# The Onslaught from Rigel/Chapter VI

It would be futile—and impossible—to chronicle all the events of that wild ride; to tell how the light-bombs dropped unceasingly from above; how the driver of one car, blinded by the glare, hurtled his vehicle through the plate-glass window of a store, and how McAllister, the artilleryman, fought off the birds with a huge shard of glass from the window; how the passengers in another car, wrecked by a bomb, got a fire-engine and cleared their way to Times Square with clanging bell and clouds of malodorous fire-extinguisher chemicals; or how Mrs. Roberts decapitated one of the monsters with a single blow of the cleaver she carried.
Dawn found them, a depressed group of fourteen, gathered in the protection of the underground passages.
“Well, what next?” asked Gloria, who seemed to have preserved more of her normal cheerfulness than anyone. “Do we stay here till they come for us, or do we go get 'em?”
“We get out,” said Ben Ruby. “No good here. They know too much for us.”
“Right,” declared Beeville. “The usual methods of dealing with animals won't work this time. They are all based on the fact that animals are creatures of habit instead of intelligence, and unless I am much wrong, these birds are intelligent and have some bigger intelligence backing them.”
“You mean they'll try to bomb us out of here?” asked Roberts.
McAllister looked up from the dice he was throwing. “You bet your sweet life they will. Those babies know their stuff. The one that was after me was onto the manual of the bayonet like he'd been raised on it.”
“That's nice,” said Gloria, “but what are we going to do about it?”
“Get an anti-aircraft gun from the Island and shell hell out of them when they come round again,” suggested the artilleryman.
“Said gun would be considerable weight for individual to transport in pocket,” said Yoshio doubtfully, as Ben raised his hand for silence amid the ensuing laughter.
“There's a good deal in that idea,” he said, “but I don't think it will do as it stands. The birds would bomb our gun to blazes after they had a dose or two from it. They're not so slow themselves you know. How about some of the forts? Aren't there some big ones around New York?”
McAllister nodded. “There's Hancock. We could get a ship through.”
“Say!” Gloria leaped suddenly to her feet. “While we're about it, can't we get a warship—a battleship or something? Those babies would have a hot time trying to bomb one of Uncle Sam's battleships apart and there's all kinds of anti-aircraft guns on them.”
“There's a destroyer in the Hudson,” said someone.
“How many men does it take to run her?”
“Hundred and fifty.”
“But,” put in Gloria, “that's a hundred and fifty of the old style men who had to have their three squares and eight hours' sleep every day, and they did a lot of things like cooking that we won't have to. What do you say, Dictator, old scout? Shall we give it a whirl?”
“O. K.—unless somebody has something better to offer,” declared Ben, and in fifteen minutes more the colonists were cautiously poking their way out of the subway station en route to take command of U. S. S. Ward.
Cleaning up the ship before the start took the colonists a whole day. A sooty dust, like the product of a particularly obnoxious factory, had settled over everything, and dealing with the cast-iron bodies of the sailors, wedged in the queer corners where they had fallen at the moment of the change, was a job in itself.
As night shut down, the whole crew, with the exception of Beeville and Murray Lee, who had spent some time in small boats and had therefore been appointed navigators, was busy going over the engine-room, striving to learn the complex detail of handling a warship.
Murray and Beeville were poring over their navigating charts when a step sounded outside the chartroom and the wire-frizzled head of Gloria was thrust in.
“How goes it, children?” she asked. “Do we sail for the cannibal islands at dawn?”
“Not on your life,” replied Murray. “This hooker is going to pull in at the nearest garage until we learn what it's all about. Talk about arithmetic! This is worse than figuring out a time-table.”
Gloria laughed, then her face became serious. “Do you think they'll bomb us again, Mr. Beeville?”
“I don't see why not. They were clear winners in the last battle. But what gets me is where they come from. Why, they're a living refutation of the laws of evolution on the earth! Four wings and two legs! Although …” the naturalist looked at the sliding parts of his own arm, “they are rather less incredible than the evolution that has overtaken mankind, unless we're all off our heads. Do you know any way to account for it?”
