To The Stars

When the measured point in space was reached, the firing circuits were actuated. Electronic ignition set off the rocket shell lodged in every breech. When these had hurtled away the next shells were moved into position, then the next. Since there was no need to lock and unlock the open breech, no shell casings to eject, the rate of fire was incredible, limited only by the mechanical speed of the loading magazine. In each gun an average of 60 rockets were pushed forward and fired every second, 480 from every turret. A total of 197 turrets had been built and installed in a feverish rush before the fleet had left, the final connections on many of them actually being completed en route. The effort had been worth it.

Every second 94,560 rocket slugs flamed out from the guns. Two and one third tonnes of steel. When the firing stopped at the end of one minute, over 141 tonnes of flying metal had been launched toward the Earth fleet. Corrections had been constantly made in the aim during the firing, including a computation that would allow for a certain amount of evasion by the enemy if they should fire their jets.

Outward, further and further the invisible mass sped, a sparkling fog on the radar screens that quickly vanished. The same computer that had aimed the missiles now counted down toward their moment of arrival. First the minutes, then the seconds, hurrying steadily backward toward zero. Now!

“My God…” Jan gasped as the optical screen lit up with the multiple explosions. All of the defensive missiles had been activated at approximately the same moment by the mass of steel. Space was on fire with atomic and chemical blasts, clouds of flame that expanded and merged as though to screen the destruction and tragedy that was happening behind it.

As the attackers sped past the still growing cloud they could see the enemy fleet. Admiral Skougaard had his guns aimed and missiles ready. After one glance he ordered them to stand down. He turned in silence from the screen; he had known most of the men who had died; they had been his comrades.

Where once a fleet of spaceships had been there now existed only torn and jumbled metal debris. Mixed in with it was the exploded flesh of Admiral Kapustin along with that of every man who had sailed with him. The defensive fleet had ceased to exist, both squadrons destroyed in the same manner, within seconds of each other.

The two clouds of wreckage and fragments were quickly left behind.

Ahead lay Earth.

Twenty

“I should be getting to my plane now,” Dvora said. “All of the others are aboard.”

She had grown tired of sitting in the car and had climbed out to lean against its side. The night was warm, the stars flickering brilliantly in the rising air currents. Although the airport was blacked out, the dark silhouettes of the big transports were visible where they were lined up along the runway, Her ammunition bag, machine pistol and helmet were at her side. Amri Ben-Haim stood next to her, the bowl of his pipe a glowing spark in the darkness.

“There is no rush, Dvora,” he said. “There are thirty minutes at least to takeoff. Your soldiers are grown men, no need to hold their hands.”

“Grown men!” she sniffed expressively, “Farmers and university professors. How well will they behave when there are real bullets coming their way?”

“Very well, I am sure. Their training has been the best. Like yours. You just have had some field experiences that they have not. Rely on them…

“Message coming through,” the driver said as his radio beeped for attention.

“Accept with my code identification,” Ben-Haim said.

There was a murmured interchange. The driver leaned out the window. “A two word message. Beth doar.”

“Post office!” Ben-Haim said. “They’ve done it. Taken out the Khartoum station. Tell Blonstein that the situation, to use his favorite expression, is go. Then get to your plane. You shouldn’t be hanging around out here.”

Dvora had her helmet on, her microphone activated, the message passed. “Yes… yes, General. I’ll do that.” She turned to Ben-Haim. “A communication for you from General Blonstein. He says to keep an eye on Israel for him. He’d like to find it here when he gets back.”

“So would I. When you talk to him next say I told you that was up to him, not me. I’ll be sitting on my porch waiting for results. That is just as long as I have a porch to sit on.” Dvora gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and was gone, the sound of her running feet vanishing in the darkness toward the planes.