had not gained his intrepidreputation as a Telly cameraman without cause. He moved fast, both toget the small French machine gun into Joe's hands and to get himselfinto action as a cameraman.
He snapped, "What's the situation?"
Joe, circling, circling, praying the updraft wouldn't give out on himbefore it did on the others, on their opposite hill, said, "We weightoo much. Altitude counts. What've you got back there that can bethrown out?" As he talked, he was shrugging himself out of his leatherflying jacket.
"Nothing," Freddy said in anguish. "I cut down my equipment to thebarest, like you said."
"You've got extra lenses and stuff, out with them." Joe tossed hiscoat over the glider's side, began unlacing his shoes. "And all yourclothes. Clothes are heavy."
"I need my equipment to get long-range shots, like when one of themcrashes!" The little man was scanning the others through hisview-finder, even as he argued, and shrugging out of his own jacket.
The updraft gave out and the rate of climb meter began to register adrop. Joe swore and shot a glance at his opponents. Happily, they,too, had lost their currents, both were now heading for him.
Joe clipped out to his companion. "We're not going to be getting shotsof them crashing, unless we lose more weight. Overboard witheverything you can possibly afford, Freddy. That's an order."
There was one thing in his favor. He had a year's flying experience,more than six months of it in this very glider. The stick andrudderbar were as though appendages of his body. One flies by the seatof his pants, in a soaring glider, and Joe flew his as though born init. The others, obviously, were as yet not thoroughly used toengineless craft.
He banked away from them, flying as judiciously as possible,begrudging each foot dropped. He could feel the craft jump lightlyeach time the cursing Telly reporter jettisoned another article ofequipment, his pants, or his shoes.
The others evidently had their guns fix-mounted, to fire straightahead. Joe wondered, even as he slid away from them, how they managedto escape detection from the Sov-world and Neut-world field observers.Well, that could be worried about later.
One of them fired at him at too great a range, and then both,realizing that they were dropping altitude too quickly and that soonJoe would be on their level, turned away and sought a new updraft. Asthey banked, their faces were clearly discernible. One raised a handin mocking salute.
"Look at that curd-loving Bob," Joe laughed grudgingly. "Here, let mehave that gun."
He steadied the small mitrailleuse on the edge of the cockpit, holdingthe craft's stick between his knees, and squeezed off a burst whichrattled through the other's fuselage without apparent damage. The foeglider slid away quickly, losing precious altitude in the maneuver.
"Ah, ha," Joe said wolfishly. "So now they know we've got a stingertoo."
"I got that," Freddy crowed. "I got it perfectly. Listen, we're toohigh for the boys down below. Get lower so they can get you on lens,Joe. The other Telly teams. Every fracas buff in North America iswatching this."
Joe snorted his disgust. "I hope every fracas buff in North Americachokes on his trank pills," he snarled. "We're in the dill, Freddy.Understand? We're too heavy, and there's two of them and one of us. Ontop of that, those are Maxim guns they've got mounted, not peashooterslike this Chaut-Chaut."
"That's your side of it," Freddy said, not unhappily. "I take care ofthe photography. Get closer, Joe. Get closer."
Joe had found another light updraft and gained a few hundred feet, butso had the others. They circled, circled. His experience balancedtheir advantage of the lesser weight. Happily, their glide ratiosdidn't seem to be any better than his own. Had they high performancegliders of forty, or even thirty-five, gliding angle ratios, he wouldhave been lost.
"Nothing else you can toss out?" he growled at Freddy.
"What the Zen!" Freddy muttered nastily. "You want me to jump?"
"That's an idea," Joe growled wolfishly, even as he circled, circled."I should have realized when you were giving me your fling aboutreintroducing aerial warfare, that it wasn't an idea that otherscouldn't have. It was just as easy for Bob to mount a gun as it wasfor us. Now we're both being kept from doing reconnaissance by theother and--"
Joe Mauser broke it off in mid-sentence and his face blanched. He shota quick look downward. All three gliders had climbed considerably, andthe terrain below was indistinct.
