The two men had little contact in the succeeding days. After seeing Debi
and General Wilson off for Washington, the physicist closeted himself with
the remains of the android Q'Tara, refusing food, drink or distraction
while he applied himself to the study of the alien pseudo-woman. It was
four days later that he emerged, unshaven and bleary eyed, to burst
unannounced into Ironhorse's office, taking up a belligerent stance, hands
on hips, before the polished desk.
"I can't do this alone," he blurted without preamble. "Q'Tara's power is derived from a nuclear reactor so miniaturized, I don't even have any idea how she sustains fusion much less be able to figure out how to duplicate it. Katya is a nuclear physicist -- the best in her field. If we can contact her through the Consulate, she could be in this country by the weekend."
Lounging negligently in his leather armchair, Ironhorse could only blink, momentarily taken aback by the abruptness of the entry and the exhausted incoherence of the other man. Tired himself if unrumpled, it obviously took several moments for him to figure out what Harrison was asking for. When it sank in, his face hardened into a mask. "That's not going to happen, Blackwood. We will not permit the Russians access to alien technology." He settled back in his chair, drawing one booted foot up onto the desktop. "You're just going to have to make due with an American scientist, second rate though they may be."
The sarcasm was not lost on the other man, who stiffened. "This is an international problem, Colonel. The Russians have as much stake in the success of our project as we do. You have no right to restrict this information to a bunch of bureaucrats who don't know their--"
"Those bureaucrats," Ironhorse interrupted rudely, "are only interested in maintaining the safety of this country." He drew himself up. "As am I. We are not calling in the Soviets on this." He pushed across a manila folder, lying practically unnoticed on the corner of his desk. "M.I.T. is sending over Professor Eugene Dickenson, an expert in cybernetic control systems. He'll be here by morning."
The flick of his hand was a dismissal. Harrison, however, chose to ignore it. Blue eyes flashed sapphire, and he drew his slumping shoulders back. "You're forgetting who's in charge of this project," he retorted icily. "I have a right to choose anyone I please to work on the alien problem."
The words had the effect of an electric shock, bringing the soldier leaping to his feet. Tension that had been generated in a blood-spattered chamber only two weeks before, grew taut, the reply as glacial as the challenge. "And you're forgetting who is in charge of security. I have the power to prevent anyone I consider to be a security risk from entering these grounds, methods of exclusion at my discretion up to and including ordering them shot on sight." Thin lips twitched, the smile carrying the smugness that came from a thorough understanding of his opponent. "I doubt you'll want to put an innocent woman's life in danger simply because you want a replacement for Suzanne and Norton?"
Flushed cheeks drained in a rush as Blackwood went ashen, his fury palpable in his white knuckled fists. "Shot on sight?" he whispered, betrayal clear in his expressive eyes. "You'd do that?"
It was the underlying hurt in the other man that more than anything else pierced Ironhorse's victory. He and Blackwood contested often, but rarely stepping over the invisible line that separated irritation from pain. He cleared his throat harshly, visibly retreating from that unspoken boundary. "No," he admitted, hard expression softening fractionally. "I wouldn't hurt Katya. But I can't allow her to be part of this, either." Command became reason; he opened one hand palm up. "Give me a break on this, Harrison. Try Dickenson. If you need a physicist later, I'll see what I can do."
Anger continued to flash in Blackwood's blue eyes though his shoulders were drawn back only with an effort. Unplacated, he ran a tired hand through his curly hair, setting his jaw. "I'm going to call Katya in whether you like it or not, Ironhorse. If I have to, I'll go over your head." The fight went out of him suddenly and without another word, he turned and left, leaving a weary and suddenly lonely Ironhorse to stand staring at the empty room.
***
Dickenson, a short, stocky man of late-middle age, proved to be even less yielding than Suzanne had been when it came to scientific methodology. Muttering constantly under his breath and sucking his teeth between meals, he made meticulous notes on every detail, chastised Harrison soundly for his solitary research methods, and chortled to himself over every discovery. It took just over three days before Harrison fled the room. He wandered the grounds for awhile, unable to meditate, too exhausted to think, and finding no relief from the wind tossed sky and multi-hued leaves. He returned to the house hours later to find a typed request from Ironhorse on the dining room table, requesting a meeting as soon as possible. It was dated one week earlier. Harrison shrugged, stuffed the note absently into his pocket, and went off in search of the soldier. He found him in the comfortably masculine office on the second floor, dictating into a microphone.
