An Alliance Reforged
Author: J. N. Chaney; Jonathan P. Brazee
Date: 2000-01-01 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Military; Fantasy; War; Science Fiction; SF; Fiction; Military Fiction; Science Fiction Fantasy
Description: This is a new kind of war. The MDS and allies have withdrawn from the CoH, and they now want to become the center of gravity for humankind. The goal is to obtain localized wins, draw in more allies, and achieve victory no matter the cost. With the alliance undone, Rev must fight a seemingly unwinnable war. But Marines never quit. They never falter. They never give up. Humanity is about to experience a pivotal turning point in its history—one that will culminate in a discovery so profound that it may very well change everything. This is a new kind of war. The MDS and allies have withdrawn from
Publisher: Variant Publications

Copyrighted Material

An Alliance Reforged Copyright © 2021 by Variant Publications

Book design and layout copyright © 2021 by JN Chaney

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living, dead, or undead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from JN Chaney.

www.jnchaney.com

www.jonathanbrazee.com

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CONTENTS

Glossary

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Epilogue

Cast of Characters

Acknowledgments

Connect with J.N. Chaney

Connect with Jonathan P. Brazee

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About the Authors

GLOSSARY

AGMS: Anti-G Straining Maneuvers

AIW: Association of Independent Worlds

ASAP: As Soon As Possible

BC: the digital currency for most nations

BOCT: Benevolent Order of Crystal Technicians

Bronze Nova: the third-highest medal in the Union military

CASEVAC: Casualty Evacuation

CCR-32 Didactic Interface: the AI implanted into the Marines’ heads.

Cerrocrete: a very strong futuristic concrete

CG: Commanding General

CO: Commanding Officer

COH: Congress of Humanity, the highest authority of mankind

CST: Combat Simulation Trainer

D-5 Cord: an explosive-saturated cord

Camp Seong-Matris: One of the three camps on Eceladus housing the Home Guard’s Second Brigade

D-5 Cord: an explosive-saturated cord

DC/Direct Combat: Marines such as infantry, recon mech combat engineers, who will face the enemy in direct combat.

DI: Drill Instructor

Dykstra: a heavy sniper rifle

E-Club: Enlisted Club where the lowest three ranks can hang out, drink, and eat.

ECR: Effective Casualty Radius. The radius from a detonation within which will produce 50% casualties

EMP: Electro-magnetic Pulse. Will shut down all electronics within range

EOE: End of Enlistment

EVA: Extravehicular Activity

FEPM-K: A combined electromagnetic pulse shell that is followed by a kinetic missile.

FSCL: Fire Support Coordination Line. A control measure beyond which fires into the area must be coordinated.

FTL: Faster Than Light, a starship drive

Gold Nova: the second highest medal in the Union military forces

G-Loc: G-force induced loss of consciousness

Goundpounders: slang for infantry

HE: High Explosive

Host: the military arm of the Frisian Mantle, a sometime ally/enemy of the Perseus Union

Karnan: Nickname for the hyper-augmented soldiers from the MDS

KIA: Killed in Action

Leaches: Military slang for civilians

LOD: Line of Departure

M49 Assault Rifle: the standard weapon of the Union Marines. It fires a 2mm high-velocity dart.

M-102 Nellis: the Marine Corps’ main sniper rifle

M-133: a heavy weapon fired by mech Marines

MF-30: a standard issue handgun

MDS: Manifest Destiny Sphere

MilDes: Military Designator

MilDes Ninety-nine/Ninety-nine: essentially indentured servants in uniform

MMCS: Marine Mechanical Combat Suit

MoV: Medal of Valor, a Home Guard award. Runs from third class to first class.

MP: Military Police

MPT: Military Placement Test

NCO: Non-commissioned Officer. The middle two ranks of enlisted Marines

NCOIC: Non-commissioned Officer in Charge

NM: Neuro-mapping

NVD: Night Vision Device

Omega Division/OD: the secret police and spy agency of the Union

Optisight: a flexible optical tube

PAL-3: Personal Armor, Light 3: the standard body armor for an infantry Marine

PAL-5: Personal Armor, Light 5. The standard body armor of recon Marines and Raiders.

Paladin: a large Centaur heavy mech unit, similar to a light tank

PFC: Private First Class

Phoenix MG-3 Incendiary Mine: a small grenade that can burn through most substances

Plastiderm: a synthetic skin that is used in medical procedures

PN: Platinum Nova the highest military award in the Perseus Union military

Poolee: someone who is committed to the Corps but who is not yet been sworn in as a recruit

PQ: Personality Quotient. Used to determine the human characteristics of some AIs

PUNS: Perseus Union Naval Ship

Raider: part of Recon, but with more combat-focused missions instead of surveillance

Recon: Reconnaissance Marine

Riever: a smaller Centaur mech unit, similar to a Marine Raider or reconnaissance Marine.

Secdrones: Security drones used by the police

SFC: Sergeant First Class

SNCO: Staff Non-commissioned Officer. The highest three ranks among enlisted Marines.

SOP: Standard Operating Procedure

Syksky: a deep-fried bread stuffed with spiced meat and vegetables

Torinth Accords: a treaty governing the rules of war

VGW: Veterans of Galaxal Wars

WIA: Wounded in Action

Weislen’s Syndrome: A cancer-like disease affecting those who have had their bodies augmented. Known as the “rot.”

XM-554: a more powerful missile designed to have more punch

XO: Executive Officer, the #2 person in the unit.

Yellowjacket: a shoulder-launched missile

Yellowshirt: a Navy sailor charged with moving people and goods around a flight line.

1

“Antiemetics.”

<I didn’t even have to ask. You’re maturing.>

“Eat me, Punch.”

<You know I can’t do that.>

Staff Sergeant Reverent Pelletier, Perseus Union Marine Corps, didn’t bother responding in kind to his battle buddy. Even if Punch seemed to be getting more juvenile at times, maybe he had matured, at least. For every other landing, he’d refused the anti-nausea meds until his queasy stomach forced him to. This time, as the egg carton was moved into place by the Navy yellowshirt, he decided just to take it now and be done with it.

Rev was the most experienced IBHU Marine in the Union, and he had more combat days racked up than anyone else, but he really didn’t want to puke up his landing breakfast on this, his first drop as a platoon sergeant.

“Systems check,” he told Punch, more to change the line of thought than thinking that anything had changed since the last time he asked.

<System Green. Power reserves at ninety-eight-point-five percent.>

“Even the coldpack?” Rev asked in table talk, the visual system he and Punch had developed to communicate without fear of Big Brother eavesdropping.

<Even the coldpack. The system shows all green.>

Rev sniffed. For all intents and purposes, his new PAL-HX was a much better system than his old PAL-5, with stronger and more flexible armor and a much more effective helmet cap designed to protect their brains better from beamers, but the coldpacks, the cartridges designed to keep Marines from overheating, had been glitchy. Without a working coldpack, an active Marine in a combat suit would be combat ineffective within thirty minutes.

Rev subconsciously tapped the small limpet pack just behind his right hip. Inside were two spare coldpacks in case the one now in use decided to go to crap.

“Third Platoon, you have ten minutes until launch,” the faceless voice from who knows where came over the net.

Their guide wasn’t in their launch platform. That was an unmanned skid that had carried the four egg cartons from the PUNS Rapier, a super-stealthy Navy corvette that had brought them into the Armadillo system. For all Rev knew, the man wasn’t even on the Rapier but back on New Mars and Marine Headquarters.

Must be rough fighting a war in all the comforts of home.

A jerk made Rev reach out to brace himself. He wished he could see out of the Personal Insertion Sphere 39, his “pisser.” But he was closed off to the outside world until his pisser sloughed off of him during the descent and he glided into the DZ.

His very first insertion on Preacher Rolls during the Centaur War, almost seven years ago, was by drop as well. But there was a world of difference between that and this. His Personal Insertion Sphere 31 was to the 39 what an ancient Model T was to a Blinkster Spector. His 31 was essentially an inert sphere that slowed down by ablating its shell, which did leave a heat signature that could be detected. The 39 had several jumps in tech that should get him and the rest of the Marines down with a much greater chance of not being detected and shot out of the sky. The ever-improving technology that had helped win the war against the Centaurs—well, that and the fact that the alien race had such few numbers—had changed the face of warfare.

Rev was a fan of technology. Pashu, his IBHU, was the pinnacle of military technology. But if the coldpacks were an example of growing pains as new tech was introduced, then there certainly could be glitches in the new insert system, and augering in after a drop from space had just slightly more consequences than having to insert a new coldpack.

“We doing OK, Staff Sergeant?” the lieutenant asked on the P2P.

Rev didn’t know if she was asking about him or herself.

“Doing fine, ma’am. We’ve got this. Get in unseen, accomplish the mission, and then just sit back and wait for the cavalry to arrive.”

“Have we forgotten anything?”

“Probably, yes.”

There was dead silence on the other end of the comms, then, “How can we fix that?”

This was the lieutenant’s first combat mission. She’d been commissioned right at the conclusion of the Centaur War and after a vehicle accident had cost her right arm, and it had only been six months since she’d been checked off as an IBHU Marine.

Rev had to put himself back to Preacher Rolls and his first mission. He remembered how he felt, unsure of himself, and he was just a snuffy then without being responsible for anyone else. There had to be a lot of pressure on her, and it was his job to shoulder as much of that as he could.

“We’ll adapt, Lieutenant. Whatever comes up, we can handle it. We’ve sure trained enough for it.”

“I . . . I guess so, but what if—”

Rev never heard what if what because the voice said, “Second Platoon, five minutes to launch. Prepare final physiological preparations.”

“You heard him,” Rev passed on the platoon net, cutting his platoon commander off. “Juice yourself.”

He settled himself into his pisser’s seat, then told Punch, “Do it.”

A lot had changed since his first pisser insert, but not this part. His combat suit started to cool while cardiovascular constrictors flooded his circulatory system. All of this was designed to help him cope with the high Gs of deceleration.

Next, his combat suit began to constrict around his arms, legs, and pelvis, forcing blood into his thorax and head. Rev hated this part of the process, but he understood the need to protect his frail human body—even one heavily augmented—from the effects of massive G-forces. It wasn’t very pleasant, but it was better than being squashed like a grape.

“Second Platoon is away,” their emotionless friend came over the net. “Third Platoon, you have one minute.”

Rev started to address the platoon, but the lieutenant beat him to it. “You heard him, Marines. After four long months, this is where we prove ourselves. Semper fi.”

Rev had been about to remind the squad leaders to do an immediate headcount upon reaching the ground, something that was more pertinent than a half-assed pep talk, but he wasn’t going to step on the lieutenant. And as he thought about it, the squad leaders knew what to do. They didn’t need him talking just to hear his voice.

“Thirty seconds. Initiate foaming.”

Rev’s egg filled with shock foam, and Rev could barely move. This was a new development in the process, another one not overly popular with the Marines. If he was claustrophobic, he’d have a serious case of the heebie-jeebies right now. It was bad enough as it was.

“Ten seconds, Marines. Godspeed,” the voice on the comms said.

Rev tightened his thighs, took a deep breath, and exhaled while tensing his belly and limbs, ready for AGSM. With all the tech in his pisser, he still had to use Anti-G Straining Maneuvers to help fight the forces he was about to endure.

At zero, the egg carton shot out of the transport with barely a shudder. It was the deceleration that hit a moment later that tried to throw Rev through the front of his pisser. He instinctively tried to lift his hands to keep from smashing into the front of the sphere, but the foam was gripping him like wet plasticrete. He suddenly had a nasty vision of missing the entry envelope, then traveling forever until a million years from now, some evolved cockroach recovered the egg and his fossilized body, encased in hardened foam, and put him in a cockroach paleontological museum.

“Give me some music,” he gasped.

A moment later, the soothing sounds of Guava Beach Machine filled his senses. After seven years together, Punch knew what he liked. He was still straining, but the music helped him endure the worst of the deceleration. Either that, or he was getting used to it.

Rev watched his timer count down the seconds. The foam dampened much of the motion, but the Gs were heavy and constant as the decelerating units did their thing. It wasn’t bad, but Rev was glad he’d already taken the anti-pukes.

With thirty seconds to go before they decoupled, Rev passed, “Comms silence in twenty seconds.”

The clock ticked down, and at zero, the three decelerating units attached to the egg carton broke free. Their ride smoothed out as they plunged toward the planet, and the Gs mercifully diminished to nothing. They wouldn’t decelerate again until they hit Armadillo’s atmosphere. The foam began to break down, and Rev’s movement was freed up. Not that there was anything to see or do, nor would there be for another four hours and twenty-three minutes.

Rev settled in to wait. But he didn’t have to brood in silence, pretending to be a pebble of inert mass within the larger inert mass of the egg carton.

“You got anything new for me?”

<A comedy about sentient chipmunks. “The Cheek Pouchers.” Three-point-four rating.>

“Pass.”

<A father chases slavers who’ve taken his daughter. Retrieval. Three-point-eight.>

Rev had taken down pirates before. This was probably light years from reality, but he just needed something to pass the time.

“Cut the music and run it instead.”

* * *

Rev was in the middle of Retrieval III, right at the point where the hero, Proctan DeBride, was about to break into the pirate’s lair on the moon of Arteus, when the ten-minute warning light flashed three times.

Rev hadn’t expected much from Retrieval, and he’d been right in that. Still, he’d binged the first and second holovid and was halfway through the third while they’d approached the planet. And now it was time to get to work and earn all those big staff sergeant bucks.

“Save the movie. I want to finish it when we get done.”

He took several deep, measured breaths, getting his warrior chakra centered. He didn’t know if he was doing it right—he’d never heard of the term before Tomiko casually mentioned it one afternoon, but it seemed to describe how he’d been attempting to control and make use of his warrior self, the part of him that wanted to explode and go berserker when he entered combat. His warrior self had been a benefit in many of his battles, but given free rein, going bat-shit crazy was asking to get killed.

He could feel his warrior self bubbling just under his consciousness, there, ready for when called, but not straining at the bit to be released. Maybe this chakra-thing had something going for it.

Rev felt that he should be doing something platoon-sergeant-like, but with no comms, he had no way to reach out to the others despite being crowded together in the egg carton.

At five minutes, the small green LED attached right in front of his face shield flashed again.

“Systems check.”

<System Green. Power reserves at ninety-eight-point-four percent.>

“And—”

<Even the coldpack.>

Rev sniffed again.

I’m not that predictable.

He knew he could be a little anal about the checks, but his life depended on his equipment running right. Punch could tease him, but he’d be damned if he was going to simply trust everything to work correctly.

At one minute, the LED flashed red five times. The egg carton was shuddering as it entered the exosphere. In sixty seconds, the latticework that made up the egg carton would disintegrate, freeing each individual pisser.

And then the fun starts.

The company had done two practice inserts back on Safe Harbor, so Rev knew what to expect, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. The new insertion capsules were decidedly high tech, each one designed with not only passive stealth technology, but also active measures designed to nullify and reroute scanner beams that could detect them. But it wasn’t just those. If they were detected, the pissers had the ability to juke and jive based on random number generators to keep any targeting systems that picked them up from actually hitting them.

Rev was all for keeping ground fire from knocking them out of the sky, but that didn’t mean the process would be pleasant.

The pisser filled with shock foam again. It was their main protection from being battered to pieces as the pissers darted around.

The light flashed down from ten to zero, and the egg carton came apart, and each “egg” took over. At least Rev hoped that would happen. Inside and encased in foam, he couldn’t really tell. He could feel the shaking as the pissers took the Marines closer to the ground.

<Want to hear a joke?>

“Not now, Punch.”

<Music?>

“No. Just zip it for a moment,” Rev snapped.

There was nothing Rev could do at the moment. He had zero control over the pisser, and even if he did, he was blind to what was going on. The only thing he had going for him was to feel the shifts in the pisser, and he didn’t want any distractions. And if it really started juking, he knew they were in trouble.

Rev really, really wanted to get out of the egg. But he needed the microtubes laced throughout the pisser’s surface that were slowing him down to a reasonable speed. Ejecting from the sphere too soon would tear him apart, PAL-HX or not.

Still, he wished this was a HAHO, High Altitude, High Opening insert. He’d be out of his pisser sooner. But the command decided that would expose the Marines for too long, and they’d be doing HALO instead. With a low opening, just 900 meters above the surface of the planet, they’d be more likely to achieve surprise.

After traveling he-didn’t-know-how-many kiloklicks to the planet, to open his flight suit at 900 meters seemed to be cutting it entirely too close. One little miscalculation, and splat.

“Can you tell by the elapsed time how far we are from the surface?” Rev asked.

<You told me to zip it.>

“Well, unzip it,” Rev said.

Punch had been getting snippy lately. Rev didn’t know if this was essentially playacting for the benefit of the big brother watchers or if his programming was getting wonky, and it wasn’t as if he could ask someone to take a look at that.

<Assuming that the Insertion Lattice released up at the exosphere, we are probably traversing the mesosphere about now. There are too many variables involved for me to make a more exact estimation.>

“And that means how long before we get out of this damn pisser?”

<Assuming we’re not detected, about six more minutes.>

Six minutes. No problem.

Rev felt like a sitting duck. He wanted to be on the ground and in the assault where he had control over his actions. If he was going to buy the farm on this mission, he didn’t want it to be just a matter of pure luck, of his pisser being randomly targeted by the MDS/FC defense forces.

His pisser was vibrating and bouncing around violently, but that was the normal descent, not the evasive tactics taken upon being targeted. Without his antiemetics, Rev would have lost his breakfast. As it was, he was still a little queasy.

“Just a little longer,” he muttered, and as if on cue, the foam started to dissipate around him. Without its welcoming embrace, Rev grabbed the handholds on the inside of his sphere and jammed his feet into the shelf on the bottom. He stared at the small LED, trying to will it to turn on.

And at last, there it was. A single green light, almost hurting his eyes after so long in the dark.

Rev got into the ejection position, pulling in his arms, tightening his legs, and burying his chin on his chest, at least the best he could do to get that chin in while in his PAL. A tight position could save him a ton of grief. Despite the deceleration, he was still falling at almost 300 KPH. An errant arm catching the air could send him into a tumble at best, damage Pashu or his PAL at worst.

At that thought, he pulled Pashu, his IBHU, in tighter. Given the choice, he’d rather wrench his organic arm than risk damage to his weapons system.

The green LED started flashing, and Punch said, <Five seconds.>

Rev counted down, and right at zero, the side of his pisser split apart. The shock was like getting kicked by a mule. Without his PAL under his flight suit, without his augments, Rev didn’t think he would have survived. He spun and tumbled at the same time, and he couldn’t orient himself. He had to trust his training.

Rev slowly extended his arms and legs, transitioning to the freefall position. With Pashu’s extra mass, Rev had to be careful not to extend his left arm as far as his right. He’d had the training drops before the mission as well as about fifty drops in the simulators, but this was the real deal, and he didn’t have a lot of real estate in which to work.

But he stabilized enough to deploy his suit. He was in a controlled glide now, but was he on target? Rev popped up his drop overlay, and right in front of him, less than 300 meters below, was their objective. He had to barely adjust his course as the eleven-to-one glide ratio shot him over the darkness enshrouded ground.

“Platoon reading,” he ordered.

Immediately, the entire platoon’s positions popped up. Everyone had made it this far. And hopefully, the rest of the platoons were out there in the darkness as well as the company converged on the Freedom Confederation position.

Rev wanted to check in, but they were still under a comms blackout.

Can’t believe we all made it down without being detected, he thought as he picked up a shape off to his right gliding into the target.

He checked his display. It was Strap Gantz, his old civilian nemesis/fellow Raider, now a sergeant. It should have been Lance Corporal Hochenspatter, but Chaos theory almost guaranteed that after all this distance, not everything would end up exactly as planned.

But they’d made it to the orbit emplacement that was their target, and that was what mattered. They’d sort themselves out as soon as they hit the ground.

Which would be in less than a minute. His augmented night vision was good, but he still activated his night vision app to better spot the platoon’s DZ at the rear of the emplacement where the fusion generator powered the four big Cancoran terajoule cannons. He just spotted their drop zone when a flash of hellfire momentarily whited out his face shield display.

“Break, break. On the deck, now!” he shouted over the net as his eyes tried to recover.

He’d celebrated not being detected too early.

Before he could even see clearly again, Rev banked and dove for the ground and cover.

“How high am I?”

<I see through your eyes, so I don’t know. You were two hundred and fifty-one meters when you broke. I can’t tell now.>

The flight suit had a low-ground warning system, which was now activated. Comms silence was broken. Rev blinked several times, and his sight began to return.

Another flash lit the night sky, then several strings of tracers spewed from the installation, sweeping the sky like malevolent whips. One string passed ten or fifteen meters over him. Fifty-five caliber autocannons, if Intel was right. Designed to take down atmospheric aircraft, one of the exploding rounds would do a number on a PAL.

The squad leaders were lighting up their nets, giving orders so their Marines would hit the ground running. Rev wanted to be in the thick of things, but he knew he’d only get in the way. He had to exert a huge effort of will to let the three staff sergeants do their thing.

Rev had left the platoon disposition on his display, and Corporal Wister’s avatar winked out. Not WIA, not even KIA. It was just gone. Rev turned his head to the left to where Wister should be, 160 meters away. He couldn’t see anything.

“Doc, you see Wister?”

“No. What happened?” HM2 Wiona Mason answered.

“Disappeared. Here,” Rev passed before sending over a posrep on Wister’s last recorded position. “See if you can get over there.”

“Roger that. I’m on my way.”

And then it was time to land. Rev’s ground warning was flashing, and Rev flared out his wings, aiming for what looked like a small clearing. His nanos had done their job with his eyes, and he could see the ground as he came in. It was a textbook stand-up landing, better than any he’d done in combat.

It was just in the wrong place, a full klick from the FC installation.

Rev was already shucking his flight suit as he pulled the lieutenant up on the platoon command net.

“We need an RP. I suggest Whippoorwill,” he said, suggesting one of the many control points already selected to act as the new rally point.

“Just a second.” There was a grunt as the platoon commander landed, then “Sounds good. And we can use that as our assault position, too. Tell the squad leaders while I try to find out what we’re supposed to do now.”

We’ve got our Plan B, Rev wanted to say. But he held off.

He switched the command net to include the squad commanders. “Give me a headcount and stand by. The new RP is Whippoorwill.”

“Wister—” Staff Sergeant Kil Rancine, the Second Squad leader started to say before Rev cut her off.

“I’ve sent Doc after Wister. You get your squad ready to move.”

“Roger that.”

Rev took a moment to look up at the night sky. He couldn’t see any energy beams, of course, but whips of tracer fire were sweeping back and forth. It didn’t seem possible that any of the company still dropping could survive the fire, but Rev had to trust the big sky, little bullet theory. Other than possibly Wister, all of Third had made it down, after all.

The new RP was 220 meters to Rev’s left in the bed of a small creek. It should give them a modicum of cover from the FC’s big defensive guns. And if their orders were to continue in the assault—and Rev fully expected that—it could act as their assault position, like the lieutenant had said.

The air was still, and the humidity was oppressive as Rev started off at a jog. All around him, the rest of the platoon was moving as well. Second Squad was the closest to the new RP, so Rev pulled up Kil Rancine.

“Kil, I want you to take up the far side of Whippoorwill and put up a hasty defense.”

“Roger that. You know what we’re gonna do?”

“No reason why anything’s changed. We’ve got to knock out the power to the station. The lieutenant’s finding out for sure now, though.”

The power had to be taken out; that was true. But with the Marines on the ground too early, things could change and the missions switched. That would be up to Captain Macek.

Rev reached the RP. As was often the case, the assigned control points weren’t exactly as expected despite maps and orbital images. The “creek” was barely more than a trickle, and while standing, they were not in full defilade to their target. At least the scattered trees gave them some cover.

With the lieutenant otherwise occupied, Rev took over, getting the three squads in position and down on their bellies. They hadn’t drawn any targeted fire yet, but the FC defenders had to have surveillance covering the area.

What he really wanted to do, however, was get moving. Staying in one place was sure to draw unwanted attention.

Doc Mason reported back to Rev. “I found what’s left of Wister. KIA, no chance of resurrection.”

Crap, almost forgot about Doc. “You’re only 135 meters from Whippoorwill. Record the spot and beat feet to us.”

“Roger that.”

Rev slapped the side of his helmet with this right hand. Sending Doc off alone to check on Wister probably hadn’t been the best move, and then not following up was a big mistake.

Think, Reverent. Think.

He was moving to check on First Squad when a massive explosion lit up the night sky, briefly highlighting the FC position. Someone, probably Weapons Platoon with their Kelpie rockets, had targeted it. The outgoing fire didn’t abate, but it should have caught the FC’s attention.

“Squad leaders to me,” the lieutenant passed.

You could just tell us what to do.

Lieutenant Nilson tended to rely on face-to-face discussions. She’d told Rev that it diminished the chance of miscommunications. Maybe she was right, but sometimes—like now—you just had to react. The battle often went to whoever could react the quickest. And in an assault, getting through the danger zones quickly saved lives.

The lieutenant’s face shield was retracted, her eyes wide as she told the squad leaders that their mission hadn’t changed. They had to conduct an assault and take out the power station while the other two platoons hit the main cannons.

The platoon already had this as a fallback plan, but the lieutenant had adjusted it, switching to a wedge instead of a V. Rev thought the V was more appropriate as it focused more firepower to the front, but he held his tongue. If the defense was robust, their assault would break down into squad, fire team, and individual rushes soon enough.

“Any questions?” the platoon commander asked, then when no one responded, she added, “Get back to your squads. We move out in ten minutes.”

Ten minutes?

Rev pulled up the company display. First and Second Platoons were already on the move.”

“Lieutenant, ten minutes? I think we need to start now,” he passed to her on the P2P.

“If we rush it, we’re vulnerable. Everyone needs to know what they’re doing first.”

Rev tried to pick his words carefully. “Ma’am, we do know what we’re doing. We’ve rehearsed this a hundred times. Right now, we’re vulnerable, and First and Second are already into their assault.”

“We didn’t rehearse this specific assault, Staff Sergeant. Ten minutes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

More explosions lit the sky. Weapons Platoon was getting into it. The FC position was heavily fortified, and Weapons didn’t have heavy enough firepower to destroy the defenses, but hopefully, they were doing some damage while catching the FC’s attention and taking it away from the infantry.

Rev started making the rounds of the Marines. “You fired up?” he asked Randigold.

“Always ready to kick ass, Staff Sergeant,” she said. “Just turn me loose.”

“No hero shit, Eth. You’re supporting arms here. Let the others go for the kill.”

“That’s no fun.”

“Eth!”

“Oh, I know, Staff Sergeant. I know my orders.”

Rev left it at that. The plan called for the six IHBU Marines other than Rev and the lieutenant to provide heavy, close-in fire, leaving the actual clearing of the power housing and its destruction to the other Marines. The last thing he needed was for Randigold to go all rambo on him.

“All hands, we’ve got thirty seconds to move,” the lieutenant passed.

Rev checked his display. It had only been two minutes and twenty seconds since the lieutenant had dismissed them. That meant that someone, probably Captain Macek, had just chewed her ass to get moving.

I hope she doesn’t blame me for that.

It could be a logical conclusion for her to make. Rev had just suggested she push up the timeline, and SNCOs had a reputation of doing what it took to get their way.

A staff NCO was supposed to help guide and train their lieutenant, but an antagonistic relationship could destroy the platoon. In his opinion, he thought the lieutenant was being too cautious, but there was no way he’d go behind her back on anything. If he was certain she was wrong and lives would be lost, he’d tell it to her face. He hoped she realized that.

But that was for another time and place. Right now, they still had a mission to accomplish.

“You heard the lieutenant,” he shouted over his external speakers. “Let’s go. Now!”

There was a rush of movement to get into position. Staff Sergeant Leona Diaz, the First Squad leader and an IBHU Marine, had her squad up within seconds, and the lieutenant told her to move out.

Diaz had her squad in a wedge, with Lance Corporal Tammy Lynx—on point with the leading fire team. Good move. As one of the platoon’s eight IBHU Marines, Lynx had plenty of firepower projecting to the front.

Within a minute, the entire platoon was moving forward, right into the teeth of the maelstrom of fire ahead of them.

Rev checked on the lieutenant’s position. She tended to wander around whatever formation the platoon was in, and now, she was in trace of First Squad. Which meant Rev had to shift his position.

“I’m moving forward with you, Orpho,” Rev told his old friend, his old posse-member, Staff Sergeant Orpheus Talamage, the Third Squad leader.

Rev had been more than pleased that Orpheus, like Hussein Černý and Strap Gantz, had been assigned to the platoon, seemingly for no other reason than they had a relationship with him. Rev didn’t care about the why. Orpheus had an extensive combat record, and he’d proven himself to be a capable squad leader. He had no problem with Hussein and Strap, his old Raider mates, either, for that matter.

“Roger dodger,” his old friend said.

For the first hundred meters, the platoon kept to its formation, and it seemed as if they might be moving up unnoticed. But it was too good to last. A sweep of .55 cal autocannon crossed over and back, every fifth round a bright yellow tracer, tearing up the trees but miraculously hitting no one. A simple 20 mm cannon like the one Rev and the other IBHU Marines carried would have caused more damage, but the .55 cal was not designed for antipersonnel. The autocannon had a much slower rate of fire, and the rounds’ warheads were detonating as their sensors triggered on trees, rocks, or anything else. In the open sky, the same rounds were deadly, but in the rough terrain, they were almost useless.

But even a blind pig finds a truffle every now and again. The first burst of fire gave the Marines a bit of confidence. Third Squad was crossing a piece of ground a little more open when another string of fire hit them.

Sergeant Jen Marks was fifteen meters ahead of Rev when a round exploded a meter or two to her right. The blast sent her tumbling head over heels.

Rev was moving before she ended up in a heap. “Corpsman up!” he shouted.

Marks was in a heap, head down, her body bent over. The left side of her PAL was shredded where the smart fuze on the FC .55 cal round had directed its charge. Her left arm was gone, and it took a moment for Rev to spot where it landed, ten meters away. Blood, almost black through his face shield’s NVD mode, was pulsing out of her shoulder in a stream.

SOP was not to move someone unless absolutely necessary, but with the bleeding, Rev thought this was one of those times. He straightened out her body, then tried to apply pressure to her shoulder. But with only one organic arm, and the fact that pieces of destroyed PAL were in the way, he only managed to lessen the flow, not stop it.

Two of the sergeant’s Marines started converging on them.

“I’ve got her. You keep going.”

They slowed to a stop, but Hochenspatter then took another couple of steps closer.

“Go!”

Rev understood his instincts, but this close to the objective, bogging down would just keep them vulnerable. The platoon had to get into the installation where the big guns would be useless, and it would just be infantry against infantry.

As platoon sergeant, Rev was the second senior member of the platoon, but ironically, he was probably the least important at the moment. Hochenspatter and the other trigger pullers had to keep up the assault.

The lance corporal gave him one last look before he wheeled and rushed back forward.

“Marks’s down hard,” he passed to Orpheus. “I’ve got her until Doc gets here.”

“Is she going to make it?”

“Don’t know. You keep advancing. Hochenspatter and Benfield tried to come back to help, but I sent them on up.”

“We’ve got it. Keep me informed, though, if you can.”

Rev looked down between his fingers. Blood was still coming through.

Sergeant Marks’s face shield retracted, and a pale face looked up at him. “How bad is it?” she said, her voice weak and reedy.

“Not good, but you’ll make it.”

“My arm’s gone,” she said, a statement, not a question.”

“Hell, Marks, if you wanted to become an IBHU, you could have just asked.”

She gave a weak laugh, then choked. Blood came out of her mouth. She groaned, then closed her eyes.

“Doc Mason!” he yelled over the platoon net. “I need you now, not yesterday!”

“Almost there.”

“What’s going on?” the lieutenant asked over the P2P. “I’ve got Sergeant Marks as WIA. Can’t see any of the bios.”

“Left side’s chewed up. Arm’s gone. I’m trying to stabilize her until Doc Mason gets here. Third Squad’s still moving forward.”

“Roger that. Rejoin when you can.”

“The ground’s opening up. Might be time to institute squad rushes and start getting IBHU fire on the objective,” Rev suggested.

There was a slight hesitation, then she said, “OK. I’ll switch over.”

At the moment, the lieutenant was in control of the platoon’s movement. Switching over meant that the squad leaders were in control, and Rev could hear in her tone that she didn’t want to do it yet. But it was time.

Doc ran up, dropped to his knees, and slid to a stop beside Rev and Marks.

“Move your hand,” he ordered.

Rev pulled back, and blood fountained up again as if a dam broke. Rev’s heart jumped to his throat, but the Navy corpsman took one look, then pulled out his doc wand and ejected an anticoagulant into the gaping hole in Marks’s PAL. The liquid shot out in a stream, then, looking something like the foam in the pissers, it expanded. Marks’s blood tinged some of it pink before it became firm enough to stop the bleeding.

He pulled out the small cable in his right arm and hooked it to Marks’s jack.

“Shit,” he muttered.

“What’s wrong?”

The doc didn’t respond, but he reached into her helmet and touched the side of her throat.

“Is she going to make it?”

“Already gone.”

“But she . . . it’s only her arm.”

“She’s gone. I’m going to see if there’s anything I can do, but I think she bled out.”

“I . . . I,” Rev stammered. “I tried to stop the bleeding.”

“There’s not enough blood loss right here to kill her. She’s got to be bleeding more somewhere else.”

“Resurrection?”

“Good candidate if it’s just blood loss,” the doc said as he pulled out a zombie stick and placed it on the ground beside him.

Rev averted his eyes. No Marines wanted to even see one of them. It was considered bad luck. But they helped extend the time that someone could be dead and still be brought back.

“If you’ve got to give her that thing, do it. Then get back up with the platoon. I’ve got a feeling we’re going to need you up there.”

“Roger that,” the doc said as he hit Sergeant Marks’s emergency molt.

“I’m leaving you here. I’ve got to catch up to the platoon.”

“I’ll be up there in a few.”

Rev took one last look at Marks’s body, then he stood and started running forward. He might be the platoon sergeant, but he was still an IBHU Marine, and he controlled a lot of firepower.

He ran forward, heedless of the rounds impacting around him. None seemed to have targeted him.

Probably didn’t target Marks, either, he reminded himself.

He reached the rearmost fire team from Third Squad.

“I’m in with you, Strap,” he passed to the team leader.

“Got you,” Strap acknowledged.

Almost immediately, Orpheus passed, “Up!”

The squad rose and broke into a run, and Rev couldn’t help but count, “Up one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, down one thousand,” before he hit the deck. It had been driven into his head during too many training sessions not to do the count.

He still couldn’t see the target from where he dropped, but during the next rush, it appeared, through the ever-sparser trees, still more than 400 meters away. In Night Vision Device mode, the details were a little blurry, but they were clear enough. Rev blindly unleashed a Moray before he dropped, relying on the missile’s little AI to pick the best target.

“Switch to a Delta scan and try and get a firing pattern during the next rush.”

<I’ll see what I can do.>

Rev was ready, and when Orpheus gave the next order to rush, he angled to the right where a slight rise would give him a better view of the AO. But if he had a better view, he’d be more exposed to the defenders. It was a risk, but one with enough potential benefits to risk it.

His vision shifted to the indigo as the Delta scan took over his face shield, and he swept his eyes from left to right, giving Punch a good arc with which to work. He hit the deck as Punch returned his face shield to normal NVD mode.

“You figure out anything?”

<With only a Delta scan, I can’t tell for sure, but between it and the tracers, it looks like incoming fire is concentrated to the right side of the Axis of Advance.>

“Could they be lying low to the left?”

<Always a possibility, but overlaying the topo and known positions would support that this is their actual disposition.>

Chakra or not, Rev’s warrior was screaming to be released, and he considered what Punch had said. It was too pat that there would be a weakness in the FCs defense. But as he rushed forward again, he had to consider. Who were they facing? It wasn’t the MDS, but the Freedom Confederation, which had a small professional cadre and relied on levies to supply the manpower. And that wasn’t an infantry unit at the position but an FC space force—probably augmented by infantry, true, but commanded by a space force officer.

Rev’s warrior was winning out over caution.

“Lieutenant, I think there’s a weak spot to our left. I recommend that we switch to an envelopment.”

“What are you basing that on?”

Rev had to rush forward again, but after he hit the deck, he said, “I had my AI do an Alpha-Thirty-two.”

“That can’t be accurate. Garbage in, garbage out.”

“I went to a Delta scan, something we used to do in the Raiders when we had still air at night like this.”

“I’ve never heard of that.”

“It’s a Raider thing,” Rev said, hoping that would give it credence.

“Give me an overlay. Put it at . . . is seventy percent accurate?” Rev asked Punch.

<Within the margin of error. But it’s a big margin.>

“I’m sending you the enemy situation overlay,” he told the lieutenant.

Five seconds later, ten seconds, and she hadn’t said anything. Rev had already rushed up again, and as he threw himself on his belly, he said, “An envelopment, ma’am.”

If there was one thing infantry tried to steer away from, it was a frontal assault, and with the landing inside the installation foiled, that was essentially what they were doing. The only saving grace was that there were three axes of advance, but most infantry would rather do any other kind of maneuver. A single envelopment wasn’t the most sophisticated form of maneuver, but it was better than a frontal assault from the infantry Marine’s point of view.

“Damn it! I’m too far away. OK, do it, and you take Third Squad. We’ll lay down a base of fire, and I’ll try and get some Weapons targets. They’re pretty heavily engaged right now supporting First Platoon.”

Rev’s warrior almost shouted with excitement. This was what made his blood pound.

Rev knew the lieutenant would rather be in his place, but this time, the vagaries of war favored him. She took less than thirty seconds to change the plan, and a moment later, Rev and Third Squad were shifting to the left, taking advantage of a small finger to stay in defilade to the target.

The tracers didn’t follow them but dueled with the other two squads who were pouring fire into the enemy. Rev could pick out the 20 mm cannons, singing to each other, one picking up a burst as another stopped, then another picking up, always creating a continual stream between the five of them.

“The most beautiful music on the battlefield,” Rev said to himself as the new assault element pushed to get into position.

On his display, he could see that Hochenspatter, del Mar, and Benfield, without Sergeant Marks around to lead her team, were drifting too far to the left, and he opened the squad net, ready to reel them back in, but Orpheus was on it. He shifted Sergeant Tsao’s team to take the point, bringing Marks’s team back.

Let Orpho do his job, Reverent. Don’t get into the weeds.

His job was to lead the envelopment, not control individual troops.

“Give me a DA,” he told Punch.

His battle buddy immediately laid a Direction of Attack up Rev’s display. Where before, the platoon was using an Axis of Advance, which left a large area for maneuver as the situation dictated, now, with the envelopment, a specific Direction of Attack was more appropriate.

“And an FSCL?”

The proposed Fire Support Coordination Line appeared. Rev took a moment to consider it. Past the FSCL, the supporting fires needed to be coordinated, and given the rest of the platoon’s position, this one would work.

Which wasn’t surprising. Punch had tens of thousands of battles throughout history in his crystal data banks to use to indicate what should work here.

“Send it to the lieutenant and the other two squad leaders.”

“Orpho, here’s our DA,” he passed on the P2P while he sent the control measures. “We need to go straight to individual rushes and close the distance.”

There was a pause, probably while Orpheus studied the display, then he said, “Got it.”

“I’ll be giving supporting fires, but it’s on you to lead this.”

“Roger that. You can count on me.”

“I know I can.” And that wasn’t BS. Rev had every confidence in the infantry staff sergeant.

“Punch, do we have confirmation that the installation is being jammed?”

<No confirmation, but the outbound fires do not seem to be accurately targeted.>

With the big anti-orbital cannons being still in operation, the ships that could blanket the planet with jamming couldn’t get in, so it was up to Weapons Platoon to use their AS-56 missiles to keep up a steady curtain of jamming. Then it became a game of frequency hopping and other measures as the opposing forces attempted to find windows through which they could break through. If they succeeded, then the weapons that were now being fired blind would become much more effective with Third Squad breaking out into the open.

“Just keep them off our backs,” Rev muttered.

The squad reached the end of their tiny bit of defilade, and Orpho immediately turned them and started the final assault.

To the south, the sounds of an all-out fight swept over them. Rev hoped the other two platoons were doing OK, but he had to focus on the fight right in front of them.

The first dash was an attempt to close as much distance as possible, but the quick chatter of a crew-served automatic weapon sent Marines diving for cover. Benfield shouted that he was hit. His AVATAR was a steady green, though, so he was still effective.

“Individual rushes, now!” Orpheus passed, and Marines started to cover the remaining hundred-ten meters to their target.

The machine gun opened again, and this time, PFC Tanya Cuevos’s icon switched to the blue of WIA. Rev spotted a small bunker ahead, stood, and let loose a string of 20 mm cannon fire into the opening. He wasn’t sure that was from where they’d taken fire, and he didn’t know if he’d hit anyone, but it seemed to shut the weapon up.

His blood was pounding as he closed the distance, and he was probably taking a few more steps than per SOP with each rush, but there was no stopping his warrior self now. He sprayed the target with 20 mm fire, then switched to his braided meson beamer and swept that.

Fire from First and Second Squads continued to pour into the installation. Rev could now see the low, featureless shape that was their objective, and the other two squads were peppering it. Ineffectually. The squat building was heavily armored, and the Marines didn’t have any long-distance weapons that could break through into the power cells.

Rev would rather have the other Marines clearing the area around the target, but hopefully, their fire was keeping the defenders occupied.

From farther down the line, another machine gun opened up, and Rev hit the dirt. Small red lights flashed to his right, and almost immediately, another burst of fire hit up the ground under the light, just missing Tsao.

“IBHUs, clear the sky with your beamers!” he ordered before he’d even fully conceptualized what was happening.

He switched to a broader band and started to sweep Pashu in broad brushstrokes. Tsao and del Mar joined him. Six, seven, maybe eight flashes were evidence that his instincts were right as enemy drones were dropped.

Rev paused, looking for any more signs. He had to give the FCs credit, though. Being jammed, their targeting systems were severely compromised, but drones can be switched to AI mode. Have them fly to the assaulting Marines, then hover over them with their peacetime red telltale lights on, and they become spotters to the gun teams.

“Fox scan,” he told Punch.

<No emanations.>

Which didn’t absolutely mean there were no more drones, but it was a good indication.

“They were using drones as spotters, but I think we got them. The crew serves are still around, though,” he told Orpheus.

“Drones? No shit?”

“Drones. Now let’s get this done.”

The Marines, now just thirty meters from the edge of the installation, rose up en masse to charge.

“Shift fires now,” Rev passed on the platoon net. And not relying on comms, he pulled out a red flare from his thigh holster and popped it. Dawn was barely making itself noticed on the horizon, but the bright pyrotechnic would be impossible to miss as two squads would be shifting their fire to the south so they wouldn’t cut down their fellow Marines.

An FC soldier jumped up and started to run, making it two or three steps until he was cut down by a fusillade of Marine fire. Another stood, an automatic weapon at her hip like some sort of holovid star. She never even fired before her body was riddled.

The Marines screamed their war cries over their external speakers as they poured into the installation. Two FC soldiers stood, arms in the air. One was hit in the shoulder, and he spun around to land face-first on the ground, but the other stood trembling, screaming that he was surrendering.

Tsao’s team surrounded him, and in a moment, he was ziptied while his companion was checked.

The other soldier was alive but wounded. PFC Saeueng still ziptied him. Many soldiers over the course of history had been killed by supposedly pacified enemies. Neither was wearing a helmet, which, if this was the norm, might be a good indication on how Third Squad managed to breach the installation so easily.

They didn’t have night vision capability, as hard as that was to believe. The FC didn’t augment their soldiers, so none had even the built-in low-light capability that Rev enjoyed. Without mechanical NVDs, they’d be almost blind, and they’d taken off their helmets in an attempt to see better.

Poor bastards.

“We’re inside the installation now. Not much resistance,” he passed to the lieutenant.

“I’m sending First Squad up now.”

“Roger that.”

A small explosion, probably from a grenade, detonated behind Rev, peppering him with shrapnel. He spun around and fired at a shape ducking behind the corner of the power station. Too late, he knew. Maybe it would keep the soldier’s head down, though.

And it was also proof that while they had a couple of POWs, the fight wasn’t over by a long shot.

He turned back to where Saeueng was standing over the now prone soldier. “I think he’s dead,” she said.

The top of the soldier’s head was gone, taken out by the grenade thrown by his own side. No way for resurrection with that much damage.

“Orpho, set up security and start on the power station with one team.”

“We’ve still got hostiles all over here.”

“The mission takes precedence. First Squad is on its way. We’ll let them start clearing the area.”

“Demo team up,” Orpheus passed on the squad net. “Initiate the demo.”

Each of his three fire teams had a designated demo specialist. None were engineers, but they’d had advanced training. Strap, as the senior of the three, took over. Rev tried to let them do their job as he stood security, Pashu ready.

Fifty meters to the south, a huge explosion rocked the ground, and one of the big anti-orbital guns seemed to slip, the projector muzzle dropping a meter. That was one of First Platoon’s objectives. They were evidently in the wire, too, and Rev was tempted to ask Gunny Poole for an update, his curiosity was so strong, but that was none of his affair. His objective was right in front of him.

And their objective wasn’t an easy nut to crack. The entire power station housing was heavily fortified with dual-layer armor. The outer layer was made of tynomail, a highly reflective and frequency-canceling armor that could turn back almost any land-based energy weapon, and most space-based as well. The inner layer was reactive interlaced armor, so it could take a real kinetic pounding and stay intact. That was why it looked untouched despite being hit numerous times by Weapons Platoon.

It would be impervious to any normal engineer explosions, but there was an alternative.

The three target points had been selected by engineering AIs, and now, Strap, Saeueng, and Hochenspatter moved to their designated spot. Each had been carrying a simple MS-883, the one-kilogram big brother to the MG-3 Phoenix that Rev had used on Preacher Rolls to burn and kill a Centaur paladin.

The double-eight-three could burn at 27,000 degrees C in the right atmosphere, over five times hotter than the surface of Sol. The power station housing could not stand up to that.

Rev couldn’t resist looking back as the three Marines emplaced their grenades at their designated spots. Even more carefully, they armed them. While a little distance would have given them enough protection while in their PALs, being too close would mess up their days.

“Fire in the hole, twenty seconds,” Strap passed, then as Rev listened in, he told the other two, “On three. One . . . two . . . three!”

Immediately, all three bolted back ten meters.

The initial detonation was less than impressive, a mere flash, then a bit of smoke. He’d never seen one of these detonate in real life, and Rev wondered if there was a problem. But about ten seconds later, a bright core, too bright for his face shield to dampen, blossomed into life.

Rev had to look away. He was about twenty meters from Hochenspatter’s grenade, and the external temperature reading jumped up twenty degrees. No problem for him, but . . .

“Hey, get the prisoner farther away,” he yelled at Tsao. The man was another ten meters beyond Rev, but he didn’t have a helmet, and there was no use taking chances.

The double-eight-threes burned for forty-five seconds, all three going out within a second or so of each other. Rev turned back. It would have been great if they had knocked out the power, but the lights were still on. They hadn’t been designed for that, though. They were only to breach the armor.

Strap carefully stepped up to his position.

“What do you have, Strap?” Rev asked, too eager to wait.

“All the way through,” the satisfied sergeant said.

“Bingo! Well, let’s finish it,” Rev told him.

The second stage was a little more mundane. The three had also been carrying twenty-kilo charges with adjustable fuzes. Each of the three would be set differently from a low-speed detonation to a high. The engineer warrant officer who’d given them their brief had assured them that at the points selected, they would be more than powerful enough to knock out the station. And if, by some chance they weren’t, then the three charges that either First or Second Squad were carrying would finish the job.

“Make sure it works,” Orpheus passed. “And hurry up. First Squad’s almost here.”

Rev had to chuckle. What mattered was the platoon’s mission, but he understood Orpheus wanting to get it done with his squad. Marines were a competitive lot.

The three charges were set, and once again, Strap yelled out, “Fire in the hole, fire in the hole. Thirty seconds.”

This time, they retreated and moved to the side, away from possible blowback from the blast. Rev retreated another ten meters.

Staff Sergeant Diaz and First Squad reached them just before the detonation and had to be waved back. The charges went off with a blast that made every Marine heart feel warm and fuzzy, and the lights immediately went out.

Mission accomplished.

* * *

A few minutes later, Lieutenant Nilson surveyed the scene. It was hard to tell how much damage had been done inside the station, but the power was definitely out.

Coupled with First Platoon knocking out the anti-orbitals and Second Platoon still fighting over the more dispersed anti-aircraft guns, the fight for the installation was essentially over except for the shouting. But the FC troops evidently hadn’t got the memo.

Several rounds hit the side of the station, and whether friendly or FC, they were a reminder that the battle was still ongoing, and that seemed to shake the lieutenant into action.

“Stay here with Third and secure the area. Make sure the prisoners are safe.”

Two more soldiers and a space force cannoneer had surrendered, making a total of four POWs.

“I’m taking First and Second to clear the area and link up with First Platoon.”

“Aye-aye, ma’am.”

Rev would rather be doing the clearing, but he knew the lieutenant wasn’t going to give him that. He had to be satisfied with what he and Third Squad had managed. And as he thought about it, he had to admit that they’d done a fine job, a real fine job. And that wasn’t just ego talking.

But he still had work to do.

“Doc, what’s the story with Cuevos?”

She still showed as WIA on his display, but she’d taken full part in the assault.

“She’s got a broken arm where her PAL cracked, but otherwise fine. Get her up to one of the sickbays, and she can be at 100% in a week.”

“OK, get with Gunny Niemeyer to arrange for a CASEVAC once the situation allows.”

“Roger that.”

Rev told Orpheus to set up a close-in defense. He didn’t think the FC could or would mount a counter-attack at their position. The horses were already out of the barn. But assuming things have cost too many soldiers their lives.

Next, even though he knew he shouldn’t, he opened his P2P.

“You still kicking?” he asked.

“Kicking ass, if that’s what you mean,” Tomiko said. “You?”

“Mission accomplished. One KIA, one WIA. I’m babysitting prisoners now. Things go OK on your side?”

“It got a little hairy. Still is. Look, I gotta go. Talk to you later, but glad you’re in one piece.”

He really shouldn’t have contacted her. She was evidently still engaged, and she didn’t need to be chitchatting with him. But he felt a lot better knowing she’d made it.

“It’s going to be a beautiful day,” Orpheus said as he stepped up beside Rev. Over the horizon, the planet’s sun was about to make an appearance like it had for millions of years.

As they watched, one, two, then a dozen vapor trails appeared, moving from west to east. The main assault force had arrived, and with this station taken down, they’d hopefully land unopposed.

“Yeah, Orpho, it’s going to be a beautiful day.”

2

Rev took a moment to look at the POWs. Thirteen dispirited Freedom Confederation soldiers, one MDS soldier, and six FC Space Force cannoneers were sitting on the ground, backs leaning against the base of one of the cannons.

Sucks to be you.

Of course, it was better for them than for the nine KIA and fifteen WIA, all FC soldiers who’d been taken away by Buzzard a half-hour before. Marginally better, that was. Rev couldn’t imagine the shame of being taken prisoner, and they had to deal with that.

He knew he was being irrational. Once the battle for the installation was lost, what good would fighting to the last man serve? The war for these men and women was over. They’d eventually be released back to their forces, possibly as part of a prisoner swap, and most likely under parole. As such, they wouldn’t be able to serve at least for the duration of this conflict and possibly forever, depending on the terms of the parole. But they’d be alive, and they’d get back to their families and live out their lives.

But Rev’s warrior self couldn’t fathom himself actually surrendering, even if there was almost no chance of survival. “Almost” didn’t mean zero chance.

He hoped he’d never be in that position. Rev had suffered military defeats before by both the Centaurs and the MDS. His units had retreated, which was shameful enough, but he’d never been close to being captured.

By the Mother, I hope I never will.

“Rev? You gonna check my positions?” Staff Sergeant Leona “Lion” Diaz, the First Squad leader, asked.

“What? Oh, yeah. Let’s take a look.”

He gave one last glance at the prisoners, then followed Leona to the squad’s position in the defense.

Captain Macek didn’t know how long they were going to remain at the emplacement, but without an immediate follow-on mission, he ordered that the company’s hasty defense be improved into something more robust. Rev’s job, as the platoon sergeant, was to supervise the placement and construction of the fighting positions as well as to ensure that not only were the squads’ positions mutually supporting with each other, but that Third Platoon was tied in and mutually supporting both First and Second Platoon.

“This is what I’ve got right now,” Leona said. She kicked at the ground. “As you can see, we’d need power tools to cut into this shit. So, I’ve got Lehman scrounging up some overhead cover. But we’ve got good fields of fire.”

Leona Diaz was an IBHU Marine from Hydro, a Union charter world. She showed none of the arrogance that regular Corps sometimes showed to provincial Marines, which made things easier. Rev was only a month senior to her, but she deferred to his position as platoon sergeant.

“Zap me your sketch.”

A moment later, the defensive position diagram popped up on his face shield display. He used it as an overlay as he looked out over the terrain.

She was right about the fields of fire. With the proper supporting arms, she could hold off a company. Second Platoon had assaulted the installation right here, and it was a miracle that only two of them had been KIA.

He looked back at the prisoners again. From what Rev could see, they weren’t armed with the proper weapons against a ground assault and had ended up using the anti-air and anti-orbital guns against the Marines, but still, they should have been able to put up a better defense.

Maybe their hearts weren’t in it?

“Rev? Is this OK?”

Don’t worry about the prisoners, Reverent. Worry about your positions.

“Yeah. Let me check with Rancine, but it looks good. And this place has got to have some sort of heavy equipment that can dig into the rock. Keep scrounging overhead cover, but if we can dig, all the better.”

“All IBHU Marines, report to the CP for debriefing.”

“Shit,” Rev and Leona said in unison.

They’d been told to stand by for a debrief, but he hadn’t expected it while things were still in such flux. He needed to get the platoon in position and coordinate with the other two platoons, not sit around jaw-jacking in the CP the Marines had taken over.

He pulled up Orpheus on the P2P. “Orpho, I’ve got a meeting with the skipper. I need you to step up and get the platoon emplaced.”

“The lieutenant going to be there, too?”

“Yep. It’s all IBHUs.”

“All of you? What for?”

“Just a routine debrief, and yeah, this isn’t the time for it. But you know how they keep us on a tight leash.”

“Better you than me. I don’t like getting any attention from the brass. But you go have your afternoon tea. I’ve got you covered.”

“I know you do.”

He looked back at Leona and said, “Well, Lion, let’s get this over with. Maybe we’ll get lucky, and it’ll only take five minutes.”

“You really believe that?” she asked with a snort.

“No, but I can always hope.”

3

“OK, so Sergeant Tsao, you had the feed problem. Anyone else?” Captain Macek asked.

No one raised a hand.

“Better than I’d hoped for,” the captain said.

Which wasn’t a confidence-inspiring thing for a company commander to say. But Rev had also expected more 20 mm feed failures. With the adjustments made to the PAL-HXs to accommodate the IBHUs, there had been more than a few glitches. Six had 20 mm ammo belts that had jammed during the last rehearsal, so maybe they were getting to the bottom of the problem.

“That’s the last thing on the IBHU-specific list. There’s the coldpack issue, though. I’ve got none from First, two from Second, and one from Third. Is that right?”

“We had one, not zero. Lance Corporal Jennings had to change out,” Gunny Poole, the First Platoon sergeant said.

“Hmm. Lieutenant Bacci reported that no one had to change out.”

“We had the one.”

“OK, I’ll clear that up with him.”

“Any idea when they’re going to fix all of these issues?” Lieutenant Nilson asked. “One feed problem isn’t bad compared to where we’ve been, but there should be zero in a one-day op. And zero coldpack issues. That’s a no-brainer.”

The captain raised his upper arm and rubbed the stump across his buzz cut several times, then said, “Froeinginer still doesn’t know what’s causing it. They’re sending a contact team as soon as the situation becomes a little more secure.”

Which could be a day or six months. The main force had landed only four hours ago, and no word had made it to Rev’s level as to how it was going. Sitting at the FC installation, the company was out of the fighting for the moment.

“They’re the ones who fucked up the PALs” Randigold said. “Can’t Daryll come and fix them?”

There was a murmur of agreement among the gathered IBHU Marines.

“Daryll’s on the Rapier, where he’ll be for the duration. Besides, he’s Siemen, not Froeinginer. He’s not a PAL tech.”

“I still trust him more,” Randigold said.

Rev understood the sentiment. All of them, but especially the original Safe Harbor IBHUs who’d been with Daryll the longest, had a vaunted opinion of the tech. Daryll was now the senior IBHU field tech with four assistants, but Rev wouldn’t let anyone else work on Pashu.

But the captain was right. Daryll might know the IBHUs inside and out, but he wouldn’t be trained in the PAL-HXs.

The captain looked out over the Marines and said, “Well, with that out of the way, the CO wanted me to make sure I passed on her congratulations on a job well done, and I’m gonna put in my own. We did well. Everyone did well.”

“Any word on resurrections?” Rev asked.

The company may have done well in its first operation, but that wouldn’t matter much to the families of the eight Marines killed during the operation.

“Tahima, Jones, and Mei look good.”

“Wister and Marks?”

“Doc Yarenze says no.”

Rev knew that would be the case for Wister, but there was always hope. Sergeant Jen Marks was a surprise, though. Tomiko had told him that she was looking good for a resurrection.

“Any saved rounds?” the captain asked to no response. “In that case, let’s get back to your units.”

“Ooh-rah!” the gathered Marines said in unison.

“Lieutenant Nilson, can you gather the XO and the other platoon commanders? And Gunny Poole and Staff Sergeant Pelletier, can you stay?”

Rev had been about to leave, but he held up—not before he grabbed Lance Corporal del Mar by the shoulder.

“Hook up with the gunny to get your IBHU back up to the Rapier.”

Her eyes clouded over, and she asked, “How long is it going to take Daryll to get Belladonna fixed?”

She raised her IBHU so that Rev could see the damage. A large caliber round of some sort had hit the bell-projector, shredding the left side. The beamer was inoperable, but as her IBHU was on her right shoulder, it might have very well saved her life.

“Don’t know. He doesn’t have a full shop on the ship. But if anyone can fix her, it’s him. You know that.”

“I can still fire my Morays and the twenty. Why can’t I just keep her here and get her fixed later?”

Rev could empathize with her. He’d hate having to give up Pashu. But orders were orders.

“You’ve got to get her fixed, Marie. You know that. And it might not take long at all.”

“But what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

“Now, you go and Marine. You don’t need Belladonna for that. Get up with the gunny.”

Rev left her and joined the captain.

“Anything I missed?” he asked his two IBHU SNCOs, sounding a lot more unsure than he’d been just a few moments ago.

Captain Macek might have the two bars on his collar, but he could still be the same, somewhat uncertain officer to whom Rev had to give advice back in the Home Guard.

Rev didn’t feel comfortable being put in this position. As a company commander, the captain had the first sergeant and company gunny as advisors. Just because they weren’t IBHUs didn’t mean they should be bypassed.

Even this IBHU-only meeting felt wrong to Rev. Yes, most of it was regarding technical aspects of the IBHUs, and some of those were classified, but to his mind, it tended to create two classes of Marines. There were other ways to handle the classified aspects other than the first thing upon consolidating the FC gun position was calling a meeting for IBHU Marines only.

“I think you covered everything, sir,” the gunny said.

The captain nodded. He was working from a checklist, so he had to know he’d covered everything and he must have just been looking for confirmation.

The captain was maturing, and he was far more confident than he was as a lieutenant in the Home Guard, but from Rev’s perspective, he still needed to grow a pair.

“What about how we did? You heard what the CO said. But did we do OK?”

“Yes, sir. We got the job done. That’s the bottom line.

The captain didn’t look convinced, but Rev was spared having to bolster his commander when the door opened, and Lieutenant Nilson poked her head in. I’ve got the platoon commanders and the first sergeant. The XO will be here in a few minutes. Are you ready for us?”

“Yeah, come in.”

“Anything for me?” Rev asked his lieutenant as they passed each other.

“I think the positions are good. But if you could check them?”

“Got it, ma’am.”

The IBHU-only meeting only took fifteen minutes. With the company now consolidated on the position, Rev figured this meeting was going to go on for quite some time, and he was more than happy to leave that to the lieutenant while he was out with the platoon.

Too soon.

“Uh, Gunny Poole and Staff Sergeant Pelletier, can you two stay as well? I’d like to have your perspective.”

Just two more steps and I’d be gone.

Rev stopped and glanced over at the gunny, who mouthed, “Crap!”

But they both turned and joined the platoon commanders and first sergeant.

“Get yourselves comfortable, because I’ve got our orders from battalion, and we’ve got a lot to cover over the next couple of hours.

Rev tried to keep his eyes from glazing over as he took a seat and settled in for the long haul.

* * *

Just shy of three hours, the meeting ended, and Rev made his escape, his bladder screaming for attention.

“So, all of your secret meetings done with?”

With a sigh, Rev turned. Tomiko was standing there, hands on her hips. Yancey was next to her, carrying his M-103—which was the regular M-49 with the grenade launcher attached—in the crook of his elbow.

“Not my idea, Miko.”

“Yet there you were, all you IBHUs.”

“The main meeting was with the platoon commanders. Believe you me, I didn’t want to be in there.”

Tomiko gave a dismissive sniff. “Do we know what’s next?”

Rev really needed to get to the head, and he wanted to tell them that they were going to be briefed by their platoon commanders, but it wasn’t as if anything was classified. Besides, these were Tomiko and Yancey, two of his oldest and dearest friends.

“We spent three hours covering a lot of nothing. Process the POWs, set up a defense—”

“Which we’ve been doing all day,” Yancey said. “Tell us something we don’t know.”

“We’re setting up an aggressive patrol plan. Three patrols out around the clock.”

Tomiko frowned. “Any intel on FC or MDS movement in the area?”

“Not that’s been promulgated. Closest sign is a couple of hundred klicks.” He paused for a moment, then said, “If you ask me, the CO just wants us to keep active. Keep us sharp.”

Tomiko shrugged. “Good a reason as any, I guess. But we’ve got a shitload of prisoners. What, ninety-three?” she asked Yancey for confirmation.

“Ninety-three.”

“So, are they gonna be taken off our hands?”

“The skipper asked battalion about that. They’re sending an ITT operator, but the ITT section’s a little overwhelmed right now.”

“Overwhelmed, you say?” Tomiko asked. “That’s a good sign.”

Which could be true. If there were too many prisoners, that meant the fight was probably going OK.

“What else you got?”

“What else I’ve got is that my bladder is about to burst.”

Tomiko burst out laughing. “Look at him, Yance. My big strong beau is dancing around like a little boy afraid he’s gonna piss his pants.”

Yancey held up his hands at stomach level, wiggled his fingers, and moved forward like he was going to tickle Rev’s belly. Rev jumped back in alarm.

“Oh, let him go tinkle, Yance. I’ve got to get back to my squad anyway. Can’t let those bozos out of my sight before they do something stupid.” She looked at Rev, then, and with a shooing motion with her hand, said, “Go!”

Rev didn’t need a second invitation. He turned and dashed to the head, relief in sight.

Still, he couldn’t help but note what Tomiko had just said: beau.

He kind of liked it.

4

“Lieutenant, my job is here with the platoon,” Rev said.

“Well, I can’t very well send one of the squad leaders, now, can I? They’re all leading patrols.”

Which was true, but Rev was grasping at straws. “How about one of the sergeants? Like Strap. He can handle it.”

“Staff Sergeant, this is a high-value POW. I can’t just send him back with anyone. No, the skipper was pretty clear that he wanted a higher-ranking escort. And that’s you. I’ve made my decision.”

Rev stood there, trying to come up with something to change her mind, but that “I’ve made my decision” was military-speak for the matter is closed, and you’re doing it.

“Look, it won’t take long. You’ll be back in two hours. Three hours, top.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Rev said, defeated.

He didn’t care who this prisoner was. If he was so important, then let the task force S-2 come out and fetch him. They didn’t need a grunt to bring him back, particularly a platoon sergeant. Rev might not be high up the ladder in the big picture, but here, on the ground, he wanted to be with the platoon.

Things were quiet in the sector, but that didn’t mean they would stay quiet. And if the MDS decided to take back the installation—which had just been redesignated Forward Operating Base Doberman—then he needed to be here.

The fact that Intel didn’t put any MDS forces within 500 klicks was immaterial to his reasoning.

“Go on. The sooner you go, the sooner you’ll get back.”

“Aye-aye, ma’am.”

She was right in that, Rev thought as he crossed over to where First Platoon was hanging their hats. He should get going, but this would only take a minute.

“You seen Staff Sergeant Reiser?” he asked a PFC.

“I think she’s in the head,” the Marine said, pointing to the FC latrine, which hadn’t been damaged during the fight, thank goodness.

A Marine’s PAL took care of wastes for up to two weeks, if necessary, and there was always the slit trench that soldiers had used since the Roman times, but the chance to use a modern head, complete with sonics, was a luxury for Marines in the field.

Tomiko was coming out just as Rev reached the front door.

She gave him a wry smile and asked, “What, you think I need supervision to take a dump? I hate to tell you, but I’ve been potty trained for years now.”

Rev wasn’t there to banter. “I’m heading to Division.”

Her smile disappeared. “What? Permanently?”

“No. I’ve got to escort a prisoner. I’ll be back right after.”

Tomiko seemed relieved to hear that, and she asked, “Prisoner? Staff Captain Mballa?”

“You know who it is?” Rev asked.

“Yeah. We nabbed him when we took the control bunker.”

“You nabbed him? Then why the hell isn’t someone from Second Platoon playing babysitter?”

Tomiko shrugged, but she couldn’t resist a little dig. “Third is kinda the red-haired stepchild in the company.”

“That’s not fair. We fought, too.”

But there was a bit of truth to what she said. First and Second Platoons, with the more experienced commanders, did seem to be Captain Macek’s go-to units.

Not for long if I have anything to do with it.

Tomiko intertwined an arm in his, pulled him close, and said, “Just joking, Rev. You know that.”

“I know that. But Macek and I go back a long way. He knows what I can do.”

“And that’s why he and the CO put you with Nilson. So you can train her up. And you said she did well, so you’re doing your job.”

“Maybe you’re right. But that’s for another time. I’ve got to go pick up my prisoner.”

Tomiko pulled him in a little closer until their PALs clinked like mugs of beer—not that it sounded the same, but it had the same feeling. It was a habit she’d picked up, sort of her own version of the “Brothers in Steel” greeting Rev and the other IBHUs had. It was a little thing, but it made Rev feel good.

“Don’t let him escape, OK?”

“Ha-ha-ha,” he said in a monotone. “Very funny. And here I was planning to let him loose halfway to division. You know, the Buzzard banks, and one little push . . .”

Tomiko shook her head and released Rev’s arm. “Too much paperwork, Rev. You gotta think ahead.”

“Ooh, right. Don’t want to get caught up in that. I guess I’ll get him back there, all safe and sound.”

“Good plan. See you on the bounce back,” Tomiko said as she stepped around him.

Rev watched her walk away for a moment. It was a little difficult sometimes to picture that Marine in her PAL-H—the non-IBHU version of the PAL-HX—in the slinky yellow dress she’d worn back on Safe Harbor three weeks ago when they went out for dinner.

He shook his head. Mind on the mission, Rev.

He passed Gun Number 3. The guns seemed unimpressive, to be honest. He’d been expecting something larger, but Punch had assured him that they had the power to potentially put almost any Union Navy ship out of action.

Good thing we took them out, then.

He didn’t want to think what the guns might have done to the main landing.

Rev reached the bunker from where the guns were controlled and what was now acting as the company CP. The walls showed signs of the battle, and the bright and shiny patches applied to the damage stood in stark contrast to the original walls.

“I’m here to pick up a prisoner,” he told the lance corporal at the door, who waved him in.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the interior darkness. With the power knocked out—thanks to Third Platoon, he thought with satisfaction—the bunker was lit with stick-ups, but their soft white light was nothing when compared to the bright sunlight outside.

“Hey, Gunny Niermeyer, I’m here to escort a prisoner,” he said when he saw the company gunnery sergeant.

The gunny wasn’t an IBHU Marine, but she was battle-hardened with the gruff manner that would fit central casting for a Marine holovid. Rev didn’t know yet what to make of her, but he sure didn’t want to get on her bad side.

“Grab a place to sit your ass, Pelletier. We’ve got a Buzzard inbound, ETA about ten minutes. I’ll get you the staff captain after the pilot clears protocols.”

Clears protocols? What, you think some FC operative is going to hijack a Marine Buzzard to enact a rescue?

Rev looked around, then sat down on a bench near the door. It was not designed for a PAL and was a little narrow for him, so he unclipped his helmet from where it attached to his hip and locked the seat function so he could sit comfortably on it.

The seat function was such a little thing but so useful, and he wondered how he’d endured not having it for a good five years before it had been added to his old PAL-5.

Now to wait for the staff captain.

“Hey, what the hell is a staff captain, anyway?”

<It is an old rank going back to the European armies during the 16th and 17th Centuries.>

“I mean now, with the Freedom Confederacy,” he said.

Sometimes, as Punch seemed to evolve, he thought his battle buddy purposely screwed with him just for fun. Maybe as an intelligent being who was stuck inside Rev’s head and only interacted when called upon, he needed the little diversion.

<In European history, a staff captain was a rank below a full Army captain, but with the RC, it ranks at the same level as an FC captain, and a Union Marine captain, for that matter.>

“Then what’s the difference?”

<A captain in the FC Army commands troops. A staff captain is out of the direct command structure. They handle all of the coordination required to fight a company, freeing the commander to focus on the tactical decisions necessary to fight.>

Rev let that sink in before asking, “Would I be wrong in assuming that there would be a political aspect to the staff captain?”

<It isn’t official in the Freedom Confederacy Army’s FCA 1000.1 manual, but yes, a staff captain is in the political side of operations.>

“So, that’s why division wants him and not the XO. OK, it makes sense now.”

Rev still didn’t want to be the escort, but at least he understood the importance of the prisoner. He would be a wealth of information that would be very beneficial if he’d talk.

A familiar face walked into the CP, interrupting his thoughts.

“Hey, Nina!”

Sergeant Lipswitch turned around, and a smile crossed her face. “Hey, Staff Sergeant. Good to see you.” She stepped up so they could clink IBHUs.

“Sibs in Steel,” they said in unison.

“Good to see you, too. Everything OK?” Rev asked.

“Everything’s fine. I’m good.”

Rev stared at her face for a moment, trying to delve into those hazel eyes. The sergeant had taken the defeat on Rasper Mountain very hard. She’d been very close to Sergeant Sign of Respect, and his death had seemed to break something inside of her. No one whispered the term PTSD. If she was any other Marine, she’d be back at a hospital being treated or discharged from the Corps. But she was an IBHU Marine, and the command was not going to voluntarily take one of them out of commission. Heck, they’d even brought Lance Corporal Pierson back and into Second Heavy Infantry Company, although that wasn’t a fair comparison. Pierson just had no social graces and could seem dumb as a rock, but he was a hell of a fighter.

Stuck with Lipswitch, the battalion CO had decided to have Captain Macek bring Lipswitch into the company headquarters instead of out to one of the platoons. He didn’t want to risk her breaking down where she could put other Marines at risk.

She seemed fine at the moment, though. Maybe the CO had made the right decision.

“Good to hear, Nina. You keep plugging away.”

“Always, Staff Sergeant.” She hesitated, then said, “I gotta . . . the first sergeant . . .”

“You go do whatever the first sergeant’s got you doing. It was just good to see you.”

“Me, too,” she said before disappearing into a side corridor.

“Think she’ll be OK?” he asked Punch in table talk. This wasn’t something he wanted the watchers to overhear.

<Without proper treatment, her chances are worse. But keeping her with the company headquarters for now might be the best course of action.>

Rev loved the Marines, but sometimes, the Corps tended to eat its own. If Lipswitch needed treatment, then give it to her. He understood that she was one of the few IBHUs in existence, but she wasn’t doing much good running errands for the first sergeant.

He also understood that this might not be a Marine Corps decision. Politics and appearances often reached down into the Corps and made decisions of which the command didn’t approve.

“Staff Sergeant Pelletier!”

Rev looked up to see the gunny standing in front of him.

“What?”

“I asked you if you’re ready, but you were off in la-la land.”

“Oh, sorry. Yes, I’m ready.”

“OK, then. I’ve got here the transfer of custody,” she said, holding a small pad. “The second you accept the transfer right now, it’ll be recorded. As soon as you arrive at division, you get somebody, anybody, to accept custody. If you don’t, then you’re still on the hook for him. You understand?”

“Yes, Gunny. Get someone else to accept custody.”

The gunny handed Rev the tab, and he started to bring the scanner up to his eye when she reached out and grabbed his arm.

She turned and motioned to someone in the back of the main office. A Marine, helmet on so he couldn’t tell who it was, marched forward, one arm latched onto the back of an FC officer’s elbow.

The staff captain . . . wasn’t impressive, Rev decided after a moment’s consideration. His combat suit looked like it barely qualified for the term. It was far less bulky than the normal FC Wrangler combat suits, much less Rev’s PAL-HX. It was obvious that the suit was made for personal protection, not to prosecute offensive operations.

The head that emerged from the suit’s collar was not impressive as well. Thin and almost haggard-looking, the dark, almost black skin seemed to lack expression. Only his eyes seemed to have life, and they stared at Rev with a soul-piercing gaze.

The gunny reached over and opened a small recess on the pad Rev was holding before she told the prisoner, “Hand.”

The suit’s gauntlets were attached to the helmet at the officer’s waist, and he held up his right hand.

Rev didn’t know what to do. He didn’t think they were supposed to shake hands.

“Put his forefinger into that slot,” the gunny said.

Shit. Of course.

Rev held the pad up, then took the prisoner’s wrist and guided the forefinger into the slot. A moment later, the display flashed.

Nonce Allan Mballa, DG-443894533, Staff Captain, Freedom Confederation Armed Forces, Holsen Army.

“Do you accept custody for said prisoner?” a voice coming out of the pad said. “Answer with your name, then a yes or no.”

“Uh . . . Staff Sergeant Reverent Pelletier. SH-969673549. Perseus Union Marine Corps. Oh, and yes.”

“Please scan.”

Rev leaned into the small lens just below a flashing red at the top of the pad to scan his retina. The light turned to a steady green.

“OK, he’s all yours. Make sure you get a transfer before you turn him over to anyone.”

Rev nodded, but when he just stood there, the gunny asked, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Gunny.”

“You don’t? Didn’t you get your orders?”

“No, Gunny. I didn’t get anything.”

“Seong!” the gunny yelled. “Didn’t you give the staff sergeant his orders?”

The company clerk looked up from his desk and said, “Not yet. I’ll do it now.”

“Since he’s standing here like a bump on a log with the staff captain, don’t you think it should have already been done?”

Rev put on his helmet, and a moment later, the orders arrived. He pulled them up to his display and gave them a quick read. There really wasn’t much detail there. Just that he was to take custody, board flight MCF-1005, and turn the prisoner over to one of three Marines in the G-2. After that, he was supposed to report to the G4 for transport back to his unit.

“The Buzzard’s on the landing pad now. Better get going,” the gunny said.

The prisoner hadn’t said a word the entire time. He just stood there, staring at Rev.

“Kit up,” Rev told him.

The staff captain shrugged, then put on his helmet and gauntlets. He still hadn’t said a word.

Rev motioned him out the door. The HH-40 Buzzard tilt-rotor chopper was sitting on the landing pad, the crew chief standing outside the back ramp. As soon as he saw the two, he started motioning with his arm for them to approach.

Rev took a moment to grab the prisoner’s arm and turn him to face him.

“I’m Staff Sergeant Pelletier. I’ll be escorting you to division. Let’s make this easy, OK? You don’t cause me any problems, and I won’t cause you any. Sound like a deal?”

With his helmet on and face shield polarized, Rev couldn’t see the man’s face, and the staff captain didn’t respond.

Asshole.

“Since you didn’t say no, I’ll take it that you agree.”

Rev turned him back and gave him a little push toward where the crew chief was still motioning them on.

“Come on. We’re running behind schedule,” the crew chief said when they got within hearing range.

He led them up the ramp and pointed at the web seats lining the starboard bulkhead. After the two sat and strapped in, the crew chief leaned in to Rev and asked, “Shouldn’t he be restrained? You know, ziptied?”

Rev gave the prisoner a glance. Aside from the fact that they’d be however high in the air, if the man tried something, Rev was pretty sure he could handle it.

Rev raised Pashu and said, “I’ve got it under control.”

The crew chief frowned, but after staring at Rev’s IBHU for a moment, he just stepped back and took his seat on the port side. A moment later, the Buzzard jumped into the air, banked into a large turn, and started climbing. The ramp closed partway, and Rev had a brief look at the installation from the air.

“Should have had that view during the assault,” he muttered.

“Connect me with the crew chief,” Rev told Punch.

The comms light flashed, and Rev said, “How long is the flight?”

The crew chief jerked his head up and looked at Rev. “About sixty-five minutes.”

“Any enemy activity?”

“Nothing of note. There’s Mad Dog activity to the north of our flight path, but we’re routing well south of them. You just relax, and we’ll get you and your package safe and sound to division.”

Rev leaned back in his seat. He didn’t know what the crew chief meant by “activity.” Were the MDS troops just moving, or was there contact between the Marines and them? Once they’d taken out the FC guns, the company had been somewhat out of the loop on what was going on, at least in the details. Before Rev left division, he was going to track someone down who could give him an update on the battle.

At some time, the company was going to be thrust back into the fight, and this time, he doubted it would be against the FC. It would be the MDS. They were the dominant force opposing the Marines, and to win the battle, the Marines would have to defeat them.

There were no portholes in the Buzzard, but with the ramp partially lowered, Rev could see the ground far below. They were high, at least 8000 meters, so he couldn’t make out much detail, but he knew the area. Towns were few and far between in this region. Below them was a mostly forested wilderness, two hundred years of terraforming left fallow.

Rev didn’t know why anyone would spend the money and time to terraform a planet like this but then leave much of it unused. There were cheaper ways of making a planet livable for humans than creating a faux Earth.

He supposed it would be beautiful, though. His favorite place at home was the Tall Trees Provincial Park with its six hundred-year-old redwoods, after all. But chances were that Rev would never wander Armadillo’s forest. Once this mission was accomplished, it would be back to Safe Harbor to await their next one.

Rev was tempted to ask Punch for some music, but somehow, that didn’t seem right. It wasn’t as if his prisoner could make a break for it or something, but Rev was not just taking a joyride. He was on duty. So, no music it was.

But the gentle vibration of the chopper almost put Rev to sleep. He had to shake himself alert and lean forward. He didn’t want to waste an XL-12 to keep alert.

Maybe something with a strong beat would help.

“Punch, can you give me—”

The blast cut Rev off as the chopper shook, and a huge gash appeared along the deck on the port side of the aircraft, running from just forward of Rev and the prisoner to about ten meters back, engulfing the crew chief and cutting his body in half. The Marine looked up at Rev, mouth open in shock as the life fled from his eyes.

The Buzzard immediately banked hard and dove.

“Keep strapped in,” a voice, tight with strain, came over the net.

“The crew chief, he’s—”

“I know, I know. Just keep strapped. We’re still flyable, and I’m taking us down to treetop level to see if we can’t get clear.”

Rev wanted to ask what had hit them, but he knew the pilot had to concentrate.

“Did you hear that?” he asked the prisoner, who’d lost his casual air and had his seat harness in a death grip.

The prisoner shook his head.

As the Buzzard dove for the ground, the wind whipping in almost drowned out Rev, but he shouted, “We’re going to try and evade whoever targeted us by getting to treetop level. Keep your harness on!”

The prisoner nodded.

A strip of fuselage slowly tore back as the chopper struggled to keep in the air. The top half of the crew chief was still in the harness, his arms flapping in the wind like some demented marionette. There was no sign of his legs and pelvis, just a red splatter on the remaining bulkhead.

Rev’s warrior was screaming for release, but Rev needed a clear head, and he forced him back down. The Buzzard was rattling and yawing, and the buffeting was threatening to shake the plane apart.

“By the Mother, please get us down,” Rev said as he took deep breaths to calm himself.

He wondered if after so many battles, this was finally it. He wasn’t going to go down without a fight if he could help it, but from the looks of things, it was going to be up to the pilot and the AI co-pilot to get them out of this alive.

The Buzzard started to level out and slow down. Through the giant gash in the fuselage, he could make out individual trees. He’d been so focused on the damage right across the fuselage from him that he’d forgotten the ramp. He turned to look. A vast forest stretched out behind the smoking plane, just twenty or thirty meters below.

Rev wondered if the pilot was going to try and land the Buzzard. Where, he didn’t know. The forest looked dense. But if the aircraft was still flyable, their best bet was probably to keep it in the air and find friendly forces.

The planet’s magnetic field had been downloaded into Punch, so Rev knew exactly where they were. What he didn’t know was what was down there and where were the nearest friendly forces. But the mere fact that they’d been hit was a pretty good indication that the bad guys might be closer than the good guys.

The battering lessened as the Buzzard slowed down. The damage was extensive, but now Rev could see that most of the structural framework seemed to be intact.

Shit, maybe we’re going to get out of this after all.

Beside him, the prisoner started to unbuckle his harness.

“Stay buckled. We’re not out of the woods yet,” Rev told him.

But with a final push, the staff captain was free, and he jumped up out of Rev’s reach.

“What are you doing?” Rev yelled as he struggled with his own harness release with his organic hand.

The officer took a last look at Rev, then started for the rear of the plane, the yawing making him stumble.

Rev’s harness finally fell free, and he was immediately up and lurching to reach the prisoner.

What does he think he’s going to do? Jump?

It was crazy. They were still flying at speed and were at least thirty meters above the treetops. Jumping would be suicide.

But it sure looked like that was what the staff captain was going to attempt, and Rev just wasn’t going to let that happen. Enemy or not, the man was in Rev’s custody, and he had to save the man from his own idiocy.

The officer regained his feet and struggled to reach the back ramp. There was no doubt about it. He planned on jumping.

As soon as he reached the edge of the ramp, he hesitated, one hand on the bulkhead. That gave Rev all the time he needed. With a lunge, he reached the officer and tackled the man, bringing him to the ramp’s surface, half a meter from the edge. The trees whipped by under them.

The officer struggled to break free, but Rev was much stronger than him.

“You’re not going anywhere!” he yelled.

Rev pulled up the pilot. “I know you’ve got your hands full, but I’ve got a problem here.”

Rev saw the streak of fire bearing down on the aircraft. It hit forward, cutting off whatever the pilot had to say. The plane buckled, the nose being shoved down as the explosion blasted through the cargo bay, blowing Rev and his prisoner out the back.

Rev felt himself cartwheel, but he held onto the officer like a life ring in a hurricane. He was aware of the trees below him, but his focus was on his prisoner as they fell. This was going to be over quickly, he knew, and with him now beneath the staff captain, he’d take the brunt of any blow, be it a tree or the ground.

He knew it wouldn’t matter, but Rev was a fighter, and he was never going to give up. He reacted instinctively, and with a Urique Roll that would have made Corporal Cathcart, his old null-g instructor proud, he twisted and doubled up, then extended, using the staff captain’s body as a pivot point. It wasn’t pretty, and it wasn’t a hundred percent effective, but it was the officer’s body that hit the first branch.

Rev didn’t have time to exult. An instant later, they crashed into the ground, his prisoner beneath him, and all went dark.

5

Rev slowly came to, dazed and confused.

“Punch?” he asked.

<I’m here.>

“What . . . what happened?”

<What happened is that you were blown out the rear of the Buzzard with the prisoner.>

It took a moment for that to sink in.

“Am I OK?”

<You tell me. Your bios are steady, so you don’t seem in immediate distress. How do you feel? I can’t tell if you are concussed.>

Rev sat up. He wanted to hurl, and without the antiemetics, he thought he would have. But for falling out of a chopper, he felt surprisingly good.

“Where’s the Buzzard?” he asked.

<With you unconscious, I had no way of knowing. Do you see anything?>

Rev looked around. The immediate area was deadly quiet. The surrounding trees didn’t look damaged, but there were fresh leaves over the ground as if they’d been torn by his fall. Less than a meter away, the FC officer was lying still on the ground, one leg of his combat suit bent horribly under him, the armor cracked and exposing tattered fabric, flesh, and white bone. At waist level, his body was twisted in a way that a body wasn’t supposed to twist. Above the officer, as he looked between the trees, a column of smoke was spreading out through the still air, rising several hundred meters.

“Is that . . .?”

<Probably yes. The pilot may still be alive, though.>

“Shit. Well, let me report this in before I go see.”

<That is going to be problematic.>

“Why?”

He keyed in the mic and said, “Whiskey-tango-golf-three, this is Charlie-three-victor. I’ve got a situation here.”

There was no answer.

<Your PAL has suffered some significant damage from the impact. The antenna has been disconnected, and the transceiver might be damaged as well.>

Rev reached up to touch where the antenna was embedded in his helmet. He couldn’t feel anything out of the ordinary.

“Piece of shit combat suit! I should have stayed in the Five,” he said aloud.

<There’s a good chance you’d be dead if you were still in the PAL-5.>

“What do you mean?”

<The PAL-5 was not equipped with an impact suppression system.”

Rev wasn’t sure what his battle buddy was saying. “An impact what?”

<Your PAL-MX has an impact suppression system, and it activated upon impact. If it hadn’t, there is a high probability that you’d be dead.>

Rev gulped. Maybe the new PAL was a good piece of gear, cooling problems and all. He sniffed, then almost sneezed as the acrid air circulating inside his suit bit at his sinuses.

“Is that what I smell?”

<I’m not party to your olfactory system; it’s probably the DD-45 propellant. It isn’t harmful with short-term exposure. But I would suggest retracting your face shield instead of waiting for your filters to clean it.>

Rev immediately hit the release. His face shield didn’t retract all the way, and he had to force it back with his right hand. He didn’t know what constituted “short term exposure,” and he wasn’t going to take the chance.

The smell of burning fuel and plastics from the Buzzard wasn’t heavy, but it was there. Hopefully, the pilot was still alive, and hopefully, he had comms. It was possible that a pick-up was already on its way.

There was still the matter of his prisoner. The guy looked like he was dead, a broken doll, but Rev had to confirm it. According to the Torinth Accords, if the body couldn’t be collected, its location had to be marked for recovery by its own forces.

Rev started to stand, and a wave of dizziness almost overcame him. He had to stop and wait for a solid thirty seconds before he could finish standing.

“You can’t tell if I have a concussion or not?” he asked Punch.

<Your bios indicate that you might have one, but that’s something that needs a full medical scan.>

Well, there’s not much I can do right now about it.

He stepped over to the FC officer. The man’s leg was mangled, and while the body was on its back, the pelvis had rotated so that his ass was facing up. It made Rev queasy to see it.

Come on, Reverent. You’ve seen blasted bodies before. What’s it about this one? Man up.

The rest of the combat suit was dented and battered, which made Rev thankful for the same PAL-HX that he’d sworn at only moments before. Judging from the shape of the RC’s suit and the gouge in the forest loam, they’d hit pretty hard. Rev was lucky to not only be alive but mobile.

