One now there was, its flag-ship insigne half-scorched from its twisted, battered hull. Yet it hurtled through the blackness of Space toward the planet below it, the flush of victory shimmering in its overheated tubes. * * * * * There was little to be said. General Taylor stood at the side of the white hospital bed, and Colonel Geofferey Steele, his head swathed in bandages, looked questioningly up at him. "General, did Major Zukow--" Taylor's mouth was grim. "He reached us--and the aliens. But we ... managed to take care of the situation ... to give you time." The General's features softened. "You and your crew--a magnificent job. Earth is proud--" "We were lucky, sir," Steele attempted a grin. "Tried hard not to make any mistakes...." Taylor smiled then, his laughter an emotional release they had both been seeking. "I--occasionally overlook mistakes!" he said. And then the two men laughed together. For a long time.