"Still trying….. No response, sir."
The reason there was no response was that the destroyers had shut down all but channeled communications between themselves and their immediate Commander. And the voice and com-screen of the Icarus were otherwise engaged. Its outgoing signal, however, was neither coded, nor directed toward the Soviet battleship only. The whole of both fleets were free to listen, and to judge.
Brunner stood in the sunken middle of the flying bridge—-his wife stood beside him—-gazing with surprising composure into the angry features on the screen before him: Colonel Joyce, the man with the power to end his life.
"Colonel. Thank you for speaking with me. I don't believe you've met my—-" The voice that cut him off was cold and cruel.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Brunner?"
"I am experiencing difficulty with my ship's retreat mechanism: she doesn't seem to be able to leave the colonies just yet."
"And how long do you think that will last?" A threat more than a question. The two understood one another perfectly.
"I'd say, roughly of course, about forty-eight hours. Just about the time the Dutch return to—-"
"Now listen to me, you pathetic little worm. If you don't get out of the way, and I mean RIGHT now, I'll blow you and your little band of heroes to bloody shrapnel. Don't think I won't!"
Brunner's voice shook with subdued passion, but not fear.