Chapter X
Swinburne was too amazed to find anything to say at first. He wandered about the room with agitated steps, pausing now and then to stare through the window at the darkening river. Finally he came back to the desk, having seen the gig depart.
"Lieutenant, I cannot understand this. To surrender without any battle to a power which will wipe out everything which was ever England¯"
"A power," said Carstair by the door, "which is the greatest on earth now."
"That may be," said Swinburne, "but England is England. And to give up everything for which we have worked these past years, to be swallowed up in a beehive of humanity from alien shores¯I can't support these things."
"The United States could wipe us out completely," said Carstair.
They'll ape their masters and throw our people into the nearest ditch!"
"As long as the ship out there is convinced that this must be done," said the Lieutenant, "it must be done. They refused to give us Victor and Smythe for execution which they justly deserve. They'll treat fairly that way, anyhow."
"Fairly! They're afraid to leave you here!" snapped Swinburne. And then he considered what he had just said and came back to the desk. "The first duty of any officer is to his command, Lieutenant'. This nation is just as much your command as your brigade ever was. I've never heard it said that you neglected that brigade. And yet you can conceive of allowing us to fall into the hands of two renegade tools of a powerful and voracious¯"
"You talk like that Frisman," said the Lieutenant tiredly. He sat a little straighter then. "I've never neglected my command. To do other than grant the wishes of these people would be to wipe out England completely. They ask only for an incident to take us over for a colony. Can't you see that?
Only if our government here behaves perfectly can we stave off becoming part of another nation. So long as we can prove ourselves to be acting in the best interests of everyone, there will be no excuse whatever for them to assimilate us. We must see that this government acts in good faith, that it is fairly conducted for all, that no incident will occur which will permit them to establish martial rule here.
The plane had props, no wings, goes straight up at four hundred, straight ahead at six hundred and fifty.
"Sir, you ought to see her armament. She hasn't a gun aboard! Every projectile is its own gun like those rocket shells we saw about ten years ago at the front, only these really work. They're like rocket planes and they go up out of chutes and they fire at any range up to a thousand miles.
Got away from gun barrels and danger of explosion and all that. They claim one of those shells could wipe out any ship and a half a dozen any city.
"Sir, she steers herself and runs herself and submerges if necessary, and by Heaven the only thing she won't do is fly. And they claim nothing except her own armament can make a dent in her!
"I came right up. If she was to cut loose on us there wouldn't be a damned thing left, sir. Not a damn thing!"
"Thank you," said the Lieutenant, dully.
Thorbridge withdrew with the feeling that something was very wrong with the Lieutenant. He would have been convinced could he have seen what happened after The Lieutenant slumped more deeply into the great chair. "You see, gentlemen?"
Swinburne paced about. "But, confound it, there might be some way of making concessions without putting Victor and Smythe at the head of everything!
Man, don't you know what they'll do? They'll revive all the creeds and claptrap that we once had.
"Better to be wiped out in a blood bath than to quit like cowards," growled Swinburne. "They came here to put Victor at the head of the government so that he would do their bidding. Victor! He sold out a dictator that placed all his trust in him.
He was too slippery a turncoat to be kept even by Hogarthy! He bungled everything he ever did in France and cost Heaven knows how many millions of lives! And, having betrayed his army to set up his own regime, he now goes whining to the United States in the guise of a monarchist! And you," he cried, suddenly angry and facing the Lieutenant, "are agreeable to putting him in your place!"
Mawkey slipped in, his quick eyes not missing anything that went on. "Sir, Captain Thorbridge from Sheerness is here."
The Lieutenant motioned that he be admitted.
Thorbridge was a tall youth who spoke habitually in a staccato voice. He took his duties of ship inspector at Sheerness very seriously.
"Sir, I've ridden hell out of a horse. Inspected the U.S.S. New York. They didn't seem to care what I saw. I came up here as quick as I could. Gad, what a ship!
"Sir, she's nearly six hundred feet long. She's got engines they claim drive her at eighty knots. She's like a torpedo and nothing's exposed on her at all. There's a couple hatches they let planes out of and by Heaven, sir, those planes can land right back. The Hay's Heliplane, they're called.
"Please," he said, slumping back, "please remember what I have said."
Swinburne was plainly disgusted. "A thief comes up and sticks a gun in your ribs and so, rather than risk getting hurt, you tamely say: 'Yes, here is my wallet. And my wives and goods at home are at your complete disposal?
