Copyrighted Material

Gods of War Copyright © 2022 by Variant Publications

Book design and layout copyright © 2022 by JN Chaney

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

All rights reserved.

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

www.jnchaney.com

www.jonathanbrazee.com

1st Edition

CONTENTS

Don’t Miss Out

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

Epilogue

Glossary

Nations, Independent Worlds, and Political Entities Within the Congress of Humanity

Cast of Characters

Acknowledgments

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1

“This is gonna be righteous, Gunny,” Corporal Ethereal Randigold said as the sailor strapped her in. “Don’t forget to close your face shield, glub, glub!”

The sailor pressed the hatch closure button, and the corporal winked at Rev just before the capsule closed.

Gunnery Sergeant Reverent Pelletier, Pegasus Union Marine Corps, just rolled his eyes.

“That woman would think wrestling a starving tiger would be fun,” he muttered.

<Your heart rate is climbing,> Punch, his AI battle buddy, told him.

No shit, Sherlock.

Rev would face a Naxli warrior in combat—and he’d done so more times than he could count—without hesitation. He was in control in that situation, relying on his own skills as a Marine.

This . . .

He took a deep breath. For the next four-plus hours, Rev would be just a tool in a toolbox, relying on someone else to get that toolbox down on their target planet. He was merely a product to deliver, without any control over the delivery.

“Who the hell’s bright idea was this?”

<The R & D division of Juniper Systems, Inc.>

“Yeah, it’s that R & D part that bothers me.”

<You didn’t seem that concerned during the operation order.>

“That’s because I wasn’t sitting in this trash can, ready to be thrown out.”

<Would you like to hear a joke? That, or I can give you a shot of happy juice.>

Rev was tempted to take up the offer of whatever his medinanos could give him. Go off to lala land, wake up when he was on the planet. But if he was about to meet his end, he wanted to go out aware of what was happening.

“Just give me the joke. I know you’ve been waiting for the opportunity to spring it on me.”

<What’s the difference between a karnan looking for a date and the trash?>

Punch had a habit of telling jokes that pertained to whatever was going on at the moment. But they hadn’t been talking about karnans . . .

Oh, I just said trash.

“OK, what is the difference between a karnan and a trash can?”

<At least a trash can gets taken out once a week.>

Rev didn’t even try to suppress the groan. But as much as he put down his battle buddy’s jokes, he did sort of like them.

“Gunnery Sergeant Pelletier?” one of the yellowshirt sailors asked as he moved into Rev’s view, looming over him.

“That’s me.”

“OK, I’m going to secure you for the insert. If you can move your weapon across your chest, I need to add this auxiliary strap.”

Rev shifted Pashu across his chest. His IBHU was only one of the reasons he wasn’t comfortable with this new insert method. It wasn’t designed for an IBHU Marine. Heck, even the karnans, as big as they are, were still within the capsule’s parameters.

The sailor reached into the capsule and with sure motions, first secured Pashu in place, attached an extension to the normal harness, then clicked it into the holders.

“Try and move your weapon,” the sailor said.

“My IBHU,” Rev said under his breath, but he tried to shift her.

“Pretty tight,” he said.

Rev wasn’t sure why he’d even needed the additional restraints. He had extensive support webbing throughout his body, and he was used to his IBHU’s mass. As tight as he’d be with the capsule sealed up, he figured he’d be able to handle Pashu throughout the insertion process. The fact that the engineers thought he needed something extra was a little disconcerting. What did they know that he didn’t?

“Good to go, then.” He started to reach for the closure button. “May the Mother guide—”

“You’re sure this is going to release me when, you know . . . ?” Rev asked, interrupting the sailor.

“Nope, not sure.”

“WHAT?”

The sailor laughed. “We didn’t make these things. Never used them before. We’re just following the instructions. But the restraining strap, we made that in our shop. I can promise you that if everything else works, then that strap will release you.”

Which didn’t give Rev a warm and fuzzy.

“So, as I was saying, may the Mother guide you to your destination.”

Before Rev could respond with anything else, the sailor pressed the button, and the capsule closed with a soft hiss.

He checked the limited readout. There wasn’t much there. Just a green LED that indicated he was sealed up.

Rev had inserted in a Personal Insertion Sphere-31 “pisser” before, and he’d not been a fan. But at least in that, he could monitor more of what was happening. With this capsule, he was flying blind.

“Pelletier, sealed and ready for insert,” he reported.

“About time. All we need now is Tsao,” Lieutenant Kjell, his platoon commander passed back.

Rev could hear the accusatory tone from the karnan. The rest of the troopers had been quickly sealed up into their capsules. It was only the IBHU Marines that needed the extra assistance.

It’s not like we had a choice in the matter. And we’ve still got half an hour before insert.

More so than with any of the other hyperaugments, there was a strong degree of rivalry between the Manifest Destiny Sphere karnans and the Union IBHUs. The karnans might be physically stronger, but Rev—along with the rest of the IBHUs—looked to their success against the karnans during the past war as proof of the IBHU’s superiority.

Two minutes later, Sergeant Tsao was sealed up. The platoon was ready to go. Now was the wait—the unbearable, mind-numbing wait. Rev had to occupy his mind with something or he’d go crazy. Music, a holovid . . .

“You got any more jokes for me?”

<Over a million.>

Rev started to laugh at the brag, but then he realized that Punch might not be exaggerating. Who knows how many jokes he’d stored in his crystal brain, both those he’d downloaded and those he’d come up with on his own?

“I don’t think we’ve got time for all million of them now, but why don’t you start?”

<What is the difference between a Shrike fighter and a Shrike pilot?>

“Other than one is a Navy plane and the other flies it, I don’t know. What?”

<One quits whining after its engine shuts down.>

Damn. If that’s a sample of what he’s got for me over the next four hours, maybe I shoulda just asked him for some music instead.

* * *

The capsule gave a lurch that threw Rev against the front . . . hard. He understood now why the Juniper Systems engineers had wanted his IBHU secured. Banging around and smashing into his PAL-HX as the capsule was jerked back and forth could have damaged the projector bell or the missile launcher rail.

Even inside his combat suit, Rev was taking a beating as he was pushed and pulled against the inside of his PAL. Punch had anti-inflammatories working overtime to combat the blows as well as the antiemetics that kept Rev from filling the capsule with what remained of his pre-landing meal.

Rev didn’t think he’d ever wish he was in a pisser, but those were a ride in the park compared to this.

The capsule lurched again, and Rev let out a groan, then swore vengeance against the engineers who thought this would be a good way to get Marines down onto a planet. Pulling off their limbs would be a good start, but it wasn’t enough. With the buffeting, though, he couldn’t keep his mind on what other form of torture he was going inflict on them.

In front of his face, the same unblinking green light let him know that his capsule still had its hull integrity, but nothing else. By the rough ride, he knew he was in the planet’s atmosphere, but where? And was he slowing down? He didn’t know.

The only positive was that if he hit the planet at full speed, he’d never know it. Splat, and it would all be over.

It wasn’t as horrible a thought as it was while he’d been in the relative calm of the approach. At least he’d be done with the unrelenting turbulence.

Finally, another light popped up beside the green one—a flashing red light, each flash two seconds apart.

“This is it, buddy,” Rev muttered.

<Try not to get us killed.>

“That’s the plan.”

Rev made sure his feet were in place, then he pushed back into this harness. The red light switched to one flash every second, and Rev involuntarily held his breath as he strained with his legs.

<Exhale!>

Crap!

Rev let out the air in his lungs as the foam filled the capsule, pinning him in place. A moment later, Thor’s hammer hit him, and a roar filled the capsule as the airbrakes deployed. Rev started grunting as he performed his AGSM, and he fought to remain conscious. The force was unrelenting as the capsule was jerked back and forth to add to the tremendous Gs that fought to take him to oblivion.

Mother protect me!

There was a final mule kick that almost knocked him out, and then the pressure was suddenly gone. Gravity gave him an up and down, but that was shifting as his capsule rotated. The foam started to dissipate, and the two LEDs shined green.

He was down. Hopefully, all the rest of the platoon had landed in one piece as well. Down and unnoticed.

Rev wasn’t sure how the Naxli might have missed thirty-nine capsules plummeting to the surface, but the brass had seemed pretty confident about their ability to insert without being detected. How much of that, though, was because the civilians at Juniper Systems had assured them of the fact?

It wasn’t as if civilian corporations ever exaggerated a system’s capabilities.

No, never.

The third LED came to life, a slowly flashing yellow.

“This is it, buddy. Let’s see where we are.”

A faint white line appeared running up and down in front of him. He oriented on that, ready to move. The line flashed five times, and then the entire front of the capsule split apart, and dark water rushed in.

Rev felt a moment of panic as the water spun the capsule around. He fought against the harness holding him in place, cursing the sailor who’d told him it would release him . . . but it did. It snapped off, releasing him. He kicked free of the capsule, and the weight of his PAL-HX quickly took him down into the dark.

Rev had excellent night vision, one of his many augments, but he activated the infrared torch on his helmet. There was nothing to see in the water as he sank, though. He tried to flail his arm and Pashu to keep himself upright, but his IBHU wasn’t a good flipper, and her weight turned him on his side.

He sank for another ten seconds before he hit the bottom. It took him a moment to get to his feet and look around. There was nothing in sight of his beam’s reach.

“Activate display. Personnel option.”

Immediately, thirty-eight icons appeared on his face shield display. They looked to be scattered over four hundred meters along the bottom of the ocean floor. Several were still descending.

“Well, I can’t believe it, but we’re down, Punch. All of us.”

<Just as planned.>

“But when everything’s going according to plan, then you can be sure the shit’s about to hit the fan.”

<Such a cynic.>

“A realist. Well, there’s the lieutenant. Let’s get going.”

Other icons started converging on the lieutenant, who was acting as the assembly point.

And Rev felt good. Surprisingly good. He hadn’t been in control at any time over the last four hours. But now, with the mission about to start, he was in his element. Even thirty meters below the ocean’s surface.

There was an old Marine hymn from back on Earth that went,

We fight our country's battles

In the air, on land, and sea;

Well, they’d come from space and the atmosphere. Now they were in the sea, soon to be on land. It was time to prove those words true.

2

Rev walked in measured steps along the ocean floor, each step raising a cloud of mud before the light current swept it away. Visibility wasn’t great—possibly twenty meters, but he had eight of his fellow troopers in his sight as they trudged—or swam—along.

One of the swimmers was five meters over his head. Corporal (Scout 2) Til König, a Tau Ceti Ranger, was light enough to use the buoyancy compensator and propulsion pack. Capable of fifteen knots, the corporal nevertheless had to maintain the same pace as the heavier IBHU Marines and karnans. Their mass was too much for the IPP-42 propulsion module to do much good, and their insertion capsules were too small for anything larger, so the IBHUs, karnans, and the two Jackhammer teams were walking along the bottom. Strolling, was more like it.

There wasn’t even much to see. The water contained amino acids but no real life. The entire situation was more than weird, and Rev was having a hard time getting into his war face. His warrior self had barely stirred.

Come on, Reverent. This is still a combat mission. Keep that in mind.

At least he had full visibility of the platoon on his display. Intel had thought that the Naxli wouldn’t be able to jam underwater, and with the Union SEALs’ hydrocommunications kits, he could monitor everyone’s positions and talk to them, if necessary.

That probably wouldn’t last once they emerged from the ocean at their objective, though. But they’d simply shift to the tried-and-true hand-and-arm signals if that was the case.

“Have we passed the thermocline yet?” he asked Punch.

<Negative.>

The local thermocline was acting in their favor at the moment. Rev hoped that once they passed it as they moved closer to the shore, they’d still have their comms—and that they’d still be undetected. Surprise was paramount for the mission.

And surprise could be lost if they made a mistake or if any of the three assault platoons kicked off their attack before the others.

Rev glanced at the timer counting down. They had three hours, fifteen minutes, and twenty-two seconds to initiate their assault. Plenty of time, unless something unexpected cropped up. And Rev had been in this business long enough to know that something unexpected always cropped up.

He glanced up at König, who was gliding easily above his head. He wanted to ping the Ranger and ask if he was above the thermocline, but then he shrugged off the question. He’d find out soon enough.

Instead, he pulled up a topo. If it was accurate, then about two hundred meters ahead, the ocean floor would start rising. So far, the undersea topo had been right on, revealing this easy route to the objective. That, in and of itself, was pretty amazing to him. This was a previously undiscovered planet, and the three platoons of First Assault Company were the first humans to set foot on it. Yet whatever scanners the tiny scout craft had aboard when the pilot reached the planet had been able to map the seafloor.

“Never thought I’d have an underwater advance to contact,” Rev told Punch.

<The Marines have historically been associated with the sea. The first organized Marines were probably the Roman I Adiutrix and II Adiutrix, and they were aboard ships.>

“Aboard is the keyword there, Punch. Not under the water.”

<The Troisième République Troupes de la Marine had two battalions of underwater naval infantry during the Corolla Wars.>

“And look what happened to them. The Gennies wiped them out. And when the Republic became the Heg, you saw that the Naval Infantry didn’t bring them back. We’re space-faring now, Punch, in case you hadn’t realized it.”

The République naval infantry, which became the Hégémonie Liberté naval infantry during the Deuxième Renaissance, had a long and glorious history, but the small Genesian force had decimated the two amphibious battalions, a black mark in their storied history that has lasted until this day.

<I didn’t say they were effective, only that Marines and the sea have a long connection. And that’s why you still use naval terms in your speech.>

Rev wasn’t going to delve into a history lesson with his battle buddy. All he knew was that walking along the bottom of an alien ocean was decidedly weird.

He glanced up at König again. If something went wrong, the Ranger could just swim to the surface. Rev was under kilotons of water, and for him to get out, he’d have to do an emergency molt, all while holding his breath long enough to clear his PAL and then still swim to the surface.

For the first time since getting out of his insertion capsule, he felt the oppression of so much water bearing down on him. Naxli waiting for them or not, he was going to feel much better when his head cleared the surface.

But that was still going to be some time yet. They had a long way to go to hit their beach.

The platoon kept up a steady pace forward. Rev’s mood lightened as they climbed the first incline, not dampened by the fact that they passed the thermocline. The surface was only twelve meters above his head, which might as well have been a thousand meters for all the good it would do him. But his emotions didn’t rely on logic.

They were still a klick away from the beach and their objective, a massive gun position. Intel wasn’t sure exactly what kind of weapon it was, but the location, both with reference to the others and close to the sea, led the analysts to believe that the guns were part of a comprehensive defensive system. And if the cooling array that plunged into the ocean waters was any indication, then the weapons packed a powerful punch, one capable of knocking spacecraft out of orbit.

Working in conjunction with each other, they probably had the ability to create an almost impenetrable shield around the planet.

The human invasion fleet carried enough ground forces to defeat the estimated 35-40,000 Naxli on the planet, but that was only if the humans could actually land. The interlocking capability of the humongous weapons was also a weakness, though. Take out three of the weapons—coincidently the same three that comprised First Combined Assault Company’s objectives—and there would be a hole in the shield where the Navy amphibious fleet could land the ground forces while the rest of the task force occupied the Naxli Navy in the system.

That was a huge responsibility to place on the shoulders of a single company made up of Marines, Legionnaires, Rangers, and the rest. But it wasn’t as desperate as all of that for the invasion fleet. If the three platoons failed in their mission and the weapons were still operational, the ground forces weren’t going to attempt to land through a meat grinder. They’d pull chocks and leave, keeping their forces to fight another day.

Which meant the company’s ride off the planet was gone, and it was a helluva long walk back to human space. Which meant the need to complete the mission was a little more imperative than normal. Which meant every single one of them was going to give it their all.

The plan was pretty straightforward, and they’d rehearsed it no fewer than thirty-four times at the giant mock-up building inside the McAuliffe Arena, keeping its existence out of prying eyes. No one knew for sure what kind of surveillance of Safe Harbor the Naxli might have, but there was no use taking any chances.

Rev was confident in the platoon’s conduct of the mission should everything go according to plan—but as he’d told Punch after landing an hour ago, things never ended up going that way. The enemy rarely cooperated with human plans. Rev thought that pretty inconsiderate of them.

But given the vagaries of battle, he kept running scenarios through his mind. If the Naxlis did this, what should the platoon do? If they did that, what then? The kicker in this case, though, was Lieutenant Kjell. As he’d proven at the Naxli garrison, the karnan had a tendency to go off-script on a whim, no matter how that affected the platoon or the mission. If he saw a route to glory, he was going to take it. So, Rev not only had to contend with the Naxli opposing them, but he also had to figure out what to do if the lieutenant went cowboy on him.

Yancey continually told Rev that he worried too much, that he needed to relax and rely on training to get his Marines through whatever the enemy or the gods of war threw at them. He thought that the thousands of potential scenarios Rev had run through his mind during his various battles did nothing more than stress him out and lower his effectiveness.

Rev didn’t agree. He thought being prepared on Armadillo had helped save the day. And even if only one of the potential scenarios he’d considered had come to fruition, then the mental effort would have been worth it.

So, as they moved ever closer to the shoreline, he kept trying to foresee different scenarios and how he’d have the platoon react.

But sometimes, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t foresee everything.

Rev was climbing the incline, carefully placing his feet, when Private Third Jesperson, from Second Team, who was swimming above Randigold, seemed to bend over, arm reaching out, as if she was trying to dive down and touch the IBHU Marine.

Rev frowned. This was not the time for goofing off, and he was about to pull the private up on the P2P when a dark cloud started to spread around her.

What the . . . ?

And then the first one arrived. A darting shape sped out of the murk, swimming incredibly fast. For a split second, Rev thought it was a sea lion, and he wondered how it got there, but the weapon it raised wasn’t anything an Earth sea lion had ever carried.

As it swerved to the side, it fired at Randigold, a silver bolt streaking toward the Marine, but it glanced off her shoulder.

Randigold returned fire with Cruella de Vil. The IBHU’s beam vaporized water into a screen of bubbles that rose to the surface but left the attacker unharmed as it darted back around.

“Consolidate on me!” Rev ordered, bypassing the lieutenant. “Nezev, recover Jesperson.”

The troopers started to converge on Rev, and two more of . . . whatever they were, darted into view, firing their weapons. One of the bolts hit Sergeant Foy, and the Legionnaire stumbled but kept coming. Blood and bubbles trailing from his knee joint, though, until his PAL-H sealed off the breach—the ability to seal in a vacuum evidently worked underwater as well.

Now that he had a better look at their assailants, he wasn’t sure how he’d thought they were sea lions. Other than their speed in the water, they were nothing like the terrestrial mammals. These were more akin to sea-going iguanas, with strong tails providing propulsion as they darted in to attack the platoon. Each was wearing a harness and was armed with a bolt-throwing weapon that looked like a stubby M-103 grenade launcher.

“Form a perimeter around the gunny,” the lieutenant passed, taking over again. “I want every weapon fired until we can figure out what works.”

He switched to the P2P and asked Rev, “What the hell are these animals?”

“They’re sentient,” Rev said as he fired a burst from his 20 mm that didn’t reach an approaching enemy. “Look at the harnesses.”

“There aren’t any more sentients,” the lieutenant said.

Look what’s right in front of you.

The troopers were forming a ring around Rev, IBHUs, karnans, and the jackhammer team, who were all standing on the bottom with the rest of the troopers two-to-four meters above them. While the platoon had discussed how to form up for a halt en route, they hadn’t really prepared for an underwater defense.

One of the enemy sped out of the gloom, skimming barely above the sea bottom, tail thrashing. It fired two bolts, one after the other, just as the jackhammer gunner fired four grenades. Each grenade barely made it out six or seven meters, but at least one detonated as the enemy-whatever passed through. The explosion created a curtain of gas, and the creature jerked to the side before tumbling against the seafloor. Dark, blueish blood spread out in the water as the thing spasmed along for a few moments, the tail barely moving. After only a few moments, the thing went still.

“Rounds work against them,” Rev passed.

The big question was how to hit them. None of their weapons had any range to them underwater.

That wasn’t the only question, though. Rev’s mind was reeling. This was entirely unexpected. The Naxli equivalent to the SEALs? Sure. But these weren’t Naxli, and he didn’t know what they were. At the moment, though, that didn’t matter. They had to defeat the things, then worry about what they were later.

As the platoon formed their defense, Lance Corporal Kingston, suspended six meters above the seafloor, was hit in the belly. He doubled over, hands gripping the end of the bolt, when there was a whump, and Rev could see the shockwave emanate from him. Kingston went limp as blood stained the water.

“Lieutenant, we’ve got to get the lighter-armored troopers down on the ground behind us,” Rev said as Strap rushed to Kingston’s aid.

“Do it.”

Rev issued the orders. The six troopers who were in their own lighter armor swam down to the seafloor within the circle of IBHU and karnans. He turned back to the problem at hand.

Rev didn’t even know how many of the creatures they faced. The seafloor was clear, but visibility was limited to about twenty meters. Beyond that was just a murk. The creatures darted in at them from all directions, fired their spearguns—which is how Rev started thinking of them—and darted away, out of range of the platoon’s weapons. For all Rev knew, it was the same handful of them that were attacking. Or there could be a hundred of them out there in the murk, attacking one by one.

Božič-Mizaki fired one of her Morays at one of them, and while the missile kept under impulse, it was slowed down enough so that the attacker could dart out of the way. And the missile’s seeker head evidently didn’t work underwater.

The only good thing was that the creatures’ spearguns were not proving to be effective against the PAL-H and PAL-HXs. The two KIA had been in their own armor, with only Foy being hurt in a PAL, and he was still combat-effective.

It was a stalemate, but one that the platoon had to break. They had their mission to complete, and the more time they spent with their wagons circled, the more time there would be for the creatures to gather additional fighters.

“We’ve got to break out,” Rev told the lieutenant.

The karnan hesitated, which Rev thought was odd. Whatever else Rev thought of his platoon commander, the man hadn’t proven himself to be hesitant about mixing it up. Then again, maybe getting his arm torn up during their last battle had an effect on him. It wouldn’t be the first time that happened when someone realized they weren’t invincible.

“They’re not effective against our heavier armor,” Rev prompted.

“We don’t know what else the damn things have.”

Hell, he doesn’t know what to do. He’s being stymied by the unknown. But one thing’s for sure. We can’t just stand here with our thumbs up our asses.

And evidently, it wasn’t just Rev who thought that. Not the thumbs. He didn’t know if the attackers even had thumbs . . . or asses. But they didn’t like the stalemate. Six of them made a concerted rush, firing two bolts from their spearguns, then drawing wicked-looking serrated blades from scabbards on their backs that Rev hadn’t previously noticed.

One seemed to home in on Randigold, who was to Rev’s left. He shifted to face it, catching the thing’s attention, and it veered toward him.

This Rev could handle. He went into gladiator-mode, his mind snapping him back to Reggie, his swordmaster. He didn’t consciously extend his blade from his IBHU, but he shifted to his guard, his warrior self singing with excitement.

As it shot towards him, there wasn’t a face or head that he could see, but he figured that sticking it in center mass would mess up the thing’s day. Even without a discernable head, there was something about it that screamed deadly intent.

It did have a hand of sorts, wrapped around the pommel of the blade, which it held out like a lance . . . or maybe like a narwhal’s horn, ready to skewer him.

“You can try,” Rev said as the thing closed in. And then it was all instinct. Rev parried with Pashu, twisting at the same time to bring his own blade to bear. But the creature was still closing, and it passed under the blade, only suffering a shallow score along its side.

Rev grabbed it with his organic arm to keep it from getting past him and to the lightly armored troopers. The thing’s momentum took him off his feet, sending both of them tumbling slowly to the seafloor. Rev tightened his arm around what he hoped was its neck while it tried to swipe at him with its blade.

Rev couldn’t get his feet under him to get some leverage, and he struggled until there were half a dozen flashes that filled his vision. The creature went limp, and blue blood rose around him. He pushed the body off of him, where it sank to the seafloor, small, dead eyes he hadn’t noticed before staring at nothing. Rev looked up to see Randigold standing over him, her IBHU outstretched and still aimed at the thing.

“You’re welcome,” she passed on the P2P.

“She stuck her twenty right up on it and fired while we were wrestling, didn’t she?”

<That she did.>

“Could’ve shot my ass off, too.”

<But she didn’t.>

“Thanks,” he passed to her.

But he felt stupid. He’d let his warrior self take over too much, ready to fight blade with blade when he had that twenty. Or his beamer. Putting Pashu’s muzzle against the thing’s skin overcame the resistance of the water.

Time for self-recrimination later.

He got to his feet and looked around. But the fight seemed to be over. Six creature bodies looked to be dead. Sergeant Gystyn, one of the karnans, was reading WIA, but Rev could see him standing over one of the creature’s bodies. Other troopers were gathering around the dead creatures for a better look.

“Attention outboard. Watch for another wave,” Rev passed on the platoon net.

But nothing happened for another minute. Two minutes. It looked like either that was it, or if there were more of them, they’d withdrawn. Whether to run away or set up an ambush was the next question.

Either way, the platoon had to move.

“Sir, we’ve got to go,” Rev passed on the P2P.

“Think there’s more of them, Gunny?”

“If there is, we can handle them. You killed one of them, right?”

“Sure did,” he said, sounding more confident. “Close call with that pig sticker, but my Boro took care of it.”

Rev gave a mental grunt. Of course, a sidearm was the best choice in a situation like this. With his IBHU, Rev often forgot about his MF-30. Granted, the MDS Boro carried a much bigger punch, but still . . .

“Then let’s move out. We can change up the formation. Keep the karnans and IBHUs forward. But we’ve still got a schedule to keep.”

“Yeah. Do it. And if the bastards jump us, we’ll just take care of them like we did these ones.”

Rev gave the orders. Within two minutes, the platoon was on the move again, in a modified wedge, with the six lightly armored troopers in the middle, towing the two KIAs.

The gods of war had been up to their same games. No one had expected a new player to be interjected. The humans had come out on top this time, but what else did that portend? What other obstacles were the gods going to throw at them?

* * *

<Five minutes.>

Rev craned his head to look at the surface of the water, just a meter above his head. He wished he could see what was out there.

Are they expecting us now?

Rev didn’t know for sure if the creatures that had jumped the platoon were in cahoots with the Naxli or not, but he’d bet they were. Nothing else made sense. And if they were sentient with a high-enough degree of tech—and with their harnesses and spearguns, he had to assume they were—had they warned the gun garrison of their appearance?

Rev had to assume they had, and that meant they’d lost the element of surprise. He’d brought that up with the lieutenant, who’d tried to contact the other two platoons with a low-frequency SEAL communicator, but he hadn’t gotten through. In the end, he decided to go with their original orders and not buck the system.

“Systems check.”

<All systems green. Full combat load. Power at ninety-three-point-eight percent. Oxygen level at sixty-nine-point-three percent.>

That last still sounded odd to Rev. It was usually only part of the report when in space or on planets where they couldn’t breathe the atmosphere. But it mattered here, of course.

“How much time does that give me?”

<Approximately thirteen hours underwater from this point forward. The actual time will depend on your consumption while on dry land.>

Rev grunted a non-response. The planet had an O2-based atmosphere, but depending on his exertion level, his PAL-HX would be supplementing the filtered air with extra oxygen. Use too much, and his days of walking ocean floors would be at an end without a resupply.

Hopefully, we’ll be done with the water. Get in, take care of business, then wait for the cavalry.

“I’m going to check Second Squad,” he said.

<You’ve already done that.>

“So? What’s wrong with doing it again?”

Punch said nothing.

“You think I should leave them alone?”

<Nothing has changed in the last eight minutes.>

Which Rev knew was Punch saying, “Hell yes. Leave them alone.”

He knew his battle buddy was correct, though. He was in his pre-game jitters; that’s all. Checking the troopers one last time wasn’t going to make the nerves go away.

As if he knew what Rev was thinking, Iglesias turned to face Rev and gave him a thumbs-up. Rev returned it to the squad leader. They’d started off on the wrong foot, but after the last few months, they were settling into a good working relationship. More than that, Rev trusted the man. As a sergeant (his Marine equivalent rank), Iglesias was the junior squad leader in the platoon. But the Federation promoted slowly, and he had more time in service than either Hussein or Yancey—or Rev, for that matter.

<One minute.>

“Let’s get it done.”

There was a stirring among the squad, like racehorses in the gate. They were ready.

His timer crept down to zero, and the squad started slowly approaching the surf. Rev wasn’t sure what they were going to face. If the swimming creatures had warned the Naxli, there could be a contingent sitting there on the beach, ready to cut down the squad as they emerged from the sea. Even if the swimmers hadn’t reported their presence, no one knew what defenses the Naxli might have in place.

And that was why Second Squad was going first. They were the recon element in this case, checking the area in the best-case basis, drawing fire in the worst case. It put a big target on their chests, but Rev couldn’t fault the lieutenant’s plan. Better one squad be the guinea pigs than for the entire platoon to walk into what could be a kill zone.

We’ll find out soon enough.

The surf was very light, but Rev began to feel each wave as it moved ashore, giving him a gentle push. The tiny troughs between the swells grew closer to his head as he moved forward until finally, the top of his helmet broke the surface. He was now visible to anyone on the beach, but he couldn’t see anything. Subconsciously, he quickened his stride until his face shield emerged, and with Pashu at the ready just below the surface, he stopped. Alongside him, the troopers in the squad stopped as well, a line of helmets in the water as each human surveyed the scene.

The beach was still twenty meters in front of him. It was narrow, less than ten meters wide, and it led to a two-meter-tall, jumbled wall of rocks. Over the top of the rocks, another two hundred meters away, Rev could just pick up the top of the gun emplacement. And if he could see it, anyone there could see them.

Rev was suddenly feeling very naked.

He raised his right hand and motioned the squad forward.

Rev evidently wasn’t the only person feeling naked. He could feel the urgency in the others as they hurried forward, bending down as they emerged from the water, trying to keep as much of the rocks between them and the emplacement as possible. No enemy fire reached out to greet them as they quickly covered the last of the water, splashed ashore, and hit the sand at the base of the rocks.

Rev’s heart was pounding in his chest as he hugged the nearest rock. He couldn’t see the gun emplacement any longer, but that meant any enemy there couldn’t see him, either. They might have sensors on the beach, but they were safe from direct fire weapons for the moment.

Iglesias gave him the sign for thirteen. The entire squad was ashore, and there wasn’t any overt reaction from the Naxli.

So far, so good. Now, let’s take a look and see what we’ve got.

Rev reached to his thigh holster to open it and stopped. It was already open.

Just great, Reverent. Real smart thing to do.

“Make a note, Punch. There needs to be a circuit that lets us know if any of our PAL’s compartments are open.”

Or you can just check.

<Noted.>

Rev reached into the holster, hoping he hadn’t lost anything, but to his relief, the Optisight was in its slot. He pulled it out, shook off the water, and extended the cable, giving it a ninety-degree bend at the top. He raised the lens over the top of the rocks . . . and saw nothing. The field of view wasn’t clear. He had to shift several times to have a clear line of sight to the emplacement. There was no sign of life. The gun emplacement might as well have been some ancient relic, wasting away over the centuries. It was an angled structure without much to interrupt the smooth surface of the walls. If Rev didn’t know better, he would never have thought that the walls hid the main gun somewhere in the interior.

On the far-right side, about three hundred meters away, the same material formed a levee of sorts, running down the cliffside and disappearing into the water. If the analysts were correct, then that was the cooling system for the gun.

What Rev couldn’t pick out was any sign of either Naxli or defensive positions. The walls could hide all sorts of weapons, but Rev couldn’t identify anything.

Rev lowered his Optisight, turned, and nodded at Iglesias. The squad leader opened his thigh holster—Rev noticed that no water came out—and removed his own Optisight. Rev gave him a few moments to survey the scene.

“You pick out anything?” he asked when Iglesias was done.

“Pretty featureless. No sign of the skeletals.” He paused for a moment before asking, “We gonna push forward?”

That’s the key question, isn’t it?

The advance team’s mission was to reach the high-water mark and identify enemy positions. When the main body came ashore, they were to be ready to take those positions under covering fire.

But he couldn’t identify any targets. He could push forward and see if they were taken under fire, or as he was at the high-water mark, he could set up Second Squad as the base of fire.

His warrior self was pushing him to sally forth, screaming battle cries. Aside from being rather on the suicide scale of things, that would alert the Naxli that they were there, if they already weren’t aware of that.

No, for as much as he internally criticized the lieutenant for not pushing the assault up earlier, he had to admit that sticking to the plan had the highest probability of success.

“This is our position. Send König back to bring up the assault element and then set up the base of fire.” He took a moment to scan the narrow beach. “Spread out at least to where that rock is out on that beach. That should give us a good field of fire.”

The squad leader nodded and started off to comply. Rev couldn’t tell if he was satisfied or disappointed. But it didn’t matter what he felt. Rev had made his decision.

The Tau Ceti Ranger slipped back into the water, and within a minute, he’d disappeared from view. Rev turned back to scan the objective with his Optisight.

“You see anything at all that could be a weapon?” he asked Punch.

<I can’t detect any anomalies in the walls.>

“They have to have defenses, right? It’s not like they just took all the effort to build those weapons and then left them defenseless.”

<If they were humans, I would say history tells us no, they wouldn’t. But these are Naxli, and we still don’t know how they think.>

We know enough. They think they’re honorable warriors, but only when it suits them. When push comes to shove, that all goes out the door.

That wasn’t something that the xenopsychologists were promulgating, but that’s the personal conclusion Rev was beginning to form of the enemy. All that honor crap was just that, crap. They could be just as cowardly, just as venial, as the worst of humanity.

Rev kept scanning both the structure and the ground between them. But he’d discovered nothing of note by the time the lieutenant and the assault element emerged from the water and joined them on the strip of beach.

“Nothing? You’ve found nothing?” the lieutenant asked after he joined them.

“Nothing, sir,” Rev said, offering his Optisight.

The lieutenant scowled and took the instrument. He spent a good two minutes looking through it before he turned back to Rev.

Well, was I right? Rev was tempted to say, but he held his tongue.

“I don’t see anything. That doesn’t mean it isn’t being defended. But if it isn’t . . .” he said, trailing off.

If it wasn’t, then this mission was going to be a heck of a lot easier. The platoon had two methods to blow the facility: M-88 mine or Hellborer.

The M-88 was a man-packed, 112-kg nuclear shaped charge. The platoon had two of them, each carried by one of the karnans. Placed up against the wall and detonated, ninety-seven percent of the blast would be funneled into the wall, burning through and destroying the gun inside.

The Hellborer was the same basic missile in use throughout the Corps and three other militaries, but this version had a smaller nuclear shaped charge. With a solid strike, it should be able to burn through the walls and damage the weapon inside. It wasn’t as sure thing as the M-88, but it could be fired from up to four klicks away. They could fire right from their position on the beach, and one after the other, the second could either hit a new spot or fire into the same burn hole that the first one made.

Priority went to the M-88 with the Hellborer as a backup. But that meant that without one of the automated engineering bots, the two karnans were going to have to physically emplace the mines on the walls, trigger them, and then beat feet to cover. And it was the assault element’s job to get the two troopers there. Time was running out. The other two platoons would be kicking off their assaults within the next ten minutes. Eight minutes, forty-two seconds, to be exact, according to Rev’s timer.

“Eighty-eights or Hellborers, sir?” Rev prompted.

“You’re sure the eighty-eights are reliable?” the lieutenant asked.

Rev refrained from sneering. The karnan lieutenant knew the mines were reliable, but even here, with the mission at hand, he couldn’t resist a little dig at Union technology.

“Very, sir.”

“We’re going with them, then. We’ll keep the Hellborers with you in case things go to shit, though.”

Keeping low, he moved away from Rev, signaling for Yancey and Hussein to join him. Rev watched as the lieutenant gave his final brief. He wasn’t jealous per se, but he certainly didn’t like to be left behind when things were about to get real.

He called Iglesias to him.

“Everything’s a go. The assault team’s going with the eighty-eights, and the Hellborers are staying back with us as a backup. I want them positioned right here. That’ll give them good fields of fire if it comes to that.”

“I’ll grab them and send them over.”

“You’ve personally checked every position?” Rev asked, not able to help himself.

The corner of the squad leader’s mouth turned down, and he said, “Yes, Gunny. Every one of them. They’re good to go.”

When Rev was an NCO, he swore he wasn’t going to micromanage those under him, but sometimes, it was difficult not to, and this was a vital mission. The entire invasion was dependent on what happened at these two sites.

If the Federation Commando was pissed, so be it.

The Hellborer team arrived, and Rev spent the next two minutes making sure they were emplaced and ready to rock and roll if it came down to them. And then, there was nothing more for him to do except watch as the two squads started to move into position. Each had their own axis of advance, about sixty meters from each other. Over-Sergeant Torking had the M-88 with Third Squad, and Private Oryvv had the mine with First Squad.

“Mother guide you,” he said as he watched the lieutenant give Oryvv a slap on the back.

A lot depended on the two karnans carrying the mines. Truth be told, Rev would feel more comfortable with others emplacing the M-88s like Strap and maybe Vestergaard, but with the karnans’ strength, it was hard to argue with the lieutenant on that.

<Thirty seconds.>

Rev shifted his gaze and focused back to the front. He might be the platoon sergeant, but he was still an IBHU Marine, and his firepower would be needed if the Naxli resisted.

At zero, Lieutenant Kjell shouted, “Go, go!” and like a commander during the Sommes, was the first one going over the top—in this case, climbing the rocks and onto the ground behind them. The two squads rose with him and charged forward.

The lieutenant was relying on speed, rather than stealth, to close with the objective. Without any opposition, they could cover the distance in about a minute.

That wasn’t going to happen. Before they’d gone twenty meters, the wall of the objective erupted into a fusillade of fire, dropping Morita. No discernable weapons appeared out of gunports—it was as if the wall itself was the weapon. Rev shouted for the security element to open fire as the assault element dove for cover.

Rev fired his beamer at a spot from where rounds were emerging, but that did nothing to stop the incoming from there. He switched to his twenty, peppering the area, and while chips and dust flew off, the fire didn’t abate.

“Give me armor piercing on Moray 1,” he ordered, then fired. The missile made it within fifty meters when it exploded in the air, well short of the wall.

Crap!

Second Squad was pouring fire onto the objective, but Rev didn’t know if it was having much of an effect. The incoming fire didn’t seem to slacken.

The lieutenant blasted two shrill sirens, the signal to shift the fire to the Hellborers.

The team was ready. “Backblast area clear!” the a-gunner shouted, and a moment later, the first Hellborer took off in a whoosh, closing in on the target . . . but with no more efficacy than Rev’s Moray. The missile exploded short of the structure, the pieces spreading out to ping against the wall before bouncing off.

The missileman was quick, firing the second almost immediately. This missile ran better. Something seemed to hit it at the last second, but it impacted on the wall, and an impossibly bright light bloomed where it struck. A concussion wave rolled back and over the platoon.

There was a cheer among the humans, but the incoming fire didn’t slacken, and there were no secondary explosions.

“Wolf-Six, can we get a confirmation?” Rev asked the lieutenant, breaking radio silence. Or trying to break it. As expected, comms were down, jammed, and that meant the stealth spy-in-the-sky would have eyes over the target.

Shrapnel pinged off the back of his PAL but didn’t damage it. As he looked down the beach, the sand and troopers were being stitched with something walking down the line. Rev immediately knew what it was—the Naxli version of the PK-14 round, which fired like a normal round but could detonate a small charge after passing through a window or over a barrier.

Deadly against light infantry, they weren’t much of a threat to fighters in combat suits . . . but they would be against commandos!

“König, Reston, back in the water!” he shouted.

But it was too late. Reston, the Paxus Spec Corporal, was writhing on the sand, clutching her leg in agony. Her light armor couldn’t stand up to the charge.

“Gintly! See to Reston,” Rev shouted, and the Alliance medic rushed to her aid.

Rev turned back to the target and fired another burst from his twenty. He didn’t know if it was having any effect, but he didn’t know that it wasn’t, either.

An explosion burst in front of him, lifting Caporal Chef Knight and throwing him like a rag doll against a boulder, where he bounced off and lay still. Another explosion hit the water behind Rev, sending up a muted plume of water.

“They’re bracketing us, Lieutenant,” Rev shouted.

The lieutenant didn’t answer him but shouted something in Tuvan, one of many local MDS languages. Rev was about to ask Punch to translate it, but he didn’t need to. Oryvv answered back in the same language, and while the lieutenant stood and started pouring fire with his BIPAC, the private jumped to his feet and started sprinting ahead, heedless of the incoming.

“Shit,” Rev said as he added his own 20mm rounds.

He tried to will the karnan forward when another round landed just in front of the young man. The blast tore his legs off as his body was flung backward to land in a crumpled heap twenty-five meters in front of Rev.

Rev snarled in anger—he wasn’t sure if it was aimed at the Naxli or the lieutenant. Maybe both. Maybe it was just because the mission was disintegrating by the second, and if they didn’t take the gun out, that may be all she wrote for the overall mission first, and their personal future second.

And all the time, the walls of the gun position loomed over them, impervious to their efforts. There weren’t even any Naxli in sight that he could target.

“We’re running out of options,” he muttered.

<There’s still Over-sergeant Nye Torking’s M-88.>

“Which isn’t going to do any good if we can’t reach that damn wall.”

The entire platoon could charge forward, relying on their PALs to get them through, he knew. He hoped that Torking could as well. And with Oryvv’s . . .

He gave the private another look, and he realized that his heavy combat suit hadn’t protected the karnan. The chances that any of them make it through, much less Torking in particular, were minimal.

But what choice did they have? Doing nothing and having the operation canceled was essentially a death sentence, and not just for the platoon. For Second and Third Platoon as well. Even if they succeeded in their missions, they’d be marooned on the planet, too.

They had to try it. A one-percent shot was better than no shot at all.

Rev turned his head to call for Iglesias when the structure that covered the heat exchange mechanism caught his eye.

Unless . . .

During their briefs, the analysts had mentioned the structures. They were vital to the long-term efficacy of the weapons, but destroying them wouldn’t knock the weapons out, at least in the near term. At best, the weapons would eventually fail. At worst, destroying them might lower the rate of fire of the big guns.

Rev craned his head to get a better look. The levee-shaped structure ran from the water up the slope until it disappeared behind an outcropping of rock. But it had to be connected to the main structure.

Credits to doughnuts, it wasn’t as heavily protected as the main emplacement. If they could get to it and breach it, there might be a way to use it to enter the main facility. Even if they couldn’t, taking it out would degrade the weapon, maybe to the point where the landing could be started up again later.

And if they could stay alive until then, there might be a tiny chance of getting out of this mess. They’d evaded the Naxli on Syron III. Why not here?

But they needed those M-88s.

Rev turned on his external speakers to max volume. “Torking, get back to the beach now! Everyone else, cover me.”

There was an increase in the outgoing fire, and before he could dwell on what he was going to do, Rev got to his feet, vaulted over the rocks, and ran to Oryvv’s body, heedless of the rounds zinging past him. A side lobe of a beamer sent his alarms howling, but his focus was laser-locked on the dead karnan.

As he started to pull up at the body, Tsao appeared at his side. Together, they grabbed Oryvv’s dead-man’s handle and ran back to the beach, jumping over the rocks to land with a jolt on the other side.

Rev was sucking air, more from the adrenaline rush than anything else.

“You OK?” he asked Tsao.

“I’m talking to you, so I guess I made it.”

Rev pulled the karnan’s body close to him and started to remove the M-88 transport pack from Nvarnn’s back.

“Here, help me get this thing on,” he told Tsao.

“No. You’re the platoon sergeant. You need to lead us while we emplace this thing.”

“And I’m also an IBHU. I’m the strongest one here, and this sucker’s heavy.”

Tsao didn’t correct him on that. Lieutenant Kjell or Torking would be the strongest ones in the platoon. But she wasn’t going to accept his answer.

“I’m an IBHU, too. I think I can handle it.”

Rev, egged on by his warrior self, started to argue, but she cut him off. “We need you to lead.”

And he knew she was right. She could handle the weight, even if she wasn’t as strong as him. She was still an IBHU.

“Let’s get it on you,” he said, holding it so that she could slide it onto her back.

“Where’re we placing it?” she asked as she shrugged it into place.

“The cooling thing.”

She looked over her shoulder at the structure. “Hell, that’s better.”

“Lieutenant, give us some cover on my command,” he shouted.

“What the hell are you doing, Gunny?”

“Going to blow up the cooling structure.”

“That’s not our objective.”

Rev wasn’t going to argue and give the lieutenant a chance to order him to back down. “Go,” he told Tsao.

He waited until she started to run, half hunched over, along the beach.

“Now!” he shouted. “Give us cover.”

Rev chased after Tsao as the platoon increased their rate of fire.

“Torking, come with me. Iglesias, give me six troopers,” he said as he passed them.

Something dinged off of his back as he ran, but his PAL remained intact, and that’s all that mattered. He sprinted in front of Tsao, Pashu at the ready to take care of any surprises.

They covered the distance to the side of the structure, hitting the sand under the cover of the rocks. As far as Rev could tell, they weren’t specifically targeted. Torking, Strap, and five other troopers joined the two Marines, looking at him to find out what was going on.

Rev held up a hand to tell them to wait a moment. He didn’t bother with his Optisight but rather popped his head up and let Punch take a snap of what he saw.

The structure ran in a straight line up the rocky slope for about 150 meters, the last thirty at a steep slope before it joined a small section of the main gun emplacement. Where on the other side of the tall rock formation the wall of the structure was thirty meters tall, on this side of the formation, it looked to be barely three or four meters. The rest was underground.

The firing at the landing site was diminishing, and Rev had to push his questions as to why that was happening out of his mind. None of that mattered unless he could achieve a miracle here.

He turned to eight sets of eyes.

“We’re going to destroy this here cooling thing.”

“But—” Strap started to say before Rev cut him off.

“And once we do that, we’re going to use it to get up to the main emplacement and take it out, too.”

Eight sets of eyes lit up with excitement behind their face shields.

“You,” he said, pointing at the karnan. “The structure runs at a slight incline until it reaches the base of the hill. I want you to emplace your eighty-eight there. What’s the time on the detonation?”

“I can set it at anything up to ten minutes.” The sounds of a long string of twenty mm fire reached them. “But I don’t think we have that much time. Give me thirty seconds.”

“That’s not very long to get clear. It is a nuke.”

“I’ll be clear. You all take cover, or it’ll be your asses, not the skeletals.”

Rev had to trust him on that.

“As soon as it blows, the rest of us need to get inside. We’re going to climb up what’s left until we get to where it enters the gun emplacement and set the second eighty-eight. Uh, Tum, you know how to set that?”

“Reina has the procedures for me,” she said—Reina was her battle buddy.

“I’ll go in with you,” Torking said.

“Hey, I just saw something!” Strap said, aiming his M-103 out over the water.

Rev spun around, but he didn’t see anything.

“What was it?”

“Looked like a fish surfacing. You think it’s one of the swimmers we met on the way in?”

I don’t need this. Not now, Rev thought as he scanned the surface.

“Doesn’t matter if it is. We beat them once, and now, on land, we’ll beat them again. We need to go. Ready?”

He got a chorus of ooh-rahs and Torking’s hup-hup.

“On line with Torking trailing. Blast anything that moves. Go!”

Not his best FRAG, but there just wasn’t time for something more detailed. They had to rely on their training now.

The nine climbed over the shoreline rocks and started to run, dispersing as they advanced. Ten, twenty, thirty meters, and no opposing fire, and for a moment, Rev thought they might be in the clear.

But the gods of war were teasing them. After almost fifty meters, an automatic gun popped out from the side of the structure near where it joined the gun emplacement and started spewing rounds down at them. Rev and Tsao beat the others to the punch. Tsao fried the gun while Rev shot it off its mount with his twenty.

“Keep going,” Rev shouted a moment before he noticed that Winter’s icon had gone red. He and Tsao hadn’t quite been quick enough.

He couldn’t stop the rush for Winter now, though. They had to keep going.

As they got closer, Torking increased his pace. “Take cover here. No closer!”

Rev slowed to a stop, then picked a large boulder. He didn’t take cover but stood behind it where he would see the length of the structure and Torking as he ran up to where it angled upward.

“Ikinikin, check on Winter and make sure he’s protected from the blast,” he ordered the Frisian.

Rev could at least do that much.

Torking reached his spot, slid the M-88 off of his back, and bent over the controls for a full minute.

Come on, Torking. They have to have been alerted that we’re here.

Finally, he lifted the mine and affixed it to the side of the structure. A moment later, he was sprinting away toward them, vaulting over boulders in his haste to put some distance between him and the mine.

“Take cover!” he shouted.

Rev crouched, but he didn’t take complete cover, instead watching the karnan until the trooper went to the ground, feet toward the mine.

<Five seconds. You’d better duck.>

Rev dropped and closed his eyes a moment before the entire landscape went bright white, so bright that it burned through his face shield and eyelids.

The shock wave was surprisingly light, however. Much less than he’d expected. He cautiously rose from behind his rock, stars dancing in his vision. A fifteen-meter chunk of the cooling structure was gone as if a giant had taken a swipe at it with a huge weedwhacker. Twisted machinery was visible in the opening on the uphill side of the tunnel, with relatively few flames and smoke in sight. Blue liquid of some sort was pouring out of the mangled pipes.

On this side of the structure, the ground near the blast was scorched but relatively unscathed.

Rev was impressed. The engineering on the M-88 must have been amazing if it was able to direct the massive forces in one direction like that.

But he couldn’t stand around and gawk at their handiwork.

“Move it. Inside!

Around him, the troopers emerged from where they’d taken cover. They sprinted forward, gathering up Torking as they ran. His sensors went off as he got close, both for the ground temperature and for radiation. But neither was in the danger range as long as he was buttoned up in his PAL.

He paused as he reached the opening. On this side, the ground was relatively intact. On the other side, rocks had melted into glass, and a chunk of the adjoining hill was now a smoking, gaping hole.

“Let’s get inside,” he shouted.

Strap, then Ikinikin went past him. Tsao started to, then with a lightning quick motion, raised her IBHU and fired a pulse. Rev spun around. At the top of the tunnel, an automated gunbot of some kind was walking on articulated legs along the side of the structure. A single gun on a turret fired a blast of lightning that hit Torking, sending him to his knees.

Rev fired his twenty. The rounds knocked the gunbot free of the wall, and it crashed onto the ground. It was down but not out. The legs seemed to reverse themselves, and the thing stood up, the gun now under the body.

Rev grabbed Torking and pulled him inside the opening as another gunbot started to come over the top end of the structure.

“Go!” he shouted to Tsao, pointing up at what looked like an access tunnel that ran alongside the cooling apparatus.

“You with us?” Rev asked the karnan.

“Leg’s not working. I don’t think I can go with the sergeant. But I can still handle this,” he said, patting the stock of his BIPAC.

Rev hadn’t liked that the karnans had been given permission to carry their own weapons. It just added another logistical requirement, but right now, he was grateful.

“I’ve got this here,” Strap said. “You go with Tum.”

Rev was the only IBHU here except for Tsao, and she was already making her way forward. He had the best chance of handling the gunbots, but the mission wasn’t back here. It was ahead with Tsao and the last M-88.

“Keep those things out of here,” he said as he darted up the access tunnel.

Unburdened by the M-88, he caught up with Sergeant Tsao before she reached the end. Hyperaugment or not, she was packing quite a load. Together, they stopped where the big circulating tubes disappeared behind a wall that blocked their path. A hatch, like on a spaceship, was their way through. There was a manual dog keeping it closed. It wasn’t the traditional wheel-type dog as on Mezame and Hégémonie Navy ships, but its mechanism was evident. Rev reached out and gave the lever a pull, but it remained closed. He set his feet, switched to Pashu, and put her entire power behind the pull, but it didn’t budge.

“Locked, I guess,” Tsao said as the sounds of fighting echoed up the access tunnel.

Rev would have liked to get in deeper to set the M-88, but this might be as far as he could go.

“How far in do you think we are,” he asked Punch.

<I would say we are right at the edge of the main facility.>

“Which is essentially the same as if we’d set the mine along the outside wall. Maybe better. Maybe the passage on the other side has less protection.”

<Sounds logical.>

Rev didn’t know if Strap and the others were going to be able to hold off the gunbots or if the Naxli were going to show up. Blowing up their cooling system had to have ruined their day.

“Right here,” he told Tsao.

He helped her take off the pack, and she opened up the controls.

“I’m setting it for three minutes. That long enough?”

Seeing how little damage there was on the safe side of the blast, Rev nodded.

Where Torking had taken a minute, Tsao was taking longer. Rev, ever impatient, was tempted to take over, but she was the one who’d at least had her battle buddy pull up the procedures.

Finally, she said, “I think that’s it.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, I think, Gunny. I’ve never done this before.”

“Sorry, Tum. I know. Let’s get this set up. It’ll just stick to the door here?”

“That’s what it says.”

She lifted the mine up, pack and all, and held it against the door. She tried to push the sealing button with her IBHU, but she couldn’t quite get it around.

“Hit that red button right there,” she told Rev.

Rev reached around her with his right arm and touched the button, which turned green.

She slowly let the mine go, and it held. Then she pulled up the control cover again and pressed something inside the recessed compartment.

“Now what?” Rev asked.

“Now we get the hell out of here,” she said as she started back down the tunnel.

Rev gave the mine a little tug to make sure it was secure, then turned to follow her. He’d gotten about five meters when something made him glance back just in time to see a light over the door turn lilac.

What the . . .

The door started to open on the left side, and he caught a glimpse of another gunbot lowering its front legs and starting to come through.

Rev reacted immediately, sending a burst of twenties through the door, knocking the gunbot back. He charged back up the tunnel and fired another burst at the gunbot that was on the ground, blasting off several of its legs.

He started to close the door, then hesitated. What if he took the M-88 down and ran it farther inside?

Be smart, Reverent. You might not orient it right, or you might screw it up some other way. It’s set up correctly now.

He fired another five-round burst at the gunbot, which was still moving, then slammed the door shut.

The mine remained attached, and with the control cover open, he could see the timer. Two minutes and twelve seconds.

Still enough time.

He started retreating backward down the tunnel, Pashu trained on the door.

“Gunny. Where are you?” Tsao called out.

“Coming. You keep going. Strap needs your IBHU.”

More firing sounded from below as if to emphasize what he’d just said.

But just before he was going to lose his line of sight to the mine, he stopped. He could wait a little longer. If there was one gunbot, there could be another.

<Ninety seconds.>

“Still time.”

<You do know that a nuclear explosion will melt crystals, right?>

“I’m really concerned about that, Punch.”

<I’m just saying, if you want a record of what’s happening to survive the blast.>

“Eat me, Punch.”

Rev watched the timer Punch had started work its way down.

<One minute.>

“I can see the numbers.”

At forty-five seconds, Rev got ready to run. He’d take off at thirty seconds. That had been good enough for Torking.

At thirty-seven seconds, the door cracked open, and even quicker than Rev could react, a barrel fired a burst of exploding rounds through. If Rev had been higher up the tunnel, he’d have been cut in half. As it was, he was peppered with chunks of the building material.

Rev blindly fired through the dust when Punch said, <Don’t hit the mine!>

Rev didn’t know if that could make it detonate or if it could keep it from going off, but he shifted his aim up along the left side of the tunnel. The gunbot responded, the rounds impacting closer but still above him.

He retreated another few steps.

“What happens if the door’s open when it detonates?”

<Then the direction of the blast will be changed. On this side of the structure, and with the door opening on the left, that could make the blast miss the center.>

Rev was already moving before Punch finished speaking, charging back up, his twenty singing nonstop. The gods of war must have been impressed because some of his rounds found their mark, blasting chunks off the gunbot. Rev burst through the dust to see the gunbot on its side, halfway through the door. The gun was pointing into the ground, and as it started to rotate to him, Rev kicked the thing with every gram of strength, budging it enough for him to slam the door shut.

<Nine seconds.>

Rev turned and ran, but he stumbled over the mess on the ground as the seconds ticked away. He got back to his feet and pushed, screaming at the others down below him to take cover.

“Don’t fucking melt on me,” he yelled at Punch as the timer hit zero and Rev’s universe ended.

* * *

“You with me?” Doc Gintly asked, his helmet a centimeter from Rev’s face shield.

“What the . . . leave me alone,” Rev said, twisting his head away from the Synergy Alliance medic.

Gintly grabbed Rev’s head and forced it back, then peered into his eyes once more.

Rev started to push him away when Strap said, “Let Doc check you out, Gunny.”

“How do you feel?” the medic asked.

“Like a Davis ran over me.”

Gintly looked up at Strap, who explained, “It’s a tank.”

The medic grunted and said, “Not surprising there, Gunny. You took quite a blow. But you came through it relatively well. Concussion, by the looks of it. But your vitals are steady.”

“Punch?”

<Like Medical Tech 1 Gintly said, concussion. Nothing else is showing up.>

“What happened?” Rev asked Strap, who was hovering over him like a mother hen. Ikinikin, Tsao, and Torking were standing just behind him.

“What happened is the eighty-eight almost ate you up, Gunny. Sent you flying and took down the roof of the structure.”

Rev waved off the answer. “I mean with the mission. Did we take out the gun?”

He turned his head to look up the slope, but other than the collapsed roof of the structure, he couldn’t see much.

“Probably,” Tsao said. “When the eighty-eight blew, the gunbots collapsed, and then all the fire the rest of the platoon was taking quit. The lieutenant’s leading them up there now to check it out, but he sent Doc here for you and Winter.”

“Winter? What’s his status?” he asked the medic.

“KIA, but potentially resurrectable. I’ve zombie-sticked him.”

Mother be with you, Winter.

“Wait, how long was I out?”

“About twenty minutes,” Strap said.

<SOP. Your medinanos kept you out until they could assess your condition.>

Rev frowned. He didn’t like the idea that he’d been out of touch with the battle for that long.

“We had to pull you out of the rubble there,” Torking said.

“Gunny, listen. I need you to sit up so I can complete your assessment. I’ve got more troopers to check.”

Rev’s mind was still a little woozy—hopefully from the drugs and not the concussion—but he realized that someone was missing.

“Where’s Foy?” he asked, craning his body around to see if the lance corporal had been hurt.

“Slowly,” Gintly said as he physically stopped Rev.

“He’s with Winter,” Strap told him. “He’s fine.”

Relieved, Rev followed the medic’s instructions, going through a range of motion. He wasn’t a hundred percent himself, but everything worked.

“Kjell wants you and your team here back on the beach,” Gintly said. “Which is where I’m going, too. You’ll need a more thorough assessment once the main body lands, but I think you’re still combat effective.”

Damn right I am.

Rev stood, feeling better as the remaining drugs that kept him unconscious were scrubbed from his body.

“Status check.”

<All systems green, no thanks to your best efforts in getting us killed. Power at ninety-one-point-eight. Five Morays. Three hundred and thirteen rounds of twenty millimeter. O2 at forty-three-point-six. Radiation exposure at five thousand, forty millisieverts.>

Only 313 rounds left? I fired that many? It sure didn’t seem like I did.

He was going to need a resupply if he was going to be ready for whatever came next. And getting his PAL-HX decontaminated would be a good idea if he wanted to board a Navy ship off of here.

Rev looked up in the sky to the planetary southwest. Second Platoon—and Tomiko—would be taking down their objective in that direction. And Third Platoon to the northwest. First Platoon might have succeeded in taking out their gun, but the other two platoons had to have been successful for the mission to proceed.

I hope you’re kicking ass, Miko.

3

Rev watched the swirl in the water dissipate. Or was it anything out of the ordinary and not just a normal ripple in the barely noticeable swells?

He had Iglesias put a team of three, including Randigold, to watch over the water. Their focus might be on the gun position, with its partially collapsed wall, but it wouldn’t be the first time that a unit was hit from the rear when everything seemed to be in control.

“Here comes the lieutenant,” Strap said.

Rev turned around. It looked like the entire platoon was returning and without a visible sense of urgency.

The lieutenant spotted Rev and adjusted his course to him. Rev braced himself.

“You acted without orders,” the platoon commander said, not asking if he was OK.

Given the results, Rev had hoped it wouldn’t come to this.

“I saw the opportunity, and I acted,” Rev said, almost word for word what the lieutenant had told Captain Adair on why he’d gone cowboy on the Naxli garrison.

Did I go cowboy, too?

“You grabbed Torking, who was in my element.”

“It wouldn’t have worked without him.”

The lieutenant stood there, hands on his hips and staring at Rev for a long moment. Finally, he said, “Well, it fucking worked, so you were right. But next time, tell me what you want to do, understand? It’s my platoon, not yours, and I could have led the assault.”

Rev might argue that, but not aloud. That wasn’t a hill he wanted to climb.

“Aye-aye, sir. I’ll keep you better informed.” He pointed over the lieutenant’s shoulder at the gun position. “What’s the status of that thing?”

The karnan officer brought his fists together in front of his chest, then mimed an explosion, opening his fingers and spreading the hands. “Ka-boom! All gone.”

“Gone? As in vaporized?”

“Well, no, not really. But fucked up big time. The roof was destroyed, and we could see the main gun, or what was left of it. It’s never firing again, that’s for sure. On the other side of it, all of the spaces were blasted open and smoking. We went in looking for skeletals, but the radiation levels kinda limited how much time we could spend there.”

“How many noxes were there?”

The lieutenant gave a short bark of a laugh. “None left. You must have vaporized the suckers.”

Rev scrunched his eyebrows together as he considered that. Sure, those in the direct blast could have been vaporized, but farther away or to the sides, there should have been some sign of the enemy, even if only a burnt husk or two.

“You going through decontamination?” he asked, almost as if an afterthought. His mind was still on the missing Naxli bodies.

“Probably a good idea, even if we’re all within the limits. I’ve got to hand it to you persies, though. For all that power in the eighty-eight, radiation and fallout was way lower than I expected. I thought the numbers they told us were more of your propaganda bullshit. But it was all true.” He lowered his voice, and in a conspiratorial whisper, said, “If we’d used one of our X-cavators, that place, and for klicks around, would be a radiation wasteland for a hundred years.”

He slapped Rev on the shoulder and said, “You did good, Gunny. Sometimes the Gods of War favor the crazy ones like you and me.”

The way he said it caught Rev’s attention. When Rev referred to the “gods of war,” it was a generic term for fate, luck, or whatever. But when the lieutenant said the words, Rev could almost hear the proper noun in his tone—“Gods of War,” not “gods of war.”

“Do the MDS really believe in gods of war, like in a religion?”

<Officially, no. But there are cults within their military, in particular, that give homage to historical gods associated with war and death.>

Rev gave the lieutenant a deeper stare. If Kjell belonged to one of these cults, Rev needed to know it. If he really believed that he was protected in combat by a higher being, that could put the platoon in needless danger.

But the lieutenant didn’t seem to notice Rev’s attention. “Now we just need to see if the other two platoons came through. If they didn’t, we’re screwed.”

But that was out of their hands. All they could do now was to manage their own business, the first issue being decontamination. Otherwise, they were stuck inside the combat suits for the duration.

Rev shifted to a port and starboard watch. They may not have found any Naxli inside the gun position, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t come to see what had happened to it.

Then it was time for the troopers to buddy up. A field decontamination was a far cry from the real deal, but it was moderately effective, even if it was a simple concept. Each trooper had a decon kit. They’d pair up with another trooper, hand them their kit, then stand while the other wiped them down. As simple as that.

Rev grabbed Yancey and stood while his friend wiped the application pad over the PAL-HX’s surface.

“Pretty righteous there, Rev. I thought our goose was cooked. Should have figured you’d come to the rescue. Again,” Yancey said as he rubbed Rev’s back with the applicator.

“You were stuck under fire, Yance. I was in the best position to see the entire picture.”

“Torking was with me, and he made it back to you.”

“He had to make it back. He had the eighty-eight.”

“Still, you were the one who saw the way out of the shit sandwich we were in. Like you always do,” Yancey said.

Rev was feeling a little self-conscious at the praise.

“Anyone would have done the same thing, right?” he asked Punch.

<Maybe. But you did it. His observation about you being the one who always does it isn’t far off the truth.>

He wanted to change the subject. “How’s Torking doing?”

Yancey stopped cleaning Rev, looked around to see who was listening, then said, “Tork’s good people for a . . . Shit, I was gonna say for a Mad Dog. But for anyone. He could be a Marine. Why?”

“Just wondering. He did really well. Couldn’t have succeeded without him.”

“Then give him a medal, Rev.”

“What?”

Yancey kept his voice low as he finished up wiping down Rev’s arm. “Think of it. With all of us together, you know, every military. But especially with the Mad Dogs. They’re still on the outs with the rest of us.”

“Because they fought a war against us.”

Yancey shrugged. “But now they’re on our side. Remember, we fought against the Frisians, too, and now Bob’s one of your best friends. Think of it, though. Give Tork a medal. You said he deserved it.”

Rev hadn’t quite said that, but he let it slide.

“Give him a medal, and it’ll show everyone that the Mad Dogs are part of the team, just like everyone else.”

Rev hadn’t thought of anything along those lines, but Yancey had a point. “Maybe I’ll bring it up with the lieutenant.”

“You can’t. I mean, he can’t.”

“Why not?” Rev asked before it sunk in. Lieutenant Kjell was a karnan, too. It wouldn’t look right if one karnan was recommending another, especially given the particulars of the whole MDS situation.

He gave Yancey a measured look. Yancey, who seemed more interested in getting drunk or getting laid. Getting drunk AND getting laid. Yet this was a deeper side that Rev hadn’t recognized before, and that made him a little ashamed. How could he have missed that?

“I’ll . . . I’ll see what I can do. It’s a good idea, though. Now let me go rinse off, and I’ll take care of you.”

“In the water? The Green Bees—”

“Any Green Bees coming this far into Naxli space? ’Sides, this is a dead planet. No native life, so nothing to contaminate.”

Rev left his friend standing there as he waded out into the water. Seeing him, several of the other troopers went into the water as well.

They wouldn’t be allowed to do this on a human world, which Rev thought a little ironic. They could bombard a world, but they couldn’t rinse off a bit of radiation into the waterways. As he told Yancey, though, this was a dead world, and the Green Bees weren’t going to send an enforcement team halfway across the galaxy to cite them.

Rev waded thigh-deep, then he knelt and started splashing the water on him, rinsing away the residue from the applicators. Maybe they could clean up enough so that they could at least crack a helmet for an hour or so.

He stood and started to head back to the sand when he caught motion out of the corner of his eye. He spun just in time to see a swimmer partially emerge from the water and fire a bolt at him.

Rev was already in motion, charging the swimmer, as the bolt clanged off his cuirass. The swimmer darted to the side, looking like salmon forging ahead in the shallows. Rev adjusted his angle to cut it off before it could reach deeper water. At the last second, just as it started to gain swimming room, Rev dove, and his right hand closed on the thing’s tail. He locked the gauntlet into place and stood up, lifting the tail free.

Like a cat, the thing twisted around, but instead of a cat’s claws, it was holding its blade. Rev fended it off with Pashu, then knocked the blade free. He started backing up, moving to the beach, dragging the struggling swimmer with him.

