"Is the war over?" asked Jonner.
"How the hell should I know?" grunted the pilot. "We haven't had a single news broadcast that makes sense since the radio came back in. They're all chopped up with static."
The G-boat lifted gently from the surface of Phobos and began its spiral downward toward Mars. The six men, crowded together in its single passenger compartment, listened to the radio that spat and growled over their heads.
What they heard was unintelligible.
"Sector Four ... squawk ... spsst!" snarled the loudspeaker. "Colonel ... squawk ... troops in ... squawk ... move tank squad to ... spsst-crack-crack!... more ambulances ... squawk ... ninety per cent disabled...."
Periodically the pilot tried to establish contact:
"G-boat MC-20 to Marsport. G-boat MC-20 to Marsport. Come in, Marsport."
The attempts were futile until the G-boat had entered the atmosphere and was gliding high above the desert on its broad wings. Then, miraculously, the airwaves were clear for a moment.
"Marsport to G-boat MC-20," said the loudspeaker. "Go ahead."
"G-boat MC-20 to Marsport," said the pilot hurriedly. "Give us a beam. We're coming in for a landing."