Ben Bova - Moonwar

“No problem. Cartridges’ powder is like a solid rocket propellant. They’ll fire in vacuum, all right.”

“And their impact velocity will be higher than on Earth,” Doug added, “because there’s no air resistance to slow down the bullet.”

“H’mph,” Zimmerman grumped.

“Well, are they gonna come in here or just stand outside and have a cookout?” Anson asked.

“They’ll be here,” Gordette said. “Don’t think they won’t be.”

Munasinghe saw that his troops were well positioned. Better still, there had been no sign of opposition from Moonbase. The base might just as well be abandoned and empty, for all the resistance they had offered so far.

Good, he thought. The troops had been most vulnerable when they were coming out of the spacecraft. If Moonbase could do us any real harm, that was the moment for it. Now we are on the ground, deployed well, and ready to advance.

He was standing behind a massive bulldozer, its heavy metal body a comforting shield between him and the unknown. The machine had been anodized a brilliant Day-Glo orange, but years of use had dulled its finish and spattered it with gray lunar dust. Munasinghe had been warned about the dust; it clung to everything and got into the hinges of spacesuits, it even clouded spacesuit visors, if you weren’t careful. But he estimated that they wouldn’t be out in the open long enough for the dust to be a problem.

Off to one side there was an enormous hole in the ground, a deliberate excavation. Some kind of a trap the Moonbasers were trying to build? he wondered. It looked empty, abandoned, whatever it was supposed to be. He decided it could be ignored—and avoided.

His two lieutanants crouched behind him, although they could only bend partway down in their suits. The newswoman had stayed at his elbow all the way from the spacecraft hatch to their present position.

“Very well,” he said into his helmet microphone, “our forward command post is established. Now we start the advance to their main airlock.”

Peering over the back of the bulldozer, he fumbled for the binoculars clipped to his equipment belt. Even the simplest tasks were troublesome in the bulky gloves. Finally he got the binoculars free, only to bump them jarringly against his visor when he tried to put them up to his eyes.

Hoping that neither his lieutenants nor the newswoman noticed his clumsiness, he held the binoculars steady while their rangefinder automatically focused the optics. Munasinghe made the fine adjustment with a gloved finger and…

The airlock hatch was open!

Munasinghe blinked and stared, not quite believing his eyes. The massive metal outer hatch had been swung open. And the inner hatch, as well. He could see the area inside, it was brightly lit. It looked entirely empty.

Of course, he thought. They took all their equipment out of the garage area to place it on the landing pads, hoping to prevent us from landing.

But why would they leave the airlock hatch open? That means the entire garage area must be in vacuum. Is this some sort of trap?

With the press of a thumb he activated the binoculars’ rangefinder. Its readout appeared in the lower left of his view in red alphanumerics: one point six-six kilometers.

Munasinghe put the binoculars down and studied the ground between him and the open airlock hatch. Not much cover in the area, only a few small rocks, not enough to shelter a man from enemy fire. But there was no other way to reach the main airlock.

The open hatch bothered Munasinghe.

He pressed the stud on his forearm that opened the comm channel back to the ship and asked for Killifer.

“Killifer here.”

“Can you see the main airlock?” Munasinghe asked.

“Yeah. I’m in the cockpit; I can see it on the panel display screen.”

“The hatch is open!”

“Yeah. It is.”

“What does this mean?” Munasinghe demanded.

“Damned if I know.”

“Is it a trap?”

Killifer’s voice sounded exasperated. “How the hell should I know? It sure ain’t normal operating procedure, I can tell you that much.”

Munasinghe thought over the situation for a few moments, wishing he had more information, more options, more time to make a decision. At last he turned to the Norwegian, obviously the taller of his two lieutenants, even in the impersonal spacesuits.

“Move your squad up to the airlock hatch,” Munasinghe commanded. “Second squad will cover you.”

The lieutenant hesitated only the slightest fraction of a second, then replied, “Yessir.”

It looked to Edith as if the airlock hatch was open. She hadn’t thought to bring binoculars with her, and she knew Munasinghe wouldn’t loan his even if she asked. It was a little hard to see in the glare of the lunar daylight, but she could make out the brightly-lit interior of the base against the dark rock face of the mountainside.

Some of the troops were moving up, hip-hopping in the low gravity when they tried to run, despite their weighted boots.

“Is the airlock open?” she asked Munasinghe.

No answer. He was probably on a different frequency, talking to his troops.

Edith thought it over for half a second, then moved away from Munasinghe, around the corner of the bulldozer, and headed across the crater floor, following the advancing troops to the airlock hatch.

It was open. She could see it clearly now. The first of the troopers had reached the open hatch and stopped, dodging around to its sides where they had some protection if anyone inside the big empty chamber tried to shoot at them.

“Where are you going?” she heard Munasinghe’s voice yelling in her earphones. “Stop! I command you to stop!”

Edith grinned and kept on going toward the open airlock hatch.

The control center felt hot and stuffy to Doug. Everyone was watching the chief controller’s main screen, which showed the spacesuited Peacekeeper troops lumbering warily from the tractors scattered across the crater floor to the edge of the open main airlock.

“They won’t go in until their commanding officer comes up and looks around for himself,” said Gordette.

Doug licked his lips. “Are you ready?” he asked Kris Cardenas.

Sitting at one of the control center’s consoles, she nodded slowly.

“Okay then,” Doug told her. “Start the bugs.”

“This had better work,” Jinny Anson muttered.

“It’ll work,” Cardenas said as her fingers moved carefully across the console keyboard. But to Doug she sounded a trifle defensive, as if she weren’t entirely certain.

Brudnoy quipped, “If it doesn’t work we can always surrender.”

Joanna gave her husband a disapproving frown.

It was a big empty chamber carved into the mountain, Edith saw. Glareless strip lights ran across the rough rock ceiling. The floor was stained here and there; probably some sort of garage, she figured. But now it’s empty and all their vehicles are parked outside.

Not a soul in sight.

And painted on the floor in bright blood-red letters she saw:

She stared at the words, neatly stencilled on the smooth rock floor.

Munasinghe’s angry voice grated in her earphones. “You were to stay behind me! You had no right to run up here on your own!”

Turning, she saw the captain galumphing awkwardly toward her. Edith grinned inside her helmet: the leader of the troop has to run hard to stay abreast of his troopers.

Ignoring his pique, Edith pointed to the lettering on the garage floor. “Look,” she said.