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+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
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MINOR DETAIL ***
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