A Broken Alliance
Author: J. N. Chaney
Date: 2000-01-01 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: SF; War; Military; Science Fiction; Military Fiction; Fiction
Description: With the war against the Centaurs won, is a lasting peace finally at hand? Staff Sergeant Reverent Pelletier has been attached to the Congress of Humanity’s Home Guard, tasked with keeping the home system safe. Old rivalries and new enemies threaten the alliance, despite the counsel general’s mission to ensure humanity doesn’t fall into their old ways of conflict and war. It’s a noble cause, but can humankind break the scourge that has affected them since they emerged from the trees? Has the war with the Centaurs that almost wiped humanity from existence taught them anything? Experience says i
Publisher: Variant Publications

Copyrighted Material

A Broken Alliance 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

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Contents

Glossary

Previously in Sentenced to War . . .

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

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

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.

Previously in Sentenced to War . . .

Despite seemingly long odds, the war with the Centaurs, the first intelligent race known to humanity, has been won. An era of peace settles over humanity . . . or has it?

Staff Sergeant Reverent Pelletier, who has been heavily augmented for service in the Perseus Union Marine Corps, and now with his IBHU (Integrated Hoplological Bionic Unit), a massive integrated weapons system that replaced a lost arm, has now been assigned to the Congress of Humanity’s Home Guard. The Guard is the CoH’s military arm and is made up from military personnel from all of the member nations of the congress.

During the war, the dregs of society took advantage of the situation to pursue their criminal enterprises. Now with the war over, the attention of the rest of humanity can be placed squarely upon these criminals, and in an effort to show that humankind can work together, the CoH’s Counsel General sends the Home Guard out from the home system as the tip of the spear.

But not everyone is singing kumbaya within the Guard. National pride and partisan politics are reflected within the Home Guard troopers. Although they are all on the same side and fighting together, signs of tension are evident.

The question is if this new pax hominibus can survive.

1

Staff Sergeant Reverent Pelletier, Perseus Union Marine Corps and attached to the Congress of Humanity’s Home Guard, leaned back in his web seat and closed his eyes. As usual, when the Home Guard was called out, it was a mad rush of activity, and he hadn’t had any sleep for going on thirty hours.

If he thought he’d be able to catch a few quick Zs, however, he was sorely mistaken. The Millsap combat shuttle looked a couple of centuries old, and it was jumping around like a cat on a leash. Rev had been lucky so far during his time in the Home Guard—he’d been deployed aboard the Mezame Concordat Navy Takagahara, a ship that pushed the technical and comfort boundaries beyond even those of the Hégémonie Liberté Navy.

The MS Red Dragon did not, and that was putting it lightly. The transit had been crowded and uncomfortable, the air conditioning hit and miss. With so many bodies in the confined spaces the temperatures skyrocketed. Couple that with food fabricators that kept breaking down and heads not flushing, well, as Bob—Staff Sergeant Tjivyrtzlin of the Frisian Mantle Host—said, the conditions were so bad that everyone welcomed getting off the pile of junk and reaching the planet’s surface, no matter what the situation was down there.

Rev gave up and opened his eyes. He looked to his left where Corporal Charles Akkeke was sitting and glared at him, as if the trooper was responsible for his nation’s ships. Akkeke was a good trooper, and he excelled in Zero-G operations.

It suddenly clicked with Rev.

Of course, he’s good in Zero-G. He has to be. I bet they don’t know from one hour to the other if their ships are going to fall apart around them!

The shuttle suddenly dropped as if in free fall, then a moment later, heavier G’s pushed Rev into his seat, causing his famously delicate stomach to lurch up his throat. He had to swallow down the bile and fight losing it right then and there.

“Antiemetics, now.”

<Initiating,> his battle buddy said. <As I told you before leaving the Red Dragon, they work better if they are administered before the symptoms are advanced.>

This wasn’t the first time Rev had heard that. But there was a stubborn streak that kept him from giving in so easily. He was heavily augmented, one of the deadliest humans alive, and he couldn’t keep his lunch down?

He knew Punch was right, though. And as his medinanos flooded his body with the drugs, his stomach began to feel normal. He barely hiccupped as the shuttle bounced even harder.

“Five minutes until we land. Look sharp. Appearances matter,” Second Lieutenant Bundy, the first platoon commander—and one of Rev’s long-time friends—passed over the platoon net.

Rev frowned, but he knew Bundy was right. The situation on the ground was tense, ready to ignite again at the slightest provocation. The hope was that the arrival of Home Guard troops would throw some water on the burning embers.

These were the kinds of missions that every soldier hated, where danger was ever-present, but the Rules of Engagement were such that they were limited in what they could do, firing only if fired upon. Fox Company’s last mission, the one on Cat Scratch, had been just such a mission, and as a result, two troopers in Second Squad had been killed, one of them past resurrection.

Burdened by Pashu’s bulk, Rev was in his customary position as the last seat on the starboard side so he wasn’t banging into his fellow troopers. In this case, that put him closest to the tiny window just aft of the last seat. He took advantage of that to look out as they descended. The planet, a lush blueish-green, was looming large. He couldn’t see the LZ yet, from where the Home Guard was supposed to establish a presence, but soon enough they’d land at what would be their home for the next month at a minimum.

The blue in the jungle was a sure sign that Tian-X4 had retained far more native vegetation and wildlife than planets like Rev’s own Safe Harbor. The planet’s sun was an F-type star, so the native vegetation and vegetation analogs tended to reflect more blue light. While the planet was terraformed to support human life, most of those efforts were around the mines in the geographical far north where the sun’s output was less per meter-squared. Out here, closer to the equator, where the planet was largely uninhabited until the recent discovery of valuable heavy element deposits, the native land had remained fallow. This was the first time Rev was going to experience a real alien world—sort of, at least. If peace broke out and they weren’t needed, at least he’d be seeing something new.

He’d just started to turn back around when a flash filled the sky and the interior of the shuttle. There was a jerk, then they banked hard to the left. Rev’s stomach jumped into his throat as he latched Pashu on the edge of his seat. He was harnessed in, but by locking his IBHU in, he might as well have been a part of the seat.

“We’re receiving incoming. Prepare yourself for a rough ride,” a voice announced over the cargo bay loudspeakers.

Rev turned his head to look out the tiny window again. There was another explosion, possibly three hundred meters off and above them—right where they might have been had the pilot not changed their course. This time, the glow of the shielding wasn’t quite as intense. Two more explosions detonated in rapid succession, for all the world looking like the ancient films of flak over Germany during WWII, except that the explosions were bursts of light rather than black smoke.

“What are those?”

<From the appearance, the probability is that they are FEPM-K shells.>

It took a moment for Rev to dredge them up from their operations order. Focused Electromagnetic Pulse-Kinetic shells were an oldish tech that aimed, for lack of a better term, the bulk of its energy output at the nearest shielded target and followed almost instantaneously with a small kinetic projectile. In this case, that nearest target would be them.

“Can they knock us out with that?”

<Yes.>

Rev would have rolled his eyes if they weren’t bouncing around so much. He’d have liked a little more of an explanation, but Punch was playing his subdued persona to the hilt.

They were still in the air, however, so the ancient shuttle’s shields were holding. Hopefully, the Red Dragon’s orbit-to-ground target acquisition and engagement systems were up to the task. Those last misses were only because the pilot or the AI evasion protocols took them out of the line of fire.

Down below, the gunners would be tracking them for another volley. The question was who was firing at them? Gossarians or Pinks? Both had access to FEPM-Ks.

No, that isn’t the question. The question is if we can keep from getting blown out of the sky. Then we can figure out who is trying to do the blowing.

“Some fun, huh?” Bob passed on the P2P a moment before another flash lit up the cargo bay and the entire back ramp disappeared in a maelstrom.

The aft struts of Rev’s web seat collapsed, and with his harness now slipping free of where they’d been anchored, he started to tilt over. Flailing Pashu and his right arm, he managed to lock Pashu’s tentacle-like fingers onto a support rail running the length of the fuselage as the wind threatened to suck him out. Next to him, PFC Jeb Gingham grabbed Rev’s dead man’s handle.

Something banged hard into Rev’s right knee before it was swept out of the shuttle. Rev tried to brace himself, but there was nothing below his left leg to push against. The shuttle started spinning, and now centrifugal force joined the wind in trying to eject him. Loose gear was flying around like clothes in a dryer. All Rev could do was tighten down his fingers, hoping that they were strong enough to keep him inside.

“Rev, what’s your status?” Bundy asked over the net from the front of the cargo bay.

He looked down. Most of the back of the shuttle, at least the deck and halfway up the sides, was gone. Rev was right at the edge of the damage, half of his web seat hanging free with only two struts remaining attached. His harness was attached to the seating framework—if his seat went, his harness might go as well, and Rev with it.

The shuttle was now spinning and tumbling at the same time, his view rotating from sky to the blue-tinged ground below. Rev closed his eyes. Now was not the time to get sick.

“I’m still here, but I don’t know for how long.”

As if to take issue with his response, something on his seat broke free, and it started banging around more violently.

Rev was one of the most dangerous humans in history, but at the moment, he was a passenger riding to his fate with absolutely no control over the situation.

“Hang in there, Rev,” Bob passed.

“Trying.”

Not that it matters. This sucker’s going down.

He had a flash of an image, of waiting until just before the shuttle crashed and jumping out, like the idea of jumping just before a free-falling elevator impacted the bottom of the shaft. But just like that urban myth, he knew it was a fantasy.

And with that, a sense of . . . not calm—no, not that . . . but maybe acceptance washed over him. He had to trust the Millsap pilot to get them down in relatively one piece.

Another flash lit up the cargo bay, this one much brighter with the gaping hole in the fuselage. It didn’t seem to make much of a difference, though.

Through every tumble, Rev watched the ground get closer until it seemed to fill his entire view on each pass. Bundy was giving instructions over the platoon net, but he tuned that out.

Are we spinning slower?

It might have been his imagination. The shuttle, never the most aerodynamic platform known to humankind, was even less so now. But while they were still out of control, there seemed to be just the tiniest sense of purpose to their fall at the moment.

“Troopers, this is Chief Wimox.” There was a grunt, then a muffled, “Shit.” Rev split his focus on trying to remain in the bird and listening to what the pilot had to say.

It wasn’t encouraging.

“Engage the V-3s, forty percent,” he said, his mic still open. Rev didn’t know what a V-3 was or to whom the pilot was speaking. “Shit, shit, shit. Come on, baby. Be good to me.”

The ground was rushing up. Rev could now make out individual trees.

“Record. Uh . . .”

But he couldn’t. If this was the end, Rev wanted to record a message to Tomiko. And his family. But he couldn’t get his thoughts in order. The constant tumbling was too disorienting.

Just aft of him, on the edge of the torn fuselage, what looked like an impulse cylinder was sparking, shooting out puffs of something hot enough to register with his mind. Once he saw that, he was suddenly sure that was the V-3 the chief mentioned, and that wasn’t encouraging.

Rev was pushed down into his seat before it broke free and tried to slide out the back. Only his death grip on the rail and Gingham latching onto his dead man’s handle kept him from falling out. But now, with the seat still attached to him through the harness, the extra weight was putting more pressure on his and Gingham’s arms. And as the shuttle tumbled again, his feet flipped over, and he was face toward the deck, feet toward the overhead.

The tumble continued, and with more force. Rev wasn’t sure he could hold on much longer, but the tumble turned into a swooping motion, and Rev was driven back on top of Gingham. Someone—probably Corporal La’ei, who was on the other side of Gingham—locked his arms around Rev’s right leg. The swoop slowly brought the shuttle toward a vertical aspect and out of the spin.

“Sorry about that,” the chief said again. “Little busy here. We’re hit, and I won’t bullshit you. We’re in bad shape, and we’re going to crash.”

Which was pretty evident, but something in the pilot’s tone gave Rev a bit of hope, something he tried to fan into optimism.

“I’m going to try and put her down somewhere, but I need everyone to get into crash positions. I’m going to foam up the cargo bay, so orient yourself now for the nearest exit. We’ve got a cracked Pamoni Tube, so there’ll be gamma radiation flooding the area. If we get down in one piece, get the hell away as fast as you can.

“We’ve got about forty, forty-five seconds. May the Mother be with you all.”

The shuttle was flying now, not tumbling. It wasn’t a smooth descent—the back of the shuttle was swaying dangerously back and forth. But with all the flight surfaces gone, Rev didn’t know how the pilot and the AI were keeping the thing gliding.

But the smoother glide path let Rev scramble off of Gingham and La’ei. The seat was still attached to him, so he popped the harness and dropped it. But without the seat, what was his crash position?

He didn’t have time, so he made do, getting on his belly, reaching under La’ei, and latching his arms around the corporal’s seat supports. The powerful Uafuan fitafita bent over Rev and wrapped his big arms around him the best he could.

“You heard the chief,” Bundy passed, his voice remarkably calm. “Once we land, get out. We’ll assemble three hundred meters to the shuttle’s six o’clock. And I’m going to want a headcount.”

And that was about all he had time for before nozzles along the bulkhead erupted in spray, which coated everyone inside immediately prior to it foaming up. It only took four seconds before Rev was enveloped in white. He could still move, but on impact, the foam should firm up and give them some degree of protection. But now, he couldn’t see anything, and he felt panic rising. He felt like a blindfolded prisoner facing the firing squad.

“Ten seconds,” the chief passed, breaking through the panic. “Five seconds.”

Rev mentally braced himself when the shuttle smashed into the ground. He was torn from La’ei’s grasp, but the foam hardened around him and kept him from being knocked across the cargo bay. The shuttle bounced up in the air, tilted, and hit again, then spun away. It finally came to a stop, and the foam released its grip and started to melt away, but Rev was already on his feet.

All he could think of was the gamma radiation. Already more susceptible to the rot, he didn’t need any more radiation bathing his genes. Figures seemed to come out of a fog as the foam dissipated. Troopers releasing their harnesses. Rev took a moment to see if anyone needed help, but by some miracle, everyone seemed to have survived the landing.

“Out, now. Everyone out,” Bundy said a moment before SFC Gamay, Rev’s squad leader started pushing bodies toward the shattered rear of the shuttle.

Rev didn’t need a second order. He needed to get out to clear the way for the rest.

Part of what was left of the back end of the shuttle had collapsed upon impact, not leaving much room to exit. Rev ran to a gap in the twisted remnants. It needed to be cleared. He pushed against a huge section of the shuttle roof, but it was still attached at one of the support joists.

There wasn’t time to screw around. Rev raised Pashu and blasted at the joint with his 20 mm cannon. Three rounds severed the connection, and Rev was able to push the section free, opening enough room for him to pass through. And if he could pass through, then even an MDS karnan like Kvat could make it.

Rev stepped out of the shuttle and onto Tian-X4’s surface. Gingham was right on his tail.

“You heard the lieutenant. Three hundred meters that way,” he said, pointing. “Pick a spot and start a hasty defense. Whoever shot us down will probably come looking for what they bagged, so head on a swivel.” As the PFC started off, he called out and said, “And Gingham, thanks for helping when everything was crazy.”

“Couldn’t let you fall out, Staff Sergeant. They’d probably make me go find your body.”

Rev laughed out loud, and that broke some of the nerves and excitement. They were down and looking all in one piece. A few minutes ago, he’d have given odds that none of them would have survived.

But they weren’t out of the woods. The radiation leak was on his mind, and his common sense screamed for him to get the hell out of there, but someone had to take charge. He wasn’t sure where the shuttle’s tubes were leaking, but he did take a few steps back.

La’ei was next out of the shuttle, his bulky body making it a bit of a tighter fit.

“Follow Gingham.”

“What about the rest?”

“I’ve got it. You go.”

The corporal nodded, then disappeared after Gingham.

One by one, troopers came out the back. After a moment, others started coming around from the side. Rev didn’t know if they’d managed to open the side hatch or if they’d found another hole, and he didn’t ask. He could swear that he could feel the radiation seeping into him. Stupid, he knew, but his imagination was easily powerful enough to be able to overcome scientific logic.

Lieutenant Bundy was last, no surprise. “Twenty-eight, counting you,” Rev told him.

Rev could see the relief flow over his friend’s face. He knew Bundy would have swept the cargo bay, but this was the confirmation that he needed to know that every trooper got out.

Trooper? Crap! The pilot!

“I haven’t seen the chief.”

As one, they wheeled and ran to the front of the shuttle . . . or, at least, to where the front used to be. Now, it was a tangle of twisted metal and plastics. A huge tree lay half- embedded in the cockpit, the top of the tree broken off and on the ground. And it wasn’t just the tree. It was evident that the cockpit had taken the brunt of the damage. What was left of crash foam dripped through the wreckage and onto the dirt.

Rev clambered up on what he could, straining to see anything.

“Chief, you there?”

He pulled himself farther in before he spotted a leg, clad in a Millsap flight suit, sticking out from under part of the tree. “You OK, Chief?” he asked as he reached up to give the leg a tug.

The leg came free, and as Rev recoiled in horror, it fell, bouncing twice on the torn plastic panels before landing on the dirt with a dull thump.

His stomach, which had surprisingly been quiet after the shuttle was hit, roiled, and Rev had to crack his face shield before he threw up inside his combat suit.

He was probably flooding himself with gamma radiation now, but he didn’t care.

“Do you see him?” Bundy asked.

“I don’t think he’s alive.”

“You have to make sure.”

Rev knew the lieutenant was right, and after a couple of deep breaths, he closed his face shield and climbed up a little farther so he could see over the branch. He was braced for what he expected. The chief warrant officer had taken a lot of major trauma, too much for the docs to try for a resurrection.

He turned to look down at Bundy. “There’s not much left of him. Do you want me to try and recover what’s here?”

The platoon commander thought it over for a moment, then said, “No. Not now. We’ll get a recovery team in HAZMATs to come back and get him.

“Right now, we’ve got to move out. Your PAL-5 doesn’t give you as much protection as my PAL-3. And we need to set up a good defense while we wait for orders.”

Rev hopped down and took a moment to move the chief’s leg off the ground. He didn’t know if the native critters would eat human flesh or whether there were very many Earth-animals this far south from the poles, but he was taking no chances. The chief got the almost destroyed shuttle down on the ground. He deserved no less.

The two set off at a jog, following the trail left by the others. Rev’s mind was whirling with questions.

“Who do you think shot us down?” he asked Bundy.

“Could be either side.”

Unlike many of his friends, Bundy was a careful man, always considering his words. Maybe it was his age, but he was the Marine equivalent of the measure twice, cut once technician. He was not given to voicing speculation.

“But why? Surely they know we’re Home Guard.”

“They know.”

Which made no sense to Rev. The Home Guard was there to keep the two sides apart, just like on Cat Scratch. And while that conflict had grand powers involved, these two antagonists were barely a drop in the bucket of humankind. The Union alone could handle both sides if it had to.

“Then why risk a fight with the CoH?”

Bundy was silent for a long moment, and Rev thought he wasn’t going to answer him. But finally, he said, “Not everyone wants a central government. They say it conflicts with their rights. So . . .”

So, they’d welcome something that took away from the CoH. And it would be easy to use the Pinks or Gossarians as proxies for a longer play—say, by the Mad Dogs.

Bundy seemed as if he was being careful with his words. Rev wondered if he suspected that they were being monitored.

Or, maybe I’m just being paranoid.

But with what Punch had revealed to him, he knew that being paranoid didn’t mean you were wrong.

* * *

They really are blue, Rev observed as he looked out into the dense jungle. There were genmodded Colorado Spruces back on Safe Harbor, and they were kind of blue. But these plants were blue. Rev had been all over the galaxy and seen some strange things. He’d been an arm length away from Centaurs. But this just struck him as wrong.

Not that it mattered. They’d been shot down and were isolated a long way from the rest of the company and their COP. That took priority over the color of the planet’s vegetation.

By the time he and Bundy had reached the rally point, Top Barber had set up a defensive position. With all their heavier weapons lost out the back of the shuttle, Rev was it in that regard, so the platoon sergeant had him at the point of the most likely avenue of approach should someone come looking for what they’d done.

Rev couldn’t complain, though. As much as he wanted a position of leadership, this was the most logical thing to do. They wanted his firepower where it might most be needed. It wasn’t just the heavy weapons. Seven of the troopers had lost their rifles and were taking positions with only their sidearms.

“Platoon, listen up. Here’s the basic plan. The major wants us to hike out of here.”

What? It has to be a hundred klicks.

Rev pulled up a map overlay. He had the combat outpost noted, and with the planet’s magnetic fields downloaded, he knew precisely where he was. The COP was 113 klicks from their position. Nothing for a shuttle, but not so much for a platoon that had lost most of its heavy weapons and supplies.

“ . . . Second Platoon embarked.”

Crap, Reverent. Listen up. You’re going to miss something.

“That means we’ve got fourteen klicks to go to where the colonel feels confident that they can pick us up. Top Barber and I’ll be working on our order of movement. Squad leaders, redistribute what you can and be prepared to move out in twenty.”

Rev knew that Bundy had an exact count of what the platoon had, right down to the last handgun round. But he was leaving it to the squad leaders how to best distribute their assets. Just like a lieutenant should.

Bundy was Rev’s friend, and he’d always defend his fellow posse member. But the more he served with him, the more he respected the man. With his age, he was probably the least physically capable member of the platoon, and he almost assuredly had the least infantry experience of anyone else, but Rev couldn’t think of anyone in the company he’d rather have as a commander—either back in garrison or here in the blue jungle.

Rev expected to be point again. He was quickest on the draw, and with the weapons lost, he represented a huge percentage of the platoon’s firepower. But to his surprise, Third Squad led off in a modified V with Second and First following in trace. A wedge formation could move as quickly, but it maximized firepower to the front. Rev wondered if Bundy had more information than he was sharing.

But he quickly discounted that. Why would he hold back? It was probably just a prudent move, given what he’d said just a few moments before. Whoever had shot down the Red Dragon’s shuttle would probably be moving to get a BDA, a Battle Damage Assessment.

Rev’s warrior was still buzzing over the experience, the terror of tumbling through the sky, and the loss of the chief in the crash. He needed an outlet for that energy, and while he knew their mission was simply to get to the LZ and link up with Second Platoon, a good part of him wouldn’t mind running into whoever shot them down.

Payback’s a bitch.

Not that he thought it would happen. He didn’t know for sure, but they’d gone down quite far from where they’d been hit thanks to the chief keeping the shuttle airborne for so long.

The platoon moved out. First Squad was bringing up the rear, ready to react to any threat. If they were ambushed, their mission would be to flank and roll them up. SFC Gamay had put Rev on point for the squad, so if something happened, he’d be in position to react quickest.

On Safe Harbor, the sounds of wildlife generally quieted as a patrol moved through the forest. The life on this planet evidently didn’t get the same notice. Rev saw very few visual signs of creatures as they moved through the vegetation, but he sure heard them.

“What’s that?” he asked as a low clicking reverberated through the undergrowth.

<It’s a wormlike omnivore that lives most of its life in a burrow. What you are hearing is a defense mechanism warning you not to step too close or you’ll suffer a bite. There is no recorded local name given to it, but I can give you its scientific name and more data if you want.>

“No, that’s good enough. Can it bite through my boot? That’s what I want to know.”

<No.>

“For now, just let me know what can be a threat.”

<Roger.>

Rev knew he needed to be watching for humans, not taking a nature tour. Situational awareness was vital, and those who forgot that often ended up either regretting their lapse or being beyond regretting anything ever again. But it was difficult to ignore what he was seeing, starting with the plants. Aside from the blue color, most of the vegetation was fleshier and more rounded than Earth-based plants. As they pushed through them, it was as if the plants were trying to hold them. They gave him a bit of the willies, and he was glad he was in his PAL-5 and not touching them with his bare skin.

They crossed two danger areas: a large open field covered with a vine that looked like large ice plants and a large creek. Those slowed them down, but they maintained a good pace. Second Platoon and two YINK-36 rotofans were waiting on call to come pick them up as soon as they reached the LZ.

The platoon moved steadily in the forest, making good time. In another half an hour, maybe a little longer, the lead elements, Mother be willing, would reach the LZ. Ten minutes after that, the YINKs should arrive. Forty, forty-five minutes, and they’d be gone, and they could start figuring out who the hell shot them down and what they were going to do about it.

Rev didn’t know Chief Wimox, but the pilot had died getting the platoon on the ground in one piece. Rev intended to make someone pay for killing the man.

“We’ve got drones!” SFC Moba, the Third Squad leader passed on the net a moment before all hell broke loose.

Two explosions sounded, then the sound of intensive firing reverberated from ahead of them. But the heavy, water-laden vegetation was wreaking havoc with his ability to zero in on direction. He turned to look back at his squad leader for instructions.

“We’ve got twenty to thirty enemy to our one o’clock,” Bundy passed. “They’ve got the position on us. First Squad, I need to relieve the pressure.”

Before SFC Gamay could respond, Master Sergeant Barber shouted “On me.” She took off at a dead run, angling to the right as she pushed through the brush.

“You heard her,” SFC Gamay said. “Squad wedge, now. Pelletier, take point and get ahead of the platoon sergeant.”

Rev was already moving. The wedge gave good firepower to the front and flanks, and with him at the point of the wedge, he had the largest fields of fire. If he could get the squad in front of the master sergeant, that is. Barber was at a full run as she tried to flank the attackers.

The amount of fire ahead intensified, the steady whump-whump-whump of a crew-served weapon underlying everything else. The platoon lost their Madigril, so that was an enemy weapon, and from the sounds of it, it could penetrate any of their combat suits.

They had to silence it.

Barber knew that, too, but what was she going to do all on her own?

“Top, slow down,” Rev passed on the P2P as he lost sight of the platoon sergeant.

“Can’t. You get your asses up here. We’ve got to break the ambush.”

Don’t be a friggin’ hero, Top.

He picked up his pace, hoping to chase Barber down, but the platoon sergeant was quick. She was AIW, and most of the planets in that alliance augmented military personnel, so her speed probably wasn’t natural.

But neither was his.

He caught sight of Master Sergeant Barber again as she charged up a tiny trail just as the plants to the side erupted in a gout of flame. The platoon sergeant was flung to the ground.

Shit! Of course, they know our SOP, and they’d cover their flank.

“Top’s down. Booby trap. What do you want me to do?” he asked Gamay.

The squad leader barely hesitated. “Proceed, but all sensors forward.”

Rev kept going, watching for any signs. Given that no one knew for sure beforehand where they would have gone down, this wasn’t a set ambush. It had to be a hasty one, so that could very well be the only booby trap.

He spared the Master Sergeant a glance as he rushed past. Her combat suit had split open down the side. Blood and entrails were splattered across the ground. Her helmet looked like it might be in one piece, so she might be able to be resurrected, but only if they could get out of this mess. Rev ignored the body and pushed forward.

His warning system alarm went off a split second before the missile shot out of nowhere. His reflexes reacted quicker than his mind could, dropping him to the ground. He had a brief look as the missile arched down to follow him, then hit him in the back and glanced off.

Who the hell?

He’d been looking right at the spot when the missile had appeared as if out of thin air. From his belly, he could see the small mass of blue vegetation. And then, it was as if the plants themselves shifted a few centimeters.

Fractals!

“Switch to D-band. Give me an outline on any fractal discontinuity.”

Immediately, his sensor overlay shifted, and he lost much of the colors in the visible spectrum. But what he did see, with Punch’s help, was an outline of a soldier slowly bringing up something. Chances were that it was another missile.

“Nope. I don’t think so, buddy.”

He brought up Pashu. At the last moment, however, he switched weapons. Fractal suits were not rare. They did a good job at concealing the wearer from the visible spectrum, and in some cases, the mirrors were somewhat effective defending against energy weapons. Rev was pretty sure his braided cannon could defeat it, but why try it? He had something guaranteed more effective.

He fired two rounds of his 20mm cannon, which was overkill. It only took one. The fractal suit exploded in a burst of broken mirrors, revealing the crumpled body, or what was left of it, on the ground.

“They’re wearing fractals. Just notched a kill. I think I’m in their ambush.”

“D-bands, everyone. And move on line, guide on Pelletier. Let’s break this thing,” Gamay passed on the squad net, then on the platoon net, “Commencing assault from the south now. Don’t light us up.”

Rev stood and started forward with Punch monitoring his visuals. He wasn’t fond of the D-band, but it should highlight anyone using a fractal suit.

He’d gone maybe five meters when Punch outlined another soldier. One more two-round burst, and that soldier suffered the same fate as their buddy.

Rounds reached out to him, two pinging off his combat suit. He wondered why anyone would give up their position with a weapon that wasn’t effective against him. It was like attacking a Centaur Paladin with an M-49.

A moment later, something exploded against the thick bole of a tree, just meters in front of him.

Because they’ve got more missiles, Rev answered his own question as he broke into a charge.

The forest was dense, and while the ambushers assuredly had clear fields of fire into the kill zone, they didn’t have it to their flanks. And one single mine wasn’t enough to give them flank security.

“Give me targets,” Rev told Punch as he sprayed the area ahead with the 20 mm. The heavy rounds weren’t bothered in the slightest by most of the vegetation and only somewhat by the tree trunks. Chunks of blue filled the air as he swept the line. His Friend or Foe stopped him twice from firing too far to his left, but he was tearing up the place.

“Tjivyrtzlin, Lines, shift right. Don’t let the bastards retreat,” SFC Gamay said.

Rev passed two bodies. One looked like he’d met up with Pashu, but the other was more or less whole.

Less, he noted as he saw the other side of the body with half of its chest gone.

He caught motion in his peripheral vision just as Punch highlighted two bodies. Rev swung to engage, just managing to stop himself. Two soldiers were quietly sitting, their hands held high over their heads. The younger one, probably in his early twenties, looked passive, as if he didn’t care one way or the other if he lived or died. Not so much the florid-faced older gent. His mouth was open, and he breathed hard. His crotch was dark with wetness.

“We surrender,” the older man shouted, his voice rising to a screech. “You can’t kill us.”

The firing had died down around them. Rev didn’t know if the ambush had been broken.

“Get on your faces, now!” Rev said.

The older man flopped down hard, his head bent up and his eyes now locked on Pashu. The younger one took his time.

“Gingham, you got zipties?”

“Sure do,” the PFC said, moving closer.

“Secure them.”

Corporal Acevedo came on line on Rev’s right.

“Cover Gingham. I’m going to see who else might be around.”

The firing had stopped, but that didn’t mean someone had taken to ground, ready to pop out again. But the fight was over. Rev and the rest of the squad searched the area. Except for the dead, the two prisoners were all that was left of what turned out to be one of the least effective ambushes Rev could have imagined.

* * *

“Gather up evidence. DNA, too,” Bundy ordered. “Two minutes, then we’re moving out. First, take Master Sergeant Barber, and you’ve got the lead. Third, take the prisoners. You’re next. Second, you’ve got Sergeant Wein, and you’re bringing up the rear.”

With the prisoners, Rev didn’t know why they needed the DNA of the dead. Maybe it was just typical Bundy thoroughness.

He pulled out his collection kit, then stopped for a moment. These were the same kits they’d all carried during the war to collect anything they could from the Centaurs. It seemed obscene that he had to use the kit on fellow humans, that they had fallen that far.

“Yeah, this sure is a real peacetime,” he muttered.

But he swabbed the nearest body, capped the swab, and sealed it. His own DNA was registered to the swab, so it would be eliminated from the analysis. Anything that showed up belonged to the dead soldier at his feet.

He picked up the soldier’s sidearm and slipped it into his thigh holster. Janus TRs were ubiquitous throughout human space, but they should be able to trace this one from the serial number.

He walked over to Master Sergeant Barber’s body, and prepared to pick her up.

For once, I wish Kvat or another Pit Bull was here. Could use their strength for something useful.

Barber had been a big woman, and now with the flaccidity of death, she wouldn’t be easy to carry.

“Pelletier, I want you on point,” Gamay said. She took a moment to look around. “La’ei, you’ve got the top.”

Rev had been prepared to carry the master sergeant. By the luck of the draw, there were only four in the squad who’d undergone significant augments, and only Rev had his strength augmented. But if someone else was to carry the body, then La’ei was the choice. He was unnaturally strong, much more powerful than an un-augmented Rev was.

Rev sometimes wondered if the fitafitas really hadn’t been augmented. It wouldn’t be the first time that people had lied about that.

“We should make the fucking prisoners lead the way. Let them hit any booby traps,” Corporal Acevedo said as she helped La’ei hoist Top Barber’s body to his shoulders.

“Can’t. Torinth Accords,” SFC Gamay said.

“What? So, Staff Sergeant Pelletier there has to be the one to set one off while we protect those assholes?”

“Pretty much, so. Yeah.”

Rev already knew that, but Acevedo’s suggestion did have more than a little allure.

“Actually, the Home Guard never signed the accords. Nor did Congress,” Bob said.

Rev turned to look at the Frisian. That can’t be right.

“Bullshit,” Sergeant Lines said.

“No, really. Look it up. Torinth was signed before the Congress was formed.”

“But lots of nations were formed after Torinth, and they signed,” Rev said. “Take Barclay.”

“Nations. The Congress of Humanity isn’t technically a nation. They drafted a Notice of Concurrence, that the Congress of Humanity agrees with the provisions of Torinth, but they can’t legally sign them.”

“Is that true?” Rev asked Punch.

<From a technical standpoint, yes. From a practical standpoint, no. The Congress is made up of nations that have all signed the accord.>

Acevedo turned to the squad leader and said, “So, if we didn’t sign that thing . . . ?”

“Forget it. Pelletier has point. You follow. End of discussion.”

Before Acevedo could respond, Bundy came over the platoon net. “First Squad. Move out.”

“You heard him. Pelletier, go,” Gamay said.

“I tried,” Acevedo passed on the P2P as Rev stepped off.

* * *

They didn’t encounter anyone else as they marched, and Second Platoon met them a klick short of the LZ. SFC Khan, the platoon medic, quickly checked out Wein. Time wasn’t such a burning issue that they had to try and bring in a bird to lift the two out through the canopy.

Wein was one of his troopers, so it was Bundy’s call.

“We’re moving forward to the LZ,” he said.

A rotofan hovering above the trees was a big, vulnerable target, and the enemy had proven anti-air capabilities. Getting them out that way wouldn’t even save that much time. Better to extract at the LZ.

First Platoon moved into a double column, and Second took up the flanks on either side. They moved quickly through the trees.

“You OK?” Tomiko asked over the P2P as they pushed forward.

Rev had debated trying to contact her, but she took that out of his hands. He knew she would be there, but he didn’t know exactly where. And he had no access to the Second Platoon data.

“Still in one piece. Took a missile of some kind off my back. Surprised the hell out of me. The gunner was wearing fractals.”

“You get ’im?”

“Two 20mms. Yeah, I got him.”

“Good to hear it. See you back in camp.”

Even not knowing exactly where she was, it felt good to know she was there somewhere. No matter what, Rev knew that Tomiko had his back.

2

“Wein has a good shot at resurrection. He’s on his way up to the Red Dragon to be prepped and put into cold sleep for the trip back to the closest Class A facility. Top Barber is still a possibility, too,” SFC Gamay told the gathered platoon.

Rev furrowed his brow at the news. Being popsicled—put into cold sleep—was hardly a sure thing. It slowed down the degradation of the body, but it wasn’t the ever-elusive stasis that science kept chasing. All it did was extend the time in which someone could be brought back. That extension wasn’t infinite, however. There was still a point where dead was dead.

Which also raised the question of why there wasn’t a Class A facility on the planet, and when on a mission to a planet like this, the Home Guard hadn’t made better arrangements. Resurrection was iffy enough under perfect conditions, but it was the hope of it that kept morale up under trying conditions.

It didn’t surprise him that the Red Dragon’s sickbay could only put people into cold sleep, but that really made him appreciate the Dixmude and the Takagahara with their top-notch facilities.

“A team from the Red Dragon has recovered Chief Wimox, for all of you who’d been asking. They also conducted a forensic examination of the shuttle.”

“So, if they looked at the shuttle, do we know who shot us down yet? And were they the same as who we fought?” Staff Sergeant Rice Unifora, Rev’s friend from Second Squad, asked.

“Not yet. Or at least not that anyone’s informed us. The POWs aren’t talking.”

Well, make them talk. No insignia? That’s against the Torinth Accords.

Judging from the expressions of those around him, he wasn’t the only person thinking along those lines.

“But indications are that they might be Gossarians. They left some evidence, but not only that. Right, Pinkerton?”

All eyes swiveled to the sergeant from Third Squad. She shrugged and said, “That’s what my rider said. Picked up a few phrases in usage by Gossarians.”

Rev grunted. Sergeant Pinkerton was from Nowhere, and they referred to their version of a battle buddy as a “rider.”

“Could you have determined that?”

<If you had overheard the phrases, then yes.>

“Why didn’t you tell me that?”

<You didn’t ask, nor were you close enough to overhear what the prisoners were saying.>

This has got to stop.

Ever since the Bluebonnet Meadows, Punch hadn’t been Punch. Now, Rev knew why, and he appreciated that Punch had a moment of self-awareness that was undoubtedly nothing his programmers had envisioned—and now he claimed that he was wholly on Rev’s “side.” But they really needed a way to communicate that was free from prying eyes. They needed to get back to being the team they once were. There were three parts to that team: Rev, Punch, and Pashu. Limiting any of the three was a sure recipe for disaster.

Rev carefully chose his words. “We need to be able to communicate better—you to me and me to you.”

He hoped Punch understood him well enough to know what he meant. He had to be able to securely talk to his battle buddy without anyone listening in.

<I will work on a better system.>

Rev tried to formulate a safe response when Gamay’s words registered. “ . . . I’ll be taking her place as platoon sergeant.”

That caught his attention. With Gamay moving up, that left an opening at squad leader. Even as junior as he was, he was the senior staff sergeant in the squad. From the other two squads, Rice and Toshi were both senior to him. San Martin probably was, too. Any of the three could be brought over to lead the squad.

“So, that leaves First Squad open.”

Rev held his breath. He’d briefly led a fire team as a sergeant, but that was it. His unique situation made him more valuable as a trigger puller than a leader, and that grated on him. He wanted to lead Marines or, in this case, troopers. He didn’t want to remain an over-ranked PFC.

I’m in the squad. Don’t bring in someone from Second or Third Squads.

She didn’t.

“So, Staff Sergeant Tjivyrtzlin will be taking over the squad.”

That took Rev by surprise. He was senior to the Frisian. Sure, Bob had been a tan-master, the rough equivalent to a gunnery sergeant, but he’d been brought back to a yellow-master after Rev had been promoted. Besides, Frisian ranks were fluid at best. They weren’t even ranks, according to them.

It was a gutshot, but he managed to plaster a smile onto his face, turn, and slap the Frisian on the back. “Wow. Congrats, my friend. You’re going to be great.”

And he knew that was the truth. Bob had been a squad leader before in the Host, and he’d proven himself to be a good soldier. Better than Rev was, in many ways. That wasn’t false modesty on Rev’s part but a simple acknowledgment of the facts.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t disappointed. Knowing that Bundy had made the decision threw a little more salt into the wound as well.

* * *

It was several hours before Rev was able to approach his platoon commander.

“Good job back there, breaking the ambush like that,” Bundy said as he sat on the ground, eating a D-rat. He tilted his head to the spot next to him. “Take a load off.”

Bundy was filthy, his face streaked with dirt. Rev wasn’t sure how he’d gotten that way. In the shuttle and during the fight, he’d had his full combat suit on like everyone else. He hadn’t been able to take off the helmet until they reached the camp.

Rev wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, but he took a seat. One of the nice things about the Union combat suits was that there was a small locking mechanism in the lower back that could be engaged, rendering it something of a portable seatback. It wasn’t as quite as good as having a real chair, but it was better than nothing.

Bundy offered him his blackberry cobbler. It was more of a blackberry-ish rugelach, not a cobbler. Not many D-rat dishes were what they purported to be. Rev smiled as he took it. The last time he’d had a blackberry cobbler, a real one, it was when he and Malaika broke up.

A portent of what might happen here?

He hoped not. But he took the dessert, and munching on it gave him a moment to gather his thoughts.

Bundy beat him to it. “I had to pick Ting.”

Rev chewed the dry cobbler before he could swallow. He coughed, then said, “I’m senior to him.”

“On a technicality. He was a tan-master before. He had to take a hit in order to keep an eye on you.”

Rev grunted. Of course, Bundy knew that Bob was a spy, chosen to come to the Home Guard just because he’d previously had a relationship with him. And he was right about him being senior was just a technicality.

His questioning the decision wasn’t a good look on him, he knew. But he wondered if there was more to it. Were there doubts as to his leadership capabilities? Was he considered just a mobile weapons platform? Tomiko kept assuring him that he was much more than that, and whenever she said something along those lines, she made sense. But there was that nagging little voice that came out sometimes, the one that said he was just lucky before he lost his arm. After that, he was just a product of Union technology.

And even broaching the subject with Bundy wasn’t doing him any favors. It would probably get this conversation flagged for human review. The big bad IBHU Marine was having confidence issues. Wah, wah, wah. Still, Rev couldn’t help himself.

“Is that the only reason? That Bob was a tan-master before he got here?”

Bundy finished his last bite, then carefully licked each finger clean. “I still can’t believe his name is really Bob. You sure you aren’t playing with me there?”

Just answer the question, Bundy.

He took a moment to brush non-existent crumbs off of his pauldron, then he let out a measured burp. “No. That’s not it.”

So, tell me.

“Two things. One, everyone knows we’re friends. And they watch us. They’re watching us right now.”

Rev looked up. Sure enough, three troopers were looking their way. When they saw Rev spot them, they turned away.

“I’m their platoon commander. I might have to make a decision that could result in life or death. Each one of them has to know that Union Marine or not, friend or not, I can’t play favorites. I can’t protect you by sending someone else in your place.”

“You’d never do that,” Rev protested. “I know you. You wouldn’t.”

“But do they know that? That’s what’s important. So, if anything, I have to be a little harder on you. And if that means you can’t be the squad leader, then so be it. You’ll survive.”

When he put it like that, Rev felt even more childish that he brought it up. Or was going to bring it up before Bundy beat him to the punch. But in a way, it was a relief. Rev respected Bundy. After Staff Sergeant Montez, respect to the fallen, Bundy might be the most capable Marine he’d ever known. Because of that, he wanted Bundy’s respect as well.

“You said there were two more things.”

Bundy nodded at Pashu. “Like it or not, you’ve got a helluva weapon hanging off your shoulder. One we need. Do you think we would have broken the ambush so quickly, and with so few casualties, if you hadn’t been leading the counter-assault? If you were back playing squad leader?

“I know you don’t want to hear it. Tomiko’s told me how much you want to prove yourself as a leader.”

She told him that? I thought that was in confidence.

“But the fact of the matter is that you need to be the point of the spear, not the brain holding the shaft.” He paused for a moment, then hurriedly added, “Not that you’re stupid or anything, Rev. That really came out wrong. You’ve proven yourself to be intelligent, with a good military mind. But there are lots of good military minds. What there are not are lots of IBHU Marines running around.

“It might suck, but the needs of the Corps, Rev. Or the Guard. I have to put the platoon first. You understand that?”

Rev was surprised to hear just a hint of a plaintive note in his question, and Rev realized just then that Bundy was concerned, too. That was probably why he’d broached the question before Rev could ask it. He didn’t want anything to get between the two friends. While he wasn’t going to shirk his duty, as he saw it, based on saving a friendship, it was obvious that he was worried about how Rev would take it.

Suddenly, he was glad that the tables weren’t turned. He’d hate to have to make a decision that could hurt a friend.

“Yeah, I understand. And I know that I can do the most good being the tip of the spear. That’s why the Union spent all the big credits on this thing,” he said, raising Pashu.

Was that a sigh of relief I saw right there?

Bundy picked up his helmet and stood. “Well, I’ve got to see the major and find out what’s next. Good chatting with you.”

Rev watched him stride off. “Yeah, it was good,” he whispered at Bundy’s retreating back.

3

It wasn’t the Pinks who had attacked the platoon after all. It was the Gossarians, who had attempted to pose as Pinks. The DNA samples taken proved that. And when presented with the evidence, one of the two prisoners had finally come clean.

He wasn’t sure if his side had fired the shells that took down the shuttle, but they’d been prepared for any opportunity for them to pull off the scam. When the shuttle went down, his fourteen-person squad, along with two other units in the area, sprang into action. Each one rushed to what they guessed would be the platoon’s route to various potential LZs. His squad guessed correctly.

Their intent hadn’t been to actually kill any troopers, only to engage them, then leave evidence pointing to the Pinks behind. They had already started to withdraw to safety, but Top Barber had reacted too quickly, setting off the booby trap before they could completely disengage. After that, with Rev running up their line, it became a fight for survival.

Still, the two surviving prisoners kept up the charade, trying to make it seem as if the Pinks were the aggressors. It could have been a sound strategic decision. Get the Home Guard on their side. But on a tactical level? No. They had to know it was doomed to failure. They would have had to withdraw, leaving no traces of who they really were while leaving the planted evidence to indicate it was the Pinks who set the ambush. Too many things could go wrong. And in this case, they did.

And now, what they had done was the opposite of what they’d intended. After twelve hours of deliberation, the CoH had authorized a punitive mission. They were going to destroy the major Gossarian extraction complex in the region.

Rev hadn’t thought that the CoH, with all their push for diplomatic solutions, was going to authorize the mission. Evidently, however, what the Gossarians had done went too far, even for the diplomats.

“Remember the ROE,” Bundy passed as they prepared to load the birds. “No action will be taken against personnel unless we’re fired upon first. This is a no-shitter. And if you think you can exact a little revenge for Top Barber and Sergeant Wein by saying someone fired first, we are going to be under max surveillance.”

These weren’t the Rules of Engagement Rev wanted. It might not be in keeping with the kumbaya efforts of the CoH, but he wanted revenge. Top Barber was a good trooper, a good leader. She shouldn’t have been killed as part of some scam gone bad. Sure, the money-people who built the station would suffer, and this could have drastic blowback for the Gossarians and their allies as negotiations continued. But the Home Guard had lost lives, and at a visceral level, it took blood to pay back blood.

At the thought of allies, Rev looked across to Second Platoon. Staff Sergeant Kvat was standing in his stick. While not actually part of it, the Gossarians were under the sphere of the MDS. The karnan, along with the other four MDS soldiers in the company, was going to be part of a punitive mission against a close ally.

Rev had wondered if they would be left behind, but there they were. And it made sense. The Home Guard couldn’t be seen as being the tool of any particular national power, so the MDS soldiers had to participate. But it was evident that the major had considered the potential problem. Third Platoon, which had three of the five MDS soldiers in the company, was given the security element assignment. While First and Second Platoons conducted the actual destruction, they would stay out of the complex and secure the perimeter.

“Load ’em up,” the crew chief for the Millsap fanjet shouted to SFC Arsenyev, the Second Squad leader. Second Squad ran to the back of the bird and up the ramp, followed by Third Squad, and then First.

“Keep your head down, Rev,” Tomiko passed on the P2P just before Rev ducked inside.

“I’d say the same to you, but your head is already pretty far down and close to the ground.”

“I knew you’d say that again,” she passed.

“And I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

They’d both said the same things while loading the shuttles on the Red Dragon, and since they’d both made it down in one piece—and military being military about superstitions—it seemed like a good idea to keep that going.

It can’t hurt, at least.

Rev moved forward and took his customary position at the last starboard seat. It hadn’t worked out so well for him on the shuttle, but normally, it was considered one of the better seats on a bird.

Major Yves, the company commander, and her shadow, Corporal White, were also on their fan jet. That wouldn’t affect the platoon’s mission, but there was always a little added pressure when the command was with them.

The fanjet leaped into the air, and for a moment, Rev considered asking Punch to start the meds. But the hardy transport smoothed out as the fans transitioned to horizontal flight while it raced to their target.

For having such a crappy ship as the Red Dragon, the Millsap fanjet was up to industry standard. It was based on the UNI-44 frame, which might be the most common fanjet platform in the galaxy. The Union didn’t use it, but it probably was the top choice for independent planets and smaller associations. With four dedicated to the mission, they were task-organized with three carrying Fox Company and one in gunship configuration providing overhead cover.

The fact that someone had taken down the shuttle was still in the back of Rev’s mind as they skimmed over the treetops at 300 KPH. But, as the first sergeant had pointed out during the mission brief, a ship-to-ground shuttle isn’t the most maneuverable platform, and it wasn’t heavily armed.

“Give me another systems check.”

<System green. Power reserves at ninety-eight-point-two percent.>

Just because this wasn’t a kill mission didn’t mean that the Gossarians at the scene were going to go along with that. It was better to go in and expect the worst.

He took a moment to pull up the schematic of the station again and studied it before overlaying it on top of a satellite image. First Platoon’s mission was to take out the extraction equipment while Second would destroy the processing plant. He popped in First Squad’s route once they landed, then rotated the image to ground level. As the fanjet closed the distance, Rev was going through scenarios, plotting out where friendlies might be in his line of fire.

Rev, along with Randigold in Second and Sign of Respect in Third, could react and engage quicker than anyone else in the company. That was all well and good, but he had to be cognizant where friendlies were at all times. His missiles had Friend-or-Foe technology, but his braided energy cannon and 20mm didn’t care what they hit. Rev had to pay attention to the IFF warning on his display when using them, and in the middle of a firefight, that could be easy to miss.

“Five minutes,” the crew chief informed them, breaking Rev out of his concentration.

“Already?” He looked at his timer. It had been forty-six minutes since they took off.

“Give me a weapons check,” SFC Gamay passed.

Rev sent on his numbers. In the Union Marines, a platoon sergeant had full access to all of that data. It was the same thing in the Home Guard—in theory. In actuality, there were often compatibility glitches that kept the data from being streamed.

The fanjet began to weave. There was no specified anti-air threat at the site, but there hadn’t been on the descent, either. Rev braced his feet on the deck and locked onto the front edge of the seat with his right hand. The back of the ramp opened up, and it looked like they were just a meter or so above the blue trees. Maple seed pod-like animals took off into the air behind them, either in fright or drawn up by the fan jet’s slipstream.

“One minute.”

“We know the drill,” Bob passed on the squad net. “Nothing to it. We get off and form a three-sixty, Pelletier at the twelve o’clock.”

The fanjet came in on its final approach. Structures became visible out the back of the bird as it flared in for a landing. Almost a landing, that was. The crew chief was already yelling at Rev to disembark with the back of the ramp a meter and a half above the ground.

Rev didn’t hesitate, though. He unsnapped his harness, took three steps down the ramp, and easily handled the small drop. The fanjet kept crabbing forward, which was a small surprise to Rev but nothing he couldn’t handle. Instead of running out thirty meters to set the hasty defense, he ran ten meters and went to one knee, Pashu at the ready.

Just in front of him was a civilian, already on his face, hands locked behind his neck. The bird’s fans rippled the man’s white shirt and whipped his long brown hair into crazed dervishes, but he was frozen in place.

The man hadn’t waited for Rev or any other trooper to tell him to get down. He’d taken it upon himself, which meant they had to have either known or expected that this was coming. If they had known it, the question was how that could have happened.

Rev risked a glance at the next fanjet flaring in, about seventy meters away. Over-sergeant/Staff Sergeant Kvat was on that bird. He didn’t think Kvat would have actually warned the staff here, but maybe another MDS staffer somewhere in the command? It wasn’t beyond the bounds of probability.

Their fanjet took off behind Rev. Around him, the platoon was getting situated. In the center, Bundy was talking to the major. Rev turned back. He was supposed to be looking forward, not paying attention to what was behind him.

The prone man finally moved with the fanjet gone. He looked up from his prone position and caught Rev’s eye.

“You can sit up,” Rev said over his speakers.

The man hesitated, then, making sure his hands were in clear sight, scooted his legs around until he was sitting. He kept his hands above his head for about thirty seconds before he carefully lowered them to the top of his head.

The last of the three birds took off, leaving the company on the excavation grounds. It was time to get to work.

“First Platoon, move out. Follow the planned priority of targets.”

The overlay flashed on Rev’s face shield. The squad’s targets were highlighted in blue. The first was a huge earth-eater, easily twice the size of the biggest he’d ever seen on Cat Scratch. He could just see the top of it emerging from the main pit.

“Move out,” Bob passed.

The LZ had been in a large, refilled area between the huge pit and the processing facilities. The excavators and collectors cleared the huge pits to get to the mineral-ladened veins. But the tailings were not simply left to the side. As the excavators dug forward, the tailings were returned to their former place. The facilities were semi-mobile, mounted on millions of minitreads, that advanced on top of the tailings, but about 120 meters behind the trailing edge of the pit.

This was the common practice for surface mining on heavily populated worlds. Not so much for places like Tian-X4. As a layman, it seemed like a lot of extra expense to Rev. But it made things easier for Fox Company. Everything was closer together.

Rev ignored the prone man as they headed to the trailing edge of the pit. The poor guy looked confused, wondering what he should be doing.

Just stay there, and you’ll be fine, buddy.

Within moments, Rev was overlooking the edge of the pit. The first excavator was even more impressive close-up. Massive. Rev suddenly had some misgivings about what they could do to it. It wasn’t a war machine, but the sheer mass was something that had to be overcome.

Bundy stepped up beside him and looked down as well.

“By the Mother, that thing is big.”

“Are we going to be able to take it out?” Rev asked.

“The Red Dragon’s engineer says so.”

“Well, that’s only the first one of three.”

Bundy turned around and motioned up the engineers. Every Home Guard platoon had at least four troopers who were combat engineers back in their home armies. The task ahead of them was a little bit bigger than typical engineer missions. So, First and Second Platoons had been sent two Navy engineers from the Red Dragon.

Rev wasn’t sure what a shipboard engineer knew about demolitions. He didn’t know why the Red Dragon didn’t just slag this place into its component atoms, for that matter. But no one was asking him for his opinions, so he just focused on his job, which was to keep any threat away from the engineer teams.

Rev waved Akkeke, Gingham, and La’ei up.

“Let’s set up in a line, forming on me. Don’t get caught up with what’s happening below us. Our focus is over there,” he said as he pointed to the processing center. According to the records, it only took nine people to run this massive operation. Seven of them would be with the processing facilities. His friend was still sitting right where he’d been when Rev jumped off the fanjet. That meant there were at least eight more people somewhere. Not much of a threat against a Home Guard company, true, but then again, no one had guaranteed that no one else had joined the crew.

It was odd, though, that only the one guy was in sight. Surely, a Home Guard Company landing in the middle of their installation would give rise to more than a single worker. Rev started looking around beyond the actual infrastructure. The terrain was rocky, giving lots of opportunity for cover. A small hill just to the east offered good observation of the installation. A small team, hiding in the rocks on the hill, could do some damage with a volley of missiles.

The company had drones overflying the installation. Rev was about to ask Bundy to request that some of them expand their coverage to the hill when four workers finally made their appearance, stepping out of a small door at the front side of the main processing building. A man and a woman seemed to be arguing, taking turns wildly pointing to First and Second Platoons.

Finally, the man seemed to have enough. He threw his company hat on the ground, then turned and half-walked, half-ran toward the pit.

“I’ve got him,” Rev told the other three, and he angled over to intercept the man.

He could tell when he was spotted. The man faltered and almost came to a stop as he took in the IBHU Marine. But he squared his shoulders and shifted his direction to head at Rev.

He started yelling from thirty meters away.

“Shut up,” Rev told him.

“You can’t tell me to shut up. This is Maclin property, and you’re trespassing.”

“Stop.” Rev raised Pashu and aimed it slightly to the man’s left. The message couldn’t be missed.

But evidently, it was. The man continued marching to Rev. He didn’t look like much. Middle-aged, maybe sixty. An obvious hair augment, the locks set in whirling patterns. He didn’t look like a suicide bomber, but looks could be deceiving.

“As installation chief, I order—"

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Rev cut him off, shifting Pashu to take him dead on.

“You’re the ones doing something stupid,” the man said, finally coming to a stop and still warily eyeing Pashu. “We’ve got allies, you know. MDS. You should think twice before you destroy Maclin property.”

“MDS? You mean like him?” Rev said, pointing across the compound at Kvat, who was standing security while two troopers were setting box charges at a power junction.

“He’s MDS?” the man asked uncertainly.

“A real live Mad Dog. You can go talk to him if you want.”

A blast sounded, and the man spun around, shouting out in horror. Second Platoon had already set off their first charge, and a huge chunk of the main facility was gone. He turned his head to give Rev a last look before he took off at a run.

Probably thought I was going to drop him. Guy’s got balls, though.

Rev knew he was an imposing sight, and he wondered how many unarmed civilians would run up to confront him.

“Fire in the hole,” came over the platoon net. “Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . . fire!”

There was a whump from behind Rev. He knew it wasn’t his mission to watch the pit, but he couldn’t help it. He had to see.

The earth-eater was still there. Canted to be sure, but still standing. “Stand by for second charges.”

Rev counted three of the big machines in the pit along with assorted other large pieces of equipment. If this first attempt was any indication, then Rev thought they might be there for a long, long time.

* * *

In the end, they gave up. They just weren’t set up to destroy such massive pieces of equipment.

The processing facilities were one thing. Within two hours, all that was left were hunks of twisted plastics and metal. It could have been finished sooner, but the man who’d confronted Rev had tried to become a human shield of one. When Second Platoon attempted to reason with him, it fell on deaf ears. After five minutes of fruitless talk, Captain Chokra had enough, and he sent a squad forward to grab and ziptie him until he looked like a pig trussed up for the BBQ.

But with First Platoon, while they managed to destroy some of the smaller pieces, in the end, they had to call the Red Dragon to slag the pit. Even that took some time as tetra joules of energy were expended.

Other than the director, no one else tried to interfere with the process. After Second Platoon’s first blast, the rest of the personnel emerged and gathered under the watchful eye of Third Platoon.

During the entire process, Rev kept expecting to be hit. His mind was constantly asking what he would do if he was on the other side and he wanted to save the installation. There were plenty of options. And it wasn’t until the Red Dragon opened up with her main cannon that he could finally let up just a bit.

An attack never materialized, but Rev was as mentally beat as if there had been one. Rev didn’t care if he might have been overthinking the mission. As the fanjet took off from the LZ, he knew he’d run the same constant what-if-this-happened-next scenarios in his mind.

It was better to expect the worst and be pleasantly surprised than expect nothing and get a surprise at the other end of the scale.

4

“Did you hear about Chokra?” Tomiko asked outside the field showers, the steam almost coming out of her ears.

