The Mouse That Roared: eBook Edition (The Grand Fenwick Series 1)

by Leonard Wibberley

  He stopped and shrugged and made a gesture of helplessness with his hands. “In fact,” he continued, “there is no limit to what we would have to agree to in order to save as much as we could of our nation and our people. They could dictate the whole order of the world. Useless to say that the Kremlin would not do these things. World conquest is their averred goal, and to attain their objectives, the Communists have slaughtered thousands of their own people without a qualm. They are ruthless in a sense and to a degree which it is hard for us to grasp, even when the evidence is laid plainly before us. Our primary problem, as I see it, is not so much to regain possession of the Q-bomb as to prevent Moscow from getting hold of it. And that could mean war.”

  “Pretty tough fighters, those Russians,” said the army general, half to himself. “They made a hell of a stand at Stalingrad. Take lots of tanks and artillery to get through them. Congress ought never to have cut back the army estimates. I had a hunch something like this was going to happen.”

  “Heavy bombers would be more important than tanks,” said the air force general.

  “Unnecessary if we had plenty of carriers to attack through the Baltic and the eastern reaches of the Mediterranean,” interposed the admiral.

  The three glared at each other.

  “Gentlemen,” said the President, patiently. “We have not gone to war yet. Despite recent precedents, a declaration of war by the United States still requires the consent of the Congress.”

  The Secretary of State uncrossed his legs. The action had become known in international diplomatic circles as a signal that he had something to say. Its significance was well understood by the Cabinet and all gave him their attention.

  “I received this morning a short coded message from our Ambassador to the Kremlin which there was just time to decipher before attending the present meeting,” he said. His voice was as conservative, as lacking in sparkle and lustre as his club tie. “The message has some bearing on the Kremlin’s intentions in the matter.” He opened his portfolio precisely and took out a piece of thin, blue paper. “Here is the message,” he said. “Confidential, of course.” And he gave a quick glance in the direction of Senator Griffin.

  Presidium voted this morning to offer ten divisions of the Red Army for the protection of Grand Fenwick against U.S. attack. Foreign commissar leaving to negotiate mutual assistance and protection-pact and try to get Q-bomb to Moscow for safe keeping. Details follow with pouch. Hancock.

  “Who’s Pouch?” asked the army general. “Diplomatic pouch,” said the Secretary, with a slight smile “Not a person.”

  “Read that again,” the President interrupted, a little testily. The Secretary of State did so.

  “What do you make of it? Do you think this means that they are going to invade?” the President asked.

  “It’s always difficult to discover precisely what the Russians mean,” the Secretary parried. “Particularly so when all we have to form a judgment on is a short message transmitted in code. Hancock is scrupulous, however, about the selection of the precise wording for such messages. I believe we will not be far wrong if we interpret this ‘offer’ as meaning that ten divisions of the Red Army are to be sent to that part of their occupied territory, nearest to the Fenwick border, ready to invade. That would be Neufelden in Austria, about two hundred miles distant. Call it five hours away for mechanized troops travelling overland and something less than an hour for airborne divisions. We might presume that a large number of the Russian divisions will be airborne. We have sufficient experience of totalitarian methods to realize that an offer of friendship and mutual assistance is usually notice of intention to annex. Similarly, an offer of troops for protection is usually notice of intention to occupy.”

  Senator Griffin broke the shocked silence which followed. “We must take immediate and effective counter measures, Mr. President,” he burst out. “We must match the Soviet offer of mutual assistance and friendship with one of our own. We must offset their offer of ten divisions with an offer of twenty, if need be. I have no doubt,” he added, “that Congress will give its fullest support to such measures.”

  “We’re overlooking something basic here,” said the President. “That is that we are at war with the Duchy of Grand Fenwick. We cannot send troops to protect the enemy. Such an offer would be rejected out of hand. Not only are we at war with Grand Fenwick, but at the present stage of the hostilities we have lost, and have arrived at an impasse where we can do nothing further. We must, before we can take any counter measures against the Russians, sue for terms and arrange a peace.”

