A Large Anthology of Science Fiction

by Jerry

  “Set ’em at medium,” Joe said. “We want to start off slow/’ They came to where the bear was, and took up a good position on a high place. Joe called in his mike to the hunter thing. “Stand by, houn’ dog, and slip over here to back us up.” Then he called to the bear. “Hey, boy. This way, boy. This way.”

  THE GREY-GREEN thing moved back and the bear saw the new enemy, two of them. He didn’t hesitate; he was ready to charge anything that moved. He was only five feet away when their small guns popped. The force knocked him down, and he rolled out of the way, dazed; he turned again for another charge and came at them, all claws and teeth.

  Joe’s gun popped again. This time the bear staggered, but still came on. Joe backed up, pushing at his gun dial to raise the power. He bumped into Ruthie behind him and they both fell. Joe’s voice was a crazy scream. “Get him.”

  The hunting machine moved fast. Its sharp forearm came like an uppercut, under the jaw and into the brain.

  He lay, looking smaller, somehow, but still big, his ragged fur matted with blood. Fleas were alive on it, and flies already coming. Joe and Ruthie looked down at him and took big breaths.

  “You shouldna got behind me,” Joe said as soon as he caught his breath. “I coulda kept it going longer if you’da just stayed out of the way.”

  “You told me to,” Ruthie said. “You told me to stay right behind you.”

  “Well, I didn’t mean that close.”

  Ruthie sniffed. “Anyway,” she said, “how are you going to get the fur off it?”

  “Hmmmph.”

  “I don’t think that moth-eaten thing will make much of a rug. It’s pretty dirty, too, and probably full of germs.”

  Joe walked around the bear and turned its head sideways with his toe. “Be a big messy job, all right, skinning it. Up to the elbows in blood and gut, I guess.”

  “I didn’t expect it to be like this at all,” Ruthie said. “Why don’t you just forget it? You had your fun.”

  Joe stood, looking at the bear’s head. He watched a fly land on its eye and then walk down to a damp nostril.

  “Well, come on,” Ruthie took her small pack. “I want to get back in time to take a bath before supper.”

  “Okay.” Joe leaned over his mike. “Come on ol’ Rover, ol’ hound dog. You did fine.”

  THE BRIDGE

  G.G. Revelle

  His orders were final. And how could these terrified souls know their fate was his own?

  TWO LOW flying interceptor jets screamed overhead, climbing for much needed altitude as they headed out to sea. The Captain took off his steel helmet and looked up at the thunderous roar just before he leaped from the still moving jeep. When his feet touched the ground he moved quickly, shouting orders at the olive-drab truck convoy he had been leading. He pointed his finger at the side of the road where he wanted the small stuff. The “duce and a half’s” he directed to the opposite side of the road. Then he put his helmet back on.

  He watched as the troops quickly dismounted and assembled. He lighted a cigarette while he waited for his three officers. Only then did he look at the Bridge.

  The massive steel structure spanning the river was six lanes wide, cantilever style with curved upper and lower cords. The Bridge looked trim and new. It was the Captain’s responsibility to see that it stayed way.

  He stuck the cigarette in his mouth and reached inside the rear of the jeep and checked his radio set. It was set on K channel, 29.2. He expected no messages, except in an emergency.

  While he had the time he took a yellow sheet of paper out of his pocket and read the words pasted on it for the fourth time. Somehow they never changed; they always read the same. And each time he got a sinking sensation in his stomach when he read them.

  Captain Alfred Lowary put the yellow paper away quickly when the three junior officers of the Battery reported. He returned their salutes in a lazy sort of way. He took off his helmet again.

  “The orders are the same as briefing,” he said. “Lieutenant Kastner will take the third platoon across the river to the West side. The second platoon, Lieutenant Tudor, will move North of the entrance on this side and take up position in reserve. Lieutenant Meyers will set up defense on this side.” He inhaled on the cigarette and looked at Tudor. “Place your machine guns carefully. I want a cross-fire on that slight bend on the road down there.”

  Tudor nodded.

  The Captain pinpointed Meyers with his eyes. “You’ve got the ‘hotspot’ . . . Just remember . . . No one gets on the Bridge!”

