CHAPTER 26

It was next morning when the cagal hit the fan. Reports had come in during the night of the fantastic success of D-Day. The troops had trooped into town with their passes, had expressed a great appreciation of fresh air, had been welcomed at the back entrance of any clothing store to change out of their uniforms, had boarded train after train. The last one left just before midnight when the curfew had descended.
  And there had been no alarm, not at first. Luckily there

were four gates into the camp and I presumed that the MPs, in their native ignorance, had all thought the returning soldiers had used the other gates. Therefore they had all been happy to cagal off for the evening. So successful had been our operation that even the extra trains had not sufficed for the mobs of deserters. Over a hundred were still in the city.  They would stay hidden until nightfall when, hopefully, they would be smuggled to the station.
  With my new-found wealth I had bought a giant TV as a gift for our hosts.  Morton and I were watching a local broadcast when the military cut in. Neither of us appreciated it for this was a day of celebration of some kind, the anniversary of the wiring of Mark Forer's first circuit board or some such, and all the city had turned out. We

were enjoying a parade, headed by the local girls' cycle

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club, all flashing bronzed limbs and fluttering skirts, when the picture sizzled and died to be replaced by General Zennor's scowling features.
  "Turn it offi" Morton moaned. "If I look at him I won't be able to eat lunch."
  "Leave it. It won't be good news, but since we will have to hear it sometime—better now."
  "Attention!" Zennor said and Morton made a rude noise with his tongue; I waved him to silence. "You all know

me. General Zennor of the liberating forces. You know me as a kind and patient man . .." "He is a great fiction writer!" "Quiet!"
  ". . . a firm leader and ajust one. And now the time has

come for firmness and justice to be applied. I have just discovered that a few cowards among the ranks of my loyal troops have been foolish enough to attempt to desert. Desertion is punishable by death . . ." "What isn't in the rotten army!"
  ". . . and I know that none of you out there would want that to happen to foolish and misguided young men. Therefore this announcement. I am extending all passes issued last night for twenty-four hours. They are good until midnight tonight. No soldier will be punished who returns to the base before midnight. I therefore advise all the people of this city to speak to these misguided youths who are hidden among you. Tell them to return. You know where they are. Go to them. Tell them of this generous offer." The fake kindness vanished from his face in an instant as he leaned close to the camera and snarled.
  "Tell them also that my generosity vanishes at midnight! Martial law will then be declared. This city will be sealed. No one will enter or leave it. Then the city will be searched. Block by block, building by building. Any deserter who is then found will be taken prisoner, will be given one bottle of beer and will be allowed to write one letter home. And will then be shot.
  "Is that clear enough? You have this single warning. You have until midnight tonight to return. That is the

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message I send to the deserters. After that—you are as good as dead—" I hit the button and turned the set off.
  "Pretty depressing," Morton said, looking pretty depressed. "Turn it back on so we can at least look at the girls."
  I did. But they were long gone and had been replaced by a man with long hair and an enthusiastic expression who was going on in great detail about the untold joys of IM. I killed the sound.
"You know, Morton, he eans us too."
  "Don't say it! I know. Isn't there another station with

space opera? I need a drink."
  "No you don't. You need to sit quiet and pull yourself together and help me find a way out of this for all of us. Well, maybe a small drink, a glass of beer just to get the thoughts rolling."
  "I could not but overhear," Stirner said, entering with a tray of glasses and bottles. "If you will permit I will join you. The day is warm."
  We clinked and glugged. "Any word from the city?" I asked.
  "A good deal of words. All the trains leaving the city have been canceled so there is no way out by train." "The roads?"
  "Roadblocks on all arteries leading from the city. Flying machines supported by rotating wings—" "Choppers."
  "Thank you, I have noted the word. Choppers flying

over the countryside between so none may escape that way. All young men who attempt to leave are being detained, even when they are obviously Chojecki citizens who speak only our native tongue. They are imprisoned until their hands have been pressed to a plate on a machine, that is what has been reported. So far all have been released."
  "Very neat," I muttered, "and just about foolproof. Fingerprint check. Right through to the base computer. So

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we can't get out that way. It will have to be the fields, after dark."
  "Not that I want to cast a note of gloom," Morton said, gloorncasting. "Choppers, infrared detectors, side-mounted machine guns, death from the sky . . ."
  "Point taken, Morton. Too dangerous. There must be another way."
  The lecture had finished and once more hearty biking enthusiasts swept across the screen. All males with hairy knees: Morton grumbled in his throat. Then instantly cheered up as the girls' club appeared, waving and smiling at the camera.
  "Wow!" I shouted, jumping to my feet and running in small circles. "Wow-wow!" "Down the hall, second door on the left." "Shut up, Morton. This is inspiration, not constipation. You see genius at work. You see before you the only man who knows how to get us all safely from the city. " "How?"
  "That's how," I said, pointing at the screen. "Stimer— get busy on the phone and the backfence gossip circuit. I want this show on the road by midaftemoon. It will take us at least that long to organize it."
  "Organize what?" Morton cried. "I'm lost. What are you talking about?"
  "I think I know," Stimer said, being quicker on the uptake than Mort. "You are going to leave the city on bicycles. But you will be stopped."
 "No we won't—because you got the answer only half right. Well all be leaving as girls!"
  Once the idea had penetrated joy reigned for a bit— then we got down to work. Since I was doing most of the planning and organizing I was the very last one to actually get involved in the nitty-gritty of personal survival. There was much coming and going. I was vaguely aware when Morton's bicycle arrived, but then got busy again with the men's cycle club. I ate a sandwich, drank another beer, and looked up blinking when Morton called to me.

