A Question of Courage

by Jesse F. Bone

concealed until a critical moment, breakout intothreespace--discharge her weapons--and flick back into Cth before anenemy could get a fix on her. Scouts, with their high capacityconverters, could perform this maneuver, but the ponderous battlewagonsand cruisers with their tremendous weight of armor, screens, andmunitions couldn't maneuver like this. They simply didn't have theagility. Yet only they had the ability to penetrate defensive screensand kill the Rebel heavies. So space battle was conducted on the classicpattern--the Lines slugging it out at medium range while the screen ofscouts buzzed around and through the battle trying to add their weightof metal against some overstrained enemy and ensure his destruction. Amajor battle could go on for days--and it often did. In the Fifty Sunsaction the battle had lasted nearly two weeks subjective before wewithdrew to lick our wounds.

  * * * * *

  For nearly a day we ran into nothing, and such are the distances thatseparate units of a fleet, we had the impression that we were alone. Wemoved quietly, detectors out, scanning the area for a light-day aroundas we moved forward at less than one Lume through Cth. More would havebeen fatal for had we been forced to resort to a quick breakout to avoidenemy action, and if we were travelling above one Lume when we hitthreespace, we'd simply disappear, leaving a small spatial vortex in ourwake.

  On the "morning" of the third day the ships at the apex of Quadrant Oneran into a flight of Rebel scouts. There was a brief flurry of action,the Rebels were englobed, a couple of cruisers drove in, latched ontothe helplessly straining Rebel scouts and dragged them into threespace.The Rebs kept broadcasting right up to the end--after which theysurrendered before the cruisers could annihilate them. Smart boys.

  But the Rebels were warned. We couldn't catch all their scouts and thedisturbance our Line was making in Cth would register on any detectorwithin twenty parsecs. So they would be waiting to meet us. But that wasto be expected. There is no such thing as surprise in a major action.

  We went on until we began to run into major opposition. Half a dozenscouts were caught in englobements at half a dozen different placesalong the periphery as they came in contact with the Rebels' coveringforces. And that was that. The advance halted waiting for the Line tocome up, and a host of small actions took place as the forward screeningforces collided. Chase was in the control chair, hanging in theblackness of the infra band on the edge of normal space. But we weren'tflicking in and out of threespace like some of the others. We had aprobe out and the main buffeting was taken by the duralloy tube with itstiny converter at its bulbous tip. With consummate pilotage Chase washolding us in infra. It was a queasy sensation, hanging halfway betweennormalcy and chaos, and I had to admire his skill. The infra band wasblack as ink and hot as the hinges of hell--and since the edges ofthreespace and Cth are not as knife sharp as they are further up in theCth components, we bucked and shuddered on the border, but avoided thebone-crushing slams and gut-wrenching twists that less skillful skipperswere giving their ships as they flicked back and forth betweenthreespace and Cth. Our scouting line must have been a peculiar sight toa threespace observer with the thousand or so scouts flickering in andout of sight across a huge hemisphere of space.

  And then we saw them. Our probe picked up the flicker of enemy scouts.

  "Action imminent," Chase said drily. "Stand by."

  I clapped the other control helmet over my head and dropped into theExec's chair. A quick check showed the crew at their stations, thetorpedo hatches clear, the antiradiation shields up and the ship infighting trim. I stole a quick glance at Chase. Sweat stood out on hisgray forehead. His lips were drawn back into a thin line, showing histeeth. His face was tense, but whether with fear or excitement I didn'tknow.

  "Stand by," he said, and then we hit threespace, just as the enormouscone of the Rebel Line flicked into sight. The enemy line had taken thefield, and under the comparatively slow speeds of threespace was rushingforward to meet our Line which had emerged a few minutes ago. Ourlaunchers flamed as we sent a salvo of torpedoes whistling toward theRebel fleet marking perhaps the opening shots of the main battle. Wetwisted 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. Thetension, the racking agony of our motion, and the fact that he wasprobably in his first major battle had all combined to take him for thecount. He grinned greenly at me and turned back to his dials andinstruments. Good man!

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

  "Stand by," Chase said. "All turrets prepare to fire." And he took usdown. We slammed into threespace and our turrets flamed. To our leftrear and above hung the mass of an enemy cruiser, her screens glowing onstandby as she drove forward to her place in the line. We had caught herby surprise, a thousand to one shot, and our torpedoes were on their waybefore her detectors spotted us. We didn't stay to see what happened,but the probe showed an enormous fireball which blazed briefly in theblackness, shooting out globs of scintillating molten metal that cooledand 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'sability disappeared. All except mine. One lucky shot isn't a battle, andI guess Chase figured the same way because his hands were shaking as hejockeyed 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--loosedanother salvo at another Reb, and flicked out of sight. And that was theway it went for hour after hour until we pulled out, our last torpedofired and the crew on the ragged edge of exhaustion. Somehow, by somemiracle compounded of luck and good pilotage, we were unmarked. AndChase, despite his twitching face and shaking hands, was one hell of acombat skipper! I didn't wonder about him any more. He had the guts allright. But it was a different sort of courage from the icy contempt fordanger that marked Andy Royce. Even so, I couldn't help thinking that Iwas glad to be riding with Chase. We drove to the rear, heading for thesupply train, our ammunition expended, while behind us the battlewagonsand cruisers were hammering each other to metal pulp.

