“Boys, no!” Owen cried, but got no sense they heard him; their link was too strong, forged with the resolve of men who have made up their minds. They would be the first of Kurtz’s command to do this tonight; Owen did not think they would be the last.

Owen? That was Henry. Owen, what’s-

Then he tapped into what Owen was seeing and fell silent, horrified.

… two… one.

Two pistol-shots, muffled by the roar of the wind and four Zimmer electrical generators. Two fans of blood and brain-tissue appearing like magic over the heads of Cavanaugh and Bellson in the dim light. Owen and Henry saw Bellson’s right foot give a final dying jump. It struck the barrel of the flashlight, and for a moment they could see Cavanaugh’s and Bellson’s distorted, byrus-speckled faces. Then, as the flashlight went rolling across the bed of the box, casting cartwheels of light on the aluminum side, the picture went dark, like the picture on a TV when the plug has been pulled.

“Christ,” Owen whispered. “Good Christ.”

Henry had appeared behind the window again. Owen motioned him back, then threw the rock. The range was short, but his first shot missed anyway, bouncing harmlessly off the weathered boards to the left of the target. He took the second, pulled in a deep, settling breath, and threw. This one shattered the glass.

Got mail for you, Henry. Coming through.

He tossed the steel box through the hole where the glass had been.

It bounced across the shed floor. Henry picked the box up and undid the clasp. Inside were four foil-wrapped packets.

What are these?

Pocket rockets, Owen returned. How’s your heart?

Okay, as far as I know.

Good, because that shit makes cocaine feel like Valium. There are two in each pack. Take three. Save the rest.

I don’t have any water.

Owen sent a clear picture-south end of a northbound horse. Chew them, beautiful-you’ve got a few teeth left, don’t you? There was real anger in this, and at first Henry didn’t understand it, but then of course he did. If there was anything he should be able to understand this early morning, it was the sudden loss of friends.

The pills were white, unmarked by the name of any pharmaceutical company, and terribly bitter in his mouth as they crumbled. Even his throat tried to pucker as he swallowed.

The effect was almost instantaneous. By the time he had tucked Owen’s USMC box into his pants pocket, Henry’s heartbeat had doubled. By the time he stepped back to the window, it had tripled, His eyes seemed to pulse from their sockets with each quick rap in his chest. This wasn’t distressing, however; he actually found it quite pleasant. No more sleepiness, and his aches seemed to have flown away.

“Yow!” he called. “Popeye should try a few cans of this shit!” And laughed, both because speaking now seemed so odd-archaic, almost-and because he felt so fine.

Keep it down, what do you say?

Okay! OKAY!

Even his thoughts seemed to have acquired a new, crystalline force, and Henry didn’t think this was just his imagination. Although the light behind the old feed shed was a little less than in the rest of the compound, it was still strong enough for him to see Owen wince and raise a hand to the side of his head, as if someone had shouted directly into his ear.

Sorry, he sent.

It’s all right. It’s just that you’re so strong. You must be covered with that shit.

Actually, I’m not, Henry returned. A wink of his dream came back to him: the four of them on that grassy slope. No, the five of them, because Duddits had been there, too.

Henry-do you remember where I said I’d be?

Southwest corner of the compound. All the way across from the barn, on the diagonal, But-

No buts. That’s where I’ll be. If you want a ride out of here, it’s where you better be, too. It’s… A pause as Owen checked his watch. If it was still working, it must be the kind you wind up, Henry thought… two minutes to four. I’ll give you half an hour, then if the folks in the barn haven’t started to move, I’m going to short the fence.

Half an hour may not be long enough, Henry protested. Although he was standing still, looking out at Owen’s form in the blowing snow, he was breathing fast, like a man in a race. His heart felt as if it was in a race.

It’ll have to be, Owen sent. The fence is alarmed. 7here’ll be sirens. Even more lights. A general alert. I’ll give you five minutes after the shit starts hitting the fan-that’s a three hundred count-and if you haven’t shown up, I’m on my merry way.

You’ll never find Jonesy without me

That doesn’t mean I have to stay here and die with you, Henry. Patient. As if talking to a small child. If you don’t make it to where I am in five minutes, there’ll be no chance for either of us, anyway.

Those two men who just committed suicide…they’re not the only ones who are fucked up.

I know.

Henry caught a brief mental glimpse of a yellow school bus with MILLINOCKET SCHOOL DEPT. printed up the side. Looking out the windows were two score of grinning skulls. They were Owen Underhill’s mates, Henry realized. The ones he’d arrived with yesterday morning. Men who were now either dying or already dead.

Never mind them, Owen replied. It’s Kurtz’s ground support we have to worry about now. Especially the Imperial Valleys. If they exist, you better believe they’ll follow orders and that they’re well-trained. And training wins out over confusion every time-that’s what training is for. If you stick around, they’ll roast you and toast you. Five minutes is what you have once the alarms go. A three hundred count.

Owen’s logic was hard to like and impossible to refute.

All right, Henry said. Five minutes.

You have no business doing this in the first place, Owen told him. The thought came to Henry encrusted with a complex filigree of emotion: frustration, guilt, the inevitable fear-in Owen Underhill’s case, not of dying but of failure. If what you say is true, everything depends on whether or not we get out of here clean. For you to maybe put the entire world at risk because of a few hundred schmoes in a barn…

It’s not the way your boss would do it, right?

Owen reacted with surprise-no words, but a kind of comicbook ! in Henry’s mind. Then, even over the ceaseless howl and hoot of the wind, he heard Owen laugh.

You got me there, beautiful.

Anyway, I’ll get them moving. I’m a motivational master.

I know you’ll try. Henry couldn’t see Owen’s face, but felt him smiling. Then Owen spoke aloud. “And after that? Tell me again.”

“Why?”

“Maybe because soldiers need motivation, too, especially when they’re derailing. And belay the telepathy-I want you to say it out loud. I want to hear the word.”

Henry looked at the man shivering on the other side of the fence and said, “After that we’re going to be heroes. Not because we want to, but because there are no other options.”

Out in the snow and the wind, Owen was nodding. Nodding and still smiling. “Why not?” he said. “Just why the fuck not?”

In his mind, glimmering, Henry saw the image of a little boy with a plate raised over his head. What the man wanted was for the little boy to put the plate back-that plate that had haunted him so over the years and would forever stay broken.

Dreamless since childhood and thus unsane, Kurtz woke as he always did: at one moment nowhere, at the next completely awake and cognizant of his surroundings. Alive, hallelujah, oh yes, still in the big time. He turned his head and looked at the clock, but the goddam thing had gone off again in spite of its fancy anti-magnetic casing, flashing 12-12-12, like a stutterer caught on one word. He turned on the lamp beside the bed and picked up the pocket watch on the bedtable. Four-oh-eight.