  “But—” Meyers began.

  “No buts. I said no one. Understand?”

  Meyers’ “Yes, sir,” was barely audible.

  “Any questions?” the Captain asked.

  They shook their heads negative, except Meyers. He said, “Just one thing, Captain.”

  “What’s that, Lieutenant?” Lowary asked.

  “Are we supposed to shoot our own people?”

  Lowary’s face grew hard. “If we have to, Lieutenant,” he said. “If we have to.” The tone of his voice told them that he wanted to avoid any discussion on the subject.

  There was silence. Finally Lowary said, “That’s it, then. Let’s move.”

  The Officers saluted and began to move off. Tudor took two steps, then halted and returned. “How much time do you think is left, Captain?” he asked.

  Lowary took in the man’s square face, the set of his jaw. Tudor was ex-combat, infantry during the last war.

  “Who knows, Lieutenant! Minutes . . . or hours. It all depends on how strong the enemy is, how fast they’re moving, if they are sending a boy to do a man’s job.”

  Tudor looked down the river in the direction of the City some thirty miles away. He seemed to have difficulty finding words. Lowary knew what he was thinking and it made him feel weak and inadequate.

  Lowary said softly, “We knew it would come some day, didn’t we, Tudor?”

  Tudor faced him. “I guess we did . . .” he hesitated.

  “Well?”

  “I just didn’t think I would draw this kind of duty. I don’t mind fighting, I’ve had my share. But I guess I feel as Meyers does. This will be something new for me, shooting my own people.”

  “Perhaps we won’t have to,” Lowary said.

  Tudor stepped back a pace and gave him a salute. “You don’t believe that any more than I do, Captain.” He began to walk away swiftly.

  Lowary watched him go and he wondered how many men in the Battery were thinking the same thing? It could create a serious psychological block. Damn it. It was bothering him too. But he could do it if he had to. He knew he could.

  He climbed into his jeep and adjusted the radio squelch button, cutting down on the steady crackling noise. He found himself repeating under his breath. I can do it because I know I have to. I can do it because . . . He jammed down on the starter and shoved the gearshift into first. He had to force the thoughts from his mind. He had orders to follow; orders left no room for personal feelings. Yet he knew the yellow paper in his pocket was mocking him.

  The jeep was opposite the bridge entrance when he halted it momentarily. Lieutenant Meyers was busy talking to a machine-gunner named Morgan. As Lowary recalled, from what little he had seen during the three weeks he had been commanding the outfit since his transfer from the middle west, Morgan was a conscientious type of soldier. Meyers was making a good choice for such a delicate position. He moved on.

  The tires made a low singing sound when he rolled on the bridge, heavy tread pounding on steel grating.

  A sign attached to an upright girder caught his eye. He smiled sardonically and he wondered what the author had in mind when he phrased it.

  It said: IN EVENT OF AIR ATTACK—DRIVE OFF THE BRIDGE.

  The Captain shook his head.

  When he got to the center of the bridge he halted the jeep. He got out and crossed over the lanes to the south railing and looked down at the gray water. It looks muddy, he thought. A wide, muddy snake windi
ng its way down to the City. He looked at the horizon. He couldn’t see the City but he knew it was there. He wondered for how long!

  It will light up like a torch, he thought. One huge sheet of red and orange flame a mile high, like the gates of hell swinging open. Then there would be nothing but a towering mushroom of black smoke to mark the spot of the largest City in the world.

  He found his hand clutching something in his pocket. He took it out and looked at it. Then, bitterly, he put it away. It was the yellow sheet of paper again. To read it would be torture.

  Lowary ran the zipper up on his loose fitting green field jacket as a sudden chill took him. He blamed it on the nonexistent wind as he lighted another cigarette.

  The sound of a motor caused him to look up. He narrowed his eyes, looking at the far end of the bridge. It was Lieutenant Kastner; he could tell by the foot resting carelessly on the outside fender. Kastner drove as though he were resting in an easy chair with his feet nestled on a hassock.

  Kastner swung out of the jeep loosely, with the grace of a well coordinated athlete. A wide grin split his face.

