"Certainly," Colonel Sullivan agreed.
Colt went on to show how the station could be overrun quickly and efficiently by a hundred well-armed, well-trained troops.
"They'd have to be well-led, too," Colt added.
"And you will be their leader?" the burly man asked.
"No," said Colt. "Not me. I'm not an infantryman."
Ignoring that, Cianelli asked, "So we recapture Alpha. What good does that do?"
Smiling to himself, Colt realized that he had them hooked. "Okay. Watch." He touched the computer keyboard again. The view showed an animated drawing of Earth with hundreds of satellites revolving around it. With a touch of his finger, Colt wiped out all the satellites except the three American space stations. "Now, look at the area each station 'sees' as it orbits around the Earth."
The display screen showed pale-colored ovals slipping across the Earth's surface: the area visible from each of the space stations.
"There are windows," Colt explained, "when Alpha and only Alpha is available to survey the Vandenberg area. Or 503
Cape Canaveral, for that matter. Once we seize Alpha, we can launch more troopships during those periods. And we time the seizure of Alpha so that we can follow it up within a couple of hours by launches that will take Beta, Gamma, and the Russian stations, too."
He clicked off the display screen and looked up at their faces. "If we can move fast enough and we do everything exactly right, we can take over the whole ABM network—the Russians' as well as ours."
"We'll have the Reds staring into our gun barrels!" Sullivan exulted.
"And we can march in on Moonbase anytime we want to," said Cianelli. "They'll be defenseless. They'll fall like a ripe plum."
"Lunagrad too," Colt said.
The other man said nothing. They all turned to him. He breathed a deep, labored exhalation. Then, "Consider your- self an acting full colonel, Mr. Colt. The General here will process your orders immediately. You will implement the plan you have just outlined. If it succeeds you will be raised in rank to brigadier general."
Cianelli's mouth tightened into a bloodless line. Sulli- van's eyes were evasive.
Colt said, "One more thing."
The man's angry face seemed to swell and get even redder.
"I want," said Colt, "to meet the President of the United States. It's purely a personal thing. I want to meet the top man, even if it's just for a minute. I want to shake his hand."
The anger subsided, slightly. He almost smiled. "Of course. That can be arranged."
"When can we strike?" Cianelli asked suddenly. "This entire strategy depends on the rebels' allowing us to send a shuttle to Alpha."
The angry man mused, "Intelligence reports that many nations have forwarded requests for emigration to the lunar rebels. There have even been some Americans asking for exit permission."
"Americans?" Sullivan looked shocked.
"We have always had fools and traitors in our midst," the burly man said. "This will be a good way to get them to 504 identify themselves to us. Then they can be re-educated."
"Christmas Eve," Colt said.
