In the end, the eleven of them were crowded into the one remaining operational structure of the four available on the moon at sunrise.
For perhaps the tenth time, General Finogenov offered his apologies. He and Major Winship were huddled side by side in a corner. They were drinking vodka.
"Plenty of everything," General Finogenov said. "Don't concern yourself, Major. Air, food, water, we have more than enough for a prolonged siege."
"Accidents will happen."
"Exactly," said General Finogenov, pouring more vodka for himself. "Glad you understand." He put the empty bottle down. "We will have another one next week. In the meantime—I very much regret the inconvenience. Plenty of food, water, air, though. Pinov! Pinov! Vodka!"
Pinov answered in Russian.
General Finogenov frowned. "Dear, dear," he said. "I'm afraid this must be our last one, Major. You see, while we have plenty of everything else, we are, you see.... The truth of the matter is, we didn't foresee visitors. Unfortunately, we have no more vodka."
"No more vodka," said General Finogenov. He stared morosely into the inky distance. "Major Winship, I have a confession. Oh, that second one was a beauty. You didn't feel it?"
"Our leak sprang on the first one. The second was quite mild, we thought."
"We were right on the fault line," General Finogenov said. "As you Americans say, it was a beauty. I have a confession. One must admit one's mistakes."