"They're all in position? Exactly the way they were when we conducted firing exercises?"

"Yes, sir. Every inch of ground in that sector's covered by overlapping fire. We have at least fifteen of them just out beyond the gate--same number at each of the other perimeters--"

"Grab a few off each line, but just a few. Three, four. Leave the rest where they are. That'd bring us to about thirty guns at the point of attack. Have the additions emplaced right away."

"Yes, sir."

Ricci wanted to tell the kid not to call him "sir." He wasn't his uncle, and Sword wasn't the military. But his preferred form of address was something for later.

"Notify the firing and Quick Response teams, make sure they're all in their tac vests--"

"That's SOP, sir."

"Make sure anyway. "

"Yes, sir!"

Jesus, Ricci thought.

"Okay," he said. "I'm heading out to the snoop-mobile to see the pictures for myself."

Minutes after Kuhl had gotten past the gate sentries with what amounted to a nod and a wave, the truck stopped briefly in a quiet section of the compound, where his men had placed the dish atop its trailer's roof and switched on the pulse generator. They had then driven on to within two hundred feet of the long cargo-processing facility in which the ISS service module was being stored prior to installation in the launch vehicle--a movement that was scheduled to occur the very next morning.

The concrete building was guarded exclusively by VKS troops, and only a sprinkling of them at that. None seemed interested when the cargo hauler pulled up at a moderate distance. It was one of their own trucks, and there were vehicles coming and going constantly in the days preceding a launch. Although Kuhl had been prepared for the eventuality of having to deal with Sword personnel, he was not surprised by their absence. One could always depend on Russian pride. That, he thought, and the impoverished economy that had ensured their facility would not be hardened against the incapacitation of their electronic alarm systems by microwave pulse, an expensive upgrade in shielding they could scarcely have afforded.

He turned to Oleg.

"Go around back," he said. "Tell the others they are to activate the cannon when ready."

The snoop-mobile was all boxed-in commotion. As Ricci entered, he saw men and women hunched over every one of the instrument consoles lining its sides, the radiance from the displays and lighted controls casting pale flickers of color across their faces.

He glanced up at a flat-panel monitor on the wall above one of the consoles, and instantly saw SkyManta's aerial IR video view of the approaching jeeps.

"Those pictures," he said, moving up beside the woman in the operator's seat. Her name tag read Sharon Drake. "They're called near real-time, that right?"

"Yes, sir."

Sir, again.

"How near is near?"

"What you're seeing happened less than two seconds ago."

"Putting the attack force how close?"