d a new voice, "This is Red Leader. Red Leader. Red Flight
is in position."

"Rog, Red Leader," Control acknowledged. The Observation flight of jet
fighters was waiting, too.

"Minus five ... four ... three ... two ... one ... mark!"

Silence.

_I had a true wife but I left her ... oh, oh, oh._

There was another rattle of the speaker, and Mitch's voice came through,
grunting, heavy, as the acceleration of the Ship laid a heavy hand on
his chest.

"Acceleration ... eight gee ... controls respond."

Silence.

"There he is," someone said. A wavering trail of smoke was barely
visible below, a thread of white, coming up fast, blown erratically by
winds into a distorted tiny snake.

"Altitude ..." said Mitch's voice, "40,000.... Acceleration ...
dropping."

The white snake wriggled up to their level, rose above them. Johnny
could not see the silver head.

"Altitude ... 65,000.... I have a loud, very high buzz in my headphones.
I'm going to--there, it's gone now, went out of my range."

His voice sounded wrong to Johnny, but he couldn't pin it down.

"Altitude ... 105,000. Beginning orbital correction.
Beginning--beginning ... I can't--I'm--I'm--" The voice became
unintelligible. It was pitched very high, like a woman's, and it sounded
as if his teeth were chattering.

"Mitch," Johnny pleaded softly. "Mitch, baby. Dump it, boy, come on
home, now. Dump it."

There was no more from the speaker. A confused babble broke out in the
bomb-bay. The Sergeant fiddled with his dials frantically, spinning
across wavelengths, trying to find a word. The confusion ceased when the
speaker rattled again, seeming hours later.

"Uh, hello, Control, this is Red Three, do you read me?" One of the
fighter flight.

"Rog, Red Three, go ahead," came Control's voice from below.

"Uh, Control, I have a flash and smoke cloud on a bearing of three-seven
degrees."

"Red Three, what altitude? What altitude?"

"None," said the fighter pilot. "On the deck."

After a moment, Johnny climbed unsteadily to his feet in the midst of a
booming silence. He made his way back along the catwalk to the head,
where he retched violently until the tears came to his eyes.

* * * * *

Three weeks later, Johnny sat in Doctor Lambert's office. He watched the
lean, graying psychologist turn off the tape recorder, watched him
methodically tamp tobacco in his pipe.

"That's all she wrote, Johnny," said Lambert, final