Гарри Гаррисон - To The Stars

As the hours dragged by rage gave way to apathy; the numbness of the condemned man in his cell, waiting for the wardens. Jan thought about the road that he had followed, that had led him to this spot, at this particular time. Although he had no desire to die, he could not see how he could have done anything differently, could have followed any other path, taken any different decisions. His life was what it was, he had no regrets, other than that it was just being terminated a little earlier than he had planned.

“And now the last act begins,” Skougaard said with grim Scandinavian fatalism as sudden explosions flared in space ahead. “They send their first missiles even though it is extreme range, knowing they can’t hit us — but knowing that we have no choice, that we must expend our anti-missile defenses. Attrition.”

The steady attack by the enemy missiles continued relentlessly — then stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

“Our reserves are down to twenty percent,” Skougaard said. “What kind of cat and mouse game are they playing at?”

“Radio contact is clear,” the operator said. “On our frequency, but emanating from the Earth ships. They want to talk to you, Admiral.”

Skougaard hesitated a moment, then shrugged. “Put them through.”

A communication screen flicked on with the image of a full-bearded man in full dress Space Force uniform.

“I thought it might be you, Ryzard,” the Admiral said. “Why are you calling?”

“To offer you terms, Skougaard.”

“Surrender? I don’t think I like that. You’ll only kill us all in the end anyway.”

“Of course. But you’ll get a few more weeks of life. A trial, a military execution.”

“Sounds charming but not very attractive. And just what arrangements have you made for my ships to surrender?”

“Ship. Singular. They want you and your Dannebrog as a memorial to the failed rebellion. The other ship with you, which I assume is a troop carrier, we are blowing up. That is another kind of memorial for the rebellion.”

“You can go to hell, Ryzard, you and the rest of your murderers.”

“I thought you might say that. You always were stubborn…”

“One question, Ryzard, a last favor for an old classmate. You were informed of our plans, weren’t you?”

Ryzard brushed his fingers slowly through his beard before answering. “It can do no harm now to tell you. We knew exactly what you were going to do. You never stood a chance. Our information came right from the top…”

Skougaard broke the connection with a slap of his hand. “Thurgood-Smythe. The galaxy would have been a better place if he had been smothered as an infant…”

A buzzer sounded stridently for attention, a red light began pulsing on one of the screens at the same time. Skougaard swung about to look at it.

“Earth-launched missiles,” he said. “They are going to a lot of trouble to make certain of their kill. Those big ones have multiple atomic warheads. Can’t be stopped by anything that we can put in front of them now. Must be a dozen of them. Launched in counter orbit, they’ll be here in seconds… but no! That can’t be possible!”

“What?” Jan asked. “What do you mean?”

The Admiral was struck speechless, could only point at the screen. Jan looked, seeing the plotted course of the new attack, the three enemy ships.

Distant explosions flared in space as the missiles pressed home their attack. But not at the rebels, not at all.

It was the three attacking ships had been destroyed.

The missiles had been aimed at them, not the two rebel ships, had punched through their defenses, had vaporized them utterly in the instant hell of atomic explosions.

It was unbelievable — but it had happened. In a single instant defeat had been turned to victory. In the stunned silence that followed the Admiral’s voice bellowed out clearly.

“Make a signal,” he said, an uncontrollable tremor in his voice. “Secure for retrofiring. And prepare for landing. Enemy forces destroyed. We’re going in!”

Down out of the clear blue sky the two great spaceships fell. There was no ground control, no contact with Spaceconcent control, so they were not being guided into the landing pits. They were aimed instead for the wide stretches of concrete of the airfield. Well clear of the transport planes, they dropped down on thundering spires of flame in a crushing five-G landing. Strapped to their bunks, fighting for breath where an 80-kilo man suddenly weighed 400 kilos, the crews and the soldiers waited. As the landing legs touched the engines were cut — and they were on the ground. The reinforced concrete buckled and cracked under their weight, but the computers compensated instantly for the difference and the ships remained upright.

As the engines shut down aboard the Dannebrog the shields snapped away from the outside cameras and the scene appeared on every screen inside the ship. The troop carrier, with smoke still billowing up around it, suddenly changed shape as all of its cargo doors and hatches were blown out at the same instant. Landing ramps reached out and crashed down into place, while folding ladders rattled down from the open ports. The attack was on. Light tanks hurtled down the ramps and out through the smoke while soldiers swarmed like ants down the ladders. There was no sign of opposition and the attackers spread out as quickly as they could, racing toward the buildings at the edge of the field.

Admiral Skougaard was listening in on the combat circuit. He nodded with pleasure then leaned over and switched the radio off.

“They’re down and safe,” he said. “Contact made with the Israelis and they have joined forces to knock out all of the remaining resistance. We’ve done our job. Now it’s up to them.”

Jan watched the troops fan out through the buildings until they had vanished from sight, his thoughts going around and around and refusing to settle down. Was this it — really it? Was the war over — or would the Earth troops continue the fighting? They could not be stopped if they did; the defenders would be overrun, wiped out. But the base would be destroyed. Was the threat of this great enough to prevent the disaster…

“Here,” Skougaard said, pushing a waterglass toward Jan. “We will drink to success now — and victory to follow soon after.”

It was akvavit not water that filled the glass and the Admiral drained his with pleasure, smacking his lips. Jan took a large swallow which was more than enough.

“Ground transportation on the way,” the radio operator said. The Admiral nodded.

“Good. We’ll use the engine room lock.”

The combat car was braking to a skidding stop as they came out, the blue and white emblem of the Earth forces still marked on its side — although it was pierced by an ominous scatter of bullet holes. The Israeli driver threw the door open for them.

“They want you both at HQ,” she said, and the vehicle hurled itself forward as soon as they were inside, squealing about in a tight turn and rushing toward the exit. They bumped through the debris where an opening had been blown in the fence and on into the streets beyond. Smoking wreckage marked the scenes of the worst fighting; crumpled bodies as well. There had been losses, heaviest around the control building that had been the prime target. A field headquarters had been set up in the ground floor. They entered it by the simple expedient of walking through the gaping hole that had been blown in the outer wall. General Blonstein was talking on the radio link, but he dropped the handset when they came in and hurried over to greet them.

“We have won here,” he said. “The last defenders have just surrendered. But there are two enemy armored columns coming this way, as well as regiments of paratroops. We hope to have them stopped well before they arrive. Negotiations are going forward now and all the problems seem to be in hand.” He made a gesture toward the adjoining desk, at the man seated there and talking on the phone. Even from the back it was easy to recognize Thurgood-Smythe. He disconnected and turned to face them.