First on the Moon

by Jeff Sutton

  CHAPTER 15

  Crag sighted the Red Dog party immediately--three figures plodding insingle file toward Drone Baker. He saw with satisfaction that they haddiscarded the rocket launcher. He took that as a sign they believed theAztec crew dead. He found a halfway comfortable sitting position, andsettled back to await developments.

  The distant figures moved across the plain with maddening slowness. Fromtime to time he returned his eyes to the enemy rocket. It showed nosigns of life. Once he debated taking the gamble of trying to reach it,but as quickly discarded the idea. Caught on the open plain and he'd bea gone gosling.

  He waited.

  After what seemed a long while, the invaders reached a point overlookingDrone Baker. One of the figures remained on a small rise overlooking thedrone while the other two separated and approached it from differentdirections. The tactic disquieted him. It indicated that the newcomerswere not entirely convinced that they were alone in Crater Arzachel.

  After another interminably long time, the two figures approaching therocket met at its base. They walked around the rocket several times,then struck out, this time toward Drone Charlie. Their companion lefthis lookout point and cut across the plain to join them.

  Crag squirmed uncomfortably. He was tired and hungry; his muscles achedfrom the constriction of the suit. His body was hot and clammy, andperspiration from his brow stung his eyes. He sighed, wishing he had acigarette. Strange, he hadn't smoked in over a year but all at once theneed for tobacco seemed overwhelming. He pushed the thought aside.

  The invaders were strung out in single file, moving in a direction whichbrought them closer to his position. He shifted to a point below thecrest, moving slowly to avoid detection. Their path crossed his field ofvision at a distance of about half a mile. At the closest point he sawthey carried rifles in shoulder slings. He took this as anotherindication they suspected the presence of survivors. The invadersstopped and rested at a point almost opposite him. He fidgeted, tryingto get his body into a more comfortable position.

  Finally they resumed their trek. Before they reached the drone theyhalted. One man remained in the cover of a spur of rock while the othertwo separated and advanced on the drone from different directions. Cragcursed under his breath. They certainly weren't going to be sittingducks. Perhaps it was just a precaution. Simply good infantry tactics,he told himself, but it still raised a complication.

  He waited. The two invaders closed on the drone, meeting at its base.They evidently decided it was abandoned, for they left within a fewminutes walking to join their waiting companion. After a short huddlethey struck out in the direction of Bandit. This was the move he hadwaited for.

  He withdrew to the lee side of the ridge and picked his way towardBandit as rapidly as possible, taking care not to brush against thesharp slivers of rock. He drew near the rocket, thinking that the openhatch would be a dead giveaway. Still, there was no alternative. A fortwithout a gunport was no fort at all. He climbed to a spot close to thecrest of the ridge and peered back in the direction of the invaders,startled to find they were nearer than he had supposed. He hastilywithdrew his head, deciding it was too late to warn the others toabandon the rocket. If the invaders climbed straight up the oppositeside of the ridge, they conceivably could catch his crew on the openplain. That made another complication.

  He scanned the ridge. Off to his right a series of granite spurs juttedfrom the base rock in finger formation. He picked his way toward them,then descended until he found shelter between two rock outcroppingswhich gave him a clear view of Bandit. He checked his automatic rifle,moving the control lever to the semi-automatic position. The blackrectangle that marked Bandit's hatch seemed lifeless.

  He waited.

  Long minutes passed. He cursed the eternal silence of the moon whichrobbed him of the use of his ears. A cannon could fire within an inch ofhis back and he'd never know it, he thought. He moved his head slightlyforward from time to time in an effort to see the slope behind him.Nothing happened. His body itched intolerably from perspiration. Hereadjusted the suit temperature setting, gaining a slight respite fromthe heat. All at once he caught movement out of the corner of his faceplate and involuntarily jerked his head back. He waited a moment, awarethat his heart was pounding heavily, then cautiously moved forward. Oneof the invaders was picking his way down the slope in a path that wouldtake him within thirty yards of his position. The man moved slowly,half-crouched, keeping his rifle cradled across his arm.

  They know, he thought. The open hatch was the giveaway. He anxiouslysearched Bandit. No sign of life was visible. He gave silent thanks thatthe invaders had not lugged their rocket launcher with them. Prochaska,he knew, would be watching, crouched in the shadow of the hatch openingbehind the heavy automatic rifle. He estimated the distance between thebase of the slope and the rocket at 400 yards--close enough forProchaska to pick off anyone who ventured onto the plain.

  He waited while the invader passed abreast of him and descended to thebase of the plain, taking cover in the rocks. He halted there and lookedback. A few moments later Crag saw the second of the invaders movingdown the slope about a hundred yards beyond his companion. He, too,stopped near the base of the rocks. Where was the third man? The sametechnique they used before, Crag decided. He would be covering hiscompanions' advance from the ridge. That made it more difficult.

