Гарри Гаррисон - Galactic Dreams

“Hey, guys!” he shouted. “If you shoot me you shoot the General, which would not look good on your records.”

The marines stirred uneasily, some lowering their guns.

Their indecision was decided when with a great roar another black ship descended from the sky with its gun turrets swivelling. A blast of energy seared the ground before the troops and they hastily threw away their rifles.

“You can’t do this!” the General roared, and tried to grab his pistol back from Bill who easily kept him at bay.

“Well done,” Bgr said stepping out of the open part of the ship. “You were right about this one, Mgr.”

“Thanks, Bgr.”

Bgr made a sudden leap and seized the gun from Bill. “Unharumph,” he said.

“You almost broke my fingers off!”

“Tough. But for a moron you did a great job, Bill.

“Get into the ship. And you, General, right behind him. File for a pension because your retirement has just begun.”

“You trapped me. This whole charade was just so you could get to me?”

“You bet our sweet patootie, General. Your side was getting too good. We figured out that someone really intelligent had gotten into the military and we couldn’t put up with that. The only way we can keep winning the war is by letting the military chain of command stand. With the stupidest rising to the top.”

A blast from the Chinger gun turret blew a hole through the other spacer and the marines fled for their lives. Mgr locked the General in chains as Bgr blasted them into the sky.

“You can drop me on some quiet planet, guys-okay?” Bgr shook his head no. “Sorry, Bill, there’s no discharge in the war. We need you in the Troopers. Maybe you too can be a General someday.”

“Will I still get the Booze of the Month Club?”

“Sorry about that as well. It was but a figment of my imagination to tantalize you with.”

“Then what do I get?”

“The rest of your R&R. All the officers are in the hospital with the sergeants taking care of them. We left a space freighter filled with every kind of alcoholic beverage known to mankind — as well as some unknown. All of your mates have imparted on a monumental binge and we know that they would like you to join them.”

“Traitor!” the General hissed. “Your name will live in infamy!”

“I suppose it will,” Bill sighed. “Though it won’t if you don’t tell them.”

“Count on that,” Mgr said.

“Well, in that case, you better pull out the stops. I don’t want the party to go on too long without me.”

Author’s Note: On the island of Hawaii there is an active volcano that has been erupting for eight years. It produces 1600 metric tons of sulfur dioxide, and other chemicals, per day. There is a civilian hotel upwind from the fumaroles. And there is a Military Rest Camp downwind, washed by the clouds of VOG. How art doth mimic life ….