The Mouse That Roared

by Leonard Wibberley

  “I am worried about this,” Gloriana said, frankly. “We may have made ourselves the most powerful nation in the world, as you say, but that’s not what we wanted to do at all. What we went to war for was just to get enough money by honourable means to be able to continue free as we have always been. All we get for being the most powerful nation in the world is that we have to live in a state of siege, with our frontiers patrolled, everybody eyeing his neighbour with suspicion, and all afraid of being exterminated at any moment if that beastly bomb explodes. We’re a lot less free now than we were before, and I can’t say that I like it.”

  “Victory sometimes carries more responsibilities than gains,” replied Tully. “That is because it marks the return of conscience. In time of war, conscience is put aside, and it used to be kept aside, at least in so far as the conquered were concerned. It used to be a case of the spoils for the victors and woe for the conquered. War had some sense then. But nowadays we suffer from the mistake of being half civilized. We turn barbarian during war as a matter of patriotism, and civilized when the war is over as a matter of humanitarianism. We first kill off as many of the enemy as we can, by as efficient a method as we can devise, and then save as many of them as we are able with all the energy and wealth at our disposal. War, in fact, has become an atrocious waste of time. Unconditional surrender brings as its corollary, unrestricted rehabilitation. If it were possible to devise a method whereby each side could half win a war and no more, things, of course, would be different but, then, that cannot be done.”

  Gloriana did not follow this very clearly. She was of a practical, rather than theoretical nature, and Tully’s talk of the responsibilities of victory disturbed her.

  “I hope you’re not leading up to telling me that we’ll have to rehabilitate the United States,” she said, “because if so, we’ll have to borrow the money from them to do it.” Tully laughed.

  “No,” he replied. “We of Grand Fenwick have achieved the military miracle of the twentieth century--a war in which the victor doesn’t have to give a penny to the vanquished. But we don’t get off quite free. Before we went to war, our responsibility was to ourselves alone. Now our responsibility extends to all mankind. We must keep the bomb out of the hands of those who might use it, because in the kind of warfare in which such a weapon would be employed all humanity, not just individual nations, is likely to be exterminated.

  “It is not easy, I know, to be thrust into the role of world custodian in so short a time, after being as small a nation as we were. Much bigger nations have found the burden very heavy. The United States itself, after World War II, suddenly found that it had become the premier nation of the world, and was at a loss what to do about it. Many did not want to be the premier nation at all, but would have preferred to go back to the way they were. But that was impossible for them then, as it is for us now.”

  “If the Americans offer us millions and millions of dollars for the bomb, don’t you think we ought to give it back to them?” Gloriana asked.

  Tully stood up and braced his shoulders. He put his hand on the hilt of his broadsword and Gloriana was reminded once again of his odd likeness to the portrait of Sir Roger Fenwick.

  “We are charged,” he said solemnly, “by the very possession of this bomb, with the duty of bringing the world back to sanity. You, Your Grace, are no longer merely the ruler of the Duchy of Grand Fenwick. You are the most powerful woman in the world. The lives of millions hang upon your word. You have but to give me the command, and I will explode that bomb with one blow from my mace and destroy the whole of Europe. With such power, all nations are compelled to treat with you. Far-reaching agreements for world peace, effective because they can be enforced by the threat to detonate this bomb, can be achieved. Your ancestors never failed their nation. You are called upon now not to fail the whole world.”

  “But surely other nations will in time be able to make such a bomb as this,” Gloriana said.

  “True,” replied Tully, “and it is to the problem of preventing them that we must apply ourselves. I would suggest that you call a meeting of the Privy Council to examine the matter in all its aspects.”

  It was after the private audience with Tully that the Count of Mountjoy urged that he be impeached and exiled for bringing the bomb into Grand Fenwick. When Gloriana had brushed aside his suggestion, the Privy Council meeting was summoned for the following day.

  CHAPTER XV

  The meeting of the Privy Council of the Duchy of Grand Fenwick coincided to the day with a meeting of the Cabinet of the United Nations in the office of the President, and a meeting of the Presidium of the Soviet Union in the Kremlin. The topic on the agenda of all three meetings was the same--the Q-bomb.

  Because of the difference in local times, the meeting of the Presidium was held first. It was a brief session and could hardly be called a meeting, in the sense of a convention for an exchange of views, so much as an address by one person to a number of others who were called upon to listen to it. A heavy-jowled man in a uniform so devoid of decorations as to be almost monastic, sat at the head of a long mahogany table with a sheet of paper before him. Perhaps a dozen others lined the two sides of the table. They bore a remarkable likeness to each other of which the similarity of their clothing was merely the reflection. Their faces had the same set look. Their eyes had the same unrevealing stare. Their mouths were set in the same straight line and their hands were all placed upon the table top, as if this was some kind of a drill.

