"Then do it, ass! Take us back and to port." And Hayes rattled off some meaningless coordinates. Like a gored lion he stalked back and forth, out of control, breathing too deeply and at intervals releasing desperate, maddened execrations. Another hesitant voice.
"They've….. They've begun to discharge and form ranks."
"Of COURSE they have! They didn't come here to talk!"
In his earlier, false-confident musing, Hayes had said that it would take twice the Fleet's strength to overmatch him. And that was exactly what he now confronted—-two Soviet Supercarriers, each nearly equal in girth and firepower to the Dreadnought queen, and each bearing a greater number of swarming killer bees.
The Russians did not attack immediately, but remained at some distance, waiting perhaps for all their vessels to be deployed, or to be sure that Hayes was alone and the fight would go their way. Nor did the Americans make the first move, intimidated and dismayed by the sudden change in their fortunes, staring across the void at the ever widening fence of the opposing Armada.
An army used to winning, rarely knows how to face defeat.
The Dreadnought had drawn back and away from the remains of the broken Gate, so that now it lay ahead of them and far to the left. The out-ships as well, low on fuel and tentative, spread outward so that two almost parallel walls were formed, filled with eyes. The would-be combatants faced each other across the margin that they themselves created: the empty distance of war's chasm, that unholy no-man's land wherein, once entered, frightened men kill frightened men until one side has had enough.
"Shall I try to contact them?" asked the young com officer pitifully.
But at that moment the Russians started forward.
But at that moment something else occurred as well. A patch of silvery sheen became visible at a distance to the Commonwealth right, almost at a direct line between the armies from the broken and still dark-smoldering gate upon their left. The advancing Soviet forces came to a halt, confused. But Hayes became suddenly calm, and a vengeful smile played about the corners of his mouth. But he must play this new card correctly.
"What is it?" asked a voice. And even as the words were spoken a fourth Goliath appeared, for an instant gleaming white, then graying once more as it passed through the pierced screen of silver. Hayes was not the only one with a star gate. The American Seventh Fleet, entombed within the carrier Eisenhower, was at hand.