Captain Eugene opened the door, and escorted the senior commanders of the Herron garrison into the room. Colonel Hastings walked in, followed by Lt. Colonel Lindsay, Colonel Bragansa, and Major Brabant. "These gentlemen are here as you ordered, Your Grace," Eugene reported.

"Thank you, Captain," Wellington replied. "You may go now. Have a seat gentlemen."

Eugene promptly exited and closed the door behind him as the senior officers sat down in the chairs opposite Wellington.

"Gentlemen," Wellington began. "What I am about to tell you is classified and compartmentalized. This information is known only to the Elysian Sector Supreme Commander, General Westinghouse, and to the Chiefs of Staff Committee in New York. It is only on a need to know basis, and you all need to know. What I am about to say to you stays within the four walls of this office."

"If that is the case, Your Grace, why aren't the senior officers commanding the other national units here?" Hastings asked.

"You are all here because of your unique responsibilities," Wellington replied. "Colonel Hastings, as the highest ranking British officer here prior to my arrival, you were the acting garrison commander. Now, you are nominally my deputy and second-in-command. Colonel Lindsay, you happen to be the next ranking British officer in seniority. Colonel Bragansa, you are in command of the southern polar base while Major Brabant is the ranking officer commanding the northern polar base."

The four officers looked at each other, and turned their attention at the younger man sitting behind the desk. Of the four, only Brabant, in his thirties, was in Wellington's age group. Even then, he was seven years older. The rest were about a decade older than their commanding officer. Hastings cleared his throat, and asked, "What is it exactly that you are trying to say, sir?"

"We are all expendable, gentlemen," Wellington said, the tone of his voice lacking any emotion.

"I beg your pardon, sir," Lindsay interjected.

"We are all expendable, plain and simple," Wellington repeated.

"But, you said during the conference that……" Bragansa began.

"That is for public consumption, gentlemen," Wellington explained. "What is public is propaganda. What is private is policy."

"Are you saying that we are all going to be sacrificed senselessly?" Hastings questioned in an angry tone.

"Not senselessly, Colonel," Wellington retorted. "The sacrifice, if it comes to that at all, will only take place should the situation calls for it."

"I think you owe us all an explanation, Brigadier," Brabant insisted.

"I owe you nothing, Major," Wellington said sternly. "Our orders are to hold this garrison until relieved, gentlemen. We are expected to obey those orders without question. That said, the Chiefs of Staff Committee privately believes that this operation only has a 50% chance of succeeding. Some analysts think that this garrison will fall before the breakthrough occurs. Others believe that the enemy will stop our forces dead in their tracks. We are expected to make our stand here and fight."

"What bloody fool in Strategic Analysis thought of this ludicrous idea of launching a bloody counter offensive in this sector?" Lindsay demanded.

"You're looking at him, Colonel Lindsay," Wellington replied.

The four officers stared at Wellington in disbelief as he tore open the envelope and distributed the classified documents to the four officers.

"You, sir?" Bragansa asked, triggering a nod from Wellington while the three remaining officers looked over the documents. "But, why?"

Wellington took a deep breath, and began his mentally prepared speech. "Prior to assuming command here, I was assigned to the Strategic Analysis Unit. The Chiefs of Staff Committee divided the S.A.U members into five separate teams, each with a mandate to produce plan for a counter-offensive against the enemy. Two of the teams were assigned to produce the riskiest and most strategically audacious scenarios for a counter offensive. I was assigned to Elysian Sector while another officer was expected to come up with a plan using Ixion as a springboard for launching an attack against the Chig home planet. Of the five plans submitted to the Chiefs of Staff Committee, only two were approved."

"Your plan and the Ixion plan, correct?" Brabant asked rhetorically, looking up from the documents towards the duke.

"Yes, Major," Wellington nodded. "We later found out that the Secretary-General herself insisted on the implementation of my plan for a counter-offensive. I did not expect such a decision to be taken at the highest level. I strenuously argued against its implementation, and justified my claims based on all the available evidence."

"Someone is expecting a miracle or courting a disaster," Bragansa added, echoing the words of Rear Admiral Ross.

"My sentiments exactly, Colonel," Wellington agreed. "The decision behind Operation Golden Bullet is political, and does not make sense strategically from a military point of view. That is why I am here, gentlemen. I am the author of this plan. If my name is to be associated with a potential military disaster, then I must be here at the frontlines. I will not be a scapegoat."

