"But what the hell's so hush-hush about _that_ stuff?" demanded Blondie, who, with five or six others, was crowding around the Czar's desk. Unlike the days of Cappy Sumner, the private office of the Chief Chemist was now as much Siberia as Siberia itself. "The Germans developed it originally, didn't they?" "Yes, and the Italians used it against the Ethiopians--which was why their bombs were so effective. But it says 'hush-hush,' so that's the way it will be. And if you talk in your sleep, Blondie, tell Betty not to listen." The Siberians worked. The M67 was put into production. It was such a success that orders for it came in faster than they could be filled. Production was speeded up. Small cavitations began to appear. Nothing serious, since they passed Inspection. Nevertheless, Kinnison protested, in a formal report, receipt of which was formally acknowledged. General Somebody-or-other, Entwhistle's Commanding Officer, whom none of the Siberians had ever met, was transferred to more active duty, and a colonel--Snodgrass or some such name--took his place. Ordnance got a new Chief Inspector. An M67, Entwhistle loaded, prematured in a gun-barrel, killing twenty seven men. Kinnison protested again, verbally this time, at a staff meeting. He was assured--verbally--that a formal and thorough investigation was being made. Later he was informed--verbally and without witnesses--that the investigation had been completed and that the loading was not at fault. A new Commanding Officer--Lieutenant-Colonel Franklin--appeared. The Siberians, too busy to do more than glance at newspapers, paid very little attention to a glider-crash in which several notables were killed. They heard that an investigation was being made, but even the Czar did not know until later that Washington had for once acted fast in correcting a bad situation; that Inspection, which had been under Production, was summarily divorced therefrom. And gossip spread abroad that Stillman, then Head of the Inspection Division, was not a big enough man for the job. Thus it was an entirely unsuspecting Kinnison who was called into the innermost private office of Thomas Keller, the Superintendent of Production. "Kinnison, how in hell do you handle those Siberians? I never saw anything like them before in my life." "No, and you never will again. Nothing on Earth except a war could get them together or hold them together. I don't 'handle' them--they can't be 'handled'. I give them a job to do and let them do it. I back them up. That's all." "Umngpf." Keller grunted. "That's a hell of a formula--if I want anything done right I've got to do it myself. But whatever your system is, it works. But what I wanted to talk to you about is, how'd you like to be Head of the Inspection Division, which would be enlarged to include your present Chemical Section?" "Huh?" Kinnison demanded, dumbfounded.