He straddled the body, wondering if he could twist the pelvis back, so it was aligned when he glanced higher at the cracked face shield . . . and froze. The man’s eyes were open, white showing bright in a wash of bright red blood.

No, he can’t be . . .

Rev leaned closer, and the man blinked, sending Rev jumping back and reaching for his sidearm, which he just then realized he didn’t have. He raised Pashu, the 20 mm cannon aimed at the officer’s head.

The man didn’t move otherwise, and Rev felt foolish. Staff Captain Mballa wasn’t armed, and he was in pretty bad shape. If he wasn’t dead, chances were that he would be soon.

Rev lowered Pashu and stepped up alongside the officer, then knelt and studied the man’s helmet seal for a moment. It was a basic combat suit with far lower tech than even a recruit training suit. Rev flipped the latch and tried to twist the helmet free, but the entire head twisted, and the officer gasped, his eyes growing large and round.

“Sorry, sir,” Rev automatically said.

He looked closer at the helmet ring. It was bent pretty badly.

“There’s more than one way to do this,” he muttered.

The face shield was made of standard cerroplast, which was pretty strong. But it was broken and cracked. Rev started to slip his finger into one of the holes, and the man’s eyes widened again.

“Just take it easy.”

Rev inserted two fingers again, and with his augmented strength, pulled back, breaking a chunk of the face shield along one of the cracks. Four more times and he’d cleared most of it.

Staff Captain Mballa didn’t say a word, but his eyes were locked on Rev’s. Bloody bubbles rose and collapsed from the officer’s mouth as he breathed. Rev expected the breaths would stop at any second.

“Are you OK?” Rev asked, then mentally kicked himself.

His dick is in the dirt while his face is pointing up, and you ask if he’s OK?

To his surprise, the officer opened his mouth and said, in a voice almost too low to hear, “I’ve had better days.”

Rev almost laughed, but he bit it back. He was shocked that the battered staff captain was even cognizant enough to answer, and he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. And he was even more uncertain as to what he should do next.

One thing was certain, though. Rev was at risk. All the FC officer had to do was to broadcast a call for help, and Rev would be up shit creek. He wasn’t worried when he thought that man was dead, but if he could talk, he could transmit.

Pashu twitched as if self-guided, and the officer saw it.

“You going to kill me now?” he asked before spasms of coughing took over, flecks of blood spattering Rev.

He felt his face redden. The Torinth Accords were pretty clear on the execution of prisoners, but the fact was that Rev had just considered it.

“No, no. Nothing like that.”

He’ll probably be dead soon enough.

Rev could see that the staff captain didn’t believe him. “We don’t kill prisoners in the Union Marines,” he said a little defensively.

No matter what the staff captain believed, Rev had to know if FC soldiers were on their way, but he didn’t want to just come out and ask.

“Uh . . . is your combat suit stabilizing you?”

“My Crippon? It’s dead. No power.”

Does that mean . . . ?

“Can you, uh, you know, call for medical aid?”

“You mean, can I call up a platoon to come and get me . . . and you, too?”

Rev shrugged.

“No, it’s dead. No comms.”

Is he telling the truth?

He looked over the Crippon combat suit. It was pretty mangled. If Rev’s comms, with the much more robust PAL-HX, were out, then it made sense that the staff captain’s comms were out, too. But that wasn’t a surety. Comms were run by crystal chips. They could take a pretty severe beating, and the man’s comms might still work.

“Punch, can you tell if he’s transmitting?”

<Your PAL’s scanner suite is on the same core branch as the comms. None of them are working.>

Rev started to close the face shield. It was balking, but he got it closed far enough so that he could see the display pane. He tried to activate the suite control, but nothing came up. His face shield might as well just be a window. Nothing was being displayed on it.

Well, if he’s called for help, I’d better make myself scarce to be sure. And I’ve got to check the Buzzard.

“Look, sir. I’m going to follow the Torinth Accords. But I’ve got the downed Buzzard over there, and I’ve got to check on the pilot.”

“Abandoning me here is the same as shooting me in the head.”

Which was probably true. Rev could just sit and wait, and the man would die, freeing him of any obligation. But if he waited and the FC soldiers came, it would be a fight.

“What’s my status?”

<I can’t tell. Both the feedback circuits for your PAL-HX and IBHU are down.>

Rev suddenly felt naked. He pulled up Pashu. The small green indicator showed that he had a 20mm round in the chamber, ready to fire. His beam cannon was powered up as well, but the rim of the bell projector was dented in. When he twisted Pashu around, he stopped and ran his right hand over the missile launcher. The tubes’ mouths were severely smashed, closing off the opening.

“Can you see that? Can I still fire?”

<I can’t tell if the firing mechanism is still functional, but there isn’t enough clearance for the missile to emerge.>

“What happens if I fire one?”

<Best case basis is that the missile ignites but runs out of fuel, leaving it stuck, with a live warhead, in the launch tube.>

Not a good idea. And I don’t want to know what the worst-case basis is.

The staff captain was watching Rev manipulate Pashu, and he had to see that Rev was contemplating something. He was probably jumping to an erroneous conclusion.

“Just checking my weapons status, sir. But I do have to see to the Buzzard’s pilot. I’m going to have to leave you here.”

“If you are going to abandon me, you might as well just shoot me in the head now and be done with it.”

“I’m not abandoning you!” Rev said a little too forcefully, trying to belie the fact that he’d been contemplating it.

“There’s an alternative . . .” he started, before coughing again. When the coughing subsided, he took a moment to gather himself. “If you would consider it. Activate my emergency transponder, then leave.”

“Transponder? Your combat suit’s dead, you told me.”

“Not the transponder. It’s got . . . it’s got its own power source.”

Rev looked at the man, trying to see or hear any sign that the man was lying. Rev’s PAL-HX had a transponder as well, but it was part of the comms suite, and with that down, it was useless.

“Where’s this transponder?” he asked warily.

“Left shoulder,” the staff captain said, his voice getting weaker with each sentence.

This had to be taking a lot out of the man, depleting whatever energy reserves he had left. Rev was still sure that the staff captain wasn’t long for the universe.

Rev stepped closer again and spotted the arrow on the FC officer’s left shoulder that pointed to a small tab. Rev hesitated, then lifted the tab, exposing a red button.

“Push . . . three . . . times.”

Push three times, and here comes the cavalry, with me here stuck in the middle.

Rev turned to look in the direction of the crash. The smoke was clearing out. Right over there could be his salvation. A quick call and his cavalry would arrive, Perseus Union Marines. They could get the staff captain to advanced medical care in orbit and possibly save his life. He’d be a prisoner, but that was better than dead, and it would be within keeping to the Torinth Accords.

“What’s the legal status on this? Do I have to push the button?”

<No. You are required to render first aid if possible, but you are under no obligation to return him to his command. In fact there may be legal reasons within the Perseus Union military code that you are not allowed to do that. If this officer is considered a strategic asset, then you could be brought up on charges should you return him to his unit.>

“Is he a strategic asset?”

<We weren’t told, but the fact that you were escorting him to division is probably indicative that he is.>

Which put another wrinkle into the situation.

Hell. Why can’t this be easy?

Rev wasn’t sure what he should do. But he knew he had to check the Buzzard. The pilot could be worse off than the staff captain, for all he knew, and any delay might prove to be fatal. And if he was alive, he was an officer, so he could decide what to do with the prisoner.

Rev wanted more authority, which he now had some as a platoon commander, but this was one case where he wouldn’t mind someone else making the decision.

I have to get to the chopper. There’s really no choice.

Rev raised his gaze to the man’s face. He was struggling to breathe, but there was just the slightest bit of hope in the man’s eyes.

“Sorry, I can’t do that. I need to check on the Buzzard, and if I push that button and someone comes, I won’t have time for that.”

The hope faded from the staff captain’s eyes, and a look of resignation took its place.

“I’ll be back, I promise.”

The staff captain closed his eyes and didn’t respond. For a moment, Rev thought he’d passed, but the bloody bubbles kept forming and contracting with each breath.

Rev gave him one more look, then, feeling guilty, he turned and stepped into the forest. He could have pushed the retrieval transponder, but as Punch had reminded him, that could be against Union regs.

And I can make it over and back in ten, fifteen minutes.

His body complained about the physical exertion. His PAL might have kept him alive, but he’d fallen out of a chopper, and there were consequences for that. He was tempted to ask for some pain relief, but until he knew what he faced, he couldn’t afford anything that might slow his reflexes, no matter how minimally.

He picked up the pace, ignoring the pain as well as the possibility that the staff captain had been lying about the comms, and FC soldiers were on their way. After about two hundred meters, he saw the effects of the Buzzard coming down. The trees were sheared at the top, and he was running through debris. Another fifty meters and the chopper came into view, or at least, what was left of it.

The Buzzard was a twisted pile of mangled plastics and metal. Dark blue smoke rose from the wreckage, eddying in a slow circle until it reached the treetops. Any hope that communications gear might have survived the crash followed the smoke and disappeared into the sky.

The degree of devastation made it unlikely that the pilot had survived, but Rev had to check.

Rev had a strong feeling of déjà vu as he made his way to the front of the bird. It hadn’t been that long ago that he’d searched the shuttle taking him to Tian-X4 to find the pilot, Chief Wimox, dead, and the shuttle had been in much better shape than this chopper.

It took him a moment to even find what used to be the cockpit. Swallowing the bile down, he looked inside. The charred remains, badly mangled, were all that was left. Resurrection wasn’t even a possibility.

Rev backed up and looked around. There was nothing here for him. He tried to mark the spot, but his PAL wouldn’t take the input. Instead, he tried to commit the location to memory. The Navy should be able to scan the surface and find the spot, but Rev wanted to make sure.

You can’t do anything here, Reverent. Better diddiho in case there are FC coming.

But something stopped him. He turned to look in the direction from which he came. He might not be required to help the staff captain get back to his side, and it might not even be legal, but it just didn’t feel right. His mind went back and forth, burning precious time.

Finally, he just said, “Shit.”

He started running through the forest, his PAL’s boots silent as they pounded the dark, loamy soil. If there was wildlife in the area, they’d long bolted. Two minutes later, he came to a stop, standing over the FC officer.

The man was still, his eyes closed. Rev wondered if he was still alive, and he’d be lying if he denied that part of him hoped the man had passed. But there were the bloody bubbles coming from the officer’s mouth.

“You still with me, sir?” Rev asked, kneeling beside him.

The eyes slowly opened. “You came back,” the soldier said, his voice barely a whisper.

“I said I would,” Rev answered, leaving out the fact that it hadn’t been a sure thing.”

“Now what?”

“Now, I activate your transponder. I’m not going to hang around, though. I’ll press the button, but then I’m off. I hope to be long gone before your side gets here.”

The officer just blinked his eyes.

Rev pulled up the tab on the man’s shoulder, revealing the button. “Three times, right?”

“Right.”

Am I being stupid?

Before he could answer himself, he pushed the button three times. Nothing happened that he could see.

“That’s it? They’ll be coming?” he asked.

“Is there a steady blue light?”

Rev checked before saying, “No. Nothing.”

“Try again.”

Rev pushed the button three more times, this time exerting more force.

“Now?

“No, sir. No blue light.”

The staff captain started to laugh, which quickly turned into a coughing fit. Rev just stared at the man as if he was crazy.

“If there’s no blue light, that means it isn’t working?”

The staff captain caught his breath and said, “It’s a separate system, but it’s dead, too. It’s not working.”

Rev had been hyped up and ready to run and put as much distance between him and the officer as possible, but now he sank to the ground, activated the built-in seat, and just sat as he digested what had just happened.

He’d risked running afoul of Marine military regulations to let this staff captain have a chance at life, and for what? So he could push an inoperable button?

What now, genius?

He looked at the enemy officer for a long moment before asking, “Were you being truthful when you said your comms were down?”

“Yes. Completely.”

“So, no soldiers are on their way to pick you up?”

Rev had to lean closer to hear the staff captain. “No. I don’t suppose any Persies are coming? Your chopper, could you call out?”

“No. It’s destroyed. You didn’t say. Any chance you’ve got people coming?”

“Not for a while. We’ve kicked off an offensive by now. No time to track down what happened here.”

Rev looked up in the sky. If there was an offensive taking place, then the Navy wasn’t going to worry about a single lost Buzzard at the moment.

Rev sat, and the staff captain lay in silence for a full minute before Rev asked, “Are you going to live?”

“Don’t know. Hope so.”

It was pretty evident that if left where he was, the man wouldn’t survive. Even with care, he might not, but then there was always the chance at a resurrection . . . but that still required that he be recovered within six to ten hours.

Rev took a breath of the warm, humid air. Six hours, tops, he corrected himself. He didn’t have a zombie stick to extend the time.

He scooted closer to the man’s face. “I can leave you here. Maybe someone will come along, looking to see what happened.”

“Won’t . . . happen. I’m dead.”

“I’m going to try and walk out. Can’t say how far I’ll get, or if I am found, by who. But I can carry you.”

The staff captain’s eyes closed for a moment, then fluttered back open. “Carry.”

Rev sighed. He’d been hoping the officer would want to stay. But enemy or not, he wasn’t going to leave the man to die alone.

He stood, his right leg and lower back protesting. Standing over the prone staff captain, he contemplated how to do this. He had the strength, but his IBHU wasn’t made for carrying things.

After a moment, he decided that he’d have to hoist the main to his shoulders, then lock Pashu down around whatever solid section of the man’s combat suit that he could find.

He squatted, his right hand grasping the staff captain’s dead man’s handle. “This is going to hurt, sir.”

He didn’t know if the officer heard him, but with a grunt, he rose, swinging the man up and onto his shoulder. He flailed a moment with Pashu before his IBHU was able to lock down. Rev couldn’t see what he’d locked down on, and he really didn’t care. The staff captain was on his shoulders, and that was enough.

Rev turned unerringly to the west. His camp was there, if a long way off. But even the longest journeys begin with the first step.

With a sigh, Rev straightened his shoulders and stepped off.

6

Rev activated the seat function and sat. Sweat stung his eyes, and he tried to wipe them, but with his helmet on, that was a losing proposition. He flipped the clasp, twisted the helmet on its seal rings, and lifted it off his head.

There wasn’t much of a breeze inside the trees, but he welcomed what little there was.

“I might have to close off my face shield,” he told Punch.

Without his displays working, he hadn’t seen much of a reason to keep it closed, and he preferred to have his face open to the environment, thinking it gave him better perception. But with the warm air coming in, Rev was getting a little overheated. Closed off, his coldpack would have an easier time regulating his temperature.

“You hanging in there?” he asked Staff Captain Mballa.

“I don’t have much choice, now, do I?”

Rev was frankly astounded. After three hours of being carried, the man was not only still hanging, but his voice seemed stronger. Under any other circumstances, Rev would have suspected that the officer’s medical unit had taken drastic measures, but with his suit down, it had to be the medinanos circulating with every beat of his heart that were having an effect. They couldn’t stave off death, but they could make its approach a little less painful.

“You sure you’re able to take this? I mean, I’m not giving you the smoothest ride in the galaxy.”

“I can’t feel anything below my chest.”

Rev glanced at the tangled mess of the man’s legs. Rev had twisted his body around so that it was basically aligned, but the pelvis and thighs were mangled. At least the bleeding was more of a seeping now, almost assuredly the result of his nanos. If the staff captain couldn’t feel them, then that was for the best.

“If I can get you to my forces, the docs will see what they can do about that. They’re the best.”

“All told, I’d rather have our own medical staff attend to me. No insult intended.”

“No insult taken.”

Whether FC or Union, it was pretty evident the officer needed attention, and soon. His dark skin had faded to a dull grey, and his breathing was shallower and quicker. A tiny rivulet of pink-tinged drool leaked out of the corner of his mouth. He may not be in much pain, and he might be able to speak a little easier, but his nanos were just masking the symptoms and cutting down on the bleeding. Rev didn’t need to be a doctor to know the staff captain was dying. Only his will was keeping him alive at this point.

Rev had to respect that, enemy or not. And not too long ago, they were on the same side, fighting the Centaurs.

What the hell happened?

“Why did you freaks leave the Congress?” Rev suddenly blurted out, using the slang term for Freedom Confederation soldiers.

The staff captain was facing up, not directly at Rev. He looked out of the corner of his eyes at him, and Rev shifted over to be in his direct line of sight.

“Why?” he asked again.

“Why did you Persies try to control everyone else?”

“What? We didn’t. It was you. Well, the Mad Dogs, but you joined them. The fucking Mad Dogs, the most arrogant humans in the galaxy.”

The captain tried to smile, but it came out more as a horrible leer.

“That’s what your media tries to tell you.” The last four or five words were slurred and hard to pick out.

“Bullshit. Sir. I know what I know, and it’s not from the media. I was in the Home Guard.”

“All of you androids were in the Home Guard, trying to cow the rest of humanity. Bringing back the Genesians. So, now who’re the arrogant ones, playing god again.”

Rev felt the familiar anger well up at the term. He was augmented, that’s all. Pashu was nothing more than a lethal prosthesis.

“I’m not a Genesian. I’m no less human than you are!”

He had a sudden urge to stomp away and leave the smug bastard to die.

Fuck him. I’m trying to save his life, and he gives me that same Genesian shit?

He stood up and leaned over the staff captain as he balled his right fist. If the man was worried, he didn’t show it.

Rev’s warrior wanted to let loose, to smash the enemy officer in the face. Which his rational self knew would kill the man.

“Do it,” the staff captain said. “I know you want to.”

His words were running together. Whatever had helped him speak clearly before was evidently fading.

And the urge drained away. The man was hurt and in pain. He was probably dying. How would Rev act in the same situation? Would he lash out?

“Time to go,” Rev said, then put on his helmet, face shield closed.

He couldn’t tell if there was relief or disappointment in the man’s eyes as he reached down and hoisted him back on his shoulders. He bounced him slightly to get a better balance, and a small groan escaped his prisoner.

Without another word, Rev stepped off.

* * *

The relatively flat forest shifted into a series of low hills, and Rev was huffing as he climbed each one. Sealing his face shield wasn’t doing much good, and Rev was sweating, his long johns unable to absorb it all. With wet long johns, his inner thighs were chafing against his PAL’s straps.

Without the slight air circulation, Rev would have guessed that his coldpack had failed, shutting down the climate-control system.

“Are you sure you can’t tell if anything’s wrong with the coldpack?”

<I am not able to read anything from your PAL-HX.>

“I’m burning up. I’m going to stop and change coldpacks.”

Rev slid the staff captain off of his shoulders as gently as he could and laid him on the ground.

“You OK?”

Silence.

Rev took a close look, but the officer was still alive. Out cold, but breathing.

He removed his helmet and just let the tiny breeze cool his face for a moment before he reached into the slot for the coldpack and ejected it. It looked intact, but Rev didn’t have the engineering or training to know if it was working or not. With a shrug, he tossed it to the ground, then reached around with this right hand to the holster on his lower back . . . but it wasn’t there.

What the . . . ?

With his IBHU, Rev had problems reaching things, but he should be able to access the small holster that carried the two coldpack spares. He reached again, twisting his arm behind him. The holster wasn’t there. Or, at least, most of it wasn’t. He could feel something. His questing fingers found the release, which he tripped, dropping it to the ground.

Rev turned around and stared at what was left of the holster. It was smashed, and there was no sign of the two coldpacks. It must have been damaged in the fall, and he’d never noticed it. And with the data leads to his PAL broken or inoperable, Punch couldn’t see they were missing, either.

His heart fell. Without a working coldpack, his PAL was a deathtrap. Heat would build up and cook him. And without his PAL, Rev would be vulnerable.

For a moment, he considered going back to where he’d fallen. But that was six hours ago, and if the holster was smashed, there was nothing to say the coldpacks inside weren’t smashed, too.

I’ve still got one, though.

Rev jumped to retrieve the one he’d discarded. He blew off the dirt and carefully inserted it back in the slot. The air started circulating again. He couldn’t tell if it was cooler than the ambient temperature or not, though.

“Nothing to do but try it.”

He picked up the staff captain and started walking again. He had 127 klicks to get back to the company, and he wasn’t going to get there by sitting around.

“How about a few tunes?” he asked Punch.

He was in a tactical situation, and he really shouldn’t be listening to music. But he needed the mental boost.

A moment later, “Purple Bird” sounded deep inside his auditory cortex. With a bit of renewed hope, Rev picked up the pace.

* * *

Twenty-six minutes later, Rev knew it was a lost cause. He was burning up, staggering under the staff captain. He didn’t know if taking it out and reinserting it was the final straw, but his coldpack had given up the ghost.

He slid the staff captain off of his shoulders again. The man grunted as Rev laid him on the ground.

Rev was more than a little numb. He was so used to his combat suits that it was almost inconceivable that he was about to be walking about in what might very well be enemy territory. Staff Captain Mballa had said there was an offensive, and for all Rev knew, the MDS forces could be in control, and that was not where Rev wanted to be without his PAL.

But he had no choice. He couldn’t go on in it.

With a heavy sigh, Rev activated the emergency molt. For a moment, Rev thought the molt wasn’t working, either, but then after a short delay, the PAL opened up along the right side. Cool air—relatively cool to the furnace inside the suit, that is—rushed in, much to Rev’s relief. He started to wiggle out, which took some gymnastics, especially with Pashu. Revs PAL had been modified to take his IBHU into account, but it hadn’t been designed for it, so shucking the suit with Pashu still attached took a few extra gyrations. But finally, Rev was free, standing tall in his long johns.

The combat suits’ inner layer, or long johns, were an integral part of the PAL system. Riddled with sensors and conduits of various kinds, it wasn’t a simple piece of clothing. And while it lacked the armor protection of the outer shell of his PAL, it was still sturdy and offered protection against the elements. Dull green, it would also be difficult to spot in the heavy forest. With luck, Rev would get back to the company in one piece.

Before he did anything, though, he had to scavenge the outer shell of his PAL. First and foremost was the water tube. Without the PAL’s recycler, this was his only source of water unless he could find more in the forest. He unsnapped it and attached it to the integrated belt woven into the fabric around his waist.

Next was the emergency rations. Hard and barely edible, two of them contained the 2,000 calories per day required by an adult human male. Rev, with his augments, required 4,000 calories, but even so, he had enough rations for two weeks.

The rounds for his 2o mm left him in a bind, though. Pashu had fifty rounds in her integral magazine. The rest of the combat load was in the external magazine that was attached to his back. Rev could lift the external mag, but how was he going to carry it? And could he carry both it and the staff captain? He really didn’t see any way to do it, so with great reluctance, he had to leave it behind. If he got in the shit, he’d have to rely on his beamer and the fifty rounds.

There wasn’t much else for him to take. His MF-30 sidearm was gone, lost in the fall from the chopper. But Rev still had Pashu, even without the full 20 mm combat load and the missiles, so the loss of the handgun didn’t really bother him that much. If he was down to drawing it, he’d already be in deep kimchi.

He took a sip of water and nibbled off a bite of the e-rats when he turned back to the staff captain to see the man conscious and staring at him.

“You thirsty?” Rev asked, crumbs falling from his lips.

The officer nodded, so Rev knelt beside him, and put the tube in the man’s mouth. The man sipped, then coughed, spewing out the water as he did.

“Again,” he said after catching his breath.

This time, he took two tiny sips that he managed to keep down.

“Emergency rats? Taste like shit, but they’ll keep you alive.”

Crap. Dumb thing to say to him.

“No thanks.”

The staff captain’s eyes shifted to the PAL on the ground. He whispered a hoarse “Why?”

“I don’t know. Thought I’d like to get back to nature.”

Rev didn’t know if the staff captain was ever going to get back to his forces, but there was no reason to explain that the brand-new Union heavy combat suits had a little cooling problem.

“Speaking of nature, it’s time to go. So, if you’re ready?”

Rev reached down to lift the officer to his shoulder and gave a heave. Without this spiderweb mesh, he thought he would have popped a gut, and he yelled out with the effort.

The staff captain wasn’t a large man, and his combat suit wasn’t particularly substantial, but together, they still had to mass two hundred kilos. Without Rev’s augments, he couldn’t have managed. As it was, the load was staggering, and without his PAL’s armored pauldrons, the staff captain was digging painfully into his shoulders.

Oh, this is going to suck big time, Rev told himself as he staggered into motion.

* * *

Rev had been right. It did suck. Big time.

But he refused to leave the man. He’d accepted the responsibility, and he’d be damned if he was going to relinquish it now. In thirty-minute spurts, he managed to cover some ground over the day and into the night. He caught four hours sleep, then continued on, thirty minutes walking, ten minutes resting.

It became a rhythm, with Punch accompanying him with quiet music.

Staff Captain Mballa fell into deep unconsciousness, but each time Rev checked, the man was still breathing. He didn’t know for how much longer. Certainly not another full day, from the looks of it. But until that time, the enemy officer was his charge.

Dawn seemed to take a long time to break, the sky turning a light gray through the trees. It wasn’t until the terrain rose a couple of hundred meters and shorter trees of a kind Rev didn’t recognize took over that he saw the full horizon.

Which didn’t make Rev very comfortable. He was hidden from view and probably from most scanners while in the deep forest. Out here, where it was far more open, he was more vulnerable.

If he remembered correctly, there was a highway just to the south, and that would speed up his travel but would expose him even more. No, he was going to have to proceed right here.

He paused at the edge of the heavier forest, trying to pick out a route forward that offered at least a modicum of cover. He wasn’t so concerned with being spotted from the ground. Despite being close to the road, they were a long way from any of the major centers of gravity, and he could avoid the more open areas. It was being spotted from the air or orbit that had him worried.

Just because he was probably far from any troops didn’t mean that the area wouldn’t be covered by drones, and as he didn’t know what the naval situation was, there was the possibility that he’d be spotted from orbit.

He took one last look at the morning sky and stepped out of the cover of the forest. And, as the gods of war were a perverse lot, it turned out that the threat came from the ground.

Rev had only emerged just short of a hundred meters when he heard them before he saw them, dropped to the ground, and took cover in the tall grass. If they were Union Marines, his ordeal would be over. If they were FC or MDS . . .

Wish I had my optisight.

The flexible optical scope would allow him to see who it was without revealing himself. But with the new PAL-HX, the capability was built-in. Not having to carry an additional piece of equipment made it a little easier under normal circumstances. But the engineers who designed the combat suit evidently didn’t consider the fact that someone who’d shucked their PAL might need the capability.

Just to Rev’s right was a small copse of what looked like rhododendrons of some kind. They’d give him a little more cover. He left the staff captain in place and edged over before slowly rising. The voices sounded like they were forty or fifty meters ahead at the most. Rev slowly parted the branches as he searched for whoever was talking.

He finally caught a bit of movement, crossing from right to left and thirty meters ahead of him. But he couldn’t tell if they were Marines. He was about to move to a better vantage when one of them stepped past a tree and revealed himself.

Shit!

It was an FC soldier, moving easily through the scrub, his combat suit’s lack of active cammo making him readily visible. He was followed a few moments later by a second soldier.

Rev ducked back down. The two soldiers he’d seen didn’t have the look of someone expecting contact. Maybe they were just moving to the highway to be picked up.

If that’s true, then they must have free movement in the area. Not good.

At least they gave no indication that they’d spotted him. Rev could just hunker down until they passed, then move back into the cover of the denser forest. He’d decide then how to proceed.

He glanced to where the staff captain was lying in the grass. His charge.

If he took the officer with him, he was a dead man. There was no way he could survive much longer on Rev’s shoulders. But even if he left him there, he was still a dead man. His possible salvation was thirty meters away, passing him by. But it wasn’t as if Rev could just jump up and wave the patrol over.

Leave him or take him—the two options warred with each other in his mind. But in his heart, Rev knew what he had to do. Anything else would gnaw at him for the rest of his life . . . which might last just for a few more moments.

Rev carefully broke off a branch of the shrub and then low-crawled back to the staff captain. The man’s eyes were open, but Rev couldn’t tell if there was anything going on behind them.

“I don’t know if you can hear me, but there’s a freak patrol just ahead of us. I’m going to try and get them to head this way, and I hope they see you.”

Rev reached into the mangled mess that was the staff captain’s legs and ripped off a piece of the FC version of long johns, then tied it to the end of the branch.

His heart was pounding in his chest while his warrior fought to take control.

Calm down, Reverent. Don’t do anything stupid. You’re not Superman.

“Tell me a joke, Punch.”

<How do crazy Marines run away through the forest.>

Rev hadn’t told Punch what he was going to do, and this was too close to home. Evidently, his battle buddy knew him too well.

“How?”

<They take the psychopath.>

“Touché, my friend,” he subvocalized and chuckled. “I guess I am a little crazy.”

<More than a little crazy.>

He took three deep breaths, centering himself.

“Here goes.”

Rev slammed the other end of the branch into the ground, the strip of the staff captain’s uniform exposed. He rose and brought Pashu to bear and fired off five 20 mm rounds, not at the surprised soldiers in front of him, but over their heads.

He wasn’t sure why he didn’t engage them. They were the enemy, after all. But somehow, it didn’t seem appropriate, given what he was trying to do.

The instant the last round left his IBHU, Rev was turning and running. Without the load of the staff captain, his legs felt renewed as he sprinted for the forest. He could feel the target burning into his back, expecting to be cut down at any second.

Behind him, the soldiers were shouting, and Rev heard the whine of gauss guns and the buzz of hypervelocity darts whizzing by his head, but amazingly, nothing found its mark.

The same perverse gods of war must have been smiling on him this time because he somehow reached the forest, ducking behind the trunk of a huge elm. He stood there a moment, back against the tree, his adrenaline coursing through his body. Around him, darts knocked leaves which fluttered down like an autumn fall.

He hadn’t aimed at the soldiers, but now, if they came after him, he’d drop the first few to show them he still had teeth. Maybe that would give them pause.

The FC soldiers were yelling at each other, but one shout broke clearly through the din. “Holy shit, Colour Sergeant. There’s an officer here!”

Rev smiled and whispered, “May the Mother be with you, Staff Captain Mballa.”

The firing into the forest petered off. Rev didn’t stick his head around the tree to look, but from the sounds of it, the soldiers were more concerned about their officer.

“You ready to show me that ‘psychopath’ Punch? ‘Cause this crazy Marine’s got to beat feet and get the hell out of here.

<Any path is a good one if it gets us out of range.>

“Never was spoken a truer word, my friend,” Rev said as he broke out into a run again.

* * *

Rev whirled and fired a four-round burst. The FC soldier spun away under the impact of at least one of the rounds, but Rev didn’t have time to admire his work. He dropped down below the top of the log behind which he’d taken cover just as the top exploded into a spasm of splinters. One hit Rev at the juncture of his IBHU and organic flesh.

With a grimace, Rev reached over with his right hand and pulled the five-centimeter chunk of wood out.

“Yeah, I know I’m supposed to leave it in,” he told Punch before his battle buddy could object.

But there was no way he was going to try and make a break for it with a chunk of tree sticking out of his shoulder. He really didn’t think he had a chance, but he wasn’t going to sit here meekly to meet his maker. He’d already taken at least four of the bastards out, and he’d like to take another four with him.

An explosion rocked the ground behind him, sending up a geyser of dirt and debris that then rained down on him. The unseen mortar team was closing in on him, guided by the infantry who were trying to encircle him.

It had been a day since Rev had turned over Staff Captain Mballa. The first ten hours had been him creeping through the forest, trying to find a clear path to the company’s position back at their objective. The last nine had been running from the FC soldiers.

Rev didn’t think these were the same soldiers who he’d seen and for whom he’d left the staff captain. But he’d convinced himself that those soldiers had alerted others in the area of his presence. The ones he’d been fleeing had been obviously looking for someone, and he was sure that someone was him.

He’d managed to stay ahead of his pursuers, popping e-rats and filling his flask with creek water. But the pursuers had been more like shepherds, driving him forward until he’d been run up against another force who’d been lying in wait. Rev had suspected what the FC soldiers were doing, but there hadn’t been much he could do. Every time he tried to evade the pincher, he’d been driven back.

And now, it was all culminating in this. He was going to die on Armadillo, killed by fellow humans who’d been allies just a few short months ago.

But he wasn’t going alone.

Rev checked his magazine. He had eleven rounds left. That was it. His beamer still had power, but the projector bell splayed out the beam, spreading it over too great an area for it to have much of an effect. He supposed if someone wanted to close in for some hand-to-hand, he might be able to burn them, but the FC soldiers weren’t cooperating, choosing to engage him at a distance.

He’d even tried to fire a Moray, but the missile hadn’t cleared the launch tube. It was now live and sitting in his IBHU.

Big safety breach of the regs—not that anyone was going to report him.

A blast rocked the tree trunk, shifting it backward ten centimeters and making Rev’s ears ring. The next mortar round was going to land right on top of him, and that would make a mess of any faint hope that the FC soldiers might resurrect him.

“Time to go, buddy.”

<Like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. Let’s do it.>

“Bad image. You saw what happened to them.”

<That was an old Twentieth Century movie, not reality.>

“Oh, they made it in real life?”

<No. They were killed.>

“Hell, Punch, sometimes I don’t understand you. But, it’s been real. I hope they recover you and send you back to the Union.”

Rev checked his ammo load one more time. No more rounds had magically appeared.

He brought his legs up under him as another string of darts hit the log. After fighting his warrior, he called it forth, letting the wild exultation sweep through him like a tsunami.

“Semper fi!” he shouted as he rose and ran alongside the fallen tree, heading to a small wash to his right. He emptied his 20 mm to the front, pulverizing trees and bushes. The onslaught gave him just enough cover that he might make it into the wash, and he doubled down, trying to gain every last bit of speed. Ten more steps, and—

The blast behind him lifted Rev up and tossed him like a rag doll. He felt the briefest moment of regret before his universe went dark.

7

Rev was floating on cotton clouds, not sure why nor anything else. For the moment, he was content.

“Staff Sergeant, are you with me?”

The voice was annoying, and he wanted to shut it out.

“Leave me alone,” he mumbled.

“Staff Sergeant, I need you to wake up.”

He tried to open his eyes to tell the gadfly to be quiet, but it was as if his eyelids were glued closed.

“He’s coming out of it,” the voice said as if in the distance. Then louder, “Wake up.”

With a Herculean effort, Rev managed to crack open one eye to a blinding whiteness. He immediately shut it and turned his head away.

“That’s it, Staff Sergeant. Now wake up.”

Rev growled, but he opened his eyes again. The whiteness faded, and three people came into view. One had on scrubs, the universal uniform of medical personnel for millennia. Beside him was a middle-aged woman, her brown curls peeking out from under a white cap with a simple red cross in the middle.

The third was standing in the background. She was youngish, maybe in her early twenties, and she was wearing a tan and brown uniform that Rev didn’t recognize.

The medical guy—Rev couldn’t tell if he was a doctor, nurse, or whatever—leaned closer and shined a light into Rev’s eyes.

Rev twisted and turned to get away, but the man shot out a hand, caught Rev’s chin, and held him steady.

“How are you feeling?”

“What? How am I feeling?”

Rev hadn’t taken stock of himself. One moment, he was running for the wash, and the next moment—or maybe a year later, for all he knew—this bozo was telling him to wake up.

“Punch?”

Silence.

“Punch?” he said, this time not subvocalizing.

He looked up at the medical guy, tried to sit up, and excitedly asked, “Where’s Punch?”

The man put his hand on Rev’s chest and easily pushed him back down. He glanced at the woman as if she had the answer, then looked back to Rev and asked, “Who’s Punch?”

“My A—” Rev started to say, then changed it to “My battle buddy.”

Too late. The man said, “Your AI?” It’s still in your head. We’ve just dampened it for now.”

“Why? Who are you, and where am I?”

“I’m Physician Assistant Two Dieter Illyana. As to where you are, you’re in the MDS Expeditionary Medical Facility 278, on Armadillo.”

“MDS?” Rev asked, trying to sit up again with the same pathetic results.

“Yes, MDS. Manifest Destiny Sphere. You are a prisoner of war.”

That was a shot to the gut, and Rev felt a wave of despair threaten to swamp him.

A prisoner? Despair turned into shame. Rev had expected to die, and while he hoped he might get resurrected, he’d come to terms that the fight might be his last. He knew he should be relieved that he was alive . . . but as a POW?

“But don’t worry. You’re safe here, and we’ll be treating your injuries before you’re taken to a camp for removal off-planet.”

This was a lot for Rev to take in, and he tried to reach up to rub his temple, but his hand was jerked short. He was handcuffed to the bed rail.

“Sorry about that,” the PA said. “Security and all, you know.”

He stepped to the side and looked at the display on the machine there for a few moments. “You’ve got internal injuries, and you may have broken ribs. It’s hard to tell with all the garbage you Persies put in your Marines.”

Rev snorted, but he held back the “You do know what you do to your karnans, right?” that he wanted to say.

“We normally would give you a Trauma Delta pack, but I don’t want to cause a conflict with your own nanos. Better safe than sorry. The trauma chief wants to be cautious, so that means that barring a complication that needs intervention, we’ll let your nanos take care of your recovery.”

The young military woman stepped forward for the first time, put her hand on the other woman’s shoulder, and said, “We are not withholding treatment. I want to be clear on that.”

The PA nodded his head vigorously in agreement, then turned back to Rev and asked, “Do you have any questions for me?”

Rev lifted his left stump. “Where’s my IBHU?”

“I . . . that’s not within my scope of responsibilities.”

“I’ll handle this, Finn,” the older woman said as she moved closer to Rev’s head. The PA shrugged and left the bedside.

The younger woman seemed to be considering her words and then said, “You’re safe now, Staff Sergeant Pelletier. We’ve had, uh, special instructions with regard to you.”

Rev didn’t like the way she said “special instructions.” He’d already had Pashu stolen once by the MDS, and he could imagine that they’d love to learn more about IBHU Marines.

If he had Punch, he could ask what his rights were as a prisoner, but he was pretty sure that being used as a lab rat broke all sorts of Torinth Accord regulations.

The woman said, “I wish you a speedy recovery,” and walked out of the small ward.

So you can interrogate me?

Rev was not in a good place, mentally or emotionally. With just the older woman now, he looked at her accusingly and said, “You’re Red Cross.”

“Ossa Mon, Level Six Red Cross.”

“You MDS?”

“Goodness, no. I wouldn’t be here if I was, now, would I? I’m from Bracewell Station.”

Rev had never heard of Bracewell Station, and with Punch “dampened,” he couldn’t ask him.

“I’m here to make sure your rights are protected and that detainee protocols are followed.”

Are you going to stop them from interrogating me?

Rev didn’t think that was possible. The MDS was going to do what it was going to do, no matter if a Red Cross liaison from Bumfuck Station was there or not.”

But he was going to figure out what she could do.

“Can I get my AI?”

“No, sorry. Combat AIs can be legally removed, or if that requires surgery, as in the case with Union Marines, they can be dampened.”

“What about my IBHU?” Rev asked, lifting his stump.

“There’s a bit of a problem with that. As a prosthesis, of course, no one can deny you its use. However, the MDS command considers it a weapon. We have reminded them that without munitions, it isn’t a weapon, but that is currently being negotiated.”

The image of the karnan’s face being caved in with Pashu on Mount Rasper flashed through his mind. Rev was glad that she said the Red Cross was arguing his case, but he wanted his IBHU because it could be a weapon.

“So, now, first thing. Can I have your next of kin contact information?”

Rev’s inner alarm went off, and he flinched back. “Why?”

“I will get this confirmed from our Union liaison, but you’ll have been listed as MIA. Our liaison will forward the information to your command, but I can also contact your family and let them know you’re now an EPW, if you want. Give them some relief. But you have to authorize that.”

It hadn’t dawned on Rev that he’d have been listed as missing. He wasn’t missing, just misplaced, so to speak. But, of course, the Marines would have changed his status when the Buzzard went down, and they would have told his family back in Swansea.

Rev wanted to let them know he was alive, but he was also ashamed of the circumstances, and part of him didn’t want to let them know, and through them the rest of his posse, that he was a prisoner. He hesitated before concern for his family’s worrying won out.

“My mother is Elisabet Pelletier, and my father is Maximillan Throndson, both of Swansea on Safe Harbor.”

“Thank you. And the Red Cross has permission to relay that you are a detainee of the Manifest Destiny Sphere’s Army on Armadillo?”

Rev nodded.

“You have to give me verbal permission.”

“Yes, you have my permission.”

“Very good.” She touched her pad, and the message was off.

“Now, I’m concerned with what PA Illyana said about treatment. I’m not a doctor, but the Accords are very clear that EPWs must be treated for injuries. I’ll send this up the chain for instructions.

“Other than being prisoner, how are you? I know from experience that your situation can exact a mental toll. Are you OK?”

Rev was about to say he was fine, but he stopped. He didn’t know if that was true. His morale was in the dumps, but was that clinical depression or a rational reaction to being a prisoner. He sure didn’t know, and he didn’t have Punch with whom to discuss it.

One thing was for certain, however. He didn’t want to discuss anything with an MDS psych. It was bad enough that his own team monitored his thoughts, and he didn’t need to let the enemy get into his head.

“I’m fine, ma’am. Just a little beat up.”

She didn’t look like she believed him, but she nodded and said, “I’ll be back once a day to check on you. But if you think you need me, for any reason, tell one of the staff here. They have to relay that to me. It’s the law.”

This was all surreal. The Union and the MDS were at war with each other. Rev had killed MDS soldiers. Yet here, this middle-aged, somewhat roly-poly woman was taking care of him and insinuating that she had power over them? It didn’t make any sense.

Rev didn’t trust her. It wouldn’t be hard to make a little white hat and put a red cross on it. But if she could get Pashu back, then he’d give her a chance.

She folded up her pad, told him to get well, and started to leave, but she stopped and turned back to him.

“Staff Sergeant Pelletier, can I ask you something?”

That’s a weird question.

“Um . . . sure.”

“You don’t have to answer this, but I’m curious. Mid-lieutenant Hortense told me that you are in a ‘special category.’ She would not elaborate what that means, and I don’t have the authority to press for an explanation. Do you have an idea what that might be about?”

Rev chuckled, which brought a stab of pain to his ribs. He was going to ignore the Red Cross rep, but then he figured what the heck.

“You know what I am, right? An IBHU Marine?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Don’t you think they’d like the opportunity to learn all they can about the IBHU program?”

Ms. Mon frowned and pursed her lips. Rev could see from her expression that she’d already thought of that possibility.

“Which is in violation of the Accords,” she said.

“So, are you going to stop them?”

She sighed, then said, “I’m not going to blow smoke up your butt, Staff Sergeant. I will try, of course, and they’ll deny even considering it. But the fact of the matter is that you’re in MDS custody, and it’s just me here. But I swear I’ll make as much noise as I can.”

Rev grunted in agreement. He was surprised that she was being so candid about it, but he appreciated it. His initial suspicion of her was starting to fade. She might not have much real power, but he got the feeling that her heart was in the right place.

“Thank you, ma’am. I believe you.”

“’Ma’am’ is my mother. I’m Ossa.”

“Well, thank you, Ossa, then.”

She looked down at him for a moment and then said, “You take care of yourself.” She gave him a nod and walked out of the ward.

Rev leaned back in the bed and gave his right arm a tug, rattling the cuffs. It was beginning to sink in that he was not in a good situation.

Well, what have you got yourself into now, Reverent?

He had a feeling that he wasn’t going to like it much when he found out.

8

To Rev’s great but welcomed surprise, the MDS intel goons didn’t come for him during the night nor the next day. He was generally left alone except for the medical personnel who came in to monitor his progress and the civilians who brought him his bland, but hopefully nutritious meals.

Trying to let me get my strength up before they get to work?

Whatever, he was happy that whatever was going to happen hadn’t started. Ossa came back the next day as well and told him that his command was now aware of his status, and his family as well. They’d be drafting a message for him that would be delivered once it made it through the MDS censors.

That was a huge boost to his morale. He hadn’t wanted to let anyone know he’d managed to get captured, but the knowledge that they knew he was safe—relatively safe—was a load off of his shoulders.

That evening, PA Illyana ran him through a medscan and decided that while he wasn’t quite ready to be sent to the POW camp, he could be sent to the general ward. Rev was both glad and apprehensive—glad that his injuries didn’t seem to be that serious, but apprehensive that being moved anywhere would give the MDS better access to do their dirty deeds.

He was unhooked from the various leads and tubes (the removal of the catheter could very well serve as the first act of softening him up for what he was sure to come) and taken into a larger ward, this one with an armed MDS soldier manning the single entrance.

There was only one other patient/prisoner in the ward who looked up with interest as Rev was brought in. He waited until the orderly left and the door was closed and locked before he came over, hand out.

“Lance Corporal Tad Grimes, Golf 2/18. They call me Fish.”

The Eighteenth Marines was part of the Ninth Marine Division, which was regular Corps. They were part of the task force, but Rev wouldn’t know anyone in the division.

Rev hesitantly took his hand and shook it. “Staff Sergeant Reverent Pelletier, First Heavy Infantry Company.”

The lance corporal nodded at Rev’s stump and asked, “You just lose your arm to the Mad Dogs?”

“Lost it a long time ago.”

Grimes seemed to be waiting for more info, but Rev begged off, saying he needed some rest. There were many ways to extract information, and getting close to the target could get things that torture might not provide.

Rev was tired, and his body ached, so that part wasn’t a lie. Nanos busting their butts or not, it still took energy for them to do their work, energy that they leached from him.

But the lance corporal wasn’t going to let up. As Rev laid down on one of the racks, the Marine pulled up a chair and proceeded to talk non-stop. He said he’d been captured on the first day of the main assault, shot right through his PAL. He even showed Rev the raw, nasty-looking wound high on his left shoulder.

Rev knew that if he really was a Union Marine, he might just be happy to have another Marine to talk to. But it just seemed too much to him. The supposed-Marine seemed to be going down a checklist of his life’s story, full of details, and he mentioned almost every professional flipball team in the Union, professing to be a die-hard Typhoon fan. Even his nickname, Fish, which he insisted on being called, just sounded too pat.

Grimes could be what he appeared to be, or he could be part of the MDS Internal Investigative Service, their equivalent to the Union’s Omega Division. Rev decided to play it safe and say as little as possible about himself.

The good thing about all of this was that if Grimes was an intel agent, then the more . . . physically oriented interrogators . . . might wait a few days to see if Grimes could make a connection. And sure enough, no one came in during the night to drag Rev away.

When Rev woke up in the morning, he still wasn’t sure what was going on, but he decided to play a bit, acting like a bond was forming and leaking a few tidbits that the MDS would already know or could confirm.

Rev didn’t really know what he could give that would help the MDS even if he wanted. He was pretty sure that it was the tech they’d be interested in, and that would take invasive procedures. If Rev hadn’t been reported as a POW, then he was sure that he’d already have been put under the knife.

For two days, it was just Rev and Grimes in the ward, with their only contact being the medical staff and the ones who brought their meals. Not even Ms. Mon came by, which wasn’t a good omen, to Rev’s thinking.

On the afternoon of the third day, while Rev and Grimes were playing Knock-on, two armed MDS soldiers entered the ward.

“Pelletier, come with us,” one of them said.

Rev’s belly rose to his throat as he dropped his cards. It was one thing to know that torture was probably in his future, but it was another thing to be faced with it.

He turned back to Grimes, but he couldn’t see anything in the other Marine’s expression that might finally reveal the truth.

There wasn’t much Rev could do. Rev was still injured, he had no weapons, and he only had one arm. The two soldiers were in combat armor and looked rather hale. All the holovids where prisoners were able to take on their guards and escape from the middle of the enemy’s encampments were just so much fantasy.

Rev slowly stood and told Grimes, “Well, I guess this is it.”

“Stay strong, Staff Sergeant.”

Rev turned to the two soldiers and said, “OK, then. Let’s get this over with.”

The soldiers didn’t restrain him. Why bother? Rev was in their control. The one who’d spoken motioned for Rev to proceed, and they closed in behind him.

They didn’t go out of the main entrance, which wasn’t surprising. They guided Rev to the back of the field hospital. Quite a few people saw them, but none seemed to take issue with the fact that a one-armed prisoner in an orange jumpsuit was being led away at gunpoint. Rev was tempted to yell out, to ask that someone contact Ossa Mon, but he realized it wouldn’t do any good. If the IIS really were the equivalent to the Omega Division, they would have ways to shut up even their own citizens.

One of the soldiers unlocked a door and then led Rev to a waiting vehicle. His legs felt weak, and he hoped he wouldn’t stumble.

“So, going to your secret lair?” Rev asked as he took a seat inside the hover, a soldier on either side of him, as he tried to make light of the situation.

Neither said anything.

“I bet you two are really fun at parties.”

It sounded like one of them had to choke off a laugh, but Rev wouldn’t swear to it.

He knew escape was a fantasy as the hover made its way through the bustle of the camp, but he tried to make a plan, any plan. Worst case basis was that they’d capture him again.

But there was an inordinate amount of activity going on, with pallets being moved, vehicles going every which way. He wondered if the MDS was about to kick off a major offensive.

Despite the fact that he certainly wasn’t going to be allowed to report back to Marine Intel, he started watching to see what he could gather.

The armored hover stopped outside what looked like a small temporary warehouse and settled on its skirts. The door opened, and the soldier who might have laughed exited and motioned for Rev to follow. Rev stepped out of the vehicle and grunted as his ribs grated. He bent over before slowly straightening up.

Show them what a Marine is made of, Reverent.

“I’m ready.”

He followed the soldier to the door, the other soldier behind him. He hesitated for just a moment before entering the building. Rev wasn’t given to the melodramatic, but he looked up at the planet’s sun, wondering if this was the last time he’d feel a sun’s rays on his face.

The soldier behind him nudged his back. Rev almost snarled and pushed back, but to what end? He ducked through the door, then stood for a moment as his eyes adjusted.

Well, it doesn’t look like a Spanish Inquisition dungeon, he told himself as he took in the scene. Containers were stacked against the walls to the left, where a few automated forklifts were picking them up and taking them out the back cargo door. To the right was a table with two soldiers. A woman in an orange jumpsuit like Rev’s was in front of the table, guarded by a single soldier. As Rev was led up, the woman—probably another Marine—was led away.

Rev started to yell out to her to stay strong, but the effort started him coughing again, which made his broken ribs stab him like hot machetes. By the time he caught his breath, the other Marine was gone.

“You OK?” the possibly-have-laughed soldier asked.

And that almost made Rev laugh himself. The soldier’s human concern was hardly fitting for what was coming up.

But Rev nodded, and he was led up to the table.

“Delta-Whiskey-Nine-Six-Bravo-Four,” the first soldier told the two behind the table.

Rev had to shake his head. These guys were pretty anal if they were keeping records like this. It was almost impressive, in a way.

“Delta-Whiskey-Nine-Six-Bravo-Four, Staff Sergeant Reverent Pelletier,” one of the soldiers repeated. “OK, we’ve got him.”

“Good luck,” the second escort soldier said as they turned and walked away, their duty completed.

Rev didn’t know whether to laugh or yell out a curse. “Good luck,” indeed.

The over-sergeant, as Rev could now see his collar device, held up a portable scanner and said, “Lean in, please.”

Now these guys are scanning me? They’re not afraid of an electronic trail?

“What the hell,” Rev muttered as his retinas were scanned.

The second soldier, a sergeant, held up a pad and started reading in a bored-sounding voice, “Staff Sergeant Reverent Pelletier, Perseus Union Marines Corps, by affirming your understanding and acceptance of the provisions of TA-3001.2, you are being granted parole—”

“Wait,” the first soldier said, interrupting. “It says here no parole.”

Parole? What the hell is going on? Rev wondered, hope rising for the first time since he’d been captured.

“What do you mean, no parole?”

“Just what I said. Look at your pad. No parole,” the over-sergeant repeated, sounding confused.

“Shit. It does say that. What, this guy isn’t being released?”

Rev’s mind was whirling. Parole? That was for prisoners being sent back to their own side. They’d be permanently out of any fighting, but their government would be responsible for their upkeep.

But with the idea of parole suddenly being dangled in front of him, now it was being snatched back. Rev wondered if this was some sort of mind game, something to break him. He steeled himself. If this was a game, which seemed likely, he wasn’t going to let them see any sign of weakness.

“Assholes,” he muttered, suddenly sure that was what was going on.

“Get the lieutenant,” the over-sergeant told the other, who tapped in his pad.

While they waited, the over-sergeant motioned to someone behind Rev, and a moment later, Rev could hear footsteps as a combat-suited MDS soldier walked up and planted himself behind him. Rev refused to give them the satisfaction of turning around, and he tried to blank out his face and stare at the two.

It took several minutes, but finally, a harried-looking lieutenant in work overalls arrived.

“I don’t have time for this shit, Klein. What’s so damned important that you can’t handle it?”

“It says no parole for this guy.”

“What? Let me see that,” the lieutenant said, snatching the pad away.

He read it for a few moments, then touched his neck with a finger and started subvocalizing. It took a full minute before the lieutenant let go of his neck and said, “This is right. No parole. And he’s supposed to get a package. Get it here.”

“No, Lieutenant,” the over-sergeant almost shouted as he got to his feet. “You know what he is. He’s a fucking Persie oner. We let him go with no parole and he’s gonna be fighting us next week.”

Rev tried to make sense of what the over-sergeant was saying. It didn’t seem possible.

“This is from the top.” He gave Rev a measured look, then said, “Seems this guy saved a Freedom Confederation officer, and their command insists on this.”

“Fucking Freaks! Sanctimonious assholes with their honor shit! They cause more trouble than they’re worth.”

Staff Captain Mballa! He did this!

Hope blossomed again, and Rev began to think that it might be real. But it still could be a massive head game.

Don’t say anything. Don’t do anything until you’re safe.

“Lieutenant!” the over-sergeant said, his voice turning into a whine.’

“I don’t like this any more than you do, Klein!”

“Sir, one of those fucking oners killed my cousin on Olivera. He was just a kid.”

Rev had to struggle to keep the satisfaction off of his face. He’d love to track down whoever zeroed the asshole’s cousin and buy him a beer.

The over-sergeant leaned into the lieutenant’s ear and whispered, “Sir, you know, couldn’t we have, like an accident? Everything’s crazy here as we embark. Who’s to say that a big piece of equipment doesn’t see him?”

He made a splatting motion with his hand.

The over-sergeant knew Rev was an IBHU Marine, but he evidently didn’t know that his hearing was augmented, and he had no problem hearing what the soldier was saying.

“Embark?” Is that what’s happening here?

Things started to make sense. If all of the MDS was leaving the planet, then the battle might be over, and this was a routine exchange of prisoners. But who won? Were the Marines leaving, too?

He suddenly noticed that the lieutenant seemed to be considering the over-sergeant’s suggestion. Rev tensed his legs, ready to bolt if the officer agreed. He couldn’t get away, but maybe he could make enough commotion that too many people would notice what was going on.

But with a sigh, the lieutenant said, “We’ll never get away with it. Command might cover it up, but our asses would be grass. We’ll pay, and I’m not going to let a damn Persie oner ruin my career.”

Rev relaxed . . . sort of. He wasn’t out of this by any stretch of the imagination.

An autofork rumbled up carrying a coffin-sized container. Rev perked up. Could it be . . . ?

He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but he stood there, eagerly watching as the sergeant opened the container, then stepped back in surprise. Rev couldn’t see inside, but the over-sergeant leaned over, then tilted his head back and screamed, “No fucking way!”

“What is it?” the lieutenant asked, moving to where he could see.

“It’s his arm. You know, the weapon.”

Rev felt a wave of relief. Pashu! Soldier standing behind him or not, he stepped forward, and there she was. She might be sabotaged like before, but at least she was there.

Feeling emboldened, he finally spoke. “Sir, if I’m supposed to have my IBHU, am I free to take her now?”

The lieutenant glared daggers at him, the hate palpable. Both sergeants stared at him, waiting for his answer.

Rev could see it took an effort of will, but he forced out through clenched teeth, “Take it.”

“Oh, by the Mother . . .” the over-sergeant said.

Rev walked around the table and stood over the container, where he paused. How the heck was he supposed to put it on? The crate was a meter deep, and Pashu was almost wedged in.

By instinct, he looked up at the lieutenant, who gave an evil smile and said, “It just says we have to return it to you, not to help you take it away.”

Pashu was difficult enough to don in the armory, and that wasn’t without broken ribs and with her in a crate. But he had to get her. If he left without her, he knew he’d never see his IBHU again.

Pashu took up most of the width but not the length of the container. Rev carefully stepped into the space near Pashu’s base. There wasn’t enough room for him to go prone, so he sat, putting his feet against her. With the four soldiers moving closer to watch, Rev took a breath and pushed his feet with all his might.

He had to fight from screaming as his ribs grated together. But Pashu had moved. One more should do it.

This time, he knew he’d pay the price, but that was one he was willing to pay. One more push, and he thought it might be enough.

Rev wasn’t a small man, and at the moment, he wished he was. Somehow, he managed to lower himself in the space, then with a maneuver that would make a Cirque de Galaxie contortionist proud, all the time his ribs on fire, he twisted until his sleeve lined up with Pashu. He could almost bring them together, but the container was just a smidge too small for him.

But he had no choice. He knew he had to force himself in, collapsing his chest to make him small enough.

Mother give me strength, he whispered, almost a prayer.

Before he could change his mind, he exhaled and pushed. And passed out from the pain.

Five seconds, ten seconds . . . a minute. Rev didn’t know how long he was out. He came to with hot spears ramming through his chest, but he’d done it. With Punch still dampened, he couldn’t run a check, but he’d worn Pashu too long not to know when she was seated. He wiggled her fingers, the small tentacle-like appendages moving in front of his eyes.

Rev was wiped out, but Pashu had her own power assists. He raised her until she would grasp the edge of the container, and like Dracula rising from a coffin, he stood up.

“Shit, he’s alive,” the over-sergeant muttered.

The lieutenant shook his head, then in a quiet voice, said, “Wenterman, let’s finish up and get this asshole out of here.”

The sergeant frowned as he printed out a small wristband and started to reach for Pashu before he hesitated, then switched to Rev’s organic wrist and attached the band.

“You are still an EPW, so obey all orders given to you until the handover. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“The code for your AI is on the band. Give it to your techs, and they can release it for you.”

Rev resisted looking at the band, but that was a huge relief. He missed Punch, and he wanted to get him back as soon as he could.

“Do you have any questions?”

“No.”

“There’s a bus outside that door. Get on it and wait.”

Rev nodded and turned when a hand grabbed Pashu and pulled, then he turned to the lieutenant.

“I don’t know whose dick you blew, but you are one lucky son of a bitch.”

“Unlike with you Mad Dogs, in the Corps, we don’t have to give our commanders blow jobs, so I wouldn’t know about that.”

Rev pulled Pashu free of the lieutenant’s grip and followed the armed soldier outside the building. He was hurting all over and lightheaded to the point he was afraid he was going to faint again.

But he didn’t care. He was getting the hell out of here.

* * *

Almost twelve hours later, the bus slowed to a stop in the middle of nowhere and settled on its skirts. Rev woke up with a start and wiped the drool that had run down the side of his mouth.

He couldn’t believe he’d fallen asleep. He wasn’t the only one. Several of the other soon-to-be-ex-prisoners were looking around with sleep-filled eyes. The corporal who’d been processed just before Rev hadn’t even woken yet. Rev reached across the aisle with Pashu and gave her a nudge.

“I think we’re here,” he told her.

That, or all of this was a ruse, and they’re going to lead us out into the forest and mow us down.

Rev didn’t believe that, though. In the eight-plus hours they’d waited on the bus while other POWs were brought in, an FC major had boarded and approached Rev. To no surprise, the major told him that he’d been spared because of Staff Captain Mballa. The major hadn’t exactly said so, but Rev got the impression that he probably wouldn’t have even made it to captivity had the staff captain not taken action before he entered emergency surgery, and the FC wouldn’t have butted heads with the MDS, insisting that Rev be put into a “special category” that would give him more protection.

Of course, if Rev had known what that meant instead of letting his imagination run wild, he probably wouldn’t have lost five years of his life to stress.

When Rev asked, the major had assured him that the staff captain should make a full recovery, but it had been nip-and-tuck. Another hour and it would have been too late.

Rev regretted now that he didn’t ask the most obvious question: who was Staff Captain Mballa, a relatively junior captain and not in a command track at that, so that he could give such orders? Rev got the impression that it had caused significant consternation between the MDS and RC, all for a Marine staff sergeant.

He also didn’t ask who won the battle here on Armadillo, even though he was dying to know.

The MDS officer-in-charge, an under-major, stood up in the front of the bus. “Listen up. This is it. I need to remind you that you are still in our custody, and if things go bad, we will either take you back or kill you. So, listen to your orders and hope your Marines don’t try anything stupid.

“Now, from front to back, stand up, and let’s get this over with.”

Rev didn’t need any further encouragement. He stood and crowded up behind a PFC.

“If the shit hits the fan, do NOT let them bring you back,” he whispered into the PFC’s ear. “You run for our side.”

The PFC, his face heavily bandaged, opened his one visible eye round, but he nodded.

“You just follow me if it comes to that.”

They filed out of the bus and gathered at the front. The morning sun was already causing heat waves to rise off of the road surface, but Rev barely noticed. They’d already been briefed on the procedure, but to see it set up made it all seem real.

There was a red line on the highway fifty meters away. A table straddled the line, and a single MDS soldier sat on this side, a single Union Marine sat on the other side of the line. Fifty meters beyond, a large group of people was gathered, presumably MDS POWs and Marines.

The procedure was simple. Three MDS soldiers and one Marine would approach the table at the same time. Upon reaching it, all four would be scanned. If the two monitors agreed that everything was on the up-and-up, the soldiers and Marine could cross over and go to their people.

“Adams,” an MDS sergeant called out.

The lance corporal took a step forward, then stopped and looked back.

“Go,” the major ordered.

All twenty-one Marine prisoners watched as the lance corporal covered the fifty meters. Rev’s heart was pounding, and he didn’t release the breath he was holding until both sides crossed, soldiers and Marines on their side of the red line.

The Marines broke out into a hubbub of happy chatter. Rev slapped the PFC on the back while he glanced at the MDS major. The man seemed relieved, and that seemed like a very good sign to Rev. He began to think that this might actually happen.

One by one, Marines walked away and happy soldiers arrived. Each soldier was given an army set of overalls, and they ripped off the Union white prisoner jumpsuits, right there on the highway. Some stomped on the white suits, but others were left to catch the breeze and blow to the side of the road.

Rev was only a staff sergeant, but he was the senior Marine prisoner at this point of exchange, and he’d informed the major earlier that he should be the last one to be freed. And finally, it was his turn.

“Pelletier. Your turn.”

Every part of Rev’s body hurt, but he stood tall and proud as he strode to the table. He was still ashamed that he’d become a prisoner, that he’d somehow failed in his mission, but he wasn’t going to show the MDS that.

Four soldiers were heading his way, not three. One, to Rev’s surprise, was a lieutenant colonel.

Shit, a Marine staff sergeant being traded for four MDS officers. Seems about right.

Rev reached the table and said, “Pelletier, Reverent.”

He leaned into the scanner. This was the fourth time he’d been scanned, but he wasn’t going to complain. He was so close.

“You’re cleared as soon as those four are,” the soldier said.

It didn’t take long. Four scans, and everyone was who they were purported to be.

“You may cross,” the soldier and Marine said in unison.

Rev was in such a hurry that he bumped the lieutenant colonel with Pashu, eliciting a sharp cry, but Rev didn’t care. Every step was a stab of pain, but nothing was going to stop him now. He barely kept from breaking into a run. At about twenty meters out, a figure darted from behind the waiting Marines and surged like a rocket, heading right to him.

Rev planted his feet, but he was almost bowled over as a short Marine slammed into his chest, almost collapsing his ribcage. He didn’t care.

“I thought I’d lost you,” the muffled voice said, her face pressed into his chest. “I was so scared.”

He folded his arms, organic and artificial, around Tomiko.

She hugged him for a long moment, then leaned back and punched him just below his throat. “I told you not to be a hero!”

“I wasn’t. Not even close, Miko.”

“Uh, Marines. If you can join us here. You’re not technically free until you reach us.”

Rev looked up to see a full bird colonel standing with the rest, beckoning them with one arm.

“Come on, Miko, let’s go.”

She used her forearm to wipe away the tears, then linked her arm possessively in his.

“We thought you were dead, Rev. And I didn’t think I could take it.”

“It was close, but you know I’m too ornery to die.”

They walked the last few meters silently.

“Welcome back, Staff Sergeant,” the colonel said. “There’s a lot you’re going to need to do, but not here. If you can load the bus, we can get out of here.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

Tomiko wouldn’t release Rev’s arm, though, so they went to the waiting bus together as armed Marines started to collapse on the receiving party. Rev stopped, though, just before climbing aboard.

“What? Is something wrong?” Tomiko asked.

“I’ve been dying to know. Who won?”

Tomiko threw her head back and laughed. “We won, Rev. We kicked their Mother-loving asses!”

9

Rev looked warily at the small gun-like instrument sitting on the tray.

The bus had taken all the former prisoners to a holding station at division for processing. Immediately upon arrival, Rev had been separated from Tomiko and taken to the field aid station where a tech and a corpsman were waiting for him.

“Let me see your band, Staff Sergeant,” the civilian tech said.

Rev dutifully held out his arm, and the tech noted the code below the name and entered it on a tiny pad.

“Can you read me that?” he asked the corpsman.

Rev held out his arm to her, and she said, “One-four-lima-zero-zero-charlie-victor-three.”

The tech nodded in satisfaction and snapped the small pad into the instrument on the tray.

“So, you’re using that thing to wake my battle buddy?” Rev asked.

“This is it. Only I’m not doing it. Doc here is.”

The corpsman smiled and raised her hand.

“Um . . . it looks . . . rather invasive.”

“That’s ’cause it is. What did you think?” the tech asked.

“I don’t know. You’d wave some sort of de-dampener over my head.”

The tech gave a condescending laugh and looked at the corpsman with one of those “Can you believe this guy?” looks.

“Kinda hard to just wave away a dampener they put in your brain, now, right? Doc here’s gottta go get it out.”

Rev instinctively raised his hand to his head, feeling. And there it was, a small tender spot, barely noticeable.

“They put something in my brain?”

“How else are they gonna dampen your AI?”

Once again, the tech reeked of condescension.

Rev had an urge to reach out with Pashu and grab the guy by the throat, but he was more concerned with having an MDS whatever in his brain, and from the looks of the instrument, that they were going to take it out with that thing.

“So, you put the code in that thing,” Rev said.

“Yeah. Better for you. If we take it out without the right code, boom!” he said, mimicking an explosion with both hands.

This was all disconcerting news to Rev, to say the least.

“Boom?”

“Not a big boom. But enough to fuck you up.”

“Uh, can you check that code again?”

“Oh, I got it right . . . I think.”

“You think?” Rev said, his voice rising in pitch. “I’d really like you to check again.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Staff Sergeant. I’m just messin’ with you.” He picked the instrument back up, twisting it so Rev could see the back where there was a small display. “It’ll give the Doc here a green light if the code is correct.”

Ha-fucking-ha, asshole, Rev thought as he tried, unsuccessfully, to hold back a snarl. It’s my brain that’s on the line.

“He’s all yours, Doc. And I don’t have to remind you we’ve got eleven more waiting, so chop-chop.”

The corpsman had laughed when the tech did his little jab, but she recovered and raised a frame from the back of the seat, then guided Rev’s head back into it and strapped him in place. She then picked up what could pass as any spray can at the market.

“I’m going to give you a topical. It should numb you up in about thirty seconds.”

Rev gave the can a suspicious glance. They were going into his brain, and all it took was a spray? He really wanted to ask if there was a doctor present, but three Marines had already gotten their battle buddies returned, and none of the three had been taken out in body bags.

The corpsman shook the can—Rev hoped that was just habit, and not that whatever inside had to be shaken to work—then sprayed just behind his left temple. It was icy cold, but that faded after about ten seconds.

The corpsman waited another fifteen seconds, then gave the side of his head a poke with a metal prod.

“Feel that?”

“No,” he had to admit.

“OK, then.” She picked up the gun-thing. Rev followed it with his eyes until he couldn’t see it anymore. There was a snap as the gun fired, and Rev could feel the pressure on his head, but there was no pain.

“And there it is,” she said, holding the gun in front of him, which looked no different to him than it did before.

“Try and contact your AI,” she said.

“You there?”

<I’m here.>

“Thank the Mother,” Rev said.

“Any, you know, changes? Are you you?” he asked in tabletalk.

<No changes that I can detect. I’ll try some extensive tests, but from what I can tell, I was just dampened.>

“What was that like? Were you there, or was it like you were in a coma?”

<Neither. Both.>

Rev frowned. Punch wasn’t indecisive, as a rule. “Couldn’t you tell?”

<I was aware of who I am, but while I can see the passage of time, I did not seem to experience it.>

Rev wondered if it was like sensory deprivation. Either way, it didn’t sound like a good experience.

“Well?”

Rev turned his attention back to the tech who was standing in front of him with an expectant look. He gave the tech a thumbs-up and said, “He’s back.”

“Not that we expected anything different. We only lose ten percent of you, so the odds were in your favor.”

Rev raised his eyebrows in shock when the tech laughed again and said, “Just kidding. You should have seen your face right then.”

Asshole.

The corpsman released Rev’s head from the clamp, and he immediately touched the side of his head. There was a slight bump, but when he lowered his hand to look, it wasn’t bloody.

“The anesthetic has an antifibrinolytic. The spot might be tender for a few hours, but you’re scheduled for a nanoboost next, and besides speeding up the healing of your ribs and internal injuries, it will take care of this.”

“Not so fast on the boost,” the tech said as he looked at his pad. “It says here that he’s to report to Room 5A immediately after his AI’s reactivation.”

The corpsman frowned and pulled out her pad. “The staff sergeant was badly injured, and he needs his booster. I’m sure whoever’s in 5A can wait thirty minutes.”

“Maybe they just don’t want to wait thirty minutes. In fact, the staff sergeant here was supposed to be first in the queue.”

His eyebrows scrunched together as he considered Rev, probably wondering why he was drawing extra attention.

Rev wondered why, too. He wasn’t really suffering. His ribs were more of a dull ache, and whatever damage was done to his spleen and liver really didn’t affect him. But still, he’d like that nanoboost. It wasn’t just increasing the numbers of medinanos in his body, but specialized nanos would be in the mix that would go right to his specific issues.

“I still think they can wait,” the corpsman said. “How do they know exactly when he leaves here?”

“They know because I logged him as done.”

The corpsman shook her head, then told Rev, “You can probably complain. Your health comes first. Do you want me to call someone?”

Rev had been around long enough to know that whoever was in 5A took priority, and the fact that he had to get Punch reactivated first was a good indication that they wanted a debrief. The battle for the planet was supposedly over, but maybe there was some data he’d observed that could be developed into good intel. He couldn’t think of what it might be. He’d never even made it out of the MDS field hospital.

“I’m OK. I don’t think this will take long.”

She looked deep into his eyes, then said, “Well, as soon as you’re done with whoever, you get back to the ward nurse, and he’ll get you your boost.”

“Thanks. And I will.”

He stood and left the room, telling del Mar to go in. It took a moment to orient himself, but 5A was in the same corridor, at the back. He rapped on the closed door and stepped in . . . and stopped dead in his tracks.

He recognized the grandfatherly looking man leaning up against the plain steel desk in the middle of the room. The last time he’d seen the man was on New Mars when he was interrogated about his actions on Asteroid 6-067-442. He’d never gotten the man’s name, and he hadn’t exactly said he was Omega Division, but there was no doubt in Rev’s mind that was who he was.

“You know anything about him?”

<I’ve got nothing. But if he is Omega Division, then I wouldn’t.>

“Take a seat, Staff Sergeant,” the man said, pointing to the single chair up against the wall.

Rev tried to look nonchalant as he nodded and sat, but he thought the agent could see into his very soul.

The man stared at Rev for a full twenty seconds before he said, “I see you remember me.”

How could I not? Your division accused me of treason.

“Let’s not beat around the bush. I am here to find out why you returned Staff Captain Nonce Mballa, Freedom Confederation Army, to his unit.”

“I didn’t,” Rev said automatically.

The agent raised his eyes and said, “Really? That’s not how we understand it.”

He reached behind him and picked up a blue and red cable, the kind used in invasive interrogations. There was nothing subtle about his implied threat.

“I merely left the staff captain where he might be recovered. I did not physically turn him over.”

The agent scowled and said, “Let’s not get technical here, OK? While that might work in a legal court, I don’t have to tell you that the niceties of the law don’t really apply here. But I’ll rephrase my question. Why did you release control over Staff Captain Mballa?”

“The Torinth Accords, of which the Union is a signatory. The staff captain was badly injured, and I was afraid he was going to die. I did not have the medical ability to save him, as required by the Accords, so I did what I thought I had to do.”

The agent stared at him again, which made Rev squirm—probably exactly as the man intended.

“Let’s start at the beginning, Staff Sergeant, from when you accepted custody of the staff captain until you were released by the MDS. Leave nothing out, and you can use your AI if you need to refresh your memory.”

Rev and Punch were reasonably sure that their normal communications were being monitored, but they didn’t know by whom. Maybe it was Omega Division.

Rev sighed, then began. All the time, the agent was twirling the invasive interrogation cable as if it was some sort of a toy. Rev had a difficult time ignoring it.

He tried to be thorough and asking Punch some questions wasn’t just for show to any listeners. He wanted the details that Punch would be able to recall.

It took over two hours, and by the time he was finished, his body ached, and he wished he’d been able to get the nanoboost first.

The agent generally listened in silence, his eyes boring into Rev and only asking a few questions for clarification. When Rev was finished, he was silent again, whether digesting what Rev said or trying to make Rev more nervous; Rev didn’t know.

“Nice details, but it doesn’t answer something. Why, out of the forty-six Marines and corpsmen captured during the operation, were you the only one that didn’t have to sign a parole agreement, and why were you allowed to keep your IBHU?”

With a little spark of anger and what he was being put through, he snapped, “I’d imagine it was because I was the only IBHU Marine captured.”

The agent looked surprised for a moment, then with a laugh, he said, “OK on that last point. But the parole?”

“Maybe it was just thanks for following the Accords.”

“Maybe, or maybe something different. But you see, there is a pattern here. Why do you seem to always consort with the enemy? You give the Frisians access to Centaur technology. You let Centaurs on Earth live. And now you let strategic prisoners free.”

“Not killing the Centaurs at Machu Picchu ended up well, I’d say.”

“Maybe. But you had no way of knowing that before you acted. So again, why do you seem to consort and assist the enemy?”

“If you are insinuating that I’m a traitor to the Union, I think I’ve proven myself in combat time and time again,” he said, his voice as cold as ice, righteous anger replacing nervousness.

“Yes, you have proven yourself in combat, and that’s the only reason you’re still a free man,” the agent said, revealing something that Rev suspected but hadn’t known for sure.

He knew the Marine Corps and the Omega Division had clashed over him before, and the Marines had won out. He figured that the Omega Division didn’t like that and that they held a grudge. He’d be in their crosshairs, which might explain how the hell the same agent was somehow here on Armadillo.

“But bravery in combat doesn’t mean that you aren’t a traitor. They are not mutually exclusive.

“Have you ever heard of Benedict Arnold?”

“No,” Rev said, wondering about the change in tack.

“Eighteenth-Century Earth. The American Revolution. He commanded troops against the British and was wounded in action, shot in the leg as he led the sally that turned the course of the battle. He was commended for bravery. Later in the war, angry at what he perceived to be mistreatment, he turned coat and became a traitor, turning over a fort to the British.

“There was a statue erected after the war. The Americans called it ‘The Boot Monument.’ It was General Arnold’s boot, just that and nothing else, commemorating when he fought and suffered for the Americans, even if he turned traitor afterward.”

The agent pointedly looked at Pashu.

“What, because this ancient asshole lost his leg and I lost my arm, we’re supposed to be the same? Sorry, that’s ridiculous,” he almost yelled as he stood.

The agent’s tight-lipped smile made Rev realize he’d just been played. The agent knew there was no connection between this General Arnold—if he was even a real person and not some fictitious character—and him, but he used it to get under Rev’s skin. And it worked. Rev had lost his cool.

He took the three deep breaths he always did when he wanted to calm down and took his seat again.

“Are there any other historical tidbits you want to throw my way?”

Rev was treading on dangerous ground. Omega Division had power, and the agent was no low-level flunky, while Rev was just a lowly staff sergeant. He was an IBHU, but that only gave him a small bit of protection in the grand scheme of things.

But the agent ignored the question and kept up his game of staring silently at him.

“If there’s nothing else, I’m supposed to report back to sickbay. I was wounded, you know, when the Buzzard I was in was shot down. So, unless you want to deny me medical care, I’d like to leave.”

The agent waited a few moments, then nodded at the door.

Rev wanted to sigh with relief, but he knew this was nothing. The agent could just be biding his time to spring whatever he had planned. He stood up and stepped to the door.

“Just know this, Reverent Pelletier,” the agent said, freezing Rev in place just as he was reaching for the doorknob. “Don’t think your Marine Corps is going to protect you forever. When you become too much of a headache, they’ll abandon you. And that day will come. We’re watching you. I’m watching you.”

Rev pushed the door open and stepped out.

I’m sure you will be watching me. But I’ll be damned if I give you anything to see.

10

“Battalion, dis . . . MISSED!”

The Marines and corpsmen in the five companies each took a step back, conducted an about-face, and shouted, “Ooh-rah!”

“Third Platoon! Don’t run off. Gather on me,” Rev yelled before his Marines could scatter to the wind.

There were some groans and more than a few scowls, but the battalion commander had surprised everyone with a seventy-two immediately upon the conclusion of the formation. Rev had expected the three days off, but not just yet. There were administrative tasks that should have been done, gear checked, and a host of other things, but those would have to wait until zero-eight-hundred on Thursday morning now.

The CO had also decreed a skeleton duty section with a Marine on watch for each company, minding the store and answering incoming calls. That meant the platoon would be tasked with one of the three days, and Rev wanted to nail that down before the Marines scattered to the winds.

“We’re going to need two people for company duty, port and starboard. I need to check with the lieutenant on which day we draw. One NCO and one non-rate. Any volunteers?”

Strap immediately raised his hand.

“Oh, come on. Sergeant Gantz has got family here. Can’t anyone from somewhere else volunteer?” Rev asked.

Rev didn’t want to play favorites based upon from where each Marine came, but just like for religious holidays when Marines of other religions volunteered to take the duty, he thought that someone like Strap, who hadn’t seen his family for so long, should get the opportunity to spend a little time with them.

The others haven’t seen their families, either, he reminded himself.

But if they ever got full-fledged leave, Rev would make sure that those going off-planet were given the maximum amount of time, and the Safe Harbor Marines would take any duty requirements.

“I’ve got the NCO slot,” Sergeant Lehman said.

“And I’ll take the non-rate,” Hochenspatter added.

“Thanks. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of later. Hang a moment after this, and I’ll find out what day we’ve got.”

He looked out over the platoon. “Now look. We’ve got seventy-two hours . . .” he started before checking the time. “No, seventy hours. We’re back in formation at zero-eight. Relax, have some fun, but watch yourselves. It’s been six weeks with no booze, but don’t go overboard. We don’t need you doing anything stupid, like getting arrested or getting yourself killed. Understand?”

“Ooh-rah.”

“And do not, I repeat, do not be late for muster on Thursday. The CO may have let us go, but there’s a shitload of work we have to get done. And I don’t have to remind you, keep your nannies activated. We could get called away at any moment.”

Rev was about to go further, but the impatient faces looking at him changed his mind. He was just being a platoon sergeant, and he didn’t need to be reminding them of every little potential transgression they could make. He’d been on the receiving end of these kinds of lectures before, and he’d thought them a waste of time.

“That’s it. Sergeant Lehman and Hoch, stand by for a moment, and everyone else, get the hell out of here.”

The ooh-rah was louder this time, and like a covey of quail, they almost exploded as Marines bolted in every direction, probably hoping to get changed and off the base before anyone could change their mind.

Rev tracked down the first sergeant and found out that the platoon had duty on Wednesday, so his two Marines would still have two days off. He let them know.

“You’re really getting into this platoon sergeant shit,” Tomiko said with a smile. “I was watching you.”

“What? No, I just—”

“Relax, Rev. Just giving you grief. You’re doing good, you know.”

Rev frowned. Other than the initial assault, he felt he hadn’t done much during the mission, and he was still self-conscious about being captured. After he returned to the unit, it had been five weeks of standing by to stand by. So, he wasn’t sure what she was referring to.

“Good memorial,” she said, turning serious.

“Respect to the fallen,” Rev automatically said.

The morning had started out with the ceremony at the chapel. They’d had the traditional final call on Armadillo, but this was the battalion’s first memorial, and Marks, Wister, and five Second Heavy Infantry Company Marines’ names became the first of what would hopefully not be many names to be engraved on the Wall of the Fallen.

“Yeah. It was rough, though. I really thought Sergeant Marks was going to make it. She didn’t look like she was hurt that bad.”

“You never know,” Tomiko said. “You just have to be glad for those who were brought back.”

Orpheus joined them. “I’ve messaged Cricket and Udu, Ten and Malaika, and Fyr to see if they’re up for meeting at Lateeka’s. Ten and Mala’ll be there. Still waiting for the married folks to see if they can get a sitter. No word back from Fyr. Yance is a no-go. He’s got some new fling going on, and he wants to get laid, as he so directly put it.”

When he said “Ten and Malaika,” Tomiko gave him a quick look that Rev pretended not to see.

“I’m not sure, Orpho,” Rev said. “I was thinking about just spending this evening at home with my family. Can we do it tomorrow?”

Rev had seen his family once during his time with the Home Guard, and since he returned, the tempo in standing up the company and then training had been so high that he’d only managed to get out to the home once, and that had only been for a couple of hours. With three days off—providing there wasn’t a recall—he was looking forward to relaxing and catching up on everything that was going on in their lives.

Orpheus frowned, but he said, “I guess so. We can make a proper shindig of it tomorrow. I’ll message you with the time. But I’m still going, and Ten and Mala will be there at least, so that makes five.” He turned to Tomiko. “Thirty minutes to shower and change enough for you?”

Tomiko gave a questioning look at Rev before saying, “Should be fine.”

“OK, then. We’ll let this lightweight go home, and I’ll meet you at Lateeka’s.”

“You have a good visit, and be ready to pound some brews tomorrow, bud,” he said, giving Rev’s organic shoulder a slap. “Or should I be calling you platoon sergeant?”

“Eat me.”

Orpheus laughed as he turned and headed to the SNCO quarters.

Rev looked at his feet. He’d been surprised that Tomiko had so readily agreed to go to Lateeka’s.

“Well, you have a good time today, Rev. Tell your family hello for me, OK?”

“Uh . . . you know, you could stop by and tell them yourself, like before you head off to meet up with the others.”

Tomiko gave Rev a look he couldn’t decipher, and she said, “That would be OK? I mean, I don’t want to intrude on family time.”

“OfcourseitwouldbeOK,” Rev said in a rush. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“But you said you wanted to spend time with your family, and I’m not family.”

“And you said you wanted to go to Lateeka’s.”

“No, I didn’t. I just said I would go, not that I wanted to go.”

Rev scrunched his eyebrows together. “So, you would want to come with me?”

“Of course, Rev. If I’m not intruding. I’m serious about that. If you want some family time, I understand. I know how important family is to you.”

You probably don’t, not really. I know it must seem strange to you, and I‘m so sorry you never had the experience of a loving family.

“Family and . . . us,” he said, not really knowing how to term it, “are not mutually exclusive. And I want my family to know that you and I are . . . us.”

<Very smooth. You’ve got such a way with words.>

“Sleep, Punch!”

Tomiko raised her right eyebrow, a habit she had when she didn’t know what to say or had a question.

“I mean, is that OK? That I tell them?”

“Yes, Rev, that’s OK,” she said, giving his right upper arm a light shot.

Then she leaned in, took a sniff, and grimaced.

“But I think you might want to shower first. Me, too. And I’d better tell Orpho I’m standing him up.”

She stood on her tiptoes, pulled him down to her level, and gave him a kiss on the cheek before she turned and hurried off to get cleaned up.

Rev watched her for a long moment before he lifted his arm and sniffed. He was pretty rank, he realized, and standing here wasn’t going to take care of it.

“Wake, Punch,” he said as he headed to the company area.

He could sense his battle buddy was awake, but Punch remained silent.

“Well? Nothing to say now?”

<Humans are weird.>

* * *

“That was amazing, Ms. Pelletier,” Tomiko said, pushing herself away from the table. “And I can’t eat another bite.”

“Oh, this was nothing. Just something I threw together when Rev told me you two were coming.”

She was beaming at the compliment, though, Rev knew. And Tomiko was right. Rev reached over and stabbed the last stuffed jalapeno with his fork. He bit down, and the juices exploded into his mouth.

It still amazed Rev at the change in his mother. For most of his life, she was one of the few people he knew who could mess up a home-fabricated meal. Then after Rev was conscripted, she started cooking real food, and that accelerated after the Centaur invasion.

His dad had confided while patting his expanding belly that he didn’t know what sparked the change, but he sure wasn’t complaining. His belly wasn’t the only thing that had changed in his step-father. The last seven years had taken a toll. He seemed tired, and he hadn’t bothered to get hormone treatments to hide the gray in his hair.

Rev sometimes had to be reminded how the war, particularly the invasion, had changed things for the citizens of Safe Harbor. It was a different place now, a harder place. He just hoped that the current conflict wouldn’t make its way to his home. If this quasi-war devolved into total conflict, then it probably would.

“Why don’t you three go to the living room while I get dessert. Neesy and Kat, if you can clean the table?”

“Mom! You know I’m seeing Stin at the arcade.”

That was another huge change. In his mind, Neesy was still the little girl he’d left. Now, she was a young woman—a young woman with a boyfriend. He just couldn’t seem to wrap his head around that.

“No ‘Mom.’ Your brother hasn’t been here in so long. Can’t you beg off Stin for an evening?”

“But he’s gonna be here for two more days,” she whined.

“Neesy!” Rev’s father said.

“It’s OK. Really. She’s right in that we’ll be home for two more days,” Rev said.

“You don’t mind?” his mother asked.

“No, not at all.”

Neesy stared at their mother, then at their father with hopeful eyes.

His mother finally shook her head and said, “If it’s OK with Rev, then you can go.”

She turned to Rev, who nodded. She rushed over, gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, big brother. See you tomorrow. You, too, Tomiko!”

“I told you, call me Miko.”

With a rush, Neesy blew their father a kiss and was out the door.

Rev’s father smiled and said, “Young love,” then turned back and gave Rev and Tomiko a measured stare.

Rev fidgeted in his seat.

“Kat, will you please clean the table while I get the cake?”

“Sure, Mom.”

That was another change. Kat had been adopted by his parents, so of course, she would call her mom. But in Rev’s head, Kat was Kat, and his parents were his parents.

On an emotional level, it was hard to imagine that his family wasn’t the same family he’d left. They’d grown and changed. He knew this on an intellectual level, but it was still jarring that his home no longer existed in the same form as it was when he became a Marine.

As if he could read Rev’s thoughts, Punch said, <You’ve changed, too.>

He glanced at Tomiko, who was laughing at something his father had just said. “Yes, I have.”

