Was Earth on the wrong time-track? Ray Manning
stared as nation smashed nation and humans
ran in yelping, slavering packs under a sky
pulsing with evil energy--and knew the answer
lay a hundred years back. Could he return?
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Spring 1949.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
It was the end of March, and the wreck of the Dritten Reich lay in
colossal ruin across Europe, where people were only beginning to crawl
out of their burrows to face the job of rebuilding a world for better
or worse. In Germany itself, the Allied Armies, driving forward behind
the iron spearheads of their aircraft and their armor, were closing in
to smash the still-defiant nucleus of the old world that had been for
worse.
One column consisted of two jeeps and a canvas-backed truck, bounding
and swerving at reckless speed over a rutted road that wound upward
and deeper into the fir-shadowed Schwarzwald.
"Reconnaissance," grunted Ray Manning, between lurches of the transport
truck. "They might have called it treasure hunting."
"Huh?" said Eddie Dugan, planted solidly and insensitively beside
Manning on the jolting wooden seat. He took his eyes off the knees
of the soldier opposite and searched his buddy's face. "What's the
treasure?"
"Brains," explained Manning succinctly. "While the rest of the Seventh
goes on handing body blows to the enemy, we're going after his gray
matter. Brains are about the only article of value left in this
bombed-out country. And Dr. Pankraz Kahl has one of the best."
"What's he keeping it in these woods for?" Dugan glanced out at the
receding park-like scenery, green now with spring.
"Unless the jerk they picked up back in Freiburg sold Intelligence a
fairy story, the Herr Doktor had some kind of a hideout here, where he
was doing experiments--something that impressed the Nazis enough they
were willing to finance him and leave him alone."
Dugan looked properly impressed. Of course, he had learned to expect
such knowledge from Manning, who had been at M.I.T. and had managed to
stay a combat soldier only by the grace of God and a lot of blarney....
Dugan was still looking impressed when the truck scuffed tires to a
halt. Then he was first man out, and the rest of the troops followed in
seconds--they needed no telling to get out of a stationary vehicle.
"Road ends," somebody remarked. It did, in a loop that took it back the
way they had come. The lieutenant in charge of the detachment swung out
of the lead jeep and called them together under the trees.
"We'll have to spread out," declared the lieutenant. "Groups of three.
That hideout ought to be within a mile of here. If you find it and
there's resistance, keep shooting at intervals and wait for the rest.
Remember, we've got to make captures this time, not kills."
The sergeant rattled off names and the groups formed swiftly and took
off. Manning and Dugan, naturally, were two corners of one trio; its
third was a corporal named White.
* * * * *
With Dugan as point, they advanced up a brush-grown ravine, using
caution and cover, skirting the path that curved up the hill. They
topped a saddle, and saw the house--a sprawling mountain lodge,
built of logs by somebody with a passion for privacy, its roof well
camouflaged now with synthetic greenery--not a hundred yards away up a
slight slope rankly overgrown with grass. It looked deserted. Dugan had
taken a few steps into the open before something--perhaps a far-away
tinkle of breaking glass--warned him, and he went down smoothly in to
the grass and rolled sidewise toward a clump of young evergreens.
From the house came a splitting crack and a bullet hit the ground where
he had been. Behind him, Manning jumped behind a comfortably thick
tree-trunk, unslinging the automatic rifle he carried. But White was
a moment too slow. The second bullet caught him as he turned, and he
stumbled to his knees; two more shots rolled echoes down the ravine,
and White collapsed on his face.
Manning sighted his automatic and gave the window from which the fire
had come a short but intensive burst. The house was silent. He fired
again at a venture; in answer, a bullet snapped past, coming from a
different spot. There was more than one marksman up there, or one was
moving fast.
From ahead came Dugan's voice, low-pitched but carrying. "Cover me,
Ray. I'm gonna crawl around to the back."
"You damn fool, you don't know how many there are. Our guys'll be along
in a few minutes."
"Hell with them," said Dugan. "Just cover me." He didn't mention White.
But there was a compressed fury in his voice.