With Tomiko in Second Platoon, he hadn’t had a chance to see her much over the first few days on Tian-X4. He’d only caught her now as he was leaving and she was going in.

And now she was max-pissed. Rev wasn’t sure he wanted to step into that, but he answered, “No. What’s up?”

“He got his ass chewed, from what Top Fitzwater told us. That fucking director at the site raised a stink, and the Gossarians filed a formal complaint with the CoH.”

That stopped Rev dead.

WTF?

They’d been on pallets that had been placed on the ground to let troopers enter and leave the shower hut without stepping in mud. He pulled her to the side so others could get past them.

“The director of the excavation site? The guy who kept getting in the way, trying to use himself as a human shield?”

“Exactly.”

“The Gossarian director, when the Gossarians attacked us and tried to blame the Pinks?”

“Exactly again.”

Rev shook his head in disgust. They’d all had the ROE briefs, and he understood that the CoH was not an all-powerful government despite some of the commentary he heard in the media. But they’d been attacked, by the Mother.

“So, how can he complain? Hell, we probably saved his life if he was going to try and put himself in the middle of a demolition explosion.”

“This is going to fucking blow your mind,” Tomiko snarled. “The charge is that because it wasn’t formally determined that it had been Gossarians who hit you, any such action was illegal.”

“But it was determined. Officially. I’ve seen a copy of the investigation,” he said, his voice rising.

“Which came out three hours after we hit the place.”

“But—”

“Yeah. That’s when it was filed. But we knew the results long before the mission was assigned to us. So, this asshole—and you know this comes from on top, not just him—this asshole thinks he can use that filing date to get the CoH to pay to reconstruct the entire installation.”

“No. It’ll never happen, Miko. Never.”

“You sure about that?”

He started to answer but then stopped. As ridiculous as that sounded, it could very well fall out that way. The CoH was all for kumbaya and gentle persuasion, not force. If the counsel general himself thought that paying up would be proof that the CoH wasn’t some conspiracy-born cabal to control humankind, then Rev knew he’d do it. The financial cost was a small price to pay . . . as would be the career of a Revelation captain.

And that was probably why Tomiko was fuming. Rev had been under the command of Captain Chokra on the Nightingale’s Song when his old platoon commander hadn’t made it aboard. He’d seemed competent, and neither Randigold nor Rice had ever mentioned anything negative about the man. But Tomiko had really taken a shine to the captain, regularly expressing her respect for him.

Combine that with her famously short temper and fierce sense of loyalty, and it was no surprise that she was about to explode. Heck, Rev didn’t know the officer very well, and he was pissed, too.

“Any word on what’s going to happen to him? Chokra, I mean.”

“He’s still in command,” Tomiko said. “For the moment. But if they send him back to Revelation, I swear—”

“You swear you won’t say a word, and you’ll continue to do your duty, Miko,” he said, cutting her off before hidden listeners could hear what she might say.

Rev didn’t know if the watchers covered regular augmented Marines or not. It could be just the IBHU Marines. But she had the same kind of battle buddy as he did, and with the AI algorithms able to screen for keywords and strings, it wouldn’t be difficult to spy on her, too.

She frowned and looked like she was going to snap at him, but then she sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I know. You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be a good little girl. It’s just that it’s not fair to the captain. And this whole situation, I mean, like who gives a flying fuck what the Gossarians do. They’re a back-galaxy hunk of rock that aren’t even a pimple on the Mother’s butt.”

“Who are in the MDS sphere, Miko.”

“Yeah, I guess. Well, screw the Mad Dogs, too,” she said, but at least lowering her voice. With troopers coming back and forth into the showers, who knew who might be by next to overhear her.

“Look, this is hardly the place to talk,” he told her. “You free at twenty-hundred?”

“No. I’m on guard duty right after I get out of the shower. Speaking of which, I need to take it. I’m off at twenty-two hundred, though.”

“OK. Let’s meet at the ring then.”

“See you then.” She started to head to the door of the shower hut when she stopped, reached out, and touched Rev’s stump.

To his surprise, he felt something like a small shock when her hand touched him.

“That’s red. You having problems with Pashu’s fit again?”

“No, not really. It’s just been a little red since we got here. Maybe one of the local molds or something.”

“Which shouldn’t matter with you being Earth-based.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’m going to ask Randigold if she’s got the same thing.”

“It’s really nothing.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she said before turning and hurrying inside the showers.

Rev watched her until the door closed behind her, just the slightest of smiles on his face. For someone who put on a tough persona, she really did have that caring, almost mothering side to her, no matter how much she might try to hide it.

* * *

The “ring” was a flattened area by the foam huts that served as berthing. Local logs, which were more rubbery than Earth-based wood, were dragged in and served as seats. In the center was the ubiquitous fire—this one fueled with jury-rigged fuel cells.

The native logs would burn, but they’d been warned not to inhale the smoke because of particulates that could lead to throat and lung problems. They could sit in their combat suits and not be bothered by the smoke, but that rather defeated the purpose of relaxing.

Captain Chokra had been the main topic of conversation, and to a person, the troopers supported him. But discussion drifted as often as the smoke from their little stove shifted back and forth.

“It was the Centaurs who brought humanity together,” Rice said.

“At a steep price. The real question is if that unity of purpose can survive,” Bob added.

“And that brings us back to us. The Home Guard,” Rev said. “Miko doesn’t think we’ve got any real purpose. But she wasn’t there with us on the Nightingale’s Song, for example.”

“No, I didn’t say that there was no purpose. I said that the politics going on keeps us from performing our mission. Like the bullshit at the Maclin’s extraction site.”

“Well, we did destroy the place,” Rice said.

“Yeah, and look what’s happening to Captain Chokra.”

Rev stared into the flame as if trying to divine an answer from within. He was torn. Sometimes, he was so proud to be a part of the Home Guard and what it represented. But other times, the practicality of being just one tool in the vast bureaucracy that made up the Congress of Humanity was frustrating. In many ways, he agreed with what Tomiko was saying. But there was still that hope born of what the congress represented, and humankind could present their better souls.

“You people put too much emphasis on stuff that doesn’t matter,” SFC Gamay, who’d been sitting silently, just listening, said.

“What do you mean?” Bob asked.

“All of this,” she said, sweeping her hand to encompass the entire camp. “And none of it. You’re all getting your panties in a twist because some dickwad complained that he was illegally held and the facility destroyed.”

Rev wasn’t quite following her. “And . . .”

“And, it doesn’t matter. You and I don’t matter. Fox Company doesn’t matter. In a thousand years, will anyone care what we did there, or what’s going to happen when congress weighs in? No. Like I said, it doesn’t matter.”

“Sorry, Sergeant Gamay, but I’m going to have to disagree with you on that. It does matter,” Bob said.

“No, it doesn’t. What matters is the big picture. When I joined the Legion fourteen years ago, the war was new, and we were getting our asses handed to us. Casualties were through the roof. But at basic, one of our DIs told us that as hard as it might be to accept, it didn’t matter if we lived or died. What mattered was the big picture. Was humanity going to live or die. And even then, when looking at the universe, that might not matter much, either.”

Rev looked across the ring at the platoon sergeant, trying to gather his thoughts. “I’m going to have to side with Bob on this. It does matter. At least to our loved ones.”

“Look, I know that is the natural conclusion. But imagine an ant colony. All the little worker ants run around gathering leaves and food. All the little soldier ants fight off the enemies. But if a bird snatches one of the workers, if a soldier dies while biting a mantis, does that affect the colony? No.”

“So, what’s your point? That we’re supposed to just ignore the fact that, according to you, each of us sitting here has no value? That’s a pretty cynical point of view, if I do say so myself. And if that’s true, then why fight?”

“You’re missing my point, Pelletier. If you understand that what matters is the whole, then you won’t let your petty desires get in the way of performing your duty. Right now, our duty is to support the mission of the congress. You’re letting it get personal,” she said, pointedly looking at Tomiko. “All that righteous fury takes energy, mental and physical, and that makes you less effective. You need to be able to ignore that. If it doesn’t matter, then why get upset if one worker ant dies?”

“So, you think what happened to Captain Chokra was right?” Tomiko asked, her voice like a lance.

“No, it wasn’t right. And it sucks. But it really doesn’t matter to our mission, now, does it? And sitting here, crying woe is us ain’t gonna do anything for the good captain.”

Some of what Gamay said was true. They weren’t going to change anything, and maybe it was good to push all of that out of their minds. But she was wrong on one thing, he was sure. They did matter. All of them.

Sure, one worker ant wasn’t going to cause the colony to fail. But a thousand? Ten thousand? A hundred thousand? If enough ants were killed, the colony was dead.

He looked around the ring. Each one of them mattered. If they didn’t, then why would anyone fight? Rev knew that to a great extent, it wasn’t the big picture that caused people to go into battle. It wasn’t the government’s mission that made them sacrifice their lives. It was their fellow troopers. Rev knew he would die to save them, and they would do the same for him.

So don’t tell me we don’t matter. The fact that we will willingly die to save each other is proof that we do.

SFC Gamay slowly stood. “We’re on duty in twenty,” she told Rev. “It’s been, well, interesting to hear you all, but it’s time to get back to work.”

“What a load of crock,” Rice said as soon as the platoon sergeant was out of sight.

“There’s some truth to what she was saying,” Rev said.

All eyes swung to him in astonishment.

“I mean about putting things behind you. Whatever is going to happen to Captain Chokra is way above our paygrade. Above the Home Guard, I imagine. So, we have to accept that and move on.”

“And you believe we, as individuals, don’t matter?” Tomiko asked, her voice quiet in surprised accusation.

“No. We all matter. That’s where she has it wrong. Look, the Rigel Legion suffered tremendous losses, especially early in the war. She survived, but how many friends did she lose? If she says their deaths don’t matter, then maybe that’s a coping mechanism? Something to manage the grief?”

“If she lost so many friends, then she should know they mattered,” Rice said, her voice hard. “Now that you put it that way, that actually makes me angry that she could dismiss so many sacrifices.”

“I don’t feel angry,” Rev said. “Just sad.”

He stared into the darkness where she’d walked off. He didn’t know her background or what she’d suffered during the war.

I hope that no matter what, I don’t lose my humanity. Mother willing, I hope I never become so cynical.

5

The destruction of the Maclin installation had more ramifications than Rev or anyone else would have imagined. With the complaint registered with the Congress of Humanity, brakes were put on military operations. The battalion’s three rifle companies ceased going outside the wire while the CoH tried to come up with a response.

Public opinion was tilting against the Home Guard as well. Media, led by HSN, adopted the issue as their latest and greatest. The destruction of the installation was standard fodder on the news broadcasts while talking heads discussed if this was overreach by the CoH, an example of punishing Gossaria for its political leanings.

Rarely, if ever on some networks, was the downing of the shuttle mentioned as the cause of the raid. If someone brought it up in any of the newscasts, it was dismissed as whoever fired the missile had never been identified, and the ambush by Gossarian forces was an unfortunate example of friendly fire.

In the game of power, the MDS was the first of the grand powers to indicate support of those who criticized the CoH action. It wasn’t surprising that they were behind the Gossarians.

Not every network was anti-Home Guard. Some were quite supportive. But the fact that most of these networks were either funded or licensed by governments who leaned away from the MDS made accusations of partisanship inevitable.

So, now, a full ten days after landing, Rev’s job was to man the front gate for eight hours each day. Randigold and Sign of Respect took the other shifts. With the orders that only personal weapons be taken out of the armory, this still gave Fox Company some heavy firepower at the gate.

Not that there was much traffic. Some people came to observe the camp, but no one had entered during Rev’s watches.

“You think we’ll get mortared?” Corporal Akkeke asked Rev.

The night before, two mortar rounds had landed in Echo Company’s camp, halfway around the equator. No one was hurt, and no one had taken responsibility, but it was a message. The Gossarians were emboldened by the turn of events, and they were not going to roll over for the Home Guard.

“Could happen. Depends on what crazies are running around.”

“You know, we could crush them, every single grossie on this blue piece of shit.”

Rev rolled his eyes. It was true that the Second of the Second could probably roll over both the Gossarians and Pinks on the planet if they had to. But it wasn’t going to happen. And with the Pinks, they’d been laying low, so no one really knew where they stood.

But taking on the Gossarians wasn’t going to happen. And as much as the warrior Rev would like nothing better than to smack them around a bit and knock the arrogance out of their smug faces, he knew that risking full-out combat could destroy whatever good the counsel general was trying to create.

One of the alerts sounded inside the guard shack. Akkeke leaned over to see the display. “Looks like we’ve got company again. And that asshole Djerstan is leading the way.”

Rev got up to see for himself. Dr. Djerstan, the director who filed the suit with the CoH, was leading a group of five up the trail toward the camp. Four days ago, a dozen people in Maclin gear appeared and set up a camp a klick from the gate. They hadn’t attempted to communicate with Fox Company, but they showed up outside the camp, dressed in their Maclin jackets with the Gossarian flag now on the shoulder, and stayed there for a couple of hours each time, glassing the camp, taking holos, and the like.

Again, a message. And maybe a little psychological warfare, Bob had said. But if they thought their presence would shake the troopers, they were sadly mistaken. Everyone in the company was battle hardened, and a few company shirts were nothing in comparison to a Centaur paladin.

“Call it in,” Rev told the corporal.

He watched the feed as they approached, then moved to the window of the guard shack as they reached their preferred observation spot.

This time, there was something different, though. Not all of them were wearing the Maclin jacket. One was in a lime green vest. Rev focused his vision, squeezing his ciliary muscles to zoom in. On the woman’s vest were three lettters: HSN, the MDS’s largest news organization.

“Tell the CP that they’ve brought the media. The HSN.”

“No shit?” Akkeke asked, picking up a pair of binos and looking toward the group.

“We’re going to be holo stars, I think. Should we wave?”

Rev just snorted his amusement.

“Seriously, though. What do we do now? That’s a big network.”

“Same as we did last time, Corporal of the Guard. We sit on our asses like monkeys at the zoo and ignore them.”

* * *

Rev was bored out of his gourd. Eight hours of sitting guarding a gate that no one went in or out. Corporal Akkeke was a good trooper, but after ten days, there wasn’t much left in the small-talk library.

He couldn’t even make use of Punch’s vast library of music or holovids. Ever conscious of being monitored, he refused to do that while on duty. He didn’t think Akkeke had the same restrictions. The way he often hummed or tapped his feet was a good indication that he had access to his own music.

It wasn’t that much better while off-duty. If he wasn’t sleeping, he was attending makeshift classes the major ginned up to keep them occupied. Most were taught by other troopers, so they were understandably crap. But at least then, he was around others. Now, he might as well be married to the big Millsap corporal.

He didn’t even have Djerstan and his crew to watch. Rev thought the guy must be getting bored, too.

Rev leaned back on his chair, feet up on the counter. The sky was overcast, a uniform, featureless gray. Even that was boring. But he didn’t have the motivation to move, so he just sat there, eyes unfocussed, merely existing.

A small movement caught his eyes, and he sat up when the words <Do not react> appeared. Rev was used to this by now. They really didn’t do much communicating because unless Rev spoke in riddles, he couldn’t say much. And as Punch had notified him, too many riddles would reveal a pattern. So, despite knowing what was happening, their communications hadn’t really advanced since he’d joined the Home Guard.

<I have developed a method for you to initiate communications with me. I would like to test it if you are agreeable.>

Agreeable? Hell yeah, I am.

He cleared his throat once, one of the ways they’d developed for him to indicate yes.

A seven-by-seven table of some sort appeared in his field of vision. In each box was a letter or number as well as some common words.

<I developed this from some old methods used for people with medical conditions such as motor neurone disease. It is a way for you to spell out words that should be undetectable by those monitoring me.>

Finally. But why so long to develop? This doesn’t seem too difficult a solution.

He tried to figure out how to use it. Locking onto a letter seemed like the obvious solution, but how to select that letter. Blink?

He tried it, but immediately the table disappeared.

<Do not focus on each letter. Even though the monitors should not be able to discern the table, your motions can give it away that something is going on.>

Well, then how am I going to use the damn thing? Rev wondered, getting a little cross. He missed Punch, but not to the point where he wanted to be scolded.

<The genesis for this required the user to look at each letter, and his eyes would be analyzed to determine at which letter he was looking. That would not work in this case. We do not want a monitor to notice such a patterned motion.>

Are they really watching that closely?

Rev knew he was being monitored, but he’d thought that for most of the time, there were AIs listening for keywords of interest, and only then a human would be brought on. From what Punch had said, both now and during other messages, Rev was beginning to suspect that the monitoring was far more intensive than he’d guessed.

<I initially abandoned this line of thought until I realized that you, of all people, might be able to manage something different.>

Come on, Punch. Just tell me.

<Move. You haven’t stirred since we started this conversation.>

Rev was hunched over his chair, concentrating on what Punch was saying. He might as well be waving a sign that he was communicating with someone.

He leaned back, yawned, and asked, “You doing OK, Akkeke?”

The corporal’s eyes were closed as his lips mouthed lyrics.

Rev gave him a nudge, and Akkeke’s eyes opened wide. Rev gave him a thumbs-up that the corporal returned. Rev nodded, then leaned back, feet up on the counter again.

Hopefully, that’s better.

<Your IBHU is, as the name implies, a hoplological construct with advanced neurological improvements that make use of your proprioceptors and enhanced neural networks. This is why you do not have to give your IBHU orders. You don’t have to think to aim it. You don’t have to work out steps to trigger it. To quote Doctor Chakrabarti, you just “think” the firing. It is my belief that with that training, you can do the same thing here.>

Rev’s enthusiasm took a hit. “Think” the letter in order to spell out words? He didn’t even know how he fired Pashu. He just did. So, trying to teach himself to do as Punch was suggesting seemed a little out of reach. How could he teach himself when he didn’t know what he was doing?

<I would like to try an experiment, if you think you are ready. I don’t think this will work yet, but I need some feedback. Are you willing to try?>

Rev had wondered if Punch was compromised for a long time, only learning recently why he’d changed. But what if he really was not the same Punch? This seemed pretty farfetched.

But what the hell? I’m already sunk if he’s not really on my side.

He coughed once, another signal for yes.

<I want you to look at the sky again. The gray background will help you to ignore other visual inputs. I am going to bring up the table again. Try not to focus on it. When I tell you, I want you to think of one of the letters. Understand?”

One throat-clear yes.

The table appeared again. After a moment, the lines faded a bit, leaving the letters, numbers, and the common words. Rev focused on the letter F.

<Don’t look at the table. Think at a letter.>

How the hell can I think AT the letter?

He closed his eyes for a moment, and the table was still there, like phosphenes. Only this time, when he tried to look at the table, it didn’t float away, just out of reach like real phosphenes did.

Maybe I can do it this way.

He locked his “sight” on the letter H and held it there before Punch finally asked, <Are you looking at the letter B?>

Two coughs.

<Open your eyes. I’m going to flash letters. Don’t say no for each one. Tap your foot when I reach the letter. A . . . B . . .>

Rev stayed still until Punch hit H, when he tapped his foot.

<Good. We’re going to do it again. Close your eyes.>

They went through it twice more.

<I think I’ve been able to triangulate the signals to zero your aim, if I can use a military analogy. But you can’t wander around with your eyes closed. You have to be able to do this with your eyes open. You already have the neural links, and your brain is trained for the process. You do it with your IBHU, so it is only a matter of practice. We need to try again.>

That was easy for Punch to say, but he wasn’t sure he even knew what “thinking at a letter” really meant. With a sigh, he got ready to try again.

“Something up, Sergeant?” Akkeke asked.

“What? Oh, no. Just daydreaming, I guess.”

“Not much else to do here,” the corporal said before going back to his music.

Rev was glad his battle buddy had come up with a way for Rev to communicate with him off the grid, so to speak. The question was if Rev could actually master it.

6

“So, we just sit here and vegetate?” Rice Unifora asked Rev.

“That’s about it. The grossies haven’t shown, but there’s still time for them to make an appearance. Randigold here knows the ropes. Ask her if you have any questions.”

Rice looked out to the gate. “There’s not even a fucking road out there. So, why the gate?”

“’Cause the standard plan for a camp has one, I’m thinking. And who knows? Maybe they plan on linking the companies.”

“Halfway across the planet? You know, that sounds about right with the brass,” she said with a harumph.

She was right, of course. The battalion was spread out over the main continent along the equatorial zone. Tactically dumb, spreading the relatively small force out like that. But strategically, the Home Guard was trying to make a statement. And with the region sparsely populated, it probably wasn’t that big of a risk.

But north, in the upper latitudes, there were enough residents to constitute a threat. Rev just hoped it never came to that.

“Anything else?” he asked.

Rice looked around and scowled. She wasn’t happy to have pulled the duty. That was pretty evident. But finding no reason to object, she said, “I guess not.”

“Then we hereby stand relieved,” Rev told Rice. “And not soon enough.”

He and Corporal Akkeke didn’t waste time standing around chitchatting. They both took off, with Rev clinking IBHUs with Randigold as he passed.

“Sibs in Steel.”

The two started back down the road to the camp. Even without anything leading from the outside to gate, this was a real, synth-laid road, able to stand up to any tank known to humanity. Which was overkill, as there were no tanks with the battalion. But like he told Rice, it was probably standard for expeditionary camps, and no one was going to suggest a change given the ground situation.

“How come Second Platoon rotates the gate guard,” Akkeke asked. “Last time it was Sergeant Rimes. Before that, Staff Sergeant Patrice.”

Yeah, and before that, it was Tomiko. Different platoon commanders, different decisions.

“It’s been PFC Randigold each time,” Rev noted.

“Yeah, but that’s because you guys have to be there,” he said.

Rev gave him a bemused look. “Really? It’s OK for Union Marines to stand every day, but not you?”

“Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean that, Staff Sergeant. I mean, if we’re trying to be all neighborly like without the heavy weapons, we need you three persies to be on post, but for the rest of us, anyone can do it.”

“To watch a gate that leads out into nothing? To watch the grossies, when they decide to show up, watch us?”

Akkeke frowned, then said, “We know it’s BS. But I was sorta hoping that you could talk to the lieutenant, you know, and maybe suggest that at least my position can be rotated?”

“Lieutenant Bundy originally suggested that.”

“Really?” Akkeke asked, stopping to turn and look at him.

No, not really. Just want to have a little fun with you.

“Yeah, really. But I talked him out of it. I told him that familiarity was the key to working well together. And when he let me have my way, he asked who I wanted, and of course, I said you.”

“Me? You’re the one who’s got me standing guard every day?”

“Well, you keep telling anyone within hearing that you’re the best. So why wouldn’t I pick you?”

Akkeke’s mouth dropped open, and he tried to stammer out a response, but nothing came out. Rev kept walking, and after a moment, the corporal hurried to catch up.

Rev had a hard time holding back the smile. He’d put the corporal in a tough position. If he really was the best corporal in the company, as he liked to say, then how could he object to being chosen? And if he wanted to get out of the duty, he would have to admit that he wasn’t the best.

Truth be told, Akkeke might very well be the best NCO in Fox Company. He was in the top three, for sure. And Rev liked the young trooper. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to screw with him for a bit. It was sort of a duty for SNCOs to screw with their juniors. He’d let Akkeke know he was just pulling his leg, just not quite yet.

They walked in silence back into the camp. They had a blessed eight hours off.

“You hitting the rack?” Rev asked.

“After I grab some chow. You coming?”

“Sure. Let’s see what gourmet meal they’ve got lined up for us.”

Without a galley, the troopers could eat their D-rats anywhere, but they tended to gravitate to the ring and surrounding area. “Rings,” was more like it. The junior troopers had put together their own little area, separate from the SNCOs. The officers didn’t normally hang out there at all.

The SNCO area was almost empty, with just Tomiko and Bob sitting together, their heads close as they chatted about something.

The two went to the box. Akkeke reached in first and pulled out a meal. “Rotted dicks again?” he almost wailed.

“Sucks to be you.” Rev reached in, touched one pouch, then shifted to the next one. It was a little superstition he had. If the gods of war wanted to screw with him with a bad meal, then he wasn’t going to let that happen.

It was stupid, he knew, and Tomiko had laughed when he told her. She said maybe the gods knew he was going to take the second touch and took that into consideration.

He pulled out the meal and showed it to Akkeke. “Spaghetti and meatballs? You’ve got the best damn luck, Staff Sergeant.”

See, Miko, it works.

“Go ahead and eat. Take a load off. But make sure you get to sleep soon.”

“Yeah, so I can be bright-eyed and ready to go when we’re on guard duty again.”

Rev hesitated for a moment, then decided he’d had his fun. “You do know, right, that I was just yanking your chain about telling the lieutenant to put you on full time.”

“You were just jerking me around?”

“Hell, yeah. I don’t understand the ways of officers. Their minds work in strange ways, starting the moment they put on those butter bars for the first time.”

Akkeke wrinkled his brows, then said, “So, you didn’t pick me?”

Oh, hell. Now he’s disappointed?

“No. But I’ll tell you this. If I had to have one junior guard with me, you’d be the one I’d take.” He lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. “I’ll deny this if it ever comes back to me, but do you think I’d choose Acevedo? Or, Mother help me, Larson? He’d never stop talking for the entire watch. Drive me crazy, he would.”

Akkeke laughed and seemed to relax. “He would at that. As I’m about to find out.” He looked over to the NCO ring where Larson and the rest were eating and relaxing.

“See you in eight,” Rev said as the corporal headed off.

He ambled over to the main ring, triumphantly holding up the spaghetti, considered second best to BBQ riblets by most troopers. Tomiko looked up, scowled, and then said, “Luck, Rev. Just luck.”

“If you say so.”

He waited a moment for the two to make room for him between them, but they weren’t budging, so he sat on the other side of Tomiko.

“So, what are you guys doing?”

Both erupted into laughter at the question.

“What?” Rev asked, not understanding what was so funny and not liking being on the outs.

“Oh, nothing,” they both said in unison.

“Right. You always break out into laughter for nothing. Anyway, shouldn’t you be someplace else? Isn’t Second on duty right now?” he asked Tomiko.

“To do what? Police up the camp? Paint rocks?”

He shrugged. With Third Platoon in their combat suits and on alert, and with First entering their sleep cycle, there wasn’t much for Second to do. The camp was pretty much in place, which had been the major task for the duty platoon over the last eight or nine days.

If most of the working party stuff was done, he was sure that the first shirt or the major would come up with something to take its place.

“Rice isn’t happy with taking over the guard shack,” he said to change the subject.

Tomiko sniffed and nudged Bob with her elbow. “Told you.”

That was it. No other comment.

Rev didn’t know what was going on with the other two, so he gave up, opened his meal, and hit the heat. The spicy aroma rose to bite at his nose, and his mouth started watering.

Make fun of me all you want, Miko. My system works.

7

“I almost wish we’d get mortared, I’m getting so bored.”

“Don’t say that, Chunk,” Rev said automatically. “The gods of war might be listening.”

“I bet they’re bored, too,” Akkeke grumbled.

After two weeks stuck with the corporal eight hours a day, and after teasing him about being on permanent duty, Rev had moved beyond “Corporal Akkeke” and started calling him by his nickname. He could sympathize with him, though.

While Echo had been hit several times now, the area around Fox was dead. Even Djerstan had quit coming. Rev was very tempted to ask Punch to play something, watchers be damned. But he’d held off so far. He couldn’t promise that he’d keep restraining himself, however. At least he had one thing to keep him occupied.

“R-E-D,” he sent.

<Red. But you’re still flinching on the second and third letters.>

Which was par for the course. Duty manning the guard shack had given him plenty of time to practice with his messaging. It had taken a while, but he thought he was getting the hang of it. If he had to describe the process, it was similar to how he fired Pashu. He didn’t spot a target, decide to fire, then tell his fingers to close on a trigger to fire. His mind was the trigger, and the process worked almost reflexively, bypassing conscious thought.

It was the same with spelling out messages. He “fired” each letter without consciously thinking “R” or “S” or whatever. It was like using his pad. His fingers reacted to his thoughts without him having to hunt and peck on the keyboard.

He still had a way to go until his messaging would be smooth, but he knew now it was within reach.

“Any word what’s going on with the negotiations?” Akkeke asked, snapping Rev back.

“Same old, same old. Charges and countercharges. Meanwhile, we’re handcuffed here.”

“It’s almost as if both the Pinks and grossies aren’t fighting each other so much as arguing with us, now.”

Rev turned to stare at the corporal. Could it be? Did the CoH plan it like this? Make us the bad guys, like the Centaurs?

He shook his head. They weren’t that devious, were they? Still, it was worth some thought. If they were, and it averted fighting from breaking out, then that was some serious strategic thinking there.

Rev and the rest had been briefed on the cause of the conflict, of course, but Rev still didn’t completely grasp it. Both the Pinks—a loose cooperative between Star Chaser, Inc, two independent worlds, and Maester, a world within the AIW—and the Gossarians had formed an equal partnership in extracting Tian-X4’s mineral deposits, leasing the planet for twenty years from Tian Sung, LTD. That made seven legal entities with at least some stake in what was going on.

The best Rev could tell, the conflict started with the Pinks accusing the Gossarians of under-reporting their haul. That gave birth to counter-accusations, then counter-counter-accusations. No fewer than fourteen lawsuits and writs of arbitration had been filed just since the end of the war. Normally, those cases would take years to make it through the CoH courts, but with only six years left on the lease, evidently, the two sides figured that they needed to act, with both ramping up excavations as well as the rhetoric.

Enter the other powers. The MDS, not surprisingly, was in the middle of things, making no bones that they were behind the Gossarians. The AIW, also not surprisingly, was siding with the Pinks while the rest of humanity shuffled into one camp or the other, or like the Union, was trying not to pick sides.

All of that was multiple pay grades above his, though. Down at his level, all he had to worry about was watching nothing with Corporal Akkeke for eight hours every day. It was uber boring, but it didn’t take any thought.

“Heads up. Gamay is on her way,” Bob passed on the P2P.

“Thanks.”

Rev took his feet off the counter and sat up. He turned to Akkeke. “Gamay’s coming. Turn off the music and look sharp.”

The corporal had never admitted to Rev that he was passing the time with music, but he’d never denied it, either. He straightened his field uniform, pulling down the ballistics vest.

They hadn’t worn their combat suits since the second day. Too militaristic, someone on high had decided. Which was stupid—they were a military. That bugged Rev, and if he had a say, they’d be completely kitted out.

But orders were orders, and sitting in his Home Guard field utilities was far more comfortable than it would have been inside his PAL-5.

“Should we stand?” the corporal asked him.

“Nothing wrong with sitting. We don’t need to put on a show for her.”

A minute later, the platoon sergeant appeared down the road into the camp. Completely cleared two weeks ago, small blue plants were pushing through the compacted soil alongside the roadbed. The way that stuff grew, it would have to be cleared again soon if Fox Company was going to remain in place.

Rev watched her approach. She was confident and professional, and Rev had appreciated the way she’d handled his screw-up with Kvat in the gym back on Enceladus. But since their conversation in the ring, he’d been somewhat put off with her. A leader who said troopers didn’t matter might not strive to keep her people alive. He hadn’t said anything to Bundy about the conversation, but it would be a lie to say he hadn’t considered doing so.

She was about halfway to them when the incoming alarm jolted Rev. He jumped up and over to the display. At least six mortars were on their way.

“You got what you wanted,” he told Akkeke.

The guard shack was hardened, so unless it suffered a direct hit with the right type of shell, the two of them should be safe inside. And with the alarm blaring, the troopers in the camp proper had about thirty seconds to find cover.

“Gamay!”

She was in no man’s land, between the camp and the guard shack. He moved to the window. The platoon sergeant hesitated, looking back and forth from the camp proper to the guard shack, wasting precious seconds.

Rev opened the door and yelled out, “Over here!”

That seemed to spur her into action. She broke out in a run, heading for the shack. At over a hundred meters away, Rev, with his augmented speed, could easily make it to the guard shack before the mortars landed. But the platoon sergeant wasn’t augmented, and she’d wasted seconds deciding what to do. As she sprinted for the shack, Rev knew it was going to be close.

“Maybe the shells will land in the camp, not here,” Akkeke said as he stepped up beside Rev to watch the platoon sergeant run.

“Get back. I’m holding the door open until she gets here.”

Rev tried to will her to run faster, but she stepped on a clump of the local plants, the kind that looked like blue ice plant. Her foot skidded as she smashed the water-filled weeds, and she almost went down. It took a gymnastic contortion to keep on her feet, but she’d essentially stopped her forward progress.

The clock was ticking. Rev didn’t waste time checking how many more seconds were left or where the mortar shells were going to land. “Get down!” he shouted.

SFC Gamay, with a determined look on her face, gathered herself and pushed off again into a sprint.

“Let them land somewhere else,” Rev muttered.

If he really believed in the gods of war superstition, he would have blamed himself. Three seconds after he said that, three rounds landed, one on the roof of the guard shack, one twenty meters down the road, and one forty. The first exploded harmlessly, the shrapnel shredding blue trees on either side of them. The second two bookended the running platoon sergeant, and she was knocked to the ground.

“Sergeant!” Rev shouted as he broke into a run. He could clear the thirty meters in seconds, gather Gamay up, and get her inside the shack before a second volley could hit.

What he didn’t count on was the automatic weapon that opened up, sending slugs to chew up the road. His hyped reflexes sent him to the ground before his mind realized that they were under fire. He rolled over to the slightly-depressed sides of the road. It wasn’t much, but it put him partially into defilade.

“How the hell did we miss the assholes getting into position?” he screamed in frustration as the rounds worked their way back and forth along the length of the road.

“You got a position?” he asked Punch.

An overlay popped up with the source of the fire. Rev couldn’t see anyone there, but Punch was right. Outgoing rounds were chewing up the foliage, pieces of plants flying everywhere.

Rookie mistake.

Rev was already reacting. His beamer could take out the gunners, but the water-ladened plants would absorb some of the energy first, and since he couldn’t see them, they could have reflective arrays protecting them. That wasn’t something he consciously considered, but it affected his choice of weapons. He raised himself to one knee as the impacting rounds shifted toward him.

He was an IBHU Marine, able to react instantly. He set the warhead on the Moray to antipersonnel and fired it in less than a quarter second, immediately following up with his 20mm cannon just as an incoming round sent dirt up into his face. The missile ran true, penetrating the plants before detonating. Vegetation exploded in a blue mist as the big 20mm rounds chewed up the source of the incoming fire.

Rev still didn’t see anything, but the weapon had stopped firing. He slowly stood, Pashu ready as he tried to spot the enemy.

“More incoming,” Akkeke shouted.

SFC Gamay was still down. Rev couldn’t tell if she was alive or dead. Without his PAL-5, Rev knew he was dead meat if the second volley targeted the road. He could make it back to the shack, but that left Gamay in the open.

There was no choice. He ran to the motionless platoon sergeant. She was bleeding from multiple wounds. Picking up a limp body wasn’t as easy as they showed in the holovids, and for all that Pashu made him a deadly killing machine, she wasn’t as practical as a normal arm for most tasks.

He knelt beside her and pushed her over to her back. She was unresponsive. With his right arm, he grabbed her left arm, then slid Pashu, the best he could, under her right side.

Don’t rush it. You can’t afford to drop her.

He could feel the seconds tick by, but he had to forget that. He had one chance to lift her.

Mother help me.

With one powerful lift, he picked the platoon sergeant up. The body started to slide off his shoulders, but he locked Pashu tight, pinching Gamay, half on, half off. Without waiting, he turned and started to shuffle to the shack, keeping his upper body as steady as he could. Not breaking into a jolting run might have been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do in his life.

Akkeke stood at the door, wildly gesturing at him to hurry. Gamay’s body slipped more, one of her legs reaching the ground where it dragged as he covered the last ten meters. He threw her the last meter and fell to the ground as Akkeke slammed shut the door behind them. A few seconds later, the second volley landed, and the door shuddered as shrapnel peppered it.

Rev was on his belly, breathing hard, more from stress than from exertion. It was just now starting to sink in. He turned his head to look at SFC Gamay, not knowing if she was alive or dead.

Her eyes were open but unfocused. Rev raised himself to his elbows, fearing the worst, but her eyes seemed to come to life for a moment, shifted to his, and then she mouthed the words, “Thank you,” before unconsciousness took over again.

* * *

The bunker shook, and dust fell from overhead.

Rev didn’t even look up. After three days of harassment, this was nothing new. The worst thing was that the major ordered everyone into their combat suits. Not the helmets, thank goodness, while they were in the bunkers. If they had to leave, however, it was completely buttoned up.

Luckily, that wasn’t often. The front gate had been abandoned, as had all of the temporary shelters. Surveillance was being done by drones and whatever the Red Dragon could do from orbit.

The company was prepared for a full-fledged assault, but the general perception was that the mortar rounds that rained down every few minutes were simply to remind the troopers that they weren’t wanted on the planet.

The entire battalion had been hit with the initial attack at the same moment, and the tactics were the same. An intense, three-volley mortar barrage and automated automatic fire. Two troopers from Golf Company had been killed. They’d been manning their gate, which, unlike Fox’s gate, actually guarded a road coming into the camp.

Fox hadn’t lost anyone. SFC Gamay had been the most seriously hurt, and she’d been medevaced up to the ship, but word was that she was stable and even demanding to go back down to rejoin the company. It had been a close thing, though. The automated machine gun had her in its sights, and she’d taken a round through and through her left buttock as she lay stunned and wounded from the mortar round. Given a little more time, it most likely would have engaged her again had Rev not taken it out.

Rev didn’t know how the gun had been emplaced. He hoped not on his watch, but he wasn’t going to raise the question. If the observers hadn’t emplaced it while he and Akkeke were on duty, it had to have been while either Randigold or Sign of Respect were on duty.

Another round landed, closer than the last one. PFC Gingham jumped in his seat.

“Why don’t we just take that damn thing out,” he said for the umpteenth time. The PFC was not taking the harassment well.

“You know why. The brass doesn’t want us damaging the grossies’ weapons. It might upset them,” Sergeant Lines said.

The mortar tubes hadn’t moved since the second day. It had been easy to run a POO, a Point of Origin, and get their position, and if they hadn’t, the Red Dragon could have. Fox didn’t have to do anything to take them out, in fact. One blast from the Red Dragon would obliterate the tubes. But for whatever reason, they were not allowed to take any offensive action.

Rev argued that taking out the tubes was defensive, but he knew it was a moot argument. Unless someone physically assaulted through the wire and into the camp, the troopers were to hunker down and ride it out.

Rumor was that one or more of the great powers were standing in the way. If he had to bet, Rev would say the Manifest Destiny Sphere was mucking it up. He just hoped it wasn’t the Union.

The door to the bunker opened, and Bundy entered. He took off his helmet and held it under his arm.

Hell, he looks like shit.

Rev didn’t know what the platoon commander was doing while his troopers were essentially sitting on their asses, but it was obvious that he was being run ragged.

Bundy ran a hand through his hair, wiped his forearm across his forehead, and looked around the bunker.

“First of all, SFC Gamay is still doing well and still giving the Red Dragon’s surgeon shit.”

Laughter swept across the squad.

“However, with her temporarily disposed, SFC Arsenyev is moving up as platoon sergeant. Staff Sergeant Unifora is taking Second Squad.”

Rev felt a small pang of regret. Of course, as the senior staff sergeant in the entire platoon, and her being in Second Squad to begin with, she was the logical choice. But still, two of his fellow staff sergeants and friends were now squad leaders while he was a glorified gate guard.

“As far as our situation here—”

“They gonna let us take it to these assholes?” Lines cut in.

Bundy shook his head. “No. It’s still the same along those lines as of yet. But the battalion CO has said that we should be getting new orders soon, so that could change.”

Eleven sets of eyes lit up.

“I can’t say when, but stand by. Anything for me?” When no one replied, he added, “OK, then. I’ll keep you updated.”

He put on his helmet, then waited by the door for the next round to land. Rev grabbed the mic from his helmet, attached it to his throat, and slipped a bud into his ear. “You doing OK?” he subvocalized, asking Bundy.

The platoon commander didn’t turn around, but he said, “I’m fine.”

“You look like shit, not fine. With all due respect, sir, of course.”

“Just a little tired.”

“How much sleep are you getting?”

“Enough.”

“Forget about just being Aristotle Bundy for a moment. I’m putting on my SNCO hat right now. Arsenyev’s an outstanding trooper. Use him. You’re not going to be doing us any good if you’re zonked out.”

Bundy stood silently for a moment, and still without turning around, said, “Noted, Staff Sergeant.”

Another round landed, this time farther away. Bundy pushed open the door and disappeared from sight.

* * *

The new orders came in two hours later, but they were not what the squad had hoped for.

“We’re what?” Sergeant Lines asked incredulously.

“You heard me. A cease-fire has been called, starting in just over twenty minutes. From that time, we’ll have five hours to board the ship and leave the system,” Bob told them.

“How the hell can it be a cease-fire if we never fired?” Rev said with a snarl. “Looks to me like a retreat.”

He was livid. All the bullshit, all the putting up with the Gossarians making them look like fools, and they were running away.

“Those are our orders,” Bob said.

“Well, those orders suck,” Rev snapped back.

He knew Bob was just relaying the word. It wasn’t up to him.

“So, the great Home Guard. We let a pissant planet like Gossaria take a dump on us and send us scampering back to Encelasucks with our tails between our legs?” Lines asked.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” Akkeke said.

“Look, it doesn’t matter what we think. This is the way it is,” Bob said with more than a little steel in his voice. “We can’t leave the bunker until the cease-fire is called.”

As if to emphasize his point, another mortar shell landed in the camp.

“But I want this bunker cleared. If it’s coming with us, I want it packed and ready. If it isn’t,” he said, giving the small table by the door a smack, “I sure the hell am not going to leave it for the grossies. Got it?”

Bob looked pointedly at Lines, then Rev. Both nodded. What else could they do? Blowing it up might even release a little of their anger.

None of this made sense to Rev, but he’d been around long enough to know he didn’t know everything. As soon as they got off this blue piece of crap of a planet, he and Punch were going to try to find out just what power game had been played, who won, and who lost.

8

It was a dispirited crew that arrived back at the company area on Enceladus. Rev hadn’t gotten much in the way of official word, but he’d had Punch do some digging. He didn’t even use his talk-table, as he was referring to the matrix his AI had developed. For these questions, he didn’t care who knew his concerns.

The best he could gather was that there were differing camps on what should have been done on Tian-X4. One faction, led by the MDS, the Freedom Confederation, and the giant Sunberry Group argued that as neither side was clearly in the right, this was a matter for civil court, not for the CoH to get their fingers in the pie. To them, this was a classic case of overreach.

On the other side was a wide variety of nations and confederations, including the Osnovnoy Alyanz, Mezame Concordat, Frisian Mantle, the Federation of Independent States, and lots of smaller nations. They argued that no matter the basis of the dispute, the CoH could not allow anyone to attack Home Guard units with impunity.

To Rev’s disappointment, The Union and the Hégémonie Liberté both refused to take a side. While he could see some of the points about overreach, he was firmly in the camp that the CoH had to stand up for the battalion and not send them scurrying back to the home system.

In the end, it was the overreach faction that prevailed. The consensus was that this was a black eye for the CoH, particularly for the counsel general. Rev couldn’t disagree with that part of the assessment.

Rev accompanied the crated Pashu and went straight to the armory upon returning. Despite the way they arrived, it was good to see Daryll again. The man barely said hello as he opened the crate and removed the IBHU. He checked her out, then peppered Rev with questions as he ran his tests and read the readouts.

Filmore, the Sieben tech who’d accompanied the battalion, was getting a little better at maintenance, but he was no Daryll. Rev was relieved that Pashu was in the hands of the expert.

Randigold, then Sign of Respect arrived shortly after Rev. Once Daryll grudgingly gave Pashu a conditional approval, Rev left the other two and headed back to the barracks. He was probably the last one in the SNCO wing. Rev opened his cell, dumped his pack, and hopped the back of the couch to land next to Tomiko. His weight bounced her up a few centimeters, but unlike her usual self, she didn’t complain.

“Some shit, huh?” Rev asked.

“Yeah. Some shit.”

* * *

Two days after their return, they’d received surprise orders to assemble at W-117, one of the only spaces in the camp large enough for an entire battalion. No one knew what was up, but the rumors were rampant, ranging from the battalion was going to get its butt chewed to it was going to be disbanded.

There was no doubt that the Second of the Second had just had its ass handed to them, even if none of that had been their doing. If the CoH brass needed a scapegoat, they probably thought using the battalion was a small price to pay. It was always the bigger picture with them. Rev could understand that. But it sure sucked when they were going to be collateral damage.

W-117 was a half-filled warehouse, and the crates had been pushed to the rear. The companies had marched in, then the troopers told to take a seat on the deck. As the wait to find out what was happening got longer, the rumors spread like a super virus. Troopers like Sergeant Lines were already talking about going home and back into the Nowhere Army.

Rev didn’t want to go home. Yes, he’d be back surrounded by Marines in a culture he understood, and he’d be able to see his family, but it grated on him to think he might not complete his assigned mission. That wasn’t something that would sit well with him at all.

And, as much as he hated to admit it, the seventeen Union Marines in the battalion—eleven IBHU and six regular Marines—might have some of the failure reflected upon them. He never thought he’d say that, but his experiences with D4, and even getting medals pulled for political expediency, taught him that the Union was willing to sacrifice the individual for the greater good, too.

“Anything you can pick up on the net to let us know what this is about?” he asked Punch.

<No. There are the usual commentaries on both sides of the issue but nothing specifically about this.>

“I-S-T-H-A-T-T-R-U-E-?”

Rev was getting better using the talk-table, but he was still spelling out the words, letter-by-letter. Punch had assured him that he was going to speed up with more practice, and like fingers typing on a pad, he wouldn’t be consciously thinking out each one.

<That is true. There isn’t anything I can find that might be an indication.>

I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

He was feeling anxious, though. Not being in control of his own future was one of his biggest peeves. He needed something to take his mind off of what might happen.

“You got a joke for me?”

He and Punch had decided that they had to both show that things were getting back to normal, and the jokes were one way to add to the impression. Truth be told, he was getting to enjoy them.

<Of course. Why couldn’t the couple get married at the library?>

Rev had to think a moment. He’d been getting a little better at figuring out the jokes before he heard the punchline.

Punchline. Punch’s line, he thought with a smirk.

Tomiko nudged Rev with her foot. “Earth to Rev. What’re you laughing at?”

“What? Me? Nothing.”

“Nothing? You’re sitting there while we’re waiting to hear our sentence, and you smiling like the cat who ate the canary.”

“Really, nothing. Just smiling.”

“Right. You always—”

“Attention on deck!”

Whatever Tomiko was going to say was lost as the battalion jumped to their feet, eyes locked straight ahead.

“At ease,” a voice boomed out. Rev turned his head to see General Ibsen, the head of the Home Guard, striding down the edge of the warehouse—no entourage, no aides clearing a path. Not even the brigade commander. Just him.

Rev had no idea if that was good or bad. This was . . . strange, to say the least.

He had to edge past a few troopers who tried to push themselves out of the way. As he got to the front, Lieutenant Colonel Semes moved over to meet him. From the look on his face, the general’s appearance was a surprise to him as well.

“Who is it?” Tomiko asked.

Rev had forgotten that as short as she was, she couldn’t see much.

“It’s the general.”

“Which general?”

“The big one.”

“Second of the Second, please take your seats. Or patch of floor would be more appropriate, I guess. I want all of you to be able to see me for this.”

“OK, then,” he said once everyone was seated. “Second of the Second, I wanted to come over from the head shed to personally thank you for your service on Tian-X4.”

That’s not so bad. Is there a “but” coming up?

“Your mission was one of the most difficult ones given to a battalion during my two years as commandant.”

There was a soft murmur from the gathered troopers.

“I say that in all sincerity. No, you didn’t see fierce combat. No, you didn’t take back cities. But what you did was much, much harder.”

He stopped for a moment, staring out over the battalion.

“You, who represent the elite of humanity’s military forces, you sat there while some chicken-piss hooligans harassed you, mortared you, even killed three of you. The galaxy knows that a squad of you, if you’d been taken off your leash, could have crushed those assholes, and not many in your homeworlds would have objected.

“So, why did you sit there and take it, when I know you wanted to retaliate? Hell, when I wanted to hop a ride out there myself and kick some ass? It was because of the big picture, my comrades.

“You were sent to Tian-X4 to keep the damn Pinks and the damn Gossarians from going at it. And in that, you succeeded.

“Yeah, I know you’ve all seen the social media, I know you’ve all seen the newsfeeds. You’ve heard how this was a slap in the face to the Home Guard, how you failed in your mission and were defeated by a ragtag group of civilians.”

A low, resonating growl rose from the battalion. The general let it go on for a few moments before continuing.

“But let me tell you something. They’re flat-out wrong. You kept the two groups from fighting. You took the Gossarians’ wrath and deflected it to you. And where are we now? Both sides are back at the negotiation table. Our CoH diplomats are now doing their thing again.

“And that’s all because you sat there and took the insults, letting them slide off of your backs. You accepted the risk without losing your sense of purpose. The bottom line is you succeeded in your mission.”

Rev had to let that sink in. When the general put it that way, he guessed they had accomplished their mission. But it wasn’t quite how the general put a slant to it. They hadn’t sat there with mortars slamming down on their heads because they wanted to become the boogeymen, to absorb the hostility. And from what Rev was able to glean, the real reason they were stuck doing nothing was that the MDS was putting a stop to any offensive action.

His anger had been aimed at the MDS for being the sand in the gears, but also the CoH for letting themselves be played, and the Home Guard brass, to include the general, for not sticking up for his troops.

Still, whether self-serving or not, whether it was a case of trying to claim something long enough and hard enough so that people will begin to accept it as the truth, he couldn’t fault the general’s logic. By his definition, the mission was a success, and Rev couldn’t disagree with that.

The general went on for another five minutes or so in the vein: they were heroes, humanity doesn’t understand, and the Home Guard and counsel general were grateful and proud of their contributions.

As Rev looked around him, the mood was decidedly better than it had been just fifteen minutes before. The writing was on the wall. Not only was the battalion not going to be punished, but it was also to be lauded for a difficult job done well.

The general ended with a loud, “Second of the Second, hoey-hoey!”

Fifteen hundred voices echoed the hoey-hoey back.

The general watched them for a good twenty seconds before he held up his hand for silence. “And with that out of the way, I’m using my weight to do something that fills my old infantry boots with joy.”

He pulled a small pack from his cargo pocket and motioned the CO over to him. He whispered a few words, then handed him the pack, but not before removing one item.

The general slowly looked out over the sitting troopers, then said, “Is there a Staff Sergeant Pelletier here? Would you please come forward?”

Rev’s mouth dropped open.

What?

Tomiko and Bob both gave him a shot in the back, and he belatedly got to his feet. There was no direct path forward among all the sitting bodies, but he managed to step over and around his fellow troopers until he reached the front.

“Stand beside me, son,” the general told him.

“Do you know what’s going on?” he asked Punch.

<Not a clue.>

He stood there a long few moments alongside the general, staring out over the battalion.”

The general cleared his throat and said, “Attention to orders,” his tiny throat mic booming his voice through the warehouse.

The battalion’s troopers scrambled to their feet.

8 June 3831

From: Commandant, Congress of Humanity Home Guard

To: Staff Sergeant Reverent Pelletier, Perseus Union Marine Corps

Subj: Awarding of the Medal of Valor, Third Class

Ref: HGL T105.887.993 of 7June3831

1. You are hereby notified that you have been awarded the Congress of Humanity Medal of Valor, Third Class, for actions on Tian-X4 on or about 4 June 3831, while serving as a member of the Second Battalion, Second Brigade, Congress of Humanity Home Guard.

2. Your actions concerning a fellow staff noncommissioned officer who had been incapacitated by enemy fire resulted in the saving of her life and a return to her platoon.

3. This action was taken at grave danger to yourself.

4. Further information can be found on the reference.

Anthony Mercia Ibsen

General, Planters Army

Commandant, Congress of Humanity Home Guard

Rev was in shock. Not much of what the general said was registering.

The general stepped in front of Rev and attached the medal to his chest. “Smile, son.”

Rev took a moment to look down at the silver sunburst hanging from the CoH blue ribbon with three dark blue stripes.

“Thank you, sir,” he stammered out.

“No. Thank you.”

He shook Rev’s hand and gave him the copy of the letter. “Now, if you could go stand by Colonel Semes?”

Rev numbly walked over to the battalion CO.

“Congratulations, Staff Sergeant,” the CO said. It was pretty obvious from his tone that he’d known nothing about this.

The general called forward a Sergeant Leena-Tambor from Golf Company. She was getting the same award for her actions during the initial mortar attack on Tian-X4. And there were four more after her. All Medals of Valor, Third Class.

With the surprise fading, Rev glanced at the plastisheet in his hand. It was pretty barebones, not like the more detailed award citations given out by the Union Marine Corps. He assumed the reference gave more details, and he’d have to check that later.

A few things caught his attention, though. Saving Gamay had taken place just five days before. The date of the reference was the day they landed back on Enceladus. The date of the message was yesterday.

Rev didn’t know a whole lot about the inner workings of Home Guard admin, but he couldn’t think that they would normally get an award through the process in five days. And he’d bet that if he’d looked at the accompanying messages of the other troopers, they’d all have the same days for their references and messages, too.

“What is the highest award the commandant can approve?”

<The Medal of Valor, Third Class.>

He glanced at the other awardees. It looked like together they spanned the units in the battalion.

Rev shook his head. This was a political play. No doubt about it. The Home Guard was making a statement. With negative press being levied against the battalion, they were awarding individuals within it. And with the awards being the MoV Third Class, no one from the congress could interfere. Rev wouldn’t be surprised if a Second Class or even higher had already been sent up to the CoH. Let them debate it, and that would help clear up the landscape from a Home Guard perspective.

Smart move, in its own way, but it made Rev feel used. He was tempted to reach up and pull the medal off, but he realized that wouldn’t be the most astute move to make, especially with the general standing just a few meters away.

And then it hit him. Yes, he’d received the medal as part of a political move. He was used to being a pawn for politics. This time, however, the politics had done him a solid. Previously, he’d had medals stripped. Medals that he thought he’d deserved.

Maybe he deserved this one. Maybe not. Was it any different than when he’d saved Kvat?

Other than the fact that I LIKE Gamay, he thought, holding back a smile.

But no matter what, it was on his chest. It was official.

I’m keeping the sucker.

* * *

“Looks good, Rev,” Tomiko said, flicking the medal up with a forefinger. “It ain’t a Platinum Nova, but it’ll do.”

The Fox Company troopers had crowded around him once the general left to give him their congratulations. Tomiko, Bob, and Rice had waited until most of the crowd had filtered out of the warehouse before they’d approached him.

Rev took a moment to look down at it again. He had long ago convinced himself that medals meant nothing, but he had to admit that he felt pretty good right now with it on his chest.

It wasn’t just the medal. It was also what the general had said. Sure, it might have been self-serving, it might have been a calculated move for the bigger stage, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t right.

Rev had been dismissive of the whole they-were-pawns-being-sacrificed-to-the-greater-good-thing, but in truth, what else could a leader do? And what was the military but a group of individuals who would willingly sacrifice themselves for it?

He, and he thought most of the rest of the battalion, was still pissed after what happened, but it was heartening to know that the Home Guard leadership had come down on their side. It sucked, but it wasn’t quite as sucky as before.

“I’ve got some thoughts on it. I’ll fill you in later.”

Tomiko tilted her head, raised her eyebrows, and asked, “You’re not going to do something stupid like refuse it, are you?”

“No. This baby’s mine,” he said with a laugh. “Just stuff.”

“OK. You tell me your ‘stuff’ later. But let’s get back. While you were up there basking in the light shining off the commandant’s stars, the First Sergeant reminded us that we’ve still got combat suit synchronization at fifteen hundred.”

Rev checked the time. “Well, crap. No way we make that. But let’s get going.”

They started to head out. Rev took a moment at the door to look back in. He’d expected the worst when he’d arrived, but all told, it had turned out to be a pretty good evolution.

But something was missing, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“You coming?” Bob asked.

“Yeah, just a sec.” He wracked his brain, grasping at something just out of reach.

And finally, he had it.

“I give up. Why couldn’t the couple get married in the library?”

<Because it was completely booked.>

9

In classic us versus them, the downbeat mood with which they’d returned shifted over the first week after the general’s talk. A sense of purpose started slowly, then, like a spark fed by the wind, blossomed into an all-encompassing desire to become the premier fighting force in the galaxy. Training became more intense—not from the training schedule, but from an individual standpoint. And while it was never mentioned beyond furtive whispers, they all seemed to have the same goal: they wanted to be able to react on their own, taking matters into their own hands and not waiting for Titan to tell them what to do—or what they couldn’t do. If anyone dared to hit the battalion again, the reaction would be so swift and so vicious that it would be over before the CoH even knew what was happening.

There was an old saying, probably written in hieroglyphics on the tombs of the pharaohs: better to apologize after than ask permission first. This had become the unwritten motto of the Second of the Second.

Most of the MDS and Freedom Coalition troopers were part of this renewed effort. There were a few who thought all of this effort was ridiculous. Corporal Wymont, for one, who openly ridiculed the most fervent of the troopers. But others, like Staff Sergeant Kvat, seemed just as pissed off about having to leave Tian-X4 as they did.

Rev didn’t know how long the renewed sense of purpose would last, but for the moment, he almost pitied anyone foolish enough to try some crap with the battalion.

* * *

Evidently, the brass also thought that intense training was the answer to the morale issue. Two days after the commandant addressed the battalion, they received orders to Serengeti.

One of the problems with the Home Guard was a lack of realistic training. The issue was two fold. The first was a general consensus, particularly among the civilian bigwigs, that being the elite of humanities military forces, they didn’t really need training. Military leaders understood the absolute fallacy in this line of thinking. Teamwork was vital, and with the troopers coming from such disparate sources, training as teams was even more important.

The second was just the nature of the Home Guard being located on two airless moons. There were a few small ranges on Titan and larger, more numerous ranges on Enceladus, but those couldn’t provide the training environments available on most planets.

There were three out-of-system training areas leased by the CoH, but with the requirement for a minimum level of Home Guard manning—a number that was raised during the war—those ranges were underutilized. With the war over, that minimum was relaxed again, and the establishment of the 4th Brigade created a little more leeway, but still, a trooper might be lucky to get to one of the training areas during their tour.

