Battlefield Earth: A Saga of the Year 3000

by L. Ron Hubbard

  Terl had now walked to the console. Dwight said, “Second alert!” into the mine radio. The third would come when Terl pushed the firing button. Action would be called when he was at the platform center and the wires had begun to hum.

  Dwight and his team had only one and a half minutes to do their entire job. They had drilled and drilled in Africa. But one never knew.

  The snow flurries made the visibility sporadic. But he could see what he had to see. My God, that was an awful lot of Brigantes! They were a solid line all around the perimeter of the platform, backs right up against the atmosphere-ionization cable. They looked lumpy in buffalo coats. They were protecting their bow strings but their crossbelts bristled with poisoned arrows.

  Dr. Allen had briefed them on those arrows. The poison was slow but deadly. It caused the nervous system to speed up faster and faster until it killed. He had developed an antidotal serum for it. He had given them all a small shot of it, but he said any wound would need speedy treatment, all the same. They each carried a small ampule of the serum. Dwight hoped it worked.

  Then he saw that there would be seven Brigantes on the platform. Was that the one they called General Snith? And a squad? They had not counted on that. What a fool Snith must be to permit himself to be fired to Psychlo. But Jonnie! He wouldn’t have added that into the plans. Was it too late for Dwight to do something? His orders were very positive. To do nothing but his job.

  They had somebody else on the platform, bound. Who was that? My God, Jonnie’s plan wouldn’t work! He would be in there all but defenseless! Dwight gritted his teeth. His orders were to do his job only. He would. But he had a feeling of despair for Jonnie.

  The Brigante tribe was noisy and cheering over there by the morgue. They were no problem. Dwight turned his attention back to Terl. The Psychlo pushed the firing button.

  “Third alert!” said Dwight into the mine radio.

  The weapons they would use would not interrupt the firing. They had tested them. They also had nuclear weapons in case Psychlos came in on the platform afterward from Psychlo.

  Terl walked over to the center of the platform. He halted. The humming had begun, heard above the shouting and wind. Dwight heard Jonnie’s voice in that enclosure. That was not on schedule.

  Dwight would do his job.

  “Action!” barked Dwight into the mine radio.

  Thirty Scots threw off their coffin lids. Twenty-five hit their igniters. One made ready to rush for the crane. Four were up to form a reserve.

  Flash! In a ragged outer ring, pointing in at the massed Brigantes, twenty-five Russian flamethrowers spewed out their deadly orange spray.

  Like twenty-five hoses, the roaring inferno slashed into the Brigantes. “For Allison!” came a Scot battle cry.

  “For Bittie!”

  “Scotland forever!”

  Dwight hit the button of a planted loudspeaker. It was a recording of charging, trumpeting elephants, the sound that would bring terror to the Brigantes.

  The mercenaries surged forward, trying to get their bows into action. Scything flame shriveled the bowstrings. The Brigantes were drawing bayonets to charge.

  The tribe by the morgue screamed, adding to the din. They turned and ran with all their might out into the plain, trampling one another as they sought to get away.

  A Scot had a flameout. A group of Brigantes were charging him with bayonets.

  “Cover Andrew!” barked Dwight.

  The Scots on either side of the dead flamethrower widened their arcs. Andrew had a claymore out. He cut down the Brigante officer and then he himself went down.

  Two of the reserves hacked their way into the mess with Lochaber axes and slaughtered the Brigantes stabbing at Andrew.

  Dwight glanced at his watch. Fifty-eight seconds to go.

  Flamethrowers were sending boiling flame into Brigantes. Their buffalo coats and monkey-skin suits were balls of fire. Another attempted charge by them.

  Dwight tried to see through the flame and snow. The crane. It should be moving now!

  Yes, the operator had gotten to it. One of the reserves was protecting him with a flamethrower.

  They had buried the dome cover for the console in the ground with the cable already attached. It was evidently frozen in. It was made of the armor from a discarded tank. The bottom of it was equipped with plane skids which would anneal to the metal on which the console sat and seal it.

