To The Stars

Skougaard sat back to wait, then nodded to Jan. “The enemy has spread a wide web, which is what I would have done myself, rather than risking everything on covering a few orbital boltholes. They knew that we wouldn’t come out from behind the Moon on the same orbit we were on when they lost contact with us. This is both good and bad for us. Good for the others in the first squadron. They are in tight orbit for two of the most important Lagrange satellite colonies, the manufacturing ones. Whether they attempt to capture them or not depends entirely upon how hot the pursuit is. We’ll know soon when all of the enemy course corrections are completed. It will be a slow stern chase because our opponent’s forces are so widely separated. That could be dangerous for us because they could mass more ships than I would like to intercept us. Let us hope that they get their priorities wrong.”

“What do you mean?”

Skougaard pointed at the screen at the image of the troop carrier in orbit beside them. “At this point in time everything depends upon that ship. Knock it out and we have surely lost the war. Right now its orbit terminates in central Europe, which should give the enemy something to ponder over. But during braking approach its course, and ours, will be changed to put us down in the Mojave. Just one hour after the Israeli attack begins. With our aid the base will be secured, the missile sites captured. When they are secured we can fight off any attack from space, or destroy the base if attacked by land. End of battle, end of war. But if they knock out that transport, why then we don’t take the base, the Israelis will be counterattacked and killed — and we will have lost the war… wait. Signal from the second squadron.”

The Admiral read the report and grinned widely. “They’ve done it! Lundwall and his men have taken all three power satellites.” The grin faded. “They fought off the interceptors. We lost two ships.”

There was nothing to be said. Capture of these satellites, and the orbiting colonies, would be immensely important in ending the war quickly after Spaceconcent was taken. But right now both actions were basically diversions to split the enemy forces to enable the troop carrier to slip through. How successful these diversions would be would not be known until the Earth forces were established in their new courses.

“Preliminary estimation,” the computer said calmly. “Eighty percent probability that three ships will intercept force one alpha.”

“I was hoping for only one or two,” Skougaard said. “I don’t like the odds.” He spoke to the computer. “Give me identification on those three.”

They waited. Although the approaching spaceships could be clearly observed electronically, they appeared just as points in space. Until they could be seen as physical shapes the identification program had to look for other identifying signs. Degree of acceleration when changing course gave clues to their engines. When they communicated with each other their code identities might be discovered. This all took time — time during which the distance between the opposing forces closed rapidly.

“Identification,” the computer said. Skougaard spun to face the screens as the numbers appeared there far faster than they could be spoken aloud.

“Til helvede!” he said in cold anger. “Something is wrong, very wrong. They shouldn’t be there. Those are their heaviest attack vessels, armed to the teeth with every weapon that they possess. We can’t get through. We’re as good as dead now.”

Twenty-Two

There was never any uncertainty about the summer weather in the Mojave desert. During the winter months conditions varied; there could be clouds, occasionally even rain. The desert would be uncharacteristically green then, dusted with tiny flowers that faded and died in a few days. Beautiful. That could not be said about the summer time.

Before dawn the temperature might drop down to thirty-eight degrees, what the Americans, still valiantly resisting the onslaught of the metric system, insisted on calling ninety. It might even be a few degrees cooler, but no more. Then the sun came up.

It burned like the mouth of an open oven as it cleared the horizon. By noon, sixty degrees — one hundred and thirty — was not unusual.

The sky was light in the east, the temperature just bearable, when the planes came in to land. The tower at the Spaceconcent airfield had been in touch with the flight since they had begun to lose height over Arizona. The rising sun glowed warmly on their burnished skins as they dropped down toward the lights of the runway.