You call that statesmanship!"
"He can do nothing else," said Carstair.
"Bah!" said Swinburne. "These years of peace have turned him into putty!"
And he stalked from the room, slamming the door behind him.
"Carstair," said the Lieutenant, "he is going out to call a council of officers. Please make sure that you give them my orders. I am to have this evening. They will have all the tomorrows. Tell them that upon the return of the people, they must come in here and stand as witness to what takes place and to pledge their faith to Victor and Smythe so long as they may rule."
"But they won't!" cried Carstair. "We are field officers!"
"Nevertheless, ask them to have faith and do what I say. It is for the best. Have I ever given a foolish order before, good friend?"
Carstair hesitated and his memory shot back over the past to the time he had first seen this man at G.H.Q. "No. No, you have never given a foolish order."
"Then tell them to save their revolts for the morrow and to let me have tonight. They must come in and agree¯that is necessary, Carstair."
"They'll accuse you of cowardice."
"Let them."
"Can't you see that the first official act of Victor will be the ordering of your execution?" begged Carstair. "As soon as those Americans have left, Victor will rake up followers from the rabble and Heaven knows what things will happen. And we won't be able to touch him. They'll leave a large guard with him, that's a certainty. Did you see the arms of those marines? Why, that twenty, with those small automatic weapons and those bulletproof jackets and their pocket radios¯"
"I care nothing about these things; I am only thinking of my command¯for when the command is destroyed the officer also dies. But, one way or another, an officer lives so long as his command lives. Go now, Carstair, and tell them what I say."
There was something in the Lieutenant's tone which made Carstair fear for him; but the Australian said no more. Quietly he closed the door behind him.
Sometime later Mawkey slipped in, looking smaller and more twisted than usual and his eyes dull. He carried a tray for an excuse and stood by while the Lieutenant minced at the food.
"Sir," ventured Mawkey, "is it true that you are going to let General Victor become the ruler here?"
The Lieutenant nodded wearily.
"If you say so, sir, then it's so. But me and Bulger and Pollard and Weasel and Carstone have been talking. We got it figured out that the way you made a rabbit out of that Victor, the first thing he'll do will be to kill you. Now, if we was to shoot this Victor and this Smythe soon as they got inside the Tower¯"
"Those marines would murder the lot of you."
"Yessir. But that's better than letting Victor execute the Lieutenant."
"Haven't you seen the guns those marines carry'"
"Sure. They could tear a man in half and nothing we've got could stop those slugs. But we ain't afraid of no marines, sir. It's the man, that's what counts."
"Mawkey, you'll do as I tell you. As soon as we get the proper documents signed in here, every one of my soldiers and officers is to leave Tower Hill."
"What's that, sir?"
"And stay away."
"And you, sir?"
"I'll stay here."
Mawkey was troubled, but he knew no other way to counter this. It was plain to him that the Lieutenant had suddenly developed a suicidal mania like so many other officers had in the face of defeat.
"Remember my orders," said the Lieutenant when Mawkey had picked up the tray.
"Yessir," said Mawkey, but with difficulty for there was something wrong with his throat and his eyes smarted.
Promptly at eight, the gig slowed to a stop at the Queen's Steps and made fast her lines. The party was as before with the addition of two more members. And the Tower was as before with the exception that its guards glared with sullen mien upon the intruders.
The files of marines felt the heaviness of the atmosphere and tried to put their boots down quietly upon the pave to still the echoes of the ancient, gray battlements. They were experienced soldiers, those marines, with the high-tuned senses of the fighting man, for they had served with Clayton in Mexico, taking all the shock work so the army could grab the glory. They had wiped out the last fortress in the Yellow Sea; they had chased down the last mad dictator in Central America. In ten years of service they had set the Stars and Stripes to float above all the Western Hemisphere and half of Asia. And they knew the feel of hostility held off with effort. But, aside from their soldier-sailor selves and their professional duties, they were not at ease about this thing, for they saw the antiquated rifles and field guns in the ranks of the guard and it jibed strangely with these faces so like their own. It was as if some of themselves had suddenly been transplanted to an enemy and they had never fought their own race before.
But if the marines were still and if their young officer was alert as a cat, none of this reached Frisman and his companions. Captain Johnson had seen fit to stay aboard, for he had no stomach for this, and Frisman was relieved about it, never having liked anything which smacked of military etiquette and stiffness.
