[ WP ] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago . The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason did n't say anything .

It had been a little over 7 hours since the lander touched down on Martian soil. 7 hours ago, half the world watched as we, the pioneers of a new age of space exploration, entered Martian orbit and slowly began preparations to touch down. The moment the gear hit the dirt, celebrations broke out everywhere on Earth. Actually, I suppose they would n't have celebrated until a few minutes after we touched down due to the signal delay. Oh well, close enough. 
 
 Now, things are pretty damn quiet here in Acidalia Planitia. 
 
 But now the celebrations were over. We'd spent months getting here, years training, and taxpayers had given millions of their hard earned dollars to this project. It was time to get down to business. We'd spent the last few hours setting up gear here, including our habitation, complete with all the basic comforts of Earth: breathable air, water, and atmospheric pressure. Also, space food, but that's nothing to write home about. 
 
 We had just finished setting up the rovers and other toys. We were understandably quite tired of building stuff, so we decided to go for a rip about in the rovers; for `` testing'' purposes, of course. It was me and Winters in the lead rover, and Commander Smith, a stern but effective leader and career airwoman, and Richthofen, the German, in the utility rover. I, of course, had dibs on the lead rover - had since take off. We decided to head a little north of the landing site, explore the plain a little. Acidalia Planitia was an ideal landing site, very flat and very easy to set up camp in. Perfect for a first test of our Mars exploration technologies. As we drove merrily along, Winters, the flight engineer, spotted something in the distance. 
 `` Mike, you see that? Up ahead, about half a click...'' 
 `` Yeah yeah, Winters, save me the damned analysis. Commander, you have eyes on this?'' 
 `` Affirmative. Let's get a closer look. Dismount here,'' the Commander radioed. The rovers skidded to a halt. 
 `` What could this be, out here? Supposed to be flat for miles,'' remarked Richthofen. 
 `` Well, it certainly ai n't a fuckin' tree, Richthofen,'' I shot back. 
 `` Easy there, Johnny Carson,'' the Commander replied sternly, as we came within a few feet of the object. As we studied the mysterious anomaly, each of us grew dead quiet. 
 `` It's a flag,'' Winters said, finally breaking the eerie silence. 
 `` And certainly not one of ours,'' began the Commander. The tattered Soviet banner flew defiantly in front of the astronauts, as if taunting them for being so late to the party. It was riddled with holes, the once vibrant, blood red colour was no bleached, and the hammer and sickle were now barely visible, but it was still a damn fine looking flag. 
 `` Mike, photograph this. Richthofen, Winters, you two have a look around the perimeter. I have to report this to Control.'' 
 `` Uh... Houston, we have a problem. You know those little green men you were worried about? Yeah, turns out they're Russians,'' I said snakily. `` Commander, you trying to give those guys a heart attack?'' 
 `` Shut up and shoot photos, Mike,'' ordered the Commander. 
 I started snapping pictures of the flag, of the site, and the soil around it. Standard procedure. May or may not have thrown in a selfie with the flag for good measure, because fuck it. What're they gon na do, fire me? In space? Nah, after months spent in a tin can, I was ready to have a little fun. I was just tucking the camera back into the rover when Winters' voice called out. 
 `` Commander! Might want to have a look at this!'' 
 We walked over to where Winters and Richthofen were standing. Strewn around them was what appeared to be aircraft debris, most of it covered with a few inches of soil, with only the horribly warped edges protruding. 
 `` Look here, Commander. Got a red star on it, I think. Russian, no doubt about it,'' observed Winters. 
 Richthofen was studying a rather large piece of metal. His pale, stormy blue eyes were highly inquisitive, his gaze deep. He was observing the debris with Teutonic efficiency. `` When my father worked for the Soviet space program... before the wall fell... he worked on pieces just like this. I remember him bringing small pieces home, tinkering with them, showing them to me and my sister. These are Soviet rocket parts. I have no doubt.'' 
 Winters was also studying the pieces. `` There's junk just like this all over the place. Too much to just be left behind space junk. I think, based on the state of some of these pieces,'' he paused to pick up a rather large steel plate, marked with another red star, `` that there was an explosion of some kind. See here... badly warped from the inside. Based on the shape, I'd say this came from a piece of the booster from the lander.'' 
 `` Collect some of this junk and load it into the rovers. We need to bring some to the Hab for further analysis,'' ordered the Commander. 
 
 I'll spare you the details of this rather boring interlude. Long story short, we picked up a nice assortment of crap from the dirt, loaded into the rover, and left that ugly flag flying. Commanders' insistence. Something about `` honouring our brothers who came before us.'' Eh, I hate communism as much as the next guy, but if I got blown up a million miles away from Earth, I'd want to be remembered to. 
 
 When we got back, we suited down, had some food, and generally chilled out until the commander decided to hold court. 
 
 `` I just got off the radio with NASA,'' began the Commander. `` Told them what we found. As per NASA rules, this all goes public in 48 hours. Russians do n't seem to know anything.'' 
 `` Bullshit,'' I said. 
 `` Think about it, Young. The Russians would have told us if they knew about this. They would have known we would find it, so there would be no use in hiding it.'' 
 `` The Soviets, they have many secrets,'' stated Richthofen, in a solemn voice, `` that died with them.'' 
 `` Well, I've been thinking,'' said Winters. `` And I for one think this all makes perfect sense.'' 
 `` Oh? Do tell,'' prompted the Commander. 
 `` Well, you all know of Yuri Gagarin, I presume?'' The room nodded affirmatively. `` Yes, well, when he went up for the first ever human spaceflight, no one except the government and the Soviet space agency knew about it until after he took off, floated around in space a bit, and landed safely. The Soviets did n't want the U.S. to know how close they were to winning the Space Race in case shit hit the fan. Only after it was a success did they make it public. Better for propaganda, that way.'' 
 `` And for scaring the living shit out of the U.S.'' I cut in. 
 `` Precisely.'' 
 The Commander looked puzzled. `` So, what you're saying is, the Soviets won the Space Race. Made it to Mars, the whole thing. But when it came time to go home, everything went wrong.'' 
 `` So to save face, they covered up the entire project. But, why? They still won the damn Space Race,'' I chimed in, as thoroughly puzzled as everyone else. 
 `` Perhaps,'' began Richthofen, `` they thought they could try again. Get it right, this time. But then, the Americans put a man on the moon, and they did n't want to bother... how do you say it? To `` one-up'' the United States. Probably took the technology and used it for the ICBM program instead.'' 
 `` I'm just amazed this never came out, even twenty-five years after the collapse,'' the Commander said thoughtfully. 
 `` You'd be surprised,'' began Richthofen. `` They could make people disappear in the night, never to be seen again. I doubt they'd've had any trouble burning a few documents and swearing some scientists to secrecy.'' 
 The Hab grew eerily silent as we all considered the gravity of our discovery. This could literally rewrite the history of human space travel. It was sobering. 
 Ever the sarcastic joker, however, I just had to have the last laugh, to lighten up the now very somber mood in the Hab. `` And here I was thinking I'd get a statue here one day. Damn, now all I'll get is a shitty government building or something named after me. I can see it now: The Michael B. Young Mars Department of Public Sanitation Building. Quite the ring to it, no?''
