nds, he corrected slightly to center the pip. The
momentary hiss of the rockets was a relief. He heard the muffled
yammering as Guns fired a short burst from the .30's standing out of
their compartments around the sides of the ship. They were practically
recoilless, but the burst drifted him forward against the cradle
harness.

And suddenly the waiting was over. The ship filled with vibration as
Guns opened up. _Twenty-five seconds to target._ His eyes flicked from
the sightscreen to the sky ahead, looking for the telltale flare of
rockets--ready to follow like a ferret.

_There he is!_ At eighteen miles from target, a tiny blue light
flickered ahead. He forgot everything but the sightscreen, concentrating
on keeping the pip dead center. The guns hammered on. It seemed they'd
been firing for centuries. At ten-mile range, the combat radar kicked
the automatics in, turning the ship ninety degrees to her course in one
and a half seconds. He heard the lee side firing cut out, as Garrity
hung on with two, then three guns.

He held it as long as he could. Closer than he ever had before. At four
miles he poured 12 G's for two seconds.

They missed ramming by something around a hundred yards. The enemy ship
flashed across his tail in a fraction of a second, already turned around
and heading up its own track, yet it seemed to Paul he could make out
every detail--the bright red star, even the tortured face of the pilot.
Was there something lopsided in the shape of that rocket plume, or was
he just imagining it in the blur of their passing? And did he hear a
_ping_ just at that instant, feel the ship vibrate for a second?

He continued the turn in the direction the automatics had started,
bringing his nose around to watch the enemy's track. And as the shape of
the plume told him the other ship was still heading back toward Earth,
he brought the throttle back up to 12 G's, trying to overcome the lead
his pass had given away.

Guns spoke quietly to Johnson. "Let me know when we kill his RV. Ah may
get another shot at him."

And Johnny answered, hurt, "What do you think I'm doing down
here--reading one of your magazines?"

Paul was struggling with hundred-pound arms, trying to focus the
telescope that swiveled over the panel. As the field cleared, he could
see that the plume was flaring unevenly, flickering red and orange along
one side. Quietly and viciously, he was talking to himself. "Blow!
Blow!"

* *