“Not me,” said Murray, “that's supposed to be your job; all we do is believe you when—” Bang! The anti-aircraft gun had gone off just outside with an earsplitting report. With a common impulse the three made for the door and looked upward to see the shell burst in a puff of white smoke, outlined against the dark clouds of evening, while above and beyond it sailed a black dot with whirring wings.
“That settles it,” said Murray. “Whether we like it or not, we're going away from here. I wish those nuts hadn't fired though. Now the birds know what we've got. Trot down and tell them to get up steam, that's a good girl, Gloria.”
The lone tetrapteryx seemed no more than a scout, for the attack was not followed up. But it takes time to get steam up on long disused marine engines and all hands were below when the real attack was delivered.
It began with the explosion of a bomb somewhere outside and a dash of water against the vessel's side that threw all of them off their feet. There was a clang of metal and a rush for the deck—cut across by Ben's voice. “Take it easy! Everybody to the engines but McAllister, O'Hara and the navigators.”
The four sprang for the ladder, Murray in the lead. Crash! A sound like the thunder of a thousand tons of scrap iron on a sidewalk and the destroyer pitched wildly.
Murray's head came level with the deck. Instead of the darkness he had expected it was flung into dazzling illumination by a flare burning on the water not fifty yards away, with a light so intense that it seemed to have physical body. There was a perceptible wave of heat from it and the water round it boiled like a cauldron.
Instead of the darkness he had expected, the deck was flung into dazzling illumination.
He tumbled onto the deck, running forward to trip the release of the anchor chain. At the break of the forecastle, he stumbled, and the stumble saved him, for at that moment another of the bombs fell, just in front of the fore-deck gun. The whole bow of the ship seemed to burst into intense, eye-searing flame. Deafened and blinded, Murray lay face down on the deck, trying to recover his senses; behind him the others, equally overwhelmed, tumbled on the iron surface, rolling over and over, blindly.
But the birds, apparently unaware of how heavy a blow they had struck, seemed wary of the gun. The four groveling on the deck heard scream and answering scream above them as the monsters discussed the question on the wing. If they reached a decision it was too late, for McAllister and O'Hara, blind, drunk and sick though they were, staggered to the gun and sent a shot shrieking at wild venture into the heavens. Beeville, nearer to the blinding blaze of light, recovered more slowly, but found his way to the bridge where he fumblingly pulled the engine-room telegraph over to “Full Speed Ahead.”
Below, in the bowels of the vessel, there was a rumble of activity; a rapid whoosh of steam came from an exhaust pipe, a dash of sparks from the destroyer's funnels, and slowly and haltingly she began to move. Bang! went the anti-aircraft gun. Beeville heard Murray climbing the bridge behind him and then his cry, “The anchor!”
Too late—with a surge that changed to a rattle, the destroyer moved, tearing the anchor from its ground and swinging slowly half-way round as the weight dragged the damaged bow to one side. At that moment came another bomb which, but for their motion, would have struck fair and square amidships. Bang! Bang! went the anti-aircraft gun. Murray dragged at the wheel, then swung the engine-room telegraph back to “Stop.” Just in time—the destroyer's bottom grated on something, her prow rent the side of a big speed-boat and she came to rest, pointing diagonally upstream.
Fortunately the attack broke off as rapidly as it had begun. A few screams, lost in the darkness of the night were the only answer to another shell from the gun. But there was no assurance that this was more than a temporary respite. Murray and Beeville strove desperately to bring the warped bridge mechanism into running order while O'Hara routed out a blow-torch from somewhere and attacked the anchor chain, now welded into a solid mass with the deck by the force of the light-bomb. Finally, weaving to and fro in the hands of the inexperienced mariners, she was gotten round and pointed downstream and out to sea. If the birds sought them again in the darkness there was no sign of it.
Day found them stumbling down the Jersey coast, the foredeck a mass of wreckage and the ship leaking badly.
“Well, where are we now?” called a cheerful voice, as Murray Lee stood at the wheel. “Australia in sight yet?”
