The Other Side of Here

"I'll tell 'em," said Nick composedly.

He talked. Presently he swung away.

"It's done—if it can be done. I had six hams on the air then, all on directional aerials which cut out most of the scrambling. And every one of them swore that even before he made a high-frequency pack for himself, he'd pass on the news by amateur relay. Each one says that his own town is crazy with terror. Our whole civilization is going to pot. But we've done our stuff. Now what?"

As if in answer, there came the droning hum of a plane motor, then another. The sound became the deep-toned, distant roar of many engines.

Waldron searched the sky. Small, wabbling dots appeared against the blue—not from the direction of New York, but from the west. Philadelphia, perhaps. There were all of a dozen planes, but they did not fly in the riveted, rigid formation of military ships. These were flown by men who had little experience in formation flying, certainly. In fact, they were not military plans. Highly specialized training was needed to fly a modern military plane. It was not likely that such training would be encouraged in Underones who were treated as so much dirt.

Waldron straightened out the course of the cruiser.

"This is the devil!" he said with extreme calm. "I suppose I'll have to run the boat ashore and we'll take to the woods, eh?"

The planes were still a very long distance away—mere specks in the sky.

"We must be almost past the dead area, or past it," said Lucy uneasily. "If we could get help—"

"There's a Navy ship!" said Nick crisply. "A destroyer!"

Waldron stared. A nearly formless gray blob upon the sea, it floated aimlessly. It gave no sign of life at all. Waldron realized that they had not seen sea gulls lately. Culls hovered about harbors to feed on refuse. This destroyer had undoubtedly been "frozen" as it moved slowly through some anchorage. He swung the small fast motorboat around. Nick dived for the engine room.

"I'll see if I can get more speed for you," he said hungrily. "There'll be anti-aircraft guns on that destroyer, if we can get on board and get at the ammunition."

"Better than that," said Waldron. "She'll have dynamos on board and fighting men. An arc—"

Nick uttered what was almost a yelp of joy. He vanished below deck. The engine's speed picked up. The boat headed for the far-away cruiser.

But the planes came on. Nothing could be more daunting or more menacing than a formation of swift and deadly planes, flying low for a strafing run. Yet the terror came partly from the mathematical, unhuman precision of their roaring approach. However, these planes were not fighters. They were two and four-place passenger planes and they were handled competently enough, but without the speed or deadly precision that would have destroyed all hope of escape.

Their droning hum rose to a growl. From a growl, it rose to a roar. From a roar, it became thunder. Then the first of the planes dived. The sound of its motor rose in pitch. Waldron jerked over the wheel. The cruiser heeled over as it swerved.

The wings of the plane hung batlike over the boat for a bare instant. Something small and smoking dropped from it. It hit a wave and exploded with a racking detonation. A small wall of water flung the speedy cruiser's bow aside. The plane had swept on ahead.

"This isn't too bad!" said Waldron, in grim surprise. "They aren't trained for fighting or even for bombing. Hm. They only expected to loot. They weren't trained for anything else."

A second plane dived. Lucy watched, fearfully. Another miss. This thing, whatever it was, exploded in midair. Waldron glanced up.

Again there was the rising whine of a plane diving for them. And the complete weakness of the attack became evident. It could be that such a social organization as Fran had outlined could not possibly have high fighting quality. When the rank and file hated their leaders, there was a limit to the training that could be given them. Men too close to rebellion could not be trusted with bombs, or trained to bomb with precision. Actually, with military airfields in their hands, with military planes and undoubtedly ample bombs available, because of their social system the invaders could only muster men trained to fly private planes. No men had been trained for bombing. Waldron realized that the explosions from the first two planes had been of dynamite sticks! But they could be deadly enough.

The third plane overshot. Something went off smokily ten yards ahead of the cruiser. Spray fell all over the boat.

"Nick!" snapped Waldron. "Come up here with guns! We'll let Lucy steer and we'll do some anti-aircraft stuff."

Nick bobbed up. Lucy took the wheel. And the motley group of attacking planes had no thought beyond carrying out its orders. A plane dived down. It was no more than fifty feet above the water-level when Waldron and Nick Banner-man opened fire on its cockpit, together. It came head-on. Bullets hit.