The Great Battle
The television drama broadcast from the Martian pleasure city of
Pulambar, was one of the cynical tragi-comedies 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 non-combatant," 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 near-by 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 vari-colored 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.
The End