Joe snapped, "Hand me those glasses!"
"What glasses? What's the matter?" Freddy complained. "Try to getcloser to them and let me get a close-up of you giving them a burst."
"My binoculars!" Joe snapped urgently. "I want to see what's going onbelow."
"Oh," Freddy said. "I threw them out. Along with all the rest of theequipment. Glasses, semaphore flags, that sun blinker you had. All ofit went overboard with my extra lenses."
The craft was so banked as almost to have the wings perpendicular toearth. Joe shot an agonized look at the smaller man, then back againat the earth below, trying desperately to narrow his eyes for keenervision.
Freddy said, "What in Zen's the matter with you? What difference doesit make what they're doing down below? We're all occupied up here,thanks."
"This is a frame-up," Joe growled. "Bob and that other pilot. Theyweren't out on reconnaissance, this morning. They were laying for me.They're out to keep me from seeing what's going on down there. And Iknow what's going on. Jack Altshuler's pulling a fast one. Here we go,Freddy, hang on!"
He slapped his flap brake lever with his left hand, winged over andbegan dropping like a shot as his gliding angle fell off fromtwenty-five to one to ten to one. In seconds the other two gliderswere after him, riding his tail.
Freddy Soligen, his eyes bugging, shot a look of fear at the twotrailing craft, both of which, periodically, showed brilliant cherriesat their prows. Maxim guns, emitting their blessings.
The Telly reporter turned desperately back to Joe Mauser, pounding himon the shoulder. His physical fear was secondary to another. "Joe!You're on lens with every Telly team down there, and you're running!"
"Cut that out," Joe rapped. "Duck your head. Let me train this gunover you. I've got to keep those jokers from shooting off our tailbefore I can get to the marshal."
"The marshal!" Freddy yelled. "You can't get to him anyway. I told youI threw away your semaphore flags, your blinker--everything. Thiscountry's hilly. You can't get your message to him anyway. Listen,Joe, you've still got time. You can stunt these things better thanthose two can."
"Duck!" Joe snarled. He let loose a burst at the pursuing gliders overthe smaller man's head, and just missing his own tail section.
They sped down almost to tree level at fantastic speed for a glider.The two enemy craft were hot after them, their guns _flac, flac,flacing_ in continuous excitement, trying to catch Joe in sights, ashe kicked rudder, right, left, right, in evasive maneuver.
He guess had been correct. The swashbuckling Jack Altshuler had knowhis many times commander even better than Cogswell had realized.Instead of three alternative maneuvers open to the wily cavalryman,he'd ferreted out a fourth and his full force, hauling mountain gunson mule back with them, were trailing over a supposedly impossiblemountain path which originally could not have been more then a deertrack.
Freddy Soligen, in back, was holding his head in his hands insurrender. He could have focused on the troops below, but the desirewasn't in him. Not one fracas buff in a hundred could comprehend thecomplications of combat, the need for adequate reconnaissance--theneed for Joe to get through.
He made one last plea. "Joe, we've put everything into this. Everyshare of stock you've accumulated. All I have, too. Don't you realizewhat you're doing, so far as the buffs are concerned? Those twohalf-trained pilots behind have you on the run."
Joe growled, "And twenty thousands lads down below are depending on meto report on Altshuler's horse."
"But you can't win, anyway. You can't get your message to Cogswell!"
Joe shot him a wolfish grin. "Wanta bet?
Ever heard of a crashlanding, Freddy? Hang on!"
XI
Stretched out on the convalescent bed in the Category Military resthome, Joe grinned up at his visitor and said ruefully, "I'd salute,sir, but my arms seem to be out of commission. And, come to think ofit, I'm out of uniform."
Cogswell looked down at him, unamused. "You've heard the news?"
Joe caught the other's tone and his face straightened. "You mean theDisarmament Commission?"
Cogswell said