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 damn 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
assure you, you'll have no time for games tomorrow. And to be sure
that I make my point, I'm going to assign 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 BITCH.
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
assembly 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
D