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VIII. The Tiger in the Trap

 

1

S-One rose slowly behind his desk as G-One entered, then found himself waiting, as if to see whether armed troops might follow the Head of Government.

G-One smiled ironically, "The execution squad? Not yet, at any rate."

"You must admit, this is unusual."

"My motives were of the most common. I wished to find some place to talk undisturbed. And largely unobserved."

"Everything you say here will be recorded."

"I am not unaware of the fact. But the records are in whose custody?"

"To tell the truth, I don't know."

"You astound me. If I had your job, that is one of the first things I would find out."

"Then you would not have my job. One of the first things we learn is complete trust in the organization."

"Even after you are the head of it?"

"Those who judge our trust are capable judges of character. If we did not truly trust, we would be unlikely to be considered for the job."

"And if I ask you to find out?"

"You are the head of the government. I will certainly obey."

"You don't say 'comply with your request'? You say 'obey'?"

S-One shrugged. "You have the authority. If you impressed me as incompetent, or dangerous to the security of the state, then my thoughts might follow a different track. But I have problems enough to do my job without seeking to obstruct you in the performance of yours."

"Shall we, then, come to the point at once?"

"And why not?"

"Very well. The military are uneasy about the situation that has come about."

S-One nodded.

"From a military viewpoint, we have a disaster on our hands."

"That bad?"

"From a military viewpoint, yes."

"And from a political viewpoint?"

"It should soon be equally bad."

G-One looked at him soberly.

"Frankness is often a great virtue. But it cannot stand alone."

"I am not attempting to cover failure. I said 'disaster', not 'failure'."

"I have to admit, to me they are certainly very close to synonymous."

"In my position, I must look beyond disaster."

"You assert a primacy of your position?"

S-One shook his head.

"I take it for granted that there can be no conflict of authority between you and me. It is a very simple situation. If you dislike me, you can remove me. But I must do my job to the best of my ability. Any explanation you want, within the limits of what is permissible, you will have."

G-One's frown had grown longer as S-One spoke.

"Comrade, what is this now if it is not a conflict of authority? You say that you will obey what I suggest within the limits of what is agreeable. This is a conflict of authority."

"Then my meaning is not clear. I am saying, you can remove me at any time. But while I am in charge, I have no choice except to do my duty to the best of my ability."

"While you are here, you will do as you choose?"

"Let me make an example. The house is on fire. You send for the firemen. The head fireman is directing the pumps and hoses when you say to him, 'I have greater authority than you. I order you to direct the stream of water not where you are directing it, but over there, where my judgment tells me that you should be directing it.' What do you expect him to do?"

"You tell me."

"If he is competent, he will say, 'Either let me do my job or replace me.' He will not obey you, because he has been trained for the job, and is therefore more competent in it than you, not having had the training, may realize."

"Then you assert an expert knowledge that I cannot appreciate."

"What I am asserting is that I have reasons for my actions, even if those reasons are not yet evident."

"And these reasons are based on expertise?"

"Yes."

"Could a military man understand your reasoning?"

"It would depend on the military man. It would, however, run counter to his training."

"I repeat that the military are profoundly uneasy."

"I am not surprised. We have had already a military disaster—our ousting from France."

G-One stared at him. "I was not aware that we had been driven out as yet."

S-One smiled. "We are on the run. Next will follow the political disaster. France will rise up. Next, Arakal will attack us more deeply, as the nations of Europe rise against us."

"I will have to tell you that this plan, assuming that it is your plan, does not fill me with confidence."

"You doubtless wonder," said S-One, "how we can prosper from being overthrown."

"Yes." G-One was watching him alertly.

"The answer," said S-One, "is that, of course, none of these things will happen. The head of the firefighters must sometimes permit the fire to run on its way, in a direction which does no damage, in order to protect that which is truly valuable."

"That sounds very good. What is your actual plan?"

"If I should reveal it to you, would you tell the military?"

"That is a question of my own discretion."

"In that case, I must respectfully decline to explain. Because the military, by their actions, might nullify the effect of the plan."

"In that case," said G-One, his face darkening, "I will regretfully have to point out to you that it is my responsibility to see that the state survives this invasion. A state cannot have two heads. You will either tell me the nature of your plan, or I will have no choice but to relieve you of authority."

S-One nodded. His voice was calm, unconcerned. "Certainly you have that authority."

G-One blinked.

S-One looked out at the garden and smiled. "Isn't is beautiful? Such floods of color."

G-One did not move.