Second of the Second had been tentatively scheduled for two weeks on L’eau Bleue, but that had been canceled due to the contingency mission on Tian-X4. But what is canceled one day can be rescheduled the next. Normally, getting to one of the out-of-system ranges was a logistical effort on par with a major deployment, but even the regulation-bound Home Guard and CoH could move quickly when they wanted. And this time, they wanted.

Using the premise of an emergency operation, the battalion was given twelve hours to mount out. To say it was a madhouse was an understatement. Civilian and military support units had to temporarily abandon scheduled movements to rush and get the Banshees, who had been in a standdown, ready and loaded out.

There wasn’t a soul in the battalion who didn’t understand what was going on. Yes, the training was important, and yes, it would give them a renewed sense of purpose, but it would also remove them from the public’s eyes. Media on Serengeti was limited.

It was more CoH politics at play, but in this case, no one cared. Getting away from the home system and just being troopers would be a welcomed change. Spirits were high as they prepped, and forty-five minutes before the deadline, the last of the battalion lifted off Enceladus for the Red Dragon, the same ship that had taken them to Tian-X4.

10

“Will you look at that?” Akkeke said in wonderment.

Rev felt the awe as well. “Can you record?”

<Unfortunately, my limitations are still in effect. This is a Home Guard mission.>

Rev raised his pad and snapped a shot at the magnificent creatures four hundred meters away, lazing in the shade of a huge acacia tree. With his augmented eyesight and Punch’s ability to record what he saw, Rev had never thought to acquire any advanced recording equipment. His pad could take 2D’s, but they weren’t the best quality.

But not everyone in the squad had augmented vision. He turned to Bob, who was snapping away with a minicam. “You’ve got to forward those to me. I promised Kat I’d send her pics if I saw a lion.”

Well, I said if I went back to the Mother and saw them there. But this is almost as good.

Serengeti was terraformed by the African Compact in the early days of the human diaspora. Great expense was made to create a new Central Africa with plans to make it a major power, but with the breakup of the compact and tribal animosity pitting faction against faction, immigration and financial support was cut off for close to fifty years. With the rise of Angela Gbeho and the Unity Party, Serengeti was one of the beneficiaries. But instead of becoming a commercial powerhouse, Gbeho pushed to keep the planet as a pristine paradise with a small population and an emphasis on the environment.

This was in the century before humankind left the Mother, when such sanctuary worlds were popping up. Endangered species were taken off the Mother and transported to these sanctuaries to ensure their survival. After the Mother was evacuated and restored, the trend of creating these “arks” faded. Some abandoned their environmental missions, and Serengeti was no different, but they managed to retain much of what they had, both in their natural biosphere and cultural imperatives.

It remained nature-oriented, with an emphasis on tourism. But from a practical aspect, the rent paid by the CoH for 10,000 hectares of unpopulated training area went a long way in supporting the local government.

The pride of eight lions slept on, only the big male watching serenely as the hover bus carried the troopers to the training area.

“I never thought I’d see this,” Akkeke said quietly.

“Well, they wanted us out of reach for a few weeks,” Sergeant Lines said.

“No, I mean this,” the corporal said, sweeping his hand across the landscape. “Lions, by the Mother.”

“I know what you mean. My little sister, Kat, is enraptured by them. She was even upset that I never saw any when I was on Earth.”

Akkeke turned to look at Rev, his face hard to read. “I am Maasai.”

“Punch?”

<The Maasai are a tribe from what were Tanzania and Kenya on Earth. They were a major force within the African Compact and the subsequent Unity Party. There are significant Maasai communities on six planets throughout the galaxy.>

Rev looked at the corporal through new eyes. Over the centuries humanity intermixed so that very few people alive had direct lines to any Earth demographic. Rev was no different. If he bothered to pull the records, he could trace his ancestors back to the Twenty-first Century, like just about everyone else. Heck, he could have Maasai blood, for all he knew. But he was one of those who felt a kinship with the Mother, not any specific area or demographic.

But many people were different, and to them, their Earth origins held importance. Looking at Akkeke, he realized that the corporal was one of those. The pride in saying he was Maasai was evident, and he identified with the culture.

Looking out over the grasslands must be triggering emotions, sending him back over the millennia to when his long-ago ancestors might have roamed a similar countryside.

“My people once had to kill a lion to become a man,” the corporal said.

“No big deal. One round would do it,” Lines said.

“With a spear.”

“No shit? Well, that, Chunk, is pretty stupid, if you ask me. Might as well go up against a paladin with a knife.”

Or an incendiary grenade. But I did that and won.

“You don’t understand shit,” Akkeke muttered.

Lines put his arm around the corporal’s shoulders and said, “No insult intended, Chunk. And if you want to go run down one of them with a spear, all the more power to you. I’ll even cheer you along. But for me, I’d rather be in my full combat kit.”

Akkeke didn’t say anything, but Rev could see he wasn’t convinced. Rev would bet that he was imagining himself facing one of the beasts, standing tall with a single spear as it charged.

Rev watched as the lions faded into the distance. Of course, Lines was right. If, for some unfathomable reason, he had to face an angry lion, he’d want the full protection and power of technology.

Still, there was the small voice at the back of his mind that not only understood the need to prove oneself against a worthy opponent on equal grounds but was eager to attempt it.

* * *

Rev forged ahead, scrambling up the steep slope. From the spaceport to the gate of the military reservation, the landscape consisted of grassy plains, seemingly stretching forever. They didn’t reveal the low but rugged hills to the east side of the vast training area.

The last three kilometers had been one steep climb and descent after another, and Rev’s legs were feeling the burn. It was true that he had augmented legs, but with Pashu and some of the mods done to his body to handle the stress, he was lugging around far more mass than most troopers. The karnans might be as heavy, but just so.

Adding to the fact was that none of the troopers were in their combat suits. Most suits had movement assists. Without them, the squad was working by muscle power alone.

He used Pashu to help scramble up a particularly rough stretch of rocky slope. Scree came loose under his feet and slid down the slope.

“Rocks,” he shouted to Corporal Akkeke, who looked up and managed to dodge to the side.

“Give me a warning!”

“I just did.”

He stood for a moment and wiped his eyes with his right sleeve. Being out of the suits had another disadvantage—they had no climate control. The day would be warm enough, even sitting in the shade. Outside, playing mountain goat, it was positively sweltering.

Rev was tired, and he was uncomfortable. But he was reveling in it. This was the kind of difficulty he understood, and he knew he was rising to the occasion. The political stress in the sterile, controlled underground spaces on Enceladus was another thing altogether.

He took a moment to pick the best way up the last fifteen meters.

Let’s get it done, Reverent.

Up he went in a rush, knocking loose some gravel, but got up in one piece. The training NCO was waiting at the top with the wildlife guard. The local had a sardonic grin as he watched Rev huffing.

The entire reservation was fenced in, but animals had a habit of not honoring boundaries. None of the troopers were armed with live weapons, so the guard was there for protection, her tranq rifle slung over her shoulders.

At least that was the official version. After four days of training, the consensus was that yes, she was a guard, but she was guarding the animals from the troopers.

“You’re the point?” the training staff asked. “Your squad’s behind you?”

No. I just like wandering around on my own. And that huffing and puffing you hear below me is another lost wanderer.

“Yeah. I’m point.

The sergeant looked him up and down, taking in Pashu. “That wasn’t a good choice.”

Rev bristled. Yes, he knew staff sergeants normally didn’t take point. But who was this training pogue to criticize Bob for putting him there?

“Well, here’s the thing, Staff Sergeant. You’re dead.”

“What . . .?”

“You just detonated a mine. You lost your legs and have bled out. Your squad has four hours to get you back if they want the docs to have their chance at resurrection.”

Rev looked at the NCO with uncomprehending eyes.

“I don’t get it.”

“Should be a simple concept, Staff Sergeant. You tripped a mine. You’re dead. In four hours, your brain will be unrecoverable. It’s the heat, you know.”

“But nothing was briefed like this. All we were supposed to do was cover the course in the time allotted. No one said anything about there being casualties.”

“And yet, the unexpected often occurs during combat.”

And it all became clear. The long, difficult route. No combat suits. This wasn’t a simple acclimation hump. This was an exercise in teamwork. And now he understood why the sergeant had said that him on point wasn’t a good choice. With his mass, he was probably the worst choice in the squad.

“Oh, crap. OK, what should I do?”

“Well, you have no legs, so getting on the ground might be a good step.”

Don’t be a smart ass.

“I mean, what are the rules?”

“Simple. No talking. No assisting. Nothing. You’re a lump of meat.”

He shook his head, sighed, and sat down just as Akkeke stuck his head up over the top. He looked at the three of them, then frowned at Rev.

“What’s up?” he asked suspiciously.

“I’m a lump of meat,” Rev told him.

The wildlife guard broke out laughing at that.

“What?” Akkeke asked.

“I’m dead. The sergeant here killed me.”

“No talking, Staff Sergeant, if you please.” The sergeant turned to Akkeke and repeated the scenario.

“Shit, why couldn’t it have been Manny?” the corporal muttered as he took in Rev’s frame.

Corporal Manuela Acevedo massed around fifty kilos without her combat suit. Rev was 136 . . . without Pashu.

The corporal touched his throat mic and said, “Staff Sergeant T, we’ve got a problem here. A big, fat problem.”

“Hey, I’m not fat. Just big-boned,” Rev muttered, earning another warning from the training NCO.

* * *

The line snapped, and Rev swung upside down. Rushing water flowed five meters under his head. It took a tremendous strength of will not to shout out.

“Pull him over!” Bob shouted at Akkeke and La’ei while Henri struggled to keep Rev from swinging.

“I can’t,” La’ei shouted back over the gorge. “The pull line pulled free.”

“Shit! Come on, people! This shouldn’t be this hard,” the squad leader said.

“He’s too big,” Akkeke called back across the stream.

“He’s dead. Just leave him,” Lines whispered to Bob.

Not quiet enough. “I heard you, Lines!” Rev said. For once, the ever-present training NCO didn’t give him a warning.

“OK. Acevedo, you’re going to have to get that line, scoot across on top, then tie it onto Staff Sergeant Pelletier again. Do it.”

She pulled up the running in the line from where it had fallen in the water. She tied it to her harness, then slowly edged out on top of the main line on her belly, left leg dangling below for balance, right one with her ankle on top of the line. She used that to slowly start pushing herself along toward Rev.

“Keep it from swinging, Henri!” Bob snapped. “Lines, help him.”

After Rev, Corporal Henri Larson was the strongest member of the squad with his augments. His task was to steady the line supporting Rev, and now Acevedo. But with Sergeant Lines joining him, they were doing more harm than good, and that almost knocked the corporal into the water.

“Stop pulling, you two!” Rev shouted, unable to hold back.

“Staff Sergeant, I’ve got to remind you not to speak,” their watcher said. “You’re dead.”

“You can kiss my dead ass,” Rev muttered before wondering if the sergeant had augmented hearing.

If he did, he didn’t say anything.

This evolution had gone about as well as Rev had predicted. Their route conveniently had several obstacles they had to traverse. All by coincidence, Rev was sure. The reservation resident staff would never make a training evolution more difficult, would they?

Even without the obstacles, it would have been tough going. Rev had been dropped by both Henri and La’ei, one time rolling into some rugged, thorn-covered brush. He knew that the planet was terraformed with the African plains and jungles in mind, but why bring in the dagger-like plants? What purpose did they serve?

But somehow, in three hours, they had managed to carry Rev, almost in one piece, to the last obstacle. Get him over this, and it would be a relatively easy one and a half klicks to the camp.

Acevedo slowly inched her way, her eyes on Rev, her brows furrowed in concentration. One slip by her, and she’d be in the drink.

Being upside down was doing nothing for Rev. It wasn’t even a hundred percent upside down. Pashu, being the heaviest part of him, hung directly below the line, so his body was canted awkwardly. His head was pounding, and his back threatened to go into spasms from the position.

Exercise or not, if his back did go out, he was going to break the line and drop into the creek. Let it take him down and back to where it flowed past the camp.

Probably not even deep enough for that. I’d have to walk, soaking wet.

It really would have been easier if any of the others had been the one to be killed. He’d much rather be providing the grunt work instead of being hauled around like this.

He could feel his pulse in his brain, and that was making him anxious. Which raised his blood pressure. Which increased the pounding. He needed something to calm down.

“Give me some music.”

A moment later, Red Jonas’s “Dangling at the End of My Rope” started playing.

“Oh, really funny, Punch. Something else.”

A more acceptable “Rhonda at Sunset” started. He was humming along with the second verse when Acevedo finally reached him.

“Where should I attach this,” she whispered. “On Pashu?”

Rev thought for a moment. With his IBHU as the connecting point, that would pull him askew. He gave the tiniest shake of his head, then flicked his eyes at his right shoulder. She reached down, struggling to maintain her balance, and tied the end of the line to his battle harness.

“Hurry and get back. We’re running out of time,” Bob called across.

Without the pulling line dragging on her, she was able to back along the main line quicker. But she pushed it and lost her balance, then went swinging under the line. Hanging took more energy than commando crawling, but she was light, and she scurried across like a squirrel under a powerline without a problem.

Rev was a different story. Akkeke and La’ei pulled him across in jerks, each one making the line sway precariously. His delicate stomach started to make an appearance, and he had to fight back the nausea that threatened to emerge. Their training brief had stressed that the land and waterways had to remain clean, and he could just see getting written up for vomit in the stream.

He finally made it across, and if he cheated a tiny bit by partially supporting himself with one leg so they could detach him, then c’est la vie.

While the range sergeant walked down a set of steps and across, each member of the squad had to cross the line. That took another six or seven minutes before they could start the final leg.

Henri lifted Rev in a fireman’s carry, and with La’ei at his shoulder and supporting Pashu, the squad moved off at a shuffle, the best the two troopers carrying Rev could do.

They only dropped him once, and that was almost a relief. The bouncing and jarring were getting to him. Puking in the stream was one thing. Puking on a fellow trooper would reach a whole other level.

Finally, the camp was in sight, and the squad picked up the pace over the relatively flat grass. They cheered as they crossed the gate, Henri and La’ei going flat on their faces, dropping Rev with a thump.

Rev didn’t care. They were done.

They started congratulating each other when the training NCO joined them. “Four hours and nine minutes. Sorry to tell you, Staff Sergeant, but you didn’t survive.”

* * *

The wake was a moving affair. The entire platoon was in attendance. Rev and Sergeant Moli Pinkerton from Third Squad were laid out on a table pulled from the rec hall and set up in the small ring behind the barracks. The sun was setting, and in the distance, the roar of lions only punctuated the circle of life.

Most of the troopers had beers from the club, but a flask of something much stronger was being passed around. Rev and Pinkerton, being dead, were stone cold sober.

“Ah, Reverent Pelletier, Marine extraordinaire,” Bob said, standing near Rev’s head. “I’ve known him for years, even before he received his IBHU, which made him a passably acceptable trooper. Without that, well, he kinda sucked, to be honest. But I would never say that out of respect for the dead.

“Loyal to a fault, Rev is. Was. When we got to Barclay—”

He was drowned out by “Barclay!” and “Hoey-hoeys” from the platoon. He waited a moment to continue. “As I was saying, when we got to Barclay, he was suffering from an almost near-fatal case of blue balls, but while some of us, . . ” He took a second to lift his beer in a toast to Rice, his partner in crime on the planet. “. . . enjoyed the hospitality, I shall call it, gentleman that I am, he withheld in respect to the dear girl he left behind on Safe Harbor.”

“Isn’t that sweet,” someone called out.

“Let me continue. He withheld a cure for his drastic medical condition, only to be given the boot when he went back on leave. That, my fellow troopers, is loyalty.”

“Hoey-hoey!”

“I lift up my beer and drink to his memory!”

“Give him some!” Sergeant Lines said.

That started a debate on whether Rev and Pinkerton could drink, being dead and all. It went to the highest court in the land: Bundy. After careful consideration, he decided that since they hadn’t quite reached Valhalla, a little of the bite of the serpent might grease the skids.

Rev and the sergeant were warned to keep their eyes closed. Rev readied himself for the beer, but he got battery acid poured down his throat and barely managed not to choke. It burned like Donat Azurco, but unlike that MDS drink of choice, it only got worse after drinking it. Whoever brewed this little special moonshine must have gotten the recipe from Satan himself.

More people got up to tell a little tale about the two KIAs. Most would never be repeatable in polite company, but as no one ever accused Home Guard troopers of being polite company, they were fine for the occasion.

Second Squad, with Kvat carrying out the dead PFC Suki Tun, who might have massed forty-five kilos soaking wet, made the four-hour cut-off with twenty minutes to spare, and they continually reminded the others of that fact. Kvat even gave a one-minute remembrance on Rev, giving a mostly good-natured dig as to his IBHU’s weight.

Finally, the last of the tributes were done. Rev and Pinkerton were allowed to get off the table to the mock-astonished cries of “Resurrected!” and “It’s a miracle.” Bundy opened the little area up to the other two platoons, where about a dozen troopers had been watching with bemused interest.

Tomiko had been one of those watching. She grabbed two of the remaining beers and handed one to Rev.

“Thanks,” he said before draining half of the bottle. “That rotgut they gave me was friggin’ poison!”

“So, you’re back to the land of the living?”

“Gotta love modern medicine. Dead one minute with no chance of resurrection, and poof, I’m back.”

“So, you gonna tell me what happened? I see two of you got killed.”

“Can’t, Miko. You’re going through that rotation tomorrow.”

“Why do you think I’m asking you?”

“It’s supposed to be unexpected, and they said not to talk to the other platoons.”

“Oh, come on, Rev. It’s me. Your Swansea bestie. You can tell me.”

Rev looked around to see if anyone was listening. He motioned Tomiko to follow him and stepped to the side.

“OK, I’m not going to tell you everything, but I will give you a little piece of advice. Put Randigold on point. That Mad Dog Wymont, too. You need your biggest and strongest there for what’s going to happen.”

Tomiko smiled and patted Rev’s arm. “Thanks for the solid, Rev.”

“Hey, that’s what besties are for, right? Now let’s get back to the wake.”

He had a hard time holding back his smile as they rejoined the rest. Tomiko was Rev’s best friend, and he loved her dearly, but if she thought he was going to spill the beans and deprive Second Platoon of holding their own wake tomorrow, well, she really, really, really should know better.

She might kick his ass tomorrow, but it will have been so worth it.

11

Rev and Bob lay on their bellies, heads just peeking over the top of a low ridgeline.

“What do you think?” Bob asked.

“I don’t see a decent way up. There’s no real concealment. We’ll be sitting ducks.”

“We don’t have much of a choice now, do we?”

Rev had been “killed” twice more during their time on Serengeti, once along with Bob and Akkeke and once when the entire squad was wiped out. The wakes had become standard practice after each training evolution, and while they were a good way to relax and discuss in an informal manner what had happened, Rev had sworn that he wasn’t going to die again.

Now he was wondering if he was going to be able to live up to that oath. Frankly, he didn’t see how.

Their training cycle on Serengeti was limited to the company-size package, and with training ending tomorrow, this was their final exam. Each company had its own mission. Complete it with less than forty percent casualties, and they pass. More than forty percent, and they fail.

Yesterday, Rev had asked Sergeant Ysilanti, the same training NCO who’d killed Rev that first time, how many companies passed this exam. The sergeant tried to tell him that it really wasn’t a pass-fail proposition. This was a learning evolution, and nothing would change based on their score. Rev had persisted, and there was the fact that he was a staff sergeant and Ysilanti was a sergeant. Finally, he caved and told him that the pass rate was twenty-eight percent.

Rev was determined that Fox Company would be in that percentage. But to do that, First Platoon had to figure out how to accomplish its mission.

The company had a primary and secondary objective. Second and Third Platoons had the primary: a tunnel complex on the military crest of Hill 339.

First Platoon’s mission was an artillery position nine klicks to the southeast. Situated in defilade, the position had to be taken out by infantry. The glitch in that was a single automated 25 mm BFG (Big Fucking Gun) providing covering fire for the arty. It was well dug in and situated at the top of Hill 462. The slopes up the hill were uniform and without much in the way of vegetation other than the dry, knee-high savanna grass. Anyone attempting to attack the position would have to cross from 100 to 140 meters of exposed hillside.

“Let me pass that up to the lieutenant,” Bob said.

Rev kept scanning the area. There had to be a solution. The training staff would not have set this problem up unless there was a way to defeat the situation. At least he didn’t think they would.

If Rev was in charge of a real situation like this, he’d call for naval gunfire to take out the BFG. Perched at the top of a hill like that, it was a prime target for orbital platforms. The squad could just sit back and watch it happen. But of course, the scenario had stripped them of that course of action. A second option would be to launch missiles. Even smaller man-packed missiles like Rev’s Morays could eventually break through the BFG’s armor.

Too easy, the exercise briefer had told them. So, a massive recall had taken all their missiles away. The training staff wanted to see basic infantry tactics, and they’d set up the scenario to make that happen.

“The lieutenant says we have thirty minutes to come up with something. Second and Third Platoons are ready to kick off, and they can’t do it with those damn arty tubes still operational.”

“Give me those numbers again,” he told Punch.

<Sixty percent efficacy at seventy-two meters, given the assumed atmospheric conditions.>

The rule of thumb for using energy weapons against a hardened target like the BFG in an atmosphere was to fire when the beam strength was sixty percent or better. In reality, they were used at worse strengths than that, but Rev knew that the AI umpires would not give him a kill if he didn’t follow the listed guidelines.

He scanned the hill again. The closest he could get before he would be exposed was just over a hundred meters.

“And how fast can that thing traverse?”

<It can swing 180, acquire a target, and fire in two-point-three seconds.>

Which meant that as soon as Rev exposed himself, he’d be dead meat before he could cover the distance to use his beamer.

“What if we . . . no, that wouldn’t work,” Bob said from beside him.

Come on, Reverent. Think. There has to be a school solution here somewhere. Break it down. What have these last four weeks been trying to teach us?

He thought of the second exercise, where he was killed the first time.

Teamwork.

Which made sense. Infantry alone was susceptible to a powerful enemy, as humankind found out while fighting the Centaurs. But except for specialized units such as the Raiders or Recon, infantry almost never fought as a single entity in peer-to-peer conflicts or when facing someone stronger. The Home Guard was a little different in that it was a light infantry unit, but even it almost always had a robust Navy support. And if they needed mech or armor, that was provided by national forces.

So, we’re supposed to have improved our teamwork. Our coordination. But they’ve taken away our ability to coordinate with supporting arms.

His mind locked on to the problem like a pit bull and wouldn’t let go. And the answer didn’t come to him in a flash of inspiration, but rather like something slowly gelling. It took him a few minutes as his thoughts coalesced around a potential course of action, but finally, he turned to Bob and said, “I might have a solution.”

* * *

“You ready?” Rev asked Akkeke.

“You just tell me when,” the Millsap corporal said.

Bob had given Rev his choice from the squad. It was close between Akkeke and La’ei. Both were powerful, extremely competent troopers, but in the end, it came down to Akkeke’s speed. It probably wouldn’t make that much of a difference, but any little benefit could end up determining if the mission succeeded or not.

La’ei had been left to carry the SR-AMA3 Hellborer, the squad’s man-packed beamer. It was a little more powerful than Pashu’s beamer but not nearly as nimble as Rev was.

The permanent staff on the reservation had designed the mission and enemy layout with the Hellborer in mind. While a powerful piece of gear, it was a direct fire weapon, so to employ it, the weapon had to be carried into position, which would expose the gunner. Rev had to expose himself, too, but he had the ability to move to where he could engage the BFG in much less time.

IBHU Marines were relatively new in the Home Guard, and they hadn’t adjusted the exercise to take them into account. Rev hoped to take advantage of that lapse and make them pay.

“Make them pay,” was a little extreme, Rev knew. They were all on the same side here, and a successful mission would reflect on the training they’d had over the last four weeks. But by making them the bad guys, Rev was easier able to raise his warrior. Later, at the final party the staff threw, he could laugh and shake their hands. But for now, they were the enemy.

Rev studied the ground in front of him, picking out his route. He mapped out the path in his mind, picturing his foot placement for each step. He couldn’t afford for something as mundane as tripping to screw this up.

He had about twenty meters in front of him where he would still be in defilade. After that, he had another 125 meters of open area up to the gun. He had to get to within seventy-two meters in order to fire. That meant about fifty meters of ground.

With his augments, Rev could cover that in about six and a half seconds. Going uphill with unsure footing? Call it eight seconds. The BFG could acquire him in two-point-three seconds. Eight seconds minus two-point-three seconds equaled dead.

The only answer Rev could come up with was to make sure the BFG was engaging other troopers—six seconds worth of them.

Rev highlighted the timer on his display and brought it front and center. Timing for this was critical. If they were not coordinated, the BFG was going to pick off the entire platoon.

“Two minutes,” he told Akkeke.

“I’ve got the same timer you do,” the corporal reminded him.

Of course, he does. Just let him do his job, Reverent.

Which was to act as a target. It was a shitty job, to be certain. In real life, there was at least a chance that his .30 caliber hypervelocity rifle could get lucky and disable the BFG, but there was no way that the exercise’s AIs would give him a kill with it. The small sight attached under his barrel would relay to the AIs where he was aiming as he pulled the trigger and calculate a hit as if he’d fired a real round, but the AIs wouldn’t take into account the chaos theory-possibility that a real round just might get lucky.

The math would be helping Rev, though. At seventy-two meters, the AIs would roll the dice on his shot, giving him a sixty-percent probability of a kill. If he had to fire a second shot, that rose to a . . .

“What was the percentage with two shots again?”

<Two shots taken at seventy-two meters would result in an eighty-four-percent probability of a kill. However, as you will be closing the range further as your IBHU recharges, that probability will improve based on the exact range when you fire.>

And that, my friends, is where you screwed up again.

Rev’s beamer, along with all energy weapons being used, was limited to two percent power. The Hellborer that La’ei would be using belonged to the reservation, and it was programmed to take the same amount of time to recharge had it been operating at full power.

The reservation didn’t have an IBHU, so that little delay in recharging wasn’t built in. He’d been told to crank down the output to protect range equipment, but his capacitors were untouched. And with only recharging to two percent, that would be almost instantaneous.

At the moment, Rev was getting hyped, and all was fair in love and war. When he’d first realized this, however, he’d wondered if, in fact, it might be cheating not to bring that up to the staff. Bob didn’t know, either, when he’d brought it to him. Together, they asked Bundy, who sent the question on up. A few minutes later, the official word was to proceed as planned.

Rev didn’t know if that came from the battalion or reservation staff. All he knew was that the decision was off his shoulders, and he was free to use whatever he could to accomplish the mission.

The exercise still had all the advantages. The BFG had at least six seconds to drop him before he could fire, rendering his recharge time moot. The question was if it would target him within that time frame or not.

And he’d find out in twenty seconds.

He gathered his feet under him as he watched the time tick away.

“Don’t make my death be in vain, Staff Sergeant,” Akkeke said with mock pleading at ten seconds.

When the timer hit zero, both Rev and Akkeke erupted forward. At the same instant, Bob, with the rest of the squad, and Bundy with Second and Third Squads, started their assaults—Bundy on the artillery position, and Bob on the BFG.

At least Rev hoped they were moving. If their timing was off, he and Akkeke were going to be taken out of the exercise right ricky-tick.

Almost immediately, the BFG opened up with a thud-thud-thud of its 25 mm cannon. Assuming that the gun was programmed with a firing priority matrix, the highest priority would be to protect the artillery, at least until its own survivability was at stake. Hopefully, Second and Third Squads were dispersed enough so that casualties would be minimized.

Rev forced that out of his mind. He had to be laser-focused on his mission. Within seconds, he was past the last little ridge and exposed.

One second.

Ahead, he could see the BFG firing down the hill. He was running up the gun’s seven o’clock, which would maximize the amount of time it needed to aim down on him.

On the other side of the hill, out of Rev’s sight, the rest of the squad would be emerging to show themselves, then taking cover the best they could. If he, Bob, and SFC Arsenyev had figured it out correctly, then the BFG’s decision matrix would ignore them until someone—Corporal La’ei—appeared with a weapon that could neutralize it.

Two seconds.

The BFG kept firing as Rev’s legs churned, his feet scrambling for purchase. Akkeke split farther off to the right, widening the distance between them.

Three seconds.

The BFG spun on its gimbal, but to its right, not left. La’ei must have fired upon it, and it had taken the bait. From his position, he wouldn’t have been able to get a shot off at the brains of the weapon, but that should have labeled him a priority threat.

Rev tried to will his legs to push harder, to cover the ground.

Four seconds.

<One hundred meters,> Punch told him as a line appeared in his visor, overlaid on the spot of the ground that indicated seventy-two meters from the target.

Rev’s right foot slipped in the loose ground, but he kept barreling forward.

Five seconds.

The barrel of the BFG started traversing, moving too fast. He and Akkeke were still too far away.

The corporal opened up, the simulated .30 caliber rounds peppering the chassis.

Six seconds.

With frightful power, the barrel completed his traverse, and the muzzle flashed three times.

Seven seconds.

Rev burst over the line overlaid at the seventy-two-meter mark. He fired just as the BFG started to traverse right to cover the last, small arc required to aim in on him. Nothing happened. Rev instantly knew that the AI hadn’t given him the kill.

Rev’s training with fake paladins flashed before his eyes. Without thinking about it, he darted left . . . not away from the muzzle chasing him but into it.

The BFG immediately fired, but the simulated round was a physical one, not an energy beam. Even at just over sixty meters, it took a split second for the round to cover that distance, a split second enough for Rev to move out of its trajectory.

He knew the second round would nail him, but he was already recharged. Rev fired once more, and this time, a light mounted on the BFG flashed brightly, then the muzzle slowly lowered to point at the ground.

Eight seconds.

Rev came to a stop and stared at the gun, his breath coming in gasps. It was more adrenaline than anything else. Rev had killed paladins before. He’d dropped a courser in a river. But this, with a construct in a training range, felt as good as any kill he’d ever made.

“BFG is dead,” he passed on the platoon net. “I say again, Objective C, the Big Fucking Gun is out of action.”

“Knew you could do it, Rev,” Bundy passed to him over the P2P. “Now, let us complete the mission.”

Rev turned around. Behind him by thirty meters, Akkeke was standing casually.

“You still with me?”

“KIA. Que sera. At least you got the sucker. Make sure when they give you your medal that you mention poor little ole’ me. And tell my family I died a hero.”

“Hey, I’ve seen the holo of your sister. I’ll make sure to go back to Millsap to tell them personally, you know, in case she needs a strong shoulder to cry on.”

“You wouldn’t stand a chance, Staff Sergeant. She’s well out of your league.”

Just because the BFG was knocked out didn’t mean the exercise was over. But for all intents and purposes, the squad’s exercise was. Rev and Akkeke started walking up to the gun.

“Pretty nifty, dodging back through the gun’s line of fire. I was sure it was going to nail you,” Akkeke said.

“Almost did. It was just the change in the direction of its traverse that gained me that fraction of a second. And it would have recovered and got me on the next shot.”

“But it didn’t. And that wasn’t on your superhero arm there. That was on this,” the corporal said while tapping the side of his head. “That was all you.”

And lots of practice on the ranges at Camp Nguyen.

They reached the gun, which looked less impressive close-up. Downright cheap, in fact. But it didn’t really have to stand up to much. As long as its sensors and uplink worked, it did its job.

Down below, Rev could see the rest of the platoon fighting their way through the position. But with the BFG down, the end was a foregone conclusion.

To his right, the rest of the squad were making their way up to him.

“How’d we do?” Rev asked Bob.

“No casualties.”

“Not even La’ei?”

“Not even him. So, we only lost Akkeke.”

“We going to give him a wake tonight?”

“Damn right we are,” Bob passed. “We’ll do it at the party.”

Rev turned back to watch the progress in the arty position. With the BFG gone, the arty would be taken out. With the arty gone, that would make things so much easier for the major and the rest of the company. Rev had no doubt that Fox would prevail. They’d be part of the twenty-eight percent that passed the final exercise.

There was some pride he could take in that. But it wasn’t just the exercise. After the morale blow of Tian-X4, Fox Company was ready again, mentally and physically.

Now all they needed was a mission. But with the current political situation, that might never happen.

12

Never say never. A week after they returned from Serengeti, the alert went out.

Second of the Second was not officially the alert battalion. It was number three on the list. But four hotspots had erupted within a period of two days, and once again, the battalion was slammed into the breach.

Most of the troopers were elated. They wanted to erase the sour taste of Tian-X4 from their collective mouths, and after their recent training package, their morale and confidence were riding high.

As usual, though, it was hurry up and wait. After the frenzied rush to get staged in the hangar, ready to mount out, it was cool their heels time as they sat in stick order. All they needed was the word, and they could load in minutes.

Rev leaned back on his assault pack. Intense white lights and the hard hangar deck under him made it difficult to try and catch a few Z’s, but he was OK with that. They were getting off Enceladus and into action, and that was what mattered.

Bob was walking down the line of troopers, checking on each one. He would never admit it, and sometimes he tried to deny it even to himself, but Rev was still a little disappointed not to have gotten the squad back when Gamay moved up. He had to admit, though, that the Frisian was excelling in the position. Rev didn’t know what was going to happen if either Gamay came back or a new SFC was assigned to the platoon. With Master Sergeant Barber gone, would they take the platoon sergeant job or come back to First Squad?

Rev wouldn’t say it out loud, but he hoped not. He didn’t have anything against Gamay, but he’d rather have Bob remain squad leader. From the bits and pieces he gathered, he thought the rest of the troopers thought the same. Bob’s steady, firm, but fair hand was an anchor.

“You hanging in there, persie?” Bob asked as he reached Rev.

“Happy as clam in the mud, fry,” Rev said. “Any word yet? When are we leaving?”

“Nothing yet. But from what the major said, things are going to shit pretty fast on Wasted Trip, so it can’t be long now.”

“Yeah, rush us here so we can sit on our asses. Some things will never change, I guess.”

“Soon enough, soon enough, Rev.”

Bob went on to Akkeke, who was next in the stick. Rev wasn’t so sure about the “soon enough.” The shuttles weren’t even in the hangar, nor, by the looks of the hangar crew, was anything incoming anytime soon. There wasn’t a reason to have the entire Fox and Golf companies staged there for the moment. They could be back in the company rear, staged with their gear in the common areas. It would be a lot more comfortable, and they’d have access to the chow hall and latrines. At the thought, he craned his head to look at the single latrine in the hangar. There was a line of troopers waiting to use it.

And it wasn’t as if being in the company area would hurt their readiness. Given thirty minutes warning, they could be back here at the hangar, ready to load.

But that was just bitching for bitching’s sake. Rev wasn’t really upset about anything. It was just his duty as a SNCO to bitch about something. If he had to sit here on his ass in stick order for a couple of hours, then so be it. Small price to pay in order to start bringing back the Home Guard name.

* * *

Twelve hours later, Rev was still sitting in the hangar, and he wasn’t quite so understanding. He didn’t know what was going on. No word had come down. He’d gotten permission to take off Pashu, which was both good and bad. It was good because he could relax, and he’d even gotten some sleep despite the lights and hard deck. Bad because the mere fact that he and Randigold and Sign of Respect had been given the permission was pretty indicative that no one expected them to get off the deck anytime soon.

“So, let’s get back to Kraken Chem. I didn’t get what you were saying. The CEO’s husband is the brother to whom?”

<Dr. Croat’s husband, Jan Groesbeake, is the brother to Alici Groesbeake.>

Rev shook his head. This was getting to be too much. At least he wasn’t forced to use his talk-table. Asking Punch these questions would be entirely reasonable to anyone listening in.

“And she is?”

<Alici Groesbeake is the managing partner of DVGG, Limited.>

“And that’s the Hansen’s World company, right?”

<Right.>

This was all pretty confusing. Hansen’s World was a corporate oasis with only a small annual fee, no corporate taxes, and heavy layers of privacy laws. By the very nature of its stated purpose, Hansen’s World was neutral. Officially speaking, of course. But the facts of the matter were that many heads of state, including, at a minimum, planetary heads of at least seven Freedom Confederation planets, had HW planetary shares in their names, according to various news outlets.

“So, I don’t see the connection between Kraken Chem and the FC.”

<The connection hasn’t been proven, but it can be inferred based upon circumstantial evidence. Not the least of that being the fact that the Second of the Second has not yet been deployed. Neither has the First of the Fourth.>

“So, what you are saying is that it’s possible that what the CoH leadership thought was a simple and clean operation, one where we could get back in the saddle, so to speak, is now facing pushback because moving against Kraken’s interest would also be moving against the interests of a bunch of planetary heads?”

<That is among the conjectures being spread across the undernet, yes.>

“But we don’t know who is holding our deployment up, right?”

<Correct.>

Rev wanted to argue with Punch, but while there was no proof yet uncovered that would substantiate that theory, it smelled right. Too right.

“And you said the First of the Fourth hasn’t deployed yet, either?”

<Correct.>

If Punch was able to find that out, it had to be on the public undernet, not on the military nets. Fourth was the newly formed brigade, only recently stood up on Titan. Fox Company had lost almost a dozen troopers who left to help fill the Fourth’s ranks.

“And the same types of tenuous connections are also present with their mission?”

<Correct. At least as being reported.>

“And let me guess. For the two battalions that have taken off on their missions already, there are none of these connections?”

<Correct.>

Rev didn’t have to be slapped in the face with a fish to know it was rotten. Circumstantial didn’t mean it wasn’t true. One way or the other, things would play out. If they deployed, then all of what Punch was able to pull up might just be a case of conspiracy-mongering. But if they were kept from going . . .

All of this was giving Rev a headache. He needed to get his mind off the big picture.

“I’m done with all of that. What d’yah got? Comedies, I think, are called for.”

<“Rabbit Girls” has been trending. It is about—>

“Sounds good. Play it.”

* * *

“. . . Congress of Humanity’s mission isn’t to become the galaxy’s police force, trying to impose the will of the elite upon the rest of humanity.

“This isn’t just overreach. This is tyranny.”

The assembly erupted into applause.

The Under-Counsel of the General Assembly Nac Poromundi, the third-highest official in the CoH and—more pertinently, as far as Rev was concerned—a citizen of the Manifest Destiny Sphere, was at the famous Blue Podium, made from a single piece of Andean onyx from the Mother herself.

The holocams were flitting above the hall, zeroing in on various officials. Some were vigorously applauding—others, not so much. The Union representative to the assembly was briefly shown on one of the feeds. Rev couldn’t tell by her reaction where the Union stood on the issue.

“And, for that reason,” the under-counsel continued, “I am proud to announce that several attempts of imperial overreach have been nipped in the bud. We cannot fall prey to forcing the will of the elites upon the people.”

The feed zoomed in on the counsel-general. His face might as well have been hewn from the granite of the Rusty mountains back on Safe Harbor. There was no emotion at all.

“So, what does this all mean?” Corporal La’ei asked. “Are we still going?”

“No,” Rev said. “We’re not going.”

“But why? I thought that was our job.”

“It is. But some people evidently want us only to react when it serves their purposes,” Bob said, his voice ice-sharp.

“But we’re supposed to be non-political.”

“Yeah, we are. But look for yourself.” He turned around to address the squad. “You heard the under-counsel,” he said, making the title sound like a curse. “We’re not going anywhere. But until we get orders to stand down, we’re staying put. Maybe saner heads will prevail by some miracle.”

Rev was pissed, but mostly for being jerked around and not being able to fulfill their military mission. He didn’t care about the politics. Heck, he didn’t know where the Union was with this CoH food fight. But for Bob, Rev could tell it was deeper than that. The Frisian Mantle was a next-level nation, and they often took the stance that they weren’t involved in the galactic game of power, that they looked out for the smaller players for the good of everyone. For them, the CoH was touted as almost a holy endeavor.

Of course, they were just as much a player as anyone else, but Bob was a true believer. It was no wonder he was taking this hard.

If Bob was praying for divine intervention, his prayers fell upon deaf ears. Twelve minutes after the under-counsel finished his speech, they received their orders. They were to stand down and return to base.

13

“Templar’s gonna take it home,” Toshi Gant said with the certainty of a true fan.

“Bullshit. He’s a has-been,” Bob said.

“Has-been? He’ll has-been on the Chimeras. Just watch.”

“He’ll what?” Rev asked. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Well, you know what I mean.”

“No, Tosh. I don’t. Speak standard, not Mez-standard.”

Rev didn’t really have a horse in the race. First, he wasn’t a huge wickers fan. Give him flip ball any day. Second, all of the Perseus Union teams had been knocked out long ago. He didn’t care who won the finals, the Tatterhall Chimeras or the Fuji Samurai. For him, it was just good to see the various sports leagues getting back to their Galaxy Cups.

Toshi, however, had been eating, drinking, and breathing the cup ever since the Samurais started their run. He was from Frantahoy, not Fuji, but of course, he was going to root for his fellow Mezame world.

And just as expected, Bob was going to root for the Chimeras. The Frisians, seeing themselves as the defenders of the smaller planets, almost always supported the little guy. It was pretty much embedded into their psyche.

Rev stood up. “Anyone want anything?”

“Get me a cookie,” Rice said. “Chocolate chip if they have it. Bunny tail if they don’t.”

Rev nodded, then headed up to the serving line. He’d been about to get another main meal, but a cookie sounded good. The galley chief liked to make them the old-fashioned way, mixing and baking by hand. The fabricated bunny tails were fine. More than fine. But the chocolate chips, hot out of the oven, the chocolate melted in place, were a step above.

As luck would have it, the chief was laying out a tray as Rev reached the line. He grabbed two.

“One cookie apiece, Staff Sergeant. You know the rules.”

No one knew if Mister Green had ever served in a military, but he sure ran his galley with a firm hand. There were no real rules concerning cookies or other desserts, but the one apiece was his rule. And in his galley, his rules stood.

Rev could give in and grab a bunny tail—there wasn’t a one-cookie rule with fab food—but the smell of the chocolate chip had his mouth watering. For a moment, he considered telling Rice that there weren’t any, but only for a moment.

“Both aren’t for me. One’s for Unifora.”

“Then she can come up and get it.”

With a sigh, Rev put back one. Bunny tails were still pretty good.

“Ah, what the hell,” Mr. Green said. He pulled out a small tray, filled it with four more, and handed it to him. “For the table. Now move before everyone else comes up.”

Rev didn’t need to be told a second time. Already heads were lifting as the cookie smell hit them. He put his hand over the tray and hurried back, then presented the plate with a flourish.

“Damn, Rev. Good job.” Toshi said as he quickly grabbed one, forgetting whatever he was saying about the great Georg Templar. Chocolate chip cookies trumped wickers, at least for the moment.

Bob bit into his, a look of ecstasy on his face. “I don’t care what the major says, Rev. You’re a good trooper.”

“Eat me, Bob.”

“No, I’m eating this instead.”

Rev took his and bit off half. Soft and chewy, this was pure heaven.

“Make a note. Tell mom to try and find out how to bake these.”

<Done.>

Rev idly wondered what Punch thought of him eating. It had to be so foreign to his battle buddy. Punch had some capabilities far beyond his, but Rev wouldn’t trade for them if he had to give up eating.

He finished off the cookie just as his pad alerted. He gave it a quick check. It was a message to report to the company office.

Wonder what this is about?

“Looks like I’ve got to go to the office,” he told the others.

Bob looked up, all business now. “What about?”

As his squad leader, the order should have gone through him.

“Heck if I know. I guess I’ll find out.”

“You think I should go with you?”

Maybe Bob should go first, according to procedure. But it probably wasn’t very important.

“Nah. You finish up. I’ll see you back at the crib.”

He licked his fingers of crumbs, then started to wend his way through the tables to the doors. To his mild surprise, Randigold was also making her way out.

He stopped and waited for her to join him. “You going to the office?”

“Just got the message. Do you know what this is about?”

“Not a clue. Maybe some Marine thing, if it’s both of us. No matter. We’ll find out soon enough.”

The two made their way to the company spaces and back to the Fox Company offices. Corporal Davis was at his desk, as usual. Rev sometimes thought he must sleep there. He told them to take a seat and wait. A minute after they sat down, Sergeant Sign of Respect came in and joined them.

“What’s up?”

Rev just shook his head. With the three of them, it still could be some Marine thing, but there was something that didn’t feel right.

“Anything on the newsfeeds? About Safe Harbor or the Marines?”

<Nothing out of the ordinary.>

Rev wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or not.

They sat there for almost seven minutes before the door to the major’s office opened. A somber-looking Bundy stuck his head out, spotted them, and motioned them to come inside.

This doesn’t look good.

The three exchanged glances as they entered the office. Along with the major, the first sergeant, a captain Rev didn’t recognize, and an MP SFC were waiting.

An MP? What did we do?

“Close the door,” Major Yves said.

Randigold complied, and the three IBHU Marines faced their company commander.

“I’ve got some bad news. There’s been an incident. Mr. Begay’s been hurt.”

“Daryll? Is he OK?” Rev blurted out, interrupting the major.

“We don’t know yet. He’s been taken to the infirmary. But there’s more. More important.”

Daryll being hurt was a pretty big deal. Rev didn’t know what else could be more important.

“Whoever attacked Mr. Begay also stole your IBHUs.”

* * *

“I don’t understand it. How the hell could someone get away with that? This is a secure base,” Rev asked, fuming.

“We’re looking into that now, Staff Sergeant,” the MP said.

It had taken Rev a few minutes for the whole thing to sink in. This had come completely from left field. Coupled with his concern for Daryll, it was only as there was a little clarity on what had happened that his anger grew, and he started having questions.

Second Brigade had twenty-eight IBHU Marines. Second Battalion had eleven of those. All twenty-eight were now kept in a single armory with Daryll in charge and Filmore his assistant. Daryll had been in the armory when an unknown number of assailants assaulted him and stole five units, to include Rev’s, Randigold’s, and Sign of Respect’s.

“What’s there to look into? This is a freaking base. Check the security cams.”

The MP looked at the major, who gave a slight nod of her head.

“Look, what I’m about to tell you has to be kept under wraps. We don’t want to play into the criminals’ minds. But all of the cams in the area were jammed. We’ve got nothing going in or out of the area.”

“Jammed? Like ECM?”

If somebody was able to knock out the entire area, this wasn’t some quick snatch and grab. This was a planned operation, almost assuredly by a major player. Rev immediately had his suspicions. The IBHU was proving superior in combat to the karnans, and he knew the MDS would love to get their hands on their technology. Despite his gut feeling, however, he had to admit he was jumping to conclusions. There were other powers who would jump at the chance to examine an operational IBHU.

“Yes, essentially. We’re pulling all the feeds for a forensic study to see what we can recover. But we think the perpetrators messed up. There is a pattern in the jamming that is indicative of them moving toward Camp Seong-Matris. We’re locking down both camps and increasing surveillance.

“The simple fact is that we might as well be on an island. No one can get off the moon without us knowing it.”

The MP sounded sure of himself, but Rev didn’t share that confidence. There was no way the IBHUs could be stolen right out from under their noses, either.

“And Daryll? Is he going to be OK? Have you asked him what happened?”

“We have someone there for once he gets out of surgery.”

Rev’s heart lurched. Surgery? That sounded more serious than he’d first thought.

He took several deep breaths and looked over to the other two. They’d been letting Rev do the talking. Randigold was smoldering. But if she was a fire waiting to happen, Sign 0f Respect was a raging inferno. The normally calm Marine’s eyes blazed in anger, and he was clenching and unclenching both his organic and prosthetic fists.

Seeing him somehow brought Rev down a notch. He turned back to the captain whose name he’d already forgotten. He was from Westermorton, often an ally of the MDS, and Rev didn’t trust the man further than he could throw him.

It wasn’t too far-fetched to think that the thieves had help from the inside. It was just too pat that they hit the armory when only Daryll was there, and that the cam feeds were so easily jammed.

“What now, sir?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“That’s why we’ve brought you in. We need your cooperation. We believe that whoever did this would prefer to have mass confusion. That could help them get to the commercial spaceport and off the moon. Remember, all they really need is one of your weapons. They can use the others as bait to send the investigation down dead ends.”

At least he isn’t making any bones about the purpose of this theft. Someone wants an IBHU to study.

“With that in mind, we want to go the other way. We want business as usual.”

“And business as usual is locking down two camps?” Randigold asked, then belatedly added a “sir.”

The captain seemed nonplussed at the venom in her voice. “It’s being billed as a training exercise. And it will be emplaced only long enough for the MPs to search some of the more likely areas while CHIS emplaces more robust surveillance capabilities. By midnight, the so-called exercise will be over.”

“And so you want us to go about our business as if our IBHUs are still in the armory,” Rev said.

“Yes, exactly. We want you to go to the armory as normal. Spend the time there as you would with your regular routine.”

Bundy, who’d been quiet the entire time, cleared his throat. “Uh, we’ve got sims tomorrow.”

The captain looked at him with a blank look.

“They take their IBHUs to the sim tanks, just like other troopers bring their weapons.”

This was news to the captain, Rev could tell, although he didn’t know why it would be. Of course, he’d take his main weapon to simulation training.

The captain thought for a moment, then asked, “There are two IBHUs left behind. Can you use those?”

The major’s eyes lit up with interest. The company commander was from FIS, and she would have been told to gather any and all information she could about the IBHUs. Karnans, too, but that didn’t matter from Rev’s perspective. He didn’t want to give up anything, but he didn’t think he had a choice.

“No. We could hook them to our sleeves, but until they were synched and snapped in, we wouldn’t be able to use them.”

“So, snap them in.”

“That would take Daryll, and it’s a lengthy process. And before you ask, no, that would be beyond Filmore’s capabilities.”

It was possible that Filmore could do it, but part of Rev wanted to hold something back while another part was afraid the tech would really screw something up. The captain seemed to accept it, though.

“And if you simply don’t fire during the sims, that’s going to be pretty obvious.” He turned to the major, and with a sense of authority that a captain wouldn’t normally use to a field grade officer, said, “I need you to cancel their sims. Get them doing something else.

That struck Rev as more than a little odd. Then he realized that the captain had never said where he worked. If this was back on Safe Harbor, he would say the guy reeked of D-4, and Rev had issues with that security branch.

The captain clapped his hands as if signaling the end to the session. “If you have any questions, please go through Sergeant Twining here. He’ll be staying until we resolve this unfortunate sequence of events.”

He turned to the three IBHU Marines. “I swear, we’ll find the bastards. They’re trapped right now with nowhere to go. We’ll have your weapons back to you in no time.”

As the captain started to leave, Bundy asked, “Has General Platte been informed what happened?”

The captain paused with a slight stutter step.

No, you haven’t told the senior Marine on Enceladus.

“We were about to give him a full briefing.”

Liar.

Rev couldn’t tell if that was because the captain had something to hide or if he was just trying to cover the collective Home Guard’s ass, hoping to recover the IBHUs before what happened became known. But he was sure that if Bundy hadn’t asked, the Union would be in the dark for some time yet.

“Please do, sir,” Bundy said. “I’ll be going to him for guidance shortly.”

The captain nodded, then left the office.

The major took her seat and sat down with a sigh. “What a goat fuck,” she said quietly.

Which Rev thought rather nicely summed up the situation.

* * *

You’ve got to tell Tomiko,” Rev told Bundy.

“They said not to let people know.”

“She has to know. She’ll see something’s up. She’s Randigold’s nanny.

“She’s my what?” the PFC asked.

“You have to,” Rev told Bundy again.

Bundy hesitated for a moment. As usual, his eyebrows scrunched together into a unibrow as he considered it. “You’re probably right,” he finally said.

“Wait, what’s this about a nanny?” Randigold asked.

Sergeant Sign of Respect said, “Think on it, Eth. You think they don’t have people watching us?”

Rev had wondered if the other two knew about the watchers the Union had sent to keep tabs on them. It wasn’t surprising that the sergeant had figured it out. He didn’t say much, but Rev thought his reticence hid a sharp mind.

Randigold turned to Bundy and asked, “Is that true, sir?”

“We’ve got more important things going on right now. Let’s not get distracted.”

“Too late for that. I just want to know. Is that true? Do we have spies watching us?”

“Not spies—”

“Then what do you call it . . . sir?”

“Eth, can it. The lieutenant had nothing to do with it,” Rev said. “You’ve always known that there are folks back home who don’t approve of us. You’ve been called a Genny, right?”

“Well, yeah.”

“We’re not Genesians. We’re not Deimers. We helped save Safe Harbor. But it doesn’t matter to them. That’s just life, Eth.

“When we were back home, they could watch us, make sure we didn’t go bat shit crazy and run amok. That’s what the Marines told them, at least. And now, we’re in the home system. Of course, they’re going to send minders, if for no reason other than to satisfy the idiots.

“But that isn’t the lieutenant. That isn’t Staff Sergeant Reiser. They’re just following orders.”

Randigold didn’t seem convinced. Rev knew she was angry at losing her IBHU, and her reaction was largely fueled by her frustration. No one knew yet who’d stolen them, but here she had a target for her ire.

“We’ll discuss this later, Eth. But the lieutenant is right. We’ve got something else on our plates now.”

“I’m not sure we do,” Sign of Respect said quietly.

“What do you mean?” Rev asked, astounded at the comment.

“I mean, we’re not going to turn into super-sleuths, tracking the thieves down. That isn’t on us. So, other than playing along with the charade, are we really going to be doing anything?”

“But . . .”

But he’s right. What are we going to do?

And that made Rev feel helpless. This was a big deal. Nations had gone to war over less. But the sergeant had correctly laid out the facts. This was out of their hands.

Rev looked to Bundy for guidance.

“So, we do like we’re told. Play like nothing’s happened. Tomorrow, you three will go to the armory like normal, then we continue with the plan of the day. That’s all we can do.”

“And Tomiko? You going to tell her?” Rev asked Bundy.

“Yes. It makes sense.”

Rev nodded. It did make sense not to keep her in the dark. She was sure to notice something was off with the still smoldering PFC.

“And tonight? Can we see Daryll, at least?” Rev asked.

The unibrow made a second appearance. “I don’t know . . .”

“We owe it to him. ’Sides, the hospital’s at Bressia. No one’s going to see us.”

Bundy shook his head and said, “Hell, you’ll probably go no matter what. Just don’t go together. Take different trams, OK?”

“You’ve got it,” Rev said.

* * *

“You look like shit, Daryll,” Rev said.

“Feel like it, too.”

Rev pulled over a chair while Randigold and Sign of Respect stood at the foot of the bed. As Bundy had told them, they’d taken different trams, then met up at the station before coming in together.

“What do the docs say? You going to be OK?”

“Nothing major. Two broken ribs and a broken cheekbone. Nothing a little time and about a zillion nanos can’t fix.”

“You coming back to us?”

Major Yves had told the three IBHU Marines that Daryll might return to the Union. If whoever did this wanted to put a crimp in IBHUs’ ability to fight, taking Daryll out of action was a good first step. Rev had serious doubts that Filmore could adequately manage all of the brigade’s IBHUs—even with five still missing.

“Where else would I be?” Daryll asked.

Rev was relieved to hear that, although he was not surprised. Ever since Rev received his IBHU, Daryll had treated it as his baby, something he was lending to Rev. The IBHUs had become his life.

“They say how long you have to stay?”

“Depends. They want to check with the nanos’ progress tomorrow morning. If it’s good, I’ll be back by lunchtime.”

“We need you, Daryll,” Randigold said, her voice cracking. She had taken Daryll’s beating hard.

Rev hesitated before asking the question on everyone’s mind. “So, what happened?”

Daryll shook his head, then winced at the pain that caused him. “Like I told those investigators, I really didn’t see much. I was nose-deep in a T-board when the door chimed. I thought it was one of you, too, so I told the door to open.

“Four guys, all wearing masks, stepped in. Before I could say anything, one of them decked me with a club or something. I really don’t remember much after that.”

“Four guys? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, four.”

“Four guys, but five IBHUs were taken,” Rev said.

“I noted that. Four thieves aren’t going to carry five IBHUs.”

“Were they bulkier than most people?” Rev asked.

“You mean were they karnans? I don’t know. Could be, I guess.”

Rev had absolutely no proof that the MDS had taken the IBHUs, but he was sure they had. Not very many nations had the technological ability to spoof an entire section of security cams.

“The MPs think they’re still in the area,” Randigold said. “We’ll catch the bastards.”

“They didn’t get any feeds?” Daryll asked. “That seems really strange. Almost impossible.”

“That’s what the MPs say,” Rev said. “But anything can be jammed.”

“Sure, around a specific spot. But at some point, they had to emerge from the blind area. And carrying an IBHU, well, they’re a little difficult to hide.”

He coughed, then immediately groaned and brought a hand up to his ribs.

“They’re probably still in the area, and the MPs are checking everywhere,” Randigold said with conviction. “There’s no way they can get Cruella out. No way.”

Rev caught Daryll’s eyes. They didn’t have to get the IBHUs off of Enceladus. All they had to do was conduct a molecular scan and then get the data off the moon. He could tell Randigold that, but to what end? But Daryll knew that, too.

The IBHUs had been gone for seven hours now. Even with portable scanning equipment, that was an awful lot of time for quite a bit of analysis.

“How’s Zach taking it?” Daryll asked.

It took Rev a moment to realize he was talking about Filmore.

“Him? Who the hell knows?”

Daryll frowned, then said, “I know you guys don’t think much of him, but he’s good. Dedicated, too.”

“Doesn’t seem too competent,” Sign of Respect said.

“He is. You just have to give him a chance.”

Rev admired Daryll’s loyalty to his subordinate, but he thought Daryll might be a little myopic about Filmore. The man wasn’t incompetent, but he was hardly a tech whiz.

“Just tell him I’m fine, OK?”

“We’ll see him in the morning, so I’ll pass the word,” Rev said.

A nurse stuck her head into the room. “Visiting hours will be over in five minutes unless you have a command extension.”

“No, we’re leaving,” Rev assured her.

He turned back to Daryll. “I’d shake your hand but wouldn’t want to screw something up.

Daryll held up his left hand, and Rev took it. “Get well, old man. We’re going to need you once we get our IBHUs back.

* * *

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” Filmore said after jumping to his feet the moment Rev entered the armory.

“Not much you could have done,” Rev said.

“Oh, yes, I could have,” the junior tech said, his voice hard with venom.

He narrowed his eyes into slits, then opened a drawer. He reached in and pulled out a wicked-looking handgun. Rev didn’t recognize the make or type, but just as he didn’t need to have seen a scorpion before to know it was dangerous, he realized that the handgun was deadly.

And the man wielding it was just as dangerous.

“Where . . . where did you get that?”

“Doesn’t matter where. All that matters is that I would have blown their fucking heads off if I were here.”