It was stronger than it looked. Even in his PAL-HX, with power assist, the struggle staggered him until several other troopers rushed to help. Between them, they pulled the thing ashore and onto the sand.

The swimmer twisted around, lifting what might be its head, oriented at Rev, and erupted in a series of angry-sounding yammers. None of it made sense until one very clear word came out.

“Hreetz!”

Rev’s mouth dropped open in shock, and he almost released his grip on the tail as realization hit him.

There were Naxli here, after all. And he was staring at one right now.

* * *

“Think about it,” Rev told the lieutenant. “Who else can they be?”

The karnan officer stood on the rocks, looking down at their prisoner. Four troopers surrounded it, each with a line attached to the thing. It was restrained and unable to reach any of the humans—not that it hadn’t tried. The flat, chunky tail, which propelled it through the water with ease, wasn’t very useful in moving on the land, but it could deal a pretty hefty blow.

Just ask Hussein, who’d been knocked on his ass with enough force that it would have broken bones without his PAL.

“So, you’re telling me that this is their real form?” the lieutenant asked.

It took all of Rev’s will to keep from rolling his eyes. “No, sir. We found that rebreather attached to it. It’s an air breather, just like the other two versions. I don’t think those gill slits do anything. It doesn’t look like they’re real openings.”

“But the gun was on land, so why were these guys in the water? Why not have ground troops protecting it. It doesn’t make any sense.”

He was right in that, Rev thought. If this gun was such an important part of a defense system, then why not have Naxli fighters defending it? But as much as Rev wanted to put himself into their mindset, he had to remind himself that they were aliens, after all.

“Don’t know, sir. But we know there’re more noxes on the planet. I think the gun emplacement was completely automated, but in the water, with the cooling system, they needed something else. Those guns they fired at us wouldn’t work below the surface. Boom. Swimmers.”

“But they don’t need it to be skeletals, right? Maybe these are another race, and they’re like mercenaries. They’d know ‘hreetz,’ in that case.”

Rev opened his mouth to argue, then shut it. It could be another race. The small breathing apparatus made it more likely that this was a Naxli, though, but one who wasn’t taking the Centaur-like or human-like form.

“Either way, sir, this is big. The noxes are copying another race, or they’re using another race. That thing’s the proof. And we need to get it to the authorities in one piece.”

“Oh, that’s for sure, Gunny. We’re gonna be careful with that thing.”

Below them, the swimmer was struggling while emitting grunts and whistles. Still, Rev could clearly catch the word gnist, then after a while, a few hreetzes thrown in.

“I think it wants to challenge us,” Rev said.

“I bet the bastard does, now that it’s outnumbered. I should do it, though. Go one on one with it and teach it a lesson.”

“Sir!”

“Just joking, Gunny. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” He watched it struggle for a moment, then said in a tired-sounding voice, “Thirty years ago, it was just humans, with the entire galaxy open to us. Then came the Centaurs, and we’re not alone. Beat their asses, and the skeletals show up. Now, there’s another race? What the hell else is out there?”

“It’s a big galaxy, sir. We’ve only explored eight percent of it. That’s what they say. Lots of room to hide others.”

“Yeah. And it looks like they’re coming for us. It’d say that neither of us has to worry about our jobs disappearing.”

Rev was just about to reply when there was a far-off flash to the northwest, like lightning on the horizon.

“Is that Third Platoon?” the lieutenant asked as everyone in the platoon froze and stared off in the distance.

A few moments later, there was a smaller, brighter flash high in the sky, like a small sun exploding. It flared for four or five seconds before going out.

“Punch?”

<The first flash of light is on an azimuth toward Third Platoon’s objective. The second one could have any number of explanations.>

“Best guess?”

<A ship in low orbit or in transit to or from the planet’s surface has been destroyed.>

“My battle buddy says that second flash could be a ship going down,” he told the lieutenant.

“Mine, too. But who? Human or skeletal? That’s what we need to know.”

“You’ve no comms with anyone?” Rev asked.

“I’d have told you if I had.”

Each platoon was supposed to have quantum communicators, but in the mount-out, the repeaters somehow never made it out of the armory. So now, they were cut off from the task force.

If that was a human ship that had just gotten shot down, then had one of the platoon’s failed? Had that fuck-up with the comms cost a shipload of sailors and Marines?

Rev was sick to his stomach at the thought.

“What do you think, sir?”

“I think that now we just have to sit and wait to see what’s in store.”

* * *

They didn’t have to wait long. Twenty-six minutes after the flare, the sky was filled with descent trails as hundreds of shuttles and small vessels descended upon the planet. They were extremely condensed, a sign that the speed of the landing had priority over avoiding detection and evasion.

The sight was greeted with cheers, with every trooper maxing out their external speakers. Some of them opened their face shields to scream out into the open air. If the landing fleet was conducting a mass insertion, then the three anti-ship guns must have been taken out. Their mission had been a success.

A vessel of some sort took off about forty klicks away from the platoon and streaked to meet the landing fleet, but it was immediately jumped by what had to be Navy fighters.

From their little sliver of the planet, the platoon couldn’t tell the details of what was happening, but the main thing was that the invasion was on. They had a way off the planet. The relief was palpable.

Their prisoner wasn’t so happy. It stopped struggling and seemed to withdraw into itself. Rev felt the tiniest twinge of sympathy before he squashed it back down. These were the same enemy that had scoured Farthmenger along with twenty billion souls.

The lieutenant kept his comm channels open, waiting to be contacted, but they were now spectators to the fight, although, for one of the battles, they had a front-row seat. The Naxli position fifty-two klicks to the west was a high-priority target, and it was pounded with naval gunfire. The troopers oohed and aahed as beamers and tungsicles hit the area. The tungsicles—inert cylinders of tungsten-coated metals—hit with such force that the platoon could feel the shock waves under their feet even as far away as they were.

With his monocular on max zoom, Rev watched the shuttles come in. The target was a Frisian objective, as Ikinikin kept pridefully reminding them.

The platoon had a potential follow-on mission to join in the assault, but the call never came. Instead, they sat on their butts as the battle passed them by.

An automated shuttle arrived to remove their KIA, but it wasn’t until day three of the battle that a small skiff landed between the beach and the destroyed gun position. A team of two in engineer radiation suits and four security personnel in combat suits headed up to the gun while a single person in a flight suit headed toward the two troopers.

Rev and the lieutenant hurried to meet them.

“Lieutenant Kjell, I’m Lieutenant Bell, Union Navy,” the officer said as she extended a hand.

“What’s happening?” the platoon commander asked. “We’ve had no comms.”

“You do now,” she said. “I was told to bring this to you.”

She handed him the beautiful sight of a quantum repeater.

“Oh, thank the Mother,” Kjell said, snatching it out of her hand.

“Do we have any orders?” Rev asked as the platoon commander started going through the start-up procedures.

“Don’t know. I’m just bringing the civilian teams to Apple and Plum so they can start their analysis.”

Apple, Plum, and Peach were the code names for the three gun positions.

“Apple and Plum? Not Peach?” Rev asked with a laugh that he cut short when he saw her frown.

“Uh, I don’t know all the details, but Peach was taken out by the Lancer. Not much left to analyze.

Rev frowned. The Lancer had to be a Navy ship. A frigate, by the sound of it.

“Why the Lancer? Peach was Third Platoon’s target.”

The Navy lieutenant grimaced and said, “I don’t know all the details. You’d better ask your command.”

Rev took a quick step forward, making the lieutenant step back. “Tell me what you know, ma’am,” he said with as much force as he dared.

“I . . . they . . . look, I really don’t know what happened. I’m just a taxi driver. But word is that the ground team—your platoon—never made it to the objective. The entire mission was going to be scrubbed, but the Lancer volunteered to take Peach out. Cost them their lives, too.”

Rev took the news hard. Third Platoon disappeared? There was only one explanation. They were dead. Nothing else could explain it. And the Lancer? That had to be the flash he’d seen high in the sky.

“I’ve got comms!” Lieutenant Kjell said in an excited voice.

“Sorry about your platoon, Gunny,” the Navy lieutenant said. “But I’ve got to go with my engineer team.”

“We’ve got a prisoner,” Rev blurted out.

“Sorry?”

“We’ve got a prisoner. You’re going to have to take it back.”

“A prisoner? Like a nox? That’s going to have to wait for someone else.” She pointed her thumb over her shoulder. “Those are my priority.”

“With all due respect, ma’am, this is going to have priority. It’s a different kind of nox. Just wait a moment.”

He turned to the platoon commander and said, “Tell them about the swimmer. They’re going to want the lieutenant here to take it back.”

Kjell raised a hand in acknowledgment.

“Look, I’m sure this prisoner is important, but I’ve got my mission. You take care of yourself, Gunny.”

She turned to leave when Rev grabbed her shoulder and brought her back around.

“Sorry, ma’am, but just wait a second. I think you’re about to get new orders.”

He could see a flash of fear on her face, then anger replacing that.

“Get your hands off—”

“Lieutenant, new orders. You’re to take the prisoner back to the Orleans,” Kjell said.

“What? That’s not even my ship. I’m going to need confirmation on—”

Kjell handed her the comms. She hesitantly took it and held it up to her helmet, her eyebrows scrunched up, reflecting her confusion.

Rev watched her expression, and it went the gamut from “What’s going on” to “Oh, shit” and “Yes, sir.”

She handed the repeater back to Kjell.

“I guess I do have a new mission after all,” she said in a subdued voice. “Uh, where is this thing?”

Kjell pointed back at the beach, and the three walked over to the edge of the rocks. The swimmer wasn’t fighting, but it was obvious, with the four troopers restraining it, that it wasn’t peacefully surrendering.

“Is that thing dangerous? I’m supposed to leave the analysis team to do their work, so I don’t have any security.”

Rev opened his mouth to speak, but the platoon commander beat him to it.

“I’ll send those four with you. Just try and get them back, OK?”

The pilot clearly wasn’t happy about the change in plans, but orders were orders. She didn’t have much of a choice.

“I guess that’ll work.”

“Strap! Bring that thing up here,” Rev told the sergeant.

Which was easier said than done. Rev had dragged the swimmer onto the beach and pinned it down until the others could secure it. But this thing wasn’t humanoid, and where to attach the lines had been the issue. Looking like a cross between a seagoing monitor lizard and a squid with only three arms, it was a blob of smooth, slippery flesh. It had vestigial legs at the base of the tail, more like stubby fingers, so those had been wrapped tightly—during which process, Hussein had been knocked on his ass by the tail.

As soon as they started dragging it to the rocks, the thing came alive again, slashing with the tail as the four troopers, now being egged on by the rest of the platoon, tried to both keep their distance and move the thing. Finally, with an angry shout, Strap jumped on the thing, closing his arms around the body and wrapping his legs around the tail. He was being jerked around, but the swimmer was immobilized.

The other three bodily picked up Strap as he held the thing trapped and carried him to the rocks.

“Hus-man, help them,” Rev ordered.

Hussein and Vestergaard jumped in, and between the five troopers, they managed to lift Strap and the swimmer to the top of the rocks.

“Can’t you like, tie it up?” the Navy pilot asked, her voice wavering.

“It doesn’t really have arms and legs, ma’am,” Rev said. “Don’t worry, though. My Marines . . . troopers will keep it secure.”

“What now, Gunny?” Hussein asked.

Both lieutenants looked to Rev, Kjell with a smile on his face as he waited to see what Rev would come up with.

There were probably a hundred ways to do this, but the quickest way would be not to reinvent the process. Strap riding the thing had worked to get it up the seawall.

“Just carry them like that to the skiff,” he ordered.

“Gunny?” Strap asked.

“You just hang on like you’re doing. Once you get to the skiff, go back to the four lines. All four of you are going along for the ride.”

It took a moment for the three who’d been manning the lines along with Strap to figure out their positioning, and Vestergaard had to join them. On the count of three, they lifted Strap and the swimmer off the ground.

“Don’t try to grab a quickie with that thing,” Hussein said, one of the cleaner things being shouted at them as the group stepped off toward the skiff.

“Eat me,” Strap replied.

Rev, Kjell, and the pilot followed in trace as they made their way. The swimmer seemed to have accepted its fate and mostly stopped struggling, only giving a few half-hearted attempts as if to remind them that it was still there. Which was unnecessary as it kept up a stream of chatter, liberally sprinkled with “hreetzes.” Rev was sure that Strap and the rest of them were getting thoroughly cussed out Naxli style.

Getting to the skiff turned out to be easier than Rev had thought it would be—getting inside it was a lot more difficult. But eventually, the five troopers were inside, and after some discussion, they’d secured it again with the opposing lines, and Strap could finally let go of it.

“Need a smoke now that you got some?” Vestergaard asked him.

Strap didn’t justify that with a reply.

The lieutenant had told the pilot that he’d send four troopers, but he changed his mind and told all five to escort the swimmer to the Orleans, then come back with the pilot.

For her part, the pilot asked the platoon commander to send someone up to the engineers to let them know what was happening.

Once the swimmer was secured, things happened quickly. Rev and the lieutenant stepped back as the skiff rose off the ground, then quickly sped away.

“I’m glad that thing’s off our hands,” the platoon commander said as they watched it.

“You and me both, sir. Any updates? Other than getting rid of the swimmer?”

“Just that this sector’s quiet. No activity at the moment. But we’re to remain on alert, ready to react.”

“The pilot. She told me that Third Platoon’s disappeared.”

“What?” the lieutenant asked, grabbing Rev and turning him toward him.

“Third Platoon. They’ve disappeared.”

“But Peach. It was taken out, right?”

“By the Navy. That flash we saw in the sky? That was it getting blasted. Probably by the next gun over.”

“Shit,” the lieutenant said quietly as it sunk in. “Let me find out.”

“I’ll be with the platoon, sir,” Rev said, leaving him.

He really didn’t want to have it confirmed just yet. He knew Third Platoon was gone, but until he heard the words from Lieutenant Kjell, it wasn’t real, right?

Rev tried really hard to convince himself of that.

* * *

The platoon stayed on the beach for eight more days, never engaging again. Most of the platoon, that is. Strap and the other four never made it back. The Orleans immediately left the system to return to human space, taking them with it.

Once the engineers were done with their survey, they never saw another human until they embarked on their retrograde.

They did get confirmation that Third Platoon was gone. Disappeared.

It shouldn’t be possible. Even if they’d been defeated in a battle, there should be enough evidence that the orbital platforms could detect them. There might have been some faint signals picked up from under the surface of the ocean, but tens of klicks away from their insertion point.

Their fate was a major point of discussion among the platoon, with theories ranging from them being shot down as they came in, being inserted into the wrong spot, to losing the battle with swimmers in the area.

Rev and Punch discussed various possibilities, but without any real input, they couldn’t come up with a reasonable conjecture.

“I don’t understand why they can’t find them,” Hussein said as they shuffled up to board the shuttle. “What about all that ‘we never leave anyone behind’ stuff?”

That bothered Rev as well. And in this case, once the last human left the planet, chances were that the platoon, and any other MIAs on the planet, would be entombed here forever.

Humanity had not attacked the planet with hopes of conquest. They were far outside human space, deep into an area that looked to be firmly in Naxli control. This mission had been carefully selected as a message to the Naxli: you come into human space, and we’ll come after you.

Rev wasn’t totally sure he bought the argument. It wasn’t as if this hunk of rock was a major Naxli world, and the human force had significantly outnumbered the defenders.

The assault probably worked more as a rehearsal than anything else.

Not that it mattered to the dead. Getting killed in a punitive strike was just as dead as getting killed in a major battle.

“Keep it moving,” the crew chief shouted from their shuttle’s ramp. “We’ve got a lot more trips to make before we can leave.”

“You think they’re really coming?” Hussein asked as they slowly moved forward.

Rev didn’t have an answer. The word was that a Naxli fleet was on its way. How the human command knew that was never explained. It made sense, though, if they were coming. The Naxli wouldn’t want to ignore a strike this deep into their space.

What Rev feared wasn’t a Naxli reaction here, though. He thought it far more likely that they’d hit another soft target. Make another Farthmenger.

Maybe he was still depressed about Third Platoon, but he had to wonder if this mission was worth it. There was no strategic value to the planet other than making a statement. He hadn’t seen the numbers yet, but so what if they killed 45,000 Naxli if the bastards scoured another planet?

Their stick started up the ramp.

“Tighten it up. Grab a seat and strap in,” the crew chief said in a bored-sounding voice.

Which was understandable. The ground force had been embarking for the last sixteen hours, and the shuttle had probably been in constant trips between the planet and the ships.

Rev stopped at the bottom of the ramp, turned, and looked to the northwest. Somewhere in the direction, Third Platoon was at rest.

“You gonna join us, soldier, or do you want to set up shop here?” the crew chief asked him.

Rev just stood there for another few moments, then said, “Respect for the fallen.” He turned and walked up the ramp, ready to leave this mission behind.

4

“Hey,” Over-Sergeant Utonni said as he joined Rev, Tomiko, Kelly, and Yancey outside the chapel’s front doors.

“Hey,” Kelly parroted.

The karnan kicked his toe into the dirt for a moment as the four Marines waited for him to say whatever he was going to say. He seemed to have a hard time meeting their eyes.

Finally, he said, “I just wanted to . . . you know. Uh, thanks for the ceremony. You per . . . You Marines know how to send off our dead. All of them, not just Marines.”

“We’re all on the same team, Ute,” Tomiko said.

“Now we are, at least,” Yancey quietly muttered.

Rev gave him a nudge with his elbow, but the karnan didn’t seem to have heard.

“Don’t you have a ceremony for your fallen?” Kelly asked.

“Yeah, but not like this. Your name goes on the unit honor plaque, if your death was honorable. But Ythe . . . all of Third Platoon. We don’t know what happened to them. We don’t know if they had an honorable death.”

“Every death in uniform is honorable. All of them died serving humanity,” Tomiko said.

“Were you close to him?” Kelly asked. Rev could hear the sympathy in her voice.

“Ythe and me, we got our strength on the same day, then went through orientation together. He was . . . good people.”

The “strength” was how the karnans referred to getting their hyperaugments. “Orientation” was the training they received after. Or screening was probably closer to the truth. Rumor had it that the process was excruciating, and those that didn’t pass . . . well, they were deemed too dangerous to just release back into society. Unworthy, too, if what Rev had heard was correct.

“Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks. I’ll let his family know he was treated with honor. They’ll be happy for that.”

“It was our honor to have him in the unit,” Rev said.

He wasn’t sure he believed that. Not to the same level as Yancey, maybe, but he still had an issue with the MDS serving in the battalion. Still, the karnan had died while serving, and it cost Rev nothing to tell that to his grieving friend.

“Those are some pretty fucked-up folks,” Yancey said as the karnan walked away. “You had to have had an honorable death to get remembered? And who determines that?”

“Different strokes,” Kelly said.

“Oh, yeah, I know. Different strokes. Can’t judge them by our standards.”

Rev suppressed a smile. Kelly still showed no interest in Yancey as anything more than a fellow SNCO, and while he knew that and told Rev he accepted it, he still deferred to her when he could.

“So, we going to chow?” Tomiko said. “Taco Tuesday?”

<You’ve got your debrief.>

Rev was aware of that without Punch reminding him, but he subvocalized “Thanks.” As with the karnan, it didn’t hurt him to be polite.

“I can’t, Miko. Debrief.”

“I thought we were done with all of that.”

“This is a deep dive into the underwater part of the movement to contact.”

“Deep dive. I see what you did,” Yancey said with a laugh.

Rev hadn’t purposely made the pun, but having said it, he was going to take credit.

“I hadn’t heard anything about that,” Tomiko said. “Just platoon sergeants and above?”

“Uh, not exactly.”

At that moment, Tsao waved at Rev from across the quad and shouted, “We’re about to kick off, Gunny.”

“Well, if it’s not just for the leadership, I’ll tag along. I’ve got some ideas I’ve been mulling over.”

Rev made a mental grimace. “It’s uh . . . what I mean is—”

“What he means is that it’s IBHU’s only, Miko. Count yourself lucky,” Kelly said. “Let’s go get through it, Rev.”

Kelly started across the quad, but Rev hesitated. Tomiko wasn’t happy, he could tell.

“It’s not up to me, Miko.”

“Of course not. It never is,” she snapped.

“Miko!”

“Oh, you go play with your fellow oners,” she said, using the MDS slang for IBHU Marines, a term she knew Rev didn’t like.

“I don’t have any choice, Miko. Look, let’s have dinner tonight. Just you and me. Over at the Lake House. We can probably still get a table for this evening.”

Tomiko frowned and waved him off. “If you can manage to break away from your other oners, then fine, Rev.”

She turned and strode away.

Rev watched her for a moment, and Tsao called for him again.

Crap.

* * *

Bundy stuck his head into Rev’s tiny office. “You got a moment?”

He didn’t have a moment, not this soon after coming back from an operation. As a young Marine, Rev had no concept of the amount of paperwork it took to take the Corps to war. And back home again. Now, he only knew too well.

But he could use the break, and the work would still be there after he returned.

“Sure. Hold on.”

He turned off his pad and then joined his friend, telling Sergeant Teller, the company clerk, that he was leaving with “Captain Bundy.” He didn’t think whatever Bundy wanted was official, but it sure looked better as a reason for him to play hooky.

“What’s up?” he asked as they stepped out into the passage.

Bundy flashed a quick “wait” sign, then said, “Just needed to clear my head. I’m up to my ass in alligators.”

Wait? Is this something juicy?

“Same here. They say an army fights on its stomach. I think it does on its paperwork,” Rev said.

They left the CP and started across the quad. “Did your dinner go OK last night?”

Which isn’t why you dragged me away from my desk.

“Miko was still kinda pissed at me.”

“And, of course, you told her it wasn’t your fault.”

“It wasn’t. I sure didn’t decide that all the IBHUs needed to get together to discuss how we can be more effective underwater.”

“Don’t tell me they’re going to give you all a speargun,” Bundy said.

“That was mentioned, sure. Doesn’t mean that’s going to happen. How often are we going to fight underwater?”

“Maybe our next mission will be on an ocean-covered planet. So, who knows? But you can see how Miko, with you and Kelly having IBHUs, is feeling a little left out.”

“She’s got two real arms,” Rev said. “That’s a good thing.”

Bundy didn’t respond to that.

“To top it off, the damn restaurant raised its prices since before we left. Cost me an arm and a leg.”

“Hell, Rev. If it cost you an arm, you can be the first double IBHU.”

“Ha-fucking-ha.”

“Ah, you can’t blame them. They’re not part of the club system, so the government isn’t subsidizing their rent.”

Rev knew that. The Lake House was a contracted “fine dining” establishment that paid for the privilege of serving Safe Harbor’s finest aboard Camp Nguyen. Where E-club, NCO-club, SNCOs-club, and Officers Club didn’t pay for rent and weren’t allowed to make a profit, the Lake House was like any other restaurant out in town.

Understanding the economics or not, the only thing Rev knew was that last night’s dinner cost him a week’s pay. All because Tomiko couldn’t attend the IBHU debrief. It was becoming obvious that Tomiko was becoming more jealous of the IBHUs. He often wondered if she’d do better in a straight-leg infantry unit, or back with the Raiders where she wouldn’t have to be around IBHUs all the time. But he wasn’t about to suggest that.

Nope.

“Your pet karnan’s GAM came through.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Torking. On your underwater mission. You did ask the CO to put him in for one, right?”

Rev had put him in for a Platinum Achievement Medal, not a Gold, and that had been months ago, right after the mission, but the wheels of admin turned slowly. Rev hadn’t even known the colonel had forwarded any recommendation.

A Perseus Union PAM would have been better, but a GAM was nothing to sneeze at. For all Rev knew, Torking might be the first MDS soldier to receive one.

“He’s not my pet karnan. And he deserved it.”

“Whatever,” Bundy said.

That’s not why he asked me to take a walk with him.

They went a little farther before Bundy said, “They’re standing up two more combined assault battalions.”

Rev grunted. “Wasn’t sure we were still in good standing.”

“Knocked out the gun positions that made the landing possible.”

“Two of them. The Lancer took out the third—respect for the fallen.”

“True. But the proof of concept was established.”

So, it wasn’t just a statement made to the noxes. It wasn’t even a rehearsal. We were being tested.

He should have figured that out.

“Is there, uh . . . any more word on what happened to Third? Something that’s being kept away from the peons?”

Bundy shook his head. “If there is, then they aren’t telling a mere captain.”

Rev gave his friend a long look, trying to tell if Bundy knew something or not. But if he did and was ordered to keep it close to the vest, then it wasn’t fair for him to pressure the captain.

“Guess where one of the battalions is being stood up?”

“How the hell would I know. Wait a minute. You don’t mean with the Mad Dogs?”

“The very ones.”

“Holy hell, Bundy! We’re just removed from them being our deadly enemies!”

“And they have more hyperaugments than all the rest of the nations combined.”

“This isn’t a good idea. And who’s going over to join them?”

Rev stopped dead, grabbed Bundy by the shoulders, and turned him around. He was sure this was why his friend had taken him on this walk. “You’re not dragging me out of my office to tell me that I’m going over there, are you? Please tell me no.”

“No.”

“Is that true? You’re not bullshitting me, are you?”

“No, it’s true. You’re staying put, as far as I know. The Mad Dog battalion will have some liaisons, but it will be a karnan unit.”

Rev felt a sudden wave of relief. He couldn’t imagine being in a karnan-centric battalion, surrounded by the arrogant assholes.

“Did you know any of this?” he asked Punch.

<There isn’t anything mentioning it, at least to which I have access.>

So, this really is the early scoop. But I don’t think Bundy pulled me here to tell me that.

“Two more battalions is probably a good thing, but what’s really eating you?”

Bundy casually looked around. “Just got a brief.”

“And . . . ?”

“How the hell are you always right, Rev?”

“Say what?”

“I mean it. You’re always in the right place at the right time, and you always figure things out long before anyone else. How do you do it?”

Rev frowned. He didn’t see it that way. Too often, he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“What, you’re surprised? You don’t think a SNCO’s got any brains?”

“Plenty of SNCOs are brilliant. But you’re a dumbshit. No offense.”

“Offense taken, Bundy.”

“Don’t get all upset. You’re a grunt with no intel training. You’re not an analyst. No education beyond high school. You are a conscript, for the Mother’s sake.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Rev said, starting to get a little peeved.

“Hell, that describes me, too. Not the conscript part. I was dumb enough to enlist. And I don’t come up with all these breakthroughs, not like you do. I never saved the Earth, for one.”

Rev squirmed a bit. He didn’t know where this was leading, and he was getting uneasy. “That was just dumb luck, Bundy.”

“Dumb luck when only you and that Mad Dog lieutenant figured it out? I don’t think so. Maybe it was luck that the two of you were there, but not what you figured out about the tin-asses.”

Rev had never heard his friend talk like this, and it was unsettling.

“What’s going on, Bundy?”

“Your prisoner. The one you wrestled out of the water like a damn gator. You were right about it.”

“Right about what?”

“It’s a nox. DNA match. Just like you said. It has to be a copy of yet another race.”

<You were right,> Punch said, sounding pleased.

Rev took half a step back in surprise. “No shit?”

“Yeah, no shit. Oh, you weren’t the only one to think that, but one of the few.”

Rev had thought the swimmer was another form of the Naxli, but to have it confirmed gave him a warm feeling. Then it hit him. He hadn’t really thought of the ramifications. Unless the Naxli had “invented” that form, there was another sentient race out there. Allies, enemies, or vassals; that threw a giant monkey wrench into humanity’s understanding of the galaxy.

“I have to tell you, Rev, IBHU and all, you’re being wasted as a platoon sergeant. There are better places for you.”

“You’re not saying I should ride a desk somewhere, like in the Two Shop?”

“Yeah, I am. And not in the battalion Two. Up higher. I recommended it, in fact.”

“What the hell, Bundy? I like where I am.”

“I’d like it, too. I was pissed when I got pulled to the Three. But I also know that’s where I can offer the most to the cause. And you can do the most good in Intel.”

“And is that happening? Am I leaving the platoon?” Rev asked plaintively.

“No, you’re safe. Like I said, you’re a dumbshit, even if just by being a grunt. The mighty Intel brains don’t think you’re in the same class as they are. They laughed at me.”

Rev felt a surge of anger. They didn’t think he was good enough?

But that was overcome by a sense of relief. He wasn’t going anywhere. And for right now, that was what he wanted.

“What did the old commandant call you? Nexus of Chaos?” Bundy asked.

“Something like that.”

“Well, you keep being that nexus, and you keep figuring out what’s happening, don’t be surprised if someone notices. Sooner or later, they’ll figure out what to do with you.”

“They already have,” Rev said, raising his social arm. “I’m an IBHU Marine.”

“Yeah, right. What do the Rangers call you folks? Jack-offs?”

“Don’t remind me. Assholes.”

“Better than oners.” He sighed and then said, “I really just wanted to let you know that you were right about your prisoner. They’re sleeping on that little tidbit for now, so nothing’s official.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Well, I need to get back. You probably do, too.”

The two started to return to their respective mountains of paperwork.

“Am I really a dumbshit?” Rev asked as they were halfway across the quad.

“How long did it take for you to figure out that Miko was in love with you?”

<He’s got you there.>

“OK, maybe I am, and that’s fine with me. And if I’ve gotten by with some luck during my career, so be it. But I’ll tell you this: it’s better to be lucky than it’s lucky to be smart.”

Bundy stopped in his tracks and looked at Rev in surprise. “Just when we’ve decided that we’re both dumbshits, you have to go and say something that actually borders on intelligence like that.”

5

“Gunny? They want you down at battalion,” Sergeant Teller said as she stuck her head into his office.

Rev scowled. He was never going to get through his work if he kept getting interrupted.

“You know what about?”

Teller shook her head. “They just told me to tell you to go to the CO’s office.”

That caught Rev’s attention. He tried to avoid the battalion CP as a rule of thumb, but this took it to another level. What the heck did the commanding officer want with him?

“On my way,” he told Teller.

The battalion CP dominated the entire backside of the quad. Rev cut kitty-corner across the grass from where First and Second Companies shared a CP, not quite at the double-time, but close to it.

Summons like these rarely were positive, and Rev racked his brain as he tried to figure out what was going on.

“You haven’t heard anything, have you?”

<I don’t see anything that might be the cause of this.>

Does he sound nervous? Punch?

Every day, Punch was sounding more and more human, with a range of emotions he’d never exhibited before.

Rev bounded up the wide steps into the CP, taking them three at a time.

“I’m here to see the CO,” he told the duty NCO at the watch station.

“Gunny Pelletier? You’re to go right in.”

Rev started to ask the corporal if he knew what it was about, but he realized this was just a trooper from one of the companies, taking a four-hour watch. He wouldn’t know anything.

Which was too bad. Rev really wanted to be prepared for whatever this was about.

He made his way along the corridor to the office at the far end. The door was closed. He craned his head back to look at the duty NCO, but the corporal’s attention was on the entrance into the CP.

“He said just go on in.”

<I’d still knock if I were you. Which, in reality, I sort of am.>

Not now, Punch.

But the advice was sound. Rev started to raise his right arm, but then switched to his social arm and rapped on the side of the door. The sound of his metallic knuckles hitting the sill echoed across the hard tile floor of the passage.

“Enter!”

Rev opened the door, started to march up to the CO’s desk, and faltered in his stride. His old buddy, Agent Wolf, was sitting on one of the seats along the bulkhead, right next to Captain Adair and Captain Hasheem, the Intel officer.

Wolf gave him a slight smile and an almost imperceptible nod of the head.

Oh, crap. Did they figure out I was screwing with them?

He wanted to ask Punch in table talk, but he was too taken aback to use the system. He gulped and regained his momentum, centering himself on the CO’s desk.

“Gunnery Sergeant Pelletier, reporting as ordered.”

“Gunny, this is Special Agent Fortan from the UBI.”

“Fortan” of the “UBI” stood up and held out his hand. “It’s good to meet you, Gunny, even under these circumstances.”

Rev wasn’t sure what was going on. He shook Fortan’s hand. Of course, Fortan was just as fake as Wolf undoubtedly was, and Rev knew the man was Omega Division, not the Union Bureau of Investigation.

“Why don’t you take a seat, Gunny?” the CO said. Once Rev sat down across from Wolf/Fortan and the two captains, he continued. “We’ve got some interesting—well, disturbing is more like it—information about the incident after your wetting down.”

“Sir?”

“I’m going to let Special Agent Fortan take it from here.”

“This was not a random attempted robbery,” Wolf said as if that was news.

Rev and Tomiko had been sure of that, and that’s what they’d told the local civilian and military investigators.

“And we don’t take kindly to our heroes in uniform being assaulted, so this has been a high priority in the UBI, to get to the bottom of this. Especially now, with the current war going on.”

What game is he playing? What’s this really about?

The Omega Division agent went on. “Our diligence paid off. I’m proud to announce that we were able to find the mastermind of the attempt on your life.”

Rev still didn’t know where this was going, and he sure the hell didn’t trust Wolf, or Fortan, or whoever the heck he really was.

“So, you arrested him? Her?”

“Him. And unfortunately, no, we didn’t arrest him. He was found, quite dead, in the Anastasia city morgue. Turns out he was killed in Grayson Park the night after the attempt on your life.”

“On Staff Sergeant Reiser’s life, too,” Rev blurted out.

“Of course. But we’ve reason to believe she would have been collateral damage. We think you were the target.”

Don’t tell Miko that.

“How was he killed?”

“That’s the interesting part. A young couple was out, doing what young couples do on a warm night in the park.”

Despite the situation, Rev gave a little laugh. Even in Swansea, Grayson Park had a reputation for being a lovers’ trysting point.

“They witnessed the murder. Our victim met with another person. The couple could hear them arguing before the other person turned on the man and killed him. Then the killer calmly walked away.”

“You tracked this other person, right?”

Wolf frowned, and Rev thought that might be the first authentic emotion he’d shown since Rev walked into the office.

“We don’t even have the murder itself recorded. Both the victim and the killer were cloaked. High-end stuff. We never found a trace of them.”

That surprised Rev. He didn’t even know that was possible. On the holovids, sure, but in real life? A foreboding feeling was coming over him.

“But you can’t hide a body. And once we looked into it, we were sure we had a hit.”

“You never explained that part,” Captain Adair said.

“The body had no identification, and we couldn’t pull anything up from the DNA.”

“That’s impossible,” Adair said.

“Which raised our suspicions, as you could imagine. But there are more ways to determine an identity, and we eventually had a name. Jackson Kreiner-Kendall, better known as KK-Jack.”

The name meant nothing to Rev.

“And why was this KK-guy after me?”

“Because he was getting paid, most likely. KK-Jack was a fixer.”

“Fixer?” Captain Adair asked.

Wolf fought back a frown, then said, “He fixes problems, as in kills people. He went up in the ranks until business was too good, and he started his own company. He’s been on our radar for quite some time, but he was good. We never got our hands on him, and we probably wouldn’t have if he hadn’t been taken out of the game. Probably because of the failed attempt on your life, Gunnery Sergeant.”

This was hard to digest. He hadn’t really believed the threat that someone was after him, but now, evidently, there was proof—if this wasn’t some elaborate game Omega Division was playing.

Rev really needed to discuss this with Punch, but only through table talk, and he was too stunned at the moment to try that.

“Why me? I don’t get it. I’m just a Marine.”

“Hardly just a Marine, Pelletier. You’re an IBHU,” Adair said.

So are you, but I don’t see anyone trying to whack you, Captain.

“Captain, let the special agent finish,” the CO said.

“Of course. Sorry, sir.”

“If this KK-Jack was being paid, Special Agent Wolf—Fortan, then who was paying him, and once again, that comes to the question, why me?”

Wolf frowned again, and he said, “That we still don’t know. But we’re investigating.”

Rev could be mistaken, but there was a ring of truth to his words. Maybe the UBI or Omega Division or whatever really didn’t know.

“Just as much as you want to know, we want to know why a gunnery sergeant in the Marines would attract this kind of attention.”

And there it is: the threat. He still doesn’t trust me, and he wants me to know it.

“Is that all, Special Agent Fortan?” Lieutenant Colonel Suk asked.

“That’s the abridged version, yes. But we thought you should know where we are with the investigation. We’d hate for something to happen to the gunnery sergeant while we’re investigating.”

The CO turned to Rev. “As you might imagine, until the UBI finds out who is trying to kill you, your life is going to be a little different. You’re going to have to be confined to base, for one.”

Shit. Tomiko’s not going to like this.

“And, I believe Captain Adair gave you a Krait?”

Rev threw the captain a glance. He didn’t want to get her in trouble, but she had a satisfied-looking smile on her face.

“Yes, sir.”

“Where is it.”

“Uh, in my quarters, sir.”

“It’s not going to do you much good there, Gunny. You’re going to have it on you at all times. At least until we get you something better. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

This was coming at Rev too quickly.

“We’ll be beefing up security in the camp as well. Not a bad idea anyway, with the war going on.”

This was a lot of effort being taken for him, and he dreaded what might come next.

“Am I going to be able to stay with my platoon, sir?”

“What? Of course, you are. You’re a vital member of the battalion and Second Combined Assault,” the CO said.

Rev couldn’t help but release a sigh of relief. The easiest way to protect him would be to isolate him, but if they hadn’t figured that out, he wasn’t going to mention it.

“We’ll work out how we’re going to deal with it, but I wanted you to hear this right from Special Agent Fortan’s mouth.”

Wolf/Fortan stood up. “And with that, I really need to go. Can’t catch the terrorists sitting here jaw-jacking, right?”

The CO stood and offered his hand, which the Omega Division agent took. The man turned to Rev to shake. He took Rev’s hand and tried to pull him in close.

Rev resisted, and Wolf’s eyes narrowed. But he said, “Don’t you worry, Gunnery Sergeant. We’ll have our eyes on you until we get to the bottom of this.”

I bet you will.

Wolf turned, nodded at the two captains, then let himself out.

“Well, this has been an unexpected turn of events,” the CO said as the hatch closed behind the agent.

He turned to Rev and asked, “How’re you holding up?”

“He’s doing fine, sir. He’s an IBHU Marine,” Captain Adair said.

There might have been the slightest rolling of the CO’s eyes, and he ignored her.

“I’m a little taken aback, to be honest. I mean, I knew that wasn’t some botched robbery, but this . . . ?”

“We live in crazy times, Gunny. Crazy times. But we’ll get through it. Just try to train as normal, OK? We’re going to need you and First Platoon pretty soon, I’d wager,”

“What do I tell Lieutenant Kjell?”

The CO looked over at Adair and Hasheem. Captain Hasheem was a Paxus soldier and so not a Union Marine. But Paxus and the Union were longstanding and close allies.

“Let’s just keep this from him for the time being,” the CO said.

“And Staff Sergeant Reiser? Can I tell her?” Rev asked.

“Reiser? I think you should keep it from her, too.”

“With all due respect, that might be a little difficult.”

“Why is that, son?” the CO asked.

“We were going to start arranging for our wedding, sir.”

The CO opened his eyes wide in surprise. “You and Reiser? I didn’t know you were a thing.” He shot Captain Adair an almost accusatory look.

“Yes, sir. We are.”

“And you’re both in the same company?”

“Different platoons, sir. Our personal life doesn’t impact on our professional life,” Rev said hurriedly, hoping he hadn’t just screwed up.

“Both the gunny and the staff sergeant have only acted in strict professionalism,” Captain Adair came to Rev’s defense.

The CO didn’t seem convinced.

“And I might add, Staff Sergeant Reiser was with the gunny when they were jumped. She deserves to know,” Adair continued.

The CO seemed to think about it for a moment before he said, “You can tell her, Gunny. As far as you two being in the same company, I’ll get back to you on that.”

He let that sink in for a moment, then asked, “Anything else for now?”

“No, sir.”

He shouldn’t have brought up Tomiko, and now he just wanted to get out of the CO’s office.

“Well, then. Go back to your company area. We’ll work on an SOP for you and brief you up on it later.”

Rev stood, came to attention, and said, “Aye-aye, sir.”

He turned and exited the office before the CO could think of anything else.

“You and I have got a lot of discussing to do,” he told Punch in table talk, now that he had his wits about him again.

<Damn right we do. Starting with what part does Omega Division have in this.>

6

“Come on in,” Rev said.

Sergeants Tsao and Gantz came into the tiny office, smiling so hard that Rev thought their faces might break.

He stood, walked around his desk, and shook Strap’s hand, then raised his prosthesis and clinked arms with Tsao’s.

“Congrats on the selection. Both of you deserve it.”

“Thanks, Gunny,” they said in unison.

“Staff NCO. Big move, you know.”

The two sergeants glanced at each other, and then Strap said, “We’re ready.”

“I know you are. You’re going to be fine. But there’s, uh . . . an issue.”

“What issue? I know I shouldn’t have been eligible for another year, but the message had me being selected from below-zone,” Tsao said, her smile disappearing. “Is that some sort of problem?”

“No, no, Tum. You’re getting promoted as soon as your number comes up. You’ll be at the end of the list, but maybe in about eight months, you’ll be putting on your rocker. Strap, you should be sooner. Two months, maybe three. That isn’t the problem.”

“Then what is, Gunny?” Strap asked.

“The question is what to do with you now.”

“What do you mean?” Strap asked.

“Well, it’s like this. As staff sergeants, you should be squad leaders, right?”

They both nodded.

“And the minute you put on that rocker, Strap, you’ll be senior to Iglesias.”

“Uh-huh.”

“The problem is that Iglesias isn’t going anywhere. He’s staying on as squad leader.”

“I don’t understand,” Strap said. “If I’m senior to him, then I should take over the spot, right?”

This is the hard part. Thanks, Kjell, for throwing this on me.

“Normally, yes. But Iglesias is a Fed Commando, and you’re a Marine.”

“Soooo?” he said, drawing out the vowel.

“We’re already Marine-heavy in the SCAB,” Rev said, using their nickname for the Second Combined Assault Battalion.

“That’s because we’re the sponsor force,” Tsao said.

“The powers that be—and I mean this comes from Lieutenant Colonel Suk at least, maybe higher—believe that we need more representation in the leadership positions. So, as one of the few commandos already there, he’s not going anywhere.”

“I’m being held down by politics?” Strap asked.

“Not necessarily. There is a way out of the situation.”

“And that is . . .” Strap said, sounding like someone who didn’t want to know the answer.

Crap, this is hard.

“Look, we still don’t know what’s happening with Third Platoon, if it’s going to be stood up again. But if it does stand up, that would open up three more squad leader positions.”

“Which we don’t know if that’s going to happen.”

“True. So that leaves transferring out of the company.”

Both Marines frowned. “Like going to Second Assault?”

“Not exactly. Their positions are fully manned. I mean out of the SCAB.”

Their eyes opened wide at that.

“Captain Adair talked to Major Lao, and he thinks he might be able to swing a trade, getting a sergeant from First Combined Assault Battalion, and you going there.”

Major Lao was the battalion XO and a Hégémonie Legionnaire, and with the Legion as the host unit for First Combined Assault, he could probably swing that.

What Rev didn’t say was that First Combined Assault Battalion wanted Tsao, and they were willing to accept Strap as part of the deal.

“You’d both be stepping into squad leader positions.”

“But we’d be leaving the company. Leaving Safe Harbor,” Tsao said.

“It’s up to you, of course. This is just an option. Otherwise, you’ll stay here in your current positions.”

“Damn. We need more privates in this company,” Strap said.

Rev gave a chuckle. “Right, but it won’t happen. We’re the best of the best, remember? Everyone proven in combat. So, we’re always going to be top-heavy.”

“And we don’t have any idea on Third Platoon?” he asked.

“Not that they’re telling us. Wish I knew more.”

The two exchanged a silent glance.

Finally, Strap said, “We’ve got some time to decide, right?”

Rev grimaced. “Not so much. Tum, maybe you do, but things are heating up again, and there’re indications we might be engaged sooner rather than later. So, we—as in you. Strap—need to piss or get off the pot. Major Lao wants to know by the end of the week. Think about it, but get back to me, OK?”

The two turned to each other again for a long moment.

Is there something going on between these two?

Tsao gave an almost imperceptible nod, and Strap said, “I don’t think we need the time. We’ll stay.”

“You’re sure? We don’t know if Third is getting stood up.”

“We’re sure.”

Rev was relieved, but career-wise, this might not be the best decision for either one of them. He wanted them to stay, but as their platoon sergeant, he wanted them to be sure of their decision.

“Even with Iglesias as squad leader?”

“Hell, he’s not doing a bad job for a green-skinned frog. I could do worse.”

“And Staff Sergeant Hussein needs me,” Tsao added.

“Besides, you and me, Gunny, we go back a long way.”

Rev felt his face turn red with embarrassment. Getting into that stupid, immature fight with Strap back at Gray Creek Park led to his conscription into the Corps fifteen years back.

“And there’s something about you that makes us hang around.”

That wasn’t what Rev expected to hear.

“Shit happens around you. Somehow it just seems to find you.”

“But you always pull yourself and us out of the fire,” Tsao added.

“Oh, not you, too. Don’t tell me you believe that Nexus of Chaos crap.”

“The what?” they both asked in unison.

That had been Rev’s knee-jerk reaction, and it took him a moment to remember that what the commandant had called him so many years ago was only known by Tomiko, Bundy, and Yancey.

“Nothing. Forget it.”

“Nexus of Chaos,” Tsao said quietly, rolling the phrase around her mouth as she might a sip of a fine Bordeaux.

Please, forget you ever heard that stupid name.

“So, if we have the choice, Tum and me, we’d like to hang around and see where else you’re gonna be leading us. One thing’s for sure. We won’t be bored.”

Rev had been hoping they would stay. From his perspective, both were vital cogs to the platoon and its success. But he hadn’t expected the reason, and it touched him, if he was being honest with himself. There was even a little lump in his throat.

“Good. Great. I’ll let the lieutenant and the captain know,” he said, managing to get that out without choking. “And once again, congratulations. I’m really happy for you.”

“You know, we’re, uh . . . me and Tum, we’re hosting a little celebration this evening out at the Aardvark. Nineteen hundred. We’d be honored if you came for a bit.”

Rev felt his heart drop. The Aardvarks’ Choice was a small dive out in the city where some of the NCOs liked to hang out. But he was still confined to Asif, and he couldn’t tell them that. They were looking at him with hopeful eyes, and he was going to have to turn them down.

He wasn’t man enough for that, though.

“Thanks for the invite. I’d love to stop by, but I’ll have to see. My workload here’s suffocating.”

“Oh, of course, Gunny. If you’ve got work, we understand,” Strap said hurriedly.

“But I’ll try. I’d be honored. And I guess I’d better get back to it if I want to be done.”

He didn’t think Tsao bought it, and after their statements of support, Rev felt like a heel.

“We’ll leave you be, then,” Strap said as the two got ready to leave. “Hope to see you this evening.”

Rev shook their hands again, then sighed as the hatch closed behind them.

“This sucks,” he muttered. “They’re going to think I don’t care enough to show up.”

<Can’t you just explain to them that you’re restricted to the camp?>

“Not without telling them why, and I’ve got to keep mum on that.”

He spoke aloud. “Connect me with the Aardvark’s Choice, Swansea.”

<Good move,> Punch said.

A moment later the voice on his pad said, “This is Aardvark’s. How can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah. This is Gunnery Sergeant Pelletier out at Nguyen.”

Civilians generally didn’t know about Camp Asif, and since it was part of the Camp Nguyen complex, it was easier just to say Nguyen.

“How can I help you, Gunny. We don’t get too many SNCOs coming here.”

“I’ve got two of my sergeants, Gantz and Tsao—”

“Yes, Strap and Tum. How can I help you with them?”

“They’ll be coming in for a little celebration at nineteen hundred tonight. I’d like to arrange to pay for the first round for their party, if I could.”

“Of course, we could do that. I’ll just need the payment information.”

Rev gave the information. It was probably going to run him another week’s pay, but such was life. If he wasn’t going to make it in person, though, then maybe this would suffice and let the two sergeants know that he was proud of them for supporting the platoon.

7

Three days later, his being restricted to the camp was OBE—Overcome By Events. The entire battalion went on full alert, and training intensified, this time with simulated OCR-60, “Oscar” training. Rev was used to the Oscar EVA suit from his time in the Home Guard, and with several nations using them, it made sense that those were chosen to outfit the brigade.

Except for the EVA simulations giving a hint, the problem, as Bundy, who was the battalion’s training officer, said, was that he had no idea as to how the battalion might be deployed, so he couldn’t narrow the training down. Instead, they went over field exercise after field exercise, covering a variety of scenarios from assaults in a built-up area to a ship hostage scenario (that last was a ground walkthrough. They didn’t have the ability to conduct actual Null G exercises). With a nod to the last mission, Bundy and Top Belling even had a mission that took place underwater at M’Cana Reservoir.

At least it built teamwork between the units and allowed the new joins to get locked in. But after expecting to get called away within a few days, those days turned into a week, and then two. Seven weeks after going on full alert, they were still eating dust in Camp Nguyen’s vast training ranges.

Rev knew you could only hone a blade for so long before it would start to lose its edge. Something had to change. Either they needed a mission, or they had to stand down.

He kept his ear to the ground, and he had Punch monitoring every channel he could to try and figure out what was happening. He and the other SNCOs spent what little free time they had poring over the newsfeeds trying to decipher what might have occurred that put them on full alert, but to no avail. Rumors and wild guesses were rampant, but there was nothing firm.

Finally, the call came, but only for First Platoon from First Assault Company and Third Platoon from Second Assault. Only two platoons? And from different companies at that? The entire battalion had been on full alert for seven weeks, all for two platoons to get the mission.

Nothing made sense, and the embark order did nothing to answer their questions. It revealed nothing of their mission, only that First Platoon would board a corvette, the PUNS Scimitar, while Second Assault’s Third Platoon was boarding a Mezame sloop.

Everything else was a mystery.

* * *

Six hours after receiving their warning order, Rev stepped aboard the Scimitar. Most Marines could go through a career without ever boarding a corvette, but this wasn’t Rev’s first time. He’d been a passenger aboard the PUNS Rapier, a super-stealthy ship that took him and his platoon to Armadillo.

Rev couldn’t tell much from the hangar deck where the shuttle had deposited them, but if he was a betting man, he’d wager that the Scimitar had the same stealth capabilities as the Rapier had.

What the previous corvette didn’t have was adequate troop berthing, and Rev followed their guide with trepidation.

“It isn’t much. We don’t get too many grunts. But this is your berthing,” the petty officer said, pointing into a small space with twelve racks. “Gunny, you and your officers will have your own stateroom, but for the rest, this is it.”

“I only see twelve bunks in there,” Iglesias said.

“Racks. Twelve racks. And you’ll be hotbunking.”

The Federation Commando frowned, and Strap whispered to him, “I’ll fill you in.”

“Gunny, if you’ll follow me?”

“I’ll get the platoon settled in. If you can just give me the space number?”

“Uh, sure. C-103.”

“Got it.”

“You can find your way?” the petty officer said, clearly not trusting a Marine grunt to know his way around the ship.

But Punch has the ship’s layout. He’d do fine.

“Not my first rodeo, Petty Officer. I was on another corvette, the Rapier.”

“No shit? That’s one of our sister ships. Small universe. Well, OK, then. I’ll let you get settled in. First call for chow is seventeen hundred. Ten of you jarheads at a time.”

“Not all of us are jarheads,” Iglesias said in a sour tone.

“Oh, yeah. Of course. Still gotta get used to the joint units. Anyway, ten of you grunts at a time, fifteen minutes in each shift. I’ll check back before then, though.”

Rev waited until he made his way down the passage before he turned to the platoon, who were stretched out for fifteen meters.

“Can you all hear me?”

Ikinikin, in the back, gave a thumbs-up.

“Listen up, then. Look, we don’t know how long we’re going to be aboard this ship. Could be a day, could be a lot longer. What you’re going to find is that this type of ship isn’t made for transporting troops. This berthing space? Well, some sailors had to move out to make room for us. So, we’re just going to have to make do, OK?”

There were a few half-hearted ooh-rahs.

“With only twelve racks, we’ll be on three eight-hour shifts. But even that won’t be enough. So, stand by while I try to scare up another couple of bed spaces.”

“What about the armory, Gunny? We need to secure our arms,” Torking asked.

“No armory. Just stack them in berthing. One-person gear watch around the clock.”

“Any word yet on our mission?” Yancey asked.

“Nada. But this is a stealth ship. So, I’m guessing something covert. As soon as I’m done here, I’ll check in with the captain and the lieutenant.”

“Why’d the skipper come?” Božič-Mizaki asked. “This is a platoon mission.”

With no Third Platoon, Rev thought the captain had used that as an excuse to interject herself into the mission. It probably pissed off the lieutenant, but Rev understood, and he couldn’t blame her.

He wasn’t going to say that in front of the troops, though.

“I’m sure she has her reasons. And that’s not for us to question.”

“First Squad, you’ve got the first rotation with the racks. The rest of you, there aren’t many places to gather aboard this ship. Just do the best you can until I find out what I can. Any questions?”

“Twelve racks. Thirteen of us. And Doc,” Yancey said.

“You lose out, Staff Sergeant. But let me see what I can do.”

Rev left the platoon, relying on the squad leaders to sort things out. He was going to take a quick check of his space, drop his pack, and try and get some gouge. The earlier he knew what was going on, the more time the platoon would have to prepare.

“I bet the other platoons got it better on a Mezame ship,” he told Punch as he made his way to his stateroom.

<Their ships do seem to have a better layout. But the Union has just about the same stealth capabilities as the Mezame ships do.>

“Just about?”

<Within a few percentage points.>

“So, we don’t have quite the same protection, and we’re going to be a lot more uncomfortable. Great deal.”

<Why is this crew so enamored with this corvette?>

“What? What are you talking about?”

<The crew. It’s obvious that they warship it.>

It took a moment before Rev got the joke, if he could even justify that as one. But normally, Punch asked first before telling one. This was the first time he’d ever just made a pun as in normal conversation. That was some sort of breakthrough, but Rev didn’t know what kind.

“That’s pretty bad, Punch.”

<I beg to disagree. It was quite punny.>

I’m not going to encourage him, he told himself as he made his way to his berthing.

“Here’s the space,” Rev said, checking the little plaque over the hatch.

He opened it and stepped into darkness. He turned on the light, revealing an older gent in his skivvies and undershirt, asleep on the single rack in the tiny "stateroom." An engineer’s overalls with a chief’s insignia on the collar were draped over the single chair. There was a sink and a mirror at the far end of the space, and a piece of plastisheet was taped to it. Rev stepped closer.

Marine, welcome to the penthouse. You’ve got the rack 2400-0800.

Rev carefully laid down his pack, turned off the light, and stepped back outside. Evidently, he wasn’t the only one who was hot bunking it during the passage.

* * *

“So, this ship is stealthy. Anything else?” Lieutenant Kjell asked.

Rev scratched his stump as he sat on the deck, back against the bulkhead. The two officers were sharing the stateroom without any of the ship’s crew. Captain Adair had already dropped her IBHU, and Rev didn’t need to be told twice after her offer to help him drop Pashu. The two IBHUs took up a good portion of the far side of the stateroom.

“Nothing much in the unclassified records,” the captain said. “She’s a corvette. Smaller than destroyers. Lighter armed. But with her stealthy capabilities, she should be able to get in and out without being seen.”

“In and out of where?”

“That, my dear lieutenant, is the million-credit question. Maybe we should be asking about the other platoon?”

“Their ship? A Mezame sloop. About the same size as us with a little better cloaking.”

“Not the ship. The platoon. What made the CO pick them from Second Assault and you from First Assault?” the company commander asked.

Rev hadn’t considered it from that angle, but it made sense. The captain could be so ooh-rah sometimes that he forgot she had a pretty bright mind.

“Well, I know the platoon commander, Lieutenant Amata. We were in the same Home Guard battalion. Caporal Chef Leguin, one of the squad leaders, too,” Kjell said.

Punch pulled up the platoon roster, and Rev recognized three more names from his time in the Home Guard.

“There’re three more I served with, too,” he added.

That wasn’t surprising. The various nations sent their best and brightest to the Home Guard, and they were probably doing the same thing with their contributions to the combined assault battalions.

“And there’s you, Tsao, and Archambault who were with the Home Guard. That mean anything?” Adair asked.

“Well, Tsao was with the Home Guard, but with Alpha Company. Just ceremonial. She wasn’t with the real units,” Rev said.

“Still, she was there. So, what was your mission?”

“Normal stuff. Show unity. Fight piracy. Fight the . . .”

He’d been about to say fight the Mad Dogs, but with the lieutenant sitting at the foot of the rack, he thought discretion might be the better part of valor there.

“Piracy? Ship takedowns, right?”

“Well, yes, ma’am. That’s one mission.”

“And lots of zero G training, I’d assume. Real training, not simulated.”

“Yes, ma’am. Quite a bit, in fact.”

“And Archambault . . .”

“His hyper-augments are all-around space ops—null g and vacuums.”

“Vidal over in Third Platoon. She’s Legion. Is she a hyper-augment, too?” Kjell asked.

Rev checked with Punch. “Yes, she is.”

So, we’ve got a handful of Home Guard vets here, all of who’ve had zero G and anti-pirating training. We’ve got two Legionnaires with their hyper-augments. Curiouser and curiouser,” the captain mused.

“Is there a problem with piracy now?” Kjell asked. “Or are you getting at a skeletal pirate?”

“I’m not getting at anything, Lieutenant. We’re just spitballing here with nothing better to do.”

Captain Adair was being coy. Rev thought she might be onto something, though. At least that would answer why two platoons from different companies were pulled.

The lieutenant frowned. “They should just tell us our mission. We’re stuck on a persie ship, for the Mother’s sake. It’s not like we’re a security threat.”

But that wasn’t the only explanation for the platoon not to be briefed.

“Maybe we don’t have a mission yet,” he said.

Both officers turned to look at him as one.

“We’re a contingency force. Something’s up, or maybe there’s a hint of something being up. If whatever it is does develop into something actionable, then the command wants a small, but capable force prepositioned in a cloaked ship, ready to move at a moment’s notice.”

“And if nothing does develop?” the lieutenant asked.

“Then we go home, none the wiser. No harm, no foul.”

Captain Adair seemed to consider it, then said, “That’s as good a theory as any, I guess. If you’re right, then this is a classic case of hurry up and wait.”

“Do we have Oscars aboard?”

Both officers turned as one to look at him. “Well, gunny, I think that’s a good thing for you to track down,” the captain said.

“Aye-aye, ma’am. I’ll grab one of the chiefs.”

“If they are, then that might give us a better idea,” she said. “But for the moment, we just hang out.”

“So how long do we wait?” Kjell asked.

“This is the military, and waiting is what we do. I can’t believe it’s any different with you Mad Dogs.”

Kjell gave a sheepish grin and said, “No, you’re right, ma’am.”

Rev had no idea if what he said was true. But it could be. So now, as the captain said, they just had to sit back and wait to see if anything developed.

* * *

Something developed. It took three weeks, but when the orders were passed down, the Navy crew and the platoon went into overdrive.

Rev and the rest had been going stir-crazy. Three weeks didn’t sound like a long time, but when you spent that trying to make busy work—the only real thing they’d done was combat-check the Oscars that were, in fact, on board—hanging out in the passageways underfoot of the crew, and just counting down the minutes until you could take possession of your rack for eight hours of personal space and time, three weeks seemed like a century.

To a person, the news that they had orders was greeted with relief—relief that was somewhat muted once they found out what the orders were.

The platoon was tasked with capturing their objective. If it was where they thought it was. If it even existed. And if it did exist, what was it?

There was a long-standing axiom, going back millennia, that military orders needed clear and concise objectives. This wasn’t it.

Two months ago, anomalies started cropping up among various sensors located between Union and Frisian space. There was nothing concrete, but enough of them popped up to alert the vast AIs that monitored all movement through the known galaxy. The initial analysis gave a low probability that the anomalies were anything other than natural fluctuations. That probability began to fade as time passed and more input was gathered.

At some point, caution won out, and the two platoons were deployed and positioned where the AIs gave the highest probability that if there was something out there, that

S where it might be. Rev had been right in his guess that they might be a contingency force.

And it wasn’t just the two ships and the embarked platoons. There had been a steady increase in traffic with vessels—manned and unmanned—plying the lanes as they collected data.

Despite their efforts, nothing could be pinpointed. No ship, no station.

Evidently, the totality of what they found must have reached a tipping point, because the Scimitar and First Platoon were being sent to the probable location of the anomaly to find out if there was actually anything there, and if there was a Naxli origin causing the readings, then to capture it.

But what if it didn’t want to be captured? If the Navy couldn’t exactly locate it, and whatever it was had offensive capabilities, then what could the platoon do? They couldn’t go in blind and win a fight. A far safer course of action would be for the Scimitar to stand off and fill the space with an array of weapons.

If, however—and this was still a big if as far as Rev was concerned—this was some sort of Naxli construct, then the fact that it had evaded identification for so long would be of tremendous concern, and the human scientists would want to get their hands on that tech. They had the most advanced stealth technology known to the Union, and the Mezame sloop may have the most advanced tech known to humanity, but neither could hold a candle to what was being detected.

If there was something there and they were not chasing ghosts, which is what Lieutenant Kjell thought was going on, Rev wasn’t so sure. The Naxli had surprised them before.

But how could they prepare for something they knew nothing about? The platoon took over the hangar deck, running cramped and ineffective rehearsals, ranging from the routine to the far-fetched.

Yet Rev doubted that any of the scenarios they ran through would ever see the light of day. The rehearsals weren’t useless, though. They forced the troopers to shake off the rust of hanging out on the ship and get their warrior selves flowing, and with the artificial gravity in the hangar deck turned off, it allowed them to practice their null-G work.

For many of the troopers, this would be their first time actually donning, if not any EVA suit, then this one at least. Not the best scenario, but it was what they were stuck with. But these were good soldiers, and the rehearsals went a long way in them gaining confidence in the suits.

Rev was pleased to find out that he’d retained much of his training from his time in the Home Guard. He’d never been the best at it, but he was more than holding his own.

Archambault, though, looked like he was born in the vacuum of space. His hyper-augments left everyone else in the dust. Nothing was certain about the mission except for the fact that the commando would be at the forefront of the operation.

“Assault force, thirty minutes until arrival,” a voice came over the loudspeakers.

The lieutenant looked up, then passed, “Let’s go through this last one again.”

Rev switched to the P2P. “Sir, it might be better to top off the powerpacks, O2, and water.”

“Correction. We’re about as ready as we’re ever going to be. Let’s charge up and refill water and oxygen. Squad leaders, you’ve got it.”

They’d depleted minimal power and water, but O2 levels were down in the 90%- range for most of the troopers. Hopefully, that wouldn’t be an issue over the course of the upcoming mission, but it was always smarter to reload when you could.

Rev gave the signal to the hangar crew, who were watching them through a second-deck window, and a moment later, the artificial gravity came back on. The members of the platoon gained their feet and started to move to the charging banks.

In the MDS army, officers went to the head of the line. Not the Union Marines, though, and while serving in a Marine-hosted battalion, the foreign soldiers had to adhere to Marine customs. Rev could tell it bugged the lieutenant, but he never complained.

“When do you think we’ll know what our mission is?” the platoon commander asked while the two watched the rest of the platoon top off.

“The captain will tell us as soon as she knows, sir.”

Rev was just as anxious as the lieutenant to find out, but he didn’t think they would anytime soon. At the moment, Captain Adair was on the bridge where she had access to the most information, but just because the ship was arriving at its designated position didn’t mean that everything would immediately become clear.

The ship would have to search the void for any sign that something was there, even when the scanners said nothing was. It would send out the Navy version of drones capable of spanning the dark to search for the target. The Naxli might be able to spoof the long-range scanners of humanity, but certainly, a drone could detect the thing even if it had to physically run into it to find it.

A spot opened up at the recharge station. Rev hooked in and watched his power shoot back up to 99.8%. With a push of the button, he switched to O2. That took a few moments longer, but he was back at 100%.

“Now for the water,” he muttered. “Give me that clean stuff.”

With a sealed system, he didn’t actually need the water, and the recycled was perfectly pure, but Marines had a habit of flushing the waste and taking in new water at every opportunity.

<You do realize that all of the water aboard this ship is recycled, right?>

“What do you mean?”

<You’re replacing your suit-recycled water with what is ostensibly pure water, but it’s recycled, too.>

“But . . . doesn’t matter. It’s cleaner.”

<It tests the same.>

“You just don’t understand, Punch.”

<You are right. I don’t understand.>

Rev uncoupled his PAL. “Just give me a status check.”

<All systems green. Power at 99.7%. Full combat load. O2 at 99.9%.>

“That’s all I need to know.”

Beside him, the lieutenant was uncoupling. “We don’t have these stations on our ships,” he grudgingly admitted.

“Normally, they’d only be on transports. But I guess the SEALs use these stealth ships enough that they figured it would be a good idea. Easier than trying to do all of this in the ship’s armory.”

“Fifteen minutes to station,” the voice announced.

“Should we crack out helmets?” the lieutenant asked him. “We’ve got at least fifteen minutes.”

They’d been in full Oscars for over three hours now, and Rev would love to open up and feel the air circulation on his face. But regulations were regulations.

“Not while we’re inserting, sir. If they hit the ship, or we hit a mine, that could breach the hangar.”

“Yeah, I can see that. So, we just wait again?”

“That’s about it, sir. We won’t have our exact mission until they can get a better idea of where this ghost is.”

The platoon settled in to wait, and Rev contemplated having Punch resume the latest episode of “The Bad Cousin,” but he had no idea when they’d be called out. So, in the best tradition of thousands of years of soldiers, he locked his EVA suit in place, closed his eyes, and went to sleep.

* * *

Fourteen hours later, the crew was no closer to finding the elusive ghost. Captain Adair came down to the hangar deck, and after consulting with the lieutenant, she gave the order to remove their helmets. O2 was topped off again, and Rev was told to arrange for real food to be brought to the hangar.

But as Rev had long ago discovered, the gods of war were usually a perverse lot, and as the chief in charge of the galley and two of his staff laid out a line of good-looking sandwiches, the alarm went off, and the loudspeaker requested the captain’s presence on the bridge.

“Button up!” the captain shouted as she ran out of the hangar.

Rev felt a rush, but he wasn’t sure if that was because they could be soon moving out or because his growling stomach saw the meal fading out of reach.

He wasn’t the only one. A full half of the platoon rushed the table, grabbed sandwiches, and stuffed them into their mouths. Rev’s initial inclination was to yell at them to get back, but then he thought what the hell? The captain still had to get to the bridge.

“Go ahead,” he told the rest of the troopers. “But make it quick.”

Even the lieutenant seemed to take that as permission, and he joined the rush. Rev waited until they cleared. Squished sandwiches—grabbing food while in an EVA suit’s gloves wasn’t the most genteel of movements—and remnants were scattered across the table, but he managed to snag a half and stuff it in his mouth.

“Thanks, Chief,” he said through a mouthful of food before he put his helmet on and twisted it into place.

