INSTALLMENT ONE
CHAPTER I
The erect middle-aged man in
blue business suit who came briskly
out of the White House paused re
luctantly before the inquisitive press
of correspondents.
“Anything new on our rearma
ment program, General?” one re
porter wanted to know.
Another asked, "Did the President
have anything to say about Mex
ico?”
General Hague, Chief of Staff of
the Army, had managed to dissipate
with a calm smile that gravity in
which he had emerged from confer
ence with the President
“There is nothing to give out, gen
tlemen,” he said with quiet firm
ness, and strode to his military se
dan that was waiting in the drive
way.
The general’s car sped dff to the
long, concrete Munitions Building on
Constitution Avenue that houses the
War Department. General Hague
hurried to his offices on the second
floor and instructed his aide-de
camp to summon Colonel Flagwill.
In a few minutes Flagwill, acting
assistant chief of staff G-2, in
charge of military intelligence, re
ported in from another wing.
“Sit down, Flagwill,” the gen
eral invited. “The President has
just decided to go to the bottom of
this Mexican situation.”
Flagwill’s lean, aquiline face re
mained impassive except for a quick
gleam of fire in his piercing black
eyes.
“That’s good news, sir!” he ex
claimed; and added in a quiet voice:
“In that connection, my section has
Just completed our final estimate
of the situation based on all present
available information. Would you
care to hear my report now?”
“Go ahead,” Hague invited.
“I’ll be as brief as possible, sir.
Our best estimate is 200,000 Euro
pean regulars mobilized in Mexico.
That covers organized infantry di
visions, artillery, cavalry, tanks, air
corps, and technical groups trans
ported from Mediterranean ports
during the past six months, together
with some reservist infantry assem
bled from South American points.
To all outward appearances they
fully support the arguments of the
new Mexican dictatorship that, as a
part of the Mexican military forces,
these troops are not the concern of
the United States.”
General Hague’s straight mouth
parted in a cynical smile.
“There is the big rub, Flagwill.
The Mexican version has so ration
alized their European army that the
American public falls for the fiction
completely. It almost has our State
Department fooled, even when our
ambassador knows the real com
mander in Mexico is Van Hassek,
one of the smartest tacticians of
the old Imperial Army."
“The subterfuge is obvious, sir,"
Flagwill averred. “My whole section
agrees that the United States faces
attack from Van Hassek's army."
General Hague somberly nodded
his head.
“I agree perfectly with your de
ductions, Flagwill, and informed the
President pretty mftch to the same
effect today. He is very gravely con
cerned and wants the facts as quick
ly as possible. ('But what can the
President do unless Congress is con
vinced and facts are available for
the public?”
“In the meantime, General, are
we to reinforce our border garri
sons for defense in event attack
comes sooner than expected?"
The Chief of Staff groaned and
said: “The President doesn’t dare
order troop concentrations now,
Flagwill. Congress would probably
refuse him an appropriation for
transportation. He’d be accused of
saber-rattling.”
Flagwill mopped his brow and
said slowly: “I see it all, sir. Just
what’s our move, please?”
“To collect facts. Our ambassador
to France has something very se
cret hatched up with the French se
cret service. A chance to slip one of
our officers into the Mexican serv
ice at Mexico City. Our first move
is to select our man and send him
to Paris to get his detailed instruc
tions. It’s very important that we
pick the right man for this, a man
with plenty of brains and backbone.
I rather had young Benning in
mind.”
"An excellent choice,” Flagwill
promptly agreed. "But right now
I’ve got Captain Benning down in
San Antonio. Investigating another
Capt. Allan Benning, U. S.
G-2 Operative, poses as a
fugitive murderer to learn
the plan of attack on the
United States via Mexico.
Lucette Ducos, an unwel
come ally, saves his life.
Read this portentous
novel. It is both timely and
of patriotic significance!
IN THIS PAPER
F/tfTAGr
rCN
f AMER*cN
By General ARED WHITE
© A. WHIM WNU MBVICI
A metallic click told him
his weapon was empty.
spy mess at Eighth Corps Area
Headquarters.”
"Better bring him back to Wash
ington at once," General Hague de
cided. “Instruct corps area to ship
him by fast plane. Benning must
sail from New York for France with
out delay. That’s all, Flagwill."
Captain Allan Benning, in civilian
clothes, sat waiting in a battered old
coupe just outside Fort Sam Hous
ton. For two weeks past he had
been following one of those slender
threads of investigation that were in
tended to connect local espionage ac
tivities with the Van Hassek army
in Mexico.
