II.3.2,3,4,5a,6,7
3/12/2022
Ah, the sweet gray morning overlooking the southern coast. The stage
is set for a standoff. Thar’s the silhouetted promontories of finiteness,
their outlines vaguely waving like ghosts in the fog. What terrible manner
of savage battery and slanted hand-to-hand combat awaits us on those
rocks. And those natural titans spread, like a horseshoe around the Rade.
Thar’s that famous crescent harbor, with a congregation of famous royalty
entering so grand into the pool. The Aurore, San Juan Nepomuceno, and
other ships of the line parked in the sea stadium, waiting for us little
geometers to approach their magnificent algebra. There’s a dubious white
chalk line, drawn by our commander marking the out-of-range zone, yet
everyone’s found ominous roundshots sitting by the encampments. The algebra
haunts the young boys’ nightmares. They feel molested, terrorized by its
symbolic taunts. The frigates are obscured in awful majesty by the fog.
Their cannons point at us even while we’re asleep. The commander can’t
hide his pessimism. We’re not going to make it this time, are we. We
outnumber them, but that doesn’t amount to much. We’re just newbies, man.
We’re incompetent. These are academics we’re up against. They know
what they’re doing. They’ve got control of the high ground and the seas,
experienced professionals, and a whole host of expert force multipliers. We
can’t win against that. How am we going to deal with relativity if we
can’t grasp something as basic as tensor products? It just doesn’t click,
or bang. The algebraic terrain ahead seems unbesiegeable. Things are
moving slow on our end: It’s taking weeks to pick off pontoonal problems.
And in the meantime, they’re fortifying the high ground and establishing
supplylines on the seas. We’re supposed to besiege 23 exercises without
any 24 pounders? Capture it in a month? What kind of siege is it when
the besieged gets as much food as they want? Those folks are enrolled
fulltime, living amongst each other in their academic frigates, poring over
mathematical text day and night. Are you ready to see how far you can escalade
up that rocky promontory, before dying by volley, all in the name of
”measuring their artillery”? Are
you ready go set up a battery on that white line, and die in the name of
”quasi-finiteness”? Is the commander really giving us the full picture
here? Is he leaving things out that would be filled in with lecture? He’s
talking to university students. He’s talking to people pursuing degrees.
But we’re not academics. We’re just ordinary boys. We’re gonna lose.
Easy, right? Yours Truly forgot that affine schemes
are quasi-compact, and got stuck here for two days.
Yes: Horrific start to the week, and thereby an awful effect on morale.
[incidentally, the proof back there also traumatized Clam Hanson, as well as
Zorn’s Lemma fanatics] At least from there, it’s trivial. Like last time, the ”if” is
obvious, so we take on the ”only if.” We suppose that f is quasi-compact, so there
is an open affine cover of Y :
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where each f−1(V i) is quasi-compact. Now let V ⊂ Y be an arbitrary open
affine. Then
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is an open cover for V . And SINCE V IS AFFINE, IT’S QUASI-COMPACT,
SO IT HAS A FINITE SUBCOVER:
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So, in addition, note that
f−1(V ) | = f−1(⋃ i=1nV ∩ V i) | (1) |
= ⋃ i=1nf−1(V ) ∩ f−1(V i) | (2) |
Our goal is to show that f−1(V ) is quasi-compact. Let’s suppose we’re given an
open cover of it:
| (3) |
f−1(V ) | = (⋃ j∈JUj) ∩ (⋃ i=1nf−1(V ) ∩ f−1(V i)) | |||||
= ⋃ i=1n ⋃ j∈JUj ∩ f−1(V ) ∩ f−1(V i) | ||||||
= ⋃ i=1n ⋃ j∈JUj ∩ f−1(V ) ∩ f−1(V i) | ||||||
= ⋃ i=1nf−1(V ) ∩⋃ j∈JUj ∩ f−1(V i) | ||||||
= ⋃ i=1nf−1(V ) ∩⋃ j=1miU j ∩ f−1(V i) | (since f−1(V i) quasi-compact) | |||||
= ⋃ i=1nf−1(V ) ∩⋃ j=1mU j ∩ f−1(V i) | (m = max(m1,…,mn)) | |||||
= (⋃ j=1mU j) ∩ (⋃ i=1nf−1(V ) ∩ f−1(V i)) | (wrapping back up) | |||||
= (⋃ j=1mU j) ∩ f−1(V ) | (yes, these comments are jutting out) | |||||
f−1(V ) | = ⋃ j=1mU j |
Here’s the definition of ”finite type” again. It’s locally finite type except the open
covers of the inverse image are finite:
So, so, we continue on. There is a lot of mathematics for y’all this week, more
than usual. We have to step it up for the road ahead. Yes, I took great pains to at least
touch base with each of the first 7 exercises this week. In order to emphasize the
odd fact that we seem to be studying morphisms rather than schemes themselves,
and furthermore all under the umbrella of ”finiteness.” And also in order to
get some kind of foundation set up quickly, as the road ahead gets real.