The chief stood there, hands on his hips for a long moment, surveilling the mess. “Sure thing,” he said before motioning for his two sailors to clean up.

A few crumbs fell out of his mouth, disappearing into his PAL. That was going to end up bothering him more than it was worth, but it was out of his hands. Or mouth, in this case.

“Gunny, let’s get everyone into the elements. I want to be ready to go the minute we get the word.”

The platoon had been broken into a breaching element and a boarding element. There was no guarantee that the actual organization would end up that way, but at least it gave them a starting point.

Because it was so iffy, Rev didn’t see a reason to rush to judgement, but it wasn’t a big enough thing for him to argue, so he got the troopers into their elements. Rev was going to be with First Squad with Hussein, while the lieutenant would be with the other two squads in the boarding element.

“Nothing yet?” Hussein asked.

“You’ll know the same time as me.”

“Do you think there’s really anything out there?”

Rev had to think a moment, but finally, he said, “Yeah. I think I do.”

That seemed to surprise the staff sergeant. “Really? Why?”

Call it a gut feeling.

But he didn’t want to say that aloud.

“Better to think there’s something and find out later there wasn’t anything there than assume there’s nothing and get surprised.”

“Whoa, Gunny. That’s too deep for me.”

“‘Mary Had a Little Lamb’ is too deep for you, Hus-man.”

“Zing.”

Rev left Hussein and walked over to Archambault. “You ready with the tube?”

“Easy-peasy, Gunny.”

Rev was not feeling the same degree of confidence. The Union B-40 was very similar to the slightly larger breaching tube he’d used in the Home Guard. But that breaching tube was handled by four soldiers, and Rev had seen the consequences when the tube was mishandled.

After several rehearsals, the Legionnaire had insisted that he take it alone. He said it was difficult to coordinate with the others, not outright saying so, but implying that the three others in the element were not as adept as he was.

“If you’re having problems, you get Vestergaard to help you.”

“Won’t happen.”

“If it happens, you get help,” Rev said with a little more steel in his voice.

“Will do, Guns.”

Rev inwardly winced. He didn’t know why some of them were now calling him “guns,” but he was pretty sure he didn’t like it.

Rev nodded inside his Oscar, then stepped to the side. Once again, it was hurry up and wait. Only this time, the wait was short.

Fifteen minutes after she left, Captain Adair returned, and this time in her Oscar. Rev glanced at the lieutenant, quick enough to see him frown. Rev knew he’d been hyped to be leading the mission, but it looked that that had been snatched from him at the last minute.

Sucks to be you.

The captain motioned for everyone to gather around.

“Listen up. The systems chief on the ship is pretty sure she’s found the anomaly. How sure? Well, she says forty percent.”

Forty doesn’t sound like “pretty sure.”

“Captain Bing’s decided to proceed as if the chief is correct. If nothing else, we can eliminate the location.

“And that location is too far for us to make a spacewalk crossing, even with the impellers. So, as we speak, the ship is edging closer.” She paused a moment, looking out at the platoon.

“My intent is twofold. First, we need to locate this anomaly and, if possible, identify it. Second, if this is, in fact, a skeletal artifact, we need to secure it.”

Like a few of the Marines, the captain had adopted the more common nickname for the Naxli. Rev refused to do that on principle. The only reason the Naxli 2.0s were somewhat gaunt was that they had shifted to a humanlike form.

“Will we meet resistance? I can’t tell you, but if it is them, I don’t think they’ll be leaving whatever it is without a defense.”

She stopped, held out a hand to tell them to wait, and tilted her head as she received a message.

“Looks like we’ve got eighteen minutes. Real quick, we’re going with the third contingency plan, but with some changes. Breaching team, you’re leading. Caporal Chef Archambault, where are you?”

The Legionnaire raised his hand.

“There you are. You’re still the point of main effort, and you’ll be taking the direct azimuth. But the boarding team, we won’t be following in trace. We’re going to surround the breaching team, making an array of sorts.”

Ah, to give us a bigger sweep.

“If you—any of you—run into something out of the ordinary, report it. That could be our baby. If this is a little vague, don’t worry. I’ll be dictating a FRAG while we wait, and I’ll download it to everyone before the hangar doors open. I’d ask if you have any questions, but frankly, we’re running out of time. So, hold them until you see the FRAG.”

She stopped and started to step away when she turned back to them. “This is the epitome of the hip-pocket mission. We’re going to have to rely on our training and be flexible to adjust on the fly. But I don’t have to remind you, we are the best of the best. If we can’t handle this, no one can. So, let’s do this for Third Platoon, OK? Can I get an ooh-rah?”

Rev thought that last was a little hokey, but he joined in, and he could feel his warrior start to simmer to the surface. And the captain was right. They were the best.

And in about fifteen minutes, they were going to prove it.

* * *

The Scimitar rotated the hangar bay away from the direction of the target. This was the most dangerous part of the process for the ship. With the bay open, even just enough for the platoon to slip out, some of their stealth capabilities were compromised. So, the two-credit solution was to turn that side away from a potential threat.

The troopers rushed out to minimize the amount of time that the ship was vulnerable, then flew around the vessel and moved into their array. It wasn’t pretty. Some—maybe many—of them were not as skilled at maneuvering as they might have been with actual vacuum time in an Oscar instead of just simulations, but by hook and crook, they made it. Now, with a straight azimuth, it was just a matter of staying the course.

Archambault might be the most important trooper for the first phase of the breach, but he was not the guide for the transit. That was Lance Corporal Hromi-Po, who, despite his relatively junior rank, might have the most time in an Oscar than anyone else. It was his job to keep the array on track and for everyone else to guide on him. Two troopers, Foy and Nezev, also had extensive vacuum time and were assigned the sheepdog roles. Their job was to roam and help anyone drifting out of position. It was a short and sweet plan, which was probably a good thing.

Oddly—or maybe not, given human psychology—while no order had been given, the entire platoon was generally aligned, heads in one direction, feet in the opposite. In space, that wasn’t necessary with no up and down.

The platoon formation was quite large, covering almost a square klick, which meant there was lots of space between the troopers. Rev kept shifting his attention back and forth between the platoon and the area in front of them. No one quite knew what they were looking for. Their guidance ranged from a “void” in the starry background to “you’ll know it when you hit it.”

The Oscars had basic stealth capabilities, but Rev couldn’t help feeling vulnerable as they flew along the blackness. It wasn’t the troopers who suffered the first blow, though. From behind, a light flared so bright that Rev would swear he could see the bones in his right arm.

Rev twisted around, Pashu at the ready, to see the glowing gas cloud expand. It hit the troopers, sending them tumbling. Rev used his training back on Enceladus to right his tumbling. Around him, some of the other troopers struggled to regain a sense of equilibrium while Foy and Nezev rushed to help those who needed it most.

“Was that the Scimitar?” Rev asked Punch, hoping against hope that his battle buddy would say no.

<That would be the most logical conclusion.>

By the Mother, no! Syron III, and now this?

The loss of the ship and crew hit Rev hard, and the idea of being abandoned again, off on their own in enemy territory, was an emotional blow. For one of the first times in his Marine Corps career, he could feel the waves of helplessness threatening to wash over him.

Captain Adair was about two hundred meters to his left and “below.” He immediately looked to her. With a quantum communicator, she’d still be in contact with higher headquarters, and she’d be reporting back what had just happened. Meanwhile, the platoon kept advancing, as they would forever unless they took the means to stop themselves.

It only took about twenty seconds. With exaggerated hand-and-arm signals, she gave the order to proceed. Which was the only possible course of action now. With the Scimitar gone, they knew something was out there, something that could detect and take out a Rapier-class corvette. If the Navy was going to try and retrieve the platoon, that whatever had to be taken out.

The question was if a single platoon of humans had the punch to do that.

We’d better have it. That’s our only option now.

Rev forced a surge of confidence. Anything else was unacceptable.

The force of the gas ball of the exploding ship had tumbled the troopers, and it might have added a little more speed to their flight, but it hadn’t knocked them off course. If the estimates were right, then they should arrive close to the thing’s location in about twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes, though, was a long time to silently fly to an unknown enemy position. If that position could take out a warship, the Oscar’s puny armor protection might as well be tissue paper. Every moment, Rev expected to see the heavens open up on them, which would be the last thing he’d ever see. But with each minute where they were still alive, the more he thought they might make it through.

“They’re not attuned to anything as small as us?”

<That isn’t logical. There are bits of space debris in most of known space. They must have a means of detecting those pieces that can cause damage.>

“But we’re still alive.”

<You’re right there, and I don’t have an answer to that.>

Rev glanced around the platoon. They were surprisingly still in a passable formation without any casualties. There must have been detritus from the ship—it was easier to use that term than to think of the sailors who’d been aboard—but no one had been hit. They must have been too far out, and the spread of solid pieces too scattered.

Warrior me, you still there?

The normal murmuring Rev experienced while heading into combat was missing, and while he usually had to tamp him down and keep a clear head, he could use a bit of that adrenaline now.

<Ten minutes.>

Rev tried to pierce the empty space ahead of him. He couldn’t detect anything. Nor could he detect nothing—that is, a blank spot where he should be seeing stars.

“That thing had to have fired something that took out the Scimitar. We didn’t pick that up?”

<We don’t have active scans right now. I’ve examined your visual record, but your Oscar does not have the same capabilities as your PAL, and I don’t see anything.>

“So, something we don’t know, at a location we don’t know, fired a weapon we don’t know.”

<That’s about the gist of it.>

“So pretty much normal.”

Suck it up, Reverent. This is war.

Rev took three deep breaths, purposely summoning up his warrior. He didn’t want to max out the Oscar’s little impellers and rush the enemy in a berserker charge, but he wanted that edge. He wanted that confidence that had been a hallmark of his career, the knowledge that he could handle anything thrown at him.

And his warrior answered.

“Whatever it is, Punch, we’ve got it.”

<That’s what I like to hear.>

The weird array formation inexorably moved forward, a hungry beast. Their Navy brothers in arms cried out for vengeance, and the closer the platoon got, the more Rev’s blood pounded. Not just his. He could almost feel the combined force of will as they got closer and closer.

Four troopers to Rev’s right, Tsao suddenly stopped, then skittered “up” until she regained control. An instant later, Private Lvarn came to a dead stop as well, actually bouncing back. A total of three from First Squad and one from Second hit something that stopped them dead, but not something Rev could see. Around those four troopers, the rest of the platoon continued forward. Rev, the lieutenant, and Captain Adair frantically signaled for everyone to stop. It wasn’t a parade ground movement, though.

To stop, each trooper had to perform a Cat Reflex movement, twisting their body to their right, raising their arms out to the horizontal, then snapping them down while simultaneously twisting to the left. This would result in them ending up facing their 180 and able to then use their forward impellers to halt their previous direction of flight.

Rev had done it enough times to have the movement basically down, even with his IBHU, but a few of the troopers were having more difficulty. Torking couldn’t get around, but when Rev saw Foy going after the karnan, he put that out of his mind and jetted over to where Tsao had stopped.

Each Oscar could connect with another, and Rev ran out his cable and snapped it into the receptacle at the side of her helmet.

“What happened?” he asked as he stared at the area in front of her.

“I ran into a brick wall that wasn’t there.”

“Like something solid?” Rev asked, trying to detect anything.

“Rock solid. Rocked me good. Split my lip, in fact.”

Rev reached out, but he couldn’t feel anything. He decoupled from Tsao, gave a tiny pulse to his impeller, and moved forward five, then ten meters. Then his hand hit mush. That was the best way he could describe it. And around the mush, the blackness seemed to fold around his arm.

Feeling like he was being eaten by some vast space monster, he immediately pulled back, but as he was weightless in space without anything to push against, all that did was pull him forward into the invisible mush.

The Oscar had tiny orientation impellers in the front and side to complement the main thrust impellers in the back. They couldn’t give him much thrust, but they could maneuver him. He hit the ones on his chest and slowly pulled free of the mush.

“What the hell was that?”

Punch didn’t have an answer.

Captain Adair arrived and beckoned him over. They connected.

“What’s going on, Pelletier?”

“Tsao said she hit a brick wall and bounced off. I went up slowly, and it felt like my arm was being drowned in quicksand or something.”

“Does your battle buddy know what it is?”

<Not a clue.>

“No, ma’am. But I could see like a . . . wrinkle?”

“A wrinkle. Be more precise, Staff Sergeant. I don’t know what the hell a wrinkle connotes here.”

“Hard to tell. Maybe like the space was warping around my hand.”

“You’re telling me that you stuck your hand into bubble space? Bullshit.”

Rev’s warrior self flared again, but this wasn’t the time. He tamped it back down.

“Not bubble space. But something. I don’t have the words for it.”

“Show me.”

Lieutenant Kjell reached them, and the captain signaled him to stop while she and Rev, still connected, edged forward. Rev couldn’t see anything, but he led with his arm outstretched until he felt the encompassing pressure once again. He was going so slowly that his chest jets were able to stop him from going more than elbow deep.

“Right here.”

“Yeah, I saw what you mean about warping now. Your arm, though. It still feels normal?”

An Oscar had a bit of give, and it felt like his arm was being hugged, but everything worked.

<The Oscar is functioning properly,> Punch said.

“Everything’s fine.”

The captain hesitantly reached out, and Rev could see the space fold around her arm as well.

She slowly backed away, and Rev followed.

“Pretty freaky, Gunny. And my battle buddy is stumped. You got any ideas? I mean, this has to be the nox target, but what the hell is it?”

“I’m not sure, ma’am. But you know shear thickening fluid armor?”

“Yeah, of course. Why?”

“You hit it with force, and it hardens up, so the projectile can’t get through. But you can ease a knife through if you do it slow enough.”

“I know what STF armor is, Gunnery Sergeant. I maintained enough of it during my career.”

You did? Interesting. So, you were Combat Support before you lost your arm?

Rev wasn’t sure how a Combat Support Marine ended up as a commander in a Combined Assault Company, but that was for another time and place.

“Well, me and Punch—my battle buddy—were talking about all the crap in space, you know, like micro meteors and space rocks and stuff. If this is our target, and I think it has to be, then maybe they have a force field of some kind to protect against those or from enemy attack. And, uh, but to get in and out of the thing, they have to slow down and ease their way in.”

The way he described it sounded stupid to him the moment he said it, but he thought he was onto something. It was just his wording that was awkward.

Right, “space rocks and stuff.”

The captain seemed to think that over. “Maybe I should try and hit it with Boromir,” she said, brandishing her IBHU.

“Uh, with all due respect, could that, you know, wake the thing up? It took out the Scimitar, but so far, it’s left us alone. Maybe it isn’t calibrated for something as small as us.”

“We just had four troopers slam into it, Staff Sergeant. I don’t think me hitting it will do much more to wake it up, as you say.”

“Just thinking better safe than sorry. And hitting it won’t give us any new information, right?”

Again she paused, this time for over fifteen seconds. “So, you’re saying we should go right into the mission? Just like that?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And you’re basing that on . . . ?”

“My gut.”

She gave a short, humorless laugh. “And your gut’s got a pretty good history of being right.”

She turned to look at the platoon. Every single trooper was oriented at the two of them.

“OK, then. We’ll do it your way.”

She uncoupled and flew back to the lieutenant and Tsao. The Oscars’ face shields did not expose as much of a face as a PAL, but Rev could see the karnan was about beside himself with exasperation that the captain and Rev were conferring without his input.

Rev hoped that wouldn’t cause a problem later. More than that, though, he hoped there was a later.

The captain coupled with the lieutenant for possibly twenty seconds, then decoupled and gave the signal to commence the operation. Immediately, the spread-out platoon started to come together.

For good or bad, they were going to attack this thing they couldn’t even see. But they really had no other choice.

* * *

Rev locked his eyes on Captain Adair, who was about forty meters behind him. The breaching team was ready to go on her command.

There was still no reaction from whatever it was they faced. Rev was beginning to doubt that there was something even there, that his memory of his arm getting swallowed up was a figment of his imagination. But the loss of the Scimitar kept him anchored in reality. Something had taken out the ship, and the logical assumption was that this was it.

There had been a small change of plans, though. Archambault, with the breaching tube, was not going to lead. There had been a somewhat extended conversation between the two officers and Rev on what the field consisted of, with both Marine battle buddies and the karnan’s equivalent (which wasn’t as sophisticated as the Marines’ crystal AIs) weighing in. The concern was what they might do to a person who passed through. Neither Rev nor the captain had felt anything different when they inserted their arms, nor had their Oscars registered anything different, but that was no guarantee that passing through the field would be harmless.

So, the new plan was that Private Lvarn would go through first, tethered to Rev—who had wanted to lead until the captain had directly forbidden that. Archambault would then be tethered to Rev. If all passed through safely, then the rest of the team would pass through.

Rev wasn’t sold on the newbie Lvarn, but Lieutenant Kjell insisted on him taking the point. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the karnan, but rather due to how he was armed. His BIPAC threw physical slugs. A skilled Oscar operator could counteract most of the recoil of a weapon with their impellers, but that was beyond Lvarn’s capabilities as of now. So, if he fired his BIPAC, he’d lose control and be pushed backward. A better choice would be one of the skilled EVA operators or Tsao, whose beamer had almost no recoil (technically, there was an infinitesimal amount, but not enough to affect anything).

Water under the bridge, Reverent. Lvarn’s going to do fine. And if he gets in trouble, reel the son of a bitch back.

Finally, the captain seemed satisfied, and she gave the signal. Rev turned around and nodded at the karnan.

Lvarn never hesitated. He’d been told to keep his impellers at minimal thrust, which barely edged him forward. Rev stared at the seemingly empty space on either side of the private until he saw it wrinkle as it wrapped around him. The muzzle of his BIPAC disappeared from sight, then it was as if he dissolved from front to back. One moment, the trooper was there, and the next, the tether looked like it had been cut in two. The other side had disappeared.

Come on, Lvarn. Give me a sign.

But the line remained still, and Rev started getting nervous. They had no Plan B at the moment—the captain had said they couldn’t come up with one until they knew what would happen.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, but was only thirty-two seconds, Rev felt a tug on the tether. He signaled that he was going in. He raised Pashu and gave his impellers the slightest impulse.

As soon as he hit the outer edge of the field, he instinctively held his breath, ready for anything . . . except for the possibility that the passage would be so anti-climatic. He felt the pressure squeezing him like toothpaste in a tube, and then he was through. Lvarn was floating, slowly rotating in a cartwheel. On the other side of him was a plain, artificial structure. The skin was a light-sucking black that made the few external features hard to make out. Rev couldn’t even guess at the size because he didn’t have a sense of how far away it was, and with abundant caution, the captain had decided that they weren’t to use any active scanning. The thing could be twenty meters away; it could be a klick.

For someone whose augments gave him a very good sense of geospatial awareness, the disorientation almost made him nauseous.

Lvarn, who was still slowly rotating, twisted and gave Rev a thumbs-up.

Rev wasn’t here to gawk. Assuming that the thing wasn’t geared to pick up a human-sized object outside the barrier—which wasn’t known but he thought was a good guess—that didn’t mean that it would be the same inside the barrier. And the less time they gave the thing a chance to spot them, the better.

Rev gave three short jerks on the tether, counteracting the force with his impellers. It still was enough to start him twisting, which he had to correct.

A moment later, the front of the breaching tube emerged, slowly followed by Archambault himself. Rev gave him a moment to orient himself, then, as more of the breaching team passed through the barrier and got into position, he ordered the team forward.

This was the moment of truth—or at least one of them. They were decidedly vulnerable as they approached the giant sphere. Except that it wasn’t as large as Rev had guessed. They reached the surface within moments, which meant the field around it was close to the surface. As he got close, he estimated that the thing was about thirty-five meters in diameter. Big enough to evidently house a weapon capable of destroying a capital ship but smaller than he’d expected.

Still, there was no obvious reaction from the orb. That seemed almost incomprehensible to Rev, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He brought the team to a stop about five meters from the surface and gave Archambault the go-ahead.

Like a microsurgeon, the Legionnaire edged the tube forward until it was flush with the outer skin of the artifact. He studied his readouts for a moment, made his adjustments, then gave Rev a thumbs-up.

Rev let out the breath he’d been holding. There’d been no guarantee that the breaching tube would be able to gain purchase enough to even attempt the breach. There were still questions, a ton of them. Could they pierce the exterior? What was on the other side? But all of that would have been moot unless the tube could grab the side.

There was a Plan B if it couldn’t, which were the mines carried by Third Squad, but those would be more likely to destroy most if not all of the thing, leaving very little for analysis.

Rev rotated and signaled Sergeant Vestergaard, who’d remained just inside the barrier. He gave three short pulls on his tether, which told the sergeant and his assault team that the breach was about to be attempted.

“I think we’re ready. You want to make any bets?”

<Not enough data to make a prediction.>

Punch was trying to sound more human in his conversations with Rev, but he was still an AI, and data ruled.

Rev signaled Archambault, who fired up the breacher. Actinic flares lit up the darkness, causing Rev’s face shield to compensate.

“They’ve got to know we’re here now.”

<One would think.>

Rev was commanding the breach element, but Hussein was the squad leader, and he was positioning the actual breach team. He’d go in with them, with Rev on their tail. Their job was to secure the breach for the passage of the assault team, which were just now passing through the barrier.

“Come on, Archambault,” Rev muttered.

There was a lot of activity on the tube but not much progress. The Legionnaire was focused on his readings. He must not have liked what he was seeing because he signaled that he was shifting to an explosive entry. Immediately, Hussein scattered the team.

The preferred method of breaching was to cut through the skin of the vessel. If that didn’t work, a very powerful shaped charge would hopefully blast through, and that carried its own risks. Tubes that weren’t adequately secured sometimes became projectiles blasting off. Troopers did not want to be in their way.

Rev turned and signaled the incoming assault element to scatter. The more skilled immediately spread out, while the less skilled struggled. But Archambault couldn’t wait.

The Legionnaire triggered the charge, then jetted off to the side. Rev was ten meters away, but he edged back as well, and four small red LEDs started one-second flashes before switching to half-second.

The sides of the breaching tube flexed as the charge went off, but it maintained its grip on the surface of the artifact. Archambault darted to the control end, then hastily signaled no atmospheric pressure.

“Shit!”

If the artifact was pressurized, then that meant the breach had not succeeded. There was only one way to find out. Rev signaled Archambault to decouple and for Hussein to proceed.

At least, with no pressure, they didn’t have to deal with an airlock, thank the Mother for small favors.

With sure movements, Archambault released the tube, revealing a hole in the side of the orb. Rev couldn’t see into it from his vantage, but he was already moving into position as Tsao led the entry.

Rev followed on Rappa’s heels, surveying the damage as he went. It sure looked like they’d made a breach. He passed what had to be the outer shell of the artifact and into a dark, low-ceilinged space. By chance, the charge had been placed right outside of a bulkhead, so the entry covered two different passages. Rev turned on his helmet torch, illuminating as much as he could.

“Hus-man, take the right passage,” Rev passed.

No need for comms silence now.

And they weren’t being jammed, another miracle.

Rev took the left, grabbing Lvarn and Rojas.

“Secure this passage. The assault element’s going to be passing through.”

There was no artificial gravity inside the artifact, so all three hugged the narrow passage, each plastered on a different section of the bulkheads and the overhead, leaving a narrow space between them and in the middle of the corridor that the assault troopers could pass through.

But Rev couldn’t really tell what was a bulkhead, deck, or overhead. A human couldn’t walk upright through the space, and without gravity, there were no visual cues as to orientation.

There was what looked to be a support rib under Rev, so he inched forward, then jammed his Oscar’s boots onto it the best he could. It didn’t do much, but at least he had something solid behind him.

“Assault element, coming in,” Strap announced.

“Here they come,” Rev told Rojas and Lvarn. “Just let them pass.”

With three torches illuminating the passage ahead, they had good visibility until it curved out of sight ten or fifteen meters ahead.

“What do you have, Gunny?” the lieutenant asked.

Rev took a snapshot and forwarded it. “No atmosphere or light. No sign of—"

At that moment, something trundled into sight, and Rev was on autopilot. He fired his 20mm at the same instant the small object ejected a pencil-thin bar of bright plasma that went right down the middle of the passage, bisecting the space between the three troopers.

Rev’s heavy slugs tore into it, sending shattered pieces bouncing everywhere. His recoil lifted him part way off the bulkhead—without his feet in place, he would have been flung backward. Kvarn fired his BIPAC a moment after Rev fired, and the karnan hadn’t found a way to brace himself.

“Just engaged a . . . an automated weapon of some kind,” Rev reported.

“Send me a recording now, Gunny,” Captain Adair cut into the conversation.

“Punch.”

<Got it.>

A moment later, his battle buddy forwarded it to the captain.

“What did it fire at you?” she asked after taking time to view it..

“I don’t know. It’s like . . .” Rev started before it hit him. “Like one of those laser welders, sort of.”

The captain only paused a couple of seconds before she ordered, “Lieutenant, proceed with the mission. But I want every trooper to see that recording.”

“Yes, ma’am. On it.”

It took a minute before the assault element started to pass through Rev and the other two. More would be passing through Hussein and the rest in the other passage. The captain told Rev to stand ready. The artifact might not be as big as Rev expected, but it was still a hunk of real estate, and if they had to clear it of Naxli, then Second Squad was going to have to be part of it.

Second Squad, the breach team, did, in fact, quickly transition into clearing. But not because there were Naxli to defeat. After searching the rather limited open spaces aboard the artifact, they came to the conclusion that there were no living beings aboard other than themselves.

Nor military bots. The thing that attacked Rev, Lvarn, and Rojas was, the best they could tell, a maintenance bot of some kind, and Rev’s comparison to a laser welder was probably closer to the truth than he had guessed.

With forewarning, the troopers were able to knock out six of them. Corporal Quarl was the only one wounded, getting burned through the leg. His Oscar sealed off the entire leg, and he might lose it, but he wasn’t in mortal danger.

The minimal open spaces were another surprise. Most of the area within the orb seemed to be a large power station of some sort, but nothing that looked familiar. The spaces they cleared seemed to be more for access to the working part of the ship, station, or whatever this thing was.

Two hours after they breached the ship, they’d come to the conclusion that it was unmanned. They’d expected a fight, but they hadn’t faced it. Yet the very real loss of the Scimitar was proof enough that this was one dangerous as hell artifact.

The question was, what were they going to do about it?

* * *

“Command wants it,” the captain told Rev and Kjell.

“They want it,” the lieutenant said in an exasperated voice.

“That’s what they say.”

The captain had been in constant contact with higher headquarters with her Q-phone. After four hours, the word had been passed back to them that the command—or however high this went—wanted to stick with the original plan and capture the artifact. The ability to remain almost undetected in human space was reason enough to try and capture and analyze the tech, but they also had to figure out just what the purpose of the thing was.

The problem was that the station—and that’s what it was being referred to now—was still very much alive. And while the platoon may have had a relatively easy time with the mission so far, the station had proven itself deadly against human vessels, even the stealthiest vessels in the Union Navy.

So, somehow, the platoon had to turn the thing off, which didn’t make the lieutenant happy.

Rev didn’t want to point out to him that they had a stake in this, too. They weren’t going home unless someone came to pick them up, and that wasn’t going to happen unless they succeeded.

To make matters worse, no one expected that the station would not have an atmosphere. The Naxli, even the swimmers, breathed O2, after all. So, a ship or station would logically be pressurized. Their operations order really didn’t take into account that the station was evidently unmanned. And that meant the troopers had only the air that they came with. So, the clock was ticking.

They had to figure out how to shut down and take offline an alien station, one they had no idea how it worked, and all in twenty-seven hours.

Piece of cake.

8

Rev, the lieutenant, and the three squad leaders watched the captain intently as she burned up the Q-lines. The small quantum communicators were extremely expensive pieces of gear, but she was certainly getting their money’s worth with it. And that was the platoon’s lifeline.

The question was if it would be enough. Due to physics way above Rev’s understanding, the more data passed through a quantum device, the greater the chance for degradation, so unlike the vast planetary communications hubs and those aboard capital ships, which had far more power and redundancy cells, personal devices’ bandwidth was generally limited to voice and text. Low-res images could be sent, but that took a long time.

Finally, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“That’s not good.”

<Agree. She doesn’t look happy.>

She turned to the platoon leadership. “They want us to shut this thing down.”

“How the hell are we supposed to do that?” the lieutenant asked as he shook his head. “We some sort of alien engineers?”

“They’ve assembled all the experts they can, and they’ll be guiding us. They’re not concerned about the cloaking system for now. They just want us to shut down the weapons system, and they’re confident that they can figure out what that is and how to do it.”

She didn’t sound too confident about that, but what choice did they have? There was no other option.

“This is fucking stupid. I can’t believe they’re that dumb,” Kjell snarled.

“Lieutenant!” the captain immediately snapped, giving a quick look at the four enlisted troopers to see their reaction. “These are our orders, and I’ll be damned if we don’t carry them out.”

The lieutenant’s mouth gaped open and shut a few times as he took in the rebuke, and Rev could see he was seething. He edged forward just a bit, afraid that Kjell might react aggressively, but whether the platoon commander noticed or not, he seemed to back off.

“What about us, ma’am?” Yancey asked. “We’re on borrowed time.”

“They’d already dispatched a packet. If we can shut down the weapon, it should be able to get through and resupply us.”

“And if we can’t?” the lieutenant sullenly asked.

“Then the packet gets shot down, and we die. That should be obvious.”

The captain had to be stressed, but Rev could tell that she’d about had enough of Kjell. If they got through this, there’d be words between the two of them when they got back.

“Now, I’ve been given some things to look for. A whole list of potential indicators. I’m not going to stand here and read them all to you, so I’ll send them over. I want every trooper to have these.

“We’re going to split this up and tear this damn station apart if we have to. I’ll be with First Squad. Lieutenant, you’re with Second, and Gunny, you’ve got Third. I’ll have sectors to you in a few moments. We don’t have a blueprint for this thing, so don’t take this as set in stone. I just want you to indicate where you’ve already searched so that we don’t waste time.

“The consensus is that there will be two potential areas of vulnerabilities—one being the power source, which is likely toward the center of this thing, and two being closer to the exterior, where the weapon itself fires out,” she told them. “But if you find any of the indicators, don’t take action. They want me to send images so they can analyze what we see before we try anything.”

“Ah, yes. So they have an image before we blow our asses up. Smart,” Hussein said.

The captain didn’t respond to him but went on, “And before you bring it up, they are well aware of the limitations with the comms. But they think that what we do have will provide us with the best course of action to take.”

She let that sink in for a moment, then changed tack. “Look, I realize this is the blind leading the blind. But we really don’t have much of a choice, do we? And I’m glad it’s all of you here with me.”

She scrunched her eyebrows together and then said, “Wait, that didn’t come out right. I’m not glad we’re all here. I’d rather be back on Safe Harbor drinking a cold one right now.”

The other five laughed, even the lieutenant. And that broke the tension.

“But if I have to be here, I’m glad it’s with you, because if anyone can pull this off, it’s us,” she said. “So, get your squads ready while I take a couple of minutes to set this up. Then let’s figure out how to put sand in this thing’s gears.”

“Ooh-rah,” Rev and the two other Marines said.

He turned to Yancey and motioned him down the narrow access tunnel where the squad was waiting.

“Some shit, huh?” his friend asked.

“Yeah, some shit.”

“Think we can pull it off?”

“We have to. And not to sound heroic or whatever, but this is bigger than just us getting back. The tech on this thing . . . we need to understand it.”

“Maybe, but right now, I kinda want to get my momma’s favorite son back to Safe Harbor. Have that cold one the skipper mentioned.”

Rev chuckled. “Yeah, me, too. Miko will have my ass if I don’t get back in one piece.”

“A fate worse than death.”

The instructions from command arrived, followed by the search sectors. Instead of quartering the station, it looked like the captain wanted to take it in layers. She and First Squad were going to try to make it to the center, Second would be in the middle, and Third had the outer layer. That meant she wanted Third to search for the weapon itself.

That also meant that she was told or she thought that the most important thing was to find the power supply. And from logic, the second more viable option was the weapon itself.

If that was true, then she was putting him in charge of that second-most vital mission, not the lieutenant. Marine loyalty or something deeper than that.

Something to think about.

Rev gave a quick scan of the potential things to look out for. He understood most of what they wanted him to spot, but not all. Luckily, he didn’t have to.

“I’m trusting you to keep track of all of these in case we see something,” he told Punch.

<I’m on it. You look, I’ll keep track.>

“Well, Yance, this is it. Let’s go find us that big nox gun.”

* * *

By having the outer spaces of the station, Third Squad had the most area to cover, and given the constrained access tunnels, Yancey had split the squad up into the three fire teams to cover more ground. Rev was with Second Team, led by Sniper 2 (Sergeant equivalent) Anderson, a Tau Ceti Ranger. Like all the Rangers Rev had met, Anderson was quietly confident and capable.

“Another dead end, Staff Sergeant,” Anderson reported back to Yancey.

“I’m marking it cleared. Back up and try the other tunnel you bypassed.”

Anderson signaled the others to turn around, which was easier said than done. It took doubling over at the belly and stretching out again. Pashu’s unyielding length was somewhat of a handicap.

This was the mine tunnels on Waring again, crawling around in tight spaces. An IBHU Marine was a hell of a force, but they were not designed to be tunnel rats.

Yancey was monitoring the three teams’ progress, and he said he’d designated this tunnel as cleared, only it really wasn’t. For all Rev knew, the station’s main weapon was right on the other side of the blocked tunnel. It would make sense that, assuming the weapon was some sort of energy cannon, the projector tube wouldn’t be open to the access tunnels.

“Assume makes an ass out of u and me,” he muttered.

For all any of them knew, the weapon could be something completely unknown to humanity. But the way the ship was destroyed, Rev didn’t think it was some sort of kinetic weapon. That didn’t mean, though, that it was something similar to a meson beam cannon.

How do you find something that you don’t know what it is?

Still, it had to have a barrel or tube, right? Physics was physics. And there should be some sort of access point for the bots to maintain whatever it was.

Hmm. Access point. Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way.

“What is the full range of scanners in this Oscar?” he asked Punch.

<Limited, at best. Heat, radio, radiation, both ends of the visual spectrum.>

“From a theoretical standpoint, if this thing is armed with an energy cannon of some sort, what types of radiation would be emitted?”

<An electromagnetic weapon could theoretically fire the gamut, from radio to gamma.>

“Radio?”

<Humanity doesn’t have a weapon on that end of the spectrum, but one could theoretically be designed.>

“OK, point taken. But can I pick up traces of that? I mean, the weapon just fired. Surely there has to be residuals.”

<We don’t know that. But it is certainly possible. And yes, the Oscar could detect traces of the higher spectrum radiation. It’s not as sensitive as your PAL-HX, but it does have the capability.>

This was important, but Rev couldn’t quite put all the pieces together. He knew it was there, just out of mental reach.

Kzing, who’d been tail-end Charlie, was now the point. He reached the tunnel branch and headed off in that direction. Rev, with his quicker reflexes, would rather be in the front, ready to beat another maintenance bot to the punch, but back here, following two other troopers, his mind was free to wander . . . and that’s when the subconscious sometimes made the connection.

“Maintenance stations!” he blurted aloud, still on the squad net.

“Gunny?” Yancey asked on the P2P.

In front of Rev, Hromi-Po twisted around to look at him.

“Maintenance stations,” he repeated. “The bots here have to have access to the weapon. If it is an energy cannon, there should be traces of when it fired.”

“And . . . “ Yancey prodded, obviously not knowing where Rev was going with this.

“Assuming that the tube or projector or whatever is shielded to protect the rest of the station”—another big assumption. Without living beings, how much did they have to protect?— “a maintenance access port should offer less protection. So, if we find a hotspot with energy beam-type radiation, then that could be the weapon.”

Yancey still didn’t seem to follow him. “What . . . what do you want us to do?”

“I want every one of us taking different filters, looking for traces of the full spectrum of radiation. Heat, too. Hell, anything out of the ordinary. As we clear each section, I want eyeballs on every square centimeter of the bulkheads.”

“That’s gonna screw up our perception, Gunny. These Oscars don’t compensate for that well.”

Which was true. A PAL made it easy to monitor, with filters that could convert radiation hits as overlays on regular vision. The Oscar displays were not as sophisticated, and each scan filter colored the entire display, resulting in a washed-out monotone. No one liked them.

“Leave the point on visual, then. But I want the entire spectrum covered.”

“Got it, Gunny,” Yancey said before he went back to the squad net and gave the orders.

“How much O2 left?” Rev asked Punch.

<Twenty-four-point-two percent. Enough for another thirteen hours at this rate.>

“And when do we expect the packet?”

<Eleven hours.>

“So, we’ve got to find this thing before then.”

<You’ve given us a better chance at that.>

“You think so?” Rev asked, feeling a little bit of hope.

<A better chance. Not a good chance.>

That flicker of hope disappeared.

It doesn’t have to be us, Reverent. The power source is still the best option.

He was tempted to ask the captain or Hussein about their progress, but they didn’t need him nagging them.

And, of course, that was when the captain came over the P2P.

“What’s your status, Gunny?”

“Still clearing the spaces.”

“I can see as Staff Sergeant del Rio clears each section. No sign of a weapon?”

<We would have told her if we found it,> Punch said, beating Rev to the thought.

“No, ma’am. But I’ve got an idea that might help.”

“Well, keep me informed.”

“Uh, anything on your end, ma’am?” he asked, acknowledging that he’d just given her mental crap for her asking him the same thing.

“Oh, we’re at the power center,” she said, and Rev’s heart skipped a beat. “Just can’t figure out how to gain access to it yet. Command is working on it.”

“I hope they figure out something. Time’s ticking away.”

“You’ve got that right, Gunny. You keep looking, though. You’re our back-up.”

“Will do. We still have a lot of ground to cover.”

She hesitated a moment, then said, “I can shift Lieutenant Kjell and Second to join you.”

Which cemented that she’d purposely given Rev and Third the second most vital mission.

“If there is a cannon as we know it, it probably runs from the power source to the shell, so they’d just as likely run into part of it in the middle decks.”

“Good point. Oh, I’m getting feedback from command. Gotta go.”

She cut the comms.

Hope they got something good.

“We ready, Anderson?”

“Yes, Gunny.”

“Then let’s move out. We’re running out of time, and we still have a lot to cover.”

Rev switched over to the gamma range, and his display shifted to muted oranges. A hit would show up in bright orange, but the entire thing was off-putting. And with Hromi-Po and the other two in front of him, he couldn’t see much. But he carefully examined everything as he passed, looking for that telltale trace.

This could take forever.

But for once, the gods of war had mercy on them. They’d moved fewer than ten meters when Kimms stopped and bent his body to take a closer look at something.

“What d’ya got, Kimms?” Rev asked.

He turned to look past Hromi-Po and catch Rev’s eyes. “I’m not sure. Maybe something.”

Rev grabbed Hromi-Po’s ankle and motioned for him to skootch to the side. He pulled himself along, bypassing the Rigel Cluster soldier.

It was tight with both Rev and the big karnan, and Rev eased to where Kimms was pointing. Rev looked, but he couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

“What range you got?” he asked.

“Ten to the minus tenth to ten to the minus twelfth.”

Rev made the switch, and there it was: the faintest of a cloud hovering over a machined part of the bulkhead.

“Punch?”

<X-rays.>

Which wasn’t what Rev was expecting. Many nations used x-ray weapons for crowd control, but destroying a ship?

“Could it be from a weapon?”

<Theoretically, yes.>

Rev motioned for Kimms to give him room. With the big karnan moving forward, Rev switched back to the visual spectrum and got up close and personal with the section of the bulkhead. With his face shield centimeters away, he could see a very faint line, only noticeable with his torch shining on it. He followed the line around, and as it made a hard right, he felt his pulse start pounding.

It only took a moment before he confirmed that it was rectangular, about twenty centimeters by thirty.

It’s an access hatch. It has to be. But how to get in?

“What’s up, Gunny?” Anderson asked.

“Hold on. I’m trying to figure it out.”

Rev checked the sides of the rectangle, then started examining the middle. At last he saw what looked to be a tiny depression, barely anything.

“You think that’s something?”

<It’s something. But is it what you’re looking for?>

“What should I do?”

<Maybe just give it a poke.>

It wasn’t funny, but Rev had to choke back a laugh.

Out of the mouth of babes. Of course, give it a poke.

Rev reached out with his organic arm and pressed the spot, which immediately retracted, making him jerk back. He gave a nervous laugh and leaned in again, studying what was revealed.

The depression was circular, and there was a slightly raised section, like a bar, crossing the bottom. It begged to be turned, but the Oscar’s gloves were too big to fit in.

There’s more than one way to crack an egg,” Rev muttered as he pulled out a TD-30, the multi-tool that came with every Oscar. The handles were oversized for easy use with gloves, but the working end had numerous functions.

“What’s the code for snub-nosed pliers?”

<Three, then two.>

Rev pressed the big trigger button in the handle three times, paused, then twice more. Immediately, the small snub-nosed pliers emerged, ready for use.

Cool jewel. We need something like this with the PAL. It’s not just space jockeys who can use a tool.

By partially opening the pliers, Rev was able to fit them in, the tip of each prong just touching each side of the raised lip at the bottom of the depression.

“Everyone, back up,” he told the fire team.

There was a scramble as they tried to get clear.

“Here goes nothing,” he said before giving the pliers a clockwise twist.

And it was “nothing.” He could see that it was made to rotate, but the thing didn’t move. Rev was the one who started to move in a counterclockwise direction, and he had to brace himself with Pashu.

“What the hell? Is it locked?”

<Try counterclockwise.>

“What?”

<Counterclockwise. You’re assuming the Naxli open things in the same manner.>

Rev braced himself, then turned the pliers again, and this time, the button rotated easily. The entire panel seemed to lift up from the bulkhead a few centimeters, and Rev felt a thrill of victory.

But first, he said, “Let’s erase that first attempt, OK, Buddy?”

<Got you covered.>

But now what? There wasn’t an obvious way to remove what he hoped was an access cover. He tried prying at the edges with his hand, but that wasn’t happening. He tried to dig at the edge with the pliers and then switched to a blade, but with equally disappointing results.

His frustration level was rising, and he went back to the pliers and tried to grasp the raised section, but he couldn’t seem to get a good grip. In a pique of anger, he stabbed at the hole as he prepared to call one of the others forward to give it a try, the bottom depressed farther, and the panel swung out and to the side.

Right before him was a hole about ten centimeters deep. Along the edges were seven connector docks of some kind, like the high-end ports gamers had implanted in their necks. Beyond that was a dark opening. Rev tried to peer through the opening, but he couldn’t get his helmet inside to see.

Out came his Optisight. He could normally attach the sight to his PAL helmet, but the Oscar had a universal mount that was almost as good. Rev fed the flexible sight into the hole, but he couldn’t see much.

No problem. He rerouted his helmet torch through the sight . . . and was almost blinded. He was looking through a long, forty-centimeter-wide tube, the inside covered with impossibly brilliant . . . what were they? It was as if they were fairly large, impossibly reflective cords interweaving their way up the length of the tube with albedo-like brilliance.

Rev had never seen anything like this. But he could recognize lethality when he saw it, just as a baby bird recognizes a snake.

“Captain Adair,” he passed on the P2P.

“Hold on, Gunny. I’m dealing with command.”

“I think you’re going to want to hear this. I found the cannon.”

* * *

“What’s the time?”

<Forty-three minutes.>

Rev could have just run the timer on his face shield, but the constant ticking down was raising his stress level. So, instead, he asked Punch every couple of minutes . . . which was raising his stress level.

He hated doing nothing, especially as most of the rest of the platoon were still scrambling. He and Anderson’s team were stuck at the access hatch, just as they’d been for the last seven hours.

When he’d found the hatch, he was elated, thinking they had something. He’d informed the captain and the rest how he discovered it. She ordered him to stay put and for Second and the rest of Third Squad to use the same methods to see what else they could discover, while she and First kept trying to figure out the power station.

And that had resulted in a lot of nothing. Second Squad found two more access hatches to the tube but not much else. They’d considered that there would be more weapons. The station was a sphere, and it would make sense that it had broader coverage than a single directional cannon. But if there were, the platoon hadn’t found anything to indicate that.

“I’m going to look again.”

Rev had ensconced himself right at the opening, his feet jammed across the tunnel to keep him in place. The other four troopers were on either side in the tunnel, essentially chilling out. Each of them had taken turns looking into the cannon tube, and they’d all discussed what they’d seen, but that conversation had petered out hours ago without any conclusions.

As he’d done a dozen times already, he snaked his Optisight into the opening, first orienting it toward the center of the station. There was what looked like a small flower pistil of sorts at the base, albeit a shiny, mirror-like pistil. It was probably how the energy of the beam was fired or focused into the tube. That was one thing they all had consensus on, as did the analyst back at command when an image was sent back via the captain’s quantum comms.

The tube itself, however, wasn’t as uniform as he’d initially thought. It seemed to bow out in the center slightly, then narrow again as it approached the outer hull of the station. An array, looking somewhat like a beehive honeycomb, capped the end. There had to be something on the other side of that, but Rev couldn’t see it, and when Archambault had gone EVA to try and locate where the tube emerged from the station, he couldn’t find anything to mar the featureless hull.

Rev was stymied about the braided sides of the tubes. Human energy weapons had tubes that were uniformly smooth. From weapons lectures he’d barely paid attention to, he still remembered that any imperfection in the tube could diminish the power output. From what he could see, the braids were all imperfections.

Hromi-Po had suggested that maybe the braids were some sort of optical cables, and they carried the energy up the tube to the honeycomb at the end, where it merged into the main beam. But then what was the empty space in the middle for?

At least it was a guess. After an initial few responses from the analysts, the weapon tube had been shunted aside for the power source.

Just as Rev and the team had been shunted aside. They were not part of the main effort, nor would the captain allow him to join her. He was the backup, as she said.

But how? What are we supposed to do?

<Your stress indicators are spiking.>

No shit, Sherlock.

<How about some music?>

“So, you think there’s only one cannon?” Rev asked, ignoring the question.

He wasn’t in the mood for music, and his thoughts were bouncing around his brain like a canary in a cage.

<Without finding evidence to the contrary, that is the most reasonable assumption.>

“And this is what took down the Scimitar?”

<Once again, without evidence to the contrary . . .>

There’s got to be something we can do, then. If we know this is the weapon, and if it’s the only weapon, then this could be the key.

Rev gave Pashu a long look. The power to the beamer was generated in the base before it was transformed into the actual meson beam, then transported down the cannon tube and focused out the projector. If the projector was destroyed, the beam would still be generated, but it would be spread out and its impact diminished.

He looked at the honeycomb again.

Is that like the projector? What would happen if we hit that right now? Blast the hell out of it?

He turned the Optisight back to the base. Returning to his Pashu analogy, if the generator in his IBHU was destroyed, the creation of the meson beam would never happen in the first place.

He shook his head. Give him a weapon and send him off into battle, sure. But jammed in a Naxli access tunnel, trying to figure out a weapons system when all the experts had seemingly dismissed its importance, wasn’t in his wheelhouse.

All he knew was that he was giving himself a major headache.

“I’ve changed my mind. How about some tunes?”

Immediately, the soft melody of Hag Newton’s “Midnight Flow” began, one of Rev’s favorites from years past.

“No. Stop. Give me ‘Silver Axe Maniac.’”

To Rev’s surprise, Punch actually paused as if collecting his thoughts. Which wasn’t possible, of course. His thoughts were processed at crystal speeds.

<That probably won’t relieve your stress.>

“Don’t care. Just hit me.”

A moment later, the almost unintelligible lyrics crashed through his hearing.

Calm, rational thought hadn’t given him any answers, so maybe the pure force pounding away at him now could break out an idea.

* * *

“Initiating shutdown procedures now,” Captain Adair passed to the lieutenant and Rev. “Mother help us.”

The analysts had decided on a course of action that they thought—hoped—would cut power to the weapons system. They told the captain that they gave it a seventy percent chance of success. As far as Rev was concerned, that was like in the holovids, where the cop trying to defuse a terrorist bomb had to decide between cutting the blue or red wire.

Captain Adair had decided to initiate the sequence herself, sending all of First Squad to the outer decks in the station. It wouldn’t make much of a difference if the whole thing blew up, but Rev had to throw her some respect.

The packet was scheduled to emerge from bubble space in twelve minutes, busting into normal space with a blaze of emissions. If the Naxli station could detect the Scimitar, there was no way it would miss the unmanned vehicle.

Rev leaned back against the bulkhead. He’d sent Anderson and his team back to rendezvous with Yancey but decided to wait it out at his access point into the cannon. There was no real reason for that. It wasn’t as if he had a plan in case the power shutdown didn’t work. But the captain had referred to him as the back-up, and so he stayed in place, hoping that some brilliant solution would come to mind.

Instead, he listened as Punch played soothing music. His little excursion into “Silver Axe Maniac” hadn’t lasted long, and he had to admit that the nameless melody that barely tickled his audio nerves was calming.

A lot was riding on what was about to happen. Even if they didn’t trigger some massive self-destruct, like what the Centaurs did when losing, if the packet was destroyed, the platoon was as good as gone. Humanity wasn’t going to give up on the station, but whatever action they took would be long after all of the troopers had run out of air.

“Thirty seconds.”

Rev glanced into the interior of the cannon tube. That thing was all that stood between them getting back to Safe Harbor or not.

If I could just put a big cork in it. Plug that sucker up.

“What do you think, Punch? This going to work?”

<Not enough data. The captain hasn’t described what she’s doing.>

All Rev knew was that she was putting a small charge where the analysts, all safe and sound back on New Mars and Titan, thought they could cut off the power to the cannon. He knew nothing about the hows and wherefores.

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

The captain started quietly counting down the last ten seconds. Rev didn’t know if that was for him and the lieutenant, or if she just hadn’t cut the circuit.

He closed his eyes at three . . . two . . . one . . . go.

Nothing happened. No big boom, no shudder. Good on the one hand. Could be bad, on the other, if the cannon was still powered.

“I guess we’re still alive,” the lieutenant said with a relieved voice.

“Looks that way,” the captain said.

“Can you . . . uh . . . tell if anything happened?” Rev asked.

“I’m moving forward to look now. Wait one.”

Rev pushed his Optisight through the hole and fired the torch. Everything looked the same. But with the plan, it should look the same. Hopefully, it was dead, though.

“Coming up now,” the captain said. “Looks like a clean cut. If the assholes were right, then the cannon should be powered down now. Gunny, can you see anything?”

“No change, ma’am.”

“As they expected. But I was hoping.”

“So, now what?” the lieutenant asked.

“I’m going on the platoon net.”

A moment later, she said, “Listen up, First Platoon. We’ve successfully implemented the steps given to us by command. Now we just have to wait and see if it worked. If it does, I can’t stress enough how important this is. You’ll all have contributed more to the war effort than anyone could have imagined.

“In a little less than six minutes, the packet should hit the area. We’ll know then if we’ve accomplished the mission. No matter what happens, though, I want to let each and every one of you know that I’m honored to be serving with you.

“Adair, out.”

There was a moment of silence, then the captain came back up on the P2P.

“Did that sound OK?” she asked.

Rev noted that the P2P was only to him and didn’t include the lieutenant.

“It was great, ma’am. Uplifting.”

“Not too hokey?”

“No, ma’am. Not at all.”

“OK, thanks.”

She sounded nervous, not that Rev blamed her. Surprisingly, though, he wasn’t nervous at all. His warrior self hadn’t even stirred. Maybe he was just getting used to having his ass in a sling.

“You heading back to the top decks?” Rev asked.

“No. I think I’ll wait it out here,” she said. “Who knows? Maybe there’s still something I can do if it comes to that.”

Rev was struck by her tone—a little wistful, maybe? Resigned?

What’s she planning?

As far as Rev knew, she wasn’t armed with anything other than her IBHU. But then again, that was a pretty powerful piece of gear. Could she be thinking of wreaking havoc with it as a last-ditch means to shut down the power?

Rev had even considered that. Just run amok, blasting every piece of gear he could see and hope for the best. But this station was a big piece of machinery, and the chances of him doing any good were pretty small.

Besides, maybe the science types had figured it out, and the station’s teeth had been pulled. They couldn’t always get it wrong, right?

Yes, they can, he thought with a chuckle. You’ve been around long enough to know that, Reverent Pelletier.

He settled in to wait for the packet. This time, he let Punch display the countdown, and he listened to music as the numbers reduced. Four minutes, three minutes, two minutes.

<You might want to close off the access into the cannon tube.>

“What? Why?”

Rev bent his head down and glanced inside, bypassing the Optisight. It was a dark void.

<If the cannon is still powered up and it fires, there will probably be massive amounts of radiation traversing the tube.>

“If the cannon is still powered up, then we’re not getting resupplied.”

But he leaned over, picked up the cover, and slid it into place. He didn’t dog it, though, even if he knew he should.

The timer hit one minute, and Rev’s feeling of calm began to dissipate. It was crunch time.

At thirty seconds, the captain passed, “Here we go.”

Rev still wondered what she thought she might do, and he said, “Don’t do anything stupid, ma’am.”

She gave a short, barking laugh, then said, “I was born stupid, Gunny.”

“Let’s see if this works first.”

“That’s the plan.”

Rev held his breath for the last ten seconds. Somewhere out there, the packet should be emerging from bubble space, painting a trail across the void that couldn’t be missed.

And nothing happened. No massive powering up. No movement. Nothing. Ten seconds, twenty seconds, thirty.

“I’ve got confirmation the packet’s here,” the captain said.

“And this thing didn’t fire?” Rev asked. “Maybe those assholes actually did know what they were telling you to do.”

“Looks that way,” the captain said with joy. “I have to admit, I didn’t think we’d get so—”

Rev was almost flung from his little cubbyhole, and he had to extend his feet to jam himself in place. For a moment, he thought the packet was armed and that it had engaged the station. That was before reality set in.

The station hadn’t been engaged. It was engaging.

The sphere was rotating, and the only reason to do that would be to aim its cannon.

Rev yanked the cover away, exposing the inside of the tube. Where it had been dark before, tiny lights were now whipping up the tube like a vast migration of fireflies. Not in the middle, but as if using the braids as conduits.

“What do you see, Gunny?” the captain shouted over the net.

“The cannon. It’s coming alive.”

“Shit. I can feel the power building. I’m going in.”

Rev didn’t know what she meant by that, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. The firefly lights were increasing in number and speed. The light inside the tube was growing, magnifying and reflecting, and causing his face shield to go max dark.

The bulkhead started to vibrate at a frequency that seemed to travel into Rev’s skull. It increased in pressure, and Rev felt like something was going to break loose.

<Close the access door, Rev!>

He started to reach for it, but something took over his body. With his right hand on the edge of the access port, he jammed Pashu through the hole, filling it completely, then twisted his body around to aim his IBHU back to the flower pistil at the bottom.

“No!” he shouted aloud at the last second and walked himself up and over inside the tunnel, which reversed his aim by a one-eighty.

He couldn’t see to aim, but with hours of kinaesthetic training, he could tell, and he wasn’t quite on target. His shoulder collar was too big, and it was jamming up against the opening. With a superhuman effort, he forced his IBHU in deeper, freeing it just enough to aim up the remaining length of the tube.

He didn’t wait, immediately firing all six Morays and running through his belt of 20mm rounds.

Rev had fired eighteen rounds when the Naxli cannon fired. In an instant, Pashu was gone. Vanished.

The release sent Rev bouncing back into the access tunnel, and he hit the far bulkhead with a mind-numbing blow. He had one brief glimpse of the fiery pits of hell before his world went dark.

9

“You always have to be the hero, don’t you, Pelletier,” the captain said, hovering over him.

Rev looked past Doc Gintly at the company commander. She was smiling, but there was a bit of a bite to her tone.

“You were doing the same thing, ma’am, down at the power source.”

“No, I wasn’t. I was trying. You were succeeding.”

She shifted her attention to the Synergy Alliance medic. “How is he?”

“Radiation exposure, of course. I can’t tell how much until we can pull the dosimeter from inside his Oscar. I’ll have to do that manually as I’m not getting any remote readings. Other than that, though, I think he’s surprisingly well. I mean, considering.”

He glanced over his shoulder at the open access hatch and the dark tube on the other side.

The captain leaned forward and examined what was left of Rev’s connecting collar. “I think that thing saved your ass, Gunny. Any higher up, and the blast would have taken part of your Oscar, and I don’t know if it could have sealed that off.”

Rev was still trying to process what had happened. The cannon had obviously fired, and that had simply atomized most of Pashu. All that was left was a centimeter or two of his IBHU and then the collar to which it had previously been attached.

The captain may have been right about the collar saving Rev from a lethal dose of an energy beam, but that didn’t seem possible. With all that power being expended, he should have been fried. At the very least, he should be suffering from a lethal dose of radiation. But his exposure looked to be quite low.

The captain lowered her voice a couple of notches. “Why did you fire your IBHU up the tube, toward the hull? I would’ve thought you’d try and hit it down where the beam was generated.”

The bite in her voice was gone, and she seemed genuinely curious.

“I don’t know, ma’am,” Rev said.

“You don’t know. You just did it?”

“I was going to fire at the base, but I knew you were down there.”

She raised her eyebrows. “You didn’t because I was in your line of fire?”

“Yes. No. I mean, I figured already what you were going to do. But if one IBHU couldn’t succeed, then could two? And then, I’d been thinking about when I lost Pashu’s projector on Syron III, and I couldn’t focus her beamer. But those were just thoughts bouncing back and forth. I didn’t really think all of that out loud.”

“You think out loud, Gunny?”

“No, I mean, I wasn’t consciously thinking that stuff when I let loose. But like I said, I’d been going over all of that before. Maybe it was my subconscious working. I don’t know.”

She snorted, then said, “Mighty fine subconscious. Saved our asses.”

“But what now, ma’am? The cannon’s still active. And if the packet gets closer, the beam might still pack enough of a beam to take it out.”

The resupply packet had taken a direct hit from the Naxli station, but not with enough concentrated power to actually destroy it. By blasting out the honeycomb cap of the tube, Rev had somehow managed to keep the cannon from focusing its beam.

Just as what happened when Pashu’s beamer projector was damaged.

Physics was physics.

And now, the packet was standing off, powered down and waiting.

“So, the gunny doesn’t know what to do? I’m shocked.”

Rev frowned. The captain was being a bit of a jerk, which made no sense. They were still alive, and there was O2 out there to keep them alive longer.

Whether she realized what she sounded like or not, she relaxed her tone. “I’m sending out EVAs.”

“What?”

“We didn’t get hit when we came in, right? So, I’m sending out a team to the packet with orders to start retrieving air for us to breathe, then rations. It’ll take a while, shuttling back and forth, but once we top off on all that lovely oxygen, we can afford the time.”

“And after that? I imagine that our orders haven’t changed after all of this.”

“Our orders remain the same. Neutralize this hunk of metal so that the brains can get their grubby hands on it. All we have to do is sit and wait for them to come up with their next great idea.”

The snide tone returned as she said that last, and Rev was totally good with that.

* * *

“Is this hot?” Lance Private Foy asked.

“Probably,” Iglesias said.

“But is that safe?”

Rev rolled his eyes, but the squad leader barked out a laugh. “You can breathe vacuum, if you want. All the more for the rest of us.”

“No . . . I mean, of course, I need to breathe. Just wondering about the long-term effects.”

“Long term, and you’re still alive. Hook up, Foy, or get the hell out of the way.”

Foy took the hose and plugged it into his O2 jack. Iglesias flipped the switch, and the canister started converting solid chlorate into O2 and feeding it into Foy’s Oscar. Rev watched the trooper’s indicators for a moment, satisfied that it was transferring, then leaned back. The captain had put him in charge of topping every trooper off, and he’d be doing this for a while.

The captain’s plan to retrieve O2 from the packet had worked. The troopers making the EVA transit back and forth didn’t trigger any reaction from the station’s defenses. Rev wondered if the blast that took Pashu might have damaged the system, sort of a circuit breaker-type thing, and he’d discussed that with Yancey, but that wasn’t something the brass was going to take a chance on.

They wanted the station, but they weren’t going to risk the salvage barge and crew until they knew it was safe. Hussein thought that wasn’t so much for the Mezame Concordat barge crew but for fear of losing the Naxli station, and as much as Rev hated to admit it, he thought there might be some truth to that.

Rev just hoped that they untied this knot soon and figured out how to retrieve them. It wasn’t just because he was thoroughly sick of his Oscar, and he kept dreaming of a sonic shower scouring his skin clear. He stunk, and he couldn’t help but think of whatever radiation was slowly degrading his cells.

But he also thought that they didn’t have unlimited time here. The Naxli had to know that their station was compromised. Were they just going to accept that, or were they going to try and recover their station?

There were six capital ships from various navies either in the area or enroute, but what if the Naxli responded in force?

Rev would just as soon be long gone from this neck of the galaxy if the Naxli came a’calling.

“Gunny, can you come to the CP?” the captain passed on the P2P.

“On my way.”

He pulled up Iglesias. “The skipper wants me. Get the rest of your squad through, then let Staff Sergeant del Rio know Third Squad’s next.”

The squad leader raised a hand in acknowledgment, and Rev started making his way to the “CP,” a rather generous term for a junction between two access tunnels close to the power source. It wasn’t much, but it was the largest free space they’d been able to locate.

The lieutenant was already with the captain as Rev pulled himself forward to meet them with his right arm. In a way, it was easier to navigate the access tunnels sans IBHU . . . but he felt pretty naked without it, all the same.

“Command’s got a plan,” the captain said once the three of them had their heads together.

“Which command?” the lieutenant asked. “Union?”

Serving in a Marine unit, it was always “battalion,” “regiment,” or “division” when referring to higher headquarters. With the new unit and the convoluted chain of command, they hadn’t settled on something other than “command,” which wasn’t very specific.

“I’m getting this through the Marine chain, but it’s joint, straight from Titan.”

Kjell sniffed, but Rev couldn’t tell if that was in approval or not. The MDS didn’t have much love for the Congress of Humanity, but the karnan couldn’t have been happy with the Union taking immediate control of the operation.

Rev understood the politics—that had to be why it was a Mezame barge slated to haul away the station—but he didn’t have to like it. The important thing was to recover the Naxli station, not who was in charge of the process.

Well, that and getting the platoon back home.

“We’re getting visitors,” the captain told the two.

“Thank the Mother,” Rev said.

The captain gave him a piercing stare. “Why do you say that, Gunny?”

“We’re sending them low-res images from your quantum comms, ma’am. I mean, really? Just bundle up some experts, get them out of their labs safe and sound on Titan and Enceladus, and get their asses up here to figure this out. We’re grunts, not Mother-loving xenoengineers.”

She never blinked as she continued to stare at him, and Rev felt uncomfortable under the gaze.

“So, that’s what you think’s happening, Gunny? They’re sending the engineers and scientists here?”

“Why yes, ma’am. I assumed that’s what you were going to tell us. I mean . . . it makes sense. Should’ve already had them standing by. At least, that’s how I see it.”

He realized he was sounding defensive, but it was the logical way forward if they were going to figure out how to pull the station’s fangs. Bring up the experts with all their high-tech gear and let them tackle the problem.

Lieutenant Kjell said, “They’re not going to do that. Lab leeches leaving their precious caves and putting themselves in danger? You’re being naive.”

The captain gave the platoon commander a quick glance, then slowly shook her head inside her Oscar helmet.

“Well, it just so happens, Gunny, that you’re right. They’re sending a team, ETA in about three days. I’ll get that narrowed down later.”

Rev oh-so wanted to catch the lieutenant’s eyes, but he thought that wasn’t a good idea. Just savor being right, but don’t show it.

“And in the meantime?” he asked. “What do they want us to do?”

“Nothing. Don’t touch anything. Don’t go anywhere. Leave everything alone.”

So we don’t risk screwing something up. I get it.

“That means that as of now, we’re to veg out.”

“Veg out, Skipper? We’re still in enemy territory,” the lieutenant protested.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, Lieutenant. We’ll maintain operational security. Half on, half off. But as far as anything else, we’re done. Understand?”

The lieutenant set his jaw, but he said, “Yes, ma’am. We do nothing. Got it.”

“How’s the resupply of air, Gunny?” the captain asked, turning back to Rev.

“First Squad’s topped off at fifty percent. Second should be there soon, and Third’s in the queue. We’ll get everyone more when the next load gets back.”

“One more trip, Gunny. Seventy percent is good enough.”

It wasn’t good enough for Rev. He wanted everyone at a hundred percent and more generator canisters on hand. But he’d bring that up with the lieutenant later and let him take the ball on that.

The captain was directly connecting with Rev too often, bypassing the platoon commander. That was almost never a good idea for anyone.

And, to be honest, he wasn’t in a fighting mood. The lieutenant sounded like he was itching for a fight, so let him at it.

Rev was feeling too good that the joint command was taking the next step forward. He didn’t know how long he was stuck inside his Oscar, but now there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

* * *

Eight days, fourteen hours, and six minutes later, Rev popped the seal on his Oscar helmet and twisted. A wave of blessed air hit his face . . . and the Mezame chief standing over him positively blanched, his face twisted in horror.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Been stuck inside here for quite a while.”

“It’s, um . . . a little ripe. You might want to hit the sonic sooner rather than later.”

“Bet you’re sorry you offered up your space,” Rev said with a low chuckle.

“Hell, you’re no worse than when I’ve been lying in an alley off Payton Street at zero-two on a Saturday morning,” the chief said with a laugh. “It just took me by surprise, that’s all.” He waved a hand to take in the ship. “It’s rather sterile here.”

“Don’t knock it until you’ve been stuck in a nox station. This is the Ritz in comparison.”

“How was it? I mean, a skeletal ship? That’s gotta be weird.”

“It isn’t a ship, not like this. Unmanned, you know. We were like rats scurrying in the walls. But you’ll see.”

“Me? Nope.”

“Why not? It’s on your barge.”

The chief laughed and said, “You think they’re going to let some swabbies without a degree to their names get anywhere close to that thing? The entire cargo deck’s off-limits for the duration. That’s why I was asking you.”

“Really? Not surprising, I guess. Kinda sucks, though, if you ask me. But what if like, that thing breaks loose or something? You’ll have to go work on it, right?”

The platoon had stayed aboard until the station was secured in the barge, and while leaving it, Rev had been surprised to see that the Naxli artifact wasn’t enclosed inside the Mezame vessel. It was open to space, looking like it could just up and float away.

“It’s not going anywhere, Gunny. Once the crimper locks on, she’ll never let go. We could tow a dreadnaught halfway across the galaxy,” he said with obvious pride.

That impressed Rev. The chief might be exaggerating, but even so, he hadn’t realized a barge’s capabilities.

“Speaking of halfway across the galaxy, any idea where we’re going?”

“That’s classified, but what the hell. You should know. We’re heading for the Kouris Sector. No stops en route, so it looks like you’re stuck with us for the duration.”

<I told you it wouldn’t be Safe Harbor.>

Rev had hoped they’d get a ride straight home, or at least get transferred to another ship that could take them home. It sucked that they weren’t going back, and it sucked that Punch was right . . . again.

