Sixth Column (8 page)

like trying to hear radio with your bare ears."

"That's what I mean. Mysterious. Like the Indians when they first met up

with the white man's fire arms, they died and they didn't know why. Think

about it. I'll shut up and let you."

Graham produced the first suggestion. "Major?"

"Yes?"

"Why couldn't we kidnap 'em?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, your idea is to throw a scare into 'em, isn't it? How about a

surprise raiding party, using the Ledbetter effect. We could go in one of the

scout cars at night and pick out some really big shot, maybe the prince royal

himself. We knock out everybody we come in contact with the projectors, and

we walk right in and snatch him."

"Any opinions about that, gentlemen?" Ardmore said, reserving his own.

"It seems to have something to it," commented Brooks. "I would suggest

that the projectors be set to render unconscious for a number of hours rather

than to kill. It seems to me that the psychological effect would be heightened

if they simply awoke and found their big man gone. One has no recollection

of what has happened under such circumstances, as Wilkie and Mitsui can

testify."

"Why stop at the prince royal?" Wilkie wanted to know. "We could set up

four raiding parties, two to a car, and make maybe twelve raids in a single

night. That way we could knock over enough of their number-one men to

really cause some disorganization."

"That seems like a good idea," Ardmore agreed. "We may not be able to

pull off these raids more than once. If we could do enough damage right at

the top in one blow, we might both demoralize them and set off a general

uprising. What's the matter, Mitsui?"

He had noticed the Oriental looking unhappy as the plan was developed.

Mitsui spoke reluctantly, "It will not work, I am afraid."

"You mean we can't kidnap them that way? Do you know something we

don't about their guard methods?"

"No, no. With a force that reaches through walls and knocks a man down

before he knows you are there I believe you can capture them, all right: But

the results will not be as you foresee them."

"Why not?"

"Because you will gain no advantage. They will not assume that you are

holding their chief men as prisoners; they will assume that each one has

committed suicide. The results will be horrible."

It was purely a psychological point, with room for difference of opinion.

But the white men could not believe that the PanAsians would dare to

retaliate if it were made unmistakably plain to them that their sacred leaders

were not dead, but at the mercy of captors. Besides, it was a plan that

offered immediate action, which they were spoiling for. Ardmore finally

agreed to its adoption for want of something better, although he had a feeling

of misgiving which he suppressed.

For the next few days all effort was bent toward preparing the scout cars

for the projected task. Scheer performed Herculean mechanical jobs, working

eighteen and twenty hours a day, with the others working joyfully under his

supervision. Calhoun even came off his high horse and agreed to take part in

the raid, although he did not help with the "menial" work. Thomas went out on

a quick scouting trip and made certain of the location of twelve well-scattered

PanAsian seats of government.

In the buoyancy of spirit which resulted from a plan of campaign, any

plan of campaign, Ardmore failed to remember his own decision that what

was required was a sixth column, an underground, or at least, unsuspected

organization which would demoralize the enemy from within. This present

plan was not such a one, but an essentially military plan. He began to think of

himself as, if not Napoleon, at least as a modern Swamp Rat, or Sandino,

striking through the night at the professional soldiers and fading away.

But Mitsui was right.

The television receiver was used regularly, with full recording, to pick up

anything that the overlords had to broadcast to their slaves. It had become

something of a custom to meet in the common room at eight in the evening to

listen to the regular broadcast in which new orders were announced to the

population. Ardmore encouraged it; the "hate session" it inspired was, he

believed, good for morale.

Two nights before the projected raid they were gathered as usual. The

ugly, broad face of the usual propaganda artist was quickly replaced by

another and older PanAsian whom he introduced as the "heavenly custodian

of peace and order." The older man came quickly to the point. The American

servants of a provincial government had committed the hideous sin of

rebelling against their wise rulers and had captured the sacred person of the

governor and held him prisoner in his own palace. The soldiers of the

heavenly emperor had brushed aside the insane profaners in the course of

which the governor had most regrettably gone to his ancestors.

A period of mourning was announced, commencing at once, which would

be inaugurated by permitting the people of the province to expiate the sins of

their cousins. The television scene cut from the room from which he spoke.

It came to rest on great masses of humanity, men, women, children,

huddled, jammed, behind barbed wire. The pick-up came down close enough

to permit the personnel of the Citadel to see the blind misery on the faces of

the crowd, the wept-out children, the mothers carrying babies, the helpless

fathers.

They did not have to watch those faces long. The pick-up panned over

the packed mob, acre on acre of helpless human animals, then returned to a

steady close-up of one section.

They used the epileptigenic ray on them. Now they no longer resembled

anything human. It was, instead, as if tens of thousands of monstrous

chickens had had their necks wrung all at once and had been thrown into the

same pen to jerk out their death spasms. Bodies bounded into the air in

bone-breaking, spine-smashing fits. Mothers threw their infants from them, or

crushed them in uncontrollable, viselike squeeze.

The scene cut back to the placid face of the Asiatic dignitary. He

announced with what seemed to be regret in his voice that penance for sins

was not sufficient, it was necessary also to be educational, in this case to the

extent of one in every thousand.

Ardmore did a quick calculation in his head. A hundred fifty thousand

people! It was unbelievable.

