Nelson S. Bond

“ Civic authorities had deliberately chosen a moonless night for this experiment. Mother Nature had collaborated by veiling the sky with a thick overcast, making the night starless as well. The street upon which Peter stood was as black as a whale's belly. Except for—
"Oh, mercy me!" bleated Peter, "this will never do!"
And his panic subsiding in the face of this unallowable thing, he scurried down the street to a dwelling beneath the lowered blinds of which escaped one lone, betraying slant of light. Hastily he ascended its steps, more hastily rapped on the door. ”

“ Someone behind Peter Pettigrew tittered, and someone else muttered, "That's right! If a man can't do a man's work he ought to—" Peter's lower lip trembled, and the stalwart figure of Sergeant McCurdle danced before his eyes. ”

“ The greatest offensive military weapon any man ever discovered! Anaesthetic sands! Our lab men will analyze this powder, learn how to make it. With this, our forces can bring the war to a swift and humane end!"
"You," declared Ole Luk Oie flatly, "are crazy! The Sands aren't the only offensive thing around here. In just a few minutes, I'm going to lose my patience, human. Hand back that bag, or by Baldar—"
What dire threat he would have uttered, Peter Pettigrew was destined never to learn. ”

“ On legs that felt suddenly hollow, he raced forward, hurled himself at the Armory door and pounded frantically. A uniformed private of the regular Army opened it for him. The soldier looked faintly surprised.
"What—Oh, hello, there! You're the warden on duty here, aren't you? What's up? Blackout over?"
"It's an all night practice," snapped Peter, "as you ought to know. But never mind that now. That stranger—who was he? Where did he go?"
"Huh?" The soldier stared at him curiously. "Is it a gag, buddy? What stranger?"
"The one," rasped Peter, "you just admitted. ”

“ And with a movement so swift, so deft, that no human eye could follow it, his hand dipped into the sack, grasped a handful of the slumber-producing dust—and flung it squarely into Peter's face!
For a moment, sheer shock immobilized Peter. He had expected cringing capitulation; he had met defiance, instead. It is a different matter to dream of slaughtering hundreds of charging enemies than to pull the trigger on one, small antagonist armed with only a gunnysack. So Peter did nothing. ”

“ Not only do you advertise in the public papers your idiotic practice blackout, but you leave your Armory unguarded!
"In the Fatherland such madness would not be tolerated! Our Fuehrer weeds out the weak and incompetent. That is why we will soon rule the world!" He personalized his scorn, directed it squarely at Peter Pettigrew. "Little man, you have a revolver at your side. Why don't you draw it? Is it because you fear death? ”

“ Yes, I know you call it a 'civilian defense post', but that is dirty, democratic propaganda. Tell me the truth! How strong are your forces?"
And then—Peter acted!
"This strong!" he cried in a voice of shocking thunder. And with the full force of his meagre frame, supplemented by the unleashed vigor of his righteous wrath, he brought the sack down heavily on the Nazi's head!
The German cried out once, thickly—then collapsed. The bag split. A cloud of milky-gray powder spumed into the air, flew, spread, eddied into every nook and cranny. ”

“ The word wrenched itself unbidden from Peter's lips. Like a blinding flash of light, the truth hit him. Of course! The saboteurs wore no ultra-violet glasses. They saw no Ole Luk Oie standing and watching this typically "human" drama with detached disinterest. Peter gulped. "Oh! Oh, yes. A-lone. I was just—"
"Come closer, little man!" taunted the Nazi captain. "I would pinch your scrawny arm to test if you are a man or a mouse. ”

“ The sinister stranger was an enemy agent, and this soldier in Uncle Sam's khaki was a dupe, a hireling, a Fifth Columnist! With a swift movement he grasped the guard's rifle, levelled it at its owner.
"So!" hissed Peter Pettigrew, patriot. "You thought you could get away with it, eh? Well, the jig's up! Over my dead body you'll pull one of your dastardly Nazi tricks! Not a move, now! Move a muscle and I—I'll shoot—"
And his finger tensed on the trigger. But the other man's face did not draw into the lines of hatred and violence Peter half expected. Instead, the soldier grinned amiably at him. ”

“ It did not matter that the glasses—speaking from a purely physical standpoint—could not conceivably strengthen Peter's vision. He thought they did, and that is what really counts. Great is the influence of mind over matter.
With increased assurance, he stalked down the silent street to assume his post of duty before the Armory's portal. And it was then he saw the sinister stranger.
The stranger was hurrying up the street toward Peter. This was not, in itself, cause for alarm. Thousands of good, solid, liberty-loving Americans had doubtless been caught off guard by the wail of the sirens. ”

“ Recollection flooded back upon Peter. He lifted himself to one elbow. He was lying on a cot in the upper drill-hall of the Armory. About him were the faces of his fellow student Air Wardens, uniformed figures of regular Army officers; the shoulder propping him up, the voice speaking into his ear, the face peering down into his, all belonged to Sergeant McCurdle. An inexplicably altered Sergeant McCurdle, whose eyes were respectful and admiring.
"Wh-what happened?" demanded Peter. "Ole Luk Oie—did he get away? And the Nazi agents—?"
"Old who?" puzzled McCurdle. "We got the Heinies—three of 'em. ”

“ Only the inner chambers of the Armory were lighted.
But of the sack-bearing stranger there was no trace. Room after room was deserted, save for here a detail of slumbering reserves, there an Intelligence officer cat-napping at his desk. This latter raised his head when Peter roused him, repeated muzzily, "Whuza? Lil man with a bag? Uh-uh. Di'n see'm—" and went back to sleep.
Peter wasted no more time upstairs. The basement was "out of bounds" for all civilians and, indeed, for all soldiers save those specifically assigned to guard it, but this was no time to adhere to normal regulations. ”

“ A bag filled with dust?"
The officers glanced at each other questioningly; one of them muttered sotto voce, "Wool-gathering, poor chap! And no wonder. After what he's been through—" The commandant ignored the query. He said, "So I am sending a recommendation to the President, Pettigrew, that you receive a Congressional Medal. Moreover, if you should ever decide to enter the service of your country as a full-fledged militiaman, I should be proud, sir, proud to have you as a member of my company!" ”

“ Some men, Pettigrew, simply don't fit. You seem to be one of them. Why don't you drop out? Turn in your uniform and enter some other branch of civilian service? Canteen work, for instance, or knitting sweaters—? ”