“I swear, Punch. If you try and say ‘I told you so’ one more time, I’m pulling your crystals.”

<I knew you’d say that.>

Rev rolled his eyes. He couldn’t win.

“Well, it could be worse. At least you guys have good chow,” he told the chief.

“Uh . . . about that. We’ve got a crew of nine. There’re more than forty of you, so we don’t have the bases for the fabricator for that many people. The skipper’s authorized a little dinner for you tonight, but after that, it’s emergency rats for everyone.”

Rev looked at the chief, then laughed. Of course, they wouldn’t get nicely fabricated chow. Why would they?

“Don’t worry, my friend. Emergency rats will be fine. Better than nothing.” He looked around the surprisingly large stateroom. “And thanks for letting me bunk with you. It’ll let my troopers have me out of their hair.”

“Any time. I’ll be racking out from midnight until zero-eight, but it’s yours for the rest of the time. There’re ships’ overalls in the locker, and you’re welcome to one if you think it’ll fit. Other than that, any questions?”

“Nope. I’m good.”

“OK, then. And now, I’ve got to run.”

He held out his hand, which Rev took, then left him alone in the stateroom. It was spartan, to be sure, with a lone, ten by fifteen woodprint of a seascape on the bulkhead. But he could stand up, by the Mother’s sake, and he had gravity.

Life was good.

He shucked his Oscar, and spent a moment just scratching. Dead flakes of skin fell like snow onto the deck.

He walked to the locker, which opened at his pressure on the latch. Maybe with only nine crew members, they didn’t worry about theft so much.

There were six neatly hung overalls in Mezame Navy blue hanging there. Rev pulled out one, but he could see it was too small, and he’d never get it around his chest.

“Hell. My long johns are good enough.”

He started to the hatch, intending to go make sure the platoon was settling in, when he spotted the scattered pieces of dead skin he’d scratched off. Feeling guilty, he tried to gather them up with his right hand, but he wasn’t doing a very good job at it. As a chief petty officer, his host had a small sink alongside his own sonic showerhead. Rev went to wet a towel so he could clean up his mess when the showerhead suddenly seemed to glow gold, and he could almost hear its siren call fill the stateroom as it sang, “Reverent, Reverent!”

“What the hell, I’m losing it,” he muttered, shaking his head to clear it. When he looked up at the sonic again, it was dull and lifeless, like it should be.

But it still had his attention, and an itch started spreading out over his skin.

“Screw it. The squad leaders can handle their troopers.”

Before he did anything else on this ship, Rev was going to get clean.

10

The shuttle touched down, and a cheer broke out among the platoon, causing laughter among the other passengers.

“Welcome to Safe Harbor, and thank you for flying Orion Lines. Please remember us for all your travel needs.”

It had been almost three months since they left the planet on the mission, which wasn’t as long as a normal deployment, but it sure seemed longer.

The platoon had stayed aboard the barge during the long transit to some secret corner of human space. For a week, they’d gone through extensive debriefs, and every visual, covering every second of their time approaching and aboard the Naxli station was downloaded.

They were left mostly alone the rest of the time aboard what they assumed to be a CoH research station. At least the chow was good, and there was a serviceable gym on the station, where the platoon organized sports and workout sessions. Rev, along with most of the rest, were introduced to the ancient game of volleyball, which Archambault and the other Legionnaires insisted everyone play.

Still with only one arm, Rev was at a disadvantage, but he learned to spike and developed a thirst for the game, something he hadn’t experienced since secondary school. He looked forward to getting his social arm back so he could try to become a more rounded player.

At least he did better than the other IBHU Marines when they’d taken off their IBHUs. Having a huge hunk of weapon instead of an arm didn’t make them very welcome in the push and shove of the various sports they were playing to pass the time.

During their last week aboard, they’d gone through another round of debriefs, then each was made to sign a non-disclosure agreement which said they would mention nothing about the Naxli station. The agreement was full of legalese, much of what went over Rev’s head, but Punch assured him that it was a pretty solid NDA, and the consequences of leaking any information would be severe.

Rev didn’t want to know the details. It was good enough for him to know to keep his mouth shut.

Finally, they were loaded aboard a Paxus ship and taken to Wambler, where they caught a mid-level commercial liner to New Mars, then on to Safe Harbor.

It might be a mid-level cruise line, but to the platoon, it was the height of luxury. A constant buffet, free-running booze, and even live shows in the ship’s theater—the trip was not a burden. Still, each and every one of them was glad when the shuttle touched down at Anastasia’s spaceport.

With troopers from eleven nations, the Marine admin had cleared them beforehand, and the platoon was shunted to the side while the other passengers went through customs normally. Finally, the platoon was taken out to a waiting bus. Rev craned his head and was rewarded with a familiar and welcome face among those gathered at the front of their ride.

“About time you got back,” Tomiko said as Rev gave her a hug. “And by commercial liner? Pretty posh for a Marine.”

“You don’t know how good it feels. Not the Wayward Fiesta, but getting back.”

She raised one eyebrow, and he hastily added, “And seeing you, of course.”

“Damn right about that.”

Rev stood to the side as the troopers started loading. “What’s on the agenda? You know?”

“Weapons turn in as soon as we get back. They’re holding chow, so everyone will get fed, and then it’s back to the barracks. The CO wants to talk to you in the morning, and you can expect libbo, from what I hear, tomorrow afternoon.”

Not for me.

The captain had told him that nothing had changed concerning the threat against him, and so he was still restricted to the camp. Which Tomiko knew, of course.

“But I’ve arranged for your family to come on base. We’ll have a little BBQ at the lake pavilion.”

“You did that for me?”

“I figured you wanted to see them. And they want to see you.”

He pulled her in for another hug.

“Damn, I knew there was a reason I’m marrying you.”

* * *

“So, it just disappeared?” Daryll asked as he attached the test ring to his shoulder collar.

“Gone. Only that’s left,” Rev said as he pointed to the tiny bit of what was left of Pashu.

It wasn’t much for what had been a piece of gear worth the same amount as some aircraft.

“That’s . . . amazing. You know that a good deal of Pashu’s made from polychromotium. That should hold up to about anything.”

He sounded like he was taking it as a personal affront that Rev’s IBHU was gone.

Maybe some parts did survive. They were just cut off me and shot out of the tube.

Rev hadn’t really thought of Pashu since losing her. It wasn’t absent-mindedness. It was more like he didn’t want to think of her. He knew if he did, he’d feel the loss. And that made him feel stupid. It wasn’t as if she was Punch. She’d been a simple tool, a weapon, no different than his first M-49.

Still, he felt a void in his life, and now, back in Daryll’s armory, that was beginning to hit him.

The Siemen tech studied his readouts for a moment, then said, “Your collar is in good condition. Surprisingly so. I expected you’d have to go back into surgery to get a new one, but let me snap in a few connectors that looked like they got fried, and I think you’ll be good to go.”

“Surgery?” Rev asked. He hadn’t considered that.

“Sure. You think I can replace a collar in here? But like I said, I think I can fix this up, and that’s gonna save time.”

“So, how long? I mean, how long before I get a new IBHU?”

Rev was listed as combat ineffective at the moment, which meant if the platoon was called out tonight, he wouldn’t join them. That made him feel extremely vulnerable.

“Maybe Friday?”

Rev’s mouth dropped open. He was expecting to hear months, weeks at best. Not in three days.

“How can you replace Pashu that fast?”

“What, you want me to delay it?” Daryll said with a laugh. “Yeah, Gunny Pelletier needs a vacation. As if.”

“No!” he said with too much force. “I mean, I was expecting to have to wait longer.”

“I’ve got all your data on file. And we were told you were gonna need a replacement, so we started right away. And with a few improvements.”

“Improvements?” Rev asked, his warrior stirring in interest. “Tin-ass improvements?”

“A couple. A couple from Siemen. Nothing major, but I think you’ll like them.”

“And I’m still going to have my blade, right?”

Daryll laughed and patted Rev on his right shoulder. “Don’t worry. I told them you had to have your blade. Dr. Chakrabarti still thinks it’s stupid, but I told her you’d throw a temper tantrum if you didn’t have it on your new IBHU.”

“I wouldn’t have,” Rev said, feeling hurt that Daryll would think that.

“I know. But it worked, right? You got your blade. Ends, meet means.”

Rev frowned. He didn’t want anyone, even a civilian, to think he’d throw a tantrum, but then again, he was getting his blade.

What do I care what she thinks?

But he did.

“What about my social arm? Am I cleared for it?” he asked.

A normal prosthesis could be snapped on and off at will, but with Rev’s advanced shoulder collar, the decision had been made for him to wait until Daryll cleared it before he donned the arm.

“What time is your family coming?

“Fifteen hundred.”

Daryll checked the time. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem. Let me get on it and fix up your collar, and then you can grab it in time to meet them.”

* * *

“They look good together,” Rev told his mother as he watched Grover and Alyce stand on the shoreline of the lake and feed the family of swans.

“Yes, they do. And she’s a good girl.”

Grover’s hand moved to Alyce’s back, then down to the top of her butt as he pulled her in for a quick peck on the cheek.

She gave Rev a sidelong glance, then asked, “Are you going to be able to make it?”

“Don’t know, Mom. I hope so, but there’s a war going on.”

He hadn’t told her that someone seemingly had a price on his head. Let her think it was just the war that was keeping him away.

“Other Marines are able to get out in town. All the foreigners, too.”

Crap. Should have known she’d have figured that out.

“They’re not me, Mom,” he said, holding up his prosthesis. “I’ve got a few other things going on. But if I can, I’ll be there. Of course, I will. My little brother getting married?”

“Speaking of which—”

“No, Elisabet. We don’t have a date,” Tomiko said, rescuing him with a plate of pulled pork.

“This is the last of it, so you might as well finish it off.”

Rev was stuffed to the gills, but if it would stop the wedding interrogation, he could cram in a few more bites.

His mother gave him another sideways glance, then said, “If you don’t make an honest woman out of her soon, you’re liable to lose her.”

Tomiko cackled out loud. “Honest? Me? I’m surprised, Elisabet, that you don’t know me better by now. I’m the one corrupting your sweet and innocent son here, not the other way around.”

Rev just kept his head down and shoveled in the pork. He wasn’t about to open his mouth and step into the line of fire.

Before he knew it, though, he let out a huge burp, loud enough to startle the swans.

Both of the women broke out laughing, and Tomiko grabbed his arm and pulled him in close.

“That’s my growing boy, and finally getting a bit of real food,” she said.

“Real food? This stuff? It’s fabricated over at your SNCO club. You should have let me cook, Miko.”

“I don’t want to put you through the effort. Besides, I think they did a pretty good job at it . . .”

The two women started into the details of fabricated food versus “real” food, as his mother liked to call it, and Rev tuned them out. He was content to just sit there in the warm later afternoon sun. His dad was quietly snoring in a folding chair, a half-empty can of beer in his hand, almost tipped over. Kat and Neesy were walking around the lake, looking like they were deep in conversation.

This was a universe away from the Naxli station. From the Congress of Humanity station, for that matter, too. And while it made Rev feel good to be with his family right now, he didn’t feel like a part of them, if that made sense. It was like he was an observer watching some holovid.

He shouldn’t feel that way, he knew. Maybe too many battles, too many deaths, had changed him. It wouldn’t make sense if he was the same brash, privileged kid who’d reported to the yellow footsteps at boot camp so many years ago.

He looked at Tomiko, who was now deep into a friendly argument with his mother.

Can we ever be normal? Can we be like Grover and Alyce someday, with a normal, happy life?

He doubted it but wasn’t sure it was necessary. They had shared experiences that civilians could never understand, and that could be a huge benefit.

However, there was the fact that military marriages ended up in divorce at a far greater rate than non-military marriages. Those were the numbers, at least.

Rev didn’t want to be a statistic like that. Once they did get married, he wanted it to be forever. He thought they would last, but so did all the other couples who got married and ended up divorced.

Hell, Reverent. Stop being so damn maudlin. Just enjoy the rest of the afternoon.

He stood and crossed over to the picnic table. Tomiko had been right about the pork. They’d managed to polish it all off. He grabbed a beer, popped the cooling tab, and then waited until the can frosted over before taking a gulp, the bubbles cascading down his throat.

Technically, the lake was a no-alcohol zone, but one of the advantages to being at war was that a lot of the Mickey-Mouse was ignored. If Marines could face Naxli in combat, no one was going to resent them having a beer or two.

He pulled up another folding chair and sat next to his father, who opened his eyes.

“What? Time to go?” he asked as he started to get up.

“Relax, Dad. We’ve got time.”

His father rubbed his eyes and yawned. “I guess I dozed off for a moment.”

“A moment? You’ve been snoring for the last twenty minutes.”

“I have? Sorry. Here you are back home, and I go to sleep.”

“Don’t worry about it. I was just talking to Mom.”

His father raised his eyebrows. “Marriage?”

Rev nodded and took a pull on his beer.

“Yours or Grover’s?”

“Both.”

“She just wants to see you happy, you know. That’s all.”

“I know.”

His father checked the beer still in his hand, then took a swallow.

“Are you happy, Dad?” Rev asked.

“Woah. Where did that come from, Son?”

“I don’t know. I was just . . . you know, sixty percent of military marriages end in divorce.”

“Which means forty don’t.”

“I know. And Mom, when she got divorced, it was pretty bad. I don’t want that.”

“No one wants that, Rev. But sometimes it happens.”

“But you and Mom, you didn’t get divorced.”

“Not yet.”

Rev’s eyes got big, and he turned on his father.

“Relax. We’re not getting divorced. We’re both too set in our ways, comfortable, even.”

“You had me going there for a moment. But you didn’t answer my question.”

“Which one?”

“Are you happy? You came into a bad situation, with me and Mom. You took on a lot of responsibility, and I know I was hard to love.”

“You’re wrong there, Rev. You were never too hard to love. Not when I first saw you, holding onto your mother’s leg, staring at me like you were daring me to say something wrong.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“I do. And I think I’ve loved you since then. Not just love, Rev. I’m so damn proud of you sometimes that I think I’m going to burst.”

He tilted his head toward the table and Tomiko and his mother. “You’re going to be fine, Rev. You’ll be a good husband, and I’m hoping you’ll make me a grandfather someday so I can spoil them rotten.”

Rev felt a lump in his throat, and he was afraid to try and speak.

“Hell, Rev, you’ve got me all choked up. Why don’t you treat an old man right and get me a fresh beer.”

Rev got up and retreated to get another, using the time to gain control of his emotions. He’d been about to break down himself.

He may have been a young boy, trying to protect his mother from this strange man, but over time, he’d grown to love him. And he was proud to be his son.

He grabbed two beers and returned to his seat. He handed one over, and they popped the cooling tabs together, feeling the chill take over the can.

Father and son didn’t say anything else as they sat back and watched the sun sink to the tops of the trees on the other side of the lake.

Sometimes, words just weren’t necessary.

11

“Any word on your IBHU?” Tomiko asked.

Tsao overheard her and turned to hear Rev’s response.

“Daryll said today, but now it looks like tomorrow at the earliest.”

“He told me there were some more upgrades,” the sergeant said.

“He might have mentioned that to me.”

The sergeant shook her head. “That’s two for you. I’m still on my first version.”

“If you were only a SNCO . . .” Tomiko said.

“I’m selected! Just waiting to pin on the rockers,” she protested.

“Both are coming, Tum. For staff sergeant, maybe as early as the first of the month from what I hear. As far as your IBHU, they’re working on all the retrofits. It’s more important that they arm the new IBHU Marines,” Rev said.

“I see what you did there,” Kelly said. “‘Arm’ the new IBHU Marines. Ha . . . ha . . . ha.”

Rev hadn’t meant to make a pun, but he’d happily take credit for it. He nodded his head in an imperial bow.

“You can give me one of those IBHUs,” Tomiko said under her breath, barely loud enough for Rev to hear.

Or Kelly, for that matter. Rev saw the other IBHU Marine roll her eyes. Evidently, Rev wasn’t the only one that Tomiko kept telling that she wanted an IBHU.

“Are you going to name your new one Pashu again?” Tsao asked Rev.

“I . . . I hadn’t thought of that.”

Should I?

Like many IBHU Marines, Rev had gone the naming route, as if they were pilots and their IBHUs the planes. Rev had named his IBHU Pashupatastra after a mythical Hindu sward, Pashu for short. He really hadn’t considered whether he should name his new one, and if he did, should he use the same name?

He almost asked Punch for his opinion, but he cut off the thought. His battle buddy almost seemed jealous sometimes of Rev naming Pashu, which was ridiculous, of course. Punch wasn’t programmed for jealousy. Still, there seemed to be some issue there, and Rev decided not to bring it up.

“Pashu Two?” Kelly asked. “Or, Pashu, too, as in tee-oh-oh?”

Tomiko and the others laughed. “Pashu Do?” she offered.

“Pashu Don’t?” Tsao asked.

Rev looked to Yancey for rescue, but his eyes were closed, and his fingers were tapping out a beat on his knee.

Mother save me.

And maybe she did because the corpsman opened the hatch and said, “Gunny Pelletier?”

Rev jumped, and Tomiko said, “Good luck” as he stepped into the passage.

“Room Four, please,” the corpsman said.

Rev walked down the passage to the examination room and knocked on the sill. An elderly civilian doctor was sitting at a wall-mounted desk, studying a screen’s readouts.

“Come on in, son, and take a seat,” the doctor said, not looking up from the screen.

Rev entered and sat down, but the doctor ignored him for a full minute before the woman leaned back and rubbed her eyes. She rolled her chair over and faced Rev.

“We’ve got you on a regimen of thirty micrograms of criolsol, right?”

“I . . . I don’t know. My medinanos take care of that, ma’am.”

She frowned, pulled up her pad, and punched in something. “Yes, thirty micrograms. That’s what you’ve been on since your augments.”

Thirty micrograms or a thousand didn’t mean anything to Rev. He was only vaguely aware that criolsol was something to fight the rot, to prevent cell degradation. His guard rose, and he was suddenly wary of what she might say next.

She bit her upper lip, then said, “I think we’re going to up that to sixty micrograms.”

“Ma’am? Is something wrong?”

“Not really wrong, per se.”

It was the per se that worried Rev.

“It’s just that I’m seeing a little activity in your genetic drift, GSD, and PPCA. Nothing extraordinary, but in an abundance of caution, I think it’s prudent to get ahead of the curve here.”

“There’s a curve here?”

She shrugged. “You could say that.”

“Do I have the rot?” Rev asked as his vision narrowed, and he got lightheaded.

All augmented Marines feared the rot, and the hyperaugments even more so. He wasn’t supposed to be high risk for another ten or twenty years, but sometimes, it hit early. Cali Hu, from his recruit company, had already died of the disease.

“No. Not yet. But these readings could be a precursor to you eventually contracting Weislen’s Syndrome. So, if we can up your dosage, we might be able to retard the progression.”

Rev felt like he’d been poleaxed. With graveyard humor, Marines joked that with the war going on, they’d be lucky if they lived long enough to get the rot. But with this smacking him in the face right now, the humor was no longer there.

“So, I’m getting the rot? That’s for sure?”

The doctor’s expression softened. “All of you heroes will probably contract Weislen’s eventually. Our hope is to treat the symptoms until a cure is developed. And we’re making progress on it.”

She seemed to hate telling him this, but Rev pushed further. “But am I going to get it sooner rather than later?”

The doctor frowned. “We don’t know for sure, of course. But looking at these numbers . . . I’d say you have a fifty-percent chance of contracting the disease in the near future.”

Rev’s mind went blank for a moment.

“What is the near future?” he managed to ask.

“Within a decade. Maybe a little longer.”

Decade?

Rev had been expecting her to say months, not a decade, and a wave of relief swept over him.

Ten years wasn’t good by any stretch of the imagination. The rot was feared, and any horizon where he contracted it was bad. But it wasn’t as if he was about to die tomorrow as his very body rejected him.

The doctor went on about how raising his criolsol dosage should help and then gave him resources to track the progress against the disease. Rev dutifully nodded and yes, ma’amed, but he left all the details to Punch so they could go over them later.

Ten years was a long time from now, and with the war on, he was going to face death many times before that. If he survived that long—and that wasn’t guaranteed—he’d face this particular demon at that time.

Until then, he could try and forget what was happening. Out of sight, out of mind.

It wouldn’t change what was happening to him, but it would make it a lot easier to cope with it.

12

“You’re early,” Daryll said as Rev entered the IBHU armory. “I told you fourteen hundred.”

“I know. But the skipper’s chewing Kjell’s ass out for something in the office, and I had to get out of there.”

That was true, but Rev was using that as an excuse. He was more than a little excited to try out his new IBHU. It had been too long since he lost Pashu, and he couldn’t wait any longer.

“What did he do now?” the Siemen tech asked.

“I don’t know. But he’s sure been screwing up lately.”

“Never should have allowed them in,” Filmore said.

The junior tech had a visceral hatred for the MDS soldiers. Rev didn’t think he would ever forgive the MDS for stealing the five IBHUs on Enceladus to ferret out their tech secrets.

Rev hadn’t really forgiven them, either, but he was pragmatic enough to know that in the war with the Naxli, humanity needed all hands aboard the effort. They couldn’t afford to leave the MDS out of the fight.

Besides, some of them, like Nye Torking, were not only good soldiers but good guys. Even Lieutenant Kjell, who admittedly could grate on Rev’s nerves, wasn’t a total asshole.

“You’d think the Mad Dogs would send their best and brightest to us here,” Daryll said. “Not that bozo.”

“Ah, he’s not that bad,” Rev said, feeling that he should defend his platoon commander. “He’s had a rough go for a bit, that’s all.”

Filmore snorted in derision.

“Rough go? We’re an elite force, in case you haven’t noticed. We can’t afford any weak links who are going to poop their diapers if things don’t go their way.”

Rev and Daryll Begay went back a long way to when Rev first received his IBHU. Rev liked the man, and they were friends. But “we” weren’t an elite force. Daryll and Filmore were civilian contractors, getting paid the big credits to make sure the IBHUs were operational. When push came to shove, it was Rev and the rest wading in the swamps of Syron III, not Daryll and Filmore.

Rev held his tongue, though. There was no benefit to calling out Daryll like that. The two of them were off the clock right now, going through Rev’s new IBHU’s commissioning process on a weekend because they knew how anxious Rev was.

The new IBHU was on the bench. A dozen or more cables were hooked up to it. Rev stepped closer for a better look.

“So, that’s it.”

“Yepper. That’s it.”

“Why does it look gold?” Rev asked.

“It’s not gold. I think that’s just the lights in here.”

Which were bright white LEDs, not anything that would cast a gold hue.

Rev leaned forward, and then said “Looks gold to me.”

“It’s not,” Daryll insisted.

I can see it, Daryll. My eyes aren’t lying.

<It’s possible that Daryll, being unaugmented, can’t see it.>

“But you can, right?”

<Since I’m seeing through your eyes, yes, I detect the gold hue.>

Rev knew that among the augments to his vision was increased sensitivity within the color spectrum, but the gold should be right in the middle, not into the ultraviolet or infrared sides. It shouldn’t be anything new.

Maybe there’s more to my visual augments than I realized.

He tried to remember back to what his sight was before he became a Direct Combat Marine, but it was so long ago that his eyesight now was the norm. He couldn’t remember anything different.

“There’s a new coating to fight corrosion,” Filmore said. “It’ll wear off over time. That might be what you’re picking up.”

“Corrosion? Pashu didn’t have a problem with that.”

“Au contraire, mon ami,” Daryll said. “There is always corrosion. A good deal of our efforts is fighting that. Every time you brought Pashu back, we examined the extent of any corrosion, then applied countermeasures. What Zach just mentioned is a new process that should diminish the rate of corrosion and make our job easier.”

This was all new to Rev. He’d never thought of that as a problem. To him, he donned his IBHU, went out to fight, then came back and turned Pashu in. Except when she’d been damaged, he never really considered what Daryll and his team were doing to maintain her.

Heck, maybe we’re more of a team than I thought.

“Now, if you want to get this new baby this afternoon, how about you let us go through the checklist?”

Rev mimed zipping his lips shut and then took a seat on one of the stools. He wasn’t completely silent, though. A few times, something one of the techs said to the other piqued his curiosity, and he had to ask what they meant.

It was actually rather boring, watching the two send various impulses to the new IBHU, then discussing the readings and making adjustments. It would have been more interesting hanging out in the platoon office and trying to hear what the captain was berating Lieutenant Kjell for.

At long last, Daryll said, “Looks like we’re there. You want to hook her up, Rev?”

He almost jumped off the stool in his eagerness.

“Where? On the rack?” he asked, meaning the platform that had been built to assist the Marines in donning the IBHUs.

“I think we can manage. Just stand over here.”

Rev reached around, gave his social arm a twist, and disconnected it. Then he turned around, his back toward the workbench. Daryll and Filmore got on either side of him, hoisted the IBHU, and maneuvered it into position. Rev stood still for a moment, but then he slightly twisted his body to line up his shoulder collar with the IBHUs, and helped seat it into place. Daryll gave it an eighth turn, and the arm snicked into place.

“I don’t feel anything,” Rev said, suddenly worried.

“Punch, you got anything?”

<No. Nothing.>

“That’s because we’ve got it in hibernation mode. We need to check the connectors before we let her power up,” Daryll said.

Rev frowned. He didn’t remember that from when he was first connected to Pashu. Maybe it was a new protocol.

Daryll pulled out a master cable from his test console. “I’m going to jack you now.”

Rev was not a huge fan of the jack at the base of his neck, but with his concern for his new IBHU, he just nodded his assent. A moment later, he was connected, but there was still nothing from his IBHU.

“Please ask Punch to open Protocol Sierra-tango-four-point-six-point-six,” Daryll told him.

“Do it.”

Rev didn’t feel anything, but Daryll studied the readouts with Filmore looking over his shoulder.

“Do you know what they’re doing?” he asked his battle buddy.

<The protocol is a commissioning checklist, but I don’t have access to the results.>

Rev didn’t like this one bit. Just fire her up and see if she works? Why pussyfoot around?

“Opening at five percent,” Daryll said aloud for the records.

Rev felt the tiniest of tremors, like an ant scratching on his brain, but when he tried to move the IBHU, it hung there like a giant, gold-tinted paperweight.

The next thirty-six minutes—Rev was timing it—were more of the same. Rev stood still while the two techs went through their procedures.

Finally, a minute before Rev would have broken down and started yelling, Daryll said, “Everything checks green. Let’s power this bad girl up.”

The senior tech decoupled Rev’s jack, then opened the top drawer on the workbench and removed a small packet. He shifted so it was under the work light, and Filmore positioned himself right at the new IBHU’s elbow.

Rev gave him a weird look, wondering what was going on.

“Let’s see,” Daryll said. “Golf-three-three-juliette-oscar-zero-niner-four-niner-six-niner.”

“Affirmative,” Filmore said. “It’s a match.”

“What’s a match?” Rev asked, trying to see where Filmore had been looking. “Does this IBHU have a serial number?”

“They have had since the third one off the line,” Daryll said. “Pashu was number 1, and I guess you just never noticed the rest.”

Rev grunted. It made sense. With each IBHU as expensive as a fighter craft, the military would want to keep track of them. He wondered why he’d never thought of that before.

“Did you know that?”

<Yes. I was aware of it.>

And you didn’t tell me?

He turned back to Daryll. And what’s that in the package? What you just matched to me?

Daryll broke the package open and took out a small cylinder. “This, Rev, is a direct result of Enceladus.”

“What do you mean? What on Encelasucks?”

Daryll stepped to Rev’s shoulder and, with a flick, opened a small cover that Rev knew hadn’t been on Pashu, revealing a small compartment. He twisted the cylinder in his hand twice clockwise, then reversed and twisted it three more times.

Rev watched him warily until, with a smooth motion, the tech pushed the tiny cylinder into the hole, then closed the cover.

Immediately, the IBHU came to life, and Rev started moving her in each direction, getting a feel for her. It had been a long time since he’d maneuvered Pashu, but it seemed as if the new IBHU was smoother, more responsive.

“What’s my status?”

<All systems green. No weapon load, power at twenty-three-point-two.>

Rev turned and aimed at various spots in the armory.

“Smooth,” he said.

Daryll was grinning from ear to ear. “That’s what they promised.”

Rev triggered his blade, and seemingly out of thin air, he had a fifteen-centimeter hunk of wickedly sharp polychromotium ready for action.

“Righteous,” he muttered.

“That was a fight, believe it or not. The platform folks said you didn’t need it, not with the other weapons. I think their feelings were hurt. Your R&D general had to get involved,” Filmore said.

“It’s longer,” Rev said.

“Well, if we had to make it, they decided to make it good.”

Rev retracted the blade, then extended it again. It was silent and quick. One moment, it wasn’t there, and the next, it was.

Like teleporting.

“You’re scheduled for the range at zero-seven on Monday, so you’re not certified yet, but I don’t see any problem.”

Rev smiled. Like any Marine, he liked to shoot, and the bigger the gun, the better. He planned on putting his IBHU through her paces.

But . . .

He glanced at the small cover near his shoulder, now barely even a line. He didn’t know what that was, and if he was going to depend on this IBHU in combat, he wanted to know everything about her.

“What the hell did you put in my IBHU? That cylinder.”

“I told you, this was from Enceladus.”

“Yeah. The Home Guard. So, what?”

“I’m talking about when Pashu and the rest were taken by the Mad Dogs.”

Filmore almost snarled, and he spit on the deck of the armory.

What? The theft? I don’t like where this is going.

“We are at war with the noxes, so we’re fighting with all the nations of humanity, no matter how depraved some of them are. And that beautiful weapon on your shoulder, well, that would be pretty valuable to another nation, maybe. A company, even, if just for the tech.”

“Get to it, Daryll.”

“That’s our little failsafe, Rev. If your IBHU gets into the wrong hands, that cylinder is our insurance policy that no one, nox or human, is going to be able to get much out of the brains of your IBHU.”

Rev just stared at him for a moment. “You’re going to blow it up? And if I’m still alive? You taking me out, too?”

“Not blow up. Just scramble. The hardware will survive, but without the software, it won’t do much good.”

Rev stared at Daryll. The man was a friend, but would the tech lie to him? Would they blow the IBHU up and him along with her?

“What’s the range on that? Whoever’s going to make that decision’s got to be on the same planet as me, right?”

Filmore shook his head. “It’s a quantum trigger. They can do it from Titan.”

Rev’s mouth dropped open. This isn’t even controlled by the Marines? What if some karnan’s got a hard-on for me and decides to off my IBHU? And I’m not so sure that wouldn’t screw up my day, no matter what Daryll says.

A vision of Agent Wolf popped up. That guy would love to control the way to castrate Rev. Maybe this was an Omega Division plot.

“And I’m the only one to have this kill switch?”

“You’re the first. The next group of IBHUs are in the queue for it, and they’ll get their cutoffs before they hit the fleet. As far as the rest, there’ll be a rollout. The backlog’s on the Q-switch. But eventually, yeah, all of our IBHUs would be protected.

“Protected.” That’s not what I would call it.

“But if you don’t mind, let’s take your IBHU off now so me and Zach can get out of here. We’ll meet you Monday for the final check.”

Rev grudgingly let them decouple his IBHU. His eyes kept drifting to where the kill switch was hidden.

He should be happy. On Monday, he would be combat effective, ready to lead the platoon again, and he’d be armed with the latest version of the finest infantry weapon ever created by humankind.

But the knife that had been introduced and held under his balls had a way of dampening his enthusiasm.

* * *

“I don’t like that idea,” Tumeric Tsao said. “They’ll be able to just fry our IBHUs whenever they want?”

“It’s not because they want to protect our tech from others,” Kelly said with a scowl. “It’s fear, pure and simple. Control the big bad hyperaugments. They’re still afraid that we’ll turn into Genesians or Eucharans and try to take over humanity.”

Captain Adair looked like she wanted to protest, but she closed her mouth and said nothing.

Rev looked around at the others. They’d all come out to watch him put his new IBHU through her paces at the range. Rev had suggested that they accompany him back to the armory, and while Daryll and Filmore went over the numbers, he’d pulled them aside and told them about the kill switch.

Randigold was steaming, Rev could tell. She’d been quiet ever since Rev had told them, letting the others express their opinions. From the glares she was sending to Daryll, Rev thought she might blow up at any moment.

“And you said we’re all getting these things?” Božič-Mizaki asked. “Any idea when?”

Rev shook his head. “All the new trainees are getting them now, but all of you are in the queue. I think the holdup is the Q-switches. But yeah, you’re all getting retrofitted.

“Bastards,” Kelly said. She turned to Hochenspatter and asked, “What do you think, Hoch? You haven’t said much.”

He shrugged. “Don’t know if what I think matters. They’re gonna do what they’re gonna do, and I don’t think we have much say in it.”

Randigold finally broke her silence. “Not unless we go on strike. Refuse to deploy.”

“Watch what you’re saying, Corporal!” the captain hissed as she looked furtively around to see if anyone had overheard.

Rev blanched. He and Punch knew that they were all probably being monitored by Omega Division, but he doubted that the rest knew that.

“If we won’t fight, then we hold the cards,” Randigold said, refusing to back down.

“That’s treason,” the captain said. “I know you’re angry, but please, we all need to calm down.”

“With all due respect, ma’am, I’ve been fighting for a long time. Longer than anyone here except for the gunny. Lost my legs, lost my arm. Faced death more times than I can count. Let someone tell me I’m a traitor, and I’ll show them the error of their ways.”

Tsao reached out, put her arm around Randigold’s shoulder, and pulled her in for a hug. “The skipper’s right, Eth. This isn’t the time to go off half-cocked. Take some deep breaths, OK?”

“Gunny?” Daryll called out, interrupting the impromptu IBHU conference. “I’m done with the numbers. You’re good to go. I’m sending up the report in about five minutes, so you’ll be cleared for combat.”

Rev was ready for the change in subject. “Anything of note?”

“Not much that you’d notice. We made a couple of minor tweaks with your twenty and the lateral motion, but you’re ready.” He paused, then asked, “How about from your perspective? Any last comments?”

“Not really. Like I said, she was smooth and quick. A hair better than with Pashu, if I’m remembering it accurately.”

“Should be about four percent quicker, from what I can see.”

“How long is his IBHU going to stay gold?” Tsao asked, sounding like she was anxious to cool things off as well.

“I keep telling you, she’s not gold,” Daryll said with a touch of exasperation in his voice.

“Looks it to me,” Randigold muttered.

Captain Adair stepped in. “Well, if the gunny’s now combat certified, let’s get back to work. We’ve got a heavy training load this afternoon, and I’ve got to get over to battalion.

“Thank you, Daryll and Filmore,” she added as they started to file out of the armory.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard yet, Captain, but the battalion’s got five more IBHUs inbound right now,” Daryll said.

“No, I hadn’t heard. But thanks.”

“Probably already with their fucking kill-switches,” Randigold muttered so quietly that even with his augmented hearing, Rev barely caught it.

“Remind me to pull her aside later this afternoon.”

<Will do. And I think that’s a good idea. She looks like she’s an explosion waiting to happen.>

“You’re right about that.”

The IBHU armory was a heavily secured, stand-alone building. As they approached the gate, the captain called them together.

“Look, this was a surprise, but we’re Marines. We take what’s thrown at us, right?”

No one responded. “I’m going to see what I can find out through the command chain. But whatever I find out, our mission is the same. We’re here to kill noxes, am I right?”

Which was something that was impossible to argue with.

“So, no waves. Let me work on this, and I’ll get back to all of you. Staff Sergeant O’Donnell, you can tell Second Platoon, and I’ll let our Third Platoon IBHUs know. Let’s not go beyond the company for now, though. Agreed?”

They all nodded, and she held out her social arm and said, “Bring it in.”

The seven IBHUs held out their arms, meeting them in the middle.

“Sibs in steel,” they shouted, clinking the arms together.

And, as always, it made Rev feel better. Punch said that was because the practice reminded each of them that they were in it all together. Whatever the reason, Rev felt his stress level drop as they started to scan out the gate.

After exiting, Kelly sidled up to him and asked, “Are you going to tell Miko?”

“That I’m cleared for combat?”

She gave him a light shot on the upper arm. “About the kill switch.”

Rev had to think about it for a moment. Tomiko wasn’t an IBHU, but the captain had only said to keep the news within the company, and Tomiko was that. He wouldn’t be disobeying an order if he let her know.

“I’m meeting her for chow. I’ll tell her then.”

“Good man,” Kelly said.

Rev grunted. It wasn’t that he was being good. He knew that Tomiko would be pissed if she found out from someone else.

* * *

“I kinda like the gold,” Randigold said as Rev hooked in.

“Yeah, Corporal Randi-GOLD,” Božič-Mizaki said with a laugh. “You would.”

“Hey, Daryll, I saw the new joins checking in this morning. Are their IBHUs gold?” Randigold asked.

“I keep telling you, the gunny’s IBHU isn’t gold,” he said in a tired voice.

“What’s with your guys?”

“How about popping one of them out of their travel case so we can take a look?”

Daryll looked up to the ceiling as if praying, then shook his head. “Ain’t gonna happen. They’re not coming out until after the new IBHU Marines are checked in and ready to go.

“It’s not like you have to commission them, Daryll,” Rev said. “That’s already been done.”

“Sorry, Gunny. Like I said, they stay in those crates until needed.”

His IBHU connected and powered up. Rev put her through her paces. As expected, she was as smooth as butter.

“Status report?”

<All systems green. No twenties or missiles, power at ninety-nine-point three percent.>

Rev didn’t expect to be going into combat, but checking was a matter of habit.

“Let’s pick up the pace. The ceremony’s in forty-five minutes.”

“So, what’s your new IBHU’s name, Gunny?” Randigold asked.

“Don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”

Which was a lie. Rev had thought about a name, but he just couldn’t decide on anything.

“Bad juju, Gunny, not to have a name for her.”

“Says who?”

“Everyone knows that,” Randigold said.

“How does ‘everyone’ know that? Is it written somewhere?” Rev asked.

“We just know,” Randigold said with certainty.

Rev wasn’t going to argue with the corporal. It just wasn’t worth it.

“I’m heading to battalion. Make sure you all get there.”

Rev left the armory and started to the CP, but then stopped. What was he going to do there for the next forty-five minutes? He angled off and headed for the pavilion at the far end of the battalion area.

He sat down on the picnic table, his feet on the bench, then he reached into his pocket to check for the staff sergeant’s chevron. Tsao was a good Marine, and more than that, a good person, so when she asked if she could get promoted with one of Rev’s old rockers, he’d been honored.

He tapped the rocker on his IBHU for good luck, and slipped it back into his pocket. With the sun getting lower on the horizon, the IBHU looked more gold-hued than ever.

Golden Pashu? Nah. But what?

“You think I should name my IBHU?”

<That’s up to you,> Punch said, his words clipped.

“I’m asking for your opinion, Punch.”

<It makes no difference. Your IBHU doesn’t have any consciousness. It’s a weapon, nothing more.>

“Ooh, getting jealous there?” Rev said, laughing out loud.

<Why would I be jealous? I’m not programmed for that emotion.>

“You’re not programmed for a lot of things. But we both know that you’ve . . . matured.”

<I am what I am.>

Cryptic response there, buddy.

“So, you don’t care if I name my IBHU?”

<A name is a label, nothing more. It makes no difference as to the IBHU’s usefulness in combat.>

“Or a promotion. That’s why Tum asked for us to be donned for her promotion to staff sergeant. An IBHU honor guard of sorts.”

<A human trait. How does being armed with your IBHU make any difference to Sergeant Tsao’s promotion?>

“It doesn’t, I guess. Not really.”

<My point exactly. Your human emotions assign importance to things that have no possible effect on a situation.>

“But you understand why Tum wants us with our IBHUs, right?”

<I have thousands of references to human psychology, so yes, I understand the importance that you put on tribe, to be part of a greater whole. But, as you so often point out, I am not part of that tribe. I am a series of crystals, programmed to act in a certain, logical way.>

Ouch. That sounds rather cynical of him.

Rev understood the concept of tribe. The entire Marine Corps was a tribe, and Direct Combat Marines a smaller subtribe. And aside from the division/regiment/battalion/company/platoon tree, there was the IBHU Tribe. Which was why Sergeant Tsao wanted her fellow IBHU Marines to be there with her, wearing their “tribe colors” as she joined yet one more tribe—that of the SNCO.

But what was Punch? Did he feel a kinship with other battle buddies? That could be difficult as he was not in contact with them. Was he part of a tribe of two? He and Rev?

Rev valued his relationship with Punch, but he also had other relationships, not the least was that with Tomiko. But what did Punch have?

Maybe he was jealous of sharing Rev with his IBHU. And by naming her, Rev would just be symbolically acknowledging the weapon’s importance to him.

Rev loved the meaning of Pashu, which came right out of ancient history. Pashupatastra was an indestructible weapon of Shiva and Kali, the Hindu gods of war and death, as he understood it. So, when the gods of war screwed around with Rev, with Pashu, it was like he had full control of one of them.

Silly, true. Just a little military superstition. But it was a fun tradition, even if he didn’t believe there would be Randigold’s bad juju if he didn’t name her, and the name had meaning, unlike . . .

Rev stopped that thought dead.

“Do you like your name?” he asked Punch.

<It is a name. Whether I like it or not is immaterial.>

“You know I came up with it on the fly, almost as a joke.”

<Yes, I realize that.>

Rev wondered if part of Punch’s coming to terms with himself could be related to his name. Rev was sure that his battle buddy’s professed indifference to naming his new IBHU was a smokescreen for a touch of jealousy. No matter how much Punch tried to deny it, Rev was sure it was there.

And Rev had spent time and effort to name Pashu, wanting to come up with something meaningful, whereas Punch was named on a whim. If there was some jealousy, illogical as it was, could the difference in how Pashu and Punch were named have an effect on him?

“I mean, we can come up with something more meaningful, something relating to your personality or what we’ve done together.”

<My name is a handy label that you use to refer to me. It doesn’t matter what it is.>

“Since it doesn’t matter, I can change it then, right? To something more thoughtful?”

<You can do what you want. You are the human.>

Rev tried to read into Punch’s tone. Most people wouldn’t be able to discern much difference, but Punch had been living inside of Rev’s brain for so long that Rev could detect tiny differences.

But he was stymied now. He couldn’t tell what Punch wanted.

“You need to tell me, Punch. This isn’t up to me. Do you want another name? Because if you do, that’s no problem. I’ll come up with a good one, I promise.”

There was a long pause, and Rev thought Punch was going to ignore him.

But finally, his battle buddy said, <I like my name, and I would prefer to keep it.>

“Then that’s what we’ll do.”

Rev would swear that his battle buddy was pleased. If he were human, Rev would be sure of that.

Could it be the same with him now? Is he pleased?

Rev hoped so. He still hadn’t come to grips with the entire concept of sentience, but whether Punch had made the leap or not, Rev wanted him to be happy.

The two sat in silence for a long time. Rev was tempted to ask Punch for a joke to break the mood, or even some tunes, but he didn’t, and Punch never offered. Despite the silence, Rev was feeling very close to his battle buddy.

<Fifteen minutes until Sergeant Tsao’s promotion,> Punch said at last.

“Yeah. Better get going, I guess.”

Rev hopped off the picnic table and started making his way to the battalion conference room.

<Thank you,> Punch said as they reached the CP.

“For what?”

<I like my name, but thank you for asking me and letting me decide. I appreciate it.>

13

“Those poor suckers,” Tomiko said as they watched the newscast.

Rev nodded in agreement. “They don’t have much hope.”

“Think we’ll get the mission?”

“Too little, too late. The noxes are there in force, and Samsara doesn’t have treaties with anyone.”

“They’re human,” Tomiko snapped. “That’s reason enough, treaty or no treaty.”

“You know what I mean. Without treaties, there weren’t plans in place that could be pulled off the shelf. And you saw the numbers. This is a major, major nox offensive. We’ll do something, I’m sure of that. But too late for the people there. What’re they called again?”

“Dalit. The announcer said they’re Dalit.”

“Too late for the Dalit.”

“Fucking noxes. What was all that bullshit about honor in combat and stuff? Gnist this and gnist that?” Tomiko asked.

“As long as it suited them. But when push came to shove . . .”

“. . . they changed their tune,” Tomiko finished for him.

Rev turned back to his Reuben and fries. He felt for the Dalit, but after Farthmenger and other planets, he was somewhat numb to the death and destruction wreaked by the noxes. It was one thing to fight soldiers, but to kidnap civilians, to kill civilians, that went against every gram of Rev’s being.

He picked up a fry, twirled it around in his fingers, then took a bite. It was hard to choke down. Maybe he wasn’t as numb to human suffering as he thought. He pushed his sandwich away and took a swallow of cider.

“Thanks for staying with me,” he told Tomiko.

“What, I was going stag to Tsao’s wetting down? No thanks.”

“Kelly’s there. You could have gone with her.”

“Kelly’s there because of that sibs-in-steel thing you IBHUs have going.”

Rev narrowed his eyes. He hoped Tomiko wasn’t going to get into why she should be an IBHU again. But she didn’t go any further down that train of thought.

“Besides, it’s easier to protect you here.” She lowered her voice to barely a whisper. “You packing?”

Rev patted his cargo pocket. Marines were not supposed to be armed on base unless they were training or on duty. But Rev had special orders to carry a handgun at all times.

He thought Tomiko should be armed, too. She’d been attacked outside Leteeka’s just as he was. But the brass was sure that Rev had been the target, not her.

Tomiko reached for one of Rev’s fries, dipped it in the sauce, and took a bite. “You gonna finish those?”

“Have at it,” Rev said, pushing the plate across to her.

Tomiko had already finished her “spiedie,” the SNCO Club’s monthly “Sandwich from History” special. Rev had taken a bite before the news came on, and it was pretty delicious—grilled pork in an Italian-like dressing—but now his appetite was gone. He watched in bemused silence as his petite fiancé shoveled down the fries, then polished off the remaining half of a Reuben.

She pushed the empty plate away from her and let out a very unladylike burp. “What now?”

Rev glanced up at the screen. The talking head was presenting facts and figures about Samsara. Rev felt for the people there, but he wasn’t in the mood to sit and watch. He needed an escape from reality and just to enjoy being human for an evening.

“How about we just go back to my quarters and watch a holovid.”

Tomiko huffed and asked, “What holovid?”

Rev attempted a leer and asked, “Does it matter?”

Tomiko laughed. “I guess it doesn’t. Lead on, big boy.”

* * *

Samsara survived the initial invasion, to everyone’s surprise. Not only that, but they put together a spirited defense. Cities were leveled, and fatalities were past imagining, but the Naxli were being slowed down, even stopped in places. Over the next five days, the troopers watched the news at every opportunity, taking pride in how the ragtag Dalit forces were performing.

The general discussion shifted from sorrow at the Dalit’s soon demise to demands that humanity step in.

Rev took a deeper dive into Samsara and the Dalits. The planet was settled during the first Diaspora. The original settlers were descendants of the Dalits, who were the lowest caste in India: the Untouchables. Of course, at that time of history, there wasn’t an official caste system, but the Dalits used their ancestry as a matter of pride, and they financed both the terraforming and then the settlement itself.

Fiercely independent, they’d kept out of all treaties, choosing to scratch out a living on their own. They had almost no interplanetary military forces, and their ground forces were tiny in comparison to their population.

There was no way the military on its own had the power to hold off the Naxli ground forces. Reporting was limited, but it seemed as if the entire civilian population had risen up to try and stop the invaders.

People started wearing the blue Samsara flag as a fashion accessory, and crowds gathered on most planets, demanding that humanity take action.

Six days after the invasion of Samsara commenced, Second Combined Assault Battalion went on alert.

14

“We got everyone?” the lieutenant asked.

“Everyone. We’re ready.”

As expected, the entire planet was under a comms-blocking blanket. For all the hi-tech connectivity a modern soldier had, Rev had only been able to use the systems a few times in combat. The lieutenant had his Q-phone, but for anything else, such as getting a headcount, they were relegated to physically eyeballing just as Phoenician mercenaries were doing thousands of years before.

“And the trainers? Are they ready, too?”

“Good to go, sir.”

“Let’s move out in five, then. The quicker we link up, the better.”

When Rev had told Tomiko that there were no plans for the defense of Samsara, he’d been right. There were generic plans, of course, to defend any planet, but those had to be adjusted to the peculiarities of Samsara, and, more importantly, to the fact that the local population was, if not holding their own, making things difficult for the Naxli.

That created both an opportunity and a problem for the CoH command on Titan. The opportunity was that the civilian forces could be integrated into the overall operations. The problem was that the civilian forces could be integrated into the overall operations.

When human forces went onto a planet, the surviving civilians were usually either isolated outside of harm’s way or evacuated. There were huge semi-military forces trained to get this done.

But the Dalits weren’t willing to be shunted aside and out of the way. This was their home, and they were going to fight for it.

They also had very little in the way of an organized military force, used to the discipline and culture of the military. From what Intel could determine, the effort to repel the Naxli was piecemeal, with small to mid-sized units fighting in their own little bubble. Integrating all of these groups into the human command was going to be difficult.

But the existence of the fighters could be used to give humanity time to complete their planning and then organize the huge task force that would be necessary to throw the Naxli off the planet.

They needed help, though. They were essentially using pitchforks against a modern, if alien, army. They needed weapons and training if they were going to survive even a few more days, days needed to get the massive human response on the planet.

Enter foreign contact teams. Several nations had a history of sending out teams to other nations. These teams trained local forces to enable them to stand up to other militaries. Couple them with deliveries of war materials, and the hope was that the local partisans could hold the Naxli off long enough for the human response to arrive in force.

Second Combined Assault Battalion was not organized nor trained to fulfill this type of mission, and Rev had been surprised at first when their orders came down. But foreign contact teams had very little power projection capabilities, and they would be vulnerable on the planet.

The CoH command wanted to protect the teams as well as the valuable weapons being sent, so each team was being escorted by a security element. The combined assault battalions and companies were well suited for this, given their powerful combat punch, so every company, along with units from most of the nations in the CoH, were added to protect the teams.

For First Platoon, First Combined Assault Company, that meant being attached to an MDS Foreign Army Contact Team—a FACT they called themselves. A group of five Frisian techs was included to maintain the weapons being delivered.

All of them had inserted by the MDS version of a Union pisser. Hopefully, they hadn’t been detected, but Rev would feel better once they got on the move and left the area.

Lieutenant Kjell was happy that they were being attached to an MDS team—the rest of the platoon was decidedly less so. And being attached, they were under the command of the MDS under-major.

Captain Adair had told Rev to just grin and bear it. Hopefully, the mission would be over within two weeks, when the first elements of the main counterassault would take place.

Rev would have preferred to be attached to any other team, but the fact that it was an MDS wasn’t surprising. The Manifest Destiny Sphere used these teams as a matter of policy more than anyone else. But he really wasn’t that upset. The mission here was to help the Dalit resist, not worry about internecine politics within the brotherhood of humanity. He'd do his utmost to protect the MDS and Frisians and worry about what came next later.

Rev was about to signal the platoon to get ready to move out when Yellow-Master Ikinikin ran up to him. “We’ve got movement to our right.”

“Human or nox?”

“Looks like human.”

“Lieutenant,” Rev called out, and when the karnan looked up, Rev motioned for him to follow.

Rev and Ikinikin moved to the perimeter of their hasty defense to where Nezev and Foy were standing together, their weapons at the half-ready. Coming through the trees were two people. The platoon had been given coordinates where they were supposed to meet the local unit, but evidently, the locals had decided to meet them instead.

The woman looked to be in her early twenties. She was dressed in blue jeans and a gray, collarless shirt, and she carried an old chemical rifle. The man was older and dressed in a set of camouflaged overalls. He was armed with a crossbow, of all things.

“Really? A crossbow?”

<From the looks of it, that bolt might be able to pierce your PAL-HX. At least it would have a better chance than the woman’s rifle.>

Rev gave it another glance. He didn’t want to believe Punch, but his battle buddy was usually correct when he stated something like that.

“I take it you’re the ones who are here to help us. Katheryne Kapoor,” the woman said, holding out her hand while the man stood just off her shoulder, his body language screaming that he was ready for action if needed.

The lieutenant didn’t step up to take it, so Rev did.

“Gunnery Sergeant Pelletier, ma’am. First Combined Assault Company. If you’re from Tembu, then yes, we’re here to help you.”

She gave a critical eye to the five troopers. “We were promised weapons. I don’t see any.”

Rev waited a moment for the lieutenant to speak up, and when he didn’t, Rev said, “We’re just the security element here. Under-major Svinon is leading the contact team, and Tan-Master Coynt has the weapons and equipment. I can take you to meet them.”

“Later. We need to move out. This area isn’t secure, and there’s been kapi activity not far from here.”

“In which direction are we going?” Rev asked.

The woman pointed back from where she came.

“Tell Iglesias that we’re switching up. Second Squad’s got point. Be ready to move in four minutes,” Rev told Ikinikin. “And send Gantz to me.”

A few moments later, Strap ran up to him.

“Look, I’m pulling you from your squad. I want you to move with the Mad Dogs and Fries. Just make sure they keep up.”

The sergeant frowned, which Rev understood. He’d be pinning on his staff sergeant’s rockers in a month or two, and Rev had him babysitting. But that was exactly why Rev wanted him.

“They’re the point of main effort here. We’re just support. And I can trust you to diplomatically keep them moving without pissing them off.”

“I’ve got it, Gunny,” he said. “Don’t piss them off while I kick them in the ass. Diplomatically, of course.”

“You learn fast. Now go.”

Strap disappeared into the trees as he went to hook up with the MDS and Frisians.

“Send it back. I want confirmation when Third Squad’s in position. And it better be quick.”

The hand and arm signals went back, and it took a full three minutes for it to come back with word that the platoon, MDS, and Frisians were ready to move out.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Rev told the woman.

She nodded, brought her rifle to the ready, and stepped off.

Over-private Zin, the platoon point, followed right off her butt.

Kapoor moved at a brisk pace. Too brisk for Rev’s taste. There were Naxli in the area, and he felt vulnerable as they moved through the forest.

The lieutenant had put the lead squad in a wedge, with the “cargo” following. They were flanked on either side by First Squad, and Third was bringing up the rear. It was a good, solid plan that protected the MDS and Frisians. But visibility was limited in the trees, and at their pace, Rev was afraid troopers would lose contact.

He could have run up and asked the Dalit woman to slow down, but something about her told Rev she wasn’t going to be too conducive to doing what he requested. So, he motioned for the troopers to tighten up. For him, it was a choice of being too concentrated or possibly losing a trooper during the movement.

Should have asked how far we’re going.

Rev studied his map and tried to figure out where their Dalits would be. The coordinates where they had been told to meet their contacts had been in the opposite direction. Nothing ahead of them screamed a logical position that the Dalit could defend.

But if it’s logical, then the noxes might figure that out, too. I should give them credit for that.

They crested the top of a slope and started down the other side. After just shy of 200 meters, the trees opened up over a marshy wide spot surrounding a creek.

Zin gave the symbol for danger area, and Rev started to signal for the SOP crossing of the area, but Kapoor never halted. She kept going, striding through the tall grass.

Zin looked back for instructions, and Rev signaled him to stay with the woman. He then signaled to Iglesias to get his squad across as quickly as possible.

He turned to First Squad when a soft braap filled the air. Rev spun as something small zipped in from the left side of the marsh, twenty meters above the deck.

He fired his beamer, but the drone kept flying, letting out another string of fire that dropped Zin.

Rounds reached up, but it was the male Dalit who ran forward a few meters, then fired a bolt that hit the drone near the rear. The drone immediately started to spin out of control, still firing rounds that chewed up the trees over Rev’s head. It arced into the ground, where it hopped and spun as it tried to get airborne again.

Randigold sprinted forward, screaming as she fired her twenty. Rounds ricocheted off the drone until something penetrated, and the thing went dead. The IBHU Marine put another fifteen rounds into it for good measure, but it was down hard.

Rev ran while scanning the area for another drone. He hadn’t seen this particular model before. In fact, the Naxli had made minimal use of drones during contact with humans so far, but there wasn’t any mistaking what the thing was.

He gave Kapoor and Zin a quick glance, but both were chewed up pretty badly. Foy had been hit, too, but he signaled that he was OK.

“Medic up!” he shouted, then to Iglesias, “Give me a hasty defense around the marsh.” That done, he shifted to the drone.

It was a smoking wreck. About a meter long, it looked like a flying machine gun. There were gouges in its exterior, but only two places that he could see where rounds had penetrated.

The Dalit man stepped up beside Rev and gave the Naxli drone a quick look. “Nasty bastards. We call them nagas. They’re heavily armored, but if you can hit them right near the rear of the thing, you can mess up their flying ability.”

Rev looked back to where the man had been in their formation, then over to where the drone had been when he hit it. That had to be seventy meters. And he struck the quickly moving drone at just the right spot to knock it to the ground.

Color me impressed.

“I hit it with my beamer, and it didn’t even falter,” he said.

“They’re pretty well protected against energy weapons.” The man gave Rev’s IBHU a sidelong glance. “Even with that thing of yours, I’d imagine you’d have problems.”

Rev looked to where Doc Gintly was working, kneeling over Zin and the woman. “You want to check on her?”

The man frowned and sadly shook his head. “No need. I saw what happened. Damn Katie. She was so sure she was invincible.”

“Maybe we can zombie her.”

“This ain’t the vaunted Union, son. We’re a pioneer world.”

“I’m sure we’d handle it.”

“And the hundred others we’ve lost this week? Are you going to bring down a shuttle and pick them?” he asked bitterly.

“I . . . sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

The man sniffed. “She was my son’s would be—his fiancée, you people say—before he was killed three days ago.”

Rev didn’t know how to respond to that. The man almost seemed complacent that his son’s fiance had just been killed. Maybe complacent was the wrong word. Resigned.

He needed to change the subject, so he asked, “Knocking that thing down. Is that going to bring others here?”

“Probably not. We think they’re sort of let loose in an area to find a target of opportunity. There could be another nearby, but we haven’t seen any sign that the nagas are connected.”

Lieutenant Kjell appeared, spotted Rev, and hurried over.

He gave the man—who Rev hadn’t even gotten a name for—a quick glance, then asked Rev, “What the hell happened?”

“Some sort of drone, sir.”

“Anyone hit?”

“Our guide, Kapoor. And Zin.”

“Zin?” the lieutenant asked. “Where is he?”

Rev pointed to Gintly, and the lieutenant ran over to the medic. He froze over Zin’s body, just staring down at his fellow karnan, before he slowly sank to his knees.

“What’s your name?” Rev asked the man.

“Per Tiwari.”

The local didn’t offer his hand.

“I was a chef,” he said quietly.

“You’re still a chef.”

Tiwari snorted, then said, “Nothing to cook, and I won’t last another week with the kapis here. Toh, no, I’m not a chef.”

“We’re here to make sure you survive,” Rev said.

The man looked at Rev in the manner of an adult listening to a child talk about the Bumblebee Fairy.

“I’m glad you came, but how many are you? I’ve seen about a dozen.”

“There’s forty-one of us fighters, then the FACT and the contact team.”

<Forty now.>

“A dozen. Forty-one. You think that makes a difference, na? There’re thousands of the bastards just in Tembu, all hell-bent on killing everything they see. We saw on the news that they take slaves. Not here. All they do is slaughter us like rats.”

Before Rev could respond, Under-major Svinon made his way forward.

“Why are we stopped?” he asked Rev.

“We had contact, sir. Lost two people.”

“We can’t sit here forever. We need to link up with our local forces. Where’s Lieutenant Kjell?”

Rev pointed. “With our guide and Over-private Zin.”

The MDS officer marched over to the lieutenant, who hastily stood up. As a karnan, he was much bigger than the Under-major, but there was no doubt that the smaller man was chewing the lieutenant’s ass.

The officer spun on his heels and headed back to his team, ignoring Rev and Tiwari. The lieutenant motioned Rev over.

“He wants us to move. Are we secure? Is it safe?”

“Mr. Tiwari here says that these drones seem to act independently. So, there’s no reason to assume that the situation is any worse than it was.”

“That situation killed Zin, in case you’ve forgotten,” he snapped.

And Kapoor.

“I’m just saying that we can move out. I’ll have someone carry Zin and Kapoor.”

“Then do it. Two minutes, and we’d better be on our way.”

“Aye-aye, sir. I’ll get it done,” Rev said

The lieutenant gave one last look at Zin’s body, then he moved back to his position. Rev motioned to Hussein to recover the dead.

“Can you guide us now?” Rev asked Tiwari.

“Yes, I can.”

“Take Ms. Kapoor’s place then, please. But let’s slow it down, OK? No need to rush.”

“Got it. I’ll keep it slow so you can get your security in place.”

At least he understands that.

“Uh . . . how much farther do we have?”

“Like distance? I’m not sure. But coming to meet you, it was about an hour to this point. So, I guess another hour, or maybe a little more if we slow it down. About that.”

Two people will almost always go quicker than a platoon-plus, so Rev mentally added another thirty minutes.

Tiwari moved up to take point with Nezev while both KIA were picked up. There might not be a chance of resurrection for either one, but at least they weren’t being left in the forest to rot.

They’d been on this planet for less than an hour, and they’d already lost a trooper and one of the locals they were there to help. It wasn’t a good start.

* * *

Rev stayed in the back, up against the wall, and hunched over. He was amazed that the Dalit fighters had managed to carve out the tunnels under the ground, but they hadn’t wasted time making them very big. The compartment they were in was two meters at the highest, and in his PAL-HX, Rev took up a lot of space.

At maybe ten meters across, it was crowded with about thirty people—both the local fighters, the MDS FACT, the Frisians, and Lieutenant Kjell and Rev.

The Dalit leader—a middle-aged man wearing a totally out-of-place yellow and pink Aloha shirt peeking out from under an armored vest—was giving Under-major Svinon a brief on the situation.

It wasn’t good.

This band had been hastily formed upon the invasion with 242 citizens. Fourteen had some sort of military or law enforcement experience. In the nine days since the Naxli entered their valley, they’d been hit hard, and there were a total of fifty-nine combat effective fighters left.

The leader, who went by the name Uda Devi (Punch informed Rev that was the name of an ancient Dalit freedom fighter, so Rev thought it might be an assumed name), claimed that his fighters had killed over 300 Naxli. Seeing how they were armed, Rev didn’t put much credence in those numbers. But the fact that they’d killed any at all and still had almost sixty human fighters was pretty amazing in and of itself.

The Under-major listened intently, interjecting with terse, pointed questions as Devi had a tendency to wander and extoll his fighters’ efforts. MDS soldiers often had a habit of sounding condescending to others, and while there was a hint of the typical MDS arrogance in the man, he didn’t come across as the savior-coming-to-save-the-dumb-locals that Rev had expected.

Maybe these FACT Mad Dogs are trained to mask their ingrained sense of superiority.

Or maybe this officer was just not that way. Personalities were different, after all, even within the MDS.

When Devi was finally done, the under-major took over and gave a quick brief on why they were here and what the Dalits could expect. Once again, the man surprised Rev. He wasn’t promising the moon, and he deferred to Devi and the local leadership on just what they wanted from the team.

Tan-Master Coynt took over and informed the Dalits what weapons and munitions they’d brought. The locals had been respectfully listening to Svinon, but there was a palpable air of excitement when Coynt spoke.

Rev understood that. Weapons were tangible artifacts, and they had the potential to make a difference on the battlefield. But there was more to fighting than pulling a trigger. In order to use the weapons effectively, they were going to have to embrace the tactics and procedures the MDS team was going to teach them.

The initial brief came to an end with the Under-major asking Devi if they could break down into smaller groups so that the FACT could better understand what they could offer. He dismissed Kjell and Rev.

“What do you think?” the lieutenant asked him as they exited the tunnel.

“About the FACT? I was surprised he wasn’t just dictating what he was going to do, especially as he’s . . .” He barely hiccupped as he shifted what he was going to say into “. . . the expert.”

He thought that was better than saying he was a Mad Dog.

“Ah, those FACT guys aren’t the most warrior-like,” Kjell said dismissively. “But they know their stuff. It should be OK.”

Of course, you think that’s weak. I was saying it as a compliment.

“What’s our next step, sir?”

“We did our job, getting them here. Now, we’re just security. Let’s see if we can grab one of these Dalits and get the lay of the land. I want some kind of perimeter, and we go to two squads on at any time.”

“Rotate the off squad underground?” Rev asked.

“Yeah. Good idea.”

“And we need to coordinate with whatever security the locals have.”

The lieutenant hadn’t seemed to think of that, given the expression on his face. “Yeah, OK. Why don’t you get that done? Uh . . . I’m going to see if we can’t get Zin off-planet. There could be a chance you guys can resurrect him.”

Rev kept his face frozen. They’d inserted by pisser. There was no way the Navy was going to land some sort of spacecraft to pick up Zin’s body. Even if they would, Zin had been too badly chewed up for him to have much of a chance at anything.

Rev could see that the platoon commander had taken Zin’s death hard. But as cold-blooded as it might seem, they were in combat, and being a soldier is inherently dangerous. Kjell had to move beyond his fellow karnan’s death and focus on the mission.

For a brief moment, Rev was tempted to remind the lieutenant about that. Maybe the man just needed someone to talk to. But in the end, he just let it go, fearing how the sometimes volatile karnan might take it.

He watched the platoon commander hurry off for a moment, then grabbed a passing local.

“Where can I find out whoever’s in charge of security here?”

The woman twisted her face and said, “I don’t think we really have, like, one person.”

“You dug all these tunnels, and no one is coordinating the local security?”

“Not really. Maybe Chirag?”

“Can you take me to this Chirag?”

“Sure. Follow me,” she said, going back into the underground.

Rev hurried after her. If no one was coordinating the defense of this tunnel complex, then they were far more vulnerable than he thought. And it was up to the platoon and him to rectify that.

* * *

The MDS and Frisians wasted no time. Rev hadn’t connected with this Chirag guy before the Frisians started training. And with both Frisians and partisans busy, it fell to the platoon to help with security.

The first weapon the Frisians broke out was their Ferrets, a smaller version of their Badgers, which in turn was their version of the Union Yellowjacket missile. The Ferret was small, barely twenty-five centimeters long, and it was less powerful than the Marine Yellowjackets. Rev was pretty sure his PAL-HX could protect him from the missile.

But the Naxli personal armor was not a match for any of the Union Marines’ combat suits. Punch pulled some numbers out of the Mother knows where that indicated the little Ferrets could be effective against them. And as a much smaller weapon, the Frisians were able to bring in many more of them than they would have with something larger.

The training was all virtual. There would be no live fire. Each Frisian weapons tech had their console, which was jacked into the Dalit to go through the simulated firing procedures and then several tactical scenarios.

The entire process, however, almost didn’t get off the ground. The Dalit used non-standard jacks, which no one had seemed to realize. While the Frisians stood around wondering what to do, the partisans scoured the area before they gathered up seven adaptors.

Rev shook his head. All of the effort to get personnel and weapons to the area, and no one thought to check something as simple as what the Dalit used as jacks? Heck, there were lots of populations who didn’t use jacks at all. If not for being conscripted and having the decision taken out of his hands, Rev wouldn’t have gotten one, for example.

