Final Blackout: A Futuristic War Novel

  "Sir, she steers herself and runs herself and submerges if necessary, and by Heaven the only thing she won't do is fly. And they claim nothing except her own armament can make a dent in her!

  "I came right up. If she was to cut loose on us there wouldn't be a damned thing left, sir. Not a damn thing!"

  "Thank you," said the Lieutenant, dully.

  Thorbridge withdrew with the feeling that something was very wrong with the Lieutenant. He would have been convinced could he have seen what happened after The Lieutenant slumped more deeply into the great chair. "You see, gentlemen?"

  Swinburne paced about. "But, confound it, there might be some way of making concessions without putting Victor and Smythe at the head of everything!

  Man, don't you know what they'll do? They'll revive all the creeds and claptrap that we once had.

  "Better to be wiped out in a blood bath than to quit like cowards," growled Swinburne. "They came here to put Victor at the head of the government so that he would do their bidding. Victor! He sold out a dictator that placed all his trust in him.

  He was too slippery a turncoat to be kept even by Hogarthy! He bungled everything he ever did in France and cost Heaven knows how many millions of lives! And, having betrayed his army to set up his own regime, he now goes whining to the United States in the guise of a monarchist! And you," he cried, suddenly angry and facing the Lieutenant, "are agreeable to putting him in your place!"

  Mawkey slipped in, his quick eyes not missing anything that went on. "Sir, Captain Thorbridge from Sheerness is here."

  The Lieutenant motioned that he be admitted.

  Thorbridge was a tall youth who spoke habitually in a staccato voice. He took his duties of ship inspector at Sheerness very seriously.

  "Sir, I've ridden hell out of a horse. Inspected the U.S.S. New York. They didn't seem to care what I saw. I came up here as quick as I could. Gad, what a ship!

  "Sir, she's nearly six hundred feet long. She's got engines they claim drive her at eighty knots. She's like a torpedo and nothing's exposed on her at all. There's a couple hatches they let planes out of and by Heaven, sir, those planes can land right back. The Hay's Heliplane, they're called.

  "Please," he said, slumping back, "please remember what I have said."

  Swinburne was plainly disgusted. "A thief comes up and sticks a gun in your ribs and so, rather than risk getting hurt, you tamely say: 'Yes, here is my wallet. And my wives and goods at home are at your complete disposal?

  You call that statesmanship!"

  "He can do nothing else," said Carstair.

  "Bah!" said Swinburne. "These years of peace have turned him into putty!"

  And he stalked from the room, slamming the door behind him.

  "Carstair," said the Lieutenant, "he is going out to call a council of officers. Please make sure that you give them my orders. I am to have this evening. They will have all the tomorrows. Tell them that upon the return of the people, they must come in here and stand as witness to what takes place and to pledge their faith to Victor and Smythe so long as they may rule."

  "But they won't!" cried Carstair. "We are field officers!"

  "Nevertheless, ask them to have faith and do what I say. It is for the best. Have I ever given a foolish order before, good friend?"

  Carstair hesitated and his memory shot back over the past to the time he had first seen this man at G.H.Q. "No. No, you have never given a foolish order."

  "Then tell them to save their revolts for the morrow and to let me have tonight. They must come in and agree¯that is necessary, Carstair."

  "They'll accuse you of cowardice."

  "Let them."

  "Can't you see that the first official act of Victor will be the ordering of your execution?" begged Carstair. "As soon as those Americans have left, Victor will rake up followers from the rabble and Heaven knows what things will happen. And we won't be able to touch him. They'll leave a large guard with him, that's a certainty. Did you see the arms of those marines? Why, that twenty, with those small automatic weapons and those bulletproof jackets and their pocket radios¯"

  "I care nothing about these things; I am only thinking of my command¯for when the command is destroyed the officer also dies. But, one way or another, an officer lives so long as his command lives. Go now, Carstair, and tell them what I say."

