"Hold tight," Captain Thomas said. The thrusters roared in reality around him as Bucephalus deboosted from orbit. The quartermaster and medic ships assigned to his attack lander followed Bucephalus down.
Alexander thought how good this would look in his biography. After having demonstrated his superior strategic planning ability by successfully carrying out one of the most complicated military endeavors ever attempted, he then proceeded to demonstrate his tactical brilliance by personally leading the attack on the last of the opposition.
"Hang tight, Colonel Melrose," he said. "I'll be right there." He started to think of his plan of attack. It would have to be unconventional, for he was sure that Colonel Melrose had tried all the conventional approaches.
"You tried getting around behind them using three-men hoverjets, I presume," Alexander said.
"They sabotaged the ones at the quartermaster ship they attacked," Commander Melrose said. "And when the quartermaster in C Group attempted to bring in some hoverjets for the troops to use, they shot them down with the miniseekers. One dead and six injured in the crashes."
A good fraction of the total casualties in the whole damn campaign, Alexander thought. Those neocommie sons of bitches are ruining my war. I ought to let Melrose blow 'em to bloody bits with missiles. No ... would look bad if I took the easy way out. Must be some way to get at those pinko bastards.
"Landing in five minutes!" Captain Thomas warned.
Suddenly Alexander had an idea. "Take us in ten kilometers up Boreal Canyon from the base, Betsy," Alexander said. The Bucephalus tilted abruptly.
"Landing in three minutes, then," Captain Thomas said.
Alexander put on his helmet. The hold of the ship was evacuated to Martian pressure and the inner airlock door opened.
The deliberately overpowered and underloaded Bucephalus floated to a landing on a patch of windswept crust, the quartermaster and medic ships crunching to a halt on either side of the general's personal attack lander. His personal guards were out of the airlock and deployed in defensive positions around the lander within seconds after the dust had settled. Alexander exited from the airlock and started off in a long, loping stride toward the medic ship.
THE THREE Russians on top of the glacier were arguing among themselves and with their comrades trapped inside Novomurmansk base at the North Pole of Mars.
"We've just received word from Novomoskovsk that they have surrendered," a voice from the base said. "That's every base except Novovladivostok at the South Pole, and we've been out of contact with them since the attack started. It isn't any use holding out any longer. We are outnumbered and there is no one to rescue us."
"I am still commissar of Novorossiysk," the fat Russian said, firing a shot from the captured accugun at the top plate of a foxmobile below him. "And I say we will hold out as long as is necessary to achieve victory over these bloodthirsty American wolves in United Nations fleeces, and their sniveling lackeys."
"It's that sort of Neocommunist rhetoric that got us into this predicament," the tall Russian shouted, also firing an occasional shot to keep the attackers below pinned down. "If you hadn't gone and claimed Mars for the New Soviet Union, we would still be in control here."
"My arm is getting numb," the small Russian said, sitting on the ice behind a rock and holding his injured arm.
"Let me take a look at it," the tall one said, bending over to release the tourniquet on the outside of the thin Marsuit and checking the patch over the entry point of the pellet. There was no way to check if the bleeding had stopped inside. "Hold your arm above your head and turn your glove heat on high. If you still feel blood trickling down your arm after a minute, I'll have to retighten the tourniquet."
"I didn't claim Mars for the Union," the commissar objected. "I said I was claiming it in the name of the New Soviet Union for the good of all mankind." He fired another shot at the base of a foxmobile that was up on its wheels and attempting to move with a trooper crawling inside. A flashing red light appeared out of the top of the foxmobile. A hopper lifted in the distance and came toward them. The commissar reached for a miniseeker.
"Don't throw!" the tall one said, holding on to his arm. "Can't you see it's a medical ship? Look at the red crosses on it."
The commissar put down the miniseeker and chuckled. "At least I dislodged another periwinkle." They watched as the medical hopper zoomed to the foxmobile with the flashing red light and stopped. Two medics jumped out, pulled the limping trooper from the foxmobile, placed him in the enclosed stretcher pod between their seats, and took off for the medical lander in the distance.
