Presently Art said, “He claims he doesn’t have to answer questions of that sort, under international law.”
“Hummph! You might tell him that the laws of warfare went out when war was abolished. But never mind—tell him that, if he wants to claim prisoner-of-war privileges, we’ll give him his freedom, right now!” He jerked a thumb at the air lock.
He had spoken in English, but the prisoner understood the gesture. After that he supplied details readily.
He and his comrades had been on the moon for nearly three months. They had an underground base about thirteen miles west of the crater in which the shattered Galileo lay. There was one rocket at the base, much larger than the Galileo, and it, too, was atom-powered. He regarded himself as a member of the army of the Nazi Reich. He did not know why the order had been given to blast the Galileo, but he supposed that it was an act of military security to protect their plans.
“What plans?”
He became stubborn again. Cargraves actually opened the inner door of the lock, not knowing himself how far he was prepared to go to force information out of the man, when the Nazi cracked.
The plans were simple—the conquest of the entire earth. The Nazis were few in number, but they represented some of the top military, scientific, and technical brains from Hitler’s crumbled empire. They had escaped from Germany, established a remote mountain base, and there had been working ever since for the redemption of the Reich. The sergeant appeared not to know where the base was; Cargraves questioned him closely. Africa? South America? An island? But all that he could get out of him was that it was a long submarine trip from Germany.
But it was the objective, der Tag, which left them too stunned to worry about their own danger. The Nazis had atom bombs, but, as long as they were still holed up in their secret base on earth, they dared not act, for the UN had them, too, and in much greater quantity.
But when they achieved space flight, they had an answer. They would sit safely out of reach on the moon and destroy the cities of earth one after another by guided missiles launched from the moon, until the completely helpless nations of earth surrendered and pleaded for mercy.
The announcement of the final plan brought another flash of arrogance back into their prisoner. “And you cannot stop it,” he concluded. “You may kill me, but you cannot stop it! Heil dem Führer!”
“Mind if I spit in his eye, Doc?” Morrie said conversationally.
“Don’t waste it,” Cargraves counseled. “Let’s see if we can think ourselves out of this mess. Any suggestions?” He hauled the prisoner out of the chair and made him lie face down on the deck. Then he sat down on him. “Go right ahead,” he urged. “I don’t think he understands two words of English. How about it, Ross?”
“Well,” Ross answered, “it’s more than just saving our necks now. We’ve got to stop them. But the notion of tackling fifty men with two rifles and two pistols sounds like a job for Tarzan or Superman. Frankly, I don’t know how to start.”
“Maybe we can start by scouting them out. Thirteen miles isn’t much. Not on the moon.”
“Look,” said Art, “in a day or two I might have a transmitter rigged that would raise earth. What we need is reinforcements.”
“How are they going to get here?” Ross wanted to know. “We had the only space ship—except for the Nazis.”
“Yes, but listen—Doc’s plans are still available. You left full notes with Ross’s father—didn’t you, Doc? They can get busy and rebuild some more and come up here and blast those skunks out.”
“That might be best,” Cargraves answered. “We can’t afford to miss, that’s sure. They could raid the earth base of the Nazis first thing and then probably bust this up in a few weeks, knowing that our ship did work and having our plans.”
Morrie shook his head. “It’s all wrong. We’ve got to get at them right now. No delay at all, just the way they smashed us. Suppose it takes the UN six weeks to get there. Six weeks might be too long. Three weeks might be too long. A week might be too long. An atom war could be all over in a day.”
“Well, let’s ask our pal if he knows when they expect to strike, then,” Ross offered.
Morrie shook his head and stopped Art from doing so. “Useless. We’ll never get a chance to build a transmitter. They’ll be swarming over this crater like reporters around a murder trial. Look—they’ll be here any minute. Don’t you think they’ll miss this rocket?”
“Oh, my gosh!” It was Art. Ross added, “What time is it, Doc?”
