Part 2

But the pilot of ship three was no fool. He suddenly swiveled his ship, boomed off at a tangent, and, as the _Albion_ whipped by, his gunner caught her full in the tubes with a full charge from the stern guns. Now it was the _Albion's_ turn to spin end for end. But as the Xantu craft spun into his sights for a fraction of a second, Irvington tripped the atomic cannon again. The bolt ricochetted off the Xantu's bow and the ship slowly split down the center like an over-ripe melon. From the bridge, Harrigan counted three life boats deserting the mother ship and he watched the gunners vainly try to pick them off. But they were too small a target, and they quickly merged into the sanctuary of darkness.

He buzzed O'Brien. "Let's get down to Drive, quick. They got that Xantu blast dead center."

The drive section was a shambles. Men in weird asbestos suits and masks staggered through the smoke and fumes with the broken bodies of the rocket crew that had been caught in the explosion. Harrigan brushed at angry tears as they carried Joe Merrick--the officer in charge--past them and laid the charred body beside the others. Merrick had been with him through both campaigns, and now the bitterness within Harrigan turned to grim resolution. At length, thirty-seven men were counted out of action permanently. The admiral turned solemnly away.

"Think we'd better set her down on III?" O'Brien asked quietly.

"Guess so, Mike. We can take her down on anti-grav and maneuver with the bow jets." And then, slowly, "This puts us out of the war, you realize that...."

"Yeah. And we can't even holler for help or they'll swarm in on us like a pack of harpies."

"I don't know about that, Mike. Those boats that got away will probably alert other elements of the League fleet as to our location. It's only a matter of time anyway. So we might as well break radio silence and try to get some Federation ships here first. It'll be a race, but it's the only chance we've got."

Radio room sent the S.O.S. and rang back the bridge almost immediately. "Message away, sir, but our receiver was knocked out by the blast. We get no acknowledgment on S.O.S."

"Oh great," Harrigan groaned, "that's all we needed."

"Maybe we could make Anaton on the bow jets," O'Brien offered.

"Doubtful. Besides, we don't want to chance being caught in space with the _Albion_ in this shape. If my guess is any good, those three ships were part of a fleet which has just attacked Anaton and by now the base is probably a smoking hole in the ground. No point in going to something like that."

* * * * *

It took superhuman maneuvering and quite a bit of luck, but at last the scarred battleship came to rest, in partial hiding, at the foot of a cliff wall on the rugged, boulder-strewn surface of Antares III. Space Directory termed the planet "Earth-type; diam. 9,300; atmosphere breathable for Terrans for a period not to exceed twelve hours."

Harrigan had the portable Dyer guns arranged in a semi-circle at advantageous spots behind boulders up to one mile from the _Albion_, in case the survivors of the League ships might set their boats down nearby and attempt a coup over land. The _Albion's_ own boats carried out patrols in the hope of locating the enemy before the enemy located them.

For sixteen hours after the landing, everything was absolutely quiet. And then, as relief gun-crews slogged out the main hatch to take their positions at the portables, all Hell broke loose.

A short range, explosive rocket shell arched perfectly into the hatch and exploded with a deafening roar, scattering the relief crews like ten pins and slamming the two-ton hatch cover clean off its swivel pins. The three League boats, with devastating surprise, zoomed in low and fast over the outlying gun positions, spraying a trail of Reezi powder which was ignited by their rockets. The countryside went up in a swirl and a flash. Another explosive rocket struck the _Albion_ amidships before the crews got the more cumbersome fixed guns into firing position.

The lightning-fast boats were too small and swift to be speared by anything save a lucky shot. Back and forth they raked the almost helpless battleship. The attack waned momentarily as one of the black boats was caught and instantly charred by cross-fire from the _Albion_ one and four banks. The remaining two changed tactics, roaring in over the big ship, past the top of the cliff, only to spin back, hit and run.

Five of the _Albion_ patrol boats skittered home only to be caught in the fray and immediately knocked down. Three more met the same fate and a fourth was dodging desperately for its life when Harrigan's eyes popped wide open with amazement. A pencil-like, silver destroyer escort, bearing the insignia of the Federation Forces, fell on the League boats from zenith position and in a screaming, twisting dive blasted one and rammed the other into flying rubbish.

The silver ship climbed a few miles vertically to see if the field had been properly cleared, flashed down and dusted to a stop beside the _Albion_. Harrigan stepped over the smoking bodies in the main hatchway and dropped to the ground. O'Brien sprinted to join him, but before they could reach the other ship, an officer leaped from a belly-lock and walked briskly towards them.

He snapped a salute. "Admiral Harrigan and the _Albion_?" he asked.

"Right, Lieutenant," Harrigan smiled wearily. "You're very welcome."

"Lieutenant Sanderson, sir, Third Fleet attack arm. I was supposed...."

"Sanderson," O'Brien roared.

"Yes, sir. I was assigned to the _Albion_, sir, but it took me ten weeks to walk halfway around Pluto from where the Ziths dumped me and catch a ship to Terra base. I take it they dubbed one of their beasties in for me?"

"They sure did," Harrigan answered, "but there wasn't much harm done. I killed you on the bridge, Lieutenant."

"Oh?" Sanderson looked puzzled for a brief moment, then smiled. "Oh, that's good."

"What's the score now?" O'Brien asked.

"Well, sir, the Third attack fleet is standing off Anton now. You have probably guessed that part of a League fleet attacked the base. We picked up a few survivors, but damned few. Then we picked up a weak distress signal from this area and Admiral Brands had us check on it."

"Good thing he did," Harrigan admitted. "And now, Lieutenant, if you will be so good as to radio for a tub to pick us up, I will be most happy to leave this planet."

