Final Blackout: A Futuristic War Novel

  "Weasel!" bawled the lieutenant. "Leadoff at a thousand yards with your scouts. Bonchamp! Bring up the rear and shoot all stragglers. Chipper and Herrero, wide out on the flanks! Fourth Brigade! Forward!"

  The wind mourned along the deserted ridge, searching out something to twitch. But nearly all signs of the camp had been destroyed, just as there would be left no mark along the line of march by which another force could follow and attack. The wind had to content itself with the cloak of the dead man which it lifted off the legs time and again, and the gaudy ribbon which it rippled over the cooling face.

  Malcolm matched the lieutenant's stride, glancing now and then at the man's quiet profile. Malcolm could not rid himself of the vision of the Duke trying to stop a bullet with his hands and screaming his pleas for life.

  "Lieutenant," he said cautiously and respectfully, "if... if one of your men came down with soldier's sickness ... would you shoot him like that?"

  Malcolm clearly meant himself.

  The lieutenant did not glance at him. A shadow of distaste dropped over him and passed. "It has happened."

  Malcolm avoided the finality of that statement. "But how would you know?

  How do you know that that fellow back there had it? Wouldn't gas¯"

  "Yes. It would."

  "Then ... then¯

  "You've seen men die of soldier's sickness?"

  "Of course."

  "You were in England when the first waves of it came. Over here, when one man got it, his squad got it shortly after. No one knows how it travels.

  Some say by lice, some by air. There was only one way to save a company and that was to execute the squad. "But ... but some are immune!"

  "Maybe. The doctors who tried to make the tests died of it, also. Let's have an end of this, Malcolm!"

  They walked in silence for some time and gradually forgot about it. They had come to a broad valley matted with young trees. Here and there stone walls showed brokenly in the undergrowth; less frequently the gashed sides of a house stared forlornly with its gaping windows. A city had once flourished them. But the lieutenant's only interest in it was to see that the squirrels, rabbits and birds, those Geiger counters of the soldier, flourished through it with the ease of familiarity. It was not radioactive then. Nevertheless the rubble made the walking hard. And they clung to the outskirts, choosing rather an old battlefield than the tomb of the civilians. Pounded into the earth by rain of a dozen years lay an ancient tank, its gun silently covering the clouds which scurried south.

  The men were not in any recognizable formation of march, but there was a plan of sorts despite the appearance of straggling. Loosely they formed a circle two hundred yards in diameter, a formation which would allow both a swift withdrawal into a compact defense unit from any angle of attack and would permit a swift enveloping of any obstacle met, the foremost point merely opening out and closing around. But the movements of the men themselves were quite independent of the organization, for they marched as the pilot of an ailing plane had once flown-not from field to field, but from cover to cover. All open spaces were either traversed at top speed, completely skirted, or else crawled through. The equidistant posts were very flexible of position according to the greatest danger of the terrain; these, too, were loose circles save for the rear guard, which was a long line, the better to pick up any willful stragglers or extricate any which had been trapped in the pits with which all this land abounded-pits which had the appearance of solid ground, built to impede troops and used now by peasants who found a need for clothing and equipment.

  The one officer, if such he could be called, who had latitude of movement for his small group was Bulger Bayonet thrust naked and ready in his belt, helmet pulled threateningly down over one eye, filthy warm flapping against his heels, he roved purposefully and thoroughly, rumbling from flank to flank and beyond, appearing magically inside and outside the circle of march. He would overrun the vanguard, inspect the ground ahead and then go rambling off with two or three scarecrows at his heels to poke into some suspicioned rise of ground and, sometimes, send a runner back to change the whole route of march to roll over the place and pick up cached supplies. After a good day Bulger would begin the evening meal by pulling birds, onions, old cans of beef from an unheard-of time, moldy loaves and wild potatoes from that warm which seemed to have the capacity of a full transport; for while the main discoveries had been shared around, Bulger took a joy in personal collection which outrivaled, if possible, his lieutenant's love of victory without casualty! These choice bits¯and scarce enough they were¯made first, the lieutenant's board and, second, the noncoms' fare. The brigade said of Bulger that he could hear a potato growing at the distance of four kilometers and could smell a can of beef at five.