  There was something in the Lieutenant's tone which made Carstair fear for him; but the Australian said no more. Quietly he closed the door behind him.

  Sometime later Mawkey slipped in, looking smaller and more twisted than usual and his eyes dull. He carried a tray for an excuse and stood by while the Lieutenant minced at the food.

  "Sir," ventured Mawkey, "is it true that you are going to let General Victor become the ruler here?"

  The Lieutenant nodded wearily.

  "If you say so, sir, then it's so. But me and Bulger and Pollard and Weasel and Carstone have been talking. We got it figured out that the way you made a rabbit out of that Victor, the first thing he'll do will be to kill you. Now, if we was to shoot this Victor and this Smythe soon as they got inside the Tower¯"

  "Those marines would murder the lot of you."

  "Yessir. But that's better than letting Victor execute the Lieutenant."

  "Haven't you seen the guns those marines carry'"

  "Sure. They could tear a man in half and nothing we've got could stop those slugs. But we ain't afraid of no marines, sir. It's the man, that's what counts."

  "Mawkey, you'll do as I tell you. As soon as we get the proper documents signed in here, every one of my soldiers and officers is to leave Tower Hill."

  "What's that, sir?"

  "And stay away."

  "And you, sir?"

  "I'll stay here."

  Mawkey was troubled, but he knew no other way to counter this. It was plain to him that the Lieutenant had suddenly developed a suicidal mania like so many other officers had in the face of defeat.

  "Remember my orders," said the Lieutenant when Mawkey had picked up the tray.

  "Yessir," said Mawkey, but with difficulty for there was something wrong with his throat and his eyes smarted.

  Promptly at eight, the gig slowed to a stop at the Queen's Steps and made fast her lines. The party was as before with the addition of two more members. And the Tower was as before with the exception that its guards glared with sullen mien upon the intruders.

  The files of marines felt the heaviness of the atmosphere and tried to put their boots down quietly upon the pave to still the echoes of the ancient, gray battlements. They were experienced soldiers, those marines, with the high-tuned senses of the fighting man, for they had served with Clayton in Mexico, taking all the shock work so the army could grab the glory. They had wiped out the last fortress in the Yellow Sea; they had chased down the last mad dictator in Central America. In ten years of service they had set the Stars and Stripes to float above all the Western Hemisphere and half of Asia. And they knew the feel of hostility held off with effort. But, aside from their soldier-sailor selves and their professional duties, they were not at ease about this thing, for they saw the antiquated rifles and field guns in the ranks of the guard and it jibed strangely with these faces so like their own. It was as if some of themselves had suddenly been transplanted to an enemy and they had never fought their own race before.

  But if the marines were still and if their young officer was alert as a cat, none of this reached Frisman and his companions. Captain Johnson had seen fit to stay aboard, for he had no stomach for this, and Frisman was relieved about it, never having liked anything which smacked of military etiquette and stiffness.

  Colonel Smythe and Frisman kept up a brisk stream of self-congratulatory conversation. They were much of a kind, though the senator looked like a lion beside this jackal. General Victor's large, lolling head was bobbing erectly as he tried to make himself look as much like a conqueror as possible. Even Breckwell discovered self-importance and managed to get some of it into his usually empt
y face.

  They were passed through the gates and the Inner Ward and into the Norman keep. As they mounted the steps they began to get themselves in order, the marines looking closely to the fighting characteristics of the place and Frisman clearing his throat and thinking up some resounding trite phrases.

  About thirty men of the old Fourth Brigade were drawn about the entrance to the great hall, and among them were Bulger, Pollard, Weasel, Toutou, old Chipper, Gian and Mawkey, a rather large number of high-ranking noncoms for so small a group. They stood as though they were permanent fixtures of the grim, old place.

  Carstair stood at the door and watched them arrive without giving any sign that he saw them at all. But when they were all there he turned and stepped in.

  "They have arrived, sir."

  "Let them come in."