S-One said, "What you have said is very true: 'A state cannot have two heads.' But it can have a head, a heart, a liver, a spinal cord—There is no conflict in such different and separate organs which complement and reinforce each other. Just so, the state can have a number of organs, which may function on different levels. I have said that you can remove me, and you can. I will offer no resistance. But let me point out what you doubtless already know. I could resist."

"I am aware of it."

"Yes," said S-One. "Power in a state always resides somewhere, and it does not always reside in the obvious place. You, for instance, possess the formal authority, according to the table of organization of the state. I defer to that authority. It is largely in that deference that the true power of your position resides. If you set me aside, as you can, you must then deal with another head of my department. You may set him aside—" S-One looked directly into G-One's eyes, and smiled "—if you wish. But there are circumstances in which your wish might not be truly effective. However, if you agree to say nothing to the military, I will at once explain the deception plan to you. Believe me when I say that I have no desire to take over the formal authority of your office. There can be no such competition between us. The head must always delegate certain functions because of a simple lack of time, if nothing else. Now, do you agree to say nothing to the military?

 

2

Arakal, who detested wild celebrations, was able to see the victory party coming even before Pierrot, who had been insisting on pursuit of the Russ, suddenly announced that "the people demand a celebration."

By dint of heaping praise on Pierrot, several mayors, Slagiron, Casey and his own three dumbfounded corps commanders, and after giving a brief speech in halting French on "le liberation de la belle France," Arakal was able to make himself progressively less conspicuous; he pretended a trip to the men's room, found a side door unattended, slipped out, crossed the alley to a small white-painted hotel, and went up the steep narrow stairs to his room on the fourth floor. The guard outside the door snapped to attention—he was one of Arakal's men—and Arakal looked at him thoughtfully.

"Would you like to go to that party?"

"Well—yes, sir, I would. But—"

Arakal wrote rapidly on a small pad, tore off the paper, and wrote again on the sheet beneath.

"This first note releases you from guard duty this evening. The second is for General Slagiron. You'll find him at the head table, surrounded by Old Kebeck mayors in civilian clothes, and guerrillas in camouflage suits."

The guard looked thoughtful.

"Thank you, sir. But I'll be back after I give this to General Slagiron."

Arakal, putting his key in the lock, looked up in surprise.

"You can stay."

"I'm not too crazy about these guerrillas. And I'd lock that door, if I were you, sir, till General Slagiron gets here."

The guard was gone before Arakal could make any reply. He stepped into the room, turned the key in the lock, and paced the floor until a knock sounded, and Slagiron's deep voice broke in on his thoughts.

Arakal opened the door. Slagiron, one hand to his head, smelling powerfully of wine, stepped in.

"Thanks for getting me out of there. My God! What if we should have to fight tomorrow?"

"According to Pierrot, the Russ are on the run."

Slagiron shut the door, and through the crack of the closing door Arakal could see the guard take his place outside.

"Pierrot," growled Slagiron. He glanced at Arakal. "I'll have to give you credit for the way the landing worked out. I thought we'd have a fight."

"Pierrot hasn't explained why we haven't?"

Slagiron thrust out his lower lip, and put his right hand on his chest. " 'I am Pierrot. It is I, Pierrot, who have enabled you, our allies, to come ashore unharmed. It is I, Pierrot, whom the Russ fear as a nightmare.' About that time he got going faster than the translator, so I don't know the details."

Arakal soberly described the big guns set into the rock face, the sighting and aiming arrangements, the obstacle storeroom, and the mess hall with its unmoving occupants.

Slagiron listened soberly.

"We seem to owe him something. But yet—"

Arakal said exasperatedly, "Do you believe his story?"

"No."

"Then what did happen?"

Slagiron said, as if trying the words to test their sound, "You tricked the Russ out of here. The rest is pure fakery."

Arakal said, "How do we account for those dead bodies?"

"Prisoners of the Russ put to death to fool us."

"They were in Russ uniform."

"More trickery."

Arakal shook his head. "It's getting too elaborate. It begins to suggest an organization as big as their army. And where's the gain?"

Slagiron thought it over and shrugged.

"Maybe Pierrot is real. But he seems fake to me."

"Where's Bullinger?"

"The last I knew, well out in the bay. He was planning to keep the bulk of the ships out of Cherbourg Harbor until he had a clearer picture."

Arakal nodded. "The catch in all this is, we're relying on someone else. If it works, all right. But—" Arakal glanced toward the door. "Our guard, out there, doesn't like the guerrillas. Since Pierrot showed up, I've had a corporal, two sergeants, and a private, warn me offhand to keep an eye on him, or let them stand between me and him, or let them go along, just in case."

"He's helped us."

"Yes."

Slagiron massaged his chin. "Suppose this is a trick? How the devil does it work? And what can he do to gain by it?"