But it was soon believed. The pick-up cut again, this time to a residential

street in an American city. It followed a squad of PanAsian soldiers into the

living room of a family. They were gathered about a television receiver,

plainly stunned by what they had just seen. The mother was huddling a

young girl child to her shoulder, trying to quiet her hysteria. They seemed

stupefied, rather than frightened, when the soldiers burst into their home. The

father produced his card without argument; the squad leader compared it

with a list, and the soldiers attended to him.

They had evidently been instructed to use a method of killing that was

not pretty.

Ardmore shut off the receiver. "The raid is off," he announced. "Go to

bed, all of you. And each of you take a sleeping pill tonight. That's an order!"

They left at once. No one said anything. After they were gone, Ardmore

turned the receiver back on and watched it through to the end. Then he sat

alone for a long time, trying to get his thoughts back into coherence. Those

who order sleeping drafts won't take them.

CHAPTER FOUR

Ardmore kept very much to himself for the next two days, taking his

meals in his quarters, and refusing anything but the briefest interviews. He

saw his error plainly enough now; it was small solace to him that it had been

another's mistake which had resulted in the massacres-he felt symbolically

guilty.

But the problem remained with him. He knew now that he had been right

when he had decided on a sixth column. A sixth column! Something which

would conform in every superficial way to the pattern set up by the rulers, yet

which would have in it the means of their eventual downfall. It might take

years, but there must be no repetition of the ghastly mistake of direct action.

He knew intuitively that somewhere in Thomas' report was the idea he

needed. He played it back again and again, but still he couldn't get it, even

though he now knew it by heart. "They are systematically stamping out

everything that is typically American in culture. The schools are gone, so are

the newspapers. It is a capital offense to print anything in English. They have

announced the early establishment of a system of translators for all business

correspondence into their language; in the meantime all mail must be

approved as necessary. All meetings are forbidden except religious

meetings."

"I suppose that is a result of their experience in India. Keeps the slaves

quiet." That was his own voice, sounding strange in reproduction.

"I suppose so, sir. Isn't it an historical fact that all successful empires

have tolerated the local religions, no matter what else they suppressed?"

"I suppose so. Go ahead."

"The real strength of their system, I believe, is in their method of

registration. They apparently were all set to put it into force, and pressed

forward on that to the exclusion of other matters. It's turned the United States

into one big prison camp in which it is almost impossible to move or

communicate without permission from the jailers."

Words, words, and more words! He had played them over so many times

that the significance was almost lost. Perhaps there was nothing in the

report, after all-nothing but his imagination.

He responded to a knock at the door. It was Thomas. "They asked me to

speak to you, sir," he said diffidently.

"What about?"

"Well--they are all gathered in the common room. They'd like to talk with

you."

Another conference-and not of his choosing, this time. Well, he would

have to go. "Tell them I will be in shortly."

"Yes, sir."

After Thomas had gone, he sat for a moment, then went to a drawer and

took out his service side arm. He could smell mutiny in the very fact that

someone had dared to call a general meeting without his permission. He

buckled it on, then tried the slide and the change, and stood looking at it.

Presently he unbuckled it and put it back into the drawer. It wouldn't help him

in this mess.

He entered, sat down in his chair at the head of the table, and waited.

"Well?"

Brooks glanced around to see if anyone else wished to answer, cleared

his throat, and said, "Uh-we wanted to ask you if you had any plan for us to

follow."

"I do not have-as yet."

"Then we do have!" It was Calhoun.

"Yes, Colonel?"

"There is no sense in hanging around here with our hands tied. We have

the strongest weapons the world has ever seen, but they need men to

operate them. "

"Well?"

"We are going to evacuate and go to South America! There we can find

a government which will be interested in superior weapons."

"What good will that do the United States?"

"It's obvious. The empire undoubtedly intends to extend its sway over

this entire hemisphere. We can interest them in a preventive war. Or perhaps

we can raise up an army of refugees."

"No!"

"I am afraid you can't help yourself, Major." The tone held malicious

satisfaction.

He turned to Thomas. "Are you with them on this?"

Thomas looked unhappy. "I had hoped that you would have a better

plan, sir."

"And you, Dr. Brooks?"

"Well-it seems feasible. I feel much as Thomas does."

"Graham?"

The man gave him answer by silence. Wilkie looked up and then away

again.

"Mitsui?"

"I'll go back outside, sir. I have things to finish."

"Scheer?"

Scheer's jaw muscles quivered. "I'll stick if you do, sir."

"Thanks." He turned to the rest. "I said, `No!' and I mean it. If any of you

leave here, it will be in direct violation of your oaths. That goes for you,

Thomas! I'm not being arbitrary about this. The thing you propose to do is on

all fours with the raid I canceled. So long as the people of the United States

are hostages at the mercy of the PanAsians we can not take direct military

action! It doesn't make any difference whether the attack comes from inside

or outside, thousands, maybe millions, of innocent people will pay for it with

their lives!"

He was very much wrought up, but not too much so to look around and

see what effect his words were having. He had them back-or would have

them in a few minutes. All but Calhoun. They were looking disturbed.

"Supposing you are right, sir"-it was Brooks speaking very gravely"supposing you are right, is there anything we can do?"

"I explained that once before. We have to form what I called a `sixth

column,' lie low, study out their weak points, and work on them."

"I see. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps it is necessary. But it calls for a

sort of patience more suited to gods than to men."