IV
The Great Battle
The television drama broadcast from the Martian pleasure city of Pulambar, was one of the cynical tragicomedies that the men of Mars love so well. As it unfolded certain gases were released in the auditorium. They seemed pungent, even acrid, to Neil, who was not used to Martian luxuries, but those around him sniffed the fumes with every evidence of pleasure. He watched the drama progress and was careful to applaud and laugh whenever Yaxa did.
From there they went to an eating-compartment, where a group of young officers first looked askance at the Terrestrial stranger, but crowded around with exclamations of welcome when Yaxa explained his presence in the asteroid. Neil made the best of his limited command of the Martian language. The party seemed to be having a fine time, not the slightest bit worried by the fact that a strong force from Earth was due to attack within a few hours.
“We have only to remain inside our defenses,” said one. “They can hammer away on our surface forever without effect, while we can bomb them out of existence one by one.”
“It’ll be a way to break the tedium of existence,” offered another.
“And excellent practice for our coming raid on Earth,” added a third.
“Will you fight on our side?” the first speaker asked Neil.
“No, I’ll be a noncombatant,” grinned the Terrestrial. “After all, I’ve some old comrades in those ships. However,” he continued, “I’ll drink in the fashion of my planet to your success and that of your friends.”
He was loudly applauded and several raised their glasses in imitation of his courtesy.
The gathering broke up late and Neil confessing himself tired, was allowed to go to bed in quarters near those of Yaxa. Yet he did not sleep for hours and, when he dozed off at last, it seemed but a moment before Yaxa knocked at his door to waken him.
He dressed and went out into the wide passage that served as a street. The carefree attitude of the Martians was gone now; everywhere he saw bodies of troops drawn up into formation, while here and there sped vehicles laden with munitions and supplies.
“The enemy is almost here and we’re getting ready,” explained Yaxa. “The commander has told me to bring you to him, that he may ask what part you want to take in the action.”
“I’ve already said that I don’t want to fight,” said Neil. “As a matter of fact, I think that I’d do best as a guard over the Terrestrial prisoners who came with us. I’m built along the same mental and physical lines that they are, and so I ought to be ideal for the job.”
When he faced the Martian chief he made the same suggestion and it was accepted on the spot. Yaxa conducted him to an elevator and they descended, it seemed for miles. At last they stepped out into a narrow corridor the floor of which was sharply curved.
In front of a nearby panel a Martian soldier stood, armed with automatic rifle, pistol and bomb-thrower. Yaxa explained their errand and showed a stamped bit of metal as badge of authority. The fellow saluted and opened the door.
Inside, Sukune and Bull Mike rose from the pallets on which they sat. They were courteous, even cheerful, in their greeting to the newcomers.
“We’ve been getting ourselves an eyeful of the show that’s coming,” said the Japanese, pointing to the television screen that was part of the chamber’s furnishings. Sure enough, he had dialed in a viewpoint in space from which the artificial asteroid appeared as a sphere about two feet in diameter, while in the distance the “curtain front” of the Terrestrial ships’ advance could be seen like a puff of luminous dust.
“There’s a lot of friends of ours in that mob,” added Bull Mike. “They’ll take this little pill of yours without so much as a swallow of water. Then we’ll be free, speaking a good word for you, Yaxa.”
“That’s kind of you,” smiled the Martian. “However, I don’t think that there will be that much of a reverse.”
“We’ll soon know,” said Neil. “Look, the Terrestrials are about ready to close in.”
The attacking fleet had indeed drawn near its objective. They could see the face of the “curtain” changing, the edges coming forward and the center receding. This was the first move toward the gradual formation of a great net or basket in which to snare the apparently lifeless ball. That accomplished, the open face of the net would close and the ships of Earth would settle like a cloud around their quarry. An hour more, at least, and the thing would be done.
But, as the Terrestrials drew near, a hundred hidden panels flew wide all over the asteroid, exposing dark recesses. From each of these, shot ship after ship, like angry hornets disturbed in their nests, hurtling silently and fiercely to battle.
What followed might seem but a small engagement compared to the later and final conflict between Earth and Mars, wherein full two million ships took part. Yet, for display of grim courage, desperate endeavor and in proportion to the casualties, the fight that ensued around and within the asteroid has no parallel in the history of either planet.
Records show that the Martian commander of the garrison in the huge hull foresaw and planned his part of the battle from the moment the enemy group left Earth. He hoped to launch a surprise attack that it would have been impossible for the Terrestrials to forestall, and to that end he awaited the very instant when the attacking party bunched to close in. Then he sent his entire space-force, something more than two thousand fighting craft, out and at them. Only the smallest possible crews were at the battle stations of these ships and the bulk of the asteroid garrison, more than five hundred thousand strong, remained inside.
