A Cure for Cancer

I
Ecological effects of the Vietnam War

Jerry pulled his Phantom VI up outside the gates of Buckingham Palace and lowered the window as two sergeants of the jth Marine Division in the modified uniforms of the Grenadiers, compete with helmets and horsehair plumes, came to check him over.

'I've an appointment with Frank Cornelius,' Jerry told them.

He was wearing his wide-brimmed lilac hat, with his hair knotted under it. His midnight blue shirt was trimmed in matching lace and his toreador trousers were in an even deeper blue. Around his waist was a wide patent leather belt with a huge brass buckle and a holster holding his vibragun. A flowing yellow bandanna had been tied around his throat.

The sergeants tried to keep their faces expressionless as they inspected his papers, but their lips trembled.

'Wait here, sir.' One of the sergeants brushed at his new moustache and went and spoke to a man who stood in the shadows of the main entrance to the palace building.

The other sergeant rested his hand on the roof of Jerry's car and watched his companion intently until he emerged from the shadows and waved. The sergeant slammed the flat of his hand on the roof and Jerry drove through into the courtyard.

The first sergeant ran up to the car, his sword and forty-five slapping against his white buckskins.

'I'll park your car, sir.'

'Don't bother.' Jerry got out and locked the Phantom VI. 'I'll leave it here, I think.'

'We can't do that. Cars outside headquarters are forbidden. They ruin the view. Sir.'

Jerry pointed up at the flagstaff on the roof of the palace. 'I see General Cumberland's in residence.'

'Yes, sir.'

'It's a proud banner.'

Jerry walked into the hall and gave his card to a dapper lieutenant who placed it on a silver tray and bore it up the staircase, passing the portraits of Elizabeth I, James I, Charles I, Charles II, James II, William III, Mary II, Anne, George I, George II, George III, George IV, William IV, Victoria, Edward VII, George V, Edward VIII, George VI, Elizabeth II, Helen, and Ulysses Washington Cumberland (C-in-C, U. S. Defense Forces, Western Europe) who had occupied the building after Helen had left to run a small riding school in Guildford, Surrey. The most recent of the portraits were by Aldridge, the last true Court Painter, in the mouth-and-foot manner that he had made so markedly his own.

Jerry admired the old-fashioned luxury, the archaic splendour of the guards who stood to attention with drawn sabres at every door.

'They certainly have dash.' He nodded at the guards as the lieutenant returned.

The lieutenant eyed him up and down. 'Major Cornelius is ready to see you. This way.'

They climbed the plush and gold staircase until they reached the second floor and walked between the panelled walls and bad Romneys until they came to a white door with panel decorations picked out in black; the name MAJOR FRANK CORNELIUS, Special Aide, C-in-C, inscribed in red, and two splendid Royal U. S. Marine Grenadiers on either side. Their swords clashed as they ceremoniously barred the portal then returned their weapons to the slope.

The lieutenant knocked on the door.

A faint but unmistakable Afrikaaner accent answered: 'Come.'

The lieutenant saluted and marched off. Jerry opened the door and walked into a room decorated and furnished entirely in a style as ugly as anything by the Adam Bros.

Frank stood by the fussy fireplace looking at a little lyre clock that was of the German fake Directoire variety but quite pretty. He was dressed in the sharply cut uniform of a major in the U. S.

8th Airborne, one hand in his pocket, one arm on the mantelpiece. He looked very pale and his black hair was clipped close to his shoulders. He smiled at Jerry.

'Long time no see, old chap.'

'You've been out in South Afrika, then.'

'Good for the constitution, Jerry.'

'Or reconstitution.'

Frank laughed loudly. 'Good old Jerry!'

'I wish you wouldn't keep using that word. You seem to be doing well for yourself.'

'It's a mission.'

'I saw Mr Gavin. I gather you have some idea of the whereabouts of a piece of property I own.'

'Your invention, you mean.'

'You could put it that way.'

'Well, I haven't got it here, you realize.'

