Our cargo hatches snapped open and we cuddled up against "Amphitrite's"
bulging belly while our crew and the supply echelon worked like demons
to transfer ammunition. We had fifty torpedoes aboard when the I.F.F.
detector shrilled alarm.
Three hundred feet above us the "Amphitrite's" main battery let loose a
salvo at three Rebel scouts that had flickered into being less than
fifty miles away. Their launchers flared with a glow that lighted the
blackness of space.
"Stand by!" Chase yelled as he threw the converter on.
"Hatches!" I screamed as we shimmered and vanished.
Somehow we got most of them closed, losing only the crew on number two
port turret which was still buttoning up as we slipped over into the
infra band. I ordered the turret sealed. Cth had already ruined the
unshielded sighting mechanisms and I had already seen what happened to
men caught in Cth unprotected. I had no desire to see it again--or let
our crew see it if it could be avoided. A human body turned inside out
isn't the most wholesome of sights.
"How did _they_ get through?" Chase muttered as we put out our probe.
"I don't know--maybe someone wasn't looking."
"What's it like down there?" Chase asked. "See anything?"
"'Amphitrite's' still there," I said.
"She's _what_?"
"Still there," I repeated. "And she's in trouble."
"She's big. She can take it--but--"
"Here, you look," I said, flipping the probe switch.
"My God!" Chase muttered--as he took one look at the supply ship lying
dead in space, her protective batteries flaming. She had gotten one of
the Rebel scouts but the other two had her bracketed and were pouring
fire against her dim screens.
"She can't keep this up," I said. "She's been hulled--and it looks like
her power's taken it."
"Action imminent," Chase ordered, and the rangefinder took up his
chant.
We came storming out of Cth right on top of one of the Rebel scouts. A
violent shock raced through the ship, slamming me against my web. The
rebound sent us a good two miles away before our starboard battery
flamed. The enemy scout, disabled by the shock, stunned and unable to
maneuver took the entire salvo amidships and disappeared in a puff of
flame.
The second Rebel disappeared and we did too. She was back in Cth looking
for a better chance at the "Amphitrite." The big ship was wallowing like
a wounded whale, half of one section torn away, her armor dented, and
her tubes firing erratically.
We took one long look and jumped back into Cth. But not before Haskins
beamed a message to the supply ship. "Now you've seen it, you damned
storekeeper," he gloated. "What do you think?" "Amphitrite" didn't
answer.
"Probe out," Chase ordered, neglecting, I noticed, to comment on the
signalman's act.
* * * * *
I pushed the proper buttons but nothing happened. I pushed again and
then turned on the scanners. The one aft of the probe was half covered
with a twisted mass of metal tubing that had once been our probe. We
must have smashed it when we rammed. Quickly I shifted to the auxiliary
probe, but the crumpled mass had jammed the hatch. It wouldn't open.
"No probes, sir," I announced.
"Damn," Chase said. "Well, we'll have to do without them. Hold tight,
we're going down."
We flicked into threespace just in time to see a volcano of fire erupt
from "Amphitrite's" side and the metallic flick of the Rebel scout
slipping back into Cth.
"What's your situation, 'Amphitrite'?" our signal asked.
"Not good," the faint answer came back. "They've got us in the power
room and our accumulators aren't going to stand this load very long.
That last salvo went through our screens, but our armor stopped it. But
if the screens go down--"
Our batteries flared at the Rebel as he again came into sight. He didn't
wait, but flicked right back into Cth without firing a shot. Pollard was
on the ball.
"Brave lad, that Reb," Chase said. There was a sneer in his voice.
For the moment it was stalemate. The Reb wasn't going to come into close
range with a warship of equal power to his own adding her metal to the
"Amphitrite's," but he could play cat and mouse with us, drawing our
fire until we had used up our torpedoes, and then come in to finish
the supply ship. Or he could harass us with long range fire. Or he could
go away.
[Illustration]
It was certain he wouldn't do the last, and he'd be a fool if he did the
second. "Amphitrite" could set up a mine screen that would take care of
any long range stuff,--and we could dodge it. His probe was still
working and he had undoubtedly seen ours crushed against our hull. If he
hadn't he was blind--and that wasn't a Rebel characteristic. We could
hyper, of course, but we were blind up there in Cth. His best was to
keep needling us, and take the chance that we'd run out of torps.
"What's our munition?" Chase asked almost as an echo to my thought. I
switched over to Pollard.
