my fingers on every tag end of information that came
out of the terrible area, it was an unnoticeable change. Then I got it.
The men doing our fighting changed in caliber and ability. I never
learned, due to the official habit of hushing everything up, just whose
technology accomplished the miracle, but it must have been started from
the first, with those army officers who had listened to me with such
lack of interest when I spoke before their inquisition at the Texas army
air field.

All I learned was that there was a new kind of man busy at the front, a
man of keener intellect, swifter of action, infinitely more able than
the former ordinary soldier.

It was Jake who first confirmed my suspicions. He brought in photographs
of men lifting trucks out of mudholes, men tearing steel cables apart
with their bare hands, men jumping over twenty-foot barriers with full
pack. "Whatta I do with that kind of pic? The people are so fed up with
the impossible news they are getting that they don't believe anything
any more! But you and I know a news camera doesn't lie ... it doesn't
have time!"

They had put the Prof's formulae to work against the giants. This time
it was the right formulae. They had growth without increase in size, a
growth of ability, of strength, of mentality, without any increase in
ponderous structure. These new soldiers were the policemen of the United
Nations made into supermen!

I began to believe in the human race again. "Great!" I said. "This is
what I've been waiting for!"

Jake tossed me his pictures and went away. I turned to the typewriter
and began batting out my story: "Mankind solves the problem of giantism!
The new weapon against the giants is--the new man!"

Those little giants waded into that circle through all the deadly fire
and the giant scorpions and vast beasts like Jack-the-Giant-Killer's
multitudinous sons--and it wasn't a month later that I typed the last
story of my life and gave up reporting for good. It was the tale of the
death of the last giant--and Jake's picture of him, armed in the end
with only his fists, huge as a tree, mad with hunger and thirst and
terrible fear of the little men who were just as mighty, a lot quicker,
and every bit as smart as any giant. They routed him out with tear gas
and shot him down with plain old GI rifle fire.

Yes, I gave up newspaper work. Why? They offered me a job making a
movie out of the "War of the Giants". The job gave me quick money,