'Where would it be?'

'Let's discuss it later. Time for refreshment first?' Frank touched a bell and a ravaged girl with long chestnut hair came through a side door. This is my secretary. Do you know her? Rose Barrie, my brother Jerry. Rose is a civilian auxiliary.' Frank smiled. 'They call you Bombhead Rose, don't they, Rose?' He winked at Jerry. 'Rose knows...'

Rose smoothed her cherry dress and raised a hand to her garish face. 'Wh...'

'Something to cheer us up, Rose. Good gal, eh?'

Rose went away again.

'She got smacked for speeding,' Frank said. 'But she's my type. You know. I couldn't let her down.'

'You're too good.'

'It's too sweet.'

Rose returned with a white tray on which various bottles, ampoules and instruments were laid.

'Now — let's see,' said Frank. His hand hovered over the tray. 'Anything you fancy, old boy?'

'You go ahead. Unless you've got anything in blue.'

'Rose had the last of the rozzers last night, didn't you, Rose?'

'Y...'

'She'll tell you. Nothing in blue.'

Then I'll let it go.'

'As long as you're sure.' Frank picked up an ampoule with the finger-tips of his left hand, a needle with the finger-tips of his right. 'I've been experimenting too, you know, in my own field. Something that might even interest you, though I know you haven't my obsession with chemistry. A synthesized DNA, with something added.' Frank rolled back his well-cut sleeve and applied the needle. He smacked his lips. 'Tasty. The trouble is, I found, that it's virtually impossible to manufacture in large doses. With your physics and technical know-how, we could be in business.'

'You shouldn't diversify too much, Frank.'

'That's rich advice from you, old man!'

'Besides, it's not a lot to do with my work. Not if you mean transfusions.'

Transfusions are what I had in mind. A little from that source, a little from this, mix 'em together and see what happens.'

'Schitzy!'

'Quite.'

'But it still isn't my scene. Now, if you could hand over the machine. Or maybe let me know where...'

'Ah. Well, you see, it's Rose that knows where it is. She told me all about it the other day, didn't you, Rose?'

'I...'

'It was a vision of some kind, I believe.'

'I... wish...'

'Anyway, I checked her out.'

'I... wish... I...'

'And she was right.'

'I... wish... I... was...'

'So I got in touch with you.'

'I... wish... I... was... pretty...'

'So it's around here somewhere is it?' Jerry frowned at Rose. 'In London, I mean?'

'I... wish... I... was... pretty... again.'

'Oh, it's in London, old sport.' Frank smiled, turned Rose round and pushed her towards the door. 'That's why I contacted you. I mean, there wouldn't be much time, would there? The way things are working out.'

'You mean...'

'The Op, old son. The rationalization program. That's why my boss and I are here, naturally. There's a conference of all European commanders...' he checked one of his watches... 'in about ten minutes. General Cumberland has taken emergency measures already, but I don't think they'll contain anything for very long. Berlin, Geneva, Luxembourg are now negative threats and I expect reports on Helsinki and Milan any moment.'

'Bombed?'

'Out of their minds, old bean!'

There was a knock on the door.

'Come.'

The lieutenant entered and drew himself up in a salute. 'Sir. The native commanders are in the conference room. The general hoped you'd entertain them until he can make it.'

'Of course. Well, Jerry, if you'll ask Rose for anything you need... I'll be back in a little while. Take it easy. You look beside yourself!'

'I wish I were.'

'Chin up.' Frank, one hand on the butt of his own neatly stashed needle-gun, struck off towards the door. 'Wise yourself up to the situation, if you like.'

He pulled a cord as he left and the wall over the fireplace glowed and became a map. 'I never forget, you see. You taught me how to do that.'

Jerry glanced at the bright relief map on which little spots of light flickered where cities had been. It was a bit of a bore. He, wondered if you could change the channel.

2 Gallagher to form label in thrust overseas by MCA

Jerry found a button and pushed it.

