“Only partially,” said Donal. “I—”

“Give me patience!” snapped the Freilander. “I have five campaigns to my credit, Force-Leader. I’d hardly stick my own neck in a noose. But I’ll be taking over White’s Force and leaving him in command back here in the Area. You, I and Skuak will make the assay. Now, are you satisfied?”

There was, of course, no reply to be made to that. Donal bowed his Head in submission and the meeting broke up. Walking back to his Force area, however, alongside Skuak, Donal remained unreconstructed enough to put an extra question to the Cassidan.

“Do you think I’m starting at shadows?” asked Donal.

“Huh!” grunted Skuak. “It’s his responsibility. He ought to know what he’s doing.” And, on that note, they parted; each to marshal his own men.

Back in his own Force area, Donal found that his Groupmen had already assembled his command. They stood under arms, drawn up in three hues of fifty men each, with a senior and junior Groupman at the head of each line. The ranking senior Groupman, a tall, thin Cetan veteran named Morphy, accompanied him as he made his rounds of the ranks, inspecting the men.

They were a good unit, Donal thought, as he paced down between the rows. Well-trained men, battle-seasoned, although in no sense elite troops, since they had been picked at random by the Elders of the First Dissident Church — William having stipulated only his choice of officers for the demonstration Battle Unit. Each man carried a handgun and knife in addition to his regular armament; but they were infantry, spring-rifle men. Weapon for weapon, any thug in the back alley of a large city had more, and more modern firepower; but the trick with modern warfare was not to outgun the enemy, but carry weapons he could not gimmick. Chemical and radiation armament was too easily put out of action from a distance. Therefore, the spring-rifle with its five thousand-sliver magazine and its tiny, compact, non-metaUic mechanism which could put a sliver in a man-sized target at a thousand meters time after time with unvarying accuracy.

Yet, thought Donal, pacing between the silent men in the faint darkness of pre-dawn, even the spring-rifle would be gimmickable one of these days. Eventually, the infantryman would be back to the knife and short sword. And the emphasis would weigh yet again more heavily on the skill of the individual soldier. For sooner or later, no matter what fantastic long-range weapons you mounted, the ground itself had to be taken — and for that there had never been anything but the man in the ranks.

Donal finished his inspection and went back to stand in front of them.

“Rest, men,” he said. “But hold your ranks. All Groupmen over here with me.”

He walked off out of earshot of the men in ranks and the Groupmen followed him. They squatted in a circle and he passed on to them the orders of the Staff he had just received from Hugh, handing out maps to each of them.

“Any questions?” he asked, as Hugh had asked his Force-Leaders.

There were none. They waited for him to go on. He, in turn looked slowly around the circle, assessing these men on whom his command would depend.

He had had a chance to get to know them in the three weeks previous to this early morning. The six who faced him represented, in miniature, the varying reactions his appointment as Force-Leader had produced in the Force as a whole. Of the hundred and fifty men under him, a few were doubtful of him because of his youth and lack of battle experience. A larger number were unequivocably glad to have him over them because of the Dorsai reputation. A few, a very few, were of that class of men who bristle automatically, as man to man, whenever they find themselves in contact with another individual who is touted as better than they. The instinctive giant-killers. Of this type was the Senior Groupman of the Third Group, an ex-Coby miner named Lee. Even squatting now in this circle, on the brink of action, he met Donal’s eye with a faint air of challenge, his brush of dark hair stiffly upright in the gloom, his bony jaw set. Such men were troublemakers unless they had responsibility to hold them down. Donal revised his original intention to travel, himself, with the Third Group.

“We’ll split up into patrol-sized units of twenty-five men each,” he said. “There’ll be a Senior or Junior Groupman to each unit. You’ll move separately as units, and if you encounter an enemy patrol, you’ll fight as a unit. I don’t want any unit going to the rescue of another. Is that clear?”

They nodded. It was clear.

“Morphy,” said Donal, turning to the thin Senior Groupman. “I want you to go with the Junior unit of Lee’s Group, which will have the rearguard position. Lee will take his own half-group directly in front of you. Chassen” — he looked at the Senior Groupman of the Second Group — “you and Zolta will take positions third and fourth from the rear. I want you personally in fourth position. Suki, as Junior of the First Group, you’ll be ahead of Chassen and right behind me. I’ll take the upper half of the First Group in advance position.”

“Force,” said Lee. “How about communications?”

“Hand-signal. Voice. And that’s all. And I don’t want any of you closing up to make communication easier. Twenty-meter miminum interval between units.” Donal looked around the circle again. “Our job here is to penetrate to me little town as quickly and quietly as we can. Fight only if you’re forced into it; and break away as quickly as you can.”

“The word is it’s supposed to be a Sunday walk,” commented Lee.

“I don’t operate by back-camp rumor,” said Donal flatly, his eyes seeking out the ex-miner. “We’ll take all precautions. You Groupmen will be responsible for seeing that your men are fully equipped with everything, including medication.”

Lee yawned. It was not a gesture of insolence — not quite.

“All right,” said Donal. “Back to your Groups.”

The meeting broke up.

A few minutes later the almost inaudible peep of a whistle was carried from Force to Force; and they began to move out. Dawn was not yet in the sky, but the low overcast above the treetops was beginning to tighten at their backs.

The first twelve hundred meters through the woods, though they covered it cautiously enough, turned out to be just what Lee had called it — a Sunday walk. It was when Donal, in the lead with the first half-Group, came out on the edge of the river that things began to tighten up.

“Scouts out!” he said. Two of the men from the Group sloshed into the smoothly flowing water, and, rifles held high, waded across its gray expanse to the far side. The glint of their rifles, waved in a circle, signaled the all clear and Donal led the rest of the men into the water and across.

Arrived on the far side, he threw out scouts in three directions — ahead, and along the bank each way — and waited until Suki and his men appeared on the far side of the river. Then, his scouts having returned with no sight of the enemy, Donal spread his men out in light skirmish order and went forward.

The day was growing rapidly. They proceeded by fifty meter jumps, sending the scouts out ahead, then moving the rest of the men up when the signal came back that the ground was clear ahead. Jump succeeded jump and there was no contact with the enemy. A little over an hour later, with the large orange disk of E. Eridani standing clear of the horizon, Donal looked out through a screen of bushes at a small, battle-torn village that was silent as the grave.

Forty minutes later, the three Forces of the Third Command, Battle Unit 176 were united and dug in about the small town of Faith Will Succour. They had uncovered no local inhabitants.

They had had no encounter with the enemy.