"It's still trickling," the small Russian said in a weak voice. The tall Russian went over, tightened the tourniquet, then rubbed the arm below the injury. What their side needed was one of those medical evacuation craft. The small Russian stirred and pointed off in the distance.
"There's something coming up behind us!"
The commissar whirled around to see three hoppers coming straight for them. He reached for a miniseeker, then just held it in his hand as the hoppers came to a halt some distance away. He saw that they, too, had red crosses on their sides. A voice speaking poor Russian came over the international emergency channel.
"You have injured one. Can we help?"
"I feel dizzy," the small Russian said, and slumped onto the ice. The tall one kneeled at his side. As if that were a signal, one of the hoppers moved slowly forward toward the injured man and came to a stop. The two medics aboard jumped out to help the tall Russian carry the injured man toward the enclosed stretcher pod.
As they approached the hopper, the stretcher pod popped open. A figure in a golden battle suit with a crested helmet hopped out, the business end of his .45 rocketgun making a steady bright red dot on the chest of the commissar. At the same instant the other stretcher pods on the other two hoppers opened to show armed men. Then, all the "medics" pulled handguns from beneath their red-cross-covered chestpacks and leveled them at the Russians.
The commissar froze and dropped his accugun. Then, carefully holding the miniseeker between two fingers, he lowered it slowly to the ground. While all eyes and guns were on the commissar, the tall Russian suddenly rushed the gilded trooper and started hitting him on the faceplate with both fists, screaming in English.
"How dare you violate sanctity of Red Cross!"
Alexander, surprised by the unarmed Russian, tried to fend off the unexpected blows. He was slightly shorter, but had the muscular body and training of a boxer. He went into a clinch.
Peering through the visor of his captive, he saw the enraged blue eyes and short blond hair of a woman!
Suddenly, through the two tinted faceplates, she too saw his face for the first time. Her eyes opened wide in recognition, and she collapsed onto his chest and hugged him around the waist, crying and babbling in English, her voice echoing through where their helmets touched.
"It's you! Thank God, it's you! Hold me tight!"
CHAPTER 3
The Conqueror
THE COMMISSAR looked dourly at the sign tossed to one side of the door to his office. The sign had been broken in two by someone's knee, but he could still read the Cyrillic characters on it: Ivan Petrovich—Commissar of Novorossiysk. In its place on the door was a hastily written name done with the bold strokes of a black marking pen. The door now said: Gen. A. Armstrong—Commanding.
In permanent ink, the commissar thought. He waited patiently, hands handcuffed behind his back, while his two guards had a brief conversation with the guards on either side of the door.
"The ex-big cheese," the trooper to his left said.
"General Armstrong said to send him right in," the guard said, opening the door.
"Come right in, Commissar Petrovich," Alexander said, leaning back in the inflated easy chair in back of the commissar's desk. "You can take off the handcuffs, Sergeant, and wait outside. I'm sure I can handle him if he's so foolish as to try anything."
General Armstrong waved to a long,
segmented plastic chaise lounge against one wall. Its dark blue base sections were filled with water to hold it still, while the light blue arms and backs were inflated with air. "Sit down," he said pleasantly.
Leaning back further and looking around, Alexander said, "Nice office you have here. I, of course, will be using it in the future ... your quarters, too. I'm sure the boys can find you a bed in an apartment somewhere in the guarded wing."
Alexander suddenly turned serious, leaned forward on the desk, and stared at Ivan. The famous crow's-feet pattern formed once again on Alexander's face, but there was no smile underneath.
"I want the passwords!"
"They won't do you any good. I had the sensitive memory banks erased the minute I knew we were under attack."
"So the owlies in my Signals Group informed me. But they ferreted out the command log and found that each of the files had been copied onto holocube by your meticulous computer operators before being erased from the mainframe memory."