The map gave way to a scene somewhere in the palace; evidently the conference room. At the long table sat the generals and the field marshals of every European country (with the exception of the Three Republics and the one or two who were still having trouble with the Israelis). They chatted cheerfully among themselves, looking up when Frank, his seamed face set in a smile, came in.

'Gentlemen. I am Major Frank Cornelius, the general's special aide in the European Theater. Please call me Frank.'

He put down a slim file on the table and took his place near the top. 'General Cumberland regrets he has been delayed, but will join us shortly. In the meantime,' he spread his hands, 'I'm here to answer any minor questions you might like to put.'

The Norwegian field marshal cleared his thin throat.

'Field Marshal Lund?' said Frank.

'I was wondering if you could give us a brief run-down on which areas have been — um -'

'Depersonalized.'

'Ah. Yes.'

'Capitals — Helsinki, Berlin, Geneva, Luxembourg, Vienna. Major conurbations — Milan, Munich, Strasbourg...' Frank's pencil paused over his file.

The commanders politely accepted the information.

'Of course, news is coming in all the time. We'll keep you up to date.'

'Thank you.' General von Chemnitz nodded his burly head. 'We realize we are not up to date...'

'These are rapidly changing times, general. Who can hope to cope with so many events?'

'Indeed, so...' The red fat at the back of General von Chemnitz's neck trembled a little. 'And what will you be needing our forces to do?'

'Work with our boys I should expect, general.' Frank laughed and glanced at all their faces. 'Seriously — we'll be needing your men to clean up any pockets of subversive activity after our first wave has gone over your particular areas. The details of that are what we're here to discuss just as soon as General Cumberland gets here.'

There's the question of looting,' General de Jong of the Netherlands raised his elegant pen.

'Reclamation of goods. We have two basic categories here, gentlemen. Perishable commodities and non-perishable commodities. Most perishable commodities may be used by the divisions that come across them. Non-perishable commodities should be stored safely until a committee of senior officers has conferred as to their use and distribution. We have had the leaflets prepared which tell you how to cope with that problem. There are also leaflets available on Sexual Intercourse By Force, Sexual Intercourse By Consent, Sexual Intercourse By Unnatural Methods, Sexual Intercourse Between Members Of The Same Sex, Sexual Intercourse With Animals, Sexual Intercourse With Minors, Sexual Intercourse With Enemies Or Those Likely To Be Potential Enemies Or Enemy Sympathizers, Sexual Intercourse While On Active Military Duty, Conditions Under Which The Use Of Torture May Become Necessary, Conditions Under Which The Orders Of A Commanding Officer May Be Disobeyed, Conditions Under Which Allies May Be Killed Or Confined, and so on and so forth. General Cumberland and his staff have thrashed all these matters out to save you time and trouble. General Cumberland wrote most of the leaflets himself, in fact. He is a man of immense energy and thrust. An inspiration.'

Field Marshal Lord Martell glanced at his wizened wrist.

'Good Lord! Look at the time! I say, do you mind if I bow out on this one? I promised a fellow a game of golf in a quarter of an hour. You'll keep my staff up to date, I take it.'

'Of course, Field Marshal.'

Martell shook hands with some of the other generals, saluted and hurried off the scene. Two or three others got up and made their apologies.

'I'm sure we can leave it with you.' General Groente of Belgium lifted his belly over the edge of the table. The wife...'

'The children...' said the youthful Field Marshal Denoël of Switzerland.

'The car...' said pale General Ingrid-Maria Stafstrom of Sweden.

'Well, I guess this is cosier anyway.' Frank's eyes hardened.

'But you are so capable of 'running the show'. It is a compliment.' General von Chemnitz clicked his heels. 'Ah, here is...'

They stood up as General Cumberland came in. He wore light battle-dress, his tunic open all the way down and his shirt unbuttoned to show his chest and medallion. Dark combat goggles were pushed up over his cap and his light blue eyes were steady in his weather-beaten face. He looked younger than fifty and he did not seem at all anxious about his immense responsibilities. As he shook hands with the other commanders he shuddered every time his flesh touched theirs.

