The evening of Admiral Bullinger's return, Arakal and his chief lieutenants gathered in the Plot Room. Maps lined the walls, and the model of the East Coast of North America stood near the new model of the West Coast of Europe.
The admiral, short, clean-shaven, with two tufts of hair that stood straight up at the back of his head, put his finger on the new model where it showed a curving body of water that wound back between dominating hills on the big island Arakal and his men knew as "Old Brunswick."
"This," said Admiral Bullinger, "is Glasgow, where the biggest shipyards are located. There are other shipyards, all working overtime, where the Russ are starting to build their new fleet. These yards are all hard to approach. None appears defended now, except Cherbourg, which was their main Atlantic base. That is, none of the fortifications, which date from way back, seems to be actually armed. But they will be. And this ship-building program is something we can't match. Five years from now, the Russ could be back here with a new fleet, and another invasion army."
Arakal said, "You're sure these shipyards aren't armed now?"
Bullinger shook his head. "I'm morally certain, that's all. We entered every one of those ports except Cherbourg. I was careful not to risk the whole fleet at once, and we didn't open fire; still, the situation was pretty tense when we went in, flying the Old Flag. The local people went crazy. The Russ have dominated them all this time, and they could have ended the uproar quickly, by sinking us, if they'd been ready. Not a shot was fired."
There was a silence, then broad Slagiron, Arakal's chief general, spoke in a low growl.
"Yellowjackets don't make much trouble in the springtime."
Smith, speaking for the absent Colputt, nodded. "In the summer, when there are more in the nest, look out."
Slagiron's chief organizer, Casey, studied the curving waterway leading into Glasgow.
"Why wait till they arm these places?"
Arakal glanced at Admiral Bullinger.
"Suppose we wrecked every shipyard they're using. How long till they rebuilt them?"
"I think it could take several years."
"And then they'd have them so fortified we couldn't touch them?"
"Yes."
"How many local people would we kill in the attack?"
Bullinger hesitated. "That, I can't say. I suppose we could warn them. But it would be risky. We don't know how much rolling artillery the Russ may have."
Casey said, "The right way to do it would be to appear unexpectedly, hit with everything we've got, then either land or get out."
Arakal shook his head.
"Our aim isn't to turn everyone into allies of the Russ. Suppose you were over there, and our fleet sailed in without warning, and killed your brother and father in a surprise attack on a defenseless shipyard. Would you love us for it?"
Slagiron said dryly, "War and love aren't exactly the same."
"It's easier to make enemies than friends."
Admiral Bullinger said, "Once the Russ get all these new ships afloat, it won't make much difference whether the Old Brunswickers love us or not. We'll have another Russ army at our throat."
"There's a question," said Arakal, "whether we'd be better off facing another Russ army in five years, or a Russ army plus the active hatred of Old Brunswick and Old Kebeck a few years later."
Slagiron thoughtfully massaged his jaw, and turned to look at the contour model of the East Coast of America. He glanced back at Arakal.
"It's true that, using a bloodless method I didn't think would work, we freed the Russ colonies, and they joined us willingly. But that was a special situation. And, as you remember, there was a bloodbath worse than sticking pigs when the Russ went for Kebeck Fortress the long way. It took killing to win that."
Arakal's voice was ironic. "That's true. We've had no trouble with enlistments from Maine since the Russ went through."
There was a silence as Casey, Slagiron, and Bullinger stared at the walls or ceiling, then nodded ruefully. Bullinger cleared his throat.
"All the same, we'll regret it when the Russ control the seas again."
Arakal nodded. "But you say the people went wild when you entered the harbors?"
"Yes. And the fishermen and coastwise traders we picked up were friendly, too. They all agreed that to get the Russ out of there is going to take an armed force of great power. I could follow most of their reasoning, but they didn't understand our actual situation. I had the impression they all thought we were comparable to the Russ in strength."
"Would you say that the people were ready to throw out the Russ?"
"Yes. If we'll do the main part of the work. They don't think they can do it."
"They wouldn't fight on the Russ side?"
"No."
Arakal walked slowly around the new contour model, looking at the harbors, studying the bays and inlets, and the outthrust peninsulas. He turned, briefly, to look back at the more familiar contour model of the East Coast of America. His gaze rested on the flat, gray, slightly glazed markings that formed the western border at the edge of the massive table. He turned back to Admiral Bullinger.
"Did you see any such damage across the ocean as there is here?"
"No, sir. But then, the damage would probably have been further inland, where they would have fought to stop the Russ coming from the east."
