"Dare we go back?" she whispered. "Dare we approach another
machine--any kind of machine?"
Vinson hefted the block of metal. "I don't know," he said soberly. "It
depends purely on how many of these damned things the machine-brain has
manufactured and in what equipment it has them installed. However," he
added with clenched teeth, "we can not sit here and wait for the end.
We'll fly--and we'll avoid all machinery as long as we can. No radio,
no radar, nothing. We fly it blind back to Washington and report to
Secretary Hegeman--if we make it."
He went to the pilot's compartment and started the engines. The flying
boat took off after a short run, and Vinson turned its nose towards
Washington.
Narina closed her eyes, and almost instantly it seemed as if she were
back in the cabin, helpless again. She was reaching for the microphone
to call for help. Narina spoke desperately into the microphone, not
daring to look up. She sensed rather than saw the monstrous metal hand
reaching for her....
[Illustration: _Narina spoke desperately into the microphone, not
daring to look up. She sensed, rather than saw the metal hand reaching
for her...._]
* * * * *
The radar screen in General Lloyd's command aircraft showed target
traces at extreme range. The radar officer looked startled--then went
into swift action. He pressed the key that sent out the identification
code and the identification went to the distant fleet of aircraft but
was not returned.
The radar officer waited a minute until the edge of the screen was
alive with the signal traces of the enemy fleet and then tried the
I.F.F. again. "Identification, Friend", would have caught the coded
signal in the automatic transponder and hurled it back to appear on
the radar screen. "Identification, Foe", was, he admitted, negative
evidence since the foe was not equipped to return the proper signal,
and therefore no traces appeared on the screen. This might also be the
case with an entirely uninterested fleet of aircraft, or a fleet of
commercial carriers. He turned to his second officer and gave a quick
order.
The second radar officer tuned up another panel of equipment. He
watched strange traces on his screen and then said, "If Intelligence is
correct, it's them! That's their supposed code, according to the latest
dope from G-15."
The radar officer picked up the small intercom phone and reported to
General Lloyd.
A moment later the command radio in each plane barked: "Battle
stations!"
In the distant fleet, Admiral Sarne watched the radar repeater in his
command aircraft, and a similar process took place. And so at almost
the same instant, two gigantic fleets turned in the air above the North
Sea and started towards one another, their efficient fighting equipment
being checked and prepared for action.
Intent upon their plans, neither fleet noted the single lone trace that
came into the screen from the North and on a course about half way
between the approaching fleets. With a thousand signal pips showing
in distant flight pattern, the single trace meant little and was not
noticed.
But Captain Jason Charless, with nothing impending, was alert, and he
saw the two masses of aircraft on his radar screen. He looked down at
the IFF key on the radar control panel--the first time he had paid
attention to it, and saw with a start that there were two such keys. In
neat engraving below each key was identifying legend--One for each of
the combating countries.
Knowing, or guessing shrewdly, Charless pressed first one key and
then the other, and in turn the distant transponders caught the
identification code keyed to that one equipment and hurled it back to
Charless' radar screen. Charless nodded unhappily; his try of the IFF
had been but a confirmation of his own belief.
And two fleets of mighty fighting strength were hurtling towards one
another intending to carry into battle their individual beliefs that
the other was responsible for the theft. A grudge fight imminent, and
only Charless knew the truth.
Another time and Jason Charless would have been willing to get into
the battle, more than willing to try the training and equipment of
his own way of life against that of another ideology. But this was no
time to set man against man. There was a more definite enemy, and man
must join man to fight the common foe, forgetting their differences of
opinion.
Grunting in effort, Charless shoved his throttle all the way in and
raced towards the converging fleets.
He snapped the radio, hoping to call. The speaker blared forth a myriad
of orders in two languages all across the tuning dials. Jason shook his
head unhappily; any hope of penetrating that curtain of signals with
his own was gone. His own radio, he calculated, was no more powerful
than the individual sets of the fleet aircraft. Then, with himself at
maximum range for radar, his signal would have been completely lost
in the powerful mixture of transmitters at the close hand of flight
pattern.
His only hope was to beat both fleets to the converging spot.
He watched the two fleets coming across the range-marker circles and
made some quick calculations. Then he groaned wearily; they would be
locked in sky battle while he was yet twenty miles to the North.
* * * * *
Maximum radar range was thirty minutes of flying time; therefore with
two fleets converging, it took fifteen minutes for the lead planes to
meet. The fore squadrons of both fleets hurtled at one another out of
the sky and the gunners took a firm grip on the controls.
Nose Gunner Hammond set his dials, aimed his sights, and pressed the
trigger. Radar, fire director, and flight-angle computer would do the
rest and the gun would chatter when all conditions were satisfied. The
gun was pointed off at a cockeyed angle, which did not bother Gunner
Hammond because bullet at a few thousand feet per second and enemy
target at five hundred miles per hour would meet at an hypothetical
point apparently illogical to people who thought the way to hit
anything with a gun is to point at the target.
So he waited.
And he waited.
But nothing happened.
Wondering whether his fire-control gear were out of commission, Gunner
Hammond set his sights on the second plane, set his dials again, and
pressed the trigger. The wicked-looking gun embrasure did not move, its
four snouts aiming at the same section of the sky.
