Ben Bova - Test of Fire

Jameson reported, “We’re less than a kilometer from the western end of the base. No resistance. Hardly any sign of life.”

“Slow down,” Alec commanded. “Proceed with caution, but keep advancing. I don’t want any civilians hurt, especially the women.” He pulled a hand-drawn map of the base from his jacket and told Jameson which buildings his troops should seize. “Get the defenders out of the buildings and into the open. Herd them onto the runways of the old airfield.”

“Check,” Jameson said.

Alec gave similar orders to all his unit commanders, worrying about how long he could expect the raider packs to maintain any semblance of discipline. He headed his own truck straight for the row of houses where Angela and Will and Douglas had lived. As the truck rolled alone through the streets between three- and four- story barracks buildings, Alec realized what a target he made for snipers standing alone on the back of the truck alongside the gleaming metal bulk of the laser.

So shoot, he silently told his enemies. You’ll never get a better chance than now.

But there was no firing anywhere. Not even a sign of life in this part of the base. The houses looked cold and empty as the truck pulled up into the dead-end street. They’ve gone, Alec told himself, and realized he was a fool for thinking they might still be here.

He made the driver stop in front of Angela’s house. Swinging down off the truck, pistol flapping at his hip, heavy helmet on his head, Alec remembered the night he had left. He had never pictured his return as being quite like this: the conqueror striding into the deserted enemy camp.

The house was empty. The fireplace cold. It looked dusty, abandoned, as though no one had lived there for weeks. Perhaps months.

Grimly, Alec marched down the street toward Douglas’ house. He knew it was foolish, but still…

He glanced over his shoulder at the truck. The driver sat alone in the armored cab. He had lowered the front armor panel so that he could have more than just a slit to allow fresh air inside.

But he still wore his helmet and his hands were gripping the steering wheel. Ready to leave at an instant’s notice, Alec saw. Constructive cowardice.

The man who wants to save his skin is the man who’s got a chance to live through the day.

Fifteen paces from Douglas’s front door, Alec froze. A mechanical whirring sound, faint but real, stopped him. Like the sound of a gun mount tracking.

He edged off the walkway and stepped close to the shrubbery that was just beginning to turn green, close to the house. One hand on his pistol butt, Alec carefully scanned the empty-looking street.

Nothing.

Then the sound came again, from behind him.

He whirled and crouched as he drew the gun from its holster. Still nothing in sight. But there was something . Something about the house was different, something that had not been there before.

A glint in the corner of his eyes. A metal pole, strapped hastily against the side of the house with an antenna jury-rigged at the top of it. New, still bright in the late-afternoon sunlight that lanced through the smokey gray sky. A cable led down from the antenna to a second-floor window.

The antenna turned, making a mechanical whirring sound as its little electrical motor moved it.

Alec relaxed his grip on the pistol and commanded himself to stop trembling. Looking back at the truck, he saw that the driver had buttoned up his front panel. Alec called to him on his helmet radio. Whispering, he ordered, “Get Jameson and tell him to bring a squad of men here. On the double.”

“Yessir.”

Slowly, as quietly as he could, Alec moved along the side of the house and around to the back door.

It was unlocked. He pushed it inward gently, almost smiling at Douglas’ insistence on good maintenance: the hinges did not squeak.

Once inside he could hear a muffled voice from upstairs. It sounded like Douglas. Alone? Why would he be here and not out in the field with his men?

Alec took the steps two at a time, but very slowly, crouching low and keeping the gun ready for any surprises. With all the stealth he could manage he got to the top of the stairs and moved to the door of the bedroom from which Douglas’ voice was coming.

He checked the other rooms with his eyes. The doors were all open; they appeared empty. Then, after pulling in a deep breath and letting it go, he opened the bedroom door and leaped into the room.

The door banged against the wall as Alec landed on the balls of his feet, crouched, balanced, gun rock-steady in his outstretched hand.

Half the room was filled with radio gear, gray and black boxes jumbled together, dials glowing.

A wild tangle of wires linked the seeming chaos to a thick cable that wormed its way out through the window that was jammed shut over it.

Douglas sat in the bed, an old-fashioned microphone in one huge fist. His left leg was poking out straight from the hip, encased in a white plastic cast. His trousers had been cut away at the hip.

His face looked thinner than before, his hair and beard grayer. His clothes and the bedsheets were rumpled and sweaty-looking. A carbine lay on the bed beside him, with several boxes of ammunition stacked on the table next to the bed.

For an instant Alec crouched there, unmoving.

Then Douglas said, “Well, it’s about time you got here. What kept you?”

Alec blinked at his father. “What happened to your leg?”

Glowering, Douglas grumbled, “Thrown from a goddamned horse, would you believe it? Four days ago. Have to sit out the whole goddamned battle here and try to run things by radio.” He tossed the microphone down on the bed. It bounced and clattered to the floor.

“You could save a lot of lives by telling…”

“I’ve already ordered my people to stop fighting,”

Douglas said. He looked weary, even though his voice was as strong in defeat as ever. “That’s what I was doing while you were trying to sneak up the stairs. And you can put that popgun away, I’m not going to try to shoot you.” Glancing at the carbine beside him, “This thing isn’t even loaded.”

Alec went to the bed and took the gun. He leaned it against the doorjamb, then holstered his pistol.

“You fought a smart fight,” Douglas said grudgingly. “I didn’t expect you to spread out that way.”

Pulling up the room’s only chair, Alec responded, “I didn’t expect you to have tanks.”

“Think I showed you everything?” Douglas laughed.

“Where is she?”

“Angela? I packed her off to one of the villages a week ago, with the rest of the women. They’re all scattered around the valley. She’ll be back, now that the fighting’s over.”

“And Will?”

Douglas shook his head. “Last I heard, his horse had been shot out from under him. Don’t worry about Will, he leads a charmed life.”

Suddenly there was nothing left to talk about.

Everything to be said, but nothing to talk about.

Douglas broke the silence. “So you’ve won.”

“Yes, I’ve won.”

“What are your plans?”

Alec glanced out the window, then returned his gaze to his father’s haggard face. “I came for the fissionables. I’ll take them back to the settlement.”

“You know where they’re stored?”

“You showed me, remember?”

“Oh… oh yes, that’s right. I…”

“Kobol’s got a trained crew to take care of them.”

“Kobol. H’mm.”

Alec blurted, “They’ll want to execute you. You’re a traitor.”

“It figures,” Douglas said easily. “If it weren’t for this damned leg, though, I wouldn’t have been so easy to catch.”

“He’s going to marry mother.” As the words came out of him, Alec realized it was true. He had known it all along, but had never allowed the knowledge to reach conscious realization.