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HWTy HWFtMfl

  "We've got to leave soon. The first guys are already in the square. Now don't laugh!"
  I fought hard. The fluffy chintz dress wasn't really him. Nor had shaving his hairy legs made much of an improvement. But the foam-stuffed bra helped, as did the wig. From a distance, sure, but close up the effect was a little disconcerting.
"I think a touch of lipstick is needed." "Yeah! Well let's see how great you look. Get changing!" I did. .The cute little pleated skirt was green so went nicely with my redhair.«l looked into the mirror and sighed. "Jim—you never looked better."
  We parted, thanking our hosts again for their hospitality.  Hoping that we would meet again—after the war. Stimer, as stout a biker as he was a hiker, would be our guide. He set off at a good clip and we girls had to push hard to keep up.
 Mark Forer Square was a scene of gay abandon. Or maybe that is not the right word. Better, perhaps, to say that everyone had been dragged there. As we pedaled up the first thing we saw was the Bellegarrique Girls' Cycle Club. Just like on television, but infinitely more attractive in the flesh.  Flesh—some very strange flesh.  Because beyond the girls were other girls. Lantern of jaw, thick of thigh, scowling of mien. Our escaping draftees. Some of them hadn't been on a bike in years and were wobbling about the square, occasionally falling in a flurry of skirts and guttural oaths.
  "Attention!" I shouted, then again until there was a modicum of silence. "Firstly, knock off the cursing. These kind people are risking their lives to help you deserters,

se be nice to them. Secondly—if anyone falls offwhen we go past the roadblock we all have had it. Some threewheelers are on the way, plus some bicycles built for two. Sort yourselves out and mount up. We are on schedule." "Where are we going?" one of them called out.
 "You'll be told when you get there.  Now timing is important. When I say go—we go. And anyone left behind is in the cagal. And cursing is a privilege of rank," I added

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at their cries of protest. "I'm in charge so I'll curse for all of us until we get clear. Mount up."
  I led the deserter-girls around the square two or three times until they closed up and got it together. Only then did I signal the real girls' club to go into action. They

were beautiful. With a swoop they came down upon us, breaking into two ranks that swept by on both sides, closed up around us. The leader carried the flag and we followed her with passion. Down the road, smoothly and swiftly.
Toward the roadblock at the junction ahead.
  Then around the corner, cutting in front of us girls,

came the Veterans' Cycle Club. Every head gray, or if not gray as bald as a billiard ball. Knotty gnarled legs pumped, ancient tickers ticked. Ahead of us they swooped—and on to the barriers that had been set up across the road. Some went around them, others dismounted and pulled them aside. The sergeants and officers shouted back, struggled feebly, but an opening appeared. Just as we did. And just wide enough to get through.
  Some of our outriding girls peeled off and helped the ancients make the opening wider. Some of them laughed and kissed the officers. Confusion reigned—and through the confusion, and the opening in the barrier, I led my girls. Silent and sweating and pumping for all they were worth. Through the barrier and down the road and around the bend.
  "Keep going!" I shouted hoarsely. "We're not out of the cagal yet. No one stops until we get to the woods. Go! Go! Last one there is a cagal-kopfl"
 We went. Pedaling and cursing and sweating and wobbling—but we went. Down the road and into the forest, off into the lanes to skid and fall and crash and roll;

on the soft green grass.
  "Can we not—do that again!" Morton gasped, lying on his back and moaning.
  "I don't know, Mort, I thought it was kind of fun. You ought to get more exercise. "
  He sat up and looked where I was looking, and stopped

m               Harry Harrison

moaning. The real girls' club had arrived, a symphony oi lovely flesh and flowing movements, tossed hair, flashing eyes. And picnic baskets.
  When the first beer was held high a ragged cheer broke out. The army was only a bad memory; freedom was bliss. This was the first day of the rest of their new lives and if it stayed like this—why paradise was here around us.
  I joined in the revelry but my heart wasn't really in it, my smile false. Through some native perversion, an inability to enjoy pure happiness, all I could think of was Zennor and what repulsive,tricks he would be up to when he discovered that about half of his army had vanished for good.