Not simply the fear of failing. It was.... God! The reality of it! This wasn't like reading a book or writing a story. This was going to be real shot and flame instead of words and paper. Real people were going to die, with their blood warm and sticky and horror in the eyes--and he wouldn't be able to glance away to ponder it. It was going to roll from start to finish with the reality of Now and the surety of Death. It was going to flame as fights have flamed since something first snatched up a rock. And he was going to be right in the middle of it with these Kali, win or lose, live or die. And what was he doing here with these strange, alien Kali? He raised his head and glanced around. Resi was standing by the helmsman, talking with his deck lieutenant. Water splashed down on the maindeck; the water crews at work. There was a breathless quiet over the ship. He could see them standing like shadows, watching the curve of the narrows. The Spartans must have stood like that at the Pass of Thermopylae! And the Athenians on the Plains of Marathon. And the Americans at Bastogne. And men anywhere, any time before a battle. A single, whispering line from an old poem sang through him: _Into the Valley of Death rode the six hundred._ There was no alien here but himself. * * * * * The ominous walls of the narrows closed and filled the sky. Beyond the curve, some two miles up, the Grimnal ships were slowly beating upwind. Suddenly, like a touch of fire to old ashes, he knew what he was doing here. A long imprisoned breath escaped from him, and a great sigh seemed to come from the whole ship. Resi turned. Ward could barely make out what must be a smile in that old Kali face. "We made it, ho?" "Just barely, by God. Have the ships string out as planned, with the lead frigate in the tip of the shadow where the Break turns into the moonlight. And be careful of noise. It will carry in here like a cannon shot." Resi coughed and was gone like a cat. The _Windsong_ fell dead in the water. The others whispered past like ghosts. Voices called softly, and the small, shielded signal lights licked from ship to ship. And the _Windsong_ was alone. Her bows swung out slightly to allow the foreguns a field of fire. Ward climbed down from the bridge, strode the water-slick maindeck and gained the foredeck. The gun crews turned, glanced at him, then turned back. He could not tell if they were smiling or not. So what. They would have plenty to smile at in a moment. The lead first-liner was about a mile now and keeping well to their side. Ward squinted at the point of the shadow, but there was no light flickering there that he could see. Damn! The Grimnal ship looked huge in the moonlight, and the Break behind it seemed filled with sails. It was nearly abreast of the shadow tip, still holding to their side, and the tiniest flicker of light danced in the shadow beside it. Ward grinned. David and Goliath.