Downing's ship roared into the concentric fire, its turrets whipping back and forth and spitting sheer energy. Behind him there sped the twenty-four ships of his command. Into the holocaust they drove, piercing the Loard-vogh line momentarily. The hole widened briefly, and then closed down behind them. Englobed, the flight pressed close together and fought outward. It was stalemate--and yet nine of them dropped as inert, flaming masses. "Enough!" called Stellor. "Back!" And his flight formed, was forced apart, and reformed. They drove for the inside again and ran up against a solid wall of ships. Downing's flight dwindled. Pressing close, the Loard-vogh fired their torrents of energy into Downing's ships at projector-burst range. One by one the ships flamed and went down in a smoke-trailing comet. "Help?" snapped Lane over the sub-communicator. "Stay out--" started Downing. He was cut off as his command burst into flaming, violent death. * * * * * Thompson's voice came over the interstellar band. "Better retreat now," he said. Lane answered. Here in the scanning-ship, the torrent of energy and deafening sound was gone, and only peaceful quiet reigned. Save for the constantly swirling fire in the battle plotter globes and the everlasting flicker of pilot lights, there was no evidence of the swift, concentrated hell that went on in the space between spheres that approached one another. "Downing tried it," he said. "Get many?" "Swapped his entire twenty-five for forty-one of the Loard-vogh before they got him." "Not at all bad," answered Thompson. "I'd like to try it--?" "Nope. Better collect Downing and the rest and haul tail for Terra. We're about due for the big show." "Downing is--" "Back," answered Stellor, opening the door. "I'm sorry to be late, fellas. They asked me about the fight out there in the hall and I stopped to chat. I didn't know you were on the line, Billy." "Well, how was the fight?" "Fierce. I'd hate to get into one like that, for real. Billy, will the personnel snatcher save enough of our men to lick them?" "Saving every man aboard a doomed ship at the moment of destruction with the individual snatcher globes is a good way of not losing a man," explained Billy. "But it doesn't save materiel. They've got both, in plenty. We'll have to fall back on the secret." "But when?" asked Lane. "When the time is ripe. And not one moment before." Thompson rang off. And then with a concentrated effort, the Solarian forces drove upward in a piercing needle of ships. They broke through, not without loss, and made their escape into the sky. When they landed on Terra, every ship was crammed to discomfort with men from stricken ships--literally snatched from the jaws of death with the personnel snatcher. * * * * *