by Ben Bova
Alec stared at the burning shuttle. A huge gash was torn in its side and flames flickered in the dark smoke that was pouring out of it.
"We've got to silence that mortar," Will Russo said urgently, "or the other shuttle will get it, too."
Alec leaped to his feet and sprinted for the truck. Kobol was already screaming into his helmet microphone, "Get the shuttle the hell out of that area! When the fire gets to the propellant tanks it'll blow both of them sky-high!"
Scrambling up onto the laser mount, Alec motioned Kobol to silence. He grabbed his helmet and jammed it on his head, speaking into the mike.
"This is Alec Morgan. Get every possible man into the undamaged shuttle and take off at once. Do you understand me? At once!"
Kobol argued, "One shuttle can only hold ..."
Alec brandished a fist under his nose, and Kobol lapsed into silence. "Acknowledge that order!" he snapped. "Who's in charge down there?"
His earphone hummed meaninglessly for a moment. Then, "This is Jameson. One shuttle can't take more than thirty-some men, even if they're lovers."
"Pack them in. No time for arguing. Leave the trucks and equipment."
Staring down at the airfield, Alec saw the intact shuttle start to taxi away from the burning one.
Jameson's voice came on again. "We've got three wounded men here. Both the shuttle pilots were killed when the ship was hit."
"Get the wounded aboard the good shuttle. I want a dozen volunteers to stay here with me. The rest can squeeze into the bird any way they can. Use the cargo space. The trucks stay here."
Russo and his people, including Angela, came up to the truck. The big redheaded man looked up at Alec, squinting into the brightness of the sky, grinning.
"Say, would you let us use some of these weapons to drive off the raiders?"
"Come on aboard," Alec said. He ducked under the laser mount's guard rail and kicked at the driver's roof. "Get us moving. Fast!"
Hanging onto the rail as the truck lurched into motion, Kobol leaned his worried-hound's face to within a few centimeters of Alec's. "I'm going out with them, on the shuttle. I'm not staying."
"Fine," Alec snapped. "Just make sure you keep in touch. I'll tell you when to come back and pick up the rest of us."
"Right," Kobol said.
They stared at each other for a long moment. He has no intention of coming back for me, Alec thought. And he knows that I know it.
The truck bounced crazily across the grassy field. Two more shells landed near the runway, but too far from either shuttle to do anything more than churn fresh craters in the ground. The smoke from the damaged shuttle seemed to have almost died away, it was only a thin gray haze now.
"Maybe the fire's gone out," Angela yelled over the noise of the rushing wind and the occasional explosions and gunfire coming from the woods.
Russo shook his head. "Doubt it."
Alec stood behind the driver's cab and watched his men streaming toward the good shuttle, now stopped at the farthest corner of the field, its nose turned into the wind. The laser trucks made a thin wall between the shuttle and the woods where the fighting was going on. But they were not firing.
The troopers from the Moon milled around them, peering toward the woods, gawking like spectators, trying to decipher the strange goings-on.
Alec's truck pulled up alongside the shuttle. He started shouting orders and the men began clambering into the rocketplane. Kobol was nowhere in sight. Probably already aboard, Alec thought, and waiting for the takeoff.
The silvery finish of the shuttle's fuselage looked pitted and stained now, dirty, soiled by the base elements of Earth. Jameson was standing at the bottom of the ladder that ran up to the hatch.
"They're just about loaded," he reported. "Fifteen men volunteered to stay with you; I've got them with the trucks. The pilot's checking the ship's systems to see if there's any damage that'll prevent takeoff."
Russo grasped Alec's shoulder and half-turned him around. "Lookit, I don't want to butt into your affairs," he said, pawing with his free hand at his nose, "but if you don't start using your lasers to clear out the woods at the far end of the runway you're not going to be able to get this shuttle out of here."
"All right," Alec agreed. He called to Jameson, "I want a driver and two gunners with each truck."
Jameson said, "I'll get them moving."
"You're staying?"