  The brigade flitted swiftly over an exposed chain of embankments,, which had been a railroad, long ago shelled out of existence and then robbed of its rails for bomb-proof beams. Bulger alone paused at the to his hairy nostrils quivering avidly. He broke his trance and sped forward, presently lumbering past the vanguard. Weasel's narrow face popped alertly from beyond a bush.

  "I don't hear anything," complained Weasel.

  Bulger touched his nose pridefully and swept on, vanishing into the undergrowth ahead. As this was the mid portion of the valley, the only difference of level was a stream. This was revengefully eating away at an old mill dam, having already toppled the shell-bursted mill down the bank. But there was no ocular evidence whatever of anything unusual.

  Telepathically quiet, the word skimmed through the brigade and the route of march shifted. Gian's artillery, which had been annoying its motive power by forbidding their taking the best cover, was balked by the stream until Gian, scurrying up and down the bank, found a shallow bar which had been built up by the downfall of an old bridge.

  Bulger and his two scarecrows flickered beyond a screen of willows and vanished afield; one of the men, as runner, reappeared as a signpost and was scooped up by the advancing Weasel.

  Presently the first sign of habitation was noted by the lieutenant. A rabbit snare flicked at his foot and sprang free. A moment later he brushed through a camouflage of small shrubs and was abruptly confronted by a plowed field. A crude arrangement consisting of a harness and a twisted stick had been turning back the furrows. A woman's cap lay on the untouched ground, but there was no other sign than this and tracks of those who had been there but a moment before.

  Like a bear on the scent of a honey tree, Bulger was plunging along the fringe of wood, searching for a path and failing wholly to find it. The lieutenant, accompanied by Mawkey, came from cover and joined him.

  "I smelled fresh earth," said Bulger, "and here it is. But where the seven devils is the trail?"

  "There," said Mawkey, slightly disdainful. The tunnel looked as if it would refuse to admit anyone larger than a rat terrier, but Mawkey's eyes had seen a broken twig and so had been directed to this covered hole in the undergrowth. , "If they got energy enough to plow, they must have something to eat," reasoned Bulger with his usual single-mindedness. And immediately stooped to paw away the screen.

  The lieutenant brought him back by a yank at his boot and, despite Bulger's size, landed him some ten feet from the hole. There was a sharp explosion and a crater appeared where the tunnel had been.

  Bulger got to his knees looking sheepish.

  "I'll be changing your diapers next ' " said the lieutenant to the assembled. "Falling for a planted grenade!" He faced about and signaled Weasel up with the vanguard. "Drop back with your kettles, Bulger, and be careful you don't drop one on your toe and kill yourself"

  "Wait!" cried Bulger. "Please, sir. Wait! The wind's changed. I smell wood smoke!"

  Weasel tested the air, mouth half-open, walking around in a small circle and looking skyward.

  "There!" cried Bulger. "It's stronger now! Real dry wood burning." And, having redeemed himself, he rumbled after the scent, the slight Weasel trotting at his heels.

  The lieutenant cir
cled his right hand over his head, left hand extended palm down for caution. A few leaves stirred around the borders of the field. The brigade was moving up.

  Presently one of Weasel's men bobbed out before the lieutenant. "Over to the right, sir!'

  The lieutenant swung in that direction and found Weasel and his vanguard standing around a pit, pulling up one of their number. The lieutenant gave a searching glance to the immediate surroundings and stepped forward. The trapped man's leg was bleeding where the stake at the bottom had gouged him. It was not serious and Mawkey laid the fellow out and bandaged it, having placed a chunk of spongy pitch in the wound.

  There were some bones in the excavation, but no sign of any equipment.