The ”only if” is obvious (thanks to 3.2). Now let’s suppose f : X → Y is
finite type. Then it’s obviously locally finite type, so we need to show it’s
quasi-compact. I’ll use the open cover definition of quasi-compactness. Since f is
finite type, there is an open affine cover of Y :
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where for each i, there is a finite open affine cover:
| (4) |
now let’s suppose we’re given an open cover
| (5) |
Then intersecting (7) and (5) and following an analagous argument to 3.2 gives us
a finite subcover.
Steady boys. This is a long one, but we’ll take it.
First, let’s apply 3.3B, and obtain a finite open affine cover of f−1(V ):
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where each Aj is a finitely generated B-algebra. Now, with U = SpecA ⊂ f−1(V ),
my goal is to show that A is also a finitely generated B-algebra. So let me cover
it with the Ujs:
U | = ⋃ j=1nU j ∩ U | ||
= ⋃ j=1nSpecA j ∩ SpecA |
Okay, first note that each SpecAj ∩ SpecA is an open set of SpecAj, where
Aj is a finitely generated B-algebra. I can apply last week’s lemma to
obtain an open covering of SpecAj ∩ SpecA made up of open basis
elements Wji of SpecAj that are spectra of finitely generated B-algebras:
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But this constitutes an open cover of U, which is affine and therefore
quasi-compact, so it has a finite subcover.
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I’ll simplify the union without loss of generality
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The point is that each Wj, thanks to last week’s lemma, is the spectrum of a
finitely generated B-algebra, as well as a basis element of SpecAj. Now the
problem here is that I’m trying to derive facts about SpecA, so I would rather
have open basis elements of SpecA. So I am going to refine my cover in a
way that I still get a finite cover of U by spectra of finitely generated B-algebras.
Okay, follow me along here:
So now I get a new open cover of U:
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where D(fj) is an open basis element of SpecA (therefore fj ∈ A. This is
why I did that whole refining procedure) and each 𝒪(Dfj) = Afj is a
finitely generated B-algebra.
NO MORE GEOMETRY LEFT THIS
EXERCISE. WE REDUCED THE PROBLEM TO PURE
ALGEBRA.
Here is the new algebraic problem:
Let f1,…,fn ∈ A such that (f1,…,fn) = (1), and each localization Afj are
finitely generated B-algebras. Show that A is a finitely generated B-algebra.
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(Took m sufficiently large)
To rephrase: for each j, there are some dj1,…,djm that ”polygenerate” Afj
(”Polygenerate” is a term I made up to say I’m using these folks to generate as a
B-algebra as opposed to generating an ideal of A). The issue is that these
polygenerators have denominators in the form fjr and polygenerate Afj,
whereas I want polygenerators in A and for A. I want to get rid of those
denominators and still get all of A.
