A Matter for Men

Five

SHORTY TOWERED over me like a wall.

"Here," he said and thrust a flamethrower into my arms. "Don't flinch," he grinned. "There's nothing to be afraid of. It's not charged."

"Oh," I said, not at all reassured. I tried to figure out how to hold it.

"Watch it," he warned. "That'd be a good way to burn off your-here, hold it like this. One hand on the flame control there, the other on the stock-see that handle? That's right. Now, hold still while I fix your straps. We'll work without the tanks until you get the feel of it. You know, you're lucky-"

"Oh?"

"That torch is a Remington. Almost new. Designed for the war in Pakistan, but never used. Didn't need to-but it's perfect for us now because it'll take anything that burns and flows. See, the trick is this: you can shoot a stream of pure fuel alone-jellied gasoline is best-or you can shoot a barrage of exploding pellets, soaked in the fuel. Or you can shoot both at once. The pellets are pressure-loaded in this chamber here. Because they're pellets, you have a greater range, and because they explode on impact, you get a larger splash. The effect is terrific-don't point that at the ground, or you'll take off."

"Uh, Shorty . . ."

"Something wrong?"

"Napalm was outlawed almost ten years before the Pakistan conflict. What was the government doing with flamethrowers?" He let go of the straps he was adjusting. "You're gonna need shoulder pads." He turned away. I thought he wasn't going to answer the question, but as he came back from the jeep, carrying the pads, he said, "Same thing they were doing with A-bombs, nerve bombs, bacteriological weapons, hallucinogenic gases, nerve gases and poison vectors. Stockpiling them." He stopped my next question before I could ask it. "I know, they're illegal. That's why we had to have them-because the other side had them too. Letting them know was the guarantee. That's why the treaty worked."

"But-I thought the purpose of the whole thing was to outlaw inhumane weapons."

"Nope. Just to keep 'em from bein' used. There's always a difference between what you say and what you really want. If you're sharp enough to know what you really want, then it's easy to figure out what to say to get it. That's what that whole conference was about." He paused sourly. "I oughta know. I was there."

"Huh?"

Shorty looked like he wanted to say something, but he stopped himself. "Never mind. Some other time. Let me ask you this: what is it that makes a weapon inhumane?"

"Uh . . ." I thought about it.

"Let me make it easier for you. Tell me a humane weapon."

"Um-I see your point."

"Right. There's no such thing. It's like Christmas-it's not the gift, it's the thought that counts." He came around behind me and started fitting the pads under the straps. "A weapon, Jimnever forget this, lift your arms-is a tool for stopping the other fellow. That's the purpose-stopping him. The so-called humane weapons merely stop a man without permanently injuring him. The best weapons-you can put your arms down now-are the ones that work by implication, by threat, and never have to be used at all. The enemy stops himself.

"It's when they don't stop"-he turned me around to adjust the fittings in front-"that the weapons become inhumane, because that's when you have to use them. And so far, the most effective ones are the ones that kill-because they stop the guy permanently." He had to drop to his knees to cinch the waist strap. "Although ... there's a lot to be said for maiming-"

"Huh?" I couldn't see his eyes, so I didn't know if he was joking or not.

"-but that's asking too much of both the weapon and its user." He straightened again and rapped the buckle in the center of my chest. "Okay, that's the quick-release latch. Flip that up and the whole thing falls apart. That's in case you have a sudden need to run like hell. And if you do, you'd better. Five seconds after you drop that, it blows itself to bits. All right, I'm gonna hang the tanks on you now."

"You were going to say something about the Moscow Treaties before, weren't you?" I prompted.

"Nope." He headed for the jeep.

I flexed my arms. The harness was stiff, but it wasn't uncomfortable. I guess Shorty knew what he was doing.

He came back with the tanks. They sloshed lightly. "They're only half full. I don't want you starting any forest fires. Turn around."

As he hung the tanks on my shoulders, he said, "You want to know about the treaties? They were dishonorable. To make false rules about `I won't use this if you won't use that' may seem civilized because it lessens the brutality-but it isn't. It just makes the brutality tolerable for a longer time. And that's not civilized at all. If we're in a situation where we have to stop the other fellow, then let's just stop him. It's more efficient. There, how does that feel?"

I tested my balance. "Uh, fine-"

He scowled. "No, it isn't. You're off balance. They're too low. Hold still." He lifted the tanks off my back and began readjusting the straps of the harness. "This torch-" he said, "-this torch is a truly beautiful weapon. It has a maximum range of sixty meters. Eighty with a supercharger. It makes you a totally independent fighting unit. You carry your own fuel, you choose your own targets, point and squeeze. Vrr-o-oomm! It'll stop a man instantly-or a worm. It'll stop a tank. It'll burn out a pillbox. There isn't anything that can resist a torch-except very thick armor or a lot of distance. It is not"-he gave a hard yank-"humane. You pull that trigger and that's not a man in front of you anymore; it's a private piece of hell. You can watch him turn black and shrivel as his blood boils out of his skin. You can feel his flesh roasting. Sometimes you can even hear the scream of the air exploding out of his lungs." He gave another sharp pull at the straps. "And that's good, Jim, that's very good. You should be right down there next to what you're doing. If you're going to be a killer, you should do it personally, so you experience what you're doing. That's the civilized way." He poked me. "That torch is not humane, but it is civilized."

My mouth was very dry. I managed to say, "Civilized-?"

"It stops them, doesn't it? Hold still, here come the tanks again. A weapon should let you sleep well at night. If it doesn't, there's something wrong with the war."

He caught me unprepared. I almost staggered. I stiffened against the weight. But he was right. The balance was better this way.

He must have seen the look on my face. "Jim-war isn't polite. Especially not this one. We don't have the time to be fair. That torch will burn a Chtorran like fluff, and that's all that matters -you don't get a second chance with worms. They come at you at a good sixty-five kilometers an hour-two hundred and twenty-five kilograms of angry worm. And they're all teeth at the business end. If it's purple, burn it. That's a standing order. You don't have to wait for permission."

"I won't."

He locked eyes with me and nodded sharply; his expression was hard. "There's one more thing. Don't ever balk because you might hit a man. Don't hesitate because you think you might be able to save him-you can't. Once a Chtorran starts eating, there's no way to stop it. It can't stop. Not even if it wanted to. Burn them both, Jim. And burn them fast. He'd thank you for it if he could." He studied my face. "Can you remember that?"

"I'll try."

"It's like that little girl. It's the kindest thing you can do."

I nodded and shouldered the flamethrower. I didn't like it; I probably never would. Too bad. "Okay," my mouth was saying. "Show me how to work it."