The Galaxy Primes - The Original Classic Edition. Smith E

"Ha! Help--I hear footsteps approaching on jet-back," Garlock announced. "Give 'em hell, boys--shovel on the coal!"

       A flight of fighter-planes, eight abreast and wing-tips almost touching, howled close overhead and along the line of invasion. They could not fire, of course, until they reached the city limits. There they opened up as one, and the air below became literally filled with falling monsters. Some had only broken wings; some were dead, but more or less whole; many were blown to unrecognizable bits

       and scraps of flesh.

       Another flight screamed into place immediately behind the first; then another and another and another until six flights had passed. Then came four helicopters, darting and hovering, whose gunners picked off individually whatever survivors had managed to escape all six waves of fighters.

       "That's better," came a thought from the Arpalone nearest Garlock. "Situation under control, thanks to you Tellurians. Supposed to be two squads of us gunners, but the other squad was busy on another job. Without you, this could have developed into a fairly nasty little infection. I don't know what you're doing or how you're doing it--we were told that you weren't like any other humans, and

       how true that is--but I'm in favor of it. I thought there were four of you?" "One of us is not a fighter."

       "Oh. You can knock off now, if you like. We'll polish off. Thanks much." "But don't the boys on the ground need some help?"

       "The Arpales? Those idiots you have been thinking of as 'guardians'? Which they are, of course. Uh-uh. Besides, we're air-fighters. Ground work is none of our business. Also, these guns would raise altogether too much hell down there. Bound to hit some hu-mans."

       "Check. Those Arpales aren't very intelligent, you Arpalones are extremely so. Any connection?"

       "'Way back, they say. Common ancestry, and doing two parts of the same job. Killing these fumapties and lemarts and sencors and what-have-you. I don't know what humanity's job is and don't give a damn. Probably fairly important, some way or other, though, since it's our job to see that the silly, gutless things keep on living. We have nothing to do with 'em, ever. The only reason I'm talking to you is you're not really human at all. You're a fighter, too, and a damn good one."