"The idiots!"
"And we have the holoblock," Alexander continued, finally smiling. "There aren't too many places you can hide things in a pressurized base." The smile faded abruptly. "I want the passwords!"
"No!" Ivan said, confident that there was nothing serious that these soft-hearted Americans could do to him that could make him talk. He could take solitary confinement with nothing but bread and water. Would do him good to lose a little weight.
"You, personally, killed one of my troopers and injured at least eight others," Alexander said in a low voice. "I have not yet officially declared the invasion over. We are still in the process of confirming all casualties on your side. If you do not give me the passwords now, you will be the last one."
Ivan remained silent.
"Guards!" Alexander hollered. The door opened and the troopers came in.
"Escort this man out the west lock—without a suit!"
"Sir?" the sergeant said.
"That is a direct order, Sergeant!" Alexander snapped. He glanced at the other troopers. "These men are your witnesses. Carry on."
"Yes sir!"
While one trooper held a gun pointed at him, two other troopers pulled Ivan roughly from the soft sofa, and the sergeant snapped on the handcuffs. Alexander came around the desk and held the door open.
"Good-bye, Commissar Ivan Petrovich. Are you sure you don't want to let me have the passwords?"
"No!" Ivan answered, sure that the general was bluffing.
"Good!" Alexander said with an evil smile, his eyes narrow slits at the ends of the furrowed crow's-feet. "For I will never forgive you for doubling the butcher bill in what was to be my crowning glory." He pushed his face into Ivan's and sneered.
"I don't get mad at people, Comrade Petrovich. I get rid of them." He stood back, holding the door open.
"Take him away, Sergeant."
As the sergeant and a trooper marched Ivan down the corridor, guns now drawn, Alexander leaned in the doorway and continued talking, almost as if to himself.
"Of course, if the passwords are ten-digit random numbers, then it will take my owlies years to find them. But if they're words, there are only some hundred thousand words in the Russian language. That should take them less than a week. Besides, we found Commissar Petrovich's publicity profile. You'd be surprised at the detail. His wife's parents' names ... all the names and nicknames of his children ... even the names of his two dogs ..."
"Wait!" Ivan cried, far down the hall.
"Take him to the Signals Group," Alexander hollered down the hall to the sergeant. "And if he isn't fully cooperative, you know what to do!" He slammed the door behind him.
TANYA Pavlova's mind was churning with mixed emotions. The troopers had been kind to her, but had insisted on the handcuffs. She looked at the door ahead of her. The words General and Armstrong seemed like a contradiction in terms. But a lot had happened in the past eight years. The barriers between the two countries had slammed shut again after the Neocommunist coup and very little news about her old friends in the United States had filtered through.
The guards opened the door and she walked in.
"Tanya Pavlova," Alexander said, smiling pleasantly. "The last time I saw you, you were hitting my head with your fists. But I'm sure you won't be doing that now, will you?" He turned to the guards. "You can take off the handcuffs."
He waited until the two troopers left, then spoke to his personal guard at his door.
"We are not to be disturbed for any reason, Sergeant."
"Yes sir!" the sergeant said, a twinge of a smile at the corner of his lips as he looked at the rear of the slim, curvy woman in the two-piece coveralls.
After the door was closed, Alexander smiled and came around the desk to stand in front of Tanya. She hung her head and tried to avoid looking him directly in the face as he spoke to her.
"I also remember that you said something out there on the glacier. 'Hold me tight,' you said. It was a little hard to do it then, but I'm ready now." He stretched out his arms to her.
"I'm so mixed up," Tanya protested, putting her hands on his forearms and running them slowly up onto his massive, boxer's biceps. "My body wants me to throw myself into your arms, but my brain insists you are the enemy."
"We don't have to be enemies any longer," Alexander said, stepping closer. She took one step toward him, then whirled around and faced away.
