Chapter 16 - THE SECRET BEHIND THE MOON

"WHAT?" SAID CARGRAVES and looked where he was pointing.

"This is no space ship," Art said bitterly. "This thing is a jeep. Look at that." He indicated two gauges. One was marked SAUERSTOFF, the other ALKOHOL. "Oxygen and alcohol. This thing is just a kiddy wagon."

"Maybe those are just for the maneuvering jets," Cargraves answered, not very hopefully.

"Not a chance, Doc," Ross put in. "I've already given her the once-over, with Art translating the Jerry talk for me. Besides, did you notice that this boat hasn't any wings of any sort? It's purely a station wagon for the moon. Look, we've got company."

The prisoner had opened his eyes and was trying to sit up. Cargraves grabbed him by a shoulder, yanked him to his feet, and shoved him into the chair he had just vacated. "Now, you," he snapped. "Talk!"

The man looked dazed and did not answer. "Better try German on him, Uncle," Art suggested. "The labels are all in German."

Cargraves reached far back into his technical education and shifted painfully to German. "What is your name?"

"My name is Friedrich Lenz, sergeant-technician of the second class. To whom am I speaking?"

"Answer the questions you are asked. Why did you bomb our ship?"

"In line of duty. I was ordered."

"That is not a reason. Why did you bomb a peaceful ship?" The man simply looked sullen. "Very well," Cargraves went on, still speaking in German. "Get the air lock open, Art. We'll throw this trash out on the face of the moon."

The self-styled sergeant-technician suddenly began talking very rapidly. Cargraves wrinkled his forehead. "Art," he said, returning to English, "you'll have to help me out. He's slinging it too fast for me."

"And translate!" protested Ross. "What does he say?"

"I'll try," Art agreed, then shifted to German. "Answer the question over again. Speak slowly."

"Ia-" the man agreed, addressing his words to Cargraves.

"Herr Kapitan!" Art thundered at him.

"Ja, Herr Kapitan," the man complied respectfully, "I was trying to explain to you-" He went on at length.

Art translated when he paused. "He says that he is part of the crew of this rocket. He says that it was commanded by Lieutenant—I didn't catch the name; it's one of the guys we shot—and that they were ordered by their leader to seek out and bomb a ship at this location. He says that it was not a—uh, a wanton attack because it was an act of war."

"War?" demanded Ross. "What in thunder does he mean, ‘war'? There's no war. It was sheer attempted murder."

Art spoke with the prisoner again.

"He says that there is a war, that there always has been a war. He says that there will always be war until the National Socialist Reich is victorious." He listened for a moment. "He says that the Reich will live a thousand years."

Morrie used some words that Cargraves had never heard him use before. "Ask him how he figures that one."

"Never mind," put in Cargraves. "I'm beginning to get the picture." He addressed the Nazi directly. "How many are there in your party, how long has it been on the moon, and where is your base?"

Presently Art said, "He claims he doesn't have to answer questions of that sort, under international law."

"Hummph! You might tell him that the laws of warfare went out when war was abolished. But never mind—tell him that, if he wants to claim prisoner-of-war privileges, we'll give him his freedom, right now!" He jerked a thumb at the air lock.

He had spoken in English, but the prisoner understood the gesture. After that he supplied details readily.

He and his comrades had been on the moon for nearly three months. They had an underground base about thirteen miles west of the crater in which the shattered Galileo lay. There was one rocket at the base, much larger than the Galileo, and it, too, was atom-powered. He regarded himself as a member of the army of the Nazi Reich. He did not know why the order had been given to blast the Galileo, but he supposed that it was an act of military security to protect their plans.

"What plans?"

He became stubborn again. Cargraves actually opened the inner door of the lock, not knowing himself how far he was prepared to go to force information out of the man, when the Nazi cracked.

The plans were simple—the conquest of the entire earth. The Nazis were few in number, but they represented some of the top military, scientific, and technical brains from Hitler's crumbled empire. They had escaped from Germany, established a remote mountain base, and there had been working ever since for the redemption of the Reich. The sergeant appeared not to know where the base was; Cargraves questioned him closely. Africa? South America? An island? But all that he could get out of him was that it was a long submarine trip from Germany.

But it was the objective, der Tag, which left them too stunned to worry about their own danger. The Nazis had atom bombs, but, as long as they were still holed up in their secret base on earth, they dared not act, for the UN had them, too, and in much greater quantity.

But when they achieved space flight, they had an answer. They would sit safely out of reach on the moon and destroy the cities of earth one after another by guided missiles launched from the moon, until the completely helpless nations of earth surrendered and pleaded for mercy.

The announcement of the final plan brought another flash of arrogance back into their prisoner. "And you cannot stop it," he concluded. "You may kill me, but you cannot stop it! Heil dem Führer!"

"Mind if I spit in his eye, Doc?" Morrie said conversationally.

"Don't waste it," Cargraves counseled. "Let's see if we can think ourselves out of this mess. Any suggestions?" He hauled the prisoner out of the chair and made him lie face down on the deck. Then he sat down on him. "Go right ahead," he urged. "I don't think he understands two words of English. How about it, Ross?"

"Well," Ross answered, "it's more than just saving our necks now. We've got to stop them. But the notion of tackling fifty men with two rifles and two pistols sounds like a job for Tarzan or Superman. Frankly, I don't know how to start."

"Maybe we can start by scouting them out. Thirteen miles isn't much. Not on the moon."

"Look," said Art, "in a day or two I might have a transmitter rigged that would raise earth. What we need is reinforcements."

"How are they going to get here?" Ross wanted to know. "We had the only space ship—except for the Nazis."

"Yes, but listen—Doc's plans are still available. You left full notes with Ross's father—didn't you, Doc? They can get busy and rebuild some more and come up here and blast those skunks out."

"That might be best," Cargraves answered. "We can't afford to miss, that's sure. They could raid the earth base of the Nazis first thing and then probably bust this up in a few weeks, knowing that our ship did work and having our plans."

Morrie shook his head. "It's all wrong. We've got to get at them right now. No delay at all, just the way they smashed us. Suppose it takes the UN six weeks to get there. Six weeks might be too long. Three weeks might be too long. A week might be too long. An atom war could be all over in a day."

"Well, let's ask our pal if he knows when they expect to strike, then," Ross offered.

Morrie shook his head and stopped Art from doing so. "Useless. We'll never get a chance to build a transmitter. They'll be swarming over this crater like reporters around a murder trial. Look—they'll be here any minute. Don't you think they'll miss this rocket?"

"Oh, my gosh!" It was Art. Ross added, "What time is it, Doc?"

To their complete amazement it was only forty minutes from the time the Galileo had been bombed. It had seemed like a full day.