Generals Help Themselves Read online

matter of routine, it was always kept fullyready. His staff merely confirmed this for him.

  Seventy-five thousand miles out in space, the Radars of the Far-Searchnet swept their paths. Men labored over their plotting tables, notingthe information the radar echoes brought back; slowly piecing togetherthe picture. Tight communication beams relayed the data back to the baseas fast as it was obtained.

  About an hour later, the red light flashed again. The assembled stafffell quiet as the Commander flipped the switch, again. "Commandertalking."

  "Far-Search talking. Contact previously reported now range one five oh.Bearing, four one dash one seven. Course, approaching. Speed, six nine.Estimated twenty-three ships, dreadnought type, plus small ship screen.Battle formation. That is all."

  "Advise at range one one oh."

  "Wilco."

  The Commander turned to his staff. "Sound a general alert." His wordswere clipped and clear. He flipped a second switch on his desk. "Radio,this is the Commander. Get me a direct beam to the Chief of Staff.Highest urgency. Scramble with sequence Charlie."

  His office had emptied by now, with officers running to their posts asthe siren of the general alert wailed through the corridors. As itsurgent call died off, a green light showed on his desk, indicatingcontact with earth. "Morgan, Commander, Base Q, requesting direct lineto Chief of Staff. Highest urgency."

  "Go ahead, Morgan." The Old Man's voice sounded peculiar after passingthrough the scrambling and unscrambling machines that twisted the soundsinto queer pieces and distributed them among several frequencies andmethods of modulation. But, even so, it had a note of strain in it thatwas not artificial.

  "Sir, when you gave me my orders, here, you directed me to obey them _tothe letter_, without question or cavil. Is that right, sir?"

  "Yes, it is." There was a threat in the Old Man's voice.

  "Then, sir, would you tell me if there has been any change in thoseorders since my arrival? Aside from administrative details, of course?"

  "No. Absolutely not."

  "Very good, sir. Sorry to have bothered you."

  "Not at all. Quite right. Good luck. Signing out."

  Morgan thought the Old Man sounded relieved at the end. And he could notbe quite sure, but he thought he heard the Admiral mutter "And goodhunting," as the connection broke.

  He summoned his aide to take over the office while he went down to thecenter of the asteroid where I.C., the information center, was located,where he would assume direct command of the base.

  * * * * *

  As he entered I.C., the Ships Supply Officer reported all ships fullyloaded and fueled with gamma-matter, ready for flight. The MissileOfficer reported all ships equipped with war-head missiles. The LockOfficer reported all locks manned and ready. Base Q was ready.

  As he climbed to his chair over the plotting tank, he noted withsatisfaction the controlled tautness of the men's faces. They too, wereready.

  As the glowing points of yellow light that represented the enemy fleetcrossed the dimly lit sphere in the tank that indicated the one hundredthousand mile radius marking the edge of the primary zone, he took amicrophone from a man waiting, nearby.

  "Base Q to unknown fleet. I have you bearing four one dash one seven.Range one oh oh. Identify yourself. Identify yourself. Over." His wordswere spaced out with painful clarity. A hush had fallen over I.C.

  The loud-speaker on the wall came to life with a squawk, after a fewseconds.

  "Fleet Four to Base Q. This is Fleet Four, operating under orders fromthe Jupiterian Combine. Over."

  "Base Q to Fleet Four. According to the Treaty of Porran, space within aradius of one hundred thousand miles of Base Q has been designated aprimary defense zone of the Federation. I therefore order you to leavethis zone within one hour. Failure to comply will make you liable tofull action on our part. I have the time, now, as one three four seven.You have until one four four seven to comply. I further warn you that anapproach within twenty thousand miles will make you liable to immediateaction, regardless of time. Over."

  The men in the room stared, open-mouthed. All had dreamed of hearingthese words spoken in these tones to the Combine. A cheer might havebeen given, had it not been for discipline.

