Free Moby Jack & Other Tall Tales by Garry Kilworth Page B

Chaplin character is representative of the whole human race.’
    ‘Exactly, sir. You’ve got it. We all look alike to them. They came down as Fifth Columnists, intending to infiltrate our country unnoticed, but of course even most Nebraskans know Charlie Chaplin is dead, and that there was only one of him. The Nebraskan dirt farmers see a thousand look-alikes and straight away they go, “Uh-huh, somethin’s wrong here, Zach...”
    ‘So, they did what any self-respecting mid-western American would do— they went indoors and got their guns and started shooting these funny-walking little guys carrying canes and wearing bowler hats. I mean, what would you do?’
    ‘I see what you mean, colonel. They’re not from around here, so they must be bad guys?’
    ‘Right.’
    ‘Blow holes in them and ask questions later?’
    ‘If you can understand that alien gibberish, which nobody can.’
    ‘I meant, ask questions of yourself—questions on whether you’ve done the right and moral thing.’
    ‘Gotcha, general.’
    I pondered on the colonel’s words. Colonel Cartwright was an intelligent man—or at least what passes for intelligence in the Army—which was why he was a senior officer in COP. He had obviously thought this thing through very thoroughly and I had to accept his conclusions. I asked him if he was sure we were doing the right thing by counter-attacking the aliens and blowing them to oblivion. Had they really exterminated the whole population of Nebraska?
    ‘Every last’s mother’s son,’ answered the colonel, sadly. ‘There’s not a chicken farmer left.’
    ‘And we can’t get through to the President for orders?’
    ‘All lines are down, radio communications are being jammed.’
    ‘The Air Force?’ I asked, hopefully.
    ‘Shot down as it crossed the state line. There’s smoking wrecks lying all over Nebraska. Same with missiles. We were willing to wipe out Nebraska, geographically speaking, but these creatures have superior weapons. We’re the nearest unit, the last line of defence, general. It’s up to us to stop them.’
    ‘How many men have we got, colonel?’
    ‘A brigade—you’re only a brigadier-general, general.’
    ‘That’s true. Still, we ought to stand a chance with four to five thousand men. They—they destroyed our whole Air Force, you say?’
    The colonel sneered. ‘The Air Force are a bunch of Marys, sir. You can’t trust a force that’s only a century old. The Army and the Navy, now they’ve been around for several thousand years.’
    ‘Are we up to strength?’
    ‘No, sir, with sickness and furlough we’re down to 2,000.’
    ‘OK,’ I said. ‘We go in with two thousand, armour, field guns and God on our side.’
    ‘You betcha!’
    A corporal came into the room without knocking.
    ‘Yes, corporal?’ I said, icily. ‘I’m busy.’
    ‘I thought you ought to see this, sir. It’s a message—just come through.’
    She handed it to me. ‘From Washington?’ I asked, hopefully.
    ‘No, sir, from the alien.’
    ‘The alien ?’ I repeated, snatching the signal. ‘You afraid of plurals, soldier?’
    ‘No, sir, if you’ll read the message, sir, you’ll see there ’s only one of him—or her.’
    The message read: YOU AND ME, OLIVER, DOWN BY THE PLATTE.
    ‘Looks like He’s been watching John Wayne movies, too,’ I said, handing Cartwright the piece of paper. ‘Or maybe Clint Eastwood?’
    The colonel read the message. ‘How do we know there’s only one?’ he asked, sensibly. ‘It could be a trick.’
    ‘Our radar confirms it, sir,’ the corporal said. ‘He’s pretty fast though. It only looks like there’s multiples of him. He seems to be everywhere at once. He’s wiped out the whole population of Nebraska single handed.’
    ‘Shit,’ I said. ‘What the hell chance do I stand against an alien that moves so fast he becomes a horde?’
    ‘Fifty percent of Nebraska was asleep when they got it,’ said the colonel, ‘and the other half weren’t