"Isn't there any chance of stopping them?"
Messerschmidt shook his head. "None. They're military specialists, Mr. Kimmensen. We don't have any trained men."
"I see."
Messerschmidt looked at him without any perceptible triumph in his eyes. "It seems, Mr. Kimmensen, that they have men like us in the Northwest, too. Unfortunately, theirs seem to have moved faster."
"What're you going to do?"
Messerschmidt looked up the mountain and shrugged. "Nothing. We got some of them in the air, but the rest are down. We may have weapons as good as theirs, but they know how to use them in units. It's quite simple. We'll try to hold and kill as many as we can when they come at us. We'll keep retreating and holding as long as we can, and when we reach the sea, if we get that far, we'll drown."
Kimmensen frowned. "Their men are concentrated on that mountain?"
"Yes."
"And you're just going to stand still and let the League be wiped out?"
"Just what, Mr. Kimmensen, would you like me to do?" Messerschmidt looked at him in fury. "I don't have time to train an army of our own. They've got us cold."