  Alertly the lieutenant paced back and forth over the ground. In a moment he thrust a stick into a solid-appearing patch and so knocked the camouflage through. There were bones here as well.

  "Pass the word," he said to a runner.

  Bulger trundled his excited bulk back to them. "Sir, I've found it. About eighty houses and a dozen storerooms."

  "Lead off!"

  The lieutenant strode along at Bulger's heels, knocking in an occasional pit and warily avoiding the invitation of clear walkways, going through brush instead. The wood smoke was apparent to him now, though elusive.

  They came to a flat expanse which was even more brush-covered than the surrounding terrain. There was nothing whatever to remark the presence of people and, had they come by earlier instead of at the time of the evening meal, it is certain they would have missed the village altogether.

  The barest suggestion of heat waved in the air above the place. Only one wisp of smoke could be seen in the evening air, and the source of that could not immediately be traced. The lieutenant, from cover, examined the place minutely and it gradually began to take definite form for him.

  He waited for some time, knowing that the brigade would envelop the place, and then turned to Mawkey. "I am going forward. Pick out and mark all the smoke spots and watch for my signal."

  He pulled down his visor and drew his pistol. Then, wrapping his cloak tightly across his chest, he walked into the open! Instantly several shots snapped at him, two of them striking him and, for an instant, breaking his pace. Dark had been settling slowly for some little time, but the first indication he had of it was his ability to see the flashes from the rifles, which were orange in the half-light. Again shots drilled savagely around him. They came from the center in their highest concentration.

  "Hello, the leader!" shouted the lieutenant in French.

  The firing ceased and from nowhere in particular a voice rose from the flat earth. "We have no wish to see anyone! Go or we shall use grenades!"

  "You are surrounded by the Fourth Brigade. We have artillery!"

  There was a long pause and then, falsely aggressive, the same voice cried:

  "Devil take your artillery! We have much to answer!"

  A grenade bounded from nowhere to the lieutenant's feet. It exploded with a bright flash. The lieutenant lifted himself from the depression some five yards beyond the place where it had gone off.

  "One more chance. Surrender peaceably or take the consequences."

  "Go to the devil!"

  The lieutenant vanished into another patch of cover which was instantly raked by fire. He whistled shrilly twice. Instantly the villagers opened up at the borders of their field. But no shots came in return. Dusk was dropping swiftly now and it was that period of the day when it is both too dark and too light to see moving men.

  The fire from the hidden emplacements slacked and stopped. Mystified and none too sure, the villagers conserved their scanty cartridges.

  Short calls began to sound throughout the clearing, and the lieutenant waited until they had done. There was silence then for several minutes.

  "We still offer you your chance to give over," stated the lieutenant. "All we require is billeting and food."

  "We haven't changed our minds," said the leader.

  "I shall count to ten. If you have not by that time, I cannot answer for the consequences." And he counted, very slowly, to ten. And there was no reply.

  These people were tougher than the lieutenant had suspected. Usually his own careless appearance and the reports were sufficient to shake resolve.

  These survivors of all that science and politics could achieve had become survivor types, of a rare order. He shrugged to himself, little he cared.

  He gave a short whistle in a certain key and there was a faint wave of movement through the clearing. Then, after a short time, the smoke began to clear from the air. Presently there sounded some coughs under the earth. And then more. The smoke which. had vanished now began to thicken in the night. Throughout the village, handfiils of green leaves had been thrust down the camouflaged chimneys.

  The coughing increased as the smoke increased, and there came wails of despair, the rattle of poles which sought to clear the obstructions, and the frenzied swearing of men trying to haul the green leaves from the grates.

  The lieutenant lay upon his back and looked at the evening star, jewel-like in the darkening heavens. Other stars came slowly forth to make up constellations. A breeze played with the treetops and made them bow before the majesty of night.

  "My general!" sobbed the leader. "We have seen the error of our decision.

