THE VANISHERS
A Novelette by ARTHUR J. BURKS
Trapped, facing an incredible shadow
army, whose lightest touch meant instant
dissolution—the last fighters of invaded
Earth made their bitter choice—victory
beyond death's portals—or oblivion!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Super Science Stories May 1950.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
CHAPTER ONE
The Invisible Wall
My men were in battle dress for the landing—steel helmets paintedgreen, dirty green jackets, pants, cartridge belts, heavy field shoes.The Caribbean was so deep blue it hurt the eyes. You could lookstraight down into it until it made you dizzy. Sharks, some of themmonsters, congregated from all directions.
Marines waiting to debark shouted derisively at the sharks; but it wasnoticeable that they didn't pull any funny business on the slings,and they didn't let go of the slings until their feet were firmlyplanted in the bottom of the landing craft. The landing craft scarcelyrose and fell. The Caribbean was as smooth as an inland lake. I think,now that I look back, that all of us had a strange feeling thatsomething unusual was going to happen, and that it had nothing to dowith the sharks.
I was first aboard a landing craft. I moved to the outboard side ofmy craft and looked toward the half-moon beach where the Yataritasempties into the Caribbean. The river's mouth was hidden by the sandybeach. To my right the coast of Cuba, rugged, dirty coral cliffs tento fifty feet high, led away eastward, bulging out gradually a milesouth of the white-sandy beach. To my left there were broken cliffs ofrotting coral, and slopes leading up gradually from the shore to cactusand spined-brush-covered hills so round they cast no shadows.
Captain Ross Haggerty crawled down into the second LCVP, FirstLieutenant Peter Hoose into the third. There were twenty-four men witheach of us, some veterans of two wars, some recruits who'd been tooyoung for World War II.
We were going in with Haggerty to my right rear, Hoose to my left rear.We were equipped with the latest in ship-shore-landing-craft-airplanecommunications. Four jet planes did fancy stuff over us, over thebeach, and behind the beach, while we got into our places. I could talkwith anybody in any LCVP, aboard the Odyssey or in any one of thejets. Our headsets made us look like men from Mars.
Every man who was participating in this maneuver wore one of the sets,for experience had taught that any marine, at any time, might findhimself running the show.
There were flecks of foam about the reefs which flanked the half-moonbeach when all three LCVP's rose on their steps like amphibians readyto take off, and headed north for the beach, so white it dazzled theeyes. Behind the beach lay the spined brush wherein, theoretically,enemy troops were lying in wait to rip us apart.
I always thrilled to a landing, even a make-believe one. So did themen, boring though peacetime soldiering was. The APD was dropping dudshells ashore. The jets were diving on us, just to make a noise, andour three motors sounded like the crack of doom. The men kept downbecause that was the rule, but occasionally I pulled myself up andlooked ahead over the ramp—which would come crashing down when werammed our nose into the sand. Out over that ramp the marines wouldcharge, to race for cover and swing into position to give our newweapons a workout.
We'd be in in five minutes. The boat-handlers were talking to the shipand the jets. I just listened in. I didn't see or hear a thing out ofthe ordinary.
"Stand by