"What?—Bordoni had the only squirm aboard. I know. I shook the ship down—there isn't a thing one tenth as—"
"Enemy has matched components," the talker said.
"Down two shades," Fiske ordered. "We can dodge for awhile," he said absently as the ship dropped into a deeper red monochrome, "but he'll get us eventually."
"Sir, the engine room broke in. The converters aren't going to take much more of this—we're on twenty percent overload right now!"
"They'll have to take it," Fiske snapped. "If we want to stay alive!"
"I'll try to keep 'em going, boss," Sandoval's voice broke in.
"Thanks Sandy." Fiske cut off. "Now about the noise business—"
"Well," Pedersen said—"You might try doing it yourself. Seems that I remember you howling like a wounded wolf a few days ago, just before we clobbered that Eglan base. If it's noise you want, why don't you give out with a few warwhoops. You damn near lifted the lid off this can."
Fiske's eyes widened. "You have something there," he admitted. He flipped the selector to communications. "George," he said, "can you rig a continuous tape playback into that broadcaster? Bordoni's aborted,—smashed his records."
"Sure. Give me ten minutes."