It pays to be greedy sometimes. What we’re going to do is simply multiply them
out and see what happens. Watch:
Let’s say that a ∈ A. I want to polygenerate it with elements of A, but for now,
let’s polygenerate it with elements in each Afj. There are polynomials
g1,…,gn ∈ B[x1,…,xm], such that
g1(d11,…,d1m) | = a | ||
gn(dn1,…,dnm) | = a |
I can also denote the left hand elements as βi(gi). Just remember they’re
polynomials over the polygenerators, and the issue is the denominators. So now,
taking N sufficiently large, I’m going to multiply out all the denominators
f1Nβ 1(g1) | = f1Na | ||
fnNβ n(gn) | = fnNa |
Looking a bit ugly, but if I add all those equations together. I can factor out the
a:
f1Nβ 1(g1) + + fnNβ n(gn) | = f1Na + + f nNa | (6) |
= (f1N + + f nN)a | (7) |
Now, the reason I did this is because, thanks to the exposition, I know that I can
get rid of the f1N +
+ fnN. I’m going to go ahead and prove that result in
the stronger form that I need.
Suppose
| (8) |
Then, given N, the fiN also generate the unit ideal. In particular, we can make
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where the hi are each polynomials over the ai and fi
(a1f1 + + anfn)(n ⋅ N) | = 1(n ⋅ N) | ||
(a1f1 + + anfn)(n ⋅ N) | = 1 |
Now apply the multinomial theorem for the left hand side:
Note that in that big sum in our case, thanks to the Pigeonhole principle, each
term has at least one fi with an exponent at least N. So 1 ∈ (f1N,…,fnN),
and furthermore the coefficients of the fiNs are composed of other fis and
ais
Okay, let’s finish it off. Now, via the lemma I can modify (7) to be
h1f1Nβ 1(g1) + + hnfnNβ n(gn) | = (h1f1N + + h nfnN)a | ||
= a |
The left hand side is, in total, a polynomial over all the:
This choice of polygenerators doesn’t depend on a, so I just found a gigantic
polygenerating set for A. Whew.
Instead of doing this exercise, we’ll use it as a rest stop. Here, you can play with
the pidgies:
...
What are we supposed to do? We’re just... a ragtag group of juniors. The seniors
are indecisive, too self-involved, resting inland on their laurels. And too
archaic to efficiently teach us the basics. They skim over crucial technical
details thinking that we’ll assume them naturally. What happens when the
universities burn down and a new generation needs to carry the torch? Do
you know how to fix a shot? I don’t. No one taught me. I dunno about
you, but I don’t know anything. I don’t know what I’m doing. Everyone
seems like they know what’s going on and acts like only a fool wouldn’t
understand. But I don’t. I don’t. How do other people do it? How do they figure
out what needs to be done and how? How do they get where they need
to be? I wish I wasn’t the only one. I’m lonely.
Lonely in all my stupid ignorance. Help. If it all collapses, I’ll be the first to go. If we get sent out there together, do you
think we can make an alternative formulation that won’t end in vain?
Do you think we can intuit what is really at play? Do you think we can
draw lines in the sand and figure out something our commander may be
leaving out? Or, at least, if we get sent out there, will you hold my hand?
Many novice geometers will die on this hill (or even the previous ones) if they
naively follow Hartshorne’s instructions. Hartshorne can’t teach a layman to save
our lives:
Is this correct? Let’s focus on the ”finite morphism” definition first. For
simplicity, pick an i and denote V = V i, B = Bi and A = Ai. Firstly,
the novice geometer may wonder what in the world a ”finitely generated
B-algebra which is a finitely generated B-module” even is. Here’s the
thing: In schemeland, we are working with commutative rings, so for all
intents and purposes here, a ”B-algebra” and a ”B-module” structure
on A are, essentially, the same thing. They are just a ring morphism
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The distinction comes only with the stipulation of being ”finitely-generated,”
because in either case, ϕ extends in a different way. If it is a finitely generated
algebra, it extends to a surjective ring morphism
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But if it is a finitely generated module, it extends to a surjective module
morphism:
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What Hartshorne means here by ”finitely generated B-algebra which is a finitely
generated B-module,” is essentially that the B-algebra and B-module structures
on A must be induced from the same morphism, ϕ : B → A. The reason he
doesn’t just say ”finitely generated B-module” is simply to ensure that ϕ is
indeed a ring morphism, and not just a module morphism (i.e. that we get
that extra property that distinguishes algebras from modules: preserving
multiplication).