  He studied the two men at the edge of the plain. It looked like astalemate. They either had to advance or retreat. Their time wasgoverned by oxygen. If they advanced, they'd be dead pigeons. Prochaskacouldn't miss if they chose to cross the clearing. As it was, neitherside could get a clear shot at the distance separating them, althoughthe invaders could pour a stream of shells into the open hatch. ButProchaska would be aware of that danger and would have taken refuge toone side of the opening, he decided. There was another complication.The shells were heavy enough to perforate the rocket. Well, he'd worryabout that later. He moved his head for a better view of the invaders.

  The man nearest him had gotten into a prone position and was doingsomething with the end of his rifle. Crag watched, puzzled. Suddenly theman brought the rifle to his shoulder, and he saw that the end of themuzzle was bulged. Rifle grenade! Damn, they'd brought a regulararsenal. If he managed to place one in the open hatch, the Bandit crewwas doomed. Heedless of the other two Red Dog crewmen, he stepped outbetween the shoulders of rock to gain freedom of movement and snappedhis own weapon to his shoulder. He had trouble fitting his finger intothe trigger guard. The enemy was spraddled on his stomach, legs apart,adjusting his body to steady his weapon.

  Crag moved his weapon up, bringing the prone man squarely into hissights. He squeezed the trigger, feeling the weapon jump against hispadded shoulder, and leaped back into the protective cover of rock.Something struck his face plate. Splinter of rock, he thought. Thewatcher on the ridge hadn't been asleep. He dropped to his knees andcrawled between the rock spurs to gain a new position. The sharp needlefragments under his hands and knees troubled him. One small rip and he'dbe the late Adam Crag. He finally reached a place where he could see thelower end of the ridge.

  The man he'd shot was a motionless blob on the rocky floor, his arms andlegs pulled up in a grotesque fetal position. The vulnerability of humanlife on the moon struck Crag forcibly. A bullet hole anywhere meantsudden violent death. A hit on the finger was as fatal as a shot throughthe heart. Once air pressure in a suit was lost a man was dead--horriblydying within seconds. A pinhole in the suit was enough to do it. Hiseyes searched for the dead man's companions. The ridge and plain seemedutterly lifeless. Bandit was a black canted monolith rising above theplain, seeming to symbolize the utter desolation and silence of CraterArzachel. For a moment he was fascinated. The very scene portendeddeath. It was an eery feeling. He shook it off and waited. He wasfinally rewarded by movement. A portion of rock near the edge of theplain seemed to rise--took shape. The dead man's companion had risen toa kneeling position, holding his rifle to his shoulder.

  Crag raised hi
s gun, wondering if he could hold the man in his sights. Ahundred and fifty yards to a rifleman clothed in a cumbersome space suitseemed a long way. Before he could pull the trigger, the man flung hisarms outward, clawing at his throat for an instant before slumping tothe rocks. It took Crag a second to comprehend what had happened.Prochaska had been ready.

  A figure suddenly filled the dark rectangle of Bandit, pointing towardthe ridge behind Crag. He apparently was trying to tell him something.Crag scanned the ridge. It seemed deserted. He turned toward Bandit andmotioned toward his faceplate. The other understood. His interphonescrackled to life. Prochaska's voice was welcome.

  "I see him," he broke in. "He's moving up the slope to your right,trying to reach the top of the ridge. Too far for a shot," he added.

  Crag scrambled into a clearing and scanned the ridge, just in time tosee a figure disappear over the skyline. He started up the slope in abeeline for the crest. If he could reach it in time, he might preventthe sniper from crossing the open plain which lay between the ridge andRed Dog. Cops and robbers, he thought. Another childhood game hadsuddenly been recreated, this time on the bleak plain of an airlessalien crater 240,000 miles from the sunny Southern California lands ofhis youth.

  Crag reached the ridge. The plain on the other side seemed devoid oflife. In the distance the squat needle that was Red Dog jutted abovethe ashy plain, an incongruous human artifact lost on the wastelands ofthe moon. Only its symmetry distinguished it from the jagged monolithicstructures that dotted this end of the crater floor. He searched theslope. Movement far down the knoll to his right caught his eye. Thefugitive was trying to reach a point beyond range of Crag's weaponbefore cutting across the plain. He studied the terrain. Far ahead andto the left of the invader the crater floor became broken by bizarrerock formations of Backbone Ridge--a great half-circle which arced backtoward Red Dog. He guessed that the fantastic land ahead was thefugitive's goal.