  “Just on my way to report to you, Captain. Everything is set up on my side.”

  Lowary smiled. He had been on his way to check Kastner. Lowary took in the blond man’s well proportioned body. Kastner looked like the recruit ad on a “wild-blue-yonder” poster.

  Kastner’s eyes left Lowary’s face. The Captain followed the other’s gaze upward. Two long, white vapor trails were cutting across the blue sky.

  “They’re ours,” Kastner said. “They’re heading North by East, toward the ocean.” He looked at Lowary. “Maybe they can stop it before it starts!”

  “Maybe,” the Captain said softly. In his heart he knew it was only a faint hope. The Air Force never tried to conceal the fact that some of the enemy could be expected to sneak through in the event of attack.

  “I don’t think we’ll have much trouble at our end of the bridge, Captain. I don’t think anyone will be fighting to go in that direction,” he nodded down the river, in the direction of the City.

  “I guess not,” Lowary said absently.

  “This waiting can be murder,” Kastner said. “It just doesn’t seem right, waiting to be clobbered. Sitting here until they drop one down our throats before we can fight back.”

  Lowary smiled bitterly. “It’s always been that way, Kastner. I suppose it always will be.” Lowary squashed the cigarette butt with his heel.

  “How’s Meyers taking all this?” Kastner asked. Lowary raised his eyebrows. “His sister works in the City,” Kastner went on. “They’re pretty close.”

  “I didn’t know,” Lowary replied. He thought, perhaps I should change assignments. Kastner wouldn’t picture every woman who might try to break through as his sister. It would make it easier on Meyers.

  “You’re from Dakota, aren’t you, Captain?”

  “I was stationed there for three years before this assignment. This is my first trip East.”

  “Married?”

  “Wife . . . son and daughter. The girl is eight, the boy twelve.” The picture of blond, thin, lovable little Susan came to his mind. And Ronnie, with the freshly found sense of humor, who wanted to be a writer when he grew up . . . if he grew up. He hadn’t seen them or Dot since the transfer came unexpectedly. He missed them, badly. He hadn’t realized how much until just this minute.

  “Did you bring your family with you?” Kastner asked.

  Lowary shook his head. “No. Dot stayed behind to sell some of the furniture, and to let the children finish school. It’s no good changing schools in the middle of a semester.”

  “I guess it isn’t. I wouldn’t know though. I’m single.”

  The sound of rubber pounding on the steel grating caused them both to turn. The Captain expected to see an Army 2½ ton truck. The truck wasn’t olive-drab, it was white. BAKERY was stenciled on the side of the closed cabin in red letters.

  Kastner moved to the opposite lane on a fast run. He waved his arms. “What are you doing on the bridge?” he shouted. “It’s closed to civilians.”

  The driver stuck his balding head out of the window. His face was dirty and tired. “The Lieutenant back there said it was O.K.” He looked at Lowary. “I’m only going to Kingston, Captain.”

  Lowary turned to Kastner. “Check this guy. I’ll be back.” He jumped into his jeep and wheeled it around. This time he kept the accelerator to the floor. Meyers was a fool!

  He found the tall, thin officer leaning on the rail, looking down the river toward the City. He leaped from the jeep, reached Meyers with two strides.

  “If you have to do that, Lieutenant, do it where the troops can’t see you. It’s bad for morale,” he said bitterly.

  Meyers spun around quickly.

  “You had orders to keep this bridge closed, Lieutenant. Why didn’t you?”

  Meyers opened his mouth, then shut it without saying a word. “Speak up,” Lowary raised his voice. Meyers’ eyes met his. “You wouldn’t understand, Captain,” Meyers said evenly.

  “Try me,” Lowary fought to keep his voice down.

  “You seem to forget that these are our people . . . not the enemy. He was just a poor working slob who wanted to get home to be with his wife and kids. To him it might be his last day on earth. Who are we to deny that?”

  Lowary said nothing.

  Meyers said, “You’re not worrying, your family is safe out in the Middle West. We know people around here. They aren’t just shadows. We should be helping them.”

