Joe looked at him. The Hungarian seemed to make a practice of turning
up every time Joe Mauser was about to take off. The Sov-world
representative said airily, "It will be up to the International
Disarmament Commission to decide upon that when it convenes shortly,
will it not?"
The Arab major was staring in fascination at the sailplane. He said to
Joe, "Major Mauser, you are sure such craft were in existence before
1900? It would seem--"
Joe said definitely, "Designed as far back as Leonardo and flown in
various countries in the Eighteenth Century." He looked at the
Hungarian. "Including, so I understand, what was then Czarist Russia."
The Sov-world officer ignored the obvious needling, saying merely, "It
is quite true that the glider was first flown by an obscure inventor
in the Ukraine, however, that is not what particularly interests us
today, major. Perhaps the commission will find that the use of the
glider is permitted for observation, however, it is obvious that
before the year 1900 by no stretch of the imagination could it be
contended that they were, or could have been, used for, say,
_bombing_." He turned quickly and pointed at Freddy Soligen, who,
already seated in the sailplane, was watching them, his face not
revealing his qualms. "What has that man been hiding within the
craft?"
Joe said formally, "Gentlemen, may I introduce Frederic Soligen,
Category Communications, Sub-division Telly News, Rank Senior
Reporter. Mr. Soligen has been assigned to cover the fracas from the
air."
Freddy looked at the Sov-world officer and said innocently, "Hiding?
You mean my portable camera, and my power pack, and my auxiliary
lenses, and my--"
"All right, all right," Arpad snapped. The Hungarian was no fool and
obviously smelled something wrong in this atmosphere. He turned to
Joe. "I would remind you, major, that you as an individual are
responsible for any deviations from the basic Universal Disarmament
Pact. You, and any of your superiors who can be proven to have had
knowledge of such deviation."
"I am familiar with the articles of war, as detailed in the pact," Joe
said dryly. "And now, gentlemen, I am afraid my duty calls me." He
bowed stiffly, saluted correctly. "A pleasure to make your
acquaintance Colonel Majumdur, Major Kamil. Colonel Arpad, a pleasure
to renew acquaintance."
They answered his salute and stared after him as he climbed into the
sailplane and signaled to the pilot of the lightplane which was to tow
him into the air. Max Mainz ran to the tip of one wing, lifting it
from the ground and steadying the glider until forward motion gave
direction and buoyancy.
Freddy Soligen growled, "Zen! If they'd known I had a machine gun
tucked away in this tripod case."
Joe said unhappily, "The Sovs have obviously decided to put up a howl
about the use of aircraft in the West-world."
He shifted his hand on the stick, gently, and the glider which had
been sliding along on its single wheel, lifted ever so gently into the
air. Joe kept it at an altitude of about six feet until the lightplane
was air-borne.
Freddy growled, "How come the Hungarians have become so important in
the Sov-world? I thought it was the Russians who started their whole
shooting-match."
Joe said wryly, "That's something some of the early timers like Stalin
didn't figure out when they began moving in on their neighbors. They
could have learned a lesson from Hollywood about the Hungarians. What
was the old saying? _If you've got a Hungarian for a friend, you don't
need any enemies._"
Freddy laughed, even as he looked apprehensively over the sailplane's
side. He said, "Yeah, or that other one. The Hungarians are the only
people who can enter a revolving door behind you and come out in
front."
Joe said, "Well, that's what happened to the Russians." He pointed.
"There's the reservation. We'll be cutting from the airplane in a
moment now. Listen, were you able to find out who either of General
McCord's glider pilots are?"
[Illustration]
"Yeah," Freddy told him. "Both are captains. One named Bob Flaubert
and the other Jimmy Hideka."
"Bob Flaubert?" Jeb growled. "He's an artilleryman. We've been in the
dill together half a dozen times." Freddy was staring below, trying to
understand the terrain from this perspective. While Joe was tripping
the lever which let the tow rope drop away from the glider, the Telly
reporter said, "Both of them used to fly lightplanes for sport. When
you started this new glider angle, they must've seen the possibilities
and took it up immediately. But you oughta be able to fly circles
around them, they just haven't had the time for experience with planes
without motors."
"Bob, eh?" Joe said softly. "He saved my life once. Five minutes
later, I saved his."
Freddy looked at him quickly. "Zen!" he complained. "It's no time to
be thinking of that. So now you're even with him. And you're both
hired mercenaries in a fracas."
"But I've got a gun and he hasn't," Joe growled.
"Good!" Freddy snapped at him.
They had cut away from the lightplane and Joe headed for the area
which Cogswell had ordered him particularly to keep scanned. Jack
Altshuler was a fox, in combat. His heavy cavalry had more than once
swung a fracas.
At the same time, he kept himself alert for the other gliders. It
seemed probable, since the enemy forces had two, that they would use
them in relays. Which meant, in turn, that it was unlikely Joe would
find them both in the air at once. In other words, if he attacked the
one, possibly shooting it down, then the other would be warned, would
mount a gun of its own, and it would no longer be a matter of shooting
a clay pigeon.
* * * * *
Joe turned to mention this over his shoulder to Freddy Soligen, just
in time to catch the shadow above and behind him.
"Holy Zen!" he snapped, kicking right rudder, thrusting his stick to
the right and forward.
"What the devil!" Freddy protested, looking up from adjusting a lens
on his camera.
Three or four thirty-caliber slugs tore holes in their left wing, the
rest of the burst missing completely.
Joe dove sharply, gained speed, winged over and reached desperately
for altitude. The other--no, the _others_ were above him. He yelled
back at the cameraman, "Put that Chaut-Chaut gun together for me. Be
ready to hand me pans of ammo. And if you want blood and gore on that
Tellylens of yours, get going!"
It still hadn't got through to the smaller man. "What in devil's going
on?"
Joe banked again, grabbing for a current rising along a hill slope,
circled, circled, reaching for altitude before they could get over to
him and make another pass. He snapped bitterly, "Did I say something
about poor old Bob Flaubert not having a gun, while I did? Well, poor
old Bob's obviously got at least as much fire power as we have.
Freddy, I'm afraid matters have pickled."
The other was startled.
"Do I have to draw a picture?" Joe said. "Look." He pointed to where
the other two crafts circled, possibly a hundred meters above and five
hundred to the right of them. The other two gliders bore a single
passenger apiece, and were seemingly moving as quietly as were Joe and
Freddy, but gliders in motion are deceptive. Joe shot a glance at his
rate of climb indicator. He was doing all right at six meters per
second, a thousand feet a minute, considering his weight.
Freddy had at last awakened to the fact that they were in combat and
even that the enemy had drawn first blood. The wound taken in their
wing was not serious, from Joe's viewpoint, but the torn holes in the
fabric were obvious. But the little man had not gained his intrepid
reputation as a Telly cameraman without cause. He moved fast, both to
get the small French machine gun into Joe's hands and to get himself
into action as a cameraman.