"Yes, sir, at once." Sanderson saluted and ran for his ship.

* * * * *

Three hours and a few odd minutes later, the transport tub _Avalon_ settled its ponderous bulk beside the _Albion_ and the slow transfer of the living and the dead began. One hundred and fifty-five bodies were slated for burial on Terra; another sixty were missing, whiffed into gas by League guns.

Harrigan sank deeper into gloom as he removed the ship's log and helped O'Brien check the men off the _Albion_. At last the loading was completed; the _Avalon_ hung for a moment on its anti-gravs, and Harrigan and Commander Johnson, in charge of the tub, looked down on the battered remains of the great craft.

"Better come to the bridge and sit," Johnson said softly.

On the bridge, he poured Harrigan a stiff drink and cautioned, "Swallow that, and get ready."

Harrigan complied, puzzled. No sooner had he placed his glass on the table than a small but virile mule kicked him in the stomach.

"Suffering ... what was that?" he gasped.

Johnson smiled. "Hyper-drive. Apparently Tech hasn't got the bugs worked out yet, but it's good enough for me. Only four hours to Terra."

"Well, well," Harrigan mused. He rose and looked at the swirling grayness outside the ports. "Same deal on the other end?"

"Yeah. A little wrench in the gut, but you get used to it."

Harrigan said, "Well, well," again and sat down.

"Admiral," Johnson hesitated, "no offense, now, you understand, but I have been wondering what the _Albion_ was doing way out here on Antares III. I understood that you were coming into Terra from the other side of Sector I when the fracas started."

"We were. But when the League took Polaris Base and cut us off we had to...."

"Took Polaris Base! The League didn't take Polaris Base. They had a dozen or so cruisers in that area, but they didn't tackle the Base. Didn't even make a pass at it."

Harrigan slowly dropped his head into his hands.

"Oh my God," he moaned, "and I lost two hundred men on a bad guess. I deserve to be broken to a Spaceman third class for this." He jumped up and paced the bridge. "Great guns, what a fool I am! Polaris intact and I risk a ship-load of green men on a bad guess. This washes me up in the Force, that's for damn sure."

"Oh, I don't think so, Admiral." Johnson smiled. "In fact I think that...."

"I don't give a damn what you think, Commander. The Force is no place for fools. I'm done." And Harrigan slammed off the bridge towards his quarters.

Johnson smiled faintly and poured himself a drink.

* * * * *

It was a tired and bedraggled admiral who stepped off the _Avalon_ four hours later into the sunlit bustle of Terra Base I. He felt pride well up in him at the sight of the powerful base, the battlewagons and cruisers and squat tubs, some with their guts spread on the steel docks, waiting for the 'drive installation. Crane winches clanked and howled, welding torches flashed, and many-wheeled trailers sped about with ponderous equipment. But the activity was not frantic; it was efficient and orderly.

He turned for a word with O'Brien, who was now puffing down the gangway, when a bright young Spaceman First stepped up and saluted with a grin. "Admiral Garrison's regards to Admiral Harrigan and Captain O'Brien, and would they report to HQ at once."

"Well, here it comes, Mike."

"Guess so," Mike agreed gloomily. "Why are all these baboons so happy?" He indicated the clustered groups of Spacemen who regarded them smilingly as they passed and talked excitedly among themselves.

"Dunno. Maybe they like the thought of admirals and captains getting chewed down."

They paused briefly outside the door marked:

Adm. Garrison, G.G. Port Admiral

O'Brien shrugged. "Here goes nothin'."

Inside, the tall, balding man behind the desk jumped to his feet with a grin. "Jack! Mike! Boy, you two guys certainly beat anything I ever saw. Talk about your heroes...."

"Cut it, George," Harrigan growled, "you don't have to rub it in."

"Rub what in? Great Caesar, hasn't anyone told you yet? You guys won the war, that's all!"

"Yeah. On the seat of our pants at Antares III," O'Brien muttered.

"But I'm telling you, damnit!" Garrison came around the desk and clapped them on the shoulders. "Those League ships you brought down were heading for home with the Hyper-drive secret. And you stopped them."

Slow and stunning realization dawned on the two officers. O'Brien gave a long, low whistle and sank in his chair. Harrigan broke into a slow grin.

"What a deal!" Garrison rubbed his hands. "What a deal. You guys will get promotions out of this or my name isn't George Garr...."

"But what the hell happened?" Harrigan demanded.

"Like this," Garrison explained. "Three League ships picked up spies just off Anaton. They had the Hyper-drive papers. Then they threw a Duodec bomb into the Base and high-tailed. The _Albion_ was the only Federation ship of any size left in commission in the area. You got them. Just before the last League ship went down, it beamed a message to Zithobar, which we intercepted. So the Third attack arm swung over quick to see what the trouble was. Then we got your S.O.S. and went after you before the League could get back for a little of its well-known vengeance."

"Now, what the devil?" Harrigan rubbed his chin, grinning. "Is the war over, then?"

"Not altogether, but it's just a matter of mopping up now, and fixing Zithobar and the Xantu planet once and for all. The Third and Seventh attack arms are completely equipped with the 'drive and the Second is just about ready to roll. Brother, are those babies surprised when we pop out of nowhere into the middle of their formations and burn them down before they can aim a gun ... but if _they_ had hooked onto the 'drive secret, it would have been all day for the Federation!" Garrison threw back his head and roared with laughter. "You birds ... with a green crew--" he held his sides--"with a tub full of greenies you win the war. And by accident yet. Oh Lordie ..." he sat down to catch his breath.

"Well ... I'll ... be ... a ..." Harrigan shook his head.

"Yeah. I'll be one too," O'Brien muttered.