  The Captain took off his helmet He reached for another cigarette. Finally he said, “Do you realize how important this bridge is if there is an attack? It connects one of the routes designated for the relief of the City if it is hit. You were too young for the last war so you probably don’t realize what happens when wanderers, escapees hit the road. They can tie it up like a knot so that no one moves. They have other routes they can use. This one is closed. We’ve got to keep it for emergency use.”

  “What’s one truck?” Meyers said.

  “One truck, loaded with explosives could park in the middle of this huge erector set and blow it sky high. All the Reds aren’t in those planes the Coastal Defense sighted. We have some right here, waiting.”

  “But he wasn’t a Red. He lives in Kingston!” Meyers protested.

  “How do you know?” Lowary said simply. He didn’t wait for Meyers’ answer, he turned and began to walk away.

  “Captain!”

  Lowary turned at the sound of Tudor’s heavy voice. The stocky officer was waving at him from up the road, pumping his arm with clenched fist up and down, the signal for double time. Lowary took off on the run. He could hear Meyers’ feet pounding behind him.

  Tudor was standing beside a young corporal looking down the steep, rocky embankment at one of the concrete piers supporting the bridge. A small figure was making its way toward it.

  “It looks like one of our boy’s decided to go over the hill,” Tudor said tersely.

  Lowary faced the young corporal. “Unsling that rifle, son, and see if you can pick him off.”

  Lowary felt Tudor’s hand on his arm. “There’s no need for that, Captain. I’ll send a squad down to pick him up.”

  Lowary glanced down at the hand. Tudor removed it. He spoke directly to the corporal, “I said see if you can pick him off!” The soldier hesitated. Lowary knew why. The figure down there was in uniform, probably a friend.

  The Captain snatched the rifle from the corporal’s frozen fingers. He slapped the stock against his own shoulder.

  “He’s probably just a scared, bewildered kid,” Meyers cut in quickly.

  “If I’m wrong, I’ll apologize,” Lowary said as he sighted down the barrel. He planted his feet firmly and squeezed. The stock slammed him in the shoulder. He cursed, then he squeezed again. This time he remembered to hold his breath. The figure slumped, fell off the concrete, into the water.

  Lowary juggled the gun once by its
balance, then he handed it back to the corporal who was staring dully at the small figure floating and bobbing in the water. “You can send that squad down to get him now, if you want, Lieutenant Tudor,” he said before he turned away.

  HE WALKED slowly. He could have explained, but there wasn’t time. Decisions had to be made quickly, right or wrong. Perhaps the kid down there was afraid, just running away. But he couldn’t take that chance. There was no reason to believe that the military didn’t have some subversive elements within; the Reds had infiltered everywhere else. And what better time for the rats to come out of their nests, then now, when the country was on their target list! One man could be as dangerous as a Red Division.

  Lowary climbed into his jeep conscious of how tired he felt. I’m getting old, he thought. He leaned back and took off his helmet and looked up at the clear blue sky, letting the breeze fan his face. A high, distant speck caught his eye. It was trailed by a four-forked stream of white. He felt his stomach grow cold, as he stared in fascination at the four vapor streams that could only be one thing; a multi-engine bomber. It was coming in from the Northwest, heading for the City. The enemy had slipped one through the defense.

  He tore his eyes from the sky. Perhaps no one else had seen it. It would be better if they never did.

  And so it comes, he thought. The end of an age . . . back to the sticks and stones for good. He drew in on a new cigarette, thinking of Dorothy and Susan and Ronnie. He became conscious of Meyers standing beside him. He wished he would go away, there was so little time left to daydream. He wanted to be alone.

  “The guard down the road says there is a pile-up of civilian cars that demand to go across.”

  Lowary looked up. “Send some of the reserve platoon down and force them back. You know the orders!”

  “Look, Captain. We’ve got maybe ten . . . fifteen minutes left.

  What harm will it do?”

  Lowary felt weary. Meyers hadn’t failed to see the bomber, neither had the people in the cars. They knew it was the beginning of the end. Meyers and Tudor, and the others were wearing him down. He felt like giving them their damn bridge. It would be easy, so final.