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bastards never had a chance.”
    “No, they didn’t, Jayla, but that’s the price we pay for not standing up to our politicians. Anyway, we digress. Knowing where Anna is doesn’t help us much. Breaking her out of the camp is feasible, but getting her and the rescue force off-planet is not. It’s impossible. Anyway, it’s all academic. Fleet will never buy it, not with the pressure on them at the moment. They don’t have the ships to spare. Even if they had, why would they? In the end, Anna’s only another spacer. They wouldn’t care what happened to her. To be fair, they can’t.”
    “Umm,” Ferreira said, eyes half-closed, finger to lips tapping out her concentration. “Umm … let me see … yes, based on what you’ve told me, the only option is a one-way rescue mission.”
    “One-way?” Michael demanded. “What do you mean, one-way?”
    “The rescuers don’t try to get off-planet. You are dead right. A rescue operation might be able to get past the Hammers’ orbital defenses; it would never get back into space. Never. So they break Anna and everyone else out of J-5209 and head for the hills. The latest intelligence summaries say the Hammers’ disloyal opposition—the New Revolutionary Army and their political wing, the Nationalist Party—is beginning to have some success. I’m sure they’d be happy to look after the rescue force.”
    “I’m sure they would, Jayla,” Michael said. “They looked after me when I was on the run after
Ishaq
was destroyed. The NRA’s not the problem. The problem is how long the rescue force has to stay dirtside. Who knows how long this damn war will drag on? We’re stalemated, and that looks like how it’s going to stay. Fleet’s saying what, five more years? So who’d want to be trapped on Commitment with a bunch of raggedy-assed guerrillas for that long? Maybe even longer—who would know? I’ve been there once, and that was enough, I can tell you. I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone.”
    “Tell you what, sir. Leave it to me. There are things I need to do. Can we pick this up later?”
    “We can, Jayla, we can. Anything I need to do?” Michael asked, all too aware that he had in effect dumped command of
Redwood
and the rest of the Nyleth squadron onto Ferreira’s shoulders for the moment.
    “No, sir,” she said with a broad grin. “All under control.
Redwood
’s sweet, the troops aren’t bitching any more than usual, the Hammer guests are quiet, and the marines are happy doing whatever the hell it is marines do when there’s bugger all to do.”
    Michael laughed. Ferreira’s smile was infectious; knowing he was able to rely on her lifted his spirits. Sharing the burden of Colonel Hartspring’s horrific message lifted them even furthereven if, deep down inside, a tiny, stubborn kernel of despair reminded him that there was nothing Ferreira could do to help him out of the Hammers’ trap.
    “I’m pleased to hear it,” Michael said. “Now, enough of this lying around stuff. I’m declaring myself fit—no, don’t argue with me—so once I’m showered and changed, I’ll walk through the ship and then I’ll be in the CIC if you need me.”
    “Sir.”
    Watching her leave, Michael realized he had gotten something wrong. Even if there was something Ferreira could do to help him out of the Hammers’ trap, he could not allow it. The problem was his and his alone, and that was the way it had to stay. He either found a way to turn himself into Colonel Hartspring or he didn’t.
    But even though deep down he knew it would make no difference in the end, it still felt good to know that there was at least one person who understood the pain he was going through; the relief he had felt unburdening himself had been powerful and immediate.
       With the gnawing fear of what might happen to Anna buried for the moment, Michael felt better than he had for long time despite the fact that telling Ferreira about Anna had changed nothing. He set off to walk