ROCKET SHIP GALILEO By Robert A. Heinlein

“That’s what I thought, anyhow.”

“I think you’re dead right. I’m disappointed; I was beginning to pin my hopes on getting a message across.” He shrugged. “Well, one thing at a time. Morrie, have you picked out the supplies you want to take up?”

“All lined up.” They followed him into the kitchen space and found he had stacked three piles of tin cans in quantities to make three good-sized loads. As they were filling their arms Morrie said. “How many men were there here, Doc?”

“I counted forty-seven bodies not counting the one von Hartwick shot. Why?”

“Well, I noticed something funny. I’ve sort of acquired an eye for estimating rations since I’ve been running the mess. There isn’t food enough here to keep that many men running two weeks. Does that mean what I think it means?”

“Hunnh . . . Look, Morrie, I think you’ve hit on something important. That’s why von Hartwick is so cocky. It isn’t just whistling in the dark. He actually expects to be rescued.”

“What do you mean, Uncle?” Art wanted to know.

“He is expecting a supply ship, almost any time.”

Art whistled. “He thinks we’ll be caught by surprise!”

“And we would have been. But we won’t be now.” He put down his load of groceries. “Come along.”

“Where?”

“I just remembered something.” In digging through the officers’ quarters he had come across many documents, books, manuals, records, and papers of many sorts. He had scanned them very briefly, making certain only that no one of them contained anything which would give a clue to the operation of the Wotan.

One of them was the day book or journal of the task-force commander. Among other things it had given the location of the Nazi base on earth; Cargraves had marked it as something he wanted to study later. Now he decided to do it at once.

It was long. It covered a period of nearly three months with Teutonic thoroughness. He read rapidly, with Art reading over his shoulder. Morrie stood around impatiently and finally pointed out that the time was approaching when they had promised Ross to return.

“Go ahead,” Cargraves said absently. “Take a load of food. Get a meal started.” He read on.

There was a roster of the party. He found von Hartwick listed as executive officer. He noted that as an indication that the Nazi was lying when he claimed not to understand the piloting of the Wotan. Not proof, but a strong indication. But falsehood was all that he expected of the creature.

He was beginning to find what he was looking for. Supply trips had been made each month. If the schedule was maintained- and the state of supplies certainly indicated it -the next ship should be along in six or seven days.

But the most important fact he was not sure of until he had finished the journal: there was more than one big rocket in their possession; the Wotan was not about to leave to get supplies; she would not leave, if the schedule had been followed, until the supply ship landed. Then she would be taken back empty and the other ship would be unloaded. By such an arrangement the party on the moon was never left without a means of escape — or, at least, that was the reason he read into the account.

There were just two and only two Nazi moon rockets — the Wotan and the Thor. The Thor was due in a week, as nearly as he could make out, which meant that she would leave her home base in about five days. The transit times for each trip had been logged in; forty-six hours plus for the earth moon jump was the way the record read.

Fast time! he thought.

If the Thor ever took off, it might be too late for good intentions, too late for warnings. The Nazis were certainly aware that the techniques of space flight were now an open secret; there was reference after reference to the Galileo including a last entry noting that she had been located. They would certainly strike at the earliest possible moment.

He could see in his mind’s eye the row upon row of A-bomb guided-missiles in a near-by cavern. He could see them striking the defenseless cities of earth.

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