"I forget to ask you something," the soldier said. He was a private. He
was staring full into Riddell's face, and if he knew that the corporal
was an impostor he wasn't revealing anything. "The Major wants to know
if any prowlers were around while you were on duty."
"No," Riddell said uneasily. "No, there wasn't any trouble at all.
What's up?"
"Trouble from Center City," the guard said. "Seems a couple of kids got
through our lines last night and slipped into the city. We caught one,
but the other's still around somewhere. Funny you hadn't heard about
it."
"I've--I've been on leave," Riddell improvised. "Just came back on duty
a couple of hours ago, and I guess they didn't fill me in." Without
waiting for any further discussion, he turned and moved onward.
Northburg looked peaceful enough, he thought. They had rebuilt pretty
well, though the telephone lines still seemed to be down, at least in
this part of town, and hardly any of the rubble-heaps had been cleared.
The townsfolk were going about their business. It might well have
been Center City--except for the men in blue uniforms patrolling the
streets, and the beaten, harried look on the faces of the people.
There was _hope_ on people's faces there in Center City. In Northburg,
Riddell saw fear.
He had to get information. He didn't know how he was going to handle
this, where to begin, what he was going to do--but he knew he
would have to eradicate this cancer spot from Ohio for the sake of
re-awakening America, and he knew he would succeed.
He started down a large thoroughfare that looked as if it might once
have been the main shopping center of Northburg. No cars moved down it
now--not with gasoline rationed out for top-level priority only--and
there was the occasional clippety-clop of a pony-cart drawing produce
to market somewhere on the other side of town.
* * * * *
After about fifty feet, he came to a bar, and smiled. Bars were the
best places to get information. He went in.
"Morning, Corporal," the barkeep said as he entered. It was small,
cozy, with some tables in the back and a well-polished bar along the
wall. "What'll you have?"
"Beer," Riddell said. He accepted the drink and looked around the bar.
There was a little group of men in uniforms sitting at one of the far
tables, and quickly he turned his back so they would not see him. To
his left, a couple of middle-aged farmers nursed their drinks and
seemed to be glaring bitterly at him.
He studied them. _They don't like the soldiers_, he thought. It was
indicative of the sort of feelings in the town.
He listened carefully, trying to pick up some threads of their
conversation.
"... this crazy war," one of them was saying. "What does Barr want to
go conquer the world for?"
"Quiet," said the other. "This place is full of his soldiers. You want
to spend the rest of harvest season in jail?"
The first farmer had evidently had a couple too many. He raised his
voice. "I don't care if they do hear or not," he said thickly. "This is
America, isn't it? _Isn't it?_"
"It used to be. Shut up, Clyde. We'll get in trouble."
* * * * *
Riddell felt his pulse quicken. _Here's my opening_, he thought.
Downing his beer, he dropped a coin on the bar and turned to confront
the two farmers. His hand slipped to his holster.
"Hey there, you two!"
"You mean us?" the meeker of the two farmers said. "We didn't do
anything!"
"It isn't what you did," Riddell said loudly. He flicked an eye at
the bartender and saw the man staring white-faced at him, livid with
hatred. "It's what you said." He gestured with his holstered gun.
"Suppose you two come along for questioning, maybe."
One of the soldiers from the back table detached himself and came to
the front of the bar. "Any trouble, Corporal?"
Riddell looked at his uniform, saw that the other was a sergeant, and
shook his head. "I can handle it, Sergeant. Thanks anyway. Come on, you
two."
He marched the farmers out into the street, which was still blessedly
empty, and indicated that they should go to the end of the block and
turn in at the side street. They did so and waited there, faces white,
teeth chattering in terror.
"Okay," Riddell said. "Would you care to repeat to me what you said
about the government of Northburg?"
"We didn't say anything."
"Yes we did," said the outspoken one. "They're going to put us away
anyway, so we might as well speak up." He stared defiantly at Riddell.
"We don't like you, and we don't like Barr. And we don't want war.
It's--it's _madness_. Why can't we rebuild the country the way it used
to be? Why--"
"That'll be enough," Riddell said. "You're speaking treason, you know.
Such words can condemn you."
The two men began to quiver. Riddell looked with pity on the one who
hadn't spoken, the one who had desperately tried to silence his friend
before it was too late. A scowl came to his face. Barr was ruling with
an iron hand here, but there was a chink in his armor. The people
didn't want this war.