feet.</p> - -<p>"Shut up, and listen," Brian was snarling. "Hear it! Hear it! It's a -klaxon! Way off, about every two seconds!"</p> - -<p>Hague tugged off his heavy helmet, and strained every nerve to listen. -Over the forest silence it came with pulse-like regularity, a tiny -whisper of sound.</p> - -<p>He and Brian stared bright-eyed at each other, not quite daring to say -which they were thinking. Crosse got up and leaned like an empty sack -against the cartwheel with an inane questioning look.</p> - -<p>"What is it?" When they stared at him without speaking, still listening -intently, "It's the Base. That's it, it's the Base!"</p> - -<p>Something choked Hague's throat, then he was yelling and firing his -rifle. The rest came scuttling out of the forest shadow, faces breaking -into wild grins, and they joined Hague, the forest rocking with -gunfire. They moved forward, and Hirooka took up a thin chant:</p> - -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">"Oooooooh, the Rocketeers</div> - <div class="verse">have shaggy ears.</div> - <div class="verse">They're dirty ——."</div> -</div></div> - -<p>The rest of their lyrics wouldn't look well in print; but where the -Rocketeers have gone, on every frontier of space, the ribald song is -sung. The little file moved down the trail toward the klaxon sound. -Behind them, something moved in the gloom, resolved itself into a -reptile-headed, man-like thing, that reared a small wooden trumpet to -fit its mouth, a soft horn note floated clear; and other shapes became -visible, sprinting forward, flitting through the gloom....</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When a red light flashed over Chapman's desk, he flung down a sheaf of -papers and hurried down steel-walled corridors to the number one shaft. -A tiny elevator swept him to Odysseus' upper side, where a shallow pit -had been set in the ship's scarred skin, and a pneumatic gun installed. -Chapman hurried past the gun and crew to stand beside a listening -device. The four huge cones loomed dark against the clouds, the -operator in their center was a blob of shadow in the dawnlight, where -he huddled listening to a chanting murmur that came from his headset. -Blake came running onto the gundeck; Bjornson, and the staff officers -were all there.</p> - -<p>"Cut it into the Address system," Chapman told the Listener operator -excitedly; and the faint sounds were amplified through the whole ship. -From humming Address amplifiers, the ribald words broke in a hoarse -melody.</p> - -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse">"The rocketeers have shaggy ears,</div> - <div class="verse">They're dirty ——"</div> -</div></div> - -<p>The rest described in vivid detail the prowess of rocketeers in general.</p> - -<p>"How far are they?" Chapman demanded.</p> - -<p>The operator pointed at a dial, fingered a knob that altered his -receiving cones split-seconds of angle. "They're about twenty-five -miles, sir."</p> - -<p>Chapman turned to the officers gathered in an exultant circle behind -him.</p> - -<p>"Branch, here's your chance for action. Take thirty men, our whippet -tank, and go out to them. Bjornson, get the 'copters aloft for air -cover."</p> - -<p>Twenty minutes later, Chapman watched a column assemble beneath the -Odysseus' gleaming side, and march into the jungle, with the 'copters -buzzing west a moment later, like vindictive dragon flies.</p> - -<p>Breakfast was brought to the men clustered at Warnings equipment, and -to Chapman at his post on the gundeck. The day ticked away, the parade -ground vanished in thickening clots of night; and a second dawn found -the watchers still at their posts, listening to queer sounds that -trickled from the speakers. The singing had stopped; but once they -heard a note that a horn might make, and several times gobbling yells -that didn't sound human. George One was fighting, they knew now. The -listeners picked up crackling of rifle fire, and when that died there -was silence.</p> - -<p>The watchers heard a short cheer that died suddenly, as the relief -column and George One met; and they waited and watched. Branch, who -headed the relief column communicated with the mother ship by the -simple expedient of yelling, the sound being picked up by the listeners.</p> - -<p>"They're coming in, Chapman. I'm coming behind to guard their rear. -They've been attacked by some kind of lizard-men. I'm not saying a -thing—see for yourself when they arrive."</p> - -<p>Hours rolled past, while they speculated in low tones, the hush that -held the ship growing taut and strained.</p> - -<p>"Surely Branch would have told us if anything was wrong, or if the -records were lost," Chapman barked angrily. "Why did he have to be so -damned melodramatic?"</p> - -<p>"Look, there—through the trees. A helmet glinted!" The laconic -Bjornson had thrown dignity to the winds, and capered like a drunken -goat, as Rindell described it later.</p> - -<p>Chapman stared down at the jungle edging the parade ground and caught a -movement.</p> - -<p>A man with a rifle came through the fringe and stood eying the ship -in silence, and then came walking forward across the long, cindered -expanse. From this height, he looked to Chapman like a child's lead -soldier, a ragged, muddy, midget scarecrow. Another stir in the trees, -and one more man, skulking like an infantry-flanker with rifle at -ready. He, too, straightened and came walking quietly forward. A file -of three men came next, leaning into the harness of a little metal -cart that bumped drunkenly as they dragged it forward. An instant of -waiting, and two more men stole from the jungle, more like attacking -infantry than returning heroes. Chapman waited, and no more came. This -was all.</p> - -<p>"My God, no wonder Branch wouldn't tell us. There were thirty-two of -them." Rindell's voice was choked.</p> - -<p>"Yes, only seven." Chapman remembered his field glasses and focused -them on the seven approaching men. "Lieutenant Hague is the only -officer. And they're handing us the future of the U.S. Rocket Service -on that little metal cart."</p> - -<p>The quiet shattered and a yelling horde of men poured from Odysseus' -hull and engulfed the tattered seven, sweeping around them, yelling, -cheering, and carrying them toward the mother ship.</p> - -<p>Chapman looked a little awed as he turned to the officers behind him. -"Well they did it. We forward these records, and we've proven that we -can do the job." He broke into a grin. "What am I talking about? Of -course we did the job. We'll always do the job. 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