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+ <title>
+ The Project Gutenberg eBook of Minor Detail, by Jack Sharkey
+ </title>
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Minor Detail, by John Michael Sharkey
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Minor Detail
+
+Author: John Michael Sharkey
+
+Release Date: February 23, 2009 [EBook #28156]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MINOR DETAIL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div class="bk1"><b><big><i>General Webb had a simply magnificent
+idea for getting ground forces into the
+enemy's territory despite rockets and
+missiles and things like that. It was a
+grand scheme, except for one</i></big></b></div>
+
+<h1><big>MINOR DETAIL</big></h1>
+
+<h2><small>By JACK SHARKEY</small></h2>
+
+<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The</span> Secretary of Defense,
+flown in by special plane
+from the new Capitol Building
+in Denver, trotted down the
+ramp with his right hand outstretched
+before him.</p>
+
+<p>At the base of the ramp his
+hand was touched, clutched and
+hidden by the right hand of General
+"Smiley" Webb in a hearty
+parody of a casual handshake.
+General Webb did everything in
+a big way, and that included
+even little things like handshakes.</p>
+
+<p>Retrieving his hand once
+more, James Whitlow, the Secretary
+of Defense, smiled nervously
+with his tiny mouth, and
+said,</p>
+
+<p>"Well, here I am."</p>
+
+<p>This statement was taken
+down by a hovering circle of
+news reporters, dispatched by
+wireless and telephone to every
+town in the forty-nine states, expanded,
+contracted, quoted and
+misquoted, ignored and misconstrued,
+and then forgotten; all
+this in a matter of hours.</p>
+
+<p>The nation, hearing it, put
+aside its wonted trepidations,
+took an extra tranquilizer or
+two, and felt secure once more.
+The government was in good
+hands.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>Leaving the reporters in a disgruntled
+group beyond the cyclone-fence-and-barbed-wire
+barriers surrounding Project
+W, General Webb, seated
+beside Whitlow in the back of
+his private car, sighed and folded
+his arms.</p>
+
+<p>"You'll be amazed!" he chortled,
+nudging his companion
+with a bony elbow.</p>
+
+<p>"I&mdash;I expect so," said Whitlow,
+clinging to his brief case
+with both hands. It contained,
+among other things, a volume of
+mystery stories and a ham sandwich,
+neatly packaged in aluminum
+foil. Whitlow didn't want
+to chance losing it. Not, at least,
+until he'd eaten the sandwich.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course, you're wondering
+where I got the idea for my
+project," said "Smiley" Webb,
+adding, for the benefit of his
+driver, "Keep your eyes on the
+road, Sergeant! The WAC barracks
+will still be there when you
+get off duty!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir," came a hollow
+grunt from the front seat.</p>
+
+<p>"Weren't you?" asked General
+Webb, gleaming a toothy smile
+in Whitlow's direction.</p>
+
+<p>"Weren't I <i>what</i>?" Whitlow
+asked miserably, having lost the
+thread of their conversation due
+to a surreptitious glance backward
+at the WAC barracks in
+their wake.</p>
+
+<p>"Wondering about the project!"
+snapped the general.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. We <i>all</i> were," said the
+Secretary of Defense, appending
+somewhat tartly, "That's why
+they <i>sent</i> me here."</p>
+
+<p>"To be sure. To be sure," General
+Webb muttered. He didn't
+much like tartness in responses,
+but the Secretary of Defense,
+unfortunately, was hardly a
+subordinate, and therefore not
+subject to the general's choler.
+Silly little ass! he said to himself.
+Rather liking the sound of
+the words&mdash;albeit in his mind&mdash;he
+repeated them over again,
+adding embellishments like
+"pompous" and "mousy" and
+"squirrel-eyed." After three or
+four such thoughts, the general
+felt much better.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>I</i> thought the whole thing up,
+myself," he said, proudly.</p>
+
+<p>"I wish you'd stop being so
+ambiguous," Whitlow protested
+in a small voice. "Just what <i>is</i>
+this project? How does it work?
+Will it help us win the war?"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Sssh!</i>" said the general, jerking
+a quivering forefinger perpendicular
+before pursed lips.
+"Security!"</p>
+
+<p>He closed one eye in a broad
+wink and wriggled a thumb in
+the direction of the driver. "He's
+only cleared for Confidential
+material," said the general, his
+tone casting aspersions on the
+sergeant's patriotism, ancestry
+and personal hygiene. "This
+project is, of course, <i>Top Secret</i>!"
+He said the words reverently,
+his face going all noble
+and brave. Whitlow half-expected
+him to remove his hat, but he
+did not.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>They drove onward, then, in
+silence, until they passed by a
+large field, in the center of
+which Whitlow could discern the
+outlines of an immense bull's-eye,
+in front of a tall, somewhat
+rickety khaki-colored reviewing
+stand, draped in tired bunting.</p>
+
+<p>"What's that?" asked Whitlow,
+relinquishing his grip on
+his brief case long enough to
+point toward the field.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Ssssh!</i>" said "Smiley" Webb.