"Yep."
Alec grinned at him. "Good. Thanks."
Kobol appeared at the shuttle's hatch. "You still insist on staying here?" he shouted.
"Yes. Somebody's got to."
"No," Kobol called. "Listen. There's enough room in the cargo bay for the rest of the men, if the trucks are left behind. The bay's pressurized."
"I'm staying," Alec shouted up to him.
"To find your father."
"To keep those raiders off your back, so that you can get away. And to get my hands on the fissionables that we came for."
"I don't see any raiders," Kobol yelled. "Only mortar fire. It could be his mortar."
Will Russo shot Kobol a disgusted look and turned away. Alec started to say, "Listen, Martin ..."
"No, you listen. We both know why you're staying. I hate to see you killing good men for your own personal reasons."
Alec wanted to run up the ladder and seize him by the throat. Instead, he hollered, "Then why don't you volunteer to stay With us, and let one of those good men get away safely?"
Kobol grinned his toothy mirthless grin. "If you want to be a fool, don't expect me to join you. I'm going back to the satellite station. From there I'll make a full report on your activities. I'm sure the Council will be interested. So will your mother."
The hatch started to slide shut. The last sight Alec had of Kobol, he was still grinning. The smile of a man who had just outmaneuvered his enemy.
"Alec," Ron Jameson called to him from the other side of the truck. "We're ready to roll."
It took Alec a moment to refocus his thoughts.
He turned and saw that Will Russo was sitting on the front fender of his truck. With a deep breath of exasperation, he banged on the roof of the driver's cockpit and yelled, "Let's get moving!"
"I've spotted my other men on two of your trucks," Russo told him. "They know the territory pretty well."
The truck lurched forward as Alec tightened his chin strap. "All right. You can call the shots." As they rolled out past the shuttle's stubby wing, he asked, "What happened to the girl? Where is she?"
"Angela?" Russo blinked his big watery eyes. "I sent her on ahead. She'll tell our people to fall back, so they won't get caught in your fire."
The truck was picking up speed now, jouncing across the broken runway. Alec noticed that the firing seemed to have died down. No more explosions or gunfire came from the shadowy woods.
Could Kobol have been right? Is this all some elaborate trap my father's laid out?
"Better steer wide of that damaged bird," Russo was saying. "No telling . . ."
The shuttle exploded with a violence that nearly tore Alec off the truck. The vehicle itself bounced and slewed as a huge ball of white-hot flame burst out and reached for them. Alec could feel its heat searing his face.
The driver swung the truck around viciously, away from the fireball. Hanging onto the laser itself for support, Alec watched the fireball transform itself into a dark tower of uprushing smoke that ballooned into a mushroom shape, far overhead.
"By golly, she really blew," Russo said, in an awed voice.
Within a few moments they were again racing as fast as the truck's electric motors would push them toward the woods. For the first time, Alec could see figures scurrying in the distant foliage, through his binoculars.
They looked ragged, furtive, no two of them wearing the same kind of clothes. Mostly bare-armed and bare-legged. But they each had weapons, and they were forming a skirmish line at the edge of the woods.
Alec passed the binoculars to Russo. "Are those
your people?"
He glanced quickly. "Nope. They're raiders. And they've got grenade launchers, looks like, so I'd start squirting them with the lasers at the longest range possible."
As Alec started giving the necessary orders over his helmet radio, three quick, dull popping sounds came from the woods.
"Mortar fire," Russo said calmly.
He wore no helmet, he had no body armor. He simply sat there in the jumpseat, ludicrously big for it, hanging over the edge of the laser mount with the ground rushing past less than a meter below his moccasined feet. He looked completely at ease, smiling happily.
Three mortar shells burst up ahead of them.
Alec winced at the explosions.
"Aren't you scared?" he yelled at Russo.
Will shrugged. "Guess so. But I learned a long time ago that it doesn't help. So I ignore it."
Alec stared at him.
"Say." Russo's expression changed to purposefulness.
