Joe looked up, then came to his feet quickly. In automatic reflex, he
began to come to the salute but then caught himself. He said stiffly,
"My compliments, Marshal Cogswell."
The other was a smallish man, but strikingly strong of face and strongly
built. His voice was clipped, clear and had the air of command as though
born with it. He, like Joe, wore mufti and now extended his hand to be
shaken.
"I hear you've signed up with Baron Haer, captain. I was rather
expecting you to come in with me. Had a place for a good aide de camp.
Liked your work in that last fracas we went through together."
"Thank you, sir," Joe said. Stonewall Cogswell was as good a tactician
as freelanced and he was more than that. He was a judge of men and a
stickler for detail. And right now, if Joe Mauser knew Marshal Stonewall
Cogswell as well as he thought, Cogswell was smelling a rat. There was
no reason why old pro Joe Mauser should sign up with a sure loser like
Vacuum Tube when he could have earned more shares taking a commission
with Hovercraft.
He was looking at Joe brightly, the question in his eyes. Three or four
of his staff were behind a few paces, looking polite, but Cogswell
didn't bring them into the conversation. Joe knew most by sight. Good
men all. Old pros all. He felt another twinge of doubt.
Joe had to cover. He said, "I was offered a particularly good contract,
sir. Too good to resist."
The other nodded, as though inwardly coming to a satisfactory
conclusion. "Baron Haer's connections, eh? He's probably offered to back
you for a bounce in caste. Is that it, Joe?"
Joe Mauser flushed. Stonewall Cogswell knew what he was talking about.
He'd been born into Middle status himself and had become an Upper the
hard way. His path wasn't as long as Joe's was going to be, but long
enough and he knew how rocky the climb was. How very rocky.
Joe said, stiffly, "I'm afraid I'm in no position to discuss my
commander's military contracts, marshal. We're in mufti, but after
all--"
Cogswell's lean face registered one of his infrequent grimaces of humor.
"I understand, Joe. Well, good luck and I hope things don't pickle for
you in the coming fracas. Possibly we'll find ourselves aligned together
again at some future time."
"Thank you, sir," Joe said, once more having to catch himself to prevent
an automatic salute.
Cogswell and his staff went off, leaving Joe looking after them. Even
the marshal's staff members were top men, any of whom could have
conducted a divisional magnitude fracas. Joe felt the coldness in his
stomach again. Although it must have looked like a cinch, the enemy
wasn't taking any chances whatsoever. Cogswell and his officers were
undoubtedly here at the airport for the same reason as Joe. They wanted
a thorough aerial reconnaissance of the battlefield-to-be, before the
issue was joined.
* * *
Max was standing at his elbow. "Who was that, sir? Looks like a real
tough one."
"He is a real tough one," Joe said sourly. "That's Stonewall Cogswell,
the best field commander in North America."
Max pursed his lips. "I never seen him out of uniform before. Lots of
times on Telly, but never out of uniform. I thought he was taller than
that."
"He fights with his brains," Joe said, still looking after the craggy
field marshal. "He doesn't have to be any taller."