+"You'll find out in a matter of
+hours."</p>
+
+<p>"Many hours?" Whitlow asked,
+thinking of the ham sandwich.</p>
+
+<p>General Webb consulted a
+magnificent platinum timepiece
+anchored to his thick hairy
+wrist by a stout leather strap.</p>
+
+<p>"In exactly one hour, thirty-seven
+minutes, and forty-three-point-oh-oh-nine
+seconds!"
+he said, proudly.</p>
+
+<p>"Thank you," Whitlow sighed.
+"You're certainly running this
+thing&mdash;whatever it is&mdash;in an
+efficient manner."</p>
+
+<p>"Thank <i>you</i>!" General Webb
+glowed. "We like to think so,"
+he added modestly.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>Passwords, signs, countersigns,
+combination-locks and
+electronic recognition signals
+were negotiated one by one, until
+Whitlow was despairing of
+ever getting into the heart of
+Project W. He said as much to
+General Webb, who merely flashed
+the grin which gave him his
+nickname, and opened a final
+door.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment, Whitlow
+thought he was going deaf. The
+shrill roar of screeching metal
+and throbbing dynamos that
+pounded at his eardrums began
+to fuddle his mind, until General
+Webb handed him a small
+cardboard box&mdash;also stamped,
+like every door and wall in the
+place, "Top Secret"&mdash;in which
+his trembling fingers located
+two ordinary rubber earplugs,
+which he instantly put to good
+use.</p>
+
+<p>"There she is!" said General
+Webb, proudly, gesturing over
+the railing of the small balcony
+upon which they stood. "The
+Whirligig!"</p>
+
+<p>"What?" called Secretary of
+Defense Whitlow, shaking his
+head to indicate he hadn't heard
+a word.</p>
+
+<p>Somewhat piqued, but resigned,
+General Webb leaned his
+wide mouth nearly up against
+Whitlow's small pink plugged
+ear, and roared the same information
+at the top of his lungs.</p>
+
+<p>Whitlow, a little stunned by
+the volume despite the plugs,
+nodded wearily, to indicate that
+he'd heard, then asked, in a high,
+piping voice, "What's it for?"</p>
+
+<p>Webb's eyes bulged in their
+sockets. "Great heavens, man,
+can't you <i>see</i>?" He gestured
+down at his creation, his baby,
+his project, as though it were
+self-evident what its function
+was.</p>
+
+<p>Whitlow strained his eyes to
+divine anything that might give
+a clue as to just what the government
+had been pouring money
+into for the past eight months.
+All he saw was what appeared
+to be a sort of ferris-wheel, except
+that it was revolving in a
+horizontal plane. The structure
+was completely enclosed in metal,
+and was whirling too fast for
+even the central shaft to be anything
+but a hazy, silver-blue
+blur.</p>
+
+<p>"I see it," he shouted, squeakily.
+"But I don't understand it!"</p>
+
+<p>"Come with me," said General
+Webb, re-opening the door at
+their backs. He was just about
+to step through when, with a
+quick blush of mortification, he
+remembered the "Top Secret"
+earplugs. Hastily, averting his
+face lest the other man see his
+embarrassment, he returned his
+plugs to their box, and did the
+same with Whitlow's.</p>
+
+<p>Whitlow was glad when the
+door closed behind them.</p>
+
+<p>"My office is this way," said
+Webb, striding off in a stiff military
+manner.</p>
+
+<p>Whitlow, with a forlorn shrug,
+could do nothing but clutch his
+brief case and follow.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>"It's this way," General Webb
+began, once they were seated
+uncomfortably in his office.
+From a pocket in his khaki
+jacket, Webb had produced a
+big-bowled calabash pipe, and
+was puffing its noxious gray
+fumes in all directions while he
+spoke. "Up until the late fifties,
+war was a simple thing ..."</p>
+
+<p>Oh, not the March of Science
+Speech! said Whitlow to himself.
+He knew it by heart. It was
+the talk of the Capitol, and the
+nightmare of military strategists.
+As the general's voice
+droned on and on, Whitlow barely
+listened. The general, Top Secret
+or no Top Secret, was
+divulging nothing that wasn't
+common knowledge from the
+ruins of Philadelphia to the
+great Hollywood crater ...</p>
+
+<p>All at once, weapons had gotten
+<i>too</i> good. That was the whole
+problem. Wars, no matter what
+the abilities of the death-dealing
+guns, cannon, rifles, rockets or
+whatever, needed one thing on
+the battlefield that could not be
+turned out in a factory: Men.</p>
+
+<p>In order to win a war, a country
+must be vanquished. In order
+to vanquish a country, soldiers
+must be landed. And that was
+precisely wherein the difficulty
+lay: landing the soldiers.</p>
+
+<p>Ships were nearly obsolete in
+this respect. Landing barges
+could be blown out of the water
+as fast as they were let down
+into it.</p>
+
+<p>Paratroops were likewise
+hopeless. The slow-moving troop-carrying
+planes daren't even
+peek above the enemy's horizon
+without chancing an onslaught
+of "thinking" rockets that
+would stay on their trail until
+they were molten cinders falling
+into the sea.</p>
+
+<p>So someone invented the supersonic
+carrier. This was
+pretty good, allowing the planes
+to come in high and fast over
+the enemy's territory, as fast as
+the land-to-air missiles themselves.