  Frisman pushed forward. He had little eye for detail, but even to him things had changed. The room was somberly lit by two candelabra and a girandole, but the candles did no more than intensify the darkness of the lofty ceiling and the shadows on the walls.

  The lieutenant sat at his desk, robed in his battle cloak, helmet before him. All the contents of the files were tied into bundles on the floor and what few possessions he had were laid out beside them.

  Along the wall was a stony frieze of officers who gave Frisman a glance and then bent a harsh regard upon Victor and Smythe.

  Victor lost a little of his certainty. His wabbly head bobbed as he scanned the line. He recognized them one by one. Field officers that he had failed to trick into turning back their commands and some that he had. Victor gave a glance to the marines outside and was instantly reassured.

  "Good evening, sir," said Frisman. "And gentlemen," to the officers. "I trust that we are all of the same mind that we were this afternoon?"

  The Lieutenant fingered a document before him. "I am. Shall we get through this thing as quickly as possible?"

  "Certainly," said Frisman. "Here are my credentials and such, giving me power to act freely in this matter. No restraints were placed upon me by my government, as you will see."

  The Lieutenant barely glanced at them. He gave Frisman a cold stare. "I have prepared the terms. To avoid any friction or complication, I have drawn up a governmental procedure. I shall withdraw completely."

  Victor almost smiled.

  "But," said the Lieutenant, "I have a condition to make. That you will keep my plan in operation."

  "And this plan?" said Frisman.

  "General Victor shall be in full and unopposed command of the country and all its defenses. In case anything happens to him, he is to be succeeded by Colonel Smythe, who will again have dictatorial powers. In case anything should happen to Smythe, the country is to be governed by its officers corps, who will recognize Swinburne as their chairman. Is this agreeable?"

  "Certainly," said Frisman, not having hoped for so much.

  "Further," said the Lieutenant, "I have limited immigration of Americans to England to a hundred thousand a month. These immigrants are to purchase their land from the present owners at the fair price, which shall, in no case, be less than fifteen pounds an acre at the exchange of five dollars to a pound "That is rather steep," said Frisman.

  "For English land? Indeed, it is rather cheap," said the Lieutenant. "Do you agree?"

  "In view of all else, yes."

  "Then, to proceed. All titles to the land issued during my regime shall be honored. Agreed?"

  "Yes."

  "Now, about law enforcement. The national police shall be wholly within British control, just as the government shall be. No man shall be an officer in the army unless he is born British. Agreed?"

  "You drive a stiff bargain."

  "I am giving you a country. If you want it, you shall have to accept these conditions. This document of yours gives you full power to reorganize any government. That is binding, is it not?"

  "Yes."

  "Then you have reorganized this government no more than to accept General Victor here as its chief. All judges will remain British. Agreed?"

  "Yes."

  "You are to turn over to this new government adequate methods of defense.

  Equipment equal to that of your own troops. And in quantity to arm forty thousand men to be delivered not later than next month. Agreed?"

  "Yes, of course."

  "All laws as laid down by myself will continue in force. All honors conferred by me shall be respected. And if you are willing to sign this and have it witnessed, the business is done'

  Frisman looked the document over. He wanted nothing better than this, for it meant that he could ease the pressure of the idle in the Americas. Very few had any liking for the new South American States. But the climate and soil of England was a definite lure. And when they had Europe, a feat for which the unemployed had been anxiously waiting, the whole thing would be solved. Yes, this document was very carefully phrased and very binding. But with Victor at the head.

  Frisman smiled and signed.

  When the formalities were finished the Lieutenant handed the document to a sour Swinburne and turned back to address Frisman. "I am now withdrawing completely from the government of England, relinquishing all title and command. Here is a statement to that effect for your records." And he handed the paper over. "And now, if all is in order, I have one last order to give."

  "Of course," said Frisman.