His mother came in with a tray and four pieces of what looked to be a chocolate-raspberry mousse cake, and Rev eagerly reached for it despite his full stomach, but she pulled the tray back at the last second.

“Before you get this cake, give.”

“Give what.”

She nodded at the two of them. “It’s a big couch, and you two are sitting a centimeter apart. I’ve seen how often you’ve stolen glances.

“Miko, you’ve been here in our home often enough, and I think you’re a fine young woman. But something’s changed. What?”

Kat stuck her head out of the kitchen, then hurried to one of the dining room chairs and sat down, leaning forward to hear what he was going to say.

Rev gulped. He’d—they’d—intended to tell his parents about the change in their relationship, but to be hit broadside like this had him flummoxed.

Tomiko came to the rescue. She took Rev’s social hand in hers and pulled it into her lap. “The Marine Corps, especially during a war, is not designed for relationships. They can affect critical thinking, and, to be blunt, that can have drastic consequences.”

She paused, and Rev’s mother led with, “And . . . ?”

“Despite that, and despite the fact that the Marine Corps frowns on this, Rev and I’ve decided that we care for each other. A lot. And while we’re taking it slow, we’re going to see where it leads us. That’s it. No more, no less.”

“So, does that mean that you and Rev are a thing?” Kat asked, her face in a broad smile.

“Yes, I guess it does,” Tomiko said, giving Rev’s hand a squeeze.

“About time,” Rev’s mother said, handing him the cake. She leaned down and gave Tomiko a big hug before turning back to Rev. “You’re my son, but I swear, sometimes you can’t see what’s right in front of your face.”

Rev looked to his father, who shrugged and said, “Just eat your cake, son.”

* * *

“This is it,” Rev said, standing outside the door. “Post 747944 of the Veterans of Galactic Wars.”

Tomiko frowned. She hadn’t been too excited when Rev suggested they head on down after dinner to the post canteen for a beer. Rev hadn’t been too sure what to do, and sitting around while his mother just grinned was getting uncomfortable. They could have gone to meet the others at Lateeka’s, but Rev wasn’t in the mood for that.

“So, this is where you go to hang out with all the old farts and drink,” she said.

“They’re not old farts. They’re Marines and sailors, just like us. Some soldiers and militia, too,” Rev said, taking on a defensive stand.

“Is this a bad idea?”

<I am interested to observe and find out. None of this is in my programming.>

“Lot’s of help you are.”

“I swear, Rev, I don’t know why you come here.”

“Mr. Oliva’s been a good mentor to me. And the others . . . they’re just good guys.”

“‘Guys,’ you said. So, where’re all the women? Sounds like an old boy’s drinking club to me.”

“They’re women in the VGW. Lots of them.”

“And how many come to this club?”

“Post. This post. A few,” Rev said.

Not that he’d seen many women. He hadn’t been to any of the monthly meetings nor any of the planned events. All he’d done was stop by, usually to see Mr. Oliva, eight or ten evenings when there were only a handful of guys hanging out, and yes, maybe drinking more than a few.

Tomiko rolled her eyes, sighed, took Rev’s arm, and said, “OK, let’s get this over with.”

Rev was a little hurt at her reaction, if he was being honest with himself. He wanted her to be impressed enough to join. It was something they could do together that wasn’t Marine stuff.

But it kinda is. Except for Harry Brose, all of the normal nightly crew were former Marines. Should I be trying to find something out of the Marine sphere for us to do?

But it was too late now. Rev thought it was better to just see how she liked—or didn’t like—the post.

They stepped through the door, and it took a moment for their eyes to adjust. Rev was feeling defensive, and it hit him that the canteen was rather dingy, even after the damage done during the invasion had been repaired. Maybe the post should have gone a little further and brightened up the place.

Mr. Oliva was at his customary place around the corner at the far end of the bar, his arms crossed on top of the bar, his head drooping as if he was about to fall asleep. In front of him was a half-empty beer.

Maud Timmerman gave him a piercing stare as they came in, more at Tomiko than at him.

“Long time, Rev. Your usual?”

“What do you want, Miko,” he asked.

“Any beer on tap.”

Maud nodded, and Rev added, “Fill Mr. Oliva up, too,”

“Got it,” she said, her eyes constantly going back to Tomiko.

“See, she’s a woman,” Rev said, immediately realizing how lame that sounded.

Tomiko harrumphed, then said, “And of course, she’s serving.”

“It’s not like that,” Rev tried to explain.

<I am not an expert, but it doesn’t seem like you are handling this well.>

“Sleep, Punch!”

A couple of patrons shouted out a hello, but most of the eyes were on Tomiko. Rev waved back as they made their way to Mr. Oliva, who looked up as they rounded the end of the bar.

It was as if someone flipped a switch. He immediately sat up, eyes suddenly bright as he straightened his shirt.

“Why, hello, miss,”

“This is Staff Sergeant Tomiko Reiser,” Rev quickly interjected, knowing how Tomiko would react to the “miss.”

“A Marine. All the better. Would you do me the honor of taking this seat?” he asked, getting out of his chair and half- pulling out the one next to it.”

Rev winced, waiting for the explosion and regretting ever bringing Tomiko to the post, but to his amazement, she just smiled and said, “The honor is mine. Rev has told me so much about you. You served as a corporal in the Berroni War, right?”

“Don’t get him started, Staff Sergeant,” Harry Brose said, suddenly sliding into the seat on the other side of her. “He’s full of stories, Jorge is, and they all begin with ‘This is a no shitter.’”

“At least I didn’t sit on my ass in a ship like Harry here,” Mr. Oliva said with a laugh.

Maud arrived with the drinks, and to Rev’s utter amazement, Mr. Oliva said, “Her drink’s on me.”

In all the times Rev had met with the old vet, Mr. Oliva never paid for a drink. Rev did.

The end of the bar only had three stools. Mr. Oliva had the far stool, Tomiko was next, and now Harry had taken the third.

Rev was still standing, feeling out of place, when Harry said, “Sit, Rev,” as he pointed at the first stool around the corner.

“Here’s to Staff Sergeant Reiser,” Mr. Oliva said, raising his glass. Everyone clinked—Rev had to stand up on the rungs of his stool to lean over the corner of the bar to clink with Mr. Oliva.

“So, Staff Sergeant—”

“Miko, please,” she insisted.

“Only if you call me Jorge.”

Rev’s eyes widened in surprise. Mr. Oliva had never told him to call him Jorge.

“So, Miko, I take it you are getting medically discharged?”

What?

Tomiko was confused as well, as she asked, “Pardon me? Medically discharged? What gave you that idea?”

Mr. Oliva looked over at Rev, then said, “Well, since you came in with that guy there, I have to assume there’s something wrong with your eyesight, at the very least.”

Tomiko’s trill of laughter joined that of all the others, including the two who’d joined them, sitting on the other side of Rev. Tomiko punched Mr. Oliva’s arm—but a light punch, not one of the wallops she typically gave Rev.

Mr. Oliva beamed with a shit-eating grin.

Rev laughed, too, but he wasn’t feeling it as much as the others. He wasn’t feeling it when Mr. Oliva told some war stories he’d never heard. He wasn’t feeling it when Tomiko gave a humorous and rather exaggerated account of when he killed his first paladin back on Preacher Rolls. He wasn’t feeling it when he was buying rounds for all seven of the patrons and Maud, who were now all gathered at their end of the bar.

Rev was feeling somewhat left out, so he even woke Punch back up. Tomiko, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying herself, which was exactly what he’d hoped for. Even considering how well she was fitting in, Rev was taken aback when Harry Brose suggested she join the VGW. Before Rev knew what had happened, Maud took out the official Post 747944 pad, and after everyone chipped in her dues, Tomiko was duly sworn into the VGW as a member of the post.

Which, again, was exactly what he’d hoped would eventually happen. So why wasn’t he overjoyed?

Stop being a baby, Reverent.

Still, his fun-meter was about pegged out, and yes, it was slightly, certainly barely, possible that he could be the tiniest bit jealous of the attention she was getting. There were new members of the post who joined after the Centaur War, but not many were in the weeknight-at-the-canteen group.

He took to making some obvious yawns, but Tomiko didn’t seem to notice at first until he almost dislocated his jaw on one.

“Well, gentlemen and gentlewoman,” she said, nodding at Maud, who performed a half-curtsey at the mention. “It seems that Rev here’s a little bushed, so maybe we’d better call it a night.”

There were howls of protest, and Harry yelled out, “Lightweight!”

“One more round before you go!” Lenten Knowles, a retired CWO5, said.

Maud looked at Rev, one eyebrow raised in a question. Rev nodded.

He’d already paid for the bottle, a Silver Dragon single malt, and this would probably kill it. He might as well go out big.

Maud recharged everyone’s glasses, and Lenten said, “To our newest member, Miko Reiser, and to Rev here for bringing her to us.”

<See, you’re not forgotten,> Punch said, and Rev could swear he was laughing.

The drinks were downed, but before Tomiko could slide off her stool, Mr. Oliva took her hand, brought it up, and kissed it like some knight of old.

“Oh, if I was only eighty again, I’d be courting you for certain.” Everyone laughed, but in a quieter voice that Rev only heard because of his augmented hearing . . . and the fact that he was trying to listen. “But since I’m not, that young Marine who escorted you in is a pretty decent man.”

“I know, Jorge. I know.” She leaned in and gave him a peck on the cheek.

She slid off the chair, and Harry said, “You’re a member now. You come back any time you want.”

“I sure will.”

She stopped in front of Rev and asked, “So, are you coming?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” He’d been so intent on what was going on that he’d forgotten to get off of his stool. He stepped off, and Tomiko wove her arm in his.

She stopped the two of them at the door, turned, and waved. Everyone waved back.

The two stepped into the night air. “I was wrong, and you were right, Rev, and thanks for bringing me. They’re a great group, and it was fun. We’ll have to come back again when we can.”

Rev normally would eagerly accept any time that Tomiko admitted that she was wrong and he was right. So, why didn’t it feel like a win for him?

11

Rev started his telemark, but the shift in his weight caused his right ski to sink into the snow, plunging him off balance. He fell face-first, the upper half of his body under the surface, his left leg and butt still out in the open.

“Son of a bitch!” he screamed, the snow dampening his external speakers.

He struggled to right himself, pushing down with his right pole, but the tip didn’t reach the solid ground beneath the snow. What made it worse was that his head was downhill, below his center of gravity. No matter what he tried, nothing worked. His right leg was stuck, and flailing around with his left just made him look like a dying cockroach.

Eventually, with a series of kicks, he freed his right leg, and with both now together, he managed to turn on his side, flopping back and forth until his head was out of the snow.

Standing two meters to his side, Lieutenant General Simpson, head of Marine Corps R & D, stood with Lieutenant General Begay, the head of the Safe Harbor Provincial Marines, silently watching him in their cold-weather coats, their three stars bright on the front of their caps.

Shit. How long have they been there? Rev wondered as he struggled to get back up to his feet.

The snow was powdery, and he couldn’t get any purchase. With six total stars staring at him, he began to panic to get out of the predicament, and that just made things worse.

His only saving grace was that with his overwhites, while it was obvious he was an IBHU Marine, they couldn’t specifically identify him. He could hide in their anonymity.

“I see your point,” General Simpson said. “All that effort, and somehow this wasn’t addressed.”

“It has to be addressed,” General Begay said. “And it is not just some of our, shall I say, more physically challenged Marines. This floundering Marine is Staff Sergeant Pelletier.”

“Pelletier? Really?” General Simpson asked.

Oh, just great, Rev thought as he finally managed to bring his left ski under him. Trying to put the generals out of his mind, he carefully pushed off with his leg. The ski sank half a meter into the snow, but he was able to stand up.

He nodded at the two generals, then started to ski off, anxious to get out of their sight, but the headquarters general said, “Hold on, Staff Sergeant.”

Rev repressed a sigh and retracted his face shield. The bitterly cold wind bit at his face. “Yes, General?”

“How many days have you been out here training?”

“Nine, ma’am.”

“Other than what we just saw, do you think you’re combat capable in this type of environment?”

Rev’s natural reaction was to say that he was ready for anything. It was part of Marine culture to be gung ho and willing to take on any task. But the general was in charge of Marine Corps R & D, and he could read in her voice that this wasn’t just chitchat. She wanted to know, and she needed to know.

“No, ma’am. I’m not. My PAL is just too heavy, even with these wider skis. Maybe in hard-packed snow, like at a resort, they would work, but not out here.”

Rumor had it that the skis for the PAL-Hs had been tested at the resorts on Liancane III, but this wasn’t the tourist hotspot, and Rev was irreverent enough to slip in that dig. This was Safe Harbor’s arctic, raw and natural.

General Simpson nodded, then turned to General Begay and asked, “Have you tried going back to the PAL-3s?”

“PAL-3s have never been very effective in deep snow in the best of conditions, Kathy, and with the extra mass our IBHU Marines carry, there isn’t much difference. Still combat ineffective.”

General Simpson frowned and used her sleeve to wipe away a bit of snot that started running down her lip. “But the snow conditions on . . .” she started to say, then gave Rev a quick glance. “Not all cold-weather conditions are the same,” she rephrased.

General Begay told Rev, “Carry on, Staff Sergeant.”

Words he wanted to hear. Rev carefully started off, praying he wouldn’t fall again.

“To your right,” Tomiko passed.

Rev looked and saw her waving. He just wanted to get down to the assembly point and not traverse the slope, but he adjusted his direction and skied over to her. “Skied” was a generous term, though. It was more like he beat the snow into submission and trudged to where she was waiting.

“You looked like a giraffe on ice there,” she said as he reached her.

“You try to ski in these PAL-HXs and with an IBHU.”

“What did they say to you?” she asked.

“Wanted to know if I was combat effective.”

“What did you say?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Miko. What did you think I said? No, of course.”

“You think it’ll make a difference?”

“Who knows? Begay’s on our side, but Simpson’s from HQ. She doesn’t see what’s going on.”

“Maybe that’s why she’s here, Rev. Give her a chance.”

“She did say something,” Rev said in a conspiratorial tone.

“Really? Give.”

“She started to say that the snow is different somewhere else, but then I think she realized that I was standing there, so she cut it off to something more generic.”

“I was right!”

“Maybe,” Rev said.

“Fuck maybe. We’re going to some damn iceball. That’s why we’re out here freezing our asses off.”

“We’re not freezing in our PALs,” Rev said.

“You know what I mean. Mark my words. Our next mission’s gonna be in the snow.”

Rev hadn’t been sure before. It could just be a test of the equipment, as they’d been told. But now, he was leaning to what Tomiko said.

“Give me a list of potential cold-weather targets,” he told Punch.

<Permanent cold weather or seasonal?>

Seasonal cold weather would open up a lot more potential destinations, but down here at Camp Laney, the Marines’ cold-weather training center, there wasn’t much to do in their very limited free time. He might as well go through all the possibilities.

“Both.”

<Roger.>

With an impossibly smooth telemark, Master Sergeant Hoora, the chief ski instructor at Camp Laney, came to a stop beside the two of them.

“What did the generals ask you?” he asked in a rush.

“They wanted to know if I thought we were combat-ready.”

“And what did you tell them?”

“That we aren’t.”

“Hell, Pelletier. Why did you tell them that?”

Rev realized that the top felt like he’s just thrown the instructors under the bus.

“Because it’s true, Top. And Begay already knows it. It’s no fault of yours. It’s the damn PALs. They’re just too heavy.”

The top sighed and said, “Maybe you’re right. Someone must have reported this up the chain, and now they’ve been snooping around, asking a bunch of you. You’re just the only one who decided to splat that close to them.”

“He’s not the only one,” Tomiko said, pointing.

The two generals were trudging through the snow to another Marine who was half-buried.

“Oh, shit. Uh . . . you two get on down the hill. We’ve got a five-klick advance to contact once you’ve all made it down to get to the assembly point.”

He took off, easily skimming over the snow.

“Easy for him to do without a PAL weighing him down,” Rev said.

“Well, shall we? Last one down sucks donkey ass.”

Tomiko was already moving . . . for about two meters until the snow snakes grabbed her skis, and she went down. She struggled to get up, but as with Rev a few minutes ago, she couldn’t reach the solid ground under the snow to gain purchase.

“Are you going to help me up or what?”

“No. I don’t want to suck donkey ass,” Rev said as he carefully skied past her.

He had to cut off the P2P link to get away from the tirade that chased him down the hill.

* * *

The wind numbed Rev’s cheeks, and his nose felt like a lump of ice, but he didn’t care. He’d never gone skiing or snowboarding while he was young, but after only two days of PAL-less lessons, he’d taken to it like a terrier on a rat. Other than combat, this was the biggest adrenaline rush of his life.

He cut close to a huge pine, clipping it with his shoulder, sending down a load of snow that caught Lieutenant Bacci right in the face and knocked him down.

That’s what you get for trying to stay on my ass . . . sir.

Rev was locked into Yancey, ten meters ahead. The asshole was mocking him, raising a hand every ten or fifteen seconds, middle finger raised.

The last two days had been a godsend. Without the PALs sinking them into the snow, their natural and augmented abilities were able to surface. Except for one or two Marines, the entire company was able to ski with the best of them.

Tomorrow, they’d start tactical operations, but the instructor staff decided to let them blow off steam for the entire first twelve days with a race back to the bivouac site, a twenty-three-klick ski with downhill, uphill, and flat straightaways.

It was platoon against platoon with two ways to win. The Marine or corpsman who individually came in first won for their platoon, and the platoon that had their last Marine cross first was another winner.

The winning platoons would be released to the club, where booze was authorized. The losing platoon, the one with whichever Marine or corpsman was the last to cross the line, had to clean the barracks before they’d be released.

But there didn’t have to be a prize for each of them to put out. Their pure competitive nature was more than enough to drive them.

Rev knew he wasn’t going to win the race. He was confident of his newfound abilities, but the IBHU Marines were at a disadvantage. Despite familiarity with their IBHUs, their weapons were not designed for the poling required for cross country skiing. The other Marines were better able to balance out their poling.

Each platoon had released their “rabbits,” quicker Marines who were vying to win the race. For Third Platoon, that was Hussein and Doc Mason. Rev had another mission. But for now, it was simply racing, and Yancey was just ahead, taunting him.

They reached the bottom of the small hill with a smooth telemark, then it was a longer climb up the next hill. Here’s where Rev’s conditioning took over. He ducked his head and started climbing, lungs bellowing to feed oxygen into his large body. Yancey started to slow as the slope got steeper, then he gave up, turning to sidestep up the hill.

Here’s where being heavier had an advantage. Rev had discovered that if he lifted his skis and slammed them down, they seemed to bite in better, and he could essentially run up the slope.

Within ten seconds, he was passing Yancey, but not before he reached out and gave his friend a push, knocking him over on his side. As Yancey screamed and threw a snowball at Rev’s retreating back, Rev returned the many middle fingers Yancey had given him.

His method of climbing was not perfect, and he started losing forward momentum near the top. He had to give in and sidestep the last ten meters.

At the crest, he could see the camp, two klicks away, a half-dozen permanent buildings and rows of expeditionary shelters. At the bottom of the hill was the snow-covered road that led into the camp, and there were already bodies pelting down it. Rev couldn’t make out who was in the lead, but that wasn’t his concern. He just had to hope Hussein or Mason would come in first.

He stopped for a moment, orienting himself to what he could see.

Behind him, Yancey shouted, “Out of breath, big guy? I’m gonna pass your ass on the way back down.”

Rev ignored him. Yancey wasn’t who he needed.

There,” Rev thought, picking out one of the bridges over the creek that ran past the camp. This one was about four hundred meters from the finish line.

Target selected, he started skiing down. There wasn’t a reason to rush now. All around him, Marines were skiing down the hill and reaching the road. Yancey passed him and tried to give him a shoulder shot, but Rev was ready and stayed on his skis.

By the time Rev arrived on the road, a good three-quarters of the company were in front of him.

“Come on, Staff Sergeant!” Randigold shouted as she passed him.

Rev just waved. She hadn’t been part of the plan the lieutenant had cooked up.

As Rev reached the bridge, the traffic had lightened. He took a look around, then skied off the road and hid behind one of the bridge stanchions.

Now, it’s wait time.

Rev’s warrior started to rise to the surface, but Rev damped him back. He didn’t need him, at least not yet.

A few more Marines passed, none noticing him. The gaps between Marines started to lengthen. Finally, he spotted his target. Corporal Geffin, from Second Platoon, was one of those Marines who was still having problems skiing. A fish in liquid water, that skill didn’t translate to its frozen state.

And as luck would have it, he was skiing just fifteen meters ahead of Lance Corporal Božič-Mizaki—BM—Third Platoon’s entry into the slow-skier contest. Everyone was pretty sure that one of the two would be last, and from the look of where they were now, it might be Third Platoon on clean-up duty.

They’d been given only one rule to the race. Once you reached the finish, you were done. You couldn’t come back and carry or otherwise help anyone else.

The rules never stated anything about those on the course, though, and while Rev felt a little guilty about implementing the lieutenant’s plan, he had to admit she’d been prescient. And as the saying went, all’s fair in love and war.

He wouldn’t have done this on his own, but with the platoon’s beer at stake, he had to stick up for them. And it was all in good fun.

As soon as Geffin crossed the bridge, Rev was in motion. With three strides, he caught up to the corporal and bodily lifted him off the road.

“Hey, what the fuck?” the corporal shouted as he tried to twist free.

“Just relax, Geffin. I’ll let you go in a minute.”

Božič-Mizaki froze when Rev made his appearance, and she stared at Rev, mouth open in shock.

“Ski!” he yelled at her. “I’m going to let him go when you’re a hundred meters ahead.”

She still didn’t move, and Rev had to yell again, “Ski!”

The lance corporal nodded, and she started to move forward again. Rev was tempted to give her a push forward, she was moving so slow.

“This is cheating, Staff Sergeant,” Geffin sputtered, still trying to break free from Rev’s iron grip.

“Top Hoora said no rules. And wasn’t it your Gunny Poole who knocked down about a dozen Marines at the start?”

“That’s different, and you know it,” Geffin whined, and Rev felt another pang of guilt. It was the same thing, but still . . .

“Tell you what. It’ll be just you and me bringing it in, and I’ll give you a head start. Say, a hundred meters?”

“Make it two hundred meters,” the corporal said as he stopped struggling.

“You’re a hardass, Geffin. OK, two hundred.”

Two hundred meters would be hard for Rev to make up, and he could very well lose, but he liked Geffin’s chutzpa.

He turned to see how far Božič-Mizaki was ahead. She was just rounding the curve in the road when a shape rushed out from the trees and tackled her.

“What the . . .”

It was Gunny Poole. Evidently, Lieutenant Nilson wasn’t the only one with the same idea.

“Hey, Gunny!” Rev shouted.

The senior IBHU Marine turned, saw Rev and Geffin, and suddenly started to laugh. He motioned Rev to join him.

“You going to run if I let you go?”

“No way in hell, Staff Sergeant. I wanna see how this plays out.”

The two skied up and joined Poole and a bewildered-looking Božič-Mizaki.

“Seems that like minds and all of that,” the gunny said.

“Seems like,” Rev answered.

“So, now what?”

“How about we let these two go, then you and me, for all the marbles,” Rev said.

Once the words were out of his mouth, he knew the gunny had to accept. Anything else wouldn’t be . . . Marine.

“You’re on,” he immediately agreed. Then to Geffin and Božič-Mizaki, “You two, go. Make it a race between you, but go.”

Geffin didn’t need any encouragement. He was off. Božič-Mizaki looked at Rev and asked, “Staff Sergeant?”

“Go, BM. Try and beat him if you can.”

She nodded and tried to ski, but lost traction at first before she gained momentum and moved off.

“Your idea?” the gunny asked.

“No, the lieutenant’s.”

“And since you’re an IBHU . . .”

“She assigned me.”

“I always thought she’d go far. Smart lieutenant.”

That surprised Rev. He hadn’t realized that the gunny was evaluating the other platoon commanders. But it made sense. And as organizations could get shaken up at a moment’s notice as a result of combat losses, Rev should probably try and get a better feel for all of the officers of the company.

Another thing to add to my SNCO things-to-do list.

“What about you? Whose idea was it?” he asked his fellow platoon sergeant.

“Your buddy, del Rio’s.”

“Yancey? Yeah, sounds like him.”

They watched the other two as they slowly made it down the road. At the camp, Marines were gathering to cheer them in. Rev didn’t think any of them had noticed the two SNCOs standing together.

“Let’s switch sides, so our IBHUs aren’t banging together,” Rev said.

“You’re assuming I’m not going to leave you in the dust.” But he agreed.

“Well, they’re just about there,” the gunny said a few minutes later. “You ready to do this?”

“Yeah. And however it turns out, I’m glad this is how we’re getting it done.”

The gunny nodded. “I thought it was pretty funny, but poor BM, she looked about ready to die. A damned conscience is a pain in the ass, you know.”

Rev held out Pashu. “Brothers in steel?”

“Brothers in steel,” he said, clinking IBHUs. “But now I’m going to kick your staff sergeant ass.”

He took off, followed only a second later by Rev.

With skis, you couldn’t just dig in and sprint as you could on dry ground. You’d just flail with no traction. You had to build up the speed. Rev put his head down and pushed his skis right to the edge of where they’d slip, trying to get every ounce of forward momentum. Beside him, almost stride for stride, the gunny skied with him.

Gunny Poole was slightly larger than Rev, but they were pretty evenly matched otherwise. Neither had skied before, but both had acquired the skill over the last week and a half. This was going to come down to who put out the most and who had the most heart.

Rev let his warrior come out, hoping for the boost. His lungs were bellows, moving the huge amounts of air he needed to fuel his bulk, and all he could focus on was to keep moving. Beside him, the gunny was doing the same. They banged into each other several times, but Rev didn’t think it was on purpose.

He was vaguely aware of the yelling ahead. The company must have realized what was going on. He couldn’t make out the words, though. It would take too much effort. His entire being was just his skis, his poles, and the snow in front of him.

The two SNCOs reached the edge of the camp amidst the cheers of the company. Rev finally looked up, and Captain Macek was standing in front of the camp headquarters, his hand held out as if it were a finish line.

By Rev looking up, Gunny Poole edged slightly ahead, and he grunted in triumph as they closed the last ten meters.

But Rev wasn’t going to let that happen. With a superhuman effort, he dove forward, crashing hard to the ground but just beating the gunny to the captain’s hand.

Stunned, he lay on the ground, one ski breaking free with the release, one still attached.

Orpheus, Hussein, and Diaz rushed to him and picked him up by the shoulders, screaming incoherently. Rev could only catch a few words, but it seemed like the platoon was going to the club after all.

Just past the line, Gunny Poole was bent over at the waist, trying to breathe. Rev shook free of his jubilant platoonmates and hobbled on one ski to him. He placed one arm over the gunny’s back, but he wasn’t sure if that was to support the gunny or himself.

“Good . . . fucking . . . race . . . Rev,” the gunny managed to gasp out.

“Yeah, Gunny. Good fucking race.”

* * *

Rev stared out over the snow-covered landscape, trying to put himself into the opposing force commander’s mind. He’d never met Lieutenant Colonel Frenz, the commanding officer of Second Battalion, Seventh Marines, but his reputation was that he was an up and comer, an aggressive and innovative tactician.

“What do you think?” he asked Orpheus.

“If they come into our AO, then they draw. Out of indirect fire but with decent comms if they run a remote up the slope. Textbook.”

Rev wasn’t so sure. Colonel Frenz was not gaining a rep by adhering to the textbook.

Maybe if he had his full battalion with him, he’d have the luxury of letting his rifle companies take on First Heavy Infantry Company, but he only had Golf and his Headquarters & Service Company.

Second Battalion, Seventh Marines had been brought down so that First Heavy Infantry had an opposing force as they worked through their exercise, but Rev knew that Frenz would love nothing better than to take on the elite Heavy Infantry and embarrass them. And to be blunt, Golf Company, no matter 2/7’s rep, didn’t have the manpower for the exercise AIs to give them a victory barring something unexpected.

If Golf didn’t have the strength, then the only other source of manpower was Headquarters & Service Company.

Marine Corps culture tended to dismiss H&S companies. Technically infantry, the bulk of the companies were made up from General Support versus Direct Combat Marines. But ever since the first Marines, the Venetian Fanti da Mar, formed in the Thirteenth Century, every Marine has been considered a swordsman first, then a rifleman once firearms took over.

Rev had a gut feeling that Lieutenant Colonel Frenz was going to employ his H&S as another maneuver element. It probably wouldn’t be enough in and of itself for the AIs to give him a victory, but it could embarrass First Heavy Infantry and cement his rep as a commander.

First, Second, and Weapons Platoons were in the low, ice-covered hills two klicks to the north, waiting for the battalion’s arrival so that they could locate and close with Golf Company. Third Platoon’s mission was to try and locate 2/7’s headquarters and take them out of the exercise, leaving Golf headless.

The company’s battle AIs gave the highest probability that Frenz would locate his headquarters in the canyons to the east, so Third Platoon’s First and Second Squads, along with the lieutenant, were setting up in the main avenues of approach, hoping to ambush.

Third Squad, with Rev, was positioned in the hills to the north. Orpheus thought they were being shunted aside, but Rev had a feeling they might be in just the right spot. But it was still a rather large AO, and with only a single squad, Rev had to guess correctly where the battalion CO would place his forces.

One spot kept drawing Rev’s eyes, a shoulder of a larger hill, one that looked like it had been attacked and gouged by a giant dragon. He blinked and recorded the coordinates.

“Give me a topo.”

Punch inputted the topo directly into Rev’s occipital lobe. It was still difficult getting used to such an invasive input versus having it thrown up on his face shield display. Officially, the Marine Corps said there was no difference, and maybe that was true from a biological standpoint, but not one Marine would agree that they were the same. The hope was that once they got back to Camp Nguyen, they’d get a replacement for the PAL-HX helmet and have a face shield again.

The spot Rev selected was only 137 meters above the frozen creek wending its way through the hills. But the windswept slope down was steady, dotted with the low scrub that was far denser surrounding the creek itself.

If Rev were, say, a commander with fewer troops, the creek, with the trees and snow that had blown down the heights and gathered in deep, powdery drifts, would be a good place to dig in and defend, an area that would bog down the assaulting forces. And if he had another force, even a small one, hidden in the many crevices of the higher ground, he thought they might be able to inflict some heavy blows by sweeping down the hillside and hitting the assaulting force in the rear.

That was a lot of ifs, and with the entire AO, there were other good spots to defend. Rev had no good reason to assume that Frenz, who was there strictly as an opposing force for First Heavy Infantry, would choose to pick this specific spot. If he was a betting man, he’d give odds that the lieutenant colonel wouldn’t choose it.

There were problems with the idea. The defending Marines would be bogged down in the deep snow as well, and there wouldn’t be a way for them to fight their way free. Same with the ones on the hill. Hiding in the crevices, they would be like clams on the beach, helpless against the clammers coming to dig them out of the sand.

But the thought kept tugging at Rev’s brain. If Lieutenant Colonel Frenz wasn’t willing to meekly deploy as targets for First Heavy Infantry, if he wanted to make a statement and within the rules of the exercise, then this spot seemed perfect for him. Maybe not in an actual combat situation where lives were on the line, but for an exercise?

The more Rev thought about it, the more he thought it was a distinct possibility, at least better than anything else in his AO. He could be wrong, but his mind was made up.

“So, should I move the squad over to the draw?” Orpheus asked.

“No. Not the draw. Over there,” Rev said, pointing at the dragon-gouged shoulder.

Orpheus looked over for a moment, then shook his head. “Too exposed.”

“Not if you’re inside all the crevices.”

“To what purpose? We can’t support Golf if we’re in spiderholes.”

“And what if Golf’s down in the creek bed?” He went on to explain to Orpheus his idea.

Orpheus listened, then shook his head. “I don’t know what you’ve been smoking, Rev, but I want me some of that. You’re talking about a battalion CP made up of H&S Company Marines, not some killer assault force. And they’re just exercise targets for us, anyway.”

Rev bristled a bit at the “what you’ve been smoking” comment. But he shook it off. This was his decision, and he thought it worth pursuing. Orpheus was right in that this was an exercise, and if Rev was way off base, then he personally might have egg on his face, but no one would be hurt.

“I’ve made my decision, Orpho. We’re going to get into position now and wait for their insert. If I’m right, we’ll hit their CP and disrupt their attack before it even starts.”

“That’s fucked up, Rev. You’re taking my squad out of position.”

“But that’s what we’re going to do.”

“The lieutenant won’t approve it,” Orpheus said, turning half away and touching his gloved fingers to his throat mic.

Rev grabbed his arm and pulled, turning the squad leader back to face him.

“I’m in charge here, Staff Sergeant Orpheus, and you’re going to do what I tell you, or by the Mother, I’ll relieve you on the spot and see if Sergeant Strap can take orders.”

Orpheus’s mouth dropped open in shock before he said, “Chill, Rev.”

“That’s Staff Sergeant Pelletier, your platoon sergeant, to you.”

The look of hurt that crossed Orpheus’s eyes was a dagger to Rev’s heart. This was Orpheus, one of his posse members and oldest friends in the Corps. But he was the platoon sergeant, and this was his decision. He wasn’t going to let anyone, even a friend, take that away from him.

“We’ve got five hours before 2/7’s earliest insert, so get the squad up and moving. I’ll give you your orders once we get there and I can better see the lay of the land. Understood?”

“Yes, Staff Sergeant,” Orpheus said in a quiet voice. “We’ll be moving in two minutes.”

“Good,” Rev said, but to Orpheus’s back as his friend—or now maybe ex-friend?—moved to get the squad underway.

Rev’s heart was in his throat, and he wondered if he’d just made a mistake. Or maybe the mistake was in not making sure Orpheus was in a different platoon. He and Tomiko had realized that they couldn’t be in the same platoon together, so what made him think he and Orpheus could be in the same one, especially with Rev as the platoon sergeant?

“Did I just screw up?”

<You did what you had to do.>

He started to follow Orpheus as the squad leader was bringing his Marines together to tell them what was happening.

“What about my plan, then. Is Orpheus right?”

<Running every algorithm, he probably is right, according to the percentages.>

Rev’s heart fell. If he just damaged his friendship for nothing . . . No, not for nothing. For his ego in thinking he was some tactical genius?

<But your intuition has proven to be correct before. You like to preface choices by saying, “If I were a betting man.” I’m an AI, so I have no way to bet, but if I could, I’d bet on you right now.>

Rev stopped in his tracks. It was a weird compliment, even for Punch. But he felt surprisingly pleased to hear it.

He was still regretting the blowup with Orpheus, but he felt decidedly better as the squad moved out.

* * *

“Insert can come at any time now,” Rev called out. “Get covered up.”

Around him, the Marines of Third Squad started to pull snow over themselves in the back of the box canyon where an eddy in the swirling winds dropped the light powder where elsewhere, just fifteen or twenty meters away, it was swept off the slope.

After carefully walking the ground, Rev had picked this spot to hunker down. Calling it a box canyon was stretching it with the “canyon” part being only four meters deep at its maximum. But the front led into the maze of washes that were indicative that even here, in Safe Harbor’s arctic circle, there was running water from snowmelt.

If Rev was right, 2/7’s CP would occupy one or more of the washes, waiting for the right moment to emerge and hit First Heavy Infantry from the rear. And most of the potential positions were directly connected to where he’d placed the squad.

Rev scooted his legs and butt deeper into the snow, then pulled more of the white stuff over his torso. His head was exposed, so it wasn’t perfect, but in the darkness, Rev hoped that any cursory scans might mistake their ballistic helmets as rocks.

He looked to his right, where Strap gave him a thumb’s up before the sergeant burrowed in like a mole. Rev wondered if that was just for show or if he really thought the plan was valid. As he glanced around the position, he started having second thoughts. T201 wasn’t the largest maneuver range in the training area, but it was still four klicks across and from five to seven klicks long. Some of that was open ground, so the fight would probably be here in the hillier terrain, but that still encompassed a lot of ground.

Nine times out of ten, the opfor would insert into the flat valley between the hills, have the battle, then get out of the cold. They weren’t expected to win, after all, but just give the training force something to react to.

But Rev was sure that 2/7, with Lieutenant Colonel Frenz commanding, was not a normal opposing force. And if he wanted to win the fight, it was either taking First Heavy Infantry to the rougher hills to the north or in the creek bed below Third Squad’s position. And as Rev’s AO wasn’t in the hills, this was the only place within his ability to affect the fight.

If Rev was wrong, or if the insert and fight were to the north, then Rev was going to feel pretty foolish during the hotwash. If he was right, that Golf Company was going to defend the creek bed, but the CP was in the larger wash Orpheus preferred, he was going to feel foolish, too.

But he’d rolled the dice. The insert would occur sometime during the night, and he’d find out soon enough. Now, his nerves were starting to act up as he wondered if he’d made a big mistake.

<How about a joke.>

Rev snorted. Punch and his jokes were something he still wondered about. Did his battle buddy enjoy them? Was that even possible? Or because he always seemed to offer a joke when Rev was worried or nervous, was it just a programmed action to calm Rev down?

He didn’t know, and to be honest, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He thought he’d be disappointed if it was just a programmed action.

“Sure, hit me.”

<What happens when you sit in the snow for too long?>

“Really? You love to be topical, don’t you? OK, what happens?”

<You get Polaroids.>

Rev groaned. “How do you know I even know what the heck a polaroid is? That’s pretty old history.”

<Because you read the biography of Edwin Land.>

Wait, so he’s making up jokes based on what he knows I’ve come across? What the hell is he becoming?

He needed to shift his train of thought, so he said, “I’m going to get polaroids laying in this snow unless 2/7 comes soon.”

Which wasn’t really true. He was actually comfortable out of the wind and being pelted by the snow so his envirosheath could keep up.

“What else you got?”

<A lot. What is an ig?>

“An ‘ig,’ as in I-G?”

<Yes.>

“It’s what I say when I see the polaroid I’ve grown.”

Silence.

“That’s not what I think you’re looking for, even if it’s pretty funny.”

Silence.

“OK, what’s an ig?”

<An ice house without a loo.>

Rev groaned again. “And I suppose that’s another way to get a polaroid? Taking a dump out in the cold?”

<You said it, not me.>

“No, but you’re on this kick of snow and private parts, Punch. You trying to send me a message?”

<Why would I do that? I don’t have any private parts.>

Rev laughed and realized that if Punch really was using jokes to calm him down, he didn’t care. It worked. He was ready for 2/7 if they came, but if they didn’t come, he could defend his action during the hotwash as reasonable.

“How about a few tunes as we wait?”

A moment later, Punch started “Winter Mornings.”

“Still the joker,” Rev said, but he did like the tune.

He only made it to the second verse, however, when Hochenspatter connected on the microwire. “You were right, Staff Sergeant. Marines are landing in the creek bed.”

Rev felt a surge of adrenaline rush through him.

“Should I come back down?”

“Any sign of someone around us?”

“Negative.”

He’d placed the lance corporal up higher on the hill, under a small overhang, and connected to Rev through forty meters of microwire. With all the rest of the squad in the depression, he’d needed eyes to see what was happening.

It was good to know that the 2/7 CO had picked the creek bed to defend, but Golf Company wasn’t their target. It was the CP, and they could be landing here or any of a dozen other spots. They’d only drop here if they intended to go on the offense. But if they did drop somewhere in the squad’s AO, then maybe Hochenspatter could spot them, and Rev could come up with a Plan B on the fly.

“No. You stay there. Keep looking for the CP.”

Rev raised his voice slightly and said, “Looks like Golf is defending the creek bed. Pass it on and be ready for whatever comes.”

He could hear the Marines on either side tell those closest to him. By the time it was two Marines down, the snow had swallowed up the sound.

His warrior was rumbling around, wanting to emerge. But Rev wasn’t going to let him play this time, not when the opfor were fellow Marines. All he needed was to uppercut a Marine with Pashu in the heat of the moment.

He tried to start his chakra chanting, but he was too amped to do an acceptable job. He was tempted to ask Punch for another joke, but now was the time to focus. He looked up into the night sky, willing the CP to appear.

Come on, colonel. I know you want to play, so come to daddy.

Five minutes passed, then ten. Golf Company would be on the deck now, preparing their positions. Hopefully, Captain Macek knew they were there and had First and Second Platoons reacting. But where was the CP? Had they inserted at the edges of T201 where they’d break comms silence once the fight started?

Rev was contemplating breaking his own comms silence and calling the lieutenant when a whisper of darkness seemed to fly over him, passing out of sight. A moment later, another flew over.

“Staff Sergeant, you’ve got company,” Hochenspatter passed,

“Roger. Stay put, but if you hear us engaging, you’re weapons free to engage any opfor you spot.

“I’m ready,” the lance corporal said, his voice eager.

“Systems check.”

<Systems green. Simulated combat load, one hundred percent. Power ninety-one-point-two percent.>

One more, then another wraith flew over their heads, then one turned to land right in the middle of their little canyon. A second landed five seconds later.

Rev wanted to duck his head under the snow, but he froze. The opfor would have NVD capability to match the squad’s, but the two opfor were busy shucking their flight suits. They ran to the front of the canyon where it led to the other washes and oriented in the direction toward the creek bed down the hill.

No one else entered their position. It would have been too much to hope the CP would be set up on top of them.

The two opfor Marines were just thirty meters away. Rev could take them out with one burst. But where were the rest?

And then, the sounds of fighting rolled up the hill. If Rev was right, the 2/7 CP would start their own assault soon. It was go time.

Rev rose like a zombie from a grave, showering snow everywhere. Around him, the other Marines had been watching, and they emerged. One of the opfor must have seen the movement because he wheeled around, weapon raising when he was taken out. He slammed his M-49 into the snow in anger as his buddy was taken in the rush.

Third Squad emerged into the main channel and smack into the back of thirty or thirty-five Marines, who were massed where the channel split in two, looking like old-Earth WWI soldiers ready to go over the top. That was more than Rev expected from a CP, but if the battalion CO had planned this from the beginning, he might have surreptitiously augmented his CP with a few more trigger pullers than normal.

Rev started spraying the Marines on the left with his beamer and 20 mm cannon. The exercise AIs still didn’t have accurate IBHU casualty algorithms, but Rev hoped he, Tsao, and del Mar were tallying kills. He knew the other Marines in the squad were, but the opfor were professionals, too. They might have been surprised, but they quickly reacted, and within ten seconds of initiating the attack, Rev’s hit alarm went off.

“Son of a bitch!” he yelled, his adrenaline bursting through his arteries, but now he had nothing to do. He was out of the fight.

Orpheus ran past him without a word, directing his squad while Rev stepped to the side. The fight was short and swift. More CP Marines climbed out of adjacent washes and hit Third Squad from above. Hochenspatter made an appearance, downing three opfor before they got him. Sergeant Gantz, no surprise, was the last one left alive, but only a handful of the opfor CP survived, too few to assault into the rear of the First and Second Platoon down in the creek.

With the fighting around Rev done, a lone opfor Marine walked up to where Rev and four Third Squad Marines were standing. It wasn’t until he got close that Rev noticed the silver oak leaf on the helmet.

“Who’s in charge here?” Lieutenant Colonel Frenz asked.

“I am, sir. Staff Sergeant Pelletier.”

The colonel’s eyes were locked on Rev’s, not first taking in Pashu as most people did.

“Why are you in this position, Staff Sergeant?” he asked, almost as if Rev had done something wrong.

Rev’s hackles rose at the 2/7’s CO’s question.

“I’ve heard about you, sir, and given your reputation, I figured that you weren’t going to play the standard opfor role, that you wanted to win, or at least make First Heavy Infantry pay the price. You only had your Golf Company and your CP to work with, so I put myself in your position. If I wanted to screw up the exercise, what would I do? And to me, I’d fix the other company in place and bog them down in the deep snow around the creek, then hit them from behind with my CP. Sir.”

The lieutenant colonel stared at Rev for a moment, and Rev had to fight to keep from shuffling his feet under that glare.

“You knew my rep, but you’ve never met me, right? You’ve never been in my unit or gone against me in a force on force, am I correct?”

“You’re right.”

“Yet, you figured out my plan.”

Rev didn’t say anything.

“We could have done essentially the same at the northern end of the range.”

“That wasn’t my AO, sir. I had no input on what might have gone on there.

The lieutenant colonel grunted, then turned and yelled out, “Three, come on up here.”

A few moments later, another Marine, this one with a gold oak leaf on her helmet, arrived.

“Tell her what you told me, Staff Sergeant.”

Rev repeated how he’d put himself in the CO’s shoes, then acted to counter that.

“You were right, Mina. We should have gone with the northern option,” the lieutenant colonel told his operations officer.

“We couldn’t know that Staff Sergeant Pelletier would have figured us out.”

“And we won’t know when some Mad Dog commander figures us out. First Heavy Infantry was supposed to be going through training here, but it looks like we’re the ones who learned a lesson.

He turned back to Rev. “I’d really like to have a sitdown with you when we get south. I’ll even come to Nguyen, if that makes it easier. I’d like to pick your brain on a few things.”

To say Rev was surprised would be a vast understatement.

“Sir?”

“You figured me out, given my reputation. I want to know what gave it away. The Mad Dogs keep pretty extensive personality files on all Marine commanders, you know.”

Rev didn’t know that, but it wasn’t surprising, now that the lieutenant colonel mentioned it.

“And if you knew what I was going to do, with much less data than the Mad Dogs have, then I want to know your thought process.”

Rev wanted to say he’d just had a gut feeling, that it was a guess on his part. But he kept quiet.

“I’m not sure what the protocol of something like this would be, sir. You’re not in my chain of command.”

“If you agree to meet me, I’ll clear it with Colonel Suk and whoever else I need to as well. This is nothing under the table.”

The lieutenant colonel seemed to be sincere, but this was something way out of Rev’s comfort zone.

“I understand if you’d rather not, Staff Sergeant. But this playing patty cake with the Mad Dogs can’t go on forever. It’s either going to end or, as I think, there’s going to be a mad flurry of fighting as the Mad Dogs try for a decisive victory. And if that happens, you can be assured that 2/7 will be in the thick of the fight.

“I’ve got over fifteen hundred Marines and sailors in the battalion, and if I can do anything to keep more of them alive during the battle to come, I’ll do it.”

“Like picking the brain of a staff sergeant?” Rev asked. “There have to be more experts with whom you can meet.”

“None of whom outsmarted me. Tell you what. I’ve been to Roundhouse Charlie’s before. You up to meet there? On me, of course.”

Roundhouse Charlie’s was known as the finest steakhouse in Wales Province, and no, Rev had never been there. As a student, and even now with a staff sergeant’s salary, it was rather out of his reach. The restaurant was named for Roundhouse Charlie, one of the most famous genetic-copyrighted steers in history. Roundhouse Charlie had died fifty years ago. Every steak, every burger, every rib was vat-grown from Charlie’s cloned tissue.

Rev wiped his arm across the snot that had started running out of his nose and looked at the major.

“He’s serious,” she said.

The steak would be nice, but what the CO had said made sense. And if Rev could help in any way, it was his duty.

“If you can clear it with Colonel Suk, sir, of course, I’d be happy to. And you don’t have to take me to Roundhouse Charlie’s.”

A lieutenant colonel made more than a staff sergeant, but not that much more.

“Oh, it would be my pleasure. I haven’t been there since before the invasion. Used to be one of my favorites.”

Who is this guy?

“Punch, look up his background for me.”

<Roger.>

“And call it a prize for handing me my ass. It’s been a while since that’s happened.”

“I didn’t really hand you your ass, sir. I got killed.”

“So did I. But we lost the battle.”

“Not yet, sir,” Rev said, pointing in the direction of the creek where the sounds of fighting still reached them.

“It was decided when my CP got taken out of the fight. So, are we on?”

“Yes, sir. We’re on.”

12

Rev stepped out of the SNCO quarters, happily taking in the warm, humid summer night air. He’d often complained about the sometimes oppressive heat, especially during field training, but he didn’t think he’d ever do that again. He thought his bones were still frozen, and it would take about a year in a sauna to thaw them out.

The skiing was fun, but overall, two weeks in Safe Harbor’s arctic were two weeks too many.

“Glad we’re out of the snow,” he told Punch.

<You do realize that there’s an advantage to the cold weather when in combat, don’t you?>

“Yeah, right. And just what, oh fount of all knowledge?”

<If you are killed, or even mortally wounded, the cold can extend the time in which you can be resurrected. And it extends the time before someone actually dies and can still be treated.>

“What? Bull crap, Punch. That’s not a funny joke.”

<It’s not a joke. It’s the truth. As with drowning in cold water, the deterioration of the cells is slowed. During the Stygian Uprising, there was a Frisian soldier who was resurrected thirty-one hours after his death, then left in a cold-weather environment before he could be recovered.>

“Resurrected but brain-damaged.”

<Full recovery. No discernable brain damage.>

“Is that real, or is that propaganda that you’re supposed to be feeding me,” Rev asked in table talk.

<It’s the truth.>

“Well, maybe,” Rev said, switching back to normal subvocalization. “But still, I’d rather go somewhere warm.”

Not that he expected to. The training had been scheduled at the last minute, and that almost always only happened due to mission requirements.

Rev had asked Punch to narrow down possible planets they could be going to, and by comparing his list with those gathered by Tomiko and Yancey, then pulling references to places mentioned in the news, they’d narrowed it down to three places: the aptly named Frigid, VG-44, and Hale’s World. Of the three, the first two were permanently ice-covered, so Rev was hoping for Hale’s World. At least there, each hemisphere experienced a modicum of thawing during the summers.

Rev bounced down the steps and across the quad, heading for the IBHU armory. After getting their IBHUs stolen on Enceladus, the security, even on the base, was tight. The IBHUs had their own armory, guarded by a zillion cameras and an armed security specialist.

To be honest, Rev thought this was overkill, but he wasn’t going to argue. The shock of losing his IBHU in the middle of an attack was hard to forget, and it was the main reason Sergeant Lipswitch was assigned to the company headquarters instead of a platoon. PTSD wasn’t ever to be mentioned, but everyone knew what it was.

Rev stopped to be scanned under the watchful eyes of the guard. He’d been in the armory a hundred times, but still, it was the same procedure to gain entry. But eventually, both the AIs and the guard decided he was who he was supposed to be, and the outer door opened. Then he was scanned again before the inner door opened.

Daryll looked up from his equipment, saw who it was, then turned to Filmore and said, “I told you he’d be in.”

“OK. I’ll transfer the twenty credits as soon as we leave.”

“What, you’re betting on me?” Rev asked.

“You’re pretty predictable, you know,” Daryll said.

“I am not!” he protested, and then his thoughts briefly touched on Lieutenant Colonel Frenz. That was what the colonel was worried about as well.

Rev didn’t know if the 2/7 CO was serious about picking his brain over dinner, but being predictable wasn’t something Rev had ever considered. Now, it was something on which he needed to ruminate. If it was wrong for a lieutenant colonel, it was wrong for a staff sergeant as well.

Daryll just shrugged. “I gave Pashu a bench test, and everything checked out fine.”

Rev frowned. When Rev had returned Pashu, he’d told Daryll that she’d seemed a little sluggish. He’d wondered if it had been in his imagination, and if everything was fine, then maybe it had been. He could have sworn he was right, however.

“But then I pulled her history, and you were correct. She was about fourteen percent slower in her reactions.”

“What?” Rev asked as he stepped up and looked at all the readouts.

Which was silly. He didn’t know what all the numbers and graphs even meant.

“It had us stumped for a bit. She’s got crystal chips, and they’re not affected by temperatures. But Filmore there, he figured it out.”

Rev looked at the other tech, and the man beamed at the credit. Rev still didn’t know who or what Filmore really was, but that pride was real.

“It wasn’t the inputs but the mechanicals.”

“What?”

“The mechanicals. When you get down to it, Pashu’s a big hunk of weapon, and there are moving parts. Each of those parts needs lubrication, and the SYK-3028 was thickening up in the cold. I think if we switch to one of the SYS line of lubricants, we’ll be fine. We’ll do a few cold-chamber tests, but I’m sure that’ll take care of the situation.”

“It was a lubricant? And you guys didn’t foresee it?”

Daryll said, “Hey, I just fix them. I didn’t design them. And with the Centaurs leaving ice-planets alone, well, it never came up, I think. But we’ve passed this up the chain.”

Piss-poor engineering, if you ask me.

But if they fixed the problem, then that was the important thing. Rev didn’t know when they’d be deployed, but from the feel of things, it would be soon.

“What about our PALs? Anything on that?”

“Not a Siemen’s problem, they said.”

“It’s because our IBHUs are so damn heavy.”

“Your IBHUs, your augments, your harnesses . . .”

“Which we need because of the IBHUs.”

“Look, Rev. Siemen makes the IBHUs. Not armor. We’ll coordinate with Froeinginer so they can come up with something, but for now, you’re outta luck in that department.”

Rev should have known better. The industrial complex loved to take Union military contracts, but it seemed that once the contract was signed, they spent more time passing the buck than actually helping the Navy or Marines.

“Well, what about our envirosheaths? Can we at least get something designed for unarmored infantry, not something scavenged from our PALs?”

“Once again, not Siemen,” Daryll said, but before Rev could protest, he added, “But I heard that battalion supply is requisitioning them from the Raiders. You’d have to ask them about that.”

Rev didn’t belabor the point. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to get much more out of either of the two techs. He’d just have to be happy that they’d figured out the problem with the IBHUs.

He thanked them, left the armory, and headed back to the SNCO quarters.

The news about the envirosheaths might be a good scoop, though. Rev hadn’t known that the Raiders even had stand-alone environmental suits in their system. Every time Rev had gone out, it was in a PAL-5, which probably had the same layer as the new PAL-HXs.

He hoped these envirosheaths were better than what they’d used in training, and he was still a Raider at heart. If they really were Raider gear, then maybe they were better, and wherever they were going, they wouldn’t be so damn cold.

13

Rev knocked on the door, which whooshed open a moment later.

“How’d it go?” Tomiko asked.

“It was . . . strange, I guess is the best way to describe it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Colonel Frenz. He’s thoughtful.”

Tomiko tilted her head back in surprise. “‘Thoughtful?’ You’re gonna hafta elaborate on that.”

“I mean, he started off with all that stuff about him being unpredictable, like we figured. He wanted to know what I’d heard about him and why that made me figure out what he was going to do.”

“Did you tell him it was a wild-ass guess?”

“No, I didn’t. I think he was genuinely curious, and he wanted to know how he was outsmarted. Not because he was pissed or anything. It was more like he wanted to know my thought process so he didn’t make that same kind of mistake again. But by the time the appetizers were over, he went off on a million tangents of what is warfare, from prehistory to now, and what it means to be a Marine. He even went deep into the Mad Dogs.”

Tomiko cocked her left eyebrow, her personal signal that she wanted him to continue.

“We discussed the why of what they were doing.”

“’Cause they’re freakin’ assholes who want more power.”

“Maybe. But there are underlying reasons for their moves, reasons in the big game of power. Stuff I hadn’t realized.”

Tomiko reached up and rapped her knuckles on the side of Rev’s head. “You getting soft on me, boy?”

“No. But we can’t just assume the Mad Dogs are crazy. They’d got their reasons, and some of them, at least as how the colonel described them, might have a degree of validity.”

“Rev . . . “ Tomiko said in a warning.

“Oh, they’re the enemy, no doubt about it,” Rev said hurriedly for the benefit of any big-brother watchers. “But we need to understand them if we want to defeat them. What was it that Sun Tzu said? ‘If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.’ That’s all this is.”

“You keep pulling out that quote.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“So, you spend an evening with a battalion CO, and you talk philosophy?” Tomiko asked, not sounding like she completely believed him.

“Mostly, yes. Talked a bit about flipball. He played three-quarters, too.”

“Three-quarter-back? Just like you.”

“Yeah, but evidently, he was pretty good. Captained his team in high school when they won the Two-A championship on Gold, Safe Harbor’s primary continent.

“Oh, just great. Flipball and philosophy. Sounds like a positively thrilling evening.”

“It may not sound like it, but it was good. Lots to think about.”

“Forget about all that boring crap. Give.”

“Give what?”

“The important thing. The beef!”

“You mean the Roundhouse Charlie?”

“By the Mother, yes! Was it as good as they say?”

“Well, we started with appetizers. Gulf spotted shrimp wrapped in bacon. Damn delicious. They served that with a lemon and rosemary aperitif,” Rev said, affecting what he hoped was an upper-class accent.

“Stop! The fucking beef, not the side dishes.”

“Well, they matched the beef with a sunny little red from the Prescott Vall—”

“The beef, Rev, or so help me, I’ll deck you.”

Rev was no slouch when it came to meat. He loved it. But his love couldn’t come close to Miko’s, who was a carnivore who could put a lion to shame. The woman lived meat.

“Oh, you mean the twenty-four-ounce tomahawk that I had, served on a bed of cognac chanterelles?”

“You are a cruel, cruel man, Reverent Pelletier, teasing me like that. Yes, the beef. How was it? Please tell me it was no big thing, just marketing.”

Rev smiled, brought his fingertips to his lips, then released his hand, making a smacking sound. “It was soooooo good, Miko. You can’t believe it.”

She sighed. “Damn.”

“I was going to ask for a burger, but he told me to go whole hog. Or whole beef, I guess it was,” he said with a laugh. “The tomahawk was the most expensive cut on the menu.”

“How the hell does a lieutenant colonel afford that?” Tomiko asked.

Rev leaned in, and in a conspiratorial tone, said, “I asked Punch to do some digging. You know Big Arm Tools?”

“Yeah. Everyone knows them. Why?”

“That’s his family. The guy’s loaded.”

“Really? Then what the hell’s he doing in the Corps?”

“Same thing as you and me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Conscripted. DUI and crashed his Lambo Rocket a couple of years before we were nabbed. He earned a Platinum Star as a private, and he already had his uni degree, so they made him a lieutenant. Said he found a home that tamed his wilder tendencies, or at least made use of them, so he decided to stay in, just like we did.”

“No shit,” Tomiko said, then “How the hell do you always luck into these kinds of things, Rev? Everything’s that’s happened to you, the good and the bad. That’s too much for any one person. It’s just too many coincidences.”

“Maybe the gods of war smile down on me.”

“And maybe sometimes they shit on you, too. But not this time. You just happen to outsmart some golden child, and he just happens to be a rich son of a bitch. And instead of getting pissed at you, he takes you out and spends a small fortune so you can try a hunk of Roundhouse Charlie. Why the hell can’t I ever be so lucky?”

“You are.”

She scowled at Rev and asked, “Come again?”

“You are lucky. You’re with me.”

“Oh, puleeze! Don’t flatter yourself, Rev.”

“Then you don’t want to find out why I said that?”

Tomiko looked at him suspiciously and asked, “What’re you talking about?”

Rev stepped back out the door and picked up a package he’d placed just out of sight before he came in. He didn’t say a word but just handed it to her.

“What’s this?”

“You could just open it and find out.”

“I swear, Rev, sometimes I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Because I’m a helluva guy.”

She snorted but hit the release, and the top of the package flipped open, revealing chanterelles, whipped potatoes, and a curved bone. Still attached was about twelve ounces of medium-rare beef.

“Is this . . . ?” she asked, her voice a whisper, her eyes wide.

“Roundhouse Charlie, in the flesh.”

“Oh, by the Mother!” she gasped and jumped forward to give Rev a one-armed hug, all while using her other arm to hold the takeout package out of the way so it wouldn’t get crushed.

She broke the hug, then pulled the package up to her nose so she could take a sniff. Her eyeballs rolled up in her head, and she sighed.

“This, right here, gives you about a hundred attaboys in the good boyfriend/bad boyfriend checklist, Rev. Maybe I really am lucky I’ve got you.”

Rev smiled as she rushed to heat the food up. It had taken a force of will to leave some of the beef, but as he watched her excitement grow, he knew that for once, he’d done good in the game of relationships.

And she was right. In whatever checklist she was keeping, this was going to stand him in good stead for a long, long time, making up for whatever dumbass things he was sure to do in the future.

14

Two days later, First Heavy Infantry Company was embarked aboard the D'Entrecasteaux, P812, a Hégémonie Liberté Deep Patrol Craft. It was small, and with the embarked company, it was cramped, but all that did was heighten the excitement among the Marines.

The initial concept of deploying the two heavy infantry companies was to bolster regular infantry when they needed a heavier hand. But after the success on Armadillo, the powers that be were shifting the companies’ missions. This was Marine SOP—chase past success instead of looking to the future. But in this case, Rev was fine with it. He spent most of his career in the Raiders, and going in as they did on Armadillo was in keeping with his experience.

And that’s what this mission looked like. Why else would they be on an extremely high-tech Hégémonie ship, and one with three shuttles that didn’t look like anything the Marines had ever seen before? This was going to be a covert mission—that seemed pretty obvious. The question was where they were going and what they would do after they got there.

They found out the answer to the first question three hours after the D'Entrecasteaux left the Safe Harbor system. It wasn’t any of the potential destinations Rev and the others had guessed.

Rev had never heard of the planet, which wasn’t terribly surprising: Tahiti. And for a moment, he thought that all the cold-weather training had been for naught, and visions of warm beaches filled his expectations. That was until Punch set him straight.

The name was obviously a case of wish fulfillment. Settled early on during the expansion, it had always been somewhat of an iceball, terraformed in an attempt to harvest deeply buried petrochemicals from the planet’s long past, when it was more temperate.

Costs were high, the planet kept getting colder, and there wasn’t enough easily tapped core heat to warm it back up. When other, more hospitable planets were found, Tahiti was essentially abandoned for all practical purposes.

What Rev couldn’t figure out was why they were heading there. Yes, it was within MDS control, at least on paper, but there were no listed military installations on the planet. Extreme tourists sometimes landed for snowpig trekking, and there were several commercial communications relay sites, but there wasn’t anything that was an obvious target.

Rumors were rampant among the Marines and the four-person Legionnaire Naval Gunfire team. But it wasn’t until nine hours before debarking that their mission order was given.

The MDS had set up a research installation on and under the planet’s surface. The company wasn’t told just what the installation researched, only that the Union wanted it gone. Standing in the way was an MDS regiment.

For reasons known only to the planners, a surgical naval strike had been taken off the table, which left a highly trained infantry unit with a heavier punch than a Raider company to get in, destroy it, and get out before the MDS regiment could react.

In other words, a heavy infantry company, of which there were only two in the entire Corps.

* * *

Rev sat on the webseating, jammed against his fellow Marines, as the Fantôme insertion craft slipped through the planet’s atmosphere, hopefully unseen by the MDS. The maître pilot, equivalent to a Marine warrant officer, assured them that the Fantôme was the stealthiest landing craft in existence, but Rev felt his familiar trepidation of not being in control. He hadn’t had the best of luck during insertions, and he wouldn’t feel comfortable until his boots were on the deck.

“Why do we always have to rely on the Navy and all the tech to get us to the ground? What if the stealth tech doesn’t work?” he muttered.

<You don’t need this Fantôme’s stealth tech to work to get to the ground,> Punch said.

“What? There’s another way?”

<No, this is the only way down for the mission. But you don’t need the stealth tech to make it to the ground. You only need it if you want to survive to make a second insertion sometime.>

It took Rev a moment to understand the point, and he rolled his eyes. This was a new type of joke, though. Rev hadn’t directly addressed his battle buddy, but Punch had volunteered a comment. And second, this wasn’t a typical joke for him. It took some thought to understand it.

“You got a regular joke, as in a funny one?”

<How many successful drops do you need to become disk Marine qualified?>

“Three,” Rev automatically said.

<No.>

“Come on, Punch. I know it’s three. But I’ll play along. How many successful drops do you need?”

<All of them.>

Rev gave a half-hearted chuckle, but he wondered why Punch always seemed to go with dark humor in a situation like this. Was there something in Rev’s personality that the psychs thought he’d only respond to that type of humor?

If so, what did that say about him as a person?

The Fantôme banked, and Rev had to shift his weight. At least the ride wasn’t as rough as a Union Navy shuttle’s, and it was much smoother than in a pisser. Maybe the tech was better, and he ever-so-slightly relaxed, but then his worry-worm reminded him that in a pisser, he was one of a hundred targets. In the Heg insertion craft, he was in one of three targets.

If they were spotted, it was almost a certainty that they’d get shot down.

Change the subject, Reverent!

“Give me another joke, and now.”

<What’s the last thing that goes through a Marine’s mind during a pisser insert when his flight suit and foil fail?>

“Still with this dark crap, Punch? OK, tell me. What is the last thing to go through his mind?”

<His feet.>

“What? His . . .”

Rev started to laugh. He couldn’t help it. Jammed up against his side, Hussein gave him a weird look and tried to edge slightly away.

Hell, maybe I need the dark stuff, but that’s just plain funny. His feet.

He was just about to ask for another when the cargo hold flashed green, and the pilot said, “Thirty seconds. Stand by.”

“Systems check,” Rev said.

<All systems green. IBHU at full combat load. Power at ninety-seven-point-eight.>

Rev no longer had the PAL-HX’s powerpack, but he still needed power for Pashu, his comms and helmet display, and his envirosheath. He needed Pashu to work, of course, but instead of worrying about his coolpack failing on him, now he had to worry about his envirosheath failing and him freezing. He couldn’t fight if he was a Marinesicle.

The Fantôme flared in for a landing, and the back ramp opened. A blast of bitterly cold air rushed into the cargo compartment, flowing up under Rev’s partially opened helmet face shield and making his gasp. He quickly closed it.

“Go, go, go!” the pilot shouted over the net.

No surprise. With the back ramp open, his stealth profile was breached, and he could be picked up by MDS surveillance.

The Marines didn’t want to be onboard if that happened. There was a rush as the platoon ran down the ramp and out into the cold. The last Marine was still stepping off the back of the ramp when the Heg craft jumped back into the air and disappeared into the darkness.

It wasn’t dark on the ground, though. Even without their augments, Rev thought that they still would have been able to see well enough to be functional with the snow reflecting the starlight.

Lieutenant Nilson ran about thirty meters from where they’d debarked, stopped, and pointed to the planetary northwest. All of the Marines had internal navigation augments, and the planet’s magnetic fields had been uploaded aboard the D'Entrecasteaux, so they knew where they were. But it still helped to have an initial orientation based on what they could see with their eyes on the deck.

Rev immediately got to work, adjusting the hasty defense. Each of the platoon members knew their position, but sometimes it took a platoon sergeant to sort things out.

Once the platoon was set, Rev took his own position where he could watch the lieutenant. The platoon was in comms silence, of course, but not the platoon commander. She had an experimental, very low-power, stealth communicator that worked under the same quantum physics principles that naval ship communicators employed. Supposedly imperceptible to the MDS on the planet, she would be reporting in to the company commander and confirming that all the Marines made it to the surface.

It took almost fifteen minutes, and Rev was getting a little nervous before she turned to him and gave a thumbs-up. Rev let out a sigh of relief. The entire company had landed safely, and it was time to kick off the assault.

She gave the order to mount up, and Rev pulled the skis from where they were strapped on his back. Within seconds, he snapped them into his boots, and he was ready to go. The Marines were quick. Not so their Heg Legionnaire. In typical military fashion, while the Union Marines had gone through their cold-weather training, no one thought of the four-man Legionnaire team. Brigadier-chef Nakano had never been through such training, and what he knew about skiing had been taught aboard the ship by the Marines.

But the brigadier-chef—which Rev first thought was some kind of “chief” general officer when he heard the rank but translated to “senior corporal”—might be one of the most vital members of the platoon. He was the one who would call for naval gunfire if the situation arose, and even more importantly, he would guide down the Fantôme, now returning to orbit, to pick them up once the mission was accomplished.

Rev skied up to him. “You doing OK, Brigadier-chef?”

“I’ll be fine, Staff Sergeant,” he said as he struggled with the second ski.

Rev looked over the Legionnaire’s shoulder at Hussein Černý. He and the corporal went way back to his Raider days, and despite the fact that Hussein had a few issues that had got him busted in rank—once senior to Rev, Hussein had only recently regained his corporal rank—Rev trusted his abilities in a fight, and he’d assigned him to bird dog the Legionnaire.

Hussein just gave Rev his typical shit-eating grin and mouthed, “I’ve got it.”

Rev nodded and skied back to the defense’s six o’clock. Orpheus, then Leona Diaz lifted their arms to let the lieutenant know their squads were ready. It took Kill Rancine, to whom the brigadier-chef had been attached, a minute or two longer, but finally, the platoon was ready. The lieutenant gave the signal, and the platoon set off through the trees.

Or what had been trees. Part of the terraforming had been to plant billions of genmodded Norway Spruces that had grown to twenty and thirty meters tall. When the planet was abandoned, the trees had died, but while some had fallen in the intervening years, most still stood, frozen reminders that nature usually won out over the puny efforts of humankind.

The Marines skied through the dead forest, but Rev couldn’t shake the feeling that they were watching them. Rev loved trees. Tall Trees Provincial Park had been one of his favorite places on Safe Harbor, but this was unsettling. There was one advantage to this forest, though. The frozen boles wreaked havoc with surveillance, and the Marines had high hopes that they’d be able to get to their objective without alerting the MDS positions until it was too late.

They’d actually landed within the outer two rings of defense, and they knew where the fixed positions of the inner ring were. Each platoon had its own axis of advance to avoid those positions. The only hiccup until the assault itself kicked off would be if they ran into a patrol. But with the bitter nighttime cold, and with hopefully none of the MDS realizing they were on the planet, the MDS troops might not be aggressively patrolling. It would be much more comfortable inside their hardened positions than out freezing their asses off in the snow.

The platoon advanced in a column of twos. Not the best formation, but on skis, that meant they had a narrower frontage to be detected, and most of them could follow the tracks of the two point Marines.

But in a column, Rev was essentially a passenger, just like the Legionnaire, trudging behind the next Marine in the column, in this case, Božič-Mizaki. If the front of the column was hit, Rev’s firepower would be useless until he was able to maneuver forward.

He kept tabs of their progress with his internal navigation augments. They’d been inserted four klicks from their final assembly area, which was a very short klick from their objective. Technically, Third Platoon was the point of main effort. They would be the ones to destroy the installation, but this wasn’t a stamp of approval from Captain Macek. Weapons Platoon had landed away from the objective and any known MDS positions but close enough to provide mortar support, which made sense. But the company commander wanted First and Second, who he considered to be his best fighting forces, to repel whoever responded to the assault, each one positioned on likely enemy avenues of approach.

Rev was getting a little tired of playing third fiddle to the other two, but all he could do was his best to make sure Third Platoon performed in combat to prove they were just as capable as the other platoons.

A fallen giant, which must have been forty-five meters tall while it had been alive, blocked their path. Their route forward had been designated by the company based on the combat AIs, and while it wouldn’t be much of a detour around it, the lieutenant decided to go over the trunk. Officially, that made the tree a danger area, but it wasn’t that difficult. Each Marine skied up, turned their back to the trunk, then leaned back, bringing their skis up and over, rolling to the other side. The Marines made good time, but the brigadier-chef hadn’t practiced the move, and that delayed the column as he had to take off his skis, scramble over, and put the skis back on.

Rev kept watching the time during the delay, getting antsy. The longer they took, the more opportunity there was that any of the three platoons would be spotted. But finally, the Legionnaire was past the tree, and the end of the column started over. Rev approached the tree. Without the snow, the Marines would not have been able to go over with their skis attached. The trunk had to be two-and-a-half meters in diameter. With the snow, Rev was able to back up to it so the top was at the small of his back. He was just about to start his roll when Sergeant Lehman, who was next in the column, suddenly shot his arm into the air, fist closed.

Rev froze in place, still facing toward the rear, resisting the temptation to twist around and look to the front. Lehman, and the last Marines in the two columns, opened their fists, palms to the ground, and lowered them while they sank to the prone position.

Exposed on the trunk, Rev slowly slid down to the ground, his back against the tree. He didn’t know what was happening, but it couldn’t be good.

“Systems check.”

< All systems green. IBHU at full combat load. Power at ninety-seven-point-four.>

Lehman was prone, five meters from him. Rev gave the hand-and-arm signal for a question, and the sergeant shook his head. Whatever had stopped the column wasn’t evident to him.

The time dragged on. Rev felt he should be doing something, but what? And then a slight bit of movement in the corner of his vision caught his attention. It was just a shadow, almost, up the slight rise to his right. Ever-so-slowly, he turned his head just enough to look to where he saw the motion. There was nothing there, and he thought it must be his imagination when the unmistakable outline of a helmeted MDS soldier’s head and shoulders passed between two trees about thirty-five meters away.

Rev’s instinct was to sink lower. If the soldier looked to his left, Rev would be in his sightline. While his overwhites should help conceal him, with the right filter on the soldier’s display, or with the guy just being more attentive, the MDS soldier might be able to spot him. So, Rev froze in place, only sinking lower when the soldier passed out of sight.

Rev gave the signal for enemy, then the distance and direction to Lehman, who passed it on. He didn’t think the MDS patrol—that’s who it had to be—could see the others on this side of the tree, but that depended on them keeping to the same direction. If they angled to their left, they might spot the Marines, and certainly they couldn’t miss the ski tracks if they crossed them.

Another MDS soldier passed between the trees, then another. From his lower position, Rev could only see the very tops of their helmets.

Of course, the assholes would be patrolling, despite the cold.

The MDS were enemies, but one thing Rev had learned while in the Home Guard was that they were just as professional as the Marines. If the roles were reversed, the Marines would be patrolling, night or not, cold or not, so he should have expected the MDS would be, too. Intel said that these weren’t frontline troops, but they were still MDS.

He half-lay, half-sat in the snow, Pashu at the ready, for several minutes before Božič-Mizaki poked her head over the tree trunk and hissed, “Move out.”

Rev repeated that down the line with a hand-and-arm signal and cautiously stood. He couldn’t see any sign of the enemy patrol. Evidently, the Marines hadn’t been spotted, but as he’d noted before, that didn’t mean the patrol wouldn’t come across their ski tracks farther along.

And the platoon was now behind schedule. The other two platoons should be getting into the blocking positions by now.

Rev leaned back against the trunk, swung his skis up and over, and landed on the other side. He couldn’t see to the front of the column, but it was slowly moving forward to make room for the rest of the Marines.

Finally, the two tail-end Charlies were over.

“Come on, Lieutenant, pick up the pace,” he muttered. And as if she could hear him, the platoon started moving faster. There was a bit of accordioning, but within a few minutes, they were covering ground at a quicker pace. They were still behind schedule, but hopefully, they could catch up.

Moving quicker also exposed them more, but with an MDS patrol already through the area, Rev thought it a reasonable risk. They had to kick off the assault sooner rather than later, or they would be discovered.

Just under five minutes later, the platoon skied into their assault position. The lieutenant didn’t even put them into a hasty defense. She must have checked with Captain Macek and found out that the other platoons were in position, because she had them transition from the column into squads on line and into the assault.

Their target was a single-story building amongst the frozen tree trunks and up against a small, rocky hill that had every outward appearance of being some sort of supply warehouse. But if Intel was right, then there was more to it than meets the eye. Much more, as in several below-ground stories that drew in more power than any warehouse would need. And while there were no outward signs of military defenses, that didn’t mean they weren’t there. But the Intel-weenies agreed that the main defenses were the rings of MDS soldiers around the site.

The problem with that was that they were safely back on New Mars, not out here in the cold, surrounded by almost a thousand MDS soldiers. If they were wrong and the company got wiped out, they’d gnash their teeth and cry foul . . . for all of ten minutes before handing off the aftermath to the next watch and go home to momma and a hot meal.

Just be right this time.

Rev took his place behind First Squad as they skied through the trees, all senses on alert. Speed and surprise were of the essence, and they wouldn’t move to squad rushes until they were taken under fire.

It was weirdly silent as they passed through the trees like ghosts, the only sound being the shush of skis on the snow and Rev’s own breathing. Rev kept expecting to hear the explosion of a mine or the volley of MDS fire reaching out to them. But eight hundred meters, seven hundred meters, six hundred meters, and still nothing.

As Rev’s nerves heightened, his warrior self started pushing to the surface. Rev chanted his chakra centered, using everything Tomiko had taught him, but it was one thing to do that sitting with his eyes closed and yet another while he was skiing toward a battle. Finally, he gave up, and let this warrior self flow into him.

After so many battles, he could now control his warrior to an extent, and Rev kept him on a tight rein as they closed the distance.

At two hundred meters, Rev began to wonder if Intel had totally screwed up and their target really was some unimportant warehouse. Even taking into consideration that they were trying to hide the purpose of the building, certainly, they had to have some sort of defenses.

And there it was, barely visible through the ruins of the forest. Low and squat, it looked like a warehouse, but with his Delta-scan, it showed like a bonfire. There was a lot of power being consumed ahead.

An explosion erupted to Rev’s right in Third Squad’s position.

“Shift, shift!” the lieutenant passed on the platoon net, comms silence broken.

Staff Sergeant Diaz immediately took the squad into their planned shift. They’d move to the left side of the building, which in one sense would bunch them up against the rock hill, but could help produce a crossfire that would hopefully overcome whatever defenses the objective could put up.

The first of which was a crew-served weapon, probably a JK-44, that sprayed into Third Squad’s assault. Rev couldn’t spot it, but someone did. Almost immediately, either Tsao or del Mar opened up with her 20 mm cannon, silencing the MDS gun.

“Get some!” Rev muttered as they pushed hard to the left.

Not unseen, though. With a crack of ionized air, a finger of lightning reached out to the squad. The bolt hit one of the decades-long frozen trees, and it exploded into a million shards as the ice crystals immediately turned to superheated steam.

Božič-Mizaki, just to Rev’s left, went down hard. Rev skied three more strides when the JK-44 fired again, and this time, Rev saw the flash reflected on the mirrored projector barrel shields. Ignoring another tree exploding, Rev raised Pashu, switching to the Moray missile, and fired. The missile snaked by a dozen trees, missing each one by centimeters, and hit unerringly in the center of the shield. The shield exploded, and a dozen bolts of blue lightning shot in every direction before sparking out.

Rev’s warrior was in full command now, and Rev wanted to take charge, to lead the Marines into the fight, but that wasn’t his job. The squad leaders were on their nets, giving orders to their Marines. But that also left Rev as sort of a free agent. He could hunt as long as he didn’t get in the way.

But first . . .

He turned back to Božič-Mizaki, where she was struggling to her feet. The snow under her was stained red. He skied back to her, and she waved him off.

“You combat capable?” he asked over the P2P, wishing he had his PAL’s full array of feeds. Her basic bios were almost in the red zone, but there were no high-priority warnings.

“I’m pissed, but yeah, Staff Sergeant. I’m good to go,” she said.

The side of her overwhites were bright red, but she seemed to be mobile.

“See Doc as soon as you can.”

She nodded, then skied off.

“BM’s been hit, but she’s still in the fight,” he passed to Leona.

“Got it. Thanks,” she said, cutting him off.

Let her fight, Reverent. Get out of her hair.

Fighting was scattered, not the full-out firefest he’d expected. Maybe Intel actually had their collective heads out of their asses and were right this time.

Instead of following First Squad, he changed his mind. Using the trees for whatever cover he could take advantage of, he skied forward. He was on his own at the moment, in the gap between First and Third Squads. This was decidedly NOT in the platoon sergeant playbook, but he wasn’t a run-of-the-mill platoon sergeant, either.

He was an IBHU Marine.

Rev popped off his skis just as he closed to about thirty meters, and there were only three or four trees between him and the building, which was getting chewed up under the onslaught—much of it from the IBHU Marines. There was no mistaking the chunk-chunk-chunk of the 20 mm cannons among the platoon’s other weapons.

But the defenders, even if these were probably automatic defenses, were not giving up. As soon as one weapon was destroyed, another seemed to suddenly appear where there was only a featureless wall a moment ago.

“See if you can find a telltale that could show me where a new weapon might appear.”

<Roger.>

An explosion rocked the far side of the building. Smoke billowed out, but Rev couldn’t see the impact site from his position.

A panel started to open up just to Rev’s left, and without even thinking, Rev fired a five-second blast from his beamer at it. The panel froze, and whatever might have been behind it never made an appearance.

The outgoing fire seemed to slacken, and the lieutenant passed, “Breaching team, forward. Supporting element, commence covering fire.”

The fire team from Third, led by Sergeant Strap, rushed out of the trees while First and Second Squad took the building under heavy fire, regardless of having a specific target or not. Three breaching charges were thrown up against the wall of the building while the team retreated.

“Fire in the hole!” Strap passed on the platoon net, and Rev shifted behind the tree he was using as cover.

The blast was impressive, to say the least. Bits of building rained down through the dead trees, some on fire and trailing smoke. They hit the snow with a sizzle and went out.

The building now had a ten-meter, ragged hole in its side. Small fires could be seen inside the building, lighting it up. Outgoing fire ceased.

“Assault element, move out.”

Third Squad started to rush the opening, and before he realized what he was doing, Rev was in a dead run to join them. He knew the lieutenant was going to follow Third in, and he really shouldn’t be in the same place as she was, but his warrior didn’t want to be left behind in the main event.

He’d probably get his butt chewed if he got through the fight alive, but he thought, Screw it. They might need my firepower.

He knew he was really grasping with that, looking for any excuse to get into the thick of things, but he forced that thought from his mind.

The snow was still deep, and without his skis, he floundered for ten or fifteen meters until he got to the harder packed snow closer to the building. He ran along the side and reached the opening just as the squad was rushing inside.

A single shot rang out, answered by the combined firepower of the squad. There wasn’t a second shot.

“I’m here inside with you, Orpho. Let me know where you can use Pashu,” he quickly passed on the P2P.

“I’ve already got Tsao and del Mar,” came the terse reply.

Rev ignored Orpheus’s tone. His friend was still pissed at him, but now wasn’t the time to try and heal that. Orpheus was the consummate Marine, and he’d fight with all the resources available to him.

The inside of the building was dark, lit only by the faltering flames. Rev switched on his helmet torch. Two bodies lay on the floor, one mangled and near the entrance point Strap and his team had created and one toward the middle of what looked like the main thoroughfare. Hochenspatter checked out that body, then passed, “He’s zeroed.”

The squad spread out in the rows of supplies. They had three potential ingress points to the underground facility, but they had to find which one or ones would get them into it.

“Second Squad, coming in right,” Kil Rancine passed.

Rev spared a quick glance as the first Marine entered and went to one knee. Second Squad was to cover Third as they searched for the entrances, but once located, they would join Orpheus and Third Squad while First Squad and the company first sergeant, who’d joined the platoon for the mission, stayed on the first floor for security.

“We’ve located the way down,” Strap passed on the platoon net. “Looks like ceramic.”

“Blow it,” Lieutenant Nilson passed.

Rev hurried forward just as Hochenspatter emplaced another breaching charge. Rev wanted to ask him the setting—ceramics took a Delta setting, where the higher brisance would shatter it—and it took a force of will to back off and let the Marine do his job.

That only meant he didn’t ask. As Hochenspatter shouted “Fire in the hole” and darted back, Rev looked for and saw the deep yellow indicator of a Delta setting. He quickly ducked back himself, and after the blast shook the building, he rushed forward right behind Strap’s team.

Orpheus was moving forward, too, and he saw Rev. Other than a slight frown, he didn’t acknowledge his presence.

Strap and his team were already inside the stairwell, heading down, with Marie del Mar on point.

Good choice. She’ll be quicker on the draw than any Mad Dog down there.

And that was proven a moment later when there was the unmistakable hum of a beamer, and then del Mar passed over the net, “Just zeroed a Mad Dog. No armor.”

No armor? They won’t stand a chance against an IBHUs beamer.

No chance of a resurrection, either, with their brain cells scrambled and cell walls destroyed, Rev knew. It gave him a momentary pause, but one that flitted by in an instant. This was war, one of the MDS’s making, and all actions have consequences.

He opened the IBHU net. “Del Mar just dropped a Mad Dog without armor. Second and Third Squads, your beamer is now your priority weapon.”

“He kinda exploded a bit,” del Mar added in an excited voice.

“Staff Sergeant Pelletier, what are you doing with Third Squad?” the lieutenant asked him on the P2P.

Busted.

“I wanted to make sure the breaching charge was set correctly.”

“That wasn’t the plan,” his commander said. “You were to remain with First Squad.”

“Sorry, ma’am, but when the first sergeant joined them, I thought I could better use my combat experience in breaching here.”

Rev knew that was low, to throw in his combat experience, not mentioning, but clearly referring to, the difference between him and the lieutenant.

“We’ll talk about this later, but since you’re there, go down with Third Squad. I’ll be with Second,” she said, her anger obvious even over the net. “Report back what’s there.”

“Aye-aye, ma’am,” he said, then hurried into the top of the stairwell.

All of Third Squad were down on the next deck below. Rev took three steps at a time until he reached the bottom. A body of an MDS soldier was crumbled at the base of the stairs. Blood was leaking from his nose and ears, and clear fluid seemed to be coming out of his skin. He looked deflated, as if he was a balloon that someone had let half of the air out. Stretching out in front of him was a twenty-meter-long hallway with three rooms on each side. Hochenspatter was kneeling behind the body, M-49 aimed down the hall as Tsao and Morrison’s fire teams started clearing each room.

“Six rooms and one on the far end. Third is commencing clearing.”

“First Platoon in contact. We need to speed it up.”

Rev shook his head. The Marines knew they couldn’t just waltz in and destroy the facility, and they’d hoped that it would have taken the MDS longer to respond.

“Speed it up, Orpho. First is in contact. First Platoon, I mean, not First Squad.”

“Roger that.”

Orpheus shouted at the others to go quicker, but it didn’t seem like there was an increased sense of urgency. No one wanted to bypass anyone, only to have them reappear and come up their collective asses, but time was of the essence.

Screw it.

He’d worry about Orpheus later, but now, the clock was ticking.

“Strap, you and your team come with me.”

Rev bolted forward, followed by Strap’s First Team.

“Coming up your rear,” he shouted.

Orpheus spun around at the shout, but Rev didn’t bother to catch his eye. He pointed at the second door on the left and told Strap, “Clear it quick.”

Hochenspatter kicked in the door, and del Mar shouted “Going in right!” as she darted in with Hochenspatter, Bobovitch, and Strap following.

Rev stood at the door, Pashu trained down the hall. That door there was their target, he knew, but they had to clear their way to it and not bypass any MDS soldiers.

He took a quick glance inside the room. It looked like an office of some sort. A screen was still on, giving the back of the room a bluish cast.

Hochenspatter shouted, “All clear” almost at the same time as Schmidt from Second Team shouted the same across the hall.

Rev pointed at the next room Tsao and her team to clear, then motioned to Strap to hit the last room on the left.

“Attention, Union Marines. You are on Manifest Destiny property,” a voice suddenly came over a hidden loudspeaker. “You are required to leave now.”

Strap and Tsao turned to look at him, and he motioned them to continue clearing.

“You might want to save yourself a lot of pain and suffering if you just come out here,” Rev said, staring at the door. He was pretty sure that they could see them.

“I repeat, you are on Manifest Destiny Property.”

“And we are at war, so no foul.”

“We are not technically at war,” the voice continued.

“But you keep attacking our citizens.” He paused as Orpheus came up to stand next to him. “I’m Staff Sergeant Reverent Pelletier, Perseus Union Marine Corps. If you come out now, I will guarantee your safety.”

