The Soviet troops assigned to the second chamber had come down on a two-hundred-meter-wide strip of parkland separating the river from the southern cap. The squads had regrouped at two points on opposite sides of the zero bridge, each about three kilometers from that objective. Communications with the squads on the opposite side of the bridge were good.
Mirsky’s group had taken shelter in a dense forest of gnarled pines; they had determined the bridge was heavily guarded and would soon be reinforced; they had to strike now. The equipment had not yet been dropped from Zhiguli, heavy-lifter seven, and fully three-fourths of the thirty squads were not up to full strength. Attrition in the bore hole had been hideous, and of those who survived the bore hole, about one out of twenty had not completed the journey and para-sail drop.
The squads were designed for flexibility; surviving sergeants shepherded broken squads together to form new ones.
Mirsky had only 210 soldiers in his immediate command and, of course, little hope of getting more. Nobody knew how many had survived the drops in the other chambers.
Twenty SPETSNAZ diversionary troops assigned to Mirsky’s battalion, communicating by radio after swimming the river, had established lookouts in the second chamber city.
They had been in the chamber for two hours now. The NATO troops at the bridge had not made an offensive move; this worried Mirsky. He knew that in the defenders’ situation, the best plan would be an immediate and devastating offensive.
They could conceivably have attacked as his men came down from the axis; apparently, they had been confused and not yet up to strength.
Between his group and the objective, there was the forest and several broad concrete foundations of unknown utility.
While there was sufficient cover for his troops, momentarily, the cover could easily be turned into a series of disastrous pin-downs.
General “Zev”—Major General I. Sosnitsky—had survived his descent into the second chamber but had been injured on landing, breaking both legs when his para-sail ripped at a hundred meters. He was now sedated, lying concealed in a copse of trees and guarded by four soldiers Mirsky could ill afford to do without. The political officer Belozcrsky had—of course—survived also, and stayed very close to the general, like a hopeful vulture.
Mirsky had spent a few weeks training with Sosnitsky in Moscow. He respected the major general. Sosnitsky, about fifty-five but as fit as any. thirty-year-old in the training regiments, had taken a shine to Mirsky and no doubt had had something to do with his rapid promotion on the Moon.
No one of higher rank than colonel had come down in the second chamber besides “Zev.” Effectively, that meant Mitsky was in control.
Oarabedian had survived the drop—and that gave Mirsky some assurance. He could hope for no better deputy commander.
Mirsky led three squads to the forward concrete structure, still a kilometer from the bridge. The top of the foundation was flat and covered about three hundred square meters. The upper surface offered no protection. The concrete was two meters high, practically a wall behind which they could walk upright.
Even such protection wasn’t enough, however; Mirsky worried about the firing angles and opportunities offered by the chamber’s curve.
Did the enemy have lasers or small projectile weapons that could penetrate twenty or thirty kilometers of air? If they did, his men could be picked off easily wherever they hid.
He aimed the radio at the southern bore hole and searched for the transponder signal. Finding it, he transmitted a message to Lieutenant Colonel Pogodin in the first chamber, asking how many troops he had and what his situation was. Pogodin had been aboard Chaika with “Nev.”
“I have four hundred,” Pogodin returned. ”Ney is missing. Colonel Smirdin is badly wounded. He probably won’t live. Have captured two compounds and taken ten prisoners. We control zero elevator.”
From the fourth chamber, Major Rogov reported a hundred men in position, but no objectives taken; the tunnels were heavily defended.
He was contemplating moving his men to an island by rubber rafts captured at a recreation site. ”Lev” had not survived the collision of Chevy with obstacles in the bore hole. Colonel Eugen was dead, and there was no sign of battalion commander Lieutenant Colonel Nikolaev.
Their command structure was in a shambles.
The hatred rose in him again, making his throat clutch and his stomach burn. ”Fan out and pick your targets,” he ordered the squad leaders on the near side of the bridge. He waved his arm to both sides and stayed behind the concrete to direct the other squads.
A rattle of small-arms fire greeted his men as they broke cover and spread in groups of twenty for trees and other foundations to either side of Mirsky. There was no way of telling how many laser weapons were being used; they were silent and invisible except in moist or dusty air. He lifted his radio and spoke with the captain in command of the squads on the far side of the bridge.
“Cross fire,” he said. ”Rush and divert.”
Then he called up another three squads and ran them in a different pattern toward the river shore, where they took firing positions in the woods and behind a circular foundation.
With his binoculars, he could make out the faces of the defenders behind their plastic shields. His men had no such shields; only his binoculars were proofed against laser blinding, if the defenders possessed such systems; almost any laser cannon could be converted to spread a barrage of blinding beams. There were any number of weapons the NATO troops could have and could use, which he did not ...
The defenders had set up sandbags in lines paralleling the bridge road.
Not all the positions were manned; if he could get his troops to the lines before the positions were up to strength, they would have almost a clear run to the bridge.
He popped up to sweep the positions again with his binoculars and then dropped down to pass instructions to the opposite squads. The air was broken by a hideous crackle; Mirsky’s eyes widened as he subconsciously prepared for death. He should have known the Americans would have something advanced and deadly up their sleeves; they were fiends for surprise weapons. The crackle sounded again and was followed by an. extremely loud voice. The voice spoke Russian with a strong German accent, but the words were clear.
“There is no need for fighting. We repeat, there is no need for fighting. You may hold your present positions for the moment, but do not advance any farther. It is imperative you listen. There has been a disastrous exchange of nuclear weapons on Earth.”
Mirsky shook his head and switched on the radio again. He could not waste time listening-”We have sufficient weapons and personnel to annihilate you. There is no need. You have compatriots among us already—the Russian science team. And there is corroboration from your comrades in the heavy-lifters. Your communications can be fed through to them; they are waiting outside the bore hole.” Mirsky pressed the transmit button and ordered the attack forward. He then ordered his remaining squads to take the river shore and join up with their opposites beneath the bridge abutment. The cover looked good to that point—and once beneath the bridge, they could fire along the Americans’ lanes of sandbags and prevent them from being manned.
“Fighting us is useless. Our supreme commanders are dead or out of communication, perhaps for years. Your deaths would be meaningless. You may hold present positions, but signify your acceptance or we will open fire.”
Then another voice identified itself, distorted but familiar to Mirsky—Lieutenant Colonel Pletnev, squadron commander of the heavy-lifters. Either he had capitulated or he was still outside the bore hole; there was no way he could have been captured; he would have died in the bore hole entry, not been taken alive.
“Comrades. Our countries are at war on Earth. There is devastation in both the Soviet Union and the United States. Our plan is no longer effective ... “ The hell with him. Mirsky moved his men up from both sides. Take this objective, and then the next, and then perhaps—
“Psshkommander Mirsky,’ his radio hissed. “Enemy reinforcements crossing the bridge.”
The gunfire started again and Mirsky, for the first time in his life, heard the screams of dying men.