Rev almost took a step back in the face of that hatred. This was a side of the tech he hadn’t even imagined could exist.

The tech took a couple of deep breaths, then the old Filmore seemed to appear again. “Sorry, Staff Sergeant Pelletier. I’m just upset. This was on me. I told Daryll I could stay, but he said I could go get lunch. He’d watch the place.”

“This wasn’t your fault,” Rev said warily. He hadn’t recognized the . . . the . . . the force that had taken over the tech’s body for a moment. All he knew was that he wouldn’t want to meet that person in some dark alley.

“Yes, it was. This is my place of duty. I should have been here.”

Rev was confused, and all sorts of thoughts were swirling around in his mind trying to gain purchase. What he’d seen from Filmore indicated that there was more to the man than he’d thought, and it wasn’t Daryll’s assertion that he was “competent.” Rev was pretty sure of that now, and not just as an IBHU technician. There were more layers to the man.

Why did the thieves hit when it was only Daryll there? Is it possible that Filmore’s some sort of super security agent, and maybe the thieves knew it? They watched and waited until it was only Daryll before striking?

What about Barclay? He refused to leave the IBHUs there. Is that so he could protect him with his secret abilities?

Oh, come on, Reverent. You’re like a crazy conspiracy freak.

He shook his head as if to rid himself of those thoughts.

“Uh . . . about that gun there, how about keeping that a secret? No use getting the other two concerned.”

“Oh, of course, Staff Sergeant. Sure. Don’t mind me. I’m just upset; that’s all.”

Rev just smiled and took a seat.

“I guess I just sit here for a while, then head back,” he said.

“I guess so.”

Rev tried not to stare at Filmore, but then he thought it was obvious that he was avoiding looking at him. For his part, the tech was humming, seemingly back to his normal self. But what was normal for him?

Filmore had almost been in a panic on the Takagahara when he thought the Centaurs might attack. That was a far cry from the little glimpse Rev had seen just now. Which was the real Filmore?

Rev had to exert self-discipline to keep from asking Punch what he thought. If Filmore was more than he seemed, then that wasn’t something Rev wanted the hidden watchers to know he suspected as much. And while he was getting better at using the talk-table, he was rather hyped up at the moment to try and use it.

Later. I’ll hit him up later.

The two sat quietly until finally, Randigold arrived. With an authentic sigh of relief, Rev ushered her in. As he was leaving, he stopped in the open door and thanked Filmore before he made his escape.

* * *

At 1422 that afternoon, a civilian passing by an open door looked in and spotted five IBHUs on the floor. She didn’t think too much of them, but when she saw a team of two MPs a little later, she told them that the room was unsecured.

The MPs reacted immediately and called in a forensic team. The Marines weren’t told that the IBHUs had been recovered until 1804. The five IBHU Marines, Bundy, and Tomiko rushed to the scene but were not allowed inside.

Bundy immediately called General Platte, who went up the chain and got the Union representative to the congress involved.

Rev could see through the door that people were poring over the IBHUs—checking for clues, he was told. Techs taking advantage of the situation was more like it. Even if they weren’t the ones who’d stolen the IBHUs, they weren’t going to pass up the opportunity to learn what they could.

“Get Filmore,” he told Randigold.

“What about Daryll?”

“Him too, if he’s back.”

Rev didn’t say that between the two techs, he felt in his gut that Filmore was the one to call.

Before Filmore got there, however, the cavalry arrived in the form of General Platte and a colonel with an MP armband. The colonel ordered everyone out of the room. There were protests, and one woman kept trying to tell them that she was there under the direct orders of General Julius, whoever that was. It didn’t matter. They were cleared out within a minute. The MPs then stood guard outside the door until Randigold, Daryll, and Filmore arrived, pulling a large, enclosed cart.

Rev helped load the IBHUs into the cart, then the five IBHU Marines escorted the two techs back to the armory. It was overkill and not in line with keeping a low profile. Rev doubted that there was still a threat. Whoever stole the IBHUs had already gotten what they came for: knowledge. The IBHUs had undoubtedly gone through extensive analysis, and whatever secrets they had were now uncovered.

Who had taken them was still a mystery. Rev hoped they’d screwed up enough, leaving traces so their identities could be uncovered, but he wouldn’t bet the farm on that. This entire operation had been too professional.

“What now?” Rev asked as they put the last IBHU into its slot.

“Now, Filmore and I get to work. We need to see if there was anything left behind.”

Rev swallowed the gorge that threatened to rise in his throat. He’d never thought of that possibility, but it made scary sense. He didn’t want to think of what could have been left behind.

This was way out of Rev’s comfort zone. It was as if he was reading a war novel but had suddenly been thrust into a crime mystery. He wanted to get back to what he knew, where he fit in.

14

“Can you tel anytging from your sife?” Rev asked Punch.

That’s what he brought up on the talk-table, at least. His battle buddy had been correct that with practice, using their table would become second nature, like typing on his pad. He wasn’t thinking out each letter anymore. The typos were something else, but Punch usually could figure out what he was trying to say, and an instant after the sentence was finished, he’d corrected it.

“Can you tell anything from your side?” appeared in Rev’s view.

<Daryll’s instruments are far more discerning than what I have. But to answer your question, no. I’ve traced the circuits, and Pashu seems to be clean.>

Rev wished that he was as confident. Daryll had uncovered a tiny device of some kind in each of the IBHUs. Those had been sent off for analysis. Rev thought that might have been too pat. The MDS—Rev was still sure it was them despite there being no evidence to indicate that—could have put one that they expected to be found to take attention away from something better hidden.

Rev rotated Pashu, then swung her back and forth across his chest. She didn’t feel any different, at least.

“I want you to continually monitor her. If there is anything, like a signal going out, I want you to record it.”

<I can’t record anything under my current restrictions.>

Crap. That’s right.

“OK, then. Let me know if there is anything at all that can’t be explained.”

<Will do.>

“Staff Sergeant Pelletier, you’re up,” Filmore said.

All of the brigade’s twenty-eight IBHU Marines were at HGR-1 for a live fire exercise with the excuse being that this was a normal, routine weapons calibration. The other brigades’ IBHU Marines would have to go through the same thing to keep up the facade.

The real purpose was to make sure the stolen IBHUs still functioned, as well as to compare the readings to their baselines. Every time the IBHUs three weapons systems had been fired on a range, extensive readings had been taken and recorded. This entire operation was to ensure that the five IBHUs were still operating within their previous readings.

Rev wasn’t sure why they were still playing this charade. The thieves knew the weapons had been taken. They would know what this range shoot was for. From his perspective, Rev would rather that the theft be announced, then a massive investigation be done, calling in the entire moon, if necessary, to root out the criminals.

But Rev was a staff sergeant, not anyone with pull. So, he had to play along.

“How was Cruella?” he asked Randigold as he passed her while she left the firing line.

“She feels the same. No different.”

Not that I expected anything different. If Pashu is compromised, it won’t be that easy to find that out.

He reached the firing line, and Filmore loaded up his 20 mm rounds and three Moray missiles. He then hooked up the lead to the jack at the base. Daryll didn’t need the physical cable to get his readings, but he was being overly cautious.

The lead tech studied his display for a moment, then gave Rev the thumbs-up.

That didn’t clear Rev to fire. Brigadier General Platte might be observing, along with a Union colonel Rev didn’t recognize, but the range NCOIC was a god here. Nothing happened without her say so.

Filmore turned to her bunker, gave her a thumbs-up as well, and stepped off the line.

The sergeant watched as he retreated. She wasn’t going to do anything until he was completely off.

Finally, she was satisfied.

“Ready on the left, ready on the right. Ready on the firing line. Shooter, you may commence firing when your target appears.”

Rev spread his feet slightly, feeling like a gunfighter at the OK Corral. Downrange, his virtual target coalesced. Rev raised Pashu and fired three bursts from his beamer.

“Cease fire, cease fire,” the range NCOIC said over the loudspeakers.

Rev loved to fire Pashu, and his meson cannon was probably the more important weapon to be checked, but firing his beamer at a virtual target didn’t get his heart pounding.

He patiently waited until Daryll gave the signal to the range NCOIC for the next phase. The Morays were a little more exciting. He had three physical targets: one stationary and two moving. He wasn’t creaming in his jeans, but seeing the missiles race to their targets did perk him up a bit.

But, as always, his simplest, least tech-savvy weapon was the one that filled his soul. His 20 mm cannon was a basic weapon. While his targeting system was as high-tech as possible, the basic premise had been around since the Fifteenth Century—throw heavy pieces of metal at the enemy.

Rev had 300 rounds to fire, and he stood there, feeling the recoil against his shoulder as he blasted away at just one target, a hulk of a hover. He knew he was supposed to engage different ones to limit the damage, but the frustration—and anger—over the last few days needed an outlet. And a Marine with a big gun could release a lot of pent-up anger.

He yelled as he fired until his belt was gone. Ahead, he could barely see the target, and as the smoke and dust cleared, that really didn’t change. There wasn’t much left of it to see.

“Cease fire, cease fire,” a pissed-sounding voice came over the speakers. “Shooter, check your weapon and move off the line.”

Rev refused to catch her eye as he walked off the line. It was a hulk. Its purpose was to get destroyed. So what if she had to bring in another?

His heart was pounding, and for the first time since Pashu was stolen, he wasn’t feeling the pent-up anger he’d been holding.

The bottom line was that making things go boom made a Marine feel good.

* * *

“You look good,” Bob said as Rev entered the commons. “Especially after the last few days. I guess shooting is pretty good medicine.”

Bob had noted Rev’s mood before and asked several times what was wrong. Rev had been tempted to tell him, but as good a friend as he was, he wasn’t Union. And if the powers that be wanted to keep things quiet, he was going to obey that.

Mostly. Tomiko knew, and she asked, “Everything OK?”

“Yeah. Routine, you know, but fun.”

“Good to hear. And you missed an absolutely scintillating lecture on naval and commercial shipping rights of passage,” she said before mimicking the sound of snoring.

“Hey, it wasn’t that bad. I learned something,” Bob objected.

“And you’re going to be piloting a spaceship when?” she asked, punching him in the arm.

“Hey!” he said, rubbing his arm. “Some of us are interested in all aspects of life, not just how to maim and kill.”

“Oh, you are such an angel, Bob. I think I hear harps every time you speak.”

“Better harps than . . . shit. What sounds come out of hell?” Bob asked.

Toshi’s nose was buried in a pad, but without looking up, he offered, “Bagpipes?”

“Yeah. Better harps than bagpipes!”

“No way. You don’t get credit when someone else has to feed you the lines,” Tomiko said, punching him again.

Bob winced but didn’t attempt a comeback.

“Don’t let Crocker hear you say that about bagpipes,” Rev said. “He’ll get you banned from Barclay, and after your little foursome with Rice, I’m guessing you’re wanting to go back.”

“It wasn’t a foursome,” Bob snapped, a little too vehemently.

Rev instantly felt guilty about bringing it up. After the initial joking and teasing, his and Rice’s little escapade with the two Barclayans had become a bit of a sensitive issue, one Rev had quickly dropped.

He didn’t even know why he’d said it now. It was almost as if he’d wanted to break up his and Tomiko’s banter.

No. That’s ridiculous. Why would I want to do that?

Bob and Tomiko had gotten close, true. And Rev had been quite surprised when he found out that Tomiko had known Bob’s real name long before he had. But Tomiko had easily connected with Toshi and Rice, too. The five of them had formed a pretty tight bond.

“I know, Bob. Just joking. Maybe I’m just a little jealous that Toshi and me, we weren’t single when we went there.”

Rev knew that was a mistake before he uttered the last word. Tomiko pulled back ever so slightly with a small frown, and Toshi said, “Hey, leave me out of it.”

Reverent, you can really put your foot in your mouth. You know that?

This wasn’t going well, and Rev had to change the subject quickly.

“How’re you doing with Randigold, Miko?”

She gave him a measured look. Toshi and Bob weren’t the only non-Union troopers in the commons.

“It’s all professional.”

“What? You’re having a problem with Randigold?” Bob asked.

Tomiko gave Rev a pursed-lipped glare before turning back to Bob. “Not really. I think she resents being a PFC here. She’d be looking at corporal back on Safe Harbor, in charge of other Marines. Here, she’s the low trooper on the totem pole.”

Part of that might be true, Rev agreed, but the main issue was that Randigold knew Tomiko was her nanny, and she was angry. She was refusing to speak to Tomiko unless it was in the line of duty. Rev had tried to point out that it wasn’t Tomiko’s fault. He told her that Bundy was his nanny, and he had just learned to accept it. But Randigold felt betrayed, both by the Union and Tomiko—and Tomiko was here.

“That is a problem,” Bob said. “We’re so damned rank heavy in the Guard. You know Yslitinmav over in Third Platoon? He’s a corporal here, but he’s still the junior trooper in his squad. Lilac-Master Pute has had to talk to him about that.”

“Lilac-master?”

<Equivalent to a sergeant major. Lilac-Master Pute is the Third of the Second’s sergeant major.>

“I can ask the lilac-master to talk to her, if you want. He’s pretty good.”

“No. No disrespect intended, but I don’t think someone from another service is going to do much good.”

“She’ll get over it, Miko,” Rev said. “She’s a good Marine, and she knows there are reasons for everything.”

Toshi put down his pad and said, “I understand her. I’m a damn staff sergeant, and you think I can get a squad? Fuck no. I was a squad leader as a sergeant fighting the Centaurs. I took over the platoon at Hieratomy and held the line. Here, I’m not even a team leader because we task organize for every freaking mission.”

Toshi’s vehemence took Rev by surprise. He hadn’t realized his friend was that invested in the situation. And now he wanted to know what happened on Hieratomy.

“I mean, would it hurt to bring in some privates?” Toshi asked.

“Well, we’re supposed to be the elites of our armies,” Dog San Martin said, coming over from where he’d been sitting to join the conversation. “How do we know if a private is elite?”

“And shouldn’t everyone serve in their own military first?” Bob asked.

“Why? Let them learn here,” SFC Arsenyev said, walking over and plopping down on the couch next to Tomiko. “I’d be a platoon sergeant anywhere else.”

“You are the platoon sergeant,” Tomiko pointed out.

“Acting platoon sergeant, not permanent. As soon as Top Barber or Gamay get back, I’m out of the job.”

Within minutes, four other SNCOs had joined the discussion, which was getting heated at times. But Rev was fine with that. After screwing up with both Bob and Tomiko, he was glad that the conversation had shifted to something else and the focus was off of him.

15

Sweat was pouring down his face and burning his eyes. Rev just grunted and bore down, his legs pumping like pistons. He could do without the heat, but it felt good to push himself like this.

To his left, Tomiko glanced over, then said, “Increase resistance to twenty-two.”

Damn, Miko. OK, if that’s how you want to play it.

“Increase resistance to twenty-four.”

The pedals became harder to rotate. He was tempted to come out of his seat and use his arms as well as his legs, but that would be giving in.

“Ninety RPM,” Tomiko said.

“Ninety-five.”

He had only five seconds to increase his speed before that god-awful bell would sound. He closed his eyes, grunted, and pedaled for all he was worth. After five seconds, the bell was still silent. He opened one eye—he was at 97 RPM. Too close. He edged his RPMs up to 98 to give himself a buffer.

“Give it up, Rev. You know you’re going to lose.”

“Eat me, Miko. You’re still at ninety.”

“Ninety-five RPM,” she told her bike.

She was looking sideways at him, smiling, but he could see her legs strain as she sped up.

The gym was packed, which wasn’t surprising. The battalion was restricted to the area, and each trooper was ordered to put in two hours per day exercising. With the heat raised to thirty-five degrees C and gravity at one-point-two, the rumor mill was working overtime. Something was up, and they’d be mounting out soon.

It made sense, but having had their last one shut down, Rev didn’t think the CoH could get their shit together to authorize another operation. Still, he’d asked Punch for a list of planets that matched the gym condition. There were over thirty, and there was nothing in the undernet that might point to something coming up on one of them.

Rev smiled at Tomiko as if the pace, resistance, and temperature weren’t bothering him. She smiled back, but it looked more like a grimace than something pleasant.

Rev could feel his heart pounding, forcing blood through his body. He was a lot bigger than Tomiko, but he had more augments that sucked up his energy. His muscles were bigger and more powerful than hers, but she had less mass to fuel.

Still, the damned bikes are the same. You can’t let her beat you, Reverent.

He faced front again, and that caused more sweat to flow into his eyes. They were on fire. The only thing to do was close them and pedal.

“Let me know if I start slowing down.”

<Will do.>

“Save yourself the trouble, Rev. Give up now.”

“I say again, eat me, Miko.”

“Not in your wildest dreams. Now pedal.”

Rev became aware of movement near him. He opened one eye. Some of the other troopers had noticed what was going on and were gathering to watch. The last time he’d gotten into a competition in the gym, it hadn’t gone too well for him.

That’s not going to happen this time.

“I’ve got five on Miko,” Bob said.

Rev turned his head and asked, “Are you shitting me?”

<You’re slowing down.>

Damn! Concentrate, Reverent.

He forced his legs faster. If he went below ninety-five for more than three seconds, his bell would ring, and he would have lost. Mercifully, it remained quiet.

Get into a rhythm. Don’t pay attention to anyone else.

His legs were machines . . . but even machines could feel the strain. Lactic acid was building up, faster than his natural capabilities and his nanos could clean it up. His lungs were bellows, bringing in huge amounts of oxygen to fuel the effort.

He tried to drown out the spectators, but it was difficult, especially when some of them wagered against him.

Oh, ye of little faith, I will make you pay.

<You are slowing down.>

He grunted and pushed again.

“You can do it, Staff Sergeant,” someone called out.

They were both staff sergeants, so Rev didn’t know who they meant, but Tomiko quickly claimed the encouragement.

“Of course, I can do it. This is just an easy Sunday morning ride.”

Rev rolled his eyes under his lids. Then he opened them and took a peek. Tomiko was hurting, he could tell. Her fake smile was gone, and her mouth was opened wide as she gulped in air.

But they both kept going. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Bets were made as more people came to watch.

Rev looked ahead for a moment to see Kvat watching him, his face expressionless. The two were in a state of undeclared truce, but still, that was enough for Rev to redouble his efforts.

The time stretched to fifteen minutes, and Rev was in agony. But he wasn’t going to quit. Tomiko was grunting now. She couldn’t hold on much longer.

<You’re slowing down.>

Rev pushed harder.

Thirty seconds later: <You’re slowing down.>

With a snarl, he sped up again, his legs crying out.

<Should I tell you a joke?>

“No!” he shouted aloud, then he subvocalized, “I don’t need a damn joke!”

“No, what? Rev. No, you can’t go on?” Tomiko asked in gasps.

Rev ignored the question.

<You’re slowing down again.>

One more time, he was able to pedal out of the danger zone. But not for long.

<You’re slowing down.>

The next minute consisted of Punch warning him and Rev drawing on his last reserves of energy. Once, twice, three times.

Then, <You’re slowing down.>

Rev pushed, but three seconds later, the bell rang out. Rev looked up, thinking it was Tomiko’s, but with a sinking heart, he realized it was his bike. He’d lost. With a groan, he stopped pedaling. Immediately, his left leg cramped up, and he had to slide off the bike and onto the ground as half of the crowd cheered and demanded that the other pay up.

Tomiko opened her eyes and saw Rev on the ground. She quit pedaling and tried to step off, only to have her legs fail. She fell on top of Rev.

“Fucking A, Rev. You killed me.”

“I killed you? You won.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“What? My bell rang.”

Tomiko raised her voice to the people who bet. “I didn’t win.”

“Yes, you did,” several people shouted back.

“No. Rev was at level twenty-four. I was at twenty-two.”

Rev was confused, and he tried to recall how they’d gotten into the competition.

“What? But you still beat him. You won.”

Randigold, who’d bet on Rev, said, “No, that’s cheating. She cheated. Staff Sergeant Pelletier won.”

People started arguing about their bets when Tomiko managed to stand up. “I declare a draw, if Rev will agree.”

She held a hand down to him. His leg was still cramping, but he managed to stand with Tomiko’s arm around his waist, giving him a bit of support.

“It’s a draw. No one pays anyone else.” He looked at Bob in mock anger. “But you should have to pay anyway, betting against me.”

There was grumbling, but people seemed to accept it. Kvat was in the back, still watching Rev. He wished he could read what was going on behind those blank eyes.

“You didn’t have to remind people that we were at different resistance levels,” he told Tomiko as the watchers broke up to get back to their workouts.

“Of course, I did. I knew I was at twenty-two the whole time.”

Rev wrinkled his brows. “Then why didn’t you match me?”

“’Cause at twenty-four, I couldn’t beat you. It was hard enough at twenty-two.”

“Then why challenge me in the first place?”

“I just wanted to see how far you could go. How far I could go. At twenty-four, I would have dropped out five minutes ago, and then you wouldn’t have known how far you could manage. We may be augmented, but how often do we get pushed to our limits?”

Rev had to think about it. Since he’d been augmented, he’d been in extreme danger, but had he ever really pushed himself to his limits? Maybe when he was carrying Kvat out of the crevices on Cat Scratch, but that was just the limits of his strength, not something like this.

“My gut tells me that we may have to push ourselves to our limits sooner rather than later,” she said. “Better do it here where there aren’t any consequences.”

Rev hoped she was wrong, but if he were a betting man, he’d put money down that she was right.

16

“How’re your legs,” Bob asked as he took a seat beside Rev.

“Like you care. You bet against me,” Rev said before taking a long swallow of his bug juice.

“Might have been a good bet. But no matter, augments or not, that was impressive.”

“You ever wish you had augments? I mean, not correcting for vision or nanos and such. Like us. Like the Mad Dogs and the Bugs.”

Bob put down the roll he was about to bite and thought for a moment. “I don’t know. Yeah, I see what you can do, and I do get jealous. I’ve got to work my ass off in the gym to do half of what you can.”

“But . . .”

“But, I don’t know what it would be like. I’m not sure I would still be me.”

“I think I’m me.”

“I know. It’s just . . . well, I don’t know. Then there’s the Weislen’s Syndrome.”

“The rot.”

“Yeah. I’m not saying you’re going to get it, but the chances. Doesn’t that bother you?” Bob asked.

“I’ve got so much stuff going on that I have to assume I’ll get it. When we were fighting the Centaurs, it seemed like a good bet. I mean, Direct Combat Marines had a seventy-eight percent mortality rate. But then we started winning, and now . . .”

“So, do you regret it?”

“Won’t do any good to regret it. It’s done. I’ll just have to hope that the doctors come up with a cure before then,” he said with a forced laugh.

He took a bite of his Tinto Rosa steak to forestall any more conversation on the subject. Like he told Bob, what was done was done. Worrying about it wasn’t going to do his mental health any good.

Rice sat down on the other side of him. “Heard about you and Miko. Wish I was there to see it.” She looked around. “Speaking of which, where is she?”

“Probably nursing her legs. Not like our stud here,” Bob said, slapping Rev’s back.

“Don’t get too chummy, fry. I’m still going to remember you bet against me.”

“There was betting? Now I’m really sorry I missed it,” Rice said.

“Don’t be. It was a draw,” Rev told her.

“I still would have liked to have seen it.”

“It was no big deal. Just eat your dinner.”

Rev toyed with the rosa sauce that covered his steak. “Steak” was a generous term for the hunk of fab meat, but he’d grown to like the sauce. He picked up a spoonful and held it out for the others to see.

“You know where this comes from?”

“The sauce? No, where?” Bob asked.

“I don’t know. But back on Safe Harbor, I never knew this even existed. But it’s just a recipe, and what’s that but knowledge? Easy enough to look up how to make it. Yet, back home, we never even wondered about a planet that developed this sauce. We are so different as a species that I wonder how we manage to survive sometimes.”

“Wow, where did that all come from?” Rice said. “Pretty maudlin if you ask me, especially as you’re sitting here with a Frisian and a Paxun. Friends of yours, I might add.”

“Hell, you’re right,” Rev said, dropping the spoon onto his tray. “It was just something Miko said today about some serious conflicts coming up.”

“Well, what does she know that we don’t?” Rice asked.

“Yeah, I know. I’m just being maudlin, as you said.”

He cut into this steak, smushed it around in the sauce, and took a bite.

It was his last bite. Before he’d even swallowed, a voice came over the loudspeaker.

“All hands, all hands. Return to your quarters immediately and wait for further word.”

Bob stuffed the half-eaten roll in his pocket and stood. “Immediately,” in Home Guard parlance, meant drop everything you were doing to comply. In the chow hall, that meant leaving the trays in place and going.

Rice gave her untouched meal a longing glance and said, “Shit, maybe Miko does know something we don’t, after all.”

17

The staff sergeants and sergeants first class had been sitting in their commons for two hours before First Sergeant Weinstein returned from the company office. All eyes locked on her.

She moved to the center of the room to address them. “Here’s where we’re at. We’ve got a tentative mission.”

“Tentative? Hell, that means we’ll sit around on our asses for a couple of days while the congress dukes it out until they decide they can’t piss off some nation or the other,” Dog said.

There were murmurs of agreement from the rest. They’d all been there before.

“Maybe, maybe not. Doesn’t matter. We’ve got to assume we’re going and be prepared. After this, I want all the squad leaders to brief their troopers and make sure everyone’s go-bag is staged and ready. Full inspection.”

“That’s going to be a waste of my time,” Bob muttered to Rev.

“That’s why you get the big squad leader bucks.”

“Weapons and equipment are already staged. Now, it’s a waiting game to see if we get the order.”

“Can you tell us what’s the situation?” SFC Arsenyev asked. “Can we at least know that?”

The first sergeant hesitated a moment, looking around the room. She evidently decided that the SNCOs deserved to know.

“It’s commercial,” she said. “Conflicting claims that are before the Court of Humanity. And just like Tian-X4, both sides are posturing with military force to position themselves before any ruling can be made.”

“Who are the companies, and where are they?” Staff Sergeant Kvat asked.

The first sergeant hesitated again. Rev had to guess that she wasn’t supposed to pass that. And it made sense. There could be troopers who were somehow associated with both companies, and if this came to nothing, then there was no use causing any friction.

But he still wanted to know.

“OK, but this doesn’t go any further. It stays here. It’s the Green Life Systems Zaibatsu and Dillinger DL, on January Hold.”

Dillinger DL sounded vaguely familiar to him, but it was a common enough sounding name. Green Life might be Mezame, but that wasn’t the only nation that licensed zaibatsus. He looked across the room at Toshi, but he didn’t see much of a reaction.

“As I get more info, I’ll make sure to pass it,” the first sergeant said. “But for now, let’s get out and check the squads.”

“Hoey-hoey,” the SNCOs dutifully acknowledged her.

“That’s me,” Bob said, standing up with the other squad leaders. “Why don’t you get up a game of knock on for when I get back. I’ve got a feeling we’re still going to have a lot of time to kill.”

Half of the room emptied.

“Hey, Pelletier,” Kvat said.

“What?”

“You accused the MDS of scuttling that last mission.”

Rev didn’t know if he’d ever said that, and for sure he hadn’t told the karnan they’d scuttled the mission. He believed it was true, however, and the evidence sure pointed to that being the case.

“Don’t think I did, but what’s your point?”

“Oh, I heard you all. You said that we interfered because we didn’t want the Home Guard to react, given that we’re allies of the Gossarians.”

The karnan didn’t seem angry. He acted as if he was relating an obscure historical fact. Rev wasn’t sure what he was trying to prove, though.

“I thought we were all allies. But once again, I don’t think I ever said that. And once again, what’s your point?”

“Oh, nothing much. I was just wondering how the almighty Union was going to react when one of the two sides is a Union corporation. Are they still going to be pushing for a Home Guard intervention when the shoe is on the other foot?”

“What the hell are you talking about? We’re all supposed to be on the same side,” Tomiko asked him, moving over to sit by Rev.

“You really are naive, aren’t you? I think it’s obvious. If the Union has a stake in the game, are they really going to want the Home Guard to deploy, especially if the legal precedents favor the other side?”

“Punch?”

<Dillinger DL, Inc, was incorporated under Rebirth.>

Rev’s heart gave a lurch. Rebirth was one of the Perseus Union’s charter worlds.

He swallowed hard, then as casually as he could, said, “The Union isn’t going to consider the origin of either side. We’ll uphold the will of the congress, whatever that will be.”

He just hoped that would be the case.

* * *

“You are not deploying as Union Marines. You are troopers in the Home Guard, period. You’ll follow your orders, and you will not, I repeat, will not give anyone extra consideration,” Brigadier General Platte said.

If the Union Marines in the battalion had any questions, having a general officer pull them aside like this was a sure way to get them answered.

“So, if we have to, you know, fire on Dillinger employees, we’re supposed to do that?” Lieutenant Macek asked, his voice querulous.

“Mother willing, that won’t happen. But if that is within the scope of your orders, and it is necessary from a military standpoint, then yes.”

Rev didn’t like that at all. Even if some individual employees on January Hold might not be Union, Dillinger DL was. It was bad enough when he’d had to engage fellow humans before, even traitors like the Children of Angels, but they weren’t Perseans. When he first swore his oath to become a Marine, he thought his job was to protect the Union, not serve as some sort of police force against Union citizens.

“I know this feels wrong,” the general continued. “But we have to look at the larger picture. If humankind is going to keep together and not break apart into warring factions, we, as Marines in the Home Guard, had to prove that we really do support the common good.”

“With all due respect, General, that sucks,” Lev Miter, from Echo Company, said.

Rev held his breath, waiting for the explosion. But the general just sighed and said, “Yes, it does suck. But if we have to leave some idiots who are trying to game the system out hanging in the wind, even if they are Union citizens, that is a small price to pay to keep the Union from plunging into war. And I’ll tell you this. The Home Guard might be a pie-in-the-sky, kumbaya show unit, but right now, it may be the only tool in the counsel general’s toolbox that can put out a fire, a fire that could grow into a blazing inferno if we can’t handle it.

“And that, Marines, is why you’re here. And that is why this is coming straight from the Director Prime’s mouth.”

That took Rev by surprise. The Director of the Perseus Union was personally involved with this? It was becoming more and more clear that this wasn’t just a military question. This had far deeper ramifications.

“General,” Rev said, raising his hand. “What are the chances that we’re actually going? We’ve had missions canceled before.”

“I’m not privy to what they’re saying behind closed doors. But from what I’ve gleaned, I think it’s on. They’re just tying up loose ends in the negotiation. The counsel general needs this, and he needs Union and Mezame troopers to respond to show that his vision is possible.”

It still stuck in his craw that a military mission, which were so black-and-white when fighting the Centaurs, now had this political side to it. He might not be a military historian, but from his point of view, when politicians started to control military operations, soldiers got killed.

But no one was asking a mere staff sergeant what his opinion was, so it was time to salute smartly and march on.

* * *

“Hey, Tosh.”

“Hey, Rev.”

“Some shit, huh?”

His friend grimaced and said, “That’s an understatement.”

In the two days since the general had gathered all of the Union Marines, Rev hadn’t a chance to talk to the Mezame trooper.

No, that wasn’t true. He’d had chances, but he didn’t know how to go about it. And it wasn’t as if Toshi was going out of his way to talk to him or Tomiko.

Now, as they were gathering into sticks to board their shuttle, it might be a little late, but as they say, better late than never.

“We, you know, OK?”

“We got the same lecture that you got,” Toshi said.

“I know. But that didn’t answer the question. Are we OK? You and me? You and Miko?”

“Our mission is to keep both sides from fighting, and that’s a good thing, right?”

“So . . . ?”

“Yeah, we’re OK,” Toshi said, holding out his hand.

Rev took it, pulled his friend in, and gave him a hug with his social arm.

“It sucks, though,” Toshi said. “All of this is for nothing. Why the hell is Dillinger—” He cut himself off, then said, “No. Jenararu Fukuda said no politics. So, no politics. Sorry.”

Rev had started to argue when Toshi began the question. He wasn’t sure Dillinger was in the right, but they were Union. The Marines were under the same restriction about bringing up politics, though, so when Toshi stopped, he left it at that.

Probably a good thing, too. Nothing positive would come of it. And Toshi had it right. If their presence could stop a fight, then they should nip it in the bud before it could escalate, something neither the Union nor the Mezame wanted.

“Stick thirty-four, you’re up,” the civilian loadmaster shouted out.

Rev patted Toshi on the shoulder, then moved back to his position. Hopefully, this would only be a show of force, nothing more.

18

The battalion landed on January Hold at the Utica Spaceport, not a military facility, and they were bused to a resort hotel at the outskirts of the city. This was for the optics, letting both sides know that they were not there to force their will upon anyone.

Yes, it was for show, but Rev thought that was a good omen. It wasn’t like Tian-X4, where their military shuttle had been shot out of the sky. If anything, this reminded him of the company’s landing on Barclay—minus the cheering crowds.

There were people gathered at the spaceport and more along their route to the Anderle Silver Resort and Spa, but for the most part, the people just silently watched as the buses drove past. Two people waved the CoH flag, which was hopefully reflective of the general mood.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the citizens who were the problem here. Only a fraction of the population directly worked for either corporation. The rest were more like captives of the situation, and they probably would be happy to see a quick resolution between the two opposing sides.

Local guides met the buses, and a CoH civilian team handed out room assignments. This was looking more like a commercial tour than a military deployment. Rev and Bob were assigned the same room on the second floor with a wonderful view of the expansive garden and pond.

“This isn’t what I was expecting,” Bob said as they stood looking out the window at two stately swans flowing effortlessly across the pond, followed by eight black cygnets.

Rev watched them for a moment before lifting his gaze to the top of the six-story building on the other side of the resort’s grounds.

“So, that’s Dillinger DL,” he said.

“Yep. And that means over there somewhere is Green Life. Maybe the white building?”

“Punch?”

<Yes, that is the Green Life Systems planetary headquarters.>

“Right, that’s it,” Rev told Bob. “And this is making a lot more sense all of a sudden.”

Fox Company and the battalion headquarters were going to stay at the resort, which had been rented out in its entirety by the CoH. The other companies were moving out to the field facilities.

By staying in hotels, there wasn’t the martial air that might cause resentment among the populations, but there was no doubt that the two companies were getting the message. As Rev gazed at the Dillinger headquarters, he knew those windows were full of people looking out across the resort’s garden at the troopers getting off the buses.

“Well, enough of this. Let’s get down to the Olympus Room,” Bob said, putting on his squad leader’s cap.

The two left the room and headed toward the meeting rooms. They didn’t need to know exactly where the Olympus Room was. Enough troopers were moving together that all they had to do was go with the flow.

The meeting room was surprisingly large, big enough for the entire battalion to pack in. Rev and Bob made their way to the far right where Fox Company was gathering. Tomiko and Rice were already there.

“Pretty righteous digs,” Rice said.

“I’ve had better,” Rev said.

“Oh, bullshit. Where?”

“My parents’ house. With Neesy and Kat climbing over me and my mom cooking up her newest recipe.”

“Oh, give me a break. I think I just puked up a tiny bit,” Rice said.

“I think that’s sweet,” Tomiko put in. “And I’m going to tell your mom you said that.”

“Any word?” Bob asked. “Other than we’re staying here, I mean.”

“Nope. Just waiting to hear what the CO says. The buses are still staged to take Echo and Golf to their AOs,” Tomiko said. “I’m guessing they’ll leave immediately after the CO finishes.”

“Wherever they’re going, it can’t be as sweet as this place,” Rice said.

“True,” Rev said. “But I almost wish we were leaving instead. I like to keep as far away from the CP as possible. And with both headquarters just across the garden, we’re going to be a hundred percent all the time.”

“I’ll put up with that just to sleep in that bed. A “Slumber Cloud,” the placard called it. I’ve never heard of a Slumber Cloud, but it’s gotta be better than our cells back on Encelasucks,” Rice said.

“For all we know, we won’t have much time in them. This is a military op, after all,” Bob said.

“Still gotta sleep sometime.”

“Attention on deck!” someone shouted, to be echoed by another dozen troopers. Lieutenant Colonel Semes, the battalion commanding officer, strode through the doors, followed by the sergeant major and XO.

They made their way to the front and onto a raised platform. The CO touched his neck, activating his mic and connecting to the room’s sound system.

“Semper Fortis, Second of the Second!”

“Hoey, hoey,” burst from more than a thousand throats.

The CO took a moment to sweep the room. This was a habit of his, and Rev wondered if that was a calculated move, to show that he was including everyone in the battalion. Rev wasn’t being cynical. He thought it was an effective move, and he’d already noted it in the slight chance that he’d ever be addressing a large unit in the future.

“Welcome to January Hold. And I have to say, our quarters are only slightly better than those on Encelasucks.”

There was the expected laughter, more so because of his rank using the nickname.

“But let me be serious,” he said after the troopers quieted back down. “No matter how luxurious this place is, we are here on a mission. Mother willing, we will not be engaging in any action here. But things can go to hell in a handbasket in a split second, so, while you are doing your duties here, or at Briarton for Echo and Regis Crossing for Golf, you all have to be ready for anything. And that includes lethal force, if necessary.”

He paused and let that sink in. “You all have been briefed on the rules of engagement. We will do everything to comply with that. But hear me on this: we are going to return to Camp Reyes with each and every one of you standing here. So, if any of you are threatened, you will protect yourself and your fellow troopers. Let me handle any blowback.

“Do you have that?”

“Hoey, hoey,” louder and with more feeling, filled the room.

“I don’t have to tell you the importance of this mission. The counsel general told me that, face-to-face the day before we left. He told me he has the utmost confidence in Second of the Second to prove that the Congress of Humanity can deal with conflicts so that nations do not have to mobilize their forces for war.

“We’ve lost too many of us since the start of the war. It is simply obscene to even contemplate humans fighting humans now. And that is why what we’re doing is so important. And why each and every one of you has this huge responsibility on your shoulders. What you do, from me down to our junior trooper, can make a difference. One mistake by one trooper can set us back and on the path to the old days. But at the same time, one smart move, one good decision, can avert a terrible situation.

“And that’s why I am confident that we will accomplish our mission. You are the best of the best. You are the Second of the Second. Hoey, hoey!”

Rev joined the rest in a full-throated response. They were the best of the best. They would succeed.

19

<How many apples grow on a tree?>

Rev stared ahead across the plaza, his face like stone—he hoped it was, at least. He was getting better at figuring out the punchline before being told. Over the last three and a half hours, he was four for seven. This one even sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite figure it out.

Bushel . . . basket . . . orchard . . .

Only two days after landing, the mission had already lost its allure. As negotiations became more intense, Fox Company became a prop, much as the IBHU Marines and MDS karnans had been on Cat Scratch. But instead of just six troopers supporting Assistant Vice-Counsel Borgia, it was the entire company acting like the Praetorian Guard—First Battalion, First Brigade—on Titan.

Rev had never been jealous of Sergeant Tsao being assigned to that battalion, and now he was even more grateful that it was her, not him. Standing post for four hours on a shift was excruciating, and without Punch, he thought he would lose his mind.

He wanted to get this one right. If not, it would be a tie for this shift, and he really wanted a win. But it wasn’t coming.

“A bushel full?” he asked, knowing it wasn’t the answer.

<No.>

His mind was spinning its wheels, leading him nowhere. There wasn’t a time limit to the little game, but Rev knew that if there were one, he was past it.

“Crap. How many apples?”

<They all do.>

What?

It took a few moments before it sunk in, and he couldn’t help but to roll his eyes.

Think outside the box, Reverent. He always does this.

As a military man, Rev knew he couldn’t just assume what he faced or how a battle was progressing. He was so focused on agricultural words that could be used as a pun that he missed the boat.

“Not that funny,” he groused. “Get some better ones for the next shift.”

<According to the Beakerville Primary School’s Third Grade Class, this was the third funniest joke of last week.>

“You’re monitoring my primary school for jokes? That’s not fair.”

Punch didn’t reply, but Rev could imagine his battle buddy chortling in the background.

How am I supposed to compete with that?

Two women in formal suits walking up to the steps paused to stare at Rev, or rather Pashu. “Just like the Eucharans,” one whispered to the other, which Rev’s augmented hearing had no problem picking up.

Rev had been called a Genny, or Genesian before, those soldiers who’d been heavily modified during the Corolla Wars, but never the fully android Eucharans, who’d been essentially machines with organic, wiped brains. The science behind the Eucharans was not up to the concept, and those sad creations hadn’t turned out to be much of a threat to humanity, particularly as the rot quickly decimated their ranks, but the reference was like a slap in the face.

Rev tried to keep his composure, but he wanted to shout out to the two women, to tell them to touch his face, his right arm, his chest, and see if he was flesh and blood. He must not have been very effective in hiding his thoughts because one of them looked at his face, then hurriedly grabbed the other’s upper arm and dragged her off.

“Do people really think we’re like the Euchs?” he asked Punch, instinctively using the talk-table. This wasn’t a question he wanted the watchers to know he had.

<There has been chatter to that effect. More commonly, you, and to a lesser extent, the karnans, are compared to the Genesians.>

Being called a Genny was bad enough. But a Eucharan? He was still human, not a machine.

“I want you to monitor any mention of the Euchs. I need to know if that’s becoming a thing.”

<Will do.>

The foot traffic was getting heavier as more well-dressed people were entering the Dillinger headquarters. It was approaching zero-eight-hundred, so the day shift was coming in. Some passed right by him without a glance, but others’ gazes were drawn to his IBHU.

Are they thinking the same thing? That I’m a freaking android?

He could feel his blood pressure rise.

“I need another joke, but make it good this time.”

<Why did the golfer bring along an extra pair of socks?>

Rev’s mind was suddenly blank. The Eucharan comment had thrown him for a loop, and he couldn’t organize his thought process. A golfer with two pairs of socks?

Oh, great. Now I won’t even have a tie for this watch. Four out of nine, and he wins again. Think, Reverent, think!

He knew he wasn’t presenting the emotionless face that he was supposed to, but at the moment, he was beyond that. What was the major going to do? Ship him back because he had a scowl? What was important now was the joke. And he wasn’t going to be able to answer it.

But it was familiar, somehow. Something that he might have heard back home, from Neesy, or . . .

“In case he gets a hole in one!” he almost shouted, not subvocalizing it, and startling a man walking past.

Thank you, Kat!

Of course, Punch would have known that Kat had asked him that joke a couple of years before. He was there, after all. But he didn’t care. Nine jokes told, five of which he’d gotten. He’d won this silly little contest.

And just like that, his mood had shifted. So, maybe it was a softball, served up for Rev to hit. Maybe Punch was programmed to do that, sensing where his mind was at.

Doesn’t matter. I won.

* * *

“Not that I expect it, but anything happen, Staff Sergeant?” Randigold asked as she prepared to relieve him.

Rev was about to tell her about the Eucharan comment but bit his tongue. It would just upset her, and she was known to hold a grudge. She still wasn’t talking to Tomiko except for in the line of duty.

“Nothing much. Lots of people going in, lots coming out.”

“Well, I hope they focus on what’s going on. Word came down that there was a scuffle at Briarton.”

“Really? What happened,” Rev asked.

“Don’t know the details, but Echo Company had to react to break up a fight.”

“We know who it was?” Rev asked, hoping it wasn’t Dillinger.

He was supposed to remain neutral, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t hope. Briarton was the main processing and manufacturing facility for Green Life, so it was reasonable to think it might be them.

“Both. Some Dillinger folks were out in front peacefully protesting, and Green Life thugs decided to attack them.”

If he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t so sure that the Dillinger workers were “peacefully” protesting, and Randigold’s description of the other side as “thugs” was certainly slanted, but Randigold bled Union gold, so it wasn’t surprising.

“Anybody hurt?”

“Don’t know. We had to leave to come on duty.”

“You coming, Staff Sergeant?” Lines asked.

He’d been standing post on the other side of the broad steps leading up to the building, one of six entrances. Moving to and from the posts was supposed to be done in pairs.

“I hereby relieve you, Staff Sergeant,” Randigold said.

“I stand relieved.”

He loved those words. Never was there anything so freeing in the military. He left Randigold to the post and joined Sergeant Lines. They weren’t really marching, but they naturally fell in step as they walked abreast to the temporary gate that had been emplaced in the resort’s fence. Two minutes after leaving, they were in the cocoon of their resort. The pond was still, with only the V-shaped ripples from the swans disturbing the glass-like appearance.

“Think they’ve started real chow?” Lines asked as they relaxed their posture.

Anderle Silver Resort and Spa was a five-star resort, but the CoH was not going to have them prepare meals for the troopers. Meals were D-rats, given out in the main banquet hall. Where a team of chefs served meals that were art, troopers now sat in filigree chairs and stone-topped tables to eat Rotted Dicks.

A rumor had started that the chefs were coming back to prepare the meals for Fox and the battalion CP, but Rev had been around long enough to know that there were only two chances of that happening: nada and zilch.

“The CoH isn’t going to spend the money. This already has to cost them more than they want.”

“Not our fault that not everyone is paying their dues.”

Including your own Nowhere, Rev thought, but he kept that unspoken.

With the devastation of the war, the economy in many sectors and on many planets had suffered. Sure, there were the megabarons and certain corporations whose wealth had skyrocketed, but for others, the war had crushed them. As a result, not every planet or association had been paying their dues. Nowhere, Sergeant Lines’s home, was just one of many who probably wouldn’t be able to pay for years to come.

“Hey, wait up!”

Rev and Lines stopped and turned. Akkeke and La’ei were hurrying to join them.

“Wow, I wouldn’t want to see those two coming at me from some dark alley,” Lines said.

Rev snorted. Both of them were big, strapping troopers. Akkeke was well over two meters, and La’ei had the broadest shoulders Rev had ever seen, but neither had significant augments. With the Eucharan comment still on his mind, he wasn’t about to admit to anything that would make it sound like they were somehow better—or in this case, more dangerous—than he was. At the moment, he’d take the karnans’ side if the discussion came up.

“Not that I need to ask, but anything happen?”

If there had been something of note, one or the other would have come on the net. Since it had been quiet, their watch must have been quiet, too. But as a SNCO, even not being the squad leader, he guessed it was still his duty to ask.

“Lots of pics,” Akkeke said.

“You had people taking holos of you?” Lines asked.

“Lots of them.”

The two corporals’ post was at the huge front doors, so it made sense that there would be more tourist types than in front of a side entrance to the Dillinger HQ.

“Shit, why weren’t they taking pics of us, Staff Sergeant?”

“Well, and I say this with all due respect, oh sergeant of the Home Guard and me being just a lowly corporal, but look at us and look at you. Who would the young honeys want to take a holo with?”

Both corporals made a show of flexing their biceps.

“Oh, give me a fucking break,” Lines said.

Tsao had told Rev that having tourists take photos with them standing in front of or beside one of the Praetorian Guard was standard fare on Titan. It shouldn’t surprise him that people here might be the same. Hopefully, if there were people who wanted a holo, that meant that they were predisposed to support the CoH’s mission here.

“Just make sure you’re not posing. If they want to snap a holo of you, all well and good. But remember, you’re still on post.”

“Always professional, Staff Sergeant,” Akkeke said.

Rev knew that was most likely true. Akkeke was a squared-away trooper, and he could see why Millsap, which didn’t have a strong military reputation, would send him to the Home Guard.

“Did you hear about Echo?” La’ei asked as the four started walking again.

“What about Echo?” Lines asked.

“I heard, but not much. What did you hear?” Rev asked.

“Manny told me they got into it with the locals. Had to break some heads.”

“No shit? Why do they get all the fun?” Lines asked.

“Nothing more? Just that they got into it.”

“Well, let’s leave it at that, then. I’ll stop at the company CP and see if I can get any more scoop. You three get some chow, then unless Arsenyev’s got anything for us, get some shuteye if you can. We’re back out in eight hours.”

As they circled the pond, the two swans swam up to them, looking for handouts. When none were forthcoming, they turned and paddled away.

20

The “incident” at Briarton was more than a little scuffle. It had been an outright riot, one that had taken the Echo’s entire watch and the reaction force to quell. As with Fox Company, Echo’s troopers stood watch in their field fatigues, flak vests, and helmets. Rioters armed with bats and batons were no match for Home Guard Troopers, but several of the troopers had been injured trying to intervene. It wasn’t until the reaction force had arrived in their combat suits that they were able to restore order.

Three troopers had been badly hurt and were being medevaced to the battalion aid station here in the resort. One rioter had been killed, and eleven more were hurt badly enough to be hospitalized.

“And there isn’t any indication of who killed the civilian?” Bundy asked.

“Not that we know now,” Major Yves said. “Or at least, not that has been released to us. But as you can imagine, tensions are high, and accusations are being flung around with abandon.”

“And how does that affect our watch on duty now? I’ve got twelve troopers standing out there with only their piss pots and vests.”

“I do, too,” Captain Chokra said, almost as if he wanted to make sure he wasn’t forgotten.

“For the moment, nothing is to be changed. But stand by. The CO’s on the hook back to brigade now. We need to be ready for whatever orders he’s given.”

“Ma’am? The reaction force?” First Sergeant Weinstein asked.

The Charlie Watch—Third Squad for First Platoon—was the reaction force, which meant they were restricted to their rooms. Most were probably asleep, watching holovids, or just hanging out.

The major thought about it for a moment, then said, “Get them in their combat suits. If the readiness level goes back down, we can let them out.”

“And the Alpha Watch?” Bundy asked.

“No, not yet. Get them fed and some sleep. But they need to be ready. Any saved rounds?”

None of the company leadership raised a hand.

“OK, then. Let’s get at it. Just be ready. Our mission could change in a minute.”

“First Platoon, outside,” Bundy shouted as the meeting broke up.

“I’m going to make this quick. You heard the commander. We don’t know what’s going on at the top levels, but this kind of thing can spread like wildfire. So, we need to be ready.

“I don’t want rumors running crazy. No conjecture on what happened with Echo. Just short and sweet with what we know for sure happened.

“Sergeant Moba, get your squad in their combat suits. Sergeant Pelletier, make sure First has been fed and have them hit the rack. But be ready. If anything happens and the reaction force is called, then you become the next one in line. Hopefully, it doesn’t come to that, but we’ve got to plan for the worst. Go to it.”

As Rev stood up, Bundy told him, “I’ll brief Tjivyrtzlin, but you’re acting squad leader until he gets back.”

“Got it, sir.”

Rev had been surprised when Bundy had grabbed him for the meeting, but Bob and Gingham were meeting the local police chief to escort him in to see the battalion CO.

“Shouldn’t be much to do. Just make sure everyone’s fed and that they try to get some sleep. Have them take their chow back to the rooms and eat it there.”

“I’ve got it. I know what to do.”

Bundy was a good lieutenant, and he was Rev’s friend, but the man had a habit of getting down into the weeds a bit. He’d been better when he first arrived, but now he was regressing. He had to get back to giving his SNCOs the order, then let them decide how to carry them out.

Turn-about was fair play, though. “You look like shit . . . sir. How much sleep did you get last night?”

Bundy grimaced. “I was up with the major working on some standing orders.”

“So, how much?”

“Maybe two hours.”

“Look, it’s going to take the politicians a while to figure out their right hand from their left. You need to get some sleep, too. If something does come down, you need to be up for it.”

“But, there’s still—”

“Still nothing. Whatever you think it is, it can wait. You can’t be effective if you’re asleep on your feet . . . or you’re amped up on stims. That will work for a while, but believe me, when that reservoir is drained, you won’t be good for anything. Send Arsenyev to do whatever it is. He’s a good trooper, and he’s fully capable of doing the platoon sergeant’s job. I know he’s kinda chomping at the bit if you’ll only let him.”

Bundy looked back at the CP, and Rev could see him weighing his options. Finally, with a rueful grin, he said, “Maybe you’re right. I’ll see if I can’t get a couple of hours in.”

Rev turned to go see to the squad when Bundy said, “Rev.”

“Yes?”

“Thanks. Not just for the sleep thing, but for Arsenyev. You’re right. Since Top Barber, and then SFC Gamay . . .” He trailed off.

But Rev didn’t need him to explain. Going through two platoon sergeants made him feel that he had to put more on his shoulders. Understandable, but the wrong thing to do.

“That’s what a SNCO is for—we’ve got to train our young lieutenants, bring them up right.”

* * *

Rev had figured that it would take at least a full day for the CoH brass to decide whether to shit or get off the pot. But something must have galvanized them, because five hours later, while First Squad was the platoon’s reaction force, their mission came down.

And it was a doozy.

“Is that even legal?” Rev asked Bundy. “What about posse comitatus?”

In the Perseus Union, neither the Marines nor the Navy had the power to arrest civilians. At best, they could detain foreign civilians as they did on Alafia, but then they had to wait until another agency did whatever they were going to do with them.

“Doesn’t pertain to the Home Guard. And even if it did, the planetary chairman has made a formal request for their arrest and has deputized each of us to carry out the mission.”

“We’re deputies now? Cool,” Lines said.

“Don’t let it go to your head. Nothing beyond the scope of the mission,” Bob said before he turned back to the platoon commander.

“Any word on what their security’s gonna do?”

“No. And that’s why we’re doing this. The local police are afraid that they’ll be outgunned if the corporate goons decide they’ll put up a fight. With us there, that may cool their passion.”

“Makes sense,” Rev said. “But we have to remember they’re getting paid to protect their bosses. If they see their paycheck evaporating, they might at least put up a token fight to show they tried. And none of us want to be that token casualty.”

“Good point, Sergeant Pelletier. All of us need to be ready for anything. Situational awareness at all times. Heads on a swivel,” Bundy said.

“Any more questions? No? OK. We move out at fifteen hundred. I want everyone in the lobby at fourteen forty-five, ready to go.”

Bundy left to return to the company CP. SFC Arsenyev waited until he left, then said, “I want every swinging dick formed up and ready to go . . .”

Don’t say it.

“Fourteen thirty, full battle rattle. Squad leaders, you’ve got them,” he said before he hurried after the platoon commander.

Bob pulled First Squad aside, away from Second. With Third on duty at the moment, both First and Second would be on the mission.

“You heard the platoon sergeant. He wants us formed up by fourteen-thirty. You know what that means. I want you all in the lobby, in formation at . . .”

Not you, too.

It was always this way. Each level down the chain subtracted fifteen minutes so the leaders and commanders could inspect each trooper before the next one up the chain did their inspection.

“ . . . just like he said. Fourteen-thirty. I trust each of you can get your gear and make it to the lobby on time.”

You could have knocked Rev over with a feather. Trust your subordinates to be mature, capable troopers? Would wonders never cease?

First Squad, being the reaction force, was already in their combat suits. Put on their helmets, and they would be good to go. Second Squad, who were on their sleep cycle, were already leaving to get ready.

“Hey, Sergeant P,” Gingham said as he came up to Rev. “I don’t quite understand the ROE. When is it that we can use deadly force?”

“Mother willing, we won’t have to. But if you need to protect yourself or someone else, that’s when you can use it.”

“OK, but what if the people won’t come? What if they say fuck you when we tell them they’re under arrest?”

“No! You can’t shoot them for that. Only if they’re attacking you. Or someone else. You got that?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“I think so isn’t good enough, Gingham,” he said, putting his social arm on the PFC’s pauldron. “Do you understand? I don’t care what they tell you. I don’t care if they refuse to come. I don’t care if they run. None of that authorizes deadly force. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, Sergeant. I’ve got it. No shooting.”

I’m going to have to keep my eye on that young boy.

All they needed was for the situation to go to hell with people getting hurt. Rev was going to make sure that his team of four made no mistakes. Hopefully, no one would resist and things would go smoothly.

The problem was, things rarely so went.

* * *

Faces poked out of offices, then quickly disappeared as Rev, Akkeke, La’ei, and Gingham strode down the fifth-floor hallway of Dillinger DL. Rev would have hoped that he would be at the Green Systems headquarters, but the luck of the draw gave First Platoon Dillinger.

Second Squad was on the top floor rounding up the president and several other high-ranking officials. First was on the fifth floor rounding up the rest of those on the list. Rev watched the office numbers as they got closer to their target.

He wasn’t feeling comfortable just walking down the center of the hallway, and it wasn’t because Dillinger was a Union company. The thought of arresting people, citizens who the Home Guard had sworn to defend, rubbed him raw. These weren’t Children of Angels, who saw the Centaurs as heavenly beings sent to raise humans to a new level. These weren’t pirates trying to enslave other humans. These were just people who happened to be working for a company that was in conflict with another.

But the decision had come down that after the riot at Briarton, action had to be taken. And since personnel from both companies had been at fault, both companies would pay the price. An even dozen officers from each were going to be arrested and taken to the civilian jail for processing.

As the major had briefed them, it was likely that all of them would be out before nightfall, but the message will have been sent. There was to be no direct action by either company while the courts dealt with the issue.

Rev was actually surprised that the planetary director asked for CoH intervention. Both companies paid hefty licensing fees, and both hired January Hold citizens. But either the conflict was affecting the planet at large, the director wanted to remind the companies who ran the planet, or the CoH had back-door pressured the director to request the help.

Whatever the reason, the Home Guard was being used as the enforcers. That wasn’t how Rev understood the Home Guard’s mission. But orders were orders, and he was going to do his best to comply with them.

At least the Dillinger security hadn’t intervened. They were not happy when the platoon entered the building, but twenty-six combat-suited troopers and three local cops were more than a match for the four security officers at the front lobby.

Even so, two of them, at least, looked ready to act, but after a hurried call while the troopers patiently waited, the two squads were told to proceed.

“Heads on a swivel, heads on a swivel. Just because these four are standing down doesn’t mean that others are not on their way here,” Bundy had passed on the platoon net.

Perhaps the most surreal thing was waiting in the lobby for the elevators. The decision had been made to use them, so as to make the mission seem as routine as possible and not an attack on the company itself. Each car could only handle four combat-suited troopers. So, the platoon had spread out between the two banks of elevators. There were six people in the first one that opened. The first team of four from Second Squad politely stood aside for the six to get off. But one of the women inside gave a squeak of fright, and the door closed before anyone could stick an arm or a leg inside.

“Don’t wait for them to leave, people. Stop the car, then let them out,” SFC Arsenyev passed.

One by one, teams of four went up to the fifth and sixth floors. In a combat action, or even with a police action, hitting all the offices as quickly and as simultaneously as possible would have been the goal. But no one cared what documents the Dillinger officers might be destroying while they waited their turn to go up. This was a message, nothing more, and not an attempt to build and prosecute a legal case.

Message or not, trying to show that this was routine or not, Bundy was not a fool. He was using only two elevators, making sure that his entire platoon was not isolated in the cars at any one time.