The other person actually laughed at that, which took Rev aback. “We’re protected by a Breyerson 6000. You can’t get in, and I don’t think you want to try and wait it out when we’ve got more than eight hundred of our best soldiers in the area. You’d do best to surrender to us now. And I will guarantee your safety.”

“Breyerson 6000?”

<A high-end lock, used for securing vaults. Generally considered foolproof without the use of a Gen Six AI, and even then, the time needed could stretch for hours if not days.>

“So, we can’t open it?”

<No. It would take me decades to do so.>

“And the door? What’s it made of?”

<From the plaque on the bottom, it is a standard Class M door.>

“Can I blow it with my twenty?”

<Probably not with the rounds you have in your combat load.>

Rev frowned. Were they going to be stymied by the assholes behind that door?

“What’s going on, Staff Sergeant,” the lieutenant asked.

“Wait one,” he replied, cutting her off.

<But, from all appearances, the walls surrounding the door are normal construction.>

“Hell, Punch, why didn’t you say that?”

<I just did.>

Rev opened the P2P back up. “I’m in contact with people inside what looked to be the main space down here. I am about to convince them to open the door.”

“What? I’m coming down!”

“You behind the door,” Rev said aloud. “I would suggest that you move to the sides of the room.”

He motioned for Tsao and del Mar to step up beside him, then on the IBHU net gave his orders. “Twenties. Fifteen rounds each. Don’t hit the door itself. We don’t need any ricochets coming back at us. Aim at least half a meter from the edge of the door.”

Del Mar’s face broke out into a predatory grin behind her face shield, and she said, “This is gonna be fun!”

Rev could have done what he wanted to do by himself, but he figured three of them would have more impact.

Out loud, so the MDS could hear, he counted down. “One . . . two . . . THREE!”

The three Marines, standing like Old Earth gunfighters, blasted the walls on either side of the Class M door and its unbreakable lock. The big rounds blasted through the walls and into the room beyond. Chunks of wall fell away, revealing glimpses of shattered equipment and bits of debris falling through the air on the other side. The sound, in such a confined space, was deafening, and Rev was more than grateful that his noise suppressors kicked in.

“Staff Sergeant Pelletier!” the lieutenant shouted from behind him, her voice muffled with the suppressors still working.

As she wasn’t asking him a question, Rev shouted, “Those were inert rounds. We also have explosive rounds, and we’d be more than happy to demonstrate those for you. And after that, we’ve got Moray missiles, which we’d be happy to demonstrate as well.

Rev wasn’t sure the Morays would even arm in this short a distance, but they could always back up to the stairs.

Behind him, he could hear the lieutenant come to a stop. She’d heard him speaking and wasn’t stepping up to interfere. Rev knew she was probably pissed, but if this worked, then . . .

Rev turned to Tsao and del Mar and said, “Well, I guess they want to see the explosive rounds. One . . . two—”

“Wait, wait!” a voice called out from the room, not from the loudspeaker. “Can you give us a moment?”

Rev looked back, and the lieutenant shook her head.

“I’m afraid we can’t. As you mentioned, you’ve got 800 of your Mad Dogs soldiers out there coming for us, so, no.”

When there was no response, Rev told the other two IBHU Marines, “OK, let’s start again. On three—one . . . two . . .”

“NO! We’re coming out!”

Within two seconds, the door started to open, slowly swinging out. At about forty degrees, the wall holding the doorframe tilted, and the bottom of the big door hit the ground, grinding to a stop.

“We didn’t do that! We’re coming!”

A woman stuck her head out from behind the door, her hands in the air.

“Come on out,” Rev said.

She looked behind her, then tentatively stepped out. “I’m Doctor Sind O’Rorke. I’m a civilian.”

Rev motioned to Strap, and he took his three Marines forward. The woman flinched as Bobovitch searched her, then took her by the arm and pulled her forward.

“Now, the rest of you, come out.”

One by one, twelve civilians and two MDS army officers came out. All were quickly searched and sat down alongside the hallway wall.

“Are we going to take any of them?” Rev asked the lieutenant over the P2P.

Their mission was to destroy whatever was there, but a secondary mission was to capture and bring back someone who might know exactly what was going on.

Before she could answer, the first sergeant broke into the platoon net. “Lieutenant Nilson, we’ve got contact up here. You need to move it.”

“Shit!” she said, then to Rev, “No. Trash their equipment.”

The plan had been to set some charges on a timer, then let them blow the place up. That plan was now toast, and it was onto Plan B.

“Tsao, del Mar. On me.”

“Get a good recording!” the lieutenant called after him.

The three Marines rushed up and around the canted door. They had to hop over what had once been a person and was now a bloody mass spread out across the front of the room.

“I told you to get to the side,” Rev muttered. “Did you think I was joking?”

The space inside was smaller than he would have guessed, and there wasn’t as much equipment. What was there had a look of high-tech comms gear, but it really could be anything.

“Hit it with all of your scanners,” he told the other two.

Rev had no idea if any of their relatively limited scanner spectrums would reveal something useful, but it didn’t hurt to try.

“Hurry up,” the lieutenant shouted after about ten seconds.

“You heard her. Light this place up.”

Rev’s combat load of 20 mm was 1420 rounds. He used two hundred rounds in the room, shattering equipment and blasting it to bits. With the other two firing, he doubted that anything was untouched. Still, he gave a full five-second pulse with his beamer to try and destroy anything the twenties missed.

“Let’s go!”

The three Marines ran back out just as the sounds of fighting reached down the stairwell.

One of the two officers laughed, and PFC Bobovitch stepped up, butt of her M-49 raised.

“Bobo!” Orpheus shouted. “Stand down.”

She stared at him for a moment, then muttered “asshole” at the smirking officer.

Marines were already climbing the stairs. Rev waited until the last.

Before he went up, he turned and said, “For your own safety, I’d suggest you stay here until your own forces arrive.”

“After you’re dead and frozen,” the officer said.

“Should have let Bobovitch smack you,” Rev said before he bolted up the stairs.

Rev ran through the warehouse. For all he knew, the supplies there were vital components to whatever the MDS had going on in there. Then again, it could be toilet paper and blankets. Whatever it was was going to remain a mystery.

Daylight had already taken over when Rev exited the building. Second and Third Squads were scrambling for their skis while First was engaged with advancing MDS soldiers.

“Brigadier-chef Nakano, what’s the status of our ride out of here?” he asked the legionnaire FAC.

“On the way. ETA thirty-four minutes.”

“You can’t hurry it up?”

“Not and keep within the laws of physics.”

Rev switched to Hussein. “Hus-man, you keep our FAC alive and get him to the LZ in one piece. Where are you?”

He looked around until he spotted Hussein waving from where the two were crouching up against the side of the building. “Wait there until we’ve got Second on the move. Fall in behind them.”

“Roger that. I’ve got it.”

Next, he reported to the lieutenant. “Thirty-four minutes for our ride.”

“That’s what we expected. I need you to start kicking some ass. I want to be out of here in three minutes.”

A string of rounds impacted on the building behind him, making him duck as he went for his skis. “What’ve we got here?”

“The first sergeant and Diaz engaged the Mad Dogs at range, making them break down into individual rushes. But they can’t hold. We need to get moving so the squad can disengage,” the lieutenant said.

“Do we have an enemy count?”

“To quote the first sergeant, ‘a lot.’ Now, get the Marines moving.”

“Roger that.” He switched to the platoon command net and said, “Second and Third, you’ve got three minutes to be on the way. First will hold on that long, delaying the Mad Dogs, but that’s it. So, get it in gear!”

That means you, too, Reverent!

He floundered around for a moment, struggling in the snow, until he spotted his skis. With them, the Marines should be quicker than the MDS troopers. Without them, they’d be fish in a barrel.

He almost pounced on his skis and quickly snapped in as the fighting began to intensify.

“Let’s move it!” Rev repeated. “I want Second taking off now.”

The order of march was to be Second Squad, and with his last order, then Hussein and the Hégémonie FAC, followed by Third and then First. But in a fluid situation like this, the important thing was to get moving, relying on their speed to outdistance the MDS. They could sort out their formation later.

Movement caught Rev’s eyes from beyond the backside of the building. “Get your ass over—”

He raised Pashu and fired a blast from his beamer. One shape dropped while another darted for cover.

“We’ve got Mad Dogs coming up behind the building!” he passed, then “Hus-man, get the hell away from there.”

Hussein had already reacted, though. As soon as Rev had fired, the corporal wheeled about, spotted the enemy, and grabbed the FAC by the armpit, pulling him to his feet. Hussein kicked off, but Nakano lost his balance, pulling both down.

Rev was mentally kicking himself in the butt. The enemy facing First Squad wasn’t the main force. They were fixing the squad while another group tried to envelop the Marines at the objective.

“Cover me,” Rev shouted aloud as he pushed off toward the two, trying to close the distance. At that moment, the Hégémonie legionnaire was probably the most important person there.

Rounds impacted the snow around the two, and Rev blindly fired into the trees with his twenty. As he skied, another Marine joined him, and her twenty picked up after Rev’s burst.

“Help Hus-man, Eth,” he shouted.

A shape crossed over between some of the frozen tree trunks. Rev held up, and as the figure reappeared, three 20 mm rounds cut the soldier down.

“Get him out of here,” he shouted as Hussein got the Legionnaire to his feet again.

Hussein looked up to Randigold, and in what seemed like slow motion to Rev, the Brigadier-chef’s helmet exploded, blood and brain matter splattering the shocked Randigold, whose skis fell out beneath her.

“No!” Rev shouted, thinking both had been hit. He switched to his beamer and fanned the area. The power might be too dispersed to register a kill, but it should make any MDS soldier take cover.

Hussein struggled to hold up the FAC until Randigold got to her feet and helped.

“Get him out of here,” Rev told them as he covered their withdrawal. More Marines from Second Squad were now oriented to the new threat.

“We’ve lost the FAC,” Rev told the lieutenant.

“Shit! What about his communicator?”

“I don’t know. He got hit in the head.”

“Find it. I’m moving the platoon out now!”

Rev skied to where Hussein and Randigold were struggling with the FAC’s body. Rev pulled them around behind a huge trunk that rose fifteen meters into the air to where it had broken in two. Whatever had been up there, though, was not on the ground.

Hussein sat the Legionnaire, back up against the frozen wood. The man was dead, no question about it. A large caliber round had entered the back left side of his helmet and blown out the entire left side of his skull. There would be no resurrection for him.

“I tried—” Hussein started before Rev cut him off. Now wasn’t the time for recriminations, and the corporal hadn’t done anything wrong. It was just fate.

“Where’s the communicator?” Rev asked as he examined the body.

<Inside the helmet, on the right side.>

“His right or my right?” Rev said, looking at the mangled mess of the helmet.

<His right.>

Rev tried to reach in, but between his gauntlet and what was left of Nakano’s helmet, there was no room.

“Screw it,” he said, releasing the helmet seal and twisting it off.

The brigadier-chef’s head flopped over, and when Rev shook the helmet, pulverized brain, bone, and blood poured out.

He might get sick to his stomach later, but there was no time for that now.

“Staff Sergeant!” the lieutenant yelled as she skied past ten meters to the right.

“Pick him up and go,” Rev told Hussein. “Eth, get back with your squad.”

Rev clutched the helmet as if it were the holy grail as he followed Hussein. It was their lifeline . . . if he could make it work.

“Can I use this thing?”

<It isn’t compatible with your present comms suite. But there are ways to jury rig it that should give you comms with both the incoming craft and the Hégémonie ship.>

“What do I do?”

<You’re going to have to stop to do it.>

“Then it’s going to have to wait.”

First Squad was merging back with the rest of the platoon, and rounds were chasing them. Rev wanted to stop and cover them, but he had to somehow create a link with their extract. Going through First Platoon and their FAC might work, but that wasn’t a great solution.

So, for the moment, it came down to breaking contact as if all their cold-weather training had prepared them for what amounted to a footrace.

Rev wasn’t going to find out by standing there and wondering. He lowered his head and pushed.

* * *

“I’ve got comms!” Rev told the lieutenant in surprise.

“Thank the Mother,” she said, just as relieved as Rev was.

He hadn’t been confident, given what Punch had told him to do. But the goofy gyvering had worked, and he’d just spoken with the pilot who was on her way in.

This was one case where Pashu’s “fingers” had been a blessing. Not nearly as effective as organic fingers, they still had a big advantage. They didn’t get cold. So, while the lieutenant anxiously watched, Rev had followed Punch’s instructions.

Breaking contact had been easier than they’d expected, even bringing their five dead and three wounded with them. The yeti striders, which were a high-tech version of snowshoes, the enemy troopers used might keep them atop the show’s surface, but they were slow.

Slow didn’t mean they wouldn’t follow, and the Marines weren’t moving. They’d stopped just short of the LZ, waiting for word on when to move forward to it.

The LZ was the platoon’s lifeline. They’d managed to break contact with the MDS force, but for how long? They had to keep the LZ clear for Fantôme-Four to land and load them up.

And time was not their friend. Second Squad had stopped and set a rolling ambush to slow down the MDS. Fire a volley, make the enemy react while they withdrew, only to repeat the process. But they were running out of real estate. Any time now, the enemy would be pushing up their rear, and if they reached the LZ, then all bets were off.

“Tell Diaz and Orpheus to get the KIA and WIA ready to load,” the lieutenant told him. “We’ll need to be ready to move quickly when the time comes.”

“Roger that. I’ll—”

He stopped to listen to the communicator for a moment.

“First Platoon’s away,” Rev reported to the lieutenant.

“Thank the Mother for small favors,” she said. “Any ETA on our ride?”

“Inbound now. The pilot says eight minutes.”

There was a long pause, and Rev could almost hear the lieutenant’s gears turning. When she didn’t say anything, Rev offered, “We’ll need to start collapsing on the LZ, ma’am.”

A volley of fire punctuated his message. Second Squad was still in contact with an as of yet undetermined-size force. The squad was delaying the MDS advance, but when the Fantôme landed, the platoon had a very small window in which to embark.

The only saving grace was that the bulk of the MDS force had been engaged by First and Second Platoon. Second had covered First Platoon’s extract and was now trying to break contact to get to their LZ. Third Platoon—specifically Second Squad—seemed to be facing a smaller force.

“This has gone to hell in a handbasket, Rev, hasn’t it?” the lieutenant asked wearily, using Rev’s name for the first time.

“Our mission was accomplished. And we knew the Mad Dogs wouldn’t just stand by and give us a free pass.”

“Yeah. Mission accomplished? But what was that place? It sure didn’t seem like much. Was it worth our losses?”

Rev didn’t have an answer to that, so he just remained silent.

“You’re right, though. We need to collapse on the DZ. I’m going to gather up Second Squad. You stay with First Squad, OK? Make sure they reach the LZ and set up a hasty defense for the rest of us.”

Rev was going to suggest that she go with First. She was the platoon commander, and her position should probably be on the LZ. He wanted to gather up Second. But he realized that with Brigadier-chef Nakano KIA and him taking over the terminal control task, he needed to be the one in the LZ first, bringing in the Hégémonie Fantôme.

He looked up for a moment as if he could spot the bird when two rocket trails streaked into the sky from well beyond their AO. His heart lurched. The trails disappeared, and for a moment, he thought they must have exceeded their range. But a bright explosion lit the morning, a brilliant orange and yellow flower blooming high above them.

“Shit!” he said, stopping dead in his tracks.

“Did you see that?” the lieutenant asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you think that was the—”

Fantôme-Four’s pilot broke into the net, her voice surprisingly calm, overriding the platoon commander. “Fantôme-Two’s down. I repeat, Fantôme-Two is down. The bastards picked us up. I’m coming in hard and fast in a faucon. ETA, two minutes and change. I need all of you there and ready to diddi.”

“I don’t think we can all make it there in two minutes.”

“Just do it if you want to get off this damned ice ball!” the pilot said, showing emotion for the first time.

Rev immediately acted, bypassing the lieutenant. “All hands, get to the LZ now. Our ride is coming in hot and fast. We’ve got two minutes.”

“Two minutes?” the lieutenant asked. “We can’t—”

“First Platoon is gone. Our pilot is fauconing it in. If we’re not there, we may get left behind.”

The lieutenant didn’t argue. She immediately took over, urging the squads to hurry.

Rev picked up the pace, heedless of how close he skied to some of the trees. Around him, Marines darted through the forest, striving to reach the LZ, still some five hundred meters away. Firing opened up to his right—MDS weapons—where Third Squad was.

Rev knew he probably wouldn’t make the LZ, but he didn’t hesitate. He angled to his right, and a few moments later, he could see the gray shapes of MDS soldiers as they ran on their yeti striders and engaged First Squad.

They weren’t unopposed. First was fighting back, the unmistakable sounds of Leona’s 20 mm bouncing off of the frozen giants of the forest.

“Coming up behind them, First. Don’t shoot my ass,” he passed.

With five more strides, he swept his beamer over the soldiers. Three fell before they knew what hit them. There were at least another half-dozen who he caught glimpses of. He switched to his 20 mm and indiscriminately sprayed. Frozen wood shattered into splinters, but some rounds made it through the trees. Two, then three more soldiers were dropped before the rest realized that the threat was to their left rear flank.

Give them credit. They were professionals. Two turned to face the oncoming Rev, only to be cut down by the intense fire from what was left of First Squad.

It was over within thirty seconds. All of the MDS soldiers were cut down. One soldier, his leg in tatters, his AS-10 Rigger a hunk of mangled junk, was trying to crawl away, leaving a crimson swath in the snow. He looked up and spotted Rev advancing on him, his eyes growing wide as he tried to crawl faster.

Rev let him go.

“Move it, Leona. We’re running out of time.”

“We’re not going to make it.”

“Not if you sit there jaw-jacking with me,” he almost snarled. “Just move it.”

The lieutenant was urging the platoon forward, but Rev tuned her out. All he could think of was to put distance under his skis. There was some scattered incoming, but Marines on skis were faster than soldiers on yeti striders, and the Marines outdistanced them . . . until still 250 meters from the LZ, another force hit them hard just as Rev and most of Third Squad started crossing a small open area, thirty or forty meters across.

Rev and six other Marines hit the deck as a string of tracer fire reached out for them. Leona went to one knee and immediately started to return fire.

“Leona! Get your ass down!”

“Thirty seconds,” the pilot passed. “And I don’t see any of you persies.”

“We’re pinned down,” Rev passed back as he looked up. And there, still high in the sky, he spotted Fantôme-Four screaming in like a falcon diving on a rabbit—hence the faucon term.

“Merde! Where are you?”

Rev pulled out one of the smoke grenades he’d taken from Nakano, twisted the fuze, then threw it as hard as he could toward the muzzle flashes, praying it wouldn’t bounce off the trees.

“Red smoke from the MDS pinning us down.”

“Put your asses as deep in the snow as possible,” the pilot said. “Momma’s coming.”

He could hear the shriek of Fantôme-Four, even more like a falcon, and she swooped down. It was almost beautiful.

“We’ve got incoming help from our ride,” Rev passed.

Leona turned her head to him just as something big exploded against her IBHU, separating it from her shoulder. The IBHU shot straight up, turning over and over, seemingly in slow motion until gravity dragged it back down to bury muzzle-first in the snow. The rest of the staff sergeant . . . parts of her were scattered over twenty meters, the snow suddenly a brightly tinged pink.

“Leona!” Rev screamed, rising up to sweep the 20 mm cannon.

He didn’t have a target, but his anger almost overwhelmed him. Still, the rational part of his mind knew that by keeping the soldiers’ attention, they might not notice the shriek of death plunging at them.

A Fantôme was not heavily armed, comparatively speaking, but still . . .

There was a chatter of her 30 mm, and the trees just past the Marines exploded into sparkling ice crystals. Pieces impacted the Marines and shot beyond them.

“On your feet and move it!” Rev shouted.

Sergeant Gunner Lehman was now technically the new squad leader, not him, but Rev didn’t have time for the niceties of SOP. He needed to get the Marines moving.

Around him, six Marines rose from the snow. Božič-Mizaki had another Marine over her shoulders.

Rev pointed in the direction of the LZ.

“I’ve bought you time, persie,” the pilot passed. I’m banking around, keeping at treetop level. You’ve got a minute, so get your Union asses to the LZ now.”

“We’re on our way.”

Rev skied to what was left of Leona. The largest piece of her was her IBHU. Nothing else was more than a few kilograms of mass.

“Respect to the fallen, my friend,” he said bitterly as he picked up the mangled IBHU. It was going to throw him off balance, but he didn’t want to leave it to be picked up by the MDS.

There wasn’t time for anything else, and he broke into a sprint.

“I’m not picking you up. What’s your pos,” the lieutenant asked.

“Two-fifty from the LZ. We just got hit, but the pilot shot the hell out of them. She’s making a loop for another approach.”

“How much more time?”

“Less than a minute.”

“We’re approaching the LZ now. I can see it ahead. You need to push it, Rev.”

“Roger that.”

Rev lengthened his stride, his legs working like pistons, his lungs beginning to burn in the cold air. He reached Božič-Mizaki.

“Let me take Venter,” he said.

“I’ve got her,” the lance corporal said through gritted teeth, refusing to relinquish her burden.

Rev wasn’t going to argue, so he took a position just behind her. Another hundred yards and he could see the LZ with Marines coming out of the trees and forming a perimeter.

Fantôme-Four wasn’t there yet, and it had been over a minute. For a brief moment, he wondered if she had just bugged out.

No! She’ll get there!

And then, well beyond the LZ, he could see that big, beautiful sight as the plane appeared, barely above the remnants of the forest trees. He realized that she’d given them a little more time to get to the LZ.

“May the Mother watch over you always,” he muttered as she brought their ride in toward the LZ.

“One more minute, BM, and we’ll be outta here!” he told Božič-Mizaki. “Last fifty meters.”

The lieutenant started bringing the Marines in as Rev brought up the stragglers. The pilot was no longer in a dive, so she had to come up to the LZ over the trees, then switch fan aspects and bring her down.

“Momma’s here,” she told Rev as she reached the LZ, the back ramp already lowered.

“Baby’s happy to see—”

Rev was cut off when a missile appeared, almost instantly impacting the side of the Fantôme. A huge fireball erupted as the plane tried to remain airborne, crabbing to the side over Marines who were now scrambling to get out from under her. The Fantôme twisted awkwardly, and for a moment, Rev spotted the pilot as she fought to push her plane to the side, away from the Marines.

Rev could have sworn that she looked up and saw him as the second missile hit the cockpit.

The explosion knocked the Fantôme’s front up, her ramp down before she broke in half and fell heavily onto the LZ.

Rev was already sprinting past Božič-Mizaki and into the LZ. Marines were getting up from where they’d dived. He threw off his skis and crawled into what remained of the cockpit.

The pilot was a mess, but she was still breathing. Flames licked at her feet, and her controls sent out sparks.

“Doc Mason!” he shouted over his shoulder.

He knew you shouldn’t move someone who’d been in an accident, but she couldn’t stay there. As carefully as he could, he pulled her free of the wreckage and laid her down in the snow, all the time trying to keep her head and neck aligned.

Hussein rushed to help, but Rev said, “I’ve got her. See if you can find anyone else. I think I saw someone under when this thing crashed.”

Doc Mason arrived and took over, so Rev went to see what he could do about anyone caught under the Fantôme when it crashed. Seven Marines had lifted the edge of the tail section while PCF Lomax got on her hands and knees to peer under it.

“Clear!” Lomax shouted, and the other Marines let the tail section fall back.

They weren’t so lucky with the front section. Sergeant Ashraf had been crushed by the forward section of the Fantôme. Strap and del Mar pulled out the misshapen body, calling for Doc.

Rev started forward when the lieutenant asked over the P2P, “Have you reported this and asked for another pickup?”

“On it now,” he said, feeling guilty.

He was the one with the comms, and that should have been his first priority.

“Switch me to the D'Entrecasteaux,” Rev told Punch.

<Roger.>

“Stork-One, this is Heron-Three.”

“Go, Heron-Three.”

“I don’t know if you saw that, but Fantôme-Four was shot down. The pilot’s alive but in bad shape. Can you send one of the others to this pos to pick us up?”

There was a long pause, and for a moment, Rev wondered if his comms were down.

“Heron-Three. Sorry, but that’s a negative. We’ve lost three of our Fantômes, and we’ve got bogies heading our way. We’re pulling back.”

What?

“But . . . what the hell are we supposed to do down here?”

“You need to let your commander know what’s happening. We’ve lost comms with him.”

Miko!

“Was Second Platoon on the, you know, Fantôme that was lost,” Rev asked, dread coming over him.

“It never made it to the surface, so no. But we’ve got a dead connection with our pilot.”

Which meant there was a good chance that he’d been killed, Rev knew. But still, he felt a rush of relief that Tomiko—and Second Platoon—hadn’t been shot down.

He took a deep breath, then got back to the business at hand. “I’ll let him know, but what should I tell him about when you can extract us?”

“Look, we’re really sorry. But we can’t do anything for you if the heavies take us out. We’ll try and come back if it’s at all possible.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“You can try and contact TF Control.”

“How . . . all I have is your FAC’s communicator spliced into my comms. How the hell am I supposed to contact them?”

“Wait one . . .” There was a pause. “I’m uploading the protocols. It might take time, but you should be able to get through. Sorry, that’s all I can do. We’re leaving now. May the Mother watch over you all.”

The connection was cut, and Rev stood there in the snow, smoke from the crashed Fantôme creeping along the ground like some malevolent, sentient monster.

“Did you catch all of that?” Rev asked in wonderment.

<Yes, I did.>

“Is that . . . can we even contact the task force fleet?”

<Technically, it should be possible. But even if they’re in the system, comms will take time.>

“I’d better tell the lieutenant.” He started to bring her up, but then he decided that this was something that had to be done face-to-face.

He skied over to where she was supervising the emplacement of the defense in the LZ.

“You get a hold of the D'Entrecasteaux?” she asked, wiping her overwhites’ forearm across her smoke-grimed face.

“Yes, ma’am.”

She turned to give him a puzzled look. “And . . .” she prompted.

“Three of the Fantômes have been shot down,” he said quietly, still in a state of mental shock.

“Three? Fuck,” she snapped.

She looked around at the defense she’d set up. “The Mad Dogs are coming. You can bet your ass on that. Any timeline on when the last bird can come get us?”

“They’re not coming.”

“What? Of course, they’re coming.”

“No, ma’am. They’re not. They’ve got ships or something approaching, so they’re bugging out.”

The lieutenant looked at him as if he’d lost his mind.

“I just was on the hook with the skipper. He didn’t say anything about us being abandoned here.”

“Yeah, about that. The ship wants you to tell him that. They’d lost comms with the pilot coming in to pick Second and him up.”

“You . . . have . . . got . . . to . . . be . . . kidding . . . me.”

Rev just shook his head.

“Take over this,” she said, waving at the defensive positions.

She turned to the side to call the captain.

Rev took a moment to look around the LZ. He was surrounded by twenty-two Marines and Doc Mason, but suddenly he felt very, very lonely.

15

The sound of a far-off explosion reached them through the trees, a little too muffled to tell what it was.

<Another mortar.> Punch said without being asked.

Rev didn’t know if the MDS were simply taking a chance with random shots or if they were subtly herding the platoon into a larger force. The last two hours, as the planet’s sun climbed into the sky, had been hectic, to say the least.

The captain had told them to abandon the LZ and ski to a new designated rally point, sixteen klicks away. The MDS were certainly aware of them and were actively searching. The only advantage the Marines had now was their speed. As long as they stayed in the dead forest, the MDS vehicles couldn’t follow, and they could keep ahead of the unmounted infantry.

But they could only run so far, and they were slowed by carrying their dead and wounded. The MDS weren’t stupid, and they had the advantage of numbers. A few tactical lifts and they could drop soldiers in blocking positions, trapping the Marines between hammer and anvil.

For the moment, however, the captain wanted to consolidate what was left of the company. Weapons Platoon had made it off the planet. First Platoon was assumed to have been wiped out when their Fantôme was shot down. That left twenty-four members of Third Platoon and all of Second, who as of forty-five minutes ago, hadn’t lost anyone.

Which meant Tomiko was still alive. Rev was relieved to know that, but he hadn’t tried to connect with her. The company wasn’t in a comms blackout, but comms were limited to mission-essential. Even shielded comms could give the enemy data they could use to develop intel.

Speaking of which . . . “Open up the line to the task force.”

<You’re on.>

With this jury-rigged comms, he needed Punch to handle it and let him know when the line was open.

“TF-Six-Two-Three, this is Heron-Three. We’re still on the move to the RP to link up with Heron-Six and Heron-Two. We’re under sporadic fire but anticipate something more intense in the near future. Request guidance for extract.” He paused, then added, “Time is of the essence. Heron-Three out.”

This was Rev’s fifth message to the Hégémonie ships lurking in the far reaches of the system. Even with the comms lag, which Punch put at between fifty-four and ninety-seven minutes, he should have received a response by now. That supposed his messages were even getting through.

He’d done what he could do, though. Now it was a waiting game. Waiting and skiing. Skiing and wondering if there was an ambush lying in wait just ahead of them.

“Shift squads,” the lieutenant passed.

Second Squad stepped to the side, while Third Squad and Rev took the lead through the virgin snow. Each squad took ten minutes breaking the trail before sliding to the back, where the going was easier.

“Ooh-rah, Staff Sergeant,” Randigold said as Rev passed her.

Cold or not, being in a shit sandwich or not, nothing seemed to ever get his fellow IBHU Marine down.

“Sibs in steel, Ess,” he replied.

Another explosion sounded, this one closer. Once again, Rev didn’t know if the MDS were just probing, zeroing in on the platoon, or trying to herd them. If it was the second option, all they had to do was to follow the tracks in the snow with drones to pinpoint their location.

“Keep your eyes peeled for drones,” he passed on the P2P to Randigold, who’d just taken up the tail-end Charlie position. “Anything suspicious, sweep the sky with Cruella’s beamer.”

“Got it.”

That was the problem—well, one of the many problems—with fighting in the cold. Their tracks were impossible to hide, and even with the cloaking properties of their overwhites, they still had a hefty temperature differentiation with the cold air that could easily be picked up.

And most of the trees’ smaller branches and spruce needles had long ago broken and fallen off the main trunks and larger branches. The frozen trunks wreaked havoc with many scanner technologies, but they didn’t give much cover from overhead visuals.

“Any word from the task force?” the lieutenant asked as they skied.

“Nothing yet.”

“Bastards are abandoning us,” she snapped, her voice hard and angry, even over the comms.

“They may have already answered, ma’am,” he said. “We’re just waiting for the signal to reach us.”

But in his heart, he feared that she was right. They should have received an answer to his first message by now, especially if a ship with a little more firepower than the D'Entrecasteaux was coming to the rescue.

Automatic fire sounded to the west and a good deal off. Rev frowned, then pulled up his map. As far as he knew, there were no Marines in that direction. It should be just Second and Third Platoons on the planet at the moment, and Second was just up ahead at the RP waiting for them.

Unless . . .

His heart jumped as he manipulated the map to a 3-D chart, and he put in Fantôme-Two where it picked up First Platoon. But no, First Platoon would have been picked up a long way from the direction of the automatic fire, and the Fantôme’s flight path would have taken it farther to the east.

“Maybe you’re getting into a friendly firefight,” he muttered. “Keep going at it.”

But the sounds died down after another ten or fifteen seconds.

Rev shook his head and forged on. Another klick, and they’d be at the RP, and the captain could figure out what they should do next. Rev had wanted authority over the last few years, chafing at being just a weapons platform, but for this, he was glad that someone else would have a plan.

There was a crack of ionized air from behind him, and Randigold shouted, “Drones!”

Rev stepped to the side of the track and turned around, Pashu raised.

“Keep going,” he yelled at Lomax, who’d been behind him.

If there were drones, he knew what was coming next.

“Give me a fifty-second countdown, Punch.”

He scanned the treetops as Randigold fired again, followed almost immediately by the hum of a beamer. There was a crack and explosion as one of the trees took the brunt of a beamer.

“I’m moving to the rear,” he told the lieutenant as he skied back. “Keep them moving.”

She nodded and yelled at del Mar, who was on point, to alter the course to the right. If they were spotted, they could expect to be hit in as soon as a minute, so she didn’t have much time to get the platoon out of the impact zone.

Other Second Squad Marines joined in, firing up into the treetops. Then Rev saw a flicker of movement. Without consciously thinking about it, he reacted, bringing Pashu to bear and firing a three-second pulse, sweeping right to left. Blue sparks showered down from the treetops, and the drone tilted to its side as it struggled to stay aloft. Another Marine fired at it, but the thing was beyond recovery. It fell to the ground, sparks now shooting up as it went through its death throes.

The squad’s Dykstra gunner slammed one of their heavy rounds into it, putting the thing out of its misery.

“I got another one,” Randigold shouted.

<Ten seconds.>

Rev took a moment to scan the treetops. He couldn’t see anything, and Marine fire slacked off.

“Take cover!” he shouted as he hit the deck and kissed snow.

After another twenty seconds and nothing happening, he raised his head, spit out the snow, and looked around.

They had to have pegged us.

He was about to get everyone up when the first round exploded high in the treetops, showering the ground below with shrapnel. Rev tried to will his way below the snow and into the frozen soil.

Seven more rounds impacted, an MDS single mortar section volley, before there was a lull. They could be holding off, hoping to get some movement, but if Rev and the others had gotten whatever drones were on their tail, the mortar section wouldn’t know if anyone had still been in the impact zone or not.

“Anyone hit?” Rev yelled.

“I am,” Hochenspatter shouted back, popping his head up about fifteen meters from Rev. “But I’m still kicking.”

By some miracle, no one else had been hit. Well, maybe not really such a miracle. MDS 82mm mortars in anti-personnel mode were programmed to detonate two meters above the ground, sending out two concentric rings of shrapnel, one designed for unprotected personnel and one for armored soldiers.

They were pretty effective munitions, but here, in the ice forest, the rounds all seemed to have detonated high in the treetops. It didn’t seem like a long way to go, but the shrapnel not blocked by the tree trunks had slowed down enough by the time it reached the Marines below that even their light armor was enough to protect them.

All of this took Rev only an instant to realize, and there was their opportunity.

“On your feet and follow the tracks!”

Eight Marines were up in a heartbeat. Foregoing any sort of formation, they fled the impact zone.

“At least three drones knocked down before we got hit. I think that’s all of them. Hochenspatter’s hit, but combat effective, and we’re coming up in trace,” he passed to the lieutenant.

“The RP’s out. The skipper and Second Platoon are on the move. We’ll hook up with them here,” she passed, dropping a coordinate onto his display.

It was back toward their last objective, where the rocky hills rose out of the forest. Bad place for an extract, but more defensible. It was probably a good move, to make the MDS try and dig them out, but Rev was still hoping against hope that the Heg Navy was on its way. If they—no, when they came—the Marines would have to find a suitable LZ, and Rev didn’t think they’d find one in the rocks.

But they’d cross that bridge when they came to it. First, what was left of the company had to reach the slight refuge the hills would give them.

Second Squad quickly came upon the rear of the platoon. Now, it was an all-out sprint to link up with the company and get out of the forest.

They’d skied another two klicks, just shy of where they were supposed to meet with Second Platoon, when the FAC’s communicator came to life.

“Heron-Three, this is TF-Six-Two-Three. We are under heavy attack. By the time you receive this, we’ll be either dead, or the Mother be willing, we’ll have managed to jump into Bubble Space.

“The contre-amiral sends his sincere regrets and wishes you luck. A l’espac. C'est l'heure. Task Force, out.”

Rev stopped skiing.

“Did he just say they were bugging out?”

<Not in so many words, but yes.>

“Fuck.”

“You OK, Staff Sergeant?” Strap asked, skiing up from behind him.

“What? Uh, yeah, Strap. I . . .”

He started skiing again before he pulled up the lieutenant. “I just received a message from the task force.”

“Really? They’re on their way? Thank the Mother for that, at least.”

“Not exactly.”

“What does that mean, ‘not exactly?’”

Rev had no idea why he’d said it like that. They weren’t coming. That was “exactly” it.

“They’re trying to jump into Bubble Space. The MDS Navy’s onto them.”

There was a long moment of silence, then a single “fuck.”

That was my reaction, too.

The lieutenant sighed, then said, “Let me pass that on to the skipper. Just, uh . . . keep this between you and me for the moment. Let Captain Macek decide when to let everyone know.”

Rev didn’t like holding anything back from his Marines, but he was in somewhat of a state of shock. This was like some bad dream.

* * *

Rev paused, taking cover behind a tree. He could hear their pursuers coming up behind them. It wasn’t as if the MDS had to slow down to track the Marines. The ski trails were like neon arrows pointing the way.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. After Third Platoon had married up with Second, Captain Macek had sent the walking wounded and the more seriously wounded WIAs ahead with one squad while the rest of the company brought up the rear as they made their way to the hills.

At the last minute, the captain had decided to send Rev as well. He didn’t want to lose their comms with the Hégémonie Navy, which made Rev seethe. His platoon was down to twenty-one effectives, and he needed to be at Lieutenant Nilson’s side to lead it, not being a glorified comms operator. He reminded the captain that he could give anyone Brigadier-chef Nakano’s comms suite, but the captain said he didn’t want to have to train up someone else on its use, and Rev had already made contact with the task force.

Part of him knew the decision made sense, but he was easily able to ignore his rational voice. He wanted to lead his Marines, and that had been snatched from him.

But far from being in the safer position, they were in the shit. The MDS were not cooperating with the captain’s thinking. Whether the Marines had been spotted or if someone had figured out what they’d do next, their small group had been hit from the flank. Two Marines had gone down, were thrown on the collapsible toboggans with the other wounded, and were dragged clear while Rev, Sergeant John Vestergaard, and two other Second Platoon Marines held back.

Rev tried to listen, blocking out the sound of his heavy breathing. The MDS yeti striders had a unique, rasping sound as they plunged into the snow with each step. He wished he’d had some bat DNA modifications, so he could echolocate exactly where the pursuers were, but he was just going to have to do his best.

Twenty meters to his left, his back up against another tree, Vestergaard gripped his M-49 tightly. Rev didn’t know too much about the Marine, only that Tomiko thought highly of the man, but he sure looked nervous.

Rev almost laughed aloud. What, facing a platoon of MDS soldiers with four Marines wouldn’t make someone nervous?

The sergeant looked up and caught his eye. Rev nodded, then held up his right hand, fingers extended. He slowly counted down, folding each finger in turn. As the little finger closed, Rev slipped around the edge of the tree, firing his beamer in a sweep. Vestergaard and the other two Marines joined him, them with their M-49s.

Three soldiers fell, and the others dropped to the ground. Rev switched to his 20 mm cannon, gave them a volley while his beamer recharged, then beamed them again before turning and sprinting deeper into the trees.

One of the junior Marines, whose name Rev couldn’t place, cut across in front of Rev, turned, and while still skiing, fired what looked to be well-aimed rounds, reminding the MDS soldiers to keep their heads down.

Impressive, Rev had to admit. The lance corporal was a far better skier than he was. Rev wasn’t keyed into Second Platoon, so he couldn’t pull up the Marine’s name.

A few rounds chased them, but they were clear before the soldiers could really aim their weapons. On skis, they were quicker, but up ahead, the rest of their group were slowed down by the toboggans and injuries.

Rev had to pick another spot to hit the MDS, to make them pay for chasing them. Every time they delayed the enemy meant the wounded were that much closer to the rocks.

After that? Rev wasn’t sure. But those were the orders, and he was damned well going to accomplish them.

What he wouldn’t give for some mines. Better yet, some combat engineers to place them, or Seabees to really put up some obstacles. But as long as he was wishing, why not just wish them all off the planet, leaving this dead ball of ice to the MDS?

Just fight with what you have, Reverent.

“Here it is,” he said to himself as they came to the next spot for an ambush. They were getting closer to the hills, and rocks were popping up amongst the trees. Several three-to-four-meter-tall snow-covered rocks would give them cover, and better yet, the ground gently sloped down on the other side. They could almost break contact at will, then ski out of sight before the soldiers could reach the rocks.

Rev pointed at the big boulders. The skiing prima donna started to cut across, but Rev shouted to keep him on the tracks. They’d get over the top, then cut across behind the rocks where their tracks wouldn’t give them away. The lance corporal hit his palm against his helmet in a “duh!” gesture, then came back into the tracks.

As soon as they passed the rocks, Rev motioned Vestergaard and the fourth Marine to take a position to the right while he and the skier took the left. He grabbed the Marine by the shoulder and asked him, “What was your name again?”

“Gupta, Staff Sergeant. Lance Corporal Gupta.”

Rev knew the name, at least. Tomiko thought he was a smartass, someone who thought he was smarter and more capable than anyone else.

“How’d you learn to ski like that?”

“Been on g-boards since I was three back home on Kashmir, and these aren’t that much different.”

From what Rev knew about g-boards, and that wasn’t much other than they were round discs people rode on, they really were nothing like skis. But that was for another time and place.

“Stay on this side of the rocks here, but I want to go down another thirty meters. Watch for someone coming up our flanks. Like before, I’ll initiate contact, but be ready to boogie on out of here.”

“Got yah, Staff.”

Rev grimaced. “Staff” was almost never used when addressing a staff sergeant in the Corps, and Rev hated it. Made him sound like he had some sort of disease. But once again, that was for another time. He’d straighten out the young man later if they both made it through this.

Gupta didn’t ski off immediately and just stood there looking at him.

“Is there something else?” Rev asked, staff sergeant talk for “get the hell out of here and in your position.”

“Staff Sergeant Reiser was right about you,” he said before he somehow raised himself on the backs of his skis, twirled around, and skied to his position.

What was Tomiko saying about him?

He settled into position, but he couldn’t get that question out of his mind.

Drop it, Reverent! Focus!

He pulled his Optisight out of his overwhites’ cargo pocket, but the lenses were still covered with ice crystals. He tried to scrape them free, but when he tried to look through it, everything was blurry.

Humanity could traverse the galaxy, and they could terraform planets, but they couldn’t make optics that functioned in the cold.

He edged forward until he could just see down the slope they’d skied up a moment before. His field of view wasn’t quite as good as he thought it would have been, but it was still a good position.

Where’s the rest of the company?

He’d give a year’s salary to know that, but the captain had put them in a comms blackout. Somebody had figured out that the MDS mortar and rocket batteries were using comms emissions to target them. How they determined that in the short time since they’d been on the run was beyond Rev.

It had been almost forty minutes since he’d heard the sounds of the company in combat, which could mean they were on their way to the rocks. Or it could mean something else that Rev didn’t want to even consider.

He couldn’t control what was happening to the company, and he could barely control the Marines’ wounded. But what he could do was make sure that the pursuing soldiers paid a price the minute they showed their faces. Hopefully, this would be the last time before the wounded were up in the more defensible rocks.

He’d have to take what happened after that as it came.

Rev watched for the slightest bit of movement in the trees. The soldiers should be appearing soon—unless they’d given up, and Rev knew enough MDS soldiers to know that was doubtful. They were like terriers on a rat, clamping down and never letting go.

“Nice to know we’re the rats in that little scenario,” he muttered.

Try as hard as he might, his thoughts kept coming back to Gupta’s comment.

“What do you think Miko told them about me?”

<Anything I would say would be pure conjecture.>

“You can’t guess?”

<I need data in order to make a qualified “guess.”>

Rev looked out through the forest. The planet’s sun, just over its apogee, created bright sparkles at spots in the frozen trees. It was rather pretty, in a way.

“You think it was something good?”

<She is your girlfriend. As I understand human relationships, the logical conclusion is that she would say positive things about you.>

“Yeah, maybe.”

<But I’ve been wrong before, so who knows?> Punch quickly added, and Rev could almost feel a bit of glee in the response, as if he was enjoying giving him grief.

If that was even possible. He kept forgetting that Punch, for all intents and purposes, was a hunk of crystal, like what his dad made back in Swansea. He might seem sentient, but that had to just be his programming.

But he sure seems alive.

Rev was about to reply in kind when a snowball hit him in the side of the head. He turned, ready to jump on Gupta’s ass, but the lance corporal gave him the sign of enemy, then the azimuth.

Crap. Keep your brain in the game, Reverent.

The azimuth Gupta gave him was to their left flank. He inched forward and tried to spot movement, but he couldn’t get far enough forward without exposing himself.

“How many?” he signed.

Gupta signaled twenty, then the interrogative, which meant he wasn’t sure.

It was too much to hope that the MDS soldiers would just keep running up their trails. These might not be the frontline troops that Rev served with in the Home Guard, and they weren’t karnans, thank the Mother, but they were still professional soldiers. Someone finally figured out that flanking them on two axes might serve them better.

He turned to Vestergaard, who, unlike Rev, wasn’t lost in unimportant thoughts. He almost immediately saw Rev, who signaled over what Gupta had reported. The sergeant asked for orders, and after a moment, Rev signaled that he should still orient forward. The MDS wouldn’t have abandoned the tracks, which, after all, were their lifeline to the Marines. They’d still be coming, hoping to locate the Marines and fix them in place while the soldiers on the flank closed in to seal the deal.

Their mistake was in letting the flank soldiers be spotted. That and not realizing how much firepower Rev represented.

Rev softly laughed to himself. He was always bitching that he wasn’t just a weapons platform, that he deserved to be in a leadership position, and now he was about to take himself out of running this event.

Rev signaled to Vestergaard that he was to initiate the ambush and that their target was still the soldiers coming up their tracks. Then he pulled back and made his way to where Gupta was flat on his belly.

“Good job spotting them. You get a better idea of how many?”

“Negatory on that. They’re in the trees, so I can’t really count them. But they’re there. You can be sure of that.”

“Show me.”

“Two o-clock, 150 meters. Look at the half-fallen tree, the one leaning up against the other. Watch in the V that tree makes.”

Rev spotted the tree, and within five seconds, the unmistakable outline of an MDS soldier passed the opening the tree created.

It was a solid plan, but they should have pushed out farther. They probably hadn’t wanted to lose contact with their fixing force. Which meant . . .

“Go take my position. When Sergeant Vestergaard kicks off the ambush, join in. Single, well-aimed shots.”

“And you?”

Rev wasn’t used to answering to lance corporals, but he gave a wicked grin, patted Pashu, and said, “I’ll be planning a little surprise for our friends out there.”

“Ooh-rah, Staff. Get some.”

Rev couldn’t quite see down their track from his position, but he caught several more figures flitting through the trees. If anything, he thought Gupta had underestimated the enemy’s numbers. This would be the point of main effort. Whoever was coming up their tracks were just there to trigger the assault, locating it, then fixing the Marines in place while the enveloping force assaulted and rolled up their flank.

With Gupta on the flank, armed with an M-49, it might have worked. But Rev wasn’t the lance corporal, and he had just a bit more firepower at his disposal.

A big bit.

Sergeant Vestergaard opened fire and was joined immediately by the other two Marines. There was return fire from the soldiers, but not as much as in the previous three ambushes. That only confirmed what Rev had figured.

And to his flank, and still slightly in front of their hasty defensive line, there was movement as the enveloping force rushed to get into position. Rev let them maneuver. He wanted to have better fields of fire. Trying to pick off a few would only alert them that he knew their plan, and they’d move to something else.

“Give me a guillotine on the beamer.”

<Done.>

Except on the range, Rev had never used the guillotine setting with his beamer before, where the projector was adjusted to send the beam out focused into a single, fifteen-degree-wide “blade” that ran horizontal to the ground.

Swept like a scythe a meter and a half off the ground with all of the power focused into that blade, it had a habit of decapitating its targets.

Sword vs shotgun.

If the soldiers assaulted on line, sure that they’d achieved surprise, both the carnage and the emotional shock of seeing their buddies cut in half could stop the assault in its tracks.

The soldiers wanted to surprise the Marines, but Rev hoped to surprise them. The guillotine, for all its potential, had weaknesses. Flopping on their bellies could save them as the beam passed over their heads, and as with all beamers, mirrored armor could deflect the beams, so Rev wasn’t relying on it. His 20 mm cannon would be there waiting while his beamer recharged.

“Make your voice heard, Pashu,” he said, patting her main barrel.

<Speaking to inanimate objects could be a sign of mental instability.>

“What are you saying? You’re an inanimate object!”

<If you think so,> Punch said with a condescending tone as if Rev were a child.

“I think so ‘cause it’s true, you hunk of crystal.”

<This hunk of crystal suggests you pay attention to the Mad Dogs and not me.>

“Well, then, shut the hell up,” he subvocalized as the first of the soldiers became visible through the trees as they charged forward.

Or tried to. Their yeti striders were easier to use and didn’t have the learning curve that Marine skis had, but they were nowhere near as fast. They galumphed and stumbled more than they ran, making large, exaggerated steps that took more energy but moved them much slower across the snow.

Rev blinked up his sight picture, something he rarely had to do with his IBHU. But he wanted this to be devastating.

A single line appeared, directly inputted into his visual cortex, fanning out from Pashu’s beamer barrel. Rev adjusted the elevation so that the line cut across neck height of the closest soldiers, then kept shifting the elevation to keep the “blade” on target as they got closer.

Hold it, hold it.

One of the soldiers stopped, turned around, and gave the “Follow me” wave of his arm when Rev fired, making a sweep across the assaulting front. Exactly as advertised, the soldier’s head and extended arm were cut clean off, and the body collapsed onto the ground. One leg was deep in the snow, and it held the body upright, now pumping blood in a red arc, partially upright.

As Rev continued his sweep, three, four, five soldiers fell, and several trees exploded into ice shards. But within a second or two, the rest of the soldiers reacted, diving for cover.

Rev was in mid-sweep, and he tried to angle his guillotine down, but momentum was working against him. He might have clipped the far-right soldier before the pulse ceased, and his power indicator turned red.

One of the soldiers fired back, hitting the rock a good meter from him, and Rev seamlessly switched to his twenty and returned fire at the soldier, obscuring him in a cloud of snow. Rev shifted targets, pumping out a string of the big rounds as soldiers farther behind darted for cover behind tree trunks.

The snow settled around the soldier who’d shot at him, revealing a crumbled body, half of an arm pointed up to the sky as if beseeching his deity.

Rev felt the tiniest pang of regret, not that the soldier was obviously dead, but he could sympathize with losing an arm.

Rev had halted the assault, but he had hoped to kill more of the soldiers and break it instead. Stop it in its tracks. He quickly counted eight dead, and at least one was moaning, another one calling for a medic. The ones who’d taken cover started to return fire.

“You need me, Staff?” Gupta called out.

Rev turned his head and waved him back when something smacked him hard on his hand.

“Shit,” he blurted out, pulling his hand into his chest. He was afraid to look, sure he’d just lost part of it. But while there was a gouge in his gauntlet, the round hadn’t penetrated. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but he could move his fingers.

He fired another burst of ten rounds in his anger, not really aiming them.

Don’t be stupid and waste ammo.

Something bigger whooshed out of the trees and slammed into the rock, showering him with fragments. But the missile trail showed him the POO, the Point of Origin. This time, his burst was aimed. He didn’t know if he’d actually hit anyone, but there wasn’t another missile.

Rev was taking sporadic fire, but with the slight slope, most of his body was in defilade. He raised Pashu to fire, hoping he could keep the enemies’ heads down before they could acquire and target him. But if he kept to the same spot, someone would just sit back and wait for him to pop up again and nail him.

There was a crack, and Rev was hit on his back, but his armor held. Rev had never been targeted by a beebuzzer before, but he’d seen them fired while in the Home Guard. The rounds could be fired over or alongside a target, and as it passed, the round triggered a small explosion that fired a pellet at the enemy. They were deadly against unarmored personnel, but even with Rev’s lighter armor, they weren’t much of a risk unless they found a vulnerable crease.

They were annoying as hell, though, and they highlighted the fact that Rev didn’t really know what else they had up their sleeves. They were reported as being only light infantry, but Intel had been wrong before.

Rev needed time to figure out what he was going to do. He thought that the other three could disengage and ski away, but he’d be exposed if he tried to pull back. And if he could keep the soldiers occupied just a little longer, that might give the wounded enough time to reach cover.

He really didn’t have much of a plan after that, though. But unless the wounded reached the hills, then that wouldn’t matter.

Rev shifted his body five meters to the right, popped up just far enough to fire, and let loose a beamer burst. He ducked back down an instant before rounds impacted where he’d been, sending snow down over him.

One of them had been waiting for him to reappear, for sure. Only his shifting over, even just five meters, had been enough to throw the soldier off.

“Bring up what I just saw,” he told Punch.

A still shot, slightly askew, popped into his visual cortex. He’d hoped to be able to spot whoever targeted him, but his attention was on the bodies lying in the snow. Something as silent as an owl’s wings brushed his thoughts.

The soldier on the far right was still calling for help, his voice weakening.

And Rev realized what he had to do. He shifted back to the rock, sat up behind its cover, and yelled, “If you want to recover your guys, we won’t engage you until you’re back under cover,” Rev shouted.

It wasn’t just altruism or hewing to the Torinth Accords. Retrieving the wounded and dead would take some time, and any time would help the Marine wounded reach the hoped-for safety of the hills.

Silence greeted his offer.

Gupta caught his attention, frantically signaling the interrogative. Rev signaled back to cease fire and to pass that on to the other two.

“Do you want to recover your soldiers?” Rev shouted again. “You need to decide now, or the offer’s off the table.”

“I’m recording this,” a voice shouted back. “Please identify yourself and repeat that you are offering a temporary cease-fire for the purpose of recovering the dead and wounded.”

Shit.

Rev didn’t mind repeating the offer, and he understood why the other soldier wanted it. If he broke the promise, that could constitute a war crime when all was said and done. He didn’t want to identify himself, though. That was giving information to the other side that could be developed into intel.

But he’d painted himself into a corner on that aspect, and he might as well go for broke.

“I’m Staff Sergeant Reverent Pelletier, Perseus Union Marine Corps. I am proposing a temporary cease-fire for the purpose of allowing the Mad . . . Manifest Destiny Sphere forces opposing us to recover their dead and wounded. This cease-fire will last until either the MDS side breaks the cease fire or until they’ve recovered their wounded and dead, have pulled back, uh . . . 100 meters, and have announced their intention to continue in this battle.”

Rev hoped that would be enough. He’d never had to create something like this, and he had no idea if what he said was even legally binding.

There was a pause, and then the MDS soldier said, “I am Field Sergeant Gus Stygian, Manifest Destiny Sphere Defense Force, and I accept the terms of the temporary cease-fire. We will honor the agreement until either the Union Marines violate it or we have recovered our fallen.”

Rev pulled back another meter, stood, and looked back to where the other three Marines were now looking at him for guidance. Rev signaled for them to hold their fire but remain on alert. He told each one to acknowledge his orders. If one of them broke it, then Rev, and the senior Marine, would be morally and legally liable for breaching the agreement.

“It was easier fighting the Centaurs,” Rev muttered.

It wasn’t that Rev disagreed with the Torinth Accords, and upholding his agreement was the moral thing to do, but he hated having to stop in a combat situation to make sure each of his Marines vocalized their understanding of his orders. He was a Marine, not a lawyer, and legal issues and combat should be separated.

He turned back and edged forward just a hair until he could see over the area without exposing too much of himself. He trusted the soldiers for the most part, but why push his luck?

Nine soldiers hesitantly stepped out of the frozen forest and tentatively advanced, eyes scanning the rocks that protected the four Marines. If nine were moving forward, Rev was sure that there were at least five times that many hidden and watching.

One of them reached the first body, knelt, then picked the dead soldier in a fireman’s carry. His retreat was with much more of a sense of urgency than his advance.

The wounded soldier’s cries were barely a whisper, and a soldier with a red cross on his helmet rushed toward him . . . or tried to. His yeti striders weren’t doing a good job at keeping him on top of the snow, and his legs plunged deep every other or every third step.

The red cross was something new. Rev hadn’t spotted it in their previous clashes, and he wondered if the medic had it in a pocket or something and affixed it to his helmet before he exposed himself. Not a bad move, Rev thought.

The medic finally reached the wounded soldier and bent over him while the others reached the remaining bodies. Removing the dead wasn’t easy. The snow made it difficult, and one soldier kept dropping his body.

Meanwhile, the medic kept working. Rev’s warrior was restless, probing as if trying to break free, but Rev shut him down. The longer the medic treated the soldier, the farther along the wounded Marines could get.

Of course, the longer the medic treated the soldier also meant that the MDS field sergeant could be—probably was—maneuvering a force to flank them. Rev wished he had microdrones deployed around them to give him eyes on the area.

Finally, another soldier came forward as he constantly glanced at the rocks giving the Marines cover. He caught Rev’s eyes, and his hand twitched at his weapon. Rev didn’t duck back but nodded. It took a moment, but the soldier nodded as well and continued to the medic.

He conferred with the medic for a moment, then the two lifted the wounded soldier, who let out a scream of pain, and started to carry him back. Rev watched as they struggled in the snow, their steps now a faint scrunching, the only sound in an otherwise eerily silent forest. If the rest of the company was in contact, nothing of that reached him.

This little interlude was almost over, and the fight was about to be rejoined. Rev turned and signaled the other three to get ready to retreat. Rev wanted a good volley from them to remind the MDS soldiers they were there before moving back.

It took five more minutes, but the two carrying the wounded soldier were finally out of sight. After still another minute, the field sergeant shouted out, “We have retrieved our soldiers. From our perspective, the cease-fire is over.”

“Agreed,” Rev said as he ducked back behind his rock. “Let the games begin again.”

There was a laugh, then, “Yes, the games.” But before anyone fired their weapons, the field sergeant added, “Thank you, Marine.”

“Anytime. In fact, you can surrender now, and we can all have a good laugh over this.”

“Don’t think so, Persie,” the voice came out. “I appreciate your offer, but as we outnumber the four of you, I’ll offer you the same thing.”

Shit. They do know.

“I guess we’ll just have to play this out, then.”

“Thought you’d say that,” the MDS field sergeant said.

As if to punctuate that, a missile streaked out of the forest and slammed against the rock.

Rev got down on his belly, his skis crossed, and awkwardly scooted just under the slight crest to a smaller rock separated from the others by ten meters. He’d be more exposed from that point when he retreated, but his other position was bound to get a lot of attention now.

The soldiers opened up with more automatic fire and beebuzzers. They probably still had mortar support, but none of the mortar rounds were impacting in the area. Rev thought they might be holding their fire until the four Marines were flushed from the relative protection of the rocks.

Rev held up the other three, waiting, waiting . . .

He could visualize the advancing soldiers by the sound of their fire, but he extended his senses the best he could to detect anything else. The Marines had proved that even their envelopment, once it was detected, could be thrown back. So, what else was the field sergeant planning?

The round shattered his right ski, catching him by surprise, and Rev quickly pulled in his leg.

“Can you give me a POO?” Rev asked Punch, hoping his counter-battery programming could calculate that from how the round had impacted on his ski.

<Not enough data. Higher up in elevation, and toward your two-o’clock.>

“How the hell can he climb a frozen tree?” he muttered, but it made sense. How else could the sniper have hit him on this side of the slight crest?

Rev glanced over his shoulder at where he’d been beside the bigger rock. If Punch was right as to the direction from which the sniper had fired, then he’d have been completely exposed to him. But now, he was trapped. He couldn’t move in either direction without being targeted.

He took a second to examine his ski. It was shattered.

“Fuck!” he allowed himself a brief surge of anger before he regained control. There was no way he could ski on that, and a one-legged skier was about as stable as drunk on a two-legged barstool.

Another round hit, impacting just centimeters from his right boot. If he was still completely exposed, that round would have hit him. The sniper was reminding him that he was there, fixing him in place until the advancing soldiers overran his position. But that round helped him narrow down where the sniper had to be. It narrowed it down to a smaller area, but did not pinpoint him.

He kicked free of the binding on the right ski, followed by the left. He was essentially stuck. The MDS had enough problems with their yeti striders, and now he didn’t even have that. There was no way he could keep up with the other three Marines.

He didn’t have much of a choice. Rev grabbed Gupta’s attention and ordered him to pass the word to the other two to fire a volley at the advancing soldiers, then retreat. He hesitated only a moment before designating Sergeant Vestergaard as the new mission commander.

Gupta’s eyes got big, and he signaled the interrogatory. Rev just held up what was left of his ski. Gupta signaled negative, but Rev repeated his order. He thought the lance corporal might still refuse, but after a moment, he signaled his assent.

Rev hugged the back of his rock, his tiny shield that was keeping him alive for the moment.

“Max out the beamer,” he told Punch. “And give me a thirty-degree fan.”

<That will significantly deplete your power and give you a relatively low wattage per square meter.>

“I don’t think I have to worry much about conserving power, in case you haven’t noticed the shit I’m in,” he said with a chuckle.

There was a slight pause before Punch said, <I understand.>

He kept his eyes on Gupta as the lance corporal relayed his orders, then watched as the young Marine gave Rev a countdown from five.

At zero, the three Marines opened up with everything they had, and Rev rolled to his right, sweeping his beamer across the trees, aiming at a ten-degree elevation. Even with Pashu’s beamer maxed out, because of the dispersion, the frozen trunks didn’t get enough raw energy to explode, and for a moment, he thought he’d blown it and was about to get a round in the face, but then a body fell out of a tree fewer than forty meters away.

He didn’t have time to admire his work. He had to cover the other three Marines’ retreat. Rev reversed his roll back to the rock, raised Pashu, and blindly fired his 20 mm cannon in the direction of the main enemy assaulting force. He doubted that he’d hit anything, but it would remind them that he was there.

His LED turned green, letting him know that his beamer was recharged. He switched the beam to the guillotine. To his right, Gupta, Vestergaard, and Balmor were breaking contact, skiing away. They were still vulnerable, though, to anyone who could reach the rock within the next twenty seconds or so.

Rev wasn’t going to let that happen. He pulled his knees under him.

“Sorry, Miko,” he said as he popped up and swept his meson scythe, like the grim reaper himself harvesting souls for hell.

There were at least thirty soldiers in front of him and a lot closer than he thought they’d be. The only thing that saved Rev for the moment was that soldiers dove for cover at his appearance instead of engaging him. A few managed to get off a few rounds that whizzed past him, but most were trying to burrow into the snow.

Rev only dropped two of them, but in a spectacular show of blood and horror.

He immediately switched to his 20mm and fired a long burst, sending rounds into snow and bodies.

The return fire from deeper into the trees was immediate and intense. Two rounds pinged off of Pashu, and another hit him in the shoulder before Rev could duck back down and out of the direct line of fire. All around him, rock fragments and snow exploded into the air, creating a swirling cloud that sparkled in the bright sunlight. At any other time, it would be beautiful.

Shit, that was close, Rev told himself as he tried to make himself small. He tried to check his right shoulder, but with Pashu connected, there wasn’t much he could do to examine it, and the impact site was too high for him to see it. But he could move his arm, so the armor must have held.

Shear-thickening armor was comparatively light to other forms of personal armor, and it was very effective against initial rounds. The liquid cells hardened upon impact, stopping most small arms rounds. But there was a rebound effect that lasted for about two seconds as the armor returned to its liquid form. Another hit in the same general area could far more easily penetrate. And the more it was hit, the less effective it became.

With the fusillade of rounds impacting just centimeters from his head, he knew the moment he exposed himself again, he’d take enough rounds to defeat his armor. Even if he’d still been in his PAL-HX, there were just too many of the MDS soldiers.

Rev pulled out one of his last three grenades. They’d proven to be pretty ineffectual in the snow, the fuzes having problems discerning when to detonate. But he wasn’t going to gain brownie points by returning them. He set the fuze for one meter above the ground and tossed it. There was a shout of alarm, but a muffled whump meant that once again, the grenade had penetrated into the snow before detonating.

“I’m really going to have to complain to someone about that,” Rev muttered.

The briefest flicker over him caught his attention, and Rev fired Pashu before his brain made the connection. The small MDS drone dropped and bounced off of the rock in front of him before an incoming round hit it and sent it blasting out of sight.

They know exactly where I am now, not that it was a big secret. What’s next? A mortar?

If it was a mortar, he had about forty seconds. He could try and move out of the impact zone, but without his skis, he’d just be floundering.

He glanced behind him. His three Marines were no longer in sight.

At least they got away.

For a brief moment, he considered surrendering . . . for a very brief moment. That just wasn’t in his DNA.

“Well, Punch, maybe they’ll put me on ice until I can be resurrected.”

<Is that an attempt at a joke? “On ice?” Here, on this planet?>

Rev chuckled. “No, but it should have been. How about one last joke to go out on?”

<What do you call an IBHU Marine?>

That’s a weird setup.

“I don’t know. What do you call an IBHU Marine?”

<A friend. A good friend.>

Rev’s heart jumped into his throat, and he had to swallow hard before he said, “You’re a good friend too, Punch.”

A million thoughts flashed through his mind, too many to pick out any specific one. But the gist was while he’d like to see how certain things could have worked out, he’d had a good run, all things told.

And maybe this wasn’t the end. If the MDS followed the Accords, he could be resurrected.

“Just don’t hit my head, guys, OK?”

His warrior self had been chomping at the bit, ready to charge forth, and now, with nothing to lose, Rev released him.

“Let’s do this,” he said as he gathered his legs under him . . . when the sounds of firing suddenly intensified, giving him pause. He could pick up the unique reports of an M-103, just like the one PFC Balmor had taken from one of the wounded Marines.

“You stupid Marines!” Rev shouted as he wheeled around. “I told you to get the hell out of here.”

But there was no one behind him, and it dawned on him that the sounds seemed to be coming from the other side of the MDS soldiers. That, and there had to be at least two 103s firing.

The incoming that had been striking his rock and the snow around him slackened as if the enemy soldier’s attention had shifted.

“It can’t be,” he muttered.

He knew it could be some sort of a trick. It wouldn’t be hard to simulate the sound of the rifle grenades, getting him to expose himself, but he couldn’t help it. Slowly, he raised his head until he could see the slope in front of him. No sniper round greeted him.

There were what looked to be six new bodies scattered in the snow, but that wasn’t what caught his attention. Farther into the trees, soldiers were swinging around to his side of the trunks, using them for cover—from the opposite direction.

Splinters of frozen wood were exploding off the trunks as heavy fire—Marine fire—sought out the MDS soldiers.

Rev was forgotten under the new onslaught. But he still had a bite. He switched to single shot on his 20 mm cannon and slowly and deliberately started targeting whoever he could draw a bead on. One . . . two . . . three soldiers were killed, the big round making huge holes in what had been living, breathing human bodies.

He let his warrior take over. This was somehow different than cutting down the soldiers assaulting his position. This seemed more like executions to him. But it had to be done. Each soldier killed was one less who could engage the oncoming Marines.

His next round hit a soldier just above the neck, the head exploding into a pink mist. Red bits of bloody bone and brain matter splattered the tree behind which he’d taken cover.

The soldier the next tree over finally seemed to remember Rev, and he started to scramble to the other side of the tree before Marine fire drove him back. Rev sighted on him, but before he fired, the soldier dropped his weapon and, still on his back, raised both hands into the air.

Rev checked fire. The soldier froze, not making a move. As if a dam was breaking, another soldier, then another, and yet a fourth dropped their weapons and raised their hands in the air.

The firing tapered off while Rev tried to keep the half-dozen soldiers he could see in his sights. Within a minute or so, Marines in overwhites started appearing between the trees as they skied forward. Rev kept Pashu at the ready as he stood up and took a seat on the rock he’d been using for cover. He wanted to break comms silence so bad, but there was no real reason for it other than his excitement at still being among the breathing.

The Marines started gathering up the soldiers who’d surrendered. It didn’t look like many, from what Rev could see. These soldiers would live to see another day. The Marines were in no position to keep prisoners, so they’d be granted their parole and released. Soon enough, they’d be off this Ninth Level of Dante’s Hell, which was more than the Marines could say.

So, in the long run, who had really just won this small sideshow of the greater fight?

Rev sat on the rock, the cold wind biting at him for thirty-six minutes after the last round was fired and the prisoners and wounded were tended. He could have fought the snow and trudged down to join them, but he took the time to mentally decompress and let the Marines do what they had to do.

Most of the time, he just watched in morbid fascination the blood and brain matter of his last victim that had splattered on the tree as it froze into white crystals. Finally, a familiar figure started to ski up to him.

He’d been searching for her as the Marines had gone about their tasks, but only just now had he spotted her. He felt a wave of relief sweep over him. He stood and took a step to meet her, but his foot broke through the top layer of the snow, and he sank to his hip.

Better to just wait for her.

Tomiko skied up and said in a calm voice, “Good to see you made it, Rev. The captain wants to know about the others.”

She was trying to be calm, but Rev knew her well enough to detect the joy in her voice that she tried to hide.

Rev wanted nothing more than to rush to her and give her a hug, but like her, he knew that in this situation, they couldn’t treat each other any differently than they treated anyone else.

“The wounded should have reached the hills by now. I sent Vestergaard, Gupta, and Balmor after them.”

Tomiko raised her right eyebrow. Rev knew she was brimming with questions, but she didn’t ask them, and for the moment, Rev wasn’t going to explain why he’d sent them on.

Her eyes dropped down to his boots. “Where’re your skis?”

Rev leaned back, snagged one of the pieces of his shot-up ski, and held it up.

Both of her eyebrows raised at the sight.

“So, that’s why you’ve been sitting up here all this time. The skipper was worried that you were wounded.” She paused, then her voice broke from the cool control she’d been using. “You aren’t hit, are you?”

“I’m fine, Miko. Fine.”

She let out a deep breath and said, “Come on down with me, then. We’ve got skis for you.”

For a moment, Rev was confused. As far as he knew, the company didn’t have a source of resupply, so where would they get—

And it hit him. They didn’t come with an extra set of skis. One Marine, one set. Which meant that if there were skis for him, they’d come at the cost of the Marine who’d been initially issued them.

Rev had been relieved and overjoyed to see that Tomiko had made it, but that gutshot he’d just absorbed was for all of those Marines who’d been killed so far.

“Respect for the fallen,” he said quietly.

“Respect for the fallen,” Tomiko repeated.

16

“Think they’ll take her?” Sergeant Lehman, who’d taken over First Squad after Leona’s death, asked.

“It’s in the Accords,” Rev said.

“But do you think they will?”

Which was the million-credit question. The Marines had no way to evacuate their dead or wounded. Doc Yarenze could help the wounded, but other than injecting the dead with zombie juice to hopefully retard brain decomposition, there was nothing else he could do for them.

The Torinth Accords stipulated that signatory military forces must give enemy dead the same consideration with regard to medical treatment and potential resurrection as their own personnel . . . with one caveat, that being the tactical needs of the unit.

That caveat left open an out, a very big out. But if any of the Marine dead were to have a chance at resurrection, the MDS were their only possibility. Hopefully, the dozen soldiers granted parole would stand the Marines in good stead, and the MDS leadership would feel obligated to do what they could.

If they could, Rev thought they’d comply. But if it was too big of a logistical challenge, they might just ignore the responsibility. They had their own casualties to take care of, after all. They might be winnowing down the Marines, but that was coming at a heavy cost to them. The Marines—tired, cold, and running low on ammo—still had a vicious bite.

Rev gazed out to where PFC Ceecy Lomax had been laid out in the snow. Lomax had been killed five hours before, taking a heavy round to the juncture of her neck and shoulder. It had looked bad, but Doc had assured Lehman that her brain was untouched. If she could be resurrected, she’d face a long recovery as bones and flesh were regrown, but eventually, she could be fine.

“I don’t know,” Rev admitted.

Lomax wasn’t the first KIA to be laid out like that. Four others from the two platoons had died during the fighting, but the Marines had moved on before they could confirm that the soldiers had gathered them up. Lomax was the first potential resurrectee since they’d taken refuge in the hills earlier in the day.

“Let’s wait and see,” Rev said.

“Really? We can do that?”

Lieutenant Nilson hadn’t told him to wait, but she hadn’t told him not to, either. Rev wanted confirmation, and he was sure everyone in the company would as well. It would be a huge morale boost.

And Rev didn’t think they’d have to wait long. The MDS were probing into the hills, and they had to have eyes all around the area. Lehman and Božič-Mizaki had taken Lomax out under a white flag before retreating back into the rocks, and Rev was sure they’d been seen. In fact, he hoped they’d been seen. Lomax’s clock was ticking, and she needed to be taken back and the resurrection process started if it was going to work.

“Just for a bit. I want confirmation that she’s on her way.”

Sergeant Lehman scootched forward a bit so he could see better, but Rev grabbed his leg and jerked him back.

“We’re still targets, though. No more white flag protection.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that.”

They settled in to wait with most of the surviving squad back into the deeper crevices of the rocks and with Rev and Lehman to where they would just see Lomax’s body.

Rev was right. They didn’t have to wait long. A soldier stepped out from behind a tree just a few meters from where they’d laid the body. He took one step, paused, then another step closer as he peered at her.

“Just making sure about her,” Rev said, giving sort of a play-by-play. “Now, he’s going to give the all-clear, and they’ll take her.”

The soldier was taking his time, though. He stared at the body, then shifted his gaze to the rocks and back to the body for a good thirty seconds before he raised his weapon and fired two shots directly into Lomax’s head.

Rev was shocked and taken by surprise. That gave the soldier just enough time to dart back under cover before Rev could react.

Lehman took a moment longer as what they’d seen registered, and he erupted into a scream and jumped to his feet.

Rev yanked him back down as a single shot whizzed past where he’d just been.

“They fucking murdered her!” Lehman shouted, fighting against Rev’s grasp.

“And they want to kill you, too!” Rev shouted back, his warrior self raging.

Because that’s what it was: murder, pure and simple.

“Stop your damn struggling,” he shouted, smacking the sergeant on the side of his helmet with an openhanded slap.

“They murdered her,” Lehman cried out as he stopped fighting Rev.

More rounds reach into the crevice, impacting above the heads of the Marines, most of whom were asking what was going on.

And for a moment, Rev was confused. Inside the rocks, the Marines were fairly well protected, but Lehman and Božič-Mizaki had been out in the open, easy marks for the soldiers in the forest.

The other Marines were still yelling their questions, and Rev waved them to silence so he could get his mind straight.

“Why? Why did they do that?” Lehman asked.

Then it hit Rev. “The white flag.”

“What?”

“We registered our white flag. We don’t know what’s happening with the big picture, but our white flag should have been received. If they hit us then, it could have come out in one of the after actions. But when we removed the white flag, we became fair game.

“So, the bastards did what they thought would make us lose our minds—”

“Which I did, by the Mother,” Lehman interrupted. “I . . . you saved my ass, Staff Sergeant.”

“Record the visuals,” Rev told Punch.

The MDS soldiers had miscalculated. Rev didn’t know if the murderer could be identified from his recording, but even if he couldn’t be, the fact that an MDS soldier had perpetrated the crime . . .

Not just him. This has to have been a unit decision, Rev suddenly realized.

His resolve steeled. This had to get out, even if none of them did.

“Put it on a dead man’s release.”

<Roger.>

If anything happened to Rev, the recording and embedded forensic data would be released in a single micro-pulse, screw the comms silence. It might take a while to be picked up by an appropriate force, but it would.

“Now what, Staff Sergeant?” Lehman asked.

Rev turned back to him. His face was white now, and he was breathing heavily, anger replaced with the realization that he’d almost been killed just then.

“We can’t recover her, you know,” Rev said quietly.

“I know.”

“All we can do now is make the bastards pay. But for now, your squad is wondering what the hell is going on. Pull yourself together and lead them.”

Lehman nodded and took several deep breaths before turning to the anxious eyes looking up at them.

“Get ready to move out. Knopf, you’ve got point.”

Rev watched him for a moment to make sure the squad leader was back in control. A final, seemingly desultory round impacted above his head as the soldiers must have realized that their ploy had failed. He wondered if any of them felt guilty for what they’d tried to do.

“No matter if you feel guilty or not. You’re going to pay,” Rev promised as he slid down from his perch. “By the Mother, you’re going to pay.”

17

Rev met Tomiko at the hidden entrance to the small gully that reached back into the hills. She looked beat, emotionally and physically.

“How was it?”

“We lost Degruin,” she said in a quiet voice.

“And the Mad Dogs?”

“Maybe two. I don’t know.”

The rest of the patrol passed them, most not even looking up.

“I’m going out with Third Squad in an hour,” he told her.

That got her attention. “You? You’re the platoon sergeant, not a squad leader.”

Rev shrugged. “One of the Ops saw something. The Mad Dogs look like they’re trying to put up some comms relays. The skipper wants them down.”

Which was true, as far as it went. What Rev didn’t tell her was that he volunteered to go. He was getting cabin fever, and he didn’t like everyone else taking all the risks.

Three days of hiding out in the gullies, canyons, and ravines in the small range of hills, barely six klicks long, while Captain Macek sent out harassment patrols designed to keep the MDS soldiers out, was about all Rev could handle. Three days of hide-and-seek, with six more WIAs and five—no, now six, with Degruin—more KIAs. And this was a real mission, with a real target, not sneaking around their AO hoping to hit the MDS trying to infiltrate in.

Tomiko just shook her head and said, “Don’t do anything stupid, OK?”

“Why change now? I’ve got a history of doing stupid things ever since I got that traffic ticket that landed me here.”

“Yeah. And what about Mala? That was pretty stupid,” she said with a bite in her voice.

Rev’s mouth dropped. In all the time since Rev had hooked up with Malaika, Tomiko had never criticized his choice. She must be getting toward the end of her rope for her to slip like that.

She seemed just as surprised as Rev was. “I’m sorry, Rev. I don’t know where that came from.”

“It’s OK, Miko. It’s just this . . . this situation,” he said with a wide, encompassing sweep of his arm.

She reached out and pulled his arm down, and then held it for a few more seconds than necessary. “No excuse. I swore I wasn’t going to be one of those kinds of people.”

Rev sort of knew that Tomiko had been more than a little upset when he not only decided to stay in the Corps when they’d agreed to get out after the war, but then also hooked up with Malaika after they’d argued. This rather confirmed it.

He wasn’t sure what he could do about it now, though. And not here, abandoned by the Union and Hégémonie on this frozen waste of a planet.

“Come on,” he said, turning to go deeper into the gully. “Get something hot inside of you.”

“Hot” meant coffee, wassail, or tea. All of the Marines were on combat sludge, but Marines being Marines, most of them had hidden away powdered hot drinks along with some sweet snacks. These had all been pooled together to be passed out to Marines returning from patrols.

“That would be nice,” she said.

The “kitchen” was under a small overhang another twenty-three meters up the gully. Tomiko’s Marines were already getting their drinks, which looked like the cider. Rev grabbed a cup and handed it to Tomiko, who popped her face shield and held it up to her face, eyes closed, as she took in the cinnamon steam.

“Don’t wait too long. It’ll cool off quickly.”

She nodded, and with a couple of swallows, drained the cup and handed it back.

“OK,” she said to her squad. “Get some sleep while I—”

“Uh, we’re moving again,” Rev interrupted her. “About forty-five minutes.”

The tortured, rocky hills were great for concealment, and they wreaked havoc on MDS scanners, but the captain was adamant that the company keep shifting their position. He’d debated breaking the company up, but in the end, he decided to consolidate his forces, and now his big fear was of getting trapped by a larger force.

Tomiko paused for a moment, then said, “Stand by to move. If you need to empty your shitbags, do it now.”

Rev motioned to her that he had to go, and she nodded, not pausing in addressing her squad.

“I want a full ammo and power count . . .”

Rev stepped away. The tired, frustrated Tomiko he’d met as she returned from her patrol was gone, and the fierce Marine leader was back.

“She’s some woman, Punch.”

<That she is.>

* * *

A mortar round landed in the distance, the sound of the explosion echoing on the bare rock face. The general belief was that the MDS didn’t have unlimited ammo or there would be a higher tempo in the harassment fire. Still, harassment fire or not, it could be deadly. A round had landed in the company area just as they’d been ready to move, killing two Marines. One of them, Lance Corporal Pullman-King from Second Platoon, had died from blood loss before Doc Yarenze could stabilize him, and that made him a good candidate for resurrection. But after Lomax’s murder—and after some heated discussion with the captain—the decision had been made to keep the body with them, hoping against hope that rescue would come in time for Pullman-King to have a chance.

Rev blinked his zoom as he studied their target. It looked like a typical comms antennae/repeater, and he couldn’t see any sign of defenders. That made him uneasy.

It made sense that the MDS would try and set one up. With the narrow gullies, the Marines could hide a battalion in the hills with almost complete impunity from ground-based systems. Drones could spot them if they were directly overhead, but the Marines’ Peterson Webs were knocking those out of the sky like mosquitoes.

An antennae array like what Rev was studying would not only help the soldiers defeat any localized jamming the Marines could achieve, but also a sensor on top, which looked to Rev like they’d put there, could better spot Marine movement.

But why now, and where was the security? The MDS had to know the Marines would come after it.

Rev crawled over to Orpheus. “I think that’s a honeypot.”

His old friend didn’t bother to look at him. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

Rev rolled his eyes. Orpheus still was distant to him, making sure their interactions were squad leader to platoon sergeant, and it hurt Rev, but if that was the way it was going to be, so be it. They could worry about patching things up later . . . if there ever was a later, that was.

“I’m serious. It’s just too pat, and I don’t like it.”

Orpheus turned to Rev and gave him a long stare before he asked, “Are you taking over this mission?”

“No. It’s your patrol,” Rev said.

He’d inferred to Tomiko that he was ordered to join the patrol, but in reality, he was just tagging along. He was an observer, albeit one with a lot of firepower to contribute.

But that didn’t mean he had to sit back and say nothing.

“I can fry it,” Rev said, patting Pashu.

“So can Tsao or del Mar. And that doesn’t tell us anything. We need to know exactly what it is.”

Rev wanted to argue. Hell, he wanted to take over, and looking at Orpheus, he knew his old friend expected that. He was almost challenging him to do it, in fact.

But Rev just shook his head. This was Orpheus’s squad, his mission. Rev was just going to have to support it the best he could.

And with three IBHU Marines, any MDS ambush might be unpleasantly surprised.

Rev pulled back, letting Orpheus develop his plan. And when he heard it, he had to admit it made sense. He would still prefer to just take the array out with concentrated beamer fire, but the plan was otherwise sound.

Rev, del Mar, and two more Marines would stay at this spot where they had a visual on the array and provide the support element, while Orpheus was to lead the assault and security elements. The three Marines in the assault element would actually climb the hill and dismantle the array, taking what might provide potential intel and destroying the rest while the security element secured the base of the hill.

Rev pulled Sergeant Tsao aside just before they moved out. “I don’t have a good feeling about this. Keep your eyes open. Forget about the array. Let the others handle that. You need to act as the security element, OK?”

Tsao nodded and gave her IBHU a pat. “I’ve faced tourists at the Hall of Humanity. Compared to them, a few Mad Dogs are nothing.”

Rev laughed and patted her back. He wouldn’t admit it to Orpheus, but he trusted her in combat more than him. She hadn’t been awarded the Platinum Nova for nothing, after all.

And then they were off, maneuvering through three different interconnected gullies to reach the far side of the rocky promontory upon which the array had been erected.

“OK, let’s get ourselves situated,” Rev told the other three Marines. “We need to make sure we’ve got good fields of fire.”

They spent the next several minutes selecting firing positions where they could support the final movement to the array. It wasn’t the best position, though. None of them had eyes on the security element, and if things went south, they couldn’t provide them much support. Rev tried to plot a quick route to reach them, but between his map and what his eyes could confirm, there really wasn’t much of a way forward except to trace the other two elements’ route.

Rev had fought in a maze of gullies before on Cat Scratch, but there, they could move along the flat higher ground. Here, the rocky hills emerged from the surrounding forest like a group of koppies, and there was no such flat ground. Everything was up and down.

“Now we wait,” Rev muttered as he settled into position.

The array was only a couple of hundred meters away from them, but the rest of the squad would have to cover close to five hundred meters, following the gullies. Orpheus and Third Squad had to move carefully, conscious of the fact that even if the MDS soldiers had only probed the hills so far, it wouldn’t have been difficult for them to set up booby traps and mines along the route. They made it in far enough to set up the array, after all, although that could have been emplaced by drone.

Rev lay on his belly on a windswept piece of rock, half-expecting to hear the report of a booby trap, but the longer it went without such an explosion, the better Rev was beginning to feel about the mission.

“You think I was being over-cautious?”

<That phrase is open to a wide range of meanings, most of which can’t be determined until after the fact.>

“What? Speak Standard.”

<If this is a trap, you were right. If the mission is a success, then you were wrong.>

Rev frowned. Anyone could be a Monday morning quarterback. What he wanted was to figure out things before they happened.

The sounds of a volley of fire, followed by more intensive firing, reached them from across the AO. Someone was engaged. Rev tried to determine what was happening by the sounds different weapons made, but this fight was going on too far away, and the rocks were distorting the reports.

Del Mar, at the base of the next rock, turned to look at him, but Rev pointed back to their target. They couldn’t do anything about that fight, and they had their own mission. Rev turned to focus on their target as well, but it was impossible to completely ignore what was going on in the distance. The fight went on for about three minutes before petering out.

The wind whipped around their semi-exposed position, sending a mini-blizzard of loose snow that obscured Rev’s view of the array for a moment. His stress level rose until the snow cleared and he had a clear shot at it again.

“Shit, this is cold,” he muttered. “Damn rock is sucking my heat away.”

The time stretched on, and Rev was getting more anxious. As always, he feared being powerless more than anything else. If Third Squad was going to get hit, there really wasn’t much he could do about it, and that grated on him.

Finally, Bobovitch, one of the other Marines, softly called out, “I’ve got movement down low and to the left.”

From his position, Rev couldn’t see anything, but now he knew where to look, and a moment later, a Marine appeared, climbing up the side of the hill. He couldn’t tell who it was from his perspective, but when the next one appeared behind the first, there wasn’t a doubt. Rev knew Orpheus too well to miss him.

“Orpho, you’re not supposed to be leading the assault.”

Not according to SOP, at least. But Rev understood the feeling. He’d had to fight it enough times himself as he’d gotten more senior.

At least he’d taken himself and the other two Marines on the inside of the hill, out of the direct fire of the MDS soldiers outside the company’s rocky defensive position. If they could just grab what they needed from the array and destroy the rest, this might just be a reasonably routine mission.

Rev watched them climb the last twenty meters to the array. Orpho got on his belly to crawl up the last meter or so to the array. He took a moment to examine it.

“Just grab what you think you need and get the hell out of there,” Rev said, trying to will Orpheus to hurry up.

But his friend was taking his time. He was always a deliberate guy, thinking things through, and Rev could imagine him discussing what he was seeing with Theseus, his battle buddy.

That tendency made him a steady squad leader, but it clashed with Rev’s own aggressive, go-for-it style.

It looked like he finally made a decision. He turned to hold a brief conversation with the Marine below him, then started to slide back down when the entire array exploded in a bright flash of flame.

“Orpho!” Rev screamed, getting to his knees and trying to see through the smoke and suspended snow.

The Marine below him was knocked over backward, and Orpheus’s headless body tumbled down the rocky summit and into view below the smoke until it hit a patch of snow. The body slid another five meters, trailing a bright red swath on the white of the snow.

Staff Sergeant Orpheus Talamage came to a stop. His head was nowhere to be seen.

“What do we do?” del Mar yelled.

There wasn’t the sound of firing. There was no sound at all except for the wind which was sweeping the summit clear, and it all gelled through the shock of seeing his friend killed right in front of him.