Arakal nodded, and again considered the new model. He looked up, to glance from one massive table to the other, and then to Buffon, standing respectfully back from the little group around the tables.
"These two models are to the same scale?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good." Arakal glanced at Bullinger. "You didn't make any try at getting into this—hmm—Mediterranean Sea?"
"No, sir. The entrance is fairly narrow, measured by the range of a coast defense gun, and our information is that the Russ control both sides. Incidentally, a chart of the Mediterranean that we bought from a coastwise trader disagreed with the charts on board the fleet when we captured it."
"Had this coastwise trader ever been there?"
"No, sir. It was just one of a set of charts he had on board."
"How were your charts?"
"The ones we used were accurate."
Arakal looked the two models over, frowning. "Despite the shipyards we've captured here, the Russ have a greater capacity for building ships over there?"
"Yes, sir," said Bullinger. "Much greater."
"And yet, so far as we know, the Russ were using only the Maryland-Delaware Colony to build warships before?"
"Yes, sir. The yards over there were used before, but as far as we can learn, they were used only to build fishing vessels, freighters—things like that."
"You didn't try to enter the—let's see—the Baltic Sea—to the north?"
"No, sir. We stuck to the coasts of Old Brunswick and Old Kebeck. That is, what they call 'the U.K.' and 'France'."
"What we have here is a bigger puzzle than we had to start with. You saw no Russ ships?"
"No armed Russ ships."
Slagiron spoke, his voice a low growl.
"Except for the shipbuilding, everything seems about as we would have expected."
There was a murmur of agreement from Casey; but Smith, Colputt's assistant, was frowning. Arakal nodded to Smith.
"What do you think?"
"That's just it. Except for the shipbuilding. And, excuse me, what about their aircraft?"
Slagiron looked startled. "That's right." He glanced at Bullinger.
The Admiral shook his head. "Not a single iron bird."
Arakal said exasperatedly, "Why not build their warships at home?"
"These present yards they're using may be bigger," said Admiral Bullinger.
"Then why did they ever build ships over here? Thanks to that, we now have three new bombardment ships that should be finished late this summer, on which we can mount very powerful guns, and which will run on coal, not oil. Yet, when they lost these yards, what did they do? Start construction in other yards, again outside Russland. Why? Why, in the first place, build on this side of the ocean when they could have used the yards over there? There's something here we don't understand."
Admiral Bullinger nodded. "Unfortunately, I can't add anything more."
Arakal said, "How was the Fleet's oil usage?"
"It matched what the Russ volunteers had told us. Counting the stocks in their colonies here, and in two little tankers we captured, I'd say it could last us from three to four years, assuming they don't find some way to blow it up on us."
Arakal looked back at Smith.
"What would you say about the way they build their ships?"
"They must," said Smith, "build them where they do for reasons that make sense to them, at least. But there must be something wrong in their arrangements. It doesn't make sense to build ships where they're vulnerable to attack. It must be that, for some reason, conditions are even worse elsewhere."
Slagiron said stubbornly, "All this is guesswork. The facts are that if we let them use those shipyards, wherever they're located, we lose the only advantage we have."
"Yes," said Admiral Bullinger.
Arakal, examining the indentations in the coastline, glanced at the Admiral, and rested a forefinger on the port Bullinger had called "Cherbourg."
"You think this port, at the end of this peninsula, was their main base?"
"Their main Atlantic base, sir. In the Mediterranean, I suppose, they would have had another main port."
"It's protected against the weather?"
"Yes, sir. For one thing, there's a tremendous breakwater."
"Do they have oil storage there?"
"I think they'd be bound to. Our information is that they do."
"You think the fortifications there are armed?"
"That was our information, and it seemed reasonable, since this was their main base."
Arakal glanced around, and Buffon said, "Scale, sir?"
At Arakal's nod, Buffon handed over a small folding measure. Arakal held one end on Cherbourg, and swung the other end successively to Le Havre, Bordeaux, Dover, and Portsmouth. As his men watched intently, Arakal carefully measured the sides and width of the narrower portion of the peninsula, at the end of which was Cherbourg. He glanced at Bullinger.
"Why would they make this their main port?"
"For three reasons, sir. First, as you see, it's in a central location. Second, it's apparently ice-free in winter. Third, it's on a peninsula, which they could seal off in the event of an uprising on the mainland."
Arakal nodded, and glanced at Buffon.
"Do we have a detailed map?"
"Yes, sir. But it's based on information from before the war. Just a moment."
As Buffon unrolled a large map of the peninsula, Arakal, Slagiron, and Casey bent over it. Arakal's gaze settled on the peninsula's eastern coast, and he glanced at Bullinger.