'Now, gentlemen.' He sat down at the head of the table. 'I hope Frank's filled you in on the basics, uh?'

'I think they're in the picture,' said Frank.

'Great. But I'd like to briefly reiterate the ideology behind all this again for you. See, we've been sent over here because we heard you needed some help with a few of your problems. And we didn't just say we'd help — we put our money where our mouths were.

'And we sent you the guys to help you out. Well, I guess you needed more guys, and you got 'em. You got 'em without even having to ask. And you're welcome. We know the trouble you have and that's what we're here to put a stop to. We know what the Israelis are up to and we think we can maybe give 'em something to think about — so they'll damn well stop what they're up to before they do something really foolish.

'We know that your armies, your intelligence outfits and your civilian communities are riddled through and through with fifth columnists — with traitors — and we're doing something about that, too. When action's called for — we're the guys to call.'

He put his teeth together and smiled. 'Let me just read you something I got from back home the other day.' From his tunic pocket he took a clipping which he carefully unfolded and spread before him on the table. Then he began to read in a quiet but declamatory tone: 'Let's start looking at the situation in which we and the rest of the free-world forces involved find ourselves. It is not complex, not obscure, not hard for anyone to understand.

'We are losing the war.

'So many of the people on our side are being killed that the rest of them are thinking about quitting.

That definition of losing, incidentally, is not only my own. It was taught to me by Admiral Bull Halsey before I covered the battle for Iwo Jima, the first time I saw mortal combat. The actions in the Rhine Valley now are no less obscene or exalting or decisive than were those in the grey sands cradling Mount Suribachi twenty-five years ago.

'Even the hideous casualty totals are in the same magnitude, though they have taken days instead of years to inflict; the fighting in Europe between the forces of our side and those who would bury us has cost more than 100,000 lives. Of the dead, only several hundred have been Americans.

'Of those, seven were men beside whom I had walked or parachute jumped or river forded or shared a stint of guard duty on a sandbagged emplacement at some place whose name we could not pronounce till we got there.

'Almost all U. S. casualties are from the small group of Americans serving in active combat. Most U. S. uniformed personnel do not actively risk their lives. Out of every five or six sent overseas, only one is exposed to actual daily fighting while the others serve in supporting roles. So those three millions of our men now in Europe add only several thousand to the active European armed forces which, including militia, now total more than twelve million.

Those few exposed Americans, though, have accomplished something by their sheer character that no other Americans have been able to do in more than a decade. They have forced a major enemy to change tactics as a response to what they are doing.

This is in utter contrast to what happened to free-world forces in Hungary and Algeria and Cuba and Formosa and Laos, where our side did all the second-guessing and did not once win.

The fighting in Europe marks the first time that our side in the eyes of the enemy has been applying a system of force so effectively that the other side considers we must be halted at all costs lest we start winning the war.

'What we have been doing right, of course, is to provide some superb leadership to the tough European fighting man.

'I have watched the workings of the practice during fourteen months in the field with nine different combatant forces. The enemy fear it so greatly that killing Americans now is their priority tactical objective.

The erstwhile ranking target used to be any European community leader; in September, almost a thousand mayors and provincial representatives were assassinated or abducted.

'Somehow, this fact seems not to have become known to most Americans and they impatiently ask what defect of will in the European people prevents formation of a stable democratic government.

The facts as I saw them in the region where most Europeans live, the suburbs and the countryside, were not mysterious at all; there just haven't been enough surviving politicians, thanks to enemy raiding and the attendant atrocities.

'But beginning this fall, enemy tacticians issued orders that were a little different from their previous ones. And shorter, too. Get the Americans.

These orders are not being disobeyed. Out of forty-two American mentors attached to European combat units, who happened to be billeted in one headquarters in the heart of Bavaria's most strategic area, nineteen were killed or wounded in two months. I know: I too was quartered there then, and the count is my own, not that of any public information officer back in Bonn.