Despite the glitch, the partisans were now filtering through the process in the small ravine below Rev. Each module took thirty-five minutes—at the end of which the fighters should know how to use the missiles.

Maybe he was being too old-school, but Rev wasn’t as confident as the tan-master was. Rev believed in hands-on training, with repeated live-fire exercises, in order to master a weapon. Muscle memory had to be developed. The Dalit fighters might know how to arm the missile and fire it from simulated training, but that didn’t mean they would be able to do it in combat, when Naxli warriors were charging with ill intent.

Then again, the Ferrets were designed to be a foolproof fire-and-forget weapon. Maybe it really didn’t matter.

The tunnels had been deemed too small for the training, so it was taking place outside in the ravine. Ranging from two to three meters across and with walls about three meters high, the ravine gave pretty good cover to the training. The platoon had extended a perimeter about fifty meters out from around it. The Dalits had assured them that there were no Naxli within fifteen klicks, but in Rev’s experience, there were two kinds of Marines: those who didn’t rely on others’ intel and those who were dead.

Even if there were no Naxli, the appearance of the Naxli drone was threat enough.

“Think those things work?” Per Tiwari asked as he stepped up beside Rev and looked down at the training.

“Never use them. But yeah. Nox body armor isn’t the best.”

“Well, maybe I should have asked if you think we’ll be able to mug the things, what with the training being plug-and-play.”

“Mug? What’s he asking, Punch?”

<Mugging is a Hinglish term for learning.>

“Hinglish? What the hell is that?”

<The word actually is a portmanteau of Hindi and other languages that emerged from the Indian sub-continent, but now it is used as a portmanteau of those languages and Standard. It is a macaronic hybrid use of Standard and languages of the Indian subcontinent that involves code-switching or translanguaging between these languages whereby they are freely interchanged within a sentence or between sentences.>

Damn, sorry I asked. And what the heck is a portmanteau and a macaroni hybrid?

But he got the gist of it, at least enough to answer Tiwari’s question.

“Probably about as good if I had to use your crossbow there.”

Tiwari chuckled, then said, “That bad, na?”

“That was an amazing shot back there, when you knocked the drone out of the sky.”

The older man shrugged. “I’ve had lots of practice over the years. Pheasant hunting is a big deal here in Tembu.”

“Pheasant? Like in the bird?” Rev waved his hand to encompass the forest. “On Safe Harbor, we’ve got pheasants on the main continent, but in the agricultural areas and grasslands.”

“Not all of Tembu is forest. We’ve got plenty of cropland down on the Kosi’s flood plain.”

Rev realized that he knew next to nothing about the planet. Normally, Marines were well-briefed before deploying. This time, however, things were so rushed that some aspects of normal pre-deployment preparations were omitted.

“Punch, I need you to prepare a detailed planet brief. I want to know how far we are from this flood plain, what else is around us, what we might expect from the weather . . . heck, anything you can dig up. I need to be prepared for whatever might happen.”

<Roger. I’ve got it whenever you’re ready.>

Their mission was to provide security for the FACT and weapons training team, but the Naxli had a nasty habit of interfering with human plans. Rev wanted to be ready for anything the gods of war could throw at him.

15

While the individual soldiers were getting their Ferret training, the leadership was back with the FACT going over tactics. That wasn’t something, in Rev’s humble opinion, that you could just hook up into a jack and download.

First of all, tactics relied on the ground situation that included, but was not limited to, friendly personnel, their level of training, weapons and resources, the enemy situation, climate . . . basically, the entire situation. Everything affected the tactics used.

No matter how expert the FACT personnel were on the art of war, they needed to understand the ground situation before they could advise the Dalit forces.

So, Rev was surprised when the Dalits were sending out a patrol less than three hours after their training commenced. And as one of the FACT members was accompanying the patrol, the platoon was sending out an escort for his security.

More surprising was that the lieutenant chose to remain behind and send Rev out as the element leader. Ever since Kjell had arrived at the platoon, he’d been gung-ho and ready to go. At the Naxli garrison, where his fellow karnan Sergeant Hant had been killed, he’d almost been out of control, he’d been so anxious to chase glory.

Rev had a team from First Squad: Tsao, Archambault, Engineer 3 Rappa, and Sargento 2° Rojas. Hussein hadn’t been happy that Rev was taking out the team, and Rev understood that. But orders were orders, and he’d deal with the squad leader later.

At least Hussein was the second senior enlisted in the platoon, so Rev made a big deal of making his friend acting platoon sergeant in Rev’s absence. It didn’t actually mean much, but it cost Rev nothing and gave Hussein a slight boost in confidence.

<Good move. You’re learning, young Marine.>

“I’m older than you, Punch. Just remember that.”

<Older in human years. Much, much younger in crystal years.>

“Eat me.”

But this was the type of thing that he and Punch went over during their many discussions about leadership. Rev was confident in his abilities as a warrior, but as he had learned, leadership was different than fighting. And his orders to the SNCO Academy on New Mars, the school for all new SNCOs, had been canceled due to the war, so he was trying to learn as he went.

“Here comes the package,” Tsao said, nodding at the tunnel entrance.

Master Sergeant Olyn exited the tunnel, spotted Rev, and started over. Olyn was a slender, almost frail-looking man, a far cry from the MDS karnans. He wasn’t wearing the MDS combat suit but was in his utilities with chest and groin body armor, which made him look even smaller. When Rev had first seen him, he wondered how the man was treated in a service that put emphasis on being powerful, unstoppable warriors.

But the fact that he was a master sergeant was evidence that he’d done well. The MDS Army only had the four main enlisted ranks: private, corporal, sergeant, and master sergeant. The bottom three had the “unders” and “overs,” making ten total ranks. Master was sort of a single catch-all rank higher than over-sergeants, roughly what the Marines called staff non-commissioned officers, with the senior master sergeant in a combat unit being referred to as the sergeant prime.

A difference between the two services was that the MDS had relatively few master sergeants in comparison, so Olyn was at the top of the enlisted heap despite his less-than-Mad-Dog appearance.

“Are you my security, Gunny?” he asked.

“Sure am.”

“I’m here to evaluate how our friends do,” he said, nodding at the patrol as they went through their final checks. “I don’t need to see your capabilities, so no matter how things play out, I need you to stand back. Understand?”

“And if you’re threatened?”

“I’m a soldier. Life’s a bitch.”

Which didn’t really answer the question. But Rev was tasked with the master sergeant’s safety, so no matter his bravado, if he was in danger, the five of them were going to take action.

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

“Their leader’s in with the under-major now, going over the details. But there’s a report of a skeletal presence about eight klicks away.”

“How many?” Rev asked. A “presence” covered a wide range.

“Five or six and some kind of structure.”

“That’s it? What kind of structure?”

“It doesn’t really matter, Gunny. We just need to see this patrol in action, so we can tailor our training to match what they need. What happens on the mission itself isn’t as important.”

So, that’s why the rush. Sounds rather cold about the mission, but it makes its own kind of sense.

“Any preference on how we move?” Rev asked.

“I’ll be putting myself in the middle of the formation, then play it by ear. You do what you need to, but stay out of their way.”

“Roger that.”

This wasn’t how Rev handled matters, but the FACT ran the show here, with the Frisians right behind them. The platoon was low man on the totem pole.

A few minutes later, the two patrol leaders came out. As with the rest of the surviving Dalits, no one wore any indication of rank. But as few as they were, Rev guessed rank formalities weren’t needed.

The two leaders gathered the patrol, and Rev stepped closer to listen in. The operations order wasn’t much of an order at all, with none of the formalities of a Marine order. Rev wasn’t expecting a full-fledged five-paragraph order, but this wasn’t much more than a “let’s go out and kill us some kapis.”

Rev glanced at the master sergeant to see his reaction, but the man was expressionless. Maybe he’d been through this kind of thing before, so it was old hat to him. But to Rev, this was not the way to prepare for a combat mission.

The patrol leader, for lack of a better term, gave the signal to move out, and the Dalit fighters started falling into a column with all the precision of lining up at an ice cream stand. The MDS master sergeant took his place toward the middle, and Rev signaled his troopers to flank the column on both sides, two forward of the point man, two to the rear of Tail-end Charlie. He positioned himself to the left flank of the master sergeant.

Their mission was to protect the man, but Rev thought the best way to do this was to provide overall security. He knew that meant that Tsao or Rojas might initiate contact before any of the Dalit, but so be it. Their security trumped whatever little observation mission the master sergeant had.

As with Kapoor, the column moved quickly through the forest and along a well-used path. Rev wanted to slow them down, but he didn’t have the authority. He kept glancing at the master sergeant, but the man said nothing. Hopefully, he was taking notes.

Marines were allergic to using footpaths. They were too easy to set surveillance on at best, boobytrap or ambush at worst. Within two hundred meters, though, the path branched off, and then again after another twenty meters. The farther they went, the more the forest became latticed with small paths, diverging and converging seemingly at random.

The lead fighter never hesitated at any junction. Rev was following on his map display, and they weren’t taking an obvious path, but they were progressing in the same general direction, so Rev assumed that the point man knew his way around.

After twelve klicks, the column came to a halt. The patrol leader, a thirtyish woman named Irya, started moving to the front. The master sergeant started to join her, which gave Rev his excuse to follow.

Rev caught Tsao’s signal of someone approaching, and he shifted his IBHU from beamer to twenty. As Irya stopped at the front of the column, a man emerged from the heavy vegetation growing on the downhill side of the trail they were on. The man looked like an apparition from early humanity. He had on what looked to be a homemade version of a Ghillie suit—strips of cloth and gauze that effectively broke up his outline. The only reason Rev could see that he was a man was that his facemask had been pulled back, revealing a sweat-covered, bearded face.

“What do you have for me, Lon?” Irya asked.

The man gave the master sergeant and Rev a quick glance, but Irya told him to proceed.

“There’s been no change. I counted six of them, and it looks like they’re testing their package.”

“Can you tell what that is?”

“Not really. It’s about three meters long, I’d say. And it has a long part on top, like a tube.”

“A cannon?” Irya asked.

“Possibly, but I don’t think so. I don’t have any ideas, though, either.”

“What about the terrain around them?”

“To the west, there’s some scrub, but nothing over a meter high. You could get close there. To the east is the higher ground. There’s more cover there in the forest, but the launchers can’t be used.”

“We’ve got Ferrets now,” she said, turning slightly so he could see the small missile in her back harness.

His eyes lit up with that, but he said, “We were hoping for those, only you can’t fire them from the forest unless you get in really close.”

“And the trail?”

“You’ve been there, Irya. You know what it’s like. They’re setting up right off the side, in the first trees, maybe fifty, sixty meters from where it drops to the old log bridge.”

The Dalit leader took that in, then nodded. “Yes, I know the area well.”

She turned away from him and motioned for the entire patrol to gather around her—which made Rev nervous. They were a concentrated target. He signaled the other four troopers to collapse on the patrol, and he scanned the skies for another drone.

He kept scanning as Irya gave her final instructions. Once again, it wasn’t much of a professional operations order. It was more like a bunch of school kids setting up a flipball play on the ballfield. But in the end, what she’d described was a classic assault, with a base of fire and an assault element. She just never used any of the terms.

Rev didn’t know if Irya had any military training or if she’d managed to come up with the concept on her own. Either way, it was a simple, but time-tested plan of attack. The question Rev had was if they could pull it off.

I guess we’ll find out.

The patrol started moving once more—again, in a column. Rev pushed Tsao and Rojas out farther, so they were in front of the Dalit point man. His troopers weren’t supposed to initiate contact, but he’d be damned if he’d let the entire patrol walk into an ambush. If he had to, he’d justify it later as part of his mission to protect the master sergeant.

Nothing happened, however, and after another klick, the patrol split up into the two elements. Rev waited a moment. When the MDS master sergeant broke off to go with the base of fire, Rev went with him, but only after signaling to Tsao and Rojas to go with the assault element.

<Your orders are to protect Master Sergeant Olyn, not the assault element.>

“I know. And I’ll think of an excuse if things go to crap.”

Punch left it at that, but Rev could feel his battle buddy’s accusations in the silence.

Once the patrol split up, their speed of advance slowed significantly. The Dalits were still in a column, but each step was carefully taken with weapons at the ready. Wildlife skittered in the detritus on the ground, and a squirrel chittered angrily at them from the bole of a large tree.

Rev’s warrior started to stir, awoken by the rising stress levels. But the Naxli didn’t suddenly open up from the shadows, and no naga drones swooped at them from the skies.

The last 180 meters were done on their bellies in a low crawl. Low crawling in a PAL-HX was an IBHU Marine’s Achilles’s heel. As usual, Rev felt extremely vulnerable, and he doubted he was being very stealthy.

He caught one glimpse of Rappa off to the flank. The Tau Ceti Ranger looked like he was born on his belly, squirming easily ahead, and for a moment, Rev felt a little pang of jealousy. But while the Ranger hyperaugments were impressive, they didn’t really do much for survivability in a fire fight, and Rev would rather go into battle with his IBHU and a PAL-HX than with chameleon skin that could absorb nutrition from sunlight.

Finally, to Rev’s relief, they came to a halt just short of the tree line. He looked around as the Dalit seemed to settle in to wait. Rev wasn’t just going to sit there, though. He crawled over to the Dalit in command of the base of fire.

“I’m Gunny Pelletier, Union Marines.”

“Henk Star,” the man said, glancing at his IBHU.

Rev slightly rotated her so the man could get a good look. He wanted to remind the man that there was a lot of firepower in the IBHU, no matter what Olyn said.

“What’s the plan now? Irya only gave the generalities.”

“The kapi position is up ahead, across the open area.”

“How far?” Rev asked as he tried to peer through the last trees.

Star turned to another fighter and asked, “How far do you think it is to the kapi, Noma?”

“From here? I’d say five hundred meters. Right on the trail.”

The problem was that the trail wasn’t on Rev’s map, and so he couldn’t get an accurate range.

“And when is this thing kicking off?”

We’ve got to give Irya and the rest time to get into position first. That’s another twenty-six minutes. There’s a little bit of a ridge in the field in front of us. We’ll crawl up to that and open fire. Grab the bastards’ attention for Irya to crawl up their asses.”

“Fuck them up good,” Noma added.

Rev had a million other things he wanted to know, but this entire operation seemed so off the cuff that he thought he’d gotten all he was going to get.

“Thanks,” he said as he started crawling back to his position.

Master Sergeant Olyn was staring daggers at him.

Eat me, Mad Dog. I’m not going into this blind.

But he gave the MDS soldier a big smile and a thumbs-up.

His two troopers were watching him, so he gave them the signals for twenty-five minutes and “initiate.” Then he settled in, his stomach going into his pre-mission butterflies. His warrior self was stirring, but by now, Rev didn’t have much of a problem controlling his more aggressive side.

“Status check.”

<All systems green. Full combat load. Power eighty-eight-point-three percent.>

He was loaded for bear, even if he wasn’t supposed to engage.

Rev was known for trying to think of every possible outcome in an upcoming engagement—which was impossible in and of itself. The gods of war had a habit of coming up with things that hadn’t been considered.

But this time, his mind wasn’t coming up with the scenarios. Maybe it was the do not get involved order that was interfering with his mental process. He’d already crossed that line when he’d asked Star what was going on, even if that wasn’t so much interfering as just getting briefed.

“You think the Mad Dog is pissed at me?”

<From all appearances, yes. You interfered with the subjects.>

“No, I just asked for some information.”

<I’m not disagreeing that it was the smart thing to do. I’m just stating what might be the master sergeant’s view.>

“He can—”

<Eat you, I know.>

Rev settled into silence as the clock was ticking down. But silence wasn’t his strongest suit.

“You got a joke for me?”

<Of course.>

Punch didn’t say anything else, and finally, Rev said, “Well, give it to me.”

<You just asked me if I had a joke. You didn’t ask me to tell one.>

Rev knew that Punch understood the request. This was just him being an asshole. There wasn’t much Punch could do to Rev, especially considering his Level 1 programming, but Rev was sure that his battle buddy had these little annoyances which didn’t contravene the programming but could allow him to screw with Rev.

It was just more proof that Punch was getting to be more and more human.

He wasn’t going to give Punch the satisfaction of letting him know that his petty games were working.

<What do you call a karnan with an IQ of 180.>

“A miracle?”

<Keep trying.>

Rev glanced over at Olyn, who looked like he was dictating some notes. “Uh . . . a master sergeant?”

He knew he was wrong on that guess, and Punch was quick to confirm it.

“A, uh . . . hell, I don’t know. What do you call a karnan with an IQ of 180?”

<A platoon.>

Ba-dump-bump. Not bad, Punch, but I should have figured it out.

<Do you want another?>

Rev checked the time: eight minutes and fourteen seconds.

He knew he should be mentally preparing himself, but for what? To watch the Dalit create a base of fire?

“Hit me.”

Neither of the next two jokes topped the first one, and Rev turned down a third. Observer status or not, he should be in his warrior mindset.

There was a slight stirring at two minutes as the fighters got ready to move. Out of habit, Rev asked Punch for another status check. Not surprisingly, nothing had changed. He was still combat-ready . . . only he wasn’t supposed to take part in the coming battle.

Rev would rather be with Tsao and Rojas instead of the base of fire. But the master sergeant was here, and so that’s where he should be. He wondered why the MDS soldier chose not to join in with the assault, but before he could come up with some reasons, the signal was given to advance.

The movement forward was a little haphazard, with some fighters moving quicker than others. The first few emerged from the cover of the trees and into the open area. They were ten meters into the area before Rev, a much slower crawler in his PAL, reached it. Not quite thirty meters ahead from Rev’s position was the slight ridge that would serve as the base of fire’s position.

Rev didn’t like the fact that they lost the high overhead cover of the forest, but the rocks and low scrub should give them cover from the Naxli position, and they’d have clear fields of fire over the scrub to suppress the Naxli as the rest of the patrol assaulted through. It wasn’t the greatest of positions, but Rev didn’t think it was the worst, either.

He was wrong.

Rev was already turning onto his back before the “braaaap” ended. It took him a moment to acquire the naga as it chewed up the leading fighters. Rev fired first, sending a stream of twenty millimeter rounds up at the drone. He didn’t have a great angle to the back part of the flying killer, and his rounds glanced off of the angled front.

More rounds reached up from the ground as the other fighters joined in. Archambault’s M-51 joined the fray. As the drone continued its pass, the angle improved, and Rev was able to start impacting the back section. Whether it was his rounds or someone else’s, the drone started spinning out of control and disappeared to their right.

“Get up there!” Star shouted as he rose and broke into a run. The other fighters joined, and they rushed for their firing position.

The Naxli reacted in kind—not with another naga, but with automatic fire, and now off of their bellies and at a full charge, the fighters were vulnerable. Star fell in the first volley.

In front of Rev, one of the Dalits—a teenager—hopped on one of the many rocks, pulled his Ferret out of his back holster, and methodically started through the arming procedure.

“Get down!” Rev shouted as he lunged to knock the fighter off his exposed position.

Too late. Incoming blasted the young man apart, blood and tissue splattering Rev. A round pinged off the side of his helmet, and another hit him solidly in the side. Nothing penetrated, but it was only a matter of time until he was hit with something more substantial.

“Don’t expose yourselves to fire! The Ferrets are guided!” he screamed over his external speakers.

One fighter had been about to climb on another rock, but Rev’s shout seemed to have changed his mind. Hugging the back of the rock, he armed his Ferret, raised it over his head, and blindly fired it.

But most of the others were charging forward, passing the designated firing position as they assumed the assault element’s role.

There was an explosion of dirt and smoke, and Noma, one of the leading fighters, went flying ten or eleven meters into the air before falling back down into the brush.

“Mines!” Rappa shouted.

Of course, they’ve got mines covering this area.

But the Dalit fighters didn’t hesitate. They kept pushing forward, firing both their Ferrets and their mostly ancient weapons.

This was going to be a slaughter.

Rev crouched and turned to find the master sergeant. He couldn’t spot him, and for a moment, he thought he must have been hit. His lighter body armor might not be enough protection against the Naxli incoming.

But then he spotted the man, taking cover behind another rock as he kept dictating notes.

The Dalits were not backing down, and it was costing them their lives while the master sergeant calmly recorded what he was seeing.

This wasn’t what they were here for, to watch Dalits get slaughtered. Humanity was rallying to help them.

“Fuuuuuuuuck!” Rev shouted as he spun back around, shifting his IBHU to missile mode.

The ridge was far enough ahead of him and high enough that he couldn’t see the Naxli position while in a crouch. The Morays didn’t need much from his side, but he had to get them fired within their acquisition cone.

Rev took two steps and vaulted up on the same rock the dead teen had used. But Rev didn’t stand there and slowly deploy his weapon. He pushed off with one foot, bringing his IBHU around.

He was in midair when he spotted the low structure, and he loosed three missiles before he hit the ground right at the edge of the ridge. He waited half a second (he didn’t want to fire his twenty and possibly knock down his own Moray), then opened up with his twenty mm cannon.

It was probably overkill. All three Morays hit, one after the other. The fireball rose twenty, thirty meters into the air, billowing a beautiful orange and red, which turned into a rising column of thick, black smoke.

More importantly, the Naxli incoming ceased. There was a single cheer, and quickly more followed as the Dalit kept advancing.

“Stop!” Rev shouted again. “This area’s mined!”

Everyone froze, but the cheering and catcalls continued until the first fighters of the assault element hesitantly emerged from the trees near the wrecked position.

“I need you all to back up,” Rev told them. “Try and keep in your old footsteps.”

<That means you, too.>

Rev slowly turned, then jumped for the same rock. He teetered on top for a moment before he caught his balance.

On the ground in front of him, the serene face of the young fighter looked like he was simply asleep. That is, until you got to his body. From his lower chest to his hips, there wasn’t much left, and blood had turned the dirt under him black.

This was the cost of relying on simulated training. He’d been going through the process of arming and firing the Ferret, but the modern battlefield was a fiend with time. You simply could not go through the steps like that when a microsecond could be the difference between life and death. And that was something that the young man might have learned if he’d actually fired a live missile or had field training.

He knelt and gathered up at what he could of the body, then started carrying him back.

Master Sergeant Olyn met him, his face stone. “You’re to report to Under-Major Svinon when we get back, Gunnery Sergeant,” he said in terse, clipped words.

“I did what I had to do.”

“What you had to do was to not interfere. I thought I was clear with that.”

Anger surged through Rev, and his warrior self fought to break free. Rev was able to resist using his IBHU to strike the master sergeant down, but his anger needed a release.

He strode three steps forward and thrust the teen’s body at the MDS soldier, who automatically took it.

“We’re supposed to save these people, not watch them die so we can write up some sort of evaluation,” he snarled before he shouldered past the shocked master sergeant.

16

Rev was still steaming when he entered the tunnels. Concerned about a possible Naxli reaction, they’d quickly left the area with both elements of the patrol taking different and indirect routes back. Rev grabbed Tsao and told her to escort the MDS master sergeant, and he went with Irya and the assault element.

Punch pointed out that their mission was still the master sergeant. Rev pointed out that since he was close to zeroing the Mad Dog, him staying as far away from the man as possible was the best way to accomplish that mission.

Irya was still somewhat confused as to what just happened, and Rev gave her a few terse replies before Punch reminded him that he wasn’t angry at her. Rev took a few deep breaths, then gave her a quick debrief as they headed back.

The mission—their mission, not necessarily the master sergeant’s—was a success, but a painful one. While no one in the assault element was hurt, the base of fire had lost six fighters with three more wounded. One of the wounded might not make it, and Rev made a mental note to bring Gintly along on any future such mission.

The assault element—which was carrying two of the wounded—beat the support element back to the tunnel complex. Rev told Rojas to rejoin the platoon, then went to track down the lieutenant, who he found in the CP. He pulled him aside and briefed him on what had happened.

Kjell listened silently, and Rev could see he was getting stressed. When Rev was through, the lieutenant told him to go back to the wide spot in one of the tunnels where the platoon staged their gear and grab some sleep.

Second Squad was in their sleep cycle, and Rev sat down on an empty ammo crate and stewed. Punch offered a joke, but Rev turned him down cold. His battle buddy must have sensed that Rev wasn’t in a talking mood, so he remained quiet.

Finally, one of the local fighters came through the tunnel and said that he was wanted in the CP.

Here it comes.

Only the under-major, the master sergeant, and the lieutenant stopped him before he reached the CP and pulled him into a small storage area.

Right. Don’t want to show a bad front in front of the Dalit.

“OK, Master Sergeant. With the Gunnery Sergeant here to hear what you have to say, tell me again what happened. Not the movement to contact. Just at the objective.”

Olyn gave Rev a stone-faced stare, then in a calm voice, went over the events during the fight. He didn’t embellish anything, and he didn’t use subjective terms. Rev had to give him that. But he was damning, nonetheless.

When he was finished, the under-major turned to Rev. “Is what Master Sergeant Olyn said correct?”

“Yes . . . sir.”

“Did you understand what your orders were?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And to be clear, you knew that you were not to become engaged with the skeletals unless the master sergeant was in imminent danger?”

“Yes, sir.”

Rev gave the lieutenant a quick, sidelong glance. Kjell was standing there with the same emotionless stone face.

Damn Mad Dogs must spend hours practicing that.

“So, I’m confused,” the under-major said. “If you knew what your orders were, why did you lead the attack?”

Rev wanted to shout, “Are you fucking crazy?” It took all of his self-discipline to control himself and say, “We’re here to help these people fight off the noxes. We’re not here to play observer while they’re killed. I’m sorry if I screwed up your precious scientific evaluation, but I wasn’t going to let our brothers in arms be your lab rats when that was going to cost them their lives.”

The under-major slightly frowned, the first sign of any emotion. “You do realize that we need an accurate evaluation to develop an effective training program, right? And by delaying that evaluation, you may be costing more lives in the long run. You understand that, right?”

Rev started to respond with an instinctive rebuke, but he hesitated.

Could he be right?

The thought had never crossed his mind. He’d been concerned about the Dalit on the mission, not thinking if there could be long-term ramifications.

No, that’s bullshit. Olyn saw enough as it is. Watching Dalits get slaughtered wasn’t going to make his assessment any more accurate.

“I understand, sir, that we don’t waste lives. Every soldier who survives is one more left to carry on the fight. That’s a fact of warfare, even if some nations don’t value their trigger pullers like we do in the Union.”

Rev hadn’t exactly said that the MDS didn’t value their soldiers, but he was pretty sure his point was taken. Kjell flinched, at least.

The under-major had better control, and if he took offense, he didn’t show it. But he quietly said, “And I understand that in some ways, you can’t be blamed. Enlisted Marines”—Rev could hear the scorn in his tone as he said “Marines”—can’t be expected to understand strategy and the big picture.”

I’ll show you the big picture.

“I can even understand your rationale, given your limited understanding of the situation. But you have damaged the mission, and I can’t let you do that again. You are now confined to this complex.”

“No.”

“What?” he asked, a hint of surprise leaking through.

“No . . . sir.”

He shook his head as if he didn’t believe what he was hearing.

“I just gave you a direct order, Gunnery Sergeant. Last time I heard, I was in command here.”

“No, sir. You’re mistaken. You may command your FACT. And you can determine the course of our interaction with the Dalits, but you are not in command of our platoon.”

Rev didn’t know if that was the absolute truth. If they were officially attached to the FACT, that is, detached from the battalion and assigned to the MDS team, then the under-major could give Rev orders that he’d have to obey. However, if they were in direct support of the FACT, or even better, if they were simply assigned the mission to get the FACT and Frisians to the Dalit and then protect them, then Rev’s chain of command went through the lieutenant, Captain Adair, and through to battalion.

There was a fine line here, for all intents and purposes, but the line was real. And Rev wasn’t quite sure how the orders read. In a sense he was bluffing, not knowing the answer. But he needed to act like he did.

The under-major gave him a long, piercing stare, and Rev feared that he was going to tell him he was screwed and that the platoon was attached.

But the under-major sniffed and said, “Very well, Gunnery Sergeant. You win.”

Rev felt a short thrill of victory. Very short.

The under-major, with a slight smile, turned to the platoon commander. “Lieutenant Kjell, tell Gunnery Sergeant Pelletier that he is confined to this complex.”

Shit. And, of course, Kjell will stick with his people, even if I’m in the right.

He started wondering how he could defy his lieutenant and still keep his gunny rockers, so he almost missed the lieutenant’s response.

“No, sah.”

Rev didn’t know who was more surprised, the under-major or him.

Svinon did a double-take, then said, “Excuse me, Lieutenant?”

“No, sah. With all due respect, I cannot give that order.”

The under-major glanced down to the two yellow pips on his collar as if to point out to Kjell that he was the senior officer.

“I think I was pretty clear, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sah, you were. But I cannot obey.”

Kjell’s knees were actually shaking, and Rev wondered if he was going to pass out.

The under-major was obviously having a hard time maintaining control, and Rev’s anger faded as he tried to figure out what the heck was going on.

“Why can’t you relay my order? And this better be good, Lieutenant, if you hope to retain your commission.”

“First, Under-Major, and with all due respect, Gunnery Sergeant Pelletier is correct. We are not attached to the MDS Army, and while I have been ordered to defer to your tactical judgment and support your training efforts, our command goes through our brigade directly to the Home Guard and the Congress of Humanity.”

Oh, thank the Mother that I was right about that.

The under-major clamped his jaws and then said, “Which is why I told you to give the order.”

“And which I respectfully declined to do. Respectfully, sah.”

Master Sergeant Olyn, who’d been silent since he’d given his version of what had happened, leaned in and whispered into the under-major’s ear.

“You said you will defer to me with regard to the overall mission, right?” Before Kjell could answer, he said, “And if I tell you that I believe this persie Marine is an obstacle to our mission, what then?”

“Then I will evaluate the situation and make my decision.”

“Which is?”

“That Gunnery Sergeant Pelletier is an outstanding warrior and leader, one who I need without restricting his services.”

The under-major’s eyes narrowed, and he said, “You might want to reconsider that, Lieutenant. I can make things difficult for you.”

“I swore my oath on the Red Stone, sah.”

“As did we all. So, what?”

“Order of Saint Bome.”

The under-major’s head tilted back, and his demeanor changed as if it was switched.

“Very well,” he almost stammered out. “But this isn’t over. You’ll hear about this again.”

He spun on his heels and strode out of the cramped space, the master sergeant right behind him.

“I’m sure I will,” Kjell said quietly, but not too quiet for Rev’s augmented hearing.

“I, uh . . . thank—”

“Just go back to the platoon area, Gunny. I’ll talk to you soon.”

The lieutenant slipped out of the storeroom and headed in the opposite direction that the under-major had taken.

“That was . . . interesting.”

<Did you know that we aren’t attached?>

“No. I was bluffing.”

<I thought so.>

“What the hell is the Order of Saint Boom?”

<Saint Bome. It’s a secretive order within the MDS military. Strictly combat arms, and they unofficially hold sway over other branches of the military.>

“Like FACT soldiers.”

<Like FACT soldiers. Even other infantry defer to them. It’s very elite, and according to the literature, their oaths are considered ironbound.>

If Kjell was part of some super-warrior cabal within the MDS Army, that could explain his glory-chasing behavior at the Naxli garrison. But lately, he’d been seemingly avoiding conflict, hardly the image of an acolyte of a cult of war.

What’s up with that?

Whatever was going on with his lieutenant, the man had stuck up for him when it would have been far easier to go along with the under-major. And Rev had to give him props for doing so.

* * *

The lieutenant’s position notwithstanding, Rev stayed in the complex for the next day while the squad leaders led the security elements for the other FACT members going out. None of them had contact, but Hussein’s patrol was successful in a longer-range mission to destroy a bridge in an attempt to slow down the Naxli’s means of resupply.

He also avoided the CP. They were on the same side, after all, and it served no one any good to throw their defiance into the under-major’s face.

Rev kept expecting the lieutenant to receive a complaint about what had happened. Surely, the under-major reported what went down. But if Kjell received anything over his Q-phone, he didn’t bring it to Rev’s attention.

Which didn’t mean he was in the clear. He and Punch knew that they were being monitored, and they had to assume there was some sort of recording capability. As soon as they were out of the Naxli comms blackout and back at Safe Harbor, Omega Division would know. The question was what they would do with that.

Rev could worry over it—and yes, he did to a degree—but worry wasn’t going to change things, so he busied himself with the Frisians. While the tech team was more concerned with the proper operation of the gear they’d brought, Rev tried to add some tactical advice on how the Dalit could use the gear effectively and not get killed doing so.

That might have been stepping on the FACT’s toes, but it was better than letting the Dalit fighters, who had proven that there were more than willing to run to the sounds of gunfire, have their bravery wasted.

If Rev had any questions about his decision, that evaporated the first time he joined the Frisians in their training, not even forty minutes after leaving the under-major. One of the Dalit fighters, an older gentleman with a paunch that strained the buttons on his work shirt, stopped what he was doing and came up to him.

“I want to thank you, Sergeant.”

Rev didn’t bother to correct the man. The man was a civilian, after all, and didn’t know that you never address a gunnery sergeant as “sergeant.” The only thing worse would be “sarge.” Civilian or not, he’d have to correct that egregious sin.

“For what, sir?”

“My daughter told me what you did.”

Rev paused, then asked, “She was on the mission that just got back?”

“Yes, sir. She was. And she tol’ me she’d be dead if you didn’t do the needful. When the kapi dun opened up on you all, she was scared shitless, sure she was a goner. But then you jumped up and took out the kuttas. Saved her, toh, and for that, I’m eternally grateful.”

The man held out his hand, and when Rev took it, he clasped it with his other hand as well, almost in supplication.

There were two surviving women in the base of fire, both about the same age, so Rev didn’t know which was this man’s daughter. He seemed to recall one of them, though, who’d been charging forward into the teeth of the enemy fire.

“Your daughter didn’t hesitate, sir, to do her duty. If she was scared, then that was the utmost sign of bravery. You should be proud of her. Very proud.”

The man took in a quick breath, and his eyes teared up. He let go of Rev’s hand and said, “I am, sir. You don’t know how much I am.”

It looked like he started to add something, but he choked up, mumbled another thanks, and hurried back to the training.

It wasn’t just the father. There was an apparent deference to Rev going on. People nodded at him in the tunnels, stepping out of the way to let him pass. One man stopped him, fumbled at his pocket, and brought out a carefully wrapped cookie.

“My wife made this for me before I left.”

“You should eat it, then,” Rev said, trying to push the man’s hand away.

“No. I want you to have it, na.”

Rev felt embarrassed, but he finally took it. The man looked at him expectantly, and Rev realized he couldn’t just save it for later. He took a small bite.

Damn. This is really good.

He quickly took a bigger bite of the soft, chocolate chip-laden cookie.

“This is freaking delicious. Thank you so much.”

“Mention not,” the man said, and his beaming smile made it all worthwhile.

There was one more thing. Yancey told him that he had a nickname: Lord Kartikeya, or sometimes just Lord K. The name was vaguely familiar from when Rev was researching names for his first IBHU, Pashupatastra, or Pashu. But he had to ask Punch to explain the reference. Lord Kartikeya was the six-headed son of Shiva and Parvati and was known as the Hindu God of War.

Rev wasn’t sure if there was really any religious connotation to that, or if it was like him naming his old IBHU, or someone being called Thor. He hoped not. That would be too weird.

All of the platoon seemed to be enjoying the Dalits’ favor, while the MDS were decidedly not. When Yancey pulled Rev aside and told him about the Lord K nickname, he also mentioned that some of the fighters had complained to him about the members of the FACT. It had been noted that the master sergeant hadn’t gotten involved in the battle, and the Dalits were getting frustrated at the lack of action. They’d been promised help, and while they were receiving the weapons from the Frisians, they didn’t see what the MDS were doing.

The planet was under attack, and the fighters didn’t know what was happening to their families and their homes. They wanted to take the fight to the enemy, not just blow up a bridge, and from their perspective, the FACT was sitting on its collective ass while the Naxli were destroying their world.

There might be rhyme and reason for the FACT’s methods, but they weren’t winning the PR battle, while the platoon was considered the “good guys.” And Rev was petty enough that while he knew they had the same end goal, he wasn’t sad that his troopers were held in higher regard than the MDS soldiers.

This limbo period only lasted three days, though. Under-major Svinon called the Dalit, Frisian, and platoon leadership together, where he presented the FACT’s findings in great detail and then his recommendations for moving forward.

His analysis pulled no punches. It was brutal, yet Rev had to admit that he couldn’t argue with the results. It was pretty accurate, both in weaknesses and strengths, from what he’d observed. And the way forward made sense, addressing the most pressing issues first.

Would it be enough? Rev wasn’t sure about that. The Dalit certainly had the fighting spirit and courage, and now they had some modern weapons. But the fact of the matter was that there were fifty-three of them left, and on the other side, there were at least a thousand Naxli in the immediate area, and more could come in at any moment.

Rev knew there was no way this band of Dalits could defeat the Naxli, but they didn’t have to. All they needed to do was to keep the Naxli occupied so they weren’t attacking civilians and then manage to survive long enough for the main human forces to arrive.

17

“That guy is sitting on my head,” Tiwari told Rev, pointing at Sergeant Lyntiniz.

Rev was getting used to the Hinglish by now, with all the nas and tohs seemingly thrown in at random, but this was a new one to him.

Luckily, he had a built-in translator.

“Punch?”

<The sergeant is stressing him out.>

Rev chuckled at the imagery, and he could understand why Tiwari was getting stressed. Now that the FACT had a course of action, they were everywhere, and the sergeant was a particularly hard taskmaster.

“He knows his shit, though,” Rev said.

“I’m not doubting that. But I don’t have to like him.”

“Between you and me, Per, I don’t like the arrogant Mad Dog, either.”

“Mad Dog?”

“Yeah. That’s what we call them. MDS, Mad Dog. Fits their personality.”

Tiwari laughed. “We’re calling them khotas, but I kinda like Mad Dog better.”

“What’s the overall mood?” Rev asked.

It had been less than a full day since the FACT had come up with their course of action, and tomorrow, the first mission was going to be implemented. For a Marine, who went through almost nine months of training and getting his augments before he was trusted to go on his first mission, this wasn’t even breakneck speed. This was lightspeed.

But as the under-major pointed out, time was not a luxury they had.

“Excitement. All of us have a debt to collect,” Tiwari said.

Rev grabbed the older man by the arm. “I hope folks aren’t talking about revenge.”

Tiwari looked uncomfortable. “Well, yes, we are.”

“Look, Per. We don’t have time to go through the training to bring you up to speed. We don’t have time to even effectively rehearse the under-major’s mission he ginned up for you. We need to do this, but just because you have some new weapons doesn’t mean you’re ready to take on the noxes.”

Tiwari frowned, and he twisted his arm free. “We’ve done pretty well so far before you decided to grace us with your presence.”

“Come on, I didn’t mean that. No one’s doubting your courage, but . . .”

He was about to mention how many of them had died, but with Tiwari’s son and his son’s fiancée among the dead, he thought he should rephrase that.

“. . . there’re a lot more of the noxes than there are of you, and we can’t waste lives just to satisfy a need for revenge. Save it for their complete defeat when you throw the bastards off your planet.”

Tiwari was quiet for a moment, then he said, “I’d better get down to the sergeant before he wonders where I am.”

He started to step off when Rev said, “I’m serious. Just focus on the mission and learn what you can. Don’t be a hero.”

<That’s the pot calling the kettle black.>

Rev ignored his battle buddy.

Tiwari stopped but didn’t turn around to face Rev. “I’ve got it. No hero stuff.”

“Mother promise?” Rev asked, which he’d learned was sort of an oath with the Dalit.

Tiwari still didn’t turn to face him, but he finally said, “Mother promise,” before he stepped off again.

* * *

“Where’s your lieutenant?” Master Sergeant Olyn asked Rev.

“Probably in the CP.”

Rev was tired, and he was heading back to the little storeroom he’d claimed to catch a few Zs. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with the MDS master sergeant.

“If he was in the CP, I wouldn’t be asking about him, right? Under-major wants him to go over your platoon’s participation in the mission.”

Don’t argue. Just get him. The sooner you do, the sooner you’ll get some sleep.

“I’ll be happy to find him, Master Sergeant,” Rev said through gritted teeth.

The master sergeant’s eyes narrowed as if wondering if Rev was being insubordinate or not, but he couldn’t fault the words, so he grunted and turned away.

Rev made his way to the side tunnel the platoon had claimed, but the lieutenant wasn’t there, and no one had seen him. He checked the “chow hall,” which was the section of a tunnel where the boxes of rations were stacked. He went out to the latrine. The lieutenant might as well have been a ghost.

Finally, on a hunch, he headed to the storeroom that had been his original destination. He hesitated a moment outside the door, then quietly pushed it open. His augmented vision was good enough to see the lieutenant’s back as the karnan lay on his side on top of a bed made of boxes.

He was just about to step into the room when a soft whimper, barely loud enough for him to hear, stopped him in his tracks.

What the . . . did I really hear that?

He stood still, listening, sure his mind was playing tricks on him when he heard it again, a cross between an exhalation and a sigh. His immediate inclination was to step back out and close the door.

Maybe he’s just having a bad dream.

And the under-major wanted him.

He wasn’t going to just walk up to the lieutenant and shake his shoulders. Instead, he rapped on the door sill and said, “Lieutenant?”

His platoon commander jerked upright and spun around. His face was puffy, and his cheeks glistened with tears.

He quickly rubbed his forearm across his eyes and mumbled out, “What is it?”

“Uh . . . the under-major is looking for you. He’s in the CP.”

The lieutenant took a deep breath and said, “OK. I’m on my way,” his voice breaking at the end of the sentence.

Rev was extremely uncomfortable, and he started to back away, not wanting to see his platoon commander so vulnerable, but looking at the man who was clearly out of sorts, he knew what his duty was.

Instead of backing out, he stepped forward, closed the door behind him, and turned on the light.

“Are you OK, sir?”

“Fi . . . fine. I’m fine.”

Rev gave him a long look, and the lieutenant couldn’t maintain eye contact.

“With all due respect, sir, you don’t look fine.”

Kjell sniffed, rubbed his nose, and said, “Just . . . just . . . don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

He swung his legs around until he was sitting on the boxes, feet on the floor. “Please, just give me a minute to get my head straight, and I’ll go see the major.”

Rev stared at his platoon commander. The man was not fine—that was obvious. And no matter what Rev thought of the man, he was the platoon commander. If he wasn’t mentally right, that could be dangerous for the platoon.

All the little issues over the last few months with the lieutenant suddenly came into focus. Individually, they might be nothing. But the pattern was now clear to him. Something serious was going on with the karnan.

“Punch, make sure this is all being recorded.”

<Got it.>

“Once again, sir, with all due respect, but I can see you’re not fine. And as your platoon sergeant, it’s my duty to find out what is going on and how that might affect the platoon.”

Rev braced himself for the onslaught, but to his surprise, the lieutenant didn’t blow up. He just silently sat there.

“Sir?”

“I’m fine,” he said again.

“No, you’re not. And I need to know why.”

Once again, there was no visible sign of anger.

Rev waited, and finally, in a soft voice, the lieutenant said, “He was my cousin, and I killed him.”

“Zin was your cousin? And if he was, you sure didn’t kill him. You weren’t even there at the front of the column.”

“Not Zin. Hant.”

“Hant? He died on Nox 1,” Rev said, using the name they’d started using for the first Naxli planet where they’d attacked the garrison.

The lieutenant nodded. “And I killed him.”

Rev was confused. Why was this coming up now? There was some truth to what the platoon commander was saying. If he hadn’t gone charging like a berserker chasing glory, the other karnan might very well be alive today. But the lieutenant had brushed off the death at the time. In fact, when Captain Adair had chewed his ass for going cowboy, the lieutenant had been angry at her, not repentant at all.

At least, that was how Rev interpreted his action.

“Why do you think that, sir?”

“I needed to be the hero, to prove myself worthy, and I took Hant along with me. I should have stuck with the mission order, but that wasn’t good enough for me.”

All of this was said in an emotionless monotone as if he was dispassionately recounting history. And now that he was done, he just watched Rev to see his reaction.

Rev didn’t know what to say. This was way beyond his training. But there wasn’t a handy sickbay nearby where a counselor or psychologist could talk to the karnan.

Finally, he asked, “Does this have something to do with the Order of Saint Bome?”

The lieutenant’s eyes widened, then he gave a low chuckle. “Of course, the pride of the persie Marines knows about the order.”

He stopped there, but when Rev just kept staring at him, waiting for more, Kjell said, “Yes, I’m in the order. My father and grandfather, too, so you can say it’s my birthright.” He laughed again, an ironic laugh. “Yeah, my birthright.”

“Punch, what am I supposed to do?”

<I’m not programmed for this, but from the literature, keep him talking.>

“And so, you were trying to justify your being in the order? I mean, on Nox 1?”

“It was pretty transparent, right?”

Rev shrugged.

“Look, Gunny. You don’t know what it’s like. My grandfather won the Iron Sword. My father was a General Prime before he became a senator. I have to be a success.”

“I don’t know?” Rev asked, bristling a bit. He held up his IBHU and said, “I’ve got eyes on me all the time. I’m IBHU #1. All I feel is pressure.”

“But the difference is that you met your expectations,” he said bitterly, the first time he’d said anything with emotion.

“Wait a minute. I know your record. You were a Cataphract. And you won the Iron Sword, too.”

“Yeah, about that. I was given the Iron Sword. It’s amazing what being the grandson of a hero and son of a senator can do for you. I’ll say this, Gunny. I had no idea what happened on Yellow Spill. My squad was hit bad. I was scared out of my ass, and the last four of us ran. But we ran in the wrong direction, right into a Paxus patrol. We panicked and started firing. When it was over, there were just the two of us left. With my father’s influence . . . well, I got the Iron Sword, a battlefield commission, and a trip to the karnan factory. When I survived the transformation, I was accepted into the order.”

This was a lot for Rev to take in, and he was more than uncomfortable being the lieutenant’s confessor.

“Find out what you can about his Iron Sword. Is he just downplaying it?”

<I’ll have it for you when you’re ready.>

“OK, you say you haven’t proven yourself, and in trying to do that, Hant got killed. But he knew the risks. He was a karnan, too. You can’t beat yourself up over that.”

Actually, Rev thought he could and maybe should beat himself up over what happened, but he needed an effective platoon commander, not someone wallowing in guilt.

The lieutenant laughed again and said, “You don’t get it, do you?”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“I’m sad about Hant. He was my cousin and my friend. But that’s not what’s wrong.”

Rev had about exhausted anything he could think of. The lieutenant needed some sort of help, but the resources for that were not readily available.

“What is wrong, then, sir?”

He paused, like someone standing at the cliff, ready to dive into the ocean, but suddenly wondering if it was a good idea or not.

“When I saw Hant, his body, I realized that could be me. I could have gotten myself killed,” he said in the voice of a child.

And it hit Rev. The man was afraid, and it was paralyzing him.

“But . . . but you fought on the water world. You fought at the station.”

“Did I? Did you see me?”

Rev thought back only to realize that he hadn’t seen the lieutenant really fight on the Naxli water world, and there really hadn’t been much of a fight on the station. But as a platoon commander, that wasn’t his job, so it hadn’t seemed out of the ordinary.

“Look, sir. We’re all afraid. You’d be insane not to be when facing death.”

“But you don’t hesitate to fight,” he said with finality as if he’d just proven his point.

Rev had opened a can of worms, a can he wished had remained closed. He needed to get schooled up by Punch on how to handle this, and right now, he was afraid of saying something that might push the lieutenant over the edge. He needed to bring this to a close, at least for the moment.

“And so will you, sir, when the time comes.”

Before the lieutenant could argue, he said, “But now, the under-major’s having a hissy fit because he can’t find you. Go to him now, sir. And if you want to talk after, I’m here.”

But please don’t!

Rev couldn’t tell if the lieutenant’s demeanor had changed, but he sighed and stood up.

“I’m sorry to burden you with all that heavy shit, Gunny. And I’ll be OK. Really. And if we can . . . sorta keep this to ourselves . . .”

“You’ve got it, sir. The under-major doesn’t need to know anything.”

“Thanks,” the lieutenant said.

He clapped Rev on the shoulder and left the storeroom.

Rev stared at his retreating back. The under-major wasn’t in their chain of command, so Rev could justify not informing him of the lieutenant’s frame of mind. But once they got back, if this wasn’t some temporary bout of depression, he wasn’t sure how he could remain silent.

18

“Do you think this is going to be successful?” Tsao asked Rev as they watched the Dalit prepare for their inspections.

They were alongside the same ravine where they’d undergone some of their training. Rev would’ve had the inspections inside the tunnel complex, even if it was one or two at a time. But the FACT wanted each element to be inspected together as a learning evolution.

“Maybe. If it isn’t, it won’t be for lack of spirit,” Rev said. “Look at them. They’re like kids getting ready to visit Hoppy Land.”

“Never went,” Hussein said.

Rev turned to him in amazed shock. “You never went to Hoppy Land? I thought that was a legal requirement. Are you sure you’re a Swansean and not a nox sleeper agent?”

He shrugged and said, “My parents thought it was just a foolish distraction from school. They wouldn’t allow me to go.”

“You don’t know what you were missing. Hoppy Land was a rite of passage. I loved it. I was devastated when the tin-asses destroyed it during the invasion.”

“It’s that excitement that has me worried. What is the word they use? They’re all enthus,” Tsao said, bringing the conversation back to the upcoming mission. “They’re acting like they’re invincible.”

“I think they understand,” Rev said. “They’re just happy that the odds have been leveled a bit, and they might be able to inflict some damage on the noxes.”

He wasn’t as sure, however, as his words. It wasn’t just Tiwari with his need for revenge. It was all of them. Revenge was a reasonable goal, given what they’d gone through, but emotions should not take precedence over sound tactics.

Given a choice, though, he’d rather be with fighters who had to be reined in than ones who needed a kick in the ass to advance.

“Oh, shit,” Hussein said. “Here it comes.”

Sergeant Lyntiniz lit into Tika, one of the squad leaders for the mission. Tika was conducting an inspection, and she’d missed that Non, the fighter she’d been inspecting, was short a magazine. Lyntiniz had been standing right at her shoulder, and he hadn’t missed it.

“Sucks to be her,” Hussein said.

“He’s right, though,” Rev said. “She should have caught it, and better to get her ass chewed here than have Non suddenly reach for a magazine he doesn’t have.”

Tsao nodded in agreement, but Hussein said, “He doesn’t have to be such an asshole about it. Or a Mad Dog. These aren’t professional soldiers.”

“But some of them are probably going to be killed just like professional soldiers in another five or six hours,” Tsao said. “Lyntiniz might be an asshole, but he also might keep a few more of the Dalits alive because of that.

Hussein frowned, but he didn’t reply.

“Speaking of the mission, are you up to speed?” he asked Hussein.

“Yeah. Take over security here. Me and Iglesias already divvied it up. I’ve got the squad eating chow now, and Second’s asleep.”

Rev knew Hussein was disappointed to be left behind. So was Rev, for that matter. But the under-major had been adamant that this had to be a Dalit mission, and only one squad would go along for the FACT security. Given his conversation with the lieutenant, Rev had expected that he would go on the security detail, but he was surprised when the lieutenant had decided that he would go and not Rev.

Which was a relief. Not that Rev was staying back, but that it was a good indication that maybe the karnan had been exaggerating his depression. And maybe he just needed a shoulder to cry on, so to speak, in order to get into the right frame of mind.

He was still going to have Punch walk him through whatever he had been able to pull up on depression and expectations, but he felt a lot better now than he had when the platoon commander had laid all of that on him.

Mother give me an enemy I can fight instead of a lieutenant with emotional issues!

“Did you get any sleep, Gunny?” Tsao asked.

“I was going to—”

“But something came up, like it always does,” Hussein said. “Look, you can catch almost two hours now. Why dontcha grab that, and we’ll wake you as they’re going out of the wire.”

Rev was tempted. He could forge on, pushing through his fatigue, but why? So he could watch the inspections?

He was just about to agree when Sergeant Lyntiniz, still bird-dogging Tika, suddenly tripped and went down.

“Real graceful,” Hussein said, but Rev’s internal alarm went off.

He took a few steps forward when Tika, who’d turned to help the sergeant up, went down as well.

“Naga!” Rev shouted, not sure how he knew that as opposed to a sniper or something else.

He ran forward, his IBHU at the ready, when he caught the slightest hint of motion up in the trees. He started firing, one five-round burst immediately followed by another. Tsao was just a fraction of a second behind him.

Both IBHU Marines hit the small drone, sending it crashing to the ground, where it was mobbed by the Dalit who’d been being inspected.

Rev ignored them as he scanned the treetops, looking for any sign that there might be another.

“They know we’re here now,” Tsao said.

“I wonder how long we’ve got,” Rev said.

It turned out, not long.

An explosion erupted in the treetops with shrapnel and wood splinters bursting through the area. Another Dalit went down.

“Hus-man, get First out here and in position,” he said, but the squad leader was already moving. “And tell Iglesias to get out here, too!”

Fighters were dragging back the MDS sergeant and the two Dalits to the mouth of the nearest tunnel while the rest were milling around as they searched the treetops.

“Into the ravine!” Rev shouted as he rushed them. At two meters wide, it was a ready-made trench. Not perfect, but it offered a hell of a lot more protection than standing on the forest floor.

Most of the fighters reacted, following Rev by jumping into the creek bed—and just in time. Another round hit, this time penetrating to the forest floor, which sent most of the blast over the ravine.

A lone Dalit fell in a heap, just a meter short of safety, and another went to her knees before scrambling back up and lunging for the ravine. Two Dalits crawled out far enough to grab their fallen comrade and pull her back with the rest.

Two more incoming rounds hit, but a little farther to the west where there wasn’t anyone.

Which told Rev that while the Naxli knew where they were, they didn’t have eyes on the target at the moment. Maybe the drone had been their only eyes. But with the Dalit complex located, there’d be more—drones, orbital eyes, or Naxli scouts.

The Dalits had done a great job in camouflaging the complex, both with old fashion cover and with mechanical spoofers, but now that the Naxli knew where they were, they’d be able to bring all of their surveillance options to pierce the veil.

At least human forces would, and Rev had to assume that the Naxli had similar capabilities.

First Squad poured out of the tunnel entrance, and Tsao waved them into the creek bed. She immediately started putting them in a semblance of a defensive line, interspaced between the Dalits. Hussein brought up the rear, and once he saw Tsao do her thing, he left her to it and came up to Rev.

“What do we got?”

“Three more rounds since you left. Forty meters that way.”

“Do you think that’s it?” Hussein asked.

“No. I think they don’t have eyes on us. They’ll be taking care of that as soon as they can, though.”

Someone ran out of the entrance, and Rev wheeled around. But it wasn’t Iglesias and Second. It was Master Sergeant Olyn.

“Where’s Lieutenant Kjell,” Rev asked before the master sergeant could say anything.

“With the under-major, getting ready to shift to a defensive posture. What are we facing? Is anything imminent?”

“Can’t tell. We shot down a naga, and we took in four rounds. I’m guessing artillery, from the way they hit.”

The master sergeant leaned over the edge of the ravine’s walls and scanned the forest. “Any sign of ground troops?”

“Not that we’ve seen.”

“They’re coming, though,” he said. “The question is when.”

He looked up and down the creek bed, noting the troopers mixed in with the Dalit. “This is still their fight,” he told Rev.

“I thought we were beyond that.”

“I know you want to mix it up, Gunny. Your reputation precedes you. But this isn’t where you earn another medal. The Dalits have to learn to do for themselves, and they’re never going to be able to do that if they rely on your platoon to do their fighting for them.”

The nearest Dalit—Harun, the father who’d thanked Rev for supposedly saving his daughter—evidently overheard, based on the scowl that took over his face and his spitting on the ground. It was hard to miss, but the master sergeant acted like he never saw it.

Hussein caught Rev’s eye, and Rev gave the slightest of head shakes. If the Naxli assaulted their position, Rev wasn’t going to hold his troopers back.

“What about Third Squad? With Staff Sergeant del Rio? They were with Lieutenant Kjell.”

“They’re staged at the CP now, providing security.”

Which was actually in accordance with their mission. If the bulk of the FACT and Frisians were there, then that is where all of the platoon should be, not out here.

“I sent your Second Squad there, too. They were on their way out here.”

Rev felt a flare of anger. The master sergeant had no authority to give his troopers orders.

“That wasn’t your place to do that.”

“So, sue me, Gunny.”

Rev’s eyes went wide in shock, and for once, he was speechless. How was he supposed to answer that?

“I’m checking the positions,” he said, which was the first thing he could come up with.

He hadn’t gone three steps before a voice shouted out, “We’re coming in! Don’t shoot!”

And, of course, the line of Dalits deployed their weapons.

“Hold your Mother-loving fire,” Rev shouted. “Kapis don’t tell us they’re coming!”

Two Dalits burst into view, sprinting to the complex. They reached the ravine and dove in, heedless of how they landed.

“Kapis. Hundreds of them,” one of them gasped out.

Rev ran up and grabbed one of them by the front of his denim shirt. “From where? How are they armed?”

“From the west, across the rockfall. They look like infantry. Hundreds of them,” he said.

“They’ve got a little armor thing,” the other said between breaths.

“Armor thing? What kind of thing?”

“About the size of a Hindmarch Llama, but with a gun tube on top.”

“Punch?”

<I don’t have anything in my data banks that readily describes that.>

“How far out is that?” Rev asked.

“I don’t know. A klick?” the man said.

Rev looked around and caught the master sergeant’s stare. Rev had already gone against the man’s instructions. It should be whoever was in charge of the Dalits who were being inspected who was asking the questions. But with Tika down, that person was evidently more than willing for Rev to take charge.

“I’m only getting the information, Master Sergeant,” he said.

“Just keep it at that,” Olyn told him.

Rev looked around and spotted Lvarn, the nearest trooper to him. “Go to the CP and tell the lieutenant that we’ve got noxes heading our way. Possibly hundreds of them. And if he isn’t in the CP, make sure the under-major and the Dalits know.”

The Dalit OP, still out of breath, gave Rev a grateful look. The other fighters were looking at Rev and the master sergeant as if waiting for instructions.

Screw him.

“Who’s in charge now?” Rev asked.

A young man—Jun or Jan or something like that, Rev remembered—raised a tentative hand.

Rev wasn’t sure what the Dalit plan of defense was, whether to keep a perimeter or retreat into the tunnel complex. So, he made a command decision.

“Get your people ready to stop the kapis. Use the creek bed as your position. This is your fight,” he added to appease the master sergeant.

If the Naxli bypassed them or hit them with an overwhelming force, Rev figured that they could retreat into the tunnels, but this gave them the best opportunity to punch the Naxli in the nose and deplete their numbers, something that they couldn’t do inside the complex.

Rev hoped he’d made the right call, but over his years in the Corps, he’d learned a valuable lesson. Any decision was better than no decision at all. Dithering around was a sure recipe for disaster.

He took a moment to stare out into the forest, overlaying what his eyes could see with the terrain map in his head.

If I were a nox, where the hell would I approach? Put yourself in their commander’s head, Reverent.

It was true that the Naxli seemed to be more humanlike than the Centaurs, who were almost complete enigmas. But it would be a mistake to assume that he could think like a Naxli commander.

Still, physics was physics, terrain was terrain, and some things had to be based on universal realities. Following those realities, the most logical avenue of approach would be to hit the complex right where the Dalits and Second Squad were located.

He couldn’t see any sign of the Naxli, but another series of explosions farther from their position was proof enough that they were on their way.

The Dalit were not relying strictly on observation posts. They had mechanical sensors, but those terminated inside the tunnels. That made sense if they were holed up in them, but it didn’t give Rev any of their data.

Time to use the Gnat.

Rev reached into his thigh holster and removed the tiny multipurpose drone. With the planet-wide jamming, he couldn’t send it out to transmit images back to him, but he could set it to fly-and-forget mode, sending it out programmed to record what it found before returning to him where he could download the images. He dialed in the azimuth and range, giving it a search box, then turned on the return to sender function.

“Be good to me, baby,” he muttered as he tossed it into the air.

That was about all he had in his bag of tricks. Now it was going to come down to a brawl, and hopefully, the humans had enough of a punch to send the Naxli reeling.

Rev ran over to Hussein. “You ready, Hus-man?”

“I was born ready. You know that,” Hussein said. “Uh, we’re not going to just sit back and watch the Dalits fight? When the noxes show their faces, we’re engaging, right?”

Rev was about to tell him it was weapons-free, but at the last second, he changed his mind.

“Hold your fire. Let the Dalits engage.”

Hussein couldn’t keep the surprise from his face. “You’re letting that Mad Dog tell you what to do?”

“No, I’m not. But I want you to hold your fire. Wait . . . no, let Rappa engage. Single shots.”

Rappa wasn’t a dedicated sniper like his fellow Tau Ceti Ranger Kit Anderson in Third Squad, but he could serve the same function.

“I’m going to guess that the noxes don’t know we’re here. I want to surprise them. Let them get enough of them in our kill zone so Tsao, me, and Lvarn . . . crap, I sent Lvarn back to the CP. OK, no problem. I want them bunched up so Tsao and I can mow as many down as possible before they realize what they’re up against.”

Hussein tapped his M-103. “I’ve got a little firepower of my own. Forty-mike-mike rounds.”

“So, when I open up with my twenty, everyone else does. You and your mike-mikes, too. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Rev scurried back to where he launched his mini-drone. The Gnat had imprinted on him and would find him when it returned, but it would be quicker if Rev was at that position.

He could feel the master sergeant’s gaze eating into him. He’d seen Rev launch the Gnat, and he’d seen him conferring with Hussein. Rev half-expected the man to come up and accuse him of planning to initiate contact.

Not that it mattered if he did. He may be senior, but he had no authority over Rev and his troopers.

More explosions were reaching him through the trees. Even with Punch attempting to locate where the rounds were hitting, the rocks and forest were rendering that effort only partially effective. Suffice it to say, though, that the entire area was under light enemy fire. Rev thought it was either probing fire, to locate the exact human positions, or more likely, fixing fire. The Naxli wanted to fix the humans in place, cutting off retreat and keeping their heads down so their warriors could assault through.

If their goal was to cut off retreat, then it worked. Rev hadn’t wanted to consider retreating. With over half of the humans still inside the tunnels, retreat wasn’t much of an option, in Rev’s mind, and even if the rest of the humans managed to get out of the complex in time, he didn’t relish a running battle with a large force of Naxli on their asses.

No, the Naxli were about to engage them, and the human’s best chance was to stop the assault and if necessary, make the Naxli dig them out of the tunnels. The wolf might know the badger was in a hole in the ground, but digging the ill-tempered animal out was easier said than done.

The hidden entrance to the tunnel opened up again, and Kvarn stepped out, followed by ten more Dalits.

As Kvarn ran up to Rev, Tiwari nodded at him and jogged over to a relieved-looking Jun.

“The lieutenant says there’re over two hundred skeletals heading our way. We’re supposed to remain in place, and if we have to, join in the defense,” Kvarn told Rev.

Not that it changed his mind, but the lieutenant had just given him cover if the master sergeant registered some sort of protest.

“Is he coming?” Rev asked, hoping the lieutenant had gotten over his funk and was back to normal now that the shit was about to hit the fan.

“No,” the karnan said, and Rev frowned before the man added, “There’re more skeletals coming from the east and north. He’s going with First and Third to fight them. He said you’ve got this sector.”

Which meant the Naxli knew exactly where they were. And they weren’t just probing with the rounds that were intermittently landing in the area. They were fixing the humans in place.

<So, there’s no retreat.>

Rev had reluctantly and briefly considered the option of a retreat, but he hadn’t mentioned the word aloud. So Punch had come up with that on his own.

“OK. Go get in your position. I’m going to need your BIPAC. We’re going to be holding back, letting the Dalits engage at first. When we’ve got more noxes in the kill zone, you, Sergeant Tsao, and I are going to see how many of the bastards we can bag. Got it?”

A smile came over the big karnan’s face, and he stroked his big BIPAC like a lover. “Oh, I’ve got it, Gunny.”

“Just wait for me to open up with my twenty. That’s your signal.”

Kvarn scurried off at a half-crouch, keeping his head below the lip of the creek bed wall.

Rev took out his Optisight and raised it so he could scan the forest. The Naxli had to be getting close, but there was nothing.

“Wish we had a Hellborer,” he muttered.

The crew-served beamer would have been a welcome addition to their firepower.

<Not in the mission. You’re not here to fight, and any attachments could have lowered the amount of munitions and weapons delivered to the Dalit.>

“Just add another pisser when we inserted.”

<We don’t know the availability of them.>

Rev had never considered that. Naval assets were something that were just there. But he realized Punch was right. They were like any piece of Marine gear, and there were not unlimited supplies.

He caught movement in his peripheral vision, and he lowered his Optisight and turned his head. Hussein was gesturing at him to catch his attention. Once he saw that Rev was looking, he signaled “enemy” and an azimuth.

Rev raised his Optisight again, but this time, instead of looking to his front, he looked at an angle, running his vision across their position. Two Naxli were slowly making their way through the forest.

Almost immediately, a single shot rang out, and one of the Naxli fell. That opened the floodgates, and fire erupted from the forest, peppering the trees and dirt.

If that was the direction of the assault, Rev was out of position. As more of the Dalit started returning fire, Rev jumped up and ran at a crouch toward his line’s right flank.

He was vaguely aware of the master sergeant following him, but he really didn’t care what the man was doing. He wasn’t going to let him interfere with what had to be done.

Rev ran past both Dalit and troopers and came to a stop forty meters from where he’d been, where the creek bed dogged slightly to the right. He raised the Optisight again, and he had a much better position upon which to engage the enemy. He had at least a hundred of them to his front, all using what was classic Marine fire and maneuver to advance. The professional in Rev had to give them credit. These weren’t amateurs or rear-area troops. They would fire, get up, run five or ten meters, and get back down before they could be targeted and shot.

Mostly, that is. A few were engaged and dropped, but not enough. It was evident that if this was what they were facing, they’d overrun the human line.

“Let me see that thing,” the master sergeant said as he crept up to him.

Rev didn’t want to give up his Optisight. He needed to pick the time for the squad to engage. But reluctantly, he handed it over.

“Just for a second,” he said, though.

Master Sergeant Olyn raised the sight and rotated the view field back and forth for a few moments. He gritted his teeth in a scowl and handed it back to Rev.

“There’s no way these Dalit can hold them off,” he said, but not directly to Rev.

He got back up to a crouch and started to run back.

Rev stared at the man retreating for a moment, more surprised than anything else.

“He’s running away back inside the tunnels? Real warrior, Mad Dog.”

But it was all to the good. There wasn’t anyone there now who could get in the way of Rev’s plan. He forced the master sergeant from his thoughts and looked out over the approach again. More Naxli kept emerging from the trees, not hesitating in the face of the Dalit—and Rappa’s—well-aimed fire.