Colonel Smythe and Frisman kept up a brisk stream of self-congratulatory conversation. They were much of a kind, though the senator looked like a lion beside this jackal. General Victor's large, lolling head was bobbing erectly as he tried to make himself look as much like a conqueror as possible. Even Breckwell discovered self-importance and managed to get some of it into his usually empty face.
They were passed through the gates and the Inner Ward and into the Norman keep. As they mounted the steps they began to get themselves in order, the marines looking closely to the fighting characteristics of the place and Frisman clearing his throat and thinking up some resounding trite phrases.
About thirty men of the old Fourth Brigade were drawn about the entrance to the great hall, and among them were Bulger, Pollard, Weasel, Toutou, old Chipper, Gian and Mawkey, a rather large number of high-ranking noncoms for so small a group. They stood as though they were permanent fixtures of the grim, old place.
Carstair stood at the door and watched them arrive without giving any sign that he saw them at all. But when they were all there he turned and stepped in.
"They have arrived, sir."
"Let them come in."
Frisman pushed forward. He had little eye for detail, but even to him things had changed. The room was somberly lit by two candelabra and a girandole, but the candles did no more than intensify the darkness of the lofty ceiling and the shadows on the walls.
The lieutenant sat at his desk, robed in his battle cloak, helmet before him. All the contents of the files were tied into bundles on the floor and what few possessions he had were laid out beside them.
Along the wall was a stony frieze of officers who gave Frisman a glance and then bent a harsh regard upon Victor and Smythe.
Victor lost a little of his certainty. His wabbly head bobbed as he scanned the line. He recognized them one by one. Field officers that he had failed to trick into turning back their commands and some that he had. Victor gave a glance to the marines outside and was instantly reassured.
"Good evening, sir," said Frisman. "And gentlemen," to the officers. "I trust that we are all of the same mind that we were this afternoon?"
The Lieutenant fingered a document before him. "I am. Shall we get through this thing as quickly as possible?"
"Certainly," said Frisman. "Here are my credentials and such, giving me power to act freely in this matter. No restraints were placed upon me by my government, as you will see."
The Lieutenant barely glanced at them. He gave Frisman a cold stare. "I have prepared the terms. To avoid any friction or complication, I have drawn up a governmental procedure. I shall withdraw completely."
Victor almost smiled.
"But," said the Lieutenant, "I have a condition to make. That you will keep my plan in operation."
"And this plan?" said Frisman.
"General Victor shall be in full and unopposed command of the country and all its defenses. In case anything happens to him, he is to be succeeded by Colonel Smythe, who will again have dictatorial powers. In case anything should happen to Smythe, the country is to be governed by its officers corps, who will recognize Swinburne as their chairman. Is this agreeable?"
"Certainly," said Frisman, not having hoped for so much.
"Further," said the Lieutenant, "I have limited immigration of Americans to England to a hundred thousand a month. These immigrants are to purchase their land from the present owners at the fair price, which shall, in no case, be less than fifteen pounds an acre at the exchange of five dollars to a pound "That is rather steep," said Frisman.
"For English land? Indeed, it is rather cheap," said the Lieutenant. "Do you agree?"
"In view of all else, yes."
"Then, to proceed. All titles to the land issued during my regime shall be honored. Agreed?"
"Yes."
"Now, about law enforcement. The national police shall be wholly within British control, just as the government shall be. No man shall be an officer in the army unless he is born British. Agreed?"
"You drive a stiff bargain."
"I am giving you a country. If you want it, you shall have to accept these conditions. This document of yours gives you full power to reorganize any government. That is binding, is it not?"
"Yes."
"Then you have reorganized this government no more than to accept General Victor here as its chief. All judges will remain British. Agreed?"
"Yes."
"You are to turn over to this new government adequate methods of defense.
Equipment equal to that of your own troops. And in quantity to arm forty thousand men to be delivered not later than next month. Agreed?"
"Yes, of course."
"All laws as laid down by myself will continue in force. All honors conferred by me shall be respected. And if you are willing to sign this and have it witnessed, the business is done'
Frisman looked the document over. He wanted nothing better than this, for it meant that he could ease the pressure of the idle in the Americas. Very few had any liking for the new South American States. But the climate and soil of England was a definite lure. And when they had Europe, a feat for which the unemployed had been anxiously waiting, the whole thing would be solved. Yes, this document was very carefully phrased and very binding. But with Victor at the head.
Frisman smiled and signed.
