"Divisions Six and Eighteen, forward--march!" Again, the familiar relay of command. Then the two great masses surged forward, one behind the other, leaving the two behind them still in formation. "Six by the left flank, march!" Six had cleared the quadrant formation, moved off as commanded to the left. "Eighteen by the right flank, march!" And Eighteen did the same. "Divisions, halt! Six, right, face! Eighteen, left, face!" And as quickly as Tayne's commands were relayed, the way was methodically cleared for the rear rank division he called next. There were perhaps seven minutes left.... "Division Thirty forward, march!" * * * * * And it came forward, and Doug realized at once that in this formation, this Division Thirty, were his sons, if they were anywhere among the five hundred thousand at all. "Division, halt!" A second flight of evac ships roared over them, and Tayne waited. Six minutes.... "'A' Company, First Battalion, Second Regiment, forward--" This time, the unit Tayne wanted was in the very front, and at once, two hundred boys were separated from a division of over five thousand, as the division itself had been picked from among forty-eight others in a quadrant of a quarter-million. And then-- "Squad leaders Kurt and Ronal Blair, _front center_!" And from the squads of a rear platoon, two bare-torsoed, helmeted youngsters rushed forward on the double! They halted three paces from Tayne, saluted. And to Doug, their young faces were completely unrecognizable. Curiously pinched, worried young faces, drawn taut with the tension of bewilderment and sudden fear. Tayne pivoted, faced Doug. "Sir, Kurt and Ronal Blair, as assigned by command! At your orders, sir!" Doug returned the salute, said nothing. He walked with a careful nonchalance to where the two boys, swords and maces still swinging at their sides, stood at attention. Their arms rose in salute. There was no sign of recognition in their eyes. He dared linger near them but a moment, the fleeting moment it would take for him to identify his own sons beyond doubt. And again, it would be a matter of timing. For until the right moment, Tayne could hear every word. "How long have you boys been in your present unit?" "Since--since June the third I think, sir." Terry's voice. And it was Terry's way of saying words. It was Terry, and it was Mike beside him. But he remained silent. He waited, and he prayed. The silence drew into seconds, and it was deadly. And then suddenly a third flight of evac ships thundered their paen of power as they fought for altitude above him! And with the prayer still at his lips lest his words be either too loud or drowned altogether, Doug shouted almost in their faces: "_Terry, Mike! It's Dad! The Contraption's done all of this! Watch for me--I'll pick you up off the field!_"