"If the Fleet had come into the harbor, conceivably he might have captured it."

"Knowing Bullinger, that, at least, isn't likely."

"Suppose there's something they're holding back?"

"But what?"

"I don't understand why the Russ used iron birds against us at home but don't seem to have them over here."

"Of all the Old Stuff from before the war, what is there that's trickier to use or harder to maintain? Beside that, they eat fuel like starving rats in a grain bin. The Russ would get more value here out of iron roads, the same as we do at home."

Arakal thought it over, then shook his head. "There's still something out of focus."

Slagiron said, "It's been too easy. We expected a fight. Instead, we've had the whole thing tossed in our lap, and we don't believe it. We're sure there's a catch somewhere. Meanwhile, we're full of at least four different kinds of wine. It may all seem different tomorrow."

 

3

The next day, Arakal's men found themselves up early, many still asleep on their feet, as Pierrot warned through bullhorns in the hands of shouting translators, "We must pursue the Russ! Never, never must we give them a chance to make a stand! All France is aflame! The Russ bases throughout all Europe are under attack! Now is our chance! We must pursue them!"

Meanwhile, Arakal, stung by the experiences of the day before, had been the first up, and had delivered his message to rudely awakened generals and colonels: Each unit must be kept together. Each must be fit for combat anytime. No unnecessary reliance must be placed on the guerrillas. This picnic could end any time, possibly in some form of ambush or betrayal. But until that happened, the guerrillas must be treated with strict courtesy.

Out in the harbor, supply ships had been unloading all night, and now the admiral's flag was flying from the bombardment ship, Panther, whose huge guns were exciting the admiration of an enthusiastic throng. As the unloading went on, Arakal insisted to Pierrot that the supplies must go with the troops. During the delay caused by the loading of supplies, Arakal boarded a launch sent in by Admiral Bullinger, and went out to the flagship, where now the men were drilling at the guns, which swung slowly around, aimed out to sea, and fired a salvo whose crash rattled the harbor.

Arakal, smiling, met the admiral in a cabin with a bare stripped look that told of ripped-out listening devices. Bullinger was uneasy.

"I brought Panther in here as soon as I could. I thought you might want something visible as a token of strength."

"I'm also happy with the supplies. I don't care to depend on somebody else for food and ammunition."

"If you pursue very far, you're bound to depend on them, at least for food."

"The longer we can put that off, the better. Have you any word from Colputt?"

"A signal for you, sir. As you asked, I decoded it myself. Just a moment."

Bullinger stepped outside, and came back with a sealed envelope. Arakal pulled out the slip of paper to read: "Both platforms work. Power supply as we thought. We are sending for Alligator, which is just finished. Will be there as soon as possible, but can't predict time. –Colputt."

Arakal thoughtfully considered the message. Alligator would be their new vehicle-carrying ship.

From back toward the stern of the Panther came a heavy crash, a shock felt thought the deckplates underfoot as well as heard.

Bullinger said mildly, "The crews need drill at the guns. And there's no harm letting it be known that we have teeth."

Arakal nodded, and folded Colputt's message into his pocket.

"When do you think Alligator will be ready to make the trip across?"

"Impossible to predict. We haven't made a ship of that design before. It might do anything."

"We still have this question of supplies. You remember, at the start, we considered various possibilities. If the landing failed. If we had a half-success. If we had a success in landing, but got stopped at Cherbourg. If we had full success. If the populace then rose up and threw out the Russ. But what we actually have here didn't occur to us."

Bullinger nodded.

"Yes, sir. I remember."

"We are obviously going to need to be supplied now. Can you do it?"

"I have the arrangements set up. That was taken care of before we started. It's something I can cancel, but that otherwise will take place as arranged. But what happens in Cherbourg? Will they, perhaps, eat up the supplies themselves? Or throw them in the sea? Or sell them for what the traffic will bear? I can bring the supplies to the dock. There it ends."

"I'll make arrangements for them to be sent on."

"If these guerrillas control delivery, they've got their hand at your throat."

Arakal nodded, and Bullinger growled, "It would have been a lot more convenient for us if we had fought the Russ for this place and it was ours. This business is a mess."

Bullinger's remark occurred to Arakal in the launch. It occurred to him again as he climbed onto the dock to find Slagiron waiting, and, behind Slagiron, Arakal's three corps commanders, all in evident ill humor, and two of the three apparently in none too robust health.

Arakal nodded to Slagiron, returned the salute of his officers, and said at once, "Who has an outfit we can trust to unload supplies and ship them to us by the iron road?"

Burckhardt, the burly commander of I Corps, queasily eyed the slosh of water against a nearby pier, and said nothing.

