fire."

"He's right," Joe Chessman said sourly.

Reif nodded his head. "We must finish them now, if we can. The task will
be twice as great next year."

Plekhanov grumbled in irritation. "Half a million of them and something
like forty thousand of our Tulans."

Reif corrected him. "Some thirty thousand Tulans, all infantrymen." He
added, "And eight thousand allied cavalry only some of whom can be
trusted." Reif's ten-year-old son came up next to him and peered down at
the map.

"What's that child doing here?" Plekhanov snapped.

Reif looked into the other's face. "This is Taller Second, my son. You
from First Earth have never bothered to study our customs. One of them
is that a Khan's son participates in all battles his father does. It is
his training."

Watson was pointing out features on the map again. "It will take three
days for their full army to get in here." He added with emphasis, "In
retreat, it would take them the same time to get out."

Plekhanov scowled heavily. "We can't risk it. If we were defeated, we
have no reserve army. We'd have lost everything." He looked at Joe
Chessman and Watson significantly. "We'd have to flee back to the
_Pedagogue_."

Reif's face was expressionless.

Barry Watson looked at him. "We won't desert you, Reif, forget about
that aspect of it."

Reif said, "I believe you, Barry Watson. You are a ... soldier."

Dick Hawkins' small biplane zoomed in, landed expertly at the knoll's
foot. The occupant vaulted out and approached them at a half run.

Hawkins called as soon as he was within shouting distance. "They're
moving in. Their advance cavalry units are already in the pass."

When he was with them, Plekhanov rubbed his hand nervously over heavy
lips. He rumbled, "The cavalry, eh? Listen, Hawkins, get back there and
dust them. Use the gas."

The pilot said slowly, "I have four bullet holes in my wings."

"Bullet holes!" Joe Chessman snapped.

Hawkins turned to him. "By the looks of things, MacBride's whole unit
has gone over to the rebels. Complete with their double-barreled
muskets. A full thousand of them."

Watson looked frigidly at Leonid Plekhanov. "You insisted on issuing
guns to men we weren't sure of."

Plekhanov grumbled, "Confound it, don't use that tone of voice with me.
We have to arm our men, don't we?"

Watson said, "Yes, but our still comparatively few advanced weapons
shouldn't go into the hands of anybody but trusted citizens of the
State,