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

no action. The ruined farmhouse had been a victim of an earlier fracas in this reservation which had seen in its comparatively brief time more combat than Belgium, that cockpit of Europe.

There was a sheen of oily moisture on the Baron’s bulletlike head and his officers weren’t particularly happy about it. Malcolm Haer characteristically went into a fracas with confidence, an aggressive confidence so strong that it often carried the day. In battles past, it had become a tradition that Haer’s morale was worth a thousand men; the energy he expended was the despair of his doctors who had been warning him for a decade. But now, something was missing.

A forefinger traced over the military chart before them. “So far as we know, Marshal Cogswell has established his command here in Saugerties. Anybody have any suggestions as to why?”

A major grumbled, “It doesn’t make much sense, sir. You know the marshal. It’s probably a fake. If we have any superiority at all, it’s our artillery.”

“And the old fox wouldn’t want to join the issue on the plains, down near the river,” a colonel added. “It’s his game to keep up into the mountains with his cavalry and light infantry. He’s got Jack Alshuler’s cavalry. Most experienced veterans in the field.”

“I know who he’s got,” Haer growled in irritation. “Stop reminding me. Where in the devil is Balt?”

“Coming up, sir,” Balt Haer said. He had entered only moments ago, a sheaf of signals in his hand. “Why didn’t they make that date 1910, instead of 1900? With radio, we could speed up communications⁠—”

His father interrupted testily. “Better still, why not make it 1945? Then we could speed up to the point where we could polish ourselves off. What have you got?”

Balt Haer said, his face in sulk, “Some of my lads based in West Hurley report concentrations of Cogswell’s infantry and artillery near Ashokan reservoir.”

“Nonsense,” somebody snapped. “We’d have him.”

The younger Haer slapped his swagger stick against his bare leg and kilt. “Possibly it’s a feint,” he admitted.

“How much were they able to observe?” his father demanded.

“Not much. They were driven off by a superior squadron. The Hovercraft forces are screening everything they do with heavy cavalry units. I told you we needed more⁠—”

“I don’t need your advice at this point,” his father snapped. The older Haer went back to the map, scowling still. “I don’t see what he expects to do, working out of Saugerties.”

A voice behind them said, “Sir, may I have your permission⁠—”

Half of the assembled officers turned to look at the newcomer.

Balt Haer snapped, “Captain Mauser. Why aren’t you with your lads?”

“Turned them over to my second in command, sir,” Joe Mauser said. He was standing to attention, looking at Baron Haer.

The Baron glowered at him. “What is the meaning of this cavalier intrusion, captain? Certainly, you must have your orders. Are you under the illusion that you are part of my staff?”

“No, sir,” Joe Mauser clipped. “I came to report that I am ready to put into execution⁠—”

“The great plan!” Balt Haer ejaculated. He laughed brittlely. “The second day of the fracas, and nobody really knows where old Cogswell is, or what he plans to do. And here comes the captain with his secret plan.”

Joe looked at him. He said, evenly, “Yes, sir.”

The Baron’s face had gone dark, as much in anger at his son, as with the upstart cavalry captain. He began to growl ominously, “Captain Mauser, rejoin your command and obey your orders.”

Joe Mauser’s facial expression indicated that he had expected this. He kept his voice level however, even under the chuckling scorn of his immediate superior, Balt Haer.

He said, “Sir, I will be able to tell you where Marshal Cogswell is, and every troop at his command.”

For a moment there was silence, all but a stunned silence. Then the major who had suggested the Saugerties field command headquarters were a fake, blurted a curt laugh.

“This is no time for levity, captain,” Balt Haer clipped. “Get to your command.”

A colonel said, “Just a moment, sir. I’ve fought with Joe Mauser before. He’s a good man.”

“Not that good,” someone else huffed. “Does he claim to be clairvoyant?”

Joe Mauser said flatly. “Have a semaphore man posted here this afternoon. I’ll be back at that time.” He spun on his heel and left them.

Balt Haer rushed to the door after him, shouting, “Captain! That’s an order! Return⁠—”

But the other was obviously gone. Enraged, the younger Haer began to shrill commands to a noncom in the way of organizing a pursuit.

His father called wearily, “That’s enough, Balt. Mauser has evidently taken leave of his senses. We made the initial mistake of encouraging this idea he had, or thought he had.”

“We?” his son snapped in return. “I had nothing to do with it.”

“All right, all right. Let’s tighten up, here. Now, what other information have your scouts come up with?”

IX

At the Kingston airport, Joe Mauser rejoined Max Mainz, his face drawn now.

“Everything go all right?” the little man said anxiously.

“I don’t know,” Joe said. “I still couldn’t tell them the story. Old Cogswell is as quick as a coyote. We pull this little caper today, and he’ll be ready to meet it tomorrow.”

He looked at the two-place sailplane which sat on the tarmac. “Everything all set?”

“Far as I know,” Max said. He looked at the motorless aircraft. “You sure you been checked out on these things, captain?”

“Yes,” Joe said. “I bought this particular soaring glider more than a year ago, and I’ve put almost a thousand hours in it. Now, where’s the pilot of that light plane?”

A single-engined sports plane was attached to the glider by a fifty-foot nylon rope. Even as Joe spoke, a youngster poked his head from the plane’s window and grinned back at them. “Ready?” he yelled.

“Come on, Max,” Joe said. “Let’s pull the canopy off this thing. We don’t want it in the way while you’re semaphoring.”

A figure was approaching them from the Administration Building. A uniformed man, and somehow