The corporal’s reply was rueful, "Sir, that wasn’t the one I aimed at. The
sun’s pull is worse than I figured."
The damaged snapper-boat instantly blasted from its nose tubes,
decelerated and went into reverse, flipping through space crabwise as it
tried to regain the safety of the cruiser. The two boats that had crashed
while trying to dodge were blasting in great spurts of flame, following
the example of their damaged companion.
"Seven left," Rip called, and another rocket flashed on its way. He
followed its trail as it curved away from the asteroid and into the
squadron. Its proximity fuse detonated in the exhaust of a Connie boat,
blowing the tube out of position. The boat yawed wildly, cut its stern
tubes, and blasted to a stop from the bow tube. Then it, too, started
backward toward the cruiser.
Six left!
Flame blossomed a few yards from Rip. He was picked up bodily and flung
into space, whirling end over end. Koa’s voice rang in his helmet.
"Watch it! They’re firing back!"
Rip tugged frantically at an air bottle in his belt. He pulled it out and
used it to whirl him upright again, then its air blast drove him back to
the surface of the asteroid. Sweat poured from his forehead and the suit
ventilator whined as it worked to pick up the extra moisture. Great
Cosmos! That was close.