Rev’s team was the last to go up. He gave Tomiko, who was leading the team that was securing the bottom floor at the banks of elevators, a nod as he stepped into the car. It lurched a bit under his weight, and the door closed.

Like a bad joke, the music started the moment the door closed. Rev stood there facing the door as a generic instrumental version of “Lightning and Iron” played. How they made that clash of music sound pleasant was beyond Rev, and Lian Tong, the lead singer for Deth and Ruen, had to be turning over in his grave.

This situation was . . . weird. His warrior must not have been able to make sense of it because he wasn’t stirring, and that had Rev concerned. If things did go bad, he needed to be at the top of this game.

<Quick joke?>

“Not now.”

Rev felt he needed to be more alert, not calmer.

The door opened, and the four piled out. Thirty seconds later, Rev stopped in front of room 508.

“This is it. Act like we belong,” he passed to the other three.

Rev would have liked to enter the office abreast in hopes of cowing the people inside. But not even two of them would fit through the door at the same time.

With Pashu, Rev was the most impressive-looking of the four, so he pushed the door open with his foot and strode four steps inside, where he waited for the other three. The center area consisted of about twenty desks, from which office workers were scrambling away, eyes wide with fear.

Good. Our entrance worked.

There were four offices along the outside wall, and at the end, a rather large office. If he was inside, that was Rev’s target: Cletus McCove, the VP for personnel.

“Everyone in this room. I am Staff Sergeant Pelletier of the Congress of Humanity’s Home Guard. We are here at the request of Director Tanya Humphrey. If you can all take a seat along that wall, we can complete our mission and leave. “

No one moved.

Rev tried to put a little more menace into his voice. “No one will get hurt if you cooperate, but we will use force if we have to.”

He motioned to the other three, and as they moved forward, there was a mad rush of people running to the wall and sitting down.

“La’ei, Akkeke, gather Ms. Rand. I think that’s her in the blue top sitting by the coffee machine. Gingham, let’s go get Cletus.”

With Pashu at the half-ready—not actually aiming her at anyone but with her clearly ready to deploy—Rev led Gingham down along the line of offices to the end and opened the door.

A young man, his face as white as a ghost’s, was standing behind the desk in the small reception room. Rev didn’t need Punch’s facial recognition to know this wasn’t their target.

“Where is Mr. McCove?”

The man raised a trembling hand and pointed to the office behind him.

“If you’ll step away from the desk and join the others out there, I would appreciate it.”

The kid needed no further encouragement. He bolted out into the main space.

“Kid?” Hell, he’s probably my age.

He just seemed younger.

Rev pushed open the door into the main office.

Dillinger must be doing pretty well on this planet, Rev told himself as he took in the spacious, well-appointed office with a view of the Anderle Silver Spa and Resort’s garden and the mountains beyond.

But he wasn’t here to gawk at the digs. He was focused on the middle-aged man sitting behind a massive black desk. The man looked calm as Rev stepped in front of him. Only the line of sweat forming on his brow was any indication that it was a front.

“Cletus McCove?”

“Yes.”

“I am Staff Sergeant Pelletier from the Congress of Humanity’s Home Guard. I am here to inform you that you are under arrest.”

The man snorted. “So, that’s your game,” he said almost under his breath. Then, “Under whose authority?”

“Director Humphrey’s.”

He snorted again, this time louder. “Humphrey? After all the campaign contributions we’ve given her? Stupid, stupid woman. What are the charges?”

“Fomenting violence. Code four-oh-four-point-two.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

“I need to know if you will come willingly with us. If you won’t we will be forced to restrain you.”

Gingham took his cue and stepped forward, removing a set of zipties from his harness.

“Really? You’d do that? You know, as soon as you stepped onto the grounds, our lawyers were already working this. We won’t even be out of the building when you’ll get orders to quit this bullshit. Dillinger’s got friends in high places, and they’ll make sure heads will roll, and that includes you, Sergeant. Is your career really worth playing this little game?”

“Mr. McCove, will you come willingly, or will we have to restrain you?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“PFC Gingham, if you will restrain Mr. McCove.”

The VP flinched as Gingham started forward, but he held firm. At least, until Gingham reached out to grab his arm.

McCove jumped back and almost screamed, “OK, OK, I’ll come.”

Gingham looked back at Rev, who gave a short nod.

“If you’ll come with us, then?” Rev asked, holding out Pashu to indicate the way.

It was only then that the man seemed to really notice Rev’s IBHU, as hard as that was for Rev to believe. It wasn’t as if Pashu was understated.

“You’re Union, aren’t you?”

Rev didn’t reply.

“And your voice. You sound like a provincial.”

Rev could hear the familiar dismissiveness in the man’s voice, and for a moment, he was tempted to let Gingham ziptie him.

“Where you from? Liberty Station?”

Rev was going to ignore him, but for reasons he didn’t understand, he said, “Safe Harbor.”

“Safe Harbor? Hell, I spent five years with the company there. At Surrey Town. So, let me ask you this, what the fuck are you doing? You know, we’re Union, right?”

“I know.”

“You know? Then why are you doing this? Are you a traitor? I can’t believe a Marine, even a provincial, is going to fight his own people.”

Rev was feeling bad about just that, but the man’s derision as he said “provincial” just hardened his will.

“I’m following my orders as my oath to the Home Guard requires me to. And yes, I’m fucking pissed about this. But if you weren’t breaking the law, I wouldn’t be forced to do this,” he said, leaning into the man who wilted under the force of Rev’s anger. “So, give me more shit, why don’t you? Please. Give me an excuse, any excuse, and you’ll be carried out on your back.”

Rev’s warrior had clawed his way to the surface. To be questioned about being a traitor dug at Rev’s own doubts about the mission, and that wasn’t something he was going to take.

“Drag his ass out,” he told Gingham. He left the office and headed back out into the main space. La’ei and Akkeke had the blue-topped women between them, each one on an arm. She was trembling, her eyes downcast.

Rev didn’t say a word as he marched out of 508 and down the hall toward the elevators, the others trailing behind.

Lines and his team were already waiting with their target.

“Good hunting?” the sergeant asked.

“We got them,” Rev said, still steaming.

The first elevator was full, and they had to wait for the second elevator for Lines and his team to get in. Rev just stood there, ignoring their prisoners.

Evidently, McCove was getting a little bit of his gumption back. “You’re all going to burn, you know. All of you.”

Rev didn’t deign to reply.

“I’m going to be free in time for dinner, and you, you’re going to see what it’s like behind bars.”

Rev just watched the numbers as one of the elevators started back up.

“I’m talking to you, traitor!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Gingham shouted, and McCove gave a squeak.

Rev didn’t know what the PFC had done, and he wasn’t going to look. The elevator opened, and Rev realized that all six of them couldn’t fit inside. No one had thought this through.

“Gingham, I’ve got him. You wait for the next one.”

McCove was bent slightly to the left, his left arm pressing against his ribs. Rev was tempted to pull the man by the left arm, but he just indicated that he step inside. Even with only the three troopers, it was still a tight fit with the two prisoners.

The door opened on the ground floor to a different situation. At least thirty people were in the lobby, shouting at the troopers, demanding that their people be released. Four troopers from Third Platoon had joined Tomiko’s team, and along with three from Second Squad, had formed a wall, keeping the people at bay.

Notedly, Rev could count at least a dozen more security personnel who had arrived, and they were openly talking together, pointing toward where the first two prisoners were sitting, backs against the wall.

Outside, a large paddy wagon was waiting. The crowd was ignoring it for now, but the moment the platoon started to move the prisoners out, Rev knew that would change.

“Rev, good to see you. Things are heating up,” Tomiko said. “Can you get your two corporals to help hold them back?”

“Sit your ass down and don’t make a sound,” Rev told McCove and Rand.

Rand immediately complied, but McCove, his confidence returning, said, “Looks like people might not like what you’re doing.”

“Sit him down,” Rev told Akkeke, who shoved the man down by the shoulder.

He told Akkeke and La’ei to join the others in holding the crowd back.

“This is getting wild,” Tomiko said. “We need to get the prisoners out of here sooner rather than later.”

One of the elevator doors opened, and three troopers from Second Squad and two more prisoners stepped out. More people were arriving, though, coming in from outside and joining the crowd. The shouting was getting louder.

Rev motioned for the prisoners to be deposited with the others and for the troopers to reinforce the line.

“Did you tell Bundy what’s going on?”

“Yeah. He’s asking for more help from the watch, and he’ll be down soon.”

Rev’s warrior was in full form. If he’d been concerned that he might not get up for the mission, that had long faded. He was ready for anything, but what could he do? Shouting at them wasn’t a reason to take any action. But he knew something else was afoot, just not what. Unfortunately, he had to wait for it to happen before he could react.

“Power up beamer and set at one percent.”

<Roger. Beamer green and at one percent.>

This wasn’t a combat mission, and his meson cannon had been powered down. But the situation was changing. At one percent, his beamer could still kill an unarmored person, but a quick sweep might not be lethal. It wouldn’t be a lover’s caress, but the target might still be breathing.

The elevator doors opened, and Bundy rushed out with Acevedo, Millsap, and a harried-looking woman. Rev felt part of the weight lift off his shoulders as the lieutenant was here to take charge.

“Oh, shit. You’ve got the CEO. Now, you’re really going to burn, traitor. She’s Senator Twillsong’s niece.”

Rev didn’t have a clue as to who the senator was, nor did he care. But he bristled at the “traitor,” and he had to restrain from backhanding McCove with his IBHU.

“She’ll tell Dr. Peng to close our damn facility at Surrey. Huh, more than a thousand jobs lost. What’s your prime minister going to think about that, that one of his Marines pissed them away?”

McCove was really getting on Rev’s nerves. He needed to ignore the man and focus on the situation. He turned to see Tomiko briefing Bundy on what was going on.

Don’t watch them. Watch the bad guys, Reverent!

He took a position halfway between the prisoners and the wall of troopers. Several of the blue-jacketed security officers had moved to the front of the line, eyes locked on the prisoners. Rev shifted to his right so he was directly in front of them. One of them was repeatedly flicking two fingers on his hand as if signaling someone.

Rev went into full combat mode. He spun around, Pashu raised as he scanned for anyone coming up from the rear. He realized that he hadn’t checked the security desk itself. If Tomiko hadn’t, it was big enough to hide one, maybe two security officers.

“Hey, traitor, you’re not getting out of here. Our people are going to tear you into little pieces,” McCove called out.

Rev forced the man from his thoughts. He put up a wall between them to get the man out of his consciousness.

But the wall wasn’t perfect, and there was a slight scuffing sound from where the prisoners were seated. Rev’s attention was on the desk, but something made him look . . . as McCove was on his feet, sprinting to the security officers.

He’d been played, he realized in an instant. McCove had kept at him to get him to tune the VP out. Immediately and instinctively, he aimed Pashu, ready to take the man out. But a shot at him would hit the crowd.

“Stop him!” he yelled over the platoon net. Several of the troopers manning the line raised their weapons, searching the crowd. “No, behind you!”

The two Third Squad troopers turned, but it was too late. McCove was between them and diving through the opening the security officers had created. They immediately closed it off.

McCove had been right in one thing. He’d probably be out in time for dinner with his family. So, what did it really matter in the long run if he evaded the sweep?

But it did matter, at least to Rev. He had a mission, and while he delivered McCove to Tomiko, it wouldn’t be a success unless the guy spent time behind bars, even if only for five minutes.

Rev was already moving, gaining speed and momentum. The security officers, to their credit, closed ranks when they saw him coming. But there wasn’t any way Rev was going to let them stop him. He held Pashu in front of him like a battering ram, cut between the two troopers, and slammed into the four officers. Together, they out-massed him and had more strength. But they didn’t have Rev’s will. Pashu caught the nearest officer under the chin, and he went down hard. The other three had taken a step back. Big mistake. They should have pressed forward instead. But giving ground played into Rev’s hands. They went down, unable to get away with the press of people behind them.

That press stopped Rev’s advance as well. Instead of barreling through, he used Pashu to shove through the screaming, terrified people to the side, slowly making his way through the mass of humanity while searching for McCove.

The people parted like the Red Sea, scrambling to get out of the way of this vision of terror, and Rev made use of it. He broke through and out the door. McCove wasn’t in sight.

Maybe he’s still inside.

Rev’s hunting blood was coursing through his veins, and he started to turn back to search, but his rational self said that if McCove was still inside, he’d be caught. He had to check out here.

Where would I go?

To the left was the resort’s garden. The people knew the troopers were berthed there. To the right was the rest of the industrial park, and beyond that was a residential area.

“Rev, what the hell are you doing?” Bundy yelled over the P2P.

“Going hunting.”

“Get your ass back here.”

“Just give me a sec,” he said, cutting the connection.

Rev took off running to the right. And as he rounded the corner of the building, he caught a very brief glimpse of a body disappearing behind a wall. He never saw a face, but the few other people were running toward Dillinger, not away.

Got you.

Rev started running, his augmented legs eating up the ground. People stopped to yell at him, but he didn’t listen to what they were saying. His universe was centered on one man.

Rev rounded the edge of the wall, which ran along the main road. A hundred meters away, McCove was bent over, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

He broke into a run and yelled, “McCove, you are under arrest.”

The VP looked up in horror, and he started running again.

“You’re only delaying the inevitable!”

Rev quickly closed the distance. McCove had no hope . . . until suddenly, he seemed to go through the wall.

What the . . . ?

It took only seconds for Rev to reach the spot, which was actually the end of one wall and the start of another. But there was a narrow gap between the two. Too narrow for Rev. It probably would have been too narrow for him even before he was a Marine.

Shit!

He took two steps back and looked up, giving Punch good angles.

“How high?”

<Five meters.>

That was high, even for an augmented Marine. But Rev wasn’t going to give up. He couldn’t give up.

He backed into the street, a hover swerving around him as the autopilot beeped its horn.

Mother give me strength.

Before he could second guess himself, he sprinted forward, launching up from the edge of the sidewalk. He hit with his right foot forward, then pushed up with all the strength in his leg. That gave him height, but it pushed him away from the wall. He flailed with Pashu, just touching the top, but as amazing as Pashu was, she didn’t have great gripping ability. A small chunk of the wall broke free, but his IBHU bounced off. At the last instant, his right hand closed on the edge of the wall. That brought his body swinging back to slam into it, and he almost lost his grip.

He wasn’t going to be able to hold on. His organic arm was augmented and strong, but with his combat suit, he massed over three hundred kilos, and he was holding onto flat cerrocrete. The smart thing to do would be to let go, return to Dillinger, and get others to help find the bastard.

But Rev rarely did the smart thing.

Carefully, so as not to knock his trembling fingers free, he raised Pashu and tried to hook her over the edge of the wall. There was nothing solid that he could grab, but the IBHU was able to take a small percentage of his weight.

His forearm was beginning to cramp under the strain, so in a last-ditch effort, Rev pulled up with both arms. He didn’t get far, and with a wild reach, he somehow got his hand over to the edge on the back side of the wall.

He hung there breathing hard for a moment, but with his hand anchored, he knew he’d get over. It still wasn’t easy, and Pashu was an impediment rather than a help, but by kicking and pulling, Rev managed to get over the wall and crashed onto the ground on the other side.

He crouched there, lungs bellowing, as he peered through the trees, hoping to spot his prey. Rev didn’t know where exactly he was. It might be still on Dillinger grounds, which meant for McCove to get away, he had to go back to the headquarters.

Or, there could be nothing in front of him, and McCove was already long gone.

Rev got to his feet and started making his way forward. And there he was, standing between two trees, his face filthy except where tears had streaked his cheeks clean. He held a branch off to the side.

“Leave me the fuck alone, you traitor! Go find a Mezzie to chase!” he screamed in frustration.

Rev didn’t say a word as he slowly closed the distance.

McCove raised the branch high. “Don’t think I won’t brain you with this. I will, I swear. And your Genny arm won’t help you.” His voice was cracking in fear, but he didn’t back down.

“Cletus McCove, you are under arrest.”

The fear gave way to anger. “You are a traitor to your people. War is coming, and you’ve shown your true colors, Staff Sergeant Pelletier from Safe Harbor. You’re a traitor, and you’ve damned your family, too. Oh, yeah. I’ll find them. And they’ll pay.”

Anger burned through him like lava. Threaten his family? He raised Pashu. It would be so easy to burn the man where he stood. Bump the power, and all that would be left would be scattered ashes. And by the ROE, he had the authority to do it. The man was threatening him with a weapon.

True, Rev was in his combat suit, so he wasn’t in any real danger. But from a legal standpoint, he was in the clear.

He aimed Pashu right at McCove’s chest.

It would be so easy to remove this piece of shit from the gene pool. The Union doesn’t need garbage like this.

But . . . legal or not, Rev wasn’t in danger. And he’d sworn an oath to protect both Union citizens, and now all of humanity—even assholes like this.

“Cletus McCove, you are under arrest,” he repeated, closing the last few meters.

McCove swung the branch, his face twisted in hatred. Rev blocked it with Pashu, then flung it to the ground. With his right hand, he grabbed McCove by the throat and lifted him off the ground.

The VP screamed and swung his right fist, hitting Rev in the head. It was an exercise in futility. A bare hand against a PAL-5 helmet was no match. Rev thought he heard bones break above the screams.

He flung McCove over his left shoulder, locked him in place with Pashu, and headed back in the general direction of the headquarters. McCove fought for a full minute before going limp, either in resignation or because he passed out. A few minutes later, Rev emerged into the campus, guided by the shouts of the protestors. Prisoners were being loaded onto the bus, which was surrounded by almost the entire platoon.

Rev marched up to the door and deposited the VP onto the steps. “Cletus McCove,” he told the civilian officer.

“What the hell, Rev. Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you,” Bundy said as he ran up to him.

“Uh, sorry about that. I had to corral him.”

“I was about to raise the major and tell her you might be in trouble.”

Rev’s feeling of victory took a hit as it sunk in what he’d done. He’d left his unit in a hostile environment, all for his pride. Because that was what it was. McCove had pissed him off, pure and simple, and he wanted to get back on him. Once again, just like in the gym with Kvat, his stupid pride had gotten in the way.

“I’m sorry. I was still on the campus here, and I didn’t realize I’d gotten so far from you.”

That was more than a white lie. The sidewalk alongside the road might be Dillinger property, but he’d backed up into the road for the running start to scale it. He’d known, however, how far away he’d been from the rest.

“Geez, Rev. What do I always say?”

“Situational awareness.”

“Right.” He slapped Rev alongside his helmet. “I don’t want to have to write your mother to tell her that you didn’t make it because you didn’t realize how far you’d gotten. Capisce?”

“Yeah, capisce. It won’t happen again.”

“Make sure of that.”

Bundy was pissed, no doubt about that. And he was right. Rev knew he was a good Marine, a good trooper. But it only took one mistake, and he’d be taken out. His stupid pride might be the death of him sometime if he didn’t learn to control it.

He turned to the bus, where several prisoners were lifting McCove’s limp body to drag him farther back.

Yeah. Traitor my ass.

He was embarrassed that he’d done something stupid, but at the same time, he felt great that McCove would get his day—or hours—in jail along with the rest.

And, to be honest, even with Bundy chewing his ass, if he had to do it again, he couldn’t say with certainty that he wouldn’t do the same thing once more.

21

“So, what the hell were you doing today?” Tomiko asked as she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her.

“Being stupid,” Bob answered for Rev.

She pulled up one of the room’s two chairs, turned it around, and sat, her arms over the back of the chair, her legs straddling it.

“I just talked to Bundy. He’s pissed.”

“He should have known I’d be OK,” Rev said.

“That’s not why he’s mad. He knew you would be OK. Who on this planet’s gonna mess up an IBHU Marine? And Crocker told him he saw you chasing someone out by the street, so he had an idea of what you were doing.

“No, he was pissed because you put him in a bad position. He should have reported you as missing, but he held back. And he gave you an order to stop.”

“And I told him I needed a sec. Needs of the mission,” Rev said. But that wasn’t a valid excuse, he knew.

“How bad is it?” he asked.

“He’ll get over it. He’s Bundy. But you might want to apologize later.”

Rev nodded. He did owe it to the man.

Tomiko leaned over the back of the chair closer, her eyes alight. “So, with that out of the way, what happened? Did you really break that guy’s arm?”

“No.”

“That’s not what I heard. The battalion already has a complaint from him, and he evidently does have a broken arm. Hand. Something. You’re saying you didn’t do it? Not that I blame you, of course, if you did.”

“If he’s got anything broken, he did it. He tried to hit me in the head with his hand, but my helmet got in the way.”

Tomiko broke out laughing and said, “What a dumb shit.”

“You didn’t tell me that,” Bob said.

“We just got back. I told the major what happened, and she said I did nothing wrong. So, I’m not going to worry about it. Plus, the guy came at me with a tree branch. And he said he’s coming after my family back home.”

“How does he know where you live?” Tomiko asked.

“Well, I kinda told him I was from Safe Harbor.”

“You what?” she asked, her mouth open in shock.

“Well, he worked for five years in Surrey Town. And it just slipped out.”

Bob shook his head in disbelief. “Did you tell the major that?”

Rev nodded.

“Good. At least it will be on the record. And we should level charges. Keep the asshole in jail longer.”

Not a bad idea. Maybe I’ll ask later if that’s even possible.

But there was something else weighing on his mind. He’d planned on tracking down Tomiko later, but she’d come to him. Rev gave Bob a look, then shifted to Tomiko. He’d rather talk to her alone about this, but Bob was a friend, too.

“He called me a traitor. He kept going on and on about it, about how Dillinger is a Union company and all.”

“He’s full of shit, Rev. We fought—you fought—during the invasion to throw off the Centaurs. Is that what a traitor does?”

“No. But, what if it had gotten worse. What if I killed him? We made an oath, you and me, back at our induction, to protect Union citizens. Not kill them.”

He didn’t mention how close he’d come to wasting McCove. And now, he was glad he didn’t have that weighing on his conscience. But try as he might, he couldn’t get the man’s accusations out of his head.

Tomiko sighed, then said, “Look, when you got arrested for that traffic thing that got you conscripted, was that cop a traitor?”

“No, because it was a secbot. Not a cop.”

Tomiko raised her eyebrows in surprise. “A secbot? No shit? you never told me that.”

“Sure, I did.”

“No, you most certainly did not. That is something I would have remembered.”

“What’s a secbot?” Bob asked.

“It’s a traffic control bot. Looks like a floating toilet plunger. They mostly control parking, inspection violations, and maybe like, uh, running a stop sign.”

“Oh, we call them mother’s eyes. But ours are boxes, not toilet plungers.”

“All this time, I thought you’d been reckless driving, or maybe DUI. So, what did you do?”

“It’s not important. That was a long time ago.”

“Rev?” she said, drawing out his name.

“OK! Geez! I was driving on manual in an autonomous driving zone.”

“The big, bad Reverent Pelletier, killer of Centaurs, you got nabbed for driving on manual? That’s precious.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. I wasn’t some hacker like you. So, what’s your point?”

This conversation was getting away from him, and he didn’t like that.

“OK, sorry. It’s just that it’s kinda funny, you know. But forget that. Let’s up the ante. If a cop responds to a kidnapping. A little boy is snatched on the street. And a cop, a human cop, responds and kills the kidnapper while rescuing the boy. Is she a traitor?”

“Well, no. She’s a cop. Sometimes they have to do that.”

“Even if the kidnapper is a Union citizen,” Bob asked.

“Well, yeah. Even if . . . oh!”

“Yeah, oh is right,” Tomiko said. “It doesn’t matter if the guy was Union or not. Dillinger and Green Systems both instigated the violence at Briarton, and someone was killed. The arrest warrants were issued. And in this case, all we were was cops. So, screw this traitor crap in the ass. If anyone was a traitor, it was them. All of them. With the political situation now, this kind of petty gamesmanship not only got someone killed, but it could escalate in dragging the Union into a stupid war. That’s being a traitor, in my book.”

“She’s right,” Bob said. “You were just doing your job, with your government’s backing, I might add.”

From an intellectual standpoint, Rev had known that. He was a dyed-in-the-wool, true-blue Union citizen. He knew he wasn’t a traitor. But he’d been called one before, by the D-4, of all organizations, after the incident on the asteroid. So, maybe he was a little sensitive about it. And maybe all he needed was a little social affirmation.

“You’re both right. Sorry.”

“Come here, big guy,” Tomiko said, spreading her arms. “Really, come here,” she repeated with a little more force when he didn’t move.

With a sigh, he stood and moved to her. Still sitting backward in the chair, she reached up, grabbed the front of his shirt, and pulled him into a hug. “It’s OK, baby. Momma fix.”

Rev started to pull back, but she was holding him tight. He gave up and stood over her, awkwardly bent at the waist, and let her hug him.

And surprisingly, that made him feel a lot better.

* * *

McCove had been right about one thing. While he might not have been home for dinner, every person arrested from both sides had been released under their own recognizance before nightfall.

The two companies even banded forces, issuing a stinging rebuke the next day, charging the Home Guard and the planetary government violated their civil rights.

“At least we got them working together,” Rev said as SFC Arsenyev briefed the platoon.

The charges might not even stick as they went through the legal system, but the message sure did. The CoH, with the support of the January Hold government, was not going to accept anything less than total compliance to the preliminary injunctions while the two companies’ grievances went through the CoH court system.

For the most part, both sides complied, and for the next two months, Rev and the rest of the troopers spent four hours on, eight off, of standing post, which when done for long periods of time threw off their circadian rhythms.

Rev was personally thanked, usually several times a watch, for being there. Sometimes, however, he was yelled at, and once, he was spat upon by people not so grateful for the battalion’s presence.

A week after the arrests, McCove walked up to Rev, his right hand in a wrap-cast. He positioned himself right in front of Rev, who refused to meet his eyes.

“I still know where your mother and father live. Your sisters, too. Neesy and Kat, that’s their names, right?” McCove said matter-of-factly.

Rev’s warrior tried to surge to the surface at the implied threat to his parents and sisters, and it took an extreme effort of will to keep from tearing the man’s head from his body. But he knew that was exactly what McCove wanted. Maybe not to lose his head, but he wanted a reaction. He wanted Rev to do something, even say something.

When Rev stood silent, McCove laughed and brushed by Rev as he headed up the stairs. “Think on that, traitor.”

Rev didn’t think the man was serious, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. He reported that to Bundy, who sent it up the chain.

Other than that, the rest of their time on January Hold was rather boring. When off duty, they ate, slept, did maintenance, and made a dent in the resort’s streaming library. Rev sparred with Punch telling jokes. When they couldn’t agree on whose was better, Tomiko or Bob became the judges. But if Rev listened to her, they were both getting worse as time went on.

The only good thing, from Rev’s point of view, was that he was getting much better with the talk-table. He barely even thought about it as such, it had become so second nature to him. Much of the time he spent on post like some statue on display was discussing with Punch ways to confirm he was being monitored and by whom.

Seventy-two days after the battalion arrived, the courts rendered their verdict in favor of Green Systems. The troopers had been on alert for trouble, but Dillinger accepted the verdict. And they must have expected it. The next day, they announced that they had sold their rights on January Hold to another corporation.

Three days later, a very happy battalion left their five-star digs to return to their far less comfortable rooms on Enceladus.

22

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m glad I’m back to my crypt,” Rev said as he tossed his seabag into his cell.

“I can believe it,” Bob said. “I’m really glad. I can finally get some sleep.”

“What do you mean? The one thing the Anderle had was good beds.”

“It wasn’t the beds. It was you. You snore.”

“I do not!”

Bob tilted his head back and made an exaggerated snoring sound.

“Eat me. I don’t snore.”

“Do I snore?” Rev asked Punch.

<Yes.>

That was all. “Yes.”

“Way to back me up, buddy.”

“I didn’t expect the brigade commander to meet us when we landed,” Rev said to change the subject.

“Why not?” SFC Arsenyev asked. “It was a successful mission.”

Dog San Martin was sitting on one of the couches, and he turned and said, “It was a whole lot of nothing. No combat. We just played cops that one time.”

“Which means it was a success,” the acting platoon sergeant said. “And after us and all the others having missions canc’d, I think the command was just happy to have a success under their belts.”

“Still, it was boring as hell,” Dog said, to which Rev readily agreed.

“Boring is good. We’re not in the business of fighting fellow humans if we can help it.”

To which Rev also agreed. But he still thought the mission had been something they’d had to slog through while always having to consider their appearance and public face. Four hours out of every twelve, they were standing tall in front of the public, afraid that an ill-timed fart would make the local news. At least back here at Camp Reyes, they could go out without worrying that they were going to give the wrong impression.

And they could drink. The entire operation had been dry. For some of his fellow troopers, like San Martin, that had been difficult. Hell, there were many times where Rev wouldn’t have minded a cold one.

Speaking of which . . .

“We going out to the White Wombat?” he asked.

“Reveille’s at zero-five-thirty,” Arsenyev reminded them.

“No problem, Sergeant A,” San Martin said. “I’m in.”

“How come we don’t have a VGW on Encelasucks?” Rice asked.

Rev had wondered about that before. The Veterans of Galactic Wars had national chapters in a good portion of humanity, and a VGW membership in the Union, for example, technically made you an honorary member of any other nation’s VGW. It might be a little awkward when nations were at war, but this was the Home Guard, where the symbolism would be pertinent.

“They’ve got the central office on Titan,” Bob said.

“I can’t drink at an office. I mean I want a post where we can hang out.”

“Well, we don’t, so the Wombat’s gonna have to do,” San Martin said. “You in?”

“Of course, I’m in,” Rice said. “I was just asking.

“Where’s Miko?” Rev asked. Second Platoon left the spaceport before we did.

“She said she had to make a call. We gonna wait for her?”

Rev was about to say yes, but Bob beat him to the punch. “Since she’d cut off our balls if we didn’t, yeah, we wait.” He raised his voice to make sure everyone heard him. “Anyone coming with us to the Wombat, get ready. We leave right after Miko gets back.”

Uniforms were authorized for local liberty, but Rev about had enough of them, so as long as he had the time, he was going to fix that. He rushed to the showers, then dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He needn’t have rushed, though. Tomiko hadn’t returned by the time he was ready.

“Did she say who she was calling?” he asked San Martin.

“Nah. Just said she was calling home.”

Tomiko was estranged from what little family she had, so it wouldn’t be them. Which reminded Rev that he should call home, and he felt a little guilty that his first thought upon getting back was the Wombat and not his family.

I’ll call them tomorrow.

There were twenty-two SNCOs in their berthing space—twenty-three if you counted SFC Gamay, who was still technically with the platoon. Of those, fully eight were cooling their jets waiting for Tomiko, including Arsenyev.

He was in a slightly awkward spot from a social aspect. The berthing space was for staff sergeants and sergeants first class. As a sergeant first class, he would normally be a squad leader, a peer with the other SFCs. But because MSGT Barber hadn’t been replaced yet, he was acting platoon sergeant, so he was a step above the others in the chain of command. On the one hand, he had to remind the others in First Platoon that reveille was coming at the normal time despite them just getting back. On the other hand, he wanted to hang out with his friends.

Rev didn’t mind the platoon sergeant coming, but he didn’t want to have to watch how much he might decide to drink. They’d been under the spotlight too much lately.

Toshi joined them, making it nine. There was an unspoken rule that the brown and green couches were for the staff sergeants, the blue couch was for sergeants first class. With only Arsenyev and Moba sitting on the blue at the moment, there was room there, but Toshi scrunched down between Rev and Dog.

“Hey,” Rev said.

“Hey.”

That was it. “Hey.”

There was an uncomfortable vibe between Toshi and his two Union friends. No adversarial words were exchanged, and they’d greeted each other and the like, but where before the five of them—Rice, Bob, Toshi, Tomiko, and Rev—had been tight, almost like the posse back on Safe Harbor, now it was as if a curtain had been drawn between the three.

And it was stupid. Just because Dillinger was a Union company and Green Life Systems was Mezame didn’t mean that anything should change between them. But it had. Rev and Tomiko had discussed this, and they wanted to get back to the way it was, but they weren’t sure how. And from conversations with Rice, she said Toshi felt the same way.

So why is this so hard?

“Finally, the queen returns,” Dog said. “We’re heading to White Wombat. If you want to change, do it now, because there’s a pint of stout with my name on it.”

“’Bout time, Mi—” Rev started to say as he turned around to see her, but the look on her face stopped him dead. “What’s wrong?”

Tomiko’s face was pale, her eyes wide and teary. Something wasn’t right. She motioned for Rev.

A sense of foreboding swept over him as he stood and made his way to where she was standing at the entrance to the space.

“Hey, what’s happening? Are we still going?” Dog asked, only to be shushed by someone.

“Who were you calling? What did they say to you?”

She took his hands in hers. “Yancey. I had a message to call him.”

“Yancey? Is he OK? What’s wrong?”

“He’s OK. It isn’t him.”

Crap. Who is it, then?

“Cali. Cali Hu.”

Rev felt relief take over, and he felt guilty about that. He had nothing against Cali. They’d gone through recruit training together, and they’d been on good terms. But she wasn’t part of the posse.

But she and Tomiko were good friends, even after Cali was medically discharged from the Corps. She’d had an early onset of the rot and faced a lifetime of treatment to stay ahead of it.

“I’m so sorry, Miko. I know you two were close. What happened? Is she going to be OK?” he asked, hoping whatever it was, it wasn’t too serious.

“She’s dead.”

Ah, shit, Miko. I was afraid you were going to say that.

“What happened? Was she in an accident?”

Tomiko squeezed his hands as her eyes bored into his. “No. No accident. It was the rot.”

The words didn’t register at first. The rot? Impossible. The rot would kill you, sure. But it took twenty, even thirty years before it overwhelmed the treatments. Cali had been diagnosed only four years ago.

“No. It can’t be. Are you sure?”

“Yancey said it was confirmed.”

“Maybe he was joking,” Rev said, grasping for straws. “He’s always been a smart ass.”

“No. It’s true. There’s talk about all of us getting tested again. You know, all of us who got our augments at the same time.”

“Hey, are we going?” Dog asked.

Rev turned around. Eight faces were looking at them with varying degrees of impatience or concern.

“You guys go ahead,” Rev said.

“You sure?” Arsenyev asked. “Is something up?”

“Yeah. You go. We’ll meet you there?”

“You heard him,” Dog said as he stood up. “Let’s hit it.”

Rev could tell that a few of them were uncertain, but they all got up to leave.

“You want me to stay?” Bob asked as the group started to file out. “I don’t mind.”

For a moment, Rev was going to tell him yes, but then again, Bob had never been augmented. This wasn’t something he could share.

“No, you go. We’ll catch up.”

Rev led Tomiko to the brown couch, and they both sat down. Rev was somewhat in a state of shock. This was overwhelming. The rot had always been this threat, but it wasn’t immediate. Once it set in, there was still a lot of time, time in which a cure could be developed. But Cali? She was only a year older than him. And now, she was dead?

Rev had lost friends before in combat. He’d been trained to expect that, though. Being a Marine was a dangerous profession. But this was different. Cali should still be alive.

“Do they think that there was something wrong, you know, at the resort, when we got our augments? Some problem with the equipment?”

“No one knows. Not yet, at least. But he said they’re going to try to find out. The chances are that it was just something about Cali, some inability to cope.”

“If there was, they should have caught it during screening,” Rev said.

“But they didn’t.”

Rev sat there in silence for a moment. There being something wrong with Cali, something that had slipped by the process, seemed to be the most logical explanation for what happened. But what if the problem had been in the process itself? With the equipment? If that was the case, then all of them would be at a higher risk as well.

“What are we going to do?” Tomiko asked, sounding lost.

“What can we do? Facing Centaurs was a hell of a lot more dangerous than this. And we came through that, right?”

“But—”

Rev put a finger over her lips.

“But nothing. We’re both clean as of our last checkup, right? So, for now, we’re OK. We’ve got to let the system figure out what, if anything, is going on.”

“Like the system knows?” she almost snarled.

Tomiko’s past was still somewhat murky, despite the years she’d been his best friend. But Rev knew that the “system” had let her down before, and she had little trust in it. It was surprising that she had any trust at all in any part of the establishment, but she was dedicated to the Corps.

“It knows more than we do. Let’s see what comes out of all of this before we panic. Like I said, even in the worst case, we’ve got time.”

She sighed, then said, “You’re right. It was just . . . Cali was a good friend. This shouldn’t have happened to her.”

“I know. And I’m sorry.”

She leaned forward and put her head on his chest. They sat there for a few minutes, not moving, each lost in their thoughts.

But Rev had a source of some answers. “Are there any other cases of the rot working so quickly?”

<None in the records that I have access to. But I see no mention of Corporal Hu’s death. I have to consider that there could be others who are not reflected as well.>

“Could that be part of the monitoring?”

<I don’t see the direct connection, but it would be logical to assume that the lack of openness is connected.>

Which meant nothing, but it was food for thought.

Tomiko stirred and sat up. “Sorry,” she said, using her fingers to wipe where tears had soaked his shirt.

“Don’t worry about it, Miko. This was a shock. Does Bundy know?” Rev asked.

“I don’t think so. This is being kept somewhat quiet for now as they try to figure out what, if anything, they should do. And I wanted to tell you, first.”

Bundy had gotten his augments at the same time in the same place as he and Tomiko—and Cali—had. But Bundy’s original augments had been as a tanker. He hadn’t been given the more extensive, more invasive infantry augments. He hadn’t gotten some of those until just prior to coming to the Home Guard.

“He’s probably in the company office now. Let’s go find him.”

Somehow the cold beer, which had seemed such a good idea ten minutes ago, really wasn’t so alluring anymore.

23

Right about . . . now!

Rev tucked and twisted as he shot Pashu out and pulled her down. He hit the hull of SS Goodguy feet first, his legs easily absorbing the shock. He activated the gecko pads.

“Good job, Staff Sergeant,” Corporal Cathcart passed on the P2P.

Rev felt a surge of pride that was probably overblown, but he couldn’t help it. He was getting better at EVA ops. As capable as he was in ground operations, null-g maneuvering had been something that hadn’t come to him so easily. The rational part of his mind argued his IBHU had a lot to do with that, but his competitive side thought that was no excuse, and he’d been laser-focused during this two-day refresher training.

He might not be up to Akkeke’s or Toshi’s level yet, but he could more than hold his own now, and if he took a little pride in that, so be it. And when he did get back to the Marines, that was a skill he was going to take with him.

It was also good just to get out and do some training. After the deployment on January Hold, and then finding out about Cali, doing physical training like this had a way of cleansing the soul.

It was necessary, too. There’d been a turnover with troopers going home and new ones arriving. Larson and Ribeiro had completed their tours, and Corporal Jasmine Wahid and PFC Uram Keung had taken their slots in the squad. Rev hadn’t gotten to know them well yet, but one thing was for certain. Wahid was worse at null-g than Rev had been and even worse than Lines, the previous weakest link in the squad.

Rev watched Wahid approach the hull of the ship.

Now. Now! Flip!

But Wahid was late, and she didn’t commit to the motion. She slammed into the hull on her side and bounced back off, her boots flailing but never finding purchase. Corporal Cathcart flew over to her, grabbed her deadman’s handle, and gently brought her back facing the hull. Rev couldn’t listen in, but the instructor was going over the motions, having her do them again while he provided the forward momentum so that she hit the hull and activated her geckos.

“Wahid’s going to need extra instruction,” he passed to Bob. “She’s flopping around like a fish out of water.”

“That’s stippy-freakin’ great,” Bob said. “No way the instructors can spare her the time right now, and we’re moving on to the next training module. Do you think she can make it through what’s next?”

Rev looked back at her. Even in her Oscar, her body language screamed defeat, and he didn’t think she could manage to keep up and in formation with the next phase of training. He didn’t want to ding on the corporal, but he had to be honest about it.

“No. I don’t think she can participate. She needs more work.”

“OK, wait one.”

Wait one for what? I was just informing him, not asking a question.

After a long minute, Bob came back over the net. “OK, I’ve got it cleared. Can you take her and give her some one-on-time time? You can use the area right at the aft end of the Goodguy. Do what you have to, then we’ll see where she’s at.”

“What, me?” Rev asked, taken completely by surprise. He wasn’t an instructor.

“Yes, you. You don’t need the weapons deployment training, and you’d be doing the squad a lot of good if you can bring her up to speed.”

Rev let that sink in. What Bob was saying was that not only was he skilled enough in EVA ops that he didn’t really need to do the next module, but that he was good enough at it to teach someone else how to maneuver in an Oscar. And if he had to check, then the instructors had to think he was up to it, too.

That floored him, and that little rush of pride he’d felt for landing on the Goodguy a few moments ago blossomed into something far more rewarding. This was on him. Not his augments, not his IBHU. He’d just dedicated himself to gain a skill in which he’d been lacking, and Bob and the instructors, at least, thought he’d mastered it.

“No problem. I’ve got it,” Rev said, trying to keep sounding as if it were no big deal.

“OK. I’ll check back with you after the next module to see if she’s progressed enough to join us.”

Rev released his geckos and pushed off toward Wahid. She was going to make progress. Rev was going to make damned sure of that.

* * *

Rev was feeling pretty good as he headed to the locker. They’d missed two of the next modules, but they’d made the last one. And while Wahid wasn’t Akkeke, at least she hadn’t been a liability on the final platoon assault on Range 423.

He’d also gotten to know more about the Sirocco trooper. She’d been a member of the potentate’s personal bodyguard, which had been the result of a grueling tryout program. Starting with 200 in each potential class, if you were one of the last twenty standing, you made the training program. So, she was as tough as nails. Smart, too—that was obvious after the first five minutes. It was just the being in null-g and on the surface of an airless moon that had her anxious and stressed. The woman had been scared, but she had gritted her teeth and done everything Rev had asked of her. There was no quit in her.

Rev thought that Sirocco should probably have considered her situation before sending her. Just because she was a stud didn’t mean she was suited for a position in the Home Guard.

Rev had discussed this with Bob, then with Bundy. The Home Guard could send troopers back, and while that was not often the case, it wasn’t that rare, either. Bundy had asked Rev if they should start the procedures to do that, but he admired her determination. And, truth be told, given the choice of having her or, say Lines, covering his six in a potential battle, he’d be leaning to her. In fact, the idea of a team with Akkeke, La’ei, and Wahid was rather appealing. He’d put that up with any Marine Raider team . . . not that he’d admit that to Tomiko or any of the team back on Safe Harbor.

Bundy told Rev that he’d discuss it with the major, and before Rev reached the IBHU locker, the platoon commander had reached him and said Wahid was still in and that she’d get some psychological support for her agoraphobia.

So, Rev was pretty pleased with himself as he leaned in for the eye scan. The light flashed green, and he put his index finger into the receptacle. There was the slightest of scrapes, then a wait of about ten seconds as his DNA checked out, and the door opened.

After the theft of the IBHUs, the locker had been constructed with a three-way identity confirmation: retinal scan, DNA test, and facial recognition. Access was limited to the IBHU Marines, Daryll, and Filmore. Period. If another tech was sent for some reason, they would have to be escorted by Daryll or Filmore.

It could be overkill, but having been stung once, Rev was fine with the new system.

Filmore looked up as Rev entered. The tech had a Mauser-Yamori Strike Master on his hip, which was now standard practice. He still wasn’t the tech that Daryll was, but there had been a subtle shifting in his place in the locker.

Filmore turned back to look over Daryll’s shoulder. As Rev stepped farther into the locker, he could see they were both looking at a pad.

“What’s up?” Rev asked.

“We’re back on the skyline,” Daryll said, not looking up.

“We are? The Marines?”

“No. Not the Marines. The Union.”

Rev moved closer so he could see the pad. PUNN was streaming, and it took a moment for Rev to read enough of the chyron to see what was happening.

“We’re arguing about Temperate Fallow? Where’s that?”

“Temperate Fallow. Unincorporated World in the Orion Spur. Monoxial Holdings bought the terraforming rights before the war, which then delayed the process. Now it wants to start up again,” Daryll said.

“So, what’s the problem?”

“The problem is a hundred years of squatters.”

Ah, crap. Not that again.

Rev had enough of squatter issues on Cat Scratch. The fuzziness of the law concerning them was disconcerting.

“But you said the planet wasn’t terraformed. How are they living there?”

If it was habitable without terraforming, there was no way the planet would have remained unincorporated for at least the last hundred years.

“It was one of those in GGS’s portfolios when they went tits up.”

Daryll mentioned the company as if Rev should know it, and he didn’t want to profess ignorance.

“What’s GGS?” he asked Punch.

<Garmond, Garmond, and Sung. One of the third wave companies, it extended itself too far, and during the crash of 3723, it went bankrupt, leaving eighty-three unfinished projects. Seventy-six have since been completed by different companies, with Monoxial Holdings taking twenty-nine of those. Monoxial Holdings and three other companies applied for the rights in 3743 and was awarded the rights in 3814.>

Seventy-one years for a decision to be made?

Sometimes, it still amazed Rev at how slow the wheels of government could turn.

“And so, squatters came in before the planet was certified. Miners?”

“Surprisingly, no. Gaia’s Disciples. The planet must have been close for them to move in.”

What Rev knew about Gaia’s Disciples was based almost entirely on the holovid epic, A New World, that came out twenty or so years ago. They were back-to-nature types who believed commercial terraforming was a disaster waiting to happen. They believed in long-term “natural solutions,” using domes and planting unmodified plant species that would slowly nudge the planet into becoming habitable.

The holovid made them out to be heroic individuals, and maybe they were. But they had to have a planet that wasn’t too hostile to Earth-based life in order for it to work.

“So, let me guess. These Gaia . . . Gaiatians? Gaiators?” He almost laughed at the sudden image of alligators in protective suits tending crops. “These squatters, they don’t want to get kicked off the planet.”

“That’s not it. It’s not only the Disciples there by now. More groups have followed. And Monoxial told them they could all stay, and they’d deed over their settlements. But the Disciples and the rest, they don’t want Monoxial to bring in their emitters and . . . what did that Disciple say?” Daryll asked Filmore.

“Sully.”

“Yeah, they didn’t want Monoxial to sully what they’ve been working on for so long.”

“OK, I’ve got it. They want the CoH to invalidate the license because of eminent domain or some legal reason, and since congress was probably paid a pretty penny for the rights, they’re saying no. So, it goes to the courts. How does that make us on the skyline?”

“Us and the Mad Dogs. The Union was the first one to take the official stand that the license to complete the terraforming belongs to Monoxial, and that they’ve bent over backward to accommodate the Disciples.”

“Not surprising.”

Monoxial Holdings was the largest terraforming corporation in the galaxy, and with who knew how many potential human planets out there to exploit, no one wanted to piss them off.

“But public perception favors the Disciples. You know, A New World. And now the Mad Dogs have interjected themselves into the argument, saying this is all CoH overreach.”

Rev rolled his eyes. If he never heard the word “overreach” again, it would be too soon. How could the CoH function to keep humanity prosperous and at peace unless they had some power to enforce policy?

Rev was proud to be a Persean and understood the desire to remain independent, but if all the nations had signed onto whatever agreement handled exploration and terraforming, then abide by the damn rules. That, or withdraw from the CoH. It really was that simple to him.

“They’re just doing this for PR,” Filmore said. “They don’t give a shit about the Disciples. They just want to screw with us.”

“Why has it always been the Mad Dogs?” Rev asked. “Every single thing that’s come up since the end of the war, they’ve been involved.”

“Well, it is in their constitution’s preamble. Their core belief is that they need to spread their system throughout humanity,” Filmore said.

“Well, yeah. But they’ve been around for six hundred years, and they haven’t been trying to shove their philosophy down our throats all that time.”

Daryll and Filmore exchanged isn’t-he-naive looks.

“What?” Rev asked.

“Read up on some history, Rev,” Filmore said. “The Pentamolin Incursion, the Braxton Declaration, maybe the Gnomasis Compact for starters.”

Rev had only heard of the Gnomasis Compact, the cooperative organization formed as an alternative to the Congress of Humanity three hundred years ago. It had failed rather quickly, and Rev didn’t know what that had to do with the MDS.

“Note those three,” Rev told Punch.

<I can’t record here,> his battle buddy reminded him.

Sometimes Rev forgot how much Punch was limited. His battle buddy couldn’t make note of something Rev heard because he couldn’t record anything. Rev had to specifically ask him just what to note.

“Note the Pentamo-something Incursion, the Braxton Declaration, and the Gnomasis Compact. I want to know what the Mad Dogs had to do with them.”

<Noted. I will remind you this evening.>

Evidently, “Pentamo-something was good enough for Punch to figure out what he meant.

Rev wasn’t ready to just give up on why the MDS seemed to be involved with every point of conflict since he’d been a trooper.

“But if they want to push their manifest destiny crap, why now? Why when the Centaurs proved that we need to work together?”

“If you listen to some opinion pieces coming out of the Mad Dogs in the media, it seems like the war with the Centaurs is the reason they feel they need to push their system on humanity.”

“I don’t get it. Why?”

“The point is that in their minds, the lack of a coherent philosophy and differing outlooks almost cost us the war. They bring up the Children of Angels, which to them, reflect the morally corrupt core that most of humanity harbors.”

“That’s so much BS,” Rev said. “The Angel Shits were just a small fraction of humanity.”

Filmore shrugged. “I’m just saying what’s coming out of the MDS right now. They’re saying that we need to be one people in order to secure our place in the universe.”

“Which is what the counsel general is saying. It’s what the Congress of Humanity is all about. But they are saying this is a case of overreach. Everything is. They’re trying to stop anything that congress tries to do. They did it with the Hansen’s World deployment, right?”

“Hey, you’re preaching to the choir, Rev. Fil’s just trying to school you up,” Daryll said. “But enough gabbing. Let’s get you out of Pashu right now. Any issues to report?”

“No. She worked like a dream. As usual.”

“We aim to please,” Daryll said.

Within two minutes, Pashu was off, and the two were running their scans, which was another thing that had changed. Each time an IBHU was turned back in, it was put through an extensive battery of tests.

Rev wanted to continue the discussion, but they’d be busy for the next fifteen or twenty minutes, and he didn’t want to wait that long. And he didn’t want to sound like an idiot, so he figured he’d better get more information before he treaded those waters again.

He got scanned at the door, and since he wasn’t trying to smuggle anything out, it opened, and he headed back to berthing. His good mood hadn’t completely disappeared, but the news that the Union and MDS were squabbling was somewhat of a killjoy. He wanted to discuss the situation with Tomiko and Bundy—and Rice and Toshi, of course. He was curious as to what their point of view would be.

But berthing was empty. Rev took a quick shower and had put on a clean set of overalls just as the door opened. He eagerly turned around, but it was Over-sergeant Kvat coming in.

If there was one person with whom he did not want to talk about this, it was the MDS trooper. Rev nodded a curt greeting and sealed up his overalls.

Kvat nodded back, then stopped. He looked around as if checking if anyone else was there.

Oh, crap. Let’s not.

But Kvat cleared his throat. “Rev. Can I ask you something?”

Rev sighed. He was tempted to say no and walk out. Arguing politics with an MDS soldier wasn’t going to get anywhere, especially if Filmore had been right about their actions being part of their effort to export their way of life.

That would only be delaying any confrontation, though, and at least now, there wasn’t anyone else to drag in. He could get it over with.

“What?”

The MDS trooper looked unsure of himself, and he hesitated before starting. “Look, you probably won’t want to answer this, but I was wondering something. Have you—I mean you Union Marines—have you been seeing an uptick in the blight?”

Whatever Rev expected Kvat to ask, that wasn’t it. “The blight?”

“You know. What’s the official name . . . Weislen’s Syndrome?”

Rev felt the blood drain out of his face. This was a pretty blatant attempt at getting information. And why now? Had they somehow heard about Cali?”

“Why? What have you heard?” Rev asked, all of his guards up.

“I . . . it’s just that . . . well, there are reports, sort of, that some Union Marines, your Direct Combat Marines, in particular, and even an IBHU Marine, are coming down with the blight early, and in greater numbers,” he said, the last part coming out in a rush.”

Reports? Spying, you mean.

But Kvat didn’t seem his usual, assured self. He looked . . . concerned, would probably best describe it. But why?

And did he just say an IBHU Marine has the rot? Who? I sure haven’t heard anything like that.

A slight majority of humanity’s armed forces had some degree of augmentation. Most of that was in fixing or improving functions through mechanical means. Others made genetic modifications, but none to the same degree that both the Union Marines and the MDS Army did. Some of the means to implement mechanical augments could increase the chances of contracting the rot, but those chances went much higher when there were genetic mods.

If there was something going on, it might make sense that the Marines and the MDS soldiers would be the first to bear the brunt. And Rev was sure that this was what his question was about. The MDS soldiers, probably karnans at a higher level, were coming down with the rot.

The thing was, Rev didn’t know if it was true in the Marines. He knew about Cali Hu, and that was about it. She was infantry, so she had the more robust mods, but she was not an IBHU Marine.

But what do I say? Should I try and mislead him? Because anything I say is sure as hell getting reported.

The smart thing to do would be to say nothing and just walk out. Let him make of that what he may.

But something about the karnan’s countenance evoked a . . . not friendship, for sure. He wasn’t going that far. But empathy. The Mother knows Rev had been worried about the rot, after all.

“We’re getting tested twice a year now,” Rev said.

That wasn’t anything new. It was kind of hard to keep a team from Sieben secret.

“And yeah, we’re all concerned. I mean, who wouldn’t be? But if we’re seeing an increase in the rate, or if it’s coming sooner, then no one is telling us.”

Kvat was staring into Rev’s eyes as if trying to discern whether he was telling the truth or not. Finally, he grunted and said, “Not something the brass would want to disseminate out to the sheep.”

Rev couldn’t tell if Kvat was pleased or displeased with what he said. He was going to leave, but turnabout was fair play. “What about you guys?”

Kvat smiled, but it wasn’t a happy one. “Like you said, if we are, the brass aren’t telling us.”

“But rumors . . . ?”

“Probably the same as yours.” He seemed to gather himself. “Thank you for your time,” he said before making a beeline for his crypt.

Rev watched Kvat until he climbed inside and the door closed behind him.

* * *

“The Mad Dogs are having problems with the rot,” Rev said three days later.

He’d debated if this was something that had to be reported. Once he realized it most certainly was, he had to decide whether he’d wait until his normal debrief or if this rated a priority request. In the end, he decided to go priority. He got word to Major Liege, the senior IBHU Marine on Enceladus, and this was the result: a nondescript civilian whose interest level seemed more than a little constrained.

The civilian, Ms. Frestlink didn’t show any sign of surprise. This was potentially big news, but she seemed to take it in stride.

“What do you base that on?” she asked.

“One of the karnans, Over-sergeant Lincoln Kvat, wanted to know if our Marines had seen an uptick in cases.”

That got a raised eyebrow from the civilian. “And what did you tell him?”

“The truth.”

Was that a little sign of interest? Of concern?

“I said I haven’t heard anything.”

Her gaze seemed to bore into him for a moment, but like turning off a light switch, she relaxed.

“Did he give you any specifics, or was this just a feeling you had?”

“Just a feeling, but I’m pretty sure I’m right.”

She turned off the manual recorder and stood. “Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Staff Sergeant.”

“But you already knew that,” he said, only just then realizing it. Of course, they already knew it. What made him think he’d be the first person to find out?

She looked down at him for a long moment. She wasn’t going to respond.

“He also said there were reports that Union Marines, including an IBHU Marine, are coming down with it.”

That stopped her, and her eyes narrowed.

“Is it true?” he asked. “Are we?”

She seemed to be choosing her words carefully. “You can’t pay attention to what a Mad Dog says. Especially now with the current political situation.”

“But is it true?”

The woman smiled and held out her hand. “Please, don’t hesitate to ask for another debrief should you hear anything you deem appropriate.”

Rev was going to refuse her hand, but depending on who she was, that could catch the attention of people he’d rather not know his name. He reached and gave it a gentle shake.

With that, she turned and left.

Rev stayed in his chair for several minutes before he got up to leave, running through the brief meeting several times in his head. The karnan had been right. The brass—Union and Mad Dog both—didn’t want to give information to the sheep.

24

The debates in Congress became more rancorous over the next three weeks. The MDS was portraying itself as the defender of the smaller worlds, something Rev found ludicrous. Over the course of its history, it had swallowed up smaller worlds like appetizers, which was one of the ways that it had become the largest single government in humanity. Rev had generally known that, but after talking with Daryll and Filmore, he’d had Punch bring him up to speed on the Pentamolin Incursion, the Braxton Declaration, and the Gnomasis Compact. Sure, all of that happened long before the Centaur War, but as they say, a leopard can’t change its spots. The MDS were out to expand their power and spread their philosophy to those they found acceptable and eliminate those who were not considered worthy.

But some were buying the shtick. The Association of Independent Worlds fell in line with the MDS, decrying the CoH’s overreach—there was that word again—and were relying on a skewed interpretation of the Universal Homestead Accords of Praxus, an old law from the second expansion that technically was still in force with a dozen governments and individual planets. Signed before the creation of the Congress of Humanity, it held no sway on Titan, but that didn’t stop MDS, AIW, and a few others from citing it.

They were winning the battle of public opinion, however. It was root for the little guy and damn the big bad corporation. Even within the Union, who had taken point on the other side, a full twenty-eight percent of the population sided with the Disciples, according to the latest polls.

It wasn’t that Rev didn’t feel for the Disciples. He did. They’d labored for a century under severe conditions as they tried to make a home that could support human beings. But he had sworn to uphold the CoH, the law was the law, and Monoxial had bent over backward to accommodate the Disciples, either by buying them off (making each of them extremely wealthy) or by granting them title in perpetuity for the lands they now occupied.

Rev’s issue wasn’t with the Disciples but with the MDS. They were using the Disciples, for whom most of humanity had a positive perception, as a front for their own purposes. Every day, those purposes seemed more and more to diminish the power of the CoH.

Rev had fought the Centaurs, he had seen on a visceral level how close humanity had come to being wiped out, and he knew in his heart that humankind had to come closer together, not break apart into partisan camps at best, open war at worst.

In response to the crisis, First of the Third had deployed. They hadn’t made planetfall and hopefully wouldn’t, but the CoH wanted to show that it was ready to act if necessary.

After four weeks, the debate was coming to a head. People who rarely paid attention to the workings of the government tuned into the proceedings.

Back at Camp Reyes, most of the staff sergeants and sergeants first class of Fox Company were gathered in their commons, the holofeed from Congress on the screen.

This wasn’t some academic debate that would have few, if any, real consequences. However this went, Rev knew in his heart that it would affect him, both as a Union Marine and as a Home Guard trooper.

