Saturn Patrol by E.C. Tubb

Author:E.C. Tubb [TUBB, E.C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction
Publisher: Orion Publishing Group
Published: 2015-12-30T16:00:00+00:00

The next engagement was a second farce. This time Gregg hired half of his forces to each of two opposing sides, played the game of bloodless war, and collected from the richest.

The next wasn’t. For the first time he knew the impact of true war. Ships reeled under savage blows. Blood seeped beneath warped doors, air hissed from torn hulls. The roar of the turret became a dirge for the pain-twisted bodies of broken men.

Merry lunged through the smoke of the back-flash from the guns. “Gregg!” he yelled. “Fenson reports two ships riddled and out of action. We’re losing air fast. What are your orders?”

“Get all men into suits. Tell Fenson to cease fire, make out that his ship is knocked out. We’ve got to tempt them in close. They outrange us. Move!”

He returned to the firing board. “Turrets one to three, cease fire. Turrets four to six, fire spasmodically.” Half the guns fell silent. Through the screen he could see Fenson’s ship suddenly jerk from course, begin a slow, erratic spin.

Gregg watched stiff with tension. Absently he allowed his aid to fetch him a spacesuit, clambered into the stiff fabric, adjusted the flow of oxygen. Would the ruse work?

Before him the visi-screen flashed into life. At the first sign of the incoming call, he slumped across the control board. The triumphant face of the opposing Commander stared from the cleared screen. He looked with triumphant satisfaction at the body slumped across the controls, stared at the carnage seen through the half-open door. Turning to his aid he rapped swift orders.

“We’ve got ’em. Close in. Their Commander’s dead. If they don’t surrender, blast them from space.” He sneered from the safety of his distant cabin. “Poor fool! I’ve clipped your wings, Warbird.” The title was an insult. The screen went blank.

Gregg sprang to his feet. Through the outside vision plates he could see the slender ships of the enemy closing in for the kill.

They outnumbered him two to three, and he envied their sleek deadliness. Late model ships, sprouting guns and guided missile tubes. Built for the roar and fury of interstellar war.

Their Commander was overconfident. Assured that the riddled ships before him could offer no threat now that their Commander was dead, he neglected even the most elementary precautions. He lounged carelessly at his control board, and let his thoughts drift to future pleasures.

Suddenly the seemingly helpless ships sprang to vicious and deadly life. Turrets blazed a hail of snarling death. Fenson’s apparently helpless ship, jerked out of the erratic spin, levelled, and blasted with every gun operative. The enemy crumpled.

In his cabin the opposing Commander leapt to his feet with a startled oath. Orders spat from his lips, and savagely he jerked at the controls. Something smashed against the hull, air whined, a thin shrill sound. Another impact, and the Commander died, still cursing, a bloody froth on his lips as the air in the cabin exploded into the vacuum of space.

Gregg smiled tiredly as the radio brought hasty offers of surrender.

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