"I don’t think so."
"You should. In particular, read the story of the little mongoose called Rikki-tikki-tavi, because of the noise he made, and how he was taken into a house as a pet after the river floods swept him out of his mother’s nest. In the garden of the house live a couple of cobras, and pretty soon the mongoose kills the male cobra, because it’s laying for the man of the house. But the female cobra is left. And she’s got a clutch of eggs will produce a few dozen young cobras. She knows she can’t rule the roost in the garden while Rikki’s around, so she decides he has to go. She says so, and she means it.
"The little mongoose weighs up the odds. He can handle the cobra if she comes at him. He just has to watch his step, and be ready for her any time. But the eggs hatching out are something else. Once they’re hatched and the young cobras become dangerous — operational you might call it — he’s gone. He can’t handle that many at once, they’ll be too strong for him.
"So he waits his chance, and when the female cobra is causing mischief somewhere else, he breaks those eggs. The cobras inside the shells aren’t dangerous to him — yet. But it’s just a question of time, then they will be. So he kills them. He doesn’t have to ask for proof — his instinct tells him a mongoose doesn’t live with a snake. He kills the snakes, or the snakes kill him. So he acts, and he lives. He destroys the eggs, and then he destroys the mother cobra. He’s safe, and the people in the house are safe. They can live their lives in peace. It’s a good story, Paul, and a good analogy too."
"You really think so?"
"I really think so. I’ve forgotten your record of service. Have you ever had personal contact with them?"
"No," Howard shook his head. "Not personal."
Quinten looked levelly at him. "I have," he said, "just a few times. One was in Austria. Officially, the war had been over a few days. But the Russian columns were still moving forward. I watched the Mongolian troops enjoying themselves. By that I mean raping women. By women I mean any female they could lay their hands on between six and sixty. All right, they were animals, they knew no better. But their officers did, and they refused to intervene. That, I saw personally. There was nothing we could do about it. We had a handful of officers and men there, and they had several divisions. I began to hate them then.
"In Berlin, I went to a party one night. A Russian officer got drunk. Well, that wasn’t unusual, but this one got drunker than most. He took me aside. He said he liked me personally, but that wouldn’t save me. When they were strong enough, he said, they’d finish us. He meant it, believe me. He’s a general now, and commands a Bison division. Funnily enough, he used exactly the terms that were used again just after Hungary had been crushed. ‘We’ll bury you,’ he said. ‘Give us time, we’ll bury you:’ Just that, no reason given, nothing else.
"Then I saw it spread from Russia. To the Balkans, to Eastern Europe, to China. Troops taken prisoner in Korea forced to stand naked on the ice of a frozen river while water was poured over their feet until they were part of the ice of the river. Until they were prepared to say anything, sign anything, to preserve their sanity. Some of them didn’t give in. They lost their feet. Sometimes they lost their minds, sometimes their lives. My nephew was one of the lucky ones. He just lost his life.
"I didn’t see what happened in Hungary, but some of my friends did. Remember the wild excitement of the first few days? A torch had been lit, we said. The human spirit is unconquerable after all, we said. The crash as Stalin’s statue fell was supposed to be the signal for the re-birth of freedom. Instead, it heralded the entry of the Red Army.
"The armour moved in and slowly crushed the life out of Budapest. Tank crews fired high explosive at crowds of helpless women and children. Some of the Russian troops sickened of their task, and refused to carry on. So the Kremlin fell back on their old standby. In went the Mongolians, and they behaved with their customary savagery. The revolt was smashed.
"The Russians marked the fact we were prepared to sacrifice a nation rather than risk a war. They marked the fact we preferred to preach sermons to the British and French because they’d seen the grip the Reds were getting on Egypt, and had done something about it. Their I.C.B.M. was coming along fast. Our reluctance to act gave them fresh proof they’d be able to fight a war exactly when and where they chose. They went to work. It was that Christmas of fifty-six I decided they had to be smashed.
"You know what’s happened since. Their satellites. Their I.C.B.M. sites almost ready. Their phoney ending of H-tests You’re damn right they could afford to end them. In the six weeks before they made the announcement they’d tested enough bombs to keep them going for at least three years. You’ve seen the figures, you know that’s true. And the way they planned things, by the time that three years was up they wouldn’t need the bombs any more. They’d have blotted out all opposition."
Quinten paused, picked up his pencil, and began doodling on his notepad again. "That’s why I acted, Paul," he went on, his voice quieter and lower pitched than it had been a few seconds before. "Because it was not only expedient, it was right. Because it wasn’t wanton aggression, but sheer self-defence. Do you understand?"
Howard stood up. He walked over to the window, and gazed out at the darkness which had flowed over the base when the airfield lighting was turned off. "I think I do," he said levelly. "I think I understand, General, and I’m beginning to think…"
He broke off abruptly as in the distance a dozen red flames and two white lines of tracer blazed suddenly in the darkness. Almost at once the thuds of the explosions were heard, and then heavier, louder explosions as a couple of Skysweepers from one of the concrete flak towers joined in. He swung round. "General, we’re being attacked."
Quinten looked at the wall clock. Eight minutes after eleven. It was too soon. He wondered how they’d managed to mount an attack so quickly. "I expected it," he murmured, "but not this fast. All right, so well hold them off as long as we can. There’s no sweat"
Howard looked at him. Quinten was unruffled, not in the least perturbed by the attack. A moment ago, Howard had found Quinten’s reasoning valid. He had almost spoken right out in favour of the general’s action. But this was something else. Out there Americans were killing Americans. That couldn’t be justified ever. He felt a sudden surge of anger at whoever had ordered the attack. And a cold, bitter hatred of Quinten, who was prepared to let his own men die.
He forced himself to speak soberly and quietly. That way Quinten might listen to him. "General, those are our own people out there attacking, and our own people defending. Your plan’s safe now. For God’s sake stop this unnecessary killing." There was a continual background of noise as he spoke. Out on the wide expanses of the base lines of tracer were appearing in thirty or forty different places.
Quinten sighed. "I don’t like it, Paul, any more than you do, but it’s necessary. There’s still an hour before the eight forty-third bomb. If whoever’s attacking can walk right in they might be able to locate Bailey or Hudson in time to get the code group from them. I can’t risk that." The telephone on his desk rang. He picked it up. "Sure," he said, "I know what uniforms they’re wearing, they’re trying to take the base aren’t they?… All right then, throw in everything we’ve got… Sure, do that" He replaced the phone.
Howard moved slowly over to the desk. Quinten placed his right hand near the automatic, but did not pick it up. "Give orders to stop it, General," Howard said quietly. "There are men dying out there, men who trusted you and believed in you. Don’t do this to them."