"...increasing efficiency ratings by twenty-five percent." Ironhorse broke off when the tall physicist entered the room, leaning forward and snapping the machine off. "You wanted something, Blackwood?"
Harrison extracted the note, brandishing it like a white flag. "You memo'd me, remember?"
The lean features creased then cleared. "Right. I've been wanting to go over the list of replacements for the team."
The memo dropped unheeded to the brown carpet. Curiosity vanished leaving Harrison to sink bonelessly into a leather armchair a little to the side. "I suppose we should," he agreed morosely. He slouched low, bringing his feet up onto the desk in a pseudo-nonchalant posture that fooled no one. "Show must go on, eh?" he remarked jauntily though there was no humor in his face.
Ironhorse stared pointedly at the other's crossed ankles for several seconds; when Blackwood refused to take the hint, he sighed and leaned backward. "Your delay in answering my memo was serendipitous. I ran the security checks on the names you gave me, Doctor," he began carefully, studying the other's face, "but I wanted to finish the shake-up on Omega Force before we called in new civilians."
Not meeting his eyes, Blackwood nevertheless gave the impression of picking up his ears. "What shake-up? I thought you were satisfied that Omega Force was already operating at peak efficiency."
Ironhorse slowly swiveled his chair until he was facing the large window overlooking the back of the estate. Outside, the sun shone brightly on the grasslands bordering the pond where he'd taught Debi to fish only the summer before. A few ducks flapped gracefully in the clear waters, giving the scene a distinctly pastoral air. "I'm implementing changes I've been contemplating for some time. Now that we're getting replacements anyway, I thought it was the proper time to take care of them."
"What kind of changes?" Blackwood pursued suspiciously when the soldier paused.
Leather creaked as Ironhorse lay his head back. "We've lost too many men, Doctor. Obviously, they're not being trained well enough to handle the particular kind of warfare we're waging."
Harrison uncrossed his ankles and braced his sneakered feet against the edge of the desk, lean body now giving a genuine aura of alertness. "What kind of changes?" he repeated in a stronger voice.
The leather creaked again, this time under a casual shrug. "For one thing, I've raised the standards as to who does and who does not qualify for inclusion in Omega Force," the other replied, tapping gently on the arm of his chair. "Under the new requirements, I've even had to disqualify some of the present members." A pause. "Sgt. Coleman was one of them."
That brought the sneakered feet to the floor with a resounding thump. "What? I thought you were satisfied that Sgt. Coleman was ably qualified...."
"Under the old requirements, Doctor, not the new." He half turned to shoot the taller man a piercing look, then rose to take a single step closer to the window. "Looks like it might rain," he commented as an aside.
Harrison ignored the statement for the non sequitur it was. "The Sergeant has proven herself in combat, Colonel. I hardly think it fair for you to change the rules of the game just because you don't want a woman in Omega Force."
Ironhorse turned again, impaling the scientist on twin beams of obsidian. "Omega Force is my responsibility, Blackwood. I'll make whatever changes I feel are necessary to insure the continued success of this mission."
"You sound like an Army manual," Harrison snapped, unpredictable temper rising.
"I sound like a soldier." The atmosphere crackled with tension, a palpable force in the still room. Ironhorse broke the contact, somehow managing to back off the threatened violence without giving one inch. "The United States Army doesn't use women in combat, Harrison. Sgt. Coleman was an experiment -- an experiment which, in my opinion, didn't work. Leave it. It's done." He held up a hand to forestall the acid reply already on Harrison's tongue. "Sgt. Dixon took over Omega Force two days ago."
Lips thinned, Blackwood brought his hands together in a single, resounding clap. "Nicely done," he applauded mockingly. "Present the whole matter fait accompli too late for me to do anything about it."
The soldier shrugged, dismissing the intended offense with a wave of his right hand. "I've begun a new training program as well. My men will be ready to face the enemy on the next encounter."
Scoring none of his intended impact, Harrison resumed his slouch, still fuming. "You said you'd finished security checks," he resumed the original conversation through clenched teeth.
Ironhorse left his post by the window and shuffled through a stack of files neatly arranged on one corner of the desk, passing over a computer printout from near the bottom. "Some of these washed out. Professor Blanchard failed on medical grounds." Harrison groaned loudly but was ignored. "Doctors Cunningham and Milburn don't have the necessary clearance."
