Slingshot | Page 4

in the silence, praying they weren't spotted--staring at the unmoving firmament and knowing he was a projectile hurtling two miles each second straight at a clump of metal and flesh that was the enemy. Knowing the odds were twenty to one against their scoring a kill ... unless they ran into him.
* * * * *
At eighty-five seconds, he corrected slightly to center the pip. The momentary hiss of the rockets was a relief. He heard the muffled yammering as Guns fired a short burst from the .30's standing out of their compartments around the sides of the ship. They were practically recoilless, but the burst drifted him forward against the cradle harness.
And suddenly the waiting was over. The ship filled with vibration as Guns opened up. Twenty-five seconds to target. His eyes flicked from the sightscreen to the sky ahead, looking for the telltale flare of rockets--ready to follow like a ferret.
There he is! At eighteen miles from target, a tiny blue light flickered ahead. He forgot everything but the sightscreen, concentrating on keeping the pip dead center. The guns hammered on. It seemed they'd been firing for centuries. At ten-mile range, the combat radar kicked the automatics in, turning the ship ninety degrees to her course in one and a half seconds. He heard the lee side firing cut out, as Garrity hung on with two, then three guns.
He held it as long as he could. Closer than he ever had before. At four miles he poured 12 G's for two seconds.
They missed ramming by something around a hundred yards. The enemy ship flashed across his tail in a fraction of a second, already turned around and heading up its own track, yet it seemed to Paul he could make out every detail--the bright red star, even the tortured face of the pilot. Was there something lopsided in the shape of that rocket plume, or was he just imagining it in the blur of their passing? And did he hear a ping just at that instant, feel the ship vibrate for a second?
He continued the turn in the direction the automatics had started, bringing his nose around to watch the enemy's track. And as the shape of the plume told him the other ship was still heading back toward Earth, he brought the throttle back up to 12 G's, trying to overcome the lead his pass had given away.
Guns spoke quietly to Johnson. "Let me know when we kill his RV. Ah may get another shot at him."
And Johnny answered, hurt, "What do you think I'm doing down here--reading one of your magazines?"
Paul was struggling with hundred-pound arms, trying to focus the telescope that swiveled over the panel. As the field cleared, he could see that the plume was flaring unevenly, flickering red and orange along one side. Quietly and viciously, he was talking to himself. "Blow! Blow!"
* * * * *
And she blew. Like a dirty ragged bit of fireworks, throwing tiny handfuls of sparks into the blackness. Something glowed red for a while, and slowly faded.
There, but for the grace of God.... Paul shuddered in a confused mixture of relief and revulsion.
He cut back to 4 G's, noting that RVS registered about a mile per second away from station, and suddenly became aware that the red light was on for loss of air. The cabin pressure gauge read zero, and his heart throbbed into his throat as he remembered that pinging sound, just as they passed the enemy ship. He told Garrity to see if he could locate the loss, and any other damage, and was shortly startled by a low amazed whistle in his earphones.
"If Ah wasn't lookin' at it, Ah wouldn't believe it. Musta been one of his shells went right around the fuel tank and out again, without hittin' it. There's at least three inches of tank on a line between the holes! He musta been throwin' curves at us. Man, cap'n, this is our lucky day!"
[Illustration]
Paul felt no surprise, only relief at having the trouble located. The reaction to the close call might not come till hours later. "This kind of luck we can do without. Can you patch the holes?"
"Ah can patch the one where it came in, but it musta been explodin' on the way out. There's a hole Ah could stick mah head through."
"That's a good idea." Johnson was not usually very witty, but this was one he couldn't resist.
"Never mind, Guns. A patch that big wouldn't be safe to hold air."
* * * * *
They were about eighty thousand miles out. He set course for Earth at about five and a half mps, which Johnson calculated to bring them in on the station on the "going away" side of its orbit, and settled back for the tedious two