“Jim, I’m going to try to divert it,” he said crisply. “Eaton’s sitting on his political fence; the Feds are bringing artillery up, but I don’t expect much from it. Technically, Brand needs Sector okay to use nuclear stuff, and he’s not the boy to stick his neck out—”

“Divert it how? Pete, don’t take any chances—”

Reynolds laughed shortly. “I’m going to get around it and drop a shaped drilling charge in its path. Maybe I can knock a tread off. With luck, I might get its attention on me and draw it away from the Mall. There are still a few thousand people over there, glued to their Tri-D’s. They think it’s all a swell show.”

“Pete, you can’t walk up on that thing! It’s hot—” He broke off. “Pete, there’s some kind of nut here—he claims he has to talk to you; says he knows something about that damned juggernaut. Shall I…?”

Reynolds paused with his hand on the cut-off switch. “Put him on,” he snapped. Mayfield’s face moved aside and an ancient, bleary-eyed visage stared out at him. The tip of the old man’s tongue touched his dry lips.

“Son, I tried to tell this boy here, but he wouldn’t listen—”

“What have you got, old timer?” Pete cut in. “Make it fast.”

“My name’s Sanders. James Sanders. I’m… I was with the Planetary Volunteer Scouts, back in ’71—”

“Sure, dad,” Pete said gently. “I’m sorry, I’ve got a little errand to run—”

“Wait…” The old man’s face worked. “I’m old, son—too damned old. I know. But bear with me. I’ll try to say it straight. I was with Hayle’s squadron at Toledo. Then afterwards, they shipped us—but hell, you don’t care about that! I keep wandering, son; can’t help it. What I mean to say is—I was in on that last scrap, right here at New Devon—only we didn’t call it New Devon then. Called it Heliport. Nothing but bare rock and Enemy emplacement—”

“You were talking about the battle, Mr. Sanders,” Pete said tensely. “Go on with that part.”

“Lieutenant Sanders,” the oldster said. “Sure, I was Acting Brigade Commander. See, our major was hit at Toledo—and after Tommy Chee stopped a sidewinder at Belgrave—”

“Stick to the point, Lieutenant!”

“Yessir!” The old man pulled himself together with an obvious effort. “I took the Brigade in; put out flankers, and ran the Enemy into the ground. We mopped ’em up in a thirty-three hour running fight that took us from over by Crater Bay all the way down here to Hellport. When it was over, I’d lost sixteen units, but the Enemy was done. They gave us Brigade Honors for that action. And then…”

“Then what?”