"If we swing this one truck up that way and head into the woods," he pointed to the far left, "we could probably sneak up on those mortars and get 'em."
Alec heard Kobol's voice in his head once more.
You trust these people?
"All right," he said slowly. He reached for his helmet mike.
Russo wagged a finger at him. "Better not use the radio anymore. They might be listening to us now."
Another set of mortar shells exploded, one of them close enough to make the truck bounce. Alec crouched involuntarily and heard shrapnel ping against the side of the truck. A roar of flame geysered up ahead of them. The other trucks started to fire their lasers. He heard distant screams as the woods burst into flame.
Leaning down toward the driver's cab, Alec gave instructions to swing off to the left.
Ten minutes later they were climbing slowly through a narrow lane in the foliage, edging up a steep grade toward the top of a ridge.
"How do you . . ."
"Shh!" Russo put a finger in front of his lips.
Alec inched closer to him. "How do you know," he whispered, "where the mortars are?"
"I'm guessing," Russo whispered back. "But they don't have much range, so they must be up here somewhere."
The truck's motors were almost completely silent at this crawling speed. The foliage was thick enough to brush against Alec's legs as he squatted on the laser mount platform. The back of his neck burned; it hurt when he tried to move his head. A tree branch dipped close, caught momentarily in the laser's cooling fins, then sprang loose as they inched past.
It was impossible to see farther than a few meters ahead in this brush, and not even that far along the flanks. We could get ambushed anywhere along the line, and there are only the three of us. Far behind them, Alec could hear the crackling of flames and the staccato of gunfire.
The trees over their heads blotted out most of the sky, but to Alec it seemed to have turned gray.
Smoke?
Then there was a roar like far-off thunder. But instead of grumbling into silence, it grew, it increased, louder and louder until the truck itself began to vibrate.
"The shuttle's taking off!"
Alec stood up full height and strained for a glimpse of it through the heavy foliage. A flash of silver roared by overhead, and then the thunder diminished, dimmed, grew fainter and fainter until . . .
The monstrous crack of a sonic boom split the air. Alec had never heard it before, but he smiled despite the shock and pain. "They've made it. They're on their way."
"Good." Russo bobbed his head happily.
Kobol's going back to the satellite. He could return to the settlement and be with my mother in another few days. Even sooner, if he pushes it.
Russo put a big arm on Alec's shoulder.
"Listen!" he whispered urgently.
The soft .popping sound of a mortar firing.
"Stop the truck."
It stopped. The mortar sounds came again, off to their right. Somewhere in the thick foliage. The trail they were following curved in the opposite direction.
"We have to leave the truck," Russo whispered.
He checked the action of his rifle. It moved smoothly, with a deadly-sounding click-click.
Alec bent down over the driver's rearview slit.
"Stay here and stay buttoned up. If anybody bothers you, fire the laser by remote control."
"Right," came the muffled reply from inside the armored cab.
Alec swung his machine pistol off his shoulder.
It was an ugly, short-muzzled weapon with a long magazine built into the handgrip and a wire brace that could be rested against shoulder or hip.
Russo was already on the ground, poking at the bushes alongside the truck. Alec jumped down beside him.
"Got your safety off?" Will asked.
Looking down at the gun, Alec saw that it wasn't. Red-faced, he flicked the catch with his thumb.
Russo grinned at his embarrassment. "Don't want to run into some strangers without being able to say hello right away."
They started into the brush, walking crouched over, Russo in the lead. The foliage was thick and scratched at Alec's face, arms, legs. The mottled sunlight made his neck burn even more now that he was bent over. Insects droned everywhere, and within a minute Alec felt itches and stings he'd never known before. It didn't seem to bother Russo at all, so Alec fought down the urge to swat and scratch.
The popping sounds were getting louder, more frequent.
"They've got a lot of ammo," Russo whispered over his shoulder. "Using up their whole winter's production in hopes of getting your stuff."
"I hope they haven't hit any of the trucks," Alec answered.
