"Well ... there might be something in it, after all ..." Samms' thought showed apprehension at last.
"You know damn well there is. But you boys—Jack and Mase especially—loosen up. You can't do good shooting while you're strung up like a couple of cocoons. Do something—talk to your partners or think at Jill ..."
"That won't be hard, sir." Mason Northrop grinned feebly. "And that reminds me of something, Jill. Mentor certainly bracketed the target when he—or she, or it, maybe—said that you would never need a Lens."
"Huh?" Jill demanded, inelegantly. "I don't see the connection, if any."
"No? Everybody else does, I'll bet. How about it?" The other Lensmen, even Samms, agreed enthusiastically. "Well, do you think that any of those characters, particularly Herkimer Herkimer Third, would let a harness bull in harness—even such a beautiful one as you—get close enough to him to do such a Davey the Dip act on his mind?"
"Oh ... I never thought of that, but it's right, and I'm glad ... but Pops, you said something about 'support in force.' Have you any idea how long it will be? I hope I can hold out, with you all supporting me, but ..."
"You can, Jill. Two or three minutes more, at most."
"Support? In force? What do you mean?" Samms snapped.
"Just that. The whole damned army," Kinnison replied. "I sent Two-Star Commodore Alexander Clayton a thought that lifted him right out of his chair. Everything he's got, at full emergency blast. Armor—mark eighty fours—six by six extra heavies—a ninety sixty for an ambulance—full escort, upstairs and down—way-friskers—'copters—cruisers and big stuff—in short, the works. I would have run with you before this, if I dared; but the minute the relief party shows up, we do a flit."
"If you dared?" Jill asked, shaken by the thought.