  The man at the head of the table looked them over, seeking as it were, to uncover any departure from the over-all uniformity--a handkerchief in a breast pocket, perhaps, or a mechanical pencil. Satisfied that no such deviation had been perpetrated, he commenced to read in a curiously high-pitched voice, quite at odds with his appearance.

  “The proletariat of the independent state known as the Duchy of Grand Fenwick,” he piped, “subjected to intolerable economic warfare by the capitalist imperialists of Wall Street, have united with the workers of the world to throw off the bonds of serfdom imposed upon them by these bestial exploiters of humanity.

  “The proletariat of the Duchy of Grand Fenwick, placing themselves in the vanguard of the proletariat everywhere, which seeks to escape the chains of the capitalist masters, have declared war upon the United States of America. Hurling themselves like the heroes of our own glorious revolution, against the fortresses of the economic royalists, they have invaded the city of New York, and with losses amounting to twenty-five per cent of their total force, seized the Q-bomb with which the barbarous money worshippers sought to destroy the whole civilized world.”

  “This Q-bomb is one which we, as a civilized people, refrained from making ourselves, although it was well within the skill of our comrade scientists.”

  “It is proposed, therefore, that the people of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics join forces with the heroic proletariat of the Duchy of Grand Fenwick to protect them from reprisals from the capitalist imperialists and see that the Q-bomb is secured from falling into the hands of the enemies of the people.”

  “It is proposed that the Commissar for Foreign Affairs visit the chief of the proletariat of the Grand Fenwick, who is a woman called Gloriana, and offer her on behalf of the Soviet Union, ten divisions of the Red Army for the protection of the people and the Q-bomb. He will propose that the Q-bomb be taken to Moscow for safe keeping and a treaty of eternal friendship and mutual protection be concluded between the place called Grand Fenwick and the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.”

  “Vote.”

  Twelve hands around the table shot up. The heavy-jowled man nodded, picked up his papers and they all filed out of the room.

  The meeting of the Cabinet of the United States was equally as serious though by no means as formal. The President wore a lightweight suit of a new synthetic material, for the late spring in Washington was unmercifully hot. The Secretary of Defence was more formally attired in a suit of blue serge. He wore a polka-do
t tie, which by its neatness and its small-ness increased his marked likeness to a mouse. The Secretary of State leaned to formality too, though he permitted himself a suit of Oxford grey and a club tie of narrow black and white stripes.

  Senator Griffin, who as chairman of the Atomic Energy Commission, had also been invited to attend, wore his unvarying uniform of light grey with a small rosebud in his lapel. His red choleric face showed signs of great strain. The Secretaries of the Treasury and Agriculture were not present, nor the Secretary of the Interior. But their places were taken by an admiral, a five-star general of the army, and an air force general. The army general wore a battle jacket with a pale-blue ribbon of the Congressional Medal on it, and a pair of G.I. pants were tucked into cowboy boots. He had paid $250 for the cowboy boots, which were handmade. He came from Texas and had a reputation for being a man of action, impatient of what he called “palaver.”

  “I suppose,” said the President, “that you have all seen this.” He held up a copy of the New York Daily Neil’s. The headline read NEW YORK INVADED. Below was the line

  Q-BOMB CAPTURED BY ENEMY. And below that SCIENTIST MISSING.

  “Saw it,” said the army general. “Didn’t pay it much attention. Other day they had a story about New York being invaded by some jerks from Mars. Lot of baloney.”

  “Unfortunately,” said the President, gravely, “it isn’t. New York was invaded during the alert by a small group of raiders from the Duchy of Grand Fenwick. They did capture the Q-bomb. And they also captured Dr. Kokintz, the only physicist in the world who knows how to make this bomb. And they got away clean in a sailing vessel and now have the bomb and Dr. Kokintz. They have, in fact, the power to destroy the whole of Europe. And if they got the bomb over here, the power to destroy most of the United States. The point is: What are we going to do about it? I should like an expression of views from you gentlemen.”