'By the grisly economy of war, this change in enemy targeting is the ultimate stamp of effectiveness on what we at home have been taught cynically and incorrectly to call the 'advisor system' of military aid to Europe.

'Obviously, it is more than that. 'Advisors' do not become prime enemy targets.

'I submit with great pride that these Americans are not only advising; they are not just fighting in self-defense. Without any trappings of command — indeed, without even a shadow of command authority — they are leading.

'They are leading foreign troops simply because that's the way the troops want it. Why? Because each of these men, in the European troops' opinion, is the best soldier around and hence the leader most likely to bring them through victorious. And to put it bluntly, bring them back alive.

'In short, though the U. S. seems to have hidden its virtue, the details of the honourable course it has taken in Europe, the Europeans know and salute it when the chips are down.

'Why 'honourable'? Consider' our defense treaty; it pledges to supply Europe whatever she lacks to win over communism. When it developed that in fact military leadership was a prime lack, we began delivering just what we'd promised.

'Well then, why is there still a question about the outcome? Why aren't we winning?

'In my judgement, simply because we haven't sent enough of this leadership.'

The general paused, looked up and spoke softly. Well, gentlemen — that's the kind of support you're getting from the folk back where I come from. I'll skip most of the rest — but I'll read you the last bit: 'All of which puts the determination of tomorrow's history where I have every confidence it best belongs: squarely into the hands of the people of the United States.

'It is for each of us to decide what we want to do and to give the government we have elected freely some clear evidence of our will to win, lose or draw.

'After all, it is not that administrative abstraction we call a government that will bear the final bloody consequence if we choose badly. 'It is us and our sons and daughters.'

General Cumberland looked reverently at the clipping as he folded it carefully and when he glanced up his eyes were chips of blue steel.

'That's how we feel. You know you can rely on us. The only way to win a war is to fight it. The road ahead will not be smooth or offer easy travelling. But the road map we're using today is a heck of a lot better than it has been. In the words of Patrick Henry as he stood before the Richmond Convention and delivered his famous address — 'They tell us, sir, that we are weak; unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in each house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction?' — of course we will not! The United States will accept a decent negotiated peace in Europe, but it will not go, umbrella in hand, like Neville Chamberlain, to the aggressor, and let him write the settlement on his own expansionist terms. There can be no complaint about U. S. Marines being sent to Europe, except that they might have been sent sooner. For years the Europeans — with token assistance from the United States — have been trying to defend themselves against raids, murder by stealth, sabotage and subversion. The results have been a mounting loss of American and European lives — no progress at all in ridding the continent of the invaders. Now the Europeans and the U. S. have taken to offensive strikes of their own... hitting where it hurts! And that's the way it's going to be, gentlemen, until the last enemy is destroyed and Europe can settle down to building the continent she wants in the way she wants to, without fear of attack from without or within. There's a wave back there and it's coming in fast — and that wave is American strength, gentlemen. American strength, American manhood, American know-how, American guts, Anierican money, American dynamism, American bullets. American guns, American tanks, American planes, American freedom, American efficiency...'

Frank took notes and the European commanders stared in faint surprise at the C-in-C. Those nearest the door were already leaving and the others were rising from their chairs.

'American love, American humour, Anierican health, American beauty, American virility...'

The last general quietly closed the door behind him and General Cumberland raised his head at the sound. '

'Have they deserted us, Frank?'

'I think they got the picture, general. I think their confidence is won.'

'I hope so, Frank. I tried to raise their morale. It sometimes seems to be the hardest job. They're all fairies, of course. Decadence is a terrible thing to witness. But maybe if we improve their conditions — give them a chance...'

They'll pull through.'

'God willing, Frank.'

3 It's KLM's 50th anniversary. We thought you'd like to share a few happy memories

When Frank came back Jerry was still looking at General Cumberland whose lips moved as he scribbled rapidly in a notebook.

