Only
Kemp remained at work. His torch flared, slicing through the thorium as
he prepared their firing position.
The atomic charge was ready. The wires had been laid up to the rim of the
crater in which Kemp worked, and the dynamo was attached.
Rip was everywhere, checking on the launcher, on Kemp, on the pistols of
his men. And Santos, hunched over his illuminated sight, watched the
Connie snapper-boats draw near.
"Here we go," the corporal muttered. He pressed the trigger.
The first rocket sped outward in a sweeping curve, and for a moment Rip
opened his mouth to yell at Santos. The sun's gravity affected the attack
rockets, too! Then he saw that the corporal had allowed for the sun's
pull.
The rocket curved into the squadron of on-coming boats, and they all
tried to dodge at once. Two of them met in a sideways crash, then a third
staggered as its stern globe flared and exploded. Santos had scored a
hit!
Rip called, "Good shooting!"
The corporal's reply was rueful. "Sir, that wasn't the one I aimed at.
The sun's pull is worse than I figured."
The damaged snapper-boat instantly blasted from its nose tubes,
decelerated, and went into reverse, flipping through space crabwise as it
tried to regain the safety of the cruiser.
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