Colonel Danton Coye went first, as befitted the commander of the First American Earth-Moon Expedition. Major Gino Lombardi followed. They stood side by side silently, with the late afternoon sun glinting on their silver suits. Around them, to the limits of vision, stretched the thin tangle of greyish desert shrub, mesquite, cactus. Nothing broke the silence nor was there any motion other than that caused by the breeze that was carrying away the cloud of dust stirred up by their landing.
"Smells good, smells like Texas," Dan said, sniffing.
"Smells awful, just makes me thirsty. But ... Dan ... what happened? First the radio contact, then that jet...."
"Look, our answer is coming from over there," the big officer said, pointing at a moving column of dust rolling in from the horizon. "No point in guessing, because we are going to find out in five minutes."
It was less than that. A large, sand-colored half-track roared up, followed by two armored cars. They braked to a halt in the immense cloud of their own dust. The half-track's door slammed open and a goggled man climbed down, brushing dirt from his tight black uniform.
"Hande hoch!" he ordered, waving their attention to the leveled guns on the armored cars. "Hands up and keep them that way. You are my prisoners."
They slowly raised their arms as though hypnotized, taking in every detail of his uniform. The silver lightning bolts on the lapels, the high, peaked cap—the predatory eagle clasping a swastika.
"You're—you're a German!" Gino Lombardi gasped.
"Very observant," the officer observed humorlessly. "I am Hauptmann Langenscheidt. You are my prisoners. You will obey my orders. Get into the kraftwagen."
"Now just one minute," Dan protested. "I'm Col. Coye, USAF and I would like to know what is going on here...."