Short Fiction by Mack Reynolds (ready to read books .TXT) 📕

of spittle at the sides of their mouths. They usually wanted an autograph, or a souvenir such as a uniform button.

Now Joe said to the Telly reporter, “That’s right, Captain Mauser. Acting major, in this fracas, ah⁠—”

“Freddy. Freddy Soligen. You remember me, captain⁠—”

“Of course I do, Freddy. We’ve been in the dill, side by side, more than once, and even when I was too scared to use my sidearm, you’d be scanning away with your camera.”

“Ha ha, listen to the captain, folks. I hope my boss is tuned in. But seriously, Captain Mauser, what do you think the chances of Vacuum Tube Transport are in this fracas?”

Joe looked into the camera lens, earnestly. “The best, of course, or I wouldn’t have signed up with Baron Haer, Freddy. Justice triumphs, and anybody who is familiar with the issues in this fracas, knows that Baron Haer is on the side of true right.”

Freddy said, holding any sarcasm he must have felt, “What would you say the issues were, captain?”

“The basic North American free enterprise right to compete. Hovercraft has held a near monopoly in transport to Fairbanks. Vacuum Tube Transport wishes to lower costs and bring the consumers of Fairbanks better service through running a vacuum tube to that area. What could be more in the traditions of the West-world? Continental Hovercraft stands in the way and it is they who have demanded of the Category Military Department a trial by arms. On the face of it, justice is on the side of Baron Haer.”

Freddy Soligen said into the camera, “Well, all you good people of the Telly world, that’s an able summation the captain has made, but it certainly doesn’t jibe with the words of Baron Zwerdling we heard this morning, does it? However, justice triumphs and we’ll see what the field of combat will have to offer. Thank you, thank you very much, Captain Mauser. All of us, all of us tuned in today, hope that you personally will run into no dill in this fracas.”

“Thanks, Freddy. Thanks all,” Joe said into the camera, before turning away. He wasn’t particularly keen about this part of the job, but you couldn’t underrate the importance of pleasing the buffs. In the long run it was your career, your chances for promotion both in military rank and ultimately in caste. It was the way the fans took you up, boosted you, idolized you, worshipped you if you really made it. He, Joe Mauser, was only a minor celebrity, he appreciated every chance he had to be interviewed by such a popular reporter as Freddy Soligen.

Even as he turned, he spotted the four men with whom he’d had his spat earlier. The little fellow was still to the fore. Evidently, the others had decided the one place extra that he represented wasn’t worth the trouble he’d put in their way defending it.

On an impulse he stepped up to the small man who began a grin of recognition, a grin that transformed his feisty face. A revelation of an inner warmth beyond average in a world which had lost much of its human warmth.

Joe said, “Like a job, soldier?”

“Name’s Max. Max Mainz. Sure I want a job. That’s why I’m in this everlasting line.”

Joe said, “First fracas for you, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but I had basic training in school.”

“What do you weigh, Max?”

Max’s face soured. “About one twenty.”

“Did you check out on semaphore in school?”

“Well, sure. I’m Category Food, Subdivision Cooking, Branch Chef, but, like I say, I took basic military training, like most everybody else.”

“I’m Captain Joe Mauser. How’d you like to be my batman?”

Max screwed up his already not overly handsome face. “Gee, I don’t know. I kinda joined up to see some action. Get into the dill. You know what I mean.”

Joe said dryly, “See here, Mainz, you’ll probably find more pickled situations next to me than you’ll want⁠—and you’ll come out alive.”

The recruiting sergeant looked up from the desk. It was Max Mainz’s turn to be processed. The sergeant said, “Lad, take a good opportunity when it drops in your lap. The captain is one of the best in the field. You’ll learn more, get better chances for promotion, if you stick with him.”

Joe couldn’t remember ever having run into the sergeant before, but he said, “Thanks, sergeant.”

The other said, evidently realizing Joe didn’t recognize him, “We were together on the Chihuahua Reservation, on the jurisdictional fracas between the United Miners and the Teamsters, sir.”

It had been almost fifteen years ago. About all that Joe Mauser remembered of that fracas was the abnormal number of casualties they’d taken. His side had lost, but from this distance in time Joe couldn’t even remember what force he’d been with. But now he said, “That’s right. I thought I recognized you, sergeant.”

“It was my first fracas, sir.” The sergeant went businesslike. “If you want I should hustle this lad through, captain⁠—”

“Please do, sergeant.” Joe added to Max, “I’m not sure where my billet will be. When you’re through all this, locate the officer’s mess and wait there for me.”

“Well, OK,” Max said doubtfully, still scowling but evidently a servant of an officer, if he wanted to be or not.

“Sir,” the sergeant added ominously. “If you’ve had basic, you know enough how to address an officer.”

“Well, yessir,” Max said hurriedly.

Joe began to turn away, but then spotted the man immediately behind Max Mainz. He was one of the three with whom Joe had tangled earlier, the one who’d obviously had previous combat experience. He pointed the man out to the sergeant. “You’d better give this lad at least temporary rank of corporal. He’s a veteran and we’re short of veterans.”

The sergeant said, “Yes, sir. We sure are.” Joe’s former foe looked properly thankful.

Joe Mauser finished off his own red tape and headed for the street to locate a military tailor who could do him up a set of the Haer kilts and fill his other dress requirements. As he went, he wondered vaguely just how many