When the formalities were finished the Lieutenant handed the document to a sour Swinburne and turned back to address Frisman. "I am now withdrawing completely from the government of England, relinquishing all title and command. Here is a statement to that effect for your records." And he handed the paper over. "And now, if all is in order, I have one last order to give."
"Of course," said Frisman.
"Gentlemen," said the Lieutenant to his officers, "you will please carry out my last request to you. Evacuate Tower Hill with all troops so that General Victor can feel free to organize a new guard. If he wishes to call any of you, let him find you in the town."
Bitterly they filed past the Lieutenant, past the marines at the door and vanished down the steps. For some little time there was a rhythmic sound of marching and then, slowly, silence descended upon the nearly deserted Tower Hill.
The Lieutenant, having seen them go from the window, turned back to the room. His face was impassive. He picked up his helmet and put it on, his glance lingering for a moment on the weapons of the marines who had now entered the room. His next statement was very strange to them all.
"When an officer loses his command, that officer is also lost. But when that command remains, no matter what happens to its officer, he has not failed. General Victor, you are in complete command of this government.
Next in line is Smythe. After that the corps of officers as a council. You all agree, I hope, that I now have nothing whatever to do with the British government?"
They nodded, a little mystified. Victor's wabbly head bobbed in complete and earnest agreement.
"I am a civilian now," said the Lieutenant, "for I even relinquish my rank, as that paper I gave you will show. The law applies wholly to me, even though I made the law. The British government, now under you, General Victor, is not at all responsible for my actions."
"True, true," said Smythe.
"Then' " said the Lieutenant, standing before them all, "I shall do¯what I have to do."
His hand flashed from beneath the battle cloak. Flame stabbed and thundered.
Victor, half his head blown off, reeled and slumped.
Smythe tried to cover the hole in his chest with his hands. He sought to scream, but only blood came. He tripped over Victor and thudded down, writhing.
Frisman stood in stupefied amazement, finally to lift his eyes in horror to the Lieutenant. And the thought had no more than struck home to Frisman than he flung himself back to get the protection of the marines. Breckwell began to gibber, unable to move.
The marines swept forward. Like a duelist the Lieutenant raised his arm and fired. A bullet ricocheted from the marine officer's breastplate and, instinctively, he fired at the source.
The bullet tore through the cloak as though it had been flame and the cloak paper. The Lieutenant staggered back and strove to lift his gun again.
A coughing chatter set up just outside the door. Two marines went down and the rest whirled. Carstone was there, astride the saddle of a pneumatic.
The marines charged toward him, scarcely touched by the slow slugs.
Carstone's face vanished ' but his fingers kept the trips down. The gun tilted up and, still firing, raked high on the wall.
Over Carstone swirled a compact knot of fighters. Toutou wasted no time with bullets, but used the butt of his gun. Mawkey smashed into the mass with his chain. Bulger carved a wide path with his bayonet and almost got to the Lieutenant before he staggered, gripping at his stomach, to go down.
The Lieutenant tried to shout to his men, but he could get no sound forth.
In agony he watched them cut to pieces by superior weapons. Toutou down.
Pollard, his arm gone, fighting on. A tangled, thundering mass of soldiery, restricted by the walls jammed into a whirlpool of savage destruction.
Somebody was tugging at the Lieutenant's shoulders. The mom began to spin from the pain of it. Again he tried to cry out and again no sound came forth.
He was falling down, down, down in a redwalled pit which had a clear brilliance at the bottom. And then blackness swept away everything.
Blackness and nothingness¯forever.
Above the Byward Gate on Tower Hill that flag still flies; the gold is so faded that only one who knows can trace the marks which once made so clear the insignia of a lieutenant, the white field is bleached and patched where furious winds have torn it. It is the first thing men look to in the morning and the last thing men see when the sky fades out and the clear, sad notes of retreat are sounded by the British bugler on Tower Hill.
That flag still flies, and on the plaque below are graven the words:
Own that command remains, no matter what happens to its officer, he has not failed.
Glossary
The numbers that appear in parentheses directly following the entry words of each definition indicate the page number where the word first appears in the text.
ack-ack: (pg. 3) Slang. An antiaircraft gun or its fire.-Webster's New World Dictionary
adjutant: (pg. 86) Military. A staff officer who serves as an administrative assistant to the commanding officer.
-Webster's New World Dictionary
batman: (pg. 91) The orderly of an officer in the British army.
