Another yell of triumph came from the Corpsmen, and Hanlon felt a thrill of pride in the Service of which he was a part.
Then a moment later Admiral Ferguson called into his mike, "Cease fire, but stand by on careful watch. Orion and Athenia, send your specialists down in gigs. I'll meet you there."
The landing successfully completed without further activity from the enemy, Ferguson, a number of designated officer-specialists, Newton and Hanlon, some technicians, and a company of marines in full armor, disembarked and marched to the safest part of the ruined, still-burning spaceyard.
Careful examination of the ships there was ordered. The officer-technies, who swarmed aboard the enemy ships, soon began reporting one after another, that none of these partially-built vessels seemed damaged beyond repair.
"Thank heavens they built what few ground-batteries they had well outside the field," Ferguson said to Newton and Hanlon. "We'll get crews in here at once, and complete these ships."
George Hanlon, after his first quick looks about at the damage done, had been sending his mind out and out, trying to get into telepathic communication with any of the natives, but had not had any success. Had they all been killed? Those here at the shipyard, probably yes, he had to admit sadly. The terrific heat would have burned them. But what about the others? Why couldn't he contact them?
"Excuse me, sir," he addressed the High Admiral. "What about the mines and factories?"
"All under control without any trouble, outside of a few individual casualties. Light cruisers and scouts took care of those while the main battle was on."
"I'd like a small cruiser to take me to the mine where I worked," he said, and one was ordered to come down and place itself on special assignment at his disposal.
"Want to come with me, Dad?" he asked.