By Philip E. High
Glance down into the streets, the constructions, the parks. there's your battleground. Down there's the enemy--an enemy who wears no uniform. He walks at the back of you on the street, sits with you if you happen to devour and maybe swims beside you in a public pool. He may perhaps ask you for a mild, promote you a flyer, or in one other shape, go away the odor of body spray in your pillow. The enemy is old and young, female and male and he's in all places. might this type of state of affairs come up ... or has it already arisen? during this intriguing tale novel, the writer depicts an international at warfare. An undercover warfare, so skilfully manipulated that sixty in keeping with cent of the inhabitants are ignorant of its lifestyles. but, day-by-day, the casualty figures climb greater and higher...
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He sighed. When I think of all the devastating side-arms at our disposal, all the ingenious little devices, I weep because we can't use them. Technology is so precise now that it cancels itself out. No man living, friend or enemy, dare carry a blaster, every street in every city is crawling with detectors, ours and theirs, which would pin-point him within seconds. Before he could take twenty paces, he would be picked up or gunned down. The same goes for ninety-five per cent of the devices at our disposal.
Reed scowled at him. What do you think this is- a game of patsy? " Briefly Maynard looked angry. What do you think I am- stupid? I can add up percentages just as easily as you. " � It has to be sometime, hasn't it? If this one flops, the next one will be twice as bad. Another thing, I have spent some spare time studying the records and have become distinctly unhappy. We're not only fighting a rearguard action but we have nowhere to retreat. Another twenty or thirty years and the Enemy will have ground us into the dirt, perhaps before.
No, no need to get up yet, finish your cigarette, because, when we get you back, you have another lesson to learn. " � Hello, Mr. He strolled on without glancing back. His captor smiled. Well, go on, run after him, tell him that a familiar local business man has a gun pointed straight at your guts. Another lesson, Maynard, one I don't have to spell out for you. " Maynard, cold inside, took another drag at the half-smoked cigarette and stared at a world which had suddenly become hostile. What the man had said was probably true, the elderly man apparently half asleep on a nearby bench, the strolling youth with his hands in his pockets, both could be enemies.