Authentic Science Fiction Monthly No. 52 — page 121: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

AUTHENTIC SCIENCE FICTION Martian danced in front of him, waving a gun at him, hating him because he came from Earth—where the Mar- tian’s grand-parents had come from long before. Ping! His new chest burst as the lance pierced it. Air spilled out. He found himself toppling and red sand came up and engulfed his face. He choked on the dust that filled his mouth and nosirils and could not get any air into his lungs. “Kall!” The storm passed and Hen- dersonsawwhathad happened. The soldiers of Earth lifted their shining weapons and fired. The Martians scattered, to wait for another dust storm to mask their next attack. Henderson felt sick when he saw how many men he had lost. He remembered what the general had said the last time this had happened. “Don’t worry; they’re ex- pendable. Think of them as robots—they’re not men any more.”’ Henderson knew that was the right attitude, the only attitude, but he still had diffi- culty in adjusting. War was a filthy business. Mars was rich in living space and raw materials, so Mars had to be conquered for Earth. Only, 120 the Martian colonists seemed to think they had a right to the planet they had found first . . . well, soon there wouldn’t be enough Martians to matter. Perhaps a few would be allowed to live in reservations for tourists to look at. But the war had to be won first. f He ordered his men to dig out the tractor and marched them back to headquarters. Number one million, two hundred and seventy thousand and seven lay with his face in the sand. He did not feel anything and no one came to bury him. He lay with others of his kind under the twin moons, forgotten... Expendable. John Brown’s body lay a-mouldering on Mars—but his soul was raped on Earth. A young man ran through the back streets of one of Earth’s major cities. He ran with long-limbed cleanness, his blond hair whipped back like a mane. There was sweat on his brow and fear in his eyes . the press gangs were out. Behind him, a searchlight stabbed the night darkness and ? cry went up: rs There he goes!’ He ran between high walls, comicloooks.conn