+The only drawback was
+that the first men to try parachuting
+at that speed were battered
+to confetti by the slipstream
+of their own carriers.
+That would not do.</p>
+
+<p>Next, someone thought of the
+capsules. Each man was packed
+into a break-proof, shock-proof,
+water-proof, wind-proof plastic
+capsule, and ejected safely beyond
+the slipstream area of the
+carriers, at which point, each
+capsule sprouted a silken chute
+that lowered the enclosed men
+gently down into range of the
+enemy's rocket-fire ...</p>
+
+<p>This plan was scrapped like
+the others.</p>
+
+<p>And so, things were at a
+stalemate. There hadn't been a
+really good skirmish for nearly
+five years. War was hardly anything
+but a memory, what with
+both sides practically omnipotent.
+Unless troops could be
+landed, war was downright impossible.
+And, no one could land
+troops, so there was no war.</p>
+
+<p>As a matter of fact, Whitlow
+<i>liked</i> the state of affairs. To be
+Secretary of Defense during a
+years-long peace was a soft job
+to top all soft jobs. And Whitlow
+didn't much like war. He'd
+rather live peacefully with his
+mystery stories and ham sandwiches.</p>
+
+<p>But the Capitol, under the relentless
+lobbying of the munitions
+interests, was trying to
+find a way to get a war started.</p>
+
+<p>They <i>had</i> tried simply bombing
+the other countries, but it
+hadn't worked out too well: the
+other countries had bombed
+back.</p>
+
+<p>This plan had been scrapped
+as too dangerous.</p>
+
+<p>And then, just when all seemed
+lost, when it looked as though
+mankind was doomed to eternal
+peace ...</p>
+
+<p>Along came General "Smiley"
+Webb.</p>
+
+<p>"Land troops?" he'd said, confidently,
+"nothing easier. With
+the government's cooperation, I
+can have our troops in any country
+in the world, safely landed,
+within the space of one year!"</p>
+
+<p>Congress had voted him the
+money unanimously, and off he'd
+gone to work at Project W. No
+one knew <i>quite</i> what it was
+about, but the general had
+seemed so self-assured that&mdash; Well,
+they'd almost forgotten
+about him until some ambitious
+clerk, trying to balance at least
+<i>part</i> of the budget, had discovered
+a monthly expenditure to an
+obscure base in the southwest
+totalling some millions of dollars.
+Perfunctory checking had
+brought out the fact that
+"Smiley" Webb had been drawing
+this money every month, and
+hadn't as much as mailed in a
+single progress report.</p>
+
+<p>There'd been swift phone-calls
+from Denver to Project W, and,
+General Webb informed them,
+not only was all the money to be
+accounted for, but so was all the
+time and effort: the project was
+completed, and about to be tested.
+Would someone like to come
+down and watch?</p>
+
+<p>Someone would.</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>And thus it was that James
+Whitlow, with mystery stories
+and ham sandwich, had taken
+the first plane from the Capitol ...</p>
+
+<p>"... when all at once, I
+thought: Speed! Endurance!
+<i>That</i> is the problem!" said
+Webb, breaking in on Whitlow's
+reverie.</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon?" said the
+Secretary of Defense.</p>
+
+<p>Webb whacked the dottle out
+of his pipe into a meaty palm,
+tossed the smoking cinders
+rather carelessly into a waste-basket,
+and leaned forward to
+confront the other man face to
+face, their noses almost nudging.</p>
+
+<p>"Why are parachutes out?" he
+snapped.</p>
+
+<p>"They go too slow," said Whitlow.</p>
+
+<p>"Why do we use parachutes at
+all?"</p>
+
+<p>"To keep the men from getting
+killed by the fall."</p>
+
+<p>"Why does a fall kill the
+men?"</p>
+
+<p>"It&mdash; It breaks their bones
+and stuff."</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Bah!</i>" Webb scoffed.</p>
+
+<p>"Bah?" reiterated Whitlow.
+"Bah?"</p>
+
+<p>"Certainly bah!" said the general.
+"All it takes is a little
+training."</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>"All <i>what</i> takes?" said Whitlow,
+helplessly.</p>
+
+<p>"Falling, man, falling!" the
+general boomed. "If a man can
+fall safely from ten feet&mdash; Why
+not from ten times ten feet!?"</p>
+
+<p>"Because," said Whitlow, "increasing
+height accelerates the
+<i>rate</i> of falling, and&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Poppycock!</i>" the general
+roared.</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, sir," said Whitlow,
+somewhat cowed.</p>
+
+<p>"Muscle-building. That's the
+secret. Endurance. Stress.
