Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Greg Weeks, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Analog, January 1961. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. [Illustration] THE GREEN BERET By TOM PURDOM _It's not so much the decisions a man does make that mark him as a Man--but the ones he refrains from making. Like the decision "I've had enough!"_ Illustrated by Schoenherr * * * * * Read locked the door and drew his pistol. Sergeant Rashid handed Premier Umluana the warrant. "We're from the UN Inspector Corps," Sergeant Rashid said. "I'm very sorry, but we have to arrest you and bring you in for trial by the World Court." If Umluana noticed Read's gun, he didn't show it. He read the warrant carefully. When he finished, he said something in Dutch. "I don't know your language," Rashid said. "Then I'll speak English." Umluana was a small man with wrinkled brow, glasses and a mustache. His skin was a shade lighter than Read's. "The Inspector General doesn't have the power to arrest a head of state--especially the Premier of Belderkan. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must return to my party." In the other room people laughed and talked. Glasses clinked in the late afternoon. Read knew two armed men stood just outside the door. "If you leave, Premier, I'll have to shoot you." "I don't think so," Umluana said. "No, if you kill me, all Africa will rise against the world. You don't want me dead. You want me in court." Read clicked off the safety. "Corporal Read is very young," Rashid said, "but he's a crack shot. That's why I brought him with me. I think he _likes_ to shoot, too." Umluana turned back to Rashid a second too soon. He saw the sergeant's upraised hand before it collided with his neck. "Help! _Kidnap._" Rashid judo chopped him and swung the inert body over his shoulders. Read pulled a flat grenade from his vest pocket. He dropped it and yellow psycho gas hissed from the valve. "Let's be off," Rashid said. The door lock snapped as they went out the window. Two men with rifles plunged into the gas; sighing, they fell to the floor in a catatonic trance. A little car skimmed across the lawn. Bearing the Scourge of Africa, Rashid struggled toward it. Read walked backward, covering their retreat. The car stopped, whirling blades holding it a few inches off the lawn. They climbed in. "How did it go?" The driver and another inspector occupied the front seat. "They'll be after us in half a minute." The other inspector carried a light machine gun and a box of grenades. "I better cover," he said.