Eagle Station

Forty-Eight

Inside the cockpit of his KLVM robot, Sentinel Two, Major Andrei Bezrukov scowled, deeply discontented by the hours they’d wasted patrolling around and around the outer perimeter of Korolev Base. Of the three cosmonauts stationed on the moon, he was the only one who’d completed the advanced cybernetic war machine combat course back on Earth. During the preparations for Operation Heaven’s Thunder, Lavrentyev and Yanin had been given a few weeks of basic training, just enough to teach them how to pilot the robots and employ their weapons and sensors. But neither of them fully comprehended the best way to use these fearsome machines in real warfare.

By their nature, KLVMs were better suited to offensive operations — quick, slashing commando-style raids using their incredible speed and agility. This kind of static defense robbed them of most of their advantages. Worse yet, it risked yielding the initiative to the Americans. Why give the enemy the luxury of choosing when and how to open this inevitable action?

The simulated battles Bezrukov had fought through during his intensive training in Siberia’s Kuznetskiy Alatau mountains had shown the importance of constant movement. Data-linked war robots won by orchestrating swift surprise attacks from unexpected directions. For a KLVM pilot, speed was life. Hunkering down like this, tied to a fixed position, was asking for trouble.

Continuing on his assigned circuit, he strode rapidly along the outer edge of the high crater wall — using his infrared and other sensors to scan the barren slopes below. Nothing, he realized. As usual. His scowl deepened as he passed one of the big, four-legged Chinese cargo landers off to his left. This was pretty much the boundary of Korolev Base. A few hundred meters beyond the grounded Mă Luó, this relatively wide, plateau-like portion of Engel’gardt’s rim fell away and narrowed down to a knife-edged ridge as it curved around to the north and west. Several kilometers away, a rugged spur of rock snaked upward a couple of thousand meters to join the main crater wall.

Bezrukov’s eyes narrowed. Ripples and folds along the steep ridge between this high point and that spur created occasional patches of dead ground — areas that were impossible to observe from here because of undulations in the terrain. He’d spotted this potential covered approach to the base hours ago, on his first patrol. But Lavrentyev, afraid to weaken their perimeter defenses, had denied him permission to go beyond the plateau itself. Now, just looking out across this area of vulnerability every time he circled around the perimeter was a constant irritant.

Just then he felt a sharp jolt sizzle across his brain as the KLVM’s computer sent an alert through his neural link. Weak Ku-band radio transmissions detected, it warned him. Signatures consistent with U.S. multifunction advanced data link.

Location? he snapped.

Impossible to triangulate, the computer admitted. Insufficient data.

Bezrukov grimaced. Those data links were built into America’s F-35 Lightning II fighters and B-2 Spirit strategic bombers… and its own combat robots, the Cybernetic Infantry Devices. A cold chill ran down his spine. He suddenly felt as though someone out there was watching him.

True, speed was life. But so was trained intuition, he decided. Abruptly, he turned and strode away to the left, acting as though he were simply continuing his routine patrol around to the other side of Korolev Base. But this time, once he was far enough back on the plateau to be out of sight of anyone advancing along that narrow ridgeline, he darted behind the Chinese cargo lander. From there, staying low, he headed east to the very edge of the rim wall… and then out onto the steep slope beyond it.

Carefully, Bezrukov descended a couple hundred meters and then swung back to the north — moving across the slope instead of down it. Pebbles dislodged by his KLVM’s feet rolled away downhill. For a moment, he considered reporting his suspicions to Lavrentyev and Yanin. Then he discarded the idea as too risky. The Americans were close enough now for him to pick up their data-link signals, so they would certainly be able to detect his own radio transmissions.

Instead, he raised his 30mm autocannon and kept going. If the Americans had already sneaked up onto the crater rim, they were about to learn a hard lesson in tactics: dead ground worked both ways.

Brad edged along the steep slope, one step at a time — cautiously testing his footing before allowing the robot’s full weight to come down. Taking a spill here was not an option, not unless he wanted to tumble head-over-heels several thousand feet down to the base of the crater rim. A hundred yards farther on, the ridge he was traversing bulged outward in a fold that hid him from the higher ground ahead. Nadia was behind him, out of sight beyond another undulation in the slope. Once he took up a covering position, she would come forward to join him.

