Harrigan had the portable Dyer guns arranged in a semi-circle at advantageous spots behind boulders up to one mile from the Albion, in case the survivors of the League ships might set their boats down nearby and attempt a coup over land. The Albion's own boats carried out patrols in the hope of locating the enemy before the enemy located them.
For sixteen hours after the landing, everything was absolutely quiet. And then, as relief gun-crews slogged out the main hatch to take their positions at the portables, all Hell broke loose.
A short range, explosive rocket shell arched perfectly into the hatch and exploded with a deafening roar, scattering the relief crews like ten pins and slamming the two-ton hatch cover clean off its swivel pins. The three League boats, with devastating surprise, zoomed in low and fast over the outlying gun positions, spraying a trail of Reezi powder which was ignited by their rockets. The countryside went up in a swirl and a flash. Another explosive rocket struck the Albion amidships before the crews got the more cumbersome fixed guns into firing position.
The lightning-fast boats were too small and swift to be speared by anything save a lucky shot. Back and forth they raked the almost helpless battleship. The attack waned momentarily as one of the black boats was caught and instantly charred by cross-fire from the Albion one and four banks. The remaining two changed tactics, roaring in over the big ship, past the top of the cliff, only to spin back, hit and run.
Five of the Albion patrol boats skittered home only to be caught in the fray and immediately knocked down. Three more met the same fate and a fourth was dodging desperately for its life when Harrigan's eyes popped wide open with amazement. A pencil-like, silver destroyer escort, bearing the insignia of the Federation Forces, fell on the League boats from zenith position and in a screaming, twisting dive blasted one and rammed the other into flying rubbish.
The silver ship climbed a few miles vertically to see if the field had been properly cleared, flashed down and dusted to a stop beside the Albion. Harrigan stepped over the smoking bodies in the main hatchway and dropped to the ground. O'Brien sprinted to join him, but before they could reach the other ship, an officer leaped from a belly-lock and walked briskly towards them.
He snapped a salute. "Admiral Harrigan and the Albion?" he asked.
"Right, Lieutenant," Harrigan smiled wearily. "You're very welcome."
"Lieutenant Sanderson, sir, Third Fleet attack arm. I was supposed...."
"Sanderson," O'Brien roared.