Harry Harrison: Star Smashers of the Galaxy Rangers

"Here they come," John said grimly. "Load the oxy aboard and I'll hold them off until we're ready to go." And this stalwart American, so long misled but now returned to his homeland, was as good as his word. He ran forward shouting a battle cry, whether it was "Remember Pearl Harbor!" or "Remember the Maine!" or whatever is not important; what is important is that one man faced that ravening alien horde with a smile upon his lips. Shot after well-placed shot rang out, each one bringing down at least three of the screeching, dagger-waving Titanians, and the attack was slowed. But their numbers pressed on, and by sheer weight they forced him back, step by reluctant step, until he was almost under the wing of the Pleasantville Eagle.

"This is my last clip," he shouted back over his shoulder, pulling the trigger on the instant and exploding to green shreds the head of an importune enemy.

"There!" a welcome voice called out in reply, and three dark cylinders flew over his head. "Put a bullet through each of those and get inside. We're ready to go!"

And he had just three bullets left. Only a superb marksman could have hit those small targets under the tricky light of Saturn, exhausted and faced by an attacking horde of monsters. But he did it, almost casually, a smile playing about his lips all the time. Three shots rang out, almost as one, and each container burst into coruscating flame. Wails of pain and anger broke out from the Titanians, who were forced back by the only thing they really feared. Heat! Taking advantage of the moment's respite, John dived for the doorway and slammed it shut behind him.

"Oxygen pressure up to two atmospheres and still rising," Chuck called out, bent over a pressure gauge that had been rigged in the floor leading to the hold below.

"Then hold onto your hats because here we go!" Jerry called out jubilantly from the pilot's seat as he jammed the throttle home and fired up the outboard starboard engine. They held their breaths, unknowingly, as the engine whined over slowly, protesting at these strange conditions. Over and over it turned while the Titanians pressed close for the attack, whining and grumbling and not catching at all, slower and slower.

"The batteries are almost dead," Jerry cried. "Turn out all the lights, everything that draws electricity, even the monomatic toilets, so I can try again."

Darkness fell instantly inside the plane as the switches were thrown, and they waited in hushed silence as Jerry threw the starting switch again.

"What were those bombs?" John asked. "I didn't know we had any explosive aboard."

"Just something I rigged out of used oxygen cylinders in case you needed some help. Filled with jet fuel and chunks of frozen oxygen. The fuel melted the oxygen, which pressurized the cylinders, which blew up when you shot them, and the inflammable mixture was ignited by your hot bullets."

His words were interrupted by a sudden popping explosion from the engine, and they held their breaths while a cloud of smoke and flame was ejected from the exhaust. The popping slowed, almost stopped, picked up again; then the engine burst into the full-throated roar of full power, drowning out forever the screams of the incinerated Titanians who were blown away by the exhaust. His two companions pounded the pilot on the back as the other engines caught one after another until the great ship was vibrating with barely restrained power. Chuck slid into the copilot's seat and readied himself at the controls.

"I just had a thought," he said as he reached to release the wheel brakes. "Did you align the cheddite projector?"

"I thought you would never ask." Jerry laughed. "It was the first thing I did while the oxygen was warming up. She's now lined up to fourteen decimal points and A-OK and ready to go. And I've done all the settings and locked the controls. All we have to do is take this barge up to thirty thousand feet, aim the nose directly at Polaris, also called the North Star, point the starboard wing at the outermost point of Saturn's ring – and press the firing button! We'll appear at twenty-eight thousand nine hundred and fifty feet over central Kansas, give or take a few feet."

"Great! So here we go!"

The Pleasantville Eagle turned ponderously about and started back down the ice in the very tracks it had made on landing, crushing and incinerating the surviving Titanians as it went. Faster and faster until it was yearning to leap from the ground. Then, throttles full back, it hurled itself into the air, free of the jagged crags below, and pointed its nose towards mighty Saturn.

"What a moment!" Chuck enthused.

"Yes," Jerry said, and the smile was suddenly erased from his face. "Everything is fine – except for poor Sally." At these words Chuck's smile went the way of the other's, and only John still smiled across the cabin.

"I told you not to worry," he said, and instantly four worried eyes, two burning black, two icy blue, were fixed upon him.

"What do you mean?" Jerry choked out for them both.

"Here is what we are going to do."

"Before I realized I was an American, you will remember that I was a secret Soviet agent. Some strange things happened then, let me tell you, but that is another story altogether. But I did a lot of training in Siberia, and on one secret mission there I took an advanced degree in brain surgery, which had to do with something else, but while I was working at the underground hospital in Novaya Zemlya, I got to chatting with the other doctors, you know, sort of talking shop, and they showed me some things they were working on. One thing I remember was deep freezing, always a kind of problem in Siberia, as you can imagine, and they had worked out a secret technique for reviving people who were caught out in blizzards and things and were frozen solid just like Sally back there in the john."

"And you know. . . ?" Jerry choked over the words.

"Sure, I took it all in and could do it standing on my head. All we need is the services of a well-equipped hospital with hypothermia equipment and a few odds and ends. Just turn me loose, and in a couple of hours you'll have your Sally again just as good as new."

"Yippee!" Jerry shouted and pulled the plane up in an immense curve toward Saturn. "Pleasantville General Hospital and Rest Home here we come!"

Upward they climbed and on course, and the altimeter needle slowly unwound. Chuck was at the controls of the cheddite projector and testing the circuits when he called out, "Jerry – we're getting unwanted resonance in the beta kappa circuit."

"Must be instability in the woofer. I'll take care of it." He waved John toward the pilot's seat. "Take over and keep her on course. Align the nose with Polaris, the wingtip with Saturn's rings and sing out when the needle on the sensitive radar altimeter touches thirty thousand feet."

"Roger," John said firmly and took the controls. Higher and higher the great wings of the Pleasantville Eagle soared with John resolutely at the controls, Jerry and Chuck laboring over the vital circuitry of the cheddite projector.

"Coming up on point zero," John called back. "How are you doing there?"

"In the green – ready whenever you are."

"Okay, watch it now. Ship aligned perfectly, altimeter unwinding. Ready. . . five . . . four. . . three . . . two . . . one. . . HACK!"

And a firm thumb was thrust home on the activator button.

Once again that strange sensation plucked at the very fiber of their beings as the kappa radiation hurled them headlong into the lambda dimension to emerge once again in normal space. And the engines stopped.

"I think we're a leetle high," Jerry laughed, looked at the green globe of the planet far below them. "But gravity will bring us down quick enough." Chuck was squinting out of the window, a quizzical expression pulling at his features. "Funny," he muttered,