  In the quiet of the rear area it was hardly believable that a majorbattle was going on ahead of us. We raised the "Amphitrite," identifiedourselves, and put in a request for supply.

  "Lay aboard," "Amphitrite" signalled back. "How's the war going?"

  "Don't know. We've been too busy," our signalman replied.

  "I'll bet--you're 'Lachesis,' aren't you?"

  "Affirmative."

  "How'd you lose your ammo? Jettison it?"

  "Stow that, you unprintable obscenity," Haskins replied. "We're afighting ship."

  "Amphitrite" chuckled nastily. "That I'll believe when I see it!"

  "Communications," Chase snapped. "This isn't a social call. Get ourheading and approach instructions." He sounded as schoolmasterish asever, but there was a sickly smile on his face, and the gray-green lookwas gone.

  "Morale seems a little better, doesn't it, Marsden?" he said to me asthe "Amphitrite" flicked out into threespace and we followed.

  I nodded. "Yes, sir," I agreed. "Quite a little."

  Our cargo hatches snapped open and we cuddled up against "Amphitrite's"bulging belly while our crew and the supply echelon worked like demonsto transfer ammunition. We had fifty torpedoes aboard when the I.F.F.detector shrilled alarm.

  Three hundred feet above us the "Amphitrite's" main battery let loose asalvo at three Rebel scouts that had flickered into being less thanfifty miles away. Their launchers flared with a glow that lighted theblackness of space.

  "Stand by!" Chase yelled as he threw the converter on.

  "Hatches!" I screamed as we shimmered and vanished.

  Somehow we got most of them close
d, losing only the crew on number twoport turret which was still buttoning up as we slipped over into theinfra band. I ordered the turret sealed. Cth had already ruined theunshielded sighting mechanisms and I had already seen what happened tomen caught in Cth unprotected. I had no desire to see it again--or letour crew see it if it could be avoided. A human body turned inside outisn't the most wholesome of sights.

  "How did _they_ get through?" Chase muttered as we put out our probe.

  "I don't know--maybe someone wasn't looking."

  "What's it like down there?" Chase asked. "See anything?"

  "'Amphitrite's' still there," I said.

  "She's _what_?"

  "Still there," I repeated. "And she's in trouble."

  "She's big. She can take it--but--"

  "Here, you look," I said, flipping the probe switch.

  "My God!" Chase muttered--as he took one look at the supply ship lyingdead in space, her protective batteries flaming. She had gotten one ofthe Rebel scouts but the other two had her bracketed and were pouringfire against her dim screens.

  "She can't keep this up," I said. "She's been hulled--and it looks likeher power's taken it."

  "Action imminent," Chase ordered, and the rangefinder took up hischant.

  We came storming out of Cth right on top of one of the Rebel scouts. Aviolent shock raced through the ship, slamming me against my web. Therebound sent us a good two miles away before our starboard batteryflamed. The enemy scout, disabled by the shock, stunned and unable tomaneuver took the entire salvo amidships and disappeared in a puff offlame.

  The second Rebel disappeared and we did too. She was back in Cth lookingfor a better chance at the "Amphitrite." The big ship was wallowing likea wounded whale, half of one section torn away, her armor dented, andher tubes firing erratically.

  We took one long look and jumped back into Cth. But not before Haskinsbeamed a message to the supply ship. "Now you've seen it, you damnedstorekeeper," he gloated. "What do you think?" "Amphitrite" didn'tanswer.

  "Probe out," Chase ordered, neglecting, I noticed, to comment on thesignalman's act.

  * * * * *

  I pushed the proper buttons but nothing happened. I pushed again andthen turned on the scanners. The one aft of the probe was half coveredwith a twisted mass of metal tubing that had once been our probe. Wemust have smashed it when we rammed. Quickly I shifted to the auxiliaryprobe, but the crumpled mass had jammed the hatch. It wouldn't open.

  "No probes, sir," I announced.

  "Damn," Chase said. "Well, we'll have to do without them. Hold tight,we're going down."

  We flicked into threespace just in time to see a volcano of fire eruptfrom "Amphitrite's" side and the metallic flick of the Rebel scoutslipping back into Cth.

  "What's your situation, 'Amphitrite'?" our signal asked.

  "Not good," the faint answer came back. "They've got us in the powerroom and our accumulators aren't going to stand this load very long.That last salvo went through our screens, but our armor stopped it. Butif the screens go down--"

  Our batteries flared at the Rebel as he again came into sight. He didn'twait, but flicked right back into Cth without firing a shot. Pollard wason the ball.

  "Brave lad, that Reb," Chase said. There was a sneer in his voice.