The four at the television watched eagerly the miniature reflection of the engagement. The Martians, less in number and lighter in craft, did their best to take advantage of every opportunity. Bunching close together in fours and fives, they hurled into action. They were all raiding models, more maneuverable than most of the battleships and heavy cruisers among the Terrestrials. A quick dash through the ranks of the oncoming enemy, and they might be able to effect an equally quick turn and an attack from the rear.
From every Martian ship streaked forth a volley of roving bombs. These projectiles propelled by ultra-swift rocket-engines, were aimed and guided by radio controls so that they could be turned to seek a target missed at first attempt. Some of the foremost Terrestrial ships were silently exploded into nothingness before they could fight or avoid the enemy. The others, frantically plied their disintegrator rays, swinging the lean, glowing fingers of flame back and forth in an attempt to blot out the whizzing bombs and the ships that were launching them.
“Say, I’m missing some wonderful fighting,” said Yaxa suddenly. “You three will excuse me.”
“We three will do nothing of the sort,” replied Neil with the utmost calm. “You’re staying here with us.”
The young Martian looked up with wondering eyes, first at Neil, who stood with drawn pistol, then at Bull Mike and Sukune, who had risen to bar the door. His hand dropped to his belt in search of a weapon.
“Stand still, Yaxa, or I’ll kill you,” called Neil warningly. Yaxa’s hand ceased its motion. Bull Mike reached out and possessed himself of the Martian’s weapon. Then, holding the prisoner by the shoulder, he walked toward the door, which Sukune was opening.
Outside the startled sentry brought up his rifle, but paused when he saw Bull Mike interpose the body of Yaxa as a shield.
“Shoot, fool!” screamed the latter. “Don’t mind me, destroy these men before they escape!”
The sentry still hesitated for a moment and in that moment Neil shot him down. Sukune sprang out and possessed himself of the fallen man’s rifle, pistol and bomb-thrower.
Neil still remained at the television screen for a moment before following the men he had liberated. “Our battleships are already raying the outside,” he said, as he came away at last. “We haven’t a minute to lose.”
“What are you going to do?” demanded Yaxa in a voice that still reflected overwhelming astonishment. “I don’t understand—”
“It’s perfectly simple,” said Sukune. “We were deathly afraid that you’d guess before this, but now you may as well know. The whole business of your rescue, our capture, the flight from Earth, was arranged by our intelligence staff. They wanted to get three determined men inside this shell, where we could in some way lay the innards open to Terrestrial disintegrators.”
“That’s why you were so curious about the cable,” Yaxa accused Neil.
“Right,” admitted the other. “Well, we have little time to lose. Follow me.”
Suddenly Yaxa began to struggle. “Help! Help!” he yelled at the top of his lungs, and at his cry a little group of Martians came running to view from a side-passage. Bull Mike clouted Yaxa with his fist and the prisoner fell insensible, while the three Terrestrials ran swiftly up the corridor. Behind them came a summons to stop, followed by a scatter of shots. A few leaps, however, left the pursuit well behind.
“There’s the cable-pillar, ahead of us,” said Neil, pointing ahead. Sure enough they were approaching a pole on their level.
The two guards on duty by the device looked up at the sound of hurriedly approaching feet. Before they could challenge, however, they fell beneath a volley from the Terrestrials. Ignoring the still quivering bodies, the three comrades gathered around the pillar.
“How can we cut it?” panted Sukune.
“I smuggled this along,” said Neil, producing a hand disintegrator appliance, about the size of a pistol. With it he began to fuse the metal facings of the pillar.
The Martians who had come at Yaxa’s call were approaching now. Bull Mike sent a stream of bullets at them from the rifle of one of the cable-guards. Sukune did likewise. Several of the pursuers fell while the others ducked into sheltering doorways without returning the fire.
“They’re afraid they’ll hit and damage this pillar,” said Neil. “Hang close to it, you two.”
He had cut well into one facing of the great upright. Still he had not pierced the layer of metal that protected the cable. On he worked while his comrades faced in opposite directions, rifles at the ready.
The shots had attracted groups in other corridors, and from all four directions bodies of Martian soldiery could be seen stealthily approaching. As they came close enough to be good targets Sukune and Bull Mike sprayed bullets on them. The survivors all sought shelter for a moment, then resumed steady advance from doorway to doorway along the passages. A rush from all quarters seemed imminent.
At last a great oxidized chip fell away from the pillar and Neil gave a triumphant exclamation. He had pierced the metal and inside he could plainly see the cable—a taut, gleaming cord of varicolored strands, barely six inches in diameter. It was hard to realize that this slender line was the source of the powerful gravity that controlled this synthetic world. He aimed his disintegrator at it anew, but no ray answered his touch on the button. The charge had been exhausted in forcing a way through the pillar.
He sent a pistol bullet in at the cable. It struck at an angle and glanced away. His action was seen by the Martians in all directions, who gave vent to a loud chorus of desperate shouts and charged forward as if driven by one single impulse.