"How noble of you, Your Grace," Lindsay added in an ambivalent tone.

"Perhaps," Wellington replied. "But, we have to deal with the situation at hand. We have to consider the possibility of the enemy overwhelming our position prior to the supposed break through by the 2nd, 6th, and 15th fleets. What is the contingency plan for such a possibility, Gentlemen? Surrender?"

"No, sir," Hastings spoke out. "When General Cunningham was killed in the last major air raid, I assumed temporary command of the garrison. These gentlemen here and I agreed on a course of action, called Plan Cobra, to deny the enemy this planet. Should we find the enemy to be overwhelmingly superior, we planned to detonate thermoneutron devices planted under the three bases and at strategic intervals located all over Herron. In such a case, the Chigs would have conquered a dead planet."

"Well then, gentlemen," Wellington said in a resigned tone. "Is this still an option, or are you willing to consider other possibilities for the sake of those under our command?"

"Are we voting on this issue, Your Grace?" Hastings asked.

"I am asking your opinion, Colonel," Wellington answered in a controlled tone. "The final decision will be mine!"

"Plan Cobra," Brabant volunteered.

"Cobra," Bragansa concurred.

"Cobra," Lindsay added.

"Cobra," Hastings agreed. "We have said our peace, Brigadier. The decision is now yours, Your Grace."

"It is unanimous, gentlemen," Wellington replied. "We will die here, should the situation present itself. In the meantime, I pray that Operation Golden Bullet will be a success. That will be all gentlemen. Thank you."

The four officers stood up, and saluted. Wellington returned the gesture, and Brabant and Bragansa left the room. Lindsay was about to leave when Hastings restrained him.

"May I speak freely, Your Grace?" Hastings asked. "As one British officer to another."

"Go ahead, Colonel," Wellington invited.

"When I was informed that you would assume command of this garrison, I did not like the idea of subordinating myself to the infamous 'boy general'," Hastings confessed.

"My sentiments exactly," Lindsay concurred.

"I don't blame you, gentlemen," Wellington replied candidly. "Since I am your junior in age, experience, and length of service, I should also be your junior in rank. I did not ask for this job."

"Upon hearing your explanation just now, I appreciate being taken into your confidence," Hastings added. "I am honored to place the Duke of Wellington's Regiment at the disposal of the Duke himself."

"What about you, Colonel Lindsay?" Wellington asked.

"My sentiments still hold, sir," came the reply. "But this regiment is proud to serve under the 13th Duke of Wellington, just as it had served proudly under your ancestor at Waterloo.

"Thank your for your confidence in me, gentlemen," the duke acknowledged. "I won't let you down."

June 4th, 2065. Herron Main Base Operations Room, 12:05 hours.

The command center's operations room was filled with anticipated excitement as the three dozen technicians and specialists manning their computer consoles waited with bated breath on the commencement of the offensive. They monitored all communication transmissions, satellite sensor readings, and the activities on the three planetary bases. All faces indicate that they were ready for the upcoming brawl with the enemy.

Hastings approached Wellington with a communiqué he had just received from a communications officer. "Your Grace, I have received a transmission from the fleet," he said. "The message is just one word, sir. It reads 'SHOOT'."

"Well, that open's the game," came the reply. "Put the entire base on tactical red alert, Hastings."

"Very good, sir," Hastings replied as he signaled one of the communications officer. "Cry havoc, and let loose the dogs of war."

"I do not know why there is a tendency to quote Shakespeare in times like this," Wellington sighed.

"Aaah, one can never go wrong with Shakespeare, Your Grace," Hastings responded.

The klaxon sounded, and the soldiers in full battle gear ran to man their positions. Everyone was place in a state of heightened alert, and the atmosphere was tense as they waited for the anticipated enemy attack. Wellington left the command center after being satisfied of the state of readiness there. Both he and Eugene drove around the base, inspecting the activities of the troops. The duke stopped to talk with all the soldiers he encountered during the inspection. Upon arriving at the airfield, he mingled informally with the pilots and the ground crew. Forty-five minutes later, he and Eugene drove out to the defense perimeter of the base, and inspected the positions there. The troops began to look at their commander in a new light.

June 6th, 2065. Herron Main Base Operations Room, 14:52 hours.

The atmosphere in the room was visibly tense as everyone waited impatiently for the expected attack. Wellington paced back and forth in the operations room. His face was grim, betraying his usually calm demeanor. He turned to one of the officers manning the LIDAR tracking consoles. "Any sign of enemy activity above planet, Captain?"

