"Now," said Broward. "A bomb got General Mansfield and Colonels Omato and Ingrass. That gives you a fast promotion, sir."
"We'll both be promoted above this bank if an Axe lobs a bomb over," said Scone. "We have to get out of here."
"To where?"
Scone frowned—granite wrinkling—and said, "It's obvious the Axes want to do more than murder a few Soviets. They must plan on getting control of the bonephones. I know I would if I were they. If they can capture the control center, every Soviet on the Moon—except for the Chinese—is at their mercy. So...."
"We make a run for the BR?"
"I'm not ordering you to come with me," said Scone. "That's almost suicide. But you will give me a covering fire."
"I'll go with you, Colonel."
Scone glanced at the caduceuses on Broward's lapels, and he said, "We'll need your professional help after we clean out the Axes. No."
"You need my amateurish help now," said Broward. "As you see"—he jerked his thumb at the nearly headless Zulu—"I can handle a gun. And if we don't get to the bonephone controls first, life won't be worth living. Besides, I don't think the Axes intend taking any prisoners."
"You're right," said Scone. But he seemed hesitant.