At the mountain, two of the privates set up the portable lighting system in the tunnel while the other studied the manual that had come with the pick. The major was first charmed, and then somewhat piqued, by the bar, after trying to prod it loose with his pipestem. The private with the pick was called, and after some difficulty with determining the proper stance and grip for swinging that instrument—the private was a recent recruit of only fourteen and naturally knew nothing whatever about manual converters of any sort—a few desultory swings were taken at the granite surrounding the bar. After a while the other two privates joined in, alternating in swinging the pick, until, finally, a rough area of about two or three square feet had been hollowed out around the bar, which was found at that time to extend only about four inches back into the mountain. Above the bar they noticed a sort of fissure, like a cicatrice, in the granite; and one of the privates remarked that it looked like the mountain either had been split open to admit the bar from the top, or that, maybe, the bar had just been there and the mountain had grown up around it.

It was impossible to cut away the rock on the other side, so the three privates got a strong grip on the bar and began to pull. Then the officers began to pull on the privates. The bar stayed where it was. They pulled harder. The bar stayed. The major took off his cummerbund and beret and began to sweat The bar didn’t move. The major began to curse, pushed the others aside, grabbed the pick handle, gave a mighty heave, and hit the bar solidly with the point. There was no sound from the impact, and the pick did not rebound, nor did the bar move. The major tried again. And again. Then they knelt and looked at the bar. It still gleamed. No scars.

The major swore for five minutes. Then he said, “Who owns this mountain?”

George spoke up, “The Army, sir. Of course.”

“Good,” said the major, beginning to look undaunted again. “We’ll get at that son of a bitch.”

“How, sir?”

“We’ll convert this goddamn mountain, that’s how.” The major began wrapping his cummerbund back around his waist.

“The whole mountain?” Sam said, aghast.

“Level it.” The major dusted off his beret and replaced it.

Sam spoke up querulously, “But wouldn’t that be… ah… misusing our natural resources, sir?”

“Nonsense.” This mountain belongs to the Army. It’s not a natural resource. As a matter of fact, it’s an eyesore. I order you to vaporize it.”