"None so far, sir," came the reply.

"Where the bloody hell are they?" Wellington asked rhetorically. "Any news from the fleet?"

"No sir, transmission is mainly static," a communications officer replied.

"Try all frequencies," Wellington snapped.

"Sir, I am getting something," one of the communication officers said excitedly. "It seems that the fleet is encountering heavy resistance from the enemy on the four planets. Enemy is counter-attacking on all fronts."

"Well, we now know that they are awake," Wellington countered.

"Sir!" one of the other officers cried excitedly. "I am picking up something on LIDAR. Enemy ships are approximately 450 MSKs above planet. Their projected heading is towards Tahara, sir."

"We got them!" Wellington cried. "Alert weapons control. All batteries commence firing as soon as their targets locked. Make all shots count."

"SHOOT!" the weapons officer ordered into his comlink.

The planetary batteries on Herron all fired simultaneously. Dozens of enemy capital ships were knocked out in the first barrage. Minutes later, enemy fighters swooped down into the atmosphere, and strafed the Earth Forces positions. The enemy capital ships also turned their weaponry on Herron. The effects were relatively minimal as the Valerian electro-magnetic shield on the three bases deflected most of the bolts. The anti-aircraft batteries went into action, and shot down numerous enemy fighter planes. The Herron fighter pilots sat impatiently in their planes, waiting for the order to scramble. The planetary guns fired barrage after barrage, damaging many additional enemy capital ships. The engagement went on for about three hours.

"Sir, LIDAR indicates that the enemy is withdrawing," one of the officers reported delightedly.

"They will be back," Wellington replied calmly. "You can bet your life on it. I want damage reports from all sectors."

"Sir, 4% of our anti-aircraft positions outside the shield perimeter were knocked out. Casualties are nominal on all three bases. The planetary guns are still in action," the operations officer reported.

"Sound the all clear, but I want the bases on continuous tactical red alert," Wellington ordered. "We will be ready for the next round, and so will they."

"Yes, sir!"

June 6th, 2065. Herron Airfield, 17:00 hours.

The klaxons sounded all clear, and the damage control teams rushed from the air raid shelters to survey the aftermath of the attack. The pilots of the 58th and other squadrons jumped out of their cockpits, and walked towards their quarters. They were not too pleased at the order denying them to take on enemy fighters during the battle, and Hawkes expressed their frustrations vocally.

"Man, this is nuts!' Hawkes shouted. "We should have been up there, blowing up the Chigs instead of sitting down here."

"Well, Coop, at least we weren't sitting ducks like the time on Demios," West retorted. "The old man knows what he's doing."

Hawkes ran up, and grabbed West by the arm. "Don't tell me you actually believe all that crap? The brass have never played it straight with us. Damn it! Why are you defending them?"

"Hawkes, just cool it, okay!" West responded with controlled anger. "Stand down, Lieutenant. That's an order."

Paxton and Morales both put restraining arms on the InVitro as precaution. Hawkes was still infamous for his volatile outbursts despite learning some restraint. He gradually released his hold on West, and was released in turn by Paxton and Morales. Chambers, Habib, and Montallo just stared quietly at the whole incident.

West took a deep breath, and went up to Hawkes. "Cooper, I don't like this feeling of uselessness anymore than you, okay," he said sternly. "However, I trust Wellington absolutely."

"Why?" Hawkes retorted.

"Because, he has played it straight with us so far," West replied. "I don't know if he has any ulterior motives, and personally, I don't care. All of his orders have been based on logic and insightful analysis. We are part of a greater plan for the defense of this garrison, and we should do our part as ordered. We must trust him. We need to trust him. We have to trust him!"

"We should've been up there!" Hawkes insisted.

"Now look here, Hawkes," West said impatiently. "Wellington kept us alive on the way here. Our orders were to ensure his safety while escorting him to Herron. He could have left us out there while we were still attached to the auxiliary fuel tanks, but he didn't. He covered our asses at the risk of his own life. He ordered the ISSAPC into action just to even the odds for us against the Chigs. The least we owe him is our trust. We owe him that much. You don't have to like what he's doing, but just trust him, okay!"

Hawkes stormed off towards their quarters. West just shook his head, and headed in the same direction. The rest of the 58th followed suit, with Chambers walking alongside.

"Your EO seems to be a short-tempered guy," Chambers observed softly.

