THE RED PLANET Russ Winterbotham _A Science Fiction Novel_ MONARCH BOOKS, INC. Derby, Connecticut Published in August, 1962 Copyright © 1962 by Russ Winterbotham [Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] _Cover Painting by Ralph Brillhart_ Monarch Books are published by MONARCH BOOKS, INC., Capital Building, Derby, Connecticut, and represent the works of outstanding novelists and writers of non-fiction especially chosen for their literary merit and reading entertainment. Printed in the United States of America All Rights Reserved * * * * * REVENGE IN AN ALIEN WORLD When Gail Loring chose Bill Drake to be her husband--in name only--for the duration of the flight to Mars, she didn't know that she had just signed his death warrant. Jealous Dr. Spartan, leader of the expedition, swore to get revenge and force Gail to share his maniacal plan for power. Bound together in space, five men and a woman strained against the powerful tug of twisted emotions and secret ambitions. But all plans were forgotten when they landed on the Red Planet and encountered the Martians--half animal, half vegetable--with acid for blood and radar for sight. When the Martians launched an assault against the spaceship, linking their electrical energy in an awesome display of power, Spartan realized that this was the perfect moment for personal revenge--and touched off his own diabolical plan of destruction against his fellow crewmen.... * * * * * _Chapter 1_ I got no sleep that Thursday night. I tossed and dozed and tossed again. Operation Jehad and Willy Zinder were on my mind. Operation Jehad was the designation given to the proposed first manned flight to Mars, and Willy was our last chance to fill the six-man crew. If Willy didn't make it, Doc Spartan would be fit to be tied in a hangman's knot. More than anything else, he had insisted on a six-man crew and, if he couldn't get six qualified astronauts, including himself, on the Jehad ship, he was as likely as not to postpone the voyage for 26 months, when Mars would be in the right spot again and by which time more men could be trained. While I rolled and tossed in my bed sheets, Willy Zinder was playing carousel in his Jupiter capsule three hundred miles above old Momma Earth. And I hated to speculate about what had happened to him. When I'd watched him get into the cherry-picker Thursday morning, he'd been a poor, frightened kid. He'd probably been suffering ever since. And now, after this dreadful night, re-entry was staring him in the face.