+Strain. Tension."</p>
+
+<p>"If&mdash; If you say so ..." said
+Whitlow, slumping lower and
+lower in his chair as the general's
+massive form leaned precariously
+over him. "But&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Of <i>course</i> you are puzzled,"
+said the general, suddenly chummy.
+"Anyone would be. Until
+they realized the use to which
+I've put the Whirligig!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes. Yes, I suppose so ..."
+said Whitlow, thinking longingly
+of his ham sandwich, and its
+crunchy, moist green smear of
+pickle relish.</p>
+
+<p>"The first day&mdash;" said General
+Webb, "it revolved at <i>one</i>
+gravity! They withstood it!"</p>
+
+<p>"What did? Who withstood?
+When?" asked Whitlow, with
+much confusion.</p>
+
+<p>"The men!" said the general,
+irritably. "The men in the
+Whirligig!"</p>
+
+<p>Whitlow jerked bolt upright.
+"There are <i>men</i> in that thing?"
+It's not possible, he thought.</p>
+
+<p>"Of course," said Webb, soothingly.
+"But they're all right.
+They've been in there for thirty
+days, whirling around at one
+gravity more each day. We have
+constant telephone communication
+with them. They're all feeling
+fine, just fine."</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;" Whitlow said, weakly.</p>
+
+<p>General Webb had him firmly
+by the arm, and was leading him
+out of the office. "We must get
+to the stands, man. Operation
+Human Bomb in ten minutes."</p>
+
+<p>"Bomb?" Whitlow squeaked,
+scurrying alongside Webb as the
+larger man strode down the
+echoing corridor.</p>
+
+<p>"A euphemism, of course,"
+said Webb. "Because they will
+fall much like a bomb does. But
+they will not explode! No, they
+will land, rifles in hand, ready
+to take over the enemy territory."</p>
+
+<p>"Without parachutes?" Whitlow
+marveled.</p>
+
+<p>"Exactly," said the general,
+leading the way out into the
+blinding desert sunlight. "You
+see," he remarked, as they
+strolled toward the heat-shimmering
+outlines of the reviewing
+stand, its bunting hanging limp
+and faded in the dry, breezeless
+air, "it's really so simple I'm astonished
+the enemy didn't think
+of it first. Though, of course,
+I'm glad they didn't&mdash; Ha! ha!"
+He oozed self-appreciation.</p>
+
+<p>"Ha ha," repeated Whitlow,
+with little enthusiasm.</p>
+
+<p>"When one is whirled at one
+gravity, you see, the wall&mdash;the
+outside rim&mdash;of the Whirligig,
+becomes the floor for the men
+inside. Each day, they have
+spent up to ten hours doing
+nothing but deep knee-bends,
+and eating high protein foods.
+Their legs will be able to withstand
+<i>any</i> force of landing. If
+they can do deep knee-bends at
+thirty gravities&mdash;during which,
+of course, each of them weighed
+nearly three tons&mdash;they can
+jump from any height and survive.
+Good, huh?"</p>
+
+<hr />
+
+<p>Whitlow was worried as they
+clambered up into the stands.
+There seemed to be no one about
+but the two of them.</p>
+
+<p>"Who else is coming?" he
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>"Just us," said Webb. "I'm the
+only one with a clearance high
+enough to watch this. You're
+only here because you're <i>my</i>
+guest."</p>
+
+<p>"But&mdash;" said Whitlow, observing
+the heat-baked wide-open
+spaces extending on all sides of
+the reviewing stand and bull's-eye,
+"the men on this base can
+surely watch from almost anywhere
+not beyond the horizon."</p>
+
+<p>"They'd <i>better</i> not!" was the
+general's only comment.</p>
+
+<p>"Well," said Whitlow, "what
+happens now?"</p>
+
+<p>"The men that were in that
+Whirligig have&mdash;since you and
+I went to my office to chat&mdash;been
+transported to the airfield, from
+which point they were taken
+aloft&mdash;" he consulted his watch,
+"five minutes, and fifty-five-point-six
+seconds ago."</p>
+
+<p>"And?" asked Whitlow, casually
+unbuckling the straps of
+his brief case and slipping out
+his sandwich.</p>
+
+<p>"The plane will be within
+bomb vector of this target in
+just ten seconds!" said Webb,
+confidently.</p>
+
+<p>Whitlow listened, for the next
+nine seconds, then, right on
+schedule, he heard the muted
+droning of a plane, high up.
+Webb joggled him with an elbow.
+"They'll fall faster than any
+known enemy weapon can track
+them," he said, smugly.</p>
+
+<p>"That's fortunate," said Whitlow,
+munching desultorily at his
+sandwich. "Bud dere's wud thig
+budduhs bee."</p>
+
+<p>"Hmmf?" asked the general.</p>
+
+<p>Whitlow swallowed hastily. "I
+say, there's one thing bothers
+me."</p>
+
+<p>"What's that?" asked the general.</p>
+
+<p>"Well, it's just that gravity is
+centripetal, you know, and the
+Whirligig is centrifugal. I wondered
+if it might not make some
+sort of difference?"</p>
+
+<p>"Bah!" said General Webb.