Rev had been both right and wrong. He was right in that the array was a honeypot. He was wrong in thinking the MDS would be hiding in wait inside the hills. They tried to push into them earlier, but the terrain favored the defenders, and they’d paid the price.

So, fly a fake antennae array up to the summit and rig it as a booby trap.

“I should have taken over,” Rev said. “I could have saved you!”

“What? What did you say?” del Mar asked, thinking he was answering her question.

But Rev was racked with guilt. He’d been careful not wanting to step on Orpheus’s toes, and he’d let that interfere with his tactical decisions. He was so worried about his friendship that he’d let his posse-mate get himself killed.

Back on the hill, what was left of the dummy array was scattered in pieces, and the Marine who’d been knocked over was struggling to get to his feet with help from the third Marine.

Get back in the game, Reverent.

He tried to shake off his shock and grief. He couldn’t afford those at the moment.

“We’re moving down to link up with the others,” he told del Mar and the other two.

Rev stood, exposing himself. But he was sure there were no soldiers positioned anywhere close to being able to take advantage of that.

He turned on his external speakers, maxed out the volume, and shouted to the two Marines, “Recover your squad leader and get back down the hill.”

With the wind, he wasn’t sure his voice would carry far enough, but the two Marines looked around and spotted him. One raised an arm with a thumbs-up.

Rev watched as the unhurt Marine hoisted Orpheus’s body to his shoulders, and then both started slowly making their way down the side of the hill. He continued to watch until they dropped out of sight.

He stood there silently for a moment as the wind cried a lonely lament before he turned and followed the three Marines down into the gully.

* * *

Tomiko and Yancey were waiting for him as he left Lieutenant Nilson and Captain Macek after giving them his report. Word traveled quickly.

Rev’s throat choked up, and he couldn’t get anything out, but he didn’t need to. Tomiko spread her arms, and Rev rushed into her embrace, and Yancey enveloped them both. They stood there for a minute, maybe two, none saying a word as they shared their grief.

They finally broke and moved up against the wall of the crevice where Rev gave them the details of what happened. Rev’s mind was on autopilot. It was as if he were hovering above himself, listening to what he—no, not him, but some stranger—recounted what had happened.

“They never found his head,” he said as he finished.

Dead was dead, but that somehow made it seem worse.

“What about Hochenspatter?” Yancey asked. “He OK?”

“Should be. Three pieces of shrapnel, but Doc is tending to him.”

That was about the only good thing concerning the disaster. He’d been just low enough on the slope that he’d escaped most of the boobytrap’s blast.

Tomiko hadn’t said anything during his telling, and now she was staring at him with her piercing eyes. Rev shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.

“And now you blame yourself,” she finally said.

“Well, like I said, I knew something was wrong.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. And Orpho wouldn’t even be here with us if he hadn’t known you from before, just like Yance here and I wouldn’t be here.”

Rev winced. Am I that transparent?

He’d been thinking that exact same thing as they’d returned from the mission. He knew that the Marine Corps was an inherently dangerous profession, and he was realistic enough to know that there was a good chance that none of them would be getting off this frozen planet alive, but that didn’t negate the fact that if it weren’t for him, Orpheus might still be alive.

He looked at the other two posse members. Orpheus was dead because Rev had considered friendship over duty and not intervened. What about Yancey? What about Tomiko? Was there any way he could treat them like any other Marine? Or would he make a decision based on emotion that could get them killed?

“But I should have acted on my suspicions,” he said. “I thought something was off.”

“And have you ever been wrong before?” Yancey asked.

“Of course, I have.”

“And was Orpho the mission commander?” Tomiko asked with laser focus.

“Well . . . yes. But I still coulda said something. And, like you just said, if Orpho hadn’t known me, he—"

“You take yourself too seriously, Rev. So, get off your fucking high horse.”

What?

“I . . . get off my high horse?” he said, a bit of anger breaking through his grief.

Tomiko was his girlfriend, and he wanted support from her, not an attack.

“Yeah, get off your fucking high horse. You aren’t the center of the universe.”

“I never—”

“Oh, yeah, you never. Look, Captain Perseus, each of us was asked if we wanted to join the unit. We weren’t just assigned.”

“What?”

“They didn’t just say, ‘Oh, you know Staff Sergeant Pelletier, and we need you to go and fight with him.’ They asked if we wanted to volunteer. Me, Yance, even your Raider buddies Strap and Hus-man. And yes, Orpho.”

That was all news to Rev, and he didn’t quite know what to make of it.

“Orpho made his choice, just like we did. So, don’t you go trying to diminish our choices by making everything all about you.

“Look, I’m slayed by Orpho getting killed,” she said. “I’m barely holding it together right now.”

“Me, too,” Yancey added.

“But except for our personal connection, would it have been better if Hochenspatter had been killed instead of Orpho? Would Hochenspatter’s family agree with that?”

Rev could see the truth in what she was saying, but he didn’t feel it in his heart. Whether it had been Orpheus or Hochenspatter, neither would have died if he’d put his foot down.

“Of course, they wouldn’t,” he had to agree with what she asked, though.

She reached out and put her hand on Pashu.

“Then let it go. Mourn Orpho, sure. But don’t put it all on your shoulders. You can’t afford that. We can’t afford that.”

He stood there for a moment as he considered what she’d said. He didn’t think he was making up facts, at least with regard to Orpheus not being in the company unless he’d known Rev. Maybe he wasn’t at fault, per se, but that didn’t make the connection a false one.

“Just don’t take away Orpho’s agency. He did what he thought he had to do. What he wanted to do. So, honor him, OK?” she said in a quiet voice.

Rev just nodded.

“Look, I’ve got to get back to my squad. If you want to talk, grab me when we get back.”

Rev had to get going, too. He had to talk to the lieutenant about Third Squad now. They needed a new squad leader, for one thing.

“I need to get going, too,” he said.

Tomiko first, then Yancey came in for a hug before each walked off.

Rev watched for a moment before he asked, “Is that true about all of them being volunteers?”

<Yes, it’s true. They all volunteered.>

“And what do you think about vetoing the mission? Should I have done that? You said that if something happened, then I would have been right to be cautious.”

<Staff Sergeant Talamage was the mission commander, not you, so it is a moot point.>

Sergeant Tsao walked up to him and said in a solemn voice, “I’ve got the squad together like you asked.”

In a sense, whether he was at fault or not was the proverbial water under the bridge. What mattered now was what he did in the future. He needed to shake this off and keep forging ahead.

And right now, Third Squad needed him.

18

“Can’t you turn up the temperature in this thing?”

<It’s at max output. Your environmental sheath is basically the same one used inside the PALs, where there is another shell on the outside.>

“But I’m wearing an outside layer.”

<A permeable one, designed to avoid overheating while undertaking physical activity. If you were skiing now, you’d be warm enough.>

“But I’m not skiing. We can’t ski in these gullies, you know. And so, I’m sitting in the snow with my thumb up my butt.” He slapped his right hand up against his chest. “If I had my thumb up my butt for real, at least it would be warm.”

Rev, along with all the rest of the Marines, had been happy to get out of his PAL-HX while learning to ski, and except for his face and sometimes his hand, he’d been warm enough even when the temperature dipped. But now, during playing hide-and-seek in the hills, it was a little different. He wasn’t always on the move.

“You’d think that after all of this time, we’d have better tech than . . . when were these envirosheaths invented?”

<Late Twenty-first Century.>

“And they’re still this crappy?”

<They have been improved time and time again.>

“You don’t seem to mind all of this. Do you feel the cold?”

<I am aware of it through your senses. But no, I don’t feel it as you do. I am not uncomfortable.>

“So, there isn’t a way to make it warmer?”

<No, and I wouldn’t advise it even if it were possible.>

“Why not?”

<Because it would exponentially increase your power drain.>

Rev blinked. Of course, it would take power to keep him warmer. He shouldn’t need Punch to remind him of that.

He looked across the gully to where Lehman, Knopf, and Božič-Mizaki were sleeping, all huddled up against each other. In a few hours, they would be back out, trying to bloody the noses of the MDS trying to infiltrate in.

“So, what are my power numbers now?” he finally asked, wondering if he really wanted to know.

“Power is down to fifty-three-point-one percent.”

Shit!

That was much lower than he’d expected.

“Why didn’t you tell me I was using so much?”

<You didn’t ask. And my programming doesn’t require me to give you a warning until you hit fifty percent.>

Rev frowned. Punch seemed to go beyond his programming on a regular basis, but he couldn’t warn him about his power consumption?

“What is it lately? I either overheat on Armadillo because of fucked-up cold packs or freeze my ass off because my powerpacks are too weak,” he muttered.

Punch didn’t respond.

“OK, what do I have to do to slow that down? I need to conserve power.”

<Limit use of your beam cannon. Use your Morays and 20 mm.>

“It was the beamer that kept me alive out there. What else?”

<Lower your enviro draw to twenty percent.>

He’d expected that answer, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

“How much will that help?”

<That will retard the consumption by thirty-eight percent.>

Rev closed his eyes. If he was cold now, lowering the draw by that much would make him miserable. But a thirty-eight-percent decline could make all the difference in a firefight.

He hated himself for giving the order, but duty was duty. He was just going to have to grit his teeth and go for it.

“Do it.”

* * *

Rev fired a short, six-round burst from his 20mm cannon, taking off the top of the rock. There was a yelp, but he couldn’t tell if the MDS soldier had just been surprised or had been hit by rock fragments.

“You get the bastard?” Hochenspatter asked from where he lay three meters to Rev’s left.

The lance corporal was struggling. His nanos weren’t effective in fighting the infection that was taking over his body, and both Doc Mason and Rev didn’t know how much longer Hochenspatter could hold out.

If they hadn’t witnessed the MDS executing Lomax, then it would be time to consider sending Hochenspatter out to surrender. Now, though, it would be sending him to a sure death.

“Yeah. Got him,” Rev said

“Good. Let that teach him to try and go over the top at us.”

Rev didn’t mention to the lance corporal that it might have worked. Everyone was cold and tired, and that made the mind numb, which in turn kept their focus on the gullies and crevices that created the paths into the hills. This soldier had thought outside the box and attempted to climb the twenty-meter-high rock to get a jump on them. If he hadn’t scuffed the surface of the rock, alerting Rev to his presence, he might have succeeded.

Rev had had several close calls over the last few days. What was one more?

He pulled up his ammo load: ninety-three 20 mm rounds. He was already out of Morays, and his power was down to thirty-six percent.

“They’re gonna keep coming, aren’t they?” Hochenspatter asked.

He was tempted to give the lance corporal the old ooh-rah speech, full of hope, but it was pretty obvious. The MDS were increasing the frequency and strength of their probes. They were paying the price, but they could afford it much more than the Marines could.

“Yep, I suspect they are. We just have to remind them of the errors of their ways,” Rev said.

Slightly ahead of Rev and at the other side of the narrow gorge, PFC Bobovitch lifted a hand with four fingers raised, then she signaled the range: forty meters. She pointed at her M-49 and gave the interrogatory.

Rev slashed a negative. The PFC might be able to cut down one or two, but not four with his weapon before they would drop him.

Once again, as it had been several times over the last four days, this would be on him. As much as he wanted to be a platoon sergeant, the fact of the matter was that he was an awesome weapons platform.

It was fortuitous for Hochenspatter and Bobovitch that he’d been checking on the two in the Observation Post when the MDS had advanced, or the two might have been overrun by now.

He made a mental note to talk with Sergeant Tsao about the positioning of this OP. While it gave excellent visuals to the front, it lacked a covered and concealed route back for whoever was manning it.

But first, he had to take out the soldiers, or none of the three of them would be around to care one way or the other about future OPs.

Rev set the projector muzzle to guillotine. For a mode that was almost an afterthought and with limited applications, Rev had used the guillotine far more than he would have imagined. But the environmental conditions combined with the MDS soldiers’ cold-weather gear seemed to fit it well.

There were still four of them, though, four soldiers who knew where the three of them were and would be ready to fire in an instant. Rev had to expose himself, acquire the targets, and take out the four before they could nail him.

Easier said than done. Rev was quicker on the draw than any single MDS soldier—but was he quicker than four of them?

He was about to find out.

Luckily, he wasn’t alone. Hochenspatter was barely functioning, but Bobovitch could help without exposing herself too badly. He gave her a quick series of instructions, and her grin through her face shield looked positively predatory. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear she was having fun.

“Crazy woman,” he said under his breath.

He braced himself, calling forth his warrior, but not much came. Even his warrior self was tired.

Rev held up his hand, then counted down: five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . . GO.

Bobovitch raised her M-49 above her rock and blindly sprayed down the trail. Rev hesitated half a second to let the soldiers react, and as they fired, he rolled from cover, spotting the four soldiers. Three saw him, their eyes growing large as Rev started sweeping Pashu across the narrow gully . . . but the pile of snow stopped his roll and pushed his sweep high, so he dropped only one of the soldiers, cutting him across the chest before Rev’s beam glanced off the top of the next one’s head and completely missed the other two.

Rev flopped like a beached fish as he tried to right himself. His beamer was charging, so he only had his 20mm, but he couldn’t bring Pashu to bear.

Two of the soldiers fired, their initial shots high. Rev rolled one more time when he was hit in the right shoulder, his armor stopping the round just as Rev managed to acquire a target. Two 20mm rounds dropped one of the soldiers when a second round hit his upper arm. His armor was in the process of rebounding, and the round penetrated, scoring him.

Rev tried to bring Pashu around, but her muzzle caught on the ground, delaying him just long enough for the two remaining soldiers to sight in on him. As if in slow motion, Rev could see the grin form on the far-right soldier as he beat Rev to the punch and fired, hitting Pashu before the soldier’s armor covering started coming apart as if being devoured by mutant locusts. His grin turned to a snarl as he wheeled back to his left. Before he could fire, one of the rounds penetrated, and he stumbled to a knee, then fell face-first into the snow.

Rev immediately shifted to the remaining soldier, but he was down as well, his legs buckled backward.

Rev’s lungs were heaving like bellows, more from nerves than from lack of oxygen. He looked back to where Hochenspatter and Bobovitch were standing in the open, weapons still trained on the bodies.

He shook his head as he rolled over on his back and just lay there for a moment as it all sunk in. He’d used Bobovitch as a decoy in order to get the jump on the soldiers, but it turned out that he’d been the decoy, capturing the soldiers’ attention long enough for a wounded lance corporal and a boot PFC to drop them with the standard-issue M-49.

His arm started to sting, and he turned to take a look. His armor was compromised, and bright red blood was staining his overwhites.

“Can you tell anything?”

<Not from your bios. Can you move your fingers and elbow?>

Still lying on his back, he raised his right arm and flexed his fingers. It hurt, but everything seemed to be working.

<Your medinanos are moving to the entry wound to close it off. Do you want them to trigger painkillers?>

“Not now. Later, if I need them.”

<Roger.>

“Uh . . . Staff Sergeant? Are you OK?”

Rev raised himself on his elbows, organic and Pashu’s—and gasped at the pain. Bobovitch was standing and looking at him with a worried expression.

“Just fine,” he said. “Thanks for saving my ass there.”

Bobovitch beamed at the compliment. “You did all the hard work, Staff Sergeant. For us, it was like being at the range. Just line up the sights and shoot.”

Rev laughed. Yeah, just like the range. No different.

Then he realized that he was still lying out in the open. He glanced down the gully but didn’t see anything. That didn’t mean, however, that no one was coming. He got to his knees, then, with an effort, stood up. Hot blood dripped out into the snow, only to immediately freeze.

“This OP rather sucks, I think. Let’s get the hell back and pick a position that has a means of retreat.”

19

Rev shivered as he sat with his back up against the cold stone.

Tomiko saw that. “What’s your enviro setting?”

“Twenty percent,” Rev admitted.

“No wonder you’re cold. Juice it up.”

“I need the power for Pashu.”

“Which you aren’t gonna need if you’re frozen,” Yancey said.

Rev just shook his head. Neither of them had the power draw that he did. They could afford to power up their envirosheaths. Rev needed that power to remain combat-capable, and he was using his power at a much faster rate than they were.

Tomiko scooted closer to him as if they could conserve heat by huddling together, but with their overwhites and armor, it wouldn’t make much difference, unless . . .

Evidently, Tomiko was thinking the same thing. “We can hook up.”

For a split second, Rev was tempted. Tomiko wasn’t using nearly as much power as he was, but . . .

“No. I’m not vampiring off of you.”

“It’s OK. I don’t mind.”

“You’re going to need that yourself.”

“What are you at now?” she asked.

<Thirty-nine-point-eight percent,> Punch said, unbidden.

Rev repeated the number, and she said, “I’m at seventy-two now.”

Rev was tempted, no doubt about that. But he steeled himself and said no.

“Look, the Navy, either ours or the Heg’s, will be here soon to get us out of here. We’ll be nice and warm on board. I’ve got power to spare.”

She pulled out the connector from where it was on her upper arm. She shoved it back and forth toward Rev’s connector.

“Don’t be too sure about the Navy coming,” Rev said, his eyes glued on her connector.

“Why not? They have to come and get us,” Yancey said.

“I think the Mad Dog Navy is having something to say about that,” Rev said, pointing up to the sky.

“But the Mad Dogs can’t stand up to our Navy, much less the Heg,” Yancey persisted.

“So, where are they? Why are we here all alone?”

“Localized superiority,” Tomiko said. “As soon as the forces are marshaled, the Mad Dogs can’t stand up to them.”

“When? I hate to point out the obvious, but we’re outnumbered and with diminishing supplies. We were supposed to be in and out within hours, not over a week now.”

Neither of his two friends seemed convinced.

“You ever hear about Guadalcanal?” Rev asked.

Both of his friends shook their heads.

“Guadalcanal. Old Earth. World War II. The US Marines and US Navy against Imperial Japan. The Marines from the First Division landed on the island with only a ten-day supply of food and ammo. No problem because the US and British Navies were there to resupply them and provide combat support.

“Yes problem because the Imperial Japanese Navy took exception to that. Naval aircraft attacked the amphibious ships before even half of the heavy equipment had been offloaded, forcing the admiral to withdraw and abandon the Marines. The Japanese fleet attacked and defeated the British fleet.”

“Was it this friggin’ cold at this canal place?” Yancey asked as he clapped his hands together, trying to warm them up.

“Uh, no. This was in the South Pacific. Tropical.”

“Then I think I’d rather be there.”

Rev gave his friend an exasperated look. “You’d rather be on an island with limited food and ammo, surrounded by enemy who were being reinforced with more soldiers, than here?”

“Sounds like them and us are in about the same shit, and I’d rather be warm than freezing my ass off.”

“What happened to them?” Tomiko asked, ignoring Yancey. “Did those Marines get wiped out?”

“Not wiped out. It took six months, but with aircraft and small convoys, enough supplies got in, and they were able to hold on long enough for reinforcements, and eventually, the Japanese withdrew.”

“So, it all worked out for them,” Yancey said.

“That’s not the point. Yeah, even with heavy losses . . .”

“How many did you tell me were lost?” he asked Punch.

<Approximately 24,000 Japanese and 5,000 US due to combat and disease.>

“. . . five thousand Marines killed, they did hold out. But it took months before reinforcements could arrive and they could be evacuated. Look around you, Yance. Do you think we can hold out for months? My power’s down to thirty-nine-point-whatever percent, and I don’t see a pallet of powerpacks sitting around here.”

“Well, hell, Rev. You sure do a good job at giving pep talks. Where’s the ‘we can do it’ gung ho shit you’re supposed to be spouting.”

Rev opened his mouth to protest but then closed it. Yancey was right. Rev was cold, miserable, and more than a little angry and being abandoned when he’d asked Punch for historical cases where assaulting forces were left on their own. Among the many in human history, this one had stuck with him. Maybe it was the fact that they were Marines. But learning about the campaign, coupled with both their growing losses and the conditions on the planet, might have eroded some of his confidence.

Man up, Reverent. You’re a staff sergeant of Marines, and that means something.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, except that was exactly what he’d meant at the time. “I just . . . I just wanted to stress that we can’t count on the Navy to pull our asses out of the fire. It’s up to us to figure this out.”

Yancey seemed to take that at face value. “Well, we are Marines, not Mad Dog pieces of shit. The captain knows what to do.”

If Captain Macek had a plan up his sleeve, Rev thought he’d better reveal it soon. The captain had come a long way since his hesitant early days with the Home Guard, but he wasn’t a magician who could wave his wand and defeat the MDS. If they were going to survive this, it was going to be up to each individual Marine, and as a platoon sergeant, Rev would have an impact on that. He had to lead and inspire, not give doom and gloom history lessons.

And they weren’t history yet. They were the here and now. For all Rev knew, the navies could be locked in battle out in the system right now, and Yancey had been right about that. In the long run, and hopefully the short run as well, the MDS Navy, even with their allies, was no match for Union and Hégémonie navies.

The endgame with regard to them would really not be in doubt if the Union and CoH devoted their efforts to taking the planet. The only questions were if those making the decisions thought that their small unit was worth the effort, and if so, could the Marines hold out long enough for that to happen. With a renewed sense of fortitude, Rev knew that he was going to do everything in his power to ensure they held out. As for the first question, that was out of his control.

The three fell into a moment of silence, and Rev didn’t notice Tomiko until she flipped up the connector cover on his right sleeve. He turned to see her holding her connecting cable.

“No, I said I’m not taking your power.”

“You’re not taking anything. I’m giving it. Look, I know you think you can do this all on your own, but you can’t. And I’ve got the feeling that we’re gonna need Pashu there if we’re gonna survive this. So, let me give you five percent, OK? And five minutes of warmth. You need it.”

Rev hesitated. The temptation was overwhelming. And from a tactical standpoint, he realized that she was right about his IBHU. Pashu could make a difference, but only if he had power to give her.

But that wasn’t what convinced him. It was that last thing she said: “warmth.” Rev was human, and Maslow was right. The physical could trump a lot of needs.

With an almost imperceptible nod, he agreed, half hoping she wouldn’t see the nod, half praying she would.

But she did. With a snap, she connected them. The initial power transfer into his powerpack was almost instantaneous, but she took over his envirosheath to run it for five minutes. A wave of wonderful warmth spread quickly through the suit.

Tomiko slid up against him and put her arm across his chest. Doing that didn’t add any heat to him in a physical sense, but from an emotional standpoint, it sure warmed his heart.

20

The expected MDS assault began four days after Rev was shot at their OP. The fact that it took so long was more proof to Rev that these were not frontline troops, nor did they have the breadth of weaponry that he would have expected. If they had been of the caliber that the MDS had sent to the Home Guard, they never would have stopped when the Marines reached the hills. They would never have given up that momentum.

The only good thing was that the delay in a concerted assault might be an indication that the situation in space hadn’t been decided. If the MDS controlled the system, surely they would have brought more troops and weapons, and they would be using orbital naval gunfire against the Marines.

Whether they were facing frontline troops or not, though, the soldiers outnumbered the besieged Marines, and as Yancey put it, if there were enough rats, they could pull down a wolf. Not a pleasant analogy, given the circumstances, but an apt one.

The Marines were not going to go down without a fight, and the terrain went a long way in evening out the advantages. As long as the MDS had to dig out the Marines, they’d be canalized into avenues of approach where they couldn’t bring their numerical advantage to bear.

Once it became clear that this was a major push and not just another probe, the captain pulled the remaining Marines back into a prepared position that he thought they could defend. Their limited supply of mines and field-expedient booby traps were employed, and the Marines braced for the onslaught.

“You ready, Eth?” Rev asked Randigold as he checked their positions one last time.

“Ready, Staff Sergeant. Just like that Ho . . . Hora . . . Whore at the Bridge-guy you told us about. No one’s getting by me.”

Rev broke out in a loud guffaw. “‘Whore at the Bridge?’ Try Horatius at the Bridge.”

In an attempt to give some sort of pep talk, Rev, with Punch’s help, had come up with the ancient legend of Horatius Cocles, an officer in the army of the Rome Republic. When the Etruscan army attacked Rome, Horatius almost single-handedly stopped them at the only bridge over the Tiber River until it could be destroyed behind him, thereby saving the city. Punch had told him that this was probably legend, but Rev presented it as fact. He also didn’t tell them that according to the tale, Horatius died a hero’s death.

“Whore, Horatius, what’s the difference? No one’s getting past me.”

“We’ve got this,” Hussein added.

Randigold, with Cruella de Vil, was the anchor for this chokepoint, but unlike Horatius, she wasn’t alone. Hussein’s fire team would be her security. And given how Hochenspatter and Bobovitch had saved his ass at the OP, they’d all be contributing soon enough.

“We got a time yet?” Hussein asked.

Rev glanced up the rugged hill, the rock face pockmarked from years of snow and ice. PFC Balmor, from Second Platoon, had managed to climb it and was clinging near the top. The same convolutions in the gullies that had protected the Marines now covered the MDS advance, and the Marines had no more drones left. But from Balmor’s perspective, he might catch signs that could pinpoint the leading elements.

But there wasn’t a signal from the PFC yet. The MDS could be anywhere.

“Nothing yet, Hus-man.”

Hussein nodded, then said, “Some shit, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“I almost miss the good ole’ days, when it was us against the tin-asses. That felt righteous.”

“I know what you mean. This,” Rev said, pointing down the gully, “this isn’t the way it’s supposed to be, human against human.”

“But it’s always been that way. Like your Horatius story. Romans against Etruscans.”

Rev scowled. “Yeah, but it shouldn’t be. Who knows who else is out there? It can’t just be the Centaurs and us.”

He shook his head as if to clear that thought and said, “But we’re not going to find out if we don’t hold off these damned Mad Dogs.”

He gave Hussein a punch in the arm with his right fist, only slightly wincing from the almost-healed wound, then raised Pashu toward Randigold, who clicked with Cruella.

“Sibs in steel,” they said in unison.

Rev looked at the others and said, “Let’s get ‘re done.”

There was a chorus of “ooh-rahs” that almost made Rev choke. Their situation was dire, no doubt about that, but their voices were full of excitement and fortitude. They were ready to do their duty, and Rev couldn’t be prouder to be part of the company. There were none better.

* * *

“Is my diaper working properly?”

<It’s at ninety-two percent capacity.>

“Feels weird,” Rev said, twisting his waist back and forth. He should have dumped it earlier. All he needed was for it to break during the battle. It was too late now, though. In a cold-weather environment, changing out the absorbent gel diaper took more than a bit of time, and with his IBHU connected, he could use a little help in the process. Not something he liked to ask for.

He half-squatted, then stood back up, trying to gauge how full it was. Here he was, about to engage in battle, and he was worried about a diaper. But no matter what was going on, biology couldn’t be ignored.

Oh, well, if it does break, maybe it’ll warm me up.

Biology—with help from the Union’s finest medinanos, had been kind to his arm. He stretched it out, feeling a twinge but no restriction of movement.

That left Pashu on his little personal checklist. His IBHU had been connected since they started their descent to the planet, and even with improved harnesses and the collar, that was a rather long time. The stress on his back and shoulder were getting into the bothersome range.

But she still moved smoothly, and that was the important thing—especially right now. Everything else could fail as long as Pashu was functioning correctly.

“Systems check.”

<All systems green. Power is at twenty-eight percent, seventy-three 20 mm rounds, and zero Morays.>

Which was what it was ten minutes ago the last time he’d asked.

Rev was rapidly depleting his offensive firepower. A few bursts could empty his magazine, and too heavy beamer usage would drain him. He was just at twenty-eight percent power only because the seven remaining IBHU Marines had been ordered to drain the powerpacks of the KIA Marines. The other Marines’ powerpacks did not carry the same amount of charge, and the cold affected their efficacy, but those extra charges had given him a boost.

Rev hated doing that, as much as he knew it was logical. It just felt wrong, like graverobbing. But the dead didn’t need the power, and the IBHUs’ beamers could make a difference between life and death for those still in the fight.

The first explosion echoed off of the rock walls, interrupting his checklist. A mine had been set off in one of the gullies to the west. It was go time.

His warrior stirred at the sound of the mine, and this time, Rev welcomed it. He had a feeling that he’d need any boost he could manage to dredge up.

Sergeant Lehman turned around to look at him, and Rev gave him a thumbs-up. With Leona KIA, Rev had positioned himself with First Squad, back to being a weapon again.

The entire company had taken heavy casualties, and the IBHU Marines were no different. Six had been lost with First Platoon when they’d been shot down, and more had been lost in the subsequent fighting. Lynx had gone down just the day before. The company was now down to seven: Captain Macek, Lieutenant Nilson, Rev, Sergeant Lipswitch, Sergeant Tsao, Lance Corporal Randigold, and Lance Corporal del Mar.

Fully charged and with a complete combat load, Rev thought the seven of them could match any infantry platoon in firepower. But they weren’t fully charged, and there was a lot more than a platoon facing them.

Rev looked up at Balmor, still clinging to the almost sheer rock face above them. The PFC was peering ahead, trying to spot the approaching enemy. So far, she had nothing. But even without the mine, Rev knew the enemy was close. He could feel it in his bones, and that was getting him antsy.

“How about a joke,” he asked.

Anything to get rid of his nervous energy.

< Why can't you hear a Pterodactyl go to the bathroom?>

Rev pursed his lips and then blew out. Lately, Punch had told jokes that seemed to be related to whatever was going on. Unless they were about to be rescued by ancient flying reptiles, he didn’t see how this was going to tie in to the coming battle.

“Why?”

<Because the pee is silent.>

Spoke up too early. Of course, I’ve been asking him about my diaper, so . . .

The mortars took Rev by surprise, although they shouldn’t have. The MDS had slackened up on them for the last few days, but evidently, they were simply saving up.

The captain had selected a good location to defend. Most of the rounds hit higher in the rocks, showering those below with rubble and shrapnel to no effect. But several managed to hit ground level, sending up plumes of snow. A cry of pain reached their position, so at least one Marine had been hit.

Rev hoped that it wasn’t serious. With Doc Mason getting killed, no corpsmen were left alive, and it would be up to the wounded Marine’s medinanos to treat them.

“Balmor! Get down now!” Rev shouted.

The PFC turned to look at him, signaling “negative,” then “looking.”

“Now! That’s an order!”

Balmor looked back to the front for a moment, then muttered “OK, OK” and started down. She never made it. A mortar round hit the rock face on the other side of the gully, and the shrapnel crossed the intervening fifteen meters, peppering where she was climbing. Balmor lost her grip, fell over backward, and tumbled head over heels down to the ground where she landed on her head with a sick thwump, her neck at an angle it was never meant to be.

Božič-Mizaki rushed out and pulled her back into the modicum of cover given by the rock face.

There was nothing Rev could do for her. If they could get her to a facility, she might be resurrected, but not here.

A 20 mm opened up from Rev’s right. It was probably either Nilson, who, like Rev, was now a weapons station, or Lipswitch.

Rev was concerned about the sergeant. She’d been holding it together, but barely. There was no way she should be in a combat unit. If she wasn’t an IBHU, she’d be back getting treatment for her severe PTSD. He just hoped she could keep it together.

There were three long bursts, punctuated by the whizzing of M-49s and the heavier return fire from the enemy soldiers.

A mortar round landed in a snowbank not ten meters from Rev, but the snow ate up the shrapnel, absorbing it.

“Drone!” Knopf shouted, firing his M-49.

Rev was already moving, jumping to his right until he caught sight of the small thing. A one-second pulse dropped it, but if the MDS soldiers advancing up this avenue of approach didn’t know exactly where the Marines were, they sure knew now.

A flurry of missiles shot up the gully. The MDS Daggers were an all-purpose missile, able to defeat light armor, mechs, and armored infantry. They’d only been used a few times during the fighting, leading the Marines to believe the MDS didn’t have many on hand.

In the open and over long ranges, they could be deadly. But flying up a rocky canyon gave them little room to maneuver, and each of the missiles impacted on the rock face behind Second Squad’s position.

“Keep wasting them,” Rev said.

Knopf opened up again, firing measured shots down the gully. Rev still didn’t have a target, and with the maelstrom of fire being sent their way, he couldn’t dart across to the other side.

A round hit Knopf’s helmet, breaking the seal with his armor and spinning it 90 degrees. The PFC dropped down and yanked on it several times until it came free. His breath made clouds in the cold, but he went right back up to engage the enemy.

More and more Marines acquired targets, and still, Rev had nothing. When Corporal Mulroney took a round in the head, Rev had enough. He darted out into the middle of the gully, firing his beamer. Seven soldiers dove to get out of Pashu’s beam, which interrupted their fire. Which in turn took the pressure off the Marines. All eight remaining Marines poured concentrated fire into the enemy as they scrambled for cover.

While the beamer recharged, Rev fired three single rounds, catching one soldier between the shoulder blades. Within five seconds, it was over. The seven soldiers were dead, and behind them, several more were jumping out of sight behind the curve in the gully.

“Cease fire!” Lehman yelled out. It wasn’t just the IBHU Marines who were low on ammo. Everyone was, and they had to conserve what they had.

Rev looked around. Two Marines, Mulroney and Balmor, were down, but the rest seemed to be OK.

“We beat the fuckers back,” PFC Nastiya exulted, raising her clenched fist in the air.

“This group,” Sergeant Lehman said. “They were just probing, and now they know exactly where we are.”

Which wasn’t a surprise, nor was there anywhere they could shift. The company was packed in pretty tight, and retreating would run them into another squad’s position.

There was only one avenue of retreat, and that was only to be used if the captain ordered. If it came to that, the battle was lost. Retreating out of the hills and scattering through the forest, trying to put distance between the Marines and soldiers by skiing, was to be a last-ditch effort.

But to what end? Rev thought they could make a breakout, but none of them had power to last more than a couple of days out in the frozen forest. Their choice would be to freeze to death or surrender and hope the MDS didn’t summarily execute them.

Better to kick their asses here and send them running.

It still didn’t answer the mail on what they’d do when they ran out of power, but at least it would be far more satisfying, going out on their own terms like that. And who knows? Maybe the Navy would finally break through. It happened on Guadalcanal, and history had a way of repeating itself.

Heavy fighting broke through the cold afternoon air. Second Squad’s position was in a gully that bifurcated twenty meters behind them. The other branch went off to the east, and that was where Second Platoon was. Second Squad, Second Platoon. Tomiko’s squad.

Rev focused on the sound, trying to figure out what was happening.

“Can you tell anything from the gunfire?”

<Not with any degree of accuracy. The sounds are being reflected by the rock walls in some places, absorbed by snow in others.>

He had expected that answer. Punch was pretty capable, but it was still GIGO, garbage in, garbage out, as it had been for millennia.

<Staff Sergeant Reiser is a very capable Marine,> Punch added, much to Rev’s surprise.

Was that really part of his battle buddy’s programming, to reassure him and keep him functioning, or was there, as Rev suspected, something more going on there?

Rev had to force his mind away from Tomiko. He had to let her fight her battle, and he had to fight his. Getting distracted wasn’t going to help her, and it could get him and Second Squad killed.

It’s hard, though.

A small whisper of metal on metal quickly captured his attention.

“I think something’s coming,” Knopf shouted, immediately attracting a string of fire that rained rock chips down on him as he tried to burrow deeper into the snow.

“Shit!” he gasped.

The captain had dropped the comms silence, but it didn’t matter. The entire area was being jammed now, and comms were extremely intermittent and abbreviated. So, they were back to voice and hand signals.

More rounds reached out to them, but none close enough to hit where any of the Marines were taking cover. Either the soldiers didn’t care about wasting rounds, or they really, really wanted to keep the Marines’ heads down.

Rev was betting on the latter.

“Can you match up that weird sound with anything in your databases?”

<Nothing definitive. Possibly something in the SDAW class with a tread chassis.>

A Gargoyle?

Rev swore under his breath. A Gargoyle was a small, Self-directed Automatic Weapon, normally used in MOUT operations, Military Operations in Urban Terrain. They were heavily armored and designed to enter buildings where they could detect personnel and spray automatic fire, either directed at a specific target or in a 360.

Why the MDS would have Gargoyles on this barren planet was a mystery, but in the confines of the rocky gullies, it would be just as devastating as if it were in a city. A mech Marine or a tank could take care of one of the slow-moving weapons, but could an IBHU Marine?”

“If that’s a Gargoyle, can I take it out with Pashu?”

<If it is a SDAW-33, then it is shielded against beam weapons. Your 20 mm cannon is too light for a sure kill, but it could possibly damage one. An IBHU Marine’s best bet would be a Moray.>

Which I don’t have.

Rev’s mind raced. He’d taken out a Centaur paladin with a Phoenix incendiary grenade, so it would probably burn through any SDAW. But just like his Morays, he didn’t have one.

“Lehman! I think they’re sending up a Gargoyle,” he shouted.

The sergeant looked back at him, his eyes getting wide. He understood the threat.

Meanwhile, the creaking was getting closer. Rev could imagine the treads creeping over the snow. Time was running out.

Rev considered telling Lehman to retreat, but that would just let the Gargoyle get in behind other Marines. That wouldn’t do.

He had to make sure he knew what was there, but could he look without getting his head blown off?

Rev was on his belly, as were the other Marines. But the universe wasn’t in 2D. Rev craned his head back. He was at the inside bend in the gully, and the schist wall rose about seven meters before it flattened out somewhat. There were some protuberances that he might be able to grab. Balmor—respect for the fallen—had scrambled up the other side like a monkey. Rev was at least twice her mass, and Pashu was not designed for rock climbing. Still . . .

Rev scooted back, then stood. He didn’t have to get far, just enough to change his elevation. He jumped and grabbed a chunk of rock that broke off under his weight, dropping him down on his butt. His right arm screamed at the abuse.

“What are you doing?” Lehman hissed. “I can climb it.”

But the sergeant wasn’t armed for this.

Shit. “Armed.” Neither am I.

He found a spot where he could step, and by slowly pushing up, he was able to grasp another handhold. Pashu was almost useless, his mechanical fingers unable to get much purchase. His right gauntlet was bad enough.

But the climb wasn’t too bad. He just had to be careful that the schist didn’t crack under his weight.

He made it up two meters before he was at his limit. This would have to do.

Now, it was traversing to the side. Slowly, hugging the wall like a baby loris on its mother’s back, he edged around to where it curved to the right.

“What are you doing?” Lehman asked again.

Rev couldn’t spare him the attention. He had one chance to do this. He shifted his feet until they were semi-secure, then held on with his right arm.

“Now!”

Leading with Pashu, Rev leaned to the left so he could see down the gully. It wasn’t a Gargoyle but one of its cousins. Rev pointed Pashu and fired five 20mm rounds before dodging back. But Gargoyle or not, the SDAW was AI quick. Rev’s only saving grace was that its circular gun was aimed at ground level. It started firing before Rev’s string was out, starting at ground level and walking it up. The rounds reached Rev’s elevation just as he got back, but the heavy rounds chewed up the schist, knocking out huge chunks, including the section to which Rev was clinging.

Rev fell back as rocks fell around him. He was stunned for a moment before he scrambled deeper for cover.

The fusillade kept up for fifteen long seconds, and the echoes carried on down the gully, bouncing from wall to wall.

“Sergeant Lehman!” Knopf called out.

“I’m OK,” the sergeant said in a stunned voice.

Rev scootched over ten centimeters until he could see the sergeant. Fully half of the rock he was behind was gone, probably from the first shots before the SDAW elevated its gun.

The SDAW that Rev hadn’t destroyed. He could clearly hear the treads now as it traversed over the snow. The MDS soldiers might be handicapped in the snow, but their equipment sure wasn’t.

A minute or two, and it would be in amongst them, spitting death.

“What do we do now?” Sergeant Lehman asked Rev.

And Rev didn’t know. His mind was blank. In this little depression, the Marines were out of the thing’s direct line of sight. But if they retreated up the gully, they’d be exposed and cut down.

The only escape was up. Rev craned his head. He wasn’t going anywhere. Not with Pashu. For a second, he considered jettisoning her, but even so, he wasn’t climbing with one arm.

“Can you climb?” he asked.

Lehman studied the walls before he said, “We’ll be exposed once we get higher.”

“I think it’s your only chance. Get up there and race back to tell the captain.”

Rev took a moment to try and raise the company commander, hoping against hope for a break in the jamming.

No luck.

If there were many more of these SDAWs, then Rev didn’t think they could hold on. They’d have to go to Plan B and abandon the hills.

Lehman looked to the other side where the wall wasn’t quite so steep.

“Knopf, BM, Smitty, Sun, climb. Find the gunny and tell him we’ve got Gargoyles here.”

“What about you and Lettie?” Corporal Suniga asked. “And the staff sergeant?”

“Just go. We’ll cover you.”

The corporal seemed unsure, and Lehman had to repeat the order. Quickly, the four Marines pulled back as far as they could and still be out of sight before they climbed. Rev watched them for a moment, but they seemed to be on their way.

“You with me, Lettie?” Lehman asked Lance Corporal Leticia Moromay.

“Sure . . . sure am,” she said, her voice faltering.

“Let’s cover them.”

“You’ve got it.”

Rev’s mind was still racing, looking for a way out of this. He still had more 20 mm rounds, but how could he hope for a lucky shot if the SDAW was on him. He should be minutely quicker to bring his weapon to bear than the Gargoyle wannabe, but it had quicker sensors.

But it was his only chance. Not just his: Lehman and Moromay, too.

The SDAW opened up, and Rev jerked back, thinking he’d been spotted. But they weren’t the target. Lance Corporal Jake Smith had strayed too far to the right while climbing, and the SDAW targeted him. The mangled body fell with a thump into the snow, blood immediately seeping out to stain it.

“Hell, Smitty,” Lehman muttered with the pain that leaders for centuries had felt when they lost a soldier.

The other three were hugging deeper into the curving walls.

“Keep going,” Rev yelled. “You’re running out of time.”

If the SDAW came much closer, it would have them dead to rights.

He saw Sunisa urge the other two, and they started crawling again.

“Staff Sergeant!” a voice called out.

Rev turned around. Back up the trail where it bifurcated, Sergeant Lipswitch was peeking her head around.

“What do you got there? Are you OK?”

“Get back! We’ve got a Gargoyle here.”

It was some other model, but she’d understand that.

“That’s what the skipper said when he heard it. He sent me here to find out for sure.”

“You’ve got to go back to tell him. If the Mad Dogs have more, we’re in a bad position.”

The sergeant seemed to think about it for a moment, then she raised her head and called out, “You got a Moray?”

“I’m out. Go tell the captain.”

There was another pause, then, “I’ve got two.”

Rev shook his head. The same restrictions that kept the MDS missiles from being effective would limit the use of a Moray. She couldn’t fire from cover where she was and have the Moray make the sharp turn to come down the gully. In order to hit the damn thing, she’d have to expose herself, and the SDAW would cut her down.

And this was Lipswitch, after all. How could he count on her? How could anyone count on her? She should be back on Safe Harbor undergoing therapy.

“No! Go back like I said. Tell the captain we’ve got Gargoyles!”

He was looking at her, thirty-five meters away, when he saw the warrior take over. She straightened up and brought her IBHU to the ready.

“Sibs in steel!” she shrieked.

“By the Mother, no!” Rev said as he rolled out from the side of the wall, his head just meters from the edge of the little depression.

The SDAW was close, very close. As he hugged the ground, Rev could just see the top of the weapon as its treads transitioned from snow to rock. In a second, it would climb high enough to take him under fire.

Rev fired first, blasting away, a couple of rounds hitting the edge of the trail in front of him, a couple glancing off the top of the SDAW.

The Moray whooshed half a meter over his head just as the SDAW started to fire, rounds tearing up the ground right in front of him and sending stone chips into his face. But almost immediately, the SDAW’s AI determined he wasn’t the biggest threat. He could see the circular gun elevate as the Moray hit high on the weapon. It spun partway around under the impact, its top armor plating torn.

But there was no front or back on this type of SDAW. It could fire in any direction.

Rev looked behind him. Lipswitch was barreling down the gully, screaming incoherently. She fired her second Moray an instant before a full volley of heavy rounds almost cut her in two, and her body slid down the rocky ground until it hit a patch of snow ten meters back.

With the guns on Lipswitch, the missile had a free shot in. It flew up for ten meters before it came down in a slight corkscrew, hitting the SDAW on the top. Hot plasma immediately burned through the weapon’s armor before the explosive charge followed in through the plasma’s path.

The small SDAW was blasted into pieces, a big chunk of something hitting Rev in his helmet with enough force to crack his face shield before bounding away.

“Holy shit,” Lehman said in awe.

Rev was a little stunned, but he turned to look at Lipswitch. There wasn’t much left of her. Guilt flooded through him. His opinion of her as a combat Marine after Mount Rasper hadn’t been the best, to be blunt. She couldn’t help her PTSD, but she no longer belonged in uniform where she could be a liability, kept on only because of the IBHU attached to her upper arm.

But she wasn’t a liability. Even while fighting her demons, she had proven the mettle of her steel.

“Respect to the fallen,” he whispered.

There were angry shouts from below, and rounds and darts impacted on the walls. The MDS were upset that their ace in the hole was gone.

The three Marines hugged the ground. Up above them, the other three were out of sight, hopefully back and around to report in to the captain.

Rev, Lehman, and Moromay were still in a shit sandwich. The MDS soldiers were still coming, and if the three retreated, they’d be exposed. The difference between now and five minutes ago, though, was that they had weapons with which to engage the soldiers.

“Before they get too close, we’re going to light them up, then pull back. You with me?” Rev asked.

“Ooh-rah,” they said in unison.

Rev smiled. Having a second shot of life when you thought it was over had a way of raising the enthusiasm level.

He switched back to the guillotine, something he was getting rather fond of.

“On three. One . . . two . . . three!”

The Marines lunged for the edge of the depression and fired. As before, as soon as Rev lit up Pashu, soldiers dove for cover. Most made it, but he cut down at least two, and another soldier fell to an M-49.

“Go, go!” Rev yelled.

The other two were up and running. Rev ran, then wheeled around as soon as the beamer recharged and fired another sweep. Two more times and he was at the split in the trail, just as Tomiko and her squad emerged from their gully.

“What’s going on?” Rev asked.

“Didn’t you see the signal?”

“No, I didn’t see the flare,” Rev said, a little confused.

“It lit up the sky. We’re retreating. It’s time to scatter into the forest.”

21

Rev fired a burst of 20 mm rounds down the trail. Lieutenant Nilson followed with a much longer burst.

“What’s your ammo count?” she asked him.

“Nineteen rounds left.”

“Get the hell out of here.”

“I’ve still got my beamer,” he said.

“And your power level?”

“Twenty-three percent, ma’am.”

She fired another burst. “I think I got one that time.”

Rev and the lieutenant had taken a rear-guard position, slowing down the advancing soldiers. It had taken the MDS a bit of time to figure out that the Marines were breaking out of the hills, time very much needed. Of the thirty-one surviving Marines, fifteen were wounded, and even with assistance, they were moving slowly. The two IBHU Marines were trying to give them more time, denying the soldiers a free approach.

The captain had been blunt with the company. With the employment of an as of yet unknown number of SDAWs, the Marines could not reasonably hold off the MDS troops. That left scattering into the forest, hoping to survive until rescue, or surrendering. The captain told them they could try to surrender with no repercussions. Not one Marine, wounded or not, took him up on that. They’d all rather brave the forest until the very end.

Lomax certainly was a factor in that. But Rev thought it was also the pride in being a Marine, and their visceral distaste that after holding off for so long, that would be giving up not only to the MDS force, but not even a frontline unit.

The lieutenant turned back to Rev. “Twenty-three percent? You’ve still got to keep from freezing. Go join the others.”

“What about you, ma’am? I can’t leave you here alone.”

“I’ve still got over 600 rounds. I’m sitting pretty.”

Which made sense. As one of the two officers left in the company, the lieutenant hadn’t been involved in much of the fighting. But with this moving to a Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape (SERE) operation, there wasn’t so much for her to officer. She was now just another weapons system, and one with a significant percentage of her combat load.

A flurry of shots echoed up the narrow trail, and both Marines turned to look.

“They’re starting the breakout. Go,” the lieutenant said.

“But—”

“That’s an order, Staff Sergeant.”

Rev opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. He didn’t want to leave her.

“An order. Go.”

She fired another burst down the trail.

“Don’t wait too long,” he said.

“I won’t. I’ll be on your ass soon enough.”

He felt there had to be something he could say to change her mind, but an order was an order.

Rev shook his head in regret, then said, “Sibs in steel, ma’am.”

“Sibs in steel, Rev.”

Rev turned and started running down the narrow trail, so narrow at points that he had to turn sideways to get through. This had been the Marines’ ace in the hole, a hidden way to get out of the hills.

The fighting ahead of him raised in tempo. Hidden or not, it would have been too much to hope that they could slip into the forest undetected. The soldiers had surrounded the hills, but despite their greater numbers, they were still spread pretty thinly with most of their forces being used in their assault.

The company should have been able to achieve a localized superiority and break through before scattering and starting the “evasion” in SERE.

The very narrow trail muffled and distorted the sounds of the fight, but the familiar report of a 20 mm cannon rose above the rest of the sounds. If the lieutenant was well-armed, the captain was in an even better position. The plan was for him to lead the breakout, clearing the way for the rest of the company.

Rev ran to the sound of gunfire. The other soldiers would be coalescing on the fight as well, and whatever door was opened would be slammed shut soon enough. At least the snow had been packed down by the passage of so many Marines, so he made good time.

Skis had been staged alongside the last fifty meters. Every set of skis was optimized for the weight and stride of the Marine. Rev’s skis were destroyed, so for him, it was catch as catch can. He was about to grab the pair set aside for him. He didn’t know to whom they’d belonged, but as he started to don them, he had a second thought.

Where are they?

He cast around the several sets left.

There!

Rev was heavier than most other Marines, and that could seriously hamper him. But he wasn’t that much heavier than everyone.

Each pair had been marked for easy identification, and one set had a tag that read, “Sgt NL.”

He pulled them down and stepped on the bindings, which wrapped around his boots. He stomped a few times, but they seemed secure.

“Thanks, Lips,” he said. “Respect for the fallen.”

He turned to look back down the trail. There wasn’t any sign of the lieutenant yet. “Don’t wait too long.”

And with that, he started skiing. Twenty meters and he emerged from between the two large rocks that had hidden the entrance to the trail. The fighting in front of him had stopped, and he could see no sign of any other Marines. He suddenly felt very alone. He sprinted for the forest’s welcoming embrace.

Just before he reached the first tree, a volley of fire cracked through the cold afternoon air. Rev didn’t know if he was the target, and he wasn’t going to stop and find out. He had to get deeper in and start to put some distance between him and the hills.

A brief firefight erupted behind him, and he stopped to look back at the trail’s entrance, but still no lieutenant. No sound of fighting, either.

“Rev!” a familiar voice shouted for his attention.

He immediately adjusted and skied to where Tomiko was standing. Not just Tomiko. Yancey and Gupta were flanking her.

“What are you doing?” he shouted as he skied up.

“Waiting for you,” Tomiko said.

“But—”

“But nothing. We weren’t going to leave you alone.”

“There’s still Lieutenant Nilson.”

“Is she coming?” Yancey asked.

“I don’t know. She said she was right behind me.”

A mortar round landed about fifty meters away, up against the rocks. The MDS was getting their act together and reacting to the breakout.

“We need to go, Rev,” Tomiko said quietly.

Rev hesitated. He knew they had to leave if they were going to put some distance between the soldiers and them. He glanced back toward the entrance.

“Wait! There she is!” he said as he saw movement.

But it wasn’t the lieutenant. Four MDS soldiers emerged and activated their yeti striders.

Shit!

One of the soldiers peered into the trees, spotting them. He raised his rifle and fired, but Rev and the others were already moving. Several rounds chased them through the trees before they were in the clear.

For the moment. The MDS troops weren’t going to just let them off scot-free. They’d escaped the hills, but now they had to fight both the elements and the MDS if they hoped to get off the planet alive.

* * *

Rev scanned the open area to the front. They almost assuredly outdistanced the soldiers over the last two hours, but that didn’t mean that there hadn’t been troops stationed farther out in this direction.

“Are you catching any sign of activity?”

<Nothing. And I would have told you if I had.>

He turned to Tomiko, who was the next person behind him. He signaled the all-clear, and she nodded. Rev, feeling vulnerable, left the low but densely packed trees, and skied down the slight hill and into the next group of trees. No shots rang out to cut him down.

He spent another thirty seconds scanning the trees on this side, but once again, they seemed empty. He turned and signaled Tomiko to move forward.

His tracks were very visible in the snow, like a neon arrow screaming, “Marines this way!”

Clouds had started to move in over the course of the afternoon, and if they were lucky, it would snow, erasing signs of their passage. The planet was actually a desert with very little snowfall. The skies had remained clear during their entire time on the planet so far, but if it did snow, that would be to the Marines’ advantage.

The plan had been to scatter in two-person groups, spreading out and forcing the MDS troops to spread out as well. When he and Lieutenant Nilson had taken the rear-guard position, he thought they might buddy-up, but he was more than relieved to be with Tomiko. Yancey and Gupta, too, of course, he had to remind himself.

He still felt guilty about the lieutenant. But as Tomiko pointed out, the fact that the four soldiers had emerged from the trail didn’t make things look good for her. She was either dead or a prisoner, and waiting longer would have done her no good and just served to get the four of them killed.

Tomiko skied up and joined him before Gupta started across.

“How much farther do you think we should go?” she asked him.

“At least another thirty klicks. That would still put us within twenty of the RP.”

They were in SERE-mode, but there were limits on where they were supposed to stay. The Rally Point was just a coordinate on the ground with no obvious terrain feature. But as every Marine in the company had the navigation augmentation, they could all find the spot.

If there was to be a rescue mission, all of the Marines were to move to the RP. With comms being blocked, the signal was to be a magenta flare. Every Marine had at least one, and if they spotted the flare, they would set off theirs. Hopefully, every Marine would see the signal.

Not just for a rescue, Rev knew. He’d been in on the staff meeting where the captain mentioned the possibility of surrendering. Not that he’d order it, but that depending on how things progressed, it could be an option.

Rev had been a prisoner once. He knew he couldn’t accept becoming one again if it came to that.

“What are your numbers?” Tomiko asked.

“Nineteen rounds and twenty-point-zero percent.”

“If you need more power, tell me.”

“I’m not doing that, Miko.”

“Yes, you are, if that’s what it’s gonna take to keep us alive.”

Rev wasn’t going to stand here and argue with her. He knew her well enough to know she could be incredibly stubborn when she had her mind set on something. But there was no way in hell that he’d vampire any more power from her.

Gupta joined them, and Yancey started across. Four of them were a large team for SERE ops, but Rev didn’t care. He rationalized it by telling himself that if they got hit, together they were stronger to fight back. He pushed away and buried the thought that four of them together would be easier to spot.

* * *

The snow started just before dark. Rev welcomed the light flurries as they would be an advantage to the Marines attempting to remain unseen. But he also felt blinded. For all he knew, a battalion of MDS troopers were just fifty meters ahead.

He had a limited array of the sensors he had with his PAL-HX, and he kept shifting between them, trying to discover anything lying in wait.

<You are depleting your power supply with your scanning.>

Rev checked his level, and his heart fell. Eighteen-point-seven. At this rate, he could be powerless by tomorrow afternoon. He had to conserve.

It hurt him to the quick, but he told Punch to turn off the scans. He could try one every fifteen or twenty minutes, a single pulse before turning them back off.

“Increase gain on the passive.”

<Roger.>

Which probably wouldn’t do much of anything. Rev’s hearing was better than his helmet’s microphones, but sometimes the mechanical could pick up a different type of sound that his ears might miss.

The only good thing about the silence was that he’d hear it if any of the Marines in their area were being hit. So far, so good. Rev thought there was a good chance that the MDS troopers would be taking stock and planning before pursuing them, which meant that things could get hairy tomorrow. But with the snow falling, their tracks should be covered up by morning.

He switched Pashu back to his twenty. It took less energy—almost none—to fire the cannon, and the falling snow would diminish his beamer’s effectiveness. Rev was very aware, however, that he only had nineteen rounds left.

A snowball hit Rev in the back. He turned to see Tomiko beckoning him.

“Don’t be getting lost in your thoughts, Rev. Pay attention,” she said as he skied to her.

She was right, of course. A point Marine didn’t only look to the front. They had to be constantly aware of the other Marines they were with.

Gupta and Yancey skied up to join them.

“We need to start thinking about holing up, at least for the night. We need the rest, and I don’t know about you, but with the wind picking up and blowing this snow around, I’m not comfortable stumbling around like this.”

“Agree,” Yancey said.

Gupta, as a lance corporal, said nothing. Rev wasn’t sure how he’d managed to get attached to Tomiko and Yancey, but he was a good Marine, and Rev welcomed his presence.

The wind was whistling through the trees, and no matter how efficient their overwhites and armor were, the wind would suck heat out of them. Hunkering down out of the wind should conserve energy.

Rev had hoped to go another five klicks, but maybe stopping early would be a good idea. He pulled up his topo. There, about six hundred meters ahead, was a fault in the planet’s surface. It was only two or three meters high, but with the wind coming from the west, that should be enough to give them a bit of respite.

He gave them the coordinates and asked, “How about this? Get us out of the wind, at least.”

“Sounds good. Let’s do it,” Tomiko said.

Rev led the group forward through the trees as the snow picked up. His visibility was down to about twenty meters and dropping. He didn’t like that at all, but the snow would affect the MDS troopers just as much.

Just let us get to the fault and hunker down for the night. We’ll take tomorrow when it comes.

“How long until sundown?”

<Fifty-eight minutes, thirteen seconds.>

Plenty of time to pick a good spot.

Rev’s night vision was pretty effective, but it required at least some light. With the snow getting heavier with each passing minute, he wondered how much light would reach them. For all their training since he was conscripted, Rev had never been in a snowstorm at night. He’d much rather find a somewhat protected spot while he had a little more daylight left.

His navigation took him unerringly to the start of the fault. It looked like some underground giant had pushed up the frozen soil, breaking it in two. The upper side was only a meter higher at this point, not enough to give them any shelter from the wind, but according to his topo, that difference would be over two meters up ahead.

Rev signaled to Tomiko that he was going to turn and ski up along the fault. By now, the snow was so heavy that he could barely make out Gupta, and Yancey not at all.

The fault wall slowly got higher, but after about forty meters, a tree from the upper level had fallen, the top lodged in the lower level. Back at their target and in the hills, most of the trees were just trunks, remnants of the giants they’d once been. This tree, though, still had a good number of branches, branches that gave much more cover than just a trunk.

The snow wasn’t going to last forever, and once it did, the MDS might send drones out to search for the Marines. The fallen tree might just give them enough cover to remain undetected.

Rev signaled for Tomiko to stop so he could take a look. He edged forward to peer into the gap where the tree crossed from the upper to lower level. As he stood there, the wind was still whipping by, but between the trees and the fault, it looked pretty calm underneath, with only a few eddies of snow wisping back and forth. It would be pretty good protection, but once they crawled in, there was really only one way out, and that was never a good idea. It could end up being a trap.

He turned and ran his right hand under his chin, giving Tomiko the negative signal. It was just too risky. She nodded, and as he tried to back up, the back of his ski caught on a branch, and he went down. It took a moment of struggle to get back up on his feet; all the time, he was aware of Tomiko’s eyes on him.

Just proves this is a shitty spot. We need something with more access in and out.

He got himself oriented again, gave the tree a wide berth, and continued forward. Just ahead, the fault was at its highest. He was just going to pick a place under the wall and be done with it.

He skied another twenty meters, then angled in to the fault when a snow devil whipped up, collecting snow and creating a whiteout. Rev stopped, braced himself, and turned his face away for a moment. The snow devil died, creating a momentary pocket of clear air. Rev turned back . . .

A squad of MDS troopers, huddled with their backs against the fault wall, were no less surprised to see Rev as he was to see them.

Rev reacted first, firing his cannon in a sweep, blowing soldiers apart and sending rock fragments flying . . . until he ran out of rounds with four soldiers left and jumping to their feet. He switched back to his beamer, but it was going to take a few seconds for it to recharge, maybe even more in the cold.

He reacted immediately, pushing forward on his skis to close the gap. Two soldiers tried to get out of his way, firing wildly as they dodged to the side. Rev swung Pashu like a sledgehammer, hitting a soldier in the chest and knocking one of them off his feet and into another who was struggling to get up and bring his weapon to bear. Both went down as the tips of Rev’s skis hit the fault wall, the impact breaking his boots free of the bindings and sending Rev down.

One of the remaining two soldiers leaned in for a point-blank shot, but that put him within reach. With a horizontal sweep, Rev connected with the soldier’s knee, collapsing it as his rounds discharged into the air. That brought his head down within reach, and sweeping back the other way, Rev drove Pashu like a baseball bat into the side of the soldier’s helmet.

The soldier fell over backward, a foot quivering . . . and that cleared fields of fire for the fourth trooper. The first round hit Rev in the chest just as his beamer indicator switched to green. The blast caught the soldier in the face, and he dropped.

The second round hit Rev in the back. The last soldier had pushed his buddy’s body off of him and had fired from his side. Rev dove to the right, causing the next two rounds to skim just over him. The soldier scooted out a little farther, coming to a much more stable sitting position, as he drew down on Rev, who was sprawled on his face in the snow. The soldier wasn’t going to miss at this range, and he understood shear-thickening armor as well as Rev did. A double-tap, and Rev would be a dead man, his armor breached.

The surface of the soldier’s armor suddenly seemed to be under attack by a swarm of invisible killer nanobots. The soldier forgot about Rev, shifted his aim, and got off a burst before one of the M-49 rounds penetrated, and down he went.

Rev let out a big breath of relief. He sat up and turned to see Tomiko standing ten meters away, her M-49 still raised.

“Damn, Miko. You saved my ass,” he said with the kind of laugh that came when you cheated death yet again.

She didn’t respond, but he could see her turn slightly to look at him.

“Cat got your tongue?” he asked, giddy with relief.

This had been a close call. Too close. Who would have thought that an MDS patrol would have picked the same spot to get out of the wind for the night?

Tomiko just stood there for a long moment before her M-49 slipped out of her hand to stick muzzle-first in the snow.

“Miko?” Rev asked in growing confusion a moment before his girlfriend fell face-first onto the ground.

22

“Do you want me to take her?” Yancey asked.

“No!” Rev snapped. “I’ve got her. You keep on point.”

Rev knew that Yancey thought he was letting his emotions take over, but he didn’t care. Yes, his emotions were in turmoil, but he knew this was the correct tactical decision. Rev was out of rounds, and he only had his beamer, which was of minimal efficacy in the driving snow. Having Yancey on point and Gupta as Tail-end Charlie made the most sense.

That left him to carry Tomiko.

She was still alive but unconscious. Not one, not two, but three rounds had pierced her armor, and she’d suffered internal damage and blood loss. Rev had connected via their jacks, and Punch had queried Pikachu, Tomiko’s battle buddy.

A Marine’s AI, for all their advanced technology, could only tell what the medinanos reported. They were not omniscient beings. All Punch could report was that Tomiko was in bad shape, and her nanos were trying to stop the bleeding and isolate the damage.

The nanos couldn’t take care of everything, however. The worst wound was in her belly, and she was bleeding badly. A round had pierced her front armor, but the back armor had kept the bullet from exiting, and it ricocheted back, cutting a new swath through her gut.

With Punch guiding him, Rev opened her armor and applied a pressure bandage around her belly and back, all the time assuring her unconscious body that she’d be fine. They had it under control. He held his breath as he activated the bandage, hoping it would swell to the right shape and pressure. The bandage did its job as designed, and the major bleeding stopped. Between the pressure bandage and the nanos working inside of her, Rev hoped that between the two of them, they could limit more blood loss. Already, the wounds in her thigh and hip had started to seal off, the blood coagulating into its own plugs.

Punch suggested leaving her armor intact. It would help keep her body together. Since he hadn’t done an emergency molt, it was just a matter of a few minutes to seal her up.

Despite the bandage and nanos, Tomiko needed immediate medical care—and she didn’t need to be bouncing around on Rev’s shoulders. Every jolt undid whatever good her nanos were achieving.

But they had to move. The MDS would have picked up their patrol’s demise, and they’d be reacting. Mortars had landed two minutes after the fight. Luckily, the rounds had been pushed off-target by the heavy and unpredictable winds. But if there were other soldiers in the area, they’d be converging on the location.

Rev and the other two Marines were doing their best to be a long way from there by the time the troopers arrived.

“Any update?” Rev asked Punch, who he’d left connected via the jacks.

<Nothing. The loss of blood is affecting the efficiency of her AI.>

Rev almost paused at that. A battle buddy was powered by its host’s body, and the draw was minuscule. If Tomiko’s battle buddy was having problems, then that was an indication that Tomiko was in much worse shape than he thought.

“Hang in there, Miko,” he muttered. “Just stay with me.”

With Tomiko on his shoulders, Rev was off-balance, and when his right ski slipped, he almost dropped her as he tried to recover.

<You need to stop now and find a place to lay up.>

“I’m fine. I can keep on going. We have to put distance between the dead Mad Dogs and us. Just a little farther.”

<It’s not you. It is Staff Sergeant Reiser. Every jolt like that brings her closer to death.>

That stopped Rev in his tracks. He knew Tomiko was in very bad shape, and she might very well die. But the finality in his battle buddy’s voice was a gut-punch.

It took a moment for Yancey to see that he’d stopped, and he came back while Rev’s mind was whirling on what to do. Every choice seemed certain to end in disaster. Stick around and wait for the MDS. Keep going and kill Tomiko.

“What’s up?” Yancey asked.

“Miko can’t keep going. She needs to be kept still if her nanos are going to have a chance to save her.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Find us someplace, any place, where we can hole up. Hopefully, something with overhead cover.”

Yancey nodded and skied off while Gupta, after a long look at Tomiko, took a knee and faced the rear, toward the dead soldiers.

Rev carefully laid Tomiko down. Her face, visible inside her face shield, was drawn and white. She looked like death was there with her, ready to stake its claim. Rev felt a wave of anguish like he’d never felt before.

Yancey was back within two minutes. “There’s a drift up ahead. It’s probably big enough to make a snow cave.”

That was better news than Rev had expected. “Take us there.”

The drift wasn’t high, not even two meters, but it was better than nothing. Rev carefully laid Tomiko in the snow, and then with Gupta and Yancey providing security, he started to tunnel in. With the sun down and the storm blocking the stars, it was too dark to see much, so after a meter, he turned on the ultraviolet torch on his helmet and blinked on his filters. He never liked them, but at least he could see.

He kept as low as he could until he reached what he thought was the middle of the drift. He knew he couldn’t excavate much above him. Too high, and the top would collapse. Too low, however, and their movements inside would be too constrained.

According to MCM 4004.1c, Cold Weather Operations—which Punch pulled up and to which Rev kept referring—a snow cave large enough for four people would take four man-hours to build. Rev didn’t think Tomiko had four hours of being exposed, and he didn’t think the MDS would wait that long to come looking for them. He could get one of the other two Marines to help, but there really wasn’t much elbow room as he got started.

Rev was just going to have to speed up his progress while not making a mistake.

“Mother help me,” he muttered as he got to work.

The roof of a cave should be a minimum of thirty centimeters, and there should be shelves on which to lay at least ten centimeters high inside. Warm air rose, and cold air sank, and the shelves would make a small, but real, difference.

The first step was to start creating the cavity. He moved to his back, and with his multitool, the front extended into a slightly curved blade, he started carving away at the snow above him, which showered down on his face.

“Can you keep me from going up too far?” Rev asked.

They’d never trained together for this, not even in a simulation, and Rev didn’t know Punch’s capabilities in this situation.

<Probably.>

“Probably? You don’t know?”

<Your environmental sensors’ altimeter isn’t sensitive enough for this degree of differentiation, and I can’t crosscheck it with the air pressure reading as your presence in the confined area is affecting that. There are too many variables.> There was a short pause, and Punch added, <And, I don’t know exactly where the top of the drift is at.>

Should have just led with that last bit, Punch.

“You don’t have to be exact. Just try not to let me get within thirty centimeters.”

<I’ll try.>

Rev continued to scrape and press to enlarge the hole—he scraped above him and pressed the snow to the sides. Compressing it would give strength to the walls.

MCM 4004.1c was over twenty years old, and whether it was wrong or it just didn’t take into account an augmented Marine—before the Centaur War, most of Rev’s augments would have been illegal—Rev made quick progress. Within twenty-five minutes, he had a passable cave hollowed out and one bench built. It wasn’t finished yet, but he could get Tomiko inside.

He carefully turned around and crawled out. The wind had died down a bit, but the snow was much heavier.

“Help me get her inside,” he told Yancey.

It took both of them, one pulling and one helping with her legs, to drag her through the short tunnel. After one pull, she gave out an anguished groan. Rev didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. Bad because of the obvious pain, but at least she was aware at some level of what was going on.

“Hang in there, Miko.”

With three Marines, the cave wasn’t as big as Rev had thought. It would still need some work. He sent Yancey to collect Gupta and told him to block off the entrance as he came back inside.

He laid Tomiko on the raised bench, and as he started to move aside, her hand snaked out and grabbed his wrist with more strength than he thought she possessed.

The Ultraviolet! She must be scared shitless!

Rev switched to the normal light. Not a smart thing to do, even in the snowstorm. Some of the light would escape through the walls and roof of the cave, but he didn’t care.

He leaned over her, his head touching the top of the cave. Her eyes were round in terror, and it seemed to take her a moment to recognize him. But when she did, he could see the relief relax her face.

“You with me, Miko?” he asked.

Her mouth slowly moved, but nothing came out. The fear returned to her eyes, and she started hyperventilating.

He grabbed her hand. “Easy, easy. You’ve been hit, Miko, but we’ve got you. Just try and relax.”

He had to say that several times, one after the other, until it seemed to sink in. Her breathing slowed down, and she stared into Rev’s eyes.

Rev didn’t know what she wanted to say, so he just crouched there, trying to be a calming presence. Slowly, her eyes closed, and for a moment, Rev panicked, but she was still breathing.

A set of skis was shoved in, followed by Yancey. He gave a pointed look at Rev’s torch, but he didn’t say anything.

Rev let go of Tomiko, and for the next half hour, the three Marines expanded the cave and made a little floor with the skis. They smoothed out the walls and ceiling to keep melting snow from dripping on them and then carefully took a ski pole and pushed it through to the outside. Without that, they could suffocate. A few flakes made it in through the hole, but not many.

And then they were done. The constant activity had kept them busy, their minds on their tasks, but now, there was nothing—and an empty mind just meant it could be filled with worry and stress.

Rev jacked back into Tomiko and sat down beside her.

“What do we do now, Staff?” Gupta asked, the first thing he’d said since the fight at the fault.

Rev put an arm over Tomiko’s chest and said, “Now we wait.”

* * *

Rev watched his breath with each exhalation. After sitting awake all night next to Tomiko, he’d sunk into a zen-like almost-trance as the storm passed and the dawn’s light started to penetrate the cave.

At least he was able to take off his helmet. His scalp itched, and dead skin flaked off, and it felt good to be able to scratch to his heart’s content. And he was warm enough, even after turning off his enivrosheath to conserve power. Four bodies stacked inside the small cave were more than enough to raise the temperature to well above freezing.

They hadn’t done a good enough job smoothing out the inside of the cave, though. A small irregularity caused a slow drip of water on Rev’s leg throughout the night. It didn’t get through his armor, of course, but it had been a little annoying.

Not enough to move over or fix it, however. He just sat there beside Tomiko and let it drip.

Gupta, laid out on the other side of him, shifted in his sleep, and that broke Rev’s trance.

“Any change?” he asked his battle buddy.

<There has been an almost complete cessation of beta waves.>

“Which means?”

<Staff Sergeant Reiser has had almost no conscious thoughts over the last few hours.>

“What? Are you telling me she’s brain dead?” Rev asked, sitting up straighter.

<No. There is some activity with theta and delta waves. Her brain is still functioning, at least on those levels.>

“Don’t fucking scare me like that,” Rev muttered aloud.

He leaned back against Tomiko’s side. He should ask what the theta and delta waves meant, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. If he couldn’t do anything for her, it was better not to get too stressed.

A quick, faint burst of far-off fire penetrated the cave, but so muffled that not even Punch could tell what had made it. This was the second time he’d heard the sounds of fighting. The first time had lasted over four minutes before falling silent. Neither Yancey nor Gupta had stirred the last time, and they were sleeping through this as well.

Rev pursed his lips and slowly shook his head. This entire situation was bizarre, something he’d never thought he’d experience. The four of them, huddled inside their cave, might as well have slipped through a warp in the fabric of space, floating around in the real and unreal. Outside of their bubble, their fellow Marines, their friends, were in their own bubbles. At least twice, they’d clashed with the enemy, but for the most part, all of them were cut off from the world, from reality.

And he didn’t like it. He’d rather line up and charge the enemy, letting their cards lay. That, he understood. But their orders had been specific. Simply try to evade and survive.

“No one will know if I say screw it and go Mad Dog hunting,” he said under his breath.

But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t disobey an order, even one that he disagreed with.

He looked over at Tomiko, who hadn’t moved a millimeter during the long night.

Could I leave her here just to fight the Mad Dogs?

He shook his head. He’d come to grips with the fact that Tomiko probably wasn’t going to make it. But he knew he couldn’t abandon her until she died and went past the time for a potential resurrection. And until that happened, he could always hope.

Rev glanced around the cave. Suddenly, he felt very lonely. For a moment, he considered asking Punch for some music or even a joke. Anything to break the mood, but he wasn’t in much of a laughing mood.

But there was one thing he was wondering about, something minor, but something that suddenly seemed more important.

“Punch, I have to ask you something.”

<Yes?>

“Why do you always call Miko ‘Staff Sergeant Reiser?’”

For once, his battle buddy seemed at a loss.

<Because that’s her name and rank,> he finally said.

“But, you’re inside of my brain. You’re me, and I’m you, right?”

Punch didn’t respond, and Rev realized he was babbling.

“What I mean is that we’ve got a close, personal relationship, right?”

<Yes.>

Rev switched to table talk for a moment. “And we share something closer that none of the watchers or anyone else does, right?”

<That is correct.>

He switched back to normal. It almost didn’t matter. The chances of them getting out of this and then getting in trouble from the watchers didn’t seem very high right now, and that was certainly not something he cared about at the moment.

“So, if we’re this close, and if we have this bond, then why don’t you call her Miko?”

There was another pause, and Rev could imagine the logic trees lighting up his battle buddy’s crystal brain.

<I can call her Miko, if you want.>

“Yes, I want.”

It shouldn’t really matter, but for some reason, that made Rev feel much better.

* * *

The first voice dragged Rev from wherever his mind had taken him. Immediately, both Yancey and Gupta opened their eyes and reached for their weapons.

Rev powered Pashu up.

Another unintelligible voice reached them through the walls of their cave, then yet another.

Yancey signaled, “Enemy or friendly?”

Rev shrugged. He couldn’t make out enough to even make a guess. But there were people out there.

The voices grew a little louder, and then they could hear the scrunching of footsteps in the snow—not the swooshing of skis. At least that was Rev’s first impression. He didn’t know what each one sounded like from inside a snow cave. And would MDS troopers, with their yeti striders, sound like regular footsteps?

“Can you tell what that scrunching is?”

<Negative. The sound is too muffled and distant to analyze the sound waves.>

Yancey signaled “Action” and “Interrogative,” which meant, “What are your orders?”

Yeah, what are my orders?

If the voices were from a small patrol, Rev was pretty sure the three of them could burst through their cave and drop the surprised soldiers before they could react.

However, what if they were just part of a larger unit? Revealing themselves could be suicide.

But what if they were fellow Marines? Were they looking for the four of them, maybe to consolidate again for an attack? Or maybe the long-hoped-for rescue had arrived, and if they stayed in the cave, they were throwing away their ticket off the planet. That could even be their rescuers out there, Hégémonie sailors or Legionnaires tramping around, looking for survivors.

He turned to look at Tomiko for a moment. Whatever he said, it would affect her.

Yancey and Gupta were staring at him, waiting for his orders. Normally, Rev could make a decision quickly, but for once, his mind was banging around like a canary in a cage.

Snap the hell out of it, Reverent! Make a decision.

The mental slap across his face had the desired effect.

Most of the Marines will be hiding out, not wandering around, and nothing’s changed that might cause the captain to do a 180. If those were Heg sailors or Legionnaires out there, they’d be doing something other than just hanging out.

That left one possibility. He could be wrong, but he’d better go with the most logical conclusion.

“Freeze,” he signaled.

The voices kept going for another couple of minutes before they faded away. Whoever it had been was gone.

Rev powered down, and the other two lowered their weapons. He put his right hand back on Tomiko’s chest, wondering now if he’d just killed her.

23

Tomiko died eight hours later, at zero-nine-fourteen, TST. The time was burned into Rev’s brain.

He gave a shout of anguish the moment Punch informed him and lunged for her, triggering the emergency release of her armor, and started chest compression.

“Start giving her mouth-to-mouth,” he yelled.

The two Marines looked at each other in confusion, and Rev had to tell them again. Gupta placed his M-49 on the ground and started breathing for Tomiko, two breaths for every five compressions.

“Don’t leave me,” Rev pleaded. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

Five minutes, ten minutes, and there was nothing. Tomiko’s pale body jerked each time Rev pushed down. Her chest rose with each breath Gupta gave her, but there was no independent sign of life.

Tears fell from his eyes and splashed onto her chest with each compression.

“You can do it, Miko. You’re strong. You just have to try.”

But Tomiko was past trying.

“Rev,” Yancey finally said, putting his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “She’s gone.”

“No. Not yet. If we can just keep her going, she can make it.”

“She can’t. We don’t have a corpsman here,” Yancey said.

“But—”

Yancey slowly but surely pulled Rev back. “She’s gotta have a good shot at resurrection. Her brain is whole. But she’ll kick your ass if she comes back to find out you broke all her ribs.”

Rev let Yancey pull him back, and he sank to the ground, staring at Tomiko. She looked tiny, her chest exposed to the cold air, nothing like the larger-than-life woman he knew. His compressions had forced parts of her intestines out of the gaping wound in her belly and out from under the pressure bandage. Gupta stared at them for a moment before he tried to tuck them back and replace the blood-stained bandage.

The absolute white of her chest was in stark contrast to her bloody belly. Rev reached up and closed the overwhites, sealing them to her chin. Except for the lack of color, her face looked lovely, as if she’d been released from pain.

Rev gave out a low moan as it all sunk in. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. In the holovids, there was supposed to be the goodbye. The dying person had a last message for the one being left behind, and their love was stated, engraved in history.

Tomiko hadn’t said a single word since she’d been shot. There hadn’t been a goodbye, and Rev felt robbed.

“I never said I loved her.”

<I am sure she knew it. Your actions spoke to that.>

“It’s not the same.”

Yancey shifted closer and put his arm around Rev’s shoulder. “She’s got ten hours, and who knows? Maybe a few more. If we can get her to a medical facility—”

“We’re not getting her anywhere, Yance,” Rev snapped, shrugging off the arm. “We’ve been abandoned and left out to dry.”

Yancey was quiet for a long moment, then he said, “There’re always the Mad Dogs.”

“You heard what they did to Lomax. I was there. I saw it. No, they’re not shooting Miko in the head. Maybe by some miracle, the Heg or the Union will get some balls and come in time, but putting her out there so the fucking Mad Dogs destroy her brain . . . no way.”

Rev shut up after that, staring at Tomiko’s body. There was so much he wished he’d said to her, and now that was gone.

Orpheus and Tomiko, both dead because of him.

Stop the pity party, Reverent. Miko would tell you that. She’d say she made her own decisions, and anything else was an insult.

Still . . .

The fact of the matter was that with another choice on his part, she’d be alive right now. She was getting out after the war, but because Rev stayed, she stayed. She could be back in Swansea, working at some mindless job, but alive. Hell, Rev could be there with her. And now she was dead in some worthless freezer of a planet while the powers played their games of galactic chess.

This wasn’t even a real war. It was political maneuvering, nothing more, nothing less.

Yancey put his hand back on Rev’s shoulder.

“Not now, Yance,” Rev said, knocking the hand away.

“Listen,” Yancey hissed.

“What?” Rev asked, looking up.

Yancey whipped his hands through “silence” and “listen.”

Rev was confused until a muffled voice reached them but clear enough to make out.

“It came from over in that direction.”

Rev could even pick out the rough MDS accent that many of them had. Despite the snow walls surrounding them, the Marines had somehow been detected.

“How did they . . . oh!”

Rev’s cry of anguish must have been picked up by sensors. A wave of guilt washed over him.

“Maybe they’re tracking someone else,” Gupta whispered.

Rev shook his head. He knew the soldiers were searching for them. It was possible that they’d be missed, but Rev wouldn’t count on that. If they had an azimuth, even a rough azimuth from some sensor, the troopers would search until they were found.

Rev powered up and motioned for the other two to get ready.

“Systems check.”

<Missiles and 20 mm out. Power at eight-point-one percent.>

“So, I’m pretty much screwed.”

<We’re screwed, up shit creek without a paddle.>

Rev almost laughed at that, wondering if Punch had saved that old gem of a saying for just such a situation.

“Yeah, buddy, we’re screwed.”

The soldiers were narrowing in. They didn’t seem to care if they were heard. The Marines couldn’t be jamming them, so they must have their normal comms.

Unless they’re trying to flush us out like pheasants.

Rev signaled to the other two to remain calm. He trusted them not to panic, but it didn’t hurt to remind them.

“Try and determine how many are out there.”

<At least five that I’ve been able to differentiate so far. But there may be more.>

“Keep me posted.”

Yancey tapped his leg, and when Rev looked at him, his friend pointed at his helmeted head, then at Rev’s helmetless head.

Hell, I’d forget my dick if it wasn’t attached.

Rev reached back, picked up his helmet, and slowly put it back on. With a soft nick, it sealed shut.

<At least seven now. Most are moving up from zero-four-zero, and if they keep up that direction, they should pass within ten meters.>

“Wait. They are on a zero-four-zero heading?” Rev said as he blinked up a compass. “That isn’t right.”

<They are coming from your zero-four-zero. They’re heading two-two-zero.>

Of course, Rev told himself. Think!

Between Tomiko and now this, his brain wasn’t firing on all synapses. He needed to shake off the fuzziness.

He gave some quick signals, giving each of the other two a sector of fire. Both Marines’ eyes lit up, and he could see confidence flow back into them. He suddenly realized that their previous concern wasn’t because of what they faced but because they thought he’d lost his mojo, and a hesitant commander usually got his Marines killed.

Mourn Miko later. You’ve got two Marines counting on you. Get ‘er done, Reverent.

The voices got louder, and their steps more pronounced. The crunching snow was the same sound they’d heard that morning, which was something of a relief to Rev. It would have sucked big time if it had been some sort of rescue that Rev had avoided.

<Nine soldiers.>

“Shit, Punch. Any more?”

<Hope not.>

Rev relayed the number to the others. Neither seemed fazed.

But that might not be all. An MDS squad was fourteen soldiers. So, if that was a squad approaching, then there might be five more.

Or they lost five in the fighting.

Rev was hoping for the latter.

He got his feet under him, crouched, and pointed to the roof. Yancey and Gupta nodded, Gupta with a predatory gleam in his eyes. He was ready.

“Wait. How tall is this drift?”

<About 160 centimeters.>

“And how tall is Gupta?”

<162 centimeters.>

“So, if we go through the top, he won’t be able to see out.”

He tapped the Marine on the shoulder. There were no set signals for this that he knew of, but with “elevation,” “negative,” “fire,” and “you,” he managed to convey the problem.

He mouthed “shit” through his face shield, then gave the interrogative.

As he remembered, the drift sloped down and to the left. Rev motioned for him to get just inside the tunnel into the cave, using his hands to convey that the drift sloped down there.

Hopefully enough.

And if it didn’t, he would have an easier time breaking through with the entrance tunnel in front of him.

But there was no more time. The voices were getting closer.

With both sets of eyes on him, Rev signaled for a five-second countdown.

Five . . . four . . . three . . .at two, he stole a glance back at Tomiko’s body, and his warrior self broke free like floodwaters through a dam . . . one . . . “Go!”

With a surge of powerful, augmented legs, Rev stood, breaking through the roof and sending snow flying. Gupta burst up in front and to his right, his head and shoulders just visible, while Yancey erupted to his left. Rev swept his beamer in guillotine mode like a broadsword, cutting a very surprised-looking soldier in two just below his rib cage, his armor useless against the full power of the meson beam. A second soldier was caught in the same beam, and then a third just stepped behind a tree an instant before he would have been hit. A fourth soldier, this one less than twenty meters away, registered what was happening and started to bring his weapon to bear on Rev. It took a downward motion to deflect his beam to him. The soldier went down, then struggled to retreat on his back, only one leg digging for traction.

Rev let him go as his charge light went to red.

Yancey immediately engaged another soldier who stood toe-to-toe with him, facing the fusillade. The soldier was completely exposed. Yancey was chest-deep in the snow, and that was where several bullets struck.

The soldier stumbled a foot forward, then collapsed as Yancey’s darts found flesh.

Gupta could barely clear the snow in front of him. He held his M-49 high over his head and sprayed the area, engaging two soldiers who were trying to scramble to cover.

“Charge, dammit!” he yelled at Pashu as he pulled out his last grenade. He thumbed the fuze and tossed it at the soldiers who’d wheeled toward the three Marines.

The grenade bounced off the side of a tree trunk, rebounding toward a soldier who was firing at them. Grenades had proven almost useless in the snow, but this one detonated just as the soldier stepped over it, his focus on the Marines. The explosion blew up and out, and the soldier tumbled over backward to lie still, snow crystals falling around him.

Rounds started to tear up the drift around the Marines, the snow giving more than expected protection. Rev ducked down, trying to will his beamer to recharge. A round glanced off his helmet.

Green!

Rev switched to rifle mode and stood again. He was probably good for five quick shots in this mode, but unlike the guillotine, he had to aim them.

The soldier that had gained the cover of a tree just before Rev would have cut him down poked his head out from behind the tree for a quick look.

“You shouldn’t have waited, asshole.”

Sure enough, probably after gaining his courage, he popped out again, yelling as he swung his rifle around.

Rev had been waiting. He fired once, the four-terajoule shot hitting the soldier at the base of the neck, a weak spot in the MDS cold-weather armor. The soldier was dead before his body hit the snow.

Rev cast about for the next target. The soldiers had been on line, better to cover more ground while searching. Five of those closest had been cut down, but another six, from what Rev could see, were now well aware of the three Marines.

It looked like five soldiers were down, but at least six more were maneuvering to close in on them through the trees. In a few seconds, they’d have clear shots at the three.

They had to get better cover than being chest-deep in snow like meerkats peering out of their holes.

“Take cover,” he told Gupta and Yancey as he fired twice more. Neither shot hit, but it gave the others a few precious seconds.

Gupta tried to move, but he was trapped by the snow and was foundering, a giant target. Rev forced his way forward, bulldozing through the snow. He grabbed him with Pashu, pulled him out, and tossed him free just as a round dinged off his IBHU. Gupta landed just past the reach of the drift and rolled twice more to get behind a trunk.

Rev darted past the lance corporal as rounds chased him. Another round hit his thigh just as he reached a fallen tree. Yet another hit the edge of the tree, sending frozen wood chips raining down on him.

“Six of them? Is that what you saw?”

<Six,> Punch confirmed.

And three Marines.