  He cut recklessly down the opposite slope and gained the floor of thecrater before turning in the direction he had last seen the invader. Hecursed himself for having lost sight of him. Momentarily, he slowed hispace, thinking he was ripe for a bushwhacking job. His eyes roved theterrain. No movement, no sign of his quarry. He moved quickly, butwarily, attempting to search every inch of the twisted rock formationscovering the slope ahead. His eye detected movement off to one side. Atthe same instant a warning sounded in his brain and he flung himselfdownward and to the side, hitting the rough ground with a sickeningthud. He sensed that the action had saved his life. He crawled betweensome rock outcroppings, hugging the ground until he reached a vantagepoint overlooking the area ahead. He waited, trying to search the slopewithout exposing his position. Minutes passed.

  He tossed his head restlessly. His eyes roved the plain, searching,attempting to discern movement. No movement--only a world of stilllife-forms. The plain--its rocks and rills--stretched before him, barrenand endless. Strange, he thought, there should be vultures in the sky.And on the plain creosote bushes, purple sage, cactus ... coyotes andrattlesnakes.

  But ... no! This was an other-world desert, one spawned in the fires ofhell--a never-never land of scalding heat and unbelievable cold. Hethought it was like a painting by some mad artist. First he had sketchedin the plain with infinite care--a white-black, monotonous, unbrokenexpanse. Afterward he had splashed in the rocks, painting with wildabandon, heedless of design, form or structure, until the plain was ahodgepodge of bizarre formations. They towered, squatted, pierced thesky, crawled along the plain like giant serpents--an orgy in rockwithout rhyme or reason. Somewhere in the lithic jungle his quarrywaited. He would flush him out.

  He thought that the sniper must be getting low on oxygen. He couldn'tafford to waste time. He had to reach Red Dog soon--if he were to live.Crag checked his oxygen meter and began moving forward, conscious thatthe chase would be governed by his oxygen supply. He'd have to rememberthat.

  He reached a clearing on the slope just as the sniper disappeared intothe rock shadows on the opposite side. He hesitated. Would the pursuedman be waiting ... covering the trail behind him? He decided not tochance crossing it and began skirting around its edge, fretting at theminutes wasted. His earphones crackled and Prochaska's voice came, awarning through the vacuum:

  "Nagel says your oxygen must be low."

  He glanced at the indicator on his cylinder. Still safe. He studied therocks ahead and told Prochaska:

  "I've got to keep this baby from reaching Red Dog."

  "Watch yourself. Don't go beyond the point of no return." Prochaska'svoice held concern.

  "Stop worrying."

  Crag pushed around the edge of the clearing with reckless haste. It washard going and he was panting heavily long before he reached the spotwhere he had last seen the sniper. He paused to catch his breath. Theslope fell away beneath him, a miniature kingdom of jagged needle-sharprock. There was no sign of the fugitive. The plain, too, was devoid oflife. He descended to the edge of the clearing and picked his waythrough the debris of some eon-old geologic catastrophe. Ahead and tothe left of the ridge, the plain was broken by shallow rills and weirdrock outcroppings. Farther out Backbone Ridge began as low mounds ofstone, becoming twisted black stalagmites hunched incongruously againstthe floor of the crater, ending as jagged sharp needles of rock curvingover the plain in a huge arc.

  A moment later he caught sight of his quarry. The invader had cut downto the edge of the plain, abandoning the protection of the ridge, makinga beeline for the nearest rock extrusion on the floor of the crater. Toofar away for a shot. Crag cursed and made a quick judgment, deciding torisk the open terrain in hopes of gaining shelter before the sniper wasaware of his strategy.

  He abandoned the protection of the slope and struck out in a straightline toward the distant mounds on the floor of the crater, keeping hiseyes on the fugitive. They raced across the clearing in parallel paths,several hundred yards apart. The sniper had almost reached the firstrocks when he glanced back. He saw Crag and put on an extra burst ofspeed, reaching the first rocks while Crag was still a hundred yardsfrom the nearest mound. Crag dropped to the ground, thankful that it wasslightly uneven. At best he'd make a poor target. He crawled, keepinghis body low, tossing his head in an effort to shake the perspirationfrom his eyes.

  "How you doing, skipper?" It was Prochaska. Lousy, Crag thought. Hebriefed him without slowing his pace.

  The ashy plain just in front of him spurted in little fountains of whitedust. He dropped flat on his belly with a gasp.

  "You all right?"

  "Okay," Crag gritted. "This boy's just using me for target practice."Prochaska's voice became alarmed. He urged him to retreat.

  "We can get them some other way," he said.

  "Not if they once get that launcher in operation. I'm moving on." Therewas a moment of silence.

  "Okay, skipper, but watch yourself." His voice was reluctant. "And watchyour oxygen."

  "Roger." He checked his gauge and hurriedly switched to the secondcylinder. Now he was on the last one. The trick would be to stretch hisoxygen out until the chase was ended--until the man ahead was a corpse.

  He clung to the floor of the crater, searching for shelter. The groundrose slightly to his right. He crawled toward the rise, noting that theterrain crested high enough to cut his view of the base of the rocks.Satisfied that he was no longer visible, he began inching his way towardthe nearest mounds.