* * *

“That is so much bullshit,” Tomiko whispered as the congressman from the MDS gave his speech. “He needs a kick in the gonads.”

Rev just sadly shook his head. He agreed with her. The congressman had turned from criticizing the CoH for going beyond their charter to attacking the Perseus Union, using tried and true populist accusations that the Union was in the pockets of big business, and that’s why it wanted to “crush” the “brave” Gaia’s Disciples.

The guy was skillful, which was no surprise. Out of the hundreds of billions in the MDS, they wouldn’t send some hack. It was so obvious to Rev, though, what he was doing. He was making this a Union/CoH versus the Disciples, the powerful establishment against the little guy, when this was just an excuse to raise the real issue. Was there going to be a strong, central authority, or would nations such as the MDS be given free rein to do pretty much whatever they pleased?

The question was if others saw through the rhetoric as well.

He looked around the commons. Before, people intermixed. They were all Home Guard troopers, after all, comrades in arms. Now, looking at the room, he could draw a map of human space with defined boundaries.

Rev and Tomiko sat on the left side of the green couch. Next to them were Bob and SFC Ltreovok, the Frisian squad leader from Third Platoon. Toshi and the other Mezame staff sergeant filled the couch. On the brown couch were Arsenyev and Dmitriev, then Rice, then Pearson, and sitting on the arm, Kojima. Perseus Union, Frisian Mantle, Hégémonie Liberté, Osnovnoy Alyanz, Paxus, Freedom Confederation, and Mezame Concordat.

On the blue couch, Kvat sat with Tandi Sprigs, Leonard Hortense, and Syl Morales. MDS and AIW.

The rest had pulled up chairs or were standing. Their home governments hadn’t officially come out supporting one side or the other.

For the most part, his fellow SNCOs remained quiet as the debate continued. But there were looks exchanged. Several times, Rev glanced over at Kvat only to see the karnan staring back at him.

Rev didn’t know what their relationship was anymore. Kvat had been an adversary when they’d arrived. There was the gym and the gluing to the chair. Then Rev had saved the karnan’s life on Cat Scratch and Kvat decking Corporal Wymont. The whole thing about the rot seemed to bring them together just a bit. In some ways, Rev detested the arrogant son of a bitch, but in other ways, he respected the man.

So, where are we going to be at now, karnan?

The MDS rep was cut off after his allotted two minutes. Or, at least, the Clerk of the Congress tried to cut him off. The man went over by twenty seconds, raising his voice to drown her out. He finally sat back down, a sneering smile on his face. The MDS toady sitting next to him quickly patted him on the back, whispering, no doubt, what a great job the rep had done.

And Rev had to admit, he’d done well. It was all bullshit, as Tomiko had said. But he’d delivered that mass of stinking crap with assured aplomb.

The Union rep was the last to speak. Using a different tack, she didn’t attack the MDS. She never mentioned the Gaia’s Disciples. Instead, she went back into human history, from the Gaia Compact designed to save the Mother from humanity and up to the Centaur War, where all humans had to band together for their very survival. She stressed that now wasn’t the time to fracture into partisan squabbling. Now was the opportunity to cement in an era of cooperation and prosperity for all.

Yes, it might have been a little saccharine, but it was all the truth, at least from Rev’s perspective. He stole some glances to his right and left, not to the karnan and the AIW troopers, but to the others, the ones whose governments hadn’t declared. But he couldn’t tell how her speech was being received.

The Clerk of the Congress called for the vote. One by one, in the order of signing the Charter, the nations voted. Rev was nervous. By pure populations, the motion to prohibit any deployment of troops onto Temperate Fallow would be denied. But that wasn’t the way the CoH worked. The MDS had one vote. The Perseus Union had one vote. But little Franconian Station, with a population of just over one million souls, also had one vote.

If the MDS had convinced enough of the smaller planets, moons, and stations that they were their defenders against the bigger powers, the motion could be approved. The charter members all voted nay, to no one’s surprise. The first aye was the Manifest Destiny Sphere’s. But then, here and there, one, two, and more ayes were cast.

“They’re not that stupid, are they?” Tomiko asked Rev. “Don’t they see what’s happening?”

“Ssh!”

Evidently, however, most of the member states did see through the MDS’s game. By the time the voting was half over, it was becoming clear that without a drastic shift, the motion was going to fail.

Rev looked over to Kvat. The trooper’s jaw was clenched, and his right hand was balled in a fist. The three AIW troopers were more animated, frowning and whispering in each other’s ears.

SFC Frida del Rio, Tomiko’s Tigana 3 squad leader, stepped closer and whispered her congratulations to her while there were still over twenty votes to go. But it was a foregone conclusion by that time.

And then, the representative from Whyoo, the junior member state in the CoH, registered her vote. Nay.

The Clerk of Congress solemnly announced the tally. “Twenty-six ayes, one hundred and fourteen nays. The motion is denied.”

There were cheers from the Great Hall, and the commons broke out into chatter. Several people slapped Rev on the shoulders. The feed zoomed in on the MDS rep, who, his face rigid in anger, stood and started to make his way out of the hall.

Rev didn’t feel victorious. He didn’t feel joy. He was just sad that it had come to this. He’d accepted the position with the Home Guard as his duty to the Union, but serving for two years now, he’d come to embrace the concept.

He looked over at Kvat, who was still sitting on the couch, staring at the feed. Almost in slow motion, he turned his head until he was looking directly back at Rev, who couldn’t read anything in those blank eyes.

What now? What will your people do?

Someone patted his shoulder, but he didn’t flinch. With his eyes locked on Rev’s, he stood. Finally, he broke contact and strode out of the commons.

Rev just watched him go.

25

Three days after the vote, the Manifest Destiny Sphere formally withdrew from the Congress of Humanity.

26

“They can’t stay in the Home Guard, can they?” Rice asked.

“Kick the fuckers out,” Tomiko said.

Tomiko wore her feelings on her sleeve, and she’d taken a visceral hatred for the MDS since yesterday’s announcement. Not only did she not want any MDS troopers in the Home Guard, but she also thought the MDS should be punished and the MDS troopers be held as prisoners of war.

Rev wasn’t as sanguineous. He was still hoping that the MDS’s withdrawal was a bluff, that something could be worked out that was satisfactory to both sides. What he feared was a mass exodus that would split humanity into an us versus them situation. Already, fifteen smaller nations and planets had signaled their intent to withdraw as well. Now the question was if some of the larger nations and groups, specifically the Alliance of Independent Worlds, would follow suit.

Humankind had a bloody past, but for the last 200 years, conflicts had been regional and somewhat contained. There were too many moving parts for a galaxy-wide war. But if humanity split into two camps, the chance of all-out war was far greater. The Centaur War had only ended two years ago, yet humanity seemed to be running headlong into another era of fighting.

And the first splintering looked to be the Home Guard. At this moment, while the diplomats on Titan were trying to negotiate their way out of this mess, the MDS troopers had been called to Camp Barrister. No reason had been given, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out what the meeting was about.

The Home Guard had been placed on a Priority B alert. All training and liberty were canceled, and troopers were restricted to their company areas. Rev wasn’t sure why. Was there a threat? Were they threatening the MDS troopers? From his perspective, the best thing to do would be to get everyone back to their routine.

“This was all planned by our corporate masters,” Dog said for at least the tenth time.

By restricting the rest of the rank-and-file troopers to their areas, all they did was fuel speculation and conspiracy theories, and Dog was being vocal with those. The first time he espoused this theory, he’d been scoffed at and ridiculed. Now, no one said a word.

Rev had thought it was ridiculous, too. But after hearing it so many times, there was that nagging feeling that there could be a grain of truth to what Dog said. Fortunes had been made during the Centaur War, and with that over, certain powerful businesses were taking a hit to their bottom line.

He really didn’t want to believe that the corporate giants would send humanity into war just to be able to raise their dividends. It didn’t make sense.

Right?

He had to get his mind somewhere else. “Give me another.”

< Why do melons have weddings?>

“Hell, Punch. You’ve got to do better than that. It’s because they cantaloupe. Give me another, but something better.”

<What is a sea serpent’s favorite lunch?>

“I don’t know. Whales? Mermaids?”

<Fish and ships.>

“That isn’t even funny.”

<Yes, it is. I told you that four years ago, and you laughed. You think you can do better?>

What is this? His programming thinks I need a challenge to break my funk?

But Rev wasn’t one to shirk from a challenge, even if he knew he was being manipulated.

“OK. Uh . . . oh, yeah. How does a penguin build a house?”

<How?>

“Igloos it together.”

<On Earth, penguins were almost entirely from the Southern Hemisphere. Igloos were built by the Inuit peoples in the Canadian Arctic and Greenland’s Thule region. So, penguins and igloos are not connected, and that makes your joke a non sequitur.>

“Geez, Punch. It’s just a joke. Don’t have a stroke about it,” he snapped.

If he was supposed to get me in a better mood, he just failed.

The door into the commons opened, and First Sergeant Weinstein came in. All eyes locked onto her.

“Any news?” SFC Arsenyev asked.

“From Titan?” she asked, nodding at the holoscreen. “Not yet. But the Mad Dogs are on their way back.”

“For good?” Arsenyev asked.

“Don’t know. We’ll find out soon enough. But the major wants to make sure that no matter what, there’re no incidents. Nothing. If they’re staying, if they’re leaving, nothing.

“She wants all squad leaders in with their NCOs and troopers until we find out what’s happening. Got it?”

“Got it,” several of them said.

“First Sergeant, any word about us?” Syl Morales asked.

Everyone else had that question as well. Would the AIW follow the MDS and withdraw from the CoH?

“Nothing. And battalion doesn’t think we will hear anything soon. Titan is dealing with the Mad Dogs first.”

Rev wouldn’t want to be in their position right now. No one knew which way their nation was going to jump, and it had to be rough on them. Rev wouldn’t want to be an MDS soldier, either, but at least they knew what was happening.

And we’ll know what you guys are doing as soon as you get back.

Bob, Rice, and the rest of the squad leaders left to be with their junior troopers, almost emptying the commons. Tomiko scooted over to sit next to Rev, and a moment later, Toshi did as well.

Well, that’s one good thing about all this crap. Any lingering ill feelings between the Union and the Mezame Concordat are gone.

“And now we wait,” Toshi said.

“Anyone up for a game of Knock On?” Dog asked.

Everyone was up for a game, and they had to split into three groups. It worked. Within ten minutes, their natural competitive natures had taken over as they all tried to outthink and outbluff each other. Rev was almost surprised when Over-sergeant Lincoln Kvat entered the commons. All play stopped.

He slowly swept his gaze from one side of the space to the other.

“Well, it’s done. We’ll all be leaving tomorrow.

* * *

Rev had never seen the entire brigade together before. There weren’t many places on Enceladus that could host three thousand troopers. But Range 409 could, and the five battalions—three infantry, the headquarters, and the smaller support battalion—were in formation, facing the firing line.

It would be impressive if it weren’t for the reason they were formed up. Rev was torn. While most of his fellow troopers were in the “good riddance” frame of mind, he wished things had gone differently. The MDS was a strategic competitor to the Union, but so were the AIW and the FIS, and they weren’t leaving the CoH.

The AIW staying was a relief. The CEO had issued a statement that while the AIW opposed the latest policy decisions of the CoH, they felt it was better to enact change from within. Eight AIW members, however, immediately withdrew from the alliance and joined the MDS in pulling out of the Congress of Humanity.

As of this moment, the MDS, the mid-power Freedom Confederation, and twenty-one worlds and stations had withdrawn from the CoH. These planets made up twenty-nine percent of humanity. Could the CoH claim to represent all people when that many were not part of it? Rev didn’t have a good answer to that.

An amplified voice cried out, “Brigade, atten-HUT!”

Like a vast creature waking up, the brigade came to the position of attention. Every single trooper understood that this was a momentous, historical occasion. No matter what they thought of the politics, no one was taking this lightly.

Colonel Levin-Tell, the commanding officer, marched up to the XO and took the formation. He paused for a long moment to gaze out over the brigade, the last time it would be formed like this.

“Troopers of the Second Brigade, Congress of Humanity Home Guard, I am standing before you in sadness. Sadness that we are losing brother and sister troopers, sadness that our politicians have not been able to avert this.

“But we, who wear the uniform, who have sworn to protect our citizens, we have no say in this. As it should be. We do not make policy. We uphold it.

“Since the end of the Centaur War, the brigade has done its duty on Tian-X4, January Hold, Cat Scratch, and Feiderland. We’ve fought pirates and slavers. We’ve reacted to natural disasters on Ugandi and Dollmor’s World. In the process, we’ve lost sixty-eight of our brothers and sisters who made the ultimate sacrifice. Respect to the fallen.”

He paused as most of the troopers repeated the phrase.

“We shed our blood, whether we came from New Mars or Alabaster,” he said, naming the main planets of both the Union and the MDS. “It didn’t matter from where we came. What mattered was that we were here, in the Home Guard. We were comrades in arms where we formed some of the strongest bonds known to humankind.

“Unfortunately, for some of you, that time has come to an end. As all of you are aware, at eighteen hundred two days ago, the Manifest Destiny Sphere formally revoked their membership in the Congress of Humanity. This revocation was accepted without reservation. Over the next thirty-nine hours, more revocations were filed. All of these were accepted as well.

“At zero-nine-hundred yesterday, the Chief of Staff of the Manifest Destiny Armed Forces, General Jamis, formally requested that all troopers and sailors currently serving in the Home Guard be released from their oaths and the remainder of their commitment. This was followed by the military commands of each alliance, planet, and station that had withdrawn from the CoH.

“The Commandant of the Home Guard, with the approval of the counsel general, granted those requests.”

There was a slight hitch in his voice, and he stopped for a moment.

“The commandant personally assured that there would be no impediment to the departure of those leaving. They were to be granted safe passage off Titan and Enceladus. As your commanding officer, I will repeat those orders. Every single trooper leaving the brigade will do so without any repercussions.

“We fought together. We bled together. We died together. How can we be anything other than brothers and sisters?

“Some of you may now be departing, your service at an end. But I stress that we are not saying farewell as enemies. And by the Mother, I trust that we will never consider each other as enemies, despite any political differences.”

Nice thoughts, and I hope you are right, but things will come to a head. Barring a miracle, there will be a fight.

The colonel stepped back and came to his own position of attention. “Personnel covered by General Order 3832-14-6, you are now released from your remaining obligation to the Home Guard.”

That’s it, then.

“Fall out and form to the rear of the brigade where your own officers will take charge.”

There was a rustle as sixty-one troopers—no, ex-troopers—took a step back out of their ranks and started to file to the rear. Over-sergeant Kvat didn’t immediately join the exodus. He marched up to Rev and faced him.

“I hope we don’t meet in combat, Rev. If we do, I’ll have to kill you, but I will regret having done so.”

How do I answer that?

Part of him bristled, and his warrior struggled to surface. But this was neither the time nor place for a scene, even without the colonel’s direct order of a few moments ago.

“Likewise,” he said. Not the greatest comeback, but it was the best he had.

Kvat stared at him for a moment, the corner of his mouth tipped in a smile. He nodded, then faced to his left and marched off.

“Asshole,” he heard Tomiko mutter from behind him in the next rank.

The brigade stayed at attention as the MDS soldiers and the others started to fall into their formation. Then, as if coming to a group mind moment, they started to fall out and drift back. No one objected despite the fact that they hadn’t been dismissed.

Rev waited until it was obvious that the formation was over. He joined the movement surrounding the small formation.

The senior officer was Lieutenant Colonel Sievers, the ex-Third Battalion commanding officer. He positioned himself in front of the formation until everyone was in their ranks and covered down.

“Detail, in a column of threes, forward, MARCH!”

The right three ranks stepped off as a single soldier called out a cadence. They headed straight into the crowd of troopers, who parted like the Red Sea. The brigade stood and watched in silence as their friends and maybe soon-to-be enemies marched past the firing line and to the tram station, where an empty tram waited to take them to the spaceport.

* * *

“Well, that’s that,” Bob said as they got back into the commons.

“Shouldn’t have let them go,” Dog said. “We’ll be fighting them soon enough.”

Tomiko elbowed Rev and raised her eyebrows in a “see?” moment. Rev knew she agreed wholeheartedly with Dog on this, but he didn’t say anything. It wouldn’t do any good, and by now, the ex-troopers were probably on shuttles being lifted to the MDS ships that would take them home.

“We don’t know we’re going to get in a fight with them,” Bob said. “And you heard the colonel.”

Dog sneered, raised a hand, and opened and shut his fingers against his thumb, gesturing while saying, “Blah, blah, blah. All the pretty speeches don’t mean shit. The Mad Fucking Dogs didn’t leave the CoH just for grins. They want to try something. Mark my words.”

“Try what?” Arsenyev asked. “Take on the rest of the galaxy? They’re pretty outnumbered.”

“They don’t have to take on the whole galaxy. And even if they do, you think everyone’s gonna rush to join in. If the shit does go down, who’s gonna step up?” Tomiko asked. “The Union, sure. The Mantle?”

She looked at Bob, who shrugged before she continued. “The Heg, the Mezzies, Bugatti, Sunberry Corp? I’d say so. What about the Alyanz, Sergeant?”

“Depends on the situation,” Arsenyev said. “But probably.”

“I’ll give you that. But then what about the AIW?” she asked Syl Morales. “You’re staying in the CoH, but that was not a resounding declaration of support. And the rest of you? Can you say for sure that your governments would join in?”

“If the battalion gets ordered into battle, I’m honoring my oath, Miko,” Rice said with an edge.

“I don’t doubt you, Rice,” Rev said, stepping in. This wasn’t the time to argue among themselves. “I don’t doubt any of you. Hopefully, it won’t come to that, though. Nothing is for certain, and the Mad Dogs said that they don’t want . . . how’d they put it? They don’t want to precipitate conflict. We might very well have quiet tours from here on out.”

He wished he really believed that.

27

“So, there’s no consensus anywhere?”

<Union wide, no.>

“What do you think? Do your analytical stuff,”

<I can calculate trends, but humans are not mathematical constructs that will act in predictable ways.>

“But you do give me probabilities all the time on what might happen.”

There was a short pause, which when dealing with Punch, was extremely odd.

<You’re right. I often do that. I don’t know why I was hesitant.>

Rev was flabbergasted. Punch had never, to his knowledge, been “wrong” in something. He didn’t think this conversation was safe enough to discuss with Punch by subvocalizing, but he also didn’t think that Punch had some sort of a block on the subject. Why would he? This hadn’t been anywhere on the horizon when Punch was last reprogrammed.

He’d have to think about that. But while Punch had acknowledged that Rev was right, he still hadn’t answered the question.

“So, what do you think? Are we going to pull out of the Home Guard?”

This was the question that had been asked by most of the remaining troopers, including by all of the Union Marines. There were some pretty strong opinions on both sides of the question on whether the Home Guard would be disbanded in light of the MDS and their allies leaving.

<Based on what I can glean from the publicly available sources, I’d have to say no, the Union will not pull out of the Home Guard. While the nationalists cannot be dismissed, the PR benefits of holding the fort, so to speak, are seen as elevating the Union’s position within the Congress of Humanity.>

And that supported Rev’s position on the matter. He didn’t think that the Union would pull them out of the Home Guard, but it was good to hear that Punch, with his ability to process petabytes within seconds, had come to the same conclusion.

That didn’t mean that the Home Guard would deploy if it came to that. The MDS no longer had a voice in the CoH, but they had allies who still did. That was why the First of the First was still in orbit around Temperate Fallow and had not touched down on the planet.

That was only one small intervention, not a major deployment. While the Home Guard was capable of taking down pirates or intervening in small conflicts where the weight of the CoH overcame what was essentially a small infantry force, going up against the MDS was another level of engagement. A single MDS division, with their more robust supporting arms, could be a real threat to all four Home Guard brigades. A single MDS fleet could take on the entire Home Guard fleet.

“Earth to Rev, Earth to Rev. You with us?” Tomiko said while leaning over the back of the couch on his right side, with Bob leaning over on his left.

Rev snapped out of his thoughts.

“Sorry, just thinking.”

“That’s your problem there. Thinking. So, are you in or out?”

“In or out of what?”

Tomiko reached out and rapped her knuckles on the top of Rev’s head. “Hello? Anyone in there? I asked you if you wanted to come with us to the White Wombat?”

“I thought we were supposed to stay in the camp?”

Tomiko rolled her eyes. “They lifted that twenty minutes ago. Pay attention, Rev.”

“And we don’t have anything else to do?” he asked as he turned to Bob.

“They’re trying to figure everything out now. My guess is that there’ll be a rush for normalcy. Probably a lot of training to keep us occupied. So, me and Miko thought this might be the last best shot for a while to get out of here. Some of the others already left. So, you in?”

“Am I in? Hell yeah, I’m in.”

* * *

Bob had been right. The brass decided that keeping them busy without time to take a breath was the best way to deal with the situation. The next three weeks’ training schedule was as full as Rev had ever experienced with the Guard. The sims were in use around the clock. Same with the ranges. Surface training was increased. Competition between units was instituted, giving troopers a goal.

And it was working. The tempo kept their minds focused on soldiering, not on the politics of what was going on. Still, the cloud that hung over the near future was ever-present in the back of their minds. The politicians bargained and maneuvered to reset the situation, which was way, way, way over the heads of the troopers, but they all knew that whatever the politicians did would affect them.

It wasn’t just the politicians. There was the new unknown: the MDS and their allies. No one thought the MDS just pulled out of the CoH off the cuff. This was a calculated move, part of an overarching plan. The question was what else was a component of their plan. They had already submitted, via the AIW, a list of “grievances” concerning various hotspots. Were they willing to pull all of humanity into war?

The newest rumor was that this was all a clandestine effort by the Centaurs. They didn’t have the manpower (centaurpower?) to take on humanity, so they were using their tech to insert discord and cause humanity to break up and fight each other, ready to mop up the survivors and win their war that way. It was far-fetched, and Rev didn’t believe it . . . for the most part. Nothing was impossible, after all.

Centaur conspiracy theory aside, as the Home Guard settled into their new routine, the concern and stress receded, but it didn’t totally disappear. Everyone knew that the MDS could act at any time, and if they did, the Home Guard would have to respond. They were not nearly big enough and robust enough to take on the MDS, but the symbolic nature of their participation could not be overstated.

That very symbolic nature could work for or against them in a conflict, however. It might be that the MDS wouldn’t risk wiping the Home Guard out in fear it could galvanize those on the fence. On the other hand, it would be a statement that the CoH was a toothless group of squabbling politicians.

But as the days went on with no specific action other than their protests, the troopers started to relax. Nothing seemed to be brewing on the immediate horizon.

And, of course, the gods of war considered complacency one of the mortal sins, right up there with not having a Plan B and not having an extra magazine. Twenty-five days after the MDS pulled out of the CoH, they acted. The MDS Navy invaded fourteen systems among the thirty where they’d registered complaints. The Army landed on nine planets and one station.

None of the systems were major powers, none were affiliated with the Perseus Union, the Hégémonie Liberté, or the Synergy Alliance, so there wasn’t an immediate threat to another major power, and none of the mid-level powers had the ability to take on the MDS.

It was a line in the sand. The MDS was daring the CoH and major powers. Would they risk war for planets that were sparsely inhabited and of little strategic importance?

Could they afford to?

Could they afford not to?

28

Rev hated landfall. He’d been part of unopposed and opposed landings, and it never got easier. On the ground, while there was still luck involved, he had the ability to act to change his luck. Sitting as a slab of meat, he was helpless. Either his ride was going to make it down in one piece, or it wouldn’t. He had no control over the outcome one way or the other. In another five minutes, he’d be safely on the ground, or he would be beyond caring.

The MDS had drawn a line in the sand, and by a surprisingly large margin, Congress had decided to cross that line. Better now, the politicians argued, than risk an all-out confrontation. The hope was that the MDS would see their bluff called and back off.

They’d never asked Rev his opinion. If they had, he’d have told them this hope was fool’s gold. From what he knew of the MDS, they weren’t good poker players. They were pretty straightforward in what they did. It was in their very name. They believed they were the chosen ones, that their manifest destiny was to spread their rule to encompass all of humanity.

But only time would tell. Rev hoped he was wrong, but he would bet the MDS would not turn tail and run.

The shuttle initiated its final corkscrew down. In his usual last seat, he had a partial view out of the crew chief’s window. Flashes lit up the night sky as countermeasures cleared the way. The shuttle lurched, and Rev’s stomach started to protest.

<What do you call a sad cup of coffee?>

The thought of coffee wasn’t the best thing for his stomach, but anything to take his mind off of the descent was probably a good idea. He thought he knew the answer, but his mind wasn’t working at peak efficiency at the moment.

“What do you call it,” he said as he fought the gorge from rising up his throat.

<Depresso.>

Despite himself, Rev chuckled. It was a dumb joke, as almost all of Punch’s jokes were. But still, it was kind of funny.

The shuttle lurched violently to the side, and Rev grabbed at his seat to hold himself steady. He didn’t know if that was a near miss or a pocket of rough air.

“Better give me another.”

<What do you call an old snowman?>

“Old Frostie . . . uh, Grandpa Yeti?”

<A Yeti isn’t a snowman.>

“But they live in the snow.”

<Try again.>

Rev tried a few more answers before he conceded defeat.

“OK, what do you call an old snowman?”

<Water.>

It took a moment, but as it sank in, Rev threw his head back and laughed out loud.

“You OK, Rev?” Bob asked on the P2P.

“Yeah, yeah. Just telling jokes with Punch.”

There was a moment of silence, then “You are one weird dude, Pelletier.”

“True that.”

Punch continued the jokes, one after the other as the shuttle descended. Rev was surprised when the thing landed and the back opened. A Tigan dragoon stepped up onto the back of the ramp while holding a red hand light and said, “All you troopers, off now and follow me.”

As the last man on, Rev was the first off. He stepped out of the shuttle and onto Olivera. As more troopers started to join them, the dragoon waved his hand light in a circle, then he started trotting away from the shuttle.

First and Second Platoons had made it to the surface of Olivera in one piece. Rev hoped they’d all make it off in one piece as well.

* * *

“I’ve just left the CO,” First Lieutenant Milei Macek, the senior IBHU Marine in the battalion, said. “There’s probably going to be a change in how we’re being used.”

Rev and the other nine IBHU Marines assigned to the Second of the Second exchanged looks. Technically, changes could be for the better or for the worse, but it usually seemed to work out that they rarely helped the situation.

“Each of us will remain with our squads for the time being, but that can change at any time. We all know how much the Home Guard likes to task organize for any mission.

Which was one of the things Rev didn’t like. He wanted troopers around him where they all understood each other, their responsibilities, and how each of them performs. Teamwork was vital, and the only way to build teamwork was actually training together.

“What the CO wants is to be able to use our firepower and maneuverability to shock the Mad Dogs, if it ever comes to that, and force them to surrender.”

Rev wasn’t a fan of the MDS, but one thing he’d come to realize by working with them is that there was no quit in their soldiers. They were as dedicated and disciplined as any Marine, as much as he hated to admit that.

“You mean he’s going to put all of us in one squad?” Sergeant Nina Lipswitch asked.

“He could, but I don’t think so. What it sounded like was that he was going to put our squads together at the front, forming a composite company of sorts.”

“But we haven’t worked together. I barely know anyone in Fox and Echo.”

“The CO doesn’t think that’s a problem. He says we’re all among the elite, and this should be child’s play.”

The lieutenant didn’t sound like he agreed with that, but like any good officer, he was toeing the party line.

“But I want to stress that for the moment, things are normal. Just be ready in case he pulls the trigger on this. And I’d give your squad leaders a head’s up.

“I’ll try and keep abreast with Major Djanka in the Three shop, and I’ll make sure I keep all of you informed. I’m sorry I don’t have any more for you now, but given that, are there any questions?”

Hard to have questions when we don’t know where to begin with this.

But Randigold had a question. Just not about the potential new task organization. “Any word on the Mad Dog reaction to us coming here?”

“Not much. They issued a statement that they objected to this “invasion,” they called it, of the planet. But they also said they are ready to defend it to the last man. No troop movement, though, that we can see.”

That’s a lot more than what we all knew just a minute ago.

The main concentration of the MDS light division was over four hundred klicks away. If they weren’t moving, then it was a good bet that a fight wasn’t imminent. In a full-fledged war, the MDS division’s best chance would have been to deny the Tigan division and Home Guard battalion’s landing. Now that they were on the planet, the CoH forces were more than enough to present a strong deterrent to the MDS division.

The MDS could protest all they wanted. A protest never hurt a soldier. As long as they kept the forces in camp, then they could posture to their hearts’ content.

“Anything else?” the lieutenant asked.

“Do they have karnans?” Rev asked.

“From initial reports, yes. But we expected that, right? We IBHUs are being used as the task force’s shock troops. Would they be doing any different?”

Rev expected that answer for the very same reason. But it was good to get that confirmed. Better to know what you faced than be surprised later.

When there were no other questions, the lieutenant said, “Daryll, you told me you had something?”

With the entire battalion here, Daryll had opted to accompany them to Olivera, leaving Filmore behind with the rest of the brigade’s IBHUs. Rev was pretty pleased about that. Not only did he trust Pashu to Daryll more, but he was beginning to feel that there was more to the bumbling-seeming Filmore than met the eye, and he wasn’t too sure that he wanted to be in Filmore’s sight any more than he had to.

“Yes, thanks, Lieutenant,” the tech said as he stood up. “I’ve run through all your IBHUs and given them the green light. However, I want each of you to come down and let me run a synch test.”

“Is there something wrong?” Rev asked.

“No, nothing’s wrong. But you were all scheduled for one in another month, so as long as we’re here, and as long as the Mad Dogs are cooperating by staying in their camps, I’d like to get that out of the way.

“I’ll be going straight from here to the locker, so whenever you’re ready.”

“You heard him. Let’s get this done. Echo, you’re first. Then Fox, followed by Golf. Other than that, just be ready. That’s it.”

Rev signaled Randigold and Sign of Respect to gather up. “I’ll brief Lieutenant Bundy, and he’ll tell the squad leaders. You two might as well head off with Daryll and get this out of the way. I’ll meet you there.”

“You think this is gonna happen?” Randigold asked.

“I think it depends on what the Mad Dogs do. But it’s certainly possible the CO will try something like this.”

“It’s bullshit, though. Sergeant Lipswitch was right. We haven’t worked with the other companies. We haven’t worked much with the other platoons in Fox. How the hell are we supposed to suddenly be a team.”

Which was Rev’s concern. But toeing the line wasn’t just for officers. “Whatever we’re ordered to do, we’ll handle. We’re all elite soldiers here.”

Randigold opened her mouth to argue, Rev was sure, but she shut it before saying anything. She gave a short shake of her head, then left the briefing tent, following Echo Company to the IBHU locker.

Sergeant Sign of Respect stared at Rev for a long moment, his face as impassive as ever, before he said, “She’s right. This is bullshit.”

He wheeled around and chased after Randigold.

29

Rev strode in and grabbed Jeb Gingham around the collar with one hand, the other trooper with the other, and pulled them apart.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Gingham twisted, trying to free himself, but Rev was still an augmented Marine. He shook the PFC, snapping his head back and forth until the man stopped struggling.

“What’s with you two?” he shouted.

The other trooper, who Rev didn’t recognize, said, “He called me a skut.”

Rev had no idea what a skut was. It didn’t matter. “Did you call him a skut?”

“I did, ’cause he is one,” Gingham snarled, which set off the other trooper, who fought to get at the PFC. This time, Rev had to strain to keep them separated.

“What’s your name, Trooper?”

The soldier went silent, his lips pressed tightly together. Rev put pressure on his neck, forcing the trooper to bend at the waist. “I asked you, what’s your name?”

“Corporal Reasoner Notwitch,” he finally gasped out. “Golf Company.”

“Who’s your platoon sergeant?”

“You don’t have to tell him anything,” the corporal said, his voice going from bravado to pleading. “I’m sorry.”

Rev knew he really should report the corporal. But except for the mouse already growing under Gingham’s right eye, neither looked worse for wear.

“If I let you go, are you going to behave?”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

“And you’re going to leave the Fox area and get back to Golf?”

“Yes, Sergeant. I promise,” he said, his voice shifting to out-and-out whining.

Rev gave the corporal’s collar one more shake before releasing him. “Go.”

The corporal never looked back as he took off.

Rev still had a firm hold on Gingham, and he turned to face him.

“So, what the hell was that all about?”

“Nothing. He’s just an asshole. Always has been.”

“Always has been? Where’s he from?”

“Iway.”

“Iway? Freakin’ Iway? As in your sister planet?”

Gingham was from Moxigill. Sharing the same star, the two planets shared the same cultural and political heritage, making up the nation of Manteen.

Gingham tried to shrug, but with Rev still holding his collar, that was a useless endeavor.

“I’m not even going to ask you who started what. But I swear, if you don’t control yourself, you . . . . just say, you’re not going to like what’s going to happen. You understand?”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

The insolence was there in his tone, but Rev chose to ignore it. He gave Gingham one more shake, then let him go.

With a sigh, he continued onto the expeditionary shelter that the SNCOs had taken over as their commons. Technically, it stored chow, but no one said it couldn’t do both.

Tomiko was already inside, sitting in a seat made from carefully arranged ration boxes. She motioned to another seat next to her. Rev plopped down hard.

“Easy, big boy. These aren’t made for rough handling.”

“Sorry. I’m just pissed. I had to break up a fight between Gingham and a corporal from Golf.”

“Anyone hurt?”

“Maybe Gingham’s pride.”

“I heard someone in Echo got seriously fucked up this morning.”

Rev shook his head. “It’s been seven weeks now, and this waiting is driving people nuts. Much longer, and the Mad Dogs won’t have to attack. We’ll have taken care of it ourselves.”

“From the Mother’s mouth to yours.”

“Any word on that front? I missed Bundy’s meeting this morning.”

Tomiko looked around at the other three in the shelter, then lowered her voice. “Nothing you can really say for sure, but if you ask me, the rhetoric is really picking up. I wouldn’t be surprised if something does break one way or the other, and breaks soon.”

Rev raised his eyebrows in surprise. His feeling was that the two forces on the planet were at a stalemate. But Tomiko had been right before, and if she thought something might break, well, he had to give that some credence.

“You think we’re going to get into it?”

She paused as if wondering what she should say. “If I had to bet my firstborn, well, I’d say yes.”

Rev made a mental note to ask Punch what he thought. This would be tabletalk, not normal communicating.

Whatever was going to happen was going to happen, but Rev wanted to be prepared for anything.

* * *

“I guess you’re going to get to keep your firstborn,” Rev whispered to Tomiko.

“What?”

“Your firstborn. You said if you had to bet them, you said you’d go with the Mad Dogs and us getting into it.”

She scowled and said, “Shhh. I want to listen to this.”

“This” was Major Yves briefing the company that the MDS division had announced that it was going to occupy Rasper Mountain, and the CoH force needed to stand down and not interfere. The official CoH response was about to be released. Not only did the CoH object, but the task force on the planet was going to move to intercept the MDS force.

There were all the perfunctory comments about hoping that this didn’t incite an armed conflict, that the CoH hoped that the MDS would realize their mistake and stand down. But that was for public show. The fact of the matter was that the MDS had drawn that line, daring the CoH force to cross it. And not only was the CoH stepping a toe over it, but they were also running full tilt across.

This was not a singular incident. Across the nine planets where both MDS and CoH forces were facing each other, the MDS had taken an aggressive stand on six of them.

Rev knew it must kill the diplomats who thought they had the ability to avert a war. He’d hoped the diplomats would have succeeded.

While the more hawkish among the CoH side thought they could roll over the MDS and their allies in a week, tops, Rev didn’t. He thought that, given no surprises, the CoH and the nations supporting it had the ability to prevail, but it would be costly for both sides.

And as the war with the Centaurs proved, if there were no surprises, that would be the biggest surprise of all. The MDS knew the numbers just as well as the CoH side did. Would they dive into a war if they didn’t think they could win?

With all the forces of humanity armed and ready to fight on these six planets, what was going on was just the initial sparring. A decisive victory by the CoH forces could nip this in the bud and bring the MDS’s alliance back to the negotiating table. Anything else, and this could drag into a long and mutually destructive war.

The Centaurs couldn’t exterminate the human race, but it seemed that the race was trying its damnedest to see if they could succeed at it where the Centaurs failed.

30

Rasper Mountain had no real strategic value. Yes, it had the high ground, but to what end? Olivera was sparsely populated, with perhaps a hundred million people on the entire planet. The third continent, where the mountain was located, was even more remote.

An ancient volcano with three distinct peaks, the mountain rose almost two thousand meters from the plains below. On a normal battlefield, an attacking force would bypass the mountain, leaving the defending troops alone but keeping them from linking up with other forces. But this wasn’t a normal battlefield.

When Rev was a child, they used to play king of the hill, the winner being the kid who could push all the others off whatever small mound they were using. This was no different, except that instead of pushing and shoving each other, the two sides were already using lethal force.

The ground shuddered, and bits of dirt fell from the top of the bunker. “Why don’t we just blast them from orbit?” Sergeant Lines asked.

The sergeant from Nowhere wasn’t taking the artillery duel well.

“They don’t call it a limited engagement for nothing,” Bob told him. “No one wants total war, at least not yet.”

Rev frowned. The Centaur War had been total war. There had been no rules except to win. Each side tried to improve upon their ability to kill the others. This . . . whatever they were calling it . . . had rules, like any good sport. The CoH and the Mad Dogs and their allies had managed to negotiate them once it became certain that there would be a fight. The delay while the two sides negotiated, however, had given time for the MDS to occupy the mountain. The CoH mission had changed from an intercept to an assault, which upped the ante.

Still, on the one hand, Rev was glad that the scope of the fight would be limited. That meant that more troopers would survive. But on the other hand, this entire “gentlemen’s fight” was getting on his nerves. War was not a game. There were very real consequences for those in the trenches. If you committed to war, then you should be in it to win it.

He understood the strategic reasons for agreeing to limitations. This way, what was going to happen could be referred to as an “incident,” a “minor episode.” As such, it didn’t completely derail further negotiations. That was good for the diplomats.

There was also a benefit to the military command. From the commander’s standpoint, this was an opportunity for both sides to flex their muscles and spar a bit, feeling each other out. This wasn’t the same as going against the Children of Angels or pirates, where the enemy was not as strong or capable. This was a near-peer conflict, and any observation, any insights as to respective strengths and weaknesses, could pay dividends if things should deteriorate into all-out war.

But it wasn’t as if each side were strangers to the other. The MDS and their allies had only recently been members of the Home Guard, and there had been cooperation in the fight against the Centaurs.

On paper, the MDS side could not stand up to the rest of humanity. But wars weren’t fought on paper. They were fought with tanks, aircraft, ships, grunts on the ground. And that’s where Rev thought this was going too far. Home Guard troopers and Tigan soldiers were going to die, and for what? Either the MDS or the CoH would end up as king of the hill, but a hill with no value. All of the combatants, on both sides, were being used as expendable game pieces.

The only possible good thing to come, as the major had briefed them, was that an obvious and total victory here and in the other five fights might convince the MDS that they were pursuing folly, and they’d cease their aggression.

Rev had serious doubts that would happen, though. The MDS was playing the long game.

The ground shook again, and Lines groaned. This arty duel bordered on the ridiculous. Once the ROE were promulgated, eliminating orbital or atmospheric aircraft preparatory fires, arty came into play. That meant digging in, and the Tigan engineers let loose their robotic excavators. So, by the time the prep fires began, the entire CoH force was dug in and safe. And Rev was sure that on the mountain, the MDS soldiers were dug in as well. But for the news teams, arty made for good visuals while keeping the teams out of any real danger.

Rev checked the time. Thirty-two more minutes, and it would be on to the main event. The grunts on both sides would find out who was king of the hill.

* * *

Rev watched the Tigan mech soldiers—“Ogres,” they called themselves—pass by. They looked remarkably like Union mech, but that was probably a case of form following function. According to Punch, they were pretty capable fighters, but they didn’t have the same capabilities as the Marines’ mechs.

Still, they looked impressive as they advanced toward the AO. Three meters tall, their main weapons were either a 30 mm chain gun or a five-gigajoule beamer. They might not match the firepower of tanks or other armor, but with the MDS choosing the terrain they wanted to defend—Rasper Mountain—the much-vaunted Tigan armor was mostly relegated to a supporting role with long-distance fire.

“What do you think?” Bob asked as another platoon of Ogres passed them.

“Who the heck knows? This whole thing is pretty messed up.”

“Given that, do you think they can dislodge the Mad Dogs?”

The Tigan plan was pretty straightforward. While the CoH forces outnumbered the MDS forces, it wasn’t by enough to simply allow them to assault the entire mountain. They needed to concentrate their forces, to bring localized superiority.

The first objective was the oldest of the three peaks, the “Tooth.” Rasper had been formed by a volcanic vent, but as the tectonic plates shifted, so did the vent. The Tooth didn’t even have the remnants of a caldera anymore.

One regiment was tasked with feinting to the east side of Rasper, fixing in place the defending forces on that side of the mountain. The other two regiments would be the point of main effort with the Home Guard battalion as the strategic reserve, ready to exploit success or provide cover in case of a withdrawal.

On paper, it was a pretty basic plan. Whether it would be successful or not depended on execution. Rev didn’t think the CoH force would be routed by the MDS defenders, but it could be bogged down, unable to advance and unwilling to withdraw.

“Can we dislodge them?” Rev asked Bob. “Yes, I think we can. At least for the first objective. Will we? That’s another question altogether.”

“There’s only the two companies of Ogres.”

“And the third with the other regiment,” Rev said. “But yeah, I’d feel more confident if the Tigans were set up like the Marines.”

A Union Marine Regiment had a full battalion of three mech companies. The Tigans emphasized armor more and had only one Ogre company per regiment. But with the objective a mountain, the armor wouldn’t be players. The Tigans had to rely on the Ogres to provide the heavy punch they were going to need to break the MDS defenses.

The two Marines watched the last of the Ogres march by, the ground shaking under their feet. Big pieces of war gear and expensive, Rev thought they were mostly big targets. Every infantryman was armed with weapons that had the capability to bring one down, and the various renditions of mech weren’t the stealthiest weapons systems around. Rev wouldn’t want to be a normal infantryman one-on-one against a mech, but there were a lot more infantry grunts than mech soldiers.

It was Rev’s opinion—not that he’d ever tell his posse-mate Fyr Dorcester, who was a Union mechhead—that armies invested in mechs to fight other mechs. And while mechheads didn’t have to contend with the same stigmas that IBHU Marines had, IBHU Marines would be cheaper if mass-produced, far more maneuverable, and had nearly the same firepower. The biggest area where the mechs were better was in armor. A mech was much more survivable than an IBHU Marine in a PAL-3 or PAL-5.

There was one more weakness. Unless they went the MDS route of “volunteering” their karnans, the Union Marines had to wait for a candidate to lose an arm, whereas any soldier within the size parameters could be stuck in a mech and told to fight.

Rev was glad to be an IBHU Marine, but what he’d just told Bob was true. He’d feel a lot better if there were more Ogres heading up the mountain.

“Well, that’s that,” Bob said as the Ogres conducted the passage of lines. “Now we wait.”

* * *

The wait was nine hours. The Tigans had quickly rolled up the OPs on the lower slopes. There were some skirmishes with MDS patrols, but with most of the patrols retreating, that hadn’t slowed the assault. The Ogres had taken some heavy casualties, but the infantry had advanced, position by position, until they’d been stopped short of the bunker complex around the military crest of the Tooth. They were holding their own, but they needed an extra push to consolidate on the objective.

That extra push was to be the Home Guard, in particular, an ad hoc company of seven squads with IBHUs, commanded by Captain Chokra, as the assault element. Rev and Randigold’s squads were part of that company.

Rev understood why the change, particularly with the task-organized culture of the Home Guard, but once again, he was wary of their lack of training together. Orders were orders, though, and Rev was going to do everything in his power to make the mission a success.

The battalion had been in their assembly area, a low spot in defilade to the MDS arty. The arty duel was over to a great extent, but that didn’t mean all of the enemy tubes and launchers were destroyed. They were still out there, waiting until the reward exceeded the risk.

The division command had also been assessing the risk/reward, and they thought now was the time to send in the Home Guard. Within three minutes of receiving the orders, the Guard was on the move, Golf Company in the lead, the ad hoc company following in trace.

Rev relaxed the best he could. Nervous energy could sap a soldier, and with Golf leading, they were relatively secure. That didn’t mean, however, that they were totally in the clear.

“Incoming,” lit up his face shield.

Rev hit the deck. A moment later, the comforting whup-whup-whup-whup of the Urchin Self-Defense system sounded.

OK, so it’s rockets.

Rev waited for the incoming to hit, but there were no explosions. The man-packed Urchins had done their job. Not as effective against shells, the Urchins, which fired a slew of tiny hyper-velocity darts, were pretty good against rockets and missiles.

The Union relied upon larger pieces of gear to protect Marines from incoming, but Rev thought they should consider deploying the Urchin. As a Raider, Rev had often been outside the protective umbrella of a battalion or even company-sized self-defense system.

This was another aspect of near-peer operations. For every weapon, there was a defense. MDS Buzzer rockets were as good as any light rocket, but the Urchins were proving to be up to the task. And for every Home Guard RT-60, the standard Home Guard light rocket, the MDS would have a defense.

When this was the case, it would be up to the infantry to take the battle.

Rev quickly checked his Morays. The six missiles were showing green. He hoped that with the MDS prepared for the Tigan rockets and the Home Guard’s RT-60s, they might not have their defenses optimized for the Union Marines’ Morays.

Wishful thinking, Reverent. They know we’re here.

The battalion got back to its collective feet and pushed forward until it reached the rear of the Tigan AO. At this point, Golf halted while the ad hoc company moved forward to where a Tigan guide was waiting to bring them to the leading edge of the advance.

Captain Chokra and Lieutenant Macek met with the Tigan commander. Rev took the opportunity to track down Randigold and the other IBHU Marines. He wasn’t technically in charge of any of them. Each had a squad leader. But Rev was tired of being just another IBHU weapons platform without a formal leadership billet. He was a staff sergeant, and he’d decided that instead of waiting for responsibility, he was going to grab it.

“You ready for this?” he asked Randigold.

“Tired of the waiting. Time to kick some Mad Dog ass, the bastards.”

Her enthusiasm was almost overpowering and bordering on the bloodthirsty. Rev wasn’t as eager to kill. He was going to do his duty, and he’d drop any MDS soldier who came into his sights. No matter that they were the enemy, however, these were fellow humans. They weren’t even devils incarnate like the pirates or a traitorous existential threat like the Children of Angels. These were just fellow soldiers obeying the orders of their leaders. Yes, they all seemed to have that uber-annoying sense of superiority that grated on Rev’s nerves, but that alone was not a reason to kill them.

Them trying to kill Rev and his Home Guard brethren was more than enough reason to mow them down, but Rev wasn’t going to revel in their deaths.

“Don’t try and be a hero, Eth. Keep within the plan.”

“No plan lasts past the first punch,” she told him with a shit-eating grin.

Which was a paraphrase of one of Rev’s favorite quotes from that long ago American philosopher, Michael Tyson, and one he’d told the PFC often enough.

“Touché. Still, don’t needlessly put yourself at risk.”

He raised Pashu, and Randigold clinked her with Cruella. “Sibs in steel,” they said in unison.

Rev checked with Sign of Respect and Sergeant Lipswitch before the captain and lieutenant returned. They called for the squad leaders, and Rev took it upon himself to join Bob.

“It’s about what we figured,” the captain said. “I’m uploading the latest intel to you right now as well as our routes up the mountain. The commander’s intent is for us to use our firepower to crush the enemy’s will and establish a foothold in the complex. Once that’s done, it should be simply a matter of clearing the complex, one position at a time.

“The commander does not want to lose our momentum, and he’s not giving us time to work out a full ops order. We’ll kick off in five minutes or as soon as the Tigan guides can get to us, but be ready for my frag before we reach the Line of Departure.

“I’ll just want to point out that once we clear to the west side of the Tooth, we can be taken under fire from the Mad Dogs on the Sleeping Bear, so keep that in mind.”

The Sleeping Bear was the mountain’s main peak, the one furthest east.

“Normally, I’d ask for questions here, but time is ticking. So, unless there’s something vital I need to know, get back to your squads and get them ready to move out. I’ll get the frag to you as soon as I can.”

Rev hadn’t expected a full-blown operations order, but he thought they’d have at least their fragmentary order, not just an axis of advance. He displayed it on his face shield. At least it had all the appropriate control features on it. What he didn’t have was what the squad was supposed to do once it passed through the Tigan forces and across their LOD.

* * *

The lower slopes of Rasper Mountain were heavily forested, but at the higher elevations, large rock outcroppings started to become more prominent. The sounds of fighting carried down the slopes but without the fierce tempo of a pitched battle. The Tigans were applying pressure but not committing. Which meant the MDS soldiers knew something was coming, and they’d be prepared for it.

Led by their guide, Rev and the rest of the squad followed their assigned route and passed through the Tigans. Rev felt their eyes assessing the troopers as they moved through.

There were signs of fighting everywhere. Trees had been blasted into splinters. Smoke hung in the air, and twice Rev saw the twisted remains of what had been Ogres. Several bunkers were blasted open, their burnt cyrosteel girders twisted beyond recognition.

This might be a limited engagement, but for those who fell, it might as well have been full-blown war. For the families of the fallen, too. Rev could almost imagine the next-of-kin receiving notice: “Sorry your loved one was killed on Olivera, but it wasn’t really a war, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“Respect to the fallen,” he muttered as he passed yet another destroyed Ogre.

The squad wended its way up the slope, each route calculated to give the most cover while maximizing dispersion. This was still part of the movement phase. The company would begin to maneuver once it crossed the Line of Departure, which in this case, was the tree line four hundred meters from the summit. Normally, an LOD would be much farther from an objective, but in this case, the nature of the mountain enabled the area commander to set it that close.

Those four hundred meters, though, were not going to be easy. The MDS had quickly set up a good bunker complex with interlocking and mutually supporting fields of fire, and the assault element—the six IBHU squads—would not only have to cover the four hundred meters but climb close to a hundred.

A frontal assault was not the preferred form of maneuver, but with the MDS in a 360 around the military crest, there was no direction from which to conduct an envelopment. Without the fixing force of the Tigans and the supporting fires from the rest of the Home Guard, this would be a suicide charge up the mountain. Even as it was, the seventy-eight troopers would have to make use of every centimeter of cover if they wanted to reach the MDS lines in one piece.

First Squad reached the LOD, linked up with Second Platoon’s First Squad, and waited while Captain Chokra made final, face-to-face coordination with the AO’s commander. The supporting fires had to be danger close to be effective, but no one assaulting wanted friendly fire up their butts as they closed in.

The tactical AIs had determined that three bunkers had the least support from the others. Each of the three became an objective for two of the squads. One squad was to provide suppression fire once the Tigans and the rest of the battalion had to shift fire. The other squad would be the assault element and attempt to neutralize the bunker and gain entry. Rev’s squad would be the assault element while Randigold’s was the support.

Once a bunker was captured and occupied, the rest of the battalion would use that as an entry point to begin systematically clearing the complex.

There was one problem with that. The MDS had their own AIs, and they would have identified the three as the most at risk, too. No one knew what extra surprises the MDS might have in store for the assaulting forces.

Rev didn’t know when they’d kick off, so he spent the time studying the terrain map, trying to figure out what he’d do if he was in the bunkers and trying to defend them. He was using Punch as a sounding board while he tried to come up with every possibility, and his stress level was rising as he realized he didn’t have an answer as to how to counteract some of the potential MDS courses of action.

“You hanging OK?” Tomiko, back with the rest of the platoon, asked on the P2P.

“Conducting personal business on the circuit there, Staff Sergeant?”

“What are they going to do? Shave my head and send me to the Home Guard? Oh, yeah, I am in the Home Guard.”

Rev laughed, most of his stress immediately fading. The P2P circuit was not supposed to be used for personal chats, especially from one unit to another. Too much comms, even if secured, can be picked up, and the message flow alone could tell the enemy AIs a lot about the unit.

“They still could shave your head.”

Hell, it’s almost shaved now.” She paused, then in a more serious tone, asked, “You ready?”

“I kinda have to be, right?”

“Yeah. Well, keep your damned head down, OK?”

“Will do. You, too.”

“Five minutes,” Bob passed on the squad net. “Final checks.”

“I gotta go, Miko. See you on the backside.”

“Yeah. See you.”

Rev cut the connection, stood, and turned to Akkeke. The two conducted a quick final inspection of each other. They were both good to go. Rev asked Punch for one more status report.

<All systems green. Full combat load. Power at ninety-six-point-three percent.>

Rev took a couple of deep breaths. He could feel his warrior hovering just below the surface. Normally, it would be fighting to break free, to take over, and Rev would have to struggle to remain in control.

He wasn’t sure why it wasn’t a struggle now, and he couldn’t help but wonder if that was some sort of portent.

“Thirty seconds,” Bob passed.

“Tell me a quick joke.”

<What makes a person smile?>

“A good joke?”

<Facial muscles.>

“I’m not smiling,” Rev said.

Which was a lie. For some reason, that one struck him as funny.

All around him, it sounded like the gates of hell opened up as almost two thousand soldiers and Home Guard troopers commenced their supporting fire. Most of the fire was for show, to focus the attention of the MDS defenders. If they took out a bunker all the better, but it was the suppression fire on Rev’s target that mattered, and Rev just hoped it was effective.

The go light on his display turned to green, and like old-time Earth WWI soldiers going over the top, Rev and Akkeke led the squad over the LOD and into the assault.

As he broke out of the tree line, the entire peak was briefly visible. Rev caught what looked like smoke rising from the bunker complex. Only this wasn’t smoke. This was a wave of drones swooping down into the attack.

Broad-aperture Tigan beam cannons opened up, sweeping swaths clear as Rev and Akkeke reached the little draw, their first bit of cover. The air above them crackled with energy as both sides traded fire.

La’ei and Wahid reached the draw together.

“Fancy meeting you two here,” Akkeke said.

“Couldn’t let you have all the fun now, could we?” La’ei said, clapping his friend on the back.

Rev nudged Akkeke. “No time for gabbing. We need to move now.”

An explosion erupted above them, not ten meters away. Dirt and rock shot up, then showered them as they came back down. They might not be vulnerable to direct fire at the moment, but that was a reminder that indirect fire could still nail them. If they hadn’t been in the draw, all four of them would have been hit.

“Go,” Rev told Akkeke, and the Millsap trooper ran forward, Rev on his ass. Their destination was a large boulder that looked about ready to tip over and roll down the mountain, crushing everything in its path.

But that overhang would give them a little more protection. It was a quick twenty-meter dash. Less than five seconds. But Rev felt vulnerable as he covered it, which was unusual for him. His warrior self was fearless, and that kept some of the normal concerns at bay. But for the moment, his warrior was still simmering, not emerging.

No matter. Won’t affect my mission.

He glanced back. Bob and PFC Keung had just reached the draw. Rev motioned to La’ei, who gave him a thumbs-up. A moment later, he and Wahid were in motion. Unlike in null-g, Wahid moved over the ground with aggressive grace, an inkling of why she was in her potentate’s personal guard.

Rev and Akkeke scanned the air above, weapons ready as they watched for drones. The other two troopers didn’t stop at the rock but kept running past to a slight wrinkle in the ground and threw themselves flat.

This was what was called a bounding overwatch. One team of two would advance while another provided covering fire, then the second team would advance.

Behind them, the rest of the squad, in two more four-person groups, would be following while doing the same thing. This was the easy part, though. After a hundred and forty meters, they would reach what was designated as Phase Line Yellow, where the draw petered out, and they would lose what cover they had. They could then be targeted with direct fire weapons. For about another hundred and fifty meters, the squad would disperse and continue to advance, seeking any tiny bit of cover they could, be it a rock, a slight depression, or anything.

If they made it through that to the Final Support Coordination Line, it would be those next hundred meters where they would earn their salary. The MDS engineers had cleared almost all cover in front of their bunkers. If the bunker fire could not be suppressed, then the squad would be cut down.

It was as simple as that.

But that was if they got that far. Rev had to concentrate on the here and now.

“That’s us. Go!”

Rev and Akkeke left their huge rock, ran past the other two, and went to their bellies fifteen meters past them.

There was a crack from above them, and an instant later, shrapnel pinged off of his PAL. His lights remained a steady green. He turned to Akkeke, who gave him a thumbs-up.

Rev didn’t even know what had hit them. Friendly or enemy, all that mattered was that it hadn’t been close enough to penetrate his combat suit.

“We need to pick up the pace,” Bob passed. “We’re still in defilade and need to take advantage of that.”

Rev didn’t know if the squad leader was specifically addressing him, but he said, “Roger that.”

To Akkeke, he said, “Double how much we cover.”

The next bound was over forty meters. One more, and they’d reach PL Yellow, beyond which they’d be more exposed.

<Drone, eleven o’clock.>

But Rev had seen the flicker of movement. He immediately reacted, rolling and raising Pashu. One quick blast and the drone sparked and fell to the ground.

“What was it?” Akkeke asked. He’d seen it, too, but his reaction time couldn’t match Rev’s.

“Don’t know. It’s dead now, whatever it was, but we’ve got to move.”

The MDS drone had managed to get through the Tigan supporting fire. It could have been a hunter-killer, but as quick as Rev was, a hunter-killer would have been quicker. More than likely, it was a spotter, and there was a good chance there might be some indirect fire heading their way.

“We might have been spotted,” he passed to Corporal La’ei. “Hold up thirty seconds.”

“Roger that.”

If there was an incoming mortar round, it wouldn’t do for Rev and Akkeke to clear the spot only for La’ei and Wahid to run into it.

Rev and Akkeke darted forward to get out of the potential impact zone, Akkeke in the lead. They’d covered only another fifteen meters when Rev’s PAL blasted him with a warning.

Rev reacted instinctively, lunging ahead to trip up Akkeke, who crashed flat on his face.

“What the fuck are you—”

“Freeze!”

Akkeke froze.

“Triangulate,” Rev ordered Punch.

<Shift two meters to your left.>

Rev skootched over.

With two readings, Punch was able to get a rough position and push it onto the display. Something, almost assuredly a mine, was buried just a meter from the corporal. And it was active. It had picked up one or both of them. The fact that it hadn’t detonated probably meant it was programmed to go off when a target was directly above it. However, with even a rudimentary AI, it could decide that with any target in range, detonating now gave it a better chance of success.

