“That way-towards the jungle.”
“Those are farms.”
“Spare me the linguistic lesson and head for the hills. I want to be as far away from the troops as we can get before calling for help.”
They rumbled on and Bill began to master the controls.
When a squad of tanks came their way he stopped and, using the extensible arms, he actually emptied some garbage cans so as not to arouse suspicion.
“Pretty good,” he said proudly as the tanks vanished with a great slurping of churned-up mud.
“Would have been a lot better,” Mgr sneered, “if you had got the garbage into the hole on top instead of dumping it into the street.”
“It’s not that easy,” Bill sulked. “Do you think you could do better?”
“Drive,” the Chinger said wearily. “Never let it be known that I have debated the merits of garbage dumping with a renegade human.”
It was dusk before they reached a spot that suited Mgr’s needs. A rocky patch in the hills, far from human habitation. While Bill was driving he had dismantled the driving robot and used some of its spare parts to build two complicated electronic devices. He plugged one in the cigar lighter socket and waved it around.
“What’s that?” Bill asked.
“Detector detector for detecting detectors.”
“What does it do?”
“I have always been nice to little Chingers and have helped old Chingers across the street — so what have I done to deserve you? Since you must know I am trying to find out if I can send my signal without the enemy knowing about it. And I can — so I plug this device in.”
“What are you doing now?”
“Calling home obviously. There; the signal has gone out and we should get some results pretty soon ….
“It was sooner than that. His words were drowned out in the roar of landing jets as a hulking black craft dropped out of the sky and set down next to the truck. Mgr was on the ground in a single bound with Bill right behind him.
The airlock started to open and a microphone dropped out on a cord.
“Bgr I presume,” Mgr enthused into the microphone.
A squad of combat marines dropped out of the bottom of the ship, blast rifles aimed. The door opened and a General with seven stars on his shoulders came smiling forth.
“Not Bgr,” he said. “But General Saddam, head of Military Intelligence.”
“Save me!” Bill shouted and ran behind the General to the safety of the blast rifles. “This enemy made me his prisoner but I have found out his secret. His name is Mgr and he is head of the CIA. Their top intelligence agency.”
“Good work soldier. I suspected this Chinger from the very beginning, he was too easy to capture. And you have proven me right. My plans have worked perfectly!”
“No, General,” Mgr sneered greenly. “My plans have worked perfectly. Harumph!”
Bill whipped the General’s pistol from his holster and ground it into the General’s neck as he jumped to put the officer’s bulk between him and the gun-toting marines.
“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 ….