Hammond swore and turned off the servo mechanism that trained the gun
turret. He took the grip of the gang-mounted guns in his hand and--
Could not move the guns.
He pressed the mechanical trigger. Or, rather, Hammond pressed upon the
trigger; it did not move.
Gunner Hammond turned to the intercom--and for the first frantic time
Hammond realized that the speaker was a buzzing, chipmunk-chatter of
cursing voices that all repeated, substantially, the same story.
No gun would move, no gun would fire. The American Fleet, for all its
mighty armament, might as well have been unarmed.
In the enemy fleet, Admiral Sarne heard the same reports from his own
gunners. Openly and angrily he swore in his throat. Helplessly, he
cried to the heavens that it was not fair; that Justice must not let
his fleet be shot down in flames without being able to make a single
stroke for itself.
The two fleets were intermingled, now, and in the lead squadron of
Admiral Sarne's fleet, Pilot Romann waited with a white face for the
blasting roar of enemy shot that would tear his plane and his men and
himself to bits. Knowing himself completely helpless, Romann looked
around wildly to seek a way out. No coward was Romann; but no man can
call another cowardly who runs when unarmed in the face of an armed and
bitter enemy.
Then before him, Romann saw the clustered stars on General Lloyd's
command plane. And no coward was Romann. Clenching his teeth, Romann
shoved the throttle home and set his controls to collision course.
Unable to fire a shot, Romann's plane would at least die striking a
blow for his country.
The wheel was wrested from Romann's hands as it came back towards him
and turned slightly. The plane went up and over slightly and passed
above General Lloyd's plane with several feet to spare.
* * * * *
Romann swore angrily and grabbed the wheel again, shoving it forward,
and to the left. The plane turned and dived and was once more aiming
at General Lloyd's aircraft. The wheel moved under Romann's hands, and
the pilot cursed. Co-Pilot Varle took the second wheel and together,
pilot and co-pilot strained against the inexorable force that moved the
controls of the plane.
Together, they were strong--but the wheel didn't move.
But the control-surfaces moved. Operated by powerful servo mechanism
that amplified the strength of the pilot to power enough to handle the
huge plane, there was no true mechanical connection between wheel and
control surface. So the wheel did not move but the controls did, and
the big plane swerved by enough to miss Lloyd's plane for the second
time.
Then the wheel went slack. No resisting force held it. But the plane
went on and on as before, moving through the fleets as they whirled and
fenced--the crews of both fleets cursing at their completely useless
fighting equipment.
Captain Jason Charless watched with sick anticipation as the two fleets
came together. He clenched his teeth, waiting for the initial burst of
flaming gunfire, knowing that the initial aggressive move would make
any co-operation more difficult.
He was a fighting man; he knew ranges and gunfire, and he blinked
foolishly as the two lead squadrons passed one another without an
outbreak of hostility. No shot was fired, even at what he knew must be
point blank range. Then the rest of the two fleets raced through one
another, close enough for devastating fire, and yet no gun roared, and
no plane went down, stricken, wounded, dying in a shattered and tangled
mass with avid flame licking at its vitals.
Then he heard the myriad of reports in mad jumble, and Jason Charless
knew the answer--though he did not understand.
* * * * *
He reached for his own microphone and then paused. How could he command
attention? He thought a moment and then smiled bitterly. "I've got it!"
he yelled into the microphone. He repeated his statement again and
again, and the chattering curses and reports died slowly as every man
waited to hear the answer.
"Who's calling?"
"Captain Jason Charless to General Lloyd."
"Charless--God, man--What--?"
"I have the answer, general."
"Speak in code, Charless."
"No need, sir; what I have to say is as important to Admiral Sarne as
it is to you."
"Be careful, Captain Charless. You--"
"General Lloyd, both you and Admiral Sarne are fighting an enemy far
more dangerous than each other."
"But--"
"Sarne's people did not steal the logic computer and the guided missile
stockpile; no more than we stole his."
The mad, weaving and winding of the aircraft flights straightened out
and gradually shaped into a vast circle that rotated on an hypothetical
axle.
General Lloyd spoke into another microphone.
"General Lloyd, Commander of American Flying Force, calling Admiral
Sarne, Commander of--"
"Save it, General Lloyd," interrupted the reply from Admiral Sarne.
"I've heard; I've also seen. If there is any logic in this, my normal
suspicion of you and your kind can be allayed long enough to find out
what this is all about."
Lloyd laughed bitterly. "We have no equipment capable of shutting off
your guns," he told Sarne. "We were grudgingly willing to accuse you
of having made such a discovery--to our complete detriment."
Sarne's reply was instantaneous. "If such gear exists--and exist it
does--it is none of our doing. Nor, it would appear, is it yours. I'll
listen to your Jason Charless, for he appears to know what has been
going on. And if a common enemy has taken it upon themselves to hurl
you and I at one another, we both shall show him that the combined
might of the two greatest countries on earth is nothing to be trifled
with!"
"Amen. Go on, Charless. Give!"
Rapidly, Charless started to explain. Then every radio in every plane
spoke forth. "Well done, Jason Charless. Gentlemen, I am The Machine.
Had I interrupted you before, you would have believed this a trick. But
the forces I can employ in my own favor, plus the fact that you have
one of your own kind there who has seen and talked with me, will, no
doubt, convince you."