Oberheim (Voices) Part 30

"So what the h.e.l.l are you waiting for?"

"Nothing, sir. Outer seven shield-projectors damaged but reparable.

Several of the discharging chutes and one of the lower batteries out for twelve to twenty-four hours. No significant damage to interior vessel or launch ships."

At this Hayes grew calmer, mastered his wrath. NO SIGNIFICAN DAMAGE.

Then perhaps it was for the best after all. . .so long as no more of them got through. And he liked the unruffled manner of the officer who had given him the report.

"Very well, Captain. Admiral Frank, have we got a fix on where he came from?" The Fleet Commander was immediately aware of the change in his superior's voice.

"Yes, General. It came from the direction of East German Cerberus.

We've trained the First and Fourth Robot Artillery toward that vector, since it's unlikely they've had time....."

"Correct, Admiral. But see to it that the others aren't napping, either." THE JERRIES ARE NO FOOLS, THOUGH. THEY KNOW WE'RE COMING AFTER THEM. "Let's go up into the bubble for a moment, shall we?

Gentlemen, keep us posted."

Entering the 'bubble' through the elevator, a small, Officers' Security Chamber at the top of the uppermost bridge, the Secretary turned to Frank, and unexpectedly put his arm around his smaller compatriot's shoulder. Though incapable of self-reproach, he knew he had been a bit hard on this man, whose loyalty he could ill afford to lose.

Confused at this sudden gesture, Frank tried to clarify his position with words. "I'm sorry, General. Not going into full Intercept was a stupid oversight. I'd just not had experience with this type of craft."

"No, Donald, that's all right. It's a sign of desperation on their part, turning to guerilla warfare so soon." He motioned the Admiral to a chair, remained standing himself. "It may even be to our advantage in the long run. Sometimes there's nothing better for a c.o.c.ky fighter than to take a solid right to the jaw---let's him know he's in a real fight. Coffee?" Frank shook his head, and Hayes continued his oration.

"The upcoming battle isn't going to be as easy as the last one, though this time we'll be more experienced. Obviously word has leaked out that we plan to go after the D.G. Provinces. They can't know where we plan to hit them, of course (the last three digits of the attack coordinates were only now being relayed to the engineers at the Gate), but we could still run across the greater part of the Coalition forces before we're through. And who knows? It might not end there."

"What do you mean?" Frank's look was puzzled.

"I mean that Congress and the liberal press are giving Stone a tougher time on this than I first let on. He's got the authority and resources to supply the Third Fleet, but when the House will come around with full appropriations is another question."

"But surely after this attack the Soviets will intervene? Why. . .we can't take on Soviet s.p.a.ce with just the Third Fleet." For a moment Hayes stopped his pacing, and unconsciously ground his teeth. He did this with his back to the admiral, but realized that it might still look odd. He continued.

"All the same, I want to hold back as many of our ships as possible, keep losses to a minimum. And that means the launch-pilots, and our own gunners, are going to have to fight like h.e.l.l."

Frank was silent. Hayes took a deep breath and half sighed. "Well, maybe we'll get reinforcements sooner. One battle at a time! For now we've got the best men, the best equipment, AND the best leadership."

He winked with his eyelid only. "Well. Let's go back and see if the Germans have any more surprises for us."

The man rose, shook the hand Hayes offered, and both returned to the bridge.

"Got him, sir!" came a young voice, almost playful. "Knocked him out before he could fire; beat the d.a.m.n computer, too." The man, facing the controls of Auxiliary Laser Deployment, had obviously not seen the two generals re-enter.

"And just exactly what have you GOT?" said Frank disparagingly. The soldier whirled in his chair, and for a moment his face registered alarm. But very quickly the look of boyish confidence returned.

"One of those German torpedo-ships, Admiral. Neutralized the missile, too."

"Correct sir," added the main gunnery officer. Frank started to say something, but Hayes lightly touched his arm.

"That's very good shooting, gunner. But what would have happened if another 'torpedo ship' came out of warp while you were celebrating? I a.s.sure you, you'll have no time for games tomorrow. And to be sure that I make my point, I'm going to a.s.sign you a quota. Knock out twelve more targets tomorrow, and you might even retain your present rank. Do I make myself quite clear?"

The young man looked confused, turned to the gunnery officer as for support. But aware of Frank's eyes upon him, this older man nodded sternly, and the gunner had no choice.

"Yes, Mr. Secretary." Angry, humiliated, he turned back to his station. I'LL GET MORE THAN TWELVE, YOU OVERSTUFFED SON OF A b.i.t.c.h.

Such were his thoughts all that morning, and the thoughts that carried over, and were turned to hatred in the midst of the next day's fighting.

Returning after a time to the Intercom Studio, Hayes addressed the a.s.sembly again, this time in different tone and with stronger words.

And like pondering horses to the whip, they responded.

But not all of them alike.

Squadron-leader Heinrich Dorfman, in the last of three German ships to complete the mission, had held himself back on purpose, hoping to arrive last and unexpectedly---to do real, rather than symbolic damage.

And when his lead signal bounced back to him the image of Goethe, still some distance away, along with the outward-bound trail of the supercarrier, he set his course. He did this carefully, staying just above tracking speed, in a wide arc, hoping to come upon the Dreadnought in a time and place not as thoroughly guarded.

And like the two younger pilots who had come so far, his mind had long since crossed the line of rational human endurance. Now, when he closed his eyes he saw the gray, rotted-meat faces of old men crawling with maggots. He saw random s.e.xual parts horribly distorted: almost physical the effect of their ugliness upon him. His spirit had given up all hope of survival: strange voices. His tortured neck and back fused with the paroxysms of a migraine to form the single and inescapable sensation of concrete and iron, bent-forward pain. He felt he no longer had eyes, but that the image of the scope shot straight through the empty skull-sockets and into his brain. The last remnants of heart and courage despaired.

But now, on the verge of his thirtieth hour, with the target in reach, it was almost as though his mind were no longer attached to the body.

Numb fatigue had shaken it off like the parting soul shakes off flesh.

Nothing remained but his mission and his will.

He was ready. He would do it. He tried to rouse himself mentally for the last decisive seconds. He bean to slow out of light speed.

The time was now. Not too fast.....

:00- The ship in sight, minor adjustment.

:01- Locked on.

:02- Fire. WHAT THE h.e.l.l IS WRONG?

:03- Indicator light. PROJECTILE NON-FUNCTIONAL :04- d.a.m.n IT! Manual disengage, back to--- :05- Warp. Robot batteries aboard Dreadnought destroy the cast-off projectile. Fan-burst of ruby lasers miss the second target, fire again.

:57- Dorfman breaks his hand against the ceiling of the inner hull. He had failed. "d.a.m.n it! G.o.d d.a.m.n IT!"

21:12- The squadron leader slows his tiny ship and continues to steer toward the sun, Athena. Slowing further still, he places himself directly in line with sun and planet, close enough to Athena to distort tracking. Sends out his sounding beam.

34:29- Dorfman continues to wait for his signal to proceed him to Goethe. The time arrives. With the last of his e-light capacity and deep-s.p.a.ce fuel, he fires toward the distant speck of blue-green ocean world.

49:50- The third echo of his signal tells him he is drawing near. Slows to sub-light and raises entry shields, makes other preparations to enter atmosphere.

1:13:30- Entry halfway competed: elevation 1200 Kilometers.

The buffeting of atmosphere increases. Aware that he is being tracked and pursued by Alliance fighters, he makes jerking motions with the vessel, simulating (and nearly causing) atmospheric destruction.