To their complete amazement it was only forty minutes from the time the Galileo had been bombed. It had seemed like a full day.
It cheered them up a little but not much. The prisoner had admitted that the rocket they were in was the only utility, short-jump job. And the Nazi space ship—the Wotan, he termed it—would hardly be used for search. Perhaps they had a few relatively free hours.
“But I still don’t see it,” Cargraves admitted. “Two guns and two pistols—four of us. The odds are too long—and we can’t afford to lose. I know you sports aren’t afraid to die, but we’ve got to win.”
“Why,” inquired Ross, “does it have to be rifles?”
“What else?”
“This crate bombed us. I’ll bet it carries more than one bomb.”
Cargraves looked startled, then turning to the prisoner, spoke rapidly in German. The prisoner gave a short reply. Cargraves nodded and said, “Morrie, do you think you could fly this clunker?”
“I could sure make a stab at it.”
“Okay. You are it. We’ll make Joe Masterrace here take it off, with a gun in his ribs, and you’ll have to feel her out. You won’t get but one chance and no practice. Now let’s take a look at the bomb controls.”
The bomb controls were simple. There was no bombsight, as such. The pilot drove the ship on a straight diving course and kicked it out just before his blast upwards. There was a gadget to expel the bomb free of the ship; it continued on the ship’s previous trajectory. Having doped it out, they checked with the Nazi pilot who gave them the same answers they had read in the mechanism.
There were two pilot seats and two passenger seats, directly behind the pilot seats. Morrie took one pilot seat; the Nazi the other. Ross sat behind Morrie, while Cargraves sat with Art in his lap, one belt around both. This squeezed Art up close to the back of the Nazi’s chair, which was good, for Art reached around and held a gun in the Nazi’s side.
“All set, Morrie?”
“All set. I make one pass to get my bearings and locate the mouth of their hideaway. Then I come back and give ’em the works.”
“Right. Try not to hit their rocket ship, if you can. It would be nice to go home. Blast off! Achtung! Aufstieg!”
The avengers raised ground.
“How is it going?” Cargraves shouted a few moments later.
“Okay!” Morrie answered, raising his voice to cut through the roar. “I could fly her down a chimney. There’s the hill ahead, I think—there!”
The silvery shape of the Wotan near the hill they were shooting towards put a stop to any doubts. It appeared to be a natural upthrust of rock, quite different from the craters, and lay by itself a few miles out in one of the ‘seas’.
They were past it and Morrie was turning, blasting heavily to kill his momentum, and pressing them hard into their seats. Art fought to steady the revolver without firing it.
Morrie was headed back on his bombing run, coming in high for his dive. Cargraves wondered if Morrie had actually seen the air lock of the underground base; he himself had had no glimpse of it.
There was no time left to wonder. Morrie was diving; they were crushed against the pads as he fought a moment later to recover from the dive, kicking her up and blasting. They hung for a second and Cargraves thought that Morrie had played it too fine in his anxiety to get in a perfect shot; he braced himself for the crash.
Then they were up. When he had altitude, Morrie kicked her over again, letting his jet
die. They dropped, view port down, with the ground staring at them.
They could see the splash of dust and sand still rising. Suddenly there was a whoosh from the middle of it, a mighty blast of air, bits of debris, and more sand. It cleared at once in the vacuum of that plain, and they saw the open wound, a black hole leading downward.
He had blown out the air lock with a bull’s-eye.
Morrie put her down to Cargraves’ plan, behind the Wotan and well away from the hole. “Okay, Doc!”
“Good. Now let’s run over the plan—I don’t want any slip-up. Ross comes with me. You and Art stay with the jeep. We will look over the Wotan first, then scout out the base. If we are gone longer than thirty minutes, you must assume that we are dead or captured. No matter what happens, under no circumstances whatever are you to leave this rocket. If any one comes toward you, blast off. Don’t even let us come near you unless we are by ourselves. Blast off. You’ve got one more bomb—you know what to do with it.”