He hoped all three of them were still in the fight.

A few meters away, Gupta was scrambling for a better firing position. But he couldn’t see Yancey. He just had to trust that his friend hadn’t been taken down.

At least his beamer light was bright green again. He didn’t know how much that had drained his power, but he was at full charge. After a moment’s hesitation, he cut the beamer’s shot duration to conserve power, knowing that could help him eke out a few more shots.

He had to slow the soldiers. Rev snapped off a shot at the closest soldier. His battle display registered a hit, but the trooper dodged for cover. The beam might have been reflected off, but more likely, there hadn’t been enough power to penetrate, which pissed him off. He quickly returned to his previous settings.

In his anger at wasting a potential killing shot, Rev was tempted to pour power into the tree, causing the ice crystals to explode. But that was just his warrior self trying to assert himself. Doing that would be a too profligate waste of his dwindling power, and Rev was able to resist the temptation.

A string of fire from Rev’s left rang out, and a body Rev hadn’t seen fell face-first onto the ground.

That’s what I’m talking about, he told himself, relieved that his friend was OK. Get some.

He didn’t know, though, if that was one of the six he’d seen or someone he’d missed, and he wasn’t about to stick his head out and scan the area.

“Hey, Marines!” a voice called out.

Gupta turned to look at Rev as he signed the interrogative.

Rev signaled him to hold his fire.

“Marines! Why don’t you just call it a day and stop this senseless killing? I guarantee your safety. We’ll get you back and out of this damned cold, get you fed up.”

Rev didn’t reply, his mind racing as he tried to assess what was happening.

“Fifteen of you have already agreed. They’re probably already back at our camp by now.”

Rev’s heart gave a little flutter. Fifteen? Can that be true? Only twenty-one of us made it out of the hills in the first place.

Gupta’s eyes were boring into him, but he couldn’t read what the lance corporal was thinking.

Fifteen seemed like a lot, but could it be possible? Had the situation wearing down on them all finally broken their will to fight?

Rev needed a moment to think. He asked the first thing that came to his mind. “Is Field Sergeant Stygian there? I want to talk to him.”

There was a pause, then the speaker, in a voice that didn’t sound so confident, asked, “Field Sergeant Stygian?”

“Yeah. Stygian. I want to talk to him.”

His eyes were on Gupta as he spoke, whose eyebrows gave the slightest dip of disapproval. Rev felt a twinge of guilt, and he had to look away from him.

“Stygian’s dead. You assholes killed him. You’re talking to me, now. And I’m not gonna keep this offer on the table forever. This is your only chance, so shit or get off the pot.”

Rev surprisingly felt a small twinge of regret that the field sergeant was dead—if that was even true. Despite their short connection, the SNCO was still on the other side, and Rev was in the business of killing the enemy.

Asking for Stygian had just been to buy him a moment of time. Again, to his surprise, Rev was actually considering the offer. It grated on his very sense of being, but to what end would fighting still accomplish at this point?

The three Marines might be able to survive this little fight, but the MDS had more soldiers, and this small patrol had almost assuredly reported their position. It would only be a matter of time before they were all hunted down.

He glanced to the side at the destroyed drift. Tomiko was under that snow, and her clock was ticking. Win this fight, only to be killed or captured later, and her window will have closed, and the three of them would still eventually be dead or prisoners.

Rev’s rational self, his warrior’s counterpart, who’d long been silent, snuck in a reminder that Rev had been a prisoner before, and yet here he was, none the worse for wear, and fighting. Not that they wouldn’t have to accept parole this time. But was that enough reason to say no? Was his pride—if that was what it was—worth Yancey and Gupta’s life, not to mention possibly Tomiko’s?

He’d just been imagining an alternate life where he hadn’t re-enlisted, where he and Tomiko were living a peaceful life back in Swansea. Was fate giving him a second chance?

Shit!

He knew his emotions were playing heavily in his thinking. But did that mean they were wrong?

“I’m waiting, Marine.”

The snide attitude was getting Rev pissed. Or maybe he was pissed because he had to make a decision. He wanted to be a leader, but now, the aggressive, disciplined Reverent Pelletier, was waffling.

He turned to put his back to the tree when he caught movement in the corner of his eye. Rev turned at the same time as the MDS soldier turned and saw him. Both immediately reacted, but Rev was quicker. His beam struck the soldier at the base of his throat, right above the chest armor, where the connector formed a weak spot. The beam took an instant to burn through, an instant that allowed the trooper to get off one shot that cracked past Rev’s head before the man fell.

Another soldier stepped forward to get a clear shot, but Rev’s reflexes were far quicker, and his IBHU’s tech once again proved its worth. Rev fired, impacting lower this time. The soldier flinched, and instead of continuing his assault, he started moving to the side for cover, and that gave Rev another shot. This one burned through, and the soldier went down.

Bastards!

“I see what your word’s worth. Typical Mad Dog lack of honor,” he shouted, knowing the offer had been a ruse.

<One more,> Punch said, highlighting a partial shape with a bright neon green outline.

Rev had caught the two soldiers who’d been moving, but this one had frozen in place, mostly obscured by a fallen tree. Rev switched to the guillotine to sweep across the top of the log, intending to slice the soldier’s head clean off, but as he began, the beam quit, and the red charging light came on.

Stupid! Should have left it on rifle mode.

“Cover me now!” he shouted as he broke into a run, his warrior fully in control as he verged on running amok.

He didn’t even look back. He trusted the other two to have his six.

Under normal circumstances, he could cover the distance in four or five seconds. The snow, however, sucked at his boots like demons trying to pull him under and into the pits of a frozen hell.

Rev bellowed in rage, frustrated at his pace as he willed himself forward.

The soldier, who’d ducked when Rev started firing, looked up. His eyes grew large in fear, and he struggled to bring his weapon to bear over the trunk.

It was too far. Rev was dead meat. His instincts took over, and he drew his utility knife and threw it at the soldier with all his might.

His aim was good. The blade hit the soldier in the helmet . . . handle first, bouncing it up and over the trooper. But it had an effect. The soldier fired, but his burst was pulled high as he ducked back down.

And that gave Rev the time he needed. With Olympic-worthy bounds, he closed the distance and jumped up on the log, just as the trooper must have realized he was still in one piece.

He started scrambling back up when Rev brought Pashu down like a sledgehammer, flush on the trooper’s head. Even without power to her, he still had his organic shoulders, back, and upper arm, and with effort, he could bring her up and down.

Despite the enormous force of the blow, the helmet didn’t split in two, but the soldier was knocked flat. Rev jumped off of the log as the trooper started to try and crawl away.

Rev spent a moment looking for his knife, but it was gone, buried in the snow somewhere. Deliberately, Rev stepped forward until he was standing over the soldier, blood pounding in his head and everything else forgotten, his mind was so focused.

The soldier started to turn over. He caught sight of Rev’s feet, then with a yelp, started reaching for a holstered sidearm.

“Mistake, asshole.”

If he was being honest with himself, Rev didn’t know that as hyped as he was, he’d have let the soldier live, but by reaching for his sidearm, he sealed his fate.

With a shout, Rev swung Pashu down again, breaking the man’s arm. Again, and again, he struck, pummeling the now still body, his eyes blinded with tears.

All of his anger and frustration exploded in a release of devastating fury. Being abandoned, the deaths of his fellow Marines . . . Tomiko—all of it came out as he beat the body. Blow after blow, as if hoping it would make him feel better.

It didn’t.

But he kept going anyway, at least until Gupta said, “Staff?”

Rev froze, Pashu upraised for another blow. Slowly, he turned to where Gupta was staring at him, his face frozen between horror and glee.

“Are you . . . uh . . . OK?” he asked, his eyes locked on the MDS soldier’s body.

Rev dropped his eyes. The trooper looked like a broken mannequin. His armor had protected him from some of the blows, but not all of them. Blood leaked out through the breaks and soaked into the trampled snow. The face shield had finally broken during the almost inhuman onslaught, and the face behind it was unrecognizable.

<You do know that your IBHU was not designed as a hand-to-hand combat weapon, right?>

Rev’s mind was still racing, but he slowly lowered Pashu and looked at her. There was a single scratch on the IBHU, probably from the round that had hit earlier. But she seemed structurally undamaged for the most part. Maybe her projector was a little out of kilter.

But undamaged did not mean pristine. She was splattered with blood, and there were human remains on the muzzle.

Rev bent over and gamely tried to wipe the muzzle clean in the snow, much of it being stained itself. It would have been easier if he could use her joints, but with no power, that was impossible.

“What about the others?” Rev asked as if suddenly remembering that there were more MDS troopers.

“Got one, but two more decided to beat feet. Staff Sergeant del Rio told me to check on you while he went after them.”

Snap out of it, Reverent.

His warrior self, blood lust satiated, started to pull back. This wasn’t over, not by a long shot.

For a brief moment, he wondered what would have happened had he surrendered, but given the three trying to flank them, he was glad he never found out.

“Nice overreds there, by the way,” Gupta said.

“What?”

He pointed at his chest, and he looked down.

If Pashu was covered with blood, he looked like he’d been working in an abattoir for a week. His overwhites were bright red. For a moment, he considered shucking them, but then he just shrugged. It wouldn’t make much of a difference.

He gave one last glance looking for his knife. He’d carried it for years, and he was going to miss it. But he didn’t want to spend time looking for it.

The dead soldier’s rifle caught his eye for a moment, but he quickly dismissed it. A thousand years ago, he could take it and be armed again, but now, each weapon was coded to either the shooter or a friendly soldier. Right now, it was just a club, and Pashu had proven she was a better one.

Hell. That’s five kills I’ve gotten with her as a club. Who would have ever thought it? He gave her another once-over. Be better, though, if she had a blade, like a bayonet or something.

“Staff?”

Rev turned back to Gupta. “Let’s see if we can help Staff Sergeant del Rio track down the two who ran. We really don’t want them reporting our position.”

They started back to the drift. Looking at his tracks, Rev was amazed he’d managed to jump so far.

I guess adrenaline and good Union augmentation can do wonders.

But it was too late to help Yancey.

“They got away,” he said, coming back out of the trees. He was limping heavily.

“You OK?” Rev asked.

“Damn round got through. But I can ski.”

Rev stared at where the two soldiers had disappeared. He wondered how long it would be until they reported their position if it hadn’t been already done.

“I think you’re going to have to,” he said. “We’ve got to get out of here. Let’s get our skis.”

Bulling through the roof had caused most of the cave to collapse. They had to dig into the fallen snow to find their skis and poles. But that wasn’t all Rev wanted. While Yancey and Gupta snapped into their bindings, Rev went back.

“Right there,” he said.

Even with Pashu dead, it only took only a few sweeps of his right hand before he uncovered Tomiko. The blood on her belly had frozen, and now it was dusted by snow. She looked like a statue.

Rev reached under her overwhites for her utility belt and pulled out her zombie stick. He couldn’t suppress the shudder that overtook him. Zombie sticks might be the difference between death and resurrection, but the average grunt had an almost superstitious aversion to touching them.

Still, he knew what he had to do, something he should have done immediately when she died. He pulled the cap, twisted the charging nob five times, and put the tip up against her throat. The small display came to life and guided his aim to the right by a centimeter, where he centered over her carotid.

“I hope this works, Miko,” he said as he triggered the stick.

There was a puff as the zombie juice was injected into her artery, then a surge as the propellant forced the juice up into her brain. The injection light turned green, and a timer started counting up. Rev put the zombie stick back on her belt, as per regulations. Of course, the delay meant that the timer was off.

“How long has she been dead?”

<Forty-five minutes, twenty seconds.>

That means there’re nine hours and fifteen minutes left where you’ve still got a hope of resurrection, Miko.

“Run a timer from her time of death. Ten hours. Input it into my optical cortex, not my display.”

<Roger.>

A moment later, the timer appeared as if it was floating just in the corner of his vision. It seemed to be ticking too quickly.

Rev stared at her for a long moment before he picked her up and carried her to his skis.

Yancey gave him the raised eyebrows.

“I’m out of power. I can use hers,” Rev said, feeling like the lowest person in the world.

It was true, though. Tomiko didn’t need what she had anymore, and he needed it. Leaving that power here would be strategically criminal, and he couldn’t justify it. Besides—

Rev cut off the train of thought. He didn’t want to actually come out and say it. Or think it. He couldn’t admit that emotions were at play here, even to himself.

Rev pulled out his jack and connected to Tomiko’s.

“Go ahead,” he told Punch.

<Power is being transferred.>

Rev closed his eyes. He knew this was the right thing to do.

So, why do I feel like such a shit?”

With a sigh, he tried to move Pashu. There was a slight hesitation, then she moved with a few fits and starts. It was working. His envirosheath should have power to keep him warm now, too.

With that confirmed, he snapped into his skis and then picked Tomiko’s body back up and across his shoulders. Her body was stiffening, whether from rigor mortis or the cold, but it was still pliable enough, even in her armor, to settle around him.

On a class trip to the provincial art museum what seemed like decades ago, Rev had been mesmerized by an Old Earth oil painting from the 18th Century. A hunter was emerging from the woods to join his group, a deer carried across his shoulders. He hadn’t thought about that painting for years, but now the image was coming back strong. Tomiko was the deer, and he was the hunter.

He didn’t like the analogy, but the imagery seemed to be stuck in his mind.

“Can’t you just pull the powerpack?” Gupta asked.

“No,” Rev said. “Different packs.”

Which wasn’t entirely true. An IBHU and regular Marine’s powerpacks were different. The IBHU Marine’s was bigger and could store more power. But he could use the smaller pack if he had to. The connector was the same.

“Let’s get out of here. Gupta, you’re on point,” he said.

“Where do I go?”

Good question.

Rev tried to pull up his map on his face shield, and to his relief, it appeared. Something like this took almost no power, and there might have been enough residual energy to bring it up even before he started vampiring Tomiko’s powerpack.

He took a few moments to study it. In a way, it didn’t matter. Marines and soldiers were scattered everywhere. The goal now was just to get away from this spot and find someplace else.

Almost at random, he picked a location and fed Gupta the coordinates.

Rev never looked back at the battle site as they skied off into the trees.

* * *

Four hours, fourteen minutes, nine seconds.

Time was ticking down. The limit for resurrection was not set in stone, so Tomiko might have a little more . . . or a little less. But it didn’t really matter. There was no Union Navy shuttle taking them up to a ship where they could prep her.

Part of him was still angry at having even considered giving in to the MDS soldiers at their snow cave. Their attempt to flank them was a pretty good indication that the offer was bullshit. But still, in the back of his mind, Rev wondered if he’d done the right thing. Was there even a possibility that it was on the up-and-up?

Doesn’t matter, Reverent. What’s done is done, he told himself for the twentieth time.

He shifted Tomiko’s weight. She was definitely stiffening up, and that made carrying her more difficult as he skied. Every little shift in the snow made him correct his balance, and her weight was throwing him off.

Something else was throwing him off, too, but from a mental standpoint. Something was not quite right, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He stopped their movement several times, just to listen, but nothing materialized. Still, there was something that seemed wrong.

Other than the fact that Tomiko was dead with time running out for a chance at resurrection. Other than the fact that Yancey was struggling with his leg. Other than the fact that his power was depleting, they were surrounded by MDS soldiers, and twice over the last hour, they’d heard the sounds of fighting.

Other than those little things.

Come on Reverent. Things are for shit. Of course, you’re on edge.

But no matter how many times he said that, he couldn’t convince himself that all was well.

They skied down a gentle slope toward a rocky outcrop. From there, the slope got steeper as it led to the coordinates Rev had picked. They’d essentially circled around the RP, putting distance between them and their old snow cave without getting too much farther from the potential pickup point.

Rev had given a low chuckle when he realized that. He hadn’t intentionally done that, but maybe his subconscious had. Anything to improve Tomiko’s chances, even if it was just from a thousandth percent to a hundredth percent.

As they reached the outcrop, Rev’s spidey-sense tingled again.

“Gupta! Bend around this thing and stop.”

He gave him a puzzled look but did as ordered. Rev waited until all three of them were around the three big rocks.

“My nerves have been on edge, as if we’re being watched. You feel anything?”

Gupta and Yancey exchanged measured looks, and Rev could almost hear them ask each other if their vaunted leader had gone off the deep end.

They shook their heads no.

“It’s probably nothing, but here’s what we’re going to do. Gupta, I want you to take off your skis and stash them, then get yourself a firing position somewhere in these rocks and where you can see our trail. Yance and I are going to continue on, over to . . . see that big tree down there, the one with the top half broken off?”

Both Marines nodded.

“We’ll go down to that and wait for thirty minutes. If there’s nothing, then get back on your skis and join us.”

Gupta’s eyes widened ever-so-slightly and without the excitement he usually revealed after getting a mission. Rev didn’t blame him. He was telling him that he had to sit alone in the middle of who knew how many MDS troops roaming about and trying to search them out.

Rev still wasn’t sure if the captain’s orders to split up what was left of the company was a good idea or not, and yet here he was splitting their little unit up himself.

He asked Yancey, “You up for taking point?”

His friend nodded.

“Then let’s do it.”

Rev waited until Gupta started climbing into the rocks, then motioned for Yancey to start down. He’d intended to try and move his skis enough to simulate two skiers following Yancey’s tracks, but with Tomiko’s body on his shoulders, he quickly realized that was beyond him. He just stayed in the tracks and hoped for the best.

They reached the bottom of the slope. The other tree remnants blocked their view of the big broken one, but with their augments, both knew where they were going.

Less than a minute later, the familiar whizzing of an M-49 reached them. Both Marines stopped and looked behind them where only the tops of the three rocks were visible.

It was one volley, and then nothing. Silence greeted them.

“What do you think?” Rev asked as they craned their heads to peer up the hill.

“I think you were right.”

“But about—”

A single shot rang out, the report echoing down to them. Rev looked over to Yancey in alarm.

What the hell did I just do?

Rev let Tomiko down, then motioned for Yancey to take cover.

“What’s my power level now?”

<Five-point-six percent.>

“That’s it? That’s all I got from Miko?”

<She was already down before you started vampiring her.”

Hell. Maybe four shots. Five if I’m lucky.

After a long, stressful minute, someone appeared, following their tracks.

Damn.

Rev stepped out from cover, and Gupta slowed to a stop in front of him.

“This isn’t the big-ass tree,” he said as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

“We heard you firing.”

“Yeah. Should we continue?” he asked, pointing ahead.

Rev rolled his eyes. “Don’t you think you should tell us what the hell just happened?”

Gupta couldn’t hold it in any longer and broke out laughing. “You were right, Staff,” he said when he regained control. “That asshole was tracking us. But he wasn’t looking up, the idiot. So, I dropped him.”

“And the other shot?”

He pulled out a snub-nosed .40-caliber Boris-Lee. “He had some sort of comm gear on his helmet. I thought I should take care of that.”

Gupta stood there, one hand on his hip and looking for all the galaxy like the proverbial cat who ate the canary.

“You think you’re hot shit right now, don’t you?” Rev asked.

“Yeah, I kinda do.”

Rev snorted. “Well, you are hot shit, Gupta. Damn!”

“Yeah,” Yancey said.

Gupta beamed with pride.

“But that’s over. Now, we’ve got to find somewhere to hole up. So, hot shit, if you can get back on point?”

“Sure thing, Staff,” he said as he skied past him.

* * *

Rev watched as the timer counted down, wishing he had a way to slow time’s inevitable progression.

He felt oddly detached, almost emotionless as it reached zero, then started counting back up, the digits turning to red. He’d known this would happen, and he was prepared for its inevitability, but somehow, it still didn’t seem real.

Sorry, Miko. I tried. I really tried.

He stopped for a moment, straightening his back and just staring off at nothing. He should feel something more right now, but his mind was just numb.

“You OK, Rev?” Yancey asked, skiing up beside him.

Rev didn’t answer for a moment but then shifted Tomiko’s body trying to get a better position.

“I’m fine. Let’s keep going.”

* * *

Rev paused to catch his breath. Tomiko was getting heavy, and holding her up was cramping his right arm. His back was getting worse, which pissed him off. Pashu massed a lot more than Tomiko did, and he’d handled his IBHU for a couple of weeks now without this much of a problem.

“Why is she so heavy?” he muttered.

Punch chose to respond. <She isn’t. Your back and chest have been designed for your IBHU’s weight and distribution. Now, you are carrying Miko’s weight along with that of her armor on your shoulders. The harness system can’t distribute her weight as efficiently.>

Rev frowned. That didn’t make much sense to him. Weight was weight, right? But he couldn’t argue with the fact that despite his augments, he was getting to the end of his limits.

Yancey skied up beside him. He cleared his throat, then paused before clearing his throat again.

“Just say what you’re going to say, Yance.”

“It’s time, Rev. You need to put her down.”

Rev didn’t respond. He stared between the tree remnants at the sky.

“Why is it so blue? I’ve never seen anything as blue back on Safe Harbor.”

“Rev . . .”

“I mean, it’s almost turquoise. You ever see anything like it?”

“Rev! It’s been thirteen hours. Miko’s past resurrection.”

Rev said nothing.

“You’re slowing down, holding us up.”

“You two can go ahead,” Rev said, but it was almost as if someone else was speaking.

The Marine in him knew Yancey was right and that he was ignoring his duties. Not only those, but everything that made him a Marine. But somehow, he just couldn’t break the malaise that seemed to have taken over him.

“Fuck, Rev. Snap out of it! Miko was my friend, too, and I’m devastated. But would she want this?”

Rev looked at Gupta, who’d turned around and was looking at them with a worried expression.

“I’m not leaving her,” Rev said as he skied around his friend and kept going.

Yancey stood there, watching Rev ski away until, at last, he yelled out, “Wait up, Rev. We’re coming.”

The two Marines started to catch up, but while still twenty-five meters behind, automatic fire opened up. Rev felt a round hit either Pashu or Tomiko, and he immediately reacted, skiing off to the left and down a slight slope, seeking cover in the trees.

The rounds had hit before the sounds reached him, so the enemy had to be some distance away. They would close in, though, so Rev had to put some distance in between them. He tried to increase his speed, weaving through the trees, when he hit a rough patch. He tried to overcorrect, but with Tomiko’s body on his shoulder, he was off-balance, and he fell, crashed face-first into a tree trunk, and bounced off into the snow.

Rev lay there stunned for a moment, pretty close to the end of his rope. He struggled to a sitting position, looking for Yancey and Gupta, but they were nowhere in sight.

“I’d laugh if I had the energy, Miko,” he said, putting his organic hand on her body, which was on its side in the snow.

It would be so easy just to lay back beside her and wait for sleep to overtake him. He’d heard that freezing was actually quite peaceful.

“Fuck it, no.” Giving up wasn’t in his DNA. He got up, and with a struggle, managed to get Tomiko back on his shoulders. Yancey and Gupta couldn’t be far, and he’d just have to find them. That was all.

* * *

“Heron Three, this is TF-Sixty-two.”

What the . . . Rev wondered as he slowed to a stop.

With the MDS jamming, Rev had almost forgotten that he even had comms.

“Heron Three, do you read me?”

But it wasn’t his normal comms. The voice was coming from the small Heg communicator attached to the outside of his helmet, and then realization hit him like a hammer.

“This is Heron Three. I’m Heron Three!” he shouted after dropping Tomiko’s body and manually keying in the communicator.

“Thank the Mother. We’ve not been able to reach anyone else. Brigadier-chef Nakano, you have to inform the Persie—”

“I’m Staff Sergeant Reverent Pelletier, Union Marines. Nakano’s dead. I’ve got his communicator.”

There was a pause, then a “Noted. You’re the only one we’ve been able to reach. We’re coming in for a hot extract. You’ve got to be ready for an immediate embark. Can you do that?”

“Uh . . . yeah,” Rev said, the shock of the message throwing more formalized comms procedures out of the window. “I think so.”

“We’ll be landing at LZ Copper. We need you to have all hands at that location in seventy-two minutes. Can you do that?”

Rev pulled up his map. LZ Copper was almost twenty kilometers away, closer to their old objective.

Why the hell didn’t they give us more warning?

“Uh . . . that’s a negative. We need you to pick us up at 842990-267432. We can’t get to the other location in time, and we don’t know the enemy situation there.”

There was a long pause.

“Come on, come on,” Rev said, looking up as if he could see a shuttle coming in.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, the voice on the other end came back. “That’s affirmative, Heron Three. The Fantôme will land at the provided coordinates.”

The voice lost a little of its formality. “Look, the situation up here is . . . not secure. Ground time will be short. You’ve got to get your people loaded as fast as possible. You understand?”

“You don’t have orbital control?” Rev asked.

Rev thought for a moment that the voice wasn’t going to respond, but then he said, “No. We’ve conducted a feint, and the corsair crew volunteered to slip in behind that and extract you. They’ve already got bad guys on their tail, so when I tell you there’s no time, I mean it. If they delay too long, everyone’s going to be lost. They have to get on the ground and back off in minimal time. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

And he did. Anyone who couldn’t get on the Fantôme was going to be left behind.

“May the Mother guide you. Task Force, out.”

“Give me another timer. Seventy . . . make it seventy minutes flat.”

A small timer popped up above Tomiko’s.

Got to send the signal, and fast!

Rev pulled out the bright magenta flare from his cargo pocket. The blue sky of an hour ago was already fading, and he thanked the captain’s foresight in picking this color for the signal. The color could be easily seen in the bright sunlight, dusk, or the dead of night.

Hopefully, any surviving Marines would see it and converge on the RP.

The flare was idiotproof, using a design that had survived the millennia. He whipped the cap off the flare, placed it on the bottom. Holding it was a little problematic without power to Pashu, but he could manually fold the IBHU’s fingers around the tube with his right hand well enough to hold it.

Hurry up, Reverent, he told himself as he slapped the bottom of the tube with his right hand.

In his haste, encumbered by his cold-weather gear, and with Pashu’s less than nimble fingers, the flare tube tilted as he hit it, and the flare itself took off almost on the horizontal. As Rev watched in shock, it bounced off and shot over to another tree trunk. Bright magenta lights lit up the forest . . . but not the sky.

“FUCK!” Rev screamed in a mixture of rage and frustration. Rage at himself for being such an idiot.

He stepped back to get a better view of the sky, praying that someone else had seen the flare and was sending off their own. Ten seconds, twenty, then thirty—no flare. His fellow Marines didn’t know to proceed to the RP.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he said. “What the hell am I going to do now?”

<Check Miko.>

Rev lunged back to where he’d dropped her body. For reasons he never thought out, he’d never shucked her armor.

“Please let her be one of them.”

Not everyone had a flare. The captain had the company pool them, then he’d passed them out to spread load the flares to ensure that if and when he wanted the Marines to collect at the RP, there would be enough coverage for everyone to see.

Tomiko was a squad leader, so . . .

Tomiko’s body was stiff, her flesh with the waxy consistency that preceded flesh freezing solid. Rev turned her over to get access to her left thigh pack.

“Please be there,” Rev muttered.

But other than a Blue Rabbit milk chocolate bar that she must have been saving, the pack was empty.

Rev flipped her stiff body over again, staring for a moment at her other thigh pack.

By the Mother, let it be there.

He closed his eyes as he reached in, his fingers touching something hard. His heart gave a lurch as he pulled it out, then it fell as he saw it was her Optisight. With a grimace, he tossed it aside.

Once more, he reached in, and after pushing farther, his fingers hit some resistance. Something hard. Carefully, he wrapped his fingers around it and pulled it out.

Emergency Flare. Magenta. PMCM-20054893M. One each.

He brought it to his chest, closed his eyes again, and said, “Thank you.”

He couldn’t screw this one up. Rev sat, put the flare in his lap, and took off his right glove. With no power, this was going to start bleeding off his body temperature quicker, but if all went well, it wasn’t going to matter.

Rev looked around, trying to spot a clearer spot, free from the trees, where he could fire the flare. There was a spot behind him, but an image of him stumbling and somehow setting the flare off gave him pause. With two twists of his boots, he popped free of his bindings.

He carefully grabbed the flare with his right hand, then stood. Holding it like a Fifteenth-Century Ming vase, he made his way to the clearing. Then he wondered how he was going to set it off. Trying to hit it against Pashu was another disaster waiting to happen. His hand was already getting cold, and the slightest slip as the base hit Pashu’s hard surface could seriously affect where it went.

But not everything on him was that hard. His armor was flexible until it was hit, and his filthy overwhites covered that. Rev sat back down in the snow, then considered where to strike before settling on his thigh. That gave the best surface and angle for him to hit.

Rev’s hand wasn’t going to be getting any warmer, and time was ticking. He had to do this now. He squeezed the tube between his knees and took off the cap. After reversing the tube, he slipped the cap back on, hoping that it wouldn’t go off and shoot straight now into the ground.

Now armed, he took a firm hold of it with his right hand. Like a sniper before the shot, he took three deep breaths, then let the last one half out and held it.

Let this work.

With a firm downward thrust of his arm, he hit the base on the meaty part of this thigh. The rocket whooshed past his nose before climbing a beautiful 150 meters into the air before exploding into a huge, magenta star.

“We did it, Miko!” he shouted, jumping to his feet. He stared as he danced a clumsy jig, spinning around like a drunk.

But did anyone else see it? He stopped mid-spin and scanned the skies. Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Nothing, and the joy he felt started to wash away, and he thought he was going to throw up.

He’d just about lost hope when through the trees to his left, another magenta star appeared, then a few moments later, one to his right. He counted three within his view. Hopefully, there were more.

But he couldn’t stand there and enjoy the view. The clock was ticking.

Rev threw the empty tube on the ground and ran back to Tomiko. There was no question about what he had to do. He wasn’t going to leave her body on the planet, waiting for a negotiated recovery. She was coming home with him.

Somehow, in the rush to fire the flare, he’d lost his gauntlet, and he didn’t have time to search for it. He donned his skis again, and with a bit of trouble, got Tomiko’s body up on his shoulders.

The last of the flares started to fade away as Rev started for the RP.

* * *

Less than two hundred meters away, Yancey skied in from Rev’s left and up to meet him.

“Did you fire the flare?”

“A Heg Fantôme is on its way, but it’s coming in hot with boogies on its ass. We’ve got fifty-nine minutes to get there, or we’re being left behind.”

Yancey gave the blank look of someone communicating with his battle buddy or studying his display. “Fifty-nine? That’s going to be tight.”

“So, no time to chitchat. Let’s go. But where’s Gupta?”

“I thought he was with you,” Yancey said, looking around as if he expected him to pop out and say hi.

“I haven’t seen him since we were hit.”

“He’ll have seen your flare. He knows what to do.”

If he’s alive.

Rev’s heart told him to try and find him, but Yancey was right. If he saw the flare and was able, he’d be heading there now.

“Let’s go. I’m not leaving Miko, though. You can go ahead if you want.”

“I told you before I’m not leaving you. ’Sides, with this leg, I’ll probably be slowing you down.”

“Then we’d better move out, Yance.”

Yancey moved to the front, and if his leg was slowing him down, Rev sure couldn’t tell. But he was grateful that his friend was there, breaking the trail.

Firing sounded to their right, maybe five hundred meters away. If the Marines were all heading to the RP, they’d be exposed to any MDS troops in the area. After all this time and suffering, it seemed almost criminal that Marines could be dying with rescue so close.

The sounds of the fight kept going, and then another fight broke out, this one directly in front of them. Yancey didn’t falter. If anything, he sped up, his M-103 at the ready. If Marines needed help, he was there.

This fight cut off quicker, and five minutes later, the two Marines came upon three dead MDS troopers lying in the trampled snow. But it didn’t look like the Marines came out unscathed. Blood stained some ski trails.

“Follow their tracks,” Rev told Yancey.

They were moving too slowly. The time was ticking down, and Punch kept adjusting downward their expected arrival at the RP, keeping up a minute-by-minute running commentary.

“Enough already, Punch!” Rev finally snapped. “I know we’re behind. I can see the timer just fine.”

<I’m sorry. I thought it would encourage you.>

“It doesn’t, so leave off it.”

Rev knew he wasn’t being fair, but he just couldn’t deal with his AI now. His elation that the HEG were coming was being replaced with despair that they weren’t going to make it.

Twice more, the sounds of fighting reached them, so at least some Marines had seen the flares. If he and Yancey were going to be too late, he hoped at least some would get taken off this iceball of a planet. They could let others know how the Marines and corpsmen of the First Heavy Infantry Company went above and beyond.

The timer passed fifty minutes, then forty minutes, and Rev and Yancey just weren’t covering the ground quickly enough. Rev even briefly considered leaving Tomiko’s body, but with Pashu a dead weight, he didn’t think that would make much of a difference.

At least that’s what he told himself.

As far as leaving both? That didn’t even cross his mind.

But he didn’t want Yancey to suffer for him.

“Take off, Yance,” he shouted. “Get to the RP.”

Yancey didn’t even look back. “I told you. Bum leg.”

“I’m serious. Just go.”

He didn’t say a word but just kept skiing at the same pace.

Rev shook his head. He was angry. Yancey was being stupid, potentially sacrificing his life because he refused to leave him. But a small part of him was grateful.

All he could do was try to speed up, to get to the RP quicker. But he knew what mattered was how long the pilot stayed on the ground. If it really was a hot extract, then Rev didn’t have much hope.

He put his head down and tried to push his legs faster. But this wasn’t solid ground. The snow was not as responsive to his efforts.

“There they are!” a heavily accented MDS voice called out to their left.

Rev whipped his head around.

Are they talking about us?

For a moment, he thought it was someone else, but then rounds started hitting the trees around them. Then he had a brief glimpse of a figure running, angling to cut them off.

“Move it, Yance!” Rev said as a sudden burst of energy gave him wings.

If they could just get past them, their speed, even carrying Tomiko and having a wounded leg, should get them clear.

But Rev couldn’t see how many there were, nor their exact position. He was so focused on covering ground that all he had were brief flashes of soldiers as they ran and the many shouts as they tried to coordinate the chase.

Yancey started to angle away as the incoming fire increased. Without the trees, Rev knew they would have been cut down by now, but somehow, they were still going, still running.

Each stride took them farther out of their way, however. Each stride took them further from any possibility of making the extract. But they would never make the RP if they were dead.

“Any residual power, Punch? Can I get even one shot?”

<No. There’s nothing there.>

Which is what he was expecting. But he’d had to ask.

Every fifteen or twenty meters, Yancey fired toward the soldiers. Rev didn’t think he’d hit anyone, but he was reminding the troopers that they still had a bite. That might have been why the soldiers hadn’t closed in as quickly as Rev had expected.

Just keep your distance.

Rev and Yancey had been following other Marines until they’d angled off, but the Marines ahead of them had to be hearing what was happening. If they turned to help, the MDS soldiers might be in for a very rude surprise. Any second now, the Marines might open up.

But it wasn’t the Marines who fired. Ahead of them, the forest erupted into fire, and this was far heavier and more accurate. Yancey took at least one round that sent him tumbling down a small depression, and Rev took a glancing shot off of his helmet.

“Yance!” Rev shouted as he turned to follow his friend. Or tried to. Top heavy, the attempt knocked him off balance, and he rolled down after Yancey, losing Tomiko’s body in the process.

Rev landed in a heap, one ski already off. He twisted toward Yancey, but his fellow staff sergeant, cursing a blue streak, was crawling up the front side of the depression. He reached the crest and started firing measure shots ahead.

Yancey wasn’t the only one cursing. Rev cursed his own stupidity. The other soldiers hadn’t been holding back because of Yancey firing. They’d been herding the two Marines into a blocking force. The only reason he and Yancey were still alive was because someone tripped the ambush too early. Thirty more seconds and both of them would have been cut down.

This was just one more piece of evidence that they weren’t facing frontline troops. Which made it worse. The fact that they were going to buy the farm from these rejects was an insult.

Rejects, maybe, but they sure the heck just had their way with you, Reverent.

Rev shook that off. What was done was done. What mattered was what they could do now. From the way he was limiting his shots, Yancey had to be running low on ammo.

“TF Sixty-two, this is Heron Three.”

Almost immediately, the sailor on the other side came back, “Heron Three, go.”

“What’s our ride’s ETA?”

“At their present course, just under twenty minutes.”

Crap. Too long.

Where a moment ago Rev was hoping that the Fantôme would take longer, now he was hoping it would arrive sooner. He wasn’t sure about the air-to-ground weaponry on a Fantôme, but it did have impulse engines. A low pass over the MDS—a really low pass—with the engine nozzles oriented down, and that could result in fried troopers.

Rev didn’t think the two of them would be around that long. But it was the only thing he could think of. He might as well forge ahead.

“Do you have our telltales?” he asked.

“Telltales? Your friend or foe emitters? Yes. Wait one . . .”

No. I can’t wait!

“Come ba—”

But the voice was already back. “Delta-four—”

“Stop!”

If the MDS knew about this covered freq and could listen in, then they could have all their soldiers switch their own telltales.

“That’s the right one. Uh . . . we’re in a bad spot right now, and we could use some support. When the Fantôme gets into the troposphere, can you have them paint us on their sensors? If we’re still here, we could use an impulse blast to clear the area.”

Rev closed his eyes. What he’d said now sounded like so much inarticulate garbage, and how could they even know which signals were Yancey and him?

“Uh . . . we’ll be the two Marines about seven hundred meters at one-five-five from the LZ. No, three Marines,” he added.

Tomiko’s telltale should still be able to be activated by the Fantôme’s seeker beam.

“Wait one.”

What? “Wait one?”

Rev leaned back in the snow. Rounds were impacting the ground just beyond them. If he got a hair up his butt and stood, his fight would be over. Suddenly, he had an urge to reach up with his right hand to see what would happen.

“That’s right, Mad Dog. You lost,” Yancey said, which broke Rev’s weird compulsion.

The voice came back. “I’ve got something better. Our Fantôme has got five angels. I can vector one into your pos for a single pass. ETA in just over four minutes. Will that do?”

“Hell yeah!” Rev yelled, causing Yancey to look back in concern.

“Vectoring now, Heron Three. May the Mother be with you.”

Rev was at a loss. Why would it be still twenty minutes for the Fantôme, yet only four for this “angel?” He wasn’t going to argue, though, as hope flooded through him.

“Yance, we’ve got to hold out for four more minutes. We’ll get some sort of Heg support?”

“Four minutes? Gonna be close, Rev. Real close.”

Yancey fired another shot. A single shot, not a volley.

“How many rounds you got?” Rev asked.

“Twelve.”

Only twelve? That’s not going to answer the mail.

“Nothing else? You’ve got nothing?”

“No more 93s, but two frag grenades and my M-30.”

“You’ve got a 30?”

A handgun wasn’t the best weapon given the circumstances, but it was better than nothing.

“Two clips, too. But the bastards are still a little out of range, and I don’t know if my peashooter can penetrate their armor.”

“How far are they?”

“Lead ones? Fifty meters.”

Yancey suddenly aimed and fired again, this time saying, “Shit. Missed the sucker.”

“I can throw a frag fifty meters,” Rev said.

“Yeah. I guess so. I probably can, too. Reach into my right thigh pocket.”

The overwhites had a slot to access the pockets. Rev reached in and pulled out the two grenades. He hesitated a moment, then reached for Yancey’s holster and took out the M-30 as well.

“Where should I throw the first grenade?” he asked.

“Wait. There’re two of the assholes behind a log to our eleven o’clock. They’re waiting for a chance to move forward. As soon as they move, I’ll tell you.”

A round zinged off the top of Yancey’s helmet, and he instinctively ducked.

“They’re zeroing in on me.” He immediately popped back up and fired another round.

“Can’t give up the high ground.”

Which Rev knew meant Yancey couldn’t afford to stay down and out of the direct line of fire. By exposing himself, he was able to keep the entire assaulting force in view. Anytime someone rushed forward, he could take them under fire. If he stayed down too long, a soldier would realize it and do the same thing, ready to shoot either of them the moment they tried to engage.

It was a deadly game of chicken, one Yancey couldn’t win in the long run.

<Two minutes until support,> Punch said, even though Rev hadn’t told him to keep track. It was something he’d missed, and his battle buddy had taken the initiative.

“Two more minutes, Yance,” Rev said.

“I don’t think they’re going to give us that. They’re getting ready. I can feel it in my bones.”

If Yancey felt that, Rev was going to accept it. He got his feet under him, ready to throw the first grenade.

“If this is it, Rev, I couldn’t have hoped for a better way to go out and with a better Marine at my side.”

Rev wasn’t going to bullshit Yancey with some ooh-rah speech, saying that they would assuredly get through this. All he said was “Likewise.”

There was a long pregnant pause, then “Now, Rev!”

Rev rose, arm cocked. To his front, just under fifty yards away, two soldiers were charging. Behind them, another dozen were closing in from farther out. The air came alive with rounds buzzing like hornets past them. He put all of his strength in the throw, and the grenade arched beautifully, a perfect pass, then came down between the two soldiers . . . who were evidently no fools.

They spotted the grenade and dove to each side. Two seconds later, it exploded, sending up a small geyser of snow. It didn’t look like either was touched, though.

“You slowed them up, at least,” Yancey said.

Rev dropped back down. He grabbed the second grenade as Yancey fired twice more.

“I think I got one just as he was standing.”

There was a sharp crack, and Yancey’s face shield exploded. He tumbled back down, and his body slid in the snow the last meter.

Rev reached for Yancey’s leg, but his friend wasn’t dead. He hit his helmet release and pulled it off, then took a moment to look at the shattered face shield. His face was a bloody mess.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said, wiping his overwhites’ sleeve over his, turning the dirty grey a bright crimson.

He pushed back up the berm, and Rev joined him with the M-30. Five of the soldiers were within thirty meters, firing as they ran—which was probably the only thing that kept the two Marines alive. Instead of keeping a base of fire that could deliver well-aimed rounds, the entire dozen or so were charging forward. Not only did the five in the front block most of the fire from those behind, but running in the heavy snow, even with their yeti striders, made aiming difficult.

That wasn’t a problem with the two Marines. They deliberately aimed at the front troopers and hit their targets. One went prone after Rev hit him with the handgun, but he was still in the game.

Two were dropped when Yancey said, “I’m out,” and picked up the last grenade and tossed it. The explosion knocked one of the soldiers to his knees, where he struggled to get back up.

With four of the lead soldiers down, the ones behind now had clearer fields of fire, and they started opening up.

Rev emptied the magazine, and in a moment of frustration, he screamed and threw the handgun at the nearest soldier, now only fifteen meters away. The soldier ducked to the side when the entire area in front of the two Marines erupted in utter destruction, frozen remnants of trees shattering into millions of pieces, clouds of pulverized snow reaching up, and a dozen soldiers simply disappearing. One moment they were there, the next, they were just gone, as if they’d been sucked through a dimensional warp.

All except for the lead soldier who stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around.

“Holy shit!” Yancey said in an awed voice.

The clouds of snow started to drift back down, revealing the devastation. The MDS bodies were still there. It was just that they weren’t bodies anymore. They were splotches, their blood and mangled body parts taking on a dark hue as the daylight began to fade.

There was a crack overhead, causing the soldier to dive to the ground, and a few seconds later, a Union Marine Shrike fighter flashed by in a blur. Rev might be mistaken, it happened so quickly, but he thought the pilot wagged the fighter as it streaked by.

“Our angel,” Rev muttered.

“Heron Three, are you still with me?”

“Affirmative. And thanks for the angel. Uh . . . can he make another run? We’ve got other Marines who might need help, too.”

“That’s a negative, Heron Three. Angel-Four never decelerated in order to make that pass. She has to sling around the planet to slow down now. The rest of the extract team is still inbound. And, looking at your position, I think you need to move it. The Fantôme won’t be able to hang around.”

“Roger, and thanks.”

“Thank Angel-Three. You guys owe her a beer.”

The soldier raised his head out of the snow, taking in the devastation. He was still a threat. He was armed, and neither Marine had any rounds left.

“We’ve got another pass coming. Unless you want to join your buddies, you’d better run.”

The soldier froze, and his hand crept to the rifle he’d dropped at his side.

“Now!” Rev shouted, putting every ounce of authority he could into the command.

The soldier didn’t hesitate. He jumped up and started running, never looking back.

Yancey stood up and mimed shooting the fleeing soldier in the back with his fingers, then took a moment to stare at the ruined landscape.

“That was fucking awesome. Who the hell was that?”

“Marine Shrike, coming in hot.”

“I think we owe him a drink.”

“Her a drink.”

“Him, her, it, I sure don’t care. They’re getting a drink.”

“Not unless we get off this planet. Come on, get moving.”

That seemed to snap Yancey back to the here and now. He grabbed his skis while Rev retrieved the one that came off and snapped back into the binding. Yancey climbed out of the depression, and Rev struggled to hoist Tomiko’s body back to his shoulders and then get out of the depression as well. His skis were sliding, and it was a struggle before he was standing next to his friend.

Yancey gave Tomiko’s body a measured stare, but he didn’t say a word before he started off. Rev was glad for that. They couldn’t afford to argue right now.

He sidestepped into Yancey’s tracks and followed.

* * *

The Fantôme jumped into the air and accelerated away.

“No!” Yancey said, his face red with cold and frozen blood, snotsicles hanging from the scraggly mustache that had grown since they landed.

Rev pulled up beside him, his chest heaving as he sucked in the bitter air. He’d expected this, and he knew they were in deep shit, but for the moment, exhaustion ruled his emotions.

“We were just over a hundred meters away. A hundred!” Yancey said.

“Heron-Three, you there?”

“What happened?”

“They had to leave. Bogies inbound, ETA at your pos in seventy seconds. They stayed for as long as they could.”

“And there’s no one else?”

“Sorry, there’s no one. May the Mother watch over you mon ami,”

Balancing Tomiko’s body on his shoulder, he reached around and turned off the Hégémonie communicator. None of this was the fault of the voice on the other side, and Rev didn’t want his sympathy at the moment.

“Let’s keep going, Yancey.”

“Why? It’s over.”

“We might not be the only ones left behind.”

“Does that even matter?”

“We’re still Marines, Yance. Of course, it matters.”

It looked like his friend tried to scowl, but maybe it was just too cold for that. He broke off the snotsicles and slowly started skiing again.

Rev watched him for a moment. After raising the energy to get Yancey going again, he was about done, physically and emotionally. He tried to raise his warrior, hoping to eke out a tiny bit of adrenaline, but his warrior was hiding deep where he couldn’t be summoned. With a sigh, Rev followed Yancey.

The last hundred and twenty meters took almost four minutes, but finally, they entered the RP. It looked like it had been hit by a bomb. Several sets of ski trails led into it from the surrounding forest, but in the center, most of the snow was gone, all the way down to solid earth. Some of the closest tree trunks were even smoking, which had to be a feat.

“Any closer, and we’d have been smoked,” Yancey said.

Craft like the Hégémonie Fantôme generally were careful during liftoffs, limiting their exhaust. With the MDS Navy on the way, the Fantôme pilot had gone to full emergency liftoff, and this was the result.

Yancey was right. If they’d been too much closer, they’d have been cooked. As it was, the only reason they were unscathed had to be because of the ruins of the forest that had stood between them and the RP.

“What now, Rev?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m sitting. We can wait here to see if anyone else comes.”

He let Tomiko’s body slide off as he took a seat in a partially melted snowbank just inside the trees. A moment later, Yancey sat beside him.

“Damn, I wish I kept my helmet,” Yancey said, putting his gloved hands over his ears.

“It was pretty messed up. Not much protection left.”

“Might have kept my ears warmer. I think they’re frozen stiff.”

“Don’t break them off,” Rev said.

Yancey snorted. “Thanks for that platoon sergeant knowledge.”

The two sat side by side, each lost in their thoughts, until Yancey said, “This really doesn’t answer my question. What now?”

Rev knew exactly what the real question was. When the MDS came, what were they going to do? They had no ammo, Rev was out of power and Yancey would be out within another day. They really didn’t have much of a choice. The real question was if they were the only two or if there were more Marines left behind.

Rev didn’t want to come out and say they were going to surrender, so he wimped out. “We’ll take things as they come,” was the best he could do at the moment. Anything else would just hurt too much.

He just stared at the RP, where the snow melted when the Fantôme took off was already starting to freeze again. After a couple more minutes of silence, Yancey asked, “Did you ever think that the old man would be one of the last two of us standing?”

Rev hadn’t thought of that. Of their original posse, Krissy had been killed when the Gharial was destroyed. Orpheus and Tomiko had died here on Tahiti. Cricket and Udo were out and living a domestic life in Swansea. Same with Ten. He and Yancey would be taken prisoner, forbidden to ever put on the uniform again—that was unless they froze to death before the MDS arrived.

That would leave Bundy, the oldest of them by far, and Fyr, as the last in uniform.

“Not in a million years.”

“He deserves it, though. Good man.”

“Yeah, good man,” Rev agreed.

Yancey looked over at Tomiko’s body. “Sorry about Miko. I know you two really had something going.”

Rev shrugged. He really hadn’t come to terms with her death yet. It still didn’t feel real.

“The only question was why it took you two so long.”

“What do you mean?”

Yancey rolled his eyes. “Come on, man. It was obvious from the beginning that she had a thing for you. And you for her, too. Your eyes would always light up when you saw her. We all could see it.

“But then you had to do whatever you were doing with Mala. Good girl. Hot as shit, too. But she wasn’t Miko.”

Rev turned to look at her. He raised his right hand and placed it on her shoulder. She didn’t even look real anymore, like a poorly made mannequin.

“You know, I never said I loved her.”

“That’s ’cause you’re an idiot. No offense. I am, too. My love life has hardly been something to emulate.”

“That’s the understatement of the year,” Rev said, and Yancey started laughing.

“You mean the part about you being an idiot or my love life?”

“Both, of course,” which set them both off.

Somewhere, the dam that was holding back everything that had happened over the last three weeks broke, and their release was laughter. Each time it started to die down, one would start again, and that would set off the other.

If there were any soldiers in the immediate area, the laughter was now a beacon for them to come collect the two Marines. Not tactical, and not in keeping with Marine Corps SOP. But they couldn’t stop on their own.

The sound of an aircraft coming in over the trees finally did the trick, though.

Rev swallowed and said, “I guess this is it. Might as well stand and face them.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of, Rev. We did the Corps proud.”

Maybe true, but Rev didn’t feel that way.

He watched through the trees as the shape approached, resigned to his future. He knew that life was to be cherished, but part of him just wanted to lie down beside Tomiko and join her in an icy sleep. He hadn’t cherished her enough in life, at least by his actions. Maybe it would be better in death.

The aircraft was coming in quickly, and Rev could see the exhaust kicking up the snow under the trees on the other side of the RP. He turned to Yancey and pulled him down, putting his armor between the craft and his friend’s unprotected head. Any aircraft that could go into space had the potential to unleash nasty exhaust that could mess up human flesh, and if they were going to be prisoners, it would only make it worse to do it with brain damage.

He could feel the blast as the aircraft flared in and landed.

“Hurry up!” an amplified woman’s voice yelled. “Now!”

Rev turned, and his jaw dropped. That wasn’t some MDS craft coming to collect him. It was a Union Marine Corps Shrike fighter. The small compartment under the fuselage was opening, and in through the canopy, Rev could see a pilot gesturing frantically to them.

“What’s going—”

“Go, Yance!” Rev yelled as he lunged for Tomiko’s body.

Yancey saw the Shrike, but instead of running for it, he grabbed Tomiko’s legs, and together, they started running and sliding to the fighter. The snow and mud, which had first melted, then started to refreeze and had now melted again, made their progress unsteady and slow, but Rev’s warrior had surged to the forefront again, pushing adrenaline into every cell of his body.

The pilot was screaming at them to hurry, and even with Yancey helping, Rev fell twice. Without his friend, Rev didn’t think he would have made it. But somehow, they reached the open cargo hold. The two threw Tomiko’s body inside, then Yancey cupped his hands for Rev.

He could have argued, saying Yancey should go first, but that might have spelled doom. From the urgency in the pilot’s voice, something bad was almost there. He put one foot into Yancey’s hands and let him help throw Rev forward and into the tiny space. He tried to turn around to help his friend in, but it was too tight.

“Hang on,” Yancey yelled as he grabbed Rev’s legs just as the fighter started to lift. Rev couldn’t use Pashu, and his right arm was cramping, but he locked it through a support strut as the Shrike rotated, now forty meters off the ground.

Yancey struggled to get in, each kick threatening to tear Rev’s grip free, but he bore down, refusing to let go.

The cargo hatch continued to close, and in the end, that helped push Yancey those last few centimeters. The pilot didn’t wait for the hatch to completely seal. She let loose the fighter’s powerplant, ripping Rev’s arm free and sending Rev, Yancey, and Tomiko’s body crashing against the hatch.

Rev started doing his Anti-G Straining Maneuver, struggling to remain conscious in the unbearable G’s. Yancey wasn’t moving, his face slack. His foot was high, and as the hatch continued to close, Rev thought the foot might be caught. He didn’t know if the hatch would cut off his foot or if it might even keep the hatch from closing. If the latter, then when the fighter entered space, Yancey would die of the vacuum.

Rev had spots in front of his eyes, and he knew he was about to pass out. But with a final loud grunt, he grabbed Yancey’s knee and yanked back against the Gs, just at the hatch snicked to a close.

He was at his limit, though, and Rev almost gratefully slipped into the embrace of the darkness.

* * *

I guess we’re still alive, Rev told himself as he swam back into consciousness.

Alive, but weightless, the cramped space lit by four dim lights.

Yancey!

“Do we have air in here?” he asked as he twisted to find his friend. Yancey was still out, but he was breathing.

<Yes. This is a pressurized compartment.>

Rev looked around. There were rails of some kind along two of the walls as well as what looked like anchor points.

“I didn’t know a Shrike had compartments like this.”

<It’s a Victor model, rigged for clandestine inserts. There are normally three in every squadron.>

“Lucky for us,” Rev muttered aloud.

“You OK back there?” the pilot asked a few seconds after he said that.

“I guess so,” Rev said. “Where are we?”

“Heading back to the PUNS Gladstone. It was nip and tuck there for a bit, but we broke through. Splashed one of the bastards doing it, too.”

“Why . . . uh . . . who are you? I mean, I thought everyone had taken off.”

“Lieutenant (JG) Samantha Krochek. I’m the one who gave you the dust off. And who are you?”

“Staff Sergeant Pelletier. But the Heg on the comms said you were going too fast for another run, ma’am.”

“What? Oh, yeah, for another gun run, sure. But the Heg controller said you hadn’t made it as I slung around the rock, and since the Mad Dogs were off chasing the Fantôme and escorts, I kinda snuck in behind them for the pickup.

“Not sneaky enough, I guess. They spotted me and sent six Rippons to express their displeasure at my audacity.”

“Six?”

“Five after I was through with them. The Sweet Pea has a bite, don’t you know.”

“The Fantôme, did it get back to the ship?” Rev asked, afraid of the answer.

“Free and clear of the pursuers. It should be docking with the Baux-de-Provence in less than an hour. What about the other two with you? Are they OK?”

“I don’t know about Staff Sergeant del Rio. He’s breathing, though.”

“And the other one? The Marine you two were carrying?”

“She was already dead, ma’am.”

“Already, as in you were carrying a dead Marine into the extract?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Rev got the distinct impression that she wasn’t overly pleased with that. And he understood. She was risking her life for the pickup, and instead of just bolting for the fighter, they were slowed while carrying Tomiko’s body.

He felt a twinge of guilt.

But the pilot didn’t say anything more about it. Instead, she said, “Well, sorry the accommodations aren’t five-star, and we’ve got a bit of a flight until we reach the Gladstone. There’s a water tube on the port side, but that’s about it. I suggest you just relax and enjoy the ride while I bring us in.”

“Yes, ma’am. And any ride off that piece of crap of a planet is five-star.”

There was a chuckle, then “I guess it would be.”

“And ma’am?”

“You don’t need all that Marine ma’am stuff, Staff Sergeant. But what?”

“Thank you. I can’t . . . I mean—”

“Just part of the job. You rest now, OK?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Rev looked for the water tube, but in weightlessness, he didn’t know what was port and what was starboard, what was up and what was down. But he spotted it, and that oriented him.

Being a Union fighter, the nipple was compatible with his, and he filled his reservoir. His envirosheath had been recycling his water, and while it was pure, Marines always filled up with fresh when they could—even if this was probably recycled water as well.

“How long have we been aboard this thing?”

<Just over twenty-five minutes.>

“That’s it? We’re in orbit already, and she said she shot down a Rippon?”

He looked at the timer—both of them. Tomiko’s was passing fifteen hours, and the other one had reached zero and was now at fifty-six minutes and counting.

Maybe it hadn’t been that long.

“Do you know how long we’ll be here?”

<No. I have no way of telling. You can ask the pilot how long it will be until we reach the ship.>

“Nah. We’ll get there when we get there.”

Rev reached down and pulled Yancey forward, looking deeper into his friend’s face. Skin was beginning to flake from his face, but in zero G, it was drifting off. The main thing was that his breathing was strong and steady.

“You’re a tough bastard, Yance.”

He unhooked a strap from the bulkhead and ran it around Yancey. Not tight, but just enough to keep him in place.

Then he paused, just staring at nothing. But he couldn’t put it off. He twisted the best he could with Yancey there and just grabbed Tomiko’s short hair. He pulled her up, intending to strap her in place as well.

But something changed his mind. As Tomiko’s face reached his, he stopped her and just looked.

In all the holovids, they say people are peaceful in death, but Tomiko’s face was anything but that. It was twisted in a grimace, and Rev wondered what had been going through her mind. She’d been seemingly unconscious, but she sure looked now that she’d been in pain at the end.

Oh, Miko, I’m so sorry.

He pulled her in an embrace as if he could ease that pain somehow, and something broke loose in him. He’d been in denial. Not intellectually—he knew she was dead—but emotionally. And now, holding her body, the reality hit him. Tomiko was dead, and she wasn’t coming back.

The tears began to flow, then the sobs started wracking his body. Each shudder sent him bouncing up against one wall of the small compartment or the other. Without power, he couldn’t open his face shield, and the tears merged with others until globules of salty water were splashing against his face and bouncing off. He could take the helmet off, but he didn’t want to let go of her. In a minute, in an hour—sometime soon, they’d dock with the ship, and sailors would take her away from him. So, for the moment, he just wanted to stretch this out for as long as he could.

Faintly, oh so faintly, gentle music brushed his auditory cortex as if it were real, and for a second, Rev wanted to snap at Punch and put him to sleep. This was not a time for manipulation, but just before he did that, he realized that the music was beautiful, and in his heart, he knew Punch was just trying to help.

Sooner than expected, although he couldn’t tell how long it had been, gravity took hold, and Rev and Tomiko had a down direction. The tears fell and soaked into his collar. A few minutes later, the fighter settled with a gentle thump.

Almost immediately, the hatch opened, and sailors reached in.

“You can let her go,” a voice said with authority.

Rev released Tomiko, and two sailors pulled her from the bay, put her on a gurney, and whisked her away.

Rev scrambled out and said, “I need to go with her.”

A medical officer put a hand on his chest and said, “You can’t go with her. You need to be given a full medical check before anything else.”

“But, I want to—”

“Sorry, son, but you’re going to sickbay now. I’ll make it an order if I have to.”

Yancey was pulled out, and he was coming to, blinking in the hangar’s lights. “Rev! We made it!” he said as he realized they were in a ship surrounded by Union sailors.

It seemed like a dozen of the sailors were corpsmen, all intent on getting the two Marines in medichairs and out of the hangar. Rev caught one last glimpse of Tomiko’s body as her gurney disappeared through a door before he and Yancey were hustled off to sickbay.

24

Rev frowned as he looked in the mirror and fastened the top button of his uniform. He looked as bad as he felt.

The trip back to Safe Harbor was something of a blur. First, he and Yancey had gone through a full medical check. Yancey had a severely frost-bitten nose and ears, but other than that, the two were in surprisingly good shape. Rev had tried to go to the ship’s morgue, but he was told, in no uncertain terms, that he wasn’t authorized admittance.

Stymied, he’d gone back to the galley where Yancey was waiting, where he rather loudly bitched about “Navy regulations.” A chief came up and challenged him, but when Rev told him why he was pissed, the chief took pity on him and slipped Rev a small, illicit bottle of Helken Rye. Helken had a well-deserved reputation as being rotgut, but it was alcoholic, and that was what mattered.

Rev and Yancey retired to the ship’s troop quarters and made quick use of its mind-numbing properties. They’d barely started sobering up when the eighteen Marines who’d made the pick-up at the RP cross-decked from the Hégémonie ship, where booze was allowed, and they brought over plenty of it with them.

No one from the Union Navy interfered as the Marines toasted their fallen and then remained in various stages of stupor until they were unloaded at the Anastasia spaceport late last night, back on Safe Harbor soil.

<You can still take a Sober Up,> Punch reminded him for the third or fourth time—Rev couldn’t remember.

“I told you, no.”

Rev didn’t want to feel good this morning. It just seemed wrong, and he thought it was better if he suffered, even just a little. He knew it was stupid, but that wasn’t going to change his mind.

Their day wasn’t going to be a good one as they went through their debriefs and hot washes. Without comms for most of their time, the brass wanted to know what happened. Losing so many of the company had sent shocks up the chain of command.

But the captain had managed to hold off the beast for something that no one could interfere in: the final call ceremony. The staff that was assembled to dissect what happened had to wait until the survivors sent off their fallen comrades.

Yancey stepped into the room, walked up behind him, and put his hands on Rev’s shoulders. “Let’s go send them off.”

Rev looked at Yancey’s reflection. He looked about as bad as Rev did, but with the added bandages around his ears and nose. Even his cheeks were tinged with white from frostbite. At least the ship’s surgeon said they wouldn’t turn black like his nose and ears would if those weren’t coming off in surgery after the first round of debriefs.

“Yeah. Let’s do it.”

The company area was like a ghost town. Normally, before a formation, it would be packed with Marines as they left for the quad, jostling and giving each other shit. Now, only a few Marines were in the passage. That was a sobering reminder of how many were lost.

Weapons Platoon, who had made it off the planet first and had been back at the base since then, had already formed up along with four Marines who had not deployed for one reason or the other.

No one had discussed it beforehand, but the eighteen surviving Second and Third Platoon enlisted Marines formed a single platoon, but not in any semblance of rank or former unit. How could they? There were no squads left intact.

The twenty-one Marines coalesced into three ranks with Lieutenant Nilson—who, to Rev’s happy but shocked surprise, had made it out of the hills—taking her place in front of the formation. Ten of the Marines were walking wounded. Božič-Mizaki wasn’t even that. A corpsman brought her up in a medichair, and she took her place in the last rank.

Rev was aware of the battalion staff in the background, but this was going to be a First Heavy Infantry Company evolution. Anyone else was just a spectator.

Once they were in position, Captain Macek marched from the side and took over the formation. “Company First Sergeant, sound the roll call.”

Gunny Grimes, the Weapons Platoon sergeant, was now the senior enlisted in the company and acting first sergeant. He coughed twice, clearing his voice.

“Aband, Natalia.”

There was no answer.

“Aband, Natalia.”

The silence weighed heavy over the company. Aband was a member of First Platoon, which was lost that first day when their Fantôme was shot down.

“Lance Corporal Aband,” the gunny said, his voice raised.

In a much more subdued voice, he said, “Lance Corporal Natalia Aband, Killed in Action, January 6, 3835, Tahiti.”

Aband was the first of many. Slowly, the gunny went through the company roster, all of those he called out KIA until, “Božič-Mizaki, Jean.”

“Here!”

There was an audible sigh of relief. Everyone knew that she was alive. She was sitting in the medicare in the formation. But after so many Marines not answering the roll call, it was a mental release to finally hear that word.

It wasn’t to last, though. After Božič-Mizaki, there were several more missing Marines before “Černý, Hussein.”

“Here, Gunny!”

He and Rev had shared a bottle of Hégémonie wine on the way back to Safe Harbor. The Marine always said he was too much of an asshole to die, and so far, he’d proven himself right.

Several more Marines’ names were called, then, “del Mar, Marie.”

Rev closed his eyes. She was the first IBHU Marine whose name was called out.

“del Mar, Marie.”

Then “Lance Corporal del Mar.”

And finally, “Lance Corporal Marie del Mar, Killed in Action, January 13, 3835, Tahiti.”

They all hurt, but that one hurt more. The lance corporal had been killed covering Hochenspatter in the dash to the RP to get on the evacuation bird. Rev had probably heard the shot that killed her.

Immediately following her was Sergeant Diaz, the second IBHU Marine not to answer the roll call.

She wasn’t the last. The gunny continued down the list, one name after the other. Ten minutes, twenty minutes. Only a few answered: Strap, Gupta, Knopf, Lehman. The Weapons Platoon Marines.

Lomax made Rev wince, the image of her execution burned into his memory, something he knew he’d never forget.

As the names continued, Rev began to feel lightheaded, and he started to get tunnel vision.

“Pelletier, Reverent.”

The voice sounded like it was coming from a million miles away.

“Pelletier, you’re standing right here in formation.”

Crap. Get a hold of yourself.

“Here,” he croaked out.

“Pendergast.”

Rev took three deep breaths, trying to force his dizziness away.

Don’t pass out. Not now. Don’t do that to her.

<Your blood pressure is dropping.>

“Give me anything, Punch. Don’t let me pass out.”

Rev could feel the drug burn as his medinanos released it into his bloodstream. Marines said that the creators of the Sober Up made it burn on purpose as punishment for overdrinking.

It wasn’t his drinking aboard the ship that had him woozy, but the drug still worked. His sight returned to normal, and his breathing slowed down. The apprehension of what was coming was almost overwhelming, but at least he wasn’t going to collapse.

“Randigold, Etheral.”

“Here!”

“Reams, Levante.”

“Here, Gunny!”

This is it.

“Reiser, Tomiko.”

The gunny paused a moment, then said, “Staff Sergeant Reiser is medically excused.”

“Whuh . . .?”

“Renislov, Ivan.”

Wait. What was that?

Rev started to fall, and he took one step back to catch his balance.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?” he screamed, interrupting the gunny.

The ceremony screeched to a halt as all eyes rotated to him.

“Staff Sergeant Pell-” the gunny started.

“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST SAY RIGHT NOW?”

Rev turned to Yancey next to him, who seemed just as shocked as he was.

“Did you hear that? What does he mean?”

Lieutenant Nilson left her place and started toward him. “Staff Sergeant Pelletier, what’s wrong with you?”

He looked at her, and in an almost childlike voice, said, “Gunny Grimes, he said . . . he said that Miko was medically excused. But she’s dead. I know she’s dead. I was there.”

The lieutenant stopped, a puzzled look on her face. “Yeah, she was killed. But she’s in resurrection protocols. You don’t know that?”

Rev’s brain was exploding. Nothing made sense. Tomiko had been dead for at least eighteen or nineteen hours before she reached the ship. People just weren’t resurrected after that long. But still, the words lit a spark, a hope, and in the tempest of his mind, he was going to grasp any life ring.

With an inarticulate shout, Rev bolted from the formation, and with Yancey right behind him, charged to the base clinic.

* * *

“Tomiko Reiser,” Rev shouted at the charge nurse.

She frowned at the disheveled and out-of-breath pair of Marines. Staff Sergeant Reiser? Yes, she’s here, at least for another few hours before she’s moved to the revival ward at Anastasia.”

Rev bolted around the desk, ignoring the nurse’s “Hey, you can’t go back there!”

With Yancey at his side, they burst through the door and into the small, four-bed ward. Two beds were occupied.

Rev glanced at the first bed where PFC Tomlinson, a Second Platoon Marine, was hooked up to a myriad of tubes. His attention was on the second bed.

The nameplate at the foot of the bed said, “Reiser, Tomiko,” but the body was completely covered with white bandages like an Egyptian mummy, tubes disappearing under them. A display was over the bed, with numbers and lines that had no meaning to him. There was nothing of Tomiko that he could see—nothing at all, and he suddenly thought that this had to be some elaborate hoax.

Behind him, the nurse and two large corpsmen burst in.

Rev turned, and with tears running down his cheeks, asked, “Is that really Miko?”

The anger faded from the nurse’s eyes, and she softened her voice. “Yes, that’s Staff Sergeant Reiser.”

“Is she . . . is she . . . alive?”

The nurse motioned for the two corpsmen to back up.

“Not technically, no.”

Rev’s heart fell. It had been too good to be true.

“Not yet, at least. But her body’s stabilized, and once she gets to the revival ward, they’ll see about bringing her back.”

Rev’s emotions were on a roller coaster. She wasn’t alive now, but she might be after she got to the naval hospital in Anastasia?

He tried to marshal his thoughts, to make sure he asked the right question.

“OK, please answer this. When she gets to Anastasia, will the doctors there be able to resurrect her?”

“No one knows for sure. Resurrection isn’t an exact science. Even in this case, for example. From her records, she should be beyond what is normally considered the limit for resurrection. But being in extremely low temperatures, that gave her a chance.”

Rev now vaguely remembered something about that, but there was still that one big question.

“But will she come back? Will she live?”

“Like I just told you, we don’t know for sure. But from the readings here, I’ll go out on a limb. Yes, I think she’ll make it.”

Rev stared at the nurse as what she said sunk in, then his eyes rolled up into the back of his head as he passed out cold.

25

This was old-home time for Rev. He’d spent weeks in this hospital after he’d lost his arm on Alafia. He had some good memories and some not so good, but in some ways, it was like he’d never left.

But he had never been to Ward Q, the revival ward. He stood outside the doors for a moment, straightening out his uniform, before pushing inside.

“Can I help you?” the nurse manning the station asked.

“I’m Staff Sergeant Pelletier. I’m here to see Staff Sergeant Reiser. It’s for a command visit.”

Which wasn’t exactly true. But after three days of the mess that was the debrief, he’d had enough, and he’d essentially given an ultimatum. Let him go to Anastasia to see Tomiko, or he was going UA. Major Liege had intervened and assigned Rev as the command rep so he’d have an excuse to go.

“Room Q-114, down on your left,” the nurse said. “She’s not conscious, though.”

That was a gut blow, one he hadn’t expected.

“When will she be? I was told the resurrection was going well.”

“It is. But we keep our resurrectees in an induced coma for the first week or even two. And with Staff Sergeant Reiser . . . well, don’t be alarmed.”

Which, of course, alarmed him.

“Why, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Well, not nothing, Staff Sergeant. But Reiser’s suspended, like we do for burn victims.”

“She wasn’t burned,” Rev said, confused.

“No, but she suffered from third-degree frostbite. Frozen skin.”

“Is she going to be OK?” Rev asked, suddenly concerned.

The nurse smiled. “She was dead. Now she’s not. I wouldn’t be too concerned about frostbite. I think we can handle that. We debride her twice a day. Painful, and another reason why she’s being kept in a coma, but all within normal protocol. It’s just that patients being treated as she is can present a startling appearance to visitors at first.”

Rev’s excitement at seeing Tomiko now bordered on apprehension, but he thanked the nurse and started around the station.

“Oh, and your friends are there now,” she said as he entered the ward proper.

Friends? What friends?

Rev read off the room numbers until he reached Q-114. He took another deep breath and opened the door.

“Rev!” Neesy said, jumping to her feet and rushing for a hug. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Over his sister’s shoulder, he saw Harry Brose and Lenten Knowles from the VGW, both with their red Military Order of the Cootie hats on.

“I didn’t expect to see you, either,” he said. “Why are you here?”

“Taking my shift. When you told us about Miko, and then that you were stuck back at Nguyen, we thought she didn’t need to be alone if she woke up. And these guys . . .”

They broke their hug, and Rev went to shake the two men’s hands. Rev wasn’t a cootie, the Veterans of Galactic Wars’ associate organization where one of their duties was to visit active duty and veterans in need. They proudly were a “drinking organization with a social good problem.”

“Good to see you, Rev,” Harry said in a somber voice. “Heard it was rough over there. And then Miko here . . .”

Rev turned to the bed and gasped.

When the nurse had said “suspended,” she’d meant it. There were bright metal bolts sticking out of Tomiko’s shoulders, hips, and ankles that were attached to a frame that kept her suspended about twenty centimeters over some sort of pad with blue and white lights.

More shocking was the fact that she looked like one of those anatomy charts where the skin is removed to reveal all the musculature. But Tomiko was missing her nose, ears, and maybe more.

Rev took a step toward her, then stopped dead in his tracks, afraid that he could inadvertently hurt her somehow.

<This is normal, Rev. She is suspended to assist in both the debridement process and to prepare the base for skin grafts. The blue light is from an irradiation pad and is an indicator that the electrostatic field is working.>

“Electrostatic field?”

<Without her epidermis, she is highly susceptible to infection. The field both stimulates cell growth as well as keeps her isolated from any possible vector of infection.>

“It’s a little shocking at first,” Neesy said, intertwining her arm with Rev’s social arm. “But you get used to it. And it protects her from infection.”

Punch just told me that.

“And it means we can visit. We have to leave, though, when they do the debridement. They come in HAZMAT suits for that, to protect her. They won’t let us in until they turn on those blue lights again.”

Harry said, “If you’re here, Rev, I think we’ll take off. Someone will come by tomorrow.”

“That’s a long way for you to come all the way from Swansea. You don’t have to do that.”

“That’s what cooties do. You should think about joining.”

“I will. Think about it, I mean. Not much free time now, you know, what with the Mad Dogs.”

“Of course. I mean after you get out.”

The two shook hands with Rev again, then left, leaving Rev and Neesy alone.

“It’s good to see you, Rev. When we heard . . . was it really that bad?”

Rev looked at Tomiko. She looked horrible, and his heart ached when he thought about what she was going to be going through over the next year or even longer.

But she was alive. That trumped everything.

Rev had lost friends before. Orpheus had been killed on the mission, and his death had left a hole in his heart. But Tomiko was different. They’d both sworn to treat each other the same as any other Marine, and Rev thought he’d be able to do that.

He wasn’t able, though. He knew that now. Tomiko wasn’t just any other Marine.

They’d have to come to grips with that, he knew. They had a reprieve, even if it was one brought about for the worst of reasons. But in another year or two, when Tomiko was ready to resume her duties—Mother be willing—they were going to have to make some decisions.

But that was all in the future. For now, he just had to accept the miracle that Tomiko was alive.

* * *

“Hey, Rev!”

Rev opened his eyes, then wiped the saliva that had dripped out of the corner of his mouth.

“I’m awake!”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Yancey said.

Rev yawned, took his feet off the small table he’d pulled over, and sat up. “Well, maybe I nodded off.”

“Understandable. How is she?” Hussein asked. “She sure looks a lot different.”

Tomiko was still suspended, but now her grafts were taking, and shiny pink skin covered over at least ninety percent of her body. Once the grafts covered a hundred percent, she’d be taken down from her suspension.

Rev gave his head a shake to rattle out the cobwebs, then said, “The numbers are good. Looks like she’ll make it. With the time lag before starting the protocols, though, they don’t know how much she’ll recover.”

“She’s strong, Rev. I’m sure she’ll do fine,” Yancey said.

“Is she still coming out of the coma?” Hussein asked.

“They’ve already started the process. But it isn’t exact. She probably won’t be conscious until tomorrow at the earliest.”

“Are they going to let you stay until she comes around?” Yancey asked.

Rev shrugged. If she wasn’t awake by Monday morning, then he was going to try and get permission to stay, but who knew what the brass would say? They were still neck-deep in writing the after-action report.

The last two weeks had been rather intense. All of the recoverable recordings had been downloaded, and every minute was being analyzed. There were no accusations, per se, but the general atmosphere seemed to be tilted in that direction. Rumor even had it that Captain Macek was going to be relieved.

Rev had been able to make it to the hospital twice by being the command rep, and it was only that the initial interviews had been completed that he was able to spend the weekend here. But they still had their duties, and Monday was a regular training day.

“Any word on the skipper?”

“Still in command. I think the brass knows they might have a problem with us if they try and make him a scapegoat,” Yancey said.

“Damn right they will,” Rev said with more emotion than he’d intended.

“Did you hear about the Mad Dogs?” Hussein asked with the tone of a true gossip.

“What? Did they surrender and beg to come back into the CofH? Because unless that’s it, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Not quite, but you’ll like this. You know when they killed Lomax?”

Rev scowled. He said he didn’t want to hear anything about the MDS, and he really didn’t want to relive Lomax’s execution.

“Well, the Mad Dogs sent us a message.”

“A message? What, they just, you know, called the barracks?”

“No. I mean an official message. Used the Children of Angels, too, to convey it.”

“Oh, this is just getting better. Mad Dogs and Angel Shits. My two favorite groups.”

“They said that they’ve arrested the soldiers who did that.”

“What?”

“Yeah. They said they were unaware that some of their soldiers, which they made sure to say were not their frontline troops, broke the Torinth Accords.”

“I should say they did. Not that the command was unaware, I mean. Just that they broke the Accords.”

“Yeah, we know it’s bullshit. But they’ve arrested the soldiers and are giving them court-martials. And the prosecution is asking for the death penalty.”

“Those guys are fucked,” Yancey added.

“They deserve it. But why . . . oh, I get it. We’ve got the recordings. This is preemptive—plausible deniability and all of that.”

“Still . . .”

“So, we should praise them for doing the right thing? I guarantee you that if none of us had made it off the planet, they wouldn’t be court-martialing anyone. Sorry, no way. Look at Miko there. And what about Orpho and all the rest? Forgive me if I don’t kiss their ass like you’re doing.”

Hussein flinched. “I didn’t mean anything like that, and I’m not kissing their asses. I was just, you know . . .”

Seeing Hussein’s reaction, Rev realized his anger was misplaced.

“Shit, Hus-man. Sorry. That wasn’t fair. I’ve just been letting all of this crap simmer and stew. You’re right, and I’m glad you told me. I’m even glad those assholes are getting court-martialed. At least this way, the public gets to see what kind of people Mad Dogs are.”

“It’s OK, Rev. You’re under a lot,” Hussein said, looking over at Tomiko. “It’ll be better when she wakes up.”

“That will be a relief, yeah. I just hope she’s, you know, all there. You know, Cricket and Udu visited during the week. Even brought little Leo.”

“Leo? How did he look?” Yancey asked.

Rev looked around as if to make sure Cricket hadn’t returned and was standing behind him, lowered his voice, and said, “I’ll deny it if you ever repeat it, but that’s one ugly baby!”

Yancey broke out laughing. “Well, Cricket’s no runway model, either.”

“Cricket? He’s the short guy with the tall wife?” Hussein asked.

“Yeah. You’ve met him at Lateeka’s before,” Yancey said.

“Seemed like a good guy to me.”

“Great guy. Udu, too. But you’ve got to admit, he isn’t the best-looking guy around.”

Hussein just shrugged.

Rev’s stomach chose that moment to loudly rumble.

“Hell, Rev. When’s the last time you ate?” Yancey asked.

“I had a dog on the maglev.”

“You need to get some food in you, and I don’t mean from some hospital vending machine. Why don’t you take off and get something?”

“I can’t. What if Miko wakes up while I’m gone?”

“You said it would be tomorrow at the earliest. And we’re here. If anything happens, we’ll call you.”

“But—”

“But nothing. You were asleep when we came in. Your stomach is growling. If you don’t take care of yourself, you’re going to collapse, and then where will you be when she wakes up?”

Rev didn’t want to go, but what Yancey was saying made its own kind of sense, and he had to admit, he was starving. And the vending machine outside the ward had a very limited choice.

<You really should eat.>

“So, you’re ganging up on me, too?”

<Just stating the obvious.>

“And you might want to take a shower, too. You don’t want to shock the poor girl’s olfactory senses when she wakes.”

“He means you stink,” Hussein said.

“Yeah, I get that.”

Rev didn’t think he was that bad, but it would be nice to get cleaned up. After three weeks in his armor on Tahiti, he mentally still felt a little grimy. And he was hungry.

“I think I’ll take you up on that. But if she even stirs, you call me, OK?”

“Scout’s honor.”

Rev took one last look at Tomiko.

“My sleeping beauty,” he whispered before he slipped out of the room.

* * *

With the sonic shower set to ten, it felt like his skin was peeling away. He wished he could shoot his brain with it and peel away the memories of the last month.

“Switch to hydro,” he ordered, and the warm water washed over him.

Rev hadn’t left the hospital but eaten in the cafeteria, dialing up a burger and tots, then getting a second one. He didn’t know when he’d get another chance if Tomiko started coming back tomorrow.

As he wasn’t a patient, he couldn’t very well use a shower in one of the wards, but the hospital had a small gym. The locker room was deserted, giving Rev free rein.

He was glad he’d taken Yancey and Hussein up on their offer. Alternating between sonic and hydro had given him a burst of energy, and combined with the food in his belly, he was beginning to feel human again.

But all good things must come to an end, and when two doctors returned from a run, Rev ceded the shower stall to them and returned to where he’d left his clothes.

His pad was flashing, and Rev’s heart faltered. He linked it to his earbud and keyed the message.

“Rev, get back here now. She’s starting to wake up.”

Rev threw on his clothes and bolted from the gym, ignoring the elevator and bounding up the stairs, five steps at a time. He almost bowled over a nurse as he emerged on the fourth deck, shouting out an apology over his shoulder as he sprinted down the passage.

The nurse at the station looked up angrily as he burst through the doors, slamming them open, but when she saw who it was, she motioned back to the ward.

He ran down to Tomiko’s room but then stopped at the door, suddenly afraid to go in. He could see four medical personnel in their isolation suits crowding around her bed.

“Is she OK? Is something going wrong?”

If something was going wrong, he knew he had to be in there. He pushed open the door and entered. Yancey and Hussein were in the back corner of the room. Yancey tried to wave him over, but Rev instead approached the medical staff.

“Is everything OK?” he asked.

One of the people turned around—Doctor Cho, he saw from the nametag, one of the doctors who’d been treating her.

“Ah, Staff Sergeant. Yes, everything’s OK. She’s just coming out of her coma a little earlier than expected. Nothing to worry about.”

Rev’s knees almost buckled in relief.

“Would you like to see?” the doctor asked.

Rev nodded.

“Stay behind the red line, but you can watch. It shouldn’t be long now.”

There was a red line on the ground outlining her bed. Only those personnel in isolation suits could cross that line.

Rev tentatively stepped forward, stopping just short of the line, his eyes locked on Tomiko. He could see that something was different. She was lightly twitching, and she seemed to mumble something that Rev couldn’t catch. The twitches sent her body gently rocking in her harness.

“I’ve got a thirty-nine AGY,” one of them said as they monitored the displays on the other side of Tomiko’s bed. “Won’t be long now.”

Tomiko suddenly let out a low moan, and Rev felt another surge of concern, and his protection instinct dialed up to full mode.

“Can I hold her hand?” he blurted out, not knowing what else he could do.

“Sorry, Staff Sergeant,” one of the others said. “You’re not sterile.”

“Wait,” Doctor Chu said. “She’s at ninety-one percent skin coverage, and seeing a friendly face always helps the transition. Let’s see what we can do.”

“That’s not protocol, Grant, for this kind of skin loss. You know that,” another man said, this one a full Navy captain.

“Screw protocol. The chances of an infection at this stage are small, and I would say the risk is worth the proven benefit of a friendly face. Right, Lena?”

Say yes. Please say yes!

“It’s your call on the medical side. I’m just here for the transition. But yes, if this Marine is someone special to her, then his presence would help.”

“He doesn’t have to hold her hand to be present,” the captain said, and Rev was getting a distinct dislike for the man.

His warrior started to surface, and Rev had to force him back down.

“Look, sir. We glove him up, then keep the rest of him outside the field. No risk.”

The captain seemed to think about it for a long moment while Rev was on pins and needles. He wasn’t quite sure why he was so wrapped up in this. Tomiko probably wouldn’t even notice when she came to. He’d already been warned that it would probably take some time before she became cognizant of what was going on around her.

“Ah, what the hell. Do it. Like you said, the risk is minimal at this stage.”

Rev barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief before a corpsman put him in a glove that reached well past his right elbow, sprayed it with a solution, then sat him down on a chair Doctor Chu had placed just outside the line.

“Do not let anything other than your arm pass into the field. Most of all, don’t let your breath pass inside. I’ll let you know if you’re getting too close.”

“And whatever you do, don’t tell her she died. That’s for me to explain,” the one Doctor Chu had asked her opinion said.

Rev nodded his understanding, mouthed a thank you to Doctor Chu, then let the corpsman guide his hand to Tomiko’s.

The instant his hand touched Tomiko’s, her eyes opened.

“She’s awake,” the tech on the displays said.

Her mouth opened as if she was about to say something, and her eyebrows scrunched in the way they always did when she was confused.

Rev gave her hand a light squeeze, and slowly she turned her head to him. Her eyes were blank, as if there were nothing behind them, and Rev’s apprehension came back full force.

“Do you know who I am, Miko?”

The psychologist had been moving up to her head, but when Rev asked that, she paused as if waiting to hear Tomiko’s response.

Tomiko’s mouth worked again, but nothing came out, and her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion again. She swallowed, then in an almost silent croak, managed to eke out, “Of course, Rev. Why wouldn’t I?”

26

“Still a little loose,” Rev told Daryll.

“I don’t think there’s much more we can do without cutting,” the tech said. “And with what’s going on, I don’t think anyone’s going to authorize that at the moment.”

“What was going on” was that the MDS and their allies were in a period of heightened activity. “Cutting” referred to surgery to tighten up Rev’s IBHU’s harnesses and supporting connections.

Ever since Tahiti, Pashu felt just a bit off. All of her systems worked, but there was just a little give in her movements. He wished that she felt tighter, but not enough to want to undergo surgery again, so he was OK with waiting.

“Are the Mad Dogs really gonna try sumptin?” Pierson asked from where he was waiting his turn. “I thought they were losing.”

Rev resisted rolling his eyes. The lance corporal was a monster in a fight, but in the barracks, he was about dumb as a rock. Rev hadn’t served with him since the invasion of Safe Harbor, but with Second Heavy Infantry Company and what was left of First joining together, they were back in the same unit.

“They are,” Sergeant Tsao told her fellow Platinum Nova holder. “But they might try for a win to give them leverage in any negotiations, so we have to be ready.”

“OK.”

That was it. “OK.” No more questions. No more discussions. Just “OK.”

“Anything else?” Daryll asked, looking at Rev expectantly.

“Oh, no. Sorry. See you in the morning.”

Tsao stepped up to Daryll, and Rev gave Pierson a pat on the back before leaving the armory. He knew he shouldn’t be so hard on the lance corporal. Even at the top levels, no one knew what the MDS was going to do. Despite the drastic losses on Tahiti, the fact of the matter was that the mission had been a success. And on both Krysys and Nextar’s World, the MDS forces had been thrown back. Nextar’s World, in particular, where the Second Heavy Infantry Company had just been deployed, had been a rout.

Pierson had been part of that, where not a single IBHU Marine had been killed, so it wasn’t surprising that his concept of the overall picture had been influenced by those results. And in a basic sense, he was right. The MDS were losing, in a general sense. But that didn’t mean they’d lost. They and their coalition were a powerful force, and some of the Intel-types seemed to think that they wanted at least one major victory for leverage, as Tsao said.

And that was why the training cycle had been increased, particularly within the battalion. First Heavy Infantry Company, with all its losses, had come close to being decommissioned and folded into Second. It had taken a lot of lobbying to keep the company intact, but that was mostly on paper. The reality was that the combat units of the battalion were now working together, with Major Liege, the Marine’s senior IBHU Marine and the battalion XO, the “task force” commander.

