ndication of a
declining society."

Balt Haer turned on him. "And is it any different in your world?" he
said sneeringly. "Is it merely coincidence that the best positions in
the Sov-world are held by Party members, and that it is all but
impossible for anyone not born of Party member parents to become one?
Are not the best schools filled with the children of Party members? Are
not only Party members allowed to keep servants? And isn't it so that--"

Lieutenant Colonel Warren said, "Gentlemen, let us not start World War
Three at this spot, at this late occasion."

VIII

Baron Malcolm Haer's field headquarters were in the ruins of a farm
house in a town once known as Bearsville. His forces, and those of
Marshal Stonewall Cogswell, were on the march but as yet their main
bodies had not come in contact. Save for skirmishes between cavalry
units, there had been no action. The ruined farm house had been a victim
of an earlier fracas in this reservation which had seen in its
comparatively brief time more combat than Belgium, that cockpit of
Europe.

There was a sheen of oily moisture on the Baron's bulletlike head and
his officers weren't particularly happy about it. Malcolm Haer
characteristically went into a fracas with confidence, an aggressive
confidence so strong that it often carried the day. In battles past, it
had become a tradition that Haer's morale was worth a thousand men; the
energy he expended was the despair of his doctors who had been warning
him for a decade. But now, something was missing.

A forefinger traced over the military chart before them. "So far as we
know, Marshal Cogswell has established his command here in Saugerties.
Anybody have any suggestions as to why?"

A major grumbled, "It doesn't make much sense, sir. You know the
marshal. It's probably a fake. If we have any superiority at all, it's
our artillery."

"And the old fox wouldn't want to join the issue on the plains, down
near the river," a colonel added. "It's his game to keep up into the
mountains with his cavalry and light infantry. He's got Jack Alshuler's
cavalry. Most experienced veterans in the field."

"I know who he's got," Haer growled in irritation. "Stop reminding me.
Where in the devil is Balt?"

"Coming up, sir," Balt Haer said. He had entered only moments ago, a
sheaf of signals in his hand. "Why didn't they make that date 1910,
instead of 1900? With radio, we could speed up communications--"

His father