This was when they should be hitting mines and barriers, but the Dalit had elected to leave the surrounding forest clear of everything but their sensors. They didn’t want anything to point out their position. That was a reasonable plan, but the fact that the Naxli were knocking on their doors was a pretty good indication that the plan had failed.

As each Naxli went to ground, they fired their weapons, giving the others covering fire. They weren’t hitting many Dalits yet—the same trees that gave them some cover affected their fields of fire to the Dalit line—but the threat was keeping the local fighters from effectively aiming their rounds. Only Rappa, protected by his PAL, was taking down Naxli with each shot.

A Naxli fired a small rocket, which streaked up to the humans. Rev watched as it seemed it was going to overshoot the line twenty meters to Rev’s left when it exploded over the creek bed, sending shrapnel straight down. Rojas, with his PAL, survived the blast, but the Dalit who’d been firing just a few meters from him collapsed into a lifeless heap.

Another rocket was launched, and Rev knew the Naxli had pinpointed their position and had shifted to weapons that were effective against dug-in troops. Rev popped up his head, eschewing the Optisight, and got a full image before ducking back down.

The nearest Naxli were about fifty meters away, well within engagement range. But more were still approaching from farther out, with the forest giving them cover. Rev wanted more within the kill zone, but he couldn’t wait any longer.

“Mother guide me,” he muttered as he raised his upper body and fired three quick bursts with his twenty mm cannon. He hadn’t even finished the first eight-round burst before Tsao joined in, and a moment later, Lvarn’s big BIPAC started putting out rounds.

Fifteen or twenty Naxli fell in the first curtain of fire. Rev switched to his beamer on guillotine mode, his grim reaper’s scythe of death cutting through Naxli, who’d just started their next rush.

The rest of the squad joined the onslaught, and the Dalits were emboldened to increase their rate of fire. Incoming fire faltered, but only for a moment. The Naxli were taken by surprise, but they reacted quickly, with large numbers going to ground and providing a base of fire of their own.

While his IBHU’s beamer was recharging, Rev reverted to his twenty. As soon as his beamer was ready, he fired again. This time, however, he wasn’t as effective. With the Naxli hugging the ground, he might have dropped two of them.

“Aimed fire! Aimed fire!” someone shouted. Rev turned to see the master sergeant, standing tall as he ran behind the Dalits and troopers.

Rev had thought he’d abandoned them, but here he was, ignoring the danger as he took charge. He physically picked up one of the Dalits and dragged him behind a tree that jutted out of the top of the creek bed and pointed downrange, as if telling him where to fire.

If the master sergeant wanted to take over, Rev was all for that. It allowed him to be a fighter and put his IBHU to good use.

Rev alternated between his twenty and his beamer, all the time watching his round count and power deplete. He still could employ his beamer for some time, but he’d used up a full third of his twenty mm rounds.

Something powerful exploded near him, the concussion knocking him back, but Punch assured him his PAL was undamaged.

A Dalit near him wasn’t as lucky. She was sitting now at the bottom of the ravine, still alive, but dazed. She raised a hand to her ear, and it came back bloody. Then he caught sight of a body beyond her. He’d seen death enough to know that the man was dead.

“Armor! Two o’clock!” one of his troopers shouted out.

Rev got back up, switching to his Moray. He quickly saw the vehicle through the trees, about a hundred meters away. It reminded him more of the Centaur automatic gunbots he’d fought on Tenerife than of any Naxli weapons he’d seen. But now wasn’t the time to sit and ponder its origins. If that was what had just knocked him on his ass, it needed to be taken out.

Tsao beat him by half a second, her Moray streaking ahead just in front of Rev’s. Both Morays hit true, and the armor stopped its advance. There wasn’t the catastrophic kill that Rev had expected, so he fired again. The vehicle didn’t react.

But the Naxli did. Even if their armored weapon didn’t go up in a spectacular fireball, they evidently knew it was dead, and they started to pull back. Not simply retreat, but to fall back in an orderly fashion, with Naxli covering for each other in sections.

Rev stood higher in the ravine to target the retreating Naxli, and he paid for his lack of caution. A large round hit him high in the right shoulder. His display alarm sounded, and his arm movement seemed limited.

“Fix that, Punch,” Rev said as he kept firing with his IBHU.

<I’m on it.>

The humans were able to drop a few more of them, but the bulk were able to gain the cover of the forest, and the master sergeant shouted for everyone to cease fire.

One person shouted a cry of victory, which was quickly taken up by others, until all of the surviving Dalit were screaming with joy—joy at pushing back the Naxli, but more so, joy at still being alive.

One of the locals whose name escaped him ran up to Rev, hand raised for a high five. “We did it, Lord K! We kicked their asses!”

“Lord K! Lord K!” several of the others started shouting.

Rev tried to raise his right arm, but he couldn’t get it above chest level. He switched to his IBHU, which the man happily high-fived.

“This was a combined effort,” Rev started to tell the Dalit, but the man was already running to high five Archambault.

Rev caught the eye of the master sergeant, who gave him a slight nod. Let the Dalit celebrate, but this wasn’t over. Both of them knew the Naxli weren’t done with them.

19

“That’s the entire case,” Sergeant John Vestergaard said.

“Thanks. Go ahead and get back to your team.”

The IBHU’s four 20mm magazines were spread across Rev’s back, where a feed system pulled rounds from all four in turn to keep Rev from being over-balanced as he depleted his load. The main drawback to the system was that unless Rev shucked his PAL, he couldn’t refill the magazines himself, which was why Vestergaard had to help him.

“What’s my status, Punch?”

<All systems green. Power is at seventy-seven-point-four percent. You have 1,788 rounds and four Morays.>

It wasn’t a full combat load, but after the two assaults—here and at the first mission’s objective—he was glad to get the extra 550 rounds for his twenty. But he knew this was it. They’d brought a relatively small amount of extra 20 mm rounds, Morays, 40 mm grenades, and rounds for the karnan’s BIPACs. Most of the 20 mm rounds had gone to Randigold, Božič-Mizaki, and Hochenspatter, who’d been more heavily engaged on the other side of the complex. He and Tsao each got a single case of 550 rounds.

And that was it. The cupboard was now bare. There were both a powerpack and coldpack available, so he could still use his beamer for quite some time, but as far as his twenties and Morays, what he had was all he was going to get, at least until the main force arrived, established a foothold, and started up the logistical train.

Fire discipline, Reverent. Watch your usage, and lean on your beamer more.

But the twenty was proving to be more effective. The Naxli’s organically grown armor and applied manufactured segments did a fair job of deflecting meson beams. They had to be concentrated in either rifle or guillotine mode to have a shot at dropping them and at relatively close range. The armor-piercing 20 mm rounds, though, didn’t have much trouble with their personal armor, so his twenty cannon would be Rev’s weapon of choice if he had an unlimited resupply of rounds.

His ammo load wasn’t his only concern. Rev flexed his right arm several times. “I still feel that hitch at the shoulder, and I can’t raise my arm all the way.”

<I’ve rerouted the circuits several times now. I think this is as good as it’s going to get until you can get a tech to do a complete overhaul.>

Because of his eagerness to engage the retreating Naxli, Rev had exposed too much of himself, taking the shot to his shoulder. His PAL-HX had deflected the heavy round, but his combat suit had taken some damage. Punch had done his best to minimize the effects of the damage, but that hadn’t been enough to restore full and unimpeded motion.

<Luckily, your IBHU is on your left. You don’t need your right arm to be combat effective.>

Rev knew that was true, but he hated not being at one hundred percent. If the next assault ended up with hand-to-hand, he didn’t want to be limited in any way.

The sounds of heavy fighting on the other side of the complex increased, and Rev joined the others around him in turning and looking. He wished he knew what was going on over there. The team that had lugged the 40-kg ammo boxes to Tsao, and Rev had told him that the collective force of the two Combined Assault Squads and Dalit fighters had thrown back the first assault, but at a heavy cost.

Not knowing who was lost was gnawing at him, and it took an effort to push that out of his mind. The Naxli were going to come back, and now that they knew the IBHU and karnans were there, they’d have a plan to deal with them.

Tiwari scurried over to him at a crouch.

“What’s gonna happen now, do you think?” he asked.

“They’re regrouping,” Rev said. “They’ll come again. Not up the gut, though. They’re going to try and find a soft spot to break through, which is why I told you to shift some of your fighters to the left.”

“We don’t have enough fighters to keep them out, na?”

“We don’t have to stop them everywhere. All we have to do is keep them away from the entrances into the tunnels for now.”

Tiwari thought about that for a moment, softly stroking his crossbow, then said, “But if they skip past us, they can hit the others from the rear, in a pincer attack, I think you call it.”

Rev grunted. This man, a chef with no military training, understood that without being told.

“And that’s why I put two of my troopers out farther. If the noxes do try to bypass us, we need to attack and make them react.”

Tiwari didn’t respond. Instead, he quietly said, “We’ve already lost so many.”

Rev knew he was thinking about his son. He couldn’t imagine what that must feel like. He’d worried about his family, of course, when the Centaurs invaded, but your own child? It was amazing that this man could still function . . . then again, revenge and hate were pretty strong motivators.

Rev was trying to think of something to say, something that could give the man hope but wasn’t complete bullshit when rounds started coming through the canopy at the left, more heavily forested side of the line. A few seconds later, Tsao and some Dalits started firing.

The Naxli had shifted their assault, only not far enough. The end of the defensive line was engaging them.

Rev opened his mouth to yell out orders, but the master sergeant beat him to the punch.

“Shift left. Every other fighter, shift left.”

After the first assault had been beaten back, Master Sergeant Olyn had briefed this maneuver, but they hadn’t been able to rehearse it. Amazingly, though, the partisans and troopers managed to pull it off in reasonable order.

Rev hadn’t been part of the initial reckoning of who would shift, if need be, so he was a free agent. But if his troopers were engaging on the left flank, then that’s where he was going, too.

He started sprinting to join the others in the fight. The master sergeant was screaming orders, trying to form the shifting fighters into some sort of order, but Rev tuned him out. He wasn’t needed to organize the defense, so he let his warrior self rise to the front. He was an IBHU Marine, the deadliest fighter in human history, and freed of command, he was going to kill him some Naxli.

His warrior self sang with pleasure as he closed with the enemy.

Rev ran past two dead fighters, their blood still flowing from ravaged flesh. He didn’t stop but let that fuel the cold fire of mayhem that flowed through him as he searched for a victim.

<To your two o’clock!>

Punch’s words broke through his death lust, and he shifted his focus. Three Naxli were rushing forward at an oblique to him, firing ahead. One of them spotted Rev at the same moment and swung to engage him, but Rev’s Centaur-enhanced IBHU was quicker, and a burst of twenties cut it down. Rev didn’t hesitate, keeping the rounds coming as he swept his aim to the other two. One was hit, but the other’s momentum took it behind a tree, which Rev’s heavy rounds chewed to matchsticks.

Rev darted to his right to get a better angle, then fired again, clipping the back of the Naxli but not dropping it.

Tiwari had followed Rev, and while the Naxli was preoccupied with the IBHU Marine, he ran at an angle to his left and fired a single bolt from his crossbow. The Naxli stumbled forward to land face-first on the forest floor.

A surge of victory swept through Rev that was cut short when Punch said, <That was fifty-six rounds.>

It was like a punch in the face, and Rev faltered.

Fifty-six? No way.

But he checked his display, and, of course, his battle buddy was right.

His focused killing rage faded. He’d allowed his warrior to take over, and it almost cost him. If Punch hadn’t warned him, he could have been killed by the three Naxli. What made it worse was that Punch could only see what he saw, yet he’d needed Punch to point out the enemy, he’d let himself get so blinded.

Calm down, he told himself as he pushed his warrior self back—not into the recesses of his soul, but just enough to temper the rash lack of situational awareness.

Rev gave Tiwari a half salute, then started forward again, but not in the same headlong rush as before.

The master sergeant was everywhere, darting through the trees as he organized the defense. As Rev and Tiwari started to tie into the line, a blast shattered a tree near the MDS soldier and knocked him down. Rev immediately adjusted his course to help, but the master sergeant jumped back to his feet. Blood started to flow down his neck from under his helmet, but it didn’t seem to slow him down.

Somewhere ahead, he could hear Sergeant Tsao fire measured bursts from her twenty. They’d both fought so often together that Rev knew what he should be doing.

The ravine through which the creek flowed had disappeared, which took away the cover it offered farther downstream. But there were plenty of standing and fallen trees. Rev took to the ground behind a half-rotten trunk, and as Tsao finished a burst, Rev fired his own. Tsao took up the beat, and the two started singing to each other.

He didn’t have too many specific targets, just vague shapes doing their rushes. He thought he might have hit some, but he couldn’t be sure. He knew he and Tsao were having an effect, though. The interlocking curtain of the big rounds had slowed, if not stopped the Naxli advance, which gave the Dalits and the other troopers the opportunity to pick individual targets.

They were taking heavy incoming fire, though. Rev could hear someone screaming in pain. Hopefully, someone else was tending to the wounded person, but Rev had to trust that it was being done. Right now, he had to keep up his fire . . . and watch his round count diminish with each burst. He was down to just under nine hundred.

Something hit the log Rev was using as cover, the projectile passing completely through the rotted wood between him and Tiwari. Rev awkwardly rolled to his right to a much smaller, but living, tree and edged around the base. He missed his burst, so there was a gap in their curtain of fire.

Maybe the Naxli thought he’d been killed, because after Tsao fired two bursts in a row, two of them who Rev hadn’t seen before jumped up to rush forward, only for Rev to drop both of them.

“Nice shooting,” Tiwari said from where he’d taken cover when the Naxli round had penetrated through the log.

The screaming of the wounded human finally died down. Rev hoped it was because they’d gotten care and not because they’d passed.

Several of the Naxli rockets that detonated shrapnel down as they passed over hit their defensive line, but as effective as they were, Rev wondered why so few.

<It could be they have limited numbers of the rockets,> Punch offered.

Rev wasn’t so sure. Something was off here. With the Dalits and Second Squad spread out too far, they were ripe for a concerted, penetrating attack. Even with Tsao and him, that didn’t explain why they weren’t pressing. There was a huge frontage where they could pick and choose where to press their numerical advantage.

“Why aren’t they coming?” Tiwari asked.

“Because they aren’t trying to,” Rev said as it hit him. “They’re just fixing us in place right now.”

But why is the question.

The battle wasn’t just engaged here. The sounds of fighting were reaching them from at least two positions on the other side of the complex. It could be that some of the Naxli opposing them had shifted to the other two assaulting forces, and they wanted to keep Rev and his fighters from reinforcing the others. Or, just as probable, these Naxli were holding the humans in place until they were reinforced and could storm the line.

The aggressive, unexpected thing to do would be to launch a counterassault on the Naxli in front of them. Break them up before they could implement their plan. Rev’s warrior tried to surge to the forefront the moment Rev considered that. Marines took the initiative, after all, denying it to the enemy.

Could that succeed, though? They were still heavily outnumbered. Rev was tempted to form a counterassault. He knew the risk was huge, and it could bite them in the ass, but the idea began to grow on him. He had to change the dynamic and not let the Naxli control the narrative.

He fired another burst from his twenty when the decision was taken out of his hands. Five impossibly loud sirens reverberated over the sound of the fighting.

“What the heck is that?” Rev asked, looking around.

Tiwari rolled onto his back and looked to the rear. “That’s the signal to retreat.”

“Retreat? How? We’re surrounded.”

“Into the tunnels. We need to get back into the tunnels.”

“I was never told that,” Rev said, unsure of what was going on.

“I don’t know why you weren’t. But that’s the signal.”

Rev realized he’d missed another burst, and he turned and fired into the trees. If that was some sort of signal, then why weren’t they briefed? And who made that decision?

But the Dalits were already moving, and a mass exodus would open everyone up to a concerted Naxli assault.

Master Sergeant Olyn realized that as well. He bellowed, “Odd numbers, retreat. Even, maintain your position and increase your rate of fire!”

This was a standard method of retreating under pressure, but several of the Dalits who’d started to crawl back hesitated. With most of those near Rev having already shifted once, who was even and who was odd had been lost, and no one was sure if they were supposed to be pulling back or staying in place.

“Every other soldier fall back. The rest, keep firing.”

“That’s you, Per,” Rev told the Dalit.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’m sticking.”

As if in emphasis, he fired a bolt at a target Rev couldn’t see.

“Missed, damn it,” he said as he levered another bolt into the firing channel and cocked the string.

The master sergeant was up and running again, completely exposed as he physically grabbed bodies and sent some back while telling others to keep firing. Rev still didn’t like the man, but he had to give him credit. The guy was fearless.

He spotted Rev and shouted, “Gunny, keep up the base of fire. I’ll tell you when to collapse the line after I clear the logjam at the tunnel entrance.”

“Roger that. I’ve got it.”

Most of the first wave had retreated toward the tunnel entrance before the Naxli seemed to notice. Within moments, the incoming increased in tempo, and they started their rushes again, pushing closer.

Rev ignored his round count display as he poured more and more rounds into the attacking enemy. Tsao was firing as well—she’d stayed with the base of fire. Rev could hear Kvarn’s BIPAC belting out a welcome. He’d stayed in his original position on the right side of the line, so the Naxli had to be advancing there as well.

Forty-mm grenades were exploding in the trees to their front, which meant either Hussein or Vestergaard had stayed as well. But while everyone left had increased their rate of fire, it was still less than what was going outbound before. And the Naxli were taking advantage of that, pushing forward with more urgency.

That gave Rev additional targets, and he was killing more of them, but there were a lot more Naxli than humans. They could afford the losses, where each Dalit or trooper to fall was a huge gut shot.

“Pass it on. When we get the signal, we collapse outside in. Don’t move off the line until those outboard of you pass you,” Rev shouted once to the right and once to the left. He could hear that making its way down the line, but he could only hope it got to the ends.

Rev quickly switched to his missiles and launched a Moray. It barely missed a tree in front of him as the avoidance system had little room to maneuver, and Rev never heard it detonate. Hopefully, though, it reminded the Naxli that the humans were well-armed.

The Naxli advanced close enough to throw their version of a handheld grenade. Rev dropped one of them as it rose to throw, the grenade going off a few seconds later. But others managed to throw theirs. The trees helped the humans this time, as grenades hit and bounced off, but some made it through to land among them.

One bounced and came to a rest about eight meters to Rev’s right. It lay there for a moment, then it started spinning, throwing shrapnel out in a circle, just a few centimeters above the ground. Rev was hit several times, his PAL fending off the shrapnel, but a Dalit another ten meters beyond it was hit, her unarmored arm and leg taking the damage.

“Can you retreat?” Rev asked her.

“I’m good,” she gasped, shifting her rifle to her other arm.

The incoming intensified, and Rev could sense that things were coming to a head. Any longer, and they’d be resorting to hand-to-hand. He extended his blade, ready to meet whatever reached him as he lengthened his bursts. He was willing to mix it up with any Naxli who reached him, but he’d rather drop them before they got close.

At last, a piercing whistle cut through the cacophony of war.

“That’s it!” Rev shouted, sending his external speakers to max volume. “Start collapsing the line.”

He knew that some Naxli could understand Standard, but he didn’t have much choice. He had to make sure those at the ends of the line weren’t left behind because they didn’t hear the word.

Rev was not that far from the tunnel entrance, so he’d be one of the last to go. That meant he had to make up for the loss of fire from those pulling back. He shifted to twenty and thirty-round bursts as his ammo count fell below four hundred, then three hundred.

Tsao dropped off. Rev prayed it was because she was pulling back and not because she’d been killed.

A Dalit running behind him stumbled and went down. Rev had to keep up the covering fire and couldn’t check on him, but Rappa grabbed the Dalit, slung him over his shoulder, and started running again.

“Only a couple more, and then it’s you, Gunny! Don’t get left behind!” the Ranger shouted as he disappeared into the start of the ravine.

Rev was down to eighty-two rounds when Tiwari said, “That’s us.”

The Dalit turned and ran at a crouch as incoming shattered wood just above his head. Rev turned to shout at the woman on the other side of him, but she was face-down and limp on the ground.

“Shit!” He fired another burst, then darted to the side.

The woman didn’t have a dead man’s handle on her armored vest, so Rev grabbed her by the collar just as two Naxli appeared, converging on them from twenty meters apart.

With his right hand clamped on her collar, Rev switched to his beamer, which was still in guillotine mode, and swept a slash across. Whether by luck or skill, Rev hit them at neck height, just above their body armor, and decapitated them.

He didn’t stand around to admire his kills. He started to run, dragging the Dalit fighter behind him, her heels bouncing on the ground and rocks.

Rev was closer to the entrance than he realized. Thirty meters to the start of the ravine, and he had some cover from incoming. Then it was another thirty or so to the entrance, where troopers and Dalits were plugging up the way in.

Hussein was trying to rein in the chaos, pushing and pulling people to keep the line moving. The master sergeant was standing by, his big Boro in one hand, while he counted each warrior entering.

Rev almost tossed his Dalit at the others, telling them to bring her in, then he spun around to cover them. He could hear the Naxli coming, so he pushed back out to the far edge of the creek bed. He needed to stop them before they had a line of sight to the entrance and the clusterfuck there.

Someone moved up beside him, and Rev wasn’t surprised to see it was Tiwari.

“You didn’t have enough yet, Per?”

“Can’t let you persies have all the fun.”

“‘Persies?’ Really?”

“Said with love.”

He caught some movement and fired his twenty. He either hit the enemy, or it went prone. It almost didn’t matter, as long as it was stopped.

As he searched for another target, Tiwari spun and fired. Rev turned, and a Naxli body fell into the ravine, a bolt buried deep into its chest.

“Remind me to look into a crossbow when this is over. That went right through the armor.”

<I’ll remind you right now to deal with the present situation and not worry about other weapons.>

“Right,” Rev said as he fired another burst at a Naxli, this one with a blade raised high, who emerged from the trees.

“When are they going to learn that an IBHU is better than any pigsticker?” he said as the enemy fell on its face.

<Hopefully, never.>

“Now’s not the time for jokes,” Rev said as he laughed.

<I wasn’t joking.>

Tiwari fired again, but Rev was too busy pumping out rounds to see what he was shooting at. His ammo count alarm went off, and the top of his face shield display flashed red.

<Twenty rounds left,> Punch told him just as he triggered another burst.

The Naxli were converging on the spot, which meant he had a target-rich environment. Too bad he was about out of his twenty-mm rounds.

Still got my beamer.

He switched over when a blast exploded inside the creek bed. This time, his PAL gave an alarm.

“Punch!”

<Rerouting. No major damage.>

He looked to Tiwari, but whatever had hit Rev had missed the lightly armored Dalit.

Three Naxli appeared at a full sprint toward the two. Rev tried his guillotine swipe again. Two went down, but the third kept coming. As his beamer recharged, Rev reached for the M-30 in its holster, but Tiwari dropped the Naxli.

“Gunny, now!” the master sergeant yelled out.

As one, Rev and Tiwari turned and bolted for the entrance. They jumped out of the creek bed, and Rev spotted three more Naxli running from this side just steps from the tunnel entrance. He stopped and fired his beamer. They were so bunched up that he dropped them.

“Gunny!” the master sergeant shouted. Rev spun around, and two more Naxli were leaping the creek bed, both with raised swords.

Rev’s beamer was recharging, so he fired his twenty . . . and one round fired before his magazine went empty. And he didn’t even hit either of them.

He knew from experience that no matter that he thought them using swords in battle was ridiculous, a way of counting coup when they had more powerful weapons at hand, the high-tech weapons could cut through even a PAL.

Without consciously thinking, he dropped to one knee and raised his IBHU like a lance. As the two Naxli landed on the ground, the first one half-stumbled, bumping into the second. That gave Rev all he needed. Nothing fancy, nothing that was going to win him a medal at the Olympics, he simply thrust forward, coming up below the nearest Naxli’s arm. The point of his polychromotium blade went through the Naxli’s armor like butter, this IBHU’s beamer muzzle itself being buried in the thing. Blue blood poured out, drenching Rev as the Naxli folded over his IBHU, the sword dropping to the ground.

The second one regained its footing and charged Rev, who pulled back on his IBHU . . . but the blade was stuck on something, and instead of coming free, jerked the body back.

Rev raised his right arm to block the blow, which he knew was hopeless, when there was an impossibly loud report behind him, and a huge hole appeared in the Naxli’s face before it collapsed at Rev’s feet.

Rev turned, and the master sergeant was standing at the entrance, his massive Boro in his hand.

“I don’t have all day, Gunny. Move your ass.”

Rev had to put his foot against the Naxli’s chest and jerk back hard before his IBHU came free.

“Coming!” he shouted as he turned and bolted to where Tiwari and the master sergeant were waiting.

“Thanks for saving me a—” Rev started to say when the master sergeant’s neck seemed to come apart, almost blowing his head off.

The body fell against the rocks alongside the entrance, then bounced off to land flat in the dirt.

Tiwari leaned over to grab the body and start dragging it, but Rev reached them in two more steps. The master sergeant had a dead man’s handle, and Rev grabbed it, then lunged for the door.

Hussein was standing nervously inside, his face lighting up when he saw Rev, who tossed the master sergeant inside before he and Tiwari made it in. Two Dalits were standing there waiting, and the moment they were clear, they slammed the heavy door shut and set the locks.

“Did everyone get in?” Rev asked Hussein.

“Rojas is KIA. Everyone else is in and combat effective. As far as the Dalits?” he said, looking at Tiwari and the other two. “The master sergeant was doing the headcount, and he’s . . .”

“He’s dead,” Rev snapped. “Per, can you get a headcount of your people?”

“We’ll get it done.”

A muffled explosion sounded from outside, and dust fell from the tunnel’s ceiling.

“That door’s not going to stop them,” Rev said.

“It will for a while,” Tiwari told him.

“And then what? Then what, Per?”

* * *

Rev hugged the right side of the tunnel, every sense on full alert as he watched for any sign of movement.

When he’d asked Tiwari what then, he should have figured it out. As far as Rev could tell, there wasn’t some master plan, but with the general movement of Dalit and troopers to the innermost sections of the complex, someone had to play rear guard to slow down a Naxli pursuit.

Considering the constrained space in the tunnels that limited the number of fighters who could effectively take that mission without getting in each other’s way. Rev, Tsao, and Kvarn formed the primary force with Rappa laying down his engineering surprises and Shree, a young Dalit teen who was acting as a guide. Tech 3 Krill, their Paxus sniper, had started out with the rear guard, but with the two IBHUs and the karnan taking up a lot of space, he’d been crowded out, so Rev had sent him ahead.

Rev was a left-IBHU, and Tsao was a right. That meant the best way to fight in a tunnel like this was for Rev to take the right side, Tsao the left, and leave Kvarn to take the center. It left the karnan more exposed but allowed the two IBHU Marines to present only their IBHU sides and use the tunnel walls for as much protection as they could.

One of the Naxli golden orb grenades bounced into sight. Tsao didn’t let it come to a stop and engaged it with her beamer before she called out, “Recharging.”

They’d discovered, quite by accident, that the grenades were vulnerable to meson beams. Still, there was a moment of anxiety as the grenade closed to about four meters from them. Kvarn went prone on the ground while Rev tried to melt into the tunnel walls.

But it didn’t detonate, and Rev kept his IBHU trained down the tunnel. And as three times before, the Naxli rushed forward on the heels of the grenade. Rev engaged the first one, drilling a hole through the base of its neck, just above the armor. At rifle mode, his beamer was fully capable of drilling through any of the armor, but Rev still liked to target their most vulnerable spots.

He shifted and fired again, but his target stumbled over the first Naxli body, which caused Rev to miss.

“Recharging!” he shouted, and Kvarn, still prone, blasted the fallen Naxli, taking out most of the top of its head. He fired once more before Tsao fired her beamer again, taking out two more.

Six Naxli were killed before the rest retreated out of sight. It had been a turkey shoot, with only one of the fallen Naxli getting off a single shot. They just couldn’t compete with the speed at which Rev and Tsao could acquire and engage them.

This was the third time the Naxli had attempted to rush them behind a grenade, each time with similar results. Rev would have thought they’d learn and adjust their tactics, but it seemed as if they were rushing so quickly to take advantage of the grenade that when it didn’t go off, the front Naxli were too committed and couldn’t turn back with those in the rear pushing them forward.

By Rev’s count, fifteen Naxli had been killed or seriously wounded. If they’d committed their entire force in a sustained push, he was afraid the three of them would be overrun. Kvarn had fewer than forty rounds left, and while both IBHUs still had plenty of power for their beamers, Rev was out of twenties, and Tsao had thirty-two rounds left, which she was saving for a last gasp defense. When her and Kvarn’s rounds were depleted, it was down to the beamers, which needed recharging. That was when a concerted effort could win the day for the Naxli.

Being hesitant was costing them. But how long would it be before they understood their folly?

Rev considered staying in their position, which gave them a thirteen-meter clear shot to the bend in the tunnel. But they’d been here for two assaults, and he didn’t want to press his luck. He also wanted to get Rappa involved again.

“We’re pulling back,” he told the others.

Tsao went first, and her leaving created space for Rappa to move forward.

“One of my favorites,” he said as he slapped what looked like a child’s playdough low along the tunnel wall.

As Rev watched, the color of the mine chameleoned itself until it matched the brown dirt walls.

“What is that?”

<It’s an AP-44 mine. They call it a Snail. It’s got a very high yield.>

Rev leaned forward. It was almost invisible.

Rappa stuck a small device into the Snail, and a red light started flashing on the device.

“She’s armed. We’ve got fifteen seconds to get clear,” the engineer said as he started backing up, quickly followed by the other two.

After only five meters, Rappa slowed down. Five meters seemed awfully close to Rev, so he kept pushing, watching the timer display Punch had started.

Shree was anxiously awaiting them, motioning with her arm, but Rev was more concerned with the mine. There was no explosion at fifteen seconds, but Rev didn’t start to relax until it was twenty seconds gone.

“We need to hurry,” the young Dalit said. “We’re behind schedule.”

Behind what schedule? You still haven’t told me.

That might not be fair. He didn’t think the youngster knew much of anything and was only following her last orders. Rev hadn’t seen any sort of detailed plan for what would happen if the Naxli penetrated the complex, but there had been a vague reference to all of them gathering. It was probably in a space with a single opening where they could mass their firepower and hopefully hold off the Naxli. Or someplace where a few of them could play Horatius at the Bridge and stop the mass of enemy.

Rev had liked his badger analogy before, but with enough wolves, a pack could pull even the fiercest badger out and kill it.

He didn’t think this had been well-planned out, and that was beginning to make him feel claustrophobic. He’d rather be out in the open where at least a breakout could be possible.

“Shree, is there another place with a bend in this tunnel?” Rev asked.

“We need to keep going, sir,” she said.

“We need to slow down the noxes, so they don’t run up everyone else. A bend. I want a bend.”

She frowned but motioned ahead. “Up there.”

“Let’s go, then.”

They’d covered another fifteen meters when an explosion from behind shook the ground and sent a cloud of dust up the tunnel to envelop them. Several of the little floor guide lights went out.

“Holy crap! Was that you, Rappa?”

“Told you I liked Snails,” he said with a shit-eating grin.

“You got any more?”

“Two.”

“No use saving them,” Rev said, pointing at the ground where they were.

“You got it, Gunny.”

Rev and Kvarn covered the engineer while he implanted one of the Snails. Rev wasn’t an expert in Marine combat engineers, and he wasn’t familiar with anything they carried that matched the Tau Ceti mine. After witnessing the effects, he thought that was something that should be rectified, even if it meant buying them from Tau Ceti.

The handheld control flashed red, and Rappa said, “Fifteen seconds.”

The three ran to get out of the triggering zone to where Tsao and Shree were waiting.

“How much farther?” he asked the Dalit.

She turned around, thought about it for a moment, then said, “Not far.”

Which tells me jack.

But he didn’t say anything. Shree was a student a few weeks ago. Now she was a blooded soldier.

It didn’t matter how far away it was, though. Another Dalit, someone Rev had seen around the area but never spoken to, came running up the passage. He was about Shree’s age, and he stopped when he reached her.

Rev missed what he first told her, and even when he started listening in, their heavy use of Hinglish kept him from picking most of it up. There was a lot of gesturing and pointing, and Rev thought that the gist of their conversation was on which one of them was supposed to lead them forward.

“Where’s the rest of First Squad?” Rev asked, interrupting them.

“Your chaddies? I’ll take you, yaar,” the newcomer said.

Rev didn’t know what was going on, but they couldn’t just stand there doing nothing.

“Lead on, uh . . .”

“My good name is Mak,” the boy said.

“I’m—”

“I know who you are, yaar. You’re Lord K.”

Rev was embarrassed by the nickname, but he’d learned to just accept it.

“Then let’s go, Mak.”

“Gunny? Do you still want the last Snail set?” Rappa asked.

“Keep it. Let’s see what’s going on.”

They hurried down the tunnel at a quicker pace while Rev kept his ears tuned for the Snail that had just been placed to go off. All was quiet behind him, which meant either their pursuing Naxli were slowing down, or they’d figured out a way to disable the Snail.

They passed the bend Shree had mentioned and after another ten meters, their tunnel intersected a larger one. Similar to the main tunnel leading to the CP, this one had overhead lights and some support structures shoring up the walls and ceilings.

Rev knew exactly where he was in relation to the planet, but that didn’t mean he knew where in relation to the complex. He was about sixty meters from the CP, but this was new territory for him. Pertinently, he had no idea where they were going.

But others were going as well. Mak turned them to the left where several Dalits were hurrying. There wasn’t an obvious sense of panic, but the atmosphere was intense, not surprisingly. Naxli were inside the complex, and unless there was some unknown fortress somewhere in the complex, things were about to get dicey.

Two Dalit were huddled near a box of some sort on the ground near one of the supports. Rev barely gave them a glance, but he saw Rappa pay them far more attention. He made a mental note to ask the engineer what piqued his interest.

They didn’t catch up with the rest of First Squad. Instead, Rev spotted Yancey and Third with what looked to be the Frisian contact team. Rev called out, and a huge smile broke out on his friend’s face, and he ran over, hugging Rev in a most unmilitary manner.

“Fuck, it’s good to see you. I couldn’t get any word from anyone on your status.”

“Got hit by the noxes. Lost Rojas and half-a-dozen Dalits.”

“Rojas? Shit.”

“What about you? It sounded like the fighting was intense if that was you on the northeast side of the complex.”

“It was. Romi, Gystin, and Anderson. Romi can be resurrected if we can get him out of here.”

Which meant Hromi-Po was as good as lost. There was no way he was getting to a medical facility in time. And the other two were a blow, too. Gystin, with his BIPAC, took away a good portion of the squad’s firepower.

He looked around and spotted Hochenspatter, who was with Kzing and the rest of the Frisians.

“Where’s BM?” he asked.

“Bringing up the rear,” Yancey said. “Speaking of the devil, there she is.”

Rev turned to see Božič-Mizaki coming down the passage with Kimms, the squad’s other karnan. She spotted Rev and raised her IBHU in a salute, which Rev returned.

“Now you’ve got the Fries?” Rev asked Yancey.

“Not officially. They seemed a little lost, so we swept them up.”

“Good call. So, what’s happening now?” Rev asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine. We just got the order to get back in the complex, and now we’re moving to the X-tunnel.”

Which was much more than Rev knew.

“And that is . . . ?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you seen the lieutenant?” Rev asked.

“Not since he joined Second.”

“Lord K? We need to keep moving,” Mak said.

“OK. Yance, stick with me.”

“You’ve got it.”

They started pushing forward again, but they’d only taken a few steps when an explosion rocked the tunnel. For a moment, Rev thought it was from Rappa’s Snail, but he realized it came from the direction from where Božič-Mizaki had just come. Immediately, people started to run away from the blast.

Rev turned to face the direction with the troopers from First and Third. Several Dalits joined them as others rushed by. One fortyish man appeared in a dead run from down the tunnel, but before he could reach them, he was dropped, his body collapsing onto the tunnel floor.

“They’re close!” Rev shouted. “Get ready!”

The first of the Naxli appeared at a full run. They seemed surprised to see the reception waiting for them, but only for a split second before the combined fire of twelve troopers and six Dalits tore into them. A couple managed to retreat out of the line of fire, and one of the Dalits fired her Ferret, which chased the Naxli down the tunnel.

“The twenties work better, Gunny,” Božič-Mizaki told him.

“I’m out.”

“You’re out? Crap. Quarl! Grab two, no three mods, and load up the Gunny.”

The Paxus soldier lowered his weapon and rushed to Božič-Mizaki. With familiarity, he opened the IBHU Marine’s magazine and pulled out three ten-round modules. He darted to Rev.

“You know how to do this?” Rev asked.

“Easy peasy.”

Rev felt his magazine cover open, and Quarl slammed in the three modules. Almost immediately, Rev’s ammo count spun up to thirty rounds. It wasn’t much, but it made Rev feel a hell of a lot better.

“What’s your twenty count, BM?”

“Fifty-one.”

That wasn’t as many as he hoped, but it was something.

“Thanks for the rounds.”

“Just remember that when you do my evals, Gunny.”

The Naxli had stopped advancing, but one of them shouted out, “We are coming for you, human hreetz. We will kill you and your families.”

In response, another of the Dalits fired another Ferret. The small missile maneuvered around the bend and exploded out of sight, but there was no way to tell if it had hit one of the enemy or not.

One of the Dalit leaders, a thin man in his seventies, came running from behind the hasty line of defense. He started to ask one of the others what was going on, but the Naxli fired an ineffective volley that impacted on the tunnel wall, a good ten meters from the nearest human.

“You need to move now!” he shouted.

“You go,” Rev said. “We’ll cover you.”

“No! Everyone has to come now,” the man said as he physically grabbed one of the Dalits and started to drag him back.

“Combined Assault troopers, stand your ground. The rest of you, pull back.”

Several of the Dalits fighting with Rev gave him uncertain looks, and so Rev said, “Cover them. We’ll be right behind you.”

It took a few moments, but they obeyed, and the Dalits and Frisians started to move away.

A single Naxli in full berserker mode couldn’t take the pressure and charged into view, his sword raised high. He made about two steps before his body was riddled.

“Stupid fuck,” Torking said. “Why do they do that?”

“Just be glad they do,” Yancey responded. “Makes it easier on us.”

The others retreated out of sight, leaving the twelve assault troopers. It was a tight fit, and Rev didn’t like that they were so bunched up. The Naxli had their own crew-served weapons, and if they managed to get them into the complex, they could inflict some serious damage.

“Yance, send back two teams.”

The squad leader frowned but complied, and the seven troopers left spread out slightly. They were still too concentrated, but it was a little better.

Twice more, the Naxli feinted an assault. It cost them one fighter, but it didn’t bode well for the humans. If the Naxli were trying to fix them in place, chances were that they were preparing some sort of assault.

“Gunny, Gunny!” Quarl shouted as he returned to the line. “The lieutenant is up ahead, and he says get your ass up there now!”

“The lieutenant?”

Rev looked down the tunnel. He had a feeling that something was about to break, and he didn’t want to be in transition when it did. But an order was an order.

“Pull back,” he told the others.

Rev was the last one to leave, and he oriented to the Naxli, ready to light them up if they poked their noses out. But the enemy gave him the few moments he needed to start running.

And then the sounds of fighting broke out, but from the direction in which they were moving. And he knew why the lieutenant wanted him. They were being hit.

“Move it! Double time!”

They bolted down the tunnel as the sound of fighting intensified. The tunnel rose in a slight incline, and Rev caught sight of his group of Dalits, a couple of the Frisians, and several Second Squad troopers gathered at what looked to be a small access tunnel. People were crouching and crawling into the door, with two Dalits, pushing and kicking them through.

The lieutenant was up against the wall of the tunnel, firing shot after shot, while the rest of the troopers were putting out a wall of fire. Božič-Mizaki emptied her IBHU’s 20mm magazine, then switched to her beamer. As Rev ran forward to join them, the IBHU Marine was hit and knocked backward.

With five more strides, Rev had a line of fire down the tunnel. He let loose with one burst from his twenty, then he went guillotine mode and tried to clear the corridor.

“Get BM out of here,” he told Strap Gantz. The Marine grabbed Božič-Mizaki’s dead man’s handle and dragged her to the side door. The last two Frisians helped him manhandle the IBHU Marine through the low door. It was a tight fit, but people on the other side yanked her through.

Dirt was spraying, and several of the overhead lights were knocked out. Rev didn’t see how anyone could survive the onslaught, but their own fire was keeping the Naxli’s heads down—and vice versa.

Rev took a deep breath, calmed himself, and fired his twenty on single-shot mode. Two shots, two hits. Hopefully, two kills.

A rocket of some sort exploded against the wall, and shrapnel peppered him. Another hit high above the side door, and one of the Frisians went down. The body was shoved through.

“That’s it!” Lieutenant Kjell shouted. “Go, go, go!”

The remaining troopers and two Dalits dove for the entrance. Rev, Tsao, and Hochenspatter waited until the end. They were too big to be quick, and none wanted to hold up the others.

“That’s it. Go, Hoch!”

Rounds started coming from the opposite direction. Naxli were converging on them. Rev emptied his twenty, hoping that would make the Naxli dive for cover, then he wheeled, and before Tsao was through, he dove for the door and landed on her legs. She was pulled through, and Rev tried to scramble ahead. A Dalit leaned out, locked his hand through Rev’s beamer projector, and with a grunt, heaved and pulled Rev through and into a small tunnel.

Something hit Rev in the foot as he cleared the door, and a second Dalit immediately slammed the door shut, then dogged it.

“This won’t hold forever,” the Dalit said. “We need to get out of here.”

Rev still didn’t know what was going on, but he could follow the rest as they single-filed their way down the tunnel. He took Tail End Charley, walking backward with his IBHU at the ready.

He didn’t know where they were going, but the small size of the entrance made sense. If there was a highly secured space deep inside the complex, the route to it shouldn’t be too obvious. The problem was that they hadn’t been able to get into the tunnel without being seen. The Naxli knew where they were, and while the narrow tunnel would make things difficult for them, they could eventually throw enough warriors at them to persevere.

Rev monitored their progress—once again, not having a map of the tunnels but knowing where he was vis-a-vis the planet’s surface. And they slowly made their way one hundred meters . . . two hundred meters, three hundred meters. He was surprised at how long the tunnel was, and he knew he was nearing the known edge of the entire complex.

Where the heck is this secured space?

A muffled sound reached him through the tunnel, and there was a slight change in air pressure.

“I think they just breached the door.”

<In all likelihood, they have.>

“So, now it’s a matter of time.”

The line of humans slowed to a stop, and they were all asshole to bellybutton. “Can you see anything?” he asked Tsao, who was immediately in front of him.

“Nothing, Gunny.”

“Well, I guess this is where we’re making our last stand, wherever we are.”

“If it’s designed right, we can last a long time,” Tsao said.

“Until we run out of power. I doubt they have powerpacks in there.”

They moved forward a few steps, and over the heads of those in front of him, he saw the top of an open door leading into darkness.

“I can see a door,” he told the shorter Marine.

He turned again to face back down the tunnel. It would suck to have the Naxli run up their butts when they were so close. Finally, Tsao tapped him on the shoulder.

“We’re here.”

She disappeared through, and Rev followed. But he didn’t step into some sort of garrison fortress. He was outside in the silent night air.

“Are you the last one?” a Dalit asked.

“Sure am.”

Two Dalits closed the door. As it sealed, it almost disappeared. It would show on scanners, but visually, it would be hard to detect.

“Glad you made it, Gunny,” Tiwari said, stepping up to clap him on the back.

“You had all this planned,” Rev said as it sunk in. “You had to lure the Naxli in past this point so we could get out with a free run to safety.”

Tawari seemed surprised as he said, “You didn’t know that?”

“No one bothered to explain that little detail to us.”

“Hmmph. Sorry about that.”

He didn’t sound overly sorry, and then he couldn’t help but add, “I would have thought the FACT, with all their tactical know-how, would have come up with the same plan.”

Son of a bitch. We come in as the experts, telling them what to do, but they had all of this covered.

He looked behind him, toward the main part of the complex, where the mass of Naxli would be, searching for the humans in the maze of tunnels. If it took them long enough to realize the humans were gone, the humans could be long gone where they could reorganize and adjust to continue the fight.

“And now, we make our way out of here. Maybe to another alternate CP?”

“You could say that.”

“Pretty righteous, Per.”

“If you say that now, then you’re gonna like this, na.”

“Like what?”

Tiwari pointed to where Uda Devi was standing with two more Dalits. It took Rev a moment to recognize that one of them had been kneeling at the box in the tunnels, where Rappa had seemed very interested in what they were doing.

“I saw him before. What’s going on?”

Tiwari raised a forefinger to his lips, then said, “Watch.”

Devi gave the signal, and the other Dalit pressed a button on the small box in his hand. For a moment, it seemed like nothing happened. But then a wave pushed through the dirt at Rev’s feet, almost throwing him off balance. Closer into the complex, the ground seemed to rise a couple of meters into the air before it fell back, lower than it had been before, and a low whunk made Rev’s ears hurt. Trees toppled to the ground, and dust rose up in a cloud until it blotted out the stars.

What had been an extensive tunnel complex just a minute ago was gone, along with all the Naxli who’d been inside.

“That should clear the way for us to get to the next CP,” Tiwari said matter-of-factly, as if killing hundreds, if not thousands of Naxli was an everyday occurrence.

“Righteous, Per. Totally and unequivocally righteous.”

20

The alternate CP wasn’t nearly as extensive as the Dalits former one, the one they destroyed while entombing so many Naxli. A small observation team that stayed behind reported that about thirty Naxli managed to emerge from the tunnels. If that was all that made it out alive, then anywhere from 500 to 1500 were estimated to have perished.

Not bad for a ragtag group of military amateurs, so Rev and the others cut them a lot of slack if the next CP was barely more than a single, underground space about twenty meters by ten. Three small excavators kept working on expanding the position, but the platoon stayed outside, constructing camouflaged fighting holes.

Ammunition was low, and powerpacks were all below 50%. Six members of the platoon had been lost, and they’d all watched the clock count down, spelling an end to Hromi-Po’s and the others’ chance at resurrection.

Despite all of this, morale was high. The plan might have been 100% local, but the platoon had been a vital part of the defense. And none of them had overcome such odds before, not even those who’d been with the platoon on Syron III.

Under-major Svinon was not as pleased. The lieutenant told Rev that the under-major had heavily critiqued the Dalit planners, pointing out what they could have done better. Kjell said a lot of that was chickenshit. It was his opinion that the under-major was just upset that the Dalit had taken him to school, in effect.

Lieutenant Kjell seemed much better, and Iglesias had told Rev that he’d been everywhere during the Naxli assault, showing no sign of whatever was eating at him before. He even seemed cheerful.

Rev had discussed the situation with Punch. His battle buddy said that regulations required him to report the lieutenant’s breakdown to higher authorities, but Rev didn’t want to ruin the man’s career. He decided he’d continue to monitor how the lieutenant carried himself and make a decision later.

The big question now was what would be the Naxli reaction. Was the defeat significant enough for them to send in forces to hunt the humans down, or was that just part of the total acceptable losses?

Dalit fighters, along with some of the lighter troopers like König, Ikinikin, Kzing, Archambault, and Iglesias, went out on patrols to try and find sign of Naxli coming into the area, but there was nothing. There wasn’t even any sign of the thirty who’d survived the trap at the CP.

Five days after the battle, the first of the invasion force landed. But with no known enemy forces in their sector, the plans were changed, and they were bypassed. The lieutenant was finally able to get a resupply airdrop with powerpacks, coldpacks, ammo, and food, but only after Randigold and Foy’s combat suits had run out of power. The first resupply had PAL powerpacks, but Foy had to wait another day until the Legion Diable II powerpacks were airdropped in.

Twenty-nine days later, this entire continent was declared secure. The battle was raging on the other two continents, and Rev thought they were going to get orders to join one of the units over there, so he was surprised when the platoon was given orders to return to Safe Harbor.

His joy at going home was tempered by the knowledge that the planet was still largely in Naxli hands. Things looked good for the human forces, and the Naxli Navy had seemingly abandoned their ground fighters, but things could change in a second.

* * *

Rev was full, but he wandered over to what was left of the pig and dug around for a few last bites. Their Dalits had somehow managed to scrounge up the animal, and Tiwari had roasted it over an open fire.

He’d told Rev he was a chef, so it shouldn’t have surprised him that after seeing how effective the man had been as a fighter, he would also be a good cook.

Tiwari saw Rev picking at the carcass, and he came up with a small, lipped bowl.

“Try this, na,” he said, pouring a dark auburn liquid over the scraps Rev had scrounged.

Rev took a hesitant bite, and then a smile blossomed. “Mother help me, this is great! Why wasn’t it out before?”

Tiwari looked guiltily about. “I could only make a little bit, and that reduced even more so.”

“Well, I’m sure the hell glad I rated a taste.”

“Couldn’t let Lord K miss out,” he said with a laugh. “Bad juju when you mess with the gods.”

“Don’t I know it. We’ve got so many superstitions in the military, things we do to keep the gods of war from being pissed off and screwing with us.”

He looked at Tiwari in horror as he realized what he’d just implied about the man’s beliefs.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to say that your myth . . . uh, religion—”

Tiwari laughed. “Don’t worry yourself. For most of us, all of the gods—Shiva, Kali, Kartikeya—they’re part of our culture. Some believe in them in a religious sense, but for the rest? They’re our history.”

Rev was relieved to hear that. Not that he cared, one way or the other, what people believed, but he’d grown quite fond of the man, and he hadn’t wanted to insult him.

But talking about the ancient Hindu gods reminded him of something. “Have you heard of Pashupatastra?”

“Sounds vaguely familiar, but I wasn’t always the greatest student.”

He turned to one of the others and asked, “Dain, who’s Pashupatastra?”

“Not who,” the man said. “What. It’s a weapon, used by Shiva, Kali, and Adi Para Shakti.”

Tiwari turned back to Rev and said, “There you go.”

“And you can fire it with your mind. And it can’t be resisted.”

“OK, thanks for that?”

“Well, some of us IBHU Marines . . . well, most of us . . . like to name our IBHUs. I was trying to think of a good name, and I thought it fit. So that’s what I named mine.”

Tiwari eyed Rev’s IBHU. Rev had only taken it off three times to tend to his stump and collar. As they were still technically in a war zone, his IBHU was constantly connected and ready for battle.

“You named that Pashupa . . .?”

“Pashupatastra. And yes. I mean, no. I named my first one that. But I lost her on a nox ship, and this is the replacement.”

“And what did you name that one, toh?”

“That’s the thing. I haven’t named it. I was thinking about Pashu again, but I was wondering, I mean, I’m not Hindu. I’m not Indian. Was I insulting your people when I named my first one that?”

Tiwari gave him a look Rev couldn’t decipher, then he broke into a deep laugh. “Your arm there, it saved my life.”

Rev wasn’t sure that was the case, but he let it go.

“It saved a lot of our lives. Well, you did, but while you were using it. I think if anyone has the right to give honor to our culture, then it’s you, Lord Kartikeya.”

“And about that, it seems—”

“Chill, Gunny. We’re showing you honor.”

“But—”

“You don’t think we’re allowed to honor who we want?”

“No . . . no. That’s not what I mean.”

Tiwari laughed and hit Rev hard across his organic shoulder. “Just screwing with you, Gunny. Lord K. You need to learn to let go and not take things too seriously.

“Look, I’m kind of impressed that you knew the name of that weapon, na? I sure didn’t. So, if you want to name your arm after it, well, it fits. And all of us would be honored.”

He paused a second as he looked around the lounging troopers. “Hell, all of you. If we did that kind of thing, we’d name you all honorary Dalits. We owe you our lives.”

Rev rotated his IBHU, giving it a good once-over. “So, you’re OK with it?”

“Damn, Gunny. You’re a helluva fighter, but you can be dense as a brick. That’s what I told you.”

Rev hadn’t been sure he’d even name his IBHU. It wasn’t as if his IBHU had a consciousness like Punch had, and it seemed a little silly to him now. But, call it a tradition, and he’d just told Tiwari that people in the military had all sorts of superstitions that they didn’t necessarily believe, but just in case . . .

Pashu. Welcome back.

* * *

The thirty-three troopers waited in the trees next to the ad hoc LZ. With them were at least forty of the Dalits, the Frisians, and several of the MDS FACT. Under-major Svinon was there, but he looked like he wished he was anywhere else.

From the looks of things, more than a few of the troopers were a little tipsy. That wasn’t surprising, given the small containers of moonshine their Dalit comrades kept pushing on them.

Rev wasn’t immune to the offers, either. He let out a loud burp, and an acrid wave almost scoured his taste buds.

“It isn’t any better going back out than it was going in.”

Tiwari shrugged. “We’re still refining the process.” He nodded at Rappa, who had his arms around Shree’s shoulder as they laughed over a shared joke. “He helped us a lot in putting the still together.”

“It looks like he’s helping himself to a little more of what Tembu has to offer.”

“He’s young. She’s young. What do you expect, na?”

It shouldn’t be surprising. After sharing danger, especially where things had looked so bleak, human emotions tended to be at the surface and make people vulnerable. And one way to celebrate just being alive was, well, of a more physical nature. Rappa and Shree weren’t the only couple to hook up.

“Consorting” with locals was technically a no-no, but Rev had chosen to ignore it when it was discreet. What surprised him was that the lieutenant had blown it off when the under-major had tried to raise the issue.

“Let me have another swig, Per.”

The Dalit handed over the flask, and Rev took another swallow.

<You’re BAC is 0.04.>

“Don’t be such a nag. We’ll be spaceborne soon enough.”

<But until then, you could still be hit. That happened yesterday less than 150 klicks away.>

Rev ignored his battle buddy.

“I’m going to miss this place,” Rev said, surprising himself with the statement.

He wasn’t the only one surprised. Tiwari looked at him and said, “Here? Out in the boonies?”

“Maybe not living in the forest like this. First thing I’m going to do when I get aboard our ride is take a sonic and remove about twelve layers of dead skin.”

“Then what are you going to miss?”

Rev started feeling embarrassed, and he could feel his face getting red. “You. All of you, and the Fries and Mad Dogs, too. We all came together with a single goal. Does that sound too hokey?”

Tiwari put his hand on Rev’s shoulder, just above the IBHU collar. “Not hokey at all, my friend.”

After a long moment, the Dalit added, “You’ll miss the Mad Dogs, toh?”

“Hey, we’ve got them with us, too. Kvarn, Gystyn, Lieutenant Kjell.”

“Just joking, Gunny. Despite taking their own sweet time about it, the FACT did help. Irya said the under-major taught her a lot.”

<Tell him your sister’s joke,> Punch insisted for the tenth time.

And for the tenth time, Rev ignored him.

“Why don’t you call me Rev?” he asked Tiwari instead.

The Dalit gave him an appraising look, then said, “OK, I will. Rev.”

The man was twice Rev’s age, and he was a civilian, despite his ability to answer the call when needed. Rev seemed far more appropriate than gunny.

“We do have lots of things to miss here, Rev. When all this is over, and we’ve kicked the kapi off our planet, you should make time to bring your Tomiko here and visit. I’m not going to have much to do then, so I can take you to see the sights: the Purple Canyon is one of the deepest in human space, you know. Crystal Isle. Mount Kangchenjunga. That’s almost a thousand meters higher than the one on Mother Earth, you know.”

Tiwari was staring ahead, acting casual, but Rev could sense he was waiting on Rev’s answer.

He WANTS me to come visit.

Tiwari had lost his family, and during this mission, the two had become close. Not family close, but still . . .

“I’d love to come, Per. And meanwhile, let’s keep in touch. You promised me you’d open up your cafe when they take that crossbow away from you.”

The man relaxed slightly and smiled. “I would be glad to stay in touch. And when you do come, I’ll even feed you. Give you a taste of our good Temdu cuisine,” he said, kissing his fingertips before spreading his fingers.

<The joke! Perfect timing.>

“Ten minutes,” the lieutenant called out. “Our ride’s on final approach, so say your goodbyes.”

Troopers started exchanging hugs—for a few, like Rappa, those hugs were more than a little intimate. Which, given that the engineer was in his Union-issued PAL, was really quite an accomplishment.

Tiwari turned to Rev, took in his PAL-HX, and with a laugh, just held out his hand.

<The joke!>

“Not now,” Rev subvocalized in a hiss. But maybe not quite a subvocalization.

“What did you say?” Tiwari asked. “I didn’t catch that.”

“Nothing. Just talking to Punch. He won’t quit bugging me on something.”

Tiwari raised a single eyebrow. He’d been quite curious about the Union Marines’ battle buddies, as well as the embedded AIs some of the others had.

“Bugging you about what?”

<Just tell the joke. I want to see his reaction.>

“Fine, if you’ll shut up after that.”

“He wants me to tell you about . . . uh . . . a restaurant. Um, back in Safe Harbor.”

“Your AI cares about food, toh? Interesting.”

“Well, it’s an Indian restaurant.”

This time, Tiwari raised both eyebrows and cocked his head to look at Rev. “What kind of Indian?”

Rev started to panic. He didn’t know there were different kinds.

“The regular kind?”

Tiwari shook his head, but asked, “OK, so what about this ‘regular kind’ of restaurant is so important that your AI wants me to know about it?”

“Well, it’s named The Ghee Spot, but—”

Tiwari rolled his eyes and said, “But it closed because no man could find it.”

Rev stopped and said, “You heard the joke before?”

“More times than I would have preferred. Usually by your Angrez comedians or wannabe comedians when they visit here.”

“Punch, Angrez?”

<It originally meant Englishman back on Earth, but it shifted to mean all foreigners after the First Diaspora. This is interesting, though. I didn’t have it in my data banks, yet it seems to be—>

Rev cut him off. “Huh. My sister told it to me. Sorry if I said something wrong.”

“Don’t worry about it, na. My dear Anji thought it was funny. Not that I wasn’t, you know, pleasing her in that way, of course.”

“Sure. Of course. If you say so.”

“There it is!” someone shouted out.

Rev turned to the sky. A small speck was corkscrewing in as he watched. They were far from any contested airspace, but the pilot or AI wasn’t taking any chances. A suitcase anti-air missile might be able to overcome the transport’s defenses, so a tighter descent made sense.

“OK,” Rev shouted out. “Get in stick order!”

There was a slow shuffling as the troopers started to line up.

“Helmets on, and everyone else, please back up.”

“I guess this is it,” Tiwari said.

“For now. I’ll be back with Tomiko.”

“Mother promise?”

“Mother promise, Per.”

The two shook hands, then turned that into a hug. Rev put on his helmet, and Tiwari joined the others in backing out of the LZ. The transport would switch to impulse drive over the last part of the descent so it wouldn’t fry everyone, but better safe than sorry.

Rev went to the front of the line to start a headcount. After their departure brief, Punch had half-jokingly said Rev needed not only to make sure everyone was leaving but that no love interest was being smuggled aboard. That wasn’t bad for a hunk of crystal, he thought.

He got to the end of the stick and sent a thumbs-up to the platoon commander, then looked up to see the transport coming in. It looked smaller than he’d expected, a model that he didn’t recognize. The brief had said they’d be cramped, but there was only going to be one trip, so they were going to have to pack themselves in like sardines.

Punch was explaining—in great, excruciating detail—that he should have had the Ghee-Spot joke in his databanks if it was so commonly told here, but Rev tuned him out as the transport approached. It was coming in fast, and for a moment, Rev thought it might burn it in, but the plane flared out at the last second, coming in with a thump, landing gear flexing to take up the shock.

The back ramp opened, and three containers were pushed out by a sailor. As soon as they hit the dirt, the sailor motioned for the pax. The lieutenant led the stick forward and stopped at the bottom of the ramp while Doc Gintly led the stick into the bird.

Kjell patted each trooper as they passed him as if someone had run off between Rev’s headcount and now. The first troopers quickly filed into the transport, but then there was a bit of a traffic jam as they tried to get situated. As Rev got close enough to look inside, he wondered if whoever did the manifest understood just how big and how much space IBHU Marines and karnans took up. He wasn’t sure they’d all make it in.

But slowly, with the sailor’s constant urging, they managed to squeeze troopers together.

Lieutenant Kjell tapped Rev on Pashu and said, “That’s thirty-three. Let’s get out of here.”

As he stepped on the ramp, Rev took a moment to turn around. Ninety meters away, in the tree line, Dalit, Frisians, and MDS were watching. Rev took a moment to wave, and almost all of them waved back.

Rev had fought on almost too many planets to count. He’d bled on them. He’d lost friends. He’d been on the winning side of battles and on the losing side. But as he stood on the Samsara soil, just beyond the edge of the ramp, he knew that this planet was special to him.

“I really am going to miss this place,” he said before turning around and stepping onto the ramp.

21

Rev sat in his chair in the platoon office, his feet up on the desk. He’d had two Z-burgers for lunch—so named because eating one could put a person to sleep—and they were doing their job. His eyelids were heavy, and he was fighting the urge to drift off.

It wasn’t as if he had much to do. They’d gone through the normal debriefs and gear maintenance, conducted their heroes’ ceremony for the fallen, and then the platoon had been given a seventy-two.

But, that meant nothing for Rev. He was still confined to base, which was getting very, very old. After calling his family and getting the update for Grover’s wedding, he’d reached the limit of his productivity. And that was made worse because Second Platoon was deployed. His reunion with Tomiko had to be postponed.

“Knowing my luck, First will deploy the day before Second returns,” he’d told Daryll that morning.

The tech had just nodded as he ran Pashu through her tests. That had been the last real event of the day, and now Rev was essentially killing time while trying to stay awake.

He stretched and idly scratched his left underarm, right by the collar. His skin there was scaly and red. Punch had told him he needed to get that checked—a red rash could be an early sign of the rot, and Rev had promised to do so, but later. He was pretty sure that was just a consequence of being inside his PAL-HX for so long.

He glanced over at the lieutenant’s small office. He hadn’t seen the man for a few hours.

Wonder where he went to?

Like most of the foreign troopers and some of the Union Marines, the lieutenant didn’t have family or even a local love interest, so it wasn’t surprising that he was still around. Many of the non-locals would be sleeping off a night of boozing in the barracks, getting ready for tonight’s entertainment. But Lieutenant Kjell wasn’t much of a partier, and unless he needed to be somewhere, he was usually parked at his desk.

He let out a sigh.

<You could go to the gym, you know.>

“Not in the mood.”

<Do you want to know what your BMI is?>

Rev grimaced. He hadn’t exercised during the deployment, and while one of the ships they’d taken back had a pretty good gym facility, he hadn’t made use of it. Even on combat rats and Dalit meals, he knew in which direction his BMI had gone.

“No, I don’t. And you’re not my mother.”

There was a moment of silence.

<Do you want to hear a joke?>

“Not really.”

<Then what do you want?>

Rev thought he could hear the frustration in Punch’s voice, even if he didn’t technically have a voice.

Sometimes, he’s just like a five-year-old kid. He’ll probably start asking me if we’re there yet.

“I just want to sit here in silence.”

Punch complied. Rev thought he actually might want a bit of music, but he wasn’t about to request that after essentially telling his battle buddy to shut off.

Without Punch, the silence let the Z-burgers do their job, and within a minute, Rev was out cold.

* * *

“Gunny!”

“What? I’m not asleep!” Rev awoke with a start and hastily pulled his feet off his desk.

“Oh, it’s you, Teller. What do you want?”

“Have you seen Lieutenant Kjell? The captain wants to see him.”

“We’re on a seventy-two.”

The company clerk shrugged, and Rev could read the “That’s Captain Adair” in the movement.

“OK, OK.” He stopped to rub the sleep out of his eyes. “Have you tried calling him?”

Teller shrugged again, but this one might have well as said, “Call him? What a brilliant idea. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Right. Wait a sec,” Rev said.

He pulled out his comp and told it to connect to the platoon commander. It rang six times, then a voice said, “The party you are trying to reach is not answering. Would you like to leave a message?”

Rev said yes, then recorded, “Hey, Lieutenant. Captain Adair is trying to reach you. When you hear this, if you haven’t already, give her a call.

“Satisfied?” he asked Teller.

“Well . . . maybe you can ask Top Jujian to run a track?”

“The Top? And what? Tell him we lost a lieutenant? Kjell’s probably in the gym or maybe the pool. He’ll get the message when he gets dressed.”

“We’ve been trying to reach him for four hours now, Gunny.”

And even a karnan didn’t spend four hours in the gym.

“I’m a platoon sergeant. Ask the first sergeant to talk to the top if you’re so anxious to find the lieutenant.”

“He’s already left for his conference in Anastasia.”

“Then Sergeant Barker.”

Sergeant Teller rolled her eyes and said, “Barker says the lieutenant is yours. You find him.”

Rev almost snarled at Teller, but he realized that the sergeant was just the message bearer.

Sergeant First Class Barker was the company logistics chief, what the Marines called a company gunny. As such, he was senior to Rev. And he was passing this off onto Rev because . . . well, because he could.

Master Sergeant Jujian was a Federation soldier and the battalion admin chief. More importantly, he was a flaming asshole who religiously followed the SOP. Everyone hated working with him, and Barker was shoving this on Rev.

“Have you checked the gym?” he asked Teller.

The sergeant’s eyes fell, and for a moment, Rev felt guilty.

For a moment.

“No, Gunny.”

“Then why don’t you do that first. And everywhere else in the camp.”

The look on her face woke Rev’s angel. “Go grab someone from the barracks to help. I’ll check the O-Club. It’s a little early to start drinking, but who knows? I’ll hit the mini-PX, too. If we can’t find him before, say . . . fifteen hundred, I’ll talk to Barker and see if we can’t get a track on our wayward lieutenant.”

“Thanks, Gunny. I’ll get on it.”

“Crap!” Rev said after the hatch closed behind the sergeant.

<You should have reported Lieutenant Kjell’s recent issues.>

“Woah! You think so?”

<Those are the regulations.>

“He’s better. That was just because of Zin, and that reminded him of Hant. But you saw him. And Iglesias said he was great during the battle.”

<You’re not qualified to make the determination that he is fine now.>

“You’re high, Punch,” Rev said, but without much conviction. “He’ll turn up. Maybe he found some honey at one of the bars, and that’s why he turned off his wristcomp. You know the Mad Dogs. It’s probably against their regs for an officer to consort with a local.”

<It isn’t.>

“OK, it isn’t. Maybe he just needs some time away from us. I’m going to head off to the O-Club. For all we know, that’s where he is. And if not, we’ll find him at the next place.”

But as he left the office, he didn’t feel as confident as his words were.

* * *

“You want me to what?” Top Jujian asked, his glare strong enough to pierce a PAL-HX.

“I know that this is a little out of the ordinary, but I’d really appreciate the solid, Top.”

“Did you ever think that the lieutenant might not want you to know where he is? You’re on a seventy-two now, right?”

“Yes, Top,” Rev said. “But the captain is looking for him, and we can’t find him.”

“Did you check the O-Club? The gym? All the places where you grunts like to spend your free time?”

“Yeah. We checked them all.”

“So, tell me again, why are you coming to me? If she wants him so bad, why isn’t Captain Adair talking to Ensign Guthrie?”