  "Gentlemen," said the Lieutenant to his officers, "you will please carry out my last request to you. Evacuate Tower Hill with all troops so that General Victor can feel free to organize a new guard. If he wishes to call any of you, let him find you in the town."

  Bitterly they filed past the Lieutenant, past the marines at the door and vanished down the steps. For some little time there was a rhythmic sound of marching and then, slowly, silence descended upon the nearly deserted Tower Hill.

  The Lieutenant, having seen them go from the window, turned back to the room. His face was impassive. He picked up his helmet and put it on, his glance lingering for a moment on the weapons of the marines who had now entered the room. His next statement was very strange to them all.

  "When an officer loses his command, that officer is also lost. But when that command remains, no matter what happens to its officer, he has not failed. General Victor, you are in complete command of this government.

  Next in line is Smythe. After that the corps of officers as a council. You all agree, I hope, that I now have nothing whatever to do with the British government?"

  They nodded, a little mystified. Victor's wabbly head bobbed in complete and earnest agreement.

  "I am a civilian now," said the Lieutenant, "for I even relinquish my rank, as that paper I gave you will show. The law applies wholly to me, even though I made the law. The British government, now under you, General Victor, is not at all responsible for my actions."

  "True, true," said Smythe.

  "Then' " said the Lieutenant, standing before them all, "I shall do¯what I have to do."

  His hand flashed from beneath the battle cloak. Flame stabbed and thundered.

  Victor, half his head blown off, reeled and slumped.

  Smythe tried to cover the hole in his chest with his hands. He sought to scream, but only blood came. He tripped over Victor and thudded down, writhing.

  Frisman stood in stupefied amazement, finally to lift his eyes in horror to the Lieutenant. And the thought had no more than struck home to Frisman than he flung himself back to get the protection of the marines. Breckwell began to gibber, unable to move.

  The marines swept forward. Like a duelist the Lieutenant raised his arm and fired. A bullet ricocheted from the marine officer's breastplate and, instinctively, he fired at the source.

  The bullet tore through the cloak as though it had been flame and the cloak paper. The Lieutenant staggered back and strove to lift his gun again.

  A coughing chatter set up just outside the door. Two marines went down and the rest whirled. Carstone was there, astride the sad
dle of a pneumatic.

  The marines charged toward him, scarcely touched by the slow slugs.

  Carstone's face vanished ' but his fingers kept the trips down. The gun tilted up and, still firing, raked high on the wall.

  Over Carstone swirled a compact knot of fighters. Toutou wasted no time with bullets, but used the butt of his gun. Mawkey smashed into the mass with his chain. Bulger carved a wide path with his bayonet and almost got to the Lieutenant before he staggered, gripping at his stomach, to go down.

  The Lieutenant tried to shout to his men, but he could get no sound forth.

  In agony he watched them cut to pieces by superior weapons. Toutou down.

  Pollard, his arm gone, fighting on. A tangled, thundering mass of soldiery, restricted by the walls jammed into a whirlpool of savage destruction.

  Somebody was tugging at the Lieutenant's shoulders. The mom began to spin from the pain of it. Again he tried to cry out and again no sound came forth.

  He was falling down, down, down in a redwalled pit which had a clear brilliance at the bottom. And then blackness swept away everything.

  Blackness and nothingness¯forever.

  Above the Byward Gate on Tower Hill that flag still flies; the gold is so faded that only one who knows can trace the marks which once made so clear the insignia of a lieutenant, the white field is bleached and patched where furious winds have torn it. It is the first thing men look to in the morning and the last thing men see when the sky fades out and the clear, sad notes of retreat are sounded by the British bugler on Tower Hill.

  That flag still flies, and on the plaque below are graven the words:

  Own that command remains, no matter what happens to its officer, he has not failed.

  Glossary

  The numbers that appear in parentheses directly following the entry words of each definition indicate the page number where the word first appears in the text.

  ack-ack: (pg. 3) Slang. An antiaircraft gun or its fire.-Webster's New World Dictionary