the swooper I had sent south toward the city went into
action as a diversion, to keep the Hans at home. Its "kite-tail" loaded
with long-range gunners, using the most highly explosive rockets we had,
hung invisible in the darkness of the sky and bombarded the city from a
distance of about five miles. With an entire city to shoot at, and the
object of creating as much commotion therein as possible, regardless of
actual damage, the gunners had no difficulty in hitting the mark. I
could see the glow of the city and the stabbing flashes of exploding
rockets. In the end, the Hans, uncertain as to what was going on, fell
back on a defensive policy, and shot their "hell cylinder," or wall of
upturned disintegrator rays into operation. That, of course, ended our
bombardment of them. The rays were a perfect defense, disintegrating our
rockets as they were reached.

If they had not sent out ships before turning on the rays, and if they
had none within sufficient radius already in the air, all would be well.

I queried Garlin on this, but he assured me Yellow Intelligence reported
no indications of Han ships nearer than 800 miles. This would probably
give us a free hand for a while, since most of their instruments
recorded only imperfectly or not at all, through the death wall.

Requisitioning one of the viewplates of the headquarters ship, and the
services of an expert operator, I instructed him to focus on our lines
below. I wanted a close-up of the men in action.

He began to manipulate his controls and chaotic shadows moved rapidly
across the plate, fading in and out of focus, until he reached an
adjustment that gave me a picture of the forest floor, apparently 100
feet wide, with the intervening branches and foliage of the trees
appearing like shadows that melted into reality a few feet above the
ground.

I watched one man setting up his long-gun with skillful speed. His lips
pursed slightly as though he were whistling, as he adjusted the tall
tripod on which the long tube was balanced. Swiftly he twirled the knobs
controlling the aim and elevation of his piece. Then, lifting a belt of
ammunition from the big box, which itself looked heavy enough to break
down the spindly tripod, he inserted the end of it in the lock of his
tube and touched the proper combination of buttons.

Then he stepped aside, and occupied himself with peering carefully
through the trees ahead. Not even a tremor shook the tube, but I knew
that at