Read Online Alternate Gerrolds by David Gerrold - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Gerrold
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have. I’d have considered it, but I couldn’t let the other fellows down. Later, we spent long hours talking among ourselves. If we ended the war, we’d be heroes. But ... just as likely, we might be war criminals. Nobody had ever used a bomb like this before.
But never mind that—if the bomb worked the way we wanted it to, we’d paralyze the Third Reich. The armies would stop fighting. The generals would surrender rather than let their troops be incinerated. Perhaps even they’d overthrow the murderous bastards at the top and save the rest of the world the trouble of hanging them. Perhaps.
And perhaps they’d do something else. Perhaps they’d launch a ferocious counter-attack beyond our abilities to comprehend. Perhaps they’d unleash all the poison gases and deadly germs they were rumored to have stockpiled. Who knew what they’d do if they were scared enough?
But that wasn’t our worry. All we had to do was deliver the device. Behind us, taking off at fifteen-minute intervals, thirty other planes would be following; each one equipped with cameras and radiation-detectors. The visible aftermath of this weapon would be on movie screens all over the world within the week.
I tried to imagine what else might be happening today. Probably the French resistance was being signaled to do whatever they could to scramble communications and transportation among the Nazis. Our ambassadors were probably preparing to deliver informative messages to other governments. We’d entered the war in 1939. Everybody expected us to invade Europe before the end of the summer. I wondered if our troops were massing even now to follow us into Germany.
Lieutenant Bogart came forward then with a thermos of coffee. It was his habit to come up to the cockpit for a while before we reached enemy territory. Today, he had more reason than ever. Despite his frequent protestations otherwise, the thought of the bomb in our belly clearly
disturbed him as much as the rest of us. Perhaps him more than anybody. He looked burnt and bitter. “Which way are we headed, skipper? We going over Paris?”
Colonel Peck nodded. “It’s the long way around, but I want to give Stan and Ollie plenty of time to arm the device.”
I looked at Bogey suddenly. There was something odd in his eyes, but I couldn’t identify the look. Anger perhaps? Some long-remembered hurt?
“Uh, ahh-h—you’ve been to Paris?” I asked.
He nodded. “I was there. For a while. Just before the jerries moved in.”
“I never made it myself. I always wanted to go, but something always came up. I had to stay home and help Pop with the business.”
“After the war is over,” Colonel Peck said, “We’ll all meet for champagne on the Champs Elysees.” He got a wistful look on his face then. “It’s one of the most beautiful streets in the world. Lined with cafes and shops and beautiful women. You could spend your days just sitting and sipping coffee. Or you could stuff yourself with mushrooms and fish poached in butter. You could follow it with little thin pancakes filled with thick rich cream. And the wine—we had champagne and caviar on toast so crisp it snapped. I never had a bad meal anywhere in France. They could make even a potato a work of art.”
He looked to Bogey for agreement, but the bombardier just shrugged. “I spent most of my time on the left bank, drinking the cheap wine. I didn’t get to the same joints you did, Colonel.”
“You saw a lot of Europe before the war, skipper?” Reagan asked.
Peck shook his head. “Not as much as I wanted to. But I have good memories.” He stared off into the distance as if he were seeing them all again. “I remember the tulip gardens in Copenhagen—so bright they dazzle the eyes. And the dark canals of Amsterdam, circling around the center of the city. All the buildings are so narrow that the staircases are almost like ladders.” He shook his head sadly. “I can still taste the thick layered pastries of
But never mind that—if the bomb worked the way we wanted it to, we’d paralyze the Third Reich. The armies would stop fighting. The generals would surrender rather than let their troops be incinerated. Perhaps even they’d overthrow the murderous bastards at the top and save the rest of the world the trouble of hanging them. Perhaps.
And perhaps they’d do something else. Perhaps they’d launch a ferocious counter-attack beyond our abilities to comprehend. Perhaps they’d unleash all the poison gases and deadly germs they were rumored to have stockpiled. Who knew what they’d do if they were scared enough?
But that wasn’t our worry. All we had to do was deliver the device. Behind us, taking off at fifteen-minute intervals, thirty other planes would be following; each one equipped with cameras and radiation-detectors. The visible aftermath of this weapon would be on movie screens all over the world within the week.
I tried to imagine what else might be happening today. Probably the French resistance was being signaled to do whatever they could to scramble communications and transportation among the Nazis. Our ambassadors were probably preparing to deliver informative messages to other governments. We’d entered the war in 1939. Everybody expected us to invade Europe before the end of the summer. I wondered if our troops were massing even now to follow us into Germany.
Lieutenant Bogart came forward then with a thermos of coffee. It was his habit to come up to the cockpit for a while before we reached enemy territory. Today, he had more reason than ever. Despite his frequent protestations otherwise, the thought of the bomb in our belly clearly
disturbed him as much as the rest of us. Perhaps him more than anybody. He looked burnt and bitter. “Which way are we headed, skipper? We going over Paris?”
Colonel Peck nodded. “It’s the long way around, but I want to give Stan and Ollie plenty of time to arm the device.”
I looked at Bogey suddenly. There was something odd in his eyes, but I couldn’t identify the look. Anger perhaps? Some long-remembered hurt?
“Uh, ahh-h—you’ve been to Paris?” I asked.
He nodded. “I was there. For a while. Just before the jerries moved in.”
“I never made it myself. I always wanted to go, but something always came up. I had to stay home and help Pop with the business.”
“After the war is over,” Colonel Peck said, “We’ll all meet for champagne on the Champs Elysees.” He got a wistful look on his face then. “It’s one of the most beautiful streets in the world. Lined with cafes and shops and beautiful women. You could spend your days just sitting and sipping coffee. Or you could stuff yourself with mushrooms and fish poached in butter. You could follow it with little thin pancakes filled with thick rich cream. And the wine—we had champagne and caviar on toast so crisp it snapped. I never had a bad meal anywhere in France. They could make even a potato a work of art.”
He looked to Bogey for agreement, but the bombardier just shrugged. “I spent most of my time on the left bank, drinking the cheap wine. I didn’t get to the same joints you did, Colonel.”
“You saw a lot of Europe before the war, skipper?” Reagan asked.
Peck shook his head. “Not as much as I wanted to. But I have good memories.” He stared off into the distance as if he were seeing them all again. “I remember the tulip gardens in Copenhagen—so bright they dazzle the eyes. And the dark canals of Amsterdam, circling around the center of the city. All the buildings are so narrow that the staircases are almost like ladders.” He shook his head sadly. “I can still taste the thick layered pastries of
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