What the devil! Was Captain Staley nuts? Here they
were ... no food, no water, about to be blasted out
of existence by strange inhabitants of a weird
planet—and Staley was making like a baseball player!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Planet Stories Spring 1946.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
"Hut! Twuh, hree, foar. Hut! Twuh, hree, foar. Hut! Twuh—" SergeantHallihan boomed forth the monotonous syllables with unfalteringprecision, glaring from the corner of his eye now and then in hopesof catching some unfortunate fellow out of step or whispering to acompanion with questionable reference to the sergeant.
The dust-caked ranks marched along quietly, carefully refraining fromexpressing their opinion of this disgusting detail, but Hallihanknew what they were thinking. And he could well understand theirdispleasure. These were hard-bitten, two-fisted, hell for leatherI.P. men, and here they were with shovels and picks slung overtheir shoulders, plodding out to scratch in the dirt like common,dime-a-dozen ditch-diggers.
Hallihan felt as strongly about it as they, but orders were orders, andhe prided himself on his ability to carry out a command, regardless ofwhether or not it conformed with his personal sentiments. This job hadto be done, and the men all knew it could not be entrusted to a mobof imported flunkies. The Squeakers would make short work of such amotley crew.
The sergeant emitted a soft sigh between a snappy twuh and hree as hiswandering gaze came to rest on the slow-moving grav-car, in which rodethe brusque Captain Staley. The car skimmed along a foot or so abovethe ground, riding smoothly on its gravity-repellent ray. Hallihansuddenly became acutely aware of his aching feet. Would the captainnever call a halt? Hell, they couldn't march straight through to themine without rest. More than one soldier was dragging his feet, and thesergeant could hardly find the heart to snarl out his customary: "Getthe lead out back there, soldier. Pep it up!"
Bringing up the rearguard of the orderly lines was as strange a groupof "soldiers" as could be found on any moon of the system. These werethe "Barber's Delights," an odd life-form of Titan that had formed asort of aloof friendship with the Patrol from the moment it landed. Themen jokingly called them Barber's Delights because of the thick, shaggycoat of hair that covered their log-like bodies. The B.D.'s eitherdidn't understand, or just didn't care, for they made no objection totheir nickname.
There were twenty of the creatures in this group, and more joinedthem along the way. They imitated the brisk step of the soldiers withamazing exactness, though they possessed no semblance whatsoever offeet. They moved on dense mats of stubby, resilient bristles that grewfrom the flat bottoms of their column-bodies, sweeping forward likea horde of self-propelling brooms. Not wishing to be outdone by thevisitors, they had their own sergeant, who moved along importantly atthe side of his command, glaring threateningly from the corner of hissingle, huge eye. As Sergeant Hallihan called out his impeccable, "Hut!Twuh, hree, foar," Sergeant B.D. responded with, "Ungh! Ungh, ungh,ungh," the only sound he was capable of uttering. Hallihan scowled overhis shoulder and snorted disgruntledly, fervently wishing he couldget his heckler alone for a moment. His hard cot would have a new furmattress that night.
Hallihan estimated they were half-way to the mine now. That hugedeposit of chroidex salts was important to the system. Without theprecious mineral spaceflight would be imp