  The members of the Cabinet looked at each other like boys in a classroom who had been asked quite a simple question, but were unable to come up with the answer. The silence continued until it was almost painful. The Secretary of Defence sought comfort in placing his fingers to his mouth. Senator Griffin glared at the floor between his feet as if at any moment he would launch into a full-dress denunciation of the carpet. The Secretary of State crossed his legs and played a little tattoo with his fingers on a portfolio on his knees. The army general was the first to speak.

  “Heck, Mr. President,” he said. “I don’t know what all the backing and filling’s about. Give me forty parachutists and a plane and I’ll go over to that little jerkwater country and get that bomb and this Kokintz back before they know what’s happened to them.”

  The President smiled. “That would mean an overt attack on the Duchy of Grand Fenwick,” he said.

  “We aren’t scared of them, are we?” the general asked, surprised.

  “No,” said the President. “But it isn’t that simple. Technically we are at war with the duchy, so we would be within our rights to mount any kind of attack we desire against the country. But there’s world opinion to be considered. We cannot let it be recorded in history that a nation of our size attacked the smallest country in the world--a State which is only five miles long and three miles wide, and cherishes the same love of freedom that gave us birth. We cannot do that, whatever the provocation. It would be contrary to all the traditions of our country. I do not believe for a moment that our own people would stand for it. And it would completely wreck our relations with the smaller foreign nations, especially the South American republics whose friendship and trust is essential to our own security. They would see in such an attack the iron fist in the velvet glove. That is one point.”

  “There is another point too. Putting aside these moral and diplomatic considerations which must weigh very heavily, the people of Grand Fenwick have given us ample proof of their patriotism and their sense of independence. It is not beyond the bounds of possibility that if they were invaded by us and overwhelmed, they would elect to destroy themselves and the whole of Europe rather than submit to defeat. When Patrick Henry said, ‘Give me liberty or give me death,’ he spoke not only for the early Americans, but voiced the secret creed of millions of people living in a hundred different countries throughout the world. He spoke not only for his time, but for our time too. We cannot run a risk of the physical disintegration of Europe, which in the long run would certainly be blamed on us, even to regain possession of the Q-bomb.”

  He paused for a while and then said, each word spoken deliberately and grimly, “What we have to realize is that with the seizure of the Q-bomb and Dr. Kokintz, Grand Fenwick has achieved a victory which it is impossible for us to reverse.

  The centre of the world’s military power has shifted from this continent to that tiny nation. This is a hard thing for us to grasp, but it is none the less true.”

  “Is it not possible to get the bomb back by the use of secret agents?” the Secretary of Defence asked.

  “I’ve gone into that,” the President replied. “I have discussed with the Office of Strategic Services the possibility of some of their skilled men dropping into Grand Fenwick from a plane, or getting there by other means, to recapture the bomb and Kokintz.

  “The O.S.S. is, of course, willing and anxious to try. But they make no attempt to belittle the difficulties. I hardly have to point out that a stranger in so small a country would be immediately noticed and arrested. The borders are, of course, completely guarded. The bomb, according to information received by our agents, is kept in the dungeon of a castle. The castle is closely guarded. The dungeon is under a double guard. The whole place is completely sealed against entry. But, even supposing that one or more of our agents did get into the country unnoticed, they would have to kill or incapacitate the guards to get to the dungeon where the bomb is kept. Then they would have to escape through an aroused country with a weapon which, if dropped or bumped, would kill millions and leave as an aftermath a gas which would kill millions more--an extremely stable gas which once it is formed would take its toll of lives for decades, none knowing which nation or community would next be visited. The risk of the bomb being exploded while being taken from Grand Fenwick is more than we dare expose the world to. We must find some other way out of this quandary.”

  “Mr. President,” said the Secretary of Defence, “there is one other important aspect of this problem which we must not overlook. It is well enough to say that we cannot go down in history as having attacked the smallest nation in the world. It is well enough to point to the dangers surrounding an attempt to seize the bomb by use of secret agents. But no such scruples will deter the Communists.

  “We agreed when we were discussing the manufacture of the bomb with Dr. Kokintz that it would give world mastery, temporarily at least, to whoever possessed it first. The same argument holds true now. We must not ignore the probability that the Russians themselves may invade Grand Fenwick and, risking the consequences, seize the Q-bomb. Or they may use secret agents to get it. If they should succeed, they could force whatever terms they wished upon us under threat of using the bomb against us.

  “They could demand our complete withdrawal from Europe, for instance. They could demand cessation of all aid to nations combating Communism; the handing over of the people and territory of Western Germany to their control; admission of Red China to the United Nations; the removal of all barriers to the free operation and organization of the Communist Party in the United States.”

  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, e
ven 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.