Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 47 — page 54: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE MUTILANTS formal introduction. He was placid in his disregard for the conventional smile or the blatent manifestations of trained courtesy. *“Your documents,” he said, quietly. He tapped a pile of papers with his forefinger. ‘‘Forty-three hundred hours air experience as a pilot. Mostly on fighter aircraft. Flown Vampires Mark Three and Five, Venoms and Vitu- pers. Meteors Mark Four, Seven, Eight and Fifteen. Hunter. H.1091. Sabre and Supersabre .. .”” He nodded with apparent satisfaction. “My age?’ I asked. “Am 9°? “Nonsense, nonsense. You’re good for years yet.” He walked round the desk and sat facing me. “If Doctor Lestrange recommended you, I am satisfied. Your medical history is good. Records rate your standard of moral cour- age as very high. Men of your experience are required. We have aircraft that ordinary men are incapable of flying.” For a moment Kersch looked into my soul. ““You are capable of flying such machines,” he told me. “You I 53 are old in experience but young in your reactions. You are capable of a great hatred for our enemies, and you love the element that only your breed has conquered. Would you like to see one of our crew rooms—and those who people it?” I nodded with enthusiasm. Pilots in their crew room are pilots in their noisiest, row- diest state of relaxation. Eagerly I anticipated a cheer- ful half hour of swapping lines with a companionable bunch of my own kind once again; a half hour among those sportsmen who were chosen for their own peculiar brand of temperament; a mixture of dash and judge- ment, impetuous bravery and caution, irresponsible blind- ness matched by superb co- ordination and intuition. My mind flashed back over a hundred happy crew-room incidents; fire extinguishers “accidentally” set off, wall charts and pompous 8.R.QOs. “inadvertently” set alight, pyrotechnics exploded mys- teriously beneath the chairs of “binders,” a book called “Teach Yourself to be a conmicloookks.Ccomn)