The drive section was a shambles. Men in weird asbestos suits and masks staggered through the smoke and fumes with the broken bodies of the rocket crew that had been caught in the explosion. Harrigan brushed at angry tears as they carried Joe Merrick--the officer in charge--past them and laid the charred body beside the others. Merrick had been with him through both campaigns, and now the bitterness within Harrigan turned to grim resolution. At length, thirty-seven men were counted out of action permanently. The admiral turned solemnly away. "Think we'd better set her down on III?" O'Brien asked quietly. "Guess so, Mike. We can take her down on anti-grav and maneuver with the bow jets." And then, slowly, "This puts us out of the war, you realize that...." "Yeah. And we can't even holler for help or they'll swarm in on us like a pack of harpies." "I don't know about that, Mike. Those boats that got away will probably alert other elements of the League fleet as to our location. It's only a matter of time anyway. So we might as well break radio silence and try to get some Federation ships here first. It'll be a race, but it's the only chance we've got." Radio room sent the S.O.S. and rang back the bridge almost immediately. "Message away, sir, but our receiver was knocked out by the blast. We get no acknowledgment on S.O.S." "Oh great," Harrigan groaned, "that's all we needed." "Maybe we could make Anaton on the bow jets," O'Brien offered. "Doubtful. Besides, we don't want to chance being caught in space with the _Albion_ in this shape. If my guess is any good, those three ships were part of a fleet which has just attacked Anaton and by now the base is probably a smoking hole in the ground. No point in going to something like that." * * * * * It took superhuman maneuvering and quite a bit of luck, but at last the scarred battleship came to rest, in partial hiding, at the foot of a cliff wall on the rugged, boulder-strewn surface of Antares III. Space Directory termed the planet "Earth-type; diam. 9,300; atmosphere breathable for Terrans for a period not to exceed twelve hours." Harrigan had the portable Dyer guns arranged in a semi-circle at advantageous spots behind boulders up to one mile from the _Albion_, in case the survivors of the League ships might set their boats down nearby and attempt a coup over land. The _Albion's_ own boats carried out patrols in the hope of locating the enemy before the enemy located them. For sixteen hours after the landing, everything was absolutely quiet. And then, as relief gun-crews slogged out the main hatch to take their positions at the portables, all Hell broke loose.