  What mercy can we expect if we come up now?"

  The lieutenant counted the stars in Cepheus and began upon the Little Bear.

  "My general! For the love of Heaven, have mercy! There are children here!

  They are strangling! What can we expect if we come up now?"

  With a sigh, the lieutenant gave his attention to the Great Bear and tried to make out the Swan, part of which was hidden by the drifting smoke.

  There was a ripping of brush and the thump of a door thrown back and the clearing was immediately alight and fogged with billowing smoke. The lieutenant stood up. Soldiers materialized from the earth and people were herded into weeping, pleading groups. A few madmen gripped rifles, but were so obviously blinded that no one wasted ammunition upon them but merely wrenched the weapons away and pushed them into the crowds.

  "Clear the chimneys," said the lieutenant. "Anyone who happens to have a mask, go below and clear the grates."

  "I would never have surrendered," said the leader, groping toward the voice of command. "But they were going out down there! For the love of Heaven, don't kill us! We are friendly. Truly we are friendly. We shall show you the storehouses, give you beds, women, anything, but don't kill us!"

  The lieutenant turned away from him in disgust and watched his men dropping down steps into the earth.

  "We have so little but we give it all!" cried the leader, pulling at the hem of the lieutenant's cape. "But spare us!"

  "Pollard," said the lieutenant, making a slight motion with his hand. The leader was dragged away.

  Presently Sergeants Chipper and Hanley drew up before their commander. "I guess you can breathe down there now, sir," said Hanley. "At least, on my side. And I've taken a look at the inhabitants, sir, havin' a little more time than some people. A scrawny lot but there ain't a sick one among them."

  "This half all cleared, sir," said the veteran Chipper, indignant at this fancied gibe about his age. "I made damn sure about the bugs. They still must have insect powder 'cause there ain't one." He glared at Hanley.

  "Pollard! Billet the men as the huts will take them. Be certain to collect all weapons and mount a guard upon them. Post sentries at fifty-yard intervals along the edge of the village'

  "Yessir!" said Pollard.

  Gian came up sour because he had had no chance to use his artillery. "Smoke," he muttered, disgustedly.

  "Gian," said the lieutenant as though he had not overheard, "take a post to the north there on that little rise and hide your guns well. From there you can rake anything which puts in an appearance, with the exception, of course, of British troops, providing they are friendly. We'll depend upon you t
o give us a sound night's sleep."

  Gian brightened and got two inches taller. "Anything, sir?"

  "At your discretion."

  "Yessssss, ssssssir!"

  "Mawkey! Locate the leader's house and ask Toutou to please post a sentry over it."

  Bulger dashed by, rubbing his hands together and swearing with delight as he uncovered storehouse after storehouse.

  "Come along, Malcolm," said the lieutenant, presently.

  They followed Mawkey down into the earth and found themselves in a large but low-ceilinged cavern. The roof was arched, supported by crudely hewn logs and railroad rails and smoothed off with a coating of dried white clay. The floor was carpeted with woven willows. Old fortress bunks were ranged along one wall and covered with army blankets. The furniture was all of branches, lashed with a kind of vine, with the exception of the table, which was topped by an old tank plate and supported artistically with upended one-pounders. The fireplace was of metal plate built into mud and stone and was fitted with several ingenious hinged shelves at variant heights above the grate.

  Evidently a fireplace was used because it smoked less than a stove. The utensils which hung about were all military, bearing various army stamps.

  Old blackout curtains were so arranged as to divide the place into sections, but they had strayed so far from their original purpose that they lacked two feet of reaching the roof Two other entrances led off, one near the bunks and another at the side of the outside door. Several pedestals were in place along the walls below roof cavities just big enough for a man's head; outside these were armored-car turrets projecting slightly into dumps of brush. The weapons had already been collected, but their racks occupied a prominent place. A series of channels edged the bottoms of the walls, made of bright airplane alloy, to catch any water which might come in from above.