Battlefield In Black By GEORGE A. WHITTINGTON The _Avenger_ was waging its deadliest fight--in a battlefield where weapons were useless. [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Planet Stories Fall 1945. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] A lovely image shimmered on the visa-phone screen in Captain Jon McPartland's cabin. He stood before the instrument, drinking in the vision with his eyes, and feeling it race through his blood like a rocket wash. But his square jaw was set in a determined line, and his big hands were clenched hard. The vision was Almira Denton, whose hair was a red-gold nebula, whose eyes were the cool green of Terra itself. To Jon McPartland, she was much more than just the daughter of his superior, Marshal Denton, Supreme Commander of all Solar System forces. A memory of her soft lips had been with him through long weeks of dangerous outer planet patrol. Now, bringing his sleek battle cruiser, _Avenger_, homeward, he reached toward her over maximum visa-phone range. Jon tried to keep anger from his blue eyes as he answered her suggestion. "Almira, I don't care if you are a full-blown psychologist now and aching to qualify for the Congress of Specialists! You can't make a case report out of me." "Now, Jon, dear," pleaded the girl softly, "you know how father needs help with Congress. Our scientists make the laws--but they think of science, and neglect System Defenses. I could make them listen!" There was persuasion in her throaty voice that convinced McPartland she could do exactly that. He knew, too, there was real cause for worry about System Defense. The planets had long been disarmed. Only the Congress of Specialists had power to maintain armed forces. It had neglected bases and fighting units for years. The Space Patrol alone remained as a weapon for law and safety--and it took all the fighting heart of Marshal Denton to get purchase credits for that! If invaders ever struck-- Jon shuddered, his anger slipping away. "I know, Almira," he murmured, "I know. But why serve me up to the Specialists on a platter? You can psychoanalyze somebody else." Almira shook her radiant head in dissent. "The Eligibility Committee only certifies candidates for election if they present outstanding work. "An analysis of you would be outstanding because you're a popular hero, Jon. You've just destroyed a powerful alien ship--been promoted! I'd be certified. Earth would elect me to Congress!" * * * * * She stood before the visa-phone in the Denton home. Jon McPartland visualized her among the Specialists. He could see her slim, perfect figure in abbreviated formal dress, arresting attention like a shaft of warm sunshine in a musty vault. The Specialists would listen to her!