"Have you seen this coast here?"
"Yes, sir. Though we didn't get too close."
"Did you notice any fortifications or batteries?"
"No, sir. They may be there, but we didn't see them."
Arakal studied the map in silence.
"Buffon?"
"Sir?"
"What's the accurate range of those big guns we're planning to mount on the bombardment ships?"
"The last test showed them still accurate at eighteen miles, sir. We won't really know until they're mounted, and the ships are afloat."
"And the total capacity of those Russ troop transports we captured?"
"Thirty-six thousand men, sir, with normal loading."
Arakal straightened.
"If we do nothing, the Russ will recover, and, sooner or later, we'll find ourselves right back where we started. We'll have gained time, but that won't be enough, because we don't know how to use that time to strengthen ourselves beyond Russ interference. We're hemmed in on the west by the slagged lands, and hobbled where we do have control, by the same thing. Everywhere we turn, there's another orange marker to show where the spotter teams have found some more 'lingering radioactivity'."
There was a murmur of agreement, and Arakal went on, "Now, for the time being, we have the power to strike back freely, whenever we choose. But a few years from now, that power expires, since the Russ are building a new fleet. We can gain more time, if we wreck the shipyards. But then we kill our own friends, and possibly turn them against us. Yet, now, these same people cheer us. Meanwhile, though we know the Russ are far stronger overall than we are, we have a clear suggestion, in the way they build ships, that there must be some weakness in their arrangements that they have to make allowance for. It seems to me there is only one thing to do."
Around him, their expressions varying from rapt attention to alert worry, Arakal's lieutenants watched as he put his forefinger on the contoured model's port of Cherbourg.
"Here we have the former main base of the Russ fleet, with guns and stores of fuel. And it is situated on a peninsula, which could be held against superior numbers. All along this east coast, there are beaches. If we land there, we either make it ashore without a fight, or else we're fighting Russ, not O'Cracys. And if enough Russ get drawn in there, how do they hold down the population at the same time? And what will the population do? There could be one flame of revolution, to throw the Russ back a thousand miles to their own territory. If not, we might still capture this peninsula, take their fortress port from behind, base our fleet in easy striking distance of their main captured ports and shipyards, cut their sea lanes between Old Brunswick and Old Kebeck, force the Russ in Old Kebeck to fight us in prepared positions, and rattle the Russ in Old Brunswick on their perch. From this base, fighting the Russ, who are the common enemy, we can call on the workers through all the territories of the Old O'Cracys to cut up the Russ from behind, blow up their iron roads, and lag and shift at all the work the Russ call on them to do."
"Yes," said Smith, Colputt's assistant.
Admiral Bullinger nodded his approval. "From our information, there could well be enough stored fuel in Cherbourg for a year's service."
Casey, his face twisted with concern, glanced at Slagiron.
Slagiron, jaw outthrust, growled, "And what if half the men drown on the way ashore, and the rest get sunk in this damned swamp it shows on the map? Or if the Russ have machine guns set up at the edge of the beach? Where do you take cover on a beach? And why attack here, of all places? This is nothing less than the Russ citadel! Of all the choices on the whole continent, do we have to run our heads into that? This is the very place they must be best prepared to defend!"
"Against an uprising," said Arakal. "But this is a landing from the sea! Why should they prepare against that when they had the only fleet in the world?"
"And what the devil," Slagiron went on, "do we know about landing over a beach? Did you ever try to run on sand? Isn't it enough that the Russ will probably have tanks by the dozens and cannon by the hundreds to slaughter us as we come in? How do we unload so much as a single one-pounder off a boat onto a beach? Why not, for the love of heaven, land, at least, in a port? There we could walk off onto a dock. Anyone who wants to swim ashore with forty pounds on his back, and a rifle in one hand, is welcome to it!"
Arakal, smiling, said, "What do I have generals for, except to help me work out these details? What you are talking about is why it will be hard. What I am talking about is why it is worthwhile. Do we want to do what the Russ expect? Or do we want to hit them where they don't expect it, and where, if they lose, they have to fight us with one foot in a hole? Look at the lay of the land. Do you see any other port so useful to us, that we could expect to hold against the Russ the way we could hold this one?"
"We have to take it first. And we don't know the first thing about landing on a beach."
"What do you think we're going to practice between now and the time we go over there? If we land in that port, and it is defended, then we lose not only ships, but also we wreck the port. If we land on this beach, right here, north of this small river, we are at the rear of the port, and we should also be inside the Russ defenses of the peninsula toward the mainland."
