Striking the Balance

“It shall be done,” Teerts said. The computers aboard the killercraft held the memory of where radar had first picked up the missile. They linked to the Satellite mappers the Race had orbiting Tosev 3 and guided Teerts toward the launch site.

He knew the Race was desperately low on antimissile missiles. They’d expended a lot of them against the rockets the Deutsche hurled at Poland and France. Teerts had no idea how many-if any-were left, but he didn’t need to wear the fleetlord’s body paint to figure out that. If the Race had to start using them here in the United States, whatever remaining reserves there were would vanish all the sooner.

He skimmed low over the woods west of the great river, and over a clearing where. If his instruments didn’t lie, the American missile had begun its flight. And, sure enough, he spotted a burned place in the dead grass of the clearing. But that was all he saw.

Whatever launcher or guide rails the Big Uglies had used, they’d already got them under cover of the trees.

Had he had an unlimited supply of munitions, Teerts would have shot up the area around the clearing on the off chance of hitting worthwhile. As things were… He radioed the situation back to the Florida air base. Aaatos said, “Return here for full debriefing, Flight Leader Teerts. We shall have other opportunities to make the Big Uglies look back in sorrow upon the course they have chosen.”

“Returning to base,” Teerts acknowledged. If the American Tosevites were starting to use missiles, the Race would have plenty of chances to attack their launchers in the future, anyhow. Whether that was just what Aaatos had meant, Teerts didn’t know.

Holding his white flag of truce high, George Bagnall moved out into the clearing in the pine woods south of Pskov. Hisvalenki made little scrunching noises as he walked through the packed snow. The big, floppy boots put him in mind of Wellingtons made of felt; however ugly they were, though, they did a marvelous job of keeping his feet warm. For the rest of him, he wore his RAF fur-and-leather flying suit. Anything that kept him from freezing above Angels Twenty was just about up to the rigors of a Russian winter.

On the far side of the clearing, a Lizard came into sight. The alien creature also carried a swatch of white cloth tied to a stick. It too wore a pair ofvalenki,

no doubt plundered from a dead Russian soldier; in spite of them, in spite of layers of clothes topped by aWehrmacht greatcoat that fit it like a tent, it looked miserably cold.

“Gavoritye li-vui po russki?”it said with a hissing accent. “Oder sprechen Sie deutsch?”

“Ich spreche deutsch besser,”

Bagnall answered, and then, to see if he was lucky, added, “Do you speak English?”

“Ich verstehe nicht,”the Lizard said, and went on in German, “My name is Nikeaa. I am authorized to speak for the Race in these matters.”

Bagnall gave his name. “I am a flight engineer of the British Royal Air Force. I am authorized to speak for the German and Soviet soldiers defending Pskov and its neighborhood.”

“I thought the Britainish were far from here,” Nikeaa said. “But it could be I do not know as much of Tosevite geography as I thought.”

WhatTosevite

meant came through from context “Britain is not close to Pskov,” Bagnall agreed. “But most human countries have allied against your kind, and so I am here.”And I bloody well wish I weren’t. His Lancaster bomber had flown in a radar set and a radarman to explain its workings to the Russians, and then been destroyed on the ground before he could get back to England. He and his comrades had been here a year now; even if they had established a place for themselves as mediators between the Reds and the Nazis-who still hated each other as much as either group hated the Lizards-it was a place he would just as soon not have had.

Nikeaa said, “Very well. You are authorized. You may speak. Your commanders asked this truce of us. We have agreed to it for now, to learn what the reason is for the asking. You will tell me thissofort — immediately.” He madesofort come out as a long, menacing hiss.

“We have prisoners captured over a long time fighting here,” Bagnall answered. “Some of them are wounded. We have done what we can for them, but your doctors will know better what to do with them and how to treat them.”

“Truth,” Nikeaa said. He moved his head up and down in a nod. For a moment, Bagnall took that for granted. Then he realized the Lizard had probably had to learn the gesture along with the German and Russian languages. His respect for Nikeaa’s accomplishments went up a peg.