So Hartshorne stipulates that A must be ”a finitely generated B-algebra which is
a finitely generated B-module.” Now here’s where the eagle-eyed novice geometer
may notice something strange. ”a” finitely generated B-algebra? ”a” finitely
generated B-module?
Which B-algebra/module structure is he talking about?
For example, given any ring (or, more generally, group) A, I know that the
natural map
ϕ : Z | → A | ||
x | x |
produces the well-known Z-module structure on A. But that isn’t the only one.
E.g.:
ϕ2 : Z | → A | ||
x | 2x |
This is a different Z-module structure on A. x
3x induces yet another on, and
so on. In general, there are many different B-module structures on A, so which
one are we talking about? If you take Hartshorne at his word, it seems like just
about any B-module structure will do. But something odd happens the more you
play with these definitions.
We know that V = SpecB is an affine set, with f−1(V ) = SpecA also
affine, with A a finitely generated B-module. But now what you can
do is restrict f to this open affine, and obtain a map of affine schemes:
f : f−1(V ) | → V | ||
i.e. f : SpecA | → SpecB |
But we know that this map is induced by a particular map of rings.
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Do you see the problem? I’m asking the laymen, not the mathematicians. For the
layman, there is a huge technical problem that can result in your complete
destruction. If you notice the problem, you might feel like you’re
going insane. You are not, and it’s not your fault. Your feelings are valid.
Here’s the deal: We know that A is a (B-algebra which is a) finitely
generated B-module, which means that there is a surjection of B-modules
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induced by a ring map δ : B → A. But ϕ also induces an B-module
structure on A. Do δ and ϕ coincide? They don’t have to, without stipulating.
And what if the B-module structure induced by ϕ isn’t finitely
generated, even though the one by δ is?
This is not your fault. Hartshorne simply didn’t bring the goods. I’m serious.
Look elsewhere, and you’ll see the extra stipulation that the B-module structure
on A must be the one induced by ϕ:
Yep. This is the correct definition: the part about the ring morphism is missing
from Hartshorne, because apparently he thinks it just ”goes without saying.” It’s
not, to the amateur: The B-module structure must be consistent with the ring
morphisms induced by f.
Now see that little citation?
.......................
The student facepalms. Yet, that citation just proves that it was intended to ”go without saying.” So,
hold on: Is there something similar wonkiness happening to the finite type
definition? Let’s examine it again:
The question, of course, is which Bi-algebra structure? Again, we can restrict to a
map of schemes
fi : f−1(V i) | → V i | ||
i.e. fi : ⋃ j∈JUij | → V i | ||
i.e. fi : ⋃ j∈JSpec(Aij) | → Spec(Bi) |
This time I have to refine and restrict even further, to get maps
fij : Spec(Aij) | → Spec(Bi) |
Which are of course induced by ring maps
ϕij : Bi | → Aij |
So we can only assume analogously that the Bij algebra structures must be
induced by these ring maps, i.e. they must be consistent with f. Is this
”obvious”? Does this just ”go without saying”? After the finite fiasco, you have
to intuit that it is a part of the definition. Admittedly, it is subtle. For
example, I was even using this assumption without realizing it in just
a while back (note that to combine the generators together, I had to
assume the B-module structures were consistent with each other–that
the Ajs did not have different B → Aj, which they don’t if they are
induced from f). But it should be mentioned precisely because it is subtle.
In any case, with all that technical machinery in place, back to the exercise:
Now this is trivial by taking one of the open affines V i = SpecBi that contains
y, and reducing precisely to that affine case:
f : f−1(V ) = SpecA | → SpecB |
which is induced by a ring morphism
ϕ : B | → A |
And now the problem is pure algebra: Knowing that ϕ induces a finitely
generated B-module structure on A, show that there are finitely many prime
ideals Q of A such that ϕ−1(Q) = y.
We know that ϕ induces a surjection
ϕn : Bn | ↠ A |
(this is where all that technical insanity comes into play. We need the finitely
generated B-module structure on A to be induced by ϕ)
Every prime ideal in B has only n copies in Bn. And taking quotients produces a
bijection between the prime ideals of A and the primes of Bn containing the
kernel. So y corresponds to n primes of Bn which corresponds to at most n
primes of A. Done.