"Thirty mark sevens," Pollard said, "and a little small arms."
"One good salvo," Chase said, thoughtfully.
The Rebel flashed in and out again, and we let go a burst.
"Twenty, now," I said.
Chase didn't hear me. He was busy talking to Allyn on damage control.
"You can't cut it, hey?--All right--disengage the converter on the
auxiliary probe and break out that roll of duralloy cable in the
stores--Pollard! don't fire over one torp at a time when that lad shows
up. Load the other launchers with blanks. Make him think we're shooting.
We have to keep him hopping. Now listen to me--Yes, Allyn, I mean you.
Fasten that converter onto the cable and stand by. We're going to make a
probe." Chase turned to me.
"You were Exec with Royce," he said. "You should know how to fight a
ship."
"What are you planning to do?" I asked.
"We can't hold that Rebel off. Maybe with ammunition we could, but
there's less than a salvo aboard and he has the advantage of position.
We can't be sure he won't try to take us in spite of 'Amphitrite's'
support and if he does finish us, 'Amphitrite's' a dead duck." The
"Lachesis" quivered as the port turrets belched flame. "That leaves
nineteen torpedoes," he said. "In Cth we're safe enough but we're
helpless without a probe. Yet we can only get into attack position from
Cth. That leaves us only one thing to do--improvise a probe."
"And how do you do that?" I asked.
"Put a man out on a line--with the converter from the auxiliary. Give
him a command helmet and have him talk the ship in."
"But that's suicide!"
"No, Marsden, not suicide--just something necessary. A necessary
sacrifice, like this whole damned war! I don't believe in killing men.
It makes me sick. But I kill if I have to, and sacrifice if I must." His
face twisted and the gray-green look came back. "There are over a
thousand men on the 'Amphitrite,' and a vital cargo of munitions. One
life, I think, is fair trade for a thousand, just as a few hundred
thousand is fair trade for a race." The words were schoolmasterish and
would have been dead wrong coming from anyone except Chase. But he gave
them an air of reasonable inevitability. And for a moment I forgot that
he was cold-bloodedly planning someone's death. For a moment I felt the
spirit of sacrifice that made heroes out of ordinary people.
* * * * *
"Look, skipper," I said. "How about letting me do it?" I could have
kicked myself a moment later, but the words were out before I could stop
them. He had me acting noble, and that trait isn't one of my strong
suits.
He smiled. "You know, Marsden," he said, "I was expecting that." His
voice was oddly soft. "Thanks." Then it became dry and impersonal.
"Request denied," he said. "This is my party."
I shivered inside. While I'm no coward, I didn't relish the thought of
slamming around at the end of a duralloy cable stretching into a nowhere
where there was no inertia. A hair too heavy a hand on the throttle in
Cth would crush the man on the end to a pulp. But he shouldn't go
either. It was his responsibility to command the ship.
"Who else is qualified?" Chase said answering the look on my face. "I
know more about maneuver than any man aboard, and I'll be controlling
the ship until the last moment. Once I order the attack I'll cut free,
and you can pick me up later."
"You won't have time," I protested.
"Just in case I don't make it," Chase continued, making the
understatement of the war with a perfectly straight face, "take care of
the crew. They're a good bunch--just a bit too eager for the _real_
Navy--but good. I've tried to make them into spacemen and they've
resented me for it. I've tried to protect them and they've hated me--"
"They won't now--" I interrupted.
"I've tried to make them a unit." He went on as though I hadn't said a
thing. "Maybe I've tried too hard, but I'm responsible for every life
aboard this ship." He picked up his helmet. "Take command of the ship,
Mr. Marsden," he said, and strode out of the room. The "Lachesis"
shuddered to the recoil from the port turrets. Eighteen torpedoes left,
I thought.
We lowered Chase a full hundred feet on the thin strand of duralloy. He
dangled under the ship, using his converter to keep the line taut.
"You hear me, skipper?" I asked.
"Clearly--and you?"
"Four-four. Hang on now--we're going up." I eased the "Lachesis" into
Cth and hung like glue to the border. "How's it going, skipper?"
"A bit rough but otherwise all right. Now steer right--easy now--aagh!"
"Skipper!"
"Okay, Marsden. You nearly pulled me in half--that's all. You did fine.
We're in good position in relation to 'Amphitrite.' Now let's get our
signals straight. Front is the way we're going now--base all my
directions on that--got it?"
"Aye, sir."
"Good, Marsden, throttle back and hang on your converters."