Abrupt acknowledgment came over the audioceiver as the cruisers deployed for the attack.
"Twenty-three thousand yards, holding course." The range-finder's voice was a steady monotone.
"Stand by to fire!" snapped Strong.
"Two bandits at nine o'clock on level plane of ecliptic!" came the warning from the radar bridge.
Before Strong could issue an order countering the enemy move, the voice of the commander of the Pleiades came in over the audioceiver, "Our meat, Strong, you take care of the big baby!"
On the scanner screen Strong saw the trails of two space torpedoes erupt from the side of the Pleiades, followed immediately by two more from its flanking ship, the Regulus. The four missiles hurtled toward the two enemy destroyers, and a second later two brilliant flashes of light appeared on the scanner. Direct hits on the two destroyers!
"Range—ten thousand feet," came the calm voice over the intercom, reminding Strong of the enemy cruiser.
"Arm war heads!" snapped Strong over the intercom, and, on the gun deck, men twirled the delicate fuses on the noses of the space torpedoes and stepped back.
"On target!" called the range finder.
"Full salvo—fire!" called Strong, and turned to Tom quickly. "Ninety-degree turn—five degrees up!"