They say that the Marine Commandoes were tougher a century ago, but I don't believe it. Even the toughest soldiers have a breaking point, and we push our troops to the very edge. War is heck, and we Commandoes are in the thick of it. It takes a special soldier to be a Marine, hard, disciplined and ruthless. We leave our sensibilities behind when we sign on, and become as close to an army of unstoppable machines as civilized homo sap can.

Today, we were called out to man the Siberian sector automatic defenses at 7.00am. It was an emergency. The Gooks had started their attack several hours earlier. They're like that - sneaky, always trying to take our computers by surprise. But like I said, we're tough. The men were complaining, some even threatening go-slow action. Given the ungodly hour I couldn't blame them, but I had to keep up the pressure.

'OK, lads and lassies,' I told them. Take a quick shower. Make sure you take your vitamins. We're having a light breakfast today, then it's down to the ops module for a tough battle.'

I had to delay for a spell while a couple of the men re-pressed their uniforms. Can't go to war looking untidy; we're an elite fighting force. So, by the time my troops had breakfasted and brushed their teeth, it was 8:30, and when we got to the ops module, the Gooks were all over the dome, battering at it with their clubs, oblivious to the storm raging outside.

It was a harrowing sight. Hundreds of dirty, hairy Gooks, yellow rotting fangs showing sharp and deadly in their gaunt faces, howled at us behind the steel-hard Plexiglas. Battle hardened as I am I felt a surge of fear and revulsion at the horrible sight. A few of the newer soldiers ran shrieking from the module, and a couple of the women troopers fainted. 'Hold firm,' I roared. Remember who you are.' And I threw the switch that sends an electric current through the grid wires on the surface of the dome. Cowardly and cunning as they are, most of the Gooks avoided the wires; although I had the satisfaction of seeing a couple of them jump in the air howling. Battle was joined! Quickly, I took my place at the assault console, while my support team brewed coffee and ordered fresh doughnuts.

It was time for serious retaliation, and I considered my offensive options. Suddenly, one of the Gooks spread-eagled himself on the dome above a group of the lady troopers who were knitting some really stylish black berets for the battalion. In horror I saw that he had slid his tattered trousers down to his knees. I wanted to shout and distract the ladies, but shock and revulsion at this barbarous act choked froze me for a few seconds, and then it was too late. One of the ladies glanced up and screamed. The others following her gaze were similarly affected. There was widespread panic. Even the men were pale with shock. Some of the ladies, I knew, would never recover.

I was frozen for several seconds, gasping for air. But I'm tough, conditioned. I threw the switch again, just as he was about to leap from the dome. His fellow barbarians were running away across the frozen tundra, whooping and chortling with savage glee. Hampered by his sagging pants, he was a fraction of a second too slow. He howled in anguish, thudding to the icy ground, just outside the dome. To my consternation, his pants had again slid down to his knees. A couple of the women who had not swooned were staring through the Plexiglas, transfixed with horror. Quickly, the disposal robots surrounded him, but there was a problem. He was still alive, and they were programmed to save all human life. Sooner or later, we'd get round to declaring Barbarians non-human, it hadn't happened yet. We had to take them prisoner. It was said that they also took prisoners, but I didn't believe it. The men and women they captured never returned.

I ordered the robots to clean him up and put him in the isolation cell. He needed to suffer for his dastardly act. It was meal-time - let him eat alone, and dwell on his predicament. He'd be pretty well softened up when I got to him.

During the evening meal, I read the manual regarding the interrogation of captured personnel. It wasn't particularly helpful. We hadn't taken any prisoners in almost ten years. Procedures were not stated exactly, and I felt a twinge of apprehension. But I pulled myself together. I was an officer and a soldier. I could handle it.

He was relaxing on the bed, behind a thick Plexiglas shield, humming and nodding to the music. The robo-medics had removed his yellow, rotting fangs, cleaned his teeth, and dressed him in a simple but stylish black coverall. He hid his fear well, I'll say that for him. I scowled and drew my sidearm. "Lieutenant Darcy," I said grimly. "Your worst nightmare."

He smiled. "Pleased to meet you." He uncoiled from the bed, and I felt a pang of alarm as I saw how big and well-muscled he was. All of these barbarians are big. I don't know how they do it, living off the land and all. "You are the master," I told myself. "You are Civilized Man." I took a deep breath. "Tell me where the rest of your army is," I ordered., "or I'll make it very uncomfortable for you."

He seemed amused. "Wouldn't want that," he murmured. "They're probably in the barracks by now. In Perm. That's about five klicks south of here." He looked at me expectantly.