  “You mean that the United States of America with its one hundred and sixty million people, its enormous industry, its incalculable wealth, its massive armaments, has to sue for terms from a nation whose total population wouldn’t make a good gate at a football game? Preposterous,” snorted Senator Griffin.

  “Preposterous, but true,” replied the President. “I don’t suppose the British relished it any better when Cornwallis surrendered to us. We were a very small nation then, and they a very big one. Does anybody have an alternative plan?”

  Nobody had. It was agreed that the Secretary of State would fly to Grand Fenwick in the Presidential plane with plenipotentiary powers, to arrange a peace between the two nations, and back this up by a mutual assistance pact and the offer of fifteen divisions of the United States Army for protection of the duchy against aggression. Senator Griffin was somewhat mollified to learn that the fifteen U.S. divisions could be held in readiness at Linz, in the U.S. zone in Austria, only a few miles from where the Soviet divisions were likely to be stationed.

  “Promise them anything within reason,” the President instructed the Secretary of State. “We’ll see that the San Rafael Pinot, which caused all this, is withdrawn immediately from the market. We’ll give them preferential treatment for the importation of their own wine into the United States in any quantity they ask. We’ll give them money, machinery, technical assistance—anything. You will, of course, attempt in return to secure agreement for the Q-bomb to be restored to us, and Dr. Kokintz too. But if that is impossible, it is essential to obtain a firm guarantee that it will not be given to the Russians. You’d better get General Snippett and the four policemen back as well,” he said, almost as an afterthought.

  He looked the Secretary of State over with a calculating eye. “I don’t want to be personal,” he added, “but the ruler of Grand Fenwick is, I understand, a rather attractive young woman. You might bear that in mind and try to look a little more—er—dashing. You’d better take along some presents. What would you suggest?”

  The Secretary of State was about to suggest twelve cases of the finest New York champagne, but recollected himself and said, “Perhaps a mink coat?”

  “No,” snorted the President. “And that goes for deep freezers too. Think of something else.”

  They settled on a diamond necklace and the Secretary was to inquire discreetly into the availability of nylon stockings and lingerie in Grand Fenwick—this because the experience of World War II suggested that such gifts could perform wonders with the female population of Europe.

  Midway in time between the meeting of the Presidium and the Cabinet of the United States, the Honourable Byron Partridge rose in the House of Commons in London to ask a question of the Foreign Secretary.

  “Is Her Majesty’s Government aware,” he asked, “of reports that the Duchy of Grand Fenwick has declared war upon the United States of America and that an expeditionary force of the duchy is believed to have invaded New York City and seized a bomb known as the quadium bomb, which, according to report, is capable of destroying an enormous area?”

  The Foreign Secretary rose slowly, gave a slight bow and said, “Her Majesty’s Government is fully acquainted with all the facts of the case.” Then he sat down again.

  “Is Her Majesty’s Government prepared to reveal what steps are being taken, if any, to deal with the problems arising out of this situation?” the Honourable Byr
on Partridge persisted.

  The Foreign Secretary leaned over to whisper in the ear of the Prime Minister, who was seated next to him. The Prime Minister appeared to be asleep. His eyes were closed and, in the silence, honourable members could hear what sounded like a slight snore coming from him. When the Foreign Secretary had finished whispering, however, the Prime Minister was heard to snort like a bulldog and say distinctly, “Your pigeon, Tony.”

  The Foreign Secretary rose again and surveyed the House slowly, starting with the lower benches opposite him and ending with a glance at the Distinguished Strangers’ Gallery, where he had been informed the Russian Ambassador was seated, having come to hear the debate.

  He put his hands in the pockets of his trousers and swaying slightly on his feet, said, “I would call the attention of the Honourable Member for North Westhampton to the treaty concluded between the Duchy of Grand Fenwick and the kingdom of England in the year 1402. Under the provisions of this treaty, Her Majesty’s Government is obliged to send full and sufficient assistance—I quote the precise wording—to the Duchy of Grand Fenwick should it be threatened by any foreign power, whatsoever.