Slagiron bent beside Arakal, over the map.
"Yes, but—Let's see, here . . . I can foresee one sweet mess trying it. All right, if you want to do this, let's take time, and do it right. This year, hit those shipyards, so we end that for now. By next spring, we could have troops trained to go in over a beach, and we could have rafts, or something, to bring in the artillery. That way, we can try it, at least, the way it ought to be done."
"Yes," said Arakal, "if we can just get the Russ to go to sleep till then. By next year, when we're satisfied we know how to do it, the Russ could have guns defending every target we want to reach, their troops at a fever pitch, and half the continent hating us because of the stories and pictures of the unarmed people we slaughtered in attacks on defenseless ports. And who has the bigger productive power—us, or the Russ? Why should the passage of time favor us, once we get past the time when those bombardment ships come into our hands?"
Slagiron, his hand to his chin, eyes narrowed, glanced at Arakal. "You want to try it as soon as the new bombardment ships are ready?"
"We need to be ready to try it then."
Slagiron studied the model.
"If it works . . ."
Then he turned to Casey.
"We're going to need a beach to practice on, and we've got to find some way to float in the guns . . ."
S-One shook his head, and put the report down carefully on his desk. His window was partly open on the inner court, and he could hear the rain pouring down on its glass roof. From somewhere came a gurgle of water flowing through gutters and downspouts, to be fed downward into the underground filter tanks and cisterns. The murmur of flowing water was usually a cheerful sound for S-One, but today it fit into a general gloom and sense of disappointment. S-One picked up the interoffice phone.
"Is General Brusilov here?"
"He is waiting, sir."
"Send him in."
The door opened, and Brusilov, big, bearlike, clear-eyed, came in, and nodded respectfully to S-One.
S-One said solicitously, "You look well, General. Sit down."
"Thank you," said Brusilov, a look of wariness crossing his face.
S-One said, "I am disappointed in your hero."
Brusilov looked blank. "Sir?"
"Arakal proposes to land his troops in Normandy."
Brusilov frowned in puzzlement.
"Yes," said S-One, settling back, and watching Brusilov alertly, "we now have information on Arakal's plans."
Brusilov's face cleared. "From the ships?"
S-One smiled. "He gained and lost when he captured those ships. It is a great loss to us in power, but a gain in information. What is sad is the mystery stripped away when your opponent reveals his imbecility in all its obscure convolutions."
"Arakal is not stupid."
"They are having practice landings now. Think of it. They plan to come ashore on the old Utah Beach, strike inland behind Cherbourg, and capture the narrow part of the peninsula. They will do this with no more than thirty-five thousand men."
"What is stupid about this?"
"We can sink his whole fleet in the bay, and slaughter his landing force. I am embarrassed for this Arakal. His general, Slagiron, sees the difficulties. Arakal will not be moved."
Brusilov leaned forward.
"Comrade, there is a difference between ignorance and stupidity. Arakal is profoundly ignorant of conditions here. Even, doubtless, he has been misled."
S-One smiled in satisfaction. "To the degree that we could misinform his Admiral Bullinger, Arakal has been misled."
"What do you propose to do?"
S-One shrugged.
"An elaborate deception plan has been prepared. It seems a shame to waste it on such a donkey."
"Comrade," said General Brusilov, his expression worried, "invariably Arakal is underestimated—I have done it myself—and invariably, a rude awakening follows. Whether it will be the same here, on our own ground, I do not know. But take no unnecessary chances. Arakal does not always do as you expect."
S-One's eyes narrowed, and for a moment he studied Brusilov thoughtfully. Then he nodded.
"Very well. An excess of subtlety is always dangerous, and I was about to say that we should expect to destroy this fellow and his fleet in the bay and on the beach. And I think, still, it is what will happen. But, just in case, we will continue with the deception plan. Who knows? He might show flickers of sense even yet."
Brusilov said earnestly, "When he appears stupid, that is the time to take extra precautions."
"He appears extremely stupid now," said S-One with feeling.
Both men turned at the sound of a rap on the door.
S-One's second-in-command apologized for interrupting, and stepped in, frowning. S-One spoke half-jokingly, "What is it, S-Two? You do not look happy."
"Arakal, sir. A second coded message has arrived for him, from his chief scientist, Colputt."
S-One looked interested. "What is it about?"
"We don't know," said S-Two indignantly. "Arakal decodes the message himself, and explains nothing to the others. And the others don't dare ask him, though amongst themselves they are consumed with curiosity. And now he has left by rail, and we have no way to know what is happening!"