d happen?"

His son said, "Major, maybe you can finish that story some other time,
huh?"

Joe said, "Sure, sure, sure. It winds up with your father the hero and
they bump him up to Upper-Upper and make him head of Category
Communications."

"On the trank again," Freddy grumbled, but Joe sensed he wasn't
particularly amused.

* * * * *

When the boy was gone, Joe Mauser told the Telly reporter of his
interview with Stonewall Cogswell.

Freddy shook his head. "He wants you to fly that sailplane thing of
yours again, huh? No. That won't do it. We need some gimmick, Joe.
Something--"

Joe said impatiently, "You keep saying that. But, look, I'm a
mercenary. A fighting man can't drop out of participation in the
fracases if he expects the buffs to continue interest in him."

The little man tried to explain. "I'm not saying you're going to drop
out of the fracases. But we need something where we can make you
shine. Somewhere where you can be on every lens for a mile around."

Joe's face was still impatient.

Freddy said sourly, "Listen, you tried to handle all this by yourself,
last time. You dreamed up that fancy glider gimmick and sold it to old
Baron Haer. But did you do yourself any good with the buffs? Like Zen
you did. All you did was louse up a perfectly promising fracas so far
as they were concerned. Hardly a drop of blood was shed. Stonewall
Cogswell just resigned when he saw what he was up against. Oh, sure,
you won the battle for Vacuum Tube Transport, practically all by
yourself, but that's not what the buff wants. He wants blood, he wants
action, spectacular action. And you can't give it to him way up there
in the air. Hey--!"

Joe looked at him, scowling questioningly.

Freddy said, slowly, "Why not?"

Joe Mauser growled, "What'd you mean, why not?"

Freddy said slowly, "Why can't you have some blood and guts combat,
right up there in that glider?"

"Have you gone drivel-happy?"

But the little man was on his feet, pacing the floor quickly,
irritably, but still happily. "A dogfight. A natural. Listen, you ever
heard about dogfights, major?"

"You mean pitdogs, like in Wales, in the old days?"

"No, no. In the First War. All those early fighters. Baron Von
Richthofen, the German, Albert Ball, the Englishman, Rene Fonck, the
Frenchman. And all the rest. Werner Voss and Ernst Udet, and
Rickenbacker and Luke Short."

Joe nodded at last. "I remember now. They'd