+"Just a minor detail."</p>
+
+<p>"If you say so," Whitlow
+shrugged.</p>
+
+<p>"There they come!" shouted
+the general, jumping to his feet.</p>
+
+<p>Whitlow, despite his misgivings,
+found that he, too, was on
+his feet, staring skyward at the
+tiny dots that were detaching
+themselves from the shining
+bulk of the carrier plane. As he
+watched, his heart beating madly,
+the dots grew bigger, and
+soon, awfully soon, they could be
+distinguished as man-shaped,
+too.</p>
+
+<p>"There's&mdash; There's something
+wrong!" said the general.
+"What's that they're all shouting?
+It <i>should</i> be 'Geronimo' ..."</p>
+
+<p>Whitlow listened. "It sounds
+more like 'Eeeeeyaaaaa'," he
+said.</p>
+
+<p>And it was.</p>
+
+<p>The sound grew from a distant
+mumble to a shrieking roar,
+and the next thing, each man
+had landed upon the concrete-and-paint
+bull's-eye before the
+reviewing stand.</p>
+
+<p>Whitlow sighed and re-buckled
+his brief case.</p>
+
+<p>The general moaned and fainted.</p>
+
+<p>And the men of the Whirligig,
+all of whom had landed on the
+target head-first, did nothing,
+their magnificently muscled legs
+waving idly in a sudden gentle
+gust of desert breeze.</p>
+
+<div class="cap"><p class="td2"><b>THE END</b></p></div>
+
+<div class="trn"><b>Transcriber's Note:</b>
+This etext was produced from <i>Amazing Stories</i> November 1959.
+Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
+copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and
+typographical errors have been corrected without note.</div>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
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+</body>
+</html>
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@@ -0,0 +1,864 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Minor Detail, by John Michael Sharkey
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Minor Detail
+
+Author: John Michael Sharkey
+
+Release Date: February 23, 2009 [EBook #28156]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MINOR DETAIL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ _General Webb had a simply magnificent idea for getting ground
+ forces into the enemy's territory despite rockets and missiles and
+ things like that. It was a grand scheme, except for one_
+
+
+MINOR DETAIL
+
+By JACK SHARKEY
+
+
+The Secretary of Defense, flown in by special plane from the new Capitol
+Building in Denver, trotted down the ramp with his right hand
+outstretched before him.
+
+At the base of the ramp his hand was touched, clutched and hidden by the
+right hand of General "Smiley" Webb in a hearty parody of a casual
+handshake. General Webb did everything in a big way, and that included
+even little things like handshakes.
+
+Retrieving his hand once more, James Whitlow, the Secretary of Defense,
+smiled nervously with his tiny mouth, and said,
+
+"Well, here I am."
+
+This statement was taken down by a hovering circle of news reporters,
+dispatched by wireless and telephone to every town in the forty-nine
+states, expanded, contracted, quoted and misquoted, ignored and
+misconstrued, and then forgotten; all this in a matter of hours.
+
+The nation, hearing it, put aside its wonted trepidations, took an extra
+tranquilizer or two, and felt secure once more. The government was in
+good hands.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Leaving the reporters in a disgruntled group beyond the
+cyclone-fence-and-barbed-wire barriers surrounding Project W, General
+Webb, seated beside Whitlow in the back of his private car, sighed and
+folded his arms.
+
+"You'll be amazed!" he chortled, nudging his companion with a bony
+elbow.
+
+"I--I expect so," said Whitlow, clinging to his brief case with both
+hands. It contained, among other things, a volume of mystery stories and
+a ham sandwich, neatly packaged in aluminum foil. Whitlow didn't want to
+chance losing it. Not, at least, until he'd eaten the sandwich.
+
+"Of course, you're wondering where I got the idea for my project," said
+"Smiley" Webb, adding, for the benefit of his driver, "Keep your eyes on
+the road, Sergeant! The WAC barracks will still be there when you get
+off duty!"
+
+"Yes, sir," came a hollow grunt from the front seat.
+
+"Weren't you?" asked General Webb, gleaming a toothy smile in Whitlow's
+direction.
+
+"Weren't I _what_?" Whitlow asked miserably, having lost the thread of
+their conversation due to a surreptitious glance backward at the WAC
+barracks in their wake.
+
+"Wondering about the project!" snapped the general.
+
+"Yes. We _all_ were," said the Secretary of Defense, appending somewhat
+tartly, "That's why they _sent_ me here."
+
+"To be sure. To be sure," General Webb muttered. He didn't much like
+tartness in responses, but the Secretary of Defense, unfortunately, was
+hardly a subordinate, and therefore not subject to the general's choler.
+Silly little ass! he said to himself. Rather liking the sound of the
+words--albeit in his mind--he repeated them over again, adding
+embellishments like "pompous" and "mousy" and "squirrel-eyed." After
+three or four such thoughts, the general felt much better.
+
+"_I_ thought the whole thing up, myself," he said, proudly.