"It's the trucks they're after," Russo said. "If one of those gangs can grab off a truck or two, they'll run merry hell through the countryside — until the laser runs out of fuel or the truck breaks down. Those trucks of yours are like Christmas presents for them."
Alec nodded with new understanding.
"And your other weapons, of course. Everybody likes to get nice new guns."
Barbarians, Alec told himself. They're all nothing more than barbarians.
They flattened out onto their bellies and crawled under some tangled low-lying vines.
Suddenly Russo hissed, "Freeze!"
Alec stayed absolutely still. He could feel his heart pounding, feel the ground slightly moist and yielding underneath him, feel the damp heat soaking into his body. He was sweating, beads of stinging salt dripping into his eyes.
Russo slid back alongside him, whispering, "Up in that big tree, at the top of the ridge ..."
Alec lifted his head, making his burned neck hurt anew. In the tallest tree, standing out against the sky, its enormous arms spread widely, newly leafed and bright green, a man was crouching on one of the lower branches. He held a pair of binoculars to his eyes.
"Spotter," Russo whispered. "The mortars must be within shouting distance of him."
"Let's get him!"
Russo put a hand on Alec's shoulder. "If we pot him before we know exactly where the mortars are, all we'll be doing is warning the mortar crew. Come on, follow me."
Slowly, quietly, slithering like snakes, Russo led Alec down away from that spot. They started to make a wide circle of the area. After several minutes, Alec realized what he was doing. He's swinging around behind the spotter. Behind the mortars.
It took at least a quarter-hour, Alec judged. He didn't get a chance to look at his wristwatch, they were too busy moving. Finally Russo got cautiously to his knees, looked around, then rose to his feet. They were on the reverse slope of the ridge now, standing in waist-high brush. The big tree that the spotter was using was barely visible; only its crown poked above the ridge line.
"Are you sure that's the same tree?" Alec asked.
"They all look alike."
Russo said, "Not after you've been here a while."
"All right. Now what?"
"Now we take a couple of deep breaths, then run like
hell for that tree. Shoot the spotter as soon as we see him and spray the mortar crew when they come into sight."
"You're sure they're there?"
Nodding, Russo said, "Yep. Although I haven't heard any firing for the last few minutes. They might be packing up to move out."
Alec looked down to check his gun.
"Ready?" Russo asked.
"Yes."
"Okay . . ." The redhead sucked in a deep breath. "Now!"
They dashed up the remaining few meters of waist-high brush, Russo in the lead. At the top of the ridge Alec saw him bring his rifle up to armpit level and squeeze off a three-round burst. The i sudden noise of the gun made him jump, despite himself.
Something fell from the tree, a blur that Alec noticed out of the corner of his eye because now he was at the top of the ridge and there were eight men frozen in mid-motion, dismantling the mortars. The tubes and bipod supporters and a half-dozen remaining shells lay scattered around them as they looked up, some crouching, some standing, one of them ridiculously mopping under his chin with a red cloth.
For a split instant Alec saw it all displayed in front of him. Then the men dived for their weapons. Alec felt himself firing his machine pistol. It kicked and clattered in his hands. Sprays of dirt sprouted in the midst of the startled men.
Four of them jerked backward immediately, arms flung crazily and mouths open. Two others seemed to stagger, reach for the guns that were resting on the ground, then fall over. Another pair dived for the brush and started scrambling downslope, away from Alec and Russo.
Alec realized he'd been firing from the hip, spraying the area with bullets. He straightened and brought the gun to his shoulder, sighting carefully at the nearest of the fleeing men.
Russo tapped him on the shoulder. "That's enough, let them go."
"But they . . ."
"Good God, man, what do you want? We've killed seven men and got their mortars and personal weapons. What else?"
For the first time, Russo seemed annoyed. Not angry, but annoyed the way a parent gets upset with a naughty child.
Alec put his pistol down. "How do you know they're dead?"
Looking at the bodies sprawled below them, Russo answered, "If they're not now, they will be soon."