“If she takes it to the ensign, then it’ll get to the CO. What if Kjell’s just shacking up with someone?”

Jujian gave Rev a measured stare, and Rev broke eye contact first.

“Is that you or the captain talking there?”

“Me,” Rev admitted.

“Why do you care if the CO finds out? Those karnans are arrogant bastards, and your lieutenant isn’t an exception.”

Rev didn’t say anything. Evidently, Jujian didn’t have a very good working relationship with Ensign Guthrie, the battalion admin officer. And while he was right that Kjell could be arrogant, the fact of the matter was that he was Rev’s platoon commander, and you don’t throw your own under the bus.

“OK, have it your way. Hold on.”

The top spun around on his chair, then skootched it up to the table behind his desk. He entered the lieutenant’s name in the terminal and waited for the locator to ping Kjell’s comp.

He looked at his readout, then spun back with a scowl on his face. “He’s in his quarters, Gunny. Why’re you wasting my time like this?”

“Are you sure? We checked there.”

“Sure as shit. He’s there.”

“Wait one,” he told the admin chief.

He called Teller. “Where are you?”

“At the gazebo. Thought he might have gone there.”

“I’m with Top Jujian now. He just ran a trace on the lieutenant, and it said he’s in his quarters.”

“No way, Gunny. I checked there twice.”

“Check again. Maybe he came back. And run. I’m waiting at admin.”

Then he told the master sergeant, “I’m having Teller check now.”

“Wait over there,” the admin chief said, pointing to one of the chairs up against the wall. “I’ve got work to do.”

Rev took a seat. He’d checked the lieutenant’s quarters as well, and there was no sign of the man. It was as if the room had been scrubbed of his presence. But if the top said he was there, then he had to be. Like he told Teller, evidently, Kjell had returned from wherever he’d been.

Five minutes later, Teller came back on the line. “I’m in his quarters now. He’s not here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Unless he can shrink down his karnan body to about ten centimeters tall and hide in his desk drawer, yeah, I’m sure.”

“Top? Teller’s in the lieutenant’s quarters now. Kjell isn’t there.”

This time, the admin chief’s scowl was bigger, if anything, but he spun back to the terminal and entered another trace.

“I’ve got him right there. Wait.”

He tapped on the screen, and almost immediately, Teller said, “Hey, Gunny, I’ve got a beep.”

“What is it?”

“Let me look.” Rev could hear the sergeant walking, then something opening. “It’s a comp. It was in the desk.”

Rev looked up to tell the master sergeant, but he spoke first. “Your sergeant found the lieutenant’s comp.”

He nodded.

The scowl was gone, replaced by a look of concentration. He went back to his own pad and entered something. “He checked out his Boro at zero-seven-twelve this morning. Did you check any of the open ranges?” he asked as he punched in something else.

“Yes, we hit them all.”

“He didn’t sign in to any range in the entire Nguyen complex. Maybe he’s just out on one of the maneuver ranges?”

Rev got the feeling that he wasn’t exactly addressing him, so he didn’t interrupt him.

He touched his throat mic and said, “Check all gates for Lieutenant Nat Kjell.”

Rev had figured that the lieutenant was out in town, which was why he’d wanted the trace. But if he had his sidearm, then he should still be on base. No one went armed off-base without authorization such as what Rev had.

“Come here, Gunny,” Jujian said, motioning him to come around his desk.

Rev joined him, and there on his display was an image of the lieutenant passing through Gate 2.

“We have to assume he’s armed. And that means I’ve got to let the CO know.”

Crap.

“No, hold on.”

“I can’t hold on. This is a big violation. The CO can’t be kept in the dark.”

“He won’t be. But I can’t blindside Captain Adair. Let me tell her, and she’ll tell the CO.”

He could see that Jujian didn’t believe him. “Come on, Top!”

“Hell, Pelletier. I’m giving you twenty minutes. Don’t fuck me over.”

“I won’t, Top!” Rev shouted over his shoulder as he bolted from the office.

He ran down the corridor to the company offices, into First’s, and barged into Captain Adair’s office without knocking.

“What the—”

“It’s Lieutenant Kjell, ma’am.”

“What about him? Do you know where he is? We got a warning order this morning, and we need to—”

Normally, hearing that there was a warning order would take all of Rev’s attention, but not this time.

“He’s not on base. He left this morning.”

The captain snorted as if in disbelief. “Kjell? Our Kjell? I didn’t think he knew what a social life was.”

“He took off his wristcomp and left it in his quarters.”

She frowned. They all were on a war footing, and the entire battalion was a Class 1 deployable unit, so the wristcomps were never supposed to be removed.

“And he checked out his Boro.”

That caught her attention. “Did he take it with him?”

“We don’t know, but Top Jujian says we have to inform the CO. She was going to do it, but I got her to hold off for twenty minutes so you could do that.”

“FUCK!” she shouted at the top of her lungs. “That stupid Mad Dog is going to get me relieved.”

She stood and said, “Thanks for stopping the Top. I swear, though, I’m gonna skin that bastard alive.”

She started for the hatch when Rev said, “Uh . . . there’s something more.”

The captain stopped, then slowly turned around to look at Rev with a resigned expression. When Rev didn’t say anything, she said, “Spit it out, Gunny. What, he murders puppies for fun?”

“No. He, uh . . . “

“Gunny!”

“He’s-under-a-lot-of-stress-he’s-a-Saint-Bom,” he got out in a torrent of words.

“I know he’s in the order. What does that have to do with the price of coffee in New Recife?”

“He’s been feeling the stress of meeting the expectations, and . . .”

“And what, Gunny?” the captain asked, her voice as hard as steel.

“He’s taken Hant’s death hard. Zin, too. I think maybe he’s got PTSD.”

She got deathly still, not moving a muscle except for her mouth. “And why do you think that?”

“He was crying.” That sounded lame as soon as he said it. “And I’ve seen PTSD before. Sergeant Lipswitch.”

“Lipswitch? I know who she was. She was killed on Tahiti.”

“She broke after Rasper Mountain, where Sergeant Sign of Respect was killed. Couldn’t fight, ma’am. They put her in the company headquarters to cover for her. And I was there when she was killed. I think she wanted to go. Suicide by combat, you know.”

The captain slowly shook her head. “And if you thought he had PTSD, why the hell didn’t you report him?”

“I was going to, ma’am,” Rev croaked out. “But he seemed better. He told me he was better.”

“Oh, great! No problem if he told you he was better. By the Mother, Pelletier, what were you thinking? This isn’t what someone who is better does.” She was pissed, and Rev knew it was warranted. “You better hope he doesn’t find some seedy motel where he offs himself. If he does, that’s on you. You’ll have killed him.”

She pursed her lips and slowly shook her head. “I’m going to let the CO know what’s going on, but you are going to park yourself right here. Don’t move. When I get back, I want everything you know. Everything!”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, but she was already gone.

Rev slowly took a seat. Her words were burned into his soul. PTSD had been the bane of soldiers for millennia, and suicide was a common way used to escape the pain. He’d wanted to cover for the lieutenant by not reporting his emotional state. He’d wanted to cover for the lieutenant by first having him and Teller, then by having Top Jujian try and locate him.

By trying to cover for his lieutenant instead of getting him help, he may have killed the man.

22

“You sure you don’t want me to stay here with you?” Tomiko asked.

“No. You go and represent us.”

“This really sucks big time. They won’t let you out even for a couple of hours? Did you try requesting mast with the CG?”

“I told you, I’m sure my house arrest goes higher than our two-star. He’s not going to have the authority. Can’t afford to let an IBHU Marine get offed by an assassin. We’re supposed to go out like heroes in battle, covered in glory.”

“Not funny, Rev. Don’t tempt the gods of war.”

“Oh, now you’re into them?”

She snorted, then said, “They’re just another term for luck. But since you like mentioning them so often, I thought I’d use something you’d understand.”

Tomiko leaned over and kissed the top of his head. “Don’t get so wrapped up in your work that you forget to watch the stream.”

“I won’t. I may not be allowed to go, but I’m not missing my baby brother’s wedding.”

“I’ll bring you back some cake,” Tomiko said as she left him alone in his office.

With her gone, he didn’t have to pretend and let the smile fade from his face. He was pissed, pure and simple. This was his brother’s wedding, for the Mother’s sake. He was supposed to be part of the wedding party. But he’d gotten a hard no when he asked for a temporary break in his restriction to base.

He was told that there were “indications” that whoever was behind the attempt on his life might still be on Safe Harbor. But Tomiko was good to go. They didn’t care if she went, which either meant they considered Rev as the real target, or they didn’t value her life as much as his.

Which Tomiko had mentioned more than once. From the way she talked about it, she would take being restricted to base with Rev as a badge of honor.

There was a rap on the door, and then Teller stuck her head inside. “Uh, Gunny? Top Jujian called and said you haven’t turned in your five-fifteens. Do you think you can get them in by COB?”

“Oh, yeah, sure, Teller. It’s not like I have anything else to do.”

The sergeant grimaced and quickly backed away, which was probably a smart thing to do.

Rev looked at all the scribbled reminders pasted over his desk.

Lieutenant Kjell’s desk.

It had been sixteen days since the lieutenant had disappeared. Sixteen long days in which Rev had taken over as acting platoon commander in addition to his normal responsibilities as platoon sergeant. And with a second warning order issued that all but assured that something was afoot, the load was snowing Rev under with work. Every day—no, every hour—some new task was handed to him. Without Punch to organize the workload, he’d be completely overwhelmed instead of only partially.

He didn’t even know what a “five-fifteen” was. Hopefully, something that he could get done before COB.

And if he couldn’t? What were they going to do? Shave his head and send him off to war?

In any other unit, the lieutenant would have been declared a deserter at two weeks, and another officer assigned. But Second Combined Assault Battalion was not any other unit, and politics had reared its ugly head.

Kjell wasn’t formally listed as UA, “Unauthorized Absence.” That would embarrass the MDS. So, the MDS were informed that the lieutenant was missing, and they’d sent investigators to assist the Marines and local authorities in locating him. Meanwhile, his name was still on the roster filling the billet.

It wasn’t as if there was another lieutenant to step up. Assignments to the battalion went through lengthy vetting processes by both the providing nations and the CoH. And even if a newbie lieutenant was available, Second Company had returned from their deployment last week missing a platoon commander who’d been KIA.

So, while everyone tried to locate Kjell, Rev did both jobs.

And he’d lost hope that the lieutenant would return by now. As a karnan, he was an immense human being, and he’d stick out like a sore thumb. No, Rev was sure that his platoon commander was dead, either through foul play or by him just not being able to take his pain anymore. He had Punch scanning all the local news feeds and police chatter for reports of a large body being found in a ditch or lake somewhere.

Rev felt horrible, and it was affecting his sleep. Even having Tomiko back hadn’t helped much. As bad as it sounded, he almost wished they’d find the lieutenant’s body. At least they’d know, and Rev would have to face the consequences for not reporting Kjell. It was being hushed up for now, but it would come out during the formal investigation a suicide would trigger.

Well, this work isn’t going to get done by itself.

“So, Punch, what the hell is a five-fifteen, and how do we fill it out?”

* * *

<The wedding starts in fifteen minutes.>

“I’m almost done with this.”

<If you miss it, Tomiko is going to blame me. The report can wait.>

Rev pushed back from the desk and got his brain off of admin mode.

“You’re right, of course. Let’s link up on the lieutenant’s holopad.”

Rev pulled the base off of the shelf and set it on the desk just as there was another knock on the hatch.

“I’m busy!” Rev shouted.

Which didn’t stop Specialist Krangit, from the S-1, from opening it.

“Tell Top I’m still working on the five-fifteen. I’ll get it in as soon as I’m done.”

“Top told me to run down and warn you that Ensign Guthrie’s on the warpath, and he’s on his way to see Captain Adair about the reports. He said something about if you want to see the wedding, you’d better make yourself scarce.” The specialist looked around as if expecting to see a wedding party. “Does that make sense, Gunny?”

“Sure does. Tell Top thanks!” he said as he bolted from the office and quad. He glanced down to the battalion CP, and the coast was clear. For a moment, he was going to run across the quad, but on second thought, he decided that going behind the company offices was a better bet. Just as he reached the corner, the main entrance to the CP opened. Rev didn’t wait to see who it was and ducked around the corner.

“Comp, sleep,” he ordered.

Doing that would send any calls to voicemail. Which could be overridden, of course, but Rev didn’t think anyone would do that over a stupid administrative form, not even the ensign.

“Where to? The SNCO quarters? We’ve got the Sony holopad.”

<Which will be being used by someone, and I doubt that whoever’s using it will want to watch your brother’s wedding.>

“Then where? Somewhere I’m not going to be bothered.”

<I’d suggest the armory. You might have to go 2D, but no one is going to pop in there.>

That was because very few people were authorized entry into the IBHU armory. Certainly not Ensign Guthrie.

Rev sprinted behind the CP and past the supply warehouses. He impatiently went through the security measures and finally burst into the armory itself.

Filmore was working at the test table, and he jumped when Rev came in. “Shit, Gunny. You about gave me a heart attack. I didn’t know anyone was coming in today.”

Rev scanned the three IBHUs Filmore had laid out in front of him. Pashu wasn’t one of them.

“Looks like we’re going out again, so I thought I’d do my three-month checks a little early.”

The warning orders hadn’t specified any particular operation, but they’d all done this long enough to know why they were going through all the pre-deployment prep.

But Rev wasn’t here to check up on the IBHU maintenance.

“You got a holopad in here?”

“A holopad? No.”

Crap.

“No problem. I’ll use my comp.”

“For what?”

“I need a place to hang out and not be bothered for about an hour.”

The junior tech shrugged and said, “How about at the end of the racks? What’s happening?”

“What’s happening, Filmore, is that my brother’s getting married, and I need a damn hour without people demanding my time.”

The IBHU tech opened one of the equipment lockers and pulled out a 100-cm display. “It’s not holo, but it’s better than your wristcomp.”

Rev eagerly took it. “Thanks, Fills.”

He retreated to the end of the IBHU racks, set the screen on the table, and jacked in.

“Hook me up, Punch.”

A moment later, the wedding appeared on the screen. Grover and Alyce were getting married at Creekwalk’s wedding chapel. He had to admit, it looked lovely, decked out with a variety of flowers and ribbons. This wasn’t the holofeed, but the 2D camera was situated in the back of the chapel, so Rev could see most of the venue. It looked like there were about fifty people in attendance. He spotted Tomiko and was about to call her when she turned, looked to the side, and asked, “What?”

“Rev? Where?”

Whoever she was talking to must have pointed at the pickup, because she turned right to it and waved, then got up and made her way back to take a seat next to the camera.

“You cut it close, Big Boy. They’re about ready to start.”

“Can you hear me?” Rev asked.

“Yeah, I can. Of course. I can see you, too, on the monitor.”

Rev tried to straighten out his hair. He hadn’t realized that this would be two-way.

“A few things came up. I’m in the armory now, watching this on a flat.”

“Well, you’re here. I’ll make sure everyone knows you made it.”

<This is my first wedding.>

“Really? Are you sure?” Rev asked as he tried to think back.

<Since I’m attached to you, you should know. We were deployed when Cricket and Udu got married.>

“Well, think of it as a chance to observe human customs.”

<I’m looking forward to it.>

The wedding march started, and everyone rose.

Tomiko looked back and motioned for Rev to stand up, too. Since he wasn’t there and in a Marine armory, he didn’t think he had to, but he wasn’t going to argue.

Grover stood up at the front of the chapel and stepped into the camera’s view.

His brother looked like . . . an adult, Rev decided.

How did that happen?

The two of them hadn’t really spent much time together since Rev was conscripted. They’d been so close as kids, but life had built a wall, and they’d drifted somewhat out of each other’s lives. Rev made a personal vow that he was going to make more time for his brother, and sooner rather than later.

Well, after their honeymoon, Reverent. Give them some time.

But soon. Rev’s profession meant that a future was not guaranteed, and the two of them needed to take advantage of any opportunities they had.

The first of the wedding party passed into view: a bridesmaid and groomsman. He didn’t recognize either one, which was just one more piece of evidence that he’d lost contact with what was going on with Grover’s life.

The second bridesmaid was Neesy, though, and the third was Kat. Rev felt a pang when he saw them. They both looked so beautiful, and like Grover, so mature. And he wanted, at that moment, so much to be there, to be one of the groomsmen.

“Damn asshole,” Rev muttered loud enough for Filmore to look up from his bench.

He didn’t know who or what group had tried to eliminate him, but “asshole” was a valid description.

Three more pairs marched past the camera pickup. Tomiko turned around to look to the rear of the chapel.

“Oh, she’s so beautiful,” she whispered.

Rev could hear the longing in her voice, and he knew he should talk to her about when they were going to get married. But every time they had a tentative plan, the Marine Corps and the war got in their way. Rev was about ready to be done with it and just get hitched at the courthouse if he could ever get off base. They even had a 24-hour kiosk there. But he knew a grand wedding was important to Tomiko, and if that’s what she wanted, that’s what he was going to give to her.

And then, Alyce came into view on the arm of her father.

<Tomiko was right. She’s lovely.>

A simple statement, but one with meaning. An AI might know what humans generally consider as beautiful or not, but they didn’t have their own opinions. Yet that was what Punch was doing—expressing an opinion. His battle buddy was pushing into unknown territory.

They reached the front of the church, and the father of the bride gave her a last hug before he released her to Grover, who had a smile so big that Rev thought his face might crack open.

Tomiko broke her attention from the front and looked back into the monitor. She gave Rev a small smile, but he wasn’t quite sure what she was thinking.

They’d chosen a religious ceremony, and the reverend indicated that Grover could join Alyce. As he turned to stand beside her, they gave each other a little hand squeeze.

“Ah, that’s so sweet,” Tomiko said.

The music stopped, and the reverend said, “Family and friends, we are gathered here on this special day to share in the joining of Alyce June Molina and Grover Tennyson Pelletier in holy matrimony.

Tomiko reached over and put her hand low on the camera pickup. Feeling a little foolish, Rev reached out to touch the image of her hand.

“This is a time of celebration, when two people forge the bond that will take them through to the end of their lives, their—”

A blast came over the pickup, and the back of Grover’s head exploded into a red cloud, splattering the pristine white dress of the bride. Another shot and the reverend was down as Alyce recoiled in horror.

Rev jumped to his feet, his warrior surging to the fore as screams filled the audio, and people scrambled to get out of the way. But to where? The chapel was essentially a rectangle, the window too small for an adult to get through.

Tomiko was rushing to the front, and Rev shouted, “No, Miko! Get down!”

But she was sprinting forward, bowling over a few people who got in her way.

Rev grabbed the edge of the screen and pulled it close as if he could jump through to the other side.

Another burst of fire raised the level of the screaming, but Rev didn’t see anyone fall. Tomiko reached the front and tackled Alyce, who’d been standing in shocked silence as she stared at Grover’s body.

Right in front of the camera, several people looked back in horror and tried to scramble out of the way, banging up against chairs and other panicked guests.

And a shape passed by, a tall, gaunt shape, wearing a cape and hat that hid the features. But just as a bird recognizes a snake in the grass, Rev didn’t need to see more clearly to know what it was.

As it strode to the center of the chapel, one of the groomsmen gathered his feet under him, his intent crystal clear to Rev.

“Take the bastard!” he hissed.

But it was clear to the murderer, too. With a smooth, almost obscenely efficient movement, it raised one of its two weapons and fired a single shot that hit the groomsman in the forehead. The screams got louder.

The murderer waited a moment, then waved both weapons and said, “I don’t care about you. Any of you. Stay out of my way, and you may even live,” with an accent and rhythm Rev had heard before.

It took off its hat, and as it slowly rotated its gaze, the guests gasped. It was vaguely human, with several of the fleshy protuberances some of them seemed to favor.

“Reverent Pelletier, you hide behind your refuge like all hreetz, afraid to meet me like a warrior. I know you are not here, but from several . . . interrogations, I’ve been told you will be observing this.

“Despite this, I offer you gnista. You and me. Here.”

It strode to the front of the church as guests tried to get out of its way and went right to Alyce. Tomiko tried to shield her, but the Naxli knocked her over the head with one of his rifles. He pulled the sobbing bride by the hair and put the muzzle of its shorter weapon to her head.

“I know this is your female of the blood. Sister, you call her. She means nothing to me. After I kill you, I will allow her to live. If you choose not to accept, I will kill her here along with all the rest. This, I swear.”

Rev was about to explode. His organic fingers were white, he was gripping the screen so hard, and his prosthetic fingers were denting the frame.

He put his mouth as close as he could to the mic and shouted, “I’m coming for you, hreetz! And this is what I swear. I will kill you.”

* * *

“Give me Pashu,” Rev told Filmore.

The tech looked unsure of himself. He kept glancing between Rev and the screen, and Rev knew he’d only caught his side of what was going on.

“I . . . I don’t think I should.”

Rev strode over to the Sieben tech, where he purposely got too close and made the man back up. “And I don’t think you have any authority to say no.”

“There’s no training on the schedule today, and I still have to run her through her quarterly check.”

“I’m not training with her.”

Rev pushed the much slighter tech aside and looked at the controls for the conveyor. They weren’t hard to figure out. He punched on his name, and the robot arm ran down the line, pulled Pashu out, and brought her to the donning station.

It was easier with someone helping, but Rev could don his IBHU by himself. He took off his social arm, slipped into the cradle, and locked his IBHU into the collar, and let the connections meld.

<System is green,> Punch said, the first words he’d uttered since the Naxli had made its appearance.

Rev didn’t know what his battle buddy was thinking, and he really did care. He burned with a cold fire, fierce in intensity, but without the hot emotions that could cloud judgment.

Except for the decision to answer the Naxli’s challenge, of course. He knew it was the wrong thing to do, but he didn’t care.

“I want a combat load of twenties.”

Filmore shot a quick look at the ammo magazine, then squared his chin and said, “I don’t know what you think you’re going to do, but no.”

“No?” Rev asked, pushing the testing equipment off of his table as he got up into his face.

The man was afraid; that much was obvious. But he swallowed hard, then said, “No. I’m not giving you any rounds.”

Rev considered Daryll a friend, but he’d never liked Filmore. And for a moment, he considered taking the man by the throat and shaking compliance out of him. But his better angel struggled to remind him that his anger wasn’t toward the tech but the Naxli waiting for him at the chapel.

“Don’t need them,” he said before spinning around and leaving the sweating, pale man.

Rev hesitated at the entrance, wondering if Filmore could deny him egress, but as he went through the procedures, and the inner door opened, and after another eye scan, the outer as well, and he could step outside.

It was a good thing, too, he thought. He hadn’t vented his anger on the tech, but if Filmore had somehow trapped him inside the armory, he wasn’t quite sure what he would have done.

Several troopers waved or said hi as he strode through the battalion area. There wasn’t much going on the training area on a Saturday, but they were at Camp Asif, so seeing a Marine with their IBHU wasn’t that big of a deal.

Rev left Asif and stepped up to the Nguyen tram. It pulled up just as Sergeant Teller approached at a run, shouting, “Gunny Pelletier. Hold up!”

He didn’t acknowledge the sergeant and stepped inside the tram. Teller almost reached it before the doors closed, and Rev stared at her through the window as the tram pulled out.

IBHUs were not as common outside of Asif, and he got a few stares, but the entire base was on a war footing, so once again, no one seemed to give him a second thought.

It was four stops before the tram reached the Nguyen mainside, then another three until it reached Gate 1. As Rev exited the tram and started to the gate, he could tell that word had been sent ahead.

A sergeant, backed by a corporal, stepped out of the guard shack and stood in his path.

“Gunnery Sergeant Pelter, we’ve got word that you’re not allowed off the base.”

“Good thing I’m not Gunnery Sergeant Pelter, then,” Rev said.

The sergeant looked confused, and the corporal asked him what they were supposed to do. Rev brushed past the two while the sergeant called back to whomever.

“Pelletier,” the sergeant shouted as he and the corporal ran to keep up. “Gunny Pelletier, you need to stop.”

Rev kept walking, and the two ran around to get in front of him again.

Others who’d gotten off at the stop started slowing down to see what was going on. Inside the guard shack, a nervous-looking PFC watched out of the ID check station.

“You really have to stop. You can’t go off base.”

Rev’s eyes drifted down to the corporal’s hand, which rested on the butt of her holstered sidearm.

“Do you know what this is, Corporal?” Rev asked, raising Pashu to almost, but not quite, aim at her.

“Ye . . . yes, Gunny. I know,” the corporal said, her eyes locked on Pashu’s muzzle.

“Then you know what I can do with it. I know you’re just doing your job, and I’ve got no beef with you, but I am leaving the base. You can either step aside and let someone else worry about me, or you can try and be a hero and stop me. But word to the wise; you won’t be able to stop me, and that would be a waste.”

Her hand twitched, but the sergeant said, “Stand down, Jen. This is over our heads.”

“Smart decision, Sergeant,” Rev said as he passed them.

He gave a slight nod to the PFC, half expecting the gate to close—not that that was going to stop him. But it remained open, and Rev walked out.

<Would you really have shot that corporal if she’d tried to stop you?>

“Don’t know.”

He didn’t think he would have, but his brain was not functioning normally at the moment, so he couldn’t be sure.

He reached the parking lot but then stopped. He hadn’t really thought this part out. He’d assumed he’d take an autocab, but those were too easy to stop by the authorities. Same with a bus.

A Nico Crescent work van pulled up, and a private, so new his blues smelled of cleaning fluid, jumped off one of the benches and started to run for it until he must have remembered he was a Marine now and thought he should act a little more professionally. He slowed back to a walk, but with a bounce in his step.

A man who looked like an older version of the private got out of the Crescent. He wasn’t as circumspect, and he came around and hugged the Marine while pounding him on the back.

Rev walked up to them and asked, “Private, are you going into town?”

The private broke the hug, came to attention, and almost shouted, “Yes, Gunnery Sergeant. The private is going into town with his father.”

A calm, detached part of Rev noticed that the private was quaking in his boots, probably afraid he’d done something wrong. But the furious part of Rev, the side which had taken over him, ignored that and asked, “May I have a ride? I need to get to Creekwalk Park as quickly as possible.

“Gunnery Sergeant?” the private asked, obviously confused.

“Can I please get a ride?”

The private looked at his father, who took in Rev’s IBHU, then tentatively said, “I guess we could. I don’t know this park, though. I’m from Franzetta’s Crossing, and this is only the second time I’ve been to Swansea.”

“Where are you staying?”

“The Peters Inn,” the man told him.

“Close enough.”

Rev walked to the van, opened the side door, and climbed in while the private and his father watched him in shock. “We can go,” he told them, and they hurried to the front seats.

His detached self knew he wasn’t treating them well. They had to be confused, and they might even be afraid of the massive, brusque Marine, who’d essentially taken over the van. But his entire being was focused on one thing and one thing only.

The private froze in his seat while his father nervously asked him a few questions that Rev replied to in terse, one- or two-word answers. Finally, the man shut up, although he kept a close watch on him through the rearview screen.

Punch tried to draw him out, asking if he knew what he was doing, but he shut his battle buddy off. His warrior self was clamoring for control. Rev wasn’t quite ready for that, but he wanted him ready, so he could draw upon his warrior self’s force of will.

He barely noticed as they entered the city, as lost as he was in the turmoil of what had happened, but when he saw Grape Gap Boulevard, he snapped back to the here and now.

“I’ll get out here,” he said, quickly moving to the door.

The father jerked in startlement, causing the van to swerve, but he quickly brought it to the curb.

“Is everything OK, Sergeant?” the man asked as Rev opened the door.

“No, it isn’t. But it will be.”

Rev jumped out, barely aware of the van speeding off.

By going north on Grape Gap, he’d hit Saint Martin. From that intersection, Creekwalk Park would only be three blocks away. Rev started running.

At Asif and even Nguyen, an IBHU Marine was not an uncommon sight. That couldn’t be said in the heart of Swansea. People looked up and jumped out of the way as Rev pounded by. He paid no attention to the lights at the intersections, running through traffic several times, once even having to use his right arm to fend off a truck as the autoped alarm blared out a warning.

With his augmented legs, Rev covered the distance to Saint Martin in just over four minutes. Then it was less than a minute to the park. He crossed the bridge over the river and turned along the running path—the same running path where he’d tracked down Tomiko to propose—to reach the chapel.

He would have found it even without his internal navigation. Police had cordoned off the area, and newsdrones were like swarming mosquitoes. A crowd had gathered, held back by the authorities. And more importantly to Rev, the cops already had one of their small mobile CPs in place.

Rev didn’t hesitate. He crossed the yellow tape.

“Hey, you can’t go there,” a policeman shouted.

“That’s my brother’s wedding,” Rev said.

“You still have to get back.”

But Rev was already at the mobile command post. Three cops turned around at his arrival, and Rev went right to the one with the blue bar on his collar.

“That’s my brother’s wedding.”

The lieutenant gave his IBHU a hard look. “I’m sorry for that, but you need to step back.”

The first cop, the one who’d tried to stop him at the police line, ran up. “Sorry, lieutenant. I let him get past me.” He took a moment to try and grab Rev by his IBHU, then switched to the other side and pulled on his organic arm.

Rev didn’t budge.

“I’m the one it had the message for, Lieutenant.”

“Sorry?”

“You saw the livestream, right? It gave the message to me.”

“No, I didn’t see any stream. The precinct said they’re bringing something out. You saw it live?”

“I did. And I think I can help you.”

The lieutenant hesitated a moment. Rev was a Marine, but Swansea cops, who dealt with drunk and rowdy Marines more than they’d like, weren’t always eager to cooperate with them.

But the lieutenant nodded at the officer still holding Rev’s arm, and the cop released him.

“Can you tell me what happened? All I know is that we’ve got a hostage situation. The suspect has said he’ll kill anyone unless a Sergeant Pelletier meets him. I’m guessing you’re this sergeant?”

“Gunnery Sergeant Reverent Pelletier. And yes, it challenged me.”

“Challenged you? Like how?”

“To gnistsa.”

The lieutenant went blank.

“One-on-one combat.”

“You mean like those Naxlis used to do? Why go after you? What did you do to him?”

“It. You’re asking what I did to it. It’s a Naxli, though, so that’s why it challenged me.”

Rev’s warrior self was roiling inside of him. Rev could see the chapel, not eighty meters away, and it took every gram of his will not to charge down there.

“A Naxli? You mean one of those bastards? Here in Swansea?”

Rev withheld the urge to scream. What the hell were these guys doing? It had been obvious that the thing was a Naxli. Surely the lieutenant had heard that when he was dispatched.

“I didn’t think it was true,” one of the other cops said.

The lieutenant turned to the cop. “You knew this?”

“No. Frazzioli said he heard it but thought it was bullshit.”

“Shit, if this is an alien, we might need a bigger response. When’s SWAT getting here?”

“Another four minutes, it looks like,” the second cop said.

OK, now I know how much time I have.

“Lieutenant? I’ve got the scan going,” one of the two cops on the CP console said.

The lieutenant asked Rev, “Can you tell an alien from a sierra scan?”

Rev didn’t know what the police called a sierra scan was. But . . .

“Sure.”

The lieutenant motioned him over to the scanner readout.

This was what Rev wanted to see, and this was why Rev had approached the mobile CP—some sort of scan or intel to lay out the situation inside.

The scanner display had light outlines of the chapel itself as well as the pews, pulpits, the bathroom—everything non-organic.

But the bodies blazed in bright colors. Most of the people were crowded along the walls of the building. But two looked to be in the middle. Both were standing next to each other. Where Rev could see the shadows of what must be clothing on the others, the first image had a larger shadow, one that spread out along the ground. Like a wedding dress.

Standing next to her—so close to being touching, was another tall, lanky figure. The colors were mostly the same, even if they were a little lighter over the chest. And there were the light outlines in its arms that matched what Rev had seen of the Naxli’s weapons.

Rev wasn’t there to share information, but he couldn’t help himself. “That’s the nox bastard,” he said, pointing at the image.

“You sure, Sergeant?”

“I’m sure.”

The lieutenant studied the display for a moment, then raised his gaze to the chapel.

“Good positioning by the suspect, damnit.”

No suspect to it. Assassin.

“Think SWAT can get a shot?”

The other cop, who had three diagonal stripes on his upper arm, did his own evaluation, then said, “With the window layout, the sniper would have to be over there in the trees somewhere, and then it’s going to be at a pretty acute angle. Tough shot, but doable. But I’d want to get the hostage he’s got out of the way first.”

Rev tried to frame the sniper mission himself. He knew a few Marine snipers who could manage the shot, but even with Punch assisting, he didn’t think he would be up to the task.

“Bastard knows what it’s doing,” Rev subvocalized.

<But since you accepted gnista, it should be focused on the entrance.>

“Whether I did or did not accept gnista, I don’t control the situation here.”

At least legally.

“What about body armor?” the lieutenant asked. “Is it true they grow their own armor?”

“That’s true. It’s good but not as good as Marine armor. I don’t know about whatever you use."

“Sir, SWAT’s in the park. One minute ETA,” the other cop on the console said.

Rev pivoted and spotted the black tactical vehicle turn onto the footpath and head toward them.

Rev ran the scenarios through his head. Was the Naxli being honest that it would spare the others if he fought and it won? Possibly. But for all their bowing to honor, the Naxli hadn’t been exactly wedded to it when things were going against them. And this wasn’t even a warrior. It was an assassin. Killing Grover, who the nox didn’t seem to know was Rev’s brother, not Alyce being his sister, was hardly the move of an honorable fighter.

What if the SWAT does the rescue? Can they drop the nox before it kills any more?

Rev’s warrior self almost erupted in anger the moment Rev posed that question to himself.

He was just being thorough, though. He’d known what he was going to do the minute he told the Naxli he was coming.

“Punch, are you with me?”

<Of course. I’m here for you.>

“The chapel is frame and foam, right?”

That was the most common type of construction in Swansea for single-story buildings, but it was a good idea to check.

<According to the city building permits and plans, yes.>

“Can you put a marker on the outer wall directly between me and the nox, no matter how I move?”

<Of course, but let me remind you, you don’t have any twenty-millimeter rounds if you’re thinking of trying to take a shot. And even a tight meson beam will have some spread after going through the walls.>

The SWAT vehicle slowed down to get through the gawkers when one of the cops on the console called the lieutenant over. He pulled the lieutenant into his ear and whispered, but Rev caught the words “MPs” and “hold him.” The lieutenant quickly looked at Rev, then averted his eyes.

He nodded and, in a forced casual manner, said, “Sergeant Pelletier, you’ve been extremely helpful, but I’m going to need you to step back now and hold so you can answer any questions from the SWAT commander.”

“It’s Gunnery Sergeant Pelletier!” he shouted as he broke into an all-out run.

The cops behind him all started shouting for him to stop, but Rev was committed. He put every ounce of power he could into his legs, building up his speed, building up his momentum.

Punch inputted a red dot on the wall of the chapel, and Rev headed right for it.

A hundred things could go wrong with this plan—if you could even call it a plan. The Naxli might have moved. There could be a stronger structural support in the wall. The hostages inside might get up.

But he had to try.

Twenty meters from the wall of the building, Rev released his warrior self. With a roar, he flooded Rev’s senses and filled him with the desire to kill. No, not kill. To destroy.

Two steps from the wall, Rev raised Pashu and rolled slightly to present his shoulder and avert his head.

With an inarticulate scream, he slammed into the wall, leading with his IBHU’s forearm and then his shoulder.

The chapel was built to withstand the weather and normal wear and tear. It wasn’t designed to withstand almost 300 kilos traveling at an Olympic sprinter’s speed.

The blow was much harder than Rev expected, and he stumbled over two bodies, but somehow, he managed to keep on his feet.

In front of him, five meters away, the Naxli assassin was holding Alyce, the smaller of its two weapons, the one closest to Rev, held against her throat. It started turning toward him, eyes going wide. Rev lunged over the pew that was between them, struggling to close the distance.

Alyce closed her eyes in resignation, but the weapon at her throat wavered as the Naxli began to shift the weapon to take Rev under fire. Rev kicked off the pew and extended his IBHU. At the last moment, Rev’s rational self thrust into control and deployed Pashu’s blade.

The polychromotium blade sliced millimeters past Alyce’s throat, slicing her wedding veil before the tip hit the top of the Naxli’s chest armor and skittered up to bury itself three centimeters into its throat.

All three of them went to the floor, and the Naxli dropped its weapons to grab at Pashu, to keep the blade from going in deeper.

Rev fought to get his knees under him, to give him leverage, when the Naxli, seemingly in astonishment, croaked out, “You agreed to gnista!”

“Fuck your gnista, and fuck you!” Rev snarled as he shoved the blade to the hilt into the alien assassin’s throat.

He felt no joy, no sense of victory as the Naxli’s eyes dimmed and went out. His warrior self receded back into his psyche’s recesses, leaving Rev an empty husk.

He rolled off the alien’s body and staggered to where Grover lay. Slowly, he sank down beside the body and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. He’d seen death before—too many times—but he couldn’t bring himself to look at Grover’s head.

His chin sunk to his chest, and hot tears dripped to the floor. That’s where the SWAT found him as they burst through the door.

23

Rev was surprisingly calm as he sat on the ground, surrounded by five SWAT officers, their weapons trained on him as if he was a mad dog ready to attack. His family and Tomiko had tried to come with him as the officers removed him from inside the chapel, but they’d been held back. They were huddled at the chapel’s entrance now, hugging each other as they tried to process what had happened. Other guests were being interrogated, then led away out of sight.

The cops had tried to handcuff him but gave up when confronted with his IBHU. Rev had even chuckled over that, despite the circumstances. His IBHU was a powerful weapon, and he had augmented strength, but his right arm was still organic. Handcuff it behind his back to Pashu, and he’d be effectively restrained.

Not that he was going to offer them that little tidbit.

“My brother was just murdered, and I killed the thing that did it. Why don’t I feel anything?”

After the rage that drove him to the chapel, he was dead inside now. There was nothing.

<You’re in shock, Rev. The way you feel is a human coping mechanism.>

“Will I ever feel something?”

With historical memories of the Genesians and Eucharans fresh in humanity’s minds, IBHU Marines had been accused of being uncontrollable androids and a danger to humankind.

Have I lost what it means to be human? Is that why I threatened fellow Marines? Is that why I don’t feel anything now? My brother was just murdered because of me, for the Mother’s sake, so what the hell is wrong with me?

<I’m not the one to ask. But according to the literature, yes, you will feel grief once the shock wears off.>

Rev wasn’t so sure about that.

He sat there in silence. Several times, his father, Kat, and Tomiko called out to him to stay strong, but he didn’t acknowledge them.

Finally, several sets of footsteps approached. He didn’t bother to turn his head, and he wasn’t surprised when five heavily armed MPs, in full body armor, appeared in front of him.

That’s what probably took them so long. They had to get a reaction force with body armor to confront the crazy IBHU gunny.

“Gunnery Sergeant Pelletier, I’m Lieutenant Rasingale. I need you to stand up and remove your IBHU,” the officer said.

The four enlisted MPs weren’t exactly aiming their weapons on him, but as he stood, the muzzles shifted ever-so-slightly toward him. Rev was tempted to shout, “Boo!” they looked so tightly strung, but he just didn’t have the energy.

“You need to remove that thing, Gunny.”

Rev looked around. He didn’t need the hoist to remove his IBHU, but when done in the field, that usually took the help of another Marine. None of the MPs seemed ready to help.

Screw it.

Rev twisted the collar catch, then hit the release. Pashu crashed to the ground, making the MPs jump.

The Marine lieutenant turned to the police lieutenant and said, “We’ll take him now. Our colonel will personally come down to your precinct and brief you.”

Rev shifted his gaze to the cop, curious as to what his response would be. The relationship between the Marine MPs and the Swansea police was complicated. While on the one hand, they were both cops, on the other hand, there were issues of jurisdiction.

Technically, crimes committed outside the base were under the local cops’ jurisdiction, but on the other hand, the fact of the matter was that this was a Marine town, and the base had lots of influence outside the gates. For the typical drunk and disorderlies, the Marines liked to take care of their own. Having a lance corporal cooling his heels in the local jail meant they weren’t available for a surprise deployment.

What Rev had done wasn’t a drunk and disorderly, but what was it? Rev knew he must have broken some sort of civilian law, but exactly what?

But the police lieutenant didn’t even hesitate. “Just get him out of here.”

The MPs started escorting him away, but that left the question of his IBHU. In the end, it took three of the SWAT cops to carry it behind Rev and the MPs.

Tomiko called out that she’d see him on base, and some of the remaining guests wished him luck. This time, Rev turned his head to them and gave a half-wave of thanks.

There were at least half-a-dozen reporters on the scene now, and they shouted out questions, but everyone ignored them. Rev and three of the MPs were bundled in the back of the van. The cops shoved Pashu in after, and the door was closed.

“Do we need to restrain you, Gunny?”

Rev shook his head. “Am I under arrest?”

“Hell if I know. We were just told to bring you back. I guess we’ll find out.”

The van rose on its skirts, rotated, and retreated through the crowd. Rev could still hear questions being flung at them.

As the van settled onto the road and picked up speed, a sergeant asked, “Is it true? Did you really attack a nox who was holding hostages?”

Rev nodded his head. “Killed it.”

The mood in the back of the van immediately lightened, and the three MPs relaxed.

“Uber righteous, Gunny,” the sergeant said. “Uber righteous.”

* * *

The van came to a stop, and someone opened the door. To his surprise, Rev didn’t step out to the brig but rather to the battalion area. He wasn’t sure which one would have been better when he saw the sergeant major waiting for him.

“I’ve got him, Lieutenant,” she said before the man had gotten out of the front seat.

He nodded and closed the door, leaving Rev to her ministrations.

“You,” she said, pointing at him. “Come with me.”

Brown-Master Lyztomontz was the battalion sergeant major. As a Frisian, she had no augments, and she was half Rev’s size, but Rev didn’t harbor any illusions that he wasn’t about to get an epic ass-chewing.

She turned and strode off, and Rev had to hurry to keep up with the smaller woman. Several people stopped and watched in silence as the two passed by.

“I guess the word is out.”

<It would seem so.>

Several heads popped out of office doors as they entered the CP, only to quickly disappear. They reached the sergeant major’s office, which was right across from the colonel’s, and entered. She closed the door behind them and wasted no time.

“What the hell were you thinking, Pelletier?”

“I was thinking that I needed to kill a nox,” he said defiantly.

He may not have gone through the correct procedures, but the bottom line was that the Marine Corps had trained him to kill the enemy, and that’s what he’d just done. And he wasn’t going to apologize.

“So, you just take it upon yourself to grab your IBHU, threaten the guards at Gate 1, and take matters into your own hands?”

Rev thought about it for a moment. He wasn’t sure he’d actually threatened the Marines at the gate, but that was grasping at straws. What she’d asked him was pretty accurate.

“Yes, Brown-Master.”

She stared at him, then shook her head. “No apology, no nothing. Your arrogance should astound me, Pelletier, but it’s right on brand for you persies.”

That took Rev aback just a bit.

We’re arrogant? That’s the Mad Dogs.

But he kept his mouth shut.

“What you did broke all sorts of laws. More than that, it was stupid. You could have gotten those people killed.”

“But I didn’t.”

The sergeant major blew up then. “Shut the hell up, Gunny! Do not say a fucking word! Do you understand me?”

Answering would be saying a word, so he nodded and stared at a spot on the far wall over her head.

She paced back and forth in front of him several times before she turned and got up in his face.

“You’re in big trouble, Gunny. So, don’t get too attached to those rockers.”

Rev gulped, but he’d already figured he’d get busted down a rank or two.

Or three.

“This is what you’re going to do. If you get contacted by the press, you have nothing to say. Nothing. Do you understand me?”

Rev nodded again.

“As of now, you are restricted to your quarters until we figure out what to do with you. No SNCO Club, no PX, no gym, no chow hall. You are either in your quarters, your office, or out training.”

That took him by surprise. “I’m still with the platoon?”

She took a deep breath, and when she spoke, it was with several degrees lower fire. “If you were going to go stippy-do crazy, you picked the right time. Looks like we’re locking down within twenty-four hours. And with Lieutenant Kjell still missing, we don’t have anyone to take your platoon. So, yeah, you’re still with them. For now, at least.”

For the first time since the killing rage had faded, Rev felt an emotional spike. He was sure he’d be in the brig by now, the platoon taken away from him.

“Don’t read too much into that. The CO’s up with the CG right now, and all of that can change in a heartbeat.”

He couldn’t help it, though. He’d been resigned to his fate, but now that he wasn’t immediately being taken out of the platoon, he’d been thrown a lifeline. The storm he’d created was still surging, but now there was hope. And he really, really wanted to stay with his troopers.

She lowered her voice again to almost a normal conversational level. “Look, Pelletier. I know why you did what you did. I can’t imagine seeing . . . what you saw. But you’ve put the battalion in a bind. The whole brigade. The local news is all over this, and it’ll be going galaxy-wide before we know it.

“You hyperaugments are under the microscope, and maybe you’ve just given fuel to those who don’t want you to exist. Maybe we’ll weather the storm, but please, stay low and out of sight. Don’t get your troopers riled up, or next thing we know, one of them’ll be crying to the damned press.”

“Understood, Brown-Master.”

“Then get out of here,” she said.

Rev didn’t need to be told twice.

* * *

There was a rap on his door that dragged him out of the depths of exhaustion.

“Go away,” he muttered and turned back into his pillow.

The rapping continued, and finally, Rev sat up and rubbed his eyes.

“Come in!”

The door opened, and Tomiko stuck her head in. “Your chow’s sitting outside your door.”

Rev was still confined to his room when he wasn’t actively on duty, and so his chow was delivered to his room. He was dead tired, but the sight of the food reminded him that he hadn’t eaten for a while.

“Thanks, Miko. Can you bring it in?”

She came over to the bed, then sniffed and backed up a step. “How long have you been in those utilities?”

“Oh, don’t try to sweet-talk me out of my clothes. I’m too tired for that.”

“Until you shower, that’s not even an option,” she said, handing him the container.

He opened it up: two steaks, two cinnamon rolls, some unrecognizable veggies, and two smoothie packs.

“Two of everything? The galley staff must really like you.”

“They take care of me,” Rev admitted as he grabbed the first smoothie, popped the tab, and let it frost up.

He waited the ten seconds, then opened the pack and downed a huge swallow. The tartness cut through the sleep in his mouth and gave him a little jolt.

“That’s because you’re a H-E-R-O, Big Boy.”

Rev frowned. He hated when she called him that, hence her spelling it out.

“You know it’s true. All of the troopers look up to you.”

“Well, tell the CG that.”

The consequences of his attack on the Naxli assassin hadn’t been determined yet, and it was hanging over him like a vulture over a dying antelope.

Rev didn’t even think that the commanding general of the Safe Harbor Marine Force had much of a say. The Second Combined Assault Brigade reported directly to the CoH, and even if they demurred, that would bring in Headquarters, Marine Corps attention.

“The civilians, too. The media is all over this.”

Rev had refused to watch any of the news, not that he’d had much time for that.

“The civilians? Even the ones who think hyperaugments are an abomination?”

“Screw them. They don’t count.”

Tomiko reached over and snagged a cinnamon bun. “They didn’t even have these on the chow line tonight.”

Rev grabbed the second one before he lost it to her.

Tomiko downed hers in two bites, then licked the cinnamon and icing off of her fingers. “Your mom called me today.”

“I put in the request, Miko. That’s all I can do.”

Grover’s funeral was set to take place in two days. Rev had sent up a mast to the CG, requesting permission to attend. Nothing had come back.

“She wants to go to your alderman.”

“I hope you told her no. It won’t do any good and just get more people pissed off at me.”

“You know her, Rev. Once she gets her mind on something . . .”

The Marines answered to the Union government, not a planetary one. So, a local alderman had no pull. But local politicians could be a pain in the ass, and to handle them, every Marine division had a liaison division that dealt with planetary governments.

The commands tended to regard this as a necessary evil, and while retribution against someone who instigated a “govint,” short for a “Governmental Interest,” was against regulations, they sure weren’t appreciated.

Rev finished his bun, then started to cut a steak. He could feel Tomiko’s eyes on him.

“I suppose you want one of these?”

“Oh, no. Well, maybe half of one?”

Rev sighed, cut it in two, and pushed half toward her. She eagerly grabbed it and tore into it as if it were an apple. The chowline steaks weren’t bad for fabricated meat, but they hardly deserved her enthusiasm.

Tomiko helped him with the rest of the meal, but Rev had more than enough. And he knew he needed the calories. Even with Yancey helping out, he’d been so busy as both platoon commander and platoon sergeant that he’d taken to skipping meals, just grabbing snacks on the fly.

Tomiko let out a very unladylike burp, which Rev echoed back at her.

“What now?” she asked.

Rev checked the time. “I’ve got five hours, and I’m going to do that asleep.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

Rev really wanted to be left alone, but he wasn’t dumb enough to say that. “If you want, but I really need the sleep.”

“OK. Sleep. But you really need to take a shower first.”

“Miko,” he said. “I’m too tired.”

“You stink. I’m surprised you can even sleep. Two minutes.”

Rev sighed. Sometimes, it was just easier to surrender. At least, as a platoon sergeant, he had a small sonic in his quarters. He stood and took off his utility top, then his skivvie shirt.

“Need help scrubbing your back?”

He never had a chance to answer, as both their alarms went off a fraction of a second apart. Rev grabbed his wristcomp off the nightstand and took a look.

“Crap. This is it. We’re heading out.”

* * *

“I’ve got them on their gear,” Yancey told Rev.

“Keep them there. We don’t have an exact ETA for the buses, but sure as shit, as soon as someone wanders off, they’ll arrive. How about the weapons and combat suits?” Rev asked.

“Hus-man is sitting on them with a team. Begay and Filmore are on the IBHUs.”

“People, weapons, PALs. I know we’re missing something, but hopefully, we’ve got most everything covered.” He paused a moment, then said, “You’re doing good, Yance.”

His old friend smiled and said, “I try.”

Yancey had come a long way from the irreverent, smartass fellow recruit Rev had met so many years ago. He’d really stepped up as the platoon readied for war, taking over a good deal of the platoon sergeant’s responsibilities on top of those he already had as a squad leader. Rev wasn’t sure how he’d have gotten everything done without him.

Rev looked over the platoon, lined up as squads. There was some horseplay, but nothing rising to the level of someone stepping in. Morale seemed high. They were all ready to go, whatever their mission might end up being.

“I’ll sure be glad when we’re actually underway,” Rev said.

“Me, too. Uh . . . any word on, um . . . you know?”

“Nothing. Looks like you’re stuck with me as acting platoon commander.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way. Can’t train up some new looey, you know.”

Rev chuckled, but he’d been worried that the CG would finally level his punishment for going rambo. As the clock ticked on, though, it was getting harder and harder for him to be pulled while someone else took over the platoon. And once their ride left the system . . .

Rev was anxious to get on with the mission, and not because it would lock him in place for the duration of it. But that aspect was a pretty nice side effect.

His wristcomp buzzed.

“Crap, it’s Jujian. What the heck does he want now?”

“That’s whatever we’re forgetting,” Yancey said.

Rev raised the comp. “This is Pelletier. Whaddayuh got, Top?”

“They found your lieutenant, Gunny.”

Rev’s heart fell. “Dead?”

“No, but he might wish he was. They’re bringing him in now, and they’re turning him over to the Mad Dog MPs.”

He whispered, “They caught the lieutenant,” to Yancey, then asked the top, “Where are they taking him?”

“Straight to the brig. He’s already on mainside and heading over.”

“Thanks, Top.”

“Just thought you’d like to know.”

He cut the connection, and Yancey asked, “Where’s he been?”

“Don’t know. But they’re taking him to the brig right now. They’re gonna turn him over to the Mad Dogs.”

“Shit. I’d hate to be in his shoes.”

Rev turned to look past the barracks. The brig was a separate force-level unit, a tenant aboard Camp Nguyen. But it wasn’t located at mainside. It was isolated from the main base facilities right outside their own Camp Asif. Rev wasn’t all that up on how the various outlying camps, facilities, boot camp, and the Naval Reserve base were organized under the Nguyen umbrella, but that didn’t matter. What did matter was that the brig was just five hundred meters from the battalion area.

“What’s going on?” Iglesias asked.

“They found the lieutenant,” Yancey said.

That caught the attention of the platoon.

“I’m going over there,” Rev said.

<You’re restricted to Asif.>

“Don’t care, Punch.”

<If the buses arrive, you need to be here.>

“Five hundred meters, Punch. I can cover that in a minute.”

“Yance, take over.”

Rev broke out into a run, heading out of the battalion area. There wasn’t a formal gate to the camp, just a huge stone with the camp’s name and founding date engraved on it. Rev curved around it and onto the road leading to the brig. It wasn’t until then that he noticed that what looked like the entire platoon was running after him.

Camp Asif may not have a gate, but the brig did. The large, rectangular building was surrounded by chain-link fencing, and the entrance was a guard shack with a heavy, sliding gate. Within a few seconds, one of the guards spotted Rev, followed by thirty troopers.

She blanched at the sight, and as Rev reached the guard shack, she announced, “Stop! You’re not allowed in without proper authorization.”

As a SNCO, all Rev had to do was to say he was coming for a command visit. That wasn’t going to work for the thirty troopers. And then there was the fact that the lieutenant wasn’t actually there yet, so who was he there to visit?

Rev wanted to try and bluster his way through, but some things weren’t worth trying. He waved an acknowledgment to the guard, then stopped and waited for the rest.

“Move along the fence,” he told them as they reached him. “Stay clear of the gate. No one closer than twenty meters. The corporal in there looks like she has an itchy trigger finger.”

The troopers spread out along the fence, keeping clear of the gate itself. Rev could see the guard calling their presence in, and a Marine opened the front entrance and stepped out to take a look at them. But they weren’t breaking any regulations, and they were left alone, even if several cameras turned to keep them well under observation.

“What’s going to happen to him?” Rev asked his battle buddy.

<It would be better for him if the Congress of Humanity retained jurisdiction. If it’s true that he’s being turned over to the Manifest Destiny Sphere authorities, then things don’t bode well for him.>

“What do you mean?”

<The most commonly adjudicated punishment for desertion from the MDS army is death.>

Rev had half-expected that answer, but to hear it was a gut punch. Lieutenant Kjell was far from his favorite commander, but there were mental issues here, and he didn’t deserve to be executed. He’d left, but he’d waited until none of his troopers would be put into peril by his actions.

It was a sober gunnery sergeant who waited in silence.

Seven minutes after they took their position, a van came down the road. The guard checked the credentials of those inside, then opened the gate and waved them through, all while keeping a close eye on Rev and the others.

The van pulled to a stop in front of the entrance. Two armed Marines came out before the door to the van swung open. An MP came out first, followed by the shackled lieutenant.

Kjell looked bedraggled and gaunt as if he’d been living in a hole in the ground. He blinked in the sun before he spotted the platoon on the other side of the fence.

He came to attention as he swept his gaze across the troopers, his face expressionless. Another MP came out of the van and tried to prod the lieutenant forward, but it was like trying to move a statue.

After a few moments, Kjell raised his shackled hands to chest level, and with an amazing feat of strength, he pulled his hand apart. His muscles bulged, and the shackles held for a couple of seconds before they blew into shattered pieces. Panicked MPs and the brig Marines jumped back, weapons trained on him. One of the MPs shouted at him to get down on the ground.

Lieutenant Kjell ignored them as he very slowly raised his right hand into a salute, too slowly for the MPs to think it was a threat.

Randigold was first, coming to attention and snapping off her salute, but everyone else immediately joined in. They might not agree with what he did, but he was their commander, one who’d led them into combat. Warriors did not abandon their own.

Rev could see the lieutenant zero in on him, and when Rev returned with his best boot camp salute, the lieutenant gave a small, satisfied smile. He smartly snapped down his salute, and with one last sweep of the platoon, offered his hands back to the MPs.

They weren’t going to be able to salvage the destroyed shackles, so they grabbed his arms and hurried him around the van and inside.

The troopers of First Platoon, Second Combined Assault Company, held their salutes until the doors to the brig closed behind them.

24

“Are we ever going?” Rev asked.

“Soon enough, Rev,” Kelly said. “Just enjoy the downtime.”

Rev didn’t want to enjoy the downtime. They’d been parked on the tarmac at the Anastasia military spaceport for two days before being moved into a hangar, where it had been three more days of doing not much of anything except for waiting. The highlight of the day was when chow was trucked in and making it to the front of the line for the heads.

He’d been too busy to even wipe his nose during the rush of preparing for deployment, but now, with nothing to occupy his mind, Rev’s anger at the Naxli had started to come to a boil. All he wanted to do was to fight them, not sit on his ass waiting for the powers that be to unscrew their transportation.

This was a new kind of anger, something he’d never felt for the enemy. The Frisians? He’d never even considered them an actual enemy, just someone on the other side of a political fence. He had a great degree of disdain for the MDS that could be called hate, if he was being honest with himself. And the Centaurs? It was hard to truly hate something you couldn’t understand.

He didn’t totally understand the Naxli, true. But that didn’t temper his hate. All their talk about honor, but only when it suited them. Their casual extermination of anyone they considered hreetz. The killing of Grover and the other two at the chapel just to flush Rev out.

The assassin didn’t even have its intel right. It thought Alyce was his sister, not Grover his brother. For some reason, that made it all the worse in Rev’s mind, that Grover was just some throwaway afterthought.

“It’s your gods of war, Rev,” Tomiko said. “They’re screwing with us.”

“It isn’t the gods of war. It’s politics,” Rev muttered, conscious of Omega Division listening in on his conversations but not giving a damn. Let them come and arrest him for “wrong thought.” At least he’d get out of this hangar.

When they’d arrived at the spaceport, they’d expected to be lifting off for their ship within an hour. But one hour turned to two, and two turned to three. Meanwhile, units of Marines were being brought in, loaded onto shuttles, and sent off to marry with their ships. When the PUNS Royster Parish left the system, the battalion was essentially abandoned.

It took several hours before the reason began to become clear. Operation Pushback was the largest operation to date against the Naxli, a concerted assault to clear them from a single sector of space and involving millions of soldiers and thousands of ships. Seventy-one percent of the Perseus Union Marine Corps was committed, the most for a single operation in almost two hundred years.

Which meant that transport was at a premium, and planners were scrambling to move troops, wrangling for assets that the navies wanted to keep for the space battles. Even if the Marines were charged with arranging transport for the battalion, it was still a CoH asset, so, as Captain Adair briefed them, they were relegated to “sucking hind tit.”

The bottom line was that the Marine planners were more concerned with getting Marine assets in place than the Second Combined Assault Battalion. When they were “accidentally” left behind, there was a scramble to find them transport.

“Politics, schmalitics,” Tomiko said. “I still say someone is purposefully screwing with us, whether it’s the gods of war or some clerk on New Mars. This is getting beyond ridiculous.”

“You’ve got that part right,” Yancey said.

“After New Granplacent, you’d think they’d be in a little more of a hurry to get us into the fight,” Rev said. “But instead, we just sit here, forgotten.”

“Respect to the fallen,” Tomiko said.

The problem with a capable enemy was that they rarely cooperated with plans. Two days after the operation began, New Granplacent, a Frisian Sphere planet, was scoured. There was a massive loss of life, but what concerned the military planners was that there’d been no indication that the Naxli had been in the area. And if they could scour a planet so far within humanity’s borders, where else could they hit? Several nations pulled back some of their assets to protect key planets, which put a further strain on trying to find transport for the battalion.

“Speaking of New Granplacent, how’s Bob taking it? I haven’t talked to him,” Hussein asked Tomiko and Kelly.

“How do you think?” Kelly answered. “He had a classmate on the planet.”

Rev had offered his condolences when they found out, and he recognized that spark of hatred in his Frisian friend. It was the same spark that he held.

“Did you ever get Bundy’s take on what happened?” Yancey asked Rev.

“A little. He’s up to his ass in alligators, but I got a few minutes with him at the CP. He doesn’t think the noxes are lurking outside every planet, or they’d have hit more. They scoured New Granplacent to give us pause, and it worked. You’ve seen the reactions.”

“Is that his opinion? Or is that the school solution?” Tomiko asked.

“I think it’s his opinion. And I kinda go along with that. But we can’t let what the bastards did go unpunished. We need to hit them so hard they don’t dare think of trying that again on another planet.”

Rev was getting warmed up, and he was about to launch into a long speech when Kelly said, “Here comes Barker, and he looks like he’s on a mission.”

“Probably to tell us that we’re not getting any more hot chow,” Tsao said.

“Or that they’re taking out the portapotties,” Hussein added.

The company gunny was making a beeline for them. It could be some BS, but Rev felt a tiny spark of hope.

“Gunny, the captain wants to see all of the platoon commanders.”

“Any particular reason?” Rev asked as he stood up, hoping against hope he’d hear what he wanted to hear.

Barker looked around to see who was close to them, then lowered his voice. “I can’t say for sure, but it looks like we finally might be getting out of here.”

* * *

“So, this is Orange,” Randigold said as they stepped off the shuttle.

“Doesn’t look orange to me,” PFC Mizer said.

“You idiot. Orange is our mission’s name for it. We don’t know what the hell the noxes call it,” Foy said.

“But why orange? I don’t get it.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re as dumb as a rock, Mizer,” Foy said.

Rev tuned the bickering out as he looked around the LZ. There were lots of signs of damage, both to the terrain and in destroyed gear—all of it looked to be Marine gear. The Marines had taken heavy casualties in forcing the landing here, but they managed to establish a beachhead, and by now, the front was more than fifty kilometers away.

“This should have been us,” he muttered.

<The landing force was organized for this.>

“They weren’t combined assault.”

<And they had specialized equipment that combined assault doesn’t have.>

Rev didn’t reply. In his growing hate and anger, he’d let this warrior self take over a little, and that resulted in a more aggressive rhetoric. Punch seemed to be trying to temper it. Rev knew that was probably a good thing, but that didn’t mean he had to like getting managed by his battle buddy.

Orange was one of seventeen objectives, each one given a color codename. Thirteen of them were occupied human or former human worlds. Four, including Orange, were Naxli worlds.

What made Orange such an intriguing target was that there were signs that there was fighting going on. The prevalent theory was that all was not necessarily brotherhood and kisses within the Naxli empire, and this might represent two factions fighting each other.

It made sense to Rev, although that could be just wishful thinking. Humankind had almost always been at odds within itself. The last war had been with the MDS and its allies. So why would the Naxli be any different?

Orange was an outlier in the sector humanity wanted to take back, but this was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Half of the Marine commitment to Operation Pushback was on the planet, and the naval presence had been significant.

“Squad leaders, get your troopers off the LZ. Stage over there by that expeditionary shelter until I find out where they want us,” he called out before he headed to the captain, Captaine Larouch, and Over-lieutenant Kbanta. Lieutenant Nilson joined him.

“You doing OK?” she asked.

“I’ve got a handle on things.”

“I’m sure you do. Between you and me, I’m glad you’ve got the platoon and not Kjell.”

To Rev’s surprise, he bristled at that. Nilson was a better officer than Kjell, in Rev’s opinion, and he went back a lot further with her than he had with the karnan. So why did that upset him? It was something he’d have to think about.

“Any word, ma’am?” Nilson asked Captain Adair.

They hadn’t come over to Orange on a Navy vessel but rather a chartered commercial freighter. Without secure comms, they managed to get a few updates, but nothing on operational plans or what they’d be doing.

“Looks like we’re going to be a reaction force. What that means, I don’t know. As you know, the battalion CP has displaced forward, and I’ve got a ride coming to take me there, so the XO will be taking the company while I’m gone.”

The over-lieutenant made a quick, wolf-like smile.

“This area is supposedly secure, but I don’t want to just throw caution to the wind. I want a full combat inspection, then an eight-hour watch set up. Hopefully, we’ll be leaving here soon and get closer to the action.”

She gave them a few more generic instructions before a small, single-person drone came in for a landing. With her IBHU, she was a very tight fit. At his larger size, Rev didn’t think he’d ever be able to use one of them.

The drone seemed to struggle a bit to get airborne, but it picked up speed and quickly disappeared from sight.

“That’s it, folks,” Kbanta said. “Platoon commanders, get back to your platoons and get ready to fight.”

* * *

“Here comes another one,” Tsao said.

The unmanned ambulance came in low and fast, flaring at the last moment to settle at the pad. The zombie crews were waiting, rushing out before the blades stopped, each one pulling four or five gurneys.

Rev stood to watch the organized chaos as the crew pulled bodies out of the cargo bay and loaded them onto the gurneys, and floated them into the large expeditionary shelter that was a field resurrection prep site.

“I counted fourteen,” the staff sergeant said.

“That’s what I got, too. That’s well over a hundred so far today, and the sun’s been up for only a couple of hours,” Rev said.

“Respect for the fallen,” Tsao said, to be repeated by all the others.

“Have you heard any numbers?” Božič-Mizaki asked.

Rev shook his head. But it had to be significant. There must have been a thousand KIAs that came through during the three days that the platoon was sitting here, cooling their heels.

By nature of being a Raider, then in the Home Guard, and now as a Combined Assault trooper, Rev had spent most of his career in small units conducting limited engagements. He’d seen death, too much of it, but never at this scale.

His first battle was on Preacher Rolls, where the Marines had lost thousands, and casualties had been significant on Mount Jasperson, but he personally hadn’t been near the casualty evacuation process. This was the first time he’d come face-to-face with such a butcher’s bill.

For some of the old salts, who’d served in the first stages of the Centaur War, casualties like these were the norm, but for Rev and the rest, the sheer numbers of dead were something new. And they couldn’t bode well for how the fight for the planet was going.

None of them had any idea about that. Captain Adair had gone to battalion every day, but either they were stonewalling her, or she just didn’t want to tell them what she found out.

Every day the fight dragged on, the more Rev became concerned. Orange was located a good way from the rest of the objectives on either side of the boundary that separated human and Naxli control, a space equivalent to a salient on the ground. A smart Naxli strategist could recognize that and decide to cut off the force.

The ambulance lifted, rotated, and took off in the direction of the front. The troopers watched it as it disappeared into the haze and smoke that had drifted in from the battle, over seventy klicks away. There was an occasional low boom that they could hear, and at night, the horizon flashed like a distant summer thunderstorm as humans and Naxli tried to kill each other.

All while the company still didn’t have a mission. Bundy, who was with the battalion Bravo command, which was still here, felt that they were an afterthought while the Force command focused on their organic Marine units. Top Jujian, however, was more generous. He thought that the battalion assets were being held back to take advantage of any tactical breakthrough.

Rev wasn’t sure what to think. The company had been on the planet for four days, but the current offensive had been underway for a full ten days now. If there hadn’t been a breakthrough where the company could exploit it, then the fighting must not be proceeding as planned.

“OK, back to work,” Rev told the others.

“I joined the Rangers so I didn’t have to work construction anymore,” Til König said. “Yet here I am.”

“Quit your bitching, Kon,” Strap said. “If we help the SeaBees out, they said they’ll try and get us a shelter.”

