There Won't Be War

The Long-Awaited Appearance of the Real Black Box Ratislav Durman

Edward Reindrop Horvat never had any illusions that he was an important person. His work as a restorer of Martian relics had no direct influence on the history of mankind; in fact, his influence was really quite negligible. The policy of Isolation had cut off all links between the Earth and Mars but, even without any further flow of artifacts from the Red Planet to Earth, there were still enough so that Edward had no fear that he would have to pass the years before retirement in another profession. The question was whether he would make it to retirement at all.

He was among the first conscripts yet the war did not interest him at all. At the obligatory political education classes during basic training they told him there were twenty reasons for war. The first two were so obviously ridiculous that he didn’t bother to listen to the rest. He slept through them instead since the officer who gave the lectures obviously didn’t care whether anyone listened to him or not.

By the time Edward arrived at the front the bitterness he had acquired in basic training had grown considerably. It bothered him that there was no one whom he could address with any conviction as “Sir” (the only man he knew was worthy of his “Good Morning, Sir” was killed in the first bombardment). It maddened him that instead of engaging in the highest sort of intellectual pursuits he was now forced to carry a rifle. It annoyed him that the only women he met were mindless automations of neurotic sexual compulsives who wanted to have one last orgasm before the end. These were the members of women’s battalions with whom they were ordered to couple in the interests of “reducing psychic tension” among the troops.

But more than anything else it drove him into a rage that he was being forced to kill people who also had no interest in the war, who, if they were lucky, slept during political education lectures, just as he did. His dissatisfaction, however, did not last long. The physical exertions, the constant uncertainty and the everyday presence of death quickly extinguished every emotion. He became an automation which was fine since nothing more was expected of him.

Ten years went by, and death ignored him.

Anthony Sever would have been a soldier in any era and under any regime. Under Caeser, Joan of Arc or Rommel, he would certainly have risen no further than non-commissioned officer, a rank he certainly would have attained. However, his personal traits and the exigencies of the times in which he lived had made him general—and the head of the High Command at that.

He was always happiest at the front, in the thick of battle. Nevertheless his rank and position demanded that he put in an occasional appearance in the rear, whenever this was required by higher powers, or by the Great Leader. This time he had to go to the base “Q” in the delta.

Edward Reindrop Horvat had quickly, and despite his lack of ambition, risen to the rank of lieutenant. Soon after this, during attack, he had shown superhuman bravery. A cadet at any military academy in the world who had pronounced such an action feasible would have failed all his exams. It was no wonder that the commander of that sector of the front had rushed up to Edward and, tearing a medal from his own chest, had pinned it to him on the spot. Nor was it any wonder that Edward told the commander to shove the medal up his ass, to give him first aid instead since he was wounded. The commander believed that he was a reasonable man. He did not have Edward court-martialed, but he did strip him of all his rank and issued orders that he was never to be promoted again.

Though now only a private soldier, Edward often carried out missions which as a rule were only given to officers. Thus it came about that he was assigned to carry some documents to the base “Q” in the delta.

On his arrival in the delta General Anthony Sever had immediately ordered the execution of a guard for unmilitary bearing, demoted two officers to Private because he was dissatisfied with the cleanliness of the base, and sent a sergeant from communications center to the neuropsy-chiatric ward for stuttering. Colonel Liezovski, the commander of the base, hurried to meet the general before any really serious incident could take place.

“General, sir, I would like to inform you that the garrison of this base ...”

“Fine, fine,” said the general. “What’s the problem, Colonel?”

“The new offensive weapons the enemy have been using lately calls for ...”

“Keep it short,” interrupted the general. “Keep it short.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Good God,” sighed the general, “you’re incompetent, Captain Liezovski. If you keep on like this I’ll kick you down to buck private, one rank at a time. And then I’ll have you shot for sabotage. Is that clear?”

“... the ultimate defensive weapon, the Defender EFI/1. More commonly known as the real black box. It’s the invention of Colonel Doctor Levi from this base.”

“Excellent,” said the general. “That’s what I like. You are a major now, so talk fast. I don’t believe in your real black box. There’s no such thing as a perfect defensive weapon.”

“General, sir, the real black box creates a protective field around the soldier so that nothing can harm him.”

“What about poison gases?”

“The protective field is selective, sir. It only lets in molecules of nitrogen and oxygen, in a ration of 3.5 to 1.5.”

“And what about all those rays and waves? Lasers for example?”

“Absolute protection, General.”

“It can’t work,” the general frowned. “I know that much physics. If this field doesn’t let in waves—then how can the soldier see what’s going on outside? Light consists of sort of waves doesn’t it?”

“In the region of the eyes, sir, but ...”

“Enough detail!” the general snarled. “I’m not interested in theory. Let’s see how the damned thing works.”

“General, permit me to introduce the inventor of the real black box, Colonel Levi.”

Colonel Levi popped up from somewhere and marched smartly up to the general and saluted him. At his side hung a small, inconspicuous black box.

“Good, let’s see if it works!” said the general, drawing his pistol and emptying the whole clip at the colonel, who went down like an empty sack.

“And you call this the ultimate defensive weapon, Sergeant Liezovski?” raged the general.

“Sir, you didn’t tell Colonel Levi to turn on the real black box.”

“Why didn’t he turn it on himself? You see what happens to incompetent soldiers.”

“General, I am afraid that Colonel Levi was the only one who knew how to build the real black box, and as a precaution against possible espionage I forbade him to put anything down on paper.”

“Nonsense,” roared the general, “anything can be analyzed and duplicated once it’s been built. But before we take it apart let’s see whether this stupid gadget works.”

“Yes, sir. We’re going to fire artillery rounds at the person wearing the real black box. The test will take place on the firing range. We can watch from the communications center.”

Edward Reindrop Horvat was on duty in the communications center when General Anthony Sever and Colonel Liezovski arrived, accompanied by an entourage of officers. He gave the general a snappy salute which was not returned: the general paid no attention to him. Instead, he went straight over to a television screen where the image of the sandy whiteness of the firing range could be seen. In a few moments a staff officer appeared on the range.

“It’s no damned good,” said the general. “Look at him glowing. He’ll attract the enemy’s attention.”

“That’s really immaterial, sir. What good does it do the enemy to see him if they can’t harm him?”

“Well—they might be able to get him by closing him in somehow.”

“No, sir. You could pour a ton of concrete on his head and still not capture him. The field can be used as ...” The colonel searched for the proper word. “... as an icebreaker, if you see what I mean.”

“If I didn’t see what you mean, I wouldn’t be a general,” said Sever angrily. “Now let’s get started.”

“Begin!” ordered the colonel. “First we’ll subject him to machine gun fire.”

The field glowed even brighter in the place where it had been struck by bullets.

“You see, General?” the colonel said eagerly. “It’s been repelling the bullets for a whole minute already!”

“Then why is he standing there like an old woman?” snapped the enraged general. “Why doesn’t he act like a soldier? He ought to be running, crawling, fighting, taking cover. The damned box of yours is supposed to be for combat and I want to see how a real soldier behaves when he’s wearing it.”

The colonel reluctantly gave an order. The officer on the firing range started to walk about, but the general wasn’t satisfied.

“Damn it! I said soldier, not a ballerina! Get that idiot out of there and give me a real soldier. Someone from the front lines!”

“General, you must realize that this is a base for scientific research,” said the colonel, not without some pride. “The entire garrison is made up of scientists and technicians. Why, the unit in charge of guarding us has just come from basic training. I’m sorry, but we just don’t have any cannon fodder.”

“Colonel Liezovski—if you don’t get a real soldier out on that firing range in two minutes I’ll have you shot for high treason!”

Edward Reindrop Horvat realized, more instinctively than rationally, that his moment had come. He stepped forward and saluted again.

“General, sir, permit me to say something. I arrived yesterday from the front.”

“You came here to take it easy, eh?” snarled the general.

“I came under orders, sir.”

“I don’t like shirkers, but at least you’ve had a taste of battle. You have one minute to get to the firing range. Move!”

“Yes, sir!”

They raked Edward Reindrop Horvat with mortar fire, then light recoilless cannon and howitzers before he finally realized that he was indeed invulnerable, that they could do nothing to harm him. He smiled and started to move off.

“Private Reindrop, you’ve moved too far to the left,” he could hear the voice of Colonel Liezovski say through the loudspeaker. “You’re out of view of cameras.”

“You’re incompetent, Captain Liezovski,” said the general’s voice. “Right, MARCH Soldier! Ten paces forward, MARCH!”

“Get lost, you idiot!” said Edward, still smiling.

For a time there was silence as they stopped firing antitank rockets at him.

“Drop an atom bomb on the goddamn deserter! A hydrogen bomb!” the general shrieked in Edward’s headphones. It was so unpleasant that he took them off and threw them beyond the field of real black box. The temperature from the napalm was so high that they were instantly vaporized.

Several years passed before the front reached the river. The fighting thundered and exploded all around, but a lone civilian sat on the riverbank, glowing brightly. He fished calmly, showing no interest in the inferno which surrounded him.

By order number 15895-1, issued by General Anthony Sever in the interest of reassuring the populace, the man was declared an apparition.

Translated from the Serbo-Croatian by Dick Williams