-Webster's New World Dictionary
B.E.F.: (pg. 6) British Expeditionary Force(s): armed forces stationed outside Great Britain.-Funk & Wagnall's Dictionary
Belgian alcohol machine gun: (pg. 21) An automatic firearm which fires a continuous stream of bullets fed into it. It is usually mounted and has a cooling apparatus using water, air, or, in this case, alcohol.-Webster's New World Dictionary and Editors
billeting: (pg. 56) Lodging for soldiers in nonmilitary buildings.-Random House Dictionary
blockhouse: (pg. 129) Military. A small defensive structure of concrete.
-Webster's New World Dictionary
breech: (pg. 140) The part of a gun behind the barrel.- Webster's New World Dictionary
caisson: (pg. 13) A two-wheeled ammunition wagon, especially for the artillery. -Random House Dictionary
canteen: (pg. 87) (1) A place outside or inside a military camp where cooked food and liquids are dispensed. (pg. 123) (2) A small metal or plastic flask, usually encased in canvas, for carrying drinking water. -Webster's New World Dictionary
derni-cannon: (pg. 141) Demi-. Less than usual in size, power, etc. Cannon: A large, mounted piece of artillery. -Webster's New World Dictionary
dixie: (pg. 16) British Slang. A pot or pan for cooking, used in the field by a soldier. -Worid Book Dictionary
dog-robber: (pg. 87) Military Slang. An officer's orderly.-Webster's New World Dictionary
foxhole: (pg. 11) A small pit, usually for one or two soldiers, dug as a shelter in a battle area.-Random House Dictionary
G.H.Q.: (pg. 6) General Headquarters. Military. The headquarters of a commanding general in the field.-Funk & Wignall's Dictionary
haversack: (pg. 80) A canvas bag for carrying rations, etc., generally worn over one shoulder, as by soldiers or hikers. -Webster's New World Dictionary
impressed: (pg. 80) To press or force into public service, as sailors.
-Random House Dictionary
lanyard: (pg. 116) A cord with attached hook, for firing certain types of cannon. -Webster's New World Dictionary
leftenant: (pg. 14) British usage of lieutenant. -World Book Dictionary
Maginot Line: (Preface, Ist pg.) A system of heavy fortifications built by France before World War II on the border between France and Germany from Switzerland to Belgium.- Webster's New World Dictionary
rnorur: (pg. 17) A cannon very short in proportion to its bore, for throwing shells at high angles.-Random House Dictionary
noncoin: (Preface, 3rd pg.) Colloquy Clipped form of noncommissioned officer.
Noncommissioned officer. An enlisted person or any of various grades in the armed forces, as, in the US. Army, from corporal to sergeant major inclusive. -Webster's New World Dictionary
one-pounder: (pg. 60) pounder: A gun that discharges a missile of a specified weight in pounds (usually used in combination). -Webster's New World Dictionary
orderly: (pg. 86) Military. An enlisted man assigned to perform personal services for an officer or officers or to carry out a specific task.-Webster's New World. Dictionary
P.C.: (pg. 32) Post Command. -Random House Corp Dictionary and Editors
pillbox: (pg. 42) A low, enclosed gun emplacement of concrete and steel.
-Webster's New World Dictionary
pneunatics: (pg. 24) pneumatic gun: a gun using compressed air or gas as the propulsive force usually to throw dynamite or other high explosives. -Webster's Third International Dictionary
regulars: (pg. 142) Military, Designating or of the permanently constituted or standing army of a country. -Websier's New World Dictionary
rifling: (pg. 141) Military. The cutting of spiral grooves on the inside of a gun barrel to make the projectile spin when fired, thus giving it greater accuracy and distance. -Webster's New World Dictionary
rotor props: (pg. 192) Rotor. The system of rotating blades by which a helicopter is able to fly. prop: clipped form of propeller. -Webster's New World Dictionary
sortie:(Preface, 4th pg.) A rapid movement of troops from a besieged place to attack the besiegers; a body of troops involved in such a movement; to go on a sortie; sally forth.-Random House Dictionary
subaltern: (pg. 2) Any commissioned officer in the British army ranking below a captain.
-World Book Dictionary
three-pounder: (pg. 27) pounder. A gun that discharges a missile of a specified weight in pounds (usually in combination).
