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girl, still frozen in an attitude of horror, who was leaning against the
corner of the wall by the bar. It was John who cracked that frozen moment of
gloom, clappng his chums upon the shoulder.
"Don't worry, I told you she would be all right, but no time to explain now.
Let's put her in one of the johns with a hunk of frozen oxygen, and she'll
keep OK."
They went to work with a will. Working like maniacs, they dug and tore at the
seam of oxygen, dragging the frozen chunks back on a sled improvised from a
stretcher used by the football team. Nor was Jerry just sitting on his duff,
for with the energy and skill of a mechanical genius, which he was, he had
replumbed fuel lines and air ducts, rigged an electric heater from torn-out
galley stoves and generally fixed the great engines to operate in an
oxygenfree atmosphere. The hold was almost full, and they were trundling up
the last load of oxygen when a shrill and alien wailing could be heard across
the frozen plain.
"Here they come," John said grimly. "Load the oxy aboard and I'll hold them
off until we're ready to go." And this stalwart American, so long misled but
now returned to his homeland, was as good as his word. He ran forward shouting
a battle cry, whether it was "Remember Pearl Harbor!" or "Remember the Maine!"
or whatever is not important; what is important is that one man faced that
ravening alien horde with a smile upon his lips. Shot after well-placed shot
rang out, each one bringing down at least three of the screeching,
dagger-waving Titanians, and the attack was slowed. But their numbers pressed
on, and by sheer weight they forced him back, step by reluctant step, until he
was almost under the wing of the Pleasantville Eagle.
"This is my last clip," he shouted back over his shoulder, pulling the trigger
on the instant and exploding to green shreds the head of an importune enemy.
"There!" a welcome voice called out in reply, and three dark cylinders flew
over his head. "Put a bullet through each of those and get inside. We're ready
to go!"
And he had just three bullets left. Only a superb marksman could have hit
those small targets under the tricky light of Saturn, exhausted and faced by
an attacking horde of monsters. But he did it, almost casually, a smile
playing about his lips all the time. Three shots rang out, almost as one, and
each container burst into coruscating flame. Wails of pain and anger broke out
from the Titanians, who were forced back by the only thing they really feared.
Heat! Taking advantage of the moment's respite, John dived for the doorway and
slammed it shut behind him.
"Oxygen pressure up to two atmospheres and still rising," Chuck called out,
bent over a pressure gauge that had been rigged in the floor leading to the
hold below.
"Then hold onto your hats because here we go!" Jerry called out jubilantly
from the pilot's seat as he jammed the throttle home and fired up the outboard
starboard engine. They held their breaths, unknowingly, as the engine whined
over slowly, protesting at these strange conditions. Over and over it turned
while the Titanians pressed close for the attack, whining and grumbling and
not catching at all, slower and slower.
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"The batteries are almost dead," Jerry cried. "Turn out all the lights,
everything that draws electricity, even the monomatic toilets, so I can try
again."
Darkness fell instantly inside the plane as the switches were thrown, and they
waited in hushed silence as Jerry threw the starting switch again.
"What were those bombs?" John asked. "I didn't know we had any explosive
aboard."
"Just something I rigged out of used oxygen cylinders in case you needed some
help. Filled with jet fuel and chunks of frozen oxygen. The fuel melted the
oxygen, which pressurized the cylinders, which blew up when you shot them, and
the inflammable mixture was ignited by your hot bullets."
His words were interrupted by a sudden popping explosion from the engine, and
they held their breaths while a cloud of smoke and flame was ejected from the
exhaust. The popping slowed, almost stopped, picked up again; then the engine
burst into the full-throated roar of full power, drowning out forever the
screams of the incinerated Titanians who were blown away by the exhaust. His
two companions pounded the pilot on the back as the other engines caught one
after another until the great ship was vibrating with barely restrained power.
Chuck slid into the copilot's seat and readied himself at the controls.
"I just had a thought," he said as he reached to release the wheel brakes.
"Did you align the cheddite projector?"
"I thought you would never ask." Jerry laughed. "It was the first thing I did
while the oxygen was warming up. She's now lined up to fourteen decimal points
and A-OK and ready to go. And I've done all the settings and locked the
controls. All we have to do is take this barge up to thirty thousand feet, aim
the nose directly at Polaris, also called the North Star, point the starboard
wing at the outermost point of
Saturn's ring - and press the firing button! We'll appear at twenty-eight
thousand nine hundred and fifty feet over central Kansas, give or take a few
feet."
"Great! So here we go!"
The Pleasantville Eagle turned ponderously about and started back down the ice
in the very tracks it had made on landing, crushing and incinerating the
surviving Titanians as it went. Faster and faster until it was yearning to
leap from the ground. Then, throttles full back, it hurled itself into the
air, free of the jagged crags below, and pointed its nose towards mighty
Saturn.
"What a moment!" Chuck enthused.
"Yes," Jerry said, and the smile was suddenly erased from his face.
"Everything is fine - except for poor Sally." At these words Chuck's smile
went the way of the other's, and only John still smiled across the cabin.
"I told you not to worry," he said, and instantly four worried eyes, two
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