  For the moment it was stalemate. The Reb wasn't going to come into closerange with a warship of equal power to his own adding her metal to the"Amphitrite's," but he could play cat and mouse with us, drawing ourfire until we had used up our torpedoes, and then come in to finishthe supply ship. Or he could harass us with long range fire. Or he couldgo away.

  It was certain he wouldn't do the last, and he'd be a fool if he did thesecond. "Amphitrite" could set up a mine screen that would take care ofany long range stuff,--and we could dodge it. His probe was stillworking and he had undoubtedly seen ours crushed against our hull. If hehadn't he was blind--and that wasn't a Rebel characteristic. We couldhyper, of course, but we were blind up there in Cth. His best was tokeep needling us, and take the chance that we'd run out of torps.

  "What's our munition?" Chase asked almost as an echo to my thought. Iswitched over to Pollard.

  "Thirty mark sevens," Pollard said, "and a little small arms."

  "One good salvo," Chase said, thoughtfully.

  The Rebel flashed in and out again, and we let go a burst.

  "Twenty, now," I said.

  Chase didn't hear me. He was busy talking to Allyn on damage control."You can't cut it, hey?--All right--disengage the converter on theauxiliary probe and break out that roll of duralloy cable in thestores--Pollard! don't fire over one torp at a time when that lad showsup. Load the other launchers with blanks. Make him think we're shooting.We have to keep him hopping. Now listen to me--Yes, Allyn, I mean you.Fasten that converter onto the cable and stand by. We're going to make aprobe." Chase turned to me.

  "You were Exec with Royce," he said. "You should know how to fight aship."

  "What are you planning to do?" I asked.

  "We can't hold that Rebel off. Maybe with ammunition we could, butthere's less than a salvo aboard and he has the advantage of position.We can't be sure he won't try to take us in spite of 'Amphitrite's'support and if he does finish us, 'Amphitrite's' a dead duck." The"Lachesis" quivered as the port turrets belched flame. "That leavesnineteen torpedoes," he said. "In Cth we're safe enough but we'rehelpless without a probe. Yet we can only get into attack position fromCth. That leaves us only one thing to do--improvise a probe."

  "And how do you do that?" I asked.

  "Put a man out on a line--with the converter from the auxiliary. Givehim a command helmet and have him talk the ship in."

  "But that's suicide!"

  "No, Marsden, not suicide--just something necessary. A necessarysacrifice, like this whole damned war! I don't believe in killing men.It makes me sick. But I kill if I have to, and sacrifice if I must." Hisface twisted and the gray-green look came back. "There are over athousand men on the 'Amphitrite,' and a vital cargo of munitions. Onelife, I think, is fair trade for a thousand, just as a few hundredthousand is fair trade for a race." The words were schoolmasterish andwould have been dead wrong coming from anyone except Chase. But he gavethem an air of reasonable inevitability. And for a moment I forgot thathe was cold-bloodedly planning someone's death. For a moment I felt thespirit of sacrifice that made heroes out of ordinary people.

  * * * * *

  "Look, skipper," I said. "How about letting me do it?" I could havekicked myself a moment later, but the words were out before I could stopthem. He had me acting noble, and that trait isn't one of my strongsuits.

  He smiled. "You know, Marsden," he said, "I was expecting that." Hisvoice was oddly soft. "Thanks." Then it became dry and impersonal."Request denied," he said. "This is my party."

  I shivered inside. While I'm no coward, I didn't relish the thought ofslamming around at the end of a duralloy cable stretching into a nowherewhere there was no inertia. A hair too heavy a hand on the throttle inCth would crush the man on the end to a pulp. But he shouldn't goeither. It was his responsibility to command the ship.

  "Who else is qualified?" Chase said answering the look on my face. "Iknow more about maneuver than any man aboard, and I'll be controllingthe ship until the last moment. Once I order the attack I'll cut free,and you can pick me up later."

  "You won't have time," I protested.

  "Just in case I don't make it," Chase continued, making theunderstatement of the war with a perfectly straight face, "take care ofthe crew. They're a good bunch--just a bit too eager for the _real_Navy--but good. I've tried to make them into spacemen and they'veresented me for it. I've tried to protect them and they've hated me--"

  "They won't now--" I interrupted.

  "I've tried to make them a unit." He went on as though I hadn't said athing. "Maybe I've tried too hard, but I'm responsible for every lifeaboard this ship." He picked up his helmet. "Take command of the
ship,Mr. Marsden," he said, and strode out of the room. The "Lachesis"shuddered to the recoil from the port turrets. Eighteen torpedoes left,I thought.

  We lowered Chase a full hundred feet on the thin strand of duralloy. Hedangled under the ship, using his converter to keep the line taut.

  "You hear me, skipper?" I asked.

  "Clearly--and you?"

  "Four-four. Hang on now--we're going up." I eased the "Lachesis" intoCth and hung like glue to the border. "How's it going, skipper?"

  "A bit rough but otherwise all right. Now steer right--easy now--aagh!"

  "Skipper!"

  "Okay, Marsden. You nearly pulled me in half--that's all. You did fine.We're in good position in relation to 'Amphitrite.' Now let's get oursignals straight. Front is the way we're going now--base