“Anything else, sir?” the noncom asked.
Vorgens looked up at the Terran. He was as young as the Watchman himself, pink-cheeked, bright-eyed, without the weight of the galaxy’s peace on his shoulders.
“No, that’s all, thanks … Or wait—remind me in six hours to take the other pill.”
“Certainly, sir.”
Vorgens focused his attention back on the viewscreen. The battle was still raging outside the dreadnaught. Several vehicles were ablaze now, and the ground between them was bomb-pitted and littered with dead and dying men, both Terran and Komani.
“The flying squads are ready to go, sir.”
Vorgens squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think”It would probably be better if they massed at one spot, and then hit the Komani as a solid unit. Don’t you think so?”
The exec nodded”Exactly. I’ve given them the word to group first at battle cruiser J-7″—he pointed to the stereomap on the desktop before him—”in the middle of our battle line.”
“Good. Have them sweep to the far side of the valley first, and once that flank is cleared, they can come back this way.”
“Right.” The exec flicked a switch on his communicator and gave the orders.
From every vehicle of the embattled Terran group, a half-dozen or so men emerged, clad in armored suits with jetbelts on their backs. Some of them never cleared the hatches: Komani warriors cut them downBut most of them fought their way toward the rendezvous point over a flame-blackened, battered cruiser, and then heeled as a unit and began advancing on the milling, free-wheeling Komani attackers-