I curled my upper lip. It was one of the first lessons from Marine school, and I'd come top of the class. All of my classmates were impressed and a little scared when they saw that sneer. "You barbarians give in easily," I told him. "I was looking forward to applying a little pressure. Cut down on the rations, have you make your own bed. Maybe even cut down your shower time."

Even now, he managed to conceal his fear. "I try to be helpful," he said. "Besides, what difference does it make. You people never venture out of the domes. Why do you even want to know where we are?"

Just like the barbarians. He had no idea of what it meant to be a fighting man. "It's in the manual," I told him. "We have to interrogate the enemy, and find out their deployment." I was rather pleased with myself. No one could guess that this was the first time I had conducted an interrogation.

"This must be the first time you've done anything like this," he said, much to my annoyance. "I think you want to ask me my name, rank, and serial number."

"Name, rank and serial number," I roared at him before I could stop myself.

"Major Frank O'Donnell," he replied at once. "4243468, Central European Army, 4th Irish brigade." He stretched, lazily. "Got a joint?" he asked.

I stared at him in distaste. The bounder outranked me. Of course, he was only a barbarian. "What were you trying to accomplish with that dastardly attack," I snapped. "Do you really think you can be any sort of threat to the scientific and economic might of civilized man?"

He looked at me thoughtfully. "Civilized," he said, as if he were tasting the word for the first time. "Is that what you are? Civilized man?" He took a joint from his coverall, and I saw with horror that it was hard stuff - real tobacco. One of the few crops they had left, it grew now in the hidden valleys of Southern Europe, along with wine plants and heck knows what other abominations. He lit the thing - cigarette, they called it, and exhaled a poisonous gray cloud. Even behind the Plexiglas, I felt nauseated.

The interrogation ground to a halt after that. Mainly because I'd gotten everything out of him that the manual told me to. Carefully, I sealed the interrogation tape. Let the boffins analyze it. I paced around nervously for a while, wondering what to do. You have to make some very complex decisions when you're an officer at war.

"Well," I finally said. "That's it then. Very satisfactory, very satisfactory." I took off my cap and polished the badge with my sleeve. Then I looked importantly at my watch. The second hand swept round the dial steadily, powered by the little atomic motor quite satisfactorily. By my reckoning it had been about fifteen minutes since the computer spoke the hour. It must be about 4:15pm now. I went over to the console. "Tell me," I asked Computer, "what time is it?"

"Four seventeen pee em, Friday seventeenth De.."

"Fine." I cut it off. I turned to the Barbarian. "Well," I told him again. "That's it, then. You can go now."

"No, I'm sorry, but I can't", he said, hastily. "I'm your prisoner. You can't just let me go."

Just like these darn Barbarians, they have no idea of the finer points of war. Now what was I supposed to do?

"Look here," he said kindly. "You have to hold me prisoner. "Right here will do." He stretched, cracking joints, then sat down contentedly in the armchair. "Of course, it will be hard on me, but, as your prisoner, what can I expect?" He looked at me quizzically. "Actually, I expect I'll go mad after a while, start throwing things, revert to my old barbarous ways." He looked around at his cell, and I had to admit, to be cooped up in only three furnished rooms, plus kitchen and bathroom was pretty horrible. And the Entertainment System was very basic.

"You should have thought of that," I told him sternly, "when you pulled your pants down." Like I said before, we have to know when to be tough, callous.

He sighed. "I know. I deserve to be punished. But this," he swept his arm round his quarters, trailing awful cigarette smoke, shaking his head sadly. "Can I at least have visitors?" he pleaded.

Well, I'm a civilized man, and obviously the poor devil was suffering. I coughed. "I think we can arrange for your friends to visit during daylight hours." I told him. "They can bring you..."

He cut me off. "Heaven forbid," he swore, "I couldn't let them see me like this, caged like an animal." He poured himself a glass of apple cider, from a small selection left by the robots, and I saw with a pang that it was quite an ordinary vintage. He looked at me seriously. "Possibly some of your troops could visit me, some of the ladies maybe. Then I can apologize for my horrible behavior."

"I don't think," I said to him, "that any of the ladies will want to see you."

He gave me a peculiar look. "Please try for me," he said. "I really would like to talk to them." Then he carefully wrapped the remains of his cigarette, stretched out on the sofa, and went to sleep.

So, I posted a note on the bulletin board, stating that the Barbarian was being held prisoner 'for the duration', and that any of my troopers who volunteered for visiting duty would be excused active duty and would be allowed to sleep in an extra hour.

