"Belly wounds are bad," Kinnison thought--he was never sure--that he heard one of them say. "And such contusions and multiple and compound fractures as those don't help a bit. Prognosis unfavorable--distinctly so--but we'll soon see what we can do. Interesting case ... fascinating. What would you do, Doctor, if you were doing it?" "I'd let it alone!" A younger, stronger voice declared, fervently. "Multiple perforations, infection, extravasation, oedema--uh-uh! I am watching, Doctor, and learning!" Another interlude, and another. Another. And others. Until finally, orders were given which Kinnison did not hear at all. "Adrenalin! Massage! Massage hell out of him!" Kinnison again came to--partially to, rather--anguished in every fiber of his being. Somebody was sticking barbed arrows into every square inch of his skin; somebody else was pounding and mauling him all over, taking particular pains to pummel and to wrench at all the places where he hurt the worst. He yelled at the top of his voice; yelled and swore bitterly: "QUIT IT!" being the expurgated gist of his luridly profane protests. He did not make nearly as much noise as he supposed, but he made enough. "Thank God!" Kinnison heard a lighter, softer voice. Surprised, he stopped swearing and tried to stare. He couldn't see very well, either, but he was pretty sure that there was a middle-aged woman there. There was, and her eyes were not dry. "He is going to live, after all!" As the days passed, he began really to sleep, naturally and deeply. He grew hungrier and hungrier, and they would not give him enough to eat. He was by turns sullen, angry, and morose. In short, he was convalescent. For Captain Ralph K. Kinnison, THE WAR was over. CHAPTER 5 1941 Chubby, brownette Eunice Kinnison sat in a rocker, reading the Sunday papers and listening to her radio. Her husband Ralph lay sprawled upon the davenport, smoking a cigarette and reading the current issue of EXTRAORDINARY STORIES against an unheard background of music. Mentally, he was far from Tellus, flitting in his super-dreadnaught through parsec after parsec of vacuous space. The music broke off without warning and there blared out an announcement which yanked Ralph Kinnison back to Earth with a violence almost physical. He jumped up, jammed his hands into his pockets. "Pearl Harbor!" he blurted. "How in.... How could they have let them get _that_ far?" "But _Frank_!" the woman gasped. She had not worried much about her husband; but Frank, her son.... "He'll have to go...." Her voice died away. "Not a chance in the world." Kinnison did not speak to soothe, but as though from sure knowledge. "Designing Engineer for Lockwood? He'll want to, all right, but anyone who was ever even exposed to a course in aeronautical engineering will sit this war out." "But they say it can't last very long. It can't, can it?"