“You must discover what planet is being invaded,” it said.

“Find out yourself. Follow them when they take off.”

“Impossible. The nearest spacer with detection gear is four days away. It may not get here in time.”

“Tough. Ouch.”

I rubbed my scalp where the bird had removed some hair when it took off, then bent to pick up my cap. We turned a corner just as another detector vehicle roared by behind us.

“tet’s mix with the crowds,” I told Morion. “That detector is going to get suspicious if it keeps finding us around every time it gets a reading.”

“Could we mix with crowds that are eating and drinking?”

“Good thinking. And I know just where to go,” I stepped off the curb as I said this and stood with my hand raised—directly in front of a truck. The driver hit the brake and squealed to a shivering halt in front of me. “Driving a little fast, aren’t we?” I snarled at the driver. “I didn’t see you, captain…”

“And I know why you didn’t see me. Because one of your headlights is burnt out, that’s why. But I am feeling generous today. If you take me and my companion to the Officers’ Club I might forget I ever saw you.” Not that the driver had any choice. He dropped us in front of the club and roared away. We entered to sample the heady joys which, for the most part, were identical with the noncoms’ club except here there were waitresses. About a quarter of the tables were occupied: everyone else must still be on duty. Our steaks and beer appeared with exemplary speed and we dived at them with growls of hunger. We were almost finished when an officer appeared in the doorway and blew a whistle.

“All right, fall out and fall in. Everyone. Emergency muster. Transportation outside. That means you,” he said pointing a mean finger in our direction.

“We just came offduty, colonel,” I said. "You’re just going back on. And I see that you have eaten which I haven’t, so don’t cross me boy.”

“Just leaving, sir!”

Morton and I joined the rush, out the door and into the waiting bus. The colonel entered last and the driver pulled away,

“Here is as much as I can tell you,” the colonel said, shouting so he could be heard above the engine’s noise. “Due to reasons that are no concern of yours our current plans have been moved forward. You are going into action and you are going at onc”” There were questions and cries of complaint which he shouted down.

“Silence! I know you are all desk-driving fat-gutted base personnel—but you are also soldiers. Because of the acceleration in planning some combat officer transfers will not arrive in time. You officers have all just volunteered to take their place. You will get combat gear and you will join your troops and you will board the transport at once. We will all be away by midnight.”

The colonel ignored all the complaints and protests and finally lost his temper. He pulled a wicked-looking pistol from his holster and fired a shot up through the roof of the bus. Then pointed the gun at us. The silence was extreme. He had a nasty smile and pointed teeth.

“That is better,” he said, and kept the weapon pointed. “You are all time-serving cagal-kopfs which means you have wangled and bought soft assignments which will do you no good now. You are in the army and in the army you obey orders.” He fired another shot into the roof as the bus stopped. “Now, I want volunteers for combat duty. All volunteers step forward.”

We stepped forward in a rush. The lights in the supply depot were burning brightly in the night, clerks waited by the loaded shelves and an officer blocked the doorway.

“Move aside,” our colonel said, keeping a wary eye on us as we emerged from the bus.

“Can’t, sir,” the supply officer said. “I can’t issue anything until I have the orders from headquarters. They haven’t come through yet . . ,”

“The colonel shot out the light over the depot door then put the hot muzzle of his gun against the supply officer’s nose.

“What did you say?” the colonel growled.

“Orders just arrived, sir! Open up in there and issue everything. Quickly!”

And quickly was what it was. We surged through the depot at top speed, grabbing up clothing, boots, barracks bags, belts, everything on the run. The manic colonel seemed to be everywhere now, his gun banging occasionally to keep up the pace. The street behind the building was a hellish scene of officers tearing off their uniforms, discarding them on the ground as they pulled on the green combat fatigues, jamming helmets on heads and everything else into their bags. Staggering forward into the next building where weapons were being issued. But no ammunition I noticed; the colonel was no fool. Stumbling under the weight of my burdens I staggered out into the street and dropped against a wall, adrip with perspiration. Morton dropped next to me.

“Do you have any idea what this is all about?” he gasped.

“A very good idea. The powers that be think they are being spied upon. With good reason since they are. So they have pushed up the date of their invasion before details of their plans can be discovered.”

“What will happen to us?”

“We invade. At least we will go out as officers. Which means that we can stay to the rear and order the troops forward in case of any enemy resistance…”

“Open your barracks bag,” the moth said into my ear. “What are you saying?”

There was a sharp burning sensation in my earlobe as the moth discharged its batteries into my skin.

“Open… bag!” it gasped and dropped off, batteries drained and dead.

I bent and opened the bag, wondering if something had been planted there. There was a whistle and the stink of let fuel as the bird olummeted oast me into the bae.

“I’m not smuggling this damn bird and getting caught and shot!” I shouted.

“You must do it for the sake of all mankind,” the hire said, eyes glowing wildly. “Reactivate by pressing the bil twice. Out.”

The glow died and it went limp. I jammed the bag shu< as footsteps approached.

“Into the transport!” the colonel ordered. “We are on our way!”

Chapter 14

There was very little time to sit around and relax. As fast as the officers were spewed out of the supply depot, staggering under the weight of all their combat gear, trucks appeared to carry them away into the night. Groaning and complaining, with the rest of the groaners and complainers, Morton and I heaved our bags and weapons over the tailgate of a truck and clambered after. When it was Blled to capacity, and slightly more, we lurched away.

“And to shink that I just reenlishted. Voluntarily,” an officer expostulated leaning heavily against me. There was a gurgling sound from an upended bottle.

“Share the wealth, share the wealth,” I muttered as I pried the bottle from his shaking grasp. It was pretty foul stuff, but was rich with alcohol.

“You still don’t drink?” I gasped at Morton, holding up the rapidly emptying bottle.

“I’m learning fast,” He gulped then coughed, then gulped again before relinquishing the bottle to its original owner.

A deep rumble washed over us and we had to close our eyes against the glare as a spacer took off. The invasion was on. We swayed into each other as the truck squealed to a halt and a now familiar and loathsome voice ordered us out. Our nemesis, the pressgang colonel, was waiting for us. He was backed up now by a radio operator and a gaggle of noncoms. Behind him companies, battalions of soldiers, were marching in good order to the waiting transports.

“Now hear this,” the colonel bellowed. “Those are good troops back there, and they need good officers. Unhappily all I have for them are you fat-bottomed desk types, the dregs of the base. So I’m going to split you up, one to every company, in the hopes that you will maybe get some experience before you get dead.”