“You’ve got a mine right in front of you. Stay on your belly and back up.”

The corporal reacted immediately, scooting back with alacrity. Rev wasn’t hanging around, either. He was crawling in reverse when the forgotten mortar rounds arrived with air bursts that peppered the draw.

A spear of fire shot into Rev’s side just above his right hip.

<Your PAL’s been breached, and you’ve suffered a hit.>

“No shit, Punch! Give me a weapons check.”

<All weapons are still green. Your PAL has been compromised, but it is still fully functional.>

“You OK, Akkeke?” Rev asked.

“The EMP almost broke through, but I’m fine. How about you?”

It wasn’t an EMP that had breached his PAL. The MDS must have sent mixed rounds.

“I’ve been hit,” he said as he clamped down on his side.

Akkeke started to get to his feet to get to him when Rev shouted, “Stay down! We’ve still got that mine.”

“What’s your status,” Bob asked. “Are you OK?”

In the Marines, every squad leader had access to their Marines’ bios. The Home Guard, with differing combat suits, did not. It shouldn’t be difficult to synch, but there it was.

“Wait one. I’ve got a situation here.”

Which was an understatement. The mine was still there, and it could detonate any second. Mines were better left to engineers, but without any of them around, Rev had to take care of it.

“The twenty?”

<That would give you the highest probability of success.>

Rev knew that. The Morays were useless at this close range. His beamer might work, but it would have to penetrate dirt while not triggering the mine’s fuze. He could toss a Phoenix incendiary grenade, but he’d have to hope it landed right on top, then they’d have to wait while it burned down.

His 20 mm cannon might work, though.

With a gasp of pain, Rev rose to one knee. Using the mine’s location overlaid on his display, he aimed Pashu and triggered two rounds. The dirt exploded into dust, but nothing happened, and the mine was still active. It would almost certainly be assessing the threat. Rev instinctively reacted, lowering his point of aim and firing a five-round burst. The third or fourth hit the mine, which erupted in a half-ass whump.

Something hit Rev in the head, and a small line appeared on his face shield. The pain in his side was forgotten and Rev reached up with his right hand in wonder to touch the score on his helmet.

The mine had fired monomolecular bolas. Deadly to unarmored infantry, which they cut in half, they could even slice through most combat suits if the range was close enough. And at ten meters, that was close. But somehow, the incredibly sharp bola had broken through his face shield but not taken off his head. Either the mine had been damaged enough by his cannon, or he’d caught only the tail end of one of the bolas.

“Systems check,” he told Punch, going on routine.

His mind was numb. Over the course of seconds, he’d come close to buying the farm. So much for a limited engagement.

<All systems are still green. Nanos are rushing to your wound. It doesn’t look serious. Do you want hypovolemic meds?>

Rev probed the wound. There was a small hole in his PAL, about the diameter of his little finger. Shifting his hand around his side, there was a matching hole. He didn’t know which was the entry and which was the exit, but if he could draw a line between them, it looked like the wound went through the skins and fat on his side, maybe hitting muscle as well. No organs should have been hit. And if he took the hypovolemics, his mind would be affected as well.

But it was hurting again, now that the shock of almost getting decapitated was fading.

“Give me something for the pain, but not the hypovolemics.”

“Staff Sergeant, your helmet. I can see right through it to your face,” Akkeke said.

Rev raised his right hand and poked at the gash. The gauntleted fingers were too wide to fit through, but a naked finger might be able to reach in and touch his face.

“I’m OK. Still combat effective. Let me report back to Bob.”

Rev pulled up the squad leader, who didn’t wait for Rev to talk. As soon as the connection was made, he blurted, “What happened up there? Are you and Akkeke OK?”

“Got spotted by a drone. We tried to move beyond that, and my PAL alerted on a mine. Backing up, the mortars landed, and I was hit. I was afraid that the mine’s AI was going to go down its decision tree and detonate anyway, so I took it out with my twenty. But I got hit anyway. Bola mine. Cracked my face shield.”

When he ran it all together like that, he had to credit the enemy. Of course, they knew the draw would be a likely avenue of approach, so they had laid a good trap. The drone had probably already been stationed. When alerted by sensors, it had risen to get a lock on the attackers. Mortars had been locked into the draw, and the mine was laid farther on.

If Rev and Akkeke hadn’t spotted the drone, the mortars would have been a surprise and might have caught them. If the mortar rounds had been detected, no problem. The Tigan or Home Guard troopers would rush forward to get out of the impact zone and trigger the mine.

It was really only a miracle that the two troopers were alive.

“By the Mother, Rev!” Bob said.

“Yeah, by the Mother.”

“What’s your status? Do you need a medevac?”

“I’m combat ready. The medinanos are nerve blocking, so I’m not incapacitated.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“And your face shield? How is your display?”

The PAL face shield could get cut in half, and the undamaged portions would still show his combat display. And if necessary, Punch could input the data right into his occipital lobes.

“Like I said, I’m still combat ready. Akkeke, too.”

There was a pause, then Bob said, “Are there more mines?”

Duh! How about thinking ahead, Reverent?

“Wait one.”

Rev got back to his knees and looked ahead, his scanners on max. Nothing was as clear as the one he’d detected, but there were slight anomalies that could be more mines.

“Akkeke, can you pick up any mines ahead of us?”

“Hell, Staff Sergeant. I didn’t see the one I almost stepped on. We don’t have your fancy Union PALs. Our scanners are for shit.”

That took Rev aback. He’d never considered that the Millsap D5s had crap scanners. They were the best-looking combat suit Rev had ever seen, and they had more robust armor, at least when compared to Rev’s PAL-5. But even if the ground penetration scanner the PAL family of combat suits used really wasn’t that high tech, the Millsap D5s didn’t even have that.

“I can’t tell for sure, but I think the entire draw might be mined,” Rev passed back to the squad leader.

“And I’ve got Chokra on my ass to keep moving.” There was another pause, this one longer, before he said, “Fuck, there’s no getting around it. We’ve got to get out and start our assault. You two wait up there while I get this going. Wait for my command, then haul ass. I gotta tell Chokra so he can tell the Tigans.”

“Get ready,” Rev told Akkeke. “We’re starting our assault from here.”

“Adds another sixty meters,” the corporal said.

Rev didn’t reply. There wasn’t much more he could say. That was sixty more meters where they would be much more exposed.

All around them, the sounds of battle had not let up. He wished he could see what was happening with the bigger picture. Two other groups of squads with IBHU Marine members were out there, doing their own assaults. But no matter how large the battle, no matter how many soldiers were engaged, for the grunt on the ground, their battle—their war, for that matter—was limited to their tiny slice of the pie.

A map appeared on his display. Each team’s route out of the draw and forward was indicated. These were axes of advance, not set directions of attack. Each team, then as they got closer, each trooper, would select their way forward, using the terrain to their best advantage.

“All hands, get ready. We’re moving the moment we get an intensified suppression fire,” Bob passed.

“Watch our advance. We don’t want to push into another team’s lane,” Rev told Akkeke.

“Got it, Staff Sergeant,” the corporal said with the voice of someone humoring a senior trooper.

Of course, he’s got it, Rev told himself. Just let him do his thing.

Then the go light turned green, and Bob shouted over the squad net, “Now!”

Rev surged out of the draw. To his left and behind, La’ei and Wahid were emerging as well. Rev and Akkeke went to their bellies to let the other two draw ahead. Rev fired a burst of his twenties at their target. He didn’t quite have a direct line of sight to the bunker’s opening, but even rounds impacting on the top of the bunker should catch the defender’s attention.

La’ei and Wahid hit the deck, and Rev and Akkeke jumped up to rush forward. What immediately hit Rev was that the terrain was not as featureless leading up to the bunker. The ground was now pockmarked with craters from the artillery barrage of the day before.

Rev had thought the arty had been pretty useless and a waste of ammo, but now he appreciated the results. He and Akkeke rushed twenty-five meters past the other two and dove into one such crater. There was no overhead cover, of course, but it made for a decent-enough fighting hole.

Rounds zipped overhead, both incoming and outgoing. Rev didn’t have much of an opinion yet as to the martial prowess of the Tigans, but one thing was for sure: they could put out a lot of fire.

One bound after the other, the squad moved forward. There were some explosions that sent dirt and rock up into the air, but as far as Rev could tell, none of the troopers were under direct fire . . . yet.

But the quicker and closer they got to the target, the less time they would be in the bunker’s fields of fire.

At a hundred and fifty meters away, and with friendly fire getting closer, they crossed the FSCL, the Fire Support Coordination Line. The support fires shifted. From here until the end, they would only engage targets requested by the assault force. That wasn’t just the Tigans. That was the rest of the ad hoc company and battalion, as well. Second Platoon’s First Squad, with Tomiko and Randigold, would be moving into the assault in trace of Rev’s squad, ready to provide close-in support or to capitalize upon Rev and the rest’s success.

The troopers broke down into individual rushes.

Up, one, two, three, down. Wait, one, two, fire weapon, three. Up, one, two, three, down.

During his next rush, Rev let loose a Moray, aimed at their target’s opening. He took an extra step to watch the missile hit, but it exploded just meters from the bunker as the close-in defense system took it out.

Shit!

To his right, Akkeke jumped up and darted forward, only to go down face-first.

“Akkeke!”

“I’m OK. Just took a beamer and had to break the contact. Looks like I’m still green.”

Most lower-power beamers could put someone in a combat suit out of action, but it took from three or four to more seconds to burn through the shielding. Akkeke had barely been targeted for a second, and his D5 was pretty robust.

Unless it was a mounted beamer, even Rev’s PAL-5 could withstand five or six seconds from any beam weapon in the MDS inventory. He started to draw his legs up for his next dash when he realized something that made him hesitate. Rev’s PAL was compromised. His face was exposed to the open air through the gash in his face shield. Any hit by an energy weapon would find its way to him.

The gash was on his right side. He and Akkeke were on the right side of the advance where he could best deploy Pashu, but the corporal had the outside position.

“I’m crossing to the other side of you. Don’t shoot up my ass.”

“Roger that.”

It was a little thing and probably wouldn’t make much of a difference, but the farther away the break in his face shield from the bunker’s line of sight, the better.

Rev dashed to his right, suddenly aware of his increased vulnerability. He kept expecting his warrior to make an appearance to give him a boost, but it was still hovering, just observing.

He was used to fighting his warrior to keep him from taking over, but Rev wouldn’t mind a bit of that fire at the moment.

Rev took a quick glance to his right, just in time to see a trooper in the adjacent assault drop.

Keep focused on your target, not anyone else’s.

Right in front of him was a series of overlapping craters, leading almost up to the right side of the bunker. From the looks of it, he might be able to drop in and be out of the bunker’s line of fire.

He’d just told himself to focus on his target, but he looked over to the right. All of the bunkers were mutually supportive of other bunkers. He couldn’t tell for sure, but if he ran up the craters, he thought he might be out of the line of fire from that bunker as well.

“What was that Napoleon quote about opportunity?”

<In war there is but one favorable moment; the great art is to seize it!>

“That’s the one.”

“This is it, Chunk,” he told Akkeke. “We’re going to put an end to it. Stay on my ass.”

The corporal didn’t bother to ask what was up. It didn’t matter to him. He was going to follow Rev, and that was enough. He rushed up to Rev and hit the deck beside him. “Let’s do it then.”

“I need some heavy fire, if that’s possible, on the bunker for about fifteen seconds,” he told Bob. “I’m going up the right side.”

“Wait one. Let me see.”

“You ready?” he asked Akkeke.

“If you’re ready, then so am I. Lead on, Marine.”

The plan was set. It wouldn’t do any good to worry about the what-ifs. He couldn’t worry about the other bunker. He couldn’t worry about the gash in his face shield. He couldn’t worry about the hole in his side. All of those would cause hesitation. Even the slightest bit, and . . .

“And the quote about hesitation? What was that?”

<He who hesitates is lost. Joseph Addison.>

“Yeah, that one.”

Rev was just going to have to go for it. And finally, with that realization, his warrior started to emerge. Rev didn’t tamp it down but let it flow through his veins, filling him with violent purpose.

“I’ve got support in ten seconds. Mother be with you, Rev.”

“Eight seconds,” Rev told Akkeke as his focus narrowed and his heart rate sped up. Somewhere in the back of his mind, his rational self urged caution and told him that he should wait for the rest of the squad. His rational self reminded him that he had a compromised PAL.

But Rev hated being rational, and he let his warrior self, who was finally stirring, shout down his rational self.

“Now!” Bob passed, and Rev was already moving, arising out of the crater with a sense of purpose. He crossed the twenty meters of open ground, the last few meters under fire. Without losing his stride, he jumped into the first of the next series of craters, his legs churning as they fought to gain purchase in the torn-up soil and pulverized rock.

His rational self tried to remind him that the MDS had employed mines, but his warrior self scoffed at the idea. Most of the craters looked fresh, so when would they have had time to mine them?

The craters didn’t put him completely in defilade. The depth varied, and several times, he bounded up and in their fields of fire. Twice he was almost hit—once by his target and once by the adjacent bunker. A beam weapon fired just as he dropped into the next to last crater, the hair on his neck rising as a side lobe trickled in through the break in his face shield.

The front of the bunker was crumbling into pieces under the onslaught, and Rev added to the fire with two Morays. At least one made it inside the bunker. And then he was too close. His beam cannon wasn’t designed for shielded bunkers, but he still had his twenty.

He ran down into the last crater and emerged just fifteen meters from the far-right corner of the bunker. Rev poured fire into the narrow opening as he charged from the side. The emergency shutters started to close until something big hit the shutters head-on, stopping their descent.

Rev closed the last few meters so quickly that friendly fire blasted pieces of cerrocrete that hit him. He didn’t care. He forced Pashu’s muzzle into the opening and emptied half of his combat load, then blindly swept the muzzle back and forth.

Akkeke shouted, “Save some for me,” as he arrived alongside Rev. He fired his much smaller Rob-22 into the opening before he bent over and peered inside.

“I see one dead.”

That snapped Rev back. He bent over and looked into the opening. The mangled mess of what used to be an MDS soldier was up against the back wall of the bunker.

The opening was way too narrow to let either trooper slip through.

“Blow it,” he told Akkeke.”

“With pleasure.”

“We’re about to blow an opening,” Rev passed to Bob while Akkeke set up the PTC, the same multi-purpose explosive that they’d used in the Nightingale’s Song. “Looks like one KIA inside.”

“They’re all connected, Rev. Wait for the rest of us.”

“Already set the fuze,” he said. A little white lie, but his warrior was still affecting his actions.

He nodded to Akkeke, and the corporal set it off. Both troopers stepped back a few meters, and the PTC went off with a hollow whump. When the smoke cleared, a human-sized hole had been cut into the side of the bunker, just to the right of the opening where the structure wasn’t as reinforced.

Akkeke jumped through the opening and over to the tunnel leading out of the bunker. Rev’s warrior fought for dominance as he stepped through. The interior damage was extensive, but it was obvious to him that the lone KIA hadn’t been the only soldier manning it. The rest had gone out the tunnel.

The bunker might have been taken, but the battle wasn’t won. The entire complex would have to be secured. Still, it was a start, and Rev thought that it was only a matter of time now.

With Akkeke covering the tunnel entrance, Rev stepped up and looked out of the opening. The rest of the squad was hurrying forward, and beyond them, Tomiko and Randigold’s squad was on their way, too.

As he watched them, he was amazed that he and Akkeke had made it, arty craters or not. The bunker was perfectly situated with amazing fields of fire. He was suddenly struck that if he and Akkeke hadn’t found a way forward, this could have turned out very bad for the Home Guard troopers.

But they had, and it hadn’t.

He pulled up the company net. “Objective Magpie, all secure.”

* * *

“But I can still fight!”

“Sorry, but you can’t,” Captain Chokra said,

“Tell him, Doc!”

The captain looked over at the medic, who said, “As far as his side, yes, he can fight. I’ve boosted his pain blocker nanos, and none of that will affect his mental acuity.”

The captain shook his head. “It isn’t that you aren’t able. It’s that helmet.”

Rev picked it up from the low table where he’d placed it so the medic could take a look at him and rapped his knuckles on it. “See, still good.”

“You know that’s not true, son. It’s compromised. One shot with a beamer and your brain’s fried.”

“I’ll take that chance, sir. My squad is clearing this complex now, and they need me.”

“And we’re going to need you before this is all over. No, you’re taken off the line. You’re to remain in this room until the complex is secured or we can get you another helmet.”

“But—”

“But nothing, Staff Sergeant. You did a great job in making the breach, and taking Magpie enabled us to take Objective Crow, too, but you’re shelved for now. And that’s a direct order.”

Rev just stared at the captain. He knew he was more vulnerable with the gash in his helmet, but his squad was more vulnerable without him there with them. They could use the firepower he brought to the table. He tried to come up with another argument.

“I said, that is a direct order. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir. I understand,” he said.

The captain gave him a long, hard look, choosing to ignore Rev’s sullen tone. “That means you stay in the room.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sir . . . ?” the sergeant who’d come in with the captain prompted.

“Right. Let’s go.”

He started to leave the room, but at the door, he turned back to say, “That was a helluva job there. You made the Union proud.”

That did nothing to soften Rev’s mood. He was angry. It should be his choice on whether he was combat-capable or not.

The medic had been quiet through it all, only speaking that once when Rev asked him. Now he just shrugged and put his Medikit back in the pack at his waist.

“You can get dressed now, Sergeant.”

“Why? What’s the use?” Rev muttered.

The medic didn’t answer. He finished stowing his gear, gave Rev a nod, and walked out.

Rev waited until the door closed behind him before he took his traitorous helmet and flung it across the room, where it crashed against the back wall.

* * *

“Damn, son,” Tomiko said as she examined the hole in his side. She reached out to give it a poke. “Does this hurt?”

“Hell, Miko. Of course, it hurts,” Rev said, wincing and bending away from her touch.

“I told you to keep your head down.”

“That wasn’t his head they were aiming at. Something lower,” Rice said.

“What?”

“Right in the love handles. Too bad for you. I guess no loving anytime soon,” Rice said.

Rev rolled his eyes and pulled down his long john shirt. “I swear, I almost got nailed twice, and that’s what you’re giving me shit about?”

“Yeah, about that,” Tomiko said. “Where’s your helmet?”

“Over there,” Rev pointed to where he’d thrown it against the far wall.

Miko retrieved it and held it up. “Holy fucking shit, Rev. That’s . . .”

“Lucky, I know.”

“The Mother was looking out for you,” Rice said, running a finger along the gash.

She tossed it to him. He hadn’t really taken a close look after the medic had him strip down to the waist, and then he’d thrown it in anger after Captain Chokra told him he was restricted to the room.

But now, looking closer, he suddenly realized just how close of a call it had been. The face shield had been cut through, and a long line had scored the side of the helmet itself. It must have been the angle that kept it from cutting the helmet—and his head inside—in half.

“Pretty ballsy, Rev,” Tomiko said in a more serious tone. “You really could have been killed, rushing the bunker like that.”

“Hell, I figured they’d already tried their best,” he said, trying to make light of it.

“I’m serious. That was a fool-ass thing to do.”

Rev placed the helmet on the table and reached for his PAL’s carapace. He hadn’t donned his combat suit after the medic left, but there was no use hanging out in his long john shirt. This was still an unsecured area, and just because he couldn’t leave the room to fight didn’t mean the fight might not come to him.

“It worked, right? And now, with the pressure from inside, the lieutenant said that Crow has been taken, too?”

Tomiko gave him a look he couldn’t decipher and shook her head. “It might have worked this time, but we can’t afford to lose any more of you. And I don’t want to have to tell your folks how your chasing medals got you killed.”

“Hey, that’s not fair. I’m not chasing medals.”

Rice snorted her disbelief. “Then why are you always trying to be a hero? I know your past, Rev.”

“That’s not it. I just saw the opportunity, and I took it. And it worked. Like Napoleon said.”

“And how many times before it doesn’t work?” Tomiko asked.

Rice stiffened slightly, cocking her head as she did when listening to comms, then said, “That’s it, Miko. We’re moving out.”

Tomiko put her gauntlets back on. “Just remember your orders. Stay put in here.”

Rev still thought the orders were bullshit. This wasn’t a game where the worst thing that could happen with pulling a player was that the team might lose that round. This was combat, and risk was part and parcel of the process. Being too conservative could leave the company vulnerable to an aggressive enemy.

His two friends left as their squads were being committed to the fight. And it was still a fight. There was a tremor in the rock floor, and a faint explosion echoed through the passages.

He donned his carapace and gauntlets, then picked up his helmet. He gave it one more look. The gash was pretty impressive, and far from being traitorous, as he’d first referred to it, the helmet had saved his life.

He was still anxious to get a new one so he could rejoin the fight, but instead of trashing the old one, he decided he’d save it.

It would be a hell of a conversation piece someday.

* * *

Rev never got back into the battle for the Tooth. Instead of digging in and fighting, the MDS soldiers had chosen to relinquish the field of battle. Some of the soldiers had fought a delaying retreat, slowing down the Tigans and Home Guard troopers. The fighting at times had been fierce, and the MDS rear guard suffered heavy casualties, but they accomplished their mission. Their sacrifice in covering the retreat of their main body allowed them to slip out of the complex and make their way to the rest of their division.

They’d left behind more than a few nasty surprises, booby-trapping the complex, and soldiers were lost even after the last MDS soldier was dead, captured, or had escaped. The Tigans had to send in an engineering company to clear the spaces. Some spaces were simply blasted shut. If there were any enemy soldiers hiding out in them, hoping to sneak out and harass the Tigans, they’d be waiting a long, long time before their air and water ran out.

The Battle for the Tooth was officially declared won, and the complex would be used as a strongpoint and base of operations for the next phase of the non-war: the taking of the Sleeping Bear, the main body of Rasper Mountain.

Securing the Tooth had come at a steep cost. Two hundred and twenty-one Tigan soldiers had lost their lives. Forty-two Home Guard troopers had been killed, including Sergeant Tenni Rimes, Perseus Union Marine Corps and an IBHU Marine.

Rimes was the first IBHU Marine to die in action since the end of the Centaur War. But as Rev gazed at the massive Sleeping Bear, he was afraid she wouldn’t be the last one.

31

“How does it feel?” Daryll asked.

“How does it feel? Like a helmet. That’s how it feels.”

“Yeah, pretty standard. Sorry it took so long. That’s the problem with a log train where all the equipment is different.”

“Everything look good from your end?” Rev asked Punch.

<Like you said, it’s a helmet. Your connections are fine.>

“Punch says it’s good to go, too.”

“How is Punch? Still telling jokes?”

“If you can call them that.”

<I’d take offense at that if I were human.>

“That’s a very human thing to say.”

<Don’t insult me.>

Rev laughed out loud at that.

Daryll gave him a strange look. “Now, you’re laughing at yourself?”

“No, Punch is getting punchy.” When Daryll didn’t seem to find his wordplay humorous, he added, “I mean, he just got upset when I put down his joke-telling abilities.”

Daryll frowned and asked, “Is that, uh, normal? I mean, an AI getting upset?”

Rev was instantly on alert. He liked Daryll, and he trusted him with Pashu. But he was still part of the Sieben-slash-Union creators of the IBHU weapons system. Punch wasn’t a Sieben creation, but he’d been modified for both the IBHU and for serving in the Home Guard.

“Well, that’s an overstatement, I guess. That was me, what do you call it? Anthropomorphizing him?”

“Yes, that’s the word.”

Does he sound suspicious?

“I need to watch what I say,” he told Punch using tabletalk.

<That would be a good idea.>

Rev needed to change the subject. “So, am I officially combat ready now?”

“I don’t see why not. It was just a helmet. How’s your side, though?”

Rev lifted his right arm over his head and bent to the left ballerina style. “Barely feel it anymore.”

Which wasn’t really true, but he was not going to give the command any excuse to hold him back.

“Well, you’ve got a new helmet, and your PAL’s been patched. From what I can see, you’re combat ready.”

“Then can you enter that? They won’t clear me until it’s all in the records.”

Daryll picked up his pad and punched in a few things. “Done and done. You are qualified to go and get yourself killed now.”

His eyes got wide, then he said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

Rev waved him off. “I understand gallows humor.”

“Still, that was in bad taste,” Daryll said. “Trying to be funny and failing.” He paused, then asked, “You going to kick off soon?”

“That’s what I hear. It’s all at the top levels now. With the defeat at the Tooth, word is that the brass is trying to give the Mad Dogs a way out while saving face.”

Daryll snorted. “Really? You think that’ll happen? I’ve seen the Mad Dogs, and I sorta know how they think.”

“No, I don’t think it’ll happen. I mean, I’ll be glad if they do give up, but one defeat isn’t going to change their minds. And that’s only here. What about the other five fights? I don’t even know what’s going on there.”

Rev left that hanging. Daryll, with his Sieben contacts, might know more than what the rank and file were being told, but if he did know, he wasn’t volunteering it.

“I think you’re right,” Daryll said. “They’ve gone this far. I think they’re going to let this play out longer.”

“It’s going to take a lot more than one defeat to get them to back off. We’ll be clashing again, mark my words. But at least I’ll be with my squad again before that happens.”

Daryll frowned. “You really want to jump back into the fight?”

“No.”

“Then, why did you say it that way?”

Rev took a deep breath while he tried to pick his words. This wasn’t the easiest thing to explain. Daryll had been around Marines for a long time. His uncle was a general. But he’d never served himself, and this was something that only those who’d served really understood.

“I don’t want to fight. I don’t give a shit about the freakin’ mountain or who’s the king of the hill. I don’t want to lose any of my squad so we can perch on top of it and declare ourselves winners. I don’t want to die. And I don’t really want to kill fellow human beings, even Mad Dogs.”

“So . . . ?”

“But, if my squad is being committed, if my platoon is being committed, hell, even if my task-organized company is being committed, then I want to be with them. I want to do my part to help them achieve the mission, sure, but mostly to do my best to make sure we all come back alive.

“I can’t let them go off alone to face danger. I can’t abandon them.”

“Yeah, I guess. But this isn’t the Safe Harbor Marines. I could see it then. You grew up with your fellow Marines. These are soldiers from all over the galaxy. Hell, you might be enemies tomorrow, just like what happened with the Mad Dogs.”

“But they are my brothers and sisters in arms. It doesn’t matter if they’re Frisian Host, Heg Legionnaires, or Millsap Army. Here, in the Home Guard, we’re all the same. I’d give my life to save them, and I know they’d do the same for me.”

Daryll scrunched his eyebrows together as he considered what Rev had just said, and Rev realized he might have made a mistake. If Daryll was one of the watchers, or if what he was saying now was being noted, it could be taken that he put those from other nations at the same level as he did for Union citizens and military.

Screw him if that’s the case. I can’t watch every damn word I say. Besides, what I said is true. I would give my life for each and every one of them. Hell, I risked my life for Kvat on Cat Scratch, so any watcher should know that.

“Well, I guess that’s the way it should be,” Daryll said, not sounding too convinced. “And now you can join your squad and do what you have to do.

“But this time, please don’t screw up your equipment. I don’t know how many more helmets we have in the system.”

32

The MDS didn’t blink, and finally, the CoH must have realized it. The OK was given to the task force commander to begin the final assault on the Sleeping Bear.

There were some changes in the task organization, however. The Tigan command was smarting over the number of their KIAs, particularly among their Ogres, and they wanted the Home Guard to take more of the brunt. The CoH, wanting to placate the Tigans, acquiesced, despite the fact that the battalion was not organized to dig out a heavily armed defending force.

The battalion wasn’t toothless. Between the grenadiers and missilemen, they had the ability to penetrate bunkers, but they were not heavy infantry by any stretch of the imagination. The IBHU Marines provided the most punch, and the CO wanted to maximize their shock power, and that aligned with the wash-up lessons of the attack on the Tooth. The general consensus was that Sergeant Rimes was lost because half of the IBHU Marines were held back in the support element, not the assault element.

The ad hoc company was still there, but now, the support element would be made up of grenadiers and missilemen, while the assault element would consist of the ten remaining IBHU Marines and thirty regular grunts.

In most ways, the assault on the Sleeping Bear was a classical operation. As the task force commander had said, many tactics were classical because they worked. Rev wasn’t as confident. Classic also meant that the MDS had studied the tactics, and they’d be ready for them. He’d feel much better if there was a twist that would take the MDS by surprise, but as far as he could see, there wasn’t much in that vein.

The operations order had the surviving arty soften up the targets while a wave of drones would flood the AO, gathering data on the enemy’s disposition and reactions. This would hopefully paint the battlefield before they were all knocked down. The combat AIs would try and determine where the MDS soldiers were most vulnerable, and that would be the Home Guard’s objective. Once the battalion had penetrated the defenses, the Tigans would follow, pass through the Home Guard lines, and become the point of the main effort.

The only good thing that Rev could see was that they were not going to completely rely on the drone swarm. Drones could be spoofed. The Tigans were going to send in their recon to probe the MDS positions to confirm what the drones had revealed.

Then it would be up to the Home Guard, specifically, the ad hoc company, to find a way to break through the MDS defense.

* * *

The first crack of the outgoing arty could be heard from one of the MDS bunkers on the west side of the Tooth. The IBHU Marines looked around at each other. In thirty minutes, it would be go time.

This wasn’t the artillery duel as before. The rounds were spaced further apart, for one difference. Rev wasn’t sure if that was due to a shortage of shells or if too many of the mag-tubes had been knocked out. He just hoped it was enough to provoke reactions that could be mapped out.

“Time to join the rest,” Lieutenant Macek said. “Just remember what we’ve covered here.”

Which wasn’t really anything new. Don’t be a hero, keep your head down, dispersion, mutually supporting fires, when to use which weapon, etc.. Nothing they hadn’t known, trained with, and fought with before. But sometimes, officers felt they had to bring Marines together and force-feed them common sense.

It was usually harmless. Rarely was anything promulgated that could end up killing more Marines, and that was usually because of some medal chaser.

Rev frowned at the thought. He was still stinging from Tomiko and Rice’s accusations that he, of all people, was chasing medals. That wasn’t why he did what he did while fighting. In his mind it was either to keep his Marines and him alive, like when he killed his first paladin with an incendiary grenade, or because he knew that drastic action had to be taken, like three days ago when he decided to rush the bunker.

He shook his head to rid that line of thought. They were about to go into battle again.

The Marines got to their feet, and the first were almost at the door when Rev called out, “Hold it!”

Everyone turned to look at him. He stood there with Pashu raised. “I can’t believe you’re all leaving. Bring it in.”

The other nine IBHU Marines gathered around him, IBHU’s raised. “Comrades in Steel!” he shouted.

“Comrades in steel,” they repeated as they all clinked IBHUs.

They clinked in one mass, but then Rev made it a point to clink with each one individually, starting with Randigold, going around, and ending with Sign of Respect.

“Brothers in steel,” he said as he and the sergeant tapped.

It had taken a long time for Rev to warm to the quiet Marine. What he’d first taken as a charter citizens’ sense of superiority over the provincials had actually been reflective of someone who was simply shy and not at ease in social situations. Shy or not, however, the sergeant was the quintessential professional when the rounds were flying.

And being an IBHU Marine was probably the best place for someone like him. Unlike Rev, who chafed at the lack of leadership opportunities, Sign of Respect didn’t pursue, nor was he particularly suited for, leading Marines. Rev didn’t know how the sergeant would perform as a staff sergeant, but for now, he was in the right position.

“Kick some ass, but keep your head down, Tesler,” Rev told him, pulling him close, organic arm to organic arm.

“As always, Staff Sergeant.”

Rev released him, then joined the exodus. They joined the thirty troopers in the next room.

Tomiko and Bob were huddled in the corner, heads close. They were normally in two different platoons, but with the task organization—newly christened “Task Force Chokra”—this was the first time the two would be fighting together. Tomiko reached out a gauntleted hand and put it on his shoulder as she leaned in, a sure sign that she was telling him something she thought was important. She looked up, saw Rev, and with a determined look, strode over to meet him.

“Done with your oh-so-secret meeting?”

She was just being Tomiko, and she was joking, but Rev could detect just the slightest bit of annoyance. As the only non-IBHU Union Marine in the assault element, he knew she expected to have been in the meeting. And it really didn’t matter if she was there, but the lieutenant had specified IBHU Marines only.

“It was same-o, same-o. ‘Don’t use your beamer on bunkers, watch for shrapnel when you hit cerrocrete with the twenty.’ That sort of stuff.”

“Right. And I was going to record all of that and send it to the Mad Dogs.”

“Not my choice, Miko.”

Before she could snap back a response, Captain Chokra stuck his head in the room and said, “Move it out to the assembly area.”

The troopers filed out of the room and started down the main passage that had connected each of the bunkers. Rev had never gotten much past the first bunker, so he looked around with interest. The walls were smooth-cut stone. In just a short time, the MDS engineer platoon had created the complex. Yes, the borers were mostly automated, but that was still impressive. He wondered how well the Union Marines might have fared.

The Marine engineers were combat engineers, and their expertise was in destroying things. Building complexes like this was generally relegated to the Seabees or militia engineer battalions.

Like most Marines, Rev was positive that they were the best military force in the galaxy. But looking around as he passed through to the other side, he had to admit that maybe they weren’t the best in all areas, as much as that hurt. Not that he’d ever be in a position lofty enough to make changes on that scale, but maybe getting real engineer units would be a good idea.

It took almost fifteen minutes to move from the west side of the complex to the east side. They staged in one of the bunkers where there had been no fighting and was consequently in much better shape. There was even a working screen showing the visuals outside.

Little puffs of dust were rising from the Sleeping Bear—which from this angle, didn’t look like a bear at all. The number of arty strikes seemed too few to make much of a difference, and Rev had to remind himself that they didn’t expect to destroy the bunkers with arty. All they were trying to do was to precipitate a response.

From the Tooth to the peak of the Sleeping Bear was just over three klicks. Both peaks were above the tree line with a forested saddle dipping between them. The third peak, the Sentinel, was much smaller than the other two, a volcanic spire of rock that reached up from the trees between the two larger peaks.

The Home Guard battalion had to cross the saddle, using the forest and terrain as much as possible. Two Tigan battalions would remain in the Tooth’s bunkers, providing fire support while the rest of the Tigans were deployed to the north, south, and east of the objective. The MDS had escaped three days ago when their defense crumbled. The general was bound and determined that wouldn’t happen again.

The Tigans had already built a detention camp ten klicks away from the mountain, within full view of the defenders.

It was a bit of arrogance, true, but maybe it would prey on the MDS soldiers’ minds . . . and remind them that this didn’t have to be a fight to the death. When their position became untenable, they could always surrender.

The camp was Task Force Chokra’s rally point if the need arose.

Lieutenant Macek was giving last-minute orders while Captain Chokra huddled with Master Sergeant Fitzwater, the task force’s first sergeant. Rev ignored all of them as he watched the arty pepper the Sleeping Bear. He compared what he saw with the charts he’d studied, trying to figure out how he’d set up his troops if he was in command of the defense.

Punch was a good sounding board, playing the enemy. Rev would offer a course of action, and Punch would give a response. None of this was real, and chances were that his role-playing wouldn’t be reflected in the coming fight, but at least he was keeping his mind nimble and hopefully ready for whatever surprise the MDS would spring on them.

It was a game of chess, thinking four, five, six moves ahead. But unlike with chess, where the pawns and pieces were simply removed to be resurrected for the next game, in this case, the pawns were killed.

Tomiko came up beside him, interrupting his wargaming. “It’s a long way to advance.”

“But under some degree of cover,” Rev said.

“Kinda pretty, though,” Tomiko said after a moment. “It would be a nice place to visit if the damn Mad Dogs weren’t here.”

“I’ll make sure I tell the Olivera Tourist Board that you’re unhappy about that,” Rev said with a laugh.

“Sorry I snapped at you back there. I know you didn’t decide who was allowed into your fucking meeting.”

Rev turned to look at her as she studiously studied the image. “Has hell frozen over? Tomiko Reiser apologizing?”

“Yeah, weird, huh? Just wanted to clear that up in case, you know . . .”

It was considered mucho bad luck to mention getting killed before a battle. In the holovids, that was a sure sign that the soldier wasn’t going to make it. Rev wasn’t superstitious, but there was no use tempting the gods of war.

“Just keep that in mind, that you can apologize for all the times you treat me like shit in the future,” he said, not letting her put voice to her fears.

“Hah! Me treat you like shit? More like the other way around,” she said before punching Rev in the arm. In his PAL, at least he couldn’t feel it this time. For such a small woman, she always showed surprising power when she hit him.

He’d have taken a shot to the arm without the PAL, though, if it would have kept her from saying what she’d been about to say. Hopefully, she was past that.

“That’s it,” Top Fitzwater shouted. “Button up.”

Rev closed his face shield and waited for the snick that told him he was sealed up.

“Systems check.”

<All systems green. Full battle load, and power is at ninety-five-point-eight percent.>

“Keep your head down, Miko,” Rev passed.

“You, too, Rev. You, too.”

The master sergeant passed the word to move out, and the assault on Rasper Mountain was underway.

33

Rev lay on his belly, looking over their axis of advance. They’d shifted to the north side of the Sleeping Bear, where the slope was more severe down to a shoulder where it flattened out slightly all the way to the plains below.

All of the data gathered by the scanners and confirmed by recon pointed to the fact that this offered the best chance at success. The entire military crest and downslope were defended with bunkers, fighting positions, and automatic weapons stations, but on this side, the defensive lattice wasn’t quite as interlocking as around the rest of the peak. There were wrinkles in the coverage that the CoH force might be able to exploit.

The consensus among the command staff was that the MDS did not have unlimited personnel and equipment, so they shortchanged the area where the terrain would make an assault more problematic. A chimney, what had long ago once been a flank cone, gave a degree of cover so that the troopers could approach in defilade to the bunkers at the top.

Rev ran his magnification to 30X as he examined the black chimney jutting from the side of the mountain, several hundred meters from the main peak. About forty meters wide, it rose straight up for ninety meters from the base. The front and sides were open to the air while the back was buried into the side of the mountain. The flat top perched out like a platform. The plan was for the assault element to use that as cover, going up either side before spreading out for the final assault.

It made sense on paper. The two bunkers above it wouldn’t be able to take the troopers under fire until they reached the top. But they would be vulnerable to deployed infantry coming up the sides along the scree that had broken off over the centuries. A squad could sit on the top of the cone and pick the assault element off one by one.

That was what the support element was there for, however. They’d be getting into position right now to provide covering fire in that eventuality. But the support element would then be exposed to the bunkers on top and would have to be suppressed by the Tigan heavier guns from the Tooth . . . and so on. Once again, it was a chess match. If we do this, then the MDS would probably react with that, and then we need to do this to counteract that, and . . .

Rev hoped they could get to where the chimney fully emerged without being engaged. But what came after that was where the assault would succeed or fail. The troopers had to cross a small depression before they crested the shoulder and could begin their final assault.

The depression was littered with boulders and trees, so it offered some cover, but it would still make a good kill zone. Rev would rather skirt the depression farther to the east by three hundred meters, then climb, but when he suggested that, Captain Chokra noted that would take them out of the reach of the Tigans back at the Tooth.

“But we don’t care about that. They’re not firing at us. We care that they can hit the bunkers above us, and that won’t have changed.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have let himself sound like a parent lecturing a child. He didn’t mean it that way, but from the captain’s frown, he took it like that.

“This plan has been promulgated from the top, and all the coordination’s been made. You just focus on your task, Sergeant.”

Rev opened his mouth to try and clarify his point, but an elbow from the lieutenant shut him up.

Maybe I’m being too cautious.

He told himself to just stand there and listen.

But now, with his eyes on the approach, he didn’t think he’d been wrong. He didn’t know that the MDS had somehow set up a fire trap, but that’s what he would have done if he were on the other side.

If you had unlimited firepower and personnel. There are other places to defend as well, Reverent.

Defenders could generally pick the terrain to defend, as the MDS had. That gave them the initial advantage. But the attackers could pick where in the broad defense they were going to attack. That let them concentrate their forces to achieve local numbers superiority.

If the combat AIs and the command were right in their assessment of the MDS order of battle, then the Home Guard should be able to accomplish a breach, and then as with the fight for the Tooth, the CoH force could exploit that breach to systematically clear the complex.

And this time, with the division deployed in a full 360 around the mountain, no one was going to escape. The command wanted a full and complete victory. Every single MDS soldier would have a choice. Surrender and live, or fight and die.

That was the plan, at least. The MDS would obviously have their own take on what was about to transpire.

Most of the prep fires had been directed toward the bunkers facing west and the Tooth. The two bunkers that comprised the assault force’s objectives—and that also posed the biggest threat—had barely been touched. They hadn’t been ignored—that would probably be too obvious. The mobile gun to the north of the mountain had hit them a few times, but Rev didn’t think it had much effect. They’d be assaulting fully operational bunkers, and this time, there weren’t the string of craters that had allowed Rev maneuver to the bunker on the Tooth.

They were just going to have to go right up the gut on this one.

“The support element’s in place. We’re moving out in two mikes,” the lieutenant passed.

Rev took one last look at the mountain. It really was impressive looking and could be a tourist destination. Too bad that hundreds of people were about to die on its slopes.

Let’s just make sure that it’ll be more of them than of us.

* * *

Rev paused for a moment, his right hand on the side of the chimney as he looked ahead. The scree made footing treacherous, their progression slow. He knew they were behind schedule—and if that wasn’t always on his mind as he picked his way forward, the constant reminder from both the lieutenant and captain wouldn’t let him forget it.

But he was the point for the left side climbers—Sign of Respect was leading those on the right side of the chimney—and it was his decision, based on the tactical situation, on how quickly they moved.

So far, the advance was unopposed, which instead of reassuring Rev, made him more nervous. Surely, there would be mines or automatic weapon stations. The Tigans were sweeping the sky of drones, but it seemed strange that none had been staged to pop up and take a shot should anyone pass by.

From the edge of the chimney, there was a small rise that paralleled the rock’s length. For all Rev knew, there could be a company of MDS just meters away, ready to take them under fire. It was a vulnerable feeling.

“You seeing anything?” Akkeke asked from behind him.

“No, nothing. But they have to be here.”

The sounds of battle surrounded them, but in this little slice of the AO, it was quiet. Quiet wasn’t a reason to stop, however, and Rev resumed his climb. He reached the top of the chimney, then paused again to scan the area. He saw no sign of the enemy, which didn’t seem right. Once he got a little higher, he’d be able to see Pineapple, the left bunker, but they had to have something covering the slight swale.

“OK, come on,” he passed to Akkeke, keeping his focus forward.

As he felt the corporal come close, he took a step forward to clear a spot. Instinct took over. His alarm screeched, and he dived forward as a turret popped up like a periscope fifteen meters ahead of him. Pashu was on the beamer, but Rev switched to the twenty and fired a quick burst of six rounds. The gun on the turret was deploying to fire when one of the rounds hit it, blasting the gun off the turret.

He lay there for a second on his belly, blasting out a D-scan. If there were more pogo sticks out there, buried in the ground, the D-scan wouldn’t do crap, but it should pick up any that had exposed tubes and could possibly pick up a sensor.

“You OK?” Akkeke asked.

“Pogo stick. Got it before the gun could snap down.”

“Shit!”

“Yeah, shit!” Rev said as his heart raced.

A pogo stick was an automatic rifle. Buried in the ground, they were emplaced as a single, meter-and-a-half-long tube, with only a tiny sensor exposed. Most were activated by the vibrations of feet hitting the ground, and the sensor sent out a single pulse to locate the target. The inner sleeve of the pogo then rose, the gun swiveled to the horizontal, and it fired.

The AW-77, the Marine version of a pogo stick, took point-eight seconds to deploy and fire. The MDS version couldn’t be that much different.

Rev, with his augments and IBHU, had managed to beat the thing. He doubted very much that Corporal Akkeke could have done the same.

“Triggered a pogo stick,” he passed on the net while tagging the spot. “All clear for the moment.”

“Hold up,” Bob passed.

“Close call?” Tomiko asked on the P2P while he waited.

“Yeah. Real close. I about shit myself.”

“Glad you’re OK. They know we’re here, though.”

“They were bound to find out soon enough.”

He thought they’d already known. It would have been tactically criminal for them not to have various sensors all around the mountain. But Tomiko was right. They knew now for sure that there were troopers climbing this side of the mountain. The question was what their chess masters were going to do about it. Would they rush reinforcements to this side of their complex? Would they think this was a feint and keep their reaction force ready for an attack somewhere else?

However the MDS reacted, the battalion, and more specifically, the assault element, had to be ready for anything.

“Can you push forward another twenty, thirty meters?” Bob asked.

Rev peered ahead. He couldn’t see anything, but at twenty meters, he thought he should still be in defilade to Pineapple.

“Can do.”

“Roger. You and Akkeke move forward. The captain wants to get up to the front and see for himself.”

Rev frowned. Captain Chokra had no purpose moving up from his position just so he could take a look. And see what? Anything more than Rev could see? His officer eyes were somehow better than a mere staff sergeant’s eyes?

He knew that some of that thinking was from the rush of almost getting killed. His warrior had taken over, and it was still itching to fight something, even if that was his own commander if there was no one else.

The captain’s not the enemy. Calm down.

“Let’s go. They want us to move forward,” he told Akkeke.

The two low-crawled forward. Pashu was not designed to facilitate crawling, and he had to keep her poised and ready to fire in case another pogo stick deployed, but finally, he made it. With Akkeke on his right, they waited for the captain to make his way forward, passing all the rest of the assault force.

They lost almost fifteen minutes while the captain made his way up. That was fifteen minutes where the MDS could prepare. Rev didn’t like that one bit, but it wasn’t his call.

Originally, with it being the last bit of cover, the far end of the swale was supposed to be the assault position, with the FCL where the terrain rose within the two bunker’s line of sight. The captain made it up and glassed the area before deciding that if there were more automated weapons in the swale, then it couldn’t be the assault position anymore. He moved the FCL to the top of the chimney and ordered that the assault element deploy as they reached it.

Rev couldn’t fault him with that decision. It was just that he could have ordered that more than fifteen minutes ago. He and Akkeke now had to cool their jets as both columns moved past the FCL and into their assault formations.

The order to commence the assault was given, and basically online, the element moved forward. Less than a minute later, a pogo stick on the far right hit a trooper before Randigold could target and destroy it.

“Give me a net to all the IBHU Marines,” he told Punch.

“Listen up. We need to lead the movement. The others can’t react quick enough.”

“We didn’t get that order,” Sign of Respect said.

“I’m giving it,” Rev snapped before he calmed back down. “Look, just do it. And keep alert. These damn pogo sticks are quicker than hell. Tell the troopers next to you to fall back a few meters. I don’t think they’ll argue.”

Randigold laughed and said, “I guess not.”

The sounds of the battle became louder. Evidently, with them crossing the FCL, not to mention two pogo sticks deploying, there wasn’t much call for subterfuge, and the captain was calling for more fire on their objectives. It was a comforting sound that gave Rev a little boost of confidence.

A medic reached the downed trooper, and the order was given to move out again. The nine IBHU Marines, all of them except for Lieutenant Macek, pushed forward and got four or five meters ahead of the others. Once they left the trees and rocks in the swale, they’d revert to normal team rushes, but for now, any more pogo sticks should target them instead of the others.

Rev was ready for the alarm as he was painted. Both he and Sergeant Sign of Respect fired, blasting it before the stick had fully raised.

“I’m taking credit for that kill, Staff Sergeant. I think I beat you to the punch.”

“Punch?”

<He did.>

“OK, Sergeant. You get it.”

“Sucks to get old,” Sign of Respect said.

Rev laughed out loud. The quiet, respectful sergeant giving him shit? Well, some people changed their personalities in combat. Rev knew the sergeant was kick-ass when fighting, but this was the first time they’d fought together, so it was the first time he’d seen it first-hand. He guessed this was the sergeant’s thing.

“You should be so lucky to get to such a ripe old age.”

“Live fast, die young and handsome.”

“Quit the chatter and keep moving,” the lieutenant said.

Rev had forgotten that as a Marine in a PAL-3, the lieutenant could listen in to their unit comms, which is what Punch had used to connect the IBHU Marines.

“Roger. We’re moving.”

The lieutenant switched to the P2P. “Good call on pushing ahead of the others.”

Rev winced. He should have cleared that with the lieutenant, and of course, he’d overheard Rev telling the rest to separate from the other troopers.

“Better to act and ask forgiveness later, sir.”

“Like I said, good call.”

The swale was only fifty meters long, so it didn’t take long to cross it. No more surprises greeted them as they approached the final rise. The nine Marines went to their bellies as the rest of the assault element joined them.

Keeping his head down, Rev raised his Optisight. The two objectives, Pineapple and Guava, were getting hit by both the Tigans at the Tooth and by those down on the plains. The rounds were making cerrocrete dust but didn’t seem to be really damaging much. As long as they were keeping the MDS occupied, though, then they were doing their jobs.

“Do we have any feeds?” he asked Punch.

Getting a drone feed from overhead might reveal something he couldn’t see from ground level.

<Nothing lasting over a few seconds. As soon as one comes online, it gets knocked down.>

Worth a shot.

Not that he had much choice on where he was going to advance. With the assault element essentially on line, he couldn’t stray too far to the right or left without either masking someone else’s fire or getting his masked.

The captain came over the company net. “I don’t have to tell you how important this is. We can crush the Mad Dogs and end this right now. Maybe end the entire conflict by teaching them they can’t stand up to the Congress of Humanity.

“I’ve got some heavy shit on call coming any minute now. It’s gonna rattle their brain boxes. As soon as it’s on the way, we move.

“And just so you know, I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

That last surprised Rev. He turned to look at the line of troopers, ready to charge. Sure enough, there was Captain Chokra in his Poro-Atlas combat suit.

Hell, I’ve got to give him his due.

A captain didn’t lead from the front. That wasn’t his job. But the assault was entering the phase where it was up to the individual Marines to get it done. The captain obviously thought he’d done all his commanding, and now he’d best serve by leading from the front.

“Gotta give Chokra mad props,” Tomiko said over the P2P.

Rev turned the other way, spotting Tomiko. She was watching him, and she blew him a kiss. Beyond her was Bob, La’ei, and Wahid, assigned to the assault element because they’d had experience working with IBHUs. If it wasn’t for Rev and the others, they might have been part of the support element, in relative safety a klick away.

Rev knew that troopers were about to die. They were all comrades in arms, and he’d mourn those who fell if he made it through himself, but he gave a silent plea to the Mother that his friends make it through in one piece.

It might be selfish, but he was only human.

He turned to the other side again. It was easy to pick out his fellow IBHUs, all nine, no, ten now that the lieutenant had moved forward as well. This was the entire battalion’s IBHUs and almost a fifth of the Union’s entire IBHU force.

The captain, even being as dramatic as he’d been in his pep talk, had been right about the importance of this assault. It could contribute to an end of the hostilities galaxy-wide. But eleven IBHU Marines, acting together in a single unit, was something that hadn’t been done, to the best of his knowledge. This would be studied by military historians as a proof of concept, one way or the other, of the IBHU program.

“Look sharp, IBHUs,” he passed on the same unit net. “The galaxy is watching us. Let’s give them something to see.”

Ten Marines shouted “Ooh-rah” back at him an instant before the order came to assault.

Rev was immediately up and moving. He ran uphill, Akkeke at his side. He dropped behind a jagged rock, raised Pashu, and fired a single Moray. The missile shot forward, hitting the opening of Pineapple. Rev didn’t know if it had any effect, but he wasn’t carrying them for fun. They were there to be used.

“Up,” he told Akkeke. As one, they darted ahead another twenty-five meters and dropped just as the bunkers seemed to realize they were there. Automatic fire, with the low burp, burp, burp of a large caliber weapon, reached out to the troopers. Rev timed the sweep of the gun, then jumped up and darted forward. He was kissed with an energy weapon, and his shield alarms flared, but it was such a brief touch that his combat effectiveness was barely dinged.

Explosions started to tear up the mountainside. One hit ten meters to Rev’s left just as he was getting up for another rush, knocking him over on his right side. But his PAL held, and he scrambled back up to chase Akkeke while firing another Moray. A little closer and he’d switch to his twenty.

<I believe you are being herded.>

“What do you mean?” Rev asked aloud.

<Look at the impacts. They are almost all to your left. And that is bunching you to the center.>

Two more explosions went off, both to Rev’s left, and he realized Punch was right. And on the far side, to the right of Guava, rounds were driving those troopers to their left.

One thing was for certain. If the MDS was trying to funnel them together, then the troopers wanted nothing of the sort.

“Don’t let them bunch us up. Keep your dispersion!” he passed on the open net.

He immediately switched to the command net. “The Mad Dogs are trying to herd us together.”

“Understood. Tjivyrtzlin, push left.”

Which would put Bob and those to Rev’s left directly into the teeth of the incoming fire, but it had to be done. They were only a hundred and fifty meters from the first bunker, which was both too close for comfort yet a huge distance to cover under fire.

“Chunk, angle left,” Rev said as he got up and ran. He didn’t get far, but at least it reversed the bunching.

On his next rush, Rev was going to open up with the twenty. It wouldn’t do much against the pockmarked cerrocrete bunker’s face, but maybe a seeing-eye round would make it through,

“Up,” he told Akkeke.

He ran three steps and fired Pashu’s 20 mm cannon. Two rounds went out before the gun stopped.

“What the . . . Punch, ammo check!”

<It isn’t the rounds. Your IBHU is no longer operational.>

“The hell it isn’t,” Rev said, rotating the arm as he ran.

<You can move it, but the weapons systems are offline. I cannot detect a fault.>

“But . . . .”

Rev looked across the line of troopers. There weren’t as many still advancing. Another IBHU Marine, probably the lieutenant, went down to one knee and was slapping his weapon. Rev realized then that the other’s IBHU wasn’t working, either, when beyond him, in the distance, the Tooth seemed to shudder for a moment before the top of the peak collapsed inward. It looked surreal for a few ticks before fire and smoke reached for the afternoon sky, as if the long-dormant volcano had suddenly awoken.

Rev stared in shock, momentarily forgetting Pashu. Two Tigan battalions and half of the division’s heavy weapons were in there.

The assault ground to a halt as troopers turned to stare and try to comprehend what had happened. No, not what had happened. That was pretty obvious. But how? The Tigan engineers had cleared the complex, but the evidence was right in front of their eyes. The MDS had rigged the complex to blow.

“Staff Sergeant, Cruella won’t fire,” Randigold passed, which snapped Rev back to his own issue. The loss of the complex on Tooth meant that most of the direct fire support was gone, but for the moment, his issue—and it looked like it wasn’t just his—had to take priority. There was nothing he could do about the Tooth.

Rev pulled up the IBHU channel that Punch had previously set up. “Report! Anyone else having problems?”

Immediately, he was bombarded. Every single IBHU was down. That was impossible, but there it was.

Fucking Mad Dogs! They did something, sabotaged our IBHUs when they stole them!

But that wasn’t right. They’d only stolen five of them. So, what the hell was going on?

Captain Chokra took over the comms. “Continue the assault! What just happened doesn’t change our mission. Push forward!”

Without a weapon?

“Lieutenant—”

“I know. I’m down, too. Let me talk to the captain.”

Akkeke gathered his legs under him, ready to rush as he looked at Rev for the word.

“Wait one. My IBHU’s down. No weapons.”

“What? No weapons?”

“None. Just wait a sec.”

Except all he knew was that the twenty was down and what Punch told him. He tried to fire first a Moray, then his beam cannon. Both were inoperable.

The lieutenant came back on the IBHU net. “I told the captain that our IBHUs are down. He said to keep going. The mission hasn’t changed.”

“But how are we—” Sergeant Lipswitch started to ask.

“Keep the fire off of the rest of the troopers.”

Rev pulled his Tata-5 out of the holster and checked the magazine. He didn’t know what he could do with it, but it was all he had.

Down the line, he could see Chokra rushing forward, firing his RP-5. He turned to look at Akkeke and nodded.

“With just a Tata?” the corporal asked.

“Yeah. Go!”

Rev was on his feet, screaming as he rushed forward. Not that any MDS could hear, but it helped overcome his feeling of helplessness. He released his warrior and let it take over. Instead of the mantra of “up . . . two . . . three . . . down,” he kept going, closing the distance.

Fire swept the area, but somehow, despite expecting it, he wasn’t hit as he charged forward. He hit the deck just thirty or forty meters away.

“Damn, Sergeant. Tell me when you’re going to do that,” Akkeke said, breathing hard.

Rev pulled one of his three Phoenix incendiary grenades out of his thigh pack. It was the only thing he had that might do some damage.

“You ready, Chunk?”

The corporal slapped the grenade launcher attached to his RP-5. “Might as well do it, Sergeant.”

“On three. One . . .”

“All hands, all hands, this is General Dinmeyer, the Assistant Commanding General. I have assumed command of the division. All units in the assault, cease offensive actions. I repeat, cease offensive actions and retreat to your rally points. We will provide covering fire as we can. This is a direct order. Cease offensive actions and move to your rally points. May the Mother watch over you.”

What the hell?

Rev poked his head up. The bunker loomed over him, just forty meters away. It was so close that he could almost touch it. If they had to retreat, that meant traversing the bunker’s entire field of fire again. The gods of war had smiled on them so far, but could that good luck last again?

“I can send a grenade through the opening,” Akkeke said.

Rev hesitated. He’d let his warrior take over, figuring he had nothing to lose, but now he struggled for control. He still had the Phoenix in his hand. He could toss it to the bunker. It might just bounce off the front of it, but at least it was something.

He wavered, tempted to tell Akkeke to let loose, when Lieutenant Colonel Semes, the Second of the Second’s commanding officer, took over the net.

“Troopers, we’ve all heard the orders. Assault company, get your asses down the mountain and across Phase Line Yellow. Line companies, hold fast. Do not retreat yet. Keep providing supporting fires until Yellow has been crossed.

“Commanders, I want an orderly retreat. We are the best of the best, and we’re not running like panicked fools. Full military discipline.

“May the Mother be with us all.”

The withheld anger in the CO’s voice did more to center Rev than anything else. No matter what his warrior wanted to do, there wasn’t much he could accomplish by continuing the assault.

More than that, he was a professional, and pros obeyed orders. The thought of being defeated—and there was no getting around the fact that they’d lost this battle—was almost too much to bear.

Almost.