  Dwight could see the top of the crane dipping. The operator was rocking it to break the dome loose from the ground.

  There it came.

  It rose with a rush. It swung. The operator steadied it.

  Brigantes were rushing the crane. The Scot there blasted at them with a roaring flamethrower.

  The operator was coolly swinging the dome over to position. It could not go further than the atmosphere-armor screen. Dwight could see the operator throw the controls over to remote. Jonnie had the remote there in the cage and would have to do the rest of it if and when he shut off the current to the armor cable.

  Dwight tried to see what was happening on the platform. Snow flurries, smoke, and roaring arcs of savage orange flame barred his view. He was sure Jonnie needed help. He gritted his teeth and did his job.

  Here and there along the perimeter the flamethrowers were now off. Changing bottles? No. The Brigantes within their reach were burning piles. Black, greasy smoke was rising up through the white snow.

  Dwight glanced at his watch. They had time. His own cue to dive back into cover was when Jonnie turned off the cable and the dome began to lower. Then he was under orders to get back in protective cover in the coffin.

  Scots were mopping up with flamethrowers. Two of the reserves were speedily putting Andrew in his coffin. They were shoving wound pads hastily under the radiation suit.

  A Brigante rose out of a pile of corpses. He had a bayonet. He charged. A thrown dirk hit him. A flamethrower erupted and he went forward as a spinning ball of fire.

  The crane operator was out of his crane and running back to his coffin foxhole.

  “Ten seconds to withdraw!” said Dwight into the mine radio.

  It was suddenly quiet except for flame crackles and the wind. Nothing was moving in the Brigante ranks but smoke and small tongues of fire. Allison and Bittie had been avenged.

  The fleeing remains of the tribe were way out on the plain, still running.

  The smoke was very thick. Dwight could not see what was happening on the platform.

  Numbers were coming back to him from his mine radio; a number was a signal that a man was back in his lead coffin in a foxhole and had fastened the lid down from within. Dwight was checking them off. All reported except Andrew and he knew he had been put inside his coffin. Dwight hoped it wasn’t his coffin for real.

  Dwight couldn’t see the platform for the smoke.

  He watched the crane.

  Wires were still humming. They must all be under cover before the recoil, Jonnie had said.

  Dwight looked at his watch. The armor curtain had not gone off. The top of the crane had not begun to move.

  He was in an agony of indecision. But he could not get inside that cage with the atmosphere-armor curtain still on. He wanted to disobey orders. He knew Jonnie was in trouble, for the curtain had not gone off on time.

  But he had been chosen because he would obey orders. Time was up. The humming had almost ended. Dwight crawled back to his coffin foxhole, scrambled in, and fastened down the lid from within.

  4

  When he heard, “Alert three!” from the mine radio in his belt, Jonnie had slid out of the coffin buried close by the platform and inside the atmosphere-armor curtain. He was dressed in a camouflage radiation suit and wore an air mask under its face shield. His pouch was hanging from a wide belt. He was armed with three kill-clubs, a dirk and a flamethrower. He had a couple of other things for contingencies.

  He had not expected the Brigantes to be inside on the platform. Six guards and General Snith! He hadn’t t
hought even a Brigante would be crazy enough to let himself be fired to Psychlo. Money! They had bundles of money on the platform.

  They were all looking at Terl. Terl was turning away from pushing the firing button. The Brigantes had not noticed Jonnie thirty feet away and slightly behind them.

  Well, it would not matter. Jonnie started to ignite the flamethrower.

  And then he saw a movement. They had something in a long bundle. The end of it was open. They had somebody there. A hostage they were taking to Psychlo? Gray hair, the scrap of a cloak.

  Sir Robert!

  Jonnie had to abandon any thought of using the flamethrower. It would kill Sir Robert as well!

