"I can't be a traitor to my country!" he said, a near-wail shaking his voice. "I just can't!"

"Which is your country?"

"What do you mean?"

"The land you were born in or the land of the right?"

The two seaplanes had landed and taxied near to the shore. Soldiers had poured out of them, sinking in the lake up to their waists. Then canvas boats were unfolded, and these were loaded with boxes and pushed ashore and unloaded and shoved back to the seaplanes to be loaded again.

While the two pursuits circled high overhead, the land planes touched down one by one and taxied to the area near the lake. Soldiers and pilots got out to help remove weapons and supplies from the craft. Hank saw ten .50-caliber and four .30-caliber Browning machine guns and two light mortars. Most of the troops were armed with BARs.

Guards were stationed at the perimeters. Some men were digging latrine trenches, and a large number were chopping at the bases of middle-sized trees.

The last plane, a Jenny, landed and discharged a soldier and several boxes.

A man in an officer's uniform stood near the embankment, his binoculars trained on Hank's group. Hank wondered what the fellow made of the tiny people and the moose-drawn chariots. He would be verifying that the natives had no firearms, though he had doubtless been told that. What else had he been told?

One man was operating a movie camera, and two men were setting up radio equipment.

One by one, the planes took off, climbing to about two thousand feet and circling while the others caught up with them.

Hank waited for Glinda to tell him to approach the base, but she seemed to be interested only in watching the procedure. That wise old brain behind that devastatingly beautiful and young face must be considering all possibilities, though.

Presently, the circle above broke up as the planes headed in single file towards the south. The two pursuits, however, dived, turned, and flew towards the Quadlings on the road. They were only fifty feet up as they raced along, and they shot roaring and whistling over the Quadlings. The queen's troops must have been frightened, but they held firm. Nobody was going to break discipline, not when Glinda was around.

"They could have killed us all if they'd wanted to," Hank said.

He watched the pursuits pull up and turn towards the others.

"I didn't think they wanted to," she said. "Go to them, now, Hank. But don't touch them. Stay away from them. I don't wish to quarantine you again."

"As you wish," he said, and he walked down the road. When he came to the wooden bridge across the ditch, he turned and crossed it. A guard, a young private wearing the crossed-rifles insignia of the infantry, challenged him.

"Henry L. Stover, late lieutenant of the Army Air Service," Hank said.

The guard had been informed about him. Not, Hank thought, that he could have been anybody else. Who else in this world stood so tall and spoke English? Except for the invaders, of course.

The guard bawled out a summons to a corporal nearby, and the man came running to escort him to the officer with the binoculars. Hank was surprised when he saw his captain's bars. He had expected that an expedition of such importance would be led by a colonel at least. The officer, like all the soldiers Hank could see, had no cloth insignia.

Hank stopped ten feet from him and said, "Henry L. Stover at your service, sir."

The captain was almost as tall as Hank. He was lean and lanky and had a deeply tanned angular face with high cheekbones, pale blue eyes, and straw-colored hair. He did not look over thirty.

"Captain Boone Longstreet," the fellow said in a deep but rasping voice. The accent was Southern, probably Tennesseean or Kentuckian. "Of the United States Regular Infantry."

Longstreet advanced towards him; Hank stepped back. Looking puzzled, the officer stopped.

"I have orders not to get any closer than this to any of you," Hank said.

"Why not, suh?"

"I don't want to catch anything from you."

A flush spread out beneath the tan.

"That sounds insulting, suh."

"It's not meant to be anything but realistic. These people are wide open to Earth diseases."

The captain looked startled. Hank thought, Good God, didn't the brass tell him anything about that?

"Also, of course," Hank said, "you and your men are very vulnerable to the diseases of this world."

Longstreet paled. The fellow was a regular chameleon.

Why had he lied so spontaneously? Why? Because he did not want them here. They had no right to be here.

But these feelings did not mean that he was a traitor or ready to be Glinda's agent for whatever she wanted him to do.

Even so, he felt guilty. Somewhat so, anyway.

"I'd like to know your orders, Captain," Hank said.

"What? You're a civilian, suh. You have no need or right to know them. Not all of them, anyway."

Hank said, "Look, Captain, I've been authorized to act as an interpreter and a sort of ambassador at large. Surely, you must know that. I have to know your intentions."

"I was told I must deal through you. To a certain extent, that is."

Longstreet stared over Hank's shoulder. Hank turned. The green cloud was back now, and the planes, which had formed into a circle, were dropping out of it, one by one, and flying into the cloud. As soon as the last disappeared, the haze shrank and was gone within a few seconds.

The sight of that, Hank thought, must make the captain feel alone and isolated. Perhaps, helpless. Or maybe he was attributing some of his own reactions to the man.

Hank had counted seventy-five men, enlisted and officers. That did not seem many, but they must be confident that their rapid-fire weapons and their superior stature were the equivalent of an army of pygmies armed only with swords, spears, and bows.

A number were cutting down trees with two-handled saws. Others were digging a shallow trench near the lake. They meant to erect a three-sided log palisade in front of the trench. The lake would be to their backs.

Hank said, "Captain, would you mind telling me just how much you were briefed on?"

"That is not your concern, suh," Longstreet said, looking him straight in the eyes. "I have been ordered to tell you my orders, suh, so that you may transmit them to the chief authority of this place."

Hank pointed at the small but regal figure in the chariot. Her hair shone redly in the sun.

"There she is, Glinda the Good."

Apparently, Longstreet had never read the Oz books. He looked at her through his binoculars, then lowered them.

"Here's what you'll tell this Glinda," Longstreet said loudly and determinedly. "One, we're not here to make war unless we're treated as hostiles. We're here on a peaceful mission."

"Yes, looks like it," Hank said, gesturing at the heavy machine guns.

"You with us or against us?" Longstreet said, but he did not wait for Stover to reply.

"Two, the United States of America is prepared to protect this country against any enemies from Earth."

At least, the captain knew that he was not in his native universe.

"The United States of America offers its aid against any enemies along its border. It is prepared to make a treaty of alliance with Queen Glinda of Quadlingland and to use its armed forces in her struggle against any and all invaders."

Hank had expected Longstreet to read from an official letter. But the brass were being cagey. They had issued only verbal orders.

"Three, the United States of America asks permission to establish a base from which its soldiers may operate against the enemies of the Quadlings and which will eventually house diplomats, scientists, and other agents which the United States may see fit to send to Quadlingland, provided, of course, that the reigning authority of Quadlingland agrees to these. Terms will be worked out at the appropriate time."