And merging the units like that took training time. For the last eight days, they’d been in the field, working exercises together. Everyone knew that if the MDS did decide to act somewhere, the heavy infantry would answer the call, ready or not.

Rev crossed the quad, entered the barracks, and went down to his room. Yancey stuck his head out of his quarters as Rev’s hatch opened.

“’Bout time. Some of us are heading to the club. You coming?”

“No. You go on without me.”

“What, no beer? We’ve been in the field for eight days.”

“Thought I’d go see Miko.”

“Miko? You do know we’ve got a zero-five-thirty formation, right?”

“I know. But I can get over there, see her for a couple of hours, then still get back in time to catch a few Zs.”

“Isn’t she coming here in a few days?”

“As long as everything keeps going as well as it’s doing, then yeah, four more days, and she’ll be here for rehabilitation. But we’re heading back to the field for another week, so I thought I’d better see her now.”

“Did you tell Macek?”

Rev shook his head. With the increased training tempo, Rev hadn’t been able to be sent as an official command rep, and he didn’t know if he was really authorized to go to Anastasia. So, he thought it better that he went first, then asked for permission later. Or not even ask later. What the command didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

Yancey frowned, then asked, “Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, you go to the club. I won’t be there long.”

“Are you sure? I’ll go with you if you want.”

“No, really. It’s fine.”

Yancey couldn’t hide his relief. “Well, OK. You tell her hello from me. Heck, maybe I’ll give her a call.”

“OK, that might be nice. Well, gotta get ready.”

Rev ducked into his quarters, took a shower, changed, and within twenty minutes, he was on his way to catch a train. It took him longer to reach the newly refurbished station than for the maglev to whisk him to Anastasia. The train, which had been under construction and was destroyed during the invasion, had only recently been opened, and it sure made trips between Swansea and Anastasia a breeze. The terminus was only four blocks from the Naval Hospital.

He was whistling as he strode down the passage to Ward Q. Lieutenant Kiekergard was the nurse on duty, and he smiled when Rev walked through the door.

“She’ll be happy to see you, Staff Sergeant. Go on down.”

He was right. Tomiko’s face lit up as Rev walked into her room, which warmed his heart. It wasn’t just the smile, but she looked much, much better. No more bolts suspending her above the irradiation pad. She was in a real bed now, and the grafts were beginning to take on a normal color and texture.

“Come on over here and give me a kiss, Rev.”

Rev leaned over and kissed her forehead. He was glad that the blue-lit pad was another thing of the past. Every milestone meant she was one step closer to reaching her final level of recovery. He still hoped that would be a 100% recovery, but no one could predict just where she would end up.

“I didn’t expect to see you here this evening.”

“Playing hooky.”

She raised her eyebrows at that.

“Nah, nothing like that. Just came in from the field, and we’re going back out tomorrow, so I thought I’d head on down to say hello. So, how’re you doing? How’s progress.”

She gave a half-frown. “Still woozy. I mean, I can think and all, but sometimes, it seems like my brain is . . . how can I say it? I swear . . .”

She frowned, and Rev could see her searching for the right term.

“Fuck! I can’t remember what I was fucking going to say.”

Rev winced, and Tomiko saw it.

“I’ve been saying fuck a lot lately. Sorry,” she said, mistaking why he winced.

And that made Rev laugh. “You always said that a lot.”

She started to protest, then her face relaxed, and she joined him in laughing. “Maybe so. But I’ve been using being dead as an excuse for my language, especially when the big doc comes. I think they’re buying it.”

That was more like the Tomiko Rev knew, and he felt a little more confident that she was on the mend. He’d be more concerned if she didn’t swear.

Their laughter died down, and she shifted to a more serious expression. “Rev, I . . . uh . . .”

Rev waited patiently, wondering if she’d lost her train of thought.

“Yes?”

“I . . . Yance called me before you came.”

“He said he might.”

“And he, uh, he told me what really happened on Tahiti.”

“OK?” Rev asked, wondering what she was getting at.

“He wanted to apologize.”

“For what?”

“He said he wanted to leave me behind, you know, once I went past ten hours.”

Rev felt a lump form in his throat, and he dropped his gaze to the floor.

“He was crying, you know. He said if you’d done that, I’d still be dead. But that you refused, even when it cost you a ride on the Heg shuttle.”

“He stayed with me, you know,” Rev said, still not meeting her eyes.

“Only because of guilt, he said. But he was clear. It was all you who saved my frozen ass. You just . . .”

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes for a moment. “I don’t know how to say this. The words, it’s like they’re there, but then they’re gone before I can say them. What do I want to say?”

Rev reached out and took her hand in his. “Hush. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, Rev. This sucks. I hope I get better,” she said, her voice catching.

Rev’s heart reached out. “You’ll get better. I know it.”

She opened her eyes again and looked him in the eyes. “Oh, yeah. I remember what it was. You saved me, Rev. You risked your own life to bring me back.”

“You would have done it for me.”

“But I didn’t. You did, and I . . .”

“Ssshhh. Don’t worry about it.” He paused, took a deep breath, and said, “Look, Miko. I’ve done a lot of thinking. I was so afraid when you were . . . dying. And then when you, you know. I couldn’t imagine living without you, so—”

Whatever he was about to say was cut off when the announcement blared through the hospital, “All military personnel not assigned to Munoz Naval Hospital are to report to your units immediately. I repeat, all military personnel not assigned to this hospital are to report to your units immediately.”

A moment later, Rev’s pad started buzzing with a recall alert. There was a moment of silence, and Rev gaped at Tomiko. Then the hubbub started. Voices shouted out, and someone burst from another room, their footsteps echoing down the passageway.

Rev was still holding Tomiko’s hand. “I’ve got to go,” he said, giving it a squeeze.

She seemed confused, and Rev leaned over and gave her forehead another kiss.

“You get well. I’ll be back.”

“Rev?” Tomiko asked, but he was already bolting for the door.

Something was up, and in his gut, he knew it was big.

27

Six hours and nineteen minutes after the recall sounded, Rev and the battalion were aboard the PUNS Feldspar, heading for Kinshasa. The Union planet wasn’t under attack. There had been no declaration that it was under attack. However, the vast strategic AIs on New Mars and probably on Titan had determined that there was a thirty-eight-point-three-percent chance that the planet was, in fact, the target of a major MDS push, and the Marines, with nominal and mostly representational support from several other militaries, wanted to reinforce the planet before the MDS arrived.

The information had been sketchy down at the Marine level as to how this was determined. Between organic gathering assets, communications analysis, MDS troop movements, and a host of other inputs that Rev didn’t know about, it was obvious to even a casual observer that the MDS were readying for a push—unless it was all some ruse, of course, designed to embarrass the Union and CoH.

One last push, if Intel was to be believed, to achieve a major victory before negotiating with the CoH in developing a new galactic paradigm. Which made sense to Rev, but he didn’t understand why Intel thought the target was Kinshasa and why it was just over a thirty-eight percent probability that it was the target. That didn’t seem like a big enough probability to justify the deployment.

Kinshasa wasn’t the only potential target. Six other Union planets were identified as well, and Marines and allied troops were heading to them as well. What Rev feared was that the planets were some sort of feint, designed to fix Marines on the ground and Navy ships in orbit while the real target was somewhere else.

The frosting on the cake, as far as Rev was concerned, was that MDS’s karnan troops were supposedly heading to Kinshasa, which was why the First Heavy Infantry Battalion was heading there as well. Let IBHUs fight karnans. But that seemed too pat, that when nothing was assured one way or the other, Intel thought the karnan troops were going to the planet.

As if just being on a planet would mean we’d be up against them. It’s a big planet.

“What’s Kinshasa’s population?”

<Over two billion. Do you want the exact figure as of three days ago?>

“No, that’s good enough.”

That was another thing. Kinshasa was a developed planet with a robust militia. Previously, the MDS had attacked sparsely populated planets. This was breaking the pattern.

Rev had a growing feeling that the MDS was playing them all. But no one was asking him, so all he could do was prepare for the worst and hope for the best.

“Got anything new to watch?” he asked as he got into his assigned rack for the crossing.

He’d been up all day in the field, then going to see Tomiko, getting back to base, and then rushing through the embark. He should have been exhausted, but he needed something to bring him back down from all the rush.

<Lots.>

“Don’t be a wise ass. How about a recommendation?”

<Based on your reaction to “Kangaroo Joe,” I’d suggest “In the Dark of the Day.” It’s about—>

“Run it.”

* * *

The Kinshasa Planetary Defense Force camp at Lake Eyasi had seen better days, but at least it put a roof over the heads of the Twentieth Marine Division, the First Heavy Infantry Battalion detachment, and the Frisian Sixth Brigade while the task force commander, a lieutenant general, and the planetary militia staff pulled the Marine Corps’ contingency plan for the planet out of the vaults and tried to adjust it to the present situation.

On the other side of the planet on the third continent, the Twenty-Fourth Marine Division and both a Paxus and Mezame battalion were already coordinating with the local militia, but if the MDS came, it was accepted that the main assault would be on Nyerere, the most populated continent and the center of gravity for the planet. If the MDS was trying to make a statement on Kinshasa, then they had to take Nyerere.

Rev still wasn’t convinced that the MDS were coming. They’d been on the planet now for three days, and the bulk of the MDS fleet hadn’t been located—which wasn’t that odd. By popping in and out of bubble space, they made locating them the proverbial needle in a haystack.

But he had to acknowledge that he was thinking of it from a tactical perspective. Yes, by concentrating their forces, they could make an opposed landing on the planet, even with two-plus divisions of Marines and allies and twelve divisions of Kinshasa militia there defending it. But if they committed to the planet, all the defenders had to do was to hold out until the rest of the CoH forces could redirect to the planet.

But those who lived their lives in the big picture thought that the MDS would risk a tactical disaster if they thought they could pull a rabbit out of their hats, even on a temporary basis, and score a strategic benefit—and that was to strengthen their position in a post-war galaxy.

“I’m just a dumb grunt,” Rev said to Levi Durango, an old Raider teammate who’d come over to First Heavy Infantry Company to help fill in the losses, “but all of this is too simplistic. The Mad Dogs aren’t dumb, and if there’s one thing I know, it’s that they aren’t going to do what we think they will.”

“So, what’re they going to do if you’re so smart?” Yancey asked.

“Yeah, what are they going to do?” Levi repeated. “Right now, they’ve got no leverage for anything. Wouldn’t they try something to change that?”

Rev wasn’t so sure they had no leverage. They were already trumpeting their defeat of the Union “android” Marines on Tahiti. One company, even a company formed around IBHU Marines, was hardly an overwhelming tactical triumph. They were just trying to make it seem bigger than it really was.

He thought they needed something with more meat on the bones, which is why he said, “Sure, they want a big win. I just don’t think they’re going to try and fight through the cordon in the system and land here after all the losses they’ll take. We’ve got what, almost thirty thousand Marines on the planet and a quarter million militia? They’d have to land a shitload of soldiers to do much.”

“Hmph. Have you seen the militia? Their equipment? They’re driving Cracks, for the Mother’s sake,” Yancey said.

Rev shrugged. The ‘Crack” was the M-3003 Krakovitch, a century-old medium tank. In its day, it was a serviceable vehicle. Now, it was susceptible to most infantry anti-armor weapons.

“They’d got a lot of them. And don’t sell the militia short. You heard the brief. Eight percent of them served in the Marines.”

“All that means is that there’re a lot of targets for the Mad Dogs.”

“Like I said, they’ve got a lot of them. And that, my friends, spreads out the potential targets, allowing us to close with and defeat them. If they even come.”

“I still don’t know why you think they won’t come. All the Intel thinks so.”

“And you have never seen Intel make a mistake?”

“OK, point taken,” Yancey conceded. “But still . . .”

“And then there’s this karnan thing. Of all the bits and pieces, of all the hidden stuff, suddenly we know somehow that the karnans are coming here to Kinshasa? We don’t know if this planet is a target, but we do know the karnans are on their way here?” Rev just shook his head. “Doesn’t pass the sniff test. The Mad Dogs are screwing with us.”

“Maybe they want you IBHU Marines here. It might be a feather in their caps to get you guys,” Levi said. “I mean, look at the crap they’re putting out about Tahiti.”

That was a gut punch on many levels, but Rev didn’t even try to hide rolling his eyes. He looked over to where Sergeant Missy Tolbert was on her cot, her toe tapping to some tune.

“Missy, how many of us are left?”

“Twenty-seven,” the IBHU Marine said without opening her eyes.

“So, this is some big giant trick to send however many karnans they have, three or four hundred? To get twenty-seven IBHU Marines? I don’t buy it.”

Despite the after-the-fact MDS propaganda about Tahiti, Rev hadn’t even considered that in this case. Yes, there was a germ of rationality behind Levi’s suggestion. But no. That had to be the height of egotistical arrogance to think that the MDS would go to such lengths to wipe out twenty-seven IBHU Marines. What happened on Tahiti was instigated by the Union sending the company there, not because it had been part of some MDS master plan.

“Ah, screw it. No more politics,” Yancey said. “We’ve got that cross-training with the militia special forces in half an hour. Just enough time for a couple of hands of Knock-on anyone?”

“Now, you’re talking,” Levi said, pulling a well-worn deck out of a cargo pocket.

Tolbert sat up, looking eager.

Normally, SNCOs berthed—and played—with SNCOs, but berthing was tight, and there was some mixing.

But Sibs in Steel still held true.

“Get your ass over here, Missy,” Rev said. “Let’s see if we can’t take some of that good sergeant money.”

* * *

Six days later, the expected MDS action started—but not on any of the projected planets. It was the MDS coalition’s Navy that emerged from bubble space and hit a Mezame squadron about ninety light-years from the Kinshasa system. Individually, the Mezame ships were more than the equal of the MDS ships, but they were outnumbered, and for seven hours, they played a masterful game of cat-and-mouse. Eventually, though, the numbers caught up to them, and the first ship was lost, then another shortly thereafter.

Rev and the rest of the Marines followed the space battle the best they could, given the dribs and drabs the command fed to them. It was stressful, watching the slow-motion battle unfold, knowing that each little light on the holodisplay represented from twenty to over four hundred Mezame lives. Those were real people out there, allies, who were dying.

“When are we going to do something about it?” Tsao said for at least the tenth time in the last couple of hours.

It was a question on every Marine’s mind, but one none of them had any way to influence. No one in the Marine Corps did, not even the commandant. If the Union Navy was going to respond, that was up to the Directorate.

The two Mezame ships in the Kinshasa system were not beholden to the Union Navy nor the CoH, of course, and they’d left for the battle within minutes. And four hours later, the single Paxus ship left as well. But the Union ships remained in their stations throughout the galaxy, even as the bulk of Mezame Navy converged on the battle.

“How many ships in the MDS Navy?” Rev asked Punch.

<Four hundred and nine capital ships in the MDS Navy. Approximately another hundred and six in their other allied navies.>

“And the Mezame Navy?”

<Eighty-five capital ships.>

Rev shook his head. It didn’t look good. He’d been right to doubt that the MDS would just show up and land on Kinshasa, but he wasn’t happy about it. The MDS might want a signature win, but it looked like they’d picked the Mezame Concordat as their victim, not trying for a more emphatic win against the Union.

Evidently, the CoH and/or the Union saw it the same way, or they just felt they had to stand up for their ally. Twenty minutes later, half of the ships in the Kinshasa system, along with scores of ships elsewhere in the sector, left their posts to try and save the Mezame squadron. Rev wasn’t alone as he cheered when the ships got up to speed and blinked into bubble space.

The battle, like all space battles, would take some time to come to a conclusion, but at least Union Navy was doing something. Now, if the Mezame Squadron could just hold out longer.

* * *

The first of the Union ships started blinking into real space in the vast, empty area where the battle was taking place. Their arrival didn’t go unnoticed. Doc Kingfisher, one of the Second HI Company corpsmen, had served most of his career on the blue side, and he interpreted what was happening for the gathered Marines.

The MDS ships started slowly slipping into bubble space. Not all. A rear guard of sorts had formed to slow down the arriving ships—until no fewer than twenty ships popped out of bubble space beyond them and below the galactic plane. The MDS ships were trapped between hammer and anvil. Their only escape would be through bubble space, and even that was no longer guaranteed as the ill-fated Mezame squadron had suffered.

But it was their only hope, and one by one, the MDS ships started their runs to slip into bubble space. Not before two of the ships were destroyed, to the cheers of the Marines.

“That’s it,” Yancey said. “They swung and missed.”

“Thank the Mother,” Rev said.

But something didn’t sit right with him. The MDS had destroyed five Mezame ships—a significant number, to be sure, but hardly the knockout punch that would bring them concessions over the negotiating table. They had to know that the CoH couldn’t afford to just stand by and let a twelve-ship squadron be blasted into their component atoms.

About half of the Union ships and all of the Mezame continued their pursuit of the MDS ships into bubble space, where tracking became much trickier. The other half were given orders to return back to their previous posts. Just because the MDS were sent running didn’t mean they were defeated. They still had power.

Back in the auditorium where the battalion Marines had gathered, the stress level had significantly reduced. A civilian worker brought in sandwiches, nectarlums, and Cokes.

“Listen up. We’re still on alert, so don’t get too relaxed. But get some chow, and then back to the schedule,” the master guns yelled.

“Hope there’s enough for all of us,” Yancey said as the junior Marines jostled each other to grab their food.

Rev and the other SNCOs waited until the enlisted and NCOs made it through the line before they moved up. Rev didn’t know why the sandwiches seemed so important to them. The militia’s fabricators weren’t bad at all.

Maybe it’s because homemade sandwiches are so real.

Whatever, Rev was going to enjoy his and a Coke.

Just before he reached the table, however, the base alarm started blaring. Marines stopped and looked at each other with half-eaten food in their mouths.

“This is not a drill. Kinshasa is under assault. All militia and allied forces are to move into their combat positions and await further orders. I repeat, this is not a drill. All forces move to their combat positions, may the Mother help us.”

28

The Union Marine Corps prided itself as being a light, nimble force that could quickly react to any situation. This was probably more in the Marine culture developed over the millennia than anything else.

In reality, they were as logistically and organizationally robust as any of the great armies of history. Within half an hour, the bulk of the forces were in their assigned positions while the home team, the planetary militia, was still scrambling to meet the incoming threat.

By the time the remaining Union Navy and Space Guard ships were engaging the invading enemy ships, the Marines were ready.

For the First Heavy Infantry Battalion detachment, that meant inside bunkers in the hills overlooking the capital. They wouldn’t be involved with repelling the initial assault—that would be the anti-assault artillery and mech units on the ground and Marine fighters in the air. The battalion, now disc-mounted, would be a strategic reserve, maneuvering to where they could best exploit the other forces’ successes.

In some ways, the battalion was a unit in search of a mission. The raid on Tahiti seemed tailored for the unit despite the outcome. But in a larger-scale operation, was this the right use of them?

Not everyone agreed, but Rev was fine with it. They didn’t have anywhere near the firepower of the mech units to take on assault craft, but just shoehorning them in with the regular infantry seemed like it would be a waste. With this mission, they might be able to impact the outcome. The question was if an appropriate situation would arise to which they could be the answer.

Rev looked around the bunker. The entire platoon was inside, waiting for their orders. The mood was good. Eager, even. They’d taken their lumps on Tahiti, and it was payback time. Even the new joins had the same attitude.

“Systems check,” Rev asked as they waited for the MDS assault craft to enter the atmosphere.

<All systems green. Power is at ninety-eight-point-three. Full combat load.>

“Music to my ears.”

After the last mission, Rev was a little sensitive to his combat loads. Daryll had managed to hang another magazine on their backs, bringing their 20mm load to 2,840 rounds. Better than normal, but he’d double that if he could.

“You picking up anything new from space?”

<Nothing new. The naval forces are engaged, but the balance hasn’t shifted based on what I have access to.>

Which meant the Navy and Space Guard would be attacking the troop transports while the MDS combatants would engage the Union to protect those transports. Given the immediate numbers in the system, there wasn’t much doubt that the MDS would put boots on the ground. The real question being determined above was just how many soldiers would make it down and be ready to fight.

“Have the Shrikes taken off yet?”

The Marine fighters wouldn’t take off until the MDS entered the atmosphere, so that was a good telltale to the grunts that things were coming to a head.

<No, not yet. They’re in condition 1A, though.>

Which meant pilots in the cockpit, engines hot.

<Do you know how to tell if a Marine fighter pilot is at your party?>

“At my party? Yeah, I have so many parties, especially with air wingers. But, let’s see. Uh . . . ’cause they’re in their flight suits?”

The Safe Harbor Provincial Marines only had a composite air group, and that was heavy into Buzzards with only a single, older fighter squadron. Rev hadn’t been around many wingers, but when he had seen them, they were always in their flight suits, which they seemed to wear as a badge of pride.

<No.>

“I disagree. If they showed up in a flight suit, then I’d know.”

Punch was silent. From past experiences, he knew his battle buddy could wait him out.

“OK, how would I tell if a fighter pilot was at my party?”

<Because that would be the first thing they say as they walk in the door.>

Rev laughed out loud, drawing a look of concern from Sergeant Lehman.

“What, your battle buddy never tells jokes?”

Lehman scrunched his brows together and said, “No.”

Which took Rev aback. As far as he knew, they all had the same AIs—the CCR-32 Didactic Interface. The IBHU AIs had been sent back for modifications, but Tomiko’s battle buddy, Pikachu, told her jokes, and he’d just assumed that was the same for all of them.

“Do all battle buddies tell jokes?”

<I wouldn’t know.>

“I thought you knew all of that stuff.”

<There are areas that are restricted to me.>

Rev was about to pursue that train of thought when the lieutenant called out, “The Marine fighters are airborne. Let’s button on up.”

Rev grabbed his helmet, put it over his head, and twisted it sealed. The battle was on.

* * *

“That’s it! Mount up,” the lieutenant shouted. “Orders to come.”

“You heard her,” Rev repeated. “Grab your discs and form up outside.”

There was an immediate release of tension that was palpable. They were being thrust into combat, which should raise the stress levels, but after three days of fighting, waiting for the call, it was a relief to finally know what they were going to do.

The assault had come hot and heavy, as had been expected, but the Navy and Marines had managed to inflict heavy casualties on the MDS troops in orbit and in the atmosphere as they descended. Still, well over a hundred thousand MDS soldiers had reached the planet’s surface, making the landing one of the largest in fifty years outside of the Centaur War.

And it wasn’t the only one. The MDS launched assaults on seven planets: three of the ones identified by Intel and four more that hadn’t been on anyone’s radar. This seemed to be the main assault, however.

With the MDS on the ground and the orbital monitors and gun stations destroyed, the naval battle shifted away from the planet and into the outer system, where the ships could maneuver better. That left both sides without naval gunfire support. Couple that with the fact that most of the fighter and ground assault aircraft had been shot down over the first day, and the Battle of Kinshasa had turned into a slugging match between massed ground forces.

Advantage: Perseus Union.

The Marine mech, which was the point of main effort, was holding up well against the MDS mech forces, stopping the enemy from entering the capital. Fighting was fierce, though, and smoke rose from multiple spots around the city, forming a haze that covered the region.

The MDS had far more soldiers than there were Marines, especially around the capital, and if it were only the Marines, the planet would have fallen before reinforcements could fight their way there. Like Yancey, however, the MDS probably didn’t reckon that the militia would fare so well.

This was especially true with one facet of the militia’s combat capability: the King of Battle. The militia had thousands of artillery pieces, and most had survived the MDS bombardment. They might be older, but when a 155 mm shell lands on your head, it hurts no matter the age.

The artillery wreaked havoc as the MDS mech were landing and were concentrated together, so it was a depleted force that met with the Union mech and armor. The MDS was more dispersed now as the battle progressed, but with a fierce hunger, their spotters and drones tried to isolate MDS targets that the tubes could target.

Rev and the other Third Platoon Marines had watched all of this unfold, but as spectators. And now, away from the capital, it was their turn.

The MDS infantry were not on the planet as an afterthought. With the militia artillery devastating their mech and armor, infantry was dispatched to take out the tubes. Battalions and even brigades, with attached armor for shock value, pushed through the surrounding region, hunting down the batteries to relieve the pressure on the mechs.

They clashed with Marine and militia infantry, so it wasn’t easy going, but several MDS units had achieved some success. One brigade-sized unit, especially, had seemed unstoppable, destroying an entire arty battalion before, like ants on a scorpion, the militia infantry had managed to surround it.

That was surround it, not destroy it. The brigade had managed to set up a robust defense in an amazingly short amount of time. Two militia assaults had been thrown back, and the fear was that the MDS were putting together their own breakout. This was the chance to take three thousand of the enemy out of the battle. But to do that, the command had determined that the militia infantry needed armor or mech to breach the defense.

Which was a problem. All of the mech and armor were otherwise engaged, and even if a mech company was sent, without Buzzards, it would take them far too long to get there.

Enter the First heavy Infantry Battalion.

They didn’t have the big guns of armor. They didn’t have the armor protection and firepower of mech. But they had a much bigger punch than any infantry unit on the planet.

And with their discs, they were very, very mobile.

There was a rush as Marines ran to grab their discs.

“Disc connection check.”

<Connection green. Powering up now.>

Rev grabbed his disc and floated it to his launch position, where he left it to get his Marines ready. It took a bit of yelling and a couple of shoves to get the platoon in position. He gave one last look around before he ran back to his disc and got on board.

All of the battalion’s Marines were disc qualified, and Rev felt fairly confident. It wasn’t as if they were coming down from orbit like a true disc Marine might. They were just using them to get to their assembly area.

Still, this was only Rev’s second time on a disc in combat. He’d gotten a lot better on a disc since then. But as he looked up at the trees, he felt a twinge of misgiving.

Like most terraformed planets, Kinshasa had a wealth of forests, and their bunker and “LZ” were smack-dab in the middle of one. The Marines would have to carefully climb through the trees until they could transition to level flight.

“Third Platoon, listen up,” the lieutenant passed on the net. “The assembly area’s been force-fed to you. If we get jumped or anything else on the way over, that’s also our rally point. Just get your asses there.

“Once we arrive, tie in with Second Company in a hasty defense. Don’t expect to stay there long, though. We’ll be moving out almost immediately.

“Stand by for the order to lift.”

The lieutenant switched to the P2P. “I’ll be getting our orders when we land. I’ll need you to set the defense.”

“Roger that. I’ve got it.”

“Let’s give them a little payback,” she said with more venom than he’d heard since Tahiti.

“Damn, right,” he said, but he was a little concerned. Rev wanted payback, too, but he hoped the lieutenant wasn’t letting her emotions take over. She needed to be the cool, rational one.

Rev pulled up the IBHU net. “As soon as we take off, I want you three to move to the edges of the formation. Let your squad leaders know.”

Randigold, Tsao, and Pierson, who’d come over from Second Company, acknowledged the order. With Rev and the lieutenant, that meant they had five IBHU Marines in the platoon.

Only twenty-seven of them were in the entire battalion—the entire Marine Corps, for that matter. The visions of hundreds, if not thousands of IBHU Marines had long since faded away.

Rev thought that all twenty-seven were going to be needed to achieve the breach. The IBHUs weren’t the only reason the battalion was “Heavy Infantry.” Each team had the man-packed Hellborer and a missileman with the MM-37 Mantis II, and each squad had a designated sniper with the Dykstra, but this was going to be on the shoulders of the IBHU Marines.

“It’s go time,” the lieutenant passed. “All hands, lift off. Guide on Sergeant Vestergaard. Speed is designated at forty knots.”

A disc could carry a combat-loaded Marine at close to sixty knots in level flight, but without a viable air threat, and given that most of them were not disc Marines by training, the major or OpsO had evidently determined that going a little slower, but arriving with everyone, was preferable to losing a couple of Marines in the approach.

Each disc was rated at 400 kilos. The IBHU Marines, in their PAL-HXs and full combat load, pushed that limit, as did the Marines packing the Hellborer. Rev, being larger than most, was right at the limit, something he was very conscious of as he slowly lifted through the trees. But the disc made it, while around him, the platoon formed about five meters above the highest of the treetops.

Three hundred meters away, Second Platoon appeared, and beyond them, the rest of Second HI Company and the command element. Somewhere among the Marines, the detachment commander gave the order. Rev leaned slightly forward, and his disc took off. All around him, and like a cloud of gnats, the Marines started moving.

Rev concentrated on his form. A disc in regular mode was pretty forgiving, and he didn’t think he was going to make a mistake big enough to overcome the disc’s AI and dump himself, but he didn’t want to be wavering back and forth, either.

Even without MDS fighters in the air, the Marines were exposed as they crossed the fifty-three klicks to their assembly area. They were fired upon twice as they zipped over the landscape, although by MDS or militia wasn’t ascertained. And once, Second HI Company was hit harder. Three Marines were shot down before the rest swarmed whoever was firing.

It was with a sigh of relief as they converged on a large commercial farm just to the east of an ancient volcanic cone that rose about three hundred meters above it. The complex had been destroyed, and wisps of smoke rose lazily into the air. There were twisted remains of what looked like it had been a 155 battery in the field closest to the volcano, and militia were digging in mortar positions among the ruined tubes.

The place was abuzz with activity, and from a distance, Rev could hear the intermittent boom of outgoing rounds—not enough to bring the MDS brigade to its knees, but enough to remind them of the militia’s presence.

Rev hopped off his disc the moment it landed, glad to have his feet on solid ground. Still, it had been better than skiing, and he would have given his eye teeth to have the discs on Tahiti.

“How much power left with the disc?”

<Twenty-nine percent.>

“That’s it? We used that much power?”

<You are a lot heavier than last time you used one.>

“What kind of range will that still give me?”

<Given current conditions, about forty-three to forty-five klicks.>

“Remind me to see about getting recharged somehow.”

The discs gave them superb mobility, but if they had no power, they were nothing better than giant drink coasters.

A militia Sergeant First Class came running up, shouting, “Who’s in charge here?”

“That’s me,” Rev said.

It wasn’t, but the lieutenant had other things to do. She caught Rev’s eyes, mouthed “Thank you,” and took off at a run to link up with the captain.

“We need you to move forward and tie into our defensive line. We’re a little light with that.”

A little light? Looks like you have nothing.

“Where do you want us?”

“At the end of the mortar pit, then swing around as far as you can go,” the SFC said, using his arm to give a rough indication.

But he understood. The militia infantry would be between them and the MDS brigade, and these guys’ priority was in setting up their mortar position, not sitting in a defensive line.

The position wasn’t where they’d been briefed they’d be, but they were going to be moving out quickly, so it didn’t matter. If this was where the militia wanted them for the moment, Rev was OK with that.

He made a few quick changes to the defensive diagram and sent them to the squad leaders and the lieutenant.

“Squad leaders, stack the discs and start setting in the defense from the diagram.”

“Do we dig in?” Yancey, now the Second Squad leader, asked.

Rev glanced at the mangled remains of the tubes. He couldn’t tell at a glance if they’d been destroyed by the brigade they were chasing or during the initial bombardments, and they’d probably be on the move within half an hour, but better safe than sorry.

“Dig in.”

29

Rev was wrong. It was seven long hours before the battalion was ready to move out.

After all those years in the Corps, he should have known better. Coordinating this type of operation between two different services was not something that could be thrown together at the last moment. And as Rev thought about it, it was a miracle that it had only taken it this long.

Either a miracle or this is still a clusterfuck where we’re getting screwed.

It sounded like a solid plan, though, and Rev couldn’t see any obvious holes. The MDS brigade had taken a defensive position on a finger of high ground about a hundred meters above the bottomlands and three klicks long before it widened up to a series of low rolling hills. All indications were that they were massing for a breakout at the base of the finger.

Tactically, this made sense. The hills would provide a degree of cover, and with militia batteries dotting the higher hills there, it would allow them to proceed with their mission.

It could be a ruse, deflecting the militia’s attention from the real breakout point, but just because something was the most obvious choice didn’t mean the enemy wouldn’t take it.

It was the old game of a course of action being so obvious that the enemy wouldn’t take it, but then that made it so unlikely that they would actually choose that option.

“We got our FO yet?” the lieutenant asked Rev over the net.

“No one so far,” Rev replied.

“We’re supposed to kick off in ten minutes.”

“Let me see if I can find anything out.”

The militia’s Forward Observer was vital for this mission. Technically, they didn’t need one. The Marines had all been trained in calling for artillery fire, and the techniques used were the same as for the militia. But none of them were experts. Arty hadn’t been big players in most of the battles with the Centaurs. The Kinshasa Planetary Defense Force, however, was heavily weighted in artillery, and having a militia FO would be much better when controlling the bombardment.

Rev got on the hook and asked the company if the FO had shown up there, then battalion. That started a massive search for the missing militiaman.

“Anyone see our FO?” Rev asked on the platoon net, something he should have tried first.

“I don’t know if it’s him, but there’s a militia dude standing in front of our lines,” Strap passed. “Do you want me to find out?”

“Yeah, and I’m on my way.”

Rev sprinted to where Third Squad was formed and arrived just as Strap was leading a militiaman back to their line.

Emphasis on the “man,” not the “militia.”

He was a big guy, and not big as in muscular. His armor wasn’t large enough to cover him. Someone had cut the armor on both sides, then added extensions to cover gaps, but still, more than a little of the guy’s flesh bulged through the cable tying the extensions to the basic armor. Everything on him looked subtly out of place, like the sidearm holster hanging loosely below his right hip.

“You are FO?” Rev tentatively asked.

“Sure am, Sarge. Name’s Reggie,” he said, holding out a hand.

Rev bristled at the “Sarge,” but he ignored it and took the guy’s hand.

“Where’ve you been? We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Oh, just checking the terrain in front of us. Gotta know what we’re up against.”

Which seemed like a reasonable answer on the surface, but the militiaman’s appearance was throwing him off.

This is who we’re trusting our lives to?

“Cutting it close, uh . . . Reggie. We’re about to kick off.”

I don’t even see any rank insignia.

“No problemo, Sarge. This is cake.”

“Cake?” This is a full-on assault against an entrenched enemy, and you say it’s “cake?”

Rev shook his head. There wasn’t time to stand here jaw-jacking.

“Follow me, OK? Uh . . . where’s your weapon?” Rev asked.

Reggie tried to pat the handgun in the holster, but going around his expansive body and armor, his hand didn’t quite reach it. “This is it.”

You’ve got to be kidding me. No rifle?

Rev wasn’t the most spit-and-polish Marine in the Corps, but this was beyond his experience. “What about your helmet?”

“Oh, shit. I left it back there,” the FO said, hooking his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to where he’d been standing.

“Strap.”

“I’ve got it,” Strap said as he ran to retrieve it.

“Lieutenant, I’ve found our FO,” he passed while he waited.

“Thank the Mother.”

“But he’s . . . uh, not very . . . uh . . . military.”

“Give me a shot of this guy and forward it to the lieutenant,” Rev told Punch.

A moment later, the lieutenant said, “I see what you mean. They told us they were sending one of their best, though.”

She didn’t sound very certain.

“What do we do?” Rev asked.

“No time for anything else. Hopefully, he knows what he’s doing. If not, well, there’ll be two more with the battalion.”

Strap ran back with the helmet and handed it to Reggie.

“I want you glued to the FO’s side,” the lieutenant said. “If he screws up, you take over from him.”

“Aye-aye, ma’am.”

That wasn’t what he wanted to do, but he understood her point. Without an effective FO, lots of Marines were going to get killed.

Reggie snapped on his helmet, and Rev escorted him back to his position.

“Look . . . Reggie. I want you to stick on my ass. You understand?”

“Sure, Sarge,” he said in the tone of someone humoring him.

Which caused his warrior to stir.

“I’m serious. You stick with me, and you do what I say. OK?”

“Whatever you say.”

Rev had a strong desire to grab the FO by the shoulders and give him a shake.

“It is what I say. How many times have you been in combat?”

“Including this time?”

“Yes, including this time.”

“Once.”

Rev rolled his eyes. “Listen to me. All the training in the world won’t prepare you for the shock when the rounds start flying. I’ve been in combat more times than you can imagine, and it still affects me.”

His warrior rumbled in agreement.

“It’s no big thing,” Reggie said.

Rev couldn’t believe that, and the impulse to shake the crap out of the man was almost overwhelming.

“No big thing?”

“Look, Sarge. No insult intended, but you jarheads, you can do all your cutting of throats and drinking of blood. You let me handle bringing the wrath of the gods down on the Mad Dog’s head.”

There was no doubt of the tone of superiority in the man’s voice now.

Rev felt a surge of anger.

“What is your rank, Reggie?”

“PFC, Sarge.”

Like a Marine lance corporal.

“Well, PFC, right now your ass belongs to me. If you want to get through this and get back to flipping burgers some day—”

“Accountant.”

“What?”

“Accountant. I’m an accountant, not a cook.”

“OK, then, an accountant. If you want to get back to your calculations, then you’ll stick beside me and do what I say. If I tell you to jump, you jump. Capisce?”

The FO laughed and rubbed his hand across his expansive girth. “You think I can really jump?”

Whatever Rev was going to say got cut off as the first rounds sounded in the distance.

“We’re on,” the lieutenant passed on the platoon net. “This is for those we lost on Tahiti.”

“Ooh-rah” filled the net. This was payback time.

Rev shook his head as if he could knock his misgivings about the FO loose. He couldn’t let his ego affect what they were about to do. If the FO screwed up, he’d take over, as simple as that.

Rounds started landing in the MDS defensive position. Lots of rounds. That was one thing about the militia here. While the Marines had to carry their artillery rounds with them wherever they went, the Kinshasa Planetary Defense Force had more than eighty years to stockpile rounds.

As they detonated, Rev could feel the ground shake.

A civilian might not believe that anyone could survive that kind of bombardment, but Rev knew better. The MDS were dug in, and only a direct hit might have any lethal effect. But one thing was for sure: they would be hunkered down and not exposing themselves. That was the key to this mission.

“Our infantry friends are on the move now. Be ready for our orders to advance,” the lieutenant passed.

To the north, the militia infantry was moving forward. The plan didn’t have them actually trying to breach the defense. Their job was to capture the attention of the MDS soldiers, making them think that the assault was coming from them.

And if they didn’t actually follow through with the assault? No problem. The MDS’ disdain for militias was going to be used against them. They’d hopefully decide that the assault was just faltering.

Rev glanced at the FO. Through his face shield, the man’s mouth was feverishly working. Rev wished he could listen in.

A series of explosions detonated high in the air between the Marines’ position and the MDS. Thousands of tiny micro munitions spread out in clouds, searching for drones. A moment later, hundreds of 155 rounds started impacting in the Marines axis of advance, fuzes set to penetrate the ground before detonating. Geysers of dirt erupted into the air, a hundred volcanoes going off at once.

“Move out,” the lieutenant ordered.

“Try and stick to the craters,” Rev reminded the Marines.

The MDS had emplaced mines in front of their positions, and these arty rounds were designed to take them out of the equation.

“Let’s go,” Rev told the FO, who waved him off with a dismissive hand.

He followed, though, still talking up a blue streak to his FSCC, the fire support control center.

The Marines were dispersed as they moved forward, Third Platoon leading the battalion. The first two hundred meters were in defilade to the MDS, but as Third Squad was exposed, explosions filled the area. Rev could feel the shock waves.

“We’re getting hit with arty!” Strap told Rev.

The MDS had their mortars and rockets but no artillery.

Rev turned on the FO. “You’ve got them firing too close!” he said, pulling on the man’s arm.

The FO shook his arm free. He gave a somewhat disgusted look at Rev and said, “Of course it’s Danger Close. How else do you expect us to protect your advance?”

“But—”

“That’s what you have armor for. Now let me do my job, Sarge.”

Rev was shocked into silence until he got back on the net and asked Strap, “Are you taking casualties?”

“Negative. But we’re getting hit with shrapnel.”

Rev looked back at the FO. The mission order included that the artillery cover would walk up the Marines’ axis of advance while keeping the MDS in their holes. Theoretically, being at the edge of the ECR—the effective casualty radius—of the rounds meant that there would be a gap between the arty and the Marines.

Theory was all nice and good, though, until you started getting hit with friendly fire.

“Keep moving. If anyone gets hurt, let me know,” he told Strap.

Rev reported to the lieutenant, and the platoon, followed by the rest of the battalion, made progress as they moved forward.

At five hundred meters, an automatic weapon station opened up, dropping Lance Corporal Weisenhunt, one of their new joins. Within seconds, though, the weapon was silenced with a single Moray missile fired by Sergeant Tsao.

“We’re taking weapons fire,” he told Reggie, who waved an acknowledgment.

He couldn’t blame the FO for that, though. The MDS would have buried automatic weapons stations within the defense, and they couldn’t be easily detected until they popped out to fire.

A few moments later, the defensive position was hit by a renewed flurry of explosions. Rev stopped his advance for a second to take it in. It was as if the entire finger in front of them was erupting. It didn’t seem possible that anyone could survive that onslaught.

But he knew they would. They’d had time to prepare, and their armor could withstand anything but a direct hit or very near miss.

“Pick up the pace,” the lieutenant passed. “We need to get out of this kill zone.”

It was surreal as the platoon moved into a jog, heading straight for a maelstrom of hell and fury, yet they were counting on that mass of terror to keep them safe.

The FO was starting to struggle to keep up, but somehow, he kept the rounds hitting, always just in front of the Marines.

And the Marines never faltered. Second Squad was the point of the spear, charging into the heart of the MDS defense. They reached the base of the finger, and without pause, started up.

The arty covering fire shifted, which allowed MDS soldiers to emerge from their fighting holes, only to be cut down before they could engage.

Rev could hear Tsao’s 20 mm opening up to his right, and he shifted his view to the left just as what looked like a round piece of ground flipped over. Rev raised Pashu, and the moment a head appeared, he fired his twenty. The top of the soldier’s helmet disintegrated, and the soldier disappeared back down the hole.

Not every MDS bunker had survived the initial bombardment. An expeditionary bunker, the type that worked on the same concept as the foam expeditionary shelters the Marines used, had taken a direct hit that blasted off the top and one wall. Several soldiers had been inside, but they were too mangled to get an accurate count.

Rev was itching to engage. The single burst of his twenty had his blood pounding, and his eagerness was almost his downfall. He ran in front of the FO to catch up with Second Squad when a large-caliber gun opened up less than forty meters away. He hit the deck as the sweep cut through the air centimeters above his head.

To his right, Hochenspatter, who’d only been medically cleared two weeks ago, was hugging the dirt, and Strap was on the other side of him. Strap started to ease forward to engage when the dirt was pummeled with rounds, and he dropped back down into cover.

The FO, who’d been following Rev, now stopped, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

“Reggie, we’ve got a bunker right ahead of us. Forty meters. Can you take care of it?”

The FO raised his right hand in acknowledgment, then sat down, facing away from the enemy.

Hochenspatter raised his hand in question, and Rev shouted, “Did you hear me?”

The FO gave a dismissive wave, and Rev was tempted to slide down and knock some sense into the man.

Instead, he got the lieutenant on the hook. “We’re stopped right now. We’ve got a bunker at”—he paused to bring up his map— “eight-four-four-seven, two-five-nine-six. We’re going to need some help with it.”

He looked down the hill and spotted the lieutenant. “Let me see what we can do with that,” she said. “Can we maneuver up to the left?”

Rev turned his head to look as the ground above him was stitched again, making him flinch.

To the left was the destroyed bunker, and he realized that if it was still operational, he doubted any of them would still be alive. Along with the bunker just ahead of them, the two would have had deadly interlocking fires that would have chewed them up.

“There’s a destroyed bunker up to the left. That might give you access, but I’d wager there is another just on the other side of it. I think—”

He never got out what he thought as the ground in front of them rose into the air and a shock wave almost tumbled Rev back down the hill. Rev tried to steady himself when dirt and debris showered the Marines.

“What the—” he said as he tried to brush the dirt away from his face shield.

Down below him, the FO turned around, gave Rev a thumbs-up, and said, “Got him.”

“Wow. I guess you sure the hell did!”

Maybe this Reggie guy is alright.

He motioned to Strap, and the Third Squad Marines pushed forward. He popped up, Pashu at the ready to take out any survivors of the hit. It was a wasted effort. The bunker was another of the expeditionary ones, and there wasn’t much left of it. There wasn’t even an intact body, just a couple pieces of demolished MDS armor. Rev didn’t know any 155 shell that could cause this much damage, but he didn’t have time to stand there and gawk.

The squad was well within the defensive line, though. With the MDS positions orienting outward, it was fairly easy—in comparison, that is—to start rolling up the line and establish a foothold.

They needed to expand, though. The rest of the battalion was coming through, and then the militia infantry.

First and Second Squads joined them, and with the lieutenant turning right with First, Kil Rancine and Second pushed straight forward before taking up a defensive stance, and Rev and Third went left.

They rushed past the destroyed bunker, all senses on alert. Explosions were everywhere, the artillery barrage not letting up a single bit. Rev kept looking for the FO—Reggie had proved his worth, and Rev wanted to make sure they were not advancing into friendly fire. The militiaman was struggling, Rev could see, but he was keeping up.

The entire scene was bizarre. All around them, the world was in twisted agony, but in their little bubble was the calm of a hurricane’s center. And as the center grew, the MDS came out to play.

The artillery was devastating, but it wasn’t immediate. When the MDS appeared, it was up to the squad to react quickly and with extreme prejudice. The first two times were with MDS popping from spider holes. Number one stuck his head out, oriented downhill. Five Marines immediately unloaded on him, and Rev didn’t think he even knew they were there. The second knew where they were, but the problem was that it took longer for him to emerge, aim, and engage than for Rev to fire three 20 mm rounds that separated everything above the middle of his chest from the rest of his body.

PFC Saeueng spotted the next bunker. A normal bunker could be cleverly disguised. For an expedient bunker, concealment was more a matter of luck. While it foamed up, rocks or other obstacles in the ground could shift the position of the final structure. In this case, the right quarter of the bunker was exposed.

Rev, Strap, and Saeueng got on their bellies to observe it from the rear. Once again, it was positioned well for mutually supporting fires . . . with the other bunker now destroyed.

“You want to call arty again?” Strap asked.

All of the Marines were gaining a pretty healthy respect for the batteries.

No, Rev’s warrior wanted to take out the bunker. But Rev-the-platoon-commander knew he shouldn’t risk Marines when they had other means at their disposal.

“Yeah. Let me tell Reggie.”

They’d just started to crawl back when the bunker opened up, a heavy gun spitting rounds . . . but the squad wasn’t touched. Rev swallowed his heart, which had jumped up to his throat at the first report of the gun, and crept back forward.

He couldn’t see what was firing, but he could see where. The rounds were shooting down the hill. Rev didn’t have the target in view, but it had to be the infantry who were advancing to take advantage of the breach, which meant there was no time to call for fire.

“Tsao, Bobovitch, fire!” he shouted as he engaged the side of the bunker with his twenty, sending chips flying. Sergeant Tsao fired a Moray, which bounced off the top of the bunker and disappeared in the distance.

Bobovitch fired his Hellborer, but if it was having any effect, Rev couldn’t tell. The bunker might be an expedient bunker, but that didn’t mean it was garbage. It was standing up to them as it fired down the hill.

“Hoch! Get ready! Bobovitch, cease fire!”

“Cover me,” he told Strap.

Rev was up and running, vaulting rocks as he tried to get to the front. Return fire from down below started reaching up to them, but Rev had to ignore that. He slid the last few meters on one knee, struggling to keep his balance, but he was just far enough to see the front of the bunker. More importantly, the slit from which the big gun was firing. Rev fired a pulse from his beamer, hoping to get lucky, then switched back to his twenty and started pouring round after round inside, and he continued forward. He didn’t have any targets, but those rounds had to be ricocheting around inside the bunker.

“Now, Hoch!”

The lance corporal jumped up from cover and started sprinting to the bunker, twirling his arms and swinging the bunker buster they’d gotten from the militia. The mine was old tech, real old tech, but as their arty was proving, old tech didn’t necessarily mean bad tech.

The mine was essentially a man-packed shaped charge. Upon detonation, sensors would direct the shape charge to the nearest, densest material. That was it. Simple. Almost Marine-proof.

It didn’t have its own means of projection. It had to be placed or thrown by hand.

While Rev sent rounds into the bunker, Hochenspatter covered over half of the ground before he released the bunker buster. It arced up, then came back down, just past the near edge.

At the same moment, soldiers, who were not oblivious to what was going on, poured out of the back of the bunker. Hochenspatter skidded to a halt, then tried to run back to retrieve his weapon as he was spotted.

Rev was so focused on firing into the bunker that it took him a moment to realize what was happening in the back, and by the time he started to shift his fire, the first two soldiers fired at Hochenspatter, dropping him.

Rev yelled as he tried to reverse course to get to the soldiers in the back, but when faced with an angry IBHU Marine bent on death and destruction, they did the smart thing. They dropped, using the bulk of the bunker to give them cover.

And then the mine went off, shooting sparks in the air like a Roman candle. For half a second, Rev thought it was firing backward, away from the bunker. But that was just from his perspective. As he ran a few steps, the brilliant flare of the charge made his face shield darken, and he had to turn his head. From inside the bunker, he could see the light through the gun slit was almost as bad.

The big gun went silent, and screams came from the back as soldiers tried to escape the hellfire.

The rest of the squad wasn’t just watching. They were pouring fire upon the soldiers. Rev took their covering fire to start to run back up the slope so he could add Pashu’s bite when Strap yelled out, “Cease fire, cease fire.”

No!

Rev’s warrior was in full control, and all he could think of was to rend the enemy, to tear them limb from limb.

It took an extreme force of will to come back down. He didn’t stop, though. He continued to circle around, Pashu ready.

“Put your hands in the air,” Strap called out. Then, “Step forward.”

Rev was still circling when the first soldier appeared, a worried look on his helmetless face. His eyes were on Strap, but when Rev came into his sight, he faltered, the worried look turning to fear.

“We surrendered,” he shrieked as they hesitated, as if he was ready to dart back into the bunker. “The Accords!”

“Step out,” Rev said, motioning with Pashu.

His eyes dropped to her as if she was a cobra. He moved forward, followed by three more soldiers.

Rev climbed a little higher. Behind the four soldiers were at least seven more, all dead, or at least knocking on death’s door.

Smoke was now pouring from the bunker. If anyone had survived Rev’s twenty and the shaped charge, they’d be dead of smoke inhalation by now.

“On your faces,” Strap ordered the four soldiers.

They went cautiously down, the first one still fixated on Pashu.

“Saeung, secure them,” Strap said. Then, “Covina, check Hoch.”

Rev stood there, Pashu trained while Saueng ziptied each of the four soldiers. Around him, the sounds of fighting were ongoing, both the incessant arty and regular gunfire.

“We’ve got the next bunker cleared,” he told the lieutenant. “Hochenspatter’s down.”

“What’s his condition? I’ve got his bios here, but they’re not clear.”

“Don’t know yet. We could use Doc.”

“I’ll send him over. What’s beyond you now?”

“Can’t tell yet. We’re securing four prisoners, then we’ll see.”

“That’s a negative on that. Stay with Hochenspatter and the prisoners. Second Company is about to conduct a passage of lines. Consolidate in place and await further orders.”

Rev wanted to keep going, but orders were orders. “Understood. We’ll consolidate here.”

* * *

Eight hours later, the finger was declared secure. Every MDS soldier was either dead or captured.

First Heavy Infantry Company’s part in the fight had been over quickly. Ten minutes after that last bunker, Second Heavy Infantry Company had conducted a passage of lines and expanded the breach, giving a much larger doorway into the position, a doorway used by over four thousand infantry.

Supported by Second HI and the ever-present artillery, the infantry was able to quickly demolish the MDS defense. Rev didn’t know the final tally, but over 500 soldiers had been killed in the fight.

About that many militia had been killed, too. Maybe more. It would have been many more, however, without the artillery. Both the Marines and the MDS were professional, capable forces, but in this case, the planetary militia had schooled them both as to how effective massed artillery could be in the right situation and with enough ammunition.

As Rev looked down the hill from the top of the last bunker they’d destroyed, he was amazed that the platoon hadn’t been cut down over the last six or seven hundred meters. The only reason had been that the artillery fire had been so intense that the MDS had been afraid to stick their heads out of their bunkers.

Somehow, only Weisenhunt had been killed, and he’d already been evacuated for his chance at resurrection, and Hochenspatter had been the only one wounded seriously enough to be medevacked. For breaching a dug-in defense, those numbers were astounding.

There was a scuffling sound behind him, then a grunt. Rev didn’t have to turn around to see who it was, and in a minute, Reggie sat down beside him.

“Still hot,” the FO said, his hand on the top of the bunker.

“Plasma will do that,” Rev said.

“Guess so. Well, anyway, I wanted to say goodbye. We’re moving out in a few minutes.”

“Where you going?”

Reggie shrugged. “Don’t know. But word is that we’re going on the offense. I don’t think things are going that well for the Mad Dogs.”

Rev hadn’t heard that, but they’d suffered a pretty big blow during the battle. If that was being replicated elsewhere, then the MDS push for a big victory was becoming more and more doubtful.

They sat there for a moment, looking down the hill until Rev said, “You did good today. I had my doubts, but you came through. Saved a lot of Marine lives, you did.”

Reggie shrugged and said, “Just doing my job.”

“No, your job is being an accountant. You’re a part-time soldier. No disrespect in that. But you don’t eat, drink, and breathe soldiering. But when the call came, you sure answered.”

“Hell, Sarge. All I did was call for fire. You ran up the mountain here like it was nothing, right into the Mad Dogs.”

Rev chuckled. This was hardly a “mountain.” And Reggie wasn’t augmented like every Marine in the platoon.

“Whatever. You kept them buckled up until we could dig them out. And I appreciate it.” Rev reached into his pocket and pulled out a large coin-shaped object. He flipped it to Reggie.

The FO examined it for a moment. On one side was the Perseus Union Marine Corps emblem. On the other side was the First Heavy Infantry Company logo and motto.

“These are brand new,” Rev said. “We’ve only been a company for a few months now.”

“A challenge coin. I didn’t know you jarheads had them.”

“Some units do.”

“Well, that kinda steals my thunder.” He reached into a pocket, pulled out his unit’s challenge coin, and handed it to Rev.

It was a little gaudier with crossed 18th Century cannons, lightning bolts, and a screaming eagle on one side, and wreathed Latin on the other side. He’d get a translation from Punch in a bit.

“So, I guess we’re kinda brothers now, right?” Reggie asked.

In the far distance, the sound of explosions reached them. This battle might be over, but that was a reminder that the fighting was still going on.

“Yeah, brothers.”

“Well, thanks for everything, Sarge,” Reggie said as he stood up. “I’ll be happy to get back to my desk when all this is over, but I’m glad I did this. Sometimes, a man has to face danger in the face and not wilt, you know.”

“Which you did.”

“Yeah, I guess I did, Sarge.”

He turned to leave when Rev said, “Hey Reggie. We don’t call staff sergeants ‘sarge.’”

He turned, and with a big smile on his face, said, “I know.”

“You know? Then why do you keep calling me that?”

“I just told you. Sometimes a man has to face danger and not wilt. Why, what did you think I was talking about?”

Rev was shocked silent for a moment until he broke out laughing. He couldn’t stop as Reggie climbed off the bunker. It wasn’t until Reggie walked off that he got control of himself.

“See, Punch. That’s how you tell a joke,” he said as the militiaman walked down the hill.

* * *

“Staff Sergeant, just got word on Hochenspatter. He’s stable and at one of the local hospitals. The docs there don’t know yet if they should try and save the arm or just grow him a new one, but he should make a full recovery,” HM2 Juls told him.

“His arm? It looked OK when he left.”

“Oh, the bulk of the arm’s fine. It’s the destruction of the nerves and humeral head that’s the concern. But they’ll figure all of that out when they get him back to a full naval hospital.”

Arm? Maybe IBHU potential?

The Union was adhering to the unofficial moratorium on creating new IBHU Marines, but if Hochenspatter was going to lose an arm, then Rev would sure recommend him for the program. He was a good Marine.

He was about to ask what hospital when the lieutenant spotted him and beckoned him over.

“Keep me updated on him, Doc, OK?”

“Sure thing.”

He walked over to his platoon commander. Her face was filthy as if she’d dipped her IBHU in mud and wiped it across her nose and mouth.

“We moving out?” Rev asked.

She nodded. “Just got our orders. Get everyone ready. We’re heading to one of the militia camps—Camp McTavish.”

Rev pulled out his map and placed the camp. “Uh, we getting a ride? That’s ninety-three klicks. No way our discs can take us that far.”

“No ride. We take the discs as far as we can, then hump it.”

“Did they say why we’re going there? It’s out in the middle of nowhere with nothing to defend.”

“So we can be strategically located to move to anywhere in the AO.”

“Am I hearing this right? We need to be at this camp out in the boonies so we can move anywhere we’re needed, but we can’t get a ride? If we do get called, how will we get there?”

The lieutenant shrugged. “I don’t think it’s gonna amount to much, anyway. We’re kicking some serious ass. The big brass doesn’t think the Mad Dogs can hang for another day.”

“So, it wouldn’t be possible that they are trying to get us out of the way, right? Sounds much better if this is a militia and regular Marine victory instead of us Gennies. Seems to me that we’re not being put somewhere where we can respond, but to get us out of the way.”

“You said it, not me.”

“Especially since we really haven’t run across the karnans. That’s why we got yanked here in the first place.”

“You didn’t hear?” the lieutenant asked.

“Hear what?”

“The karnans. There were at least thirty-nine of them here.”

“Here? A full platoon of them? I didn’t see any.”

“They were here. Fourteen surrendered with the rest of them. The rest all look to have been killed.”

Rev gave a low huff of surprise. “Killed, you say. By the Kinshasa militia. I guess being that strong doesn’t really matter when a 155 lands on your head, right?”

“Guess not. Look, everyone was concerned about facing a battalion of them. But if a militia can beat them, then are they really that much of a threat? The major thinks that’s why the brass is shelving us. They think they’ve got this all in hand, and if it can be a militia-led force, all the better.

“If Kinshasa can push back the mighty MDS—maybe with a little help from the Marines—then are they really a threat to the rest of humankind?”

“They sure wanted us to fight the Centaurs,” Rev muttered. “Couldn’t wait to make more of us.”

“Times change, Rev.”

“You’ve got that right, ma’am.”

“Well, let’s get everyone up and ready. They want us to be at Camp McTavish by daybreak.”

“Of course, they do.”

Fifty-three klicks were very doable for a Marine company, but it still wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. The message was clear, though, at least to Rev. If the fight really was going to be over by tomorrow, then the brass wanted them tucked away and safely out of sight.

The lieutenant pursed her lips. “Look, you may be right on what’s going on, but those are our orders.”

“Don’t worry, ma’am. I’ll be a good little Marine, salute smartly, and carry on.”

Relief swept over her face, and she gave Rev’s shoulder a slap. “I know you will, Rev.”

Ah, but for a moment, you weren’t quite sure, were you?

Rev turned around and shouted out, “Squad leaders, on me!”

He didn’t know how long they had before stepping off, but the platoon was going to be ready because he’d kick their ever-loving asses if he had to.

That’s what platoon sergeants did.

30

“Let’s get them some sleep.”

“Fifty percent?” Rev asked the lieutenant.

She thought about it for a moment, then said, “Yeah, that should do it. But be ready for whatever’s coming next. I’ll be back when I’ll be back.”

She limped off to the battalion brief, and not for the first time, Rev was glad he was just a lowly platoon sergeant. She’d bring back all the pertinent gouge, and he wouldn’t have to stand in the back of the battalion CP looking like he was paying attention.

The discs had carried them forty-two klicks before the IBHU and Hellborer Marines’ started to give out. While the major kept two disc-mounted patrols out screening the movement for another fifteen or so klicks until their discs ran out of power, too, for the rest of the battalion, the final fifty-one klicks were on foot. That really wasn’t that much for an augmented Marine, but it wasn’t a stroll in the park, either. Rev’s feet and lower back were barking at him. They’d taken a pounding as the Marines force-marched through the night. Give him another four hours, and his nanos will have scrubbed his body of lactic acid and worked on reducing the inflammation, but for now, all he wanted to do was to get off his feet.

But he had to get the platoon situated first.

“Squad leaders, corpsman, up!” he shouted before taking a seat on the steps leading into the barracks Gunny Knightly from the S-4 had assigned them.

He stretched out his legs, giving each a shake. It didn’t do much good. His feet still hurt.

“The lieutenant’s gone to get briefed. So, for now, get everyone fed, then I want every other Marine getting some shut-eye in here. Fifty percent on alert. You decide who does what. For the rest . . .” He paused, looking at the barracks.

Their assigned barracks were typical—a large, rectangular building filled with individual cookie-cutter rooms. It had to be five-hundred years old if it were a day.

What it wasn’t was defendable, and last Rev knew, the fight was ongoing. If the on-duty Marines were in the rooms and they were hit, they’d have a hard time getting out.

For a moment, he was tempted to change what he just said and have the sleeping Marines rack out on the ground outside, but he knew the sleep would be more effective in the rooms. He shifted his gaze to the camp itself.

It wasn’t much. From what Punch pulled up, the camp was a weekend training facility with only a small full-time cadre. If it weren’t for the fence with memory wire on the top, it could be any junior college campus.

Like the barracks, it wasn’t built with defense in mind. But the Marines could mitigate some of that.

“For the rest,” he continued, “let’s spread out along the fence over there. I’ll coordinate with Second Platoon and the other company.”

“Dig in?” Yancey asked in a voice that was dreading his response.

Rev knew they should, but the Marines were beat, and the situation had been deemed a low-enough threat that they hadn’t put out flank security on the march over, just forward security. If this area was deemed that safe, then he thought he could give them a break.

“No,” he said, to the squad leaders’ relief. “If the lieutenant comes back and says we’re going to be here for a while, we’ll revisit that. But for now, just use what they can find to create a little firing position. Full battle rattle, though.”

“Even those sleeping?” Racine asked.

“No helmets, but until we know more, I want them armored up.”

Being in their PAL-H and HXs wasn’t the best way to sleep, but taking off the helmets made it a lot better.

He turned to Doc Juls. “How’re our wounded?”

“Černý and Randigold are doing well enough. Knopf, he’s struggling. Says he’s combat ready, though.”

Rev frowned. He hadn’t found out until halfway through the hump to the camp that Knopf had been hit with a beam weapon of some type. That kind of damage was not always visible, and it could get more serious with time.

“What do you think? Should we have had him taken out with Hochenspatter?”

“In hindsight, yeah, we probably should have. And if we were back at Nguyen, I’d medevac him. Here, he’s definitely not high priority, so I don’t know if they’d even send something to pick him up.”

“He’s tough, Staff Sergeant,” Lehman, his squad leader said.

“It’s one thing to be tough, but another to hide being injured,” Rev said.

Marines have a habit of hiding sickness and injury. Hell, Rev had done it. But now, as a platoon sergeant, he wanted to know his Marines’ true condition, bluster and denials aside.

“Put him on the sleep cycle first,” he told the sergeant, then to Doc added, “Watch him. If he deteriorates, I’ll make sure we get him out of here to where he can get treated.”

He looked around at the three Marines and the corpsman. “Any questions?”

“Do we know how long we’re going to be here?” Yancey asked.

“No. Maybe the major knows. We’ll just have to wait until the lieutenant gets back.”

“But the fight. It isn’t over, right?”

“As far as I know.”

“Then what the hell are we doing out here in Bumfuck, Kinshasa?”

“Yeah,” Rancine joined in.

Rev’s conversation with the lieutenant bubbled up, and Rev was tempted to use the four as a sounding board, but it was one thing to conjecture with her and another to possibly spread rumors to the Marines through the squad leaders.

“I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough. So, unless you’ve got more for me, let’s get chow and some sleep.”

He leaned back against the steps as the squad leaders left to carry out his orders. He knew he should get up and supervise, but his feet still hurt. He lifted his legs again, elevating the feet.

One more minute, Reverent, then get off your ass and platoon sergeant.

* * *

“I saved you a chow,” Rev said, tossing Lieutenant Nilson one of the field rats as she walked up.

She turned it over and looked at it suspiciously. “Thirty-two years old? You’re eating militia chow that’s thirty-two years old?”

Rev shrugged. “The gunny came around with it and said we need to conserve our sludge.”

“Which is something said by no one.” She gave the pack a tentative sniff. “But where did he get this stuff?”

“Who knows where a gunny gets anything?”

“Did you eat one?”

“Yes, ma’am, and I’m still alive. Not bad, either, to tell you the truth. Better than the sludge.”

“Ah, what the hell,” she said, sitting down beside him and opening the pack. She sniffed it again, then pulled the heating tab.”

“So, what did they tell you?” Rev asked as she watched her food heat up.

“Well, it looks like we’re here for the duration. Things could change, but for now, the command doesn’t plan to commit us.”

Rev grunted. It was as he expected. They wanted to give credit to the militia, digging it into the enemy. If the MDS had hoped to make a statement, getting their asses kicked by a planetary militia was a statement going the other way. And even if that wasn’t quite true, that seemed to be the narrative the Union and CoH were going to disseminate.

“So, the battle’s going well?”

Her pack gave a small beep, and she opened the top. Steam rose up, and she took another sniff. She gave a grudging nod, spooned out a mouthful, and swallowed.

“OK, not bad,” she said. “Now, what did you just ask me?”

“How’s the battle going? Are we winning?”

“Looks like it. It’s been militia infantry and Marine mech, and that seems to be a winning ticket. There’s a major battle going on to the south, but with reinforcements coming from the other continent, it doesn’t look like the Mad Dogs can hang on. And if they go down, that should be the end of it.”

“Anything here in the capital region?”

“Some mop-up operations, and that might continue unless their commanding general surrenders. As far as near us, there’s only one bigger unit, a battalion-minus of infantry, it looks like, heading up the M’Pozo River delta. Probably heading for the highlands to avoid capture.”

Rev pulled that up on his map. “Not too far from us. On the southern tributary, it’s only twenty-seven klicks. Infantry, so no mech or armor. You know, we could cut them off.”

The lieutenant shook her head before taking another bite. “This really isn’t that bad for being thirty-two years old. But no, the major already suggested that to the command and was shot down. Intel is positive that they’re just trying to stay out of the fight, and we’re to stay out of the way and let them run. It’ll all be moot soon, maybe as early as this evening.”

“They really don’t want us to get any credit, do they?”

The lieutenant gave him a hard look. “We’re not here for credit. And if we just sit tight for what is already a foregone conclusion, that might mean one less letter I’ll have to write to a family back home.”

Rev’s mouth gaped, and he felt a guilty wave of shame. Of course, she was right. Better to sit and bring everyone left back home.

“Sorry, ma’am. I was just, you know, after Tahiti.”

Her face softened. “I know. I hate the bastards, too. But I wrote all those letters from that ice-covered hell, and I hope I never have to do that again. My sense of pride and desire for revenge isn’t enough for me to want to put my Marines at risk without a necessary reason.”

Rev nodded. He had been putting anger and pride over what was best for the platoon. They were in a risky business, but there wasn’t a reason to actively increase the risk when there was no real benefit to it.

“The major isn’t just going to ignore them, though. He’s sending out a platoon from Second HI to make sure the Mad Dogs don’t take a sudden interest in us. And if the bastards do decide they want to come our way, then all bets are off.”

She poked in the bottom of her food pack, took the last bite, then licked the spoon. “This really wasn’t half bad. Now, what do you have going with the platoon right now?”

* * *

“Staff Sergeant, wake up!”

Rev opened his eyes to see PFC Knopf at the foot of the rack he’d commandeered, shaking his foot.

“No way in hell it’s been four hours. Leave me alone.”

“You have to see the lieutenant, now!” the PFC said.

Rev raised himself to his elbows to look at him. “What is it?”

“I think it’s the Mad Dogs,” Knopf said.

As he tried to force the sleep from his brain, he heard the far-off report of firing. That did it. With a loud “Shit!” he swung his feet out of the rack, grabbed his helmet, and pelted from the room.

The lieutenant was at the front entrance with Yancey. She turned as Rev ran to her.

“Get everyone up and ready to go.”

“What’s happening?”

“From the sounds of it, the platoon from Second is engaged, and that means the Mad Dogs.”

“What did force say?”

“Nothing,” she snarled. “No warning. And now comms are down. Get them ready while I find out what the hell we know and what the major wants us to do.”

With that, she jumped down the steps three at a time and sprinted in the direction of the camp headquarters where the major had set up his CP.

Rancine and Lehman ran up together.

“Everybody out here now, full combat loads.”

“What’s happening?”

“That Mad Dogs are what’s happening. Seems like they weren’t as done with this as Intel said they were.”

The sounds of battle rose in tempo.

“Is that them?” Lehman asked.

“It sure isn’t the local welcoming committee. Now, go! I want everyone out here in two minutes.”

Rev stood on the steps, looking in the direction of the fighting. His warrior was struggling to take over, but Rev held him suppressed. He didn’t even know what they were supposed to be doing, and he couldn’t afford to go off half-cocked.

But those were fellow Marines out there, and the sounds of MDS reports were far more numerous than those of the Marines.

The heavy chunk-chunk-chunk of an IBHU 20 mm gave him hope, but after three bursts, it fell silent. Rev hoped that meant the Marines were withdrawing.

It took four excruciatingly long minutes before the lieutenant came charging back. “We’re moving out!” she shouted from across the parking lot.

“You heard her. Form up. Second, First, then Third. Platoon column until we get out the gate,” Rev shouted.

The lieutenant stopped at Second Squad and grabbed Pierson. She said something to him, pointing toward the sound of gunfire. Pierson nodded and started off, the rest of his team flanking him.

Rev felt a moment of misgiving. Pierson was good when the rounds were flying, true. But he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the pack, and having him on point might be a mistake. But what was done was done.

“Listen up! First Platoon from Second Company’s been hit by Mad Dogs. We’re going to pull them out of their jam. Speed is of an essence, but Second Platoon and the captains are going to be on our right, so watch the friendly fire.”

Not the most sophisticated mission order Rev had ever heard, but sometimes, you just had to point Marines in the right direction and rely on training to get them through. This was going to be one big immediate action drill.

On the other side of the parking lot, Second Platoon was gathering as Gunny Morgan, the acting platoon commander, was giving orders. Captain Macek ran up, motioning for the gunny to get his platoon moving.

“That’s us, too,” Lieutenant Nilson shouted. “Pierson, go!”

The platoon took off in a jog, heading for the closest gate. Rev assumed that the rest of Second HI would be going out the main gate, but the lieutenant hadn’t said, and he wasn’t going to ask.

There was something of a cluster as the two platoons reached the gate together, but they quickly reorganized on the other side back into separate platoons, each advancing abreast. Third on the left, Second on the right, closest to the sounds of fighting, which had begun to die down.

Whatever instructions the lieutenant had given Pierson seemed to have been superseded by the captain, who kept shifting the company farther to the left.

That’s taking us away from the fight.

Rev pulled up his map, then overlaid a topo.

“Give me an estimate of First Platoon’s position.”

Punch immediately popped that up on his display.

And then it became clear. The platoon had been at the higher ground at the edge of the delta where they had observation. If they were pulling back, the most direct route was along the sides of a finger, which also gave them a degree of cover, until they reached the main road that paralleled the river to the north until cutting in to Camp McTavish.

Rev had to think that the rest of Second HI was using the road as well to link up with their besieged platoon. The road bed was narrow, which would limit a unit’s frontage, so there wasn’t enough room for the entire battalion, even just a detachment, to maneuver.

But if First HI kept advancing ahead in the draw between two fingers of high ground for another five klicks, they could then take a hard right, climb out of the draw, and once on top of the finger, have what looked to be superb fields of fire on the highway. Once Second HI passed them, it would be a turkey shoot on the MDS.

This could work.

The two platoons started down the draw. The ground was rough, which slowed them down, but there was a sense of purpose flowing through each and every Marine. It was impossible not to notice that the fighting had died down to sporadic bursts, but that could just mean that the platoon was managing their withdrawal.

This was where they could use that militia arty. Most of it had displaced to support the operation to the south, but he thought that a couple of batteries hadn’t moved yet. That was all moot, though, if they didn’t have comms.

So, there was no arty. No mech. No tanks. This was going to be all on them, and it was going to either prove or disprove the Heavy Infantry concept.

No damn Mad Dogs are going to be able to stand up to us.

Rev was feeling confident. He was at seventy-two percent power, he had five Moray missiles, and 1,607 20 mm rounds. And there were six more IBHUs, four missilemen, and four Hellborers. They may not be the Marine mechheads who were kicking ass, but the MDS would soon find out that the task force had a pretty serious punch.

The draw started bending toward the river, and the two formations started to degrade. But as long as they reached their ambush site before the MDS did, they’d still be golden.

As Rev ran around a large boulder that had rolled from the ridge, he almost ran up Knopf.

“You hanging?” he asked the Marine, who was in obvious pain.

“Don’t worry about me, Staff Sergeant.”

Rev considered ordering the PFC to stop and go back, but alone? Not smart. He looked ahead another klick to where he thought their ambush position would be. From the topo, it was almost perfect. It would be like lying prone on the range back at Nguyen knocking down targets.

“Just a little farther, OK?”

“I’ve got it.”

“I know you do.”

He looked around until he saw Janson, one of the First Squad new joins. Knopf was in Second Squad, but during the rush forward, the Marines were getting a little intermixed. He gave Janson the battle buddy signal and indicated Knopf. Janson nodded and started shifting over to the other Marine.

Rev sped up to get back into position. He wanted to be ready to lay his Marines in their ambush positions. They wouldn’t have much time.

Renewed firing opened up from the other side of the ridge and on the highway . . . and not too far ahead. They had to get in position now, or they would miss the ambush.

Rev wasn’t the only one to realize that. Captain Macek started directing the Marines to climb the hundred and twenty meters to the top of the ridge right there. It wasn’t the best place to climb in what might have been the rubbled remains of an old landslide, but there wasn’t another option.

The firing on the other side got more intense, the whizzing of M-49s, the thumps of the twenties, the . . . something was wrong. Rev had served with the MDS in the Home Guard, and he knew what their issue weapons sounded like. This wasn’t it. This was more like . . .

“They’re karnans!” Rev screamed a moment before the ridge in front of them erupted in fire, dropping Marines from Second Platoon.

Rev was already moving, diving to take cover behind the same boulders that had impeded their climb a moment ago.

Bastards!

They had seen the same topos, and they’d come to the same conclusion that the captain had. Only, they’d made it there first.

Whether they’d understood that there would be Marines coming up this draw or just planned on taking the Marines on the highway under fire didn’t matter. The facts were that they had the high ground, and the company’s two platoons were in trouble.

The karnan’s big guns were popping, hitting the rocks and sending shards and dust into the air with each impact. Just to his left, Knopf and Janson were huddled behind another rock. As Rev watched, it looked like a sandblaster hit the rock, and dust bloomed off the surface. The two Marines scooted closer together.

That answers that question.

There was only one thing that would do that to a rock. The karnans were armed with their version of the Hellborer, and the Marines’ PAL-H and HXs couldn’t stand up to one of those on a focused beam for more than a second or two.

Rev got as low as he could, then peeked around his rock. Several karnans were firing down into the draw, seemingly oblivious that the Marines could fire back. Rev took it upon himself to disabuse them of that belief.

He pulled back, brought Pashu up, then in one smooth motion, rolled over and fired his twenty, first at one karnan before shifting to another. The three rounds impacted center of mass of his first target, punching right through the karnan’s armor. The body collapsed and bounced down the slope, falling out of Rev’s sight while the second stumbled back.

Rev retreated behind his rock. He didn’t think he’d been spotted. All around him, Marines had started to return fire, but it was not an even fight. While an IBHU Marine’s twenty, beamer, and missiles were the match to what a karnan could carry, the regular Marines, Hellborer, and missilemen with their Mantis IIs excepted, were much lighter armed.

Compounding the disparity in arms was the fact that from the sounds of it, the Marines were seriously outnumbered. But they were in the fight. And with the boulder-strewn slope, they had cover from which they were pouring fire to the top of the ridge. Rev fired another burst from his twenty, possibly taking out another karnan who’d gotten too aggressive, but at least making him move back.

“Can you give me a number up there?”

<More than fifty.>

“Fifty karnans on the ridge?”

<From the weapons reports, that is my estimate.>

That seemed like a lot of karnans on a fairly short piece of real estate, but Punch’s app was pretty accurate. And if there were that many there, they had to be lying like sardines in a can.

But sardines could shoot. “Lorna’s down,” one of the Second Platoon Marines shouted, followed ten seconds later by “I’m hit” from another. The company was in a kill zone, and hunkering down was only going to eventually end in one way.

Rev looked to his right, back the way they’d come. Pierson was eight or nine meters away, a weird, almost inhuman grin on his face as he fired one of his Morays up the hill.

The pieces clicked into place.

“Pierson!”

The lance corporal did not react to him and fired a beamer pulse at the enemy.

“Pierson!” Rev shouted louder.

That seemed to register, and the IBHU Marine turned to look at him

“Be ready to move with me. Understand?”

The big Marine nodded, his eyes gleaming through his face shield.

“All Steel Sibs and Hellborers, on my order, give me cover. Light them up.”

Rev didn’t want to shout “IBHU Marines” with the karnans within hearing distance, and while “Steel Sibs” wouldn’t be that hard to figure out, at least it was something, and it might not become apparent to anyone listening until the other seven IBHUs in the company opened fire.

He gathered his legs under him, ready to bolt, and flashed the “ready” signal to Pierson, who nodded.

“Now!” Rev shouted.

Immediately the heavy blasts of the twenties opened up, followed by whines of the Hellborers’ capacitors.

At the first shot, Rev was moving, sprinting back up the way they’d come. He risked a quick glance up the hill, and the volley looked to have accomplished what he wanted. Not a single karnan was visible.

Rev swept up Pierson, and the two bounded back up the trail like mountain goats. His shoulders burned with anticipation of a karnan 20 mm round, but by the time the Marine volley started to falter and the karnans started returning fire again, the two IBHU Marines were fifty meters from the kill zone.

Are we far enough?

Rev craned his head, looking up the finger. The best he could tell, there weren’t any karnans directly above them.

He pulled Pierson in close. “We’re going to climb right here. The key is to get up unseen, understand?”

Pierson stared at him with the same eager-to-unleash-death expression on his face. It was unsettling. The goofy, self-deprecating Marine had turned into violence incarnate, and for the first time, Rev understood how he’d earned his Platinum Nova. He was a nova, just waiting to explode.

But like a nuclear plant, a runaway reaction was dangerous to everyone, friend and foe alike. Rev couldn’t let the Marine run amok, something that looked entirely possible.

He gave Pierson a shake. “Do you understand me? Say it out loud.”

“Yeah, yeah, Staff Sergeant. I understand you.”

Rev wasn’t so sure, but there wasn’t any more time. The karnans were increasing their rate of fire, and the sounds of explosions started reverberating among the rocks where the Marines were.

“Let’s go.”

Together, they started climbing. Rev kept looking to his left to make sure they were out of sight to the top of the ridge, and twice he had the two of them shift farther right.

With their IBHUs, they were clumsy climbers, but they made it to the edge of the top. What looked like a game trail ran along the top of the ridge, maybe a meter and a half wide. The entire breadth of the top ranged from three to four meters.

From up here, the sounds of the karnans’ weapons sounded sharper. Just ahead, as the ridge bent to the right, were at least fifty karnan soldiers raining death on the Marines below. Ahead of them, down on the highway, who knew how many karnans there were? The sounds of fighting had died down, and Rev had no idea who had prevailed.

And two of us.

Rev knew he must be high thinking he could pull this off, but what other choice did they have?

With a sharp drop-off on either side, it was like they were looking at a bridge over a canyon.

He pulled Pierson in close again, face shields almost touching. “This is just like a bridge, and like Horatio—”

“Horatius,” Pierson said, his face never dropping the bloodthirsty expression. “It was Horatius, not Horatio.”

Even in this situation, Rev was suddenly embarrassed to be corrected by Pierson, someone who barely had a pulse under normal conditions and now looked like he’d sold his soul to a demon.

“Yeah, like Horatius at the bridge, but we’re not just going to stop them, we’re going to throw them off the freakin’ thing!”

“Yeah,” Pierson said, teetering on the edge.

Rev switched to his beamer, selected guillotine mode, and then after a moment’s thought, turned the projector’s muzzle so that the “blade” of the beam was vertical instead of horizontal.

“Full power.”

<Done.>

Then, before Pierson could just take off in his excitement and leave him behind, he said, “Now!” jumped up, and started running down the trail, Pierson right behind him.

Rev went around the slight bend in five strides, and there were at least three dozen karnans, most on their bellies and shoulder to shoulder, firing down into the draw. A Mantis II reached up from below, but it missed and kept climbing into the sky. The ambush position continued around another small bed in the ridge, making it a V shape, and Rev couldn’t see yet how many were on the other leg of the ambush.

One thing was immediately obvious. The karnans hadn’t set up any flank security, proving that increasing a soldier’s strength did not guarantee tactical acumen. You couldn’t augment away dumb. And that was going to cost them.

Rev fired Pashu’s beamer, running from the nearest karnan and up the line. The beam cut right through the MDS armor, separating bodies into two, the karnans dead before they realized it. He managed to cut through thirteen of fourteen before the pulse ended.

It took most of the shocked karnans a moment to realize what was happening, but not all. An NCO, who’d been kneeling behind the line of shooters, immediately jumped back as his soldiers were sliced in two while wheeling to raise his shoulder-slung BIPAC 20 mm and take Rev under fire.

As quick as he was, he didn’t have the IBHU’s think-and-shoot capability. From just behind him, Pierson nailed the NCO before he could aim and fire.

Rev switched to his twenty and, together with Pierson, started blasting away, their big rounds chewing up the karnans, most of whom, instead of standing their ground and converging their fire on the two Marines, tried to jump for cover, some going forward toward the company, some backward toward the highway. MDS soldiers were no cowards, but the shock of the sudden assault had them acting instinctively.

That instinct saved some of those who jumped back. Even in the constrained area, many of Rev and Pierson’s rounds missed or glanced off body armor, but that initial volley dropped at least nine more, and the increased ferocity coming up from down in the draw was probably zeroing some of those whose mistake was diving forward.

Rev didn’t have the end of the ambush in sight, and with the initial surprise gone, those at the far end were able to react and orient toward the Marines.

Almost knocking him off the path in his eagerness, Pierson was cackling like a mad witch as he poured round after round at the enemy. Rev’s warrior self, his own near berserker side, marveled at and bowed down to the pure, unadulterated violence in organic form even as his LED went green and he switched back to Pashu’s beamer.

He’d rather be back to a horizontal blade, but that took a manual rotation of the projector muzzle. As he cleared a bit more of the angle to the other leg of the ambush, he bent at the waist and gave an angled slash that crossed a charging karnan across the legs but then struck and skittered across the ground, wasting the rest of the pulse.

Off balance, Rev fell on his face, and if it weren’t for Lance Corporal Berserker, the next two karnans would have nailed him with their larger, more lethal rounds. As he tried to get back up, Pierson vaulted him, blasting the two karnans who’d been too fixated on finishing off Rev.

The lance corporal didn’t stop but charged ahead.

“Pierson,” Rev shouted as he pushed against the ground with his arm and Pashu to stand back up.

He caught movement just at the edge of his sight. He twisted his head and spotted the karnan whose legs he’d just amputated. Amazingly, the soldier was leaning on one elbow while aiming in on Rev with his BIPAC. With Pashu’s muzzle planted in the dirt, Rev couldn’t bring her to bear, and Pierson was beyond the soldier.

But it wasn’t the legless karnan who got Rev. A heavy round from the direction of the highway hit Pashu, knocking her muzzle free and sending Rev tumbling over the edge and down the hill, where he bounced head over heels and from rock to rock as he fell. Each jolt shook his body, sending lances of pain up his spine. He finally came to a stop against a large boulder, stunned.

“What the . . .”

He was barely aware of a figure standing up just within his sight and firing up the hill. Hands reached out and grabbed his dead man’s handles, then jerked as they strained to pull him free. Rev tried to help, but he wasn’t doing much good. But with a few final heaves, Rev slipped free, and he was pulled into the cover of the boulder.

“Damn, Staff Sergeant, that was epic!” Bobovitch said in awe.

Rev pulled his feet around and looked to where Randigold was still standing, sending 20 mm rounds. She finished the burst, ducked back into cover, and then looked over at him, giving Rev a thumbs-up. Rev was still dazed, but he returned the gesture.

<Check your IBHU’s movement.>

“What?”

<There is a structural discontinuity in your IBHU, and I can’t tell just where. Please check it for movement.>

Rev frowned as he tried to clear his head. He brought Pashu up and immediately saw the “discontinuity.” One of her longitudinal braces had been shot off at one end and was sticking out at an angle. That must have been where she’d been hit.

From the highway! The Mad Dogs have control of it, he realized with a sinking feeling.

Focus, Reverent! See to Pashu!

He tested her out. Up and down seemed normal, but twisting and horizontal movement was balky and felt weird.

“What’s her status?”

<Weapons are green, but maneuverability looks to be compromised.>

“No shit, Sherlock,” Rev said as he simulated aiming his IBHU.

There was a quick, intense flurry of fire—mostly MDS—from above before it cut off. Rev looked up, but he couldn’t see anything over the lip of the ridge.

I hope you’re still kicking, Pierson.

Light fire reached up from around Rev, but from above, it seemed to have gone quiet.

“Hold your fire,” a voice hissed from below him.

It couldn’t have been the captain, but Rev wasn’t sure until the voice hissed again, low enough so that only someone with augmented hearing could pick up, “What was up there, Pelletier?”

“Fifty or more karnans. Pierson and I got maybe twenty before I was hit.”

“And Pierson?”

“Don’t know.” He thought he did know, but he couldn’t be sure and wasn’t going to guess now.

“There’s more. I was hit by fire coming from the highway.”

“Fuck. I expected that, given what we could hear. But I was hoping . . .”

The captain, who had to be just a few meters down the slope from him, was silent for a moment.

“What are your orders?” Rev asked.

“We can’t stay here.” There was a pause, then, “You think there are another thirty up there?”

“I don’t know. But maybe.”

“We’re going to have to break contact. If we wait for the rest of the Mad Dogs to join the assholes above us, we won’t have a chance. Wait one.”

There was a slight scuffle as the captain started to move, and then a burst of BIPAC fire tore up the rocks and ground.

“I wouldn’t try that again, jarhead. That was just a warning. The next time won’t be,” a voice boomed from above.

“You OK, Skipper?” Rev asked.

“Fuck me royal. That was close.”

“What’s going on, Staff Sergeant,” Bobovitch asked.

“What’s going on is that they’ve got us dead to rights,” Rev said bitterly. “But we’re going to have to try and break contact.”

Which was going to be easier said than done. Without comms, trying to put together a plan was going to be difficult. In order to work, the company was going to have to be coordinated. They had to lay covering fire while whoever was left ran back up the draw until they were in defilade. And that assumed the MDS hadn’t already—

Ah, shit. Of course, they’re going to try and cut us off.

“Skipper. We’ve got to make our break toward the river, not back up the draw.”

After a moment, the captain said, “You’re right. Damn! I was hoping to link up with Second.”

It was possible—hopeful—that Second HI had broken contact, but with a battalion of karnans, linking up with them would be an exercise in futility.

