Chip reappeared at the front of the tank. "It's stuck," he called. He stopped to breathe hard, clung as the machine lurched forward, spun to the right, stopped, rocking slightly. "Take over here," Retief said. He crawled forward, watched as the chef pulled himself up, slipped down past him, feeling for the footholds between the treads. He reached the ground, dropped on his back, hitched himself under the dark belly of the tank. He groped, found the handholds, probed with a foot for the tread-jack lever. The tank rumbled, backed quickly, turned left and right in a dizzying sine curve. Retief clung grimly, inches from the clashing treads. The machine ground to a halt. Retief found the lever, braced his back, pushed. The lever seemed to give minutely. He set himself again, put both feet against the frozen bar and heaved. With a dry rasp, it slid back. Immediately two heavy rods extended themselves, moved down to touch the pavement, grated. The left track creaked as the weight went off it. Suddenly the tank's drive raced, and Retief grabbed for a hold as the right tread clashed, heaved the fifty-ton machine forward. The jacks screeched as they scored the tarmac, then bit in. The tank pivoted, chips of pavement flying. The jacks extended, lifted the clattering left track clear of the surface as the tank spun like a hamstrung buffalo. The tank stopped, sat silent, canted now on the extended jacks. Retief emerged from under the machine, jumped, pulled himself above the anti-personnel apertures as another charge rocked the tank. He clambered to the turret, crouched beside Chip. They waited, watching the entry hatch. Five minutes passed. "I'll bet Old Tony's givin' the chauffeur hell," Chip said. The hatch cycled open. A head came cautiously into view in time to see the needler in Retief's hand. "Come on out," Retief said. The head dropped. Chip snaked forward to ram a short section of steel rod under the hatch near the hinge. The hatch began to cycle shut, groaned, stopped. There was a sound of metal failing, and the hatch popped open. Retief half rose, aimed the needler. The walls of the tank rang as the metal splinters ricocheted inside. "That's one keg o' beer I owe you, Mister," Chip said. "Now let's git outa here before the ship lifts and fries us." * * * * * "The biggest problem the Jorgensen's people will have is decontaminating the wreckage," Retief said. Magnan leaned forward. "Amazing," he said. "They just keep coming, did they? Had they no inter-ship communication?" "They had their orders," Retief said. "And their attack plan. They followed it." "What a spectacle," Magnan said. "Over a thousand ships, plunging out of control one by one as they entered the stress-field." "Not much of a spectacle," Retief said. "You couldn't see them. Too far away. They all crashed back in the mountains." "Oh." Magnan's face fell. "But it's as well they did. The bacterial bombs--"