"NOW?" What I should have done a long time ago. I'm not out of aces
yet! No sir, not by a damn sight! Pull yourself together, and report
back to me at 0450."
The 'ace' that Hayes referred to was simply this, hitherto, and to the
sane mind still, unthinkable. He would construct a star gate straight
to Earth, overthrow Plant and install himself as President,
simultaneously eliminating the Soviet Union from the face of the
globe. Then they would HAVE to rally behind him: the Fourth and
decisive Great War. The dream wasn't ended, just pressed to its last,
supreme effort and need. His only mistake to date had been that he
underestimated the greatness of God! Ruthless, that was the way of
Heaven. The way it must be, by damn!
If he had been tireless, aggressive and energetic before, that was
nothing to the way he now threw himself, and his men, into action.
Construction of the final Gate was begun immediately, and every vessel
that could still fly or fire a shot, along with the Dreadnought itself,
was issued to defend it. Let the red bastards come! It would take
twice his own number to defeat him now. His men were battle trained
and battle hardened, and what was more, they were desperate. (He
continued to find it impossible to separate his own emotions from those
of his men).
But. . .ONE THING AT A TIME, AND NOT MISSING A SINGLE DETAIL. That had
been his motto, and he stuck to it for all the current frenzy. He
detached the mythical '21st Airborne' once more to Westmoreland, this
time not to talk, but to fight.
Along with it, and all in the same vessel, went the ground crews that
had serviced and realigned the Detachment upon their return from the
first encounter, including the man who had brought him the two
canisters. These possible witness/subversives must not live to tell
their tale.
Hayes no longer cared if the fuel cells were lost. Who needed them, or
anyone or anything else? They would find all the supplies they needed
on Earth. Enough of this mucking around! He was going home in bloody
triumph, and good-night sweet prince to anyone who stood in his way.
He decided also, on one of the many sleepless nights spent waiting for
the star gate, to tell his men the truth---at least that was how it
then appeared in his mind. YES, OF COURSE. One thought followed
another in rapid succession.
STONE HAD BEEN MURDERED, BUT NOT BY THE ARCH-CONSERVATIVES. NO! BY
THE SNAKE'S BELLY LIBERALS. AND BY THE COMMUNISTS AND THEIR
SYMPATHIZERS, WHO FEARED THE SWORD HE HAD PUT IN HIS GENERAL'S HAND.
PLANT WAS A MERE PUPPET. OF COURSE! HE HAD NO CHOICE BUT TO USURP
HIM, AND DEAL THE AVENGING BLOW TO SOVIET SPACE. He could even use the
footage of Stone's funeral, to commentary written by himself.....
He dressed quickly, took out of its locked drawer the remaining
microvideo, and made his way impatiently to the InterCommunications
Studio, where he spent the rest of the night alone, cutting and
editing, then in a late flurry, recording and polishing his own
address. Age and fatigue tried to rankle, but he was not let them.
The Gate was nearly completed and the Russian threat, unseen but
strongly felt, grew nearer each day. Surely by now they had secured a
lock on his position, and dispatched their Armada.....
There was no time to lose.