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Unseen by either man the flap of the tent opened and a man in full Navy uniform stepped out. He stood there for a second, three other men emerging behind him, all wearing similar smiles. He glanced back. “Time to repay a few bruises, chaps.”

Two of the men picked up the discarded rifles, reloading Miller’s, while the other two parted the scrapping men on the dusty ground. Miller looked up in surprise, the guard in anger, the barrel of his own rifle, now in the hands of a Navy officer, pressed roughly against his temple. “I advise you to be quiet.”

Miller was helped to his feet.

“Good rescue, Mister Miller,” said the lead officer.

“Uh, thanks, Brooker” Miller said, all sense of formality washed away by the surprise he felt.

“I am assuming you are not leading this rescue?”

“No, Lieutenant Bedford is.”

“Splendid.” Brooker turned to his men. “Tie this one up,” he said, “then we’ll join Lieutenant Bedford in the liberation of this little moon.”

It was at that point that K’ovib emerged from his hiding place. All heads turned to him, the two rifles being raised in unison. Miller stepped in front of them, his hands out.

“No, wait! He’s a friend.”

“A…friend?”

“Well,” Miller clarified, enjoying the look of puzzlement on the faces of his superiors, “a member of Lieutenant Bedford’s army actually.”

5.

BEDFORD LOOKED around. All the men from the command tent, those not dead, were kneeling in a line before him, guns trained on them by the Selenites. On the other side of the reservoir the Selenites also had the upper hand, and the remaining Russian soldiers were being herded together by Platt and the Selenites there.

Bedford could not help but feel a little pride at the way the Selenites had performed. It was little to do with him, of course, but they had proved to be quite an effective army indeed.

A sound alerted him to movement. He turned sharply. There was something in the nearby tunnel. There were no other men to call on, even Miller was off somewhere else, so he had no choice but to check himself. He looked at the Selenites one more time. They did not waver; clearly their Russians captives were going nowhere.

Pulling his Lancaster out of its holster, Bedford advanced on the tunnel carefully. He entered the darkened area, slowly putting one foot in front of the other while his eyes readjusted to the low light. If there was an enemy in there he had no intention of making things easy for…

The cold barrel of a pistol pressed against the back of his head.

“Bros orujie,” said a husky voice.

Bedford considered his options. Drop the weapon or attempt something clever and no doubt end up with a bullet in his brain. He released the grip on his pistol and allowed it to fall to the dusty ground. A booted foot came out of the shadow and kicked the gun away.

“Vas Britantsev slishkom legko otvelch. Nemnogo shuma i vas vimanili.” A man walked around him, laughing, the pistol held out steadily. He was about the same height as Bedford, although a slimmer build. There was a scar down the side of his left cheek, emerging from under a black eye patch. “Ti ne vstanesh na puti moyey slavnoy imperii! Mats Rossiya snovo budet velikoy, i ya sdelayu eto vozmojnim!”

Bedford shook his head. “Forgive me, but I simply have no idea what it is you are saying. Russian was not at the top of my list of things to learn,” he pointed out, although he did recognise the insignia on the soldier’s uniform meant he was a poruchik, a lieutenant.

The poruchik lifted the gun so it was pointing directly at Bedford’s head. “Vse Britantsi pogibnut ot ruki Doktor Vladimir Tereshkov!”

Again Bedford shook his head, and this time he smiled with it. “Perhaps not,” he said, and nodded behind the soldier, who just laughed.

“Akh! Ti dumayesh ya tupaya Britanskaya svinya?”

The laughter ceased at the sound of multiple weapons locking into place. This time the poruchik did glance back. It was enough of a mistake for Bedford to take advantage of. He slapped the pistol away from his head, and with his right hand he