“That we move around more to the right,” Brad answered. He thought out his rough plan on a digital map file and sent it to her. “See, there’s a spur extending off the main crater rim wall a few miles off in that direction, along with a chain of smaller, ejecta craters we can use as cover to get up onto the reverse slope of the spur. If we move fast, and use our camouflage systems sparingly, we ought to be able to make it all the way up onto the rim itself. That’ll also put us northwest of the base itself, pretty much the opposite of where they should expect us. If we’re lucky, they won’t be keeping quite as close an eye on that area, figuring we’ll have to move in quick from the east before our batteries run dry.”
“And if the Russians
He shrugged. “Then we slug it out at closer range — hoping our stealth tech and rail guns give us enough of an edge to win.”
“And pray?”
“That, too,” he agreed. One of the surprises of their married life had been learning that Nadia was more religious than he’d imagined. Faith had never been a big part of his own upbringing, so maybe it wasn’t too astonishing that he’d been caught a little off guard by her quiet, unobtrusive belief. Now, two hundred and forty thousand miles from home and from everyone who loved them, he realized her rarely expressed convictions were a source of strength he both envied and admired.
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.
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.
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.
