Frigid Fracas Read online

CategoryMilitary. For when two corporations sued for permission to meet on amilitary reservation for trial by combat to settle their commercialdifferences, the sums involved were staggering. Joe Mauser had beencorrect in saying that the fracas had grown, even in his memory, fromskirmishes involving a company or two of men, to full fledged battleswith a division or even more on either side, forty thousand men ateach other's throats.

  So a commanding officer became noted not only for his abilities in thefield, but also those of cutting financial corners, recruiting hisforce of mercenaries, whipping them into a unit and getting them intothe action. In fact, corporations, these days, invariably stated theperiod of time to be involved when they petitioned the CategoryMilitary Department. Perhaps a month, three weeks of which would beused for recruiting and drill, the last week for the fracas itself.Nobody could excel Marshal Cogswell in using the three weeks to bestadvantage.

  Major Joe Mauser came to attention before the desk of the lieutenantcolonel of Marshal Cogswell's staff who was acting as receptionistbefore the sanctum sanctorum of the field genius. He saluted andsnapped, "Joseph Mauser, sir. Category Military, Rank Major. Onrequest to see the marshal."

  Lieutenant Colonel Paul Warren answered the salute, but then came tohis feet and grinned while extending his hand to be shaken. He said,"Good to see you again, Mauser. Hope you're in this one with us." Hisgrin turned rueful. "That trick of yours with the glider cost me apretty penny. I'd made the mistake of wagering heavily on Hovercraft.But the marshal is waiting. Right through that door, major. See youlater."

  Evidently, Joe decided, the marshal was recruiting for another fracas.Which was why Joe had been summoned, although when a field officer ofCogswell's stature was gathering officers to command a force, heseldom called upon them; they clamored for permission to serve withhim. You weren't apt to find yourself in the dill, under Cogswell, andyou practically never failed to collect your victory bonus. Victorywas a habit.

  Marshal Cogswell looked up from the desk at which he sat scowling at amilitary chart stretched before him. The scowl disappeared and hisstrong face lit with pleasure. The craggy marshal was a small man butstrongly built, clipped of voice and with a tone that would suggest hehad been born to command, had always commanded.

  Joe snapped to the salute which the marshal acknowledged with a flickof his baton, then stood to shake hands. "Ah, Major Mauser. Bit oftrouble locating you." His eyes narrowed momentarily. "Trust you arenot at present affiliated with any company colors." He took in Joe'suniform and scowled vaguely, not placing it.

  Joe said in self-deprecation, "This is my own devising, sir. I thoughtif I was going to have to present myself to be killed, for a living,that I might as well show up before the screens as distinctively aspossible. I've been told that ultimately the fracas buffs make orbreak you, in our category."

  The marshal frowned, as though unhappy and possibly surprised at Joe'swords, however, he sat down again and repeated his question by merelylooking at the other.

  "No, sir, I'm free," Joe said. "However, frankly, I wasn't looking fora commission right at this time."

  Cogswell stared at him. Mauser was a good junior officer and they'dbeen through half a dozen fracases together over the years, not alwayson the same side.

  "Why not?" Cogswell barked. "Are you convalescing, major? Surely youdidn't manage to cop one in that last farce?"

  "Personal reasons, sir."

  "Very well," Cogswell growled. "However, I'm going to attempt to swayyou, major. Would seem that I am up against it, if I don't, and, in amanner it's your fault."

  Joe was bewildered. "My fault, sir?"

  The older man's voice went brisk. "This is the situation. I have beenapproached by the United Miners to command their forces in their trialby combat with Carbonaceous Fuel. Same old issues, of course. Contractbetween the union and corporation is usually for only two years. Eachtime it comes up again, the union officials try to get a larger cut ofthe pie and the hereditary heads of Carbonaceous Fuel resist.Automatically, the Category Military Department issues a permit. Thefracases they've been fighting prove so popular that there'd be riotsif the permit was refused. Frankly, I'm no great admirer of the groupin control of United Miners, but--"

  Joe was surprised enough to say, "Why not, sir?" Old pro mercenariesseldom concerned themselves as to the issues or principles involved ina fracas. They chose their side by more mundane considerations.