-Webster's New World Dictionary
trench mortar: (pg. 17) Any of various portable mortars for shooting projectiles at a high trajectory and short range. -Webster's New World Dictionary
Vickers Wellington bomber: (pg. 1) A twin-engine medium airplane that became the standard British Royal Air Force bomber. -Dictionary of Aviation "I am always happy to hear from my readers."
L. Ron Hubbard
These were the words of L. Ron Hubbard, who was always very interested in hearing from his friends and readers. He made a point of staying in communication with everyone he came in contact with over his fifty-year career as a professional writer, and he had thousands of fans and friends that he corresponded with allover the world.
The publishers of L. Ron Hubbard's literary works wish to continue this tradition and would very much welcome letters and comments from you, his readers, both old and new.
Any message addressed to the Author's Affairs Director at Bridge Publications will be given prompt and full attention.
BRIDGE PUBLICATION$, INC.
4751 Fountain Avenue Los Angeles, California 90029
IN I About the Author L. Ron Hubbard
Born in 1911, the son of a U.S. Naval officer, L. Ron Hubbard grew up in the great American West and was acquainted early with a rugged outdoor life before he took to sea. The cowboys, Indians and mountains of Montana were balanced with the temples and throngs of the Orient as he traveled the Far East while a teenager.
By the time he was nineteen, he had voyaged over a quarter of a million sea miles and many thousands on land recording his adventures and experiences in a series of diaries. These were mixed with story ideas as L. Ron Hubbard began to develop his unique writing career.
Returning to the United States, his insatiable curiosity and demand for excitement sent him into the sky as a barnstorming pilot where he quickly earned a reputation for skill and daring. He set new records in motorless flight, and a number of popular articles on aviation followed, before he turned his attention again to the sea.
This time it was four-masted schooners and voyages into the Caribbean. He was later awarded the prestigious Explorer's Club flag which he flew aboard vessels he used on numerous expeditions into Alaskan, Mediterranean and Atlantic waters.
L. Ron Hubbard mixed his early adventures with an education that was to serve him well at the typewriter. While his first articles were nonfiction and based upon his aviation experience, he soon began to draw from his travels to produce a wide variety of stories: adventure, mystery, aviation, Far East action, westerns, and fantasy.
By 1938, already established and recognized as one of the top-selling authors of the field, he was requested by the publishers of a newly acquired magazine, Astounding Science Fiction, to try his hand at science fiction. Though educated as an engineer, he protested that he did not write about machines, but that he wrote about people. "That's just what we want," he was told.
The result was a cornucopia of stories from L. Ron Hubbard that changed the face of modern science fiction and fantasy, and excited intense critical comparison-then as now-with the best of H. G. Wells and Edgar Allan Poe.
His renowned classic Final Blackout was written during this period, electrifying the readership with its gripping premise of the agonies of a future nuclear war. The landmark work not only attracted vast popularity but also swirled a gale of controversy in an era that struggled to deny the possibility of universal conflict. To this day, Final Blackout, revealing intimate understanding of frontline leadership and the harsh realities of war, not only remains a benchmark novel for the very best in speculative fiction, but serves as a timeless beacon warning of political exploitation and excess.
Shortly after completing this masterwork, L. Ron Hubbard, with his vast knowledge of command at sea was called to combat service as a United States Naval officer.
Before World War II ended, as he, himself, recovered from wounds, L. Ron Hubbard concentrated on the task of fully researching and understanding the human condition.
Over the next forty years millions of words of his nonfiction appeared detailing his remarkable researches and discoveries.
In 1980, to celebrate his golden anniversary as a professional writer, L.
Ron Hubbard returned to science fiction and created Battlefield Earth: A Saga of the Year 3000. The epic, hailed as the biggest science fiction book ever written, quickly moved onto every national best-seller list in the U.S. and shortly thereafter was republished in fifty-three countries.
This singular feat was followed by an even more spectacular achievement, his New York Times best-selling magnum opus, the ten-volume Mission Earth series-not only a grand science fiction adventure in itself, but, in the best tradition of Jonathan Swift and Lewis Carroll, a rollicking, satirical romp through the foibles of our civilization.
L. Ron Hubbard's prodigious and creative output over more than a half century as a professional author has assumed the awesome proportions of a true publishing phenomenon. With more than two hundred novels, novelettes and a library of nonfiction books and published texts, and more than two hundred short stories culminating in almost a hundred million copies of his works sold in thirty-one languages worldwide-L. Ron Hubbard is without doubt one of this century's most important and influential authors.