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Updated: May 23, 2025
In the faint glow of our ultronolamps, I made out the great figure and rugged features of Boss Casaman, commander of the Mifflin unit, and the gray uniform of Boss Warn, who led the Sandsnipers of the Barnegat Beaches, and who had swooped over from his headquarters on Sandy Hook. By his side stood Boss Handan of the Winslows, a Gang from Central Jersee.
Upon my capture by the Hans, my wife, Wilma, courageously had assumed command of my Gang, the Wyomings. Boss Handan, of the Winslows, who was directing the American forces investing Nu-Yok, contented himself for several weeks with maintaining our lines, while waiting for the completion of the first supply of inertron-jacketed rockets.
The orders that Handan barked into his ultrophone were, of course, heard by every long-gunner in the ring of American forces around the city, and nearly all of them turned their fire on the Han airfleet, with the exception of those equipped with the inertron rockets.
It seared a scar path a mile and a half wide fifteen miles into our territory. Everyone of our rocket gunners caught in this section was annihilated. Altogether we lost several hundred men and girls. Gunners to each side of the raiding ships kept up a continuous fire on them. Most of the rockets were disintegrated, for Handan would not permit the use of the inertron rockets against the ships.
Handan appreciated our opportunity instantly, for no sooner had the import of the message on the Bosses' channel become clear than we heard his personal command snapped out over the long-gunners' general channel.
Boss Handan, of the Winslows, a giant of a man, a two-fisted fighter and a leader of great sagacity, had been selected by the council as our Boss pro tem, and having given the scatter signal to the council, he retired to our general headquarters, which we had established on Second Mountain a few miles in the rear of the fighting front in a deep ravine.
'Umai handan, machibito endan, usemono ninso kaso kichikyo no urainai! The cry of the itinerant fortune-teller. 'Ame-yu! The musical cry of the seller of midzu-ame, the sweet amber syrup which children love. 'Amail' The shrilling call of the seller of amazake, sweet rice wine.
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