So now the utility of ”finite type” and ”finite” morphisms is a bit more
clear: They are locally induced by extremely convenient ring morphisms.
And yes, that was all for part A. Suffice to say, We’re not touching B or C this
week.
Finally. We get a brief bit of sun in
the fog. First, as foreshadowed last time, we have a notion of a scheme being
”integral”:
Thar’s geometry defined directly according to algebra. Turns out, integral schemes
are irreducible:
Which means that, according to the moth, we can in fact furnish Hartshorne’s
desired ζ: You can conquer the
world, if it is irreducible. Since the closure is the whole space, every open set
contains it. Furthermore, the moth tells us that, given an open affine, ζ is, in fact,
a generic point of SpecA. So given U = SpecA ⊂ X, ζ ∈ U, and furthermore,
𝒪ζ,U = 𝒪ζ,X. But 𝒪ζ,U = 𝒪ζ,SpecA = Aζ. Now, ζ being a generic point of
SpecA means that it can be seen as a prime ideal of A contained in every other
prime ideal of A contains it, so 0. And since 𝒪X(SpecA) = Ais an integral
domain, via integrality of X, then ζ must be (0). So our local ring is
just A(0), which is the standard definition of the quotient field K(A).
So Hartshorne’s prescribed order of business was misleading (Moral: Hartshorne is
not very trustworthy). We dropped down to affines and snagged both birds with
one stone. Listen to the moth. I’ll tell you: The Schoolmaster’s withholding some
spoils for us again. He’s not talking about the bigger implications of this.
Indeed, there’s more to be had here, so let’s sniff some of it out from some old
crumbs. Is it odd that K(X) = K(U), even though U’s an open subset of X?
Longtime readers may recall the age of birational equivalence, back in varietyland.
In particular:
A big reason this ”worked” on varieties is due to varieties being irreducible, from
which follows the density of their open sets. Likewise, integral schemes are
irreducible, from which follows the density of their open sets. The density
allows us to equate the function field of the whole with the dense set.
Now, peeking ahead a bit, birationality appears to ”fail” on schemes in general:
You may be used to the notion of a birational map of varieties having the
property that it is an isomorphism over an open subset of the target. However, in
general a birational morphism may not be an isomorphism over any nonempty
open
Boys, sometimes you gotta act like you know what you’re doing if y’wanna keep
your heads on your shoulders. In other words, I have no clue how to do the first
half of this exercise, but I’m going to do the second half and call it a day, and we
can circle back with an errata later if we please. Indeed, I bluffed and puffed
through 3.4 too. Ha ha ha! In any case, why is K(X) a finite extension of
K(Y )? Something to do with generic finiteness and dominance. I don’t know.
We’ll just assume it is, and take that as our starting point. Let U be any open
affine subset of Y . Then, thanks to finite-typeness, f : X → Y restricts to a
map:
f : SpecB | → SpecA |
where via integrality, I know that A and B are integral domains, which means
that (0) is a prime ideal in both A and B, and furthermore g((0)) = (0), so
there is a map of local rings which can be written in a multitude of ways:
A(0) | → B(0) | ||
K(A) | → K(B) | ||
K(SpecA) | → K(SpecB) | ||
K(Y ) | → K(X) |
The main point is that the quotient field K(B) is a finite extension of the
quotient field K(A). Now the question is: Can we finitely generate B as an
A-module? (A and B integral domains). Note: I’ve reduced to a pure
algebra problem, again. Let’s proceed.
Let b1∕c1,…,bn∕cn be ”modgenerators” for K(B) (i.e. generate
K(B)
as a module
over K(A)).