Important secrets had been stolen
from southern military headquarters
at the fort. Not-least of these was
the secret tables of organization of
the proposed new American fighting
division. Gone, too. was the file copy
of army mobilization plans.
Benning’s suspicion had centered
promptly on a staff sergeant, Gau
jos. Not by reason of any action
on the part of the sergeant, but be
cause of an eloquent intangible, the
palpable inconsistency of Gaujos’
background, personality, and intelli
gence with his present occupation.
Gaujos was a man of forty, a
Frenchman by birth, had served as
a combat pilot with the French air
corps during the World War. Three
years ago he had taken out papers
as an American citizen and enlisted
in the army.
At headquarters Gaujos’ superiors
swore by him. He was highly com
petent as an administrative clerk
having supervision over half a doz
en typists. To the casual observer
Gaujos might have appeared a sat
urnine, stolidly satisfied man who
had given up the struggle for higher
success and settled happily into his
present little groove. His face was
long, lean, and angular and with
small, level black eyes in which
there was no friendliness.
With Benning, It had been a mat
ter of baiting a trap. He had fabri
cated a secret report that American
reserves were being sent to the bor
der and had it placed, the night be
fore, where Gaujos would find it in
the course of his duty today. Now
Benning was waiting for Gaujos to
leave the fort when the headquar
ters crew knocked off work for the
day.
The suspected man took a bus into
San Antonio and had dinner at a
hotel. He engaged a taxicab and
headed south out of the city. It was
dusk when Gaujos left his taxicab
and proceeded down the road on foot
from a point south of the old county
poor farm. Benning parked his own
coupe by the roadside and held the
trail from a discreet distance. The
suspected masquerader turned sud
denly off the road into a field. Ben
ning recognized it as a field that did
service or, occasion as an emergency
landing-place for student fliers from
Randolph Field. A fringe of willows
lay along the road, and througl
these Gaujos plunged with the de
cisiveness of a man who knows
where he is going.
But Benning learned a few mo
ments later that Gaujos was not off
his guard. As the captain eased into
the willows, a stab of flame blinded
his eyes, the bark of a pistol clapped
his ears. He dove to the ground, his
right hand whipping his own service
pistol into play and sent a bullet
driving at the spot whence had come
the attack. Then he lay tensely wait
ing.
The grim silence that followed was
broken shortly by the kicking-over of
a propeller out in the field, followed
by the easy purr of a high-powered
engine tuning for a take-off.
As Benning leaped to his feet, his
eyes made out, in the vague light, a
figure zigzagging at high speed into
the field. Aiming carefully he sent
one bullet after another driving after
the fugitive until a metallic click
told him his weapon was empty.
The runner made the plane, vault
ed inside. Benning, now helpless
to act, saw the shadowy plane wad
dle down the stubble and roar into
the sky. In a twinkling it was swal
lowed up in the void of a Texas
twilight.
Benning swore under his breath
at his ill luck, returned to his coupe,
and drove to his hotel in San An
tonio. There was a burn at his neck
which told him of a close call with
death. He examined it critically, de
cided it was not serious enough to
require an anti-tetanus treatment,
and called the corps area G-2 offi
cer, Lieutenant Colonel Bart, on the
telephone.
“Hard luck, sir,” he reported.
“But at least the experience con
firms a hot trail. No doubt Gaujos
was a more important agent than
we thought and it’s likely he has a
team in San Antonio.”
Bart replied crisply: “Meet me
immediately at Kelly Field, Ben
ning. Drive as fast as your fliv
ver will take you.”
When, fifteen minutes later, Ben
ning sped up to the gate at the fly
ing field. Lieutenant Colonel Bart
was waiting in a military sedan into
which he ushered the captain at
once.
"I’ve a fast plane waiting for you,
Benning,” Bart announced. “You’re
to return immediately to Washing
ton—orders of the Chief of G-2.”
Benning felt the rise of his pulse
as they drove down along the rows
of hangars to where a sleek new ob
servation plane waited with spinning
motors. A captain in flying togs was
standing under the fuselage of the
observation plane. Bart said to him:
“Wallin, this is your passenger for
Washington. You’re to deliver him
there in the shortest possible time.