  In a few seconds, the loud-speaker squawked again. "Fleet Four to BaseQ. Our orders are to assume a position at twenty-five thousand milesradius pending renegotiation of the Treaty of Porran. I suggest youcontact your headquarters before doing anything rash. Over."

  The Commander sat with a smile on his lips. Quietly he handed themicrophone back to the radioman. In a minute, the loud-speaker squawked,again. "Fleet Four to Base Q. Did you receive my last transmission?Acknowledge, please. Over."

  The radioman looked at the Commander, questioningly, but he only shookhis head.

  "Can't you turn that damn squawk-box off? It's distracting."

  As the minutes crept by, the bright dots in the tank moved closer. TheCommander took the Public Address microphone.

  "Attention, all personnel, this is the Commander talking. The FourthFleet of the Combine entered the Zone twenty minutes ago. They weregiven an ultimatum but are showing no indication of compliance.Therefore, we are going to blast hell out of them." The echoes from hisvoice rolled back from speakers all over the base. "The people at homedo not think we can do it. I know we can. I have not asked theirpermission. It is not needed. My orders are explicit and fully cover thesituation. My orders to you are equally explicit. Go out there and teachthe bloody bastards a lesson." He turned back to the men in I.C."Scramble flights one, two, three, and four. Others to follow atintervals of five minutes until all are in space. Flight plan KingBaker. Initial Time, one four five oh. Execute."

  The talkers took up the chant.

  "Flight one. Flight one. Scramble. Scramble. Execute."

  "Flight two ..."

  Etc.

  In the tank, green points of light moved out. The first four came intoposition and stopped in the four quadrants of the circle of which thecenter was the point at which the enemy would be at Initial Time. Thefollowing flights moved out to other points on the circle.

  Time seemed to stop. In I.C., the Flight Directors gave the orders thatmoved their flights into position and briefed them on future tactics inquiet voices. The electronic computers and other devices moved silently.The clock made no noise as its hands moved towards the final moment.

  The Commander moved some dials under his hands. He pushed a button and ared light showed on the lead dreadnought of the enemy column.

  "This is the initial target." The designation was relayed to theflights.

  The second hand of the clock was making its final sweep. All voicesquieted. The Commander raised his fist. As the clock's hand came to thetop, his fist slashed down.

  "Execute!" The battle was on.

  * * * * *

  Flight Commander Dennis, Flight One, heard the final word as he sat inthe small bubble on top of the dense package of machinery that was aP-ship. Swiftly, his hands closed switches. The course had already beenchosen and fed into the automatic computers under him. He merely gavethe signal to execute. In response, the ship seemed to pick itself upand hurl itself down the radius of the circle to the waiting enemyfleet.

  He could not see them, but he knew that, behind him, lay the other nineships of the flight, in column, spaced so close that an error incalculation of but a few millionths of a second would have causeddisaster. But the automatic and inconceivably fast and accuratecalculators in the ships, tied together by tight communication beams,held them there in safety.

  As he came within range of possible enemy action, Dennis pressed anotherbutton, and the Random Computer took command. Operated by the noise avacuum tube generates because electrons are discrete particles, it gaverandom orders, weighted only by a preference to bring the ship's courseback to the remembered target.

  The column behind obeyed these same orders. The whole flight seemed tojitter across space,
moving at random but coming back to a reasonablygood course towards the target, utterly confusing any enemy fire-controlcomputers.

  To the men in the ships, one to each, it seemed as if their very nervecells must jar apart. They felt themselves incapable of coherent action,or, even, thought. But they did not need coherency. Their function wasdone until the ship was out of danger, when a new formation would bemade, a new target designated, and a new order to execute given.

  Because the electronic computers took care of the attack. They had to.No human could react as fast as was needed. Out from the enemy shipsreached fingers of pure delta-field, reaching for gamma-matter. Thetouch of a finger meant death in a fiery inferno as the gamma-matterthat fueled the ship and formed the war-heads of their lethal eggs wouldrelease its total energy. There was only one defense. The delta-fieldcould be propagated only in a narrow beam,