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"I don't know. Some people slide right through. They never have any bad times, never hit that tough piece of road. Or so it seems."
"Can you play something on that fu
"No. I'm just a little surprised."
"Anyway, hearing it always makes me sad. I guess I want to be sad now. Because I guess I'm feeling like that guy on the mountain. I was there but I missed something."
"You've still got a lot of years to find it."
"It wouldn't be the same. I'm not the same Pollya
Storm moistened the reed of his clarinet, startled Pollya
She smiled when he finished. "I didn't know that thing could be happy. You never... "
"It could be happier. I didn't have my heart in it."
"That was really strange music. Kind of wild and primitive."
"It's very old. More than a thousand years."
"Thanks. I feel better. Come here."
They made love once more, and fell asleep lying side by side, reading Ecclesiastes.
His comm's shriek wakened him. An almost incoherent Helmut blurted, "They took the Fortress! It just came in, Gneaus. From Frieda. She sent a personal message... You'd better come here... "
Grimly, Storm began dressing.
"What is it?" Pollya
"We lost the Fortress."
"Oh no! Not... Your wife! And your children... "
"Be quiet. Please." Feeling numb, he finished dressing. He did not remember the walk to the war room. Suddenly, he was there. Something within him would not allow him to react completely to the news. It felt like another in a parade of disasters that had happened to somebody else.
"Bring me Frieda's tape, Helmut," he said when he realized where he was.
"Gneaus?"
He looked up. Helmut was standing beside his chair, holding the microtape. Time had stolen away on him again.
He loaded the cartridge with the exaggeratedly careful motions of a drunk. It began with a continuous status report from Fortress Combat. He advanced it till Frieda's pale face formed on screen. Her thin, severe, colorless mouth writhed, but he did not hear anything.
What's happened to Mouse? he wondered. He had not been visible in the Combat views.
Don't take him, too, Storm prayed. He's our only tomorrow.
Frieda was saying something about there being fighting on Dock Level. He upped the sound.
"... penetrate Residential. They're tough, Gneaus. Primitives, I think. Definitely human. I've put the kids into the Ehrhardt. She's set to boost whenever the computer decides she has her best shot at breaking through.
The Seiners say they'll try to cover her. We'll lose contact with them soon. The raiders are getting close to our wave guides. There it goes. The cruiser. Wish them luck getting through.
"Gneaus, I'm going to cut this short. I want you to remember me as a good soldier, but I'm so damned scared I might make a fool of myself. Forgive me now for whatever hurt I may have done you over the years. Remember my love, such as it was. And remember me to Father.
"We'll hold them as long as we can. Tell Navy to come get them."
She smiled weakly, pursed her lips in a last long-range kiss, then secured her screen. The instel relay continued. An old man calmly chanted ordnance data from the Fortress's Combat Information Center.
Storm sighed and closed his eyes. Getting the youngsters out was something, anyway. He shuffled around the dark places of his mind, collecting the old scraps of rage and hatred and hiding them in an out-of-the-way dust bin for nonproductive emotions. More than ever, now, he needed to keep a tight rein on his feelings.
"Helmut, give me an update on the situation here."
The news from the Whitlandsund was little better than that from home. Havik faced virtual human wave assaults. Michael appeared to be growing desperate.
The shade station was sending reinforcements, but only in driblets. Most of the functional crawlers were still far out the Shadowline.
Helga's World was the bright spot. The Fishers said the Sangaree raiders had been obliterated. Marines were taking over for Ceislak's commandos. The latter were taking ship for Blackworld. Already.
Storm sent Thurston to find Blake.
"Mr. Blake," he said when the man arrived, "I'm down to my last gasp. The one option I have left is to scratch Dee's base of operations."
"Colonel... "
"It's not open to debate this time. We're not going to argue about it. It's past that stage. I'm going to do it. I'm telling you so we can observe the proprieties. I'm going to do it even if you insist on a vote. Remember, I control the proxies. One of my ships will be here soon. When it shows, I'll use it to jump to Twilight."
"Colonel... "
"Blake, it looks like we're going to lose the Whitlandsund. If Cassius is going to have any chance to break through and save your ass, I'm going to have to destroy Dee's logistics. Can't you understand that?"
"Won't he just grab Edgeward?"
"He might try. I can't guarantee that he won't. He'll have a lot of trouble doing it now. You're ready for him. And he's been outside a long time, without much coming down from Twilight to support him. Yet. He didn't count on heavy resistance."
"So?"
"So he's going to run low on munitions before he gets new stocks. I think he's going to take the Whitlandsund no matter what we do. But if we do hit Twilight, then we have him in the same position he has Cassius. In order to survive, he'll have to take Twilight or Edgeward. Either way, he'll have to pull me out of the pass. Enough, hopefully, so Cassius can break through. If we manage that, Dee is done for. Unless he uses nuclears again. Which I doubt he has with him, but which he'll have on tap up north. So from our viewpoint, taking Twilight has become an imperative."
Storm did not admit just how much he was guessing and hoping. Michael, even in predictable circumstances, could be unpredictable. There was a good chance he would go the easy way and spread nuclears around, if he had them. Or he might take a cue from Hawksblood and sit tight till his ammo was gone, hoping he could outlast Cassius. Walters's supply situation was just as iffy as Dee's.
Days groaned past. Men and arms trickled over from the Shadowline, but never enough to halt Dee's gradual conquest of the Whitlandsund.
There was a tremendous inertia in the westward flow of men and materiel in the Shadowline. It had to be overcome and turned around before a large and effective force could be mustered against Michael...
"Father, Havik wants to talk to you," Thurston said one morning.
"Bring him up over here." Storm faced a screen. "Yes, Colonel?"
"Colonel Storm, I can't do the job. I'm sorry. I'm too bad shot up and this obsolete equipment... Crying won't change it. Sorry, sir. What I'd like is permission to stop trying to be everywhere so I can concentrate on holding a bridgehead. We'll need some place to assemble a counterattack once you've brought enough equipment back."
Storm nodded. "I've been expecting it, Colonel. Go ahead and pull in your lines. And so you won't feel too bad, I want you to know I think you've done all you could. I'm sorry I couldn't give you more support."
"Thank you, Colonel."
"Thurston, where's Cassius now?" Storm asked.
"Still a long way to go, Father." Thurston indicated a light on the big board. "He's rolling around the clock, but those damned machines just don't move very fast. Do you want me to link you through?"