The rattle of Sukune’s and Bull Mike’s rifles sounded, but this burst of fire could not stem the rush. In a second the Martians were upon them—dozens of them. Bull Mike clubbed his weapon, swung it like a flail and cleared a space. Half a dozen pistols were fired at him, their muzzles almost against him as they were discharged. He reeled but did not collapse, fighting on with undiminished strength.
Sukune did not fare so well, and out of the tail of his eye Neil saw the Japanese go down and lie still as vengeful Martians showered blows upon him. In desperation he reached a hand through the hole in the cable, grasped the cable and gave it a powerful jerk at the same moment. A moment later he fell sprawling, his body convulsed by a current that gripped and tore at him as though it would rend his every muscle to shreds. He tried to rise again, but the shock had paralyzed him. His ears were dull to the din around him and his eyes were blurred as if with weariness, but he could see that a loop of the cable had been pulled out by his attempt.
Bull Mike, last of the three Terrestrials still on his feet, saw it, too. Hurling his weapon into the midst of the Martians, he sprang to the side of the pillar and thrust his arm through the exposed loop. Clasping his great hands, he hurled his giant body outward with all his strength.
For a moment he seemed to glow as if illuminated from within by a powerful white flame. Then he flew through the air and crashed to the floor. The Martians fairly riddled his fallen form with their bullets. Neil slipped into insensibility, and the last thing he was conscious of was that the cable’s loop had been parted, its two frayed ends protruding from the hole in the pillar, fully six inches of space between them.
The mission of the trio had been accomplished.
When he regained his senses at last he could not open his eyes. He moved his hands, and it was as if they were sheathed in massy lead. His very breathing was a distinct effort.
“Bull Mike!” he called. “Sukune!”—but then he remembered that Bull Mike and Sukune had been killed.
“Lie still,” said a female voice. “You’re all right.”
“Where am I?” he asked.
“In a hospital,” answered the voice.
“A hospital? Where? On Earth?”
“Of course,” the voice laughed. “You’re in Base Hospital Number 61-X, at Delhi. I’m your nurse.”
“I see. The battle’s over, then.”
“Months ago. After our ships fired blasts between sections of the asteroid and then destroyed them, you were one of the few survivors found floating in space among the wreckage. It’s been a fight to keep you alive.”
He lay still and thought silently.
“Am I blind?” he asked at length.
“No, but leave that bandage on your eyes alone. Plenty of time to see everything when the doctor takes it off.”
“I understand,” he said. “And am I—badly hurt?”
“You were. But we’ve put you together, as good as new. It will take many days more, but you’ll walk and talk and see and fly again. And you’ll still have your good looks, too.”
Again he was quiet. The nurse broke the silence.
“Something was left here for you.”
He heard the rattle of a paper wrapping. Then a small object was placed in his palm. It seemed to be a bit of metal, cut into the shape of a many-pointed star and depending from a strip of ribbon.
“The president of the Terrestrial League brought you that with his own hands,” the nurse told him. “Shall I read the citation?”
“Do.”
“Very well, listen. ‘In recognition of the intelligent and loyal service rendered in capturing an enemy scout and securing from him information of paramount importance to the Terrestrial arms on or about the first day of October, 2675; and for courageous and successful attempts and actions against and in the presence of a superior armed force of the enemy on or about the third day of March, 2676; I, Silas Parrish, president of the Terrestrial League, by authority vested in me by the government of the planet Earth, do confer upon Captain Neil Andresson, unattached, the highest award for valor and service that is within the gift of the body I represent; to wit, the Medal of Honor of the Terrestrial League.’ ”
She stopped reading. “But it calls me a captain!” exclaimed Neil. “I’m only a scout.”
“You have the rank of captain now. It’s honorary, of course. You’ll be out of the hospital before the beginning of the year, but you won’t be able to go into action again before the whole mess is settled.”
He heard her lay the medal and document down. Then her footsteps went echoing away.
“Hello, Neil,” said a voice he knew.
“Yaxa!” he cried. “You here?”
“In the cot next to you. They picked us up together, I’m told.”
“Badly wounded?”
“Worse than you. Both my legs have been taken off.”
Neil said nothing for a moment. “It could be worse,” he ventured at last.
“Oh yes. Life is worth living, even with artificial limbs.”
“Can you see, Yaxa.”
“Perfectly.”
“Here then. The war’s over, at least so far as we’re concerned. Let’s call it quits.”
He painfully stretched out his hand toward the place from which Yaxa’s voice came. After a moment he felt the Martian’s spidery fingers on it.
“Quits it is, then,” agreed Yaxa. “We’ll get well together.”
Both of them relaxed. The fierce conflict they had both gone through now seemed far away and vague, as if it had been the experience of other men. They felt peaceful and in some measure content.
For they had both fought a good fight. Both had done their best. Both would be honored for their efforts. And, best of all, neither of them would ever need to fight again.