  “Her Majesty’s Government is satisfied that the present situation calls for the implementation of this clause of the Treaty of 1402, the original of which the Honourable Member may examine in the Records Office if he so desires. The House, I am sure, will not expect details of troop movements at this time, but I believe it is in order to divulge that eight divisions are involved, four of them airborne. I shall myself be leaving shortly to assure Her Grace the Duchess Gloriana XII personally of our intention to fulfill the provisions of this ancient and honourable pact in all their implications.” The Foreign Secretary sat down.

  There was a burst of cheering in which the members of Her Majesty’s Loyal Opposition joined. The Russian Ambassador glared down at the Foreign Secretary, who was smiling upward in his direction, and rushed out.

  In Paris a resolution to send similar aid to the defense of the duchy was made in the Chamber of Deputies. But the Government collapsed over the issue of overtime rates for taxi drivers before the motion could be voted on.

  CHAPTER XVI

  In the Duchy of Grand Fenwick, the meeting of the Privy Council to discuss the Q-bomb was the most extraordinary of all those held, whether in Moscow, in Washington, in London, or in Paris. For the most important person at the meeting, indeed, the individual who held the key to its success or its failure, was the captured American scientist, Dr. Kokintz. And he was placed in the peculiar situation of being called upon to help his captors secure the full fruits of their victory by giving them advice about the Q-bomb.

  Dr. Kokintz was much perturbed about his situation. He was seated at one side in the Great Hall of Fenwick Castle. At a table a little distance away were the members of the Privy Council. There were present Duchess Gloriana, the Count of Mountjoy, Mr. Benter, Tully Bascomb, as high constable of the Fenwick Army, and by special invitation his father, Pierce Bascomb, invited because he was acknowledged to be the wisest and the most learned man in the whole duchy. It was not the presence of his captors that disturbed Dr. Kokintz, nor the fact that they were dressed in the garb of the fourteenth century. Nor was he upset about the mailed soldiers, both of them well over six feet, who stood on either side of him. What caused him his anguish was the emotional and mental conflict within him between patriotism and humanitarianism; between Dr. Kokintz, loyal citizen of the United States, and Dr. Kokintz, foremost scientist of the world, whose training and knowledge he sometimes felt belonged not to one country, but to all, since it involved the fate of all.

  The Count of Mountjoy had taken the leading part in the proceedings. He had pleaded, argued, and demanded that the Q-bomb be taken back to the United States immediately since it represented a constant and imminent menace to all the people of the duchy. “This man has brought disaster to our country,” he exclaimed, pointing to Tully. “He has imported a powder keg and demanded that we all sit upon it. I say, in the presence of his revered father, that he has in the past raised grave suspicions of his loyalty to this nation. And I say, equally, in his father’s presence, that his monstrous seizure of this infernal machine, and his bringing of it back to Grand Fenwick is nothing more than a plot to exterminate the country, unless some secret terms of his, not yet revealed, are met.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Tully demanded.

  “My meaning must be perfectly plain to any who have made a study of the pedigree of the families of Grand Fenwick,” the Count replied, suavely. “Your own pedigree traces back through illegitimate birth to Sir Roger Fenwick. I find that a statute of the Council of Freemen of 1385 sets aside all claims to the ducal chair of Grand Fenwick advanced by one, Tully Bascomb, who is identified as the son, born out of wedlock, of Sir Roger and a woman, Marion Bascomb, who was Sir Roger’s mistress. You cannot pretend to be unaware of this pedigree.”

  Gloriana glanced at Tully and realized now the source of the strange likeness between him and her distinguished ancestor.

  “I am not only unaware of it,” flared Tully, “but I say that you lie. And if you are man enough to resent the statement, the matter may be taken up at your convenience.”