The curly haired physicist ticked off the names sardonically on his fingers. "That leaves us with an even dozen computer and cybernetics experts, not to mention the biologists."
Ironhorse picked up a separate folder, this one labeled in yellow. He flipped it open. "I didn't understand this request. Are you asking for one microbiologist or six?"
"Both." Harrison smiled at the puzzled frown. "It became obvious over the past year that one microbiologist, no matter how good she ... they were, would not be able to handle the research needs of the Project. Creating radiation-resistant bacteria was something Suzanne had pretty much despaired of doing. She thought -- and I agreed -- that what we need is a research team assigned to that particular project, and that project alone. The entire war could hinge on that single discovery."
Ironhorse clasped his hands behind his back in a parade rest. "I see your point. And you want to set up the team here at the Cottage?"
"Not necessarily." He tossed the printout back onto the desk then slumped back down, resting on his spine. "Being pure research, this doesn't have to be under any supervision. Microbiology is not my field anyway."
Ironhorse also reseated himself and scrawled his signature to the bottom of the form before shoving it aside. "Then with your permission, Doctor, I propose that we turn that aspect of the Blackwood Project over to General Wilson."
Blackwood snorted something derogatory. "The Blackwood Project," he mumbled, lips twisting into a sneer. He deigned raise his head at that last, though. "May I ask why General Wilson?"
"You're aware," the other began slowly, "that the Government maintains labs already dedicated to discovering new methods of countering a biological attack by the enemy?"
Harrison's sneer returned at the carefully phrased statement. "Now you sound like a brochure." But the words were too weary to convey offense. "You feel we should utilize one of these established defense labs to work on the alien problem?"
"Don't you?"
The question was acknowledged with a short nod. "They're going to need to change their security procedures."
Ironhorse tossed his head. "No problem. In some facilities, tight security is accepted as the norm, not the exception. A little thing like adding a Geiger counter to the grid isn't even going to raise an eyebrow."
Harrison sighed. "Normal is boring anyway."
"You sound like a bleeding heart hippy."
"I am a bleeding heart hippy."
"Oh."
The dialogue was so normal that suddenly the tension which had existed between them since the deaths of their comrades evaporated, noticeably lightening the atmosphere of the room. Both men exchanged a wry smile. "I thought I'd forgotten how to smile," Harrison said as it faded.
The Indian's face blanked. "Not much to smile about. In a war, you learn to take it all as business."
"Not always. Not between friends." Ironhorse said nothing and Harrison frowned. "We are friends, aren't we?"
"Of course," came the too quick answer.
Harrison's frown deepened. "Are we?"
Ironhorse shifted uncomfortably, as though confused by the question. "What's your point, Doctor? Do you doubt me?"
Harrison dropped his eyes, refusing to meet the inquiring dark ones. "I'm ... I remember what you said ... almost a year ago. You said combat taught you not to get too close to anyone. Now that Suzanne and Norton are gone...."
"You think it now applies to you."
Harrison hesitated again. He picked up a heavy crystal weighting papers on one corner of the desk; it glittered, prisming the sunlight into a rainbow of color. He glanced up at the continued silence, blue eyes vulnerable with the same open loneliness that had once lived behind his friendly smile with the team's inception but had slowly vanished over the past year. "Does it?"
Rather than the flat rejection Harrison obviously expected, Ironhorse's face held a sad resignation, but tempered with an acceptance that the physicist had never been able to achieve. The soldier rose and circled the desk, coming to rest a hand on the other's lean shoulder; Harrison followed the movement only with his eyes. "You're not ready to believe me about this yet, Harrison," Ironhorse said softly, "but no, it doesn't apply to you. I don't get too close to many people, not because I might lose them -- that's a part of life and combat I'm used to. I've managed to survive a lot of encounters my friends didn't. I keep my distance because emotions for the wrong person are a vulnerability in battle. I know you. You're crazy, screwed up as they come, but I can't think of anyone I'd rather have beside me in this war."
Some of the weariness leeched out of the other man's boyish features, an answering trace of warmth touching the indian's ruddy skin. These were no more than traces, however, not able to banish the loss or fully recover the close relationship between them. Ironhorse was right -- Harrison wasn't ready despite the need. "Thanks," he said nonetheless because it was expected of him for such a generous admission.
Ironhorse nodded graciously, and Harrison levered himself out of the seat. With leaden steps he turned and left the room, not looking back. Each man was acutely aware of the second victory the enemy had scored, for by claiming the lives of two members of the team, they had claimed the souls of two more. It was going to be a very long war indeed.
***
"I can't do this alone," he blurted without preamble. "Q'Tara's power is derived from a nuclear reactor so miniaturized, I don't even have any idea how she sustains fusion much less be able to figure out how to duplicate it. Katya is a nuclear physicist -- the best in her field. If we can contact her through the Consulate, she could be in this country by the weekend."
Lounging negligently in his leather armchair, Ironhorse could only blink, momentarily taken aback by the abruptness of the entry and the exhausted incoherence of the other man. Tired himself if unrumpled, it obviously took several moments for him to figure out what Harrison was asking for. When it sank in, his face hardened into a mask. "That's not going to happen, Blackwood. We will not permit the Russians access to alien technology." He settled back in his chair, drawing one booted foot up onto the desktop. "You're just going to have to make due with an American scientist, second rate though they may be."
The sarcasm was not lost on the other man, who stiffened. "This is an international problem, Colonel. The Russians have as much stake in the success of our project as we do. You have no right to restrict this information to a bunch of bureaucrats who don't know their--"
"Those bureaucrats," Ironhorse interrupted rudely, "are only interested in maintaining the safety of this country." He drew himself up. "As am I. We are not calling in the Soviets on this." He pushed across a manila folder, lying practically unnoticed on the corner of his desk. "M.I.T. is sending over Professor Eugene Dickenson, an expert in cybernetic control systems. He'll be here by morning."
The flick of his hand was a dismissal. Harrison, however, chose to ignore it. Blue eyes flashed sapphire, and he drew his slumping shoulders back. "You're forgetting who's in charge of this project," he retorted icily. "I have a right to choose anyone I please to work on the alien problem."
The words had the effect of an electric shock, bringing the soldier leaping to his feet. Tension that had been generated in a blood-spattered chamber only two weeks before, grew taut, the reply as glacial as the challenge. "And you're forgetting who is in charge of security. I have the power to prevent anyone I consider to be a security risk from entering these grounds, methods of exclusion at my discretion up to and including ordering them shot on sight." Thin lips twitched, the smile carrying the smugness that came from a thorough understanding of his opponent. "I doubt you'll want to put an innocent woman's life in danger simply because you want a replacement for Suzanne and Norton?"
Flushed cheeks drained in a rush as Blackwood went ashen, his fury palpable in his white knuckled fists. "Shot on sight?" he whispered, betrayal clear in his expressive eyes. "You'd do that?"
It was the underlying hurt in the other man that more than anything else pierced Ironhorse's victory. He and Blackwood contested often, but rarely stepping over the invisible line that separated irritation from pain. He cleared his throat harshly, visibly retreating from that unspoken boundary. "No," he admitted, hard expression softening fractionally. "I wouldn't hurt Katya. But I can't allow her to be part of this, either." Command became reason; he opened one hand palm up. "Give me a break on this, Harrison. Try Dickenson. If you need a physicist later, I'll see what I can do."
Anger continued to flash in Blackwood's blue eyes though his shoulders were drawn back only with an effort. Unplacated, he ran a tired hand through his curly hair, setting his jaw. "I'm going to call Katya in whether you like it or not, Ironhorse. If I have to, I'll go over your head." The fight went out of him suddenly and without another word, he turned and left, leaving a weary and suddenly lonely Ironhorse to stand staring at the empty room.
***
Dickenson, a short, stocky man of late-middle age, proved to be even less yielding than Suzanne had been when it came to scientific methodology. Muttering constantly under his breath and sucking his teeth between meals, he made meticulous notes on every detail, chastised Harrison soundly for his solitary research methods, and chortled to himself over every discovery. It took just over three days before Harrison fled the room. He wandered the grounds for awhile, unable to meditate, too exhausted to think, and finding no relief from the wind tossed sky and multi-hued leaves. He returned to the house hours later to find a typed request from Ironhorse on the dining room table, requesting a meeting as soon as possible. It was dated one week earlier. Harrison shrugged, stuffed the note absently into his pocket, and went off in search of the soldier. He found him in the comfortably masculine office on the second floor, dictating into a microphone.
"...increasing efficiency ratings by twenty-five percent." Ironhorse broke off when the tall physicist entered the room, leaning forward and snapping the machine off. "You wanted something, Blackwood?"
Harrison extracted the note, brandishing it like a white flag. "You memo'd me, remember?"
The lean features creased then cleared. "Right. I've been wanting to go over the list of replacements for the team."
The memo dropped unheeded to the brown carpet. Curiosity vanished leaving Harrison to sink bonelessly into a leather armchair a little to the side. "I suppose we should," he agreed morosely. He slouched low, bringing his feet up onto the desk in a pseudo-nonchalant posture that fooled no one. "Show must go on, eh?" he remarked jauntily though there was no humor in his face.
Ironhorse stared pointedly at the other's crossed ankles for several seconds; when Blackwood refused to take the hint, he sighed and leaned backward. "Your delay in answering my memo was serendipitous. I ran the security checks on the names you gave me, Doctor," he began carefully, studying the other's face, "but I wanted to finish the shake-up on Omega Force before we called in new civilians."
Not meeting his eyes, Blackwood nevertheless gave the impression of picking up his ears. "What shake-up? I thought you were satisfied that Omega Force was already operating at peak efficiency."
Ironhorse slowly swiveled his chair until he was facing the large window overlooking the back of the estate. Outside, the sun shone brightly on the grasslands bordering the pond where he'd taught Debi to fish only the summer before. A few ducks flapped gracefully in the clear waters, giving the scene a distinctly pastoral air. "I'm implementing changes I've been contemplating for some time. Now that we're getting replacements anyway, I thought it was the proper time to take care of them."
"What kind of changes?" Blackwood pursued suspiciously when the soldier paused.
Leather creaked as Ironhorse lay his head back. "We've lost too many men, Doctor. Obviously, they're not being trained well enough to handle the particular kind of warfare we're waging."
Harrison uncrossed his ankles and braced his sneakered feet against the edge of the desk, lean body now giving a genuine aura of alertness. "What kind of changes?" he repeated in a stronger voice.
The leather creaked again, this time under a casual shrug. "For one thing, I've raised the standards as to who does and who does not qualify for inclusion in Omega Force," the other replied, tapping gently on the arm of his chair. "Under the new requirements, I've even had to disqualify some of the present members." A pause. "Sgt. Coleman was one of them."
That brought the sneakered feet to the floor with a resounding thump. "What? I thought you were satisfied that Sgt. Coleman was ably qualified...."
"Under the old requirements, Doctor, not the new." He half turned to shoot the taller man a piercing look, then rose to take a single step closer to the window. "Looks like it might rain," he commented as an aside.
Harrison ignored the statement for the non sequitur it was. "The Sergeant has proven herself in combat, Colonel. I hardly think it fair for you to change the rules of the game just because you don't want a woman in Omega Force."
Ironhorse turned again, impaling the scientist on twin beams of obsidian. "Omega Force is my responsibility, Blackwood. I'll make whatever changes I feel are necessary to insure the continued success of this mission."
"You sound like an Army manual," Harrison snapped, unpredictable temper rising.
"I sound like a soldier." The atmosphere crackled with tension, a palpable force in the still room. Ironhorse broke the contact, somehow managing to back off the threatened violence without giving one inch. "The United States Army doesn't use women in combat, Harrison. Sgt. Coleman was an experiment -- an experiment which, in my opinion, didn't work. Leave it. It's done." He held up a hand to forestall the acid reply already on Harrison's tongue. "Sgt. Dixon took over Omega Force two days ago."
Lips thinned, Blackwood brought his hands together in a single, resounding clap. "Nicely done," he applauded mockingly. "Present the whole matter fait accompli too late for me to do anything about it."
The soldier shrugged, dismissing the intended offense with a wave of his right hand. "I've begun a new training program as well. My men will be ready to face the enemy on the next encounter."
Scoring none of his intended impact, Harrison resumed his slouch, still fuming. "You said you'd finished security checks," he resumed the original conversation through clenched teeth.
Ironhorse left his post by the window and shuffled through a stack of files neatly arranged on one corner of the desk, passing over a computer printout from near the bottom. "Some of these washed out. Professor Blanchard failed on medical grounds." Harrison groaned loudly but was ignored. "Doctors Cunningham and Milburn don't have the necessary clearance."
The curly haired physicist ticked off the names sardonically on his fingers. "That leaves us with an even dozen computer and cybernetics experts, not to mention the biologists."
Ironhorse picked up a separate folder, this one labeled in yellow. He flipped it open. "I didn't understand this request. Are you asking for one microbiologist or six?"
"Both." Harrison smiled at the puzzled frown. "It became obvious over the past year that one microbiologist, no matter how good she ... they were, would not be able to handle the research needs of the Project. Creating radiation-resistant bacteria was something Suzanne had pretty much despaired of doing. She thought -- and I agreed -- that what we need is a research team assigned to that particular project, and that project alone. The entire war could hinge on that single discovery."
Ironhorse clasped his hands behind his back in a parade rest. "I see your point. And you want to set up the team here at the Cottage?"
"Not necessarily." He tossed the printout back onto the desk then slumped back down, resting on his spine. "Being pure research, this doesn't have to be under any supervision. Microbiology is not my field anyway."
Ironhorse also reseated himself and scrawled his signature to the bottom of the form before shoving it aside. "Then with your permission, Doctor, I propose that we turn that aspect of the Blackwood Project over to General Wilson."
Blackwood snorted something derogatory. "The Blackwood Project," he mumbled, lips twisting into a sneer. He deigned raise his head at that last, though. "May I ask why General Wilson?"
"You're aware," the other began slowly, "that the Government maintains labs already dedicated to discovering new methods of countering a biological attack by the enemy?"
Harrison's sneer returned at the carefully phrased statement. "Now you sound like a brochure." But the words were too weary to convey offense. "You feel we should utilize one of these established defense labs to work on the alien problem?"
"Don't you?"
The question was acknowledged with a short nod. "They're going to need to change their security procedures."
Ironhorse tossed his head. "No problem. In some facilities, tight security is accepted as the norm, not the exception. A little thing like adding a Geiger counter to the grid isn't even going to raise an eyebrow."
Harrison sighed. "Normal is boring anyway."
"You sound like a bleeding heart hippy."
"I am a bleeding heart hippy."
"Oh."
The dialogue was so normal that suddenly the tension which had existed between them since the deaths of their comrades evaporated, noticeably lightening the atmosphere of the room. Both men exchanged a wry smile. "I thought I'd forgotten how to smile," Harrison said as it faded.
The Indian's face blanked. "Not much to smile about. In a war, you learn to take it all as business."
"Not always. Not between friends." Ironhorse said nothing and Harrison frowned. "We are friends, aren't we?"
"Of course," came the too quick answer.
Harrison's frown deepened. "Are we?"
Ironhorse shifted uncomfortably, as though confused by the question. "What's your point, Doctor? Do you doubt me?"
Harrison dropped his eyes, refusing to meet the inquiring dark ones. "I'm ... I remember what you said ... almost a year ago. You said combat taught you not to get too close to anyone. Now that Suzanne and Norton are gone...."
"You think it now applies to you."
Harrison hesitated again. He picked up a heavy crystal weighting papers on one corner of the desk; it glittered, prisming the sunlight into a rainbow of color. He glanced up at the continued silence, blue eyes vulnerable with the same open loneliness that had once lived behind his friendly smile with the team's inception but had slowly vanished over the past year. "Does it?"
Rather than the flat rejection Harrison obviously expected, Ironhorse's face held a sad resignation, but tempered with an acceptance that the physicist had never been able to achieve. The soldier rose and circled the desk, coming to rest a hand on the other's lean shoulder; Harrison followed the movement only with his eyes. "You're not ready to believe me about this yet, Harrison," Ironhorse said softly, "but no, it doesn't apply to you. I don't get too close to many people, not because I might lose them -- that's a part of life and combat I'm used to. I've managed to survive a lot of encounters my friends didn't. I keep my distance because emotions for the wrong person are a vulnerability in battle. I know you. You're crazy, screwed up as they come, but I can't think of anyone I'd rather have beside me in this war."
Some of the weariness leeched out of the other man's boyish features, an answering trace of warmth touching the indian's ruddy skin. These were no more than traces, however, not able to banish the loss or fully recover the close relationship between them. Ironhorse was right -- Harrison wasn't ready despite the need. "Thanks," he said nonetheless because it was expected of him for such a generous admission.
Ironhorse nodded graciously, and Harrison levered himself out of the seat. With leaden steps he turned and left the room, not looking back. Each man was acutely aware of the second victory the enemy had scored, for by claiming the lives of two members of the team, they had claimed the souls of two more. It was going to be a very long war indeed.
***