Morrie nodded. “Bomb the Wotan. I hate to do that.” He stared wistfully at the big ship, their one chain to the earth.
“But you’ve got to. You and Art have got to run for it, then, and get back to the Dog House and hole up. It’ll be your business, Art, to manage somehow or other to throw together a set that can get a message back to earth. That’s your only business, both of you. Under no circumstances are you to come back here looking for Ross and me. If you stay holed up, they may not find you for weeks—and that will give you your chance, the earth’s chance. Agreed?”
Morrie hesitated. “Suppose we get a message through to earth. How about it then?”
Cargraves thought for a moment, then replied, “We can’t stand here jawing—there’s work to be done. If you get a message through with a reply that makes quite clear that they believe you and are getting busy, then you are on your own. But I advise you not to take any long chances. If we aren’t back here in thirty minutes, you probably can’t help us.” He paused for a moment and decided to add one more thing—the boy’s personal loyalty had made him doubtful about one point. “You know, don’t you, that when it comes to dropping that bomb, if you do, you must drop it where it has to go, even if Ross and I are standing on your target?”
“I suppose so.”
“Those are orders, Morrie.”
“I understand them.”
“Morrie!”
“Aye aye, Captain!”
“Very well, sir—that’s better. Art, Morrie is in charge. Come on, Ross.”
Nothing moved on the rocket field. The dust of the bombing, with no air to hold it up, had dissipated completely. The broken air lock showed dark and still across the field; near them the sleek and mighty Wotan crouched silent and untended.
Cargraves made a circuit of the craft, pistol ready in his gloved fist, while Ross tailed him, armed with one of the Garands. Ross kept well back, according to plan.
Like the Galileo, the Wotan had but one door, on the port side just aft the conning compartment. He motioned Ross to stay back, then climbed a little metal ladder or staircase and tried the latch. To his surprise the ship was not locked—then he wondered why he was surprised. Locks were for cities.
While the pressure in the air chamber equalized, he unsnapped from his belt a flashlight he had confiscated from the Nazi jeep rocket and prepared to face whatever lay beyond the door. When the door sighed open, he dropped low and to one side, then shot his light around the compartment. Nothing…nobody.
The ship was empty of men from stem to stern. It was almost too much luck. Even if it had been a rest period, or even if there had been no work to do in the ship, he had expected at least a guard on watch.
However a guard on watch would mean one less pair of hands for work…and this was the moon, where every pair of hands counted for a hundred or a thousand on earth. Men were at a premium here; it was more likely, he concluded, that their watch was a radar, automatic and unsleeping. Probably with a broad-band radio alarm as well, he thought, remembering how promptly their own call had been answered the very first time they had ever sent anything over the rim of their crater.
He went through a passenger compartment equipped with dozens of acceleration bunks, through a hold, and farther aft. He was looking for the power plant.
He did not find it. Instead he found a welded steel bulkhead with no door of any sort. Puzzled, he went back to the control station. What he found there puzzled him still more. The acceleration chairs were conventional enough; some of the navigational instruments were common types and all of them not too difficult to figure out; but the controls simply did not make sense.
Although this bewildered him, one point was very clear. The Nazis had not performed the nearly impossible task of building a giant space ship in a secret hide-out, any more than he and the boys had built the Galileo singlehanded. In each case it had been a job of conversion plus the installation of minor equipment.
For the Wotan was one of the finest, newest, biggest ships ever to come out of Detroit!
The time was getting away from him. He had used up seven minutes in his prowl through the ship. He hurried out and rejoined Ross. “Empty,” he reported, saving the details for later; “let’s try their rat hole.” He started loping across the plain.
They had to pick their way carefully through the rubble at the mouth of the hole. Since the bomb had not been an atom bomb but simply ordinary high explosive, they were in no danger of contamination, but they were in danger of slipping, sliding, falling, into the darkness.