I didn't think there would be any response, even with the Barbarian safely caged behind Plexiglas, but I was surprised when five of the gals volunteered for the hazardous duty. I was proud of the way they tried to conquer their fear, and I counseled them gently, advising them not to push themselves too hard.

"You five were all in the group who saw the awful, er disgusting behavior," I said. "I don't think you've had enough time to recover yet. Let's leave it for a month or two."

"No, no, lieutenant," their leader said. She was a big girl, rapidly growing too large for her uniform, and I wondered for a moment whether we Marines would grow as big as the Barbarians. I pushed the thought away hastily. They were Barbarians because they were big and hairy and wrinkly, and we were smooth and unwrinkled and civilized. We were, I realized, getting bigger, especially the girls. I pulled myself together. The girls had been rigid with fear, unable to take their eyes off the awful spectacle of the naked hairy barbarian. They were flushed and breathing hard now, and I could see the awful strain they were under. Once again I cautioned them.

They begged me, 'so that they could become stronger troopers,' to allow the visit. "We want to show him we're not frightened of nasty sweaty big creatures like he is," the big girl explained. They were brave troopers. I gave my permission.

After I dismissed the troopers, I thought about the Barbarian, and how we hated and feared him and his kind. For as long as I could remember, I'd hated and feared their bigness and violence. We'd been stranded in this corner of the war for several months, and we'd lost communications with some of the groups closer to the center of the war. I figured our troopers in Western Europe and the Americas were mopping up the remnants of the Barbarian army and would send us reinforcements soon. Our robots looked after all our needs, fed us, kept us warm and safe from the mad, cold world outside. I remembered how my crib robots defended the doors to the outside, and how I had watched, helplessly as many of them were destroyed by the big wild humans. From that time, I'd vowed to defend the domes and caves where we lived, and when the Marine Corps was formed a few years later, most of the bigger ones amongst us had joined, modeling ourselves on the few old manuals and books left. "And now we're all getting bigger," the thought flitted disturbingly across my mind.

We saw very little action for a few days. I busied myself with paperwork, just like the manual said, setting up duty rosters, planning company social events, all that stuff. I promoted the remaining privates to corporals, and most of the corporals to sergeant. Since we were cut off, I'd gotten no new recruits, which was complicating my planning. Robots did most of the real work, of course, but the manuals insisted that certain actions had to be taken, after a certain amount of exemplary service promotions were to be given, medals had to be handed out. It was all very complicated, but I thought I had everything correctly worked out. So I was kept pretty busy, and the captive Barbarian faded from my memory, until the duty sergeant told me one day that he had requested an interview.

"Good," I said. "I hope he's decided to leave." Our prisoner was eating enough for three troopers, and had already distracted half of my lady marines. I'd been searching the manuals, but they had nothing to say about a prisoner who refused to be set free. I arranged to see him that afternoon, at 1400 hours sharp. That afternoon, I put on my dress uniform and went to the prisoners cell. He was watching one of our training movies when I arrived. I must say, he coped with prison life well. My lady troopers had presented him with a home gymnasium, and he looked remarkably fit. Several of the lady troopers were chatting excitedly with him through the Plexiglas. I strode in and called them all to attention.

"Nice to see you again," he said casually. It's been a couple of days. But," he smiled, "the ladies have been keeping me company."

For some reason, I felt irritated. My troopers had been pretty sloppy coming to attention, and, as usual, the Barbarian was making me feel uncomfortable and, what was the word - naïve. "What do you want to see me about," I snapped at him.

He stared at me through the Plexiglas. "I've come to my senses," he said. "I've seen the error of my ways." He looked at me pensively. "I'm sorry I didn't have much time to talk with you, but I've learnt a valuable lesson, talking to your troopers." He was pacing behind the shield, big and energetic. "I realize just what damage we Barbarians did to you when - " he broke off. "Anyway," he continued quietly. "I've suffered enough, don't you think? I'd like to return to my fellow Barbarians and talk to them. I hope you can be generous enough to grant this wish to me."

Generous enough! I was glad to see the back of him. He'd caused all sorts of disruption in my schedule, not to mention shocking and now disturbing my lady troopers. I tried to hide my elation. "So, you've had enough," I said, and he hung his head. "You know," I told him, "we're reasonable, civilized men here. Tell your barbarian companions this."

He looked at me in that strange way that he'd looked before. "Men," he said slowly. "Yes." He seemed to pull himself together. "Am I free to go?" he asked.

