"But every minute, Curt, every minute counts. They'll spot us sure."

His eyes still soldered to the plate, Wing said, an overtone of exasperation in his deep-timbered voice; "We've been here two weeks. They didn't spot our black ships in the moon's shadow before. I hardly think they will now. Take it easy."

The two stood there, watching the black shadow of the plate, now flickering with swarms of silver Mercurian ships. Beads of sweat built up on Curt Wing's forehead, swelled, then rolled down his lean, harsh-planed face to make tiny plopping sounds on the duralloy deck beneath their feet.

"Man!" Lt. Packer burst out. "Curt, are you mad? We've got to strike now. Their black light visas'll pick us up any second."

Wing Space Commander Wing didn't answer. Seconds oozed away like viscous blobs of oil. Then:

"Now!"

Packer's itching finger stabbed the red button viciously. Muted through the thick bulkheads surrounding the plotting room came the ululating howl of the ready signal.

Curt Wing moved from the visaplate, clicked on the intercommunications speaker, came back to the plate. He studied it for a moment, unmindful of George Packer who was chewing his nails very deliberately.

Curt Wing lifted his head, turned toward the speaker and said casually, "Fire at will." Then his dark eyes turned back to the thousand fireflies flickering in the visaplate. Lt. Packer crowded his lean body alongside of him, stared at the screen.

The ship shuddered. The deck quivered beneath their feet like a restrained earthquake. Almost simultaneously, the fireflies in the visaplate were spotting with flowering bursts of bright-hued colors which hid other of the fireflies for a long moment.

A metallic voice echoed into the plotting room as the spotter's hit calculator started clacking from its eyrie in the nose of the ship.

"Seven direct ... no twelve ..." the metallic voice broke, then resumed and reflected the glee of the spotter. "Commander, this damn machine's gone mad. We're hitting them so fast it can't keep up!"

The flagship trembled again, and the visaplate was filled with the bright, blooming flowers as Mercurian ship after Mercurian ship tasted the atomic bolts, sucked them up and exploded.

Curt Wing's voice was no longer 

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