Beside Burckhardt, Simons, the well-built, pugnacious, and often profane commander of II Corps kept his mouth shut.

Arakal looked at Cesti, the slender and thoughtful III Corps commander. Cesti's right eye was half-closed, and his head was oddly tilted toward his half-closed eye. His face, like Burckhardt's, was unusually pale. Cesti met Arakal's gaze dully; other than that, he made no response.

Slagiron looked around at the corps commanders, gave a grunt, glanced at Arakal, and said, "I'd say the Beaver or Groundmole Divisions could do it, sir."

Simons, his three divisions named respectively, "Lightningbolt," "King Snake," and "Panther," nodded agreeably.

Burckhardt said, "If we get into a spot where—" He swallowed and paused a moment before going on "—where we have to dig in, we'll miss the First Division."

Arakal nodded thoughtfully. The First Division, the "Groundmoles," had yet to be thrown out of any place they had decided to hold.

Cesti said fretfully, "We may have to cross rivers."

Cesti's Beavers specialized in river crossings.

Arakal glanced at Slagiron, who, eyes slitted, gnawed briefly on his lip. "That's true. In that case, I'd say the King Snakes could do it."

Simons stared at Slagiron as if Slagiron had slapped him. He turned to Arakal.

"Sir, Second Corps is the shock troops of the Army."

"That's true," said Arakal. "But the Russ are supposed to be already on the run. And I think the King Snakes could handle this better than anyone else. If they controlled the trains, as well as the loading, it would be better yet."

Slagiron nodded. "But can we convince Pierrot?"

"We can find out."

Simons turned back to Slagiron. "Damn it, sir, we're supposed to be here to fight. Without the Fifth Division, I'm cut almost to half-strength."

"Two-thirds strength," corrected Slagiron.

"There's only sixteen to seventeen percent difference between half-strength and two-thirds strength. On top of that, the artillery synchro units are with the King Snakes."

Slagiron frowned. "Nevertheless—"

"And," said Simons, "if there should be a stab in the back, the Russ may end up with those units."

Arakal and Slagiron glanced at each other.

Arakal said, "Let those units stay with the Second Corps."

"Good," said Simons. "And, since it shouldn't take much to do this job, maybe we should leave a battalion on this end to handle it."

Arakal looked at Simons' expression of obedient helpfulness. Since each of Arakal's divisions were composed of three regiments, and each regiment counted three battalions, what Simons was suggesting was that roughly one-ninth of the King Snake Division should be left to do the job.

Arakal shook his head. "If our supplies should get cut off, it would be like slitting the throat of the whole army. We have to have a strong force here to prevent that. We can't fight the Russ while we're worried about what's going on behind our backs."

Simons looked stubbornly unconvinced, but held his peace.

Arakal glanced at Slagiron.

"Where's Pierrot?"

"I've been trying to find him. He disappeared after that early-morning harangue."

"In that case, let's get hold of the mayor. He shouldn't be any more hung over than anyone else around here."

"I don't know about that. I saw him put down almost half a bottle of that rotgut in one long pull."

Burckhardt, as Slagiron mentioned the Mayor's half-bottle, glanced desperately around. He stumbled over to the side of the pier, and bent over the edge. Cesti went in a hurry to the other side of the pier.

Slagiron shook his head. "Five days of seasickness, and then a damned drinking party. Let's hunt up the mayor."

The mayor, just outside his office, showed himself delighted that Arakal planned to leave troops in the city. He spoke enthusiastically in his own tongue:

"But that is magnificent! And would it be possible to leave someone to protect the guns?"

"Guns?" said Arakal, as Slagiron looked on with the elaborately unconcerned expression of one who understands nothing that is being said.

"The fixed artillery of the Russ," said the mayor, "in the fortifications around the city, and commanding the harbor. If bad elements should get control of them—"

"No one has control of those guns?"

"The Pierrot had suggested that I put my constabulary in charge. In the flush of enthusiasm, I agreed. But this is not practical. They are too few in number, and who, then, will do their work?"

"You are agreeable that my men control the defenses?"

"But, of course! That is understood. These fortifications are in the Military Zone. They are outside the jurisdiction of any civil authority in Normandy. It is natural that you control them, until they are one day turned over to the central government in Paris." He looked shrewdly at Arakal, and said, "I realize it is an extra care. But if I had ships which were to enter that harbor—"

Arakal bowed.

"We will do everything we can, regardless of the difficulties."

On the way back, Slagiron listened in astonishment. "This changes the whole picture."

"Let's hope Cesti and Burckhardt are still alive."