+
+"I wish you'd stop being so ambiguous," Whitlow protested in a small
+voice. "Just what _is_ this project? How does it work? Will it help us
+win the war?"
+
+"_Sssh!_" said the general, jerking a quivering forefinger perpendicular
+before pursed lips. "Security!"
+
+He closed one eye in a broad wink and wriggled a thumb in the direction
+of the driver. "He's only cleared for Confidential material," said the
+general, his tone casting aspersions on the sergeant's patriotism,
+ancestry and personal hygiene. "This project is, of course, _Top
+Secret_!" He said the words reverently, his face going all noble and
+brave. Whitlow half-expected him to remove his hat, but he did not.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+They drove onward, then, in silence, until they passed by a large field,
+in the center of which Whitlow could discern the outlines of an immense
+bull's-eye, in front of a tall, somewhat rickety khaki-colored reviewing
+stand, draped in tired bunting.
+
+"What's that?" asked Whitlow, relinquishing his grip on his brief case
+long enough to point toward the field.
+
+"_Ssssh!_" said "Smiley" Webb. "You'll find out in a matter of hours."
+
+"Many hours?" Whitlow asked, thinking of the ham sandwich.
+
+General Webb consulted a magnificent platinum timepiece anchored to his
+thick hairy wrist by a stout leather strap.
+
+"In exactly one hour, thirty-seven minutes, and
+forty-three-point-oh-oh-nine seconds!" he said, proudly.
+
+"Thank you," Whitlow sighed. "You're certainly running this
+thing--whatever it is--in an efficient manner."
+
+"Thank _you_!" General Webb glowed. "We like to think so," he added
+modestly.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Passwords, signs, countersigns, combination-locks and electronic
+recognition signals were negotiated one by one, until Whitlow was
+despairing of ever getting into the heart of Project W. He said as much
+to General Webb, who merely flashed the grin which gave him his
+nickname, and opened a final door.
+
+For a moment, Whitlow thought he was going deaf. The shrill roar of
+screeching metal and throbbing dynamos that pounded at his eardrums
+began to fuddle his mind, until General Webb handed him a small
+cardboard box--also stamped, like every door and wall in the place, "Top
+Secret"--in which his trembling fingers located two ordinary rubber
+earplugs, which he instantly put to good use.
+
+"There she is!" said General Webb, proudly, gesturing over the railing
+of the small balcony upon which they stood. "The Whirligig!"
+
+"What?" called Secretary of Defense Whitlow, shaking his head to
+indicate he hadn't heard a word.
+
+Somewhat piqued, but resigned, General Webb leaned his wide mouth nearly
+up against Whitlow's small pink plugged ear, and roared the same
+information at the top of his lungs.
+
+Whitlow, a little stunned by the volume despite the plugs, nodded
+wearily, to indicate that he'd heard, then asked, in a high, piping
+voice, "What's it for?"
+
+Webb's eyes bulged in their sockets. "Great heavens, man, can't you
+_see_?" He gestured down at his creation, his baby, his project, as
+though it were self-evident what its function was.
+
+Whitlow strained his eyes to divine anything that might give a clue as
+to just what the government had been pouring money into for the past
+eight months. All he saw was what appeared to be a sort of ferris-wheel,
+except that it was revolving in a horizontal plane. The structure was
+completely enclosed in metal, and was whirling too fast for even the
+central shaft to be anything but a hazy, silver-blue blur.
+
+"I see it," he shouted, squeakily. "But I don't understand it!"
+
+"Come with me," said General Webb, re-opening the door at their backs.
+He was just about to step through when, with a quick blush of
+mortification, he remembered the "Top Secret" earplugs. Hastily,
+averting his face lest the other man see his embarrassment, he returned
+his plugs to their box, and did the same with Whitlow's.
+
+Whitlow was glad when the door closed behind them.
+
+"My office is this way," said Webb, striding off in a stiff military
+manner.
+
+Whitlow, with a forlorn shrug, could do nothing but clutch his brief
+case and follow.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+"It's this way," General Webb began, once they were seated uncomfortably
+in his office. From a pocket in his khaki jacket, Webb had produced a
+big-bowled calabash pipe, and was puffing its noxious gray fumes in all
+directions while he spoke. "Up until the late fifties, war was a simple
+thing ..."
+
+Oh, not the March of Science Speech! said Whitlow to himself. He knew it
+by heart. It was the talk of the Capitol, and the nightmare of military
+strategists. As the general's voice droned on and on, Whitlow barely
+listened. The general, Top Secret or no Top Secret, was divulging
+nothing that wasn't common knowledge from the ruins of Philadelphia to
+the great Hollywood crater ...
+
+All at once, weapons had gotten _too_ good. That was the whole problem.
+Wars, no matter what the abilities of the death-dealing guns, cannon,
+rifles, rockets or whatever, needed one thing on the battlefield that
+could not be turned out in a factory: Men.
+
+In order to win a war, a country must be vanquished. In order to
+vanquish a country, soldiers must be landed. And that was precisely
+wherein the difficulty lay: landing the soldiers.