We marched him out to the dome. More and more of my lady troopers joined the procession, and it was as if they'd heard somewhere that the prisoner was about to be released. By the time we got to the airlock, there were about fifteen troopers trailing behind us as if the Barbarian were "the Pied Piper," I said out loud, remembering the stories the crib robots used to tell, and a couple of the nearest ladies looked at me curiously.

"Halt," I said when we reached the lock, and I ordered the troopers to keep him covered while I opened it. I punched the secret code, looking out at the cold, bleak landscape. I don't know how people can live out there in the snow and rain of winter and the blazing sun of summer. I almost shuddered, but my training held.

"Prisoner," I said, turning. I gasped. The troopers weren't guarding him. Their stun-guns were pointed at me! "What are you doing?" I shouted. This is mutiny!" I felt bewildered and very frightened. For the first time in many months I felt like crying. "Remember, you are Marines," I shouted desperately. "We have to guard our post. How can you think of helping the Barbarian."

"We're going with him," the big girl said calmly. She looked older than when she'd first volunteered for visitor duty. They all looked older, not like my troopers at all. In some strange way, they all had the look of the Barbarian, and I felt afraid for myself and them. I almost started to cry, but just in time remembered that I was a Marine. "I order you to stay here," I said, but it came out weak and quavery.

The Barbarian stepped forward. "It's time for them to go," he said. "It's time for them to become adults." I looked at him, not understanding. He seemed sad. "I'll try to explain," he told me. "Out there," he went on, "is the real world." I looked at the cold landscape, dark, sharp rocks poking up from the drifting snow.

"We adults - we Barbarians," he went on, "almost destroyed the outside world. We polluted the water and the air, and we gouged the land. We fought and squabbled and killed off many living things, animals, birds, fish, and whole species. Then we took our technology and burrowed into the ground with it. We made ourselves comfortable and our robots carved out little kingdoms. We used the domes to spy on our poor, spoiled planet. We thought we were happy, but Mankind was not made to live in a hole, and we soon became restless. Slowly, outside, Earth began to heal herself.

The Barbarian placed his hands on the Plexiglas and looked out on the bleakness. "This is one of the frontier areas," he said. "It's still pretty grim around here, but further South, things are a lot better. It was much easier to open up the domes in the more fortunate areas."

"I don't believe you," I shouted. "You're just a nasty Barbarian."

"And you're just a kid," he told me quietly. His eyes looked into the distance. "We left the young children safely underground, with some of the old people and robots to take care of them, while we went out and took charge of the outside world again. I was about your age when my parents took me into the open. I can't tell you how frightened I was. We'd all been used to the comfort underground, you see." He frowned. "We did a good job, or rather, Mother Nature had already done most of the healing, and this time we were gentle with the land. But something went wrong in the underground kingdoms we had built. We think that some of the old people went crazy, cooped up with a bunch of kids. They did some pretty horrible things, and the robots killed them, and went on and killed all the adults. They had been programmed, you see, to protect the children, and they did. Then they sealed themselves and the children into the underground kingdoms - and we've been trying to get to you ever since. We tried to make a game out of it, but sometimes the game gets a little rough."

Naturally, I didn't believe him, but I'm an officer and a Marine, and for once I was as cunning as a Barbarian. I pretended he'd fooled me and then dodged between Computer and the heating equipment where it was too narrow for him to get to me. I thought he'd be wild and angry, but when I peeped out they were all looking sadly in my direction, then the sixteen figures trooped silently through the airlock into the cold wild world outside.

We've had a few skirmishes since then. My unit lost fifteen female troopers and we have to work harder, but we're all Marines. I got a medal for resisting the enemy, or at least I gave myself one, and I keep my lads and lassies in top condition. I've gotten a bit bigger, and that worries me but, heck, I got the better of the Barbarian, and that makes me feel good.

We took another prisoner yesterday, another Barbarian, although this one isn't nearly as big as the first one. She doesn't scare me like the first one, and in fact, she's quite pretty and easy to talk to. I'm not making the same mistake this time, though; when she asked for visitors I allowed only male troopers to talk to her. I spend a lot of time questioning her, making sure she's comfortable and not getting up to the usual Barbarian tricks.

It gets awkward sometimes, having to spend so much time with her, especially with all my other duties. But I manage. Like I always say, War is Heck, and we commandoes are in the thick of it.

One of the truly original tales I read this year, I can't recall its like other than a bad, old Star Trek episode. Mr. Morris gets full marks for creativity from me. How about from you?