Presently the rubble gave way to an excellent flight of stairs leading deep into the moon. Ross flashed his torch around. The walls, steps, and ceiling were covered with some tough lacquer, sprayed on to seal the place. The material was transparent, or nearly so, and they could see that it covered carefully fitted stonework.
“Went to a lot of trouble, didn’t they?” Ross remarked.
“Keep quiet!” answered Cargraves.
More than two hundred feet down the steep passageway ended, and they came to another door, not an air lock, but intended apparently as an air-tight safety door. It had not kept the owners safe; the blast followed by a sudden letting up of normal pressure had been too much for it. It was jammed in place but so bulged and distorted that there was room for them to squeeze through.
There was some light in the room beyond. The blast had broken most of the old-fashioned bulbs the Nazis had used, but here and there a light shone out, letting them see that they were in a large hall. Cargraves went cautiously ahead.
A room lay to the right from the hall, through an ordinary non-air-tight door, now hanging by one hinge. In it they found the reason why the field had been deserted when they had attacked.
The room was a barrack room; the Nazis had died in their bunks. ‘Night’ and ‘day’ were arbitrary terms on the moon, in so far as the working times and eating times and sleeping times of men are concerned. The Nazis were on another schedule; they had had the bad luck to be sleeping when Morrie’s bomb had robbed them of their air.
Cargraves stayed just long enough in the room to assure himself that all were dead. He did not let Ross come in at all. There was some blood, but not much, being mostly bleeding from mouths and bulging eyes. It was not this that caused his squeamish consideration; it was the expressions which were frozen on their dead faces.
He got out before he got sick.
Ross had found something. “Look here!” he demanded.
Cargraves looked. A portion of the wall had torn away under the sudden drop in pressure and had leaned crazily into the room. It was a metal panel, instead of the rock masonry which made up the rest of the walls. Ross had pulled and pried at it to see what lay behind, and was now playing his light into the darkness behind it.
It was another corridor, lined with carefully dressed and fitted stones. But here the stone had not been covered with the sealing lacquer.
“I wonder why they sealed it off after they built it?” Ross wanted to know. “Do
you suppose they have stuff stored down there? Their A-bombs maybe?”
Cargraves studied the patiently fitted stones stretching away into the unfathomed darkness. After a long time he answered softly, “Ross, you haven’t discovered a Nazi storeroom. You have discovered the homes of the people of the moon.”
“—UNTIL WE ROT—”
• 17 •
FOR ONCE ROSS WAS ALMOST as speech-bound as Art. When he was able to make his words behave he demanded, “Are you sure? Are you sure, Doc?”
Cargraves nodded. “As sure as I can be at this time. I wondered why the Nazis had built such a deep and extensive a base and why they had chosen to use fitted stone masonry. It would be hard to do, working in a space suit. But I assigned it to their reputation for doing things the hard way, what they call ‘efficiency.’ I should have known better.” He peered down the mysterious, gloomy corridor. “Certainly this was not built in the last few months.”
“How long ago, do you think?”
“How long? How long is a million years? How long is ten million years? I don’t know—I have trouble imagining a thousand years. Maybe we’ll never know.”
Ross wanted to explore. Cargraves shook his head. “We can’t go chasing rabbits. This is wonderful, the biggest thing in ages. But it will wait. Right now,” he said, glancing at his watch, “we’ve got eleven minutes to finish the job and get back up to the surface—or things will start happening up there!”
He covered the rest of the layout at a fast trot, with Ross guarding his rear from the central hall. He found the radio ‘shack’, with a man dead in his phones, and noted that the equipment did not appear to have suffered much damage when the whirlwind of escaping air had slammed out of the place. Farther on, an arsenal contained bombs for the jeep, and rifles, but no men.
He found the storeroom for the guided missiles, more than two hundred of them, although the cradles were only half used up. The sight of them should have inspired terror, knowing as he did that each represented a potentially dead and blasted city, but he had no time for it. He rushed on.
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