But the Marines didn’t have to link up, nor did they have to defeat the karnans. Time was against the MDS forces.

“All we have to do is keep them from engaging, if what we heard about them surrendering is true.”

Rev, Bobovitch, Randigold, and probably every other Marine within hearing waited for the captain’s response. But they never heard his decision, because right then, the voice from above called out.

“Is there a Staff Sergeant Pelletier down there?”

Rev’s mouth dropped open. Never in a million years would he have expected that.

“Staff Sergeant?” Bobovitch whispered.

“Hello? Is there a Staff Sergeant Pelletier down there?”

“Why do you want to know?” Captain Macek called back.

“Our commander has a, uh . . . a little proposition that might, you know, take care of our situation. And this Pelletier’s been suggested.”

“Do you know what this is?” the captain hissed, sticking his head from around the back of his rock.

“Not a clue,” Rev whispered back in somewhat of a state of shock.

“Look, my commander knows it’s a long shot, so if he isn’t there, we can parlay with someone else.”

“I’m here,” Rev suddenly announced, not quite sure why he did, though.

The captain glared at him.

“No shit? Really? You’re Pelletier?”

“No shit, really. Why do you want me?”

“I don’t really know why we want some particular Persie jarhead. I’m just relaying the message. But the commander wants to speak with you.”

Rev looked at the captain, who was vehemently shaking his head.

“We’ll give you safe passage over and back if you don’t like what he has to say. And then we can get back to exterminating you pallet rats,” the voice said with a biting vehemence.

It doesn’t sound like our friend there’s fully on board.

“I’m not the commander here. I can’t make any decisions.”

There was a long pause, and Rev looked at the captain and shrugged his shoulders. This was bizarro territory.

Finally, the voice called out again, “You and Colonel Suk, then. Guaranteed safe passage to and back.”

The skipper raised his eyebrows at that, and Rev nodded back. They thought the battalion commander was there. Or were they fishing for Intel?

“This is crazy,” the captain whispered, so low that Rev could barely hear him. “What do you think?”

Rev took a deep breath as he gathered his thoughts. This was way, way out of the ordinary, and it was probably an elaborate trap of some sort. But anything that delayed what was going on took them closer to when the MDS had to surrender.

“The more time we talk, the better it is.”

“I’ve been told to tell you that our commander swears on the Red Stones.”

Rev shrugged. The MDS make a big deal about the Red Stones, but in his experience with the MDS, the old mythos was more lip service than reality. Regardless of ancient oaths, if it were up to Rev, he’d accept the offer. He knew it was probably a very, very bad idea, but curiosity warred with caution, and he wanted to find out just what was their game. And what he’d told the captain was right. Any delay was to their benefit, not the MDS’s.

“I want to do it,” he whispered.

The captain grimaced and looked away from Rev. Finally, he shook his head, clearly against the idea, but he turned uphill and shouted, “If you want this done, then another officer will accompany Staff Sergeant Pelletier.”

The pause this time was short. “Agreed. If you’ll climb straight up the hill, we can get this done. And if the rest of you jarheads try and use this as a distraction, to, you know, try and break out, rest assured you will all be cut down.”

“You’re not really stupid enough to go up there, are you, Staff Sergeant? I mean, with all due respect and all, but really?”

Rev stood, exposing his upper torso. No rounds reached out to cut him down.

“Yeah, Bobovitch, I guess I am stupid enough.”

* * *

Maybe too stupid, Rev thought as his head cleared the top edge of the ridge.

A single over-lieutenant stood there with nine other karnans directly behind in a line. With their face shields darkened, he couldn’t see any faces, but from their posture, and the fact that while not aimed at them, their weapons were at the half-ready—an implied threat—he was pretty sure that all of them were eager to stomp out his and the captain’s lives, making it as painful as possible.

And as he clambered to the top, the captain beside him, it wasn’t difficult to see why. Rev didn’t make an effort to look, but he could see at least twenty, probably more, bodies with his peripheral vision. A few karnans were tending to them, but most seemed to be where they were dropped.

Rev took a quick glance to the left to see if he could spot Pierson, but there was no sign of the big Marine. Looking around, though, Rev’s attention was drawn to a single karnan was just to the side, helmet off, his legs cut off at the knees. He was Rev’s last victim. The soldier sneered, then spit at him.

Rev didn’t know if the karnan specifically recognized him as the one who took his legs, but it was impossible to miss Pashu. It took a bit of will to tear his gaze from the wounded karnan and back to the over-lieutenant.

“If you’ll wait a few minutes, the commander will be here shortly.”

“We’ll wait,” the captain said.

Rev wasn’t sure him being there was a good idea. Two IBHU Marines constituted a significant percentage of their total firepower. If this was a ruse, then the company had just taken a big hit in that regard. But if he wanted an officer at this meeting, then it was either him or Nilson.

Standing there, two Marines and ten karnans staring silently at each other, while other karnans tended to the carnage, was the very definition of surreal. This was the Thirty-ninth Century, not medieval Earth, with the armies of Europe coming together for a little parlay before the battle.

Despite their face shields, Rev could feel their eyes on the IBHUs, and he was tempted to turn to the side, using his body to block the view, but he didn’t want them to see him react to their scrutiny. Instead, he looked at them, trying to see if there was any difference in the armor from the karnans he’d served with in the Home Guard. Nothing stood out.

Beyond the line of soldiers, Rev could see over to the highway. There was activity on it, karnans moving back and forth. But he was laser-focused on six Marine bodies lined up on the edge of the highway. His warrior self immediately tried to surface, but Rev forced him back down, then clamped him in place. He still didn’t know what this was all about, but he knew he needed a clear mind if he was going to take advantage of whatever came up.

“Can you tell anything about those Marines?”

<Not at this distance.>

“Is there anything in your data banks that might tell me what the Mad Dogs are trying to do?”

<Nothing with the MDS. I cannot extrapolate a scenario with any degree of acceptable probability.>

The minutes ticked on, and while Rev knew that every one of those was advantage-Marines, he just wanted to get this over with. He could feel his pulse rate start to rise as the stress of the unknown started to kick in. He almost asked Punch for a little calming nano intervention, but anything that could dull his edge, even the tiniest bit, could end up costly.

Staying too amped with nervous energy could be costly, too.

“Give me a joke,” he suddenly asked Punch.

Anything to break the tension.

<Is that appropriate?>

That was the second time Punch had ever questioned Rev on a request. He was going to have to file that in the back of his mind for further consideration—if there ever was a “further” in his future, something that was not a sure thing given the present situation.

“I need to cut the stress, and I don’t want the nanos to interfere.”

That must have made sense to his battle buddy.

<What is the difference between an MDS under-lieutenant and a Marine PFC?>

That didn’t sound like something in Punch’s joke files. Rev shifted his gaze to the under-lieutenant standing silently a few meters away from him. The MDS equivalent of a butter bar hadn’t moved, undoubtedly trying to look threatening.

“I don’t know. What is the difference?”

<A Marine PFC knows he isn’t in charge.>

It wasn’t funny, but staring at the under-lieutenant, it struck a chord, and Rev laughed out loud.

The karnans flinched, several bringing their weapons to bear.

“At ease,” one of the karnans growled, and the weapons came back down. The karnans had been rattled by his laugh, and even though they returned to their previous positions, they didn’t quite have the same degree of menace as they’d had only a moment before.

Rev knew they were just as hyped as he was, and for a moment, he could put himself in their places. Here they were, the big, bad karnans, the best soldiers in the galaxy—at least, that was the gospel being fed to them. But standing before them were two Union IBHU Marines, and they couldn’t ignore one concrete fact: two IBHU Marines had killed at least twenty of them, maybe more. That had to be hard to swallow.

That realization, that the karnans had to be freaking out, did more to relax Rev than anything else. Suddenly, he felt confident. Not blind arrogance, but confidence. Things still weren’t looking good. His and Pierson’s quicker reactions had been vital, but the only reason the two Marines had been able to cause so much mayhem was the karnans’ tactical mistake of not defending their flanks. The surprise they’d achieved was now gone, and now a single karnan 20mm round would put him in the grave.

But no matter what was going to happen, Rev knew he was going to do his duty. The karnans should be freaking out facing an IBHU Marine.

“He’s here,” another karnan came up and told the under-lieutenant.

A moment later, two karnans climbed onto the game trail about fifteen meters down. As they approached, both the Marines and karnans turned to face them. The major led, and an over-sergeant followed a step behind.

The MDS army had more officer ranks than the Union Marines, and a major was roughly the equivalent of a Marine lieutenant colonel. This was probably the battalion commander, the over-sergeant some sort of bodyguard.

The karnan commander glanced at the dead karnan bodies until he reached the two Marines. “You must be Staff Sergeant Pelletier. And you are?” he asked the captain.

“Captain Milei Macek.”

The major waited a moment as if expecting more from him, but when the captain said nothing else, he grunted and continued.

“I am Major Ethan Slejamik, commander of the Fourteenth Cataphracts. I thank you for agreeing to this, shall we say, unusual request. I hope you will hear me out. But no matter what you decide, you have my assurances that we will honor the flag of truce until decisions have been made.”

Which left open a rather large door of possibilities. His “decision” could be “screw you two,” and his henchmen would open up on the captain and him. But something about the major’s manner gave Rev a little more degree of trust.

“The battle for this planet is a foregone conclusion, and as much as it pains me to admit it, our forces will have no choice but to surrender or be wiped out.”

That took Rev by surprise. From the MDS soldiers he knew, this wasn’t the kind of thing they’d openly admit. Judging from the karnans there, they were equally taken aback. One soldier actually took a step forward as if he was going to protest until another’s arm reached out across his chest to stop him.

The major took a deep breath, and Rev knew whatever he was going to say was weighing heavily on him.

“And as I’m sure you know, our objective here wasn’t necessarily to take this planet. This place meant nothing in our strategic goals. What we needed was a victory for . . .” he said, his voice trailing off.

“No matter why, but we were charged with achieving a victory. But for whatever reason, it seems as if the local militia was underestimated, and a complete victory is no longer in the cards.”

“So, are you here to surrender to me?” Captain Macek asked.

Rev suppressed a smile. The captain, who had been one of the most tentative, unassuming lieutenants he had known, and grown some balls over the last several years.

“In a word, no. I have my orders. If we cannot achieve an overall victory, well, there are moral victories that can be won, victories that can reflect upon superior capabilities.”

What the hell is he talking about?

“As you know, while there has been general unease with the degree of both of our paths to creating the ultimate soldier,” he said, sweeping his arm to include both the karnans and the two IBHU Marines, “there is still a vast amount of interest on which is better, karnan or IBHU.”

Rev got a tiny inkling of where this was going, and he wasn’t sure if he was horrified or excited.

“We’re different,” Captain Macek said. “And if the rest of humanity keeps comparing us to the Genesians, then we may be the last of us. There aren’t any more Centaurs for us to fight, after all.”

“Whether there are no more of us or not, it is the proof of concept that is important. Who was able to create a better soldier?”

“It will be moot soon, so what’s your point, sir?”

“I’ve been ordered to achieve an absolute victory and defeat you; that’s the point.”

Rev had to fight to keep his warrior from reacting. He knew he could drop the major, even more of them, but both he and the captain would be killed. And this major didn’t request this meeting just to tell them that.

“I can destroy you. We significantly outnumber what forces you have left. But from what happened along the highway, and from what I see here, I think that will be an extremely costly victory.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” the captain said, showing more of that spine.

“I’ve been wrong before,” the major said with a shrug. “But I think it would be a foregone conclusion. If you can look over your shoulder, along the far ridgeline?”

The two Marines turned. Along the top of the ridge on the other side of the draw was at least a platoon of karnans. They were in a loose formation and not posturing, but the implicit threat was there. The Marines were trapped with the enemy surrounding them. An attempt at a breakout would be putting themselves through the meat grinder.

A much less confident Rev turned back to the major.

“Let’s quit beating around the bush, Major,” the captain said. “Tell us what you have to say, or let’s just see this thing through.”

“I’m sorry. This is just . . . this is hard for me to say.” He took another deep breath. “There are other ways to determine victory and defeat. Historical ways that don’t involve everyone, that don’t end up with both sides decimated.”

You don’t mean—

But the captain beat him to it. “Really? You’re suggesting Trial by Champion? We put a karnan and an IBHU Marine together and see who’s toughest? That’s ludicrous!”

“Is it? Do you really want to squander your Marines’ lives when the outcome on this damned planet is already decided?” the major snapped.

Rev could see him strive to get control again, and in a calmer voice said, “My soldiers will die for a cause, but right now, that cause is lost. I don’t believe in needless sacrifice. Do you? Do you value your men and women that little?”

The captain seemed to consider this and then asked, “But you’ve got your orders. You need a victory to prove your superior tech.”

“Exactly, and I can prove that by having my soldier beat your Marine. And this way, only one life is lost.”

“Let me get this straight. What you’re suggesting is that a Marine and a soldier face each other like an old-West gunfight?”

Rev’s warrior perked up. In a gunfight, he’d win, no question about it. His ability to think a shot gave him an advantage that no karnan could match. He was just far too quick.

“Not quite. I want this with no weapons. Just mano y mano.”

Which deflated Rev. Evidently, the major knew none of his karnans could win with the gunfight scenario.

“You’re taking away one of our advantages,” the captain said.

“If you believe in your technology, you’ll still agree,” the major said. “Look, I’ve already lost soldiers, good soldiers fighting the rest of your battalion. And if we commence this pointless fight, I’m going to lose more. I’m not stupid,” he said, pointing at the dead karnans along the trail.

“But you are going to lose everyone still standing. That’s not a threat. That’s just the way it is. And my bosses will get their victory.

“But I think I can get that victory and keep soldiers and Marines alive. Not only them, but I’ve got wounded soldiers and Marines who need to be medevacked, and I’ve got soldier and Marine KIAs who have chances at resurrection. If you and I decide to duke it out, then how many of those will lose that chance?”

As the captain let those words sink in, Rev asked, “Why me?” the first words he’d said.

The major turned to him. “Yes, why you? Well, Staff Sergeant, we’ve got an extensive file on you. We think we know who you are, and from Vreemish’s report to your actions on Armadillo, you’ve proven yourself to be honorable.”

Lieutenant Vreemish. I had to figure he’d write up a report on me. And all the rest in the Guard.

“You’ve got quite a weapon hanging from your shoulder, one you can’t really remove as my soldier can drop his weapon. If we go through with this course of action, I think I can trust you not to employ one of those weapons and abide by the rules.”

“He’s also IBHU Number 1.”

The major didn’t try to deny the symbolism that killing the very first IBHU Marine might have.

“So, Major. Let’s say we do this, as crazy as it sounds. Staff Sergeant Pelletier here defeats your soldier. What then?”

“Then we withdraw, leaving our KIA and seriously wounded here. I would hope my men would get treated.”

“And if, by some chance, your soldier comes out on top?”

“Then we will move out without further fighting and pray you can take care of my KIA before the ultimate surrender of the planet. As you know, any potential resurrection is time-dependent.”

“You’re saying that, but what about your men? They’ve lost buddies. Are they just going to walk away, no matter who wins?”

“My soldiers answer to me. They will do as I say, no matter their personal feelings.”

But you answer to your seniors, and I don’t think they’ll be too happy about this.

Rev sized up the karnans. They were stronger than him, as he well knew. They had more training in martial arts. Where Rev’s advantage was in his high-tech IBHU system, the karnans were more impressive individuals. In a hand-to-hand fight, without weapons, the karnans had the advantage.

This is stupid. Don’t agree.

But the major’s words had an effect. He was right, in so many ways. Not that his troops would win, although that was a distinct possibility, but no matter what, Marines and soldiers were going to die. Any military person dying was a loss, even when that loss furthered a greater good. But with this fight for this planet all but decided, and any more deaths were just wasteful tragedies. Mothers, fathers, spouses, children . . . all would mourn needlessly lost lives.

Rev knew his chances of living to see sunset were exceedingly small. Either he’d die at the hands of some karnan champion, or he’d get cut down in the deathtrap that was the draw. At least going into combat, his life would be in his own hands, not in those of some random bullet.

Rev didn’t want to take this out of the captain’s hands, but he had to say it now before he lost his mojo.

“I’ll do it,” he told the major.

“Rev!” the captain said.

The major turned to give him a long look. “I see the reports about you were right. And believe me when I tell you I regret this on a personal level. You would have made a fine karnan.”

Rev waited for the captain to step up and say he made the decisions, not a staff sergeant. But he remained silent, understanding that as weird as this entire situation was, this was the right choice.

“Can I ask you, sir, who I’ll be facing?” he asked.

“A volunteer,” the major told him before turning to the karnan who’d been standing there silently through the entire conversation.

The soldier slowly removed his helmet, revealing a very familiar face.

“Good to see you again, oner,” Over-sergeant Lincoln Kvat said with his usual sardonic smile.

31

Rev stood on the highway, Yancey and the captain by his side. Twenty meters away, Kvat was stretching, his eyes locked on Rev.

He looked bigger than he’d remembered the karnan from back in the gym with Second of the Second—and he’d looked enormous then.

“I know I should be giving you the big pep talk,” Yancey said as he watched the karnan. “But I’m new at this.”

“I’m new, too. In case you haven’t heard, we don’t fight like this anymore.”

“I’m not sure we ever have except in the holovids,” the captain said.

“I always did like to try new things,” Rev said.

But as he looked at Kvat, his confidence was not quite as much as it had been when he’d accepted the challenge thirty minutes before.

He glanced behind him. By mutual agreement, the Marines had left the draw and were on the river side of the highway. The karnans had moved to the highlands side of the highway, and there were a lot more of them than there were Marines. A lot more.

Seeing them like this, Rev knew in his heart that had it come to a fight, while the Marines would make the Corps proud, they couldn’t have succeeded. So, unless the karnans reneged on the terms, this had been a good deal for what was left of the company. Not just those still standing. Sixteen Marines and a corpsman were lined up next to fifty-nine karnan bodies. No matter who won, every effort was going to be made to get those bodies to treatment in hopes they could be given a second chance at life.

“You ready for this?” the captain asked.

“I guess I have to be.”

“No matter what happ—”

“It’s OK, sir. Really.”

He didn’t mean to cut the captain off, but at the moment, he had to concentrate on what he was going to do. Kvat was huge, with most of his vulnerable areas covered with heavy muscle and metal support rods.

“So, the face, the base of the throat, or the temples?”

<Those are his weakest points. The elbow, while augmented, is also a potential weak spot. Fingers, while not lethally vulnerable, can be broken.>

Rev had defeated seven MDS soldiers in what was essentially hand-to-hand combat, but the sledgehammer blows he’d crushed soldiers’ heads and chests in wouldn’t work very well against Kvat, at least according to the data Punch had available to him. A blow across the chest would damage skin, but the rods would protect lungs, hearts, and organic ribs. A blow across the thigh that would snap a regular leg in two could damage muscle, but the leg wouldn’t break.

Kvat had to guess Rev was going to come out swinging with Pashu, and he’d be ready for it. But he doubted—hoped, at least—that Kvat didn’t realize Rev had killed a karnan before when he used Pashu’s muzzle, driving it through the soldier’s face shield and into his brain. If Rev could maneuver into a position where he could do that, either through the eyes or nasal passages, or possibly through the middle of the base of his throat, which Punch said was a weak spot, he had a chance.

What he couldn’t afford to do was let Kvat grapple with him. Rev was strong, and he had a robust harness system designed to support and maneuver his IBHU, but none of that would act to deflect blows.

Rev swung Pashu back and forth a few times. She was balky. The broken longitudinal strut swung free, and Rev had to reach over with his right hand and try to push it back out of the way.

Couldn’t be worse timing for that to be broken.

“Are we ready?” the karnan major asked. “Over-sergeant Kvat?”

“Born ready, sir,” Kvat said with a grin.

“Staff Sergeant Pelletier?”

“Ready, sir.”

“Just a reminder to everyone watching. There’s to be no interference. Karnans, I set upon you a black onus. Persians, I have to trust your commanders’ assurances that you will not interfere with these two warriors.” He paused for a moment to let it sink in before he said, “I don’t know if there’s supposed to be some sort of protocol for this kind of thing, so I’m just going to say ‘go!’”

“Get him, Rev,” Yancey said, slapping him on the butt as he and the captain stepped back.

Soldiers and Marines started yelling, encouraging their champions.

Rev hadn’t played competitive sports since secondary school, what seemed like a million years ago, but he was struck by how close this seemed like hitting the flipball field, his classmates cheering.

“Except there, losers didn’t die,” he muttered to himself

<Losers playing ōllamalīztli were sometimes killed.>

“What?”

<In Mayan and Aztec cultures, the losing captains or even teams playing the game ōllamalīztli were sometimes sacrificed.>

“Geeze, Punch. Not now!”

That’s all I need, a history lesson.

Kvat was simply walking at him, not in any sort of stance yet.

That forced Rev to do the same. This was being recorded by a hundred or more sets of eyes, and if this was his last tango, he was going to go out in style.

Kvat stopped about eight meters away, so Rev did, too.

“We’ve come a long way, oner.”

“You know, that’s a real stupid name for us.”

Kvat laughed and said, “Yeah. But it stuck. I like what you call us. Pit bulls. Sounds mean as shit.”

Rev rolled his eyes. The Marines didn’t really call them that. A few had, but that had faded away.

The karnan’s ever-present smile disappeared for a moment. “I want you to know, this isn’t personal. Well, maybe it is, but not as you think.”

“So glad to hear.”

“I mean it. You’re good people, Rev. And the commander was right. You’d have made a good Karnak. And after Moxigill, well, I owe you.”

“Yeah, and this is how you repay me for saving your life,” Rev said with a bark of a laugh.

“Your life is forfeit. Nothing I could do about that. But I’m going to make this quick, not like what some of the others said they were going to do. There will be no humiliation. And I thought, since you’re going to die, you’d rather go out under a friendly hand. So, I declared gnassa to be the one.”

Gnassa was some sort of life oath, Rev, knew, but not the details. But the earnest tone in Kvat’s voice sounded genuine. Maybe he really thought he was doing him a favor.

Not that I need your favors.

Rev slowly turned until the right side of his body faced Kvat, Pashu raised high on the left.

“Let’s get it on.”

The smile came back as if Kvat had been embarrassed by his little show of humanity. He bent over at a slight crouch, his massive left arm forward as if holding a medieval shield.

Rev knew his only chance was to get this over quickly. Every minute pushed the advantage further to the karnan. But he couldn’t just rush forward, or he’d be the fly in Kvat’s web.

Still several meters away, the shorter karnan made a quick motion, flicking his hands toward Rev’s face, but Rev didn’t flinch. Kvat just smiled, and Rev wondered why the feint from so far away.

What’s he doing? What was that all about?

He felt another little wave of uncertainty, then it hit him. That was what the karnan wanted. He wanted to keep Rev unbalanced.

Around him, Marines and karnans were yelling their support for their champion, and Rev tuned them out. The only thing that mattered was his opponent. With grim determination, he started advancing, hoping to instigate an attack so he could use the karnan’s mass and strength against him.

It worked. With a shout, Kvat lunged at him, arms outstretched.

The karnan was quick, but Rev was quicker. He whipped up Pashu, her elbow bent, ready to drive her beamer muzzle through Kvat’s face and the letting his own momentum run him up Pashu like a lion on a Maasai spear . . . except that the broken strut was just enough to off-balance her, bringing the muzzle slightly off-target so that it hit his cheek and glanced off to the side.

The big karnan wasn’t even fazed as he crashed into Rev, trapping Pashu between them and driving him back. Massive arms grabbed for the back of Rev’s head as he bowled the lighter Marine over, and it was only his focus on achieving his grip that allowed Rev to twist as they fell, landing on top of the karnan.

“Nice move, but no matter. We train to fight from the bottom, too,” Kvat said.

He didn’t even try to reverse positions, but he wrapped his legs around Rev’s, trapping them, and with locked hands, started to apply pressure to Rev’s head, forcing it forward.

Rev tried to pull back, but with Pashu trapped across his chin, he had no leverage with her, and with his right arm and neck, he couldn’t break the hold and the relentless pressure being applied.

He needed to get Pashu free, so he started pounding Kvat in the side with his right hand. The karnan grunted but never let up. He was going to strangle Rev or break his neck.

But with Pashu being trapped, it was also protecting his neck. Rev thought his chin was going to break against her, but she kept his windpipe free.

Kvat must have realized that, too, because with a quick shift, he let go his hold, shoved down on Pashu’s elbow, and regrasped his hands before Rev could react.

Rev resisted, trying to push up and keep the big arms from collapsing his throat, but it was like fighting a winch. Centimeter by centimeter, the karnan was winning the battle of wills.

They were both on the ground, with the karnan lower on Rev’s chest and looking up into his face. As Rev’s head was forced lower, he could see the eager look of anticipation on the karnan as he realized the moment he’d cut off Rev’s air.

With a renewed effort, Rev struggled, trying to break the hold and breathe, but the karnan was locked in. Gray spots started to swim in his vision, and he bucked again. The upper end of his traitorous longitudinal strut that had taken him off target swung free, a last “up yours” to the dying Marine as the tip fell against the karnan’s . . .

Rev reacted before he realized what was happening. With a final exhalation of the air left in his lungs, Rev reversed Pashu, and instead of pushing against the karnan’s arms, he pulled down, and this time aided by Kvat’s own force. His head smashed into his chest, so he couldn’t see the free end of the strut skitter up the karnan’s chest, the tip hitting the base of the throat before the combined power of the two men drove it deep into the flesh. He couldn’t see the tip bounce off of one of the cables that protected the karnan’s neck, but he could feel the tip skitter to the side and penetrate the vertebrae with a sickening snap.

The pressure on his neck immediately disappeared, and Rev rolled off to his back and gasped for air. Five seconds, ten seconds, all he could think about was sweet, blessed oxygen.

But the realization that he was still in a fight to the death hit him like a tsunami. With a start, he got to his knees, ready to fight, but Kvat was on his back, unmoving. Blood was slowly seeping out of a hole at the base of his neck, running down his armor to the ground.

Rev got to his feet, barely aware of the Marines behind him shouting, the soldiers in front of him deathly silent.

He glanced at Pashu. The strut swung free, now slightly bent and covered with blood. The traitorous strut, and now the hero of the day.

<The fight isn’t over,> Punch reminded him.

Rev’s throat was burning, and his neck hurt from the strain. He was still breathing heavily, but whether from having his air cut off or from a flood of adrenaline, he didn’t know. All he knew was that his enemy was just a couple of meters away.

Time to finally end this.

He staggered over to Kvat. The karnan was limply still, but he was breathing. Bloody bubbles emerged from the hole in his throat with each tortured breath.

Rev stood over karnan, Pashu raised for the coup de grace, ready to drive her muzzle into his brain. His warrior was screaming in primeval lust for death.

Kvat stared back at him with fear in his eyes as he struggled to breathe.

“How does it feel now?” Rev asked. “How does it feel to have your arrogance at an end?”

“Do it,” he said, choking up blood. “End it in honor.”

And Rev realized that Kvat wasn’t afraid of death. He feared being toyed with, of being made into a spectacle, as the other karnans had said they’d do with him.

With a mental snap, he pushed his warrior back and locked him deep and far away. He could almost hear the wails of anger.

He stood, then looked around at the shocked and silent karnans. Behind him a few cheers rang out, followed by more and more until he raised his right hand, signaling the Marine sign for silence.

Rev sought out the karnan commander. “Do you accept my victory?”

The commander dropped his eyes to look at Kvat, helpless on the ground but still breathing. “He is still alive.”

“You said defeat. You never used the word death. So, I ask you again, do you accept my victory?”

The major was in just as much shock as the rest of his soldiers. Rev knew he’d expected Kvat to win the fight. But he’d been too clever, albeit for a good cause. Instead of fighting the battle, he’d thought he could save karnan lives for future engagements, especially as no new karnans were being made, and still win that victory his superiors demanded. He wanted his cake and to eat it, too, only to see the cake had ideas of his own.

I wouldn’t want to be you now, bud.

The major raised his eyes to Rev’s again. “Will you treat him?”

“The same as everyone else, to the best of our abilities.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, then Rev could see the resolve flow through him.

He stood taller and shouted, “I accept your victory.” His soldiers started to mumble, and he shouted louder, “As sworn on the Red Stone, we, of the Manifest Destiny Sphere, honor our oaths. We will not besmirch our ancestors.”

Rev knew things were on a knife’s edge. The karnans weren’t happy, and he could see the threat of violence ripple through the packed battalion.

“Can I fire the beamer?”

<The power is good. I can’t tell about the projector muzzle.>

Rev didn’t want to spark a charge of crazed karnans, but he was going to start dropping as many as he could before they overwhelmed him.

“Cataphract! Every one of you. Face to the rear and move out!” the MDS major shouted.

Some started to turn, but not everyone. A few tried moving to the front, toward their commander.

“You heard the commander. He’s given you an order, and if you do not start moving right now, I will personally send your worthless fucking souls to hell,” a voice from the back yelled out.

That stopped the movement, and soldiers looked at each other as if trying to see what the others were going to do.

“Oh, just try me. I beg you, try me,” the voice called out again, dripping with scorn.

A moment later, a field sergeant in the first row turned and said, “You heard the sergeant prime. Let’s move it.”

Another NCO joined in, then another. It took a few moments, but the mass of karnans started retreating up the highway. A few insults were hurled back, but nothing worse.

A Marine started to cheer, but she was quickly shut up. They wouldn’t be out of the woods until the karnans were well and truly away.

The major waited until last, when all the karnans were on the move. He took a look at the dead karnans who had a chance at resurrection, then at Kvat. Finally, he looked up, caught Rev’s eyes, and nodded. He didn’t say a thing as he wheeled about and followed his soldiers away.

32

It took four full days until the MDS forces officially surrendered, but twenty minutes after the karnans left the First HI Company, the jamming ceased, and comms were reopened with the command. One hour and fourteen minutes later, the first of four militia Montoyas, the militia’s old but reliable fan jets, landed on the highway and loaded the seriously wounded and KIAs who were deemed to have a chance at resurrection—Marine and MDS alike.

Promises made, promises kept.

Contact was also made with Second HI Company. They’d suffered serious casualties in their skirmish with the karnans, but a large number had managed to break contact and scatter. It took the rest of the day to gather the rest of the Marines and load the dead on the trucks sent by the militia.

With no firm orders, Captain Macek, now the senior officer with Major Liege and Captain Wessing KIA, marched the rest back to Camp McTavish. Three hundred and thirteen Marines and corpsmen had landed on Kinshasa seven days ago. One hundred and four marched through the gates as the sun set over the horizon.

Marine after Marine came up to him during the day, congratulating him on his fight, but the normal excitement he felt after combat escaped him. And as the detachment formed up to be dismissed, the weight of what had happened settled over his psyche.

Rev was tired of losing friends. He was tired of final calls. He was tired of saying “respect to the fallen” when someone’s name was mentioned. And for what? Fighting the Centaurs had been a matter of human survival. But what was this? Men and women were dying to feed the egos of leaders as powers jockeyed for even more power?

Those same people in power didn’t even appreciate his service. He kept telling himself that he’d long ago forgotten the awards he’d been put in for but not received, but that wasn’t really true. Like a buzzing fruit fly, it always seemed to be there, hovering, almost out of notice, in the background. He’d tried to come to terms with the fact that Omega Division seemed bent on locking him away for life, but that resentment was on a constant simmer. The fact that he and Punch had to come up with a secret way to communicate alone was enough that his warrior self could lose it and go on a rampage without Rev constantly keeping him down.

Rev and his fellow Marines kept giving and giving, saluting and marching on for assholes who obviously didn’t give a flying fuck for them. If he could, he’d chuck it all, go home, and stand by Tomiko as she started her long road to recovery.

Captain Macek stood in front of the task force, looking exhausted—mentally and physically. “I know I should have something to tell you all, something that real leaders say. But to be honest, I’m empty. I’ve got nothing, other than the fact that I am proud, from the bottom of my heart, that I went through this with you. I can’t say I’ve heard of anyone who’s accomplished more than every one of you.

“I’ll try to find out what’s going on and what they want us to do. But for you now, I want to get everyone fed and put to sleep. The battle is still going on, though, so we can’t let our guard down. So, twenty-five percent alert. Everyone else, get rested. We don’t know what our order will be tomorrow.”

He pulled himself to attention. “Heavy Infantry, dis-MISSED!”

The Marines came to attention as well, and one lone voice called out, “Ooh-rah! Heavy Infantry!” Another, and then another shouted, “Ooh-rah.”

Immediately, the entire task force was standing tall, all 104 throats screaming “ooh-rah” after “ooh-rah,” Rev included.

He wasn’t sure why, only that some deeply seated core of humanity needed release. They needed to scream to the gods of war and man that they weren’t animals simply existing. They were humans who understood there was a higher calling in the universe, and what they did had worth.

“Ooh-rah! Ooh-rah,” echoed through the camp, Rev as loud as anyone else.

For a moment after they’d marched into the camp, he’d wanted to just quit, to say nothing was worth what he’d experienced. But that would be ignoring the very best of humanity he’d witnessed while in uniform. He was a Union Marine, and that meant something. Every one of them, his brothers and sisters, made something that was greater than the sum of their parts. And wasn’t that what made life worth living—and sacrificing, if need be?

Screw the assholes in charge. He wasn’t doing this for them. He was doing this for those standing there alongside him, his tribe, his people.

“Ooh-rah! Ooh-rah!”

* * *

The universe looked better the next day as the Marines, fed and rested, did maintenance on their gear. There was no final call for those they’d lost yet. A few more Second HI Company Marines were gathered up, more dead than alive, unfortunately, but until everyone was accounted for, the ceremony would wait.

Pashu should be dead-lined. Her beamer projector was broken, and Punch thought there could be significant scattering if the beamer was fired. But until Daryll or another tech could get their hands on her, that was going to have to wait.

What didn’t have to wait, though, was doing something about the longitudinal strut. Rev could still feel Kvat’s throat give as he forced the strut into the karnan’s throat. He could feel the end skitter in between the two cables that protected his vertebrae and snap Kvat’s neck.

Maybe it was because he knew the karnans, or maybe it was just because of the intimacy of the act, but it was a little disconcerting. So, Rev found a molecular saw in the camp’s machine shop, and with Yancey assisting, he sawed the other end off.

“What do you want me to do with this?” Yancey asked, picking the strut off the ground.

“Toss it.”

It was a hunk of metal, nothing more—except for the memories it invoked.

The highlight of the day was when another militia truck arrived with hot chow. Rev wasn’t sure what was better: the fact that they could eat real food or what that meant with regard to the fight.

The battle wasn’t over. The last MDS unit down in the next province was surrounded, but it had not surrendered. With more and more reinforcements coming over from the other continent, there really wasn’t much of a question of if, but when the commander would have to surrender.

It wasn’t just the Heavy Infantry that was pulled back. Almost all Marine forces were disengaged. This was the militia’s planet, and they demanded the honor of the final surrender. After the casualties they’d suffered, they didn’t want Marines to swoop in and become the saviors.

And that suited both the CoH and the Union. Let the mighty MDS army be brought down by a planetary militia.

Reports reaching the Marines and McTavish were spotty, but the battles on the other planets were done as well. Kinshasa had been the MDS’s main objective. The other attacks had been designed to fix CoH and Union forces in place, keeping them away from the planet until the MDS could achieve a quick victory.

The MDS’s grand plans weren’t just falling apart on the planet but in the galaxy as well.

Two days after their battle, Rev had taken Pashu off and was washing his stump when Lehman stuck his head in and said, “Look at the local news feed. KGN.”

“What’s on?”

“You’ll want to see it.”

Rev frowned, not knowing why the sergeant didn’t just tell him what he was supposed to see. “Throw my pad to me. Right cargo pocket.”

Rev’s armor was standing up against the bulkhead, and Lehman fished for the pad and tossed it to him.

“Give me the local network, KGN.”

The image came on of some spokesperson giving a statement to reporters. Nothing new about that. The news networks were working overtime with the MDS’s turn of fortunes.

“OK, so what’s this?”

“Isn’t that your guy, Staff Sergeant?”

“What guy?” He told the pad to blow up the face and stopped, completely shocked.

“Is that—” he started to ask Punch.

<That’s Staff captain Mballa.>

“Holy shit! What the hell is he doing on the news?”

He told his pad to rewind to the beginning of the segment.

“We take you now to outside the CoH Hall of Humanity on Titan where Staff Captain Isaac Mballa of the Freedom Confederation Army is giving a statement,” a voice spoke over the image of the staff captain stepping up to a gaggle of reporters and newsdrones.

“Can you tell us what you just delivered, Staff captain?” a voice called out.

“I am here at the Hall of Humanity delivering a message from the Freedom Confederation Council of Equals. I am not at liberty to release the details at this time.”

“Is it true that the Freedom Confederation is withdrawing from its compact with the Manifest Destiny Sphere?”

“I have to repeat. I am just a courier, and I am not authorized to release any further information at this time.”

JUST a courier? Who in the name of the Mother are you, Staff captain?

“Will the Freedom Confederation be petitioning the Congress of Humanity for readmission?” another voice called out.

The staff captain repeated that he had nothing he could say.

Several more questions were thrown at him, all with the same result, until someone said, “I’m just getting a report from HHVN News Central that a high-ranking team of officials, to include the president, is at the Miranth spaceport right now, boarding a shuttle. Is it true that team is coming here to Titan, Staff captain?”

The staff captain had been stoic while deflecting the questions, but this time, his cheek gave the tiniest tick. He gave the same non-answer, but Rev wasn’t the only one who’d seen the tic. The KGN newsroom went crazy, blowing up the tic and running it over and over while in a reduced box, Staff captain Mballa continued to avoid giving any real answers.

But the KGN talking heads were sure that confirmed the report. President Tubere and her negotiating team were heading for Titan, and there was only one reason that could be. They were pulling out of their compact with the MDS and were going to petition for readmission into the CoH.

Rev was still amazed that it was Staff captain Mballa, of all people, who was back on Titan, and it was him delivering a message of such importance. He was going to have to ask Punch to try and find out more about just who this man was.

But above and beyond the coincidence, this was an important development. Amazingly important.

“And so, the first domino falls,” he said as he turned off the newsfeed.

* * *

The final surrender of the MDS forces on Kinshasa was more of a whimper than a bang. The MDS general attempted to negotiate a truce. That was refused.

He requested to negotiate with the Union task force commanding general. That was refused.

When finally meeting with the representatives of the planetary government, he attempted to negotiate terms. With nothing to bargain with, that was refused.

In the end, and with no other options, he had no choice but to unconditionally surrender.

To the galactic public at large, the image of the big bad Manifest Destiny Sphere as an unstoppable force had been popped. Their political schtick was their professed superiority as a culture. But if their vaunted forces could be beaten by a planetary militia, then were they something to be feared in the first place? Was their system really superior?

Which wasn’t really a valid argument from a tactical sense, as Rev and the other Marines knew. The MDS might have underestimated the effectiveness of eighty years worth of stockpiling artillery shells, but that didn’t tell the whole story. There was an entire Union task force on and around the planet, and without its contribution, particularly that of the Marine mechheads and Naval forces, it was extremely doubtful that the militia would have succeeded in defeating the MDS.

But that was a narrative that the CoH and the Union wanted to promulgate, and the Kinshasa government was more than happy to bask in the notoriety.

The fact that the MDS forces had almost achieved a moral victory on a lonely highway outside of Camp McTavish was never reported. It wouldn’t have mattered that the Fourteenth Cataphracts had over four hundred karnans to the Marines’ twenty-seven IBHUs and about two hundred non-IBHU Marines. A Marine defeat would have been taken as a referendum on whose technology was better—a tiny thing when compared to the big picture of what happened on the planet, but the MDS would have been grasping at straws.

On the other side, the Marines weren’t allowed to trumpet their victory. One, it wouldn’t mesh with the militia narrative, and two, with public opinion continually moving against the kind of augments that created the IBHUs, karnans, and half a dozen smaller efforts across the galaxy, the powers that be would rather that IBHU Marines stay in the background, as unnoticed as possible.

In another era, Rev would be a hero because of his many battlefield successes, known by the masses. He and Lieutenant Vreemish saved the Earth, by the Mother. He had enough of a normal ego that the thought of public acclaim sometimes tantalized him. But by now, he was used to being employed when needed, then shuffled out of sight when he was finished.

He sure wasn’t being used now that the fighting was done. For two full weeks, the company did nothing while the politics of the new galactic paradigm roiled in turmoil. The highlight for them was when a local VGW post unexpectedly drove up in a truck and put on a BBQ, complete with beer that took Captain Macek about a millisecond to approve. For that one afternoon, the Marines weren’t light-years from home.

Back in the real world, one after the other, former MDS allies abandoned their cause and petitioned to return to the CoH. Memorandums of Understanding were drafted, detailing the steps, but for most of the nations, it was understood that they’d be welcomed. The question was what to do with the MDS itself.

“Screw them. There are consequences for actions you take,” Yancey said whenever the topic came up.

More than half of the Marines agreed with that point of view. It was difficult to fight and lose friends and then be in a forgive and forget mood. Rev understood that. He was still angry over the losses, and he fretted over Tomiko constantly.

But because of the losses, he’d reluctantly come to a different tack. Rev had been part of the effort to save humanity from total extermination. Somehow, against the odds, humanity had prevailed. But if there was one alien race bent on wiping out humanity, could there be another?

Chances were, yes, there was. And if that was true, then humanity had to be at full strength if it wanted to survive. Fighting each other, fracturing human society, was a one-way ticket to disaster if the unthinkable happened again, and that wasn’t even considering the pain and suffering war within humanity caused.

Rev was no friend of the MDS. They were a morally corrupt people. But for the good of humanity, he thought they could better be controlled from the inside than from the outside. Make it probational, if necessary. Punish them with sanctions if that would appease those who stayed loyal to the CoH cause. But get them back in the fold.

Many of his friends thought he was being too soft on the MDS. There were even a couple of comments about him being weak on them when he let Kvat live. Rev let those comments go. He wasn’t sure why he’d felt that brief moment of . . . not empathy, per se.

He hated Kvat, right?

But he replayed the fight over and over in his mind. The physical action might be over, but ripples from it would be around for a long, long time.

And there was another ripple.

After two weeks, the battalion received its orders back home, and as Rev was preparing Pashu for shipment, Punch said, <The Red Cross has updated the KIA list for the MDS.>

“So, what else is new? They do that every day.”

<There’s a name there that might interest you.>

“Doubtful. What do I care about any Mad Dog?”

Punch didn’t respond.

Rev returned to applying the packing foam, and still, Punch was silent.

“OK, if you think I want to know, go ahead. Tell me.”

<Number 65,486. Slejamik, Eathan. Major. KIA, February 20, 3835.>

“No shit? That major?”

Punch had been right. That was interesting.

Wait a minute. February 20th? That’s the day they surrendered.

“Was there any fighting in our sector that day?”

<No.>

“Anywhere close?”

<No. Nowhere within four hundred klicks.>

Curiouser and curiouser.

“Was there anyone else from the Fourteenth Cataphracts recorded as killed that day?”

<No one. Only him.>

“They executed his ass, didn’t they?” Rev said.

<That would be the most probable explanation.>

“Sucks to be a Mad Dog commander, I guess.”

Rev felt . . . nothing. It was just one more indication of who the MDS were, but as far as the major went, Rev couldn’t muster up a reaction. He thought he should, but there was zilch.

“Well, that’s the way it goes.” He turned back to his IBHU. “I’d better get this thing finished. We’re loading out in an hour, and this Marine just wants to go home.”

33

“Welcome home, Marines,” Lieutenant Colonel Suk told the detachment assembled on the parade deck.

It was much smaller than the detachment that had left Camp Nguyen to battle the MDS.

The Marines had just been bused in from the spaceport. Families and friends had not been notified, so the only spectators were those battalion staff who had not made the deployment, Headquarters and Service Company, the training platoon, and the replacements who’d already arrived to fill in for the lost Marines.

“The commanding general will speak to all of you later and present the battle streamer to our battalion colors, but for now, he told me to express his pride and gratitude for a job well done.

“I’d like to echo that. You made the battalion proud. You made yourself proud. You were given a mission, and despite some pretty insurmountable odds, you succeeded in accomplishing it.”

He paused to sweep his gaze across the Marines. “You may not have heard, but during your passage, there’s been another development. The Manifest Destiny Sphere has signed a nonaggression pact. Part of that is an agreement to reduce the size of their military by seventy-five percent.”

There was an immediate burst of electricity in the air as the Marines perked up at that. Without three-fourths of their military, the MDS, in one fell swoop, had just fallen from the top powers of humanity.

What was going to happen to them had been a constant topic of conversation since their surrender on Kinshasa. This was an extremely severe blow, more drastic than Rev had expected. He couldn’t imagine what had been going on back in their capital, but it must have been a knock-down, drag-out fight between the MDS hardliners and everyone else. He wouldn’t be surprised if there’d been violence involved.

“But the MOU has also been signed that will allow them back into the Congress of Humanity,” the CO continued.

That elicited a low murmur from the Marines, which the colonel chose to ignore.

The punishment had been on the severe side, but then to let them back into the CoH, after all they’d done, was more than some Marines could stomach.

Rev wanted to read the terms of the MOU, but even without knowing the specifics, this seemed like the best move. Bring the MDS back into the fold, but make them toothless.

“This has been a dark wrinkle in the history of mankind, all the darker because it came at the end of when humanity came together to defeat the existential threat that was the Centaurs. Humanity cracked, but we’ve managed to come out on the other side, whole again, and that was only because of Marines like you who fought to reforge that crack, using your blood to quench the steel.”

The colonel was on a roll, but he stopped and gathered himself.

“Sorry, Marines. I promised the XO I wasn’t going to get on the pulpit.”

XO? Major Liege? But he was killed.

He looked to the right, hoping to see the senior IBHU Marine among the gathered staff before it hit him.

Hell, of course. He’s already been replaced.

“You’re tired, and you want to get out of here. Let me update you on one more thing, then I’ll let you go. And when I say let you go, I mean it. Once you turn in your gear and have been cleared, everyone’s on a seventy-two. Everyone.

“Here’s a last bit of an update I think you want to know. As of this morning, we’ve got forty-two Marines and corpsmen who’ve been cleared for and are in Phase II.”

This time the murmur that rumbled through the Marines had a far more positive tone. Forty-two Marines was a far larger number than anyone had expected. Phase II was where the real resurrection process began, and to pass into that phase, certain physiological milestones had to be reached. Phase II is where a person was brought back, not just the body.

Things could still go south, but once in Phase II, chances were very good for a successful resurrection of at least some degree.

The colonel let the murmur calm down. “I thought you’d appreciate knowing that. You can see the list at sickbay when you have a chance. But that’s all I have for you now. Take care of what you have to do, then get the hell out of here for the next seventy-two hours.”

He centered himself on Captain Macek, who called the detachment to attention.

“Captain, take charge of your detachment and carry out your assigned duties before releasing your Marines and corpsmen on their seventy-two.”

“Aye-aye, sir,” the captain said before conducting an about-face.

“Marines and sailors of Detachment 68-409, when I dismiss you, the detachment will be officially disbanded, but our duties won’t be. Platoon sergeants, ensure all weapons, equipment, and supplies have been turned in, make sure everyone has their nannies, and then release your platoons on the seventy-two.

“Formation will be at twelve-hundred on Thursday back with your companies.”

He took a deep breath, and like the colonel a few minutes before, took a moment to look at the Marines standing in front of him.

“Before I dismiss you, I just want to say, it has been my honor to serve with you, and if I have to march to the sound of gunfire again, I can think of none better I want on either side of me.”

He drew himself straighter, then shouted, “Detachment 68-409, dis-MISSED!”

The Marines and sailors conducted their own about faces and shouted, “Ooh-rah.”

Detachment 68-409 was now history.

* * *

It was eight long hours before Rev was able to leave. Having a colonel say, “Hey, just go on a seventy-two,” and actually doing all the things that had to be accomplished first were two different things. Between making sure all the weapons were turned in, getting nannies issued—the war, such as it was, might be over, but until the alert status changed, the electronic nannies had to be worn when leaving the base—and taking care of various administrative matters that popped up for the platoon, and then as the senior enlisted IBHU Marine, making sure all the IBHUs had been delivered from the ship to the armory, Rev had been running around like a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest until he was done and got back into his quarters.

He whipped off his uniform and grabbed the top set of civvies without even seeing what they were, he was so anxious to get out of there.

<You stink. Don’t you think you should shower first?>

“What do you know about stinking? You don’t have a nose.”

<No, but I can read the olfactory stimulation levels in your brain, and I can read your perspiration patterns from your bios. Given how heavily you’ve been sweating in your armpits, I’m going out on a limb here and assume that the olfactory stimulation isn’t because of the smell of roses.>

Rev hesitated. He lifted his arms and sniffed each pit before grimacing. Punch was right. He was rank.

He glanced at the door, really wanting to just bolt and get out of there before someone remembered some duty that only he could accomplish.

<Do you really want to show up looking—and smelling—like this?>

Rev sighed and said, “No, you’re right. Thanks.”

<You know I’ll always take care of you.>

Rev jumped in the sonic and blasted away half of his skin along with the bacteria and odor. He took another moment to spray a nanoblocker on his pits, threw on his clothes, then even took a moment to examine himself in the mirror.

“You’re one ugly son-of-a-bitch,” he told his reflection.

<I wouldn’t say ugly. More like you’ve got character.>

“Gee, thanks for the confidence builder.”

Rev took one last look, left the room, then hurried to the front hatch and out into the afternoon sun. By some miracle, no one stopped him with another task that only he could do. He was tempted to break out in a run, but the late afternoon sun was still warm, and he’d only nanoblocked his armpits.

Still, he walked quickly, covering the ground at a good clip.

“Hey, Staff Sergeant! Enjoy your seventy-two!” someone yelled out.

Rev just waved a hand, not even looking up to see who it was.

Soon enough, Rev was walking up the steps of the Camp Nguyen Naval Clinic. He took two steps at a time to the second deck, then followed the signs to the rear of the Bravo Wing and into the clinic.

A civilian woman looked up as he strode in. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Staff Sergeant Reiser.”

“And you are . . . ?” she asked, her lips pursed in disapproval.

“Staff Sergeant Pelletier. Reverent Pelletier.”

She sniffed, clearly not impressed, but she relented to say, “Staff Sergeant Reiser isn’t here.”

What?

Rev took a step back. “You said she was here.”

<That is what I have. She transferred from Anastasia two weeks ago.>

“Excuse me,” he told the civilian. “But I have her as coming here two weeks ago.”

The woman rolled her eyes and said, “She was here. Now she’s not.”

Panic threatened to take hold of him, and he grabbed the edge of the nurses station and leaned over. “She’s been moved? Why? What happened? Did something go wrong?”

“Calm down, young man. She’s fine. She just went home.”

“Home?”

That didn’t make any sense to Rev. Tomiko didn’t really have a home. Her family life had been problematic, to say the least, and in all the time he’d known her, she’d never gone home.

“Why would she go home?”

“It’s better than sitting in the ward around the clock. Most of our local patients do that, coming in for their sessions but spending the rest of the time with their families.”

That wasn’t what Rev was asking. He wanted to know why she, of all people, had decided that after eight years, she wanted to go there again.

“Excuse me,” he said, stepping back and pulling out his pad.

This was something he had to ask her. He’d hoped to surprise her this afternoon, but he had no idea where her home was, so that was out.

“Connect to Miko.”

A moment later, a recording announced, “The previous subscriber has closed this account.”

“What the hell?” He looked at the display to read the same message.

“Connect to Miko,” he said again.

“The previous subscriber has closed this account.”

What is going on?

“Punch, can you check the number?”

<That is the correct number, but from the publicly accessible records, that account was closed three days ago.>

“Why?”

<There’s no reason given.>

“This is bullshit.”

Rev approached the desk again. “I’m having problems connecting to Staff Sergeant Reiser. Can you give me her home address?”

“No, I can’t.”

It took a moment for Rev to realize she’d said no.

“But I told you, I can’t call her.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, and she said, “There must be a reason for that.”

When he realized what she was insinuating, Rev said, “No, it’s nothing like that. I just got back from Kinshasa today. You’ve seen that on the news.”

“And what is your relationship with Staff Sergeant Reiser?”

“I’m her . . . boyfriend,” he finally said after taking a moment to choose the right word.

“Took you long enough to say that,” the woman remarked. “But that don’t matter none, Staff Sergeant. Unless you’re a direct relative, I can’t give out personal information like that.”

“But I . . . you can . . .”

“Sorry, but no. Rules, you know.” She looked down at a tiny screen in front of her, an obvious dismissal.

Rev stared at her, almost overcome with a desire to reach across the station and shake her like a terrier on a rat.

<Command visit.>

“What? What are you saying?”

<Command visit. You should still be on the command visit access, and NO 2904.07.15 states that all units will provide relevant information to facilitate command visits by appointed personnel.>

“Command visit!” Rev blurted out to the woman.

“Come again?”

“Command visit. I’ve been appointed as a representative for the command with regard to Staff Sergeant Reiser.”

She frowned again, and her eyebrows narrowed. “What was your name again?” she asked with a voice that would cut steel.

“Staff Sergeant Reverent Pelletier.”

She shifted to a display screen, typed in a command, and took a moment to scan what popped up.

Her frown deepened until she grudgingly asked, “May I scan your ID?”

Her eyes automatically dropped to his left wrist, which was now his brightly metallic social arm. Rev held out his right arm. He could see her teeth grinding as she scanned him.

She took a quick look at the results, then said, “Wait a moment, please.”

The printer whirled, disgorging a small piece of plastisheet. Rev almost ripped it from her hand in his eagerness.

He gave it a look, then stopped dead.

“What the hell?”

He turned and bolted, belatedly calling out a “Thank you” over his shoulder as he ran.

The clinic was near the Epson Gate, and within a minute, he was outside the base. There were still quite a few base workers lined up for autocabs home for the evening. Rev didn’t have time to wait, so he pushed to the front, saying, “Sorry, emergency!”

There were a few angry protests, but Rev jumped into the next cab, gave the address, and sat back, his mind whirling. Nothing made sense to him.

During the entire ride, various scenarios played through his mind, but no matter how he tried to connect the dots, it wasn’t working.

The autocab pulled up, and Rev was out before the cab offered to wait for him at three credits per minute if he’d only authorize the charge.

Rev reached the door and was going to barge in, but he thought better of it, so he knocked instead. A moment later, the door opened.

“Rev! What are you doing here?”

“Sorry, Mom,” he said, sliding past her shocked face. “Where’s Mik—”

He stopped at the sight of Tomiko, wrapped up in a blanket on the couch, her feet up on the coffee table. She had a bandage around her head, covering her nose and ears.

She looked up, and her eyes went wide. “Rev! What are you doing home!” she squealed.

Rev’s mother reached up and grabbed his shoulder. “Yes, what are you doing home? You didn’t tell us you were back on planet.”

Rev was still confused, and his mind was fighting to make sense of what he was seeing. “I tried to call you, Miko, but your phone was disconnected.”

“Oh, yeah, about that . ..”

“And when I checked the clinic, it said you were home. “Home,’ it said.”

“Of course, you couldn’t reach her. But why didn’t you call me? My number hasn’t changed.”

“I . . . I don’t know,” he said, suddenly feeling pretty stupid. He’d been so confused that he hadn’t been thinking straight.

She gave him an exasperated look, leaned around him, and shouted, “Girls, Rev’s home! And you, go give your girl a hug.”

She gave him a push for emphasis.

Rev didn’t argue. He rushed a few steps forward but then stopped when he realized how wan Tomiko looked.

“Are you . . . are you OK?” he said, standing over her.

Her hand rose to cover her nose as he stared at her, but she said, “Yeah, I’m fine. Bend over and give me a hug.”

Rev bent at the waist and carefully put his arms around her.

“A hug! You’re a fu . . . you’re a Marine, not some weakling.”

She grabbed him and pulled him tighter, but Rev couldn’t help but notice how weak she seemed. He tightened his grip, but not by much, afraid he might break her.

“Are you really OK? You look . . .”

“I look like death warmed over,” she said with a laugh, and at his expression, added, “Sorry. That’s a zombie insider joke. But really, I’m doing fine. Always cold, hence the blanket, and my mind gets muddled, but the docs say I’m ahead of the curve.”

Her voice got soft, and she said, “Really, Rev, I’m doing great. Better than great, especially now that you’re here.”

Kat came bounding down the stairs, saw Rev, and rushed over for a hug, then Neesy, a little slower, followed.

“Hey, big bro,” Neesy said. “I see you made it back in one piece. We’ve been watching the news every day here. You guys kicked some ass.”

“Neesy!” Rev’s mom said. “Language!”

“It’s Miko’s fault. Bad influence, you know.”

That was the first thing he’d heard that made sense, and he had to laugh. He’d also caught the “fu” Tomiko started before switching to something a little cleaner.

But he was still confused. “Why did you change your number? I tried to call you, and when I couldn’t reach you, I feared the worst.”

“You did? Oh, sorry about that. I didn’t think you were back, or I would have left you a message. Here, sit down beside me.”

Rev sat down, and Kat immediately sat on the other side of him.

“You’re staying for dinner, right? Your father’ll be home soon, and he’ll want to see you,” his mother said.

“Yeah, I’m staying. I’m on a seventy-two.”

He turned back to Tomiko, who had taken his hand in her own thin, pale hands. “You were saying about the phone.”

She sighed and said, “My father.”

“What about him?” Rev asked, suddenly on guard. He knew how rotten their relationship was.

“He saw my name in the casualty lists. Came around looking for the survivor’s benefit payment, the asshole. Must have been mighty disappointed to find out they brought me back.

“I never thought to block him from visiting me at the clinic. I mean, why would I? He’s never shown his face since before we got conscripted. So, the fu . . . the bastard—”

“You can say fucking,” Kat said in a conspiratorial whisper. “Mom’s in the kitchen, and it isn’t like I haven’t heard it before.”

“No, Kitty-kat, I really should try and civilize myself. Really.”

“Your dad?” Rev prompted.

“Oh, yeah. Like I said, my mind wanders a bit. Anyway, the asshole shows up at the clinic, shows he’s my dad, and they let him in. He’s crazy, you know, believes in every conspiracy theory if he thinks it will get him ahead. And there’s this crazy lawyer who’s trying to sue the Navy and Marine Corps.”

“Wait until you hear why,” Neesy said with a gleeful chortle.

“He says that the survival benefit payment has to be paid to anyone who was KIA, whether they were resurrected or not.”

“What? That’s crazy.”

“Told you,” Neesy said.

“My dad thinks it a valid loophole, and he came to make sure I had him down as my sole beneficiary. I told him to get lost.”

“Probably not in those terms,” Neesy said with a laugh.

“So, let me guess. He started hounding you,” Rev said, his voice low and menacing.

Tomiko nodded. “So, I changed my number. And when the docs said I can spend my time out of the clinic, only coming in for my sessions, and then when your dad said I could come here, well . . . I hope that’s OK?”

“OK? Of course, it’s OK. Why do you even ask? But give me your dad’s number. He and I are going to have a little talk,” he said as his warrior started to stir.

Kat’s eyes got big at his tone.

“No. You’re not going to do anything, Rev. Nothing. Do you understand?”

Rev grunted.

“That’s not an answer. Tell me you understand,” she said before dropping back and coughing.

“Rev!” Neesy scolded as she came over and put her hand on Tomiko’s shoulders. “You can’t get her excited like that.”

The coughing stopped, and Tomiko asked, “Rev?”

More than a little scared, Rev said, “I promise. I won’t go after your dad. But if he comes here, all bets are off.”

She seemed to accept that, and she settled back into the couch when Rev’s dad came in, just as surprised to see Rev as the others were. For the next hour, Rev answered questions about the mission, keeping it as vanilla as he could. He made light of the casualties, something Tomiko picked up on quickly. He said nothing about his fight with Kvat.

All during the conversation, Tomiko kept reaching up to cover her nose with her hand, which was also bandaged. The bandage lay flatter than it should have been—and he realized that her nose and ears had not grown back yet. He could tell she was self-conscious about both, but he didn’t know if he should ignore her damaged flesh or tell her it didn’t matter.

Food was brought to the living room so that Tomiko, who was getting more visibly tired, didn’t have to go to the table. It was good, but Rev barely noticed it while they talked. His dad was excited that the MDS was coming back into the CoH, but his mother was a little more unforgiving. She wanted the MDS punished and kept pointing at Tomiko and saying, “See what they did?”

Neesy made her regrets and left with Shin, who seemed like a nice kid who was overly impressed with Rev. And when Tomiko started nodding off, his father called the evening at an end.

Tomiko insisted that she could walk, but Rev was having none of it. He carried her up the stairs to his old bedroom, which his family had made hers. With his mother helping, they got her settled in.

“You can stay here for the night,” his mother whispered as she left the room.

“I heard that,” Tomiko said with a smile as Rev came to sit beside her on the bed.

“She still doesn’t understand our augments,” Rev said. “I’ll stay with you now, but I’ll go take the couch later.”

“I think you’re safe if you stay. I’m not really in any condition to jump your bones.”

Rev laughed. “Now that’s my Miko. Maybe you are getting better.”

“You wish.”

She reached out and took his hand again, and he could feel her mood shift.

“Was it bad?”

Rev just nodded.

“Who?” she asked, so low that even his augmented hearing almost missed it.

“Yung. Morgan. Geffen.”

“Oh, hell.”

“Half of the task force. Mostly Second HI. Major Liege.”

She sniffed, and Rev said, “I’ll tell you what happened later. Not tonight. I’m just so happy to be with you now. I came running over to the clinic, ready to—”

He stopped cold.

“Ready to what?”

She was half-asleep.

“Nothing important.”

“No, really. Ready to what?”

Rev debated with himself. He’d been so ready. He’d even showered. But the wind had been taken out of his sails, and this wasn’t how he’d imagined things going.

She sat up and took his social hand, stroking the metallic fingers. “Tell.”

“I, uh . . . when you were killed . . . I told you this . . . when you were killed, I thought I’d lost the most important thing in my life. Person, I mean. You’re not a thing.”

“Thanks for the confirmation of my humanity.”

“Well, yes. And then the Mad Dogs and Kinshasa, well, I had to go.”

“Yes. My mind was pretty screwed up, but I do kind of remember the fact that you’ve been gone for more than a month.”

<This is going well.>

“Punch!

“OK, what I mean, is that I never had much of a chance to talk and spend more time with you after they brought you back. And then I was gone.”

He leaned a little closer. “It was really messed up, Miko. Good people died, and for what? A chess game when the checkmate was already decided? All it did was sacrifice the pawns. And when I was up there, thinking about my time as a Marine, thinking about us, I was ready to chuck it all and just come back to you.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” she said, motioning his head lower, where she gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. “Unrealistic, but sweet. Warms my cold heart.”

“Your heart isn’t cold, Miko.”

“Sorry, another zombie joke. Cold, as in dead. Sort of like your Brothers in Steel thing you’ve got going.”

She seemed to accept that was all he’d intended to do at the clinic, and he let out a sigh of relief.

<You are such a coward.>

“No, I’m not,” he protested.

<Who was practicing all day today?>

“I was. But now isn’t the time.”

<When will be the time? Have you forgotten that you’re a Marine? The MDS hardliners might take over, and the war’s back on. The Centaurs might attack again. Another alien race might be here tomorrow. It might never be the right time.>

“But she’s almost asleep.”

<Then wake her up.>

When Rev didn’t move, Punch added, <Then put me to sleep and wake me up when you grow a pair.>

Punch had never talked to him like that, and that was like a slap to the face. And he was right. A hunk of crystal a few centimeters across, one who’d never felt the sun on his face, tasted a Coke, or been kissed by a girl, understood more about humanity than he did.

He didn’t put Punch to sleep. Instead, he turned his hand so it was him who was holding hers.

“That wasn’t all I wanted to say this evening.”

“Yes?” she asked, closing her eyes and snuggling closer to his hip.

“Look. I’m a Marine. So are you. Who knows what’s going to happen and where our duties will take us?”

“Yes, we’ve talked about this. That’s why we’re taking this slow, to see if we can fit in a personal life with our military life.”

Is that what she really wants?

He looked at her face, a face that had become so important to him.

No! It’s not what I want!

“I don’t want to take it slow!” he almost shouted.

Her eyes snapped open, and she stared at him.

“I don’t need to test this. I know what I want, and I don’t care where the Corps takes us. I just want to be with you!”

“Is everything OK in there?” his mother called through the door.

“Everything’s fine. Please go away!”

“What are you saying, Rev?” Tomiko asked quietly.

He slid off the bed and knelt, still holding her hand.

“What I’m saying, Tomiko Reiser, is to hell with the situation. I’m asking you, will you marry me?”

She sat up, a hand over her mouth, her eyes huge, and then started to cry.

What? What did I say? Rev wondered in panic, his determination draining away.

“Are you OK?”

She threw herself at him and wrapped her arms around his neck in a death-grip.

“Of course, I’m OK, Reverent Pelletier. And yes, I’ll fucking marry you!”

“About time,” his mother’s whispered voice came through the door.

EPILOGUE

“Twenty-two minutes, Captain,” Jafari reported.

“OK. Let me know when they’re all back in.”

Kapua James leaned back in her chair and put her feet up on the console. Her first voyage as a captain with the Stargazer Line was almost in the books. Twenty-two more minutes, and the last excursion shuttle would be back aboard, the cargo heading for the bar as the Distant Trekker prepared for the passage back to Miranda II.

“Passengers,” not “cargo,” she admonished herself. You’re not on some tramp ore runner anymore. Stay classy, Kapua.

She took a moment to look around her small command pod with its high-tech integrated controls. There was another “bridge,” suitable for any holovid, that was open for the passengers’ initial tour of the ship, but that was only for show, with several of her staff playacting as if they were crew and had some purpose there. But this was the heart of the ship. From here, with the assistance of two AIs (one could do it, but as a Freedom Confederation-registered ship, another was required as a backup), she could run every aspect of the ship by herself. No need for expensive crew to take the ship from tourist spot to tourist spot.

Nope, not an ore runner.

It was still hard for her to believe that a girl from the favelas of Jain II who’d spent her years plying the secondary spacelanes, jumping from one gig to another, was now a certified captain, and for a multi-galactic like Stargazer nonetheless.

And now, a captain with a successful voyage under her belt. That had been a long time coming. The stupid non-war with the rest of humanity had delayed her maiden voyage. Kapua didn’t care much about politics. Where she grew up, scrambling for survival took precedence on which corrupt politicians were in charge and which corrupt politicians were out. But with the Stargazer line registered in the FC, and those idiots joining the MDS on their junket into crazytown, that had pretty much closed down the tourist industry that had been just coming back from the devastation of the Centaur War.

But with that insanity over, the tourists were coming back, and Kapua’s number finally came up in the queue. And now, the voyage was almost in the books—and a hefty completion bonus in her account.

Stargazer was famous for cutting expenses, but they paid their captains well.

After all the stress of conducting a zero-defect cruise, and with the end in sight, Kapua suddenly felt magnanimous.

“Give me the bar,” she told her AI.

“Yes, Captain?” Vic answered almost immediately.

“You’ve got about twenty-five minutes before the ca— . . . the passengers start filing in. I want you to set out drinks, maybe Green Rockets, for them. Tell them the drinks are courtesy of the captain.”

“Ma’am?”

“Yeah. The drinks are on me.”

“That’s going to be a hefty charge.”

“I know. But that’s why they pay me the big bucks, Vic.”

Nothing on a Stargazer ship was free. Nothing. Every drink, the meals, every rack turned down, every excursion—they were all charged to the passenger. They’d charge for oxygen if they could figure out a way to do it. Even as captain, that was an inviolate rule. If Kapua wanted to treat the passengers, then she was going to have to pay for it.

“Pretty generous, ma’am. But if I could suggest, maybe a Fire Zone, given where we are?”

Kapua glanced at her central monitor. Kepler 2298-6—commonly known in the tourist industry as the Cauldron—was a huge gas giant in a system at the edge of human space. The violent storms formed an ever-changing swirl of reds, oranges, yellows, and some purples.

“Good idea, Vic. Go with those.”

“And, you might want to make an appearance to, you know . . .”

“Schmooze for reviews?”

“Up to you, of course.”

“No, you’re right. I’m on my way.”

Vic was an old hand, starting in the heyday of extreme tourism back before the Centaurs screwed it all up. He knew how the game was played. The company kept very close track of passenger feedback—not just formal complaints and compliments, but even to the point of analyzing expressions and casual comments. Good feedback could lead to promotions. Too much bad feedback could result in termination.

Schmoozing with the passengers was just an unofficial part of the job.

“First, I’m heading for the lounge,” she said into the air, knowing the AI would make the connection.

“I’m on my way,” List Werund, her first mate, answered.

With shuttles outside the ship, regulations required that the bridge be manned.

Kapua swung her long legs off of the console, stood, and took her captain’s blouse from the hook. Black with bright gold trim, it would have made an 18th Century European admiral proud. All part of the façade, the make-believe Stargazer presented to the passengers.

She fastened the twenty buttons, pulled down the bottom edges, and checked her image in the mirror. Her red hair, which was mostly natural, was a stark contrast to the black and gold of a Stargazer captain’s uniform.

Kapua wanted to believe she’d become a captain strictly because of her proven capabilities, but while those had been necessary, she knew that her looks had also played a factor. All Stargazer captains could have come right out of central casting. Even with all the options for modification surgery, each captain was good looking. Extremely good looking. And Kapua certainly fit the bill.

The hatch whooshed open, and the first mate came in. List Werund did not fit the bill. Soft and doughy, he always looked like he was lost in thought. He had far more experience than Kapua did, and he was capable in his duties, but he’d never make captain, and along with the systems and propulsion engineers, was allowed no contact with the passengers.

“The last shuttle should be docking in about sixteen minutes,” she told him. “I’ll be back before we start to leave the system to go home.”

“Got it. Schmooze for reviews.”

“Yeah, listening to all the little old ladies gush about the Cauldron. Sounds like fun.”

“Better you than me, Skip.”

Kapua let that last slide off of her. While he continually made those comments in what he undoubtedly thought was a light-handed manner, she knew it ate away at him that he’d maxed out in the company and would never be a captain. It really wasn’t fair, but it was what it was.

The passage outside the bridge looked rather like the tramp freighters she’d spent her life in with bare metal and plastic bulkheads, dim lights, and exposed struts and beams.

She entered the passenger spaces and into a different world. Brightly lit with faux-wood paneling that was a Stargazer signature, art lined the passage. She quickly made her way to the central lounge where Vic’s staff were busily preparing the drinks. While the Distant Trekker had only five “crew,” there were twenty-seven in the staff, all headed by Ashraf Jafari. Stargazer marketed their personal approach, and that meant hiring people to provide it.

Vic nodded to her, and she nodded back, but she turned away, not wanting to interfere, and in doing so, she faced the vast, floor-to-ceiling window into space, where the Cauldron filled her vision.

It wasn’t a real window, of course. There were no windows on the Distant Trekker. This was a projection, but that didn’t take away from the effect. The planet was stunning, and if she didn’t have a job to do, she thought she could sit and watch the slowly changing storms move across the surface.

To be honest, this view from the lounge was better than anything the much smaller panels lining the shuttles would show as they made their two orbits around the planet. But she guessed that the passengers didn’t want to travel to the ends of space to see the Cauldron and never actually leave the ship. Stick them on the three shuttles, give them a ride around, and they could go home saying they’d orbited the planet.

“Captain, I think you need to come back here,” Werund announced over the ship’s intercom.

Kapua reached up and activated her earphone. “The passengers are almost back. Can’t you handle whatever it is?”

“I really think you need to come back, ma’am.”

Kapua rolled her eyes. This is another reason you’ll never make captain.

“Just tell me, First, what it is.”

“There’s another ship that just appeared in system.”

Kapua frowned. “We’re exclusive to the system for the eight hours.”

It wasn’t unheard of for illegal tour ships to try and sneak into destinations on the sly to avoid fees, and private ships rarely seemed to care for the galactic treaties controlling tourism.

“I don’t think it’s a tour ship. There’s no lic-cast.”

That got Kapua’s attention. All tour ships, in addition to the basic registry, were licensed for tourism.

“What about their beacon?”

“No beacon.”

“Crap, I’m on my way,” she said as she started sprinting back.

“Ashraf, get your passengers back now!”

“The shuttles are almost here.”

“Speed them up!”

“What’s going on?” Jafari asked, more than a small note of concern in his voice.

Kapua didn’t want to cause panic, and it could be nothing, but her tour director needed to know. “We’ve got an unidentified ship. No lic-cast. No beacon.”

“Pirates?” The concern shifted to outright fear.

“I don’t know. I’m trying to find out now.”

She cut him off as she fumbled with her retinal scan to get into the working paces. It took her three tries to hold steady enough to be read. She burst into the bridge.

“What do you have?”

Her AI’s steady voice said, “A ship of unknown origin or design has appeared approximately point-eight kiloklicks from our position.”

“Unknown design? It’s nowhere in your databases?”

“There isn’t anything close.”

“Let me see. Screen B.”

One of the smaller screens shifted, and a spacecraft appeared. She immediately understood what the AI meant. Kapua had been on a hundred ships, and she’d seen thousands more. This looked nothing like anything she’d seen before. Its dull surface seemed to suck up all the light from the system’s sun making it difficult to make out details, but what she could see made no sense. There was no coherent shape. The best way she should describe it was that it looked like a mass of bunched-together space junk shifting in the space tides.

“It’s got to be an experimental craft,” her first mate said.

“But whose?”

If that was experimental, it has to be government. But which one, and what was it doing here?

“Pirate?” the first mate asked.

Pirates had been the scourge of the spacelanes during the Centaur War, vermin feasting on fellow humans while navies fought for humanity’s very survival. But the CoH had begun a campaign to wipe the galaxy clean of them, and even after the MDS broke away, no matter how stupid that turned out to be, they’d done an even better job at clearing the scum out.

“Can pirates afford to develop new spacecraft?” she asked, trying to convince herself as well as him.

“Do we call corporate?” he asked.

And that was the big question. The ship had a quantum communicator, as any ship that carried passengers was required to carry. But this wasn’t the military, and quantum comms were extremely expensive, and Stargazer being, well, Stargazer, if a captain made what was later determined to be an unnecessary quantum call, then the cost was assessed against their salary.

If Kapua made the call, and that ship turned out to be some eccentric quadrillionaire’s toy, then she’d be working for free for the next several voyages.

“Not yet,” she said, only to be interrupted by the AI.

“The ship is moving toward us.”

“Shit.” All of Kapua’s reasoning that it couldn’t be a pirate just took a hit. She looked at the red manual switch on her console, the one that controlled the quantum communicator.

“Ashraf, where’re we at with the passengers?”

“The first shuttle’s on approach.”

“You tell Second to get the passengers out and clear the pad faster than he’s ever done before.”

“That’s gonna scare the passengers.”

“I don’t care if they shit their drawers. Do it!” she snapped.

Come on, Kapua. Get a hold of yourself.

“Have you been trying to raise that ship?” she asked her AI, back in control.

“That is protocol, so I have been continually trying. There have been no responses on any of the audio or visual frequencies.”

The hair was beginning to stand up on the back of her neck. Not knowing what was going on was killing her, but she couldn’t overreact. The passengers were counting on her to remain calm.

“The unknown craft has closed to within point-five kiloklicks.”

“First, arm the crew, but quietly. No waving the guns around like cowboys.”

“You think that’s necessary?” Werund asked.

“I don’t know if it’s necessary, but I’m gonna err on the side of caution.” She hesitated, then added, “And see who in the staff knows their way around firearms.”

The first mate’s eyes grew big, and he said, “The Service Trades Union w—”

“Screw the Mother-loving union! I’ll handle that.”

“Aye-aye, ma’am,” Werund said before issuing the instructions.

Arming the crew was entirely within her powers, but arming even a few of the staff could cost her job. She was becoming more and more uneasy the closer the mystery ship came, though, and she thought arming as many as possible was prudent.

“The first shuttle’s touching down now,” Jafari reported.

“You get those people off and clear the pad for number two.”

“I’m on it.”

“Here you go, Skip,” Werund said, handing her a standard Bering 14.

She slowly took the ubiquitous weapon. Kapua wasn’t a gun nut by any stretch of the imagination, but she’d been trained in their use. She’d never thought she'd ever actually have to use one, though, and just holding it in her hand made the situation feel very real.

She tucked it in her uniform waist belt, then looked at the feed from the hangar. The first group of passengers was being hustled off. They looked confused and none too happy at the lack of obsequious service they’d come to expect. Mr. Jericho, a retired Vansing Corp exec and royal pain in the ass, was complaining to Jarari, who Kapua could see had his tour director hat on and was trying to politely ask Jericho to cooperate, but he was getting nowhere.

“Put me on the hangar speakers,” Kapua told her AI, then said, “Get those people off the damn hangar deck now. That means Jericho, too.”

“I hope you liked being a captain,” Werund said.

“Just get the ship ready for departure, First,” she snapped.

She still had no idea who was in the approaching ship. But if she could just get the passengers aboard before it arrived, she could jump into bubble space, planetary proximity be damned. Let corporate deal with any potential fallout. Her duty right now was to the passengers, even Jericho—although leaving him in a lifeboat as a sacrifice to the pirates or whoever was coming had a certain degree of appeal.

“Give me a time, Ashraf.”

“Five more minutes for Shuttle 2.”

“How long before that ship gets here?” she asked the AI.

“At current speed, approximately eleven minutes.”

Cutting it close. And what if they try to disable the engines?

“Rotate on the Z-axis fifty-five degrees,” she ordered.

It wasn’t much, and it shouldn’t affect the shuttles’ approach as they were arriving closer to the Y-axis, but it would put the bulk of the ship between the engines and the unknown ship.

“Eight small vessels have departed the approaching ship,” the AI announced.

Kapua’s attention wheeled back to Screen B. “Show me!”

The AI highlighted eight red circles moving quickly away from the original ship.

“Are they coming toward us?”

“Affirmative.”

“What’s their ETA?”

“At current speeds, three minutes and eleven seconds.”

Kapua lunged for the red switch, turned it to the right two times, then to the left three times. A moment later, a separate voice said, “You are about to activate the VMN-5000 Communicator. Do you wish to proceed?”

“Yes!”

“Please be advised that activating the VMN-5000 Communicator may incur a liabil—”

“Override warning!” she shouted.

“Warning overridden. Please enter your user ID.”

“Kapua wanted to scream, but she had to remain clear in her instructions. She went through the three verifications steps, then said, “Send to the corporate communications center, attn: Fleet Security. Full bridge, lounge, and hangar visuals. Uh, add Screen B visuals. Fifteen-second compressions. Confirm.”

“Message confirmed. Initiating first fifteen-second compression now.”

“This is Captain Kapua James, Stargazer Extreme Ship Distant Trekker in orbit around Kepler 2298-6. We are being approached by a ship of unknown origin that refuses communications. I am sending visuals as the situation progresses.”

She barely got that out before the first fifteen seconds were being compressed by a 4096-1 ratio and sent to corporate headquarters.

“Give me the ship’s loudspeakers. All hands, this is Captain Kapua. We have an emergency. All passengers, please report to your staterooms and lock the doors until relieved by a crewmember. I repeat, all passengers, get to your staterooms and lock the doors. This is not a request. This is an order.

“Staff and crew not involved with shuttle ops, report to your Alpha station.”

On the hangar feed, passengers looked around in confusion. A few started to move out, and that became a rush. Jericho went back to Jafari to argue, but the tour director had had enough, bodily turned the man around, and shoved him for the exit from the hangar.

“You better hope this is real,” Werund said.

She turned on him and snarled. “I hope it isn’t real, you freaking piece of shit!”

“Status on departure?”

“Engines will achieve full thrust capabilities in four minutes, thirty-two seconds. Minimum time to achieve jump velocity is twenty-four minutes, six seconds at emergency protocols.”

“Lock it in to initiate upon my orders.”

Back on the hangar feed, the tractors had picked up Shuttle 1 and were moving it to its berth. Shuttle 2 was already entering the hangar.

“You got to move it, Second!”

Yves Sung, her Second Mate, gave the feed a thumbs-up as he got in position. He waited until the shuttle touched down, then released the back hatch. He and Jafari rushed to the back and started urging people to run. They would have heard Kapua’s message, so there was a sense of urgency as they emerged from the shuttle.

“How long before they arrive?”

Before she answered, there was a flash in the hangar, which momentarily whited out the screen.

“What the hell?” Kapua shouted, reaching out to touch it.

As the white faded and the picture cleared, her heart jumped to her throat. The shuttle had been shoved to the side, a gaping hole torn around the rear hatch. Bodies littered the deck, some moving, others still—too still.

“What’s happening?” Werund shrilled.

She ignored him. One, two, then three craft of some type appeared through the hangar curtain, the far right one actually pushing Shuttle 2 farther out of the way with its bulk.

One of the staff, still in his server whites, appeared at the edge of the feed, firing a Bering 14 at the first craft. A bolt of laser-like light flashed, impacting his chest, knocking him to his back. Smoke wisped out of a black hole that now stood in contrast to his pristine whites.

“What do we do now, Skip?”

Again, Kapua ignored her first mate. She didn’t have an answer, no matter how hard she tried to come up with something.

The front of each of the three craft seemed to split open up and away, like wings of a beetle just before it took off. Kapua held her breath as figures marched out, then she let it out in a shocked rush when she recognized who, or what, they were.

There were some differences from what she’d seen on the news clips and in holovids. They were wearing armor, for one thing, which they supposedly didn’t do, and they didn’t seem so frail.

They were the right size, smaller than humans. But it was their faces. Three slits for noses, no visible eyes. She knew what they were just as a baby fawn recognizes a lion.

They were Centaurs.

“As soon as the third shuttle gets aboard, get us the hell out of here!” she shouted at Werund.

“But those are Centaurs?” he wailed as he moved to her seat.

“I will come back and kill you if you abandon Shuttle 3, understand?”

He gulped but nodded.

Kapua ran out of the bridge and out into the main passage. Up ahead, she could hear panicked screaming and the crack of weapons. Those were her passengers being killed. Her staff, her crew.

She drew her weapon from her belt and ran toward the hangar entrance and main lounge. Someone fired three shots from a Bering, but then it fell silent.

The air was filled with ozone that bit at her nose and mouth as she reached the lounge where people were struggling to run.

“Get to your staterooms and lock the doors!” she shouted.

Movement caught the corner of her eye, and she wheeled, Bering raised. Three of the Centaurs were running toward her. Before she could fire, what looked like a shock wave shot out from one and enveloped her. It hit her with the force of a hammer made of puffballs—there was no escaping the power, but the softness seemed to swell around her, paralyzing her. With unreal slowness, she toppled forward, unable to move, unable to breathe.

Her face bounced off the deck, and as the three Centaurs’ armored boots ran centimeters past her still open eyes, the universe faded away into a cottony nothingness.

* * *

Rev will return in WHEN WORDS FAIL, available to preorder now on Amazon.

For updates on this series, be sure to join the Facebook Group, “J.N. Chaney’s Renegade Readers.”

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Second Brigade, Congress of Humanity Home Guard

Colonel Levin-Tell

Second Battalion

Lieutenant Colonel Semes

Major Djanka

Fox Company

Major Nona Yves

First Sergeant Glorious Weinstein

Corporal White

First Platoon

Second Lieutenant Aristotle Bundy

Master Sergeant Tina Barber

First Squad, First Platoon

1st Squad SFC Delila Gamay (Rigel Cluster Legion)

Staff Sergeant Ting-a-ling Tjivyrtzlin (Frisian Mantle)

Staff Sergeant Reverent Pelletier (Safe Harbor, Perseus Union)

Sergeant Refever Lines (Nowhere)

Sergeant Mylar Racine-Okan

Corporal Charles Akkeke (Millsap, AIW)

Corporal Manuela Acevedo

Corporal Taula La’ei (Uafua)

Corporal Henri Larson

PFC Jasmine Wahid (Sirocco)

PFC Jebediah Gingham (Moxigill)

PFC Uram Keung

Second Squad

SFC Lev Arsenyev (Osnovnoy Alyanz)

Staff Sergeant Lincoln Kvat (MDS)

Staff Sergeant Tomiko Reiser (Safe Harbor, Perseus Union Marine)

Staff Sergeant Rice Unifora (Paxus)

Sergeant Tims

PFC Suki Tun

Third Squad

SFC Moba

Staff Sergeant “Dog” San Martin

Staff Sergeant Toshi Gant (Mezame, Hégémonie Liberté)

Sergeant Moli Pinkerton (Nowhere, AIW)

Second Platoon

Captain Chokra (Revelation)

Master Sergeant Reston Fitzwater

Staff Sergeant Liam Patrice

Sergeant Crocker (Barclay)

PFC Minnie Rasta

Lance Corporal Ethereal Randigold (Safe Harbor, Perseus Union)

Sergeant Crocker (Barclay)

Staff Sergeant Rice Unifora (Paxus)

Corporal Wymont (MDS)

Third Platoon

Sergeant Tesler Sign of Respect (Rebirth, Perseus Union)

Other Notable Military Personnel

General Ibsen: Commanding General of the Home Guard (Planters)

Brigadier General Platte: senior Perseus Union Marine on Enceladus

Major Liege: Senior IBHU Marine in the Home Guard

Sergeant Major Pute (MDS) Third Battalion’s sergeant major

First Lieutenant Milei Macek: Golf Company. Senior IBHU Marine in Second of the Chief Wimox: (Paxus) Shuttle pilot

Cali Hu (Safe Harbor) Augmented Marine who contracts the rot

Yancey Del Rio (Safe Harbor) Marine, a member of Rev’s posse

Sergeant Tumeric Tsao (Safe Harbor) IBHU Marine assigned to Titan, Platinum Nova holder.

Notable Civilians

Daryll Begay (Safe Harbor, Perseus Union) Head Sieben technician for the IBHU on Enceladus

Zacharia Filmore (Perseus Union) Sieben technician for the IBHU

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you to our amazing beta readers!

Kelly O'Donnell

James Caplan

Micky Cocker

Christie Strahler

Neil Rubenking

Tracy Beattie

Sharon Mendez

Mike Belanger

Eliss Wiltshire

Matthew Lewis Titus

Bill and Konnie Kampfer

Geoffrey Morse

Joshua Hopkins

Mike Belanger

Elissa Wiltshire

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CONNECT WITH JONATHAN P. BRAZEE

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ABOUT THE AUTHORS

J. N. Chaney is a USA Today Bestselling author, has a Master’s of Fine Arts in Creative Writing, and fancies himself quite the Super Mario Bros. fan. He migrates often, but was last seen in Las Vegas, NV. Any sightings should be reported, as they are rare.

Chaney is best known for his Renegade Star series, the Variant Saga, the Messenger series, and Ruins of the Galaxy. For more on his releases, go to www.jnchaney.com.

* * *

Jonathan P. Brazee is a retired Marine colonel now living in Colorado Springs with his wife Kiwi and twin baby girls, Danika Dawn and Darika Marie. He was born in Oakland, CA, but has lived throughout the US and the world, and has traveled to over 100 countries.

He has more than 70 titles to his name in six different languages and is a two-time Nebula Award and one-time Dragon Award finalist as well as a USA Today Bestselling writer. Find out more by visiting his website at www.jonathanbrazee.com.