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Mandasiva’s command ship went at the third hour. A Lukan blaster got it. By the fourth hour I had watched three of my sub-command ships go. A Sirian force beam got one, an Earth fusion gun got another, and the third went out of action and rammed O’Hara’s command ship that had been leading their attack against us. That third ship of mine was Pete Colenso’s. Old Mike would have been proud of his boy. I was sick. Pete had been a good boy. So had O’Hara. Not a boy, O’Hara, but the next to the last of old Free Companion from Earth. I’m the last, and I said a silent good-bye to O’Hara. By the sixth hour Rajay-Ben had only ten ships left. I had twelve. Five thousand of my men were gone. Eight thousand of Rajay-Ben’s Lukans. The Sirians of Mandasiva’s O Company were getting the worst of it, and in the eighth hour Mandasiva’s second in command surrendered. It would be over soon, too soon. And the dream would be over with the battle. I broke silence.

“Red Stone calling. Do you read me? Commander Stone calling. Request conference. Repeat, request conference.”