  Terl was walking easily and confidently back from the console to the platform center. The wires were humming. He halted, thunderstruck. Just a moment ago he had seen what he had thought was the animal, outside. Way over by the car.

  And here he was inside the armor curtain!

  Was the curtain off? No, he could see it shimmer through the snow. How had the animal gotten through it?

  Just as Terl was about to charge, he saw the animal drop a long rod weapon he carried. The animal’s hand darted toward a pouch at his belt.

  Jonnie withdrew the contracts Terl had signed. He skimmed them to the platform center, the red seals glaring in the falling snow. Unmistakably the contracts Terl had signed!

  Jonnie shouted as loud as he could to be heard through masks and faceplates: “Don’t forget to record these on Psychlo!”

  Terl was horror-struck. The last thing he wanted to appear on Psychlo’s platform were those phony contracts! Terl started to dive toward them and pick them up. He collided with Snith just as the general sought to give orders to his bowmen.

  Reaching down, Jonnie picked up a beryllium ultimate bomb. He had intended to just throw it on the platform. It was wrapped with a cord. The golden glow of its metal, its size, and its hexagonal shape made it totally recognizable. The cord was not a fuse. The fuse was inside it, set for eight minutes by a timing device on the top. It had an access plate in the bottom that was purposely jammed.

  Jonnie touched the igniter he still held to the carrying-cord end. Two poisoned arrows whizzed by him.

  “Grenade!” shouted Jonnie.

  He pitched the eighty-pound weight straight at Terl. It struck the Psychlo a glancing blow and bounced down under his feet.

  One glimpse of a lit grenade, their own favorite weapon, caused the Brigantes to run. At that moment trumpeting elephants sounded outside. The Brigantes hit the atmosphere-armor curtain and were thrown back from it.

  Terl took one look at the bomb and any thought he had about papers fled as his horror turned into terror.

  It was the bomb! But it had a time fuse. How had the animal gotten it away from Brown Limper, unwrapped it, and changed the fuse all in no time at all?

  But Terl knew what he had to do. He had to get rid of it fast!

  He was about to pitch it off the platform when the Brigantes came thudding back in recoil off the curtain. He knew that if he threw it, the bomb would just bounce back.

  The wires were humming! Terl knew he had to get that access plate off and remove the core and do it fast! He could even see the time fuse closing.

  He crouched down and began to claw at the access plate in the bottom. It was stuck! He fought with it.

  Jonnie sprinted past Terl. He had to get Sir Robert and get him over to the console.

  A Brigante was up on one knee. A poisoned arrow slapped past Jonnie’s head.

  Jonnie dragged Sir Robert clear of the long case. His hands and feet were tied. Sir Robert was shouting something, something like, “Leave me and save yourself!”

  All chaos had broken out beyond the curtain. There were Scot battle cries, and the roar of stampeding elephants.

  Flame splashed against the other side of the atmosphere armor. The falling snow, even inside the platform, was converting to rain. Heat!

  Terl was clawing at the access plate. He had no annealing knife to cut the metal. He was trying to scrape a circle and cut it with his claws. He was bellowing in frustration and adding to the uproar.

  Two Brigantes charged Jonnie. He let go of Sir Robert, snatched a kill-club from his belt, and struck twice. They went down.

  He was able to drag Sir Robert a bit further. It was a long way to that console!

  Another Brigante was up. Jonnie threw the kill-club. It hit the mercenary’s forehead and his head went back at an incredible angle.

  Snith was up, shouting and pointing at Jonnie.

  The din was deafening outside this cage.

  A Brigante tackled Jonnie in the legs. Jonnie got another kill-club and smashed his brains out. He got Sir Robert a little further. The Scot was heavy!

  Snith was trying to get the last two of his guards to fire. Their bow-strings were too wet. They snatched out bayonets and charged.

  Jonnie threw a kill-club and one Brigante was catapulted backward. The other came on. Jonnie took his last kill-club from his belt. He parried the bayonet and struck the Brigante alongside the head. The kill-club flew out of his hand.