He looked up to see Gloria's head emerging from the companion.
“Come on up,” he said, “I'm just going to turn the wheel over to Beeville and get busy with this radio. Don't think the bomb knocked it out. It did everything else, though. Look at that.”
He indicated the prow of the ship, where the big gun hung down like a tired candle and the whole fore part of the vessel had dissolved into tears of metal.
“Golly,” said Gloria, “that was some egg those birds laid. What was it, anyway?”
“Don't know. Never saw anything like it before. Must be some kind of new-fangled high-power incendiary bomb to melt steel down like butter. Why, even thermit wouldn't do that.”
“I hope our friends don't think of looking us up here, then, or we'll be finding out what it's like to walk under water.”
“You said something, sister,” declared Murray. “Wait! I think I got something.”
He fumbled with the radio dials before him, swinging them this way and that: then clamped on the headset. “Oh, boy, there's something coming through … we're not alone in the world then… Yes, there she is… Damn, I wish they wouldn't send so fast… AAM2 calling… Now who is AAM2?” His fingers pressed the key in reply as the others watched him with bated breath. “Position, seventy-three, fifty-three west longitude; forty, o-three, north latitude. Here …” he wrote the figures down. “Take this, one of you and dope it out. Ssh, there's more coming. Oh, he wants to know who we are and where. Call Ben, will you Gloria?”
She dashed off to return with the dictator of the colonists just as Beeville, who had been fumbling over the charts with one hand, called suddenly, “Why, the position they give is right near here—hardly a hundred miles away. I don't know just what ours is, but it can't be far from this spot. Tell them that.”
“Find out who they are first,” Ben put in, practically. “After what they've done, I wouldn't put it past the tetrapteryxes to handle a radio set.”
“… His Majesty's Australian ship Brisbane, they say,” said Murray. “Wait a minute, since they're so near, I think I can switch them over to the radiophone.” He ticked the key a moment, then twisted more dials and leaned back as a full and fruity voice, with a strong English accent, filled the room.
“Compliments of Captain Entwhistle of the Royal Australian Navy to the commander of the U. S. S. Ward, and can we arrange a meeting? The Comet appears to have done a good deal of damage in your part of the world and you are the first people we have encountered.”
“Where's your microphone?” asked Ben. “Oh, there… Compliments of Benjamin Franklin Ruby, temporarily in command of U. S. S. Ward to Captain Entwhistle of the Royal Australian Navy, and none of us are sailors. We just borrowed this ship, and if you want to see us you'll have to pick us up. We'll keep along the coast toward Cape May. Can you meet us?”
A chuckle was audible from the radiophone. “I think we can manage it. Are there any of the big birds about in your part of the world? They have been bothering us all summer.”
“Yes,” replied Ben, “that's what we're running away from now. They've got some bombs that are pure poison and they've been making regular war on us—or probably you know about it?”
“We haven't seen anything like that yet,” declared the voice from the loud-speaker, “but we've had plenty of trouble with them. Hold on a moment. Our lookout reports sighting smoke from your funnels. Hold your course and speed. We'll pick you up.”
The voice ceased with a snap, and the four in the control room of the destroyer looked at each other.
“I'm glad he came around,” remarked Ben. “This destroyer is getting shopworn. Besides with a good warship on hand we'll be able to give those birds what they're looking for. I hope he's got some airplanes.”
“And somebody to fly them,” continued Murray. “What'll we do if he has—go back and give them hell?”
“If we can. Apparently he doesn't like the birds any too well himself. It was the first thing he mentioned.”
They ceased speaking as the thin pennon of smoke, followed by two tall masts, became visible over the horizon. In a few minutes more the Brisbane swept up, swung a circle and came to rest near them, while out from her side dropped a boat that began to move toward them with dipping oars.
A moment later she was alongside. Ben stepped out on the deck, and as he did so, there was a mutual exclamation of horrified amazement—for Captain Entwhistle of the Royal Australian Navy was as much flesh and blood as any man they had seen in the old days, but a pale blue in color, and all his sailors were of the same extraordinary hue.