+
+Ships were nearly obsolete in this respect. Landing barges could be
+blown out of the water as fast as they were let down into it.
+
+Paratroops were likewise hopeless. The slow-moving troop-carrying planes
+daren't even peek above the enemy's horizon without chancing an
+onslaught of "thinking" rockets that would stay on their trail until
+they were molten cinders falling into the sea.
+
+So someone invented the supersonic carrier. This was pretty good,
+allowing the planes to come in high and fast over the enemy's territory,
+as fast as the land-to-air missiles themselves. The only drawback was
+that the first men to try parachuting at that speed were battered to
+confetti by the slipstream of their own carriers. That would not do.
+
+Next, someone thought of the capsules. Each man was packed into a
+break-proof, shock-proof, water-proof, wind-proof plastic capsule, and
+ejected safely beyond the slipstream area of the carriers, at which
+point, each capsule sprouted a silken chute that lowered the enclosed
+men gently down into range of the enemy's rocket-fire ...
+
+This plan was scrapped like the others.
+
+And so, things were at a stalemate. There hadn't been a really good
+skirmish for nearly five years. War was hardly anything but a memory,
+what with both sides practically omnipotent. Unless troops could be
+landed, war was downright impossible. And, no one could land troops, so
+there was no war.
+
+As a matter of fact, Whitlow _liked_ the state of affairs. To be
+Secretary of Defense during a years-long peace was a soft job to top all
+soft jobs. And Whitlow didn't much like war. He'd rather live peacefully
+with his mystery stories and ham sandwiches.
+
+But the Capitol, under the relentless lobbying of the munitions
+interests, was trying to find a way to get a war started.
+
+They _had_ tried simply bombing the other countries, but it hadn't
+worked out too well: the other countries had bombed back.
+
+This plan had been scrapped as too dangerous.
+
+And then, just when all seemed lost, when it looked as though mankind
+was doomed to eternal peace ...
+
+Along came General "Smiley" Webb.
+
+"Land troops?" he'd said, confidently, "nothing easier. With the
+government's cooperation, I can have our troops in any country in the
+world, safely landed, within the space of one year!"
+
+Congress had voted him the money unanimously, and off he'd gone to work
+at Project W. No one knew _quite_ what it was about, but the general had
+seemed so self-assured that-- Well, they'd almost forgotten about him
+until some ambitious clerk, trying to balance at least _part_ of the
+budget, had discovered a monthly expenditure to an obscure base in the
+southwest totalling some millions of dollars. Perfunctory checking had
+brought out the fact that "Smiley" Webb had been drawing this money
+every month, and hadn't as much as mailed in a single progress report.
+
+There'd been swift phone-calls from Denver to Project W, and, General
+Webb informed them, not only was all the money to be accounted for, but
+so was all the time and effort: the project was completed, and about to
+be tested. Would someone like to come down and watch?
+
+Someone would.
+
+ * * * * *
+
+And thus it was that James Whitlow, with mystery stories and ham
+sandwich, had taken the first plane from the Capitol ...
+
+"... when all at once, I thought: Speed! Endurance! _That_ is the
+problem!" said Webb, breaking in on Whitlow's reverie.
+
+"I beg your pardon?" said the Secretary of Defense.
+
+Webb whacked the dottle out of his pipe into a meaty palm, tossed the
+smoking cinders rather carelessly into a waste-basket, and leaned
+forward to confront the other man face to face, their noses almost
+nudging.
+
+"Why are parachutes out?" he snapped.
+
+"They go too slow," said Whitlow.
+
+"Why do we use parachutes at all?"
+
+"To keep the men from getting killed by the fall."
+
+"Why does a fall kill the men?"
+
+"It-- It breaks their bones and stuff."
+
+"_Bah!_" Webb scoffed.
+
+"Bah?" reiterated Whitlow. "Bah?"
+
+"Certainly bah!" said the general. "All it takes is a little training."
+
+ * * * * *
+
+"All _what_ takes?" said Whitlow, helplessly.
+
+"Falling, man, falling!" the general boomed. "If a man can fall safely
+from ten feet-- Why not from ten times ten feet!?"
+
+"Because," said Whitlow, "increasing height accelerates the _rate_ of
+falling, and--"
+
+"_Poppycock!_" the general roared.
+
+"Yes, sir," said Whitlow, somewhat cowed.
+
+"Muscle-building. That's the secret. Endurance. Stress. Strain.
+Tension."
+
+"If-- If you say so ..." said Whitlow, slumping lower and lower in his
+chair as the general's massive form leaned precariously over him.
+"But--"
+
+"Of _course_ you are puzzled," said the general, suddenly chummy.
+"Anyone would be. Until they realized the use to which I've put the
+Whirligig!"
+
+"Yes. Yes, I suppose so ..." said Whitlow, thinking longingly of his ham
+sandwich, and its crunchy, moist green smear of pickle relish.
+
+"The first day--" said General Webb, "it revolved at _one_ gravity! They
+withstood it!"
