"As far as we are concerned, Major, the conditions are the same!"
For a moment Zukow stood immobile, his dark eyes snapping down to lock with Steele's. But the colonel's did not flinch. And then the Major pivoted, and left Steele suddenly alone in the small office.
He had hardly completed the all-units bulletin when the call-buzzer from Operations sounded. Within the next hour his six hundred men, his twenty small J-88 Lancers would be loaded to the fins with all the arms they could carry, and then....
Fleetingly, the thought nagged at him. Was Zukow a coward—or right? Twenty tiny J-88s balanced against the lives of four billion people.... Yet there would be surprise, and the over-confidence of a powerful victor after an easy conquest. And more, there would be the will of a small band of men.
He flipped up the buzzer-switch, and the Operations lieutenant appeared on his small desk viewer.
"Yes, lieutenant? Did your group have some difficulty in understanding my bulletin?"
"No, sir. We're getting things Space-shape at our end right now. But, sir—you said that twenty craft were to be prepared."
"Yes that's correct. All of them."
"But there will be only nineteen, sir. Major Zukow blasted off nearly a half-hour before your announcement, in a completely unarmed J-88 and—he said—on your authorization."