"He's a good guy," Montallo replied. "He's just suspicious of the brass, that's all."

"May I ask why?" Chambers asked.

"Both he and the captain were stranded on Demios during Roundhammer," Habib responded. "The fleet left them and 25,000 other troops there when they proceeded to Ixion. After it was all over, only 2,000 managed to survive the ordeal."

"Man, I do understand his point of view."

Hawkes literally ran into Lt. Nicholson on his way into the building, knocking him to the floor. "Sorry, Nicholson," he said, helping Nicholson back to his feet.

West ran up to both of them, fearing an altercation had broken out. "Everything okay?" he asked, looking accusingly at Hawkes.

"Everything's fine, sir," Nicholson replied. "I wasn't paying attention due to all the excitement in the command center."

"What about?" Hawkes asked curiously.

"Well, our forces are encountering stiff resistance on all fronts. However, we gave them quite a wallop, today. Dozens of capital ships, transports, and fighters were knocked out. Our casualties were slight," Nicholson reported. "You'll be given a full report at your briefing. Well, I must dash off."

"What did I tell you, Cooper," West said with satisfaction as he watched Nicholson running off to the main building. "Wellington knows what he's doing."

"I hope to God you're right, Nathan," came the reply. "I hope so, for all our sakes."

June 9th, 2065. Herron Main Base, 09:47 hours.

For three days, the Herron garrison had attacked the enemy's shipping in the sector. In response, the Chigs launched daily air raids against Earth Forces on planet. The enemy raids had increased in intensity with each passing day, giving the defenders an ominous warning that a full-scale attack would be imminent.

"Sir, I am picking something up on LIDAR," one of the operations officers reported.

"Is it another bombing raid?" Wellington asked, fully expecting the answer to be different.

"It doesn't look like it, sir," came the reply. "Instead of just fighters and bombers, I am also picking up several hive ships and about 200 troops transports."

"It has begun," Wellington said solemnly. "Can you pinpoint the landing sights?"

"The projected trajectories indicate three landing sites. The first wave will land 15 km north of the main base, the second will land 10 km from the northern polar base, and the third landing will take place 15 km from the southern polar base." the officer reported.

"Put all ground forces on full scale alert," Wellington ordered. "Order weapons control to fire on the ships as they come within range. Prepare to scramble fighters."

The klaxon sounded, and all the ground personnel ran to their positions. The 58th ran to the airfield with the rest of the pilots. They all gathered around Squadron Leader Rampele.

"The enemy will be landing troops on planet shortly," Rampele announced. "All fighters will scramble and engage the troop transports as ordered. The 272nd Royal Air Force squadron will deploy to protect the southern polar base. The 195th South African Air Force squadron will be assigned to the northern polar base. The USMC 58th, the Fuerza Aerea Argentina (Argentine Air Force) 115th, the RAF 133rd, and the SAAF 12th will deploy here. Remember, try to avoid engagement with the fighters, and concentrate mainly on the transport. Let's go!"

The pilots ran excitedly to their planes, and prepared to scramble. The planetary guns began their bombardment of the enemy fleet. The fighters took off to meet their opponents.

"195th squadron, this is operations, LIDAR indicates enemy troop transports hovering 10 km from the northern polar base," the operations officer announced.

"Operations, this is the 195th, we're on to them," the squadron's leader replied.

"272nd squadron, this is operations, LIDAR indicates enemy troop transports hovering 15 km above the southern polar base."

"We copy, operations," the 272nd squadron's leader replied.

"This is operations to the remaining squadrons, enemy is now landing 15 km north of the main base," the LIDAR controller reported.

"Okay, people, this is it!" West announced.

The 58th flew in an attack formation, and began attacking the enemy transport ships. Several Chig transports were destroyed before they were able to land troops, and others were destroyed on the ground. The Earth Forces fighters also began strafing the enemy ground troops with impunity. They created havoc on the enemy for several grueling minutes. Suddenly, six Hammerheads fighters were blown to smithereens.

"CHIG FIGHTERS!" Hawkes shouted, as he engaged in ACM.

The rest of the 58th also took evasive actions in responding to the new threat. The enemy squadrons swarmed in on the defenders. The Hammerheads engaged with guns blazing. An explosion took out a Barracuda fighter.

"We've lost Chambers," Paxton shouted, firing earnestly at the approaching enemy fighters.

"It's too hot, here," Morales shouted as he took out a Chig fighter. "There's too many of them."