+
+"What did? Who withstood? When?" asked Whitlow, with much confusion.
+
+"The men!" said the general, irritably. "The men in the Whirligig!"
+
+Whitlow jerked bolt upright. "There are _men_ in that thing?" It's not
+possible, he thought.
+
+"Of course," said Webb, soothingly. "But they're all right. They've been
+in there for thirty days, whirling around at one gravity more each day.
+We have constant telephone communication with them. They're all feeling
+fine, just fine."
+
+"But--" Whitlow said, weakly.
+
+General Webb had him firmly by the arm, and was leading him out of the
+office. "We must get to the stands, man. Operation Human Bomb in ten
+minutes."
+
+"Bomb?" Whitlow squeaked, scurrying alongside Webb as the larger man
+strode down the echoing corridor.
+
+"A euphemism, of course," said Webb. "Because they will fall much like a
+bomb does. But they will not explode! No, they will land, rifles in
+hand, ready to take over the enemy territory."
+
+"Without parachutes?" Whitlow marveled.
+
+"Exactly," said the general, leading the way out into the blinding
+desert sunlight. "You see," he remarked, as they strolled toward the
+heat-shimmering outlines of the reviewing stand, its bunting hanging
+limp and faded in the dry, breezeless air, "it's really so simple I'm
+astonished the enemy didn't think of it first. Though, of course, I'm
+glad they didn't-- Ha! ha!" He oozed self-appreciation.
+
+"Ha ha," repeated Whitlow, with little enthusiasm.
+
+"When one is whirled at one gravity, you see, the wall--the outside
+rim--of the Whirligig, becomes the floor for the men inside. Each day,
+they have spent up to ten hours doing nothing but deep knee-bends, and
+eating high protein foods. Their legs will be able to withstand _any_
+force of landing. If they can do deep knee-bends at thirty
+gravities--during which, of course, each of them weighed nearly three
+tons--they can jump from any height and survive. Good, huh?"
+
+ * * * * *
+
+Whitlow was worried as they clambered up into the stands. There seemed
+to be no one about but the two of them.
+
+"Who else is coming?" he asked.
+
+"Just us," said Webb. "I'm the only one with a clearance high enough to
+watch this. You're only here because you're _my_ guest."
+
+"But--" said Whitlow, observing the heat-baked wide-open spaces
+extending on all sides of the reviewing stand and bull's-eye, "the men
+on this base can surely watch from almost anywhere not beyond the
+horizon."
+
+"They'd _better_ not!" was the general's only comment.
+
+"Well," said Whitlow, "what happens now?"
+
+"The men that were in that Whirligig have--since you and I went to my
+office to chat--been transported to the airfield, from which point they
+were taken aloft--" he consulted his watch, "five minutes, and
+fifty-five-point-six seconds ago."
+
+"And?" asked Whitlow, casually unbuckling the straps of his brief case
+and slipping out his sandwich.
+
+"The plane will be within bomb vector of this target in just ten
+seconds!" said Webb, confidently.
+
+Whitlow listened, for the next nine seconds, then, right on schedule, he
+heard the muted droning of a plane, high up. Webb joggled him with an
+elbow. "They'll fall faster than any known enemy weapon can track them,"
+he said, smugly.
+
+"That's fortunate," said Whitlow, munching desultorily at his sandwich.
+"Bud dere's wud thig budduhs bee."
+
+"Hmmf?" asked the general.
+
+Whitlow swallowed hastily. "I say, there's one thing bothers me."
+
+"What's that?" asked the general.
+
+"Well, it's just that gravity is centripetal, you know, and the
+Whirligig is centrifugal. I wondered if it might not make some sort of
+difference?"
+
+"Bah!" said General Webb. "Just a minor detail."
+
+"If you say so," Whitlow shrugged.
+
+"There they come!" shouted the general, jumping to his feet.
+
+Whitlow, despite his misgivings, found that he, too, was on his feet,
+staring skyward at the tiny dots that were detaching themselves from the
+shining bulk of the carrier plane. As he watched, his heart beating
+madly, the dots grew bigger, and soon, awfully soon, they could be
+distinguished as man-shaped, too.
+
+"There's-- There's something wrong!" said the general. "What's that
+they're all shouting? It _should_ be 'Geronimo' ..."
+
+Whitlow listened. "It sounds more like 'Eeeeeyaaaaa'," he said.
+
+And it was.
+
+The sound grew from a distant mumble to a shrieking roar, and the next
+thing, each man had landed upon the concrete-and-paint bull's-eye before
+the reviewing stand.
+
+Whitlow sighed and re-buckled his brief case.
+
+The general moaned and fainted.
+
+And the men of the Whirligig, all of whom had landed on the target
+head-first, did nothing, their magnificently muscled legs waving idly in
+a sudden gentle gust of desert breeze.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+ This etext was produced from _Amazing Stories_ November 1959.
+ Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
+ copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and
+ typographical errors have been corrected without note.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Minor Detail, by John Michael Sharkey
+
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