  * * * * *

  Marshal Cogswell looked at him testily. "Sit down, Joe. You're not onmy staff, as yet, at least. Zen take the formality!" When Joe hadaccepted the chair, he growled again. "Suppose you didn't know I wasborn into Category Mining?"

  "No, sir."

  "Well, I was. But even as a boy this new industrial revolution wascutting the number of employees involved in the category each yearthat went by."

  "That's happened in every field, sir. Including my original one." JoeMauser was thinking, _so what?_

  "Of course," Cogswell rapped. "My objection is what happened to theunion. Unions were originally founded as an instinctive gatheringtogether of employees to achieve as high a pay as they could get fromthe employer, with the strike as their weapon. But whatever theoriginal purpose, and its virtue or lack of it, the union grew intosomething entirely different by the early and middle twentiethcentury. Such unions as the United Miners grew to such a size thatthey, themselves, became some of the largest business organizations inthe country. And eventually they came to be run, like any otherbusiness, for the benefit of those who owned or controlled them. Theprofessional labor leader evolved, motivated by his own interests andfinally becoming, in his despotic control of the union, backed by goonsquads and gangsters, as powerful a man as was to be found in thecountry. Seldom were strikes any longer held to better the conditionof the individual union members. Instead, the issues were contractswhich allowed for fabulous sums to go into the union coffers wherethey were at the disposal of the union officials."

  The marshal grunted sourly. "Now that the whole industry of mining isall but completely automated and only a few thousands employedactively, there are confounded few miners not on the unemployed list,but the union officials wax as fat as ever, what with the percentagesof each ton mined going into so-called welfare funds, and such."

  He looked at Joe, evidently conscious that he had made an inordinarylong speech for the supposedly taciturn Stonewall Cogswell. He clearedhis throat and said, "Not that it's my affair. I switched categoriesto Military, in my youth. Let us get to the point. I've been caughtnapping, Joe."

  That was an unlooked for confession to come from Stonewall Cogswell.Joe said nothing, waiting for more.

  The marshal shook his baton at the younger officer. "By utilizing thatconfounded glider of yours as a reconnaissance craft, yourevolutionized present warfare, major. Act of absolute ingenuity, andI admired it. Unfortunately, I failed to realize the speed with whichevery professional in our category would jump upon the bandwagon andsecure gliders for himself."

  Joe saw light.

  "Been caught short," Cogswell rapped. "Short of gliders. Short of evenone glider. And within a few weeks I'm committed to a divisional sizefracas." He pushed back his chair, angrily. "General McCord is incommand of the Carbonaceous Fuel forces. Met him before, and alwaysbrought up victory only by the skin of my teeth. But this time he hastwo gliders. I have none."

  "But, sir, surely you can either buy or rent several craft on themarket."

  "Confound it! It's not the machines that are unavailable, but thetrained pilots to operate them. The sport hasn't been popular in halfa century. Not overly so, even then."

  "But training a pilot--"

  "Training a pilot, nonsense!" the marshal was shaking his baton at himagain, in indignation. "A _pilot_ won't do. He must also be a trainedreconnaissance man. Must be able to follow terrain from the air.Identify military forces both in nature and number. I needn't tell youthis, major. You above all know the problem."

  It hadn
't occurred to Joe, but the other was obviously right. Therecouldn't be more than a few dozen men in Category Military who couldhold down both the job of pilot and reconnaissance officer. In anothersix months, the situation would have changed. Officers would quicklybe trained. But now? As Cogswell said, he was caught short.

  Joe came to his feet. "Sir, I'll have to consider the commission.Frankly, my plans were otherwise."

  Cogswell started at him grimly. "Mauser, you've always been one of thebest. An old pro, in every sense of the word. However, there have beensome rumors going around about your ambitions."

  Joe said