In order to make a man stop, you must convince him that it's impossible to go on. Some people, though, just can't be convinced.
forgotten little-shot, name of Edwin Scott. I already knew the surgeons from being a guinea pig on ICEG. Of course, when I sounded them out, they gave me a kindly brush-off: The matter was out of the their hands. However, I knew whose hands it was in. And I waited for my chance--a big job that needed somebody expendable. Then I'd make a deal, writing my own ticket because they'd figure I'd never collect. Did you hear about Operation Seed-corn?"
That was the underground railway that ran thousands of farmers out of occupied territory. Manpower was what finally broke Invader, improbable as it seems. Epidemics, desertions, over-extended lines, thinned that overwhelming combat strength; and every farmer spirited out of their hands equalled ten casualties. I nodded.
"Well, I planned that with myself as director. And sold it to Filipson."
I contemplated him: just a big man in a trench coat and droop-brimmed hat silhouetted against the lamp-lit mist. I said, "You directed Seed-corn out o
An odd short story from 1959. Written by a woman, all the characters are men. There's embedded electronics allowing telepathy with a commando raid against undescribed Invaders (aliens? commies?) with a description of an earlier commando raid, with a brain transplant with . . . .
The story goes a very long way to make a not very profound point.
