the stands, man. Operation Human Bomb in ten
minutes."

"Bomb?" Whitlow squeaked, scurrying alongside Webb as the larger man
strode down the echoing corridor.

"A euphemism, of course," said Webb. "Because they will fall much like a
bomb does. But they will not explode! No, they will land, rifles in
hand, ready to take over the enemy territory."

"Without parachutes?" Whitlow marveled.

"Exactly," said the general, leading the way out into the blinding
desert sunlight. "You see," he remarked, as they strolled toward the
heat-shimmering outlines of the reviewing stand, its bunting hanging
limp and faded in the dry, breezeless air, "it's really so simple I'm
astonished the enemy didn't think of it first. Though, of course, I'm
glad they didn't-- Ha! ha!" He oozed self-appreciation.

"Ha ha," repeated Whitlow, with little enthusiasm.

"When one is whirled at one gravity, you see, the wall--the outside
rim--of the Whirligig, becomes the floor for the men inside. Each day,
they have spent up to ten hours doing nothing but deep knee-bends, and
eating high protein foods. Their legs will be able to withstand _any_
force of landing. If they can do deep knee-bends at thirty
gravities--during which, of course, each of them weighed nearly three
tons--they can jump from any height and survive. Good, huh?"

* * * * *

Whitlow was worried as they clambered up into the stands. There seemed
to be no one about but the two of them.

"Who else is coming?" he asked.

"Just us," said Webb. "I'm the only one with a clearance high enough to
watch this. You're only here because you're _my_ guest."

"But--" said Whitlow, observing the heat-baked wide-open spaces
extending on all sides of the reviewing stand and bull's-eye, "the men
on this base can surely watch from almost anywhere not beyond the
horizon."

"They'd _better_ not!" was the general's only comment.

"Well," said Whitlow, "what happens now?"

"The men that were in that Whirligig have--since you and I went to my
office to chat--been transported to the airfield, from which point they
were taken aloft--" he consulted his watch, "five minutes, and
fifty-five-point-six seconds ago."

"And?" asked Whitlow, casually unbuckling the straps of his brief case
and slipping out his sandwich.

"The plane will be within bomb vector of this target in just ten
seconds!" said Webb, confidently.

Whitlow listened, for the next nine seconds, then, rig