They watched the mighty battlefliers loom sullen and black above the coppery cliffs, pointing their blunt noses downward, dropping one after the other from the blue sky into the reddish plains below. They came swiftly, in perfect echelon, masts flying the black panther banner of Guantra. Their gunports lay open, the lean metal nozzles of their guns glistening in the sunlight. "Zut," whispered Ilse. "Guantra compliments you. He has stripped all of Mars to capture you." Xax said dryly, "The legend of Kortha is more than a legend, it seems." "To destroy that fleet would cripple Mars for a decade," Kortha whispered. "I couldn't do it, unless I was sure that the stakes we fight for are worth it." "We fight for Mars," said Ilse. "Yes. Yes, I begin to believe that. When one man is so powerful he can do with a warfleet what he will, to achieve his own personal ambitions--" They stood silent, watching the fleets come black across the skies. "I can give them a taste of what they're going to get unless Guantra surrenders," said Kortha. "I needn't kill them all. Just cause a few--ah--explosions." "Guantra will never surrender." "His men will make him. They will realize I hold the trump cards in this little game." The fleets came in unhurriedly, majestically. Aboard each flier was purposeful order as men ran across clean decks, stood warily at battle-stations, swarmed into the upper shrouds with small-arms. A few broadsides from those cannon would reduce Ruuzol to smoldering ruins. "Now?" whispered Ilse through wet lips. "No. Not yet. I want them all within range." Minutes eked along, slowly. Now the ships were prow to bow, circling the mesa. Ilse shuddered, looking at the empty holes in the gun-muzzles. She licked her lips and found her tongue dry as the dust of the Yassan Desert. "Now!" said Kortha, and his hand flashed out, and the red lever swung over, hard. It stayed over for short seconds.... * * * * * Ships and guns exploded in the air as they wheeled around Ruuzol. Vast red flares sprang to life amid deafening detonations. Metal buckled and split. Powder charges sloughed upward and outward, carrying men and equipment with it in a crimson spray of destruction. The exploding magazines burst open the fliers, twisting and rending the metal hulls, ripping jagged holes, lifting off entire deck sections, sending men and railings into the air. Crimson ruin rained on the red plains. Ilse whimpered, watching. Kortha swung the red lever back, panting harshly. "There goes the Mars you built," sobbed Ilse. "We can rebuild ships," said Kortha. "Some men will die, but not all, as would happen had I let the switch stay on a while longer. Those men will build and man new ships, for a new Mars. Had I left the switch on too long, not a living thing would exist between Ruuzol and those cliffs."