The politician's years of practice in con-trolling his temper and concealing his feelings stood him in good stead. He placed a hand on the marshal's shoulder. "Sit down, John, and be quiet. You know as well as I that we can't make Dr. Groot work, if he refuses. To talk of revenge on him is silly." He turned to Groot. "Doctor, when your fellow countrymen are dying to accomplish a particular end. don't you think you owe them some ex-planation if you refuse to help them in any way you can?"

Groot had watched the little by-play with amusement. He replied courteously, "Certainly, Your Excellency. I will not assist in this mass killing because I see no reason why either side should win. The cultures are similar; the racial stocks are the same in about the same proportions. What difference will it make which side wins?"

"Don't you feel any obligation of pa-triotism, or loyalty?"

"Only," Groot shrugged, "to the race itself. Not to a particular gang."

"I don't suppose it would do any good to discuss with you the question of which side is morally justified?"

Groot shook his head. "None at all, I'm afraid."

"I thought not. We are realists, you and I " He gathered up his gloves again. "I shall do what I can , Doctor, to protect you from the results of your decision, but political necessities may force my hand. You will understand."

"Stay." Groot stopped him again. "I re-fused to help you win this war. Suppose I undertook to keep you from losing?"

"But that is the same thing," exploded the field marshal.

The Prime Minister simply raised his brows.

Groot proceeded. "I will not help you to win. But if you wish it, I will show you how to stop this war with no victory on either side, provided-" He paused--" provided you agree now to my kind of peace."

He stopped and waited for the effect of his words. The Prime Minister nod-ded. "Go ahead. We will at least listen."

"If the war is finished with no victor and no vanquished, if the terms of the peace set up a new government which Welds the two countries into one nation, indistinguishable, free, and equal, I shall be satisfied. If you can assure me of that, I will help you-- otherwise not."

The politician withdrew to the far end of the room, and stood staring out the window. He traced a triangle with his forefinger on his right cheek, and repeated it,, endlessly; his brows furrowed in thought.

The old soldier got up and joined him and expostulated in whispers, "-utopian! ... impractical! . . : different languages, different traditions . . :"

The politician left the soldier abruptly and faced the scientist. "I agree to your terms, Doctor:, What do you, plan to do ?"

"First you answer a question for me

Why are men willing to fight arid die in a war?

"Why? For their country, for patriotic reasons. Oh, I suppose a few regard it as an adventure."

"No reason is necessary for the men themselves," put in the field marshal, "under compulsory service. They have to.

"But even under compulsory service," said Groot, "there must be good morale, a willingness to die fighting, else you would be faced with chronic mutiny. Not so ?"

"Mmmm-well, yes. You're right."

"Doctor, why do you think men are willing to die in war?" inquired the Prime Minister.Groot answered solemnly, "To be will-ing to die in war has nothing to do with personal self-preservation. To go 'to war is suicide-for the individual. Men are willing to be killed in war for one reason only-that their tribe may live after them. That is to say, they fight for their chil-dren. To a nation without children, war is meaningless, not worth fighting. That is a primary datum of mass psychology!"

"Go on."

"I propose that we kidnap their chil-dren!"

"It's an infamous scheme. I will not agree to it."

"it is humane."

" it is contrary to international law."

"Naturally. International law defines the legal ways to kill men. This proposes an illegal way to avoid killing them."

"It violates every rule of civilized war-fare!"

"Quiet, John! You'll do as you are told."

DEEP behind the enemy's lines in a moderate-sized city, life flowed quietly along. True, there were few men on the streets, and those few usually showed the marks of battle. The motor busses were driven by women; the clerks were women; even the street sweep-ers and rubbish collectors were women. On a hill at the outskirts of town, there stood a large boarding school, an or-phanage for the children of the war dead. Here matriarchy was the natural thing.

It was recess time. The pleasant, gar-dened grounds swarmed and boiled with young life. Their high young voices were raised in shouts and calls that attend the age-old games of childhood; tag, ball games and the like.

In her private office, Madame Curan, superintendent, pored over her reports. The voices of the children outside reached her as a wordless, tuneless obligato, which she heard subconsciously and responded to by relaxing the tired wrinkles between her eyes.

She pushed a stack of papers to one side, and pressed a button. The outer of-fice door opened almost at once, and she glanced up to find, not the stenographer she had rung for, but her second-in-com-mand. The woman was plainly excited.

"Madame! Air raid!"

Madame Curare's finger was at once on another button. A siren mourned, and the shouts of the children were snuffed out.

"Are you sure?" she asked her assist-ant as they hurried out. "I don't under-stand it. They've never raided school-houses before."

Out on the grounds the children had formed into four queues and were being hurried down four covered ramps which led underground. The playground supervisors, young widows, most of them with a too bitter knowledge of war, were urging them on..

Madame Curan glanced up. Settling out of the sky was a huge helicopter of bombing type. It was attended by a dancing, swooping swarm of little fighting planes. Three little white clouds appeared suddenly among the planes ; then a few seconds later the breeze brought three short dry coughs. The Anti-aircraft batteries had open up.

Her assistant clutched at her arm.

"Where are our planes?"

"There they come."

Three tiny specks, higher than the enemy, burst out of the glare of the sun from the southwest. They dropped their V formation, shifted into open column, and dived at full throttle, disregarding the convoying fighting planes in their eagerness to reach the big bomber. The bomber jerked away to the east, like a humming bird shifting to another blossom. But the column followed. It was plain that the lead pilot intended to suicide by diving into the bomber.

One of the fast little fighters of the convoy beat him to it . The two planes, defend and convoy, collided a short distance over the helicopter. They seemed to disintegrate noiselessly into disorganized rubbish.The other two planes in the column ducked, one under, one over the floating rubbish. And passed harmlessly beyond the bomber. A few seconds later came the sound of the collision-the noise of a giant tearing a thousand yards of muslin.

The helicopter landed on the play ground.

From the control cabin on the port side forward, a small door opened, a light metal ladder swung down, and two men debarked. They approached the woman. The younger of two men addressed them.

" Madame Curan' is it not? I am Lieutenant Bunes. Allow me to present Flight Commander Dansic. I will translate for him."

"It is not necessary. I know your language. What is the meaning of this cowardly attack?"

The commander saluted smartly, and made a slight bow from the waist. "Please Madame. I am so happy that you speak our language our language. It will make everything so much simpler. I regret to inform you that you are my prisoner."