Then given b ∈ B, I would like to modgenerate it over A. Now I can
modgenerate b using the modgenerators of K(B), but I’m going to actually
instead use them to modgenerate b∕(c1
cn). You’ll see why (Note: of course, I
initially generated b and had to backtrack midway through the proof when I
realized I needed b∕(c1
cn). I don’t have magical intuition). Let c = c1
cn
for simplicity. Then
⋅ + + ⋅ | = b∕c |
where the ai,di ∈ A (I can assume the di are noninvertible). Now I’ll multiply
out the ci denominators to obtain
[c2 cnb1] + + [c1 cn−1 ⋅ bn] | = b |
(that’s why I generated b∕c instead of b). This is progress. The elements
in square brackets constitute modgenerators in B (rather than K(B))
for our arbitrary b. But we are still modgenerating over K(A) rather
than A. Now I want to get rid of the dis. So let me multiply them out
a1d2 dn[c2 cnb1] + + and1dn−1[c1 cn−1bn] | = bd1 dn |
Uh oh. Too greedy? We added a bunch of factor mush to the b. But we’re actually
safe, because we can cancel out the dis. Does that seem crazy? It’s not if we’re in
an integral domain. Let me show you how to cancel out the d1, for example.
Note that on the left hand side, every term seems to have a factor of d1
except maybe the first. To emphasize this, let me rewrite the above as
a + d1[e2] + d1[e3] + + d1[en] | = bd1d2 dn |
Now I’ll subtract everything except a from the left hand side
a | = bd1d2 dn − d1[e2] − d1[e3] − − d1[en] | ||
a | = d1(bd2 dn − [e2] − [e3] − − [en]) | ||
This equality says that that a must have a factor of d1. And since we’re in an
integral domain, cancellation holds. Just a little bit of more technical
material, to make sure our cancellation is ”safe.” Reexpanding our a:
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if I cancel out a d1, am I ”harming” my modgenerator in the bracket? I want to
leave that intact. Since I am lazy, I’m just going to go ahead and add extra
generators. That’s right. My generators are just going to be every product I
can form from members of the set {c1,…,cn,b1,…,bn} (without
replacement). That’s still a finite amount, so I’m safe (albeit generous).
So, we’ve performed not a perfect but nevertheless functional walk and stress test
through these folks:
And now, how are we going to get around the rest?
Here’s my report so far, Mr. Representative: It’s a foggy mess. Yep, yep. At this
rate, the case of fiber products are doomed. Split forces. COMMANDERS
GUNNING FOR RED HOT SHOT ON THE FLEET OUT OF RANGE;
GUNNERS TRYING TO COOK THEIR SHOTS ON HOT POTS. Sniff. Y’can
smell sweet onions next to the failed battery. We have no furnaces, man. The
scant material we meekly begged out of the countryside are all WHACK: Mortars
mismatched with shot, rimbaseless trunnions, gaugeless guns. And many of our
poor little geometers are hungry and shoeless. It’s little appreciated in the
leadership how these little fairfaced youngsters are volunteers, self-learners,
idealists scooped up in the mass levy. And even the more experienced aren’t
taking the time to train em. This organization isn’t ripe for imparting expert
knowledge unto the layman. MR. REPRSENTATIVE: Our crews are unintimate
with their schema, cuz the leadership trades the pieces around like cards:
Eight motley men procured a new wagon, and attempted to secure the
gun on the caisson and their boxes on the limber. The system or even
notion of base schema is absent. The poor little geometers
weren’t told which structure their algebras and modules were to take,
and thus they’re left firepowerless in matters of finiteness. Yes: The Ol’
Schoolmaster is the Ol’ Unreliable on matters of theory, glossing over the minute
details and brushing away technical matters that resolve ”naturally” to an
academic mind. What’s a layman to do? Can you blame one of these poor
fools for trying to use a sponge as a ramrod? For mixing up a vector
space with a module, or a module with an algebra? The studious student
facepalms. No theory is driven into them, so axiomatic if they are to
become accustomed to new pieces and carriage. Their commander had a
lucky streak on the path here along the coast, and is now comfortably
billeting back inland. But I’m not going to leave these poor youngsters to
themselves. I’m one of em. I’ll go sleep with em on the frontlines. I’ll
supervise their battery constructions beyond the white line of doom. I’ll
stand strong on the rampart in full view of the cannons pointed at us.
I’ll teach them the technicalities. I’ll lay down the law.