Several enemy laser salvoes took out more Hammerhead fighters. "Rampele just bought the farm," Hawkes cried out. "Captain West, you're now the honcho."

Habib took out a Chig fighter as it destroyed two Hammerheads. One enemy fighter flew in behind Montallo, and fired. The salvos damaged her starboard engine.

"I'm hit! I'm hit!" she cried out.

"Eject! Eject!" West ordered.

"I can make it back," she responded as she managed to regain control of her plane.

"All planes prepare to retreat!" West ordered as he shot down an enemy fighter. "Enemy is superior! Disengage! Home Base, this is 'Wild Cards' Leader."

"'Wild Cards', this is Home Base," the operations officer responded. "Report."

"Enemy has established air superiority in our sector," West reported. "I have ordered all fighters to retreat to base. Order the AA units to provide covering fire for us, and tell them to watch their trigger fingers."

"Copy that, 'Wild Cards' Leader," came the reply.

The superior numbers of the enemy overwhelmed the resistance of the defenders. The Hammerheads flew at top speed, ahead of the pursuing enemy. The anti-aircraft weapons crews engaged their batteries and fired chaff decoy screens to cover the retreat of their comrades. Out of the 26 fighters that flew out to defend the main base, only 9 returned. The 12th SAAF squadron were wiped out, including Squadron Leader Rampele. Only 2 fighters of the RAF 133rd and 1 fighter of the Argentinean 115th returned to base along with the 58th. All the planes landed safely, including Montallo's. The pilots felt dejected as they fled from the enemy. West climbed out of his cockpit, and ran towards the command center. The other pilots followed suit while Montallo stayed behind to survey the damage on her plane with the maintenance crew. They burst through the doors of the operations room over the objections of the guards and several other junior officers. Wellington turned to face them, looking rather grim.

"Let them in," Wellington ordered the guards. "What do you have to report, Captain?"

"We managed to take out about 20 enemy troop transports, and strafed those that were able to land," West panted, trying to catch his breath. "However, the enemy's numerical superiority forced us to retreat. We need reinforcements, sir."

"There are none, Captain," Wellington said grimly. "The squadrons defending the northern and southern polar bases were wiped out. You are all that's left."

"I don't believe it!" Hawkes interjected.

"Believe it, Leftenant," Wellington replied. "The enemy has achieved total air superiority over planet. Only the shield remains to provide some sort of defense against complete and total annihilation. The air sorties against the enemy was a complete and total failure."

"Your Grace," Eugene spoke out. "Our batteries are still harassing the enemy ships above planet. Scouts are reporting that the enemy is preparing to advance on the bases."

"Sir, I have a message from the commanders of the northern and southern polar bases," Hastings reported. "They require air cover and ground reinforcements to meet the enemy threat."

"I can only give them my very best wishes, Hastings," Wellington replied. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have to hold out a few days longer. The fleet will hopefully be here by then. Your orders are to defend your positions to the best of your abilities."

"Sir," West spoke out. "We can fly out on another strafing run the moment our planes are refueled and reloaded."

"No, Captain," Wellington countered. "That would not be necessary. I won't ask you to sacrifice yourselves on a hopeless venture."

"You're asking us to sit back again!" Hawkes screamed, triggering a scowl from West.

"There is more than one way to fight the enemy, Leftenant Hawkes," Wellington replied coldly. "If you are so keen for a fight, I suggest that you go to the armory, sign out a rifle, and make your services available to one of the infantry units."

Wellington turned his back on the pilots, and studied the diagrams on the computer screen. The pilots took this as a sign of their dismissal, and left the room.

June 10th, 2065. Herron Main Base Defense Perimeter, 14:23 hours.

The main base had been under continuous air strikes since morning. Suddenly, the raid ended as the fighters disappeared into the horizon. The scouts at the perimeter defense reported that the enemy troops were only 2 km away. Wellington drove out to the perimeter upon receiving this report. All available personnel, including designated non-combatants such as engineers and the catering staff, were deployed to the perimeter. Their objective was to defend to hold the enemy back in order to keep the shields functioning. The troops were surprised to find Wellington up at the front lines, supervising the defenses. Hastings, Lindsay, and the other battalion commanders were in accompaniment.

Wellington looked through his infrared binoculars. "The enemy is approaching in the same old style, ladies and gentlemen, massed infantry marching behind armored columns. Their planes will not strike us for fear of hitting their own troops. Order the artillery to open fire, Captain Eugene. Commanders, return to your positions."

