"I know you do, Man my first and best friend, and so do I. It's my real one; 'Adam' was a phony."

"Uh, yes. But, Mike, if Prof is dead in Kongville, I'm going to need help from 'Adam' awful bad."

"So we've got him iced and can bring him back if we need him. The stuffed shirt. Man, when this is over, are you going to have time to take up with me that research into humor again?"

"I'll take time, Mike; that's a promise."

"Thanks, Man. These days you and Wyoh never have time to visit... and Professor wants to talk about things that aren't much fun. I'll be glad when this war is over."

"Are we going to win, Mike?"

He chuckled. "It's been days since you asked me that. Here's a pinky-new projection, run since invasion started. Hold on tight, Man--our chances are now even!"

"Good Bog!"

"So button up and go see the fun. But stay back at least a hundred meters from the gun; that ship may be able to follow back a laser beam with another one. Ranging shortly. Twenty-one minutes."

Didn't get that far away, as needed to stay on phone and longest cord around was less. I jacked parallel into gun captain's phone, found a shady rock and sat down. Sun was high in west, so close to Terra that I could see Terra only by visoring against Sun's glare--no crescent yet, new earth ghostly gray in moonlight surrounded by a thin radiance of atmosphere.

I pulled my helmet back into shade. "Ballistic control, O'Kelly Davis now at Drill Gun George. Near it, I mean, about a hundred meters," Figured Mike would not be able to tell how long a cord I was using, out of kilometers of wires.

"Ballistic control aye aye," Mike answered without argument. "I will so inform HQ."

"Thank you, ballistic control. Ask HQ if they have heard from Congressman Wyoming Davis today." Was fretted about Wyoh and whole family.

"I will inquire." Mike waited a reasonable time, then said, "HQ says that Gospazha Wyoming Davis has taken charge of first-aid work in Old Dome."

"Thank you." Chest suddenly felt better. Don't love Wyoh more than others but--well, she was new. And Luna needed her.

"Ranging," Mike said briskly. "All guns, elevation eight seven zero, azimuth one nine three zero, set parallax for thirteen hundred kilometers closing to surface. Report when eyeballed."

I stretched out, pulling knees up to stay in shade, and searched part of sky indicated, almost zenith and a touch south. With sunlight not on my helmet I could see stars, but inner pert of binox were hard to position--had to twist around and raise up on right elbow.

Nothing-- Hold it, was star with disc... where no planet ought to be. Noted another star close, watched and waited.

Uh huh! Da! Growing brighter and creeping north very slowly-- Hey, that brute is going to land right on us!

But thirteen hundred kilometers is a long way, even when closing to terminal velocity. Reminded self that it couldn't fall on us from a departure ellipse looping back, would have to fall around Luna--unless ship had maneuvered into new trajectory. Which Mike hadn't mentioned. Wanted to ask, decided not to--wanted him to put all his savvy into analyzing that ship, not distract him with questions.

All guns reported eyeball tracking, including four Mike was laying himself, via selsyns. Those four reported tracking dead on by eyeball without touching manual controls--good news; meant that Mike had that baby taped, had solved trajectory perfectly.

Shortly was clear that ship was not falling around Luna, was coming in for landing. Didn't need to ask; it was getting much brighter and position against stars was not changing--damn, it was going to land on us!

"Five hundred kilometers closing," Mike said quietly. "Stand by to burn. All guns on remote control, override manually at command 'burn.' Eighty seconds."

Longest minute and twenty seconds I've ever met--that brute was big! Mike called every ten seconds down to thirty, then started chanting seconds. "--five--four--three--two--one--BURN!" and ship suddenly got much brighter.

Almost missed little speck that detached itself just before--or just at--burn. But Mike said suddenly, "Missile launched. Selsyn guns track with me, do not override. Other guns stay on ship. Be ready for new coordinates."

A few seconds or hours later he gave new coordinates and added, "Eyeball and burn at will."

I tried to watch ship and missile both, lost both--jerked eyes away from binoculars, suddenly saw missile--then saw it impact, between us and catapult head. Closer to us, less than a kilometer. No, it did not go off, not an H-fusion reaction, or I wouldn't be telling this. But made a big, bright explosion of its own, remaining fuel I guess, silver bright even in sunlight, and shortly I felt-heard ground wave. But nothing was hurt but a few cubic meters of rock.

Ship was still coming down. No longer burned bright; could see it as a ship now and didn't seem hurt. Expected any instant that tail of fire to shoot out, stop it into a dido landing.

Did not. Impacted ten kilometers north of us and made a fancy silvery halfdome before it gave up and quit being anything but spots before eyes.

Mike said, "Report casualties, secure all guns. Go below when secured."

"Gun Alice, no casualties"--"Gun Bambie no casualties"--"Gun Caesar, one man hit by rock splinter, pressure contained"-- Went below, to that proper phone, called Mike. "What happened, Mike? Wouldn't they give you control after you burned their eyes out?"

"They gave me control, Man."

"Too late?"

"I crashed it, Man. It seemed the prudent course."

An hour later was down with Mike, first time in four or five months. Could reach Complex Under more quickly than L-City and was in as close touch there with anybody as would be in-city--with no interruptions. Needed to talk to Mike.

I had tried to phone Wyoh from catapult head tube station; reached somebody at Old Dome temporary hospital and learned that Wyoh had collapsed and been bedded down herself, with enough sleepy-time to keep her out for night. Finn had gone to Churchill with a capsule of his lads, to lead attack on transport there. Stu I hadn't heard from. Hong Kong and Prof were still cut off. At moment Mike and I seemed to be total government.

And time to start Operation Hard Rock.

But Hard Rock was not just throwing rocks; was also telling Terra what we were going to do and why--and our just cause for doing so. Prof and Stu and Sheenie and Adam had all worked on it, a dummy-up based on an assumed attack. Now attack had come, and propaganda had to be varied to fit. Mike had already rewritten it and put it through print-out so I could study it.

I looked up from a long roll of paper. "Mike, these news stories and our message to F.N. all assume that we have won in Hong Kong. How sure are you?"

"Probability in excess of eighty-two percent."

"Is that good enough to send these out?"

"Man, the probability that we will win there, if we haven't already, approaches certainty. That transport can't move; the others were dry, or nearly. There isn't that much monatomic hydrogen in HKL; they would have to come here. Which means moving troops overland by rolligon--a rough trip with the Sun up even for Loonies--then defeat us when they get here. They can't. This assumes that that transport and its troops are no better armed than the others."

"How about that repair crew to Bee Ell?"

"I say not to wait. Man, I've used your voice freely and made all preparations. Horror pictures, Old Dome and elsewhere, especially Churchill Upper, for video. Stories to match. We should channel news Earthside at once, and announce execution of Hard Rock at same time."

I took a deep breath. "Execute Operation Hard Rock."

"Want to give the order yourself? Say it aloud and I'll match it, voice and choice of words."