"Then we'll have help," Captain Poole said.
"We need Government help like we need the polka-dot fever," Rodney Maxwell said. "If they get in it, they'll claim the spaceport themselves, and we'll have fought a battle for nothing."
Well, that was it, then. The spaceport was essential to the Maxwell Plan. He'd gotten seven men killed—eight, if the recon-car that was taking Abe Samuels to the hospital in Litchfield didn't make it in time—and it was up to him to see that they hadn't died for nothing. He spread the photo-map and the spaceport plans on the chart table.
"Look at this," he said.
Klem Zareff looked at it. He didn't like it any better than Conn had. He studied the plan for a moment, chewing his cigar.
"You know, it's possible they don't know that thing exists," he said, without too much conviction. "You'll be betting the lives of at least twenty men; fewer than that couldn't accomplish anything."
"I'll be putting mine on the table along with them," Conn said. "I'll lead them in."
He was wishing he hadn't had to say that. He did, though. It was the only thing he could say.
"You better pick the men to go with me, Colonel," he continued. "You know them better than I do. We'll need working equipment, too; I have no idea what we may have to take out of the way, inside."
"I won't call for volunteers," Zareff said. "I'll pick Home Guards; they did their volunteering when they joined."