Harry Frank - Alas, Babylon

“What about you, Admiral Hazzard?” Paul asked. “What about the children? What about the two women who live across the road—the librarian and the telegraph gal?”

Sam Hazzard laughed. “Colonel, I have a fleet under my command. If the Navy Department will give me a fleet, I’ll go with you. Not otherwise.”

“We don’t have any fleets,” Paul Hart said. “All we’ve got left, really, are nuclear submarines. The subs saved us, I guess. The subs and the solid fuel rockets and some of the airborne missiles.”

Lib said, “Alice Cooksey and Florence Wechek are in town but they were talking about the possibility of going out only a few nights ago. They’ll both want to stay. You see, they’re terribly busy. They’ve never worked so hard or accomplished so much in their whole lives. And I don’t know what Fort Repose would do without them. They’re practically our whole education system, and they keep all the records.”

“Isn’t anybody going?” Hart asked. Ben Franklin said, “Not me!”

Peyton, who had quietly returned to the conference, said, “Me either.”

Helen came downstairs with the prescription for Dan’s glasses. They all walked out to the porch and Randy went out with Paul to the helicopter. They shook hands.

Randy said, “Paul, there’s one thing more. Who won the war?”

Paul put his fists on his hips and his eyes narrowed. “You’re kidding! You mean you really don’t know?”

“No. I don’t know. Nobody knows. Nobody’s told us.”

“We won it. We really clobbered ’em!” Hart’s eyes lowered and his arms drooped. He said, “Not that it matters.”

The engine started and Randy turned away to face the thousand-year night.