s squadron commanders of the close-hovering fleet. The
defense grids---interlocking walls of energy which prevented the free
and rapid movement of attacking ships---were in place and activated.

In the center of the room, behind a spherical plexiglass screen, a
three-dimensional monitor projected tiny wavering shapes among the
static lines of the grid, marking the approach of the Belgian-Swiss
forces. A young lieutenant of average height and wiry build, with
intelligent eyes and features, studied the projection and corresponding
console before him with fascination and growing apprehension. He felt
foolish and out of place: his first battle.

A taller man in his late fifties, stern and brown-eyed, a classic Czech
soldier to the last detail, came up behind and put a hand on his
shoulder.

"Courage, Brunner," he said in low harsh tones. "I need your judgment
today." It was the closet thing to a compliment he had ever paid his
young protege.

"I'm sorry, Colonel. It's beginning to look very real."

Dubcek's dark features bored in on him in the familiar
expression---down-thrust head and knitted brows, eyes looking up
through them like a boxer's. It was a hard and intimidating face,
though with a gleam of sharp and illusionless intelligence. Only
Brunner seemed to suspect a deeper humanity beneath the facade, and he
was far from certain.

"It is real, but not something to be feared. Real men will die this
day, as all men must. It is the only way to stop them." At that
moment the voice of the executive officer broke in on them.

10) B x N

"Colonel, enemy light cruiser 'red' engaging destroyer group B."

Dubcek nodded in acknowledgment. Brunner quickly adjusted and replaced
his ear-piece, and the sounds of actual combat came to him for the
first time. He heard: ships signaling one another, attacking, being
attacked, some voices calm, others tense and on the verge of
panic---explosions and bursts of pain within bridge compartments,
engineers crying damage reports, men dying and signals going blank.
The older man heard them too, studied the projection without haste,
made several marks on the glass. Again the voice of the exec:

"Destroyer group B has succumbed---no surviving ships."

Brunner watched his commander's face, half expecting to see no change.
But a change did come, if only for an instant: a cloud of pain and
uncertainty flashed across it. The dark countenance grew darker still,
and he