Back on the pier, the two generals, sick and miserable, listened dully.

"We could," said Burckhardt, "end up split into fragments."

Cesti was frowning. "On the other hand, this gives us a foothold. The wonder is Pierrot hasn't taken over."

"He wants to chase the Russ," said Burckhardt, "and that's the way to use your strength. What good do the men do back here?"

Slagiron glanced questioningly at Arakal.

Arakal said, "Just suppose that we're entangled with the Russ, and for some reason our supplies don't get through. Pierrot and his men melt into the scenery. They speak the language and know the country. What do we do?"

Slagiron glanced at Burckhardt, who said, "We fall back to the coast."

"With no established base here," said Arakal, "how can Bullinger even stay on this side of the ocean? Worse yet, suppose anyone but us takes over the guns?"

"Yes," said Burckhardt, frowning, "but we'll miss every man we leave here, once we're up against the Russ."

Arakal nodded. "That's undoubtedly true." He glanced out at the Panther, riding on the sparkling waters of the harbor. He thought back on the coast defense gun, moving as he moved the aiming device.

"Well," said Arakal, "we can't hope to equal the strength of the Russ on their own side of the water. But we have a fleet, and we should soon have a base." He glanced at Burckhardt.

"We're going to need your Groundmoles with us, when we attack the Russ. And I think we'll need your Third Division. Together with Simon's Fourth, they'll keep the Russ on the run if anyone can. But pull your Second Division out of the loading plan. We're going to need them here."

"But, sir—My God! We can't—"

Slagiron said quietly, "You have your orders, General."

Burckhardt swallowed, shut his eyes, and swallowed again.

Slagiron took a fresh look at Burckhardt, and seemed surprised to find him still standing there. Slagiron's dark brows came together.

Arakal had turned to Cesti.

"Your Seventh Division is already loaded?"

"Yes, sir," said Cesti, nervously. "Well, it's loading."

Arakal, frowning, considered that Cesti's Seventh Division was named "Nutcracker," for its stubbornness at blasting opposition loose from tough positions. The Seventh had more and heavier artillery than any other division except Cesti's Ninth, known as the "Sledgehammer Division" for the size and power of its guns.

Arakal was vaguely aware of Slagiron speaking to someone, somewhere, but the words didn't reach him. He was balancing whether to leave behind the Seventh Division or the Ninth Division.

Cesti, through some feat of telepathy, said urgently, "Sir, I think the Russ were more wary of the Ninth than of any other unit."

"What I'm thinking of is the Russ tanks," said Arakal.

"Yes, sir," said Cesti, looking relieved.

"But," said Arakal, "the Seventh can also take care of tanks, especially since Colputt got those explosive rockets worked out. And if there is anything that can get bogged down, in bad weather, it's the Ninth Division."

"Yes, sir," said Cesti, "but—"

"And it was raining yesterday," said Arakal.

"Sir," said Cesti, "our information is that the Russ are particularly strong over here in artillery."

"We're getting into that part of the year where we can expect bad weather. And there's one other reason to leave the Ninth here. They're artillerymen. We need artillerymen to handle these guns; if anything should go wrong with the power loading and aiming arrangements, we have no one else so well equipped to work out what to do. Moreover, if the Russ armor should attack and break through the defenses, we've got no other unit so well equipped to stop them."

Cesti nodded moodily. "I'll pull them out of the loading pattern, sir."

"The only question," said Arakal, "is whether that's enough." He turned to Slagiron, to find him, jaw outthrust, eyes narrowed, just returning the salute of a pale and shaken Burckhardt. Arakal glanced back at Cesti, returned Cesti's salute, and turned back to Slagiron, who was running a handkerchief around the inside of his collar, his eyes still narrowed.

Arakal shook his head.

"Sir?" said Slagiron.

"I'm tempted to leave Burckhardt's Third Division here, too. It would put more teeth in the defense, if we needed it."

Slagiron's jaws clamped with a look of grim pleasure, but then he shook his head.

"I don't think we'd better do it. We've got each of these divisions overstrength, for us. There are three more men in each squad, and we used to have nine-man squads. When we take one division out of each corps, that reduces our strength by a third, which brings us back not much below the strength, in men, that we had to begin with. We have one-third fewer formations, but each formation we have is one-third stronger. So if we stop there, it's not so bad as it seems."

Arakal nodded. "The overall effect is as if we had detached one division, instead of three. Well, it should keep anyone from overrunning the defenses here on the spur of the moment."

Slagiron smiled. "It should do that, all right. And it leaves us enough strength to do something with. But, of course, Burckhardt is right about one thing."

Arakal nodded. "We'll miss every man we leave behind."

 

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