“Hey, that’s how we get us a mission,” Randigold said. “If the SeaBees give us a shelter, the minute we get it erected, the gods of war will stick us into the fight.”

Leave it to Eth. But heck, if that’s what it takes to get us out of here, then I’m all for it.

Rev turned away from the working party to head to the Bravo command’s CP. They were probably as in the dark as the company was, but if word did come down, that’s where it would go first.

Halfway to the CP, movement coming out of the haze caught his eye, and he stopped. A moment later, the now-familiar shape of an ambulance emerged.

The butcher bill was growing.

* * *

Six full days after landing on Orange, the company finally received a mission. Three Buzzards landed while the company was waiting for the power cells to be installed in their new expeditionary shelter. Rev idly watched them come in, figuring that they’d come for the new refueling station.

He was wrong.

Sixteen minutes after the Buzzards touched down, they were lifting off again with most of the company crammed aboard with a promise that they’d get their FRAG upon landing.

They’d been told they had ten minutes to board. That wasn’t going to happen. It had taken a Herculean effort to do as well as they could. But they were airborne, even if they didn’t know where they were going or what they were going to do when they got there.

Comms, as normal, were spotty at best. But each bird had a jack in the cargo compartment. Rev expected to defer to the XO, who was going to be located with First Platoon, but when he didn’t seem inclined to jack in, Rev took advantage of that.

He wasn’t quite sure of the proper protocol, so he just winged it. “Pilot? This is Gunnery Sergeant Pelletier. I’m the platoon commander back here. Can you tell me where we’re going?”

“Sure, Gunny. CWO4 Burns. We’re heading to LZ Larkspur.”

“Punch?”

<I don’t have that in my database. It must have been designated after we arrived.>

“We don’t have that LZ, sir. Is it hot?”

“Very.”

Rev stood there for a moment, wondering if he was missing something. “Uh, can you give me a little more on that?”

“I’m a little busy here working out the best way in and out. All you need to know is to get the hell out of my plane when the ramp goes down. I’m giving you ten seconds before I pull out. So, get off my net now.”

Rev stared at the connection controls for a moment, then shook his head and flipped to the plane’s loudspeakers.

“Listen up. We’re going into a hot zone, and when the ramp comes down, the pilot’s giving us ten seconds to get off. I need everyone ready as we come in.”

He couldn’t tell if everyone was listening over the sound of the Buzzard. Only a few of the troopers had turned to him.

“When I give you an order, I want an acknowledgment.”

This time everyone turned to him and gave him a thumbs-up except for the XO. That was going to have to do.

He signaled to Iglesias, whose squad was in the back of the bird, closest to the ramp, to lead the debark and find cover. It wasn’t specific, but Rev wanted to stay connected with the pilot.

He switched back to that net. The chief warrant officer would see that he was on and hopefully pass more information as they got closer.

The Buzzard shifted from a direct flight to maneuvers that shoved around the troopers in the back. Rev stuck out his foot to one of the struts to brace himself, and he could feel his stomach start to complain.

Punch could read the signs by now as well. <Do you want some—>

“No!” Antiemetics would calm his stomach, but if he was going into a hot zone, he didn’t want to be slowed down by even a millisecond.

He did open his face shield, though. No use filling his PAL-HX up with today’s lunch.

The maneuvers got more violent, and Rev started second-guessing turning down the drugs when the pilot said, “Thirty seconds, Gunny. And remember what I said about getting off.”

“Thirty seconds.” Rev passed over the loudspeakers. “Get ready. Unbuckle.”

There was a flurry of activity as troopers complied. A hard landing was one of the reasons troopers were strapped in, but if they waited until the Buzzard landed, then there was no way for them to meet the pilot’s timetable. So, Rev made the command decision.

The plane was coming in fast, the tilt rotors screaming with the strain. The G-force as the Buzzard flared pushed Rev against the deck, then light filled the compartment as the back ramp began to lower.

“Go, go!” Rev shouted over the plane’s speakers, then he ripped out the jack and repeated it over his PAL’s externals.

Strap was leading the exit, jumping off the back of the ramp before it was completely lowered. Second Squad pushed en masse, disappearing from Rev’s sight. First Squad was on their butts, and as Rev followed Third, he finally saw the ground with his troopers darting away from the Buzzard.

Rev had been counting down the seconds. Getting an entire platoon off of a Buzzard in ten seconds was almost impossible, but it looked like they were going to be close. At ten, there were only a couple of troopers in front of him, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he pushed up against Kzing.

Too soon.

The nose of the Buzzard lifted, and the plane started climbing. Rev’s instincts from his days as a three-quarters in flipball kicked in. He lowered his head and pushed against the red-apprentice’s back, forcing Kzing through Kimm’s back and off the edge of the ramp.

He hadn’t realized how high they were or how fast they were already moving until he jumped off the back.

“Oh, crap!” he managed to get out before he hit the ground with a crash and planted face-first on the hard-packed LZ.

Should have remembered to close my face shield, he thought as he spit out dirt.

He was stunned, but he managed to scramble up and grab Kzing by the shoulder and lift him.

“Move it,” he shouted as he tried to orient himself. “Take cover.”

He and the others in Third Squad were sprinting, following the other troopers toward what looked like a series of trenches. The final stragglers from the other two birds were taking cover in different trenches. Rev reached the edge at a full-out run and dove inside.

“Did everyone make it?” he shouted out as he tried to take stock. “Give me a headcount now!”

But there wasn’t anyone down on the LZ. And there was no incoming at all.

“What the . . . ?”

“This isn’t a hot LZ,” Yancey said. “Look at it.”

The LZ and the area around it had taken damage, but there wasn’t any incoming fire.

“Bastard pilot!” Rev said as he turned to spot the three Buzzards, which were turning in a loop to leave the area. “He could have given us a little more time.”

“They were screwing with us,” Yancey said, just a second before a streak shot across their vision, and the middle one of the Buzzards exploded in a fireball that continued forward as it arced to the ground.

Rev lost sight of it behind the terrain, but a moment later, a black column of smoke rose into the air.

“Shit,” Yancey said quietly. “Maybe not hot for us, but hot for them.”

“Respect for the fallen,” Rev said, suddenly ashamed of himself.

“What now?” Yancey asked.

“Let me find out. Get the platoon in some sort of order, but stay in these trenches. We might not have received fire when we got here, but if they can take out a Buzzard like that, they can hit us here.”

“Got it.”

Rev took a moment to watch the far-off plume of smoke rise before he turned to get some information. He didn’t have to go far. Sergeant Puller spotted him.

“Where’s Captain Bundy, Gunny,” he asked.

“He came over with Second Company. I think they’re over on that side of the LZ. Why?”

“The CO wants him and Captain Adair. I’m supposed to take them to him.”

Rev didn’t want to wait to get the word secondhand, so he said, “I’ll take you to them.”

He led him across the LZ to where Second Platoon had taken cover. A slight Marine, he didn’t physically reflect the inevitable nickname of “Chesty.” He wasn’t Direct Combat, but one of the many Combat Support Marines assigned to the battalion—in his case to the S-3 where Bundy said he was a whiz with IT.

Tomiko popped out of a trench as he got close. “Glad to see you made it. Was that your Buzzard that got hit on the way out?”

“I lost track. It could have been. Where’s Bundy?”

She gave Puller a hard look. “I’m guessing the Three wants him? I thought he was the Bravo command.”

Rev shrugged. Normally, the Alpha and Bravo commands stayed separate on the battlefield. Hit the Alpha, and the Bravo could take over. Not even something so severe. The Alpha could catch some Z’s while the Bravo took over the prosecution of the war.

Rev wasn’t privy to the workings of the battalion staff, but he guessed that sometimes the Alpha leadership had to brief their Bravo counterparts.

Tomiko turned to her troopers and said, “Gringvolt, go fetch Captain Bundy.”

“Can you send someone to get Captain Adair, too, Staff Sergeant?” Puller asked.

She grabbed someone else to fetch the captain, then sent yet another to find Lieutenant Nilson.

Rev didn’t let his disappointment show. He planned on following the two captains with Puller to the battalion CP, but if there were too many, Adair might tell the platoon commanders to stay back.

“So, what’s going on, Chesty?” Tomiko asked.

“Fighting’s fierce. Three-Eleven’s been pulled back as combat ineffective,” he said quietly. “And the rest are facing heavy resistance.”

“I mean for us. What’s our mission?”

“I don’t know.”

“Bullshit, Chesty. Of course, you know. You keep your ear to the ground, from what I’ve heard. You know exactly what our mission is.”

Puller took that as a compliment and puffed up his skinny chest in pride. “Well, I have heard some things. A company from One-Thirty-three is isolated and under heavy pressure. They need to be relieved.”

“Thirty-Third Marines?” he asked Punch.

<Fourteenth Marine Division. Regular Marine Corps.>

“So, why isn’t Fourteenth doing something about it?” Tomiko asked.

“I can’t tell you that, but I think they’re heavily engaged. Majoor De Groot said they’re afraid that pulling a unit out to take care of the company would let the pressure off the noxes.”

Which either meant things were going well, with the Marines advancing, or the Naxli were putting up a fierce defense, and anything could crumble the Marine assault.

“It’s always us poor provincials that have to pull the regular Marines out of the fire,” Tomiko said.

Rev gave his fiancée a wry look and said, “We’re not provincials. We’re combined force from throughout humanity.”

Tomiko furrowed her eyebrows together for a moment as if trying to figure out what Rev meant, then broke out laughing. “Yeah, sometimes I keep forgetting that. You can take the girl out of the province, but you can’t take the province out of the girl.”

Bundy found them. “What’s up, Sergeant Puller?”

“The majoor wants you. And the CO wants to see Captain Adair.”

A loud rumble rolled over, and they all looked to the northeast.

“Us or them,” he asked Punch.

<I can’t tell. It could be either.>

Captain Adair, with Captaine Larouche at her side, hurried over from across the LZ. Before they could arrive, Lieutenant Lister emerged from a trench to join them.

Great. Everyone wants to go.

“Ma’am, the CO wants to see you.”

“Lead on, then, Sergeant.”

The two started off, followed by Bundy and the three platoon commanders. Captain Adair stopped, looked at them, then said, “OK, come on. Just keep your mouths shut.”

They jumped into a larger trench that had long sections of overhead cover. It looked like it could come out of an old photo of WWI back on Mother Earth. Once something hit close enough for dirt to fall from the sides of the trench, but for the most part, they made their way in relative safety, branching three different times. Finally, they reached a large dugout with two Marines at the entrance.

“This is the SCAB CP, Puller?” the captain asked.

“Oh, no, ma’am. This is Force. The CO’s in there with the G-3.”

Rev exchanged glances with Bundy. The Force CG was a three-star, the general in charge of the entire operation.

They each got scanned as they entered, then they were ushered to the side to wait for the CO. Captain Lyre, the Second Company commander, was already there.

For all that this was the headquarters for the entire operation, it really wasn’t much to look at. It had much of the same equipment as the battalion CP had, albeit more screens and stations, and there were more people. But somehow Rev had expected something more . . . impressive. Not just an expanded battalion CP.

“Hey, isn’t that Staff Sergeant Moussari?” Bundy said, nudging Rev with his elbow.

Rev looked over. It wasn’t a staff sergeant. The man was a master gunnery sergeant, a rank that, along with a sergeant major, was a god in the Corps. He looked a little familiar when the “Moussari” kicked in.

“Oh, hell, you’re right. It is him.”

Staff Sergeant—Master Sergeant— Moussari had been one of their drill instructors at bootcamp. To see him here . . .

Provincial Marines tended to stay with their planetary Marine Corps, not like the regular Marines who could be transferred throughout the Union. But there he was, talking to three other Marines.

“Should we go up and say hello?” Bundy asked nervously.

“We were told to hang back here,” Rev said.

“The CO’s still with the G-3, and if he breaks, we can come back.”

“I don’t know.”

Truth be told, the recruit in Rev was making a comeback, and then-Staff Sergeant Moussari had intimidated him. And now that he was a master guns, well, that didn’t do much to assure him.

“Come on, let’s go,” Bundy said, and before Rev could respond, he started over.

Rev had no choice but to follow.

They approached, and the master guns quit talking to take them under a steely gaze.

“I don’t know if you remember us, Master Guns, but we were—”

“I remember you,” he said, taking in Bundy’s captain’s bars. “And you’re an officer now? Always knew you’d be a disappointment.”

Bundy stopped dead, his mouth gaping open as he tried to form a response. Rev couldn’t help it. He broke out in a laugh, and the major and gunnery sergeant the master guns had been speaking to had to hold back smiles of their own.

“And you,” he said, lasering in on Rev, whose laugh quickly dissipated. “They was gonna make you a damn Ninety-nine. Personality disorder, they said. No discipline, they said. But you done OK, Gunny. More than OK.”

He held out a hand, and Rev took it. The master guns turned to Bundy, who looked like he was still in a state of shock, and offered his hand to him, too.

“None of us were sure about you, either, sir. Smarter than most, good leadership skills, but old as fuck. Weren’t sure you could hack it. But you did, and Direct Combat no less.”

Bundy took his hand, and the color came back to his face. He smiled sheepishly.

“It was a good class. Maybe my best,” the master guns said.

He turned to the other two. “Major, these are two of my reprobates from the drill field. Recr—Captain Bundy and Gunnery Sergeant Pelletier.”

Both the major and the gunny seemed to perk up when they heard Rev’s last name, which could be either good or bad. They’d barely had time to shake hands, though, before Lieutenant Colonel Suk headed over toward Captain Adair.

Bundy nudged Rev, and the two made the excuses.

“Come back and say hello if you get out of this mess in one piece,” the master guns said as they hurried back.

All eyes were locked on him, all ears open when the CO reached them. If he took issue with all the platoon commanders with Captain Adair, he didn’t say anything.

“This is it, troopers. We’ve got a mission, and it’s a big one.”

25

Explosions walked across the ground, sending up plumes of dirt and making their footing shake. It was a hellish scene of pure, brutal destruction.

And Rev heaved a sigh of relief. The Marine arty was on time and on target.

<That’s it. That’s thirty-six rounds.>

Rev had counted thirty-one, but he trusted his battle buddy more than his ears. He shouted, “Go!” and around him, thirty-eight troopers and their lone guide from Golf 2/26 rose en masse and started rushing forward. The farther they got before the Naxli surrounding the company could react, the easier their job would be.

First Platoon’s mission was to pierce through the Naxli lines and form a corridor through which Second and Third could pour to link up with Golf Company. Then, depending on the situation, Captain Adair and the acting Golf commander would decide what to do: remain in the position and defend it until the overall situation shifted, or break out the Golf survivors and get them back to friendly lines.

Golf Company was a victim of its own success. They had pushed back the Naxli forces in their AO, and without reliable comms, they kept advancing while the rest of the assault was bogging down. By doing so, they created an exposed salient, one the Naxli took advantage of, surrounding the company and bringing more warriors to bear in an attempt to eliminate the entire unit.

Force had only a partial picture of what was happening, gleaned through their microdrones that survived their scouting missions and made it back to the CP. But it wasn’t until PFC Rebekka Corinth, who was now acting as First Combined Assault’s guide, infiltrated back to the Marines lines that the details had emerged.

She’d been the only one of three Marines—one in a PAL, one in minimal body armor, and Corinth in just her longjohns—who made it through. And now, having survived an almost impossible feat, she was leading Rev and the rest back to her company.

The movement to contact had been better than expected. Third Platoon had led, and they’d had two minor firefights with only one minor WIA until they’d come up to the back of the Naxli force. This was upon which the mission hinged. If they couldn’t break through, Golf could be lost.

We are going to break through.

Rev just hoped that Corinth had her facts straight and Golf expected them from this avenue of approach. He’d hate to get into a friendly fire situation.

The line of troopers rushed forward just over sixty meters before the Naxli started to engage them. Randigold, Tsao, and Hochenspatter, joined by Lvarn and Torking with their BIPACs, opened up. A few troopers with M-51s fired, too, their battle nerves getting the better of them. The plan was for the heavier weapons to suppress the Naxli while the rest got into position as quickly as possible. Time was of the essence here. Once the Naxli realized that the platoon was there, they’d shift their forces to meet them. Rev wanted to get his troopers in place and in a defensive position before that happened.

He wished he had a couple of Hammerhead teams with their torrents of 40mm grenades or even a Hellborer team, but the Weapons Company troopers hadn’t been brought up to the front yet. Rev had six M-103 gunners, and each of them carried twenty-four single shot grenades, but he wanted to hold them back until they could do the most good.

Incoming fire increased, but not enough to slow down the platoon. Foy was hit and went down, but he got back up and kept going.

The leading edge of Golf Company was just 200 meters ahead when Rev sounded his siren two times. There wasn’t nearly as much opposition as he’d expected, but it was time for the platoon to split to create the “walls” of the corridor.

He slowed down to make sure his troopers were reacting. The Marine Corps, and so Second Combined Assault Battalion, was organized in threes: three squads to a platoon, three rifle platoons in a company, three rifle companies in a battalion. To form the corridor, Rev had to reorganize into two teams. So, while they were forward engaged and taking fire, he had to act as a traffic cop, making sure everyone moved to their right position.

He'd just grabbed Mizer by the dead man’s handle and shoved him in the correct direction when something hit him hard in the helmet, half-stumbling him.

“Status?” he asked as he regained his balance.

<Forty-two percent degraded, but still green.>

“How big of an area is degraded?”

<Eight centimeters in diameter.>

Crap. That’s a pretty big chunk of vulnerability at the back of my head.

“What the heck hit me?” he asked, looking around. His warrior self was thoroughly aroused and wanted a target to hit.

<I can’t tell.>

He shook it off. For all he knew, it could have been friendly fire—the Naxli weren’t putting up a very intensive fight. His job was to get the platoon in position, not run off in a snit to find who dared fire at him.

“Hus-man!” he shouted over his externals. But the team leader, who was about sixty meters away and trying to get his troopers in position, either didn’t hear or didn’t choose to hear.

Rev sprinted over until Hussein had to acknowledge him. “You’re too bunched up. Spread them out! We have to marry with Golf.”

Hussein gave Rev a thumbs-up and started adjusting his team, designated Team Apple. Rev stepped back and tried to picture what was happening. His face shield display tried valiantly to cut through the jamming and show the troopers’ dispositions, but the flickering was far more annoying than it helped, so he had to rely on the old Mark 1, Mod 1 eyeball.

At least he had decent, if not great visibility. Their axis of advance climbed through the rough rock shards that thrust up at odd angles and the white, puff-ball-looking things that were the local plant analog. Marines were selecting positions that gave them some cover. Now that they were in place, they were free to seek out targets and engage them.

Rev started jogging over to Yancey and Team Pear when several of the troopers opened fire. It looked like the Naxli had finally shifted over more forces in an attempt to push back the humans.

Yancey was everywhere directing fire, and the measured whumps of the M-103’s 40-mm grenades joined in the cacophony. Rev started to head over when in front of him and just to his right, a Naxli emerged from a rock formation that didn’t look big enough to hide a rat, much less a two-meter-tall enemy. Its attention was on the Team Pear Marines, not on Rev behind it.

This was the first time Rev had seen the primary version of the Naxli on this planet. Round, with no discernable head, its organic armor had a blue and purple sheen. No one knew if this was the Naxli’s true form or another one they’d hijacked, and at the moment, Rev didn’t care.

Rev fired a five-round burst from his twenty. New form or not, it reacted the same to the big slugs tearing into it, a huge chunk of the body turning into a blueish mass of hamburger.

“Stupid shit,” Rev snarled, his warrior—and hatred—breaking through.

On the other side, Corporal Nezev spun around at the sound, spotted the dead Naxli with Rev behind, and gave him a little salute before turning back.

Rev took cover behind the rock the Naxli had used. Yancey and Team Pear were engaged, but even now, it wasn’t with the full-out assault Rev expected. He wondered if they might have put a low priority on Golf Company, given the enormous breadth of the Marine assault.

There was a higher-pitched siren, and Second Platoon was rushing ahead between the two teams. Rev caught sight of Tomiko as the troopers pelted by, but she might not have seen him.

One of the Second Platoon troopers went down, and Doc Gintly rushed out to tend to them, but as the Naxli fire began to peter out, that looked to be the only casualty. Third Platoon fell in on Second’s tail, following them into the Golf position.

The sounds of combat ahead had been sporadic, but as the company closed in on Golf the tempo seemed to increase as the Naxli reacted.

“OK, here comes the hard part.”

<The plan is sound.>

But even a good plan came down to execution. Breaking contact under fire was one of the most difficult combat maneuvers in the book. The Naxli weren’t pressing nearly as hard as Rev had expected, but they were still fighting. Collapsing the corridor would be taking troopers off of the line, exposing the dwindling number to more concentrated incoming fire.

The last two troopers from Third Platoon had large, red Xs attached to their backs. As they passed Strap on one side and Torking on the other, the staff sergeant and over-sergeant pulled back where they became the sweepers. Going down the line, they pulled each succeeding trooper back and sent them following Third Platoon.

Rev watched from his position, ready to jump in, but to his happy surprise, it proceeded like clockwork, much better than the single rehearsal they’d managed back at the Force CP. He stayed toward the contracting rear, ready to step in with Pashu, if need be, but while the incoming continued, including two large explosions where troopers had still occupied just a minute or two before, the platoon managed a textbook maneuver.

Along with Strap and Torking, Rev ran past a Marine fighting position, where two weary-looking Marines watched them with dead eyes. He turned back to look at their route inside the line. He’d have to check with Gintly on the Second Platoon trooper, but somehow, against the odds, they’d completed the first part of the mission.

It had been easy, too easy, but Rev wasn’t going to complain. If they could get Golf out as easily, this would be one of the most successful missions in Rev’s career.

* * *

Of course, the gods of war weren’t going to let that happen. Their job was to screw with Rev and the rest, something they did all too often.

Rev had immediately spread the platoon out, integrating them with the Golf defensive lines, while Captain Adair sought out the acting company commander, who was the last surviving platoon commander.

Golf was in bad shape. The Marines he spoke to weren’t sure of their remaining numbers, but the devastation was obvious. At the moment, they were only experiencing harassment fire, but the signs of the battle, from the dead Marines inside the perimeter and dead Naxli outside, and the Hammerhead that had melted its barrel from the sustained high rate of fire, were evidence that the company had been in the shit. Rev was surprised they’d managed to hold out this long.

Rev took steps to consolidate the platoon. The IBHU Marines were pretty good on ammo, but they’d loaded down the karnans with more twenty-millimeter rounds—which was a little ironic. The MDS BIPAC fired a twenty-millimeter round as well, but the two weren’t compatible. Their weapon was also single shot, so they didn’t burn through them like the IBHU Marines did. So, the karnans had been tasked with humping magazines of Marine twenty millimeter that they couldn’t use.

Rev checked on Foy, who was hurt, but he could still fight, and then once his troopers were digging in position, he made his way back to the hollow between three rocks that were serving as the company CP.

The lieutenant had her helmet off, and she looked mentally and physically exhausted. Captain Adair had her helmet off as well.

“I think the best approach is to get you back to the rear. You’re barely combat effective,” the captain said.

The lieutenant bristled, and a fire came over her exhausted face. “We’ve done pretty well so far.”

“Nothing against what you’ve done, which is amazing. But you’re down to forty-one effectives. You can’t hold out.”

“Forty-one? They’ve taken it hard,” Rev sub-vocalized.

<According to the SOP, they need to come off the line now.>

It was probably the right thing to do, but the lieutenant seemed to have other ideas.

“If you leave me one of your platoons, I think we can hold the bastards back until the rest of Force catches up.”

“To what end, Lieutenant? And I can’t really leave a platoon.”

“To what end?” she snarled. “To the end where my Marines haven’t died in vain because those other fuckers weren’t as good as us!”

Rev half-expected the captain, who didn’t tolerate insubordination, to jump on her, but instead, she put her organic hand on the lieutenant’s shoulder. “The G-3 said it’s your call, but I can’t leave a platoon here.”

The lieutenant sniffed and wiped a hard PAL arm across her nose, something Rev wouldn’t suggest be done.

“What about my dead, Captain? I can’t leave them behind.”

“From the looks of things, the noxes are pulling back now that we’re here. I don’t think they’ll get too much in the way of us leaving. And I’ve got a lot of strong bodies. We’ll carry the ones that have a chance at resurrection, then later, as Force advances, we’ll recover the rest.”

Rev and Captaine Larouch exchanged glances. It was all well and good to offer troopers to help take back the Marine bodies, but while Rev hoped the Naxli wouldn’t interfere with a withdrawal, assuming they wouldn’t wasn’t a good idea.

Strap spotted them and approached, tapping Rev on the shoulder. “I think you need to come back to our position,” he whispered.

“Why. What’s up?”

“We’ve got movement.”

To be expected. They’ll want to keep eyes on us.

“OK. Keep watching, and keep me apprised.”

“Really, Gunny. I think you need to come.”

Rev frowned, then looked back at the captain and the lieutenant, who were still discussing what was going to happen next. He almost said something to the captain but then decided he’d better find out what Strap was talking about first.

The harassment fire had picked up slightly. You could be killed just as dead with that as during an all-out assault, so Rev ran hunched over, staying off the crest of the hill and taking advantage of the occasional trench the Golf Marines had dug.

A single burst of an IBHU twenty millimeter drowned out the spotty chuffs of the M-51s. Rev stopped to listen, but that was it.

Just keeping the bastards honest, I hope.

Yancey was watching for him and waved him over as he arrived.

“What do you got?” Rev asked as he got down beside him.

“Four klicks out, one o’clock.”

Rev pulled out his monocular and scanned in that direction. He didn’t need Yancey to describe what had concerned him.

A mob of probably more than a hundred Naxli, both this planet’s round kind and the human kind, were moving quickly across his field of view. Rev panned his monocular to the left, not seeing much . . . until he caught glimpses of movement coming the other way. Because of the terrain and the white puffball things that were thicker in that direction, he couldn’t get a good idea as to their numbers. But he’d wager they were significant.

There was a singular, unique crack of a weapon. Rev turned to see König about ten meters from him, looking through his scope. Then the Ranger raised a clenched fist and said, “Got him!”

König had Sniper 2 Anderson’s Skofnung, which he’d snagged after his fellow Ranger was killed. The Skofnung was like the Marine Dykstra. Both fired a large, chemical round. The heavier bullet made it more accurate at long distances, and while four klicks was within the realm of a trained sniper, as far as he knew, König had never attended the Ranger sniper school.

“You got the kill?” Rev asked.

“Sure did, Gunny. Head shot. Blue mist everywhere.”

“What was the range?”

“Twenty-one-hundred.”

Which was a lot less than four klicks.

Rev brought up his monocular again and scanned the area, only this time out at about two klicks. There was a lot more cover closer in to their position, but then he began to see slight glimpses of movement. He was tempted to borrow König’s Skofnung, with its premier scope, but then he had a good look at three Naxli passing between the rocks.

“That’s why their resistance was light. They weren’t trying to keep us away. They wanted us here.”

<It would appear so.>

“I should have realized it.”

<And would you have done anything differently? Golf Company still needed to be relieved.>

“Probably not. But I’d have liked to know that they were playing us.”

As he watched, the Naxli closed the gate on their trap.

* * *

<Flash, eleven o’clock.>

Rev ducked down into his hole, and a moment later, the concussion shook the ground around him. Dirt rained down, peppering his helmet.

“Can you give me a location?”

<Roger. Bright pink.>

Rev switched to his Moray, setting the fuze for armor-piercing. He popped out of his hole, and Punch inputted a bright pink dot directly into his visual cortex. Rev aimed and fired, then ducked back down into cover. He’d have liked to watch to see if the missile hit, but the BFG could still fire before the missile could fly the three klicks to the target.

Rev had heard about the BFGs—“Big Fucking Guns”—while in the Force CP, but this was the first time he’d faced them. They were some sort of direct fire weapon, but with an artillery piece’s power.

A BFG had killed Private Krill, and over in Third, had done the same to Captaine Larouch. Randigold thought she’d taken out one of them, but as they kept firing and displacing, that was difficult to verify.

“I think you got it,” König shouted to him.

The Ranger had tallied at least eighteen kills with his Skofnung. Rev, with his much more powerful IBHU, almost assuredly had killed more of the Naxli, but for single, aimed shots, eighteen was pretty good. If they got out of this in one piece, Rev was going to see if he could hit up the Marine sniper school to see if König could become a HOG—a Hunter of Gunmen.

If they got out. Things weren’t looking particularly good at the moment. From yesterday afternoon and until today, Golf and First Combined Assault had been whittled down with a constant barrage of fire.

Captain Adair had thought that the CG would send a relief force, given the high concentration of Naxli surrounding them, and she’d sent out numerous message drones, but so far, there was no indication that the cavalry was coming to the rescue.

Last night, the horizon was continually lit up with light but seemingly farther out than before. Rev thought that might mean that Force had shifted their focus and intensified the effort, either to exploit success or to react to a Naxli counteroffensive.

Just before nightfall, a flight of two Navy Shrike fighters had made a pass over the Naxli to the cheers of the two companies, but the deadly Naxli energy beam antiaircraft weapon reached out to the Shrikes, bringing one down. That was their last air support. No orbital support, either. From all appearances, the two companies might be on their own for the moment. And their numbers were shrinking. Rev wasn’t sure how long they could hold out.

Another big explosion sounded from behind him, in the direction of Second Platoon’s position. Tomiko’s position. It took a superhuman effort to ignore what was happening over there. He couldn’t affect it, and he had a fight of his own on his hands.

Without a second BFG shot coming in, Rev rose out of his fighting hole. A group of about ten Naxli were pushing forward, 300 hundred meters out. Rev switched to his twenty and fired an extended burst. Four of the enemy fell while the others took to ground.

“Give me a forty! Ten in, fifteen right from sixty-two,” he shouted.

“I’ve got it,” Strap replied.

There were several measured thunks as the staff sergeant fired his M-103. Rev watched, and six seconds later, the first grenade hit right on target, followed by the rest in succession.

“Good shooting!” Rev shouted in Strap’s direction.

The unseen voice shouted back, “I aim to please!”

Yesterday afternoon, Rev had seventy easily identified objects of terrain features numbered. From those terrain features, a simple adjustment could be given to identify a target. “Sixty-two” was a bifurcated puffball that had avoided destruction. The Naxli had hit the dirt ten meters closer to their line and fifteen to the right of the puffballs. And Strap had hit the spot dead on.

That didn’t mean the grenades had effect on target, but at least they hit where Rev had directed.

The Naxli kept sending small units like the one Rev and Strap had just engaged to probe the human lines

“Gintly!” someone down the line shouted for the Alliance medic. “Foy’s down!”

Shit! Not again, Foy.

The platoon had lost nine troopers so far. Almost a full squad. And this was without a full enemy assault. Once they committed to that, Rev didn’t see what they could do about it. Not with the numbers of Naxli that seemed to be surrounding them.

PFC Corinth sprinted up to his position and slid to a stop, going flat on her belly. She was still in her long johns. While she’d been getting help, a direct hit of something had destroyed her PAL and equipment. Having no armor didn’t faze her. She’d grabbed an M-51 from a dead Marine and had become a messenger. As Yancey had said, the young woman had mucho big huevos.

“What do you got?” Rev asked.

“Captain Adair wants you to pull back and consolidate on her command. A blue star cluster.”

Rev clenched his teeth. They’d be vulnerable while retreating and having to dig new fighting holes, and once consolidated, they’d be a more compact target for the Naxli BFG and artillery. But that wasn’t why he was concerned. If they were pulling back, that was because the lines had been so depleted that they couldn’t maintain them.

The sounds of combat were continual, but Rev’s display remained depressingly empty. He didn’t know how the other platoons or what was left of Golf were faring. And this wasn’t a good indication.

“How far, Corinth?”

“We set markers. Red LEDs.”

Rev grunted. Running around setting markers was a rather dangerous thing to do, especially with no body armor. Like Yancey said, big huevos.

“Any idea how long?”

“No, Gunny.”

“OK, get out of here.”

She crawled back a few meters, said, “Kick ass, Gunny,” then turned and darted up the hill.

Rev passed the word, sending it down the line on either side of him. He kept one eye on their AO and the other on the sky, waiting for the signal. Several flares and star clusters were fired for camouflage, but not the blue star cluster.

Twice, Rev fired—once with his twenty and once with his meson cannon. He may have gotten one of them with his twenty, but once again, the Naxli body armor was doing its job against his beamer. Based on its reaction, his target was hit, but the thing quickly darted out of Rev’s line of sight. Seven hundred meters was just too far for the beamer to be able to defeat their armor.

Still, it was good to remind them that the humans had more weapons at their disposal.

“Status check.”

<All systems green. Power is at sixty-three-point-four percent. Five morays. One-hundred-fourteen twenty-millimeter rounds.”

“Thank the Mother for the karnans,” he muttered, something he never thought he’d say in a million years.

Rev had another powerpack, but without the karnans each lugging another case of 20mm rounds, he and the other IBHUs would be about to run out.

There was a pop behind him, and a few seconds later, the signal to displace detonated, then the six bright blue stars floated lazily to the ground.

“Move it!” Rev shouted. “Fall back!”

Rev jumped out of his hole and sprinted to the rear, looking for the red LEDs. After a lag of about six or seven seconds, the Naxli increased their fire. Two rounds hit him, but his PAL held.

To his left, an IBHU Marine—either Randigold or Hochenspatter—opened up. Rev turned to look, and down below, at least eighty Naxli had started charging up the hill from 350 meters away, screaming their battle cry. A good dozen were waving their swords as they pounced on the fleeing humans like lions on gazelles.

But these gazelles had teeth.

“Return fire!” Rev shouted.

He joined the other IBHU and sprayed the onrushing mob of Naxli. Within a few seconds, most of the platoon had joined. Darts, grenades, and rounds reached down to cut a swath into the rushing enemy, dropping them in their tracks. Rev switched to his beamer, put it on guillotine mode, and made a sweep, probably killing a few. But it was difficult to tell given the amount of human fire that rained on the over-eager Naxli warriors.

It was a slaughter, but these Naxli weren’t the only ones—just the only stupid ones. There was an increased fire from the rest of the Naxli spread out from hundreds of positions below them.

“Trooper down!” someone shouted out from far down the line.

It was time to go.

“Fall back!”

Rev turned and ran again before he spotted the marker another forty-five meters up the hill.

He saw a piece of dirt, dropped his mole, then stepped back as it detonated, creating an ugly but serviceable fighting hole. He jumped in, then turned to cover those still falling back.

Tsao ran into his line of sight a second before there was a sharp flash, and she went down. Rev started to scramble out of his hole, but Torking appeared out of nowhere, grabbed her dead man’s handle, and dragged her.

Most of her. Rev could see her right leg had been blown off just below the knee.

Rev’s hole didn’t give him a full view of the slope below him, so he climbed out and emptied his twenty, spraying the slope and beyond. He probably didn’t hit anyone, but hopefully, it made the bastards keep their heads down while Torking dragged Tsao to cover.

All up and down the line, moles detonated, creating their fighting holes.

“Give me a headcount!”

From right to left, troopers sounded out . . . or in Quarl’s case, Kzing shouted that the Paxus soldier was KIA. Two more were wounded but combat effective. Which left Tsao.

Torking had used both moles to create a single, two-person fighting hole about twenty meters from Rev. Torking was in Third Squad, while Tsao was in First, so Rev didn’t know how the karnan had been there to bring Tsao to the new line, but he wasn’t going to worry about that now.

“Tum, what’s your status?” he called out.

She hissed, then said, “The fuckers shot off my leg!”

In all the years he’d known her, Rev had never heard Tsao swear.

“Can you fight? What’s your status?”

“Damn fucking right, I can. I’m feeling loopy, but my PAL’s isolating my leg,” she said, slurring her words.

“I’ve got her, Gunny,” Torking said. “She’ll be fine.”

“Get Gintly there,” Rev said when Corinth returned, spotted Rev, and darted over to him.

She handed Rev a monomolecular line with a jack input on the end.

“It’s the captain,” she said before she retreated out of sight.

Rev plugged the line into his jack, and immediately, Captain Adair came on.

“What’s your status, Gunny?”

“I’m at twenty-four, maybe twenty-five effectives. We got hit when we displaced, but I think we ghosted seventy or eighty of them.”

“Thank the Mother. That’s better than I’d hoped. Your effectives, that is, not what you killed.”

“How’s everyone else?” Rev asked, wanting to know about Second but not willing to single them out.

“Lieutenant Ular is dead. I’ve taken command of Golf.”

“Respect for the fallen,” Rev muttered.

The acting Golf CO had kept her company alive, which was all you could ask of an officer.

“Third Platoon is down to twelve effectives.”

Shit. I didn’t know it was that bad.

“Second Platoon is at nineteen.”

Rev wasn’t going to ask, but the captain said, “Staff Sergeant Reiser is still fighting.”

The relief made Rev dizzy for a moment.

“The first sergeant is dead, and Barker’s WIA,” the captain continued. “Down hard.”

The news about Barker dissipated the relief Rev had just experienced. He’d gotten close to the sergeant first class. Hopefully, he’d pull through.

“What’re your orders, ma’am?” Rev asked.

“We’ve got to hold until the relief force comes.”

Rev perked up at that with a surge of hope. “Relief force? They’re coming?”

“I hope so.”

“What did they say?”

“Nothing, Gunny. I’ve lost comms. Damn Q-phone is on the blink.”

Of course, it is. What else would I expect? The one thing that’s never down is down now. The gods of war won’t stop screwing with us.

“But they have to know that we’re in the shit, and they won’t abandon us.”

Always the optimist.

“So, your orders?”

“Dig in. Keep reminding them that we can hurt them. If they decide to assault, well, I don’t think we can hold.”

Not so much an optimist, after all. More of a realist.

“I don’t know how long it will be until one of their rounds cuts this wire, but keep connected until then.”

“Aye-aye, ma’am.”

The line went silent. Gintly was working on Tsao, who had a resigned but determined look on her face. On either side of him, troopers were firing well-aimed rounds, looking as calm as if they were back at Nguyen at the rifle range.

Damn, these are good people.

<Your twenty round count is at zero.>

Leave it to Punch to keep me on track.

“Kvarn? Where are you?” Rev shouted. “I need those twenties you’ve been humping for me.”

26

The Naxli were pressing forward. Rev could feel it in his bones. There was a renewed sense of urgency in their attack, as if they could feel the end coming and were anxious to dance on the dead bodies of their human foes.

“I’m out!” Torking shouted.

“I’ve got you covered,” Tsao replied as she fired her meson cannon.

That was one good thing about the Naxli getting closer. The IBHUs’ meson cannons were more effective, and they could husband their twenties.

Maybe the only good thing.

Torking had latched onto Tsao, pulling her back as the human defense contracted. This was it, though. This was their final stand. There was nowhere else to go.

A BFG flashed, and Rev acted on instinct, letting loose his second-to-last Moray before the Naxli round hit the summit of the hill, sending a shower of rocks and shrapnel down on the humans. The Naxli weapon, being direct fire, might not have been the best choice with the humans digging in. But the enemy artillery, which came in from a higher trajectory, seemed to have petered out. Still, the BFG rounds were killing troopers and Marines.

The missile ran true, the resultant explosion a good indicator that another of the BFGs was destroyed.

“How many more do you think there are?” Rev asked as he fired a single beam pulse at a rushing Naxli.

The enemy warrior went down, but in a controlled manner, and Rev didn’t think he’d hit the thing.

<Four or five is the best I can determine.>

Punch was running some sort of algorithm to try and determine what was still arrayed against them. It was difficult because the Naxli were firing their BFGs, then displacing them, but Punch had a lot of processing power.

The Naxli weren’t the only ones with fewer heavy weapons. The karnans were running out of rounds, as were the grenadiers. The Frisians had no more of their Badger missiles. Five IBHUs were gone, including Lieutenant Nilson—something that really hadn’t registered with him yet, not even when one of the Golf Company Marines had dragged over two of the lieutenant’s 20 mm magazines and given them to Rev.

The Naxli Rev had targeted jumped up again to rush forward. Rev was waiting, and this time there was no doubt. The tightly focused pulse hit the warrior in the throat and dropped it.

Rev felt a muted thrill of victory, but single kills like this weren’t going to make much of a difference. What else did the Naxli have to throw at them? This was coming down to fighter against fighter.

He subconsciously extended and retracted his blade, as he’d done a hundred times already. If he survived long enough, he was sure it would come down to that. And if they were swarmed over in the end, Rev swore he was going to take as many of the bastards with him as he could.

All around him, the troopers had settled into an almost mindless routine. Pick a target at random, then take it out. Rinse and repeat.

As the Naxli edged closer, the M-51s were becoming more effective, the hypervelocity darts able to penetrate more and more of the Naxli armor. The irony wasn’t lost on Rev. Many of the foreign troopers didn’t like the M-51s, with their lighter darts, but with the heavier weapons running out of ammunition, it looked like the final defense was going to rely on them. The ability of each trooper to carry thousands of darts could make the difference.

“Gintly, up!” someone to Rev’s left, possibly Archambault, shouted.

Rev snarled. The Alliance medic had been everywhere, and each time he was summoned, that meant another trooper down. Rev didn’t want to hear that name called out again.

Three Naxli broke cover, and Rev switched to guillotine mode, slashing across their bodies. One fell, but the other two kept coming before PFC Mizer, just to Rev’s right, fired a burst of darts, dropping one of the others.

A round impacted on the upper right side of Rev’s helmet, snapping his head slightly, but it barely registered. A PAL’s helmet was the strongest part of the combat suit, but Rev’s had already taken a heavy hit and was compromised. But even given that, and that while a BFG would probably mess up his day, and a flush shot to the face shield could overcome the deflectors, he wasn’t too concerned with the Naxli small arms when most of his body was protected inside the fighting hole.

It wasn’t that he felt invulnerable—too many troopers had already been KIA—but rather that he was so laser-focused on killing the enemy. Being too conservative would only quicken the time until the Naxli were on them.

There was a rush of gravel behind him, and Rev spun around, but it was Corinth. Amazingly, the Marine was still alive. There was a crude bandage on her upper arm, and blood was coagulating along its length, but where armored troopers had been lost, here she was, still in her long johns.

“Captain Adair’s down. That last BFG got ‘er.”

Shit!

“What’re the XO’s orders?” Rev asked.

“He’s dead.”

Rev slammed his organic arm into the dirt. They were all dropping . . .

By the Mother, that means . . .

“You’ve got the company, Gunny. You’re the commander.”

Rev stared at the PFC, his mouth dropping open. Like any Marine, he made a habit of second-guessing his commanders, giving grades to what they ordered. And Rev had enough of an ego to believe he could do better. But to have this land in his lap like this, he was suddenly hit with a wave of self-doubt.

Rev was a warrior, a fighter. He even thought he’d done a decent job as acting platoon commander, but that was because there were officers above him making the big decisions. Now that it was all on him, the responsibility hit him like a ton of bricks.

Once again, the gods of war were screwing with him for his hubris. They were intent on showing him he wasn’t as good as he’d thought.

“What are your orders?” Corinth asked. “I’ll relay them to Staff Sergeant Reiser and Tan-Master T.”

He felt a little jolt when he heard Tomiko and Bob’s names. They were still alive and now leading the other two platoons.

But for how long?

“Wait one,” he said when a round kicked up the rubble next to Corinth. “Get in here.”

He pulled the Marine inside his fighting hole. Because of the rocks, he had to use his last two moles to construct it, and it was tight. But in her long johns, Corinth didn’t take up much room.

“How bad is it in Third Platoon’s sector?”

“Real bad. I think only nine left.”

“The noxes? Compared to here?”

The PFC shrugged. “I think there’re more of ‘em. But I dint stop to count what I seen.”

Two Naxli broke from cover just eighty meters down the slope, within what had been their first line of defense, but Rev ignored them. The two were shot down before they took two steps.

“You got anything for me?” he asked his battle buddy.

An image appeared on Rev’s face shield display. Enemy positions were indicated, covering the entire area within his view.

“How accurate is this?”

<Not very. The input is only what I can glean from your vision.>

“Not very as in what way? What is your biggest concern?”

<Numbers and exact positions. They are advancing, so I need to extrapolate from a known position and the terrain as to where any individual might be now.>

Rev let that digest for a second. “But the general patterns, are they accurate?”

<More accurate than the exact positions. What are you thinking?>

“I don’t know.”

Which was true. But something was niggling at the back of his mind.

Another BFG fired. At this range, it only took a second and a half for the round to hit, and this time, two Morays converged on it while Rev watched. He could see the flash of a direct hit.

“Gintly’s down! Get him under cover!” Hussein shouted.

Rev forced that from his mind. He had to see where the main assault would come from. Closer to the top, the fields of fire were clearer, and there was less cover. If the Naxli were Marines, they could lay an intensive barrage of covering fire while the assault element gained the defensive lines, breaching them into an entry point for the rest.

The Naxli tactics often mirrored human tactics. So, if the Naxli were going to do that now, and if Rev could figure out where that could be, he might be able to shift his forces to meet the main assault and throw it back.

If, if. If I had a Navy gun monitor above my head, I could blast the lower reaches of the hill clean. But I don’t. Think, Reverent, think!

More glimpses of Naxli could be seen advancing between whatever cover they could find, but in their eagerness, they were getting sloppy, and the troopers were having a turkey shoot.

These turkeys could shoot back, however, and to his left, where Second Platoon was, someone screamed in pain—a female scream that subsided into pitiful moans.

Ignore it. Focus!

“Gunny?” Corinth asked as she huddled in the bottom of his fighting hole.

“Quiet! Let me think.”

Rev hadn’t attended the SNCO Academy, and maybe they’d have taught him the schoolbook solution. All he had was what he’d experienced in his battles, but he couldn’t see how any of those experiences translated into an iron-clad defense in this situation. They were surrounded by a thousand or more Naxli, all intent on snuffing them out. He didn’t see how they could fend them off.

He glanced up at the sky, but there wasn’t a flight of Shrikes rushing to the rescue. No one was going to help them. It was up to Rev.

But he didn’t have anything. His bucket was empty.

He screamed in frustration, unleashing an unaimed volley of fire down the slope.

“You’ve proven your point,” he shouted as Corinth looked at him in horror as if he’d gone mad.

The gods of war had screwed with him one last time. He wasn’t a tactical genius, and his successes were because he’d lost his arm and then had that replaced with his IBHU. He was a dumb meatshield while the others advanced because of their brains. And now, his troopers and the last few Golf Marines were going to pay because he thought he had what it took to lead men and women into battle.

Punch advanced the display, moving the Naxli to their new positions, and for a moment, that almost mesmerized him. There was something about that. Maybe they were splitting out the base of fire?

It wasn’t going to make any difference, but even if he wasn’t a Bundy, he was a fighter, and he was going to make the Naxli pay. His warrior surged to the front and started battering against the barriers Rev had erected to keep him at bay.

“Go tell Tjivyrtzlin and Reiser to get ready,” he told Corinth.

“For what?” she asked, her eyes still big.

“I don’t know. Maybe to go out in a blaze of glory,” he said with a laugh,

Her eyes got even wider, but she said, “I’ve got it.”

She pulled herself out of the hole and took off running.

“She thinks I’m crazy.”

<I’m beginning to wonder about that, too.>

“Maybe I am.”

Rev fired another pulse from his beamer, almost as an afterthought. His job now, as company commander, was to lead the company, not kill Naxli. But if he couldn’t do one, he was very good at the other.

He killed three more in succession before Punch asked, <Do you have a plan?>

“Not unless you’ve got something in your data banks on how to defend this position.”

<Nothing seems to fit.>

Rev tilted his head and laughed. “Of course, nothing fits. You think the gods would make it easy?”

<You keep referring to your gods of war. You do realize they are simply your name for random chance.>

“Maybe. No, you’re right. But it somehow makes it easier for me to think there’s some reason why some of us live, some of us—”

Punch advanced the display, and suddenly, Rev’s brain clicked.

“You’re wrong, Punch. The gods of war are real,” he said as he superimposed the display over his vision, lining it up with the terrain in front of him.

<Rev, get a hold of yourself. There are no gods of war. No one is controlling your destiny.>

“There might be no such thing as luck. But there are gods of war.”

Rev stood up in his fighting hole and blasted his externals. “Marines and troopers, grab our dead, get out of your fighting holes, and follow me. WE are the Mother-loving Gods of War!”

* * *

There were times a leader had to sit back and direct the battle. There were times when a leader had to lead from the front. This was the latter of the two.

Rev released his warrior self and started charging down the hill at an oblique, directly into what might be a crease forming between the advancing Naxli as they split into a base of fire and an assaulting force.

Or not. But if Punch’s display was accurate, then there was a slight break in their frontage.

Rev screamed as he ran, firing long bursts with his twenty. He was vaguely aware of the troopers who were alongside him, all screaming and firing. With his warrior self in full control, all Rev wanted to do was to rend the enemy limb from limb. That desire consumed him. These were the things that had killed so many humans. These were the things that killed Grover. They needed to be exterminated like the vermin they were.

And the Naxli wilted under the fierce onslaught. Those in Rev’s path broke and ran.

“So much for your vaunted honor!” he screamed as he swung his guillotine, cutting down five who were knocking each other over in their attempt to get out of his way.

A twenty opened up beside him, blowing away a Naxli who was trying to bring a heavy, crew-served weapon to bear. Rev glanced to the side. Torking was carrying Tsao piggyback while she mowed down Naxli right and left.

The first push took the humans three hundred meters before the Naxli started to recover. Those farthest from the thrust started to fire into them. One of Second Platoon’s Rangers had darted ahead of Rev when he was hit and went down. Without breaking stride, Rev scooped the Ranger up with his organic arm while he kept firing with Pashu.

A single Naxli was feverishly trying to bring around what had to be a BFG. Rev unleashed his final Moray. The Naxli tried to dive off, but it was too late. Gun and gunner went up in the resultant explosion.

Rev started to shout in exuberation when a round took him in the side, penetrating his armor. He stumbled and dropped the Ranger.

“Punch!”

<You’re hit. Your PAL is still functioning.>

“Stop the bleeding, and local pain relief only. No system medications.”

Rev stumbled over to the Ranger, picked him up, and started running again. More troopers passed him, and the initial mad rush was morphing into a controlled breakout. Marines from Golf filled in as the platoon commanders started to regain unit integrity. Rev caught sight of Tomiko, Bob, and Yancey as they pushed and pulled their charges into position.

Rev was knocked down by a near-miss explosion, one that damaged his IBHU’s collar. Another something penetrated his right knee joint, but he was able to keep going.

They didn’t have a choice. There was no stopping now. The Naxli were pursuing, and it was only their augmented legs that allowed them to stay ahead of the enemy.

Corinth appeared at his side early in the breakout and never left it, hanging just off his shoulder like a one-armed bodyguard. A slight Marine in long johns protecting an IBHU Marine in a PAL-HX. Punch made a lame joke about it, but it made Rev feel good.

The Naxli suddenly dropped off after two hours. Rev wasn’t sure why until rounds started dropping among them. Evidently, they were getting close to Marine lines, and they’d finally caught someone’s notice.

Twenty minutes later, thirty-nine troopers and eleven Golf Company Marines entered a very surprised Marine Logistics Group position. It wasn’t until two of the Marines took the Ranger from his arm that Rev banished his warrior self and sunk to his knees.

<Will you seek medical help now?>

“Yeah. I think I will.”

27

It took four days before the company reunited with battalion. The dead had been taken to the field expedient resurrection station, and a company of Marines had gone back to the hill to recover all remaining Marines and troopers. The Naxli had disappeared.

Some of the news on the killed and wounded were hopeful. Lieutenant Nilson had an excellent chance at resurrection, according to the tech who Rev had tracked down. Gintly, Archambault (who’d been the last one killed during the breakout), Ikinikin, and Kbanta all looked good.

Pierson had taken it personally that his veneer of invulnerability was gone, having taken two rounds through the belly. He’d wanted to stay to wreak vengeance upon the Naxli, but the Navy docs had nixed that.

Tsao had been one of the first to get medivac’d off the planet. Torking had insisted on carrying her to the shuttle—not on a stretcher, not piggyback, but in his arms with her arms around his neck—then silently stood as it lifted off.

Kelly had suffered a serious concussion, but the docs thought she’d be fine with time.

The Golf Marines hadn’t come with them. They’d been taken to their regimental CP. Corinth had stayed behind in the aid station while the docs tried to save her arm. Rev hadn’t realized how damaged it had been while she was marching beside him during the breakout.

Rev had only been company commander for a few hours of the battle, but each loss killed him. And each word of a possible resurrection or better medical condition was a lift.

There was another task looming, however, one he didn’t look forward to. As company commander, he had too many letters to write to families back home.

As they received a few briefs, it became clear why the Naxli had seemed intent on destroying them. And why they hadn’t gotten any help from Force.

Elsewhere on the planet, the Marine forces had the Naxli on the run, and the CG had put all available forces forward to close the deal. Rev didn’t know the details, but evidently, Second and Third Combined Assault Companies had pretty much covered themselves in glory by participating in the final battle.

It was a battered but proud company that rejoined the rest of the battalion. Lieutenant Colonel Suk came out to congratulate them, then Gunny Pratt from the S-4 led them to an expeditionary shelter so new that the walls hadn’t completely set. Mopping up operations were in full force, but not for the company. They were to rest up and go through their initial debriefs. Rumor was that they’d be one of the first debarked for the trip back.

Rev thought that might be wishful thinking, but the idea was encouraging.

Once things got settled, Tomiko, Bob, and he each grabbed a cot and took it to one of the far corners of the shelter. To the others, it was the company commander and his platoon commanders planning out what was next. But in reality, the three were just soaking it in that they were still alive. Rev hadn’t talked to either of them about what they’d gone through, but for now, they were reliving tales of their time together, which stretched out over fourteen years.

Their respite didn’t last long. Tomiko looked up over Rev’s shoulder and said, “Here comes Bundy.”

Rev turned just as Bundy spotted him. He looked determined.

“I don’t think he’s just coming on a social call,” Bob said.

“I’ll see what this is,” Rev said as he moved to meet him.

Bundy held out a hand, which Rev took. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’ve been better.”

“You up for a mission?”

Rev looked around the shelter. “We’re kinda beat up right now.”

“Not the company. You.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’ve got a mission for you, straight from the CG. But Colonel Suk told me to bounce it off you first.”

“And if I say no, he’ll just tell the CG you can’t find me?”

“Something like that,” Bundy admitted.

Rev stared at his friend for a moment, tempted to tell him—them—to go pound sand. He was healing, but he wasn’t a hundred percent. And while his PAL-HX had a patch placed over the hole in the side and his helmet had been reinforced, his IBHU collar was a little wonky.

But curiosity overcame him.

“What kind of mission?” he asked cautiously.

“We’re mopping up the noxes, as you know.”

“Go on.”

“Well, it looks like a couple of hundred might be trying to negotiate gnista.”

Rev snorted. “Now? Blow the suckers away.”

“Well, yeah. But some of the Force staff, they want to see what’s up.”

“Don’t tell me. The G-2.”

Bundy gave a non-committal shrug.

“Really? No one’s actually thinking of accepting, right?”

“I think there’s talk about getting them to surrender.”

“Never happen,” he said. “It won’t,” he added when Bundy raised an eyebrow.

“OK, say it could. Why me?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“You’re evidently the only one on the entire planet who’s done this before.”

Rev shook his head. It wasn’t that difficult. March up, listen to the offer, then say no. You didn’t have to be a rocket scientist for that.

But, he had to admit, the idea was interesting. He’d killed a shitload of Naxli four days ago, but he hadn’t really seen them face-to-face. This would be an opportunity not only to stick the knife in, but twist it. Call it immature, but he wanted to see their faces when he called them hreetz.

And just like that, he made his decision. “Yeah, I’ll do it.”

* * *

“And if we lose comms—”

“The Q-phone, sir. I’ve got it.”

If Rev was a little condescending, the colonel showed no sign of taking it that way.

One advantage of having defeated most of the Naxli on the planet was that comms were generally back. But the command was taking no chances, and Rev had been given a Q-phone if the comms went down.

Rev was anxious to get going. Five hundred meters away, a single Naxli was standing alone with what someone told him was 213 well behind it.

Another colonel stepped forward. “Are you ready, Gunny?”

“Yes, ma’am. Ready and able.”

“Then let’s get this thing on the road. Go ahead.”

Rev stepped off, noting both the four snipers and the platoon of mech Marines covering him. There were probably more that he couldn’t see.

He felt like he’d been briefed every which way but loose, but in actuality, it had been just fifty-two minutes since he and Bundy had left the company. He and a gaggle of colonels had been whisked to the location in a Buzzard, and finally, it was go-time.

Rev confidently strode across the plain, which was covered with a low, lichen-like growth. There was no cover, nowhere for a Naxli assassin to be lurking, ready to finish the job that had failed on Safe Harbor.

As he closed the distance, he got a better look at the Naxli. These were the other kind, the round ones, not the human kind.

“Round” was a good description. These ones had bodies that looked vaguely like big, fur-covered beach balls. The fur on this one was a very pale yellow, and tufts peeked out from its body armor. He couldn’t see the same organic armor as the human ones, but that could be because the artificial armor covered it.

Unlike the human and Centaur forms, this one didn’t look bilateral. It had three arms, at least that’s what Rev assumed them to be, sprouting out around the body. He shouldn’t be surprised. They were shifters, after all, so why would they be limited to a bilateral form?

“Holy crap. I bet this is the real Naxli body. This is what they’re really like when they’re not imitating us or the tin-asses.”

<That could be true.>

“That’s it? We finally figured it out, and all you say is ‘That could be true?’”

<We don’t know yet. So, what I said was accurate.>

Rev picked up his pace. He still had the visceral hatred for the creature in front of him, but now there was a little bit of eager curiosity. If these were the real form, then maybe getting them to surrender had some merit. Let the xenologists get their hands on them.

The Naxli had locked onto Rev the moment he left the line. Just to be a dick, Rev swerved a little to the left, then reversed and went back to the right. The Naxli turned each way to follow him.

Curious or not, his overwhelming emotion was anger. His warrior was clamoring for release, and Rev had images of sticking that round bastard with Pashu’s blade, then being covered with the thing’s blue blood as it spurted out.

It was a pleasant image.

Rev finally reached the thing, stopping eight meters short.

He got right to the point. “We do not accept gnista with hreetz.”

A moment later, a small bud on the thing’s . . . well, not shoulder . . . erupted in a series of clicks and grating noises.

Rev was startled, and he raised Pashu, until he realized that he’d heard gnista and hreetz repeated.

Rev wasn’t the only one startled. As the translator thing spoke, the Naxli startled, and some of the fine, corn-silk fur rose up in anger? Alarm? Joy? Rev sure didn’t know.

The Naxli made more noises, and the bud said, “Naxli gnista” while the Naxli made a quick, slashing motion with all three arms.

What the . . .

Rev turned to look back at the colonels. They could hear what was going on, but none of them were giving him any advice. Evidently, they were more than willing to let him shoulder this on his own.

Rev knew that the Naxli didn’t speak Standard as their own language. Xenoliinguists had been able to map out a great deal of their language, but none of that was available to him.

“Do you understand what it’s saying?”

<The sounds it’s making are not anywhere in my data banks. It could be a different language than what we’ve been exposed to so far.>

“I don’t understand what you said,” Rev told the Naxli.

It came back with, “Gnista. Naxli.”

“No. No gnista.”

At “gnista,” the thing bristled again and made the slashing motion with two hands this time.

<Try speaking more. I think its translator is an AI of sorts.>

“This is stupid. I said no gnista. That’s what matters.”

But he said, “I’m Gunnery Sergeant Reverent Pelletier, Perseus Union Marine Corps. I am here because . . . because I want to tell you Naxli that we do not accept gnista. We will only accept your whole and complete surrender. The sky is blue. I like blackberry cobbler. Uh . . . the cow goes moo.”

Rev glanced back. The colonels must think he was going batshit crazy.

The Naxli seemed to take it in stride, though, while lights danced over the little translator. Finally, it said, “Naxli not we.”

Rev took a step back in surprise.

Did it just say what I think it did?

He pointed to his chest and said, “Human.” He pointed at the Naxli’s chest and said, “Naxli.”

The Naxli didn’t wait for the translator. “Not!” it said in clipped but understandable Standard. “Human,” it said, pointing one weird, spidery hand at Rev. “Naxli,” it said, pointing toward the distance. Then it made a series of quick sounds, something like a Geiger counter, and pointed back at its round belly.

“Is that thing saying what I think it’s saying?”

The creature held up a hand and said, “Human.” It held up the second and made the Geiger noises. Slowly, it brought the two hands together and intertwined the digits. Then it raised the third hand and said, “Naxli.”

The two intertwined hands made a fist, and quicker than a rattlesnake, the thing slammed the fists into the Naxli hand.

“By the Mother, Punch. This isn’t a nox. It’s something else. And it wants us to join them to fight the bastards!”

EPILOGUE

FIVE MONTHS LATER

“Platoon sergeant, take charge of your platoon,” Lieutenant Marble barked out.

Rev marched up from the rear, made a left turn, and came to a stop in front of his platoon commander. He conducted a right face and saluted.

“This is it, Gunny. We’re stepping off into history,” the lieutenant whispered.

“You’ve got that right, sir.”

Marble raised his voice again and shouted, “Platoon Sergeant, take charge and dismiss the troopers.”

Rev saluted and performed an about-face. Forty-nine troopers stood before him, forty-nine of the finest Marines, soldiers, guardsmen, and sailors in uniform. Having four squads instead of three was a change from his Marine experience, but he thought he could manage. The extra firepower the fourth squad carried could come in handy.

“Platoon. In a little over three hours, we’ll be boarding the buses for the spaceport. This will be a historic moment, and I’m proud to be taking this step with you. I can’t think of a finer, more lethal group of people ever brought together. You are the gods of war, and the damn noxes won’t know what hit them.”

There were ooh-rahs and hup-hups from the platoon.

“Some of you have family here. Take a few moments to say your goodbyes. Remember, they are the reason we’re sailing into the unknown.

“And for the rest of you, well, since you’re restricted to the camp, the SNCO Club has opened its doors, and the first round’s on me.”

This time, the ooh-rahs and hup-hups were even louder.

“First Platoon, Alpha Company, Second Expeditionary Battalion, dis . . . MISSED!”

About half of the platoon made a beeline to the stands where family and planetary representatives were waiting. Many of the families had been flown to Safe Harbor by their governments, who were anxious to share in the PR of this turning point in history.

Well, it wasn’t the actual turning point. It was just one more step in the maelstrom that humanity found itself in.

The first step had been made on Orange, when the Clickers—they called themselves the Uauii, which proved difficult for humans to say correctly—had revealed themselves. Rev wasn’t the only person who realized what the Clicker had said. Rev had been shut down immediately while the colonels rushed forward to take over, shortly followed by no fewer than four generals, then an admiral.

Rev had been shunted aside while the brass and experts took over. He didn’t care. He knew this was over his head. He was just grateful that of the trillions of people in the universe, he’d somehow been present both when humanity had changed their future with the Centaurs and when they forged ahead with a new future with the Clickers.

Not just the Clickers, but with the rest of the species in the anti-Naxli coalition. Twenty-six years ago, humanity was alone in the galaxy. Now, they were part of an alliance with seventeen known races, all aligned against the Naxli and their minions.

Humanity might be a probationary member of this alliance, but the potential was mind-boggling. Not that Rev had any doubt that humanity would measure up. They’d defeated the force on Orange, after all, when the Clickers had all been but wiped out. And from the intel the human agencies had been able to develop, humanity might be more powerful, from a military standpoint, than most of the other members.

Things had moved at breakneck speed since Orange. The Clickers, along with other species, had known about humanity for some time, and they had translators that could speak Standard. But the translator of the Clicker who met Rev hadn’t been uploaded with it. Why would it have been? There hadn’t been any expectation of human contact.

Once contact was made, however, other members of the alliance showed up, and steps were taken to integrate humanity into the galaxy-wide fight against the Naxli.

This regiment was just one step. Hastily stood up with representatives from almost all the human nations, the last five months had been almost non-stop training. There was still a way to go, but the core was there.

Which was good, because they were a test case. They would be under the alien microscope, being evaluated. Not just on their military prowess, but if they could work with other species as part of a greater good. It wasn’t a reach to say that humanity’s future could rely on how well the battalion, then the next two, performed in the near future.

And he was going to be part of it. He hadn’t been sure he would be, not with his going after the Naxli assassin. But the good press, who kept calling him a hero, and with what happened on Orange, the powers that be evidently decided it would be smarter to issue him a Letter of Admonition that went into his permanent record. A slap on the wrist.

“Penny for your thoughts, Big Boy.”

Rev didn’t turn as an arm slipped through his. “Just wondering on what we’ll see.”

“Noxes, I’m guessing. Lots of angry noxes,” Tomiko said.

“You know what I mean, Miko.”

“Yeah, I do. But we’re Marines. We accomplish the mission.”

“Not everyone wants us to,” he said, tilting his head to the distant chants.

With all the media interest, the formation had been held at mainside instead of Camp Asif. And from here, they could hear the protestors at the main gate. Not everyone was happy with the new situation. A significant portion of the population felt that the revelations were just the next step in a carefully concealed, long-developing plot to make humanity subservient to sinister alien overlords.

One of Rev’s high school classmates had even called him up to warn him against the aliens harvesting human babies.

It was strange that on the other side, the Children of Angels were back in the news as they shifted their doctrine to embrace the alien presence.

“Well, they’re idiots,” Tomiko said.

“Think there’s any truth to what they say?”

Tomiko gave him a weird look. “As in harvesting human babies?”

“No. I mean, that not all of the aliens have honorable intentions.”

“Of course, they don’t. They’re together because of the noxes. As soon as we eliminate the threat, it’ll be a new ball game.”

“And so that’s why the CoH wants us to learn all we can about all of their capabilities,” Rev said.

“So we can kick their asses if it comes to that.”

Rev nodded. The new opportunity for humankind was exciting, but what did they really know about the galaxy? They had to be pragmatic as they moved forward.

“Did you see Nilson this morning?” he asked, changing the subject.

A high percentage of those lost on Orange had made it through the first stage of resurrection, and Tomiko had been close to her former platoon commander. Having gone through resurrection herself, she knew the physical and emotional pain of the process.

“Yeah. Got in a short visit.”

“How’s she doing?”

“As well as can be expected. She’s just frustrated at the slow progress. But she’ll do fine. She’s strong.”

Tomiko didn’t like to talk much about what she went through after being killed. She turned to look at the viewing stands and said, “Hey, let’s go see your folks. It’ll be the last time for a while.”

Rev and Tomiko walked across the parade deck. Reporters, held back by a single yellow rope, called out questions, but the two Marines ignored them.

“You hear about your girlfriend?” Tomiko asked.

“Which one? I’ve got so many.”

She gave his arm a hard punch. “Corinth. She’s getting an IBHU.”

“What? I thought her arm wasn’t that bad.”

“I don’t think it was. But she made the decision, and they took it off, from what I heard,” