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Voice： 〃Negative； sir。 We've had no recent reports from the south。 What is your location？ Be careful in your answer； sir。 Over。〃
Moresby took the warning。 〃Approximately eight miles out of Joliet。 I am well protected at the moment。 I've heard mortar fire but haven't been able to locate it。 I think I will try for the city； Sergeant。 Over。〃
Voice： 〃Sir； we've taken a fix on you and believe we know your location。 You are very well protected there。 You have a strong signal。 Over。〃
Moresby： 〃I have electricity here but I will be on battery when I leave cover。 Over。〃
Voice： 〃Right； sir。 If Joliet is closed to you； the O。D。 suggests that you circle around to the northwest and e in here。 Fifth Army HQ has been re…established west of the Naval Training Station； but you'll pass through our lines long before that point。 Look for the sentries。 Use care； sir。 Be alert for ramjets between your position and ours。 They are heavily armed。 Over。〃
Moresby： 〃Thank you； Sergeant。 I'll go for the target of opportunity。 Over and out。〃
Moresby snapped off the radio and disconnected the leads。 That done； he turned off the tape recorder and left it on the bench for his return。
He studied the map once again； tracing the two roads which led to the highway and the alternate highway into Joliet。 The enemy would be well aware of those roads； as well as the railroad； and if their action reached this far south they would have patrols out。 It wouldn't be safe to use an automobile； large moving targets invited trouble。
A last searching examination of the room gave him no other article he thought he would need。 Moresby took a long drink of water from the stores and quit the shelter。 The corridor was dusty and silent； yet bright under lights and the monitoring cameras。 He eyed the closed doors along the passageway； wondering who was behind them…watching。 Obeying orders； he didn't so much as touch a knob to learn if they were locked。 The corridor ended and a flight of stairs led upward to the operations exit。 The painted sign prohibiting the carrying of arms beyond the door had been defaced： a large slash of black paint was smeared from the first sentence to the last； half obliterating the words and voiding the warning。 He would have ignored it in any event
Moresby again noted the time on his watch and fitted the keys into first one lock and then the other。 A bell rang below him as he pushed out into the open air。
The northeast horizon was bright with the approaching dawn。 It was ten minutes before five in the morning。 The parking lot was empty。
He knew he had made a mistake。
The first and second sounds he heard were the booming thump of the mortar to the northwest； and a staccato tattoo of small arms fire near at hand…near the eastern gate。 Moresby slammed shut the door behind him； made sure it had locked itself； and fell to the ground all in one blurring motion。 The nearness of the battle was a shock。 He pushed the rifle out in front of his face and crawled toward the corner of the building； searching for any moving object。
He saw no moving thing in the space between the lab building and the nearest structure across the way。 Firing was louder as he reached the corner and rounded it。
A strong wind drove over the roof of the laboratory； blowing debris along the pany street and bowing the tops of the trees planted along the thoroughfare。 The wind seemed to be ing from everywhere； from every direction； moaning with a mounting intensity as it raced toward the northeast。 Moresby stared that way with growing wonder and knew he'd made another mistake in guessing the ing dawn。 That was not the sun。 The red…orange brightness beyond the horizon was fire and the raging wind told him Chicago was being caught up in an enormous firestorm。 When it grew worse； when steel melted and glass liquefied； a man would be unable to stand upright against the great inward rush of the feeding winds。
Moresby searched the street a second time； searched the parking lot； then jumped suddenly to his feet and ran across the street to the safety of the nearest building。 No shot followed him。 He hugged the foundation wall； turned briefly to scan his back trail； and darted around a corner。 Shrubbery offered a partial concealment。 When he stopped to catch his breath and reconnoiter the open yard ahead； he discovered he had lost the military radio。
The continued booming of the mortars worried him。
It was easy to guess the Corporal's guard holding the northwest corner was outnumbered； and probably pinned down。 The first voice on the radio said he had a hell of a fight on his hands…〃double red〃 was new terminology but quickly recognizable…down there near the gate or along the eastern perimeter； and men could not be spared for the defense of the northwestern corner。 A wrong decision。 Moresby thought that officer guilty of a serious error in judgment。 He could hear light rifle fire at the gate…punctuated at intervals by a shotgun； suggesting civilians were involved in the skirmish…but those mortars were pounding the far corner of the station and they made a deadly difference。
Moresby left the concealing shrubbery on the run。 There had been no other activity about the laboratory； no betraying movement of invader or defender。
He moved north and west； taking advantage of whatever cover offered itself； but occasionally sprinting along the open street to gain time…always watchfully alert for any other moving man。 Moresby was painfully aware of the gap in intelligence： he didn't know the identity of the bandits； the ramjets； didn't know friend from foe save for the uniform he might be wearing。 He knew better than to trust a man without uniform inside the fence： shotguns were civilian weapons。 He supposed this damned thing was some civil uprising。
The mortar fired again； followed by a second shell。 If that pattern repeated itself； they were side by side working in pairs。 Moresby fell into a jogging trot to hold his wind。 He worried about the Chinese thrust； about the Harry called in on Chicago。 Who would bring them in on an American city？ Who would ally himself with the Chinese？
In a surprisingly short time he passed a series of old barracks set back from the street； and recognized one of them as the building he had lived in for a few weeks…some twenty…odd years ago。 It now appeared to be in a sorry state。 He jogged on without pause； following the sidewalk he'd sometimes used when returning from the mess hall。 The hot wind rushed with him； overtaking him and half propelling him along his way。 That fire over the horizon was feeding on the wind； on the debris being sucked into it。
On a vagrant impulse…and because it lay in his direction…Moresby turned sharply to cut across a yard to E Street： the swimming pool was near at hand。 He glanced at the sky and found it appreciably lighter： the real dawn was ing； bringing promise of a hot July day。
Moresby gained the fence surrounding the patio and the pool and stopped running； because his breath was spent。 Cautiously； rifle ready； he moved through the entranceway to probe the interior。 The recreation area was deserted。 Moresby walked over to the