"Yes, Mr. Secretary." Angry, humiliated, he turned back to his station. I'LL GET MORE THAN TWELVE, YOU OVERSTUFFED SON OF A BITCH. Such were his thoughts all that morning, and the thoughts that carried over, and were turned to hatred in the midst of the next day's fighting. Returning after a time to the Intercom Studio, Hayes addressed the assembly again, this time in different tone and with stronger words. And like pondering horses to the whip, they responded. But not all of them alike. * Squadron-leader Heinrich Dorfman, in the last of three German ships to complete the mission, had held himself back on purpose, hoping to arrive last and unexpectedly---to do real, rather than symbolic damage. And when his lead signal bounced back to him the image of Goethe, still some distance away, along with the outward-bound trail of the supercarrier, he set his course. He did this carefully, staying just above tracking speed, in a wide arc, hoping to come upon the Dreadnought in a time and place not as thoroughly guarded. And like the two younger pilots who had come so far, his mind had long since crossed the line of rational human endurance. Now, when he closed his eyes he saw the gray, rotted-meat faces of old men crawling with maggots. He saw random sexual parts horribly distorted: almost physical the effect of their ugliness upon him. His spirit had given up all hope of survival: strange voices. His tortured neck and back fused with the paroxysms of a migraine to form the single and inescapable sensation of concrete and iron, bent-forward pain. He felt he no longer had eyes, but that the image of the scope shot straight through the empty skull-sockets and into his brain. The last remnants of heart and courage despaired. But now, on the verge of his thirtieth hour, with the target in reach, it was almost as though his mind were no longer attached to the body. Numb fatigue had shaken it off like the parting soul shakes off flesh. Nothing remained but his mission and his will. He was ready. He would do it. He tried to rouse himself mentally for the last decisive seconds. He bean to slow out of light speed. The time was now. Not too fast..... :00- The ship in sight, minor adjustment. :01- Locked on. :02- Fire. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG? :03- Indicator light. PROJECTILE NON-FUNCTIONAL :04- DAMN IT! Manual disengage, back to--- :05- Warp. Robot batteries aboard Dreadnought destroy the cast-off projectile. Fan-burst of ruby lasers miss the second target, fire again. :57- Dorfman breaks his hand against the ceiling of the inner hull. He had failed. "Damn it! GOD DAMN IT!" 21:12- The squadron leader slows his tiny ship and continues to steer toward the sun, Athena. Slowing further still, he places himself directly in line with sun and planet, close enough to Athena to distort tracking. Sends out his sounding beam.