sight. The enemy line had taken the
field, and under the comparatively slow speeds of threespace was rushing
forward to meet our Line which had emerged a few minutes ago. Our
launchers flamed as we sent a salvo of torpedoes whistling toward the
Rebel fleet marking perhaps the opening shots of the main battle. We
twisted back into Cth as one of the scanner men doubled over with agony,
heaving his guts out into a disposal cone. I felt sorry for him. The
tension, the racking agony of our motion, and the fact that he was
probably in his first major battle had all combined to take him for the
count. He grinned greenly at me and turned back to his dials and
instruments. Good man!

"Target--range one eight zero four, azimuth two four oh, elevation one
oh seven," the rangefinder reported. "Mass four." Mass four:--a cruiser.

"Stand by," Chase said. "All turrets prepare to fire." And he took us
down. We slammed into threespace and our turrets flamed. To our left
rear and above hung the mass of an enemy cruiser, her screens glowing on
standby as she drove forward to her place in the line. We had caught her
by surprise, a thousand to one shot, and our torpedoes were on their way
before her detectors spotted us. We didn't stay to see what happened,
but the probe showed an enormous fireball which blazed briefly in the
blackness, shooting out globs of scintillating molten metal that cooled
and disappeared as we watched.

"Scratch one cruiser," someone in fire control yelped.

* * * * *

The effect on morale was electric. In that instant all doubts of Chase's
ability disappeared. All except mine. One lucky shot isn't a battle, and
I guess Chase figured the same way because his hands were shaking as he
jockeyed us along on the edge of Cth. He looked like he wanted to vomit.

"Take it easy, skipper," I said.

"Mind your own business, Marsden--and I'll mind mine," Chase snapped.
"Stand by," he ordered, and we dove into threespace again--loosed
another salvo at another Reb, and flicked out of sight. And that was the
way it went for hour after hour until we pulled out, our last torpedo
fired and the crew on the ragged edge of exhaustion. Somehow, by some
miracle compounded of luck and good pilotage, we were unmarked. And
Chase, despite his twitching face and shaking hands, was one hell of a
combat skipper! I didn't wonder about him any more. He had the guts all
right. But it was a different sort of cou