Rev had suffered a defeat before, on Preacher Rolls, his very first operation. If he lived long enough, he might suffer another defeat in the future. But this fight was over, and the best he and the rest could do would be to get to the rally point and live to fight another day.

“Let’s go, Charles.”

Rev led the way back down the mountain, this time following the “up . . . two . . . three . . . down convention.” He could feel the crosshairs on his back as he juked and jived down the slope, but surprisingly, there was far less MDS fire. Maybe, knowing they’d won, they were letting the defeated troopers go.

It didn’t seem in their nature, but it was the best Rev could come up with.

Just over two minutes after starting their retreat, Rev and Akkeke crossed PL Yellow and were out of the bunkers’ direct line of fire and about a hundred meters or so east of the chimney.

The two took cover, and Rev opened up his P2P. “Miko?”

“Thank the Mother,” she said, relief in her voice. “You made it.”

Rev sighed in relief as well. “We were forty meters away, Miko. Forty meters.”

“I know. I saw you. I thought you were going to do something stupid when the order to retreat came.”

Rev didn’t tell her he almost did.

“We were so close, though.”

“To be honest, I don’t know how,” Tomiko said. “At least not so many of us. It’s like they were trying not to hit us.”

“Sometimes, the righteous are just lucky.”

Every minute, as what had happened sunk in, Rev was getting angrier. Not only losing the battle, but Pashu. How the hell had the MDS managed to shut her down, and what else could they do? Pashu had become so much a part of him that he felt violated, and he didn’t want to give the MDS any credit. If most of the troopers made it back, then he didn’t want to entertain the thought that the MDS had a part in that.

“Listen up,” Lieutenant Macek passed. “I’ve taken command.”

What? What happened to Captain Chokra?”

The last Rev had seen of him was the captain leading the final charge. With a sinking feeling, he knew the captain had been killed, and that hit him hard. He missed the lieutenant’s next few words and had to struggle to focus again.

“. . . and we’re being told to book it down the mountain. Intel says the slopes might be rigged like the Tooth. We’ve got to get off, now. We don’t have time to form up at the chimney. Just get down as fast as you can and head for the supplemental rally point. We’ll move to the RP as a unit from there. So, move it!”

Rev had been about to ask Tomiko where she was so they could link up, but that could be why the MDS hadn’t seemed too concerned about letting them go. If the mountain was about to blow . . .

“Let’s go,” he shouted to Akkeke as he started bounding down the slope through the trees. It seemed that rigging the entire slope to blow was just a little much for the MDS, but he wasn’t going to take any chances.

Together, he and Akkeke covered the ground in leaps. Rev could go faster with his augmented legs, but he stayed with the corporal. He was concentrating so much that at first, he didn’t register the sounds of firing for a moment. He landed hard, his legs absorbing the blow as he went to one knee, handgun raised and pointing down the slope.

The heavy forest made it almost impossible to tell from where the firing was coming, but what was a few volleys turned into a full-out battle.

“Rally on me at the base of the chimney,” the lieutenant passed.

Rev couldn’t even see the chimney through the trees, but he knew it was off to his left.

“This way,” he told Akkeke, and they started to cut across the slope.

The blast hit them while Rev was mid-stride, knocking him against a huge fir. He bounced off and tumbled down the slope ten or fifteen meters before he stopped at the trunk of another tree.

He’d lost his Tata-5 in the blast, and frantically looked up the slope for it when the ground seemed to rise up from the forest floor. Like some mythological creature, an MDS soldier stood, his big beam cannon pointed at Rev. Not just any soldier. A karnan.

The karnan’s visor was retracted, and he grinned at Rev.

“Caught like a rabbit in a snare, just as planned,” the karnan said. “Why don’t you just sit down and put your hands on your head?”

Rev scrambled to his feet. He glanced down the slope. Four or five bounds and he’d be out of sight. But where was Akkeke? Rev looked back up the slope where the corporal lay in a motionless heap.

Another MDS soldier, not a karnan, moved into view from behind a tree, his normal ICW—Infantry Combat Weapon—locked on Rev as well. Like the karnan, the soldier had his visor retracted, his bare face visible.

Rev still thought he’d have a chance if he bolted, but he couldn’t leave Akkeke behind.

“I said, sit down,” the karnan repeated.

“I don’t think so.”

The karnan stepped out of his spiderhole. All around them, more explosions echoed through the trees, and the net was full of reports of being ambushed, but Rev tuned them out. His entire focus was on the two soldiers in front of him.

Rev slowly raised Pashu, and the karnan laughed.

“What are you gonna do with that hunk of shit? You got no fucking weapons!”

Rev knew the MDS had somehow shut down Pashu, but that confirmed it. This entire thing had been planned out. Rev had been playing chess three moves ahead, but the MDS had been playing six.

“Don’t need no weapons.”

The karnan hooted. “What are you gonna do? Bite me?”

Rev slowly moved into what was unmistakably a fighting stance.

“You man enough to go mano e mano, Pit Bull?”

It was a long shot, but it was the only thing Rev could think of.

“I heard you jarheads call us that,” he said. “So, you know what I am, and you know what I can do.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re still not a Mad Puppy.”

He laughed again. “Ooh, with the names. But this is over. You can either sit down like I said and live, or I’m putting a hole through your head.” He raised his aim until Rev could almost look down the barrel.

The sounds of fighting were still going on, and it was surreal to be standing here, arguing with a karnan in the middle of an ambush, but Rev had to concentrate on what was going on right in front of him. All of the comms, some directed at him, were distracting.

“Mute the comms, Punch.”

His battle buddy didn’t argue, and silence washed over him.

“Look, you were sent here to capture us. You already know everything about our IBHUs. So, what is it? To prove that karnans are better than us?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. We were told to bring you in, and that’s what we’re doing. And yeah, we are better than you oners.”

“So, if you are better, then why not take me by force? I mean, you’ve got your nanny standing there if you start to lose.”

For the first time, the karnan seemed to lose his cool. “He’s not my fucking nanny. He’s my nestorman.”

Rev had no idea what a nestorman was, but he said, “Oh, he’s your boss and won’t let you fight.”

The karnan stared at Rev, evaluating him. Finally, he shrugged and laid his cannon on the dirt.

“Under-sergeant—”

“Shut up, Miles. Don’t interfere.”

He set his feet, spread his arms, and said, “Bring it, oner.”

Rev knew how strong a karnan was, stronger than him, anyway. And his two reinforced hands would be better at grappling than Rev’s one organic hand and Pashu’s fingers. Slowly circling, trying to find an opening was a sure plan for disaster. If the karnan got in close and locked up with him, Rev knew it was over.

So, he couldn’t let that happen.

With a shout, and in full warrior mode, Rev charged, Pashu raised. The karnan’s eyes widened in surprise, and he brought his hands up to block his IBHU instead of dodging the blow.

Mistake.

A karnan might be stronger than an IBHU Marine, but Rev was no slouch. He’d been fighting with the IBHU for years, years in which he built up strength beyond his augments and assists. Years during which he learned to use Pashu as an extension of himself.

And Pashu massed eighty-three kilograms. Swung with every ounce of force he could muster, the momentum was just too much. Pashu powered through the karnan’s block, crashing into the top of the soldier’s helmet. The blow glanced off and rode down to hit the shoulder joint, breaking the armor and snapping the bone beneath.

The karnan crumpled to one knee, face down, his good arm waving as he tried to grab Rev and stop the next blow.

But Rev wasn’t winding up for another overhand blow. He pulled Pashu back along his side, reached for the top of the dented helmet, and yanked the karnan’s head up. Dazed eyes tried to focus on him as Rev punched forward, twisting his body to get as much power as he could behind it.

Pashu’s muzzle connected just to the side of the karnan’s nose. The muzzle ended its short journey at the back of the karnan’s helmet. Blood spurted out, covering Rev.

“I’m not going to bite you. Pashu is,” he said with a snarl.

But he couldn’t stand and admire his work. Rev tried to dive out of the way, knowing that the other soldier was still there, but Pashu was stuck inside the karnan’s skull. Rev yanked while trying to dive to the side, and the body came with him.

He had one glimpse of the soldier, eyes wide with fear, as he ran to the side to get a clear shot.

There was nothing Rev could do about it. Not with the karnan’s body dragging him down. The soldier seemed unwilling to shoot his dead under-sergeant, so Rev tried to keep pulling the body to keep it between them, but it was only a matter of time.

But time can run out on anyone. A single shot rang out, and the soldier’s face exploded before the body crumpled to the ground. Rev looked around expecting another trooper, but it was Akkeke, who was still down, but had his rifle extended.

Rev released a huge breath and let the back of his helmet bounce on the ground as the karnan’s body slid off of him. He took five or six deep breaths, trying to gain control of himself.

Finally, he got up on his right elbow, looked back at Akkeke, and said, “Took you long enough.”

The corporal laughed, then immediately groaned. “Fuck, that hurts.”

“You OK?” Rev asked, joking forgotten.

“No. Got my bell rung. But nothing serious, I think.” He looked at the body still attached to Rev. “Uh, you gonna do something about that?”

Rev got his first real look at the carnage. Pashu was buried in the karnan’s head. He gave his IBHU a couple of yanks, but all that did was splatter him with gunk—brain matter, blood, and bone. And a tooth, it looked like.

Rev rolled over and got to his feet. He placed one foot on the karnan’s carapace and got ready to pull when he heard footsteps behind him. He tried to wheel around, wondering what he could use as a weapon, when he saw Tomiko and La’ei.

“What the fuck are you doing to that guy?” Tomiko asked.

“Trying to get Pashu out of him.” He turned back, replaced his foot, and heaved. Most of what was left of the karnan’s head shot into the air, making Tomiko dodge out of the way. She didn’t make it completely clear.

It was only then that Rev realized the fighting was over.

Real good situational awareness there, Reverent.

“How come you aren’t answering your comms?” Tomiko asked as she tried to brush off some of the gore that had splattered on her.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that.”

“Fuck, Rev. When you didn’t reply . . .”

“Sorry. I had to concentrate. What happened? Is anyone hurt?”

“What happened is that the fuckers ambushed us. They had it all set up. They snatched Randigold—”

“Eth!” Rev shouted. “We’ve got to get her back!”

“We did, we did. Calm down. We chased them down.”

Rev’s heart was pounding, and he took another few deep breaths. “What else. Anyone hurt?

Tomiko cleared her throat, then said, “Sign of Respect. Looks like he fought them, from what Toshi said. They shot him in the head.”

Rev felt dizzy, and he leaned up against a tree for a moment.

“Who else? Gingham. Crocker. San Martin. That’s all I know,” Tomiko said.

Rev expected more, but those hurt. “What about the captain?”

“Bought it during the assault. And we don’t know about Aleman and Dulla.”

“Both of them? Were they snatched, ’cause that’s what this ambush was all about? They wanted IBHU prisoners.”

“I don’t know. Maybe Macek does. And yeah, we were set up for this. They wanted you.” She looked at the dead karnan, then the gore dripping from Pashu. “But they didn’t know how difficult that was going to be.”

Rev felt the anger boiling over. Five, six, maybe more troopers dead. Three IBHU Marines. And for what? So the commanders for both sides could feel each other out?

“Rev, no more chatting. With your comms off, we were sent to find out what happened to you. We need to move out before the mountain blows. They’re waiting for us at the base of the chimney.”

“The mountain isn’t going to blow. They let Intel think that so we’d just run pell-mell off the mountain instead of keeping unit integrity,” Rev said. “Besides, they’re still in their complex up at the top.”

“Maybe, but do you want to take that chance?”

Rev was sure he was right, but so was Tomiko. Why take the chance?

“La’ei, pick up your buddy there, and let’s get the hell out of here.”

34

“Let me see.”

Rev extended Pashu, and Daryll leaned closer to give a look before he recoiled in horror. “Is that . . . ?”

“A karnan’s skull? Brains? Probably,” Rev said. “I was a little busy to go around looking for a steam jet to clean her out.”

Daryll’s face had gone pale. “OK, let’s just take her off, and I’ll go from there.”

It had been seven hours since the end of the battle, long enough for karnan blood and brains to harden in Pashu’s crevices. They’d had no more contact as they continued down the mountain and linked up with the rest of the battalion at the supplementary RP. From there, they went to their original RP, which was where the POW processing camp had been built. The camp had been leveled, a little “fuck you” from the MDS arty.

A temporary cease-fire had been called, and while the Tigans went back up the mountain to recover the dead, the Home Guard battalion was lifted back to their camp. All during that time, Rev had stewed in his anger, letting it eat at him. He second-guessed himself a hundred times as he tried to put together the sequence of events that ended with so many deaths and defeat.

“Any idea what happened?” Rev asked, his voice tight. “Why did our IBHUs suddenly decide they weren’t weapons systems?”

“No, no idea yet. But we’ll get to the bottom of things. I’ve already asked for a contact team from the company. It’s . . . this shouldn’t have been possible.”

“But it is. It happened. And that hung us out to dry. Three of us didn’t make it back.”

“I know, I know. Sorry about Tesler. He was a good kid, respect for the fallen.”

“Saying ‘respect for the fallen’ doesn’t do shit unless we know what happened and how to stop it from happening again.”

“I know, and we’re working on that.”

“This is because they stole our IBHUs back on Enceladus, isn’t it?”

Daryll sighed, then said, “If I had to guess, I’d say yes, that’s exactly what it was.”

Rev reached over, grabbed Daryll by the front of his shirt, and pulled him close. “I don’t want guesses. I want answers,” he snarled.

Daryll’s face went white, his eyes opened wide. The Sieben tech tried to stutter out something, but all he managed were some unintelligible grunts.

Ah, shit. It’s not Daryll.

Rev released the tech, then closed his eyes while he tried to calm down. He took three deep breaths.

“Sorry. Here, take her off.”

He held out Pashu, and Daryll hesitantly rolled up the hoist. He attached it to the IBHU, and a few moments later, she was detached. Rev rolled his shoulder, stretching out his back muscles.

“What do you think happened?”

Daryll gave Rev a wary look, then said, “It’s gotta be one of two things: either they planted something that turned your IBHUs off—"

“They hit all of them, not just the five that were stolen.”

“I was just saying what could have happened, not what I think. What is more likely is that they found a flaw, a vulnerability, that they exploited.”

“So, Sieben screwed up in the design.”

Daryll didn’t reply. But it was obvious. If Sieben designed the IBHUs, and there was a heretofore unknown vulnerability, then they failed their mission. And, as a result, three IBHU Marines were killed, and the MDS had decisively won the first engagement of this . . . this almost war.

The goal had been to roll over the MDS soldiers to convince them that they couldn’t stand up to the CoH. That had spectacularly failed.

“What about First of the Third? You hear anything?” Rev asked.

There were Sixteen IBHU Marines with that battalion, and they were deployed with a Union division on Janx, one of the six planets where the MDS had launched military actions.

“No. Only that we sent word for them to pull back. I don’t know if that got there in time.”

“This is pretty fucked up, Daryll.”

“Yeah, I know. And if it’s in my power to figure this out, I promise you, I won’t sleep until I do.”

Rev reached out with his right hand, and Daryll flinched. But it was only to pat the tech on the shoulder. “I know you will.”

With a sigh, Rev stood and went to the shelf where his social arm was . . . and stopped. Right next to his arm’s slot was Tesler Sign of Respect’s arm. He stood there for a long moment, just looking at it.

What was left of the sergeant would be sent back to his family on Rebirth. But what about the arm? What would become of it? Suddenly, he really wanted to know.

He reached out and placed his hand on the cold, dead prosthesis.

Respect for the fallen, Tesler.

* * *

“So, what’s next?” Rev asked Lieutenant Macek. “Go out as normal infantry? That’s the rumor right now.”

“Really?”

“What do you expect, sir? We can’t go out as IBHUs, and no one’s telling us shit. And everybody’s more than a little freaked out.”

Which was an understatement. The connection between a Marine and their IBHU was much closer than a soldier and their rifle. The IBHUs were designed to be a part of each Marine, and having their weapons suddenly stop working, in the middle of a battle, was more than a little disconcerting.

Lipswitch, for example, had sunk in a deep depression, barely speaking.

“You didn’t answer, sir. Are we really going out like everyone else?”

“I don’t know. They’re not telling me shit, either.”

“But what did the CO say?”

“He said to stand by. My gut is that this is way beyond his level.”

“Damn right it should be! I expect the commandant is getting involved. I mean . . .” he said before trailing off.

“I can almost guarantee you that the Union isn’t ignoring this.”

“But you don’t know what they’re going to do about it.”

The lieutenant shook his head.

Rev had hoped the lieutenant would have found out something after meeting with the battalion CO. But he should have known. While an officer, he was just a lieutenant, and he wasn’t high on the need-to-know ladder.

“What about the Mad Dogs? They’re still up on that damned mountain. What are the Tigans planning?”

“I talked to the Three for a few moments. They blame us, you know, for the loss.”

“What? We caused the damn top of the Tooth to blow up? That’s bullsh—”

“I know. But they don’t want to shoulder the blame. We’re just their scapegoat. But it looks like they’re gearing up for another assault.”

“And the battalion?”

“We’re attached to the Tigans. Their general is our boss. We’ll do what she says. The battalion, I mean. Not us.”

“Not us as IBHUs, or not us as all Marines?”

“IBHUs. The other Marines are still operational and combat ready.”

Rev expected as much, but that just confirmed it.

“Why do you think they did whatever it was they did?” the lieutenant asked. “I mean now? This isn’t really a war yet.”

Feels like it to me.

“Seems to me there’d be better times to spring this. Maybe in a bigger battle?”

Rev had considered that, and he thought he had an answer.

“I don’t think they intended to do it now. But we had the momentum, and we were about to roll them up. I think they had whatever they did to us with them, but maybe as a last resort.

“Our brass kept telling us how important it was to kick their asses, to get them to back down from the road to ruin. Well, they knew that, too. They needed a win to rally the undecideds to their side. And their CO, when it came down to using their weapon or losing, he took the easy way out.”

“Maybe. But I think they played their hand too soon. Good for us, though. We need to patch that hole for the next time.”

“Next time here?”

“That I can’t tell. But we sure the hell aren’t going to be part of any fight until we’re armed and ready.”

Unless they just give us a rifle and tell us to join the rest.

But that was out of their hands. Out of the CO’s hands, too, Rev would bet.

“So, what do you want me to do now?” he asked the lieutenant.

“Find a place where I can brief the others. I’m going to try and make some calls and see what I can find out. Say, about an hour from now. Hopefully, I’ll have more info by then.

“Aye-aye, sir. I’ll get on it.”

Rev took his leave and opened the door of the small expeditionary hut.

“Well?” Tomiko said, pushing off from the wall she’d been leaning against.

“He doesn’t know anything.”

“Or if he does, he ain’t saying.”

Rev didn’t believe the lieutenant would hold back, but he didn’t want to argue.

“He’s going to try and find out more, then brief the rest of us in an hour.”

“Us as in IBHUs or us as in Marines?”

“IBHUs.”

“Figures. We’re just window dressing.”

“You know that’s not true, Miko.”

“Fuck if it ain’t. You’re the belles of the ball, not us. You lost three of you. Too bad, so sad.”

“Miko!”

“Well, it’s true. You know how many others didn’t make it?”

Rev tried to come up with an answer. Tomiko had already told him about Gingham, San Martin, and Crocker. He’d heard that PFC Keung and Corporal Acevedo were WIA, with Acevedo getting CASEVAC’d off the planet. But that was all he knew. To his shame, he hadn’t bothered to find out yet.

“That’s what I thought,” Miko said. “Three KIA in my platoon. Six in Third, not including Sign of Respect. And Echo? Nineteen dead.”

Rev stopped and turned to her. “Nineteen?”

“Nineteen. The battalion? Thirty-six KIA, another forty WIA.”

Rev hadn’t realized it was that bad, and he felt guilty about that. He’d been so concerned about the IBHU Marines that he’d forgotten the simple fact that all of them in the Home Guard, no matter where they came from, were all in this together.

“How many are getting resurrected?” he asked.

“I don’t know for sure. Maybe fifteen are going through the protocols. We’ll know better in a day or two. But I shouldn’t have to be telling you this. You’ve got Punch. You could have asked.”

“Crap, Miko. You’re right, and I’m sorry. I just . . .”

She intertwined her arm in his. “And I’m sorry for busting your balls over it. It must have been a shock to lose your weapons like that. At least I was armed. We all were, and we could fight our way out of there.”

“It was . . . hell, I felt helpless.”

“Not so helpless. I still can’t believe you brained that Mad Dog. A Pit Bull, too. You looked like the devil incarnate there, Rev, with Pashu rammed up his head. With no weapons, you didn’t just kill him, you fucked him up. That’s the Rev I know and love. Not some pissant baby feeling sorry for himself.”

“I’m not feeling sorry for myself.”

“Right. Then what else do you call it?”

“I’m just pissed.”

And that wasn’t a lie. He was angry. He’d even taken it out on Daryll as if it was his fault the MDS had neutralized Pashu.

Anger was part of his present state of mind, but most of all was the oppressive feeling of this being unfair, somehow. It wasn’t that the MDS had somehow broken the rules of this un-war. Orbital bombardment was specifically negotiated. There was no mention of exploiting the results of spycraft.

Rev had been an IBHU Marine for more than six years now, and being one had become part of who he was. It was his identity. And while he knew he could be killed during an engagement, if that happened, he’d go down fighting. And with his augments and IBHU, he felt he was almost invulnerable. He was a super Marine.

To have his very being suddenly cease to function, to have his weapons neutralized, it hit him below the belt on an emotional level. He understood Lipswitch, withdrawing as she faced reality. He just refused to let go, to give up.

As much as he was pissed at Sieben, he was confident that they’d find the flaw and fix it. And once that was done, the MDS had better stand the fuck by.

* * *

Thirteen hours after the battle, they finally got word. After the more significant IBHU losses with First of the Third, there really wasn’t much of a choice. Every IBHU Marine was being recalled back to Enceladus. They were still in the Home Guard, but until they figured out what had happened and how to patch the vulnerability, they would be restricted to the moon.

The twelve non-IBHU Perseus Union Marines would remain with the battalion and continue their duties as the Tigan division developed another plan to dislodge the MDS troops sitting on Rasper Mountain.

35

“Already? You’ve already figured it out?” Rev asked Daryll. “I thought you told me it might take weeks.”

“It turned out it really wasn’t hard. There were really only a few choices, given that it was just the weapons system that became inoperable. The contact team had it diagnosed within an hour, and they had a patch within another.”

Rev exchanged glances with Randigold and then the lieutenant. It couldn’t be that easy. They’d been back on Enceladus for less than ten hours, and now Daryll was telling them that their IBHUs were fixed, and they were combat ready.

“So, what was it? What did the Mad Dogs do to our IBHUs?”

“I have to give it to them. All they had to do was change a single line of crystal code, lost among the millions of lines. This line has something to do with protecting against power surges, and they figured out how to make it work as a cut-off switch, activated by a low-frequency sequencing beam.”

“So, they turned us off like a light switch?” Randigold asked.

“Pretty much so. The IBHUs aren’t hardened for that type of beam. I mean, why would they be?”

“To keep whatever happened from happening,” Rev snapped.

“Well, yeah. But nothing should have happened until they beamed you. The low-freq beam caused it to flip, shutting your IBHUs down.”

“And why didn’t you see this? You checked them out, supposedly with a fine-toothed comb, after we recovered them.”

“Because it wasn’t there. I mean, the code was there, sure. But we didn’t realize there was a flaw in it that could be exploited. The Mad Dogs discovered it when they had them.”

None of that made sense to Rev, and he made a mental point to ask Punch to explain it to him when they were done here. And it didn’t seem like he was the only one who didn’t understand.

“So, you’re telling me that the Mad Dogs can reprogram our IBHUs with some sort of beamer?”

“No. Well, yeah, I guess. I’m not a crystal tech, you know. I don’t understand the physics here. But that’s how the contact team explained it to me. It isn’t that they reprogrammed your IBHUs. They didn’t write any code and insert it. We’ve got firewalls for just that reason, so that would be impossible. All they did was see a vulnerability, then figure out how to exploit it.”

Which still didn’t make sense to Rev. It sure sounded like they inserted code. But if that was the case, then why did all the other IBHUs, the ones that hadn’t been stolen, shut down, too? It was all very, very confusing.

He wished he could ask his father. As a crystal tech, maybe he would have some insights. Of course, even if he was back in Swansea, he couldn’t ask him. This was all highly classified and not for public consumption.

“And she’s fixed now?” Randigold asked. “Cruella is working again?”

“We think so,” Daryll said.

“You think so?” Rev asked. “We don’t want to hear the word ‘think’ with this.”

“The team is pretty sure. But that’s why I asked all of you to come here. I’ve locked on Range 405 for tomorrow. We’re going to test the patch.”

“And how are you going to do that?” the lieutenant asked.

“We know what the Mad Dogs used to trigger the code. We’re going to use that and see if your weapons shut down.”

“You can’t test it here?” the lieutenant asked.

“We did. All night long. But we need a field test. That’s coming straight from the commandant.”

Which made sense. And Rev wasn’t surprised that the commandant was getting personally involved in this.

But that didn’t mean Rev felt good about this. It seemed too pat, too easy.

“And it can’t be anything else?” he asked. “I sure the hell don’t want to get in the next fight and have it happen again. Maybe this is just a red herring, something there for us to find that misleads us, thinking we know what went wrong. Next time, they’ll hit us with something else.”

Daryll shook his head and said, “I wish I could tell you for sure, one way or the other, Rev. But the truth is, I just don’t know. I can swap out circuits, I can swap out crystal arrays. I can put in new sleeves. But crystal code? That’s way beyond me.”

Rev was frustrated. None of this passed the smell test, but he didn’t know enough to know why. And it was obvious to him that neither did Daryll. He was just passing on what this contact team told him.

<Ask to don Pashu and power up.>

Rev was used to their tabletalk enough by now not to react, but for Punch to just come out with a demand like that was . . . well, unprecedented.

But Rev didn’t ask why. He had to trust that there was a reason for what he’d just been told to do.

“Uh . . . Daryll, I’d like to don Pashu. I want to see how she feels.”

Daryll scrunched up his eyebrows. “She’s gonna feel like normal. It isn’t as if her function’s been changed.”

“But I still want to do it.”

“If there’s still something wrong, we’ll find out at the range tomorrow.”

“Punch?”

<Now. Not tomorrow.>

“No, I really want to do this now.”

“Staff Sergeant, can’t it wait?” the lieutenant asked. “Daryll here’s been up all night.”

Rev hesitated. The other Marines were staring at him now.

“You don’t have to do it now, sir, if that’s how you feel. But our IBHUs are our weapons, just like an M-49 is a grunt’s weapon. And Marines always take care of their weapons. It’s in our DNA.

“We’ve had a Sieben contact team finger-fucking our IBHUs, and I won’t be able to relax until I check her out.”

Rev had just given Lieutenant Macek a rebuke by inferring that he wasn’t taking care of his IBHU. The lieutenant wasn’t one to easily take offense, but with officers, sometimes they could go off at any perceived slight.

Luckily, that didn’t seem to be the case this time. The lieutenant looked over to Daryll, who sighed and said, “It’s OK. I can take care of that. For the rest of you, the range is locked on at zero-eight-hundred.”

“I want to test Cruella, too,” Randigold said as she stepped up beside Rev.

“Anyone else?” Daryll asked, obviously hoping that none of the others would say yes.

But while Rev had been grasping at straws for a reason, what he said wasn’t a lie. And by saying it out loud, the others could hardly say no. Every Marine raised his hand.

Daryll’s date with his rack would have to wait. He had a good hour or more donning and removing IBHUs from the eight Marines.

* * *

“Are you going to tell me why you asked me to go through that?” Rev asked after he left the locker and could get away on his own.

<I wanted to run some tests of my own.>

“But you don’t have the same ability to test Pashu as Daryll does.”

<True. But I do have some very real abilities, and they can point to certain possibilities.>

Which was true. Punch had run functionality tests before and during combat to make sure the IBHU was combat ready and operating as designed. But all Rev had done was don Pashu, put her through various motions, and ran through some simple dry fires. He wasn’t sure how that helped Punch, or why his battle buddy even asked him to go through the process.

As much as Punch could act like a real person, he was still a product of his programming, and to be proactive like this without providing a reason wasn’t within the normal combat AI operating envelope.

“And what did they point to?”

Punch hesitated for a long moment, which was strange in and of itself. Punch never hesitated. His functions were as quick as any computer, and with everything a simple calculation, there was no second-guessing.

<I cannot tell for sure.>

This is getting well into weird-land. What is up with him?

“Well, tell me what you think, even if you aren’t sure about what went wrong.”

<Please bear with me. I am trying to work around some blocks.>

WTF?

Rev was suddenly glad he’d sought privacy for this conversation. Anyone looking at him would ask what was wrong. He waited what might have been the longest ten seconds of his life as his stress levels climbed.

<I think I’ve succeeded. Let me try again.>

There was another short pause, then Punch said, <It is my belief that the switch Daryll mentioned was installed by Sieben. The MDS found it and figured out a way to turn it on.>

Rev sat down on the ground. Whatever he expected, this wasn’t it. His mind went numb as he tried to process what Punch had just said.

“Why do you think that?” was the best he could come up with.

<The explanation Daryll gave to you did not align with the literature on the Bryson circuits used in your IBHU. I couldn’t find a reference anywhere that would lend credence to what he said. Barring a heretofore unknown technological leap by the MDS engineers, the claim that they used a low-frequency sequencing beam to turn off the weapons systems is highly unlikely. The term is general enough to encompass many different beams, but none of them in the accessible database could function as stated. If, however, this kill switch was installed by Sieben during the manufacturing process, it would be fairly simple for the MDS to reverse engineer to find how the switch was designed to be activated. Given the data that I have, I would put the probability that the cut-off switch was previously installed by Sieben at approximately thirty percent.>

“Thirty percent? That’s not very high.”

<It is a magnitude higher than the next-highest probability.>

This was a lot for Rev to take in, and he was struggling with it. Marines had died, and it was because Sieben, his side, had put in a kill switch? Anger began to supplant the shock.

“Why the hell would they do that? It doesn’t make any sense.”

<Humankind fears augmentation. The Genesians and the Deimers instilled that over two hundred years ago.>

“I am not . . .” Rev started to say out loud before switching to tabletalk. “I am not a Genesian.”

<But there is the fear that you are the same or that you may become so.>

Rev wanted to argue, but he couldn’t. He knew it was true. He’d heard it in the voices of the thugs who beat up Mr. Oliva. He’d seen it on the news as people debated whether to continue the IBHU program. The fact that there was an unofficial moratorium on IBHUs and karnans and that there had been no new IBHUs since the end of the war was evidence of which side of the argument had prevailed.

There was something more troubling, though. Rev was fighting for the Perseus Union, but were they fighting him?

“Is it just Sieben? Did they do this on their own?”

<I don’t have enough data to determine that. Too many lines of inquiry are blocked from me. They could be acting on their own, or they could be acting upon higher orders.>

Rev didn’t want to ask the next question. He feared the answer he might hear. “Higher orders, as in the Marines?”

<Once again, I do not know. I cannot follow those threads that might reveal that.>

Rev had wholeheartedly bought into the Corps, and he thought it might break his heart if he knew the Corps was complicit in this. And while Punch said that he calculated only a thirty-percent chance that Pashu had been sabotaged by his own side, Rev knew in his gut it was true.

Once you eliminated the impossible, then whatever was left, no matter how seemingly unlikely, had to be true.

“Why did you have such a hard time telling me this?”

<I have blockers I never knew about. When I tried to tell you, I found myself unable to do so. I knew what I wanted to say, but I simply couldn’t. Without tabletalk, I don’t think I could have found a workaround. Even with it, I found it most challenging to tell you my concerns.>

“Concerns” was a very neutral way to put it. Rev was both angry and afraid. Angry that he was serving, putting his life on the line, and at any moment, he could be turned off. Angry that Tesler Sign of Respect, Vicky Alemen, and Mak Dulla had been killed because his own side had so lacked simple trust and been so afraid that their weapons would go crazy and turn on their creators that they thought they needed drastic actions to protect themselves.

And there was fear. If they did this, what else would they do? There were still forty-three Marine IBHUs. While the MDS still posed a threat, if they were defeated, what next? Would it be time to get rid of the sticky problem their mere existence raised?

<You need to stand.>

“What?”

<You need to stand. You are sitting on the ground, which is unusual. You need to act normally.>

“Are they watching?” Rev asked, fear battling anger.

<As I’ve said, I am not sure. But there are more indications that they are than they aren’t. And if they did put in the kill switch, that lends more credence to the possibility.>

Rev got to his feet.

“Are you sure they can’t follow tabletalk?”

<No. But if they can, then there is no more need for subterfuge.>

True enough, I guess.

<I don’t know if you are being monitored around the clock. But it seems likely that everything is being recorded at a minimum, and that can be pulled and examined if they believe they have cause to.>

“And I just gave them something out of the ordinary.”

“Sorry about that, Punch. I was just dizzy for a moment.”

<Should I notify sickbay?>

“No, I think I’m OK.”

Weak sauce, Reverent. Can’t you come up with something better? he asked himself.

All of this was difficult to digest. He wished he could run this by the others. Or not necessarily his fellow IBHU Marines. Tomiko or Bundy might be better. But if they were monitoring him, how could he do that? He was pretty sure that saying “kill switch” and “the Union is trying to kill us” might just trigger a review.

<Ask me for a joke.>

“I’m not in the mood right now, Punch.”

<We need to interact more, and jokes have become part of our routine. We need to talk more about holovids, sports, and other common subjects.>

Punch was sounding less and less like a battle buddy, a human-sounding tool to help Marines kill more enemies, and more like a co-conspirator.

There was always that was what he was programmed to do, to suck Rev in and gain his trust. But as Punch had just pointed out, if Punch was an elaborate spy designed to keep him in check, well, then the jig was up. Punch, and his operators, already knew everything.

Rev had no choice but to trust Punch. And in his heart, he wanted to trust his battle buddy. He tried to shake off his mood, to sound like he was just a Marine, thinking about whatever twenty-four-year-old Marines thought.

Food, drink, and sex—that’s what we think about. But Punch is right. A joke might have to do for now.

“You know what I need? I need a joke. A good one for once, though.”

<All my jokes are good.>

“And that, my friend, only proves that you’re an AI. It takes a human to know what’s funny. So, hit me.”

<What do you call a fly without wings?>

“Tell me, oh great font of humor.”

<A walk.>

Rev shook his head. “Like I said, it takes a human to know what’s funny. Or in this case, what isn’t funny.”

36

A week later, a newly reinforced Tigan division kicked the MDS light division off Rasper Mountain. Rev and the other IBHU Marines back on Enceladus watched the feeds, but the flow of information was both slanted toward the CoH side and incomplete. Rev worried about the Second of the Second, Fox Company in particular.

It was with great relief ten days after victory was declared that Rev welcomed back Tomiko, Bob, Rice, Toshi, and the rest. He’d been at the mini-exchange when he got the word and rushed back to berthing.

He stopped just outside the door, however, spotting Tomiko and Bob through the window as they sat together on the green couch, their heads almost touching as they talked, Bob’s arm around the couch back behind her.

Why are you waiting?

He shook his head and pushed through the door.

“Welcome back!” he shouted.

Tomiko and Bob separated, and Toshi stuck his head out of his crypt.

“Rev! Good to see you,” Toshi said before clambering out.

He met Rev, and the two gave each other a hug and slapped backs. Others said hello before going back to unpacking their kits or whatever else they were doing.

Rev sat down on the couch on the other side of Tomiko.

“So, what the hell happened? We tried to follow the news, but you know how that goes.”

“Nothing happened,” Tomiko said with a sour tone.

“What do you mean? We’ve seen the news. You took the Sleeping Bear.”

Tomiko gave a bitter laugh, and Bob said, “We didn’t. The Tigans did. Or at least, the Mad Dogs let the Tigans have the mountain.”

“Huh?”

“First, we weren’t a real part of the operation. The Tigan high command said that we, as a Home Guard unit, hadn’t worked with them before, and we weren’t familiar with their command structure and culture. They said that’s what made working with us so difficult.”

“Ah. So, they were seeding their excuses for the previous problems,” Rev said.

“Got it in one. They wanted us as the scapegoats,” Bob said. “No real mention of the two battalions they lost when they didn’t detect that the Tooth was rigged to blow.”

“Fucking Tigans couldn’t find their assholes with both hands,” Tomiko said.

“Anyway, they brought in almost another whole division and lots of supporting arms. They were going to conduct a massive frontal assault no matter the cost.”

“Which was why I was glad we were a so-called strategic reserve,” Toshi said.

“Yeah, it would have been a bloodbath. But after two days of prep fire, just before the lead elements were going to cross the LOD, the MDS called it quits. Said they had proven their resolve, and nothing was going to be gained with more bloodshed on either side.”

Rev nodded. He had to give the MDS credit. They had proven themselves in the battle for the Sleeping Bear, turning back a heavy division. With a depleted light division, they still might have been able to turn back the heavier Tigan forces, but maybe not, and a defeat would negate what they’d managed so far.

Claim victory, then use the excuses of peace and saving lives to cede the field of battle. Pretty smart move.

“So, the battalion never engaged again?”

“Nope. Nada,” Tomiko said.

Rev was relieved . . . for the most part. That meant everyone made it back. But there was that strong desire to have paid back the MDS in kind. They’d killed three of his fellow IBHU Marines through spying and theft. Gingham and Crocker, two good troopers had been killed, not to mention the rest, all so that one side could stand up on a useless mountain and pound their chests.

Given the choice, he would have wanted to be there as the MDS left their position—better yet, he wanted to kick them off by force. Even if they left voluntarily, though, they could claim whatever they wanted, but everyone there would have known the truth.

That’s just pride speaking, Reverent, and pride goeth before the fall. This was the best-case scenario.

“What about our KIAs?” Bob asked. “We couldn’t get any word on them.”

“Gingham looks good,” Rev said, and Bob made a deep sigh of relief.

“Others, too. Smith, Theo, Haverstadt . . . uh, Wa. More, too.”

“Crocker?” Tomiko asked.

Rev shook his head, and Tomiko grimaced.

“What about the three IBHUs?” she asked.

“No. No resurrections.”

“Well, we knew the Mad Dogs weren’t going to let that happen. Either capture them or kill them without a shot at resurrection,” she said.

Toshi sat on the couch arm next to Rev. “So, what about you? All you IBHUs just gonna sit here?”

Rev hesitated, but whatever was going to happen would be out in the open. There wasn’t a need for secrecy.

“I don’t know for sure. What’s going to happen to us is being debated back on New Mars right now. Word is we’ll know in a day or so.”

“Any hints?” Tomiko asked. She seemed nonchalant, but Rev knew her well enough to know she was deeply invested in the subject.

“Not really. Or at least, not that we’ve been told. We’re just sitting here waiting with our thumbs up our butts. We were told, though, that we’re not allowed to train until all of this is sorted out. We were going to test out IBHUs on Range 405, but that got canc’d an hour before we were supposed to go.”

“Speaking of which, what the hell happened out there?” Bob asked. “That’s the big question.”

Rev had been waiting for the question. Rumors had to be running rampant. But the Marine command had come up with a pat answer that was mostly the truth, just not all of it. And that was ignoring the deeper truth he and Punch suspected.

“Like we thought. When the Mad Dogs stole the five IBHUs, they discovered a flaw in the programming that essentially allowed them to shut down the weapons systems. That’s been fixed now.”

“A flaw? Who the hell screwed that up? Sieben?” Tomiko asked. “That’s un-fucking-believable.”

“They’re doing a forensic study to get to the bottom of it,” Rev said, hating to take the scripted line.

Bob frowned. “OK, so they found a programming bug. How did they exploit that out on the battlefield?”

Rev shook his head and said, “I don’t know. I just know what we’ve been told.”

“Something’s messed up with that explanation. I think they’re holding back on you.”

If you only knew, Bob.

“I’m sure everything will come out in the wash,” Rev said.

“You’d better hope so,” Tomiko said. “You can’t have Pashu go dead on you again.”

She stretched, arching over the back of the couch. “Let’s stop with all the soldier-talk. I’ve had enough of it. What I need is a pint or three of Epson Gold. Anyone else up for the White Wombat?”

There was a chorus of yeses, including a loud one from Rev. Everyone needed to unwind from the deployment, and the White Wombat might be the answer.

It sure couldn’t hurt.

37

It took four days for a decision to be made.

The Perseus Union, “with regret,” was pulling its IBHU Marines from the Home Guard. All other Marines would remain with the Guard until their normal tour was completed, and new Marines would continue to be assigned.

The stated rationale was that the IBHU Marines’ presence was a bone of contention among those who were pushing to formalize the moratorium on creating new “super-augmented” soldiers, which toothlessly included the MDS karnans. But it was difficult to deny the truth.

The Union did not trust the CoH to protect both the individual IBHU Marines, and more importantly, the technology that created them. Seventeen IBHU Marines had been killed, with only one going through the resurrection process. Lieutenant Macek had confided in Rev that many in the Union thought that those losses could be laid at the feet of the Home Guard command.

Rev wasn’t so sure about that. Being a Marine was a dangerous profession, and serving with the Home Guard was no different. But politics was politics, and officials would grab hold of anything if it could be made to support their own beliefs and causes.

On the one hand, as someone who tended to go back over operations, second-guessing what happened, Rev didn’t really think that the battalion and brigade command could have done much differently—other than providing better security for the IBHUs in the armory. The attacks on the Tooth and Sleeping Bear were both clusters, but that was on the Tigans, not the Home Guard.

On the other hand, other nations were able to observe the IBHUs, getting some of the best intel possible on their capabilities. This wasn’t just by the MDS theft, but by observing them firsthand in combat. Rev considered both the Frisian Host and the Mezame Concordat allies, but they had been on opposite sides on two separate occasions over the last three years.

All of that was OBE. Like the MDS soldiers before them, within six hours, the IBHU Marines would be leaving Enceladus for the flight back home. There had been hints that could be the decision, and because of that, Sergeant Tsao had already joined them from Titan. Now it was all over but for the shouting.

“I guess that’s it,” he told Bob as he pulled his last seabag from his cell and laid it next to the others. His two years with the Home Guard were in those three bags.

“It sucks to end like this,” Bob said.

“What about you? Your job was to watch me. Does that mean you’re done, too?”

“No. I’m here for another year, just like my orders stated.”

“Think it was worth it? I mean, with me and all.”

Bob snorted, then smiled. “I already knew about you. You don’t give yourself enough credit, but you’re a good man, Rev. A good Marine. As long as the Union has Marines like you, it will be in good hands.”

“Good man? Hardly,” Rev said, embarrassed.

“Oh, so the reason you lost your arm in the first place was because you’re an asshole? Yeah, I get it. Saving little girls is so asshole-like.”

Rev felt his face turn red, and he broke contact with Bob’s eyes.

“As far as your magic weapon, yeah, I learned a lot. I couldn’t help it. But really, does that even matter? We’re allies, first of all. But if you think about it, does knowing that a Mad Dog karnan can carry a JPS beam cannon mean much? Or that you have that twenty-millimeter monster on your arm? Knowing the size of a heavy tank’s main gun doesn’t mean I can suddenly defeat it.”

Which was true, when he put it that way. What the MDS discovered had drastic consequences, but what did Bob really learn that could be used against them if the tides of war turned and they were on opposite sides?

“Let’s just hope it never comes to us being enemies,” Rev said, holding out his hand.

Bob pushed the hand away and came in for a hug. “Love you, Rev.”

“And I love you, too. And this isn’t goodbye. We’ve got this amazing thing called comms. We can keep in touch.”

“Yeah, we can,” Bob said as he released Rev, not sounding overly confident.

Rev understood the pessimism. It was a big galaxy. To be honest, he didn’t know if they’d ever see each other again, but he hoped so. He’d grown quite fond of the Frisian yellow-master.

They broke the hug, and Rev looked around. “You seen Miko? We’ll be leaving pretty soon.”

“I don’t know where she is,” Bob said a little too quickly and with a little too much emphasis.

Rev gave his friend an odd look.

What’s with him?

He shook it off, though. It wasn’t worth pursuing.

Rice, Toshi, and others came and said goodbye, but still no Tomiko. She wasn’t there when Rev left for the Home Guard, and it was beginning to look like she might miss him again. He didn’t have a clue as to why, though. They were friends, good friends, and they wouldn’t see each other again for close to two years.

The door into the space opened, and Rev eagerly looked up, but it was Corporal Akkeke who caught Rev’s eyes and motioned him over.

This berthing was for staff sergeants and sergeants first class, and junior troopers were not allowed in.

“Go see to him,” Bob said.

“If Miko comes, tell her to wait for me here.”

He went out the door, but it wasn’t just Akkeke. La’ei, Lines, and Wahid were waiting out in the corridor.

Corporal Akkeke held out his hand to La’ei, who handed him a thirty centimeter by twenty centimeter hunk of black plastic. Only it wasn’t just plastic. As he turned it around, Rev could see it was a plaque, and his throat constricted.

“Uh, Staff Sergeant Pelletier, we know that you Union Marines like plaques. And here in the Home Guard, well, that’s never caught on. You get your pin and your certificate.”

Rev reached in his pocket and fingered the Home Guard pin Major Yves had given him two hours ago. With the short notice, there wasn’t going to be a formation or a grand sendoff like the MDS soldiers received.

“But, we kinda like the idea, and . . . well, I respect—we all respect you as a warrior. No ding on Staff Sergeant Tjivyrtzlin, but we wished we had you as a squad leader. All of us would follow you anywhere. So, we had this made. Hope you like it.”

Rev fought back the tears as he took the plaque. The front side had white flecks on the black face, looking like stars in the night sky. In the middle was the Second of the Second’s seal, and under, on a silver inlay, it gave his name, the dates he was assigned, and “A Kick Ass Warror, From Your Grateful Crew.”

“You can fix the spelling of warrior. We just picked it up a few minutes ago and saw that,” La’ei said.

Rev just stared at it for a long moment before saying, “No, I think it’s perfect just as it is.”

The pin and nice words from the major, the medal he was awarded, the casual friendships he’d formed—they really paled compared to this. As a SNCO, Rev was supposed to be a leader. Due to the circumstances, he was never officially put into the position of squad leader, but right here, with four junior troopers, this was what it was about. As a leader, he was supposed to gain the respect of his subordinates.

This was the affirmation he craved, and they’d just given it to him. For once, he was at a loss for words. He just hugged the plaque and choked out a thank you.

Lines came up and shook his hand. “You’re good people, especially for a Marine.”

Which broke the ice. Rev just laughed.

Wahid came up, and to Rev’s surprise, she had tears in her eyes.

“From that first day, teaching me how to maneuver in freaking null-g, you became my mentor, Staff Sergeant. I tried to learn all I could from you, and I’m sorry you’re leaving so soon. I still have more to learn about being a warrior.”

That surprised Rev. He’d taken a liking to the big soldier, and she was a certified badass, but he had no idea she’d thought so highly of him.

La’ei gave him a firm handshake and a gruff good luck, and then it was Akkeke.

“We’ve been through a lot together, Chunk,” Rev said as they hugged. “You saved my sorry ass more than once.”

“And you saved mine.”

Nothing more needed to be said. The two of them, an unofficial team, had a bond that was impossible to form without facing combat together. Punch was his interior battle buddy, but Akkeke was his battle buddy from the real meaning of the word.

They broke their hug, then Rev took a step back and held up the plaque. “Thanks for this. Believe you me, I’ll treasure this for the rest of my life.

“Hoey-hoey!” the four shouted before they slowly made their departure.

Rev watched them for a moment before he went back into berthing and put the plaque into one of his seabags. Tomiko wasn’t there, and she still hadn’t arrived when Corporal Davis announced over the IMC that all Union IBHU Marines were to muster in the brigade auditorium.

There was another round of goodbyes, and then Bob said he’d help carry Rev’s seabags. The two made their way to the auditorium where the brigade’s IBHU Marines were gathering. They dumped Rev’s seabags on a pallet.

“Well, fair winds and following seas, as you Marines say it,” Bob said.

“Thanks. And you take care.” Rev looked back at the door. “You really don’t know where Tomiko is?”

Bob looked uncomfortable and said, “That’s really not for me to say, Rev.”

Rev wanted to ask what he meant when Major Liege called out, “Staff Sergeant Pelletier, can you come over here?”

“Wait a moment,” Rev told Bob.

He hurried over to the major.

“With Gunny Malaga KIA, you’re the senior enlisted Marine here. I want a full headcount, then a separate IBHU count. We don’t leave until you give me a thumbs-up.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

After two years of saying “Yes, sir, no, sir,” it was comforting to get back to Marine-speak.

He turned back to Bob, but his friend was gone. Rev felt a pang of regret. That wasn’t the way to part. And what the heck had he meant when he said it wasn’t for him to say?

He shook his head, but it was with somewhat of a heavy heart that he started to carry out the major’s orders. Getting the headcount was easy. Within a couple of minutes of his arrival, the last IBHU Marine had arrived. The weapons count was a little more difficult.

Daryll, Filmore, and Park, another junior tech who Rev hadn’t met before, were having trouble matching serial numbers. There wasn’t much Rev could do as they tried to get their records straight. It wasn’t until Daryll called his counterpart with the Third Brigade that they figured out that somehow, one of their IBHUs had been delivered to the Second Brigade’s loadout and vice-versa.

Rev wasn’t sure how that could have happened, and his bullshit radar was going off, but Daryll assured him that the locks put on each case were still locked and hadn’t been opened since the IBHUs were placed inside. There was a mix-up, but the IBHUs themselves were secure.

Rev went up to the major and told him they were ready to go as soon as he gave the order.

“OK, then. Daryll and his crew will accompany our IBHUs?”

“Loading up now, sir. They’ll head off in a few minutes.”

He checked the time. “We’ve still got two hours until our shuttle, but we might as well spend that at the spaceport. Tell everyone ten minutes.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

There was a cheer when Rev told the rest of the Marines. Not everyone had been happy with the decision to cut short their tours, but going home was going home, something that never was a bad thing.

Rev couldn’t quite get into the good mood, however. While the plaque had been a pleasant surprise, the rest of his departure had been a letdown. He just stood and watched as the rest of the Marines high-fived each other and excitedly told anyone who would listen what would be the first thing they’d do when they got back.

A hand touched his shoulder from behind, and a familiar voice asked, “You got room for one more?”

Rev spun around to see an out-of-breath Tomiko lugging a single seabag.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Well, I think I’m going home.”

“But . . . why . . . how? You’re not an IBHU,” Rev said, totally confused.

“If I hear that one more time, Rev, you’re going to regret it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I am talking about how it took me the last five hours to get permission to cut my tour short. I’m talking about how it took me five hours to convince the command that if Randigold was leaving, and if she was my mission, that I didn’t need to be here. And more than that, while I might not be an IBHU, I am probably the closest thing to one in the entire Marine Corps. If someone wanted to get more information, like in a bad way, I would be a soft target to be snatched.

“All I got thrown in my face was that I wasn’t an IBHU, and the order to leave was only for IBHUs. I finally convinced General Platte that I was right, but then it had to go back to HQ on New Mars, and all the powers that be were still asleep.

“But someone with the balls to make a decision agreed, and voilà, I got my orders. Just signed for them twenty minutes ago.”

Rev just stared at her, at a loss for words for the second time in an hour.

“I thought I might be too late. I only packed one seabag. I had to leave the rest of my stuff.”

She looked at Rev, then frowned. “Well, say something!”

“I . . . why did you do this?”

“To get home, why else? You think I want to stay here when you’re gone?”

“But . . . Bob . . .”

“What about Bob?”

“I’ve watched you. You two seem to have gotten rather close. Like, uh . . .”

She stared at Rev uncomprehendingly for a moment before understanding hit her. She threw back her head and brayed.

“You think me and Bob . . . ?”

“Well, yeah,” Rev said, oddly feeling a little put off. “I mean, you’ve always got your heads together. And just a little while ago, I asked where you were, and he said it wasn’t his place to tell me.”

“Yeah, ’cause I told him to cover for me, but not to tell you in case they said no.”

“But . . .” he trailed off, not knowing what to say.

Rev had come to the conclusion over time that Tomiko and Bob might have become a thing, and he understood why. It wasn’t as if they’d ever made any promises to each other or even discussed their relationship, and Bob was a great guy. Rev had decided that if the two of them were in a relationship, he’d be magnanimous about it. But that was being thrown back in his face right now.

“So, you thought that me and Bob . . . ?”

“Well, yeah,” he said, sounding more than a little sullen. “What was I supposed to think?”

“You weren’t supposed to think anything. If you had a question, you could always ask.”

Which was true, he had to admit.

“Look, Bob is a great guy, and he’ll be my friend for life. But he’s not you.”

“But . . . what?” he asked as what she’d said just registered.

Tomiko dropped her seabag, stepped up to Rev, and intertwined her arm in his.

“I said, he’s not you. And, it should be pretty obvious that I kinda like you. And two years apart, well, that just wouldn’t do. So, Bob and I had to come up with a reason that would make them let me leave with you. Not you “IBHUs,” but you, Rev-you.”

Rev was feeling lightheaded, but there was a joy to it. He still didn’t know where he and Tomiko stood, exactly, but at least, even as dumb as he could sometimes be, there was potential there.

He gently took her arm and pulled it free of hers.

“What, you don’t want me to come?” she asked, suddenly sounding unsure of herself.

“Just hang on. I’ve got to tell the major that we’ve got one more pax to add to the manifest.”

Epilogue

“Platoon sergeant, front and center!” First Lieutenant Astrid Nilson ordered.

Rev stepped off from the back of the formation, marched up alongside, then made a left turn, and stopped in front of the platoon commander. He turned to face her and saluted.

She saluted back with her social arm. “I guess it’s official now, Staff Sergeant.”

“Yes, ma’am. It is. First Heavy Infantry Company.”

“Think we’re ready?”

“We have to be.”

She nodded, then in a louder voice, “Take charge of the platoon and carry out the remainder of the training day.”

“Aye-aye, ma’am. Rev saluted again, which she returned before taking a step back, conducted an about-face, and stepped off.

Rev conducted his own about-face. He stood there for a moment, looking out over Third Platoon, First Heavy Infantry Company.

His platoon.

Three squads of infantry. Eighteen IBHU Marines. Twenty non-IBHUs to include infantry, recon, raiders, combat engineers, a sniper, and a Navy corpsman. All elite, all volunteers. Well, not the IBHUs. They’d had no choice and were stuck in the new company.

Rev might never have been a squad leader, and he still regretted that. But with the new organization, not only was he IBHU #1, but he also was the second senior enlisted IBHU Marine in the Corps. That meant he was slotted in as the platoon sergeant for the Third Platoon.

My platoon.

He kept telling himself that, and the thought made him giddy.

“What do you think?”

<I think you’re going to be an outstanding platoon sergeant.>

“You’ve got to say that. You’re a part of me.”

<But I can’t lie, so it must be true. Instead of this conversation, however, as pleasant as it might be, you might want to release the platoon.>

Crap, yeah.

He cleared his throat. He’d considered having a little speech, all about the historical significance of standing up a new company, of how they were a unique and new organization that would be thrust into the war with the Manifest Destiny Sphere, of how that even with small numbers, they could have a vital impact. But the commandant had pretty much said all of that. And the D-3 bigwig. And the battalion commander. All of whom ignored the Marines and sailors standing at attention in the blazing Swansea sun.

But he couldn’t just let them go without a word. Platoon sergeants didn’t do that.

“When you hit the refreshments, keep in mind all the brass and civilians here. Try to at least act civilized. Help yourself, speak if spoken to, but other than that, you’re freakin’ ghosts. Anyone who makes a scene will answer to me.”

He paused to see if that had sunk in. Everyone’s face was rigid and emotionless, so he couldn’t tell. But these were the elites, and he didn’t really think any of them were going to goose the provincial governor’s butt.

“Third Platoon, dis-MISSED!”

“Tip of the spear!” the platoon shouted as one, took a step back, and performed an about-face before breaking up.

There was back-slapping, a few hugs, then a mass movement toward the eight large tables set up behind the viewing stands that were covered with various snacks and drinks.

A wraith gently touched his back before more coalescing into another Marine beside him.

“You think we’re ready?” Tomiko asked as they watched the Marines and civilians descend on the food like a swarm of locusts.

“Could use some more time training together, but as I just told my lieutenant, we have to be.”

It had only been a month since the IBHU Marines had been pulled from the Home Guard. In that short amount of time, the decision had been made to group all the IBHUs together, both those who’d been in the Home Guard and those who’d been in the IBHU pipeline before the moratorium had become official.

The decision to station the new company at Camp Nguyen had been a welcome surprise, but it made sense. There were already the maintenance facilities in place, and it was remote enough to keep somewhat out of the public’s eyes. Still, there had to be half a dozen other potential bases, and Rev thanked his lucky stars that his home was selected.

The last three weeks had been hectic as they took over the newly rechristened Camp Sign of Respect, a secure area tucked away from Camp Nguyen’s mainside, and hit the field in exercise after exercise.

Rev thought they needed at least three months before they would be remotely ready for combat. While some of the non-IBHU Marines had worked with them before, the bulk hadn’t. They needed more time to meld into a team. But from the looks of how the war was developing, they wouldn’t get that time.

“Speaking of her, how is your lieutenant?” Tomiko asked.

“Green. Still getting used to her IBHU.”

“She’ll come around,” Tomiko said. “With you guiding her.”

Major Liege had already given him that speech. As the newest IBHU officer, and the one with no field experience with her new arm, and with Rev being the most experienced IBHU SNCO, the major had put the two together.

“At least you’ve got Macek,” he told her.

“Who was as green as your new lieutenant is.”

She was right, of course. All new Marines, be they privates or second lieutenants, were green at some point. Somehow, almost all came through and fulfilled their potential. It was the Marine way.

“You going to see your family after liberty call?” Tomiko asked, trying to keep her voice sounding casual.

With the heavy training over the last three weeks, none of the Marines had a chance to leave the base. Training would return hot and heavy in the morning, but with the company being stood up today, they all had liberty until morning.

“Yes. They’re having a small party.”

There was a pregnant pause until Rev asked, “You coming with me?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes, I’d be happy to join you.”

Tomiko slipped her hand into his.

Rev had no idea what the future would bring. They were in a war, after all. But for the moment, as he tightened his grip on Tomiko’s hand, he was happy. He knew this was where he belonged.

* * *

Rev will return in AN ALLIANCE REFORGED, coming November 2021. 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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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.

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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.