"Quadrate Tayne, in order to satisfy the Director and myself that the transfer of my sons to your quadrant has been effected as ordered by the Director's command dated June 3, you will order forward for inspection the unit within your quadrant to which they were assigned."
"Yes, sir."
Tayne pivoted.
"Divisions Six and Eighteen, forward—march!" Again, the familiar relay of command. Then the two great masses surged forward, one behind the other, leaving the two behind them still in formation. "Six by the left flank, march!" Six had cleared the quadrant formation, moved off as commanded to the left. "Eighteen by the right flank, march!" And Eighteen did the same. "Divisions, halt! Six, right, face! Eighteen, left, face!" And as quickly as Tayne's commands were relayed, the way was methodically cleared for the rear rank division he called next. There were perhaps seven minutes left.... "Division Thirty forward, march!"
And it came forward, and Doug realized at once that in this formation, this Division Thirty, were his sons, if they were anywhere among the five hundred thousand at all.
"Division, halt!" A second flight of evac ships roared over them, and Tayne waited. Six minutes.... "'A' Company, First Battalion, Second Regiment, forward—" This time, the unit Tayne wanted was in the very front, and at once, two hundred boys were separated from a division of over five thousand, as the division itself had been picked from among forty-eight others in a quadrant of a quarter-million.
And then—
"Squad leaders Kurt and Ronal Blair, front center!" And from the squads of a rear platoon, two bare-torsoed, helmeted youngsters rushed forward on the double!
They halted three paces from Tayne, saluted. And to Doug, their young faces were completely unrecognizable.