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

poor get poorer. Things are rigged, these days, so that it’s impossible to work your way to the top except in Military and Religion. The Uppers take care of their own, and at the same time make every effort to keep us of the lower orders from joining their sacred circle. I might make it in the Military, Nadine, but my chances in another field are so remote as to be laughable.”

She stood and looked down at him emptily. “No,” she said, “don’t get up. I’m leaving, Major Mauser.” He began to rise, to protest, but she said, her voice curt, “I have seen only one fracas on Telly in my entire life, and was so repelled that I vowed never to watch again. However, I am going to make an exception. I am going to follow this one, and if, as a result of your actions, even a single person meets death, I wish never to see you again. Do I make myself completely clear, Major Mauser?”

IX

Marshal Stonewall Cogswell looked impudently around at this staff officers gathered about the chart table. “Gentlemen,” he said, “I assume you are all familiar with the battle of Chancellorsville?”

No one bothered to answer and he chuckled. “I know what you are thinking, that had any of you refrained from a thorough study of the campaigns of Lee and Jackson, he would not be a member of my staff.”

The craggy marshal traced with his finger on the great military chart before them. “Then you will have noticed the similarity of today’s dispensation of forces to that of Joseph Hooker’s Army of the Potomac and Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia, on May 2, 1863.” He pointed with his baton. “Our stream, here, would be the Rappahannock, this woods, the Wilderness. Here would be Fredericksburg and here Chancellorsville.”

One of his colonels nodded. “My regiment occupies a position similar to that of Jubal Early.”

“Absolutely correct,” the marshal said crisply. “Gentlemen, I repeat, our troop dispensations, those of Lieutenant General McCord and myself, are practically identical. Now then, if McCord continues to move his forces here, across our modern day Rappahannock, he makes the initial mistake that finally led to the opening which allowed Jackson’s brilliant fifteen-mile flanking march. Any questions, thus far?”

There were some murmurs, no questions. The accumulated years of military service of this group of veterans would have totaled into the hundreds.

“Very interesting, eh?” the marshal pursued. “Jed, your artillery is massed here. It’s a shame that General Jack Altshuler has taken a commission with Carbonaceous Fuel. We could use his cavalry. He would be our J. E. B. Stuart, eh?”

Lieutenant Colonel Paul Warren cleared his throat unhappily. “Sir, Jack Altshuler is the best cavalryman in North America.”

“I would be the last to deny it, Paul.”

“Yes, sir. And he’s fought half his fracases under you, sir.”

“Your point, Paul?” the marshal said crisply.

“He knows your methods, sir. For that matter, so does Lieutenant General McCord. He’s fought you enough.”

There was silence in the staff headquarters, broken suddenly by Cogswell’s curt chuckle. “Paul, I’m going to recommend to the Category Military Department, your promotion to full colonel on the strength of that. You were the first to see what I have been getting to. Gentlemen, do you realize what General McCord and his staff are doing this very moment? I would wager my reputation that they are poring over a campaign chart of the battle of Chancellorsville.”

The craggy veteran bent back over the map again, his voice dropped all humor and he stabbed with his baton. “Here, here, and here. They expect us to duplicate the movements of Lee. Very good, we shall. But the advances of Lee and Jackson, we will make feints. And the feints made by Lee and Jackson will be our attacks in force. Gentlemen, we are going to literally reverse the battle of Chancellorsville. Major Mauser!”

Joe Mauser had been in the background as befitted his junior rank. Now he stepped to the table’s edge. “Yes, sir.”

The marshal indicated a defile. “Were we actually duplicating the Civil War battle, this would have been the right flank of Sedgwick’s two army corps. We’re not dealing in army corps these days but only regiments, however, the position is relatively as important. Jack Altshuler’s cavalry is largely concentrated here. When the action is joined, he can move in one of three ways. Through this defile, is least likely. However, if his heavy cavalry does work its way through here, I must know immediately. This is crucial, Joe. Any questions?”

“No, sir.”

The marshal turned his attention to his chief of artillery. “Jed, when we need your guns, we’re going to need them badly, but I doubt if that time will develop until the second or third day of the fracas. Going to want as clever a job of camouflage done as possible.”

The other scowled. “Camouflage, sir?”

“Confound it, yes. French term, I believe. Going to want your guns so hidden that those two gliders of McCord’s will fail to spot them.” The marshal grimaced in the direction of Joe Mauser, who, having his instructions, had fallen back from the table again. “When you reintroduced aerial observation to the fracas, major, you set off a whole train of related factors. Camouflage is going to be in every field officer’s lexicon from this day on. Which reminds me.” He looked to his artilleryman.

“Yes, sir.”

“Put your mind to work on devising Maxim gun mounts to be used to keep enemy gliders at as high altitude as possible, or preferably, of course, to bring them down. We’ll need an antiaircraft squadron, in short. Better put young Wiley on it.”

“Yes, sir.”

X

The airport nearest to the Grant Memorial Military Reservation was some ten miles distance from the borders which, upon the scheduling of a fracas, were closed to all aircraft, and to all persons unconnected with the fracas, with the exception only of Telly crews and military observers from the Sov-world and the Neut-world, present to