  Gloriana intervened before the quarrel could go further. She ordered the Count of Mountjoy to withdraw his allegation and apologize, and Tully to accept the apology and set aside his anger. “We have need of the services of both of you,” Gloriana said, “and forbid this difference between you.” So the matter was patched up for the while.

  Mr. Benter, next to voice his opinion, said that he could not agree with the Count of Mountjoy that the Q-bomb should be restored to the United States. “It is a weapon which, anxious as we are to get rid of, they must be more anxious to regain. If we keep it, we may succeed in obtaining from the United States terms of peace which will assure the prosperity of the nation for years to come. And when all is said and done that is why we went to war with the Americans.”

  “We need to think bigger than this, Your Grace,” Tully said, by way of reminding her publicly of his previous conversation. “It is not a matter of whether we keep the bomb and Dr. Kokintz, or send them back. We will be no safer if we send them back than if the bomb and its inventor remain guarded here. In fact, we will be less safe. For if ever such bombs as this are used in a war they will surely destroy us, even though we are not involved in the hostilities. By keeping the bomb and Kokintz here, we have a small measure of safety. But what we must devise is a plan to ensure that the bomb is never used, nor any others ever manufactured. And that is something on which one man alone is best qualified to advise.” He turned towards Dr. Kokintz.

  “This man,” he said, “made this bomb. He claims he made it because of a fear that the Russians might make one first. And it is his belief that if the Russians made one they would not hesitate to use it if there was any need. He called this bomb a weapon of peace. Maybe he only said that to salve his conscience. But we can now put him to the test and see whether he is prepared to use his knowledge to prevent the manufacture of such weapons in the future, anywhere in the world.”

  Gloriana turned to Dr. Kokintz. “Do you have anything to say?” she asked.

  Dr. Kokintz stood courteously and gave her a slow bow. “What am I to say?” he asked. “If I take part in these proceedings, I will be a traitor to my own country. I am a citizen of the United States with whom you are at war. You are enemies of my country. I can say nothing.”

  “Dr. Kokintz,” said Tully, “you hide behind a sham. You are supposed to have more intelligence than any man in the world. Yet you pretend you cannot tell the difference between a false position and a true one. You say that you are a citizen of the United States, but ignore the fact that you are first a member of the human race. You say that your duty lies to America, but where does your duty to the human race lie? Does your position as a citizen of the United States give you the right to make a weapon which can destroy millions of your fellow beings? Whi
ch comes first, your duty to your own kind or your duty to your country?”

  “I do not know,” Dr. Kokintz replied, wearily. “I do not know. All I know is that when they try me, it will not be as a member of the human race, but as a citizen of the United States.”

  “You know, but you will not admit it,” said Tully, contemptuously. “You are nothing more than an educated serf. You take orders involving the fate of millions which you alone can carry out, and then you try to escape from the consequences of obeying these orders by calling it patriotism.”

  Dr. Kokintz took off his thick glasses and, his hands clenched by his sides, advanced towards Tully.

  “You are a young man,” he said, “and so you talk of high principles not from knowledge of them, but through ignorance. The problem which confronts me is one with which you will never be confronted. Scientists such as I have become creatures of another world. Our very work deprives us of the normal moral values which guide the layman. No one understands what we do but ourselves. We communicate with each other in a language which can only be understood by ourselves and by no others—the language of nuclear physics. We know better than anyone else the terrible potentialities of our work. Yet we are bound by the laws of other men. We are gods or devils, whichever the others make us. The harm or good which comes from our work is their choice and their doing. It is they who decide whether millions will die or whether they will live such lives as have never been lived before—longer lives, happier lives, lives freer of disease. Do not condemn the scientist, young man. Condemn rather the laymen of all nations who control the scientists; the laymen who cannot agree among themselves and as a result compel us to play the part of destroyer. War existed before science. The crime which is done now is that war has made a tool and slave of science, and man’s knowledge, painfully and laboriously compiled, is made the instrument of man’s destruction.”