  He got Sir Robert a bit closer to the console. He was trying to pick Sir Robert up and carry him.

  For a moment Jonnie’s back was turned. General Snith snatched a poison arrow out of his crossbelt and rushed.

  The heavy impact of the body hit Jonnie’s pouch. General Snith raised the poisoned arrow and drove it into Jonnie’s upper left arm, drove it in through the radiation suit, and deep into the flesh.

  Jonnie went down. He rolled, pulling a dirk. He came up and drove the knife into Snith’s heart.

  The pain of the wound was savage. Jonnie grasped the arrow shaft and pulled it straight out. But he knew the damage was done. The ferocious fire in the wound was almost more than he could bear.

  He gritted his teeth and rallied his strength. They had said it was a slow poison. He still might have time to save Sir Robert and the console.

  He grabbed the hilt of the knife and tried to yank it out of Snith’s heart. It was stuck. He looked at Terl.

  The Psychlo, still raving, was clawing at the access plate. Tearing his claw points he was actually cutting into the hard metal to make a circle and remove the core.

  It was quieter outside. Dwight’s voice came out of the mine radio at his belt, “Ten seconds to withdraw!”

  Jonnie knew he was late.

  The wires were still humming.

  Jonnie made himself concentrate. He still had a job to do. He could feel his heart revving up.

  He got a hand under Sir Robert’s armpit and dragged him through the slush. He got to the console. He knew it had a bomb in it he would have to disarm fast.

  But he tucked Sir Robert in close to the console so the dome coming down would not amputate his arms or legs.

  He glanced at the console. The switch was in the up position. It would have to be in the down position when next this was fired. He wished he had time to tell somebody.

  He fumbled for his remote control box. There was broken glass in his pouch. His arm felt like it was on fire. That broken glass was the serum ampule! He had no serum.

  The remote shook. No, it was his hand shaking. He threw the switch and swung the crane. No. He had to turn off the armor curtain first. He was getting flashes of blackness. His heart was beating faster and faster.

  The armor curtain! He crawled to the bus bar and got it off. Back at the console he looked up at the dome. He operated the remote, positioning the dome exactly above them so it would come down correctly. He threw the switch to lower it. It was coming down too slowly. The cables must be stiff. He could not help that.

  He got a hatchet out of his belt for the cables. He would have to be ready to hack them off the instant the humming stopped.

  Jonnie lost track of time. He could still hear the humming of the wires.

  He looked toward Terl over on the platform. The monster seemed to have succeeded in opening the access plate. He was han
dling the bomb with great care, extracting the heavy metal core.

  Suddenly Jonnie knew what Terl was going to do. He would throw that core at him. It would travel like a bullet! It could go straight through him.

  Abruptly Jonnie saw something else.

  Brown Limper!

  He was rushing forward with a Thompson submachine gun in his hands. He had gone through where the armor curtain had been at the far end of the platform. He was trying to get so close to Jonnie he couldn’t miss.

  The dome was not yet down.

  Terl had the core in his paw now. He was going to throw it at Jonnie.

  It was quieter. There was only smoke and falling snow and the creak of the cables lowering the dome. Jonnie pointed at Brown Limper.

  “Terl! He’s going to shoot!” he shouted. Terl spun around and saw Brown Limper. He saw him raising the Thompson to aim it. One shot at this moment would shatter the firing.

  Terl threw. He threw with all his strength.

  The core hit Brown Limper in the side. It ripped through and hit his spine. The Thompson clattered to the ground.

  Brown Limper fell in a jerking tangle of arms and legs, screaming: “Damn you, Tyler! Damn you!” He lay still.

  The wires were still humming.

  Terl yelled at Jonnie, “I still win, rat brain!” He knew better than to move now.

  Jonnie’s head was pounding. His heart was going too fast. But he could shout back. And he felt he had to pin Terl there, distract him.