Frank stood beside Jerry and watched for a while. Then he turned the general off.

'It's rotten for him, really.' Jerry was sympathetic.

'He takes it well. The responsibility.' Frank crossed to the window and peered in the direction of St James's Park. 'Sometimes it seems there'll never be an end to it, Jerry. Or a beginning, in one sense, I suppose. There's so much to do — and so little time.'

True.'

'! hope you're not brooding on our differences any more. After all, if brothers can't fall out occasionally, who can?'

'It all depends, a bit, on your position, Frank.'

Frank shrugged and spread his thin hands. 'You know me, Jerry. It's easy for you.'

'It is easier. You've got the heat death to contend with. I've always granted you that, Frank.'

'After all, what is a memory?'

'Perhaps nothing more than a hologram.'

'Exactly. Remember that dream of mine when we were young? A hologram on every billboard. A billboard the length of every street. A grid of streets that covered the globe...' Frank shrugged. 'But it didn't prove to be as simple as that, did it, Jerry?'

'That's the difference between you and me. Where's my machine?'

'It's a question of cycles, I suppose.'

'Or equilibrium.' Jerry rested his hand on his vibragun. 'Come along, Frank.'

'You'd never get out, Jerry. And you'd lose a lot of potential friends.'

'I don't need friends.'

'You don't need enemies, either. I only want to strike a bargain with you. It could make us both rich — and extremely powerful. You've got to look to the future, old man.'

'I'm not too happy about these artificial divisions, Frank. I want to look at it all at once. I don't like the way you and your allies slice up time.'

'Somebody's got to do the dirty work.'

Jerry drew his gun. Frank drew his gun.

Jerry sighed. 'There doesn't seem a lot of point. Couldn't you just tell me where the machine is?'

'You tell me what it is, then.'

'It's a simple diffusion device,' lied Jerry. 'A randomizer. Nothing complicated.'

'It replicates conditions in the Shifter, is that it?'

'That's it.'

'Well, it wouldn't suit me, Jerry. I've never had much sympathy for that sort of thing. You know me — live and let live -but it wouldn't...'

Jerry raised his gun.

'Well, it wouldn't! Christ — there are much better ways of having fun.'

'Where's the machine?'

'Deny and Toms Famous Roof Garden.'

'Thanks,' said Jerry and waited until Frank had put his gun back. 'Let me know something I can do for you.' He holstered his own vibragun.

'Nothing at this stage,' Frank said, riding swiftly into the new situation. 'You haven't got much of a chance of getting to that machine or of getting out of London alive. But if you should manage both things, then it's quite likely I'll be in a difficult position and you'll owe me a favour, won't you.'

'You've mellowed, Frank.'

'I'm coming apart, Jerry. I'm desperate.'

'It seems to be doing you good.' Jerry grinned. 'You're more mature.'

Frank sniffed. 'Call it what you like. I call it caution. You have to look after yourself when you get into my condition.'

'Well, let's hope I make it to Derry and Toms.'

Frank glanced at his watch. 'You just might, if they don't get around to that sector right away. I'm off to Milton Keynes in a few minutes. That's our new base. The general thinks it's cleaner. No population, you see. They never had a chance to fill it.'

'Sure. Well, don't take any wooden nickels.'

'Not from you, Jerry.'

'I'll be off, then.'

Jerry opened the door and the swords clashed under his nose.

'Let him through,' said Frank in a peculiar voice.

Jerry closed the door and looked up and down the corridor. He frowned as he contemplated the rigid guards and then came to a decision.

It was just as well to be on the safe side, to give himself some sort of edge. Frank was so shitty.

'If you ask me,' he said quietly, 'he's not what he seems to be. He's all bits and fucking pieces.'

He trod the soft carpets. The sunlight poured through the big. window at the far end of the corridor and through it Jerry could see the green and gold of quiet autumn trees.

It looked a nice day for a picnic.