Warning. Hostile to the front, his CLAD’s computer snapped.

A Russian war machine reared up from behind the same bulge that he’d planned to use as cover. Its 30mm cannon flashed once, eerily silent in the absence of any atmosphere. The round slammed into his robot’s torso armor with bone-crushing force, knocking him sideways. Bits of shattered thermal tiles spun off into space.

Jesus, he thought in shock. Desperately, he dug his feet into the ground and powered up his electromagnetic rail gun.

Another 30mm shell hammered his right shoulder. Right arm hydraulics damaged. Torso armor holding, but significantly degraded. Fuel Cells Three and Four down. Battery circuit one-bravo damaged. Torso and right arm thermal and chameleon camouflage partially compromised, his computer warned. Lifesupport capability down to less than eight hours. Accompanying detailed damage reports flooded through his neural link, appearing as a display where whole sections of system schematics were lit with red and yellow caution and warning flags. Resolutely, Brad ignored them. A third round tore across one side of his robot’s hexagonal-shaped head — ripping away sensor panels and shielded antennas. Darkness fell across part of his vision.

Rail gun ready.

He squeezed the trigger. In a burst of bright, white plasma, a tungsten-steel alloy slug smashed into the Russian war machine at more than thirty-eight hundred miles per hour and ripped it apart. Molten fragments sprayed outward from the point of impact. Its antenna-studded head spiraled off across the slope.

Deflected from its course as it slashed through the enemy robot, the glowing rail gun round arrowed across the black sky like a meteor in reverse. Christ, Brad wondered numbly, is the damned thing headed into orbit?

Negative, his computer assured him. Its velocity has been reduced below orbital speeds. It should impact on the other side of the moon, somewhere near the Sea of Tranquility.

Which would make it the longest ricochet in human history, he realized — not sure whether to laugh or cry at his narrow escape. His robot was damaged, but, miraculously, its hull was still intact, despite being bushwhacked at point-blank range. He shook his head, trying to regain focus.

“Brad!” Nadia called.

He turned. Her robot came bounding along the slope toward him, moving with reckless speed. She skidded to a stop beside him. Rocks and dirt scattered through a wide arc. “You must fall back!” she said urgently. “Leave the rest to me!”

Brad set his jaw. “Not happening.” He tossed his now-useless rail gun aside, and used the robot’s undamaged left arm to pull another weapon, a 25mm Bushmaster autocannon suitably modified for lunar combat, out of the pack slung across its back. “My ride’s taken a beating, but it’s operational.” More red and yellow warnings cascaded through his neural link as additional systems dropped off line. “Okay, mostly operational,” he corrected himself.

He checked his functioning sensors. There was still no sign of the other Russian war machines headed toward them, but this momentary lull wouldn’t last long. Even if the two remaining enemy pilots didn’t yet know their compatriot was dead, they’d figure it out soon enough. “The subtle approach just went to shit, so we’re down to one option—”

“We go in quick and dirty,” Nadia finished.

He nodded. “I’ll head left along this side of the rim wall. You move to the right, along the other side of this ridge. Use your camouflage systems to sneak through any kill zones you run into.”

“And you?”

“I’ll do the same,” Brad promised, mentally crossing his fingers behind his back. Even if he could still afford the power drain, a full third of his thermal tiles and chameleon plates were either damaged or destroyed. Both camouflage systems were basically reduced to just deadweight. When he charged toward the Sino-Russian base, he was going to be right out in the open — an easy mark for any enemy robot in position. That sucked, but right now their best chance to win this battle was to catch the enemy in a pincer move. If the Russians fixated on him and missed detecting Nadia, giving her a shot at them from behind, so much the better. After all, it doesn’t count as suicide if you’ve still got a chance to survive, he told himself.

Instinctively, her robot’s right hand came up and gently caressed the battle-scarred side of his own machine’s head. “Remember that I love you,” she said softly. Then she turned and headed upslope at a run — already fading from view as she activated her stealth systems.