He moved closer and slowly placed his hands on her shoulders. She tensed up. He softly rubbed her shoulders and neck until the tenseness eased. He ran his hands down her arms, moved closer, then put his hands on her waist, at the same time letting his lips brush the back of her neck. She leaned back into his arms.
He kissed one side of her neck, then the other, as his hands moved up her body. Slowly he cupped his hands around her breasts. She did not protest.
Suddenly she grabbed his left hand with both of hers and looked down at it.
"You're not Gus!" She whirled around in his arms to look him closely in the face for the first time.
"I'm better than Gus. I've got all my fingers—the better to feel you with, my dear." His fingers squeezed her from behind as if to illustrate.
"Stop!" she said, reaching down to take his hands off her.
"Why should we stop?" Alexander argued, grabbing one wrist and putting it behind her, pulling her close once again. "You were certainly enjoying yourself. Why not continue? We even have a soft sofa to finish things off with." He started to unbutton her shirt.
"No! Stop! I'll scream," she said, backing away.
"The guards won't come in," he said, grabbing her short blond hair roughly with his other hand. He pulled her head up and his tongue raped her mouth.
She wrestled away, but he finally got both her hands behind her back. He started walking her toward the couch.
"You can't deny you came here ready for this. You know you're enjoying every moment. But if you're going to play at being a tease, first turning me on, and then saying 'No,' I may have to get rough with you."
He threw her on the sofa.
There was a loud, insistent knock on the door.
"I said I was not to be disturbed!" Alexander shouted at the door.
The loud, insistent knock was repeated and the door opened.
"Gus!" Tanya said, trying to button up her shirt.
"I see you've met Alex," Gus said. He turned to Alexander.
"We still have an invasion to finish off, Alex. Don't you think Tanya should return to her quarters and you two could continue this discussion at some other time?"
"Gus! I—he—" Tanya stammered.
"Sure ... we'll continue our conversation at some other time," Alexander said with a smirk, regaining his composure and taking command of the situation. "Guards! Take her away!"
Tanya gave one more embarrassed glance at Gus and went quickly out the door.
Alexander returned to his seat behind the desk, while Gus paced firmly back and forth in front of the desk.
"I hadn't hea
rd from you in some time, Alex," Gus said. "Since there was a shuttle coming down bringing the technicians to repair the base, I got a ride on it. According to our situation analysts up with the fleet, you have things completely under control. Isn't it time we reverted to civilian command?"
"I still have to collect all the neocommies on Mars here at Olympia base, then ship them up for the return flight back to Earth," Alexander countered. "But first I have to find out who the KGB agents are, so I can keep them under tight security. I should have that information shortly, once we get the passwords to the personnel files."
"Alex, I agree that the politicians and the KGB agents should go. But the knowledge that the technicians and scientists have about running the base and exploring Mars will be valuable."
"Every technician is a potential saboteur and every scientist a probable spy," Alexander said. "I say we should send them all back!"
"I still think the technicians and scientists can be useful," Gus insisted. "I know most of them from before the Neocommunist coup. They're the top people in their field, and they've got more years of field experience than our best planetary scientists. I've even coauthored papers on near-Earth asteroid composition with Viktor Braginsky and lunar vulcanism with Tanya Pavlova."
"That Tanya is some volcano, herself." Alexander laughed. "You two must have done more than coauthor papers together."
"We did spend a couple of months together on the Moon in a solar-powered crawler," Gus admitted. "We were exploring the Aristarchus Crater volcanic field."
"Now I understand why you want her to stay here on Mars," Alexander said, a smirk growing on his face and his eyes disappearing in the crow's-feet folds. "No, dear brother, she goes back with me as a prisoner, and I get a chance at taming the blond vixen."
"To you, she's nothing but a woman to screw!" Gus yelled, his fury at what his brother had tried to do breaking through. He took a deep, steadying breath. "We need her planetary expertise here on Mars," he said firmly.
"Not if I have anything to say about it!" Alexander shouted.
There was a pause as the two glared at each other.
Martian Rainbow Page 4