The battalion commanders went back to be with their troops, and the Royal Artillery gunners began their ceaseless barrages. The enemy's first line took quite a pounding, and their columns began to scatter. The infantry held their fire, waiting for the enemy to get close. Salvos of heavy fire went back and forth between the Chigs and the defenders. Wellington moved calmly among his troops, completely oblivious to the explosions around him. He and Eugene jumped in into the trench occupied by the 58th and Sergeant Lopez.

"How very nice to see you again, ladies and gentlemen," Wellington said cheerfully to the startled marines, and turned his attention towards the approaching enemy columns.

Eugene looked through his binoculars. "Enemy infantry approaching, Your Grace, 500 meters and closing."

Wellington withdrew his pistol from the holster, and took up position next to Eugene. "All infantry units, open fire once the enemy is within range," he said into his comlink.

The ground troops took up position as the enemy closed in. At 300 meters, they let loose a salvo of gunfire that mowed down the enemy. The Chigs dispersed, and returned fire. At the same time, the planetary guns began to open fire towards the sky.

"It seems that the enemy is trying to slip past us," Wellington said, firing his pistol at a Chig soldier who was somewhat too close for comfort.

"Sir, the northern polar base is coming under intense heavy fire," Eugene reported, taking cover from enemy weapons fire. "The guns are still operational, but the ground troops are taking heavy casualties."

"Tell them to do their very best," Wellington said stoically. "That is all I ask of them."

The fighting on the ground went on into the early evening. Wellington's foresight in issuing large quantities of supplies and ammunition paid dividend as the front line troops were able to hold the perimeter. Medical Corps personnel ran back and forth between the perimeter and the base, ferrying the injured and the dead. Wellington stayed with the 58th for about 30 minutes before crawling out of the trench and proceeded, under fire, to one of the other trenches. At 22:09 hours, the fighting stopped as the Chigs ceased their attacks. West kept watch while the others tried to eat and get some rest.

"Wellington is one brave guy," Hawkes admitted grudgingly. "He is even bigger than his reputation. I don't know of any other general who fights like a common foot soldier."

"Like he told us a few days before," West reminded his troops, "he is taking the same risks as we are. He appreciates what we're going through."

"Man, I forgot how much I hate these MREs," Paxton grumbled, opening one of the packets.

"Hello! It's not as if we can stop for an hour and run back to the mess hall," Morales said sarcastically. "I'm sure the Chigs will understand if you want to take a time out, Wally."

The rest of the 58th laughed at the remark. West moved to sit down on the ground as Montallo relieved him. He took out a food packet, opened it, and started to eat heartily. Looking at the younger members, he smiled. "I almost forgot that this is your first ground combat operation, people."

"Oh yeah," Hawkes added. "Since you joined the squadron, you've only been on flying missions. So, what da ya think?"

"To be honest with you, sir," Paxton began, "it really stinks! Up there, we don't see the death and destruction up close. Down here, we are staring all this horror right in the face."

"Now you know how we feel, sir," Lopez interjected acridly. "We grunts face this each time we go into combat."

The young sergeant's blunt remarks brought a degree of humility to the younger members of the squadron.

"Well, people, good work," West said praisingly, laying his head down on his rucksack. "I'm proud of ya. Try to get some sleep. I don't think the Chigs will try anything more tonight."

Nicholson emerged out of the darkness behind the 58th, and jumped into their trench. The startled troops pointed their weapons at him. Hawkes lunged at Nicholson, grabbed him by the collar, and pinned him onto the ground. "Don't you ever sneak up of us like that, you stupid Limey!"

"Awfully sorry, Leftenant," Nicholson replied in a frightened tone. "Wasn't thinking, you see."

Hawkes released the young lieutenant, and went back to his half-eaten meal. West sat back against the wall of the trench, and looked at Nicholson. "What do you want, Nicholson?"

"I have a message from HQ," Nicholson reported. "Your squadron is to withdraw from your position here, and report back to the Duke."

"Now?" West asked.

"Yes, sir," Nicholson replied. "I have a squad from the Black Watch who will relieve you."

"What about the sergeant?" Hawkes asked, pointing at Lopez.

"He can come along too," Nicholson answered.

"All right, people," West commanded. "Move!"

"I hope this means we get to sleep in a bed tonight," Habib whispered.

"Amen to that!" West replied.

Next : In The Shadow Of Greatness - part 7 of 9

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