That’s all, Captainl”
In the sky there was the first
rose glow of approaching sunrise
when Benning made out, through the
glass bottom of the plane, the wide
silver ribbon of the Potomac. In
the distance, Washington’s Monu
ment stood sentinel over the sleep
ing capital, the large round domes
of Congress loomed up out of the
granite and marble huddle of govern
ment buildings. As the plane swung
down for a landing at Bolling Field,
he glimpsed the gray hulk that
houses the State Department and,
near-by, the trim outlines of the
White House.
CHAPTER II
The plane swung back across the
Anacostia and glided to a landing.
Benning thanked the pilot for a safe
journey north and sped by military
sedan across the river into Washing
ton. At the War Department he went
to the second floor and reported to
the G-2 section.
Colonel Flagwill had come down
early for Benning’s arrival. His
placid, unemotional face broke in a
slight smile and his eyes sparkled
at sight of the young officer. He
led the captain into a private office
and closed the door.
Without formality Flagwill said:
"Someone must go into Mexico and
get the facts, Benning. I needn’t
remind you of the danger of such an
enterprise. While I have thought of
you for the detail, you need not ac
cept unless you want to.”
"Thanks for thinking of me. Colo
nel,” Benning said with an easy
smile. "When do you wish me to
leave?"
There was an approving gleam in
the Flagwill eyes as he took from
lis pocket a bulky sealed letter and
landed it to Benning.
"You’re sailing for Europe at elev
en on the America. Available in
formation is in this letter. When
you’ve read it, destroy it by burn
ing. You’d better take a commer
cial plane to New York. Your boat
reservations have been attended to.
On landing at Southampton, cross
the Channel to Le Havre and pro
ceed to Paris by express. Our am
bassador, Mr. Shields, will be ex
pecting you in Paris. Any question,
Benning?”
“I think not, sir,” Benning said.
“Good luck,” Flagwill said, rising.
“Do a thorough job of it and get the
Mexican picture back here as soon
as possible, consistent with thor
oughness. I'll have an officer at the
airport with your tickets and ex
pense money. That’s all, Captain.”
The embassy staff had calculated
to the minute when Benning was due
to arrive from the Gare du Nord.
No sooner had he dropped the bronze
knocker than the embassy front door
opened. A bespectacled male sec
retary looked him over In sharp ap
praisal and said. "You are the gen
tleman we’re expecting?”
“Captain Benning, just in from
the United States,” the captain an
swered.
"Please come in," the secretary
said. “Mr. Shields has reserved this
hour and is waiting for you.”
The ambassador was at the door
of his reception room to receive his
NEXT WEEK
ALavdUtui 9*utaUm—tt
visitor. Mr. Shields was a portly, !
smartly groomed man In late mid- .
die life. His round, florid face was
an Ingratiating smile as he invited
Benning to a seat and tendered a
cigarette.
*Tm glad you’re here on the dot,
Benning,” he said. “There’s quite a
bit to be done in Paris, and you
must be in Bordeaux tomorrow to
catch your boat for Vera Crux.”
Benning said, "I’m at your dis
posal, sir."
The ambassador regarded his vis
itor with a certain whimsical wist
fulness. He lighted a cigarette.
"You know, Benning,” he said, "1
decidedly envy you this opportunity
for distinguished service. I think I
know what’s under the surface of
things in Europe, but I can’t prove
anything in the concrete way that's
necessary. So you must go to Mex
ico to do the Job.”
“I’d suppose, sir,” Benning com
mented, "that our government was
informed at least of the larger dip
lomatic facts."
"Facts?” Shields echoed the word
derisively. “But there's only one
accepted fact in international rela
tions today: that the maps are list
ed for an overhaul. Outwardly ev
eryone is praying for peace to come
out of the current muddle. Under
the surface the big question is. When
will the lid blow off? We’re looking
to you for the answer, Benning.”
Benning’s eyes narrowed. "I’m
not sure I understand, sir.”
Mr. Shields laughed mirthlessly.
"I’ll speak frankly. Why, after
those devastating, murderous
months of savage mass murder last
year did the Coalition Powers patch
up an armistice with the Allies while
their armies squatted inconclusively
on a mere segment of conquered
Europe? Ostensibly to work out a
peace formula to save civilization.
But now everyone suspects the ar
mistice is a Coalition subterfuge to
shift some alignments, gather new
forces, and—vastly more important
—circumvent the United States from
a disastrous armed intervention. I
didn’t mean to get all steamed up
on that subject, Benning. But in
this grim world of reality in which
I have to work, our smug provincial
ism at home does get on my nerves
at times, not to mention how it
cramps our style. Getting down to
your work, do you by any chance
remember the case of a Lieutenant
Bromlitz of our army who escaped
some two years ago from the Unit
ed States?”
“Very distinctly, sir," Benning an
swered at once. "Happened in my
own regiment at Fort Jay. Brom
litz was accused of stealing can
teen funds. When ths adjutant ar
rested him, Bromlitz knocked the
adjutant down and, in his efforts to
escape, shot and killed the corporal
of the guard. By some black magic
Bromlitz then* vanished into thin
air.”
"At the present moment,” Mr.
Shields said, "Bromlitz is at the
fortress of Vincennes, held incom
municado by the French. They
nipped him a few days ago when
he arrived from Luxembourg as an
army intelligence operative for the
past year. It seems he had made
connection with Van Hassek agents
and was selected for the Mexican
service.”
Benning made a swift deduction
and said dryly. “I assume, sir, that
I am to go to Mexico masqueraded
as an escaped murderer."
"A very lucky break, Benning. We
have the whole inside of it. Bromlitz
is known to be an American with a
record that strips him of any possi
ble American loyalties. As a former
American officer, Van Hassek no
doubt thinks the fellow a valuable
acquisition. Gave him the rank of
major, which you now inherit.”
"Isn’t it a bit extraordinary, sir,
that the French learned all this?"
Benning wanted to know.
“Not when you consider the facts.
Bromlitz. it appears,* has a flair for
romance. He fell very much in love
with a girl in Luxembourg, told her
his plans, promised to send for her
as soon as he could afford it.”
“And she spilled the beans.”
The ambassador smiled and said:
“Why not? The French keep their
ears to the ground and they’ve been
paging Bromlitz since he first
showed up in Luxembourg They
put their cleverest she agent on him.
a Mademoiselle Lucette Ducos. The
French are turning Bromlitz’ pass
ports and secret orders over to us
You’ll need only to transfer your
own photograph to the Bromlitz
passports. The French have a spe
cial process for doing this. At your
convenience en route to Mexico you
should practice his signature. 1
thought, too. you might want to look
the fellow over to refresh your mem
ory on his mannerisms.”
Captain Benning thought briefly
and got to his feet.
“Very good, sir,” he said. "If
that’s the game. I’m ready to go
to Vincennes."
The ambassador handed Benning
a packet of papers, comprising the
Bromlitz carte d’identite and several
orders in German and Italian. A
secretary came into the room to
make a photograph of Benning for
transfer to the Bromlitz passports.
Benning then left the embassy and
took a taxicab to Vincennes.
Benning passed out of Paris
through the Porte de Bercy and sped
to the grim old walls of the ancient
citadel. A sentry challenged at the
gate, examined Benning’s creden
tials, and sent him to the comman
dant who dispatched a sous-offlcler
to guide the American to the Brom
litz cell.
ITO BE CONTINUED)
_ _
The advent of the CCC was a great event in the lives of the
Florida Seminoles after the Indian Division was established. The
braves can now work at improv
ing their camps and be paid for
it. These pictures, loaned by
Dwight Gardin, Seminole agent
nt Ft. Lauderdale, Fla., show
how the tribes live.
Right: Despite the Mongolian
cast of her features, little Fran
ces Jumper is pure Cow Creek
Seminole.
Susie Tiger, above, of the im
portant Seminole Tiger clan, is
grinding corn. The mortar she is
using may be as old as she is. It
was hollowed from cypress.
(In circle) Patriarch Billy
Buster squats before his lonely
fire. As a young man he killed
his brother, and is now an out
cast by tribal decree.
Ready to dip into her sofskee pot for a sample is this Miccacuki
Seminole matron. This is not madame’s kitchen, however, for the
whole clan cooks in it. The three pots in the fire mean that three
families will partake of the next meal here.
Left: Five
top hands
among the
Seminole
cowboys ride
out through
the cabbage
palm ham
mock to in
spect their
herds. They
have become
expert cattle
men.
Representatives of the Great White Father who care for the
Seminoles. Left, rear, is Dan Murphy, who heads the Indian de
partment for the CCC, while just behind the pot is John Collier,
commissioner of Indian affairs.
At a quiet pool in a big cypress swamp Mrs. George Osceola
and her two sons are busy washing clothes. They waded to this spot.
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