e actual
terrain.

Ground fire, chemically propelled missiles, erupted ahead of them and
the small craft went to work intercepting it. They were down to a
hundred miles, then fifty, streaking along the jagged surface so close
they seemed to scrape it. This was point-blank range; as the computers
raced with the chaos of fire and counter-fire, human senses could only
register a few impressions--the bruising jerks, the shudder of
concussions, white streaks of rocket-trails, gushers of dirt from the
surface, winking flashes of mid-air interception.

Then the Heavies were on target. The flagship jumped as the massive
salvo leaped away--not chemical missiles, but huge space torpedoes
propelled by Pulsor units like the ships' drives, directing their own
flocks of smaller defensive missiles by an intricate network of
controls. The small stuff, augmented by fire from the lighter ships,
formed momentarily a visible tube down which the big stuff streaked
untouched.

The whole crater seemed to burst upward, reaching out angry fingers of
shattered rock as they ripped by, rocking and bucking with the blasts.
Tulan's viewer swivelled aft to hold the scene. Secondary blasts went
off like strings of giant firecrackers. Great black-and-orange
fungi-like clouds swirled upward, dissipating fast in the thin
atmosphere. Then Tulan spotted what he was looking for: three small
ships flashing over the area, to get damage-assessment pictures. There
was still a lot of ground-fire from farther out, and it caught one of
the three, which wobbled crazily then disappeared in a flash which
blanked out the viewscreen.

"Intelligence!" Tulan shouted. "Casualties?"

Intelligence was listening to his earphones and punching buttons. "Two
Lights lost, sir. Slight damage to seven more and to one Medium."

"All right. Get a telecopy of those pictures as soon as you can; we
certainly hit something. Maybe a Heavy or two." He relaxed, aching, and
reflected that he was getting a little mature for actual combat.

The pull-back went on, drawing only the local ground-fire now that the
enemy had been taught his lesson. Groups of ships lifted almost
constantly. The final position was an oval forty by sixty miles, held
almost entirely from the sky. The last evacuees straggled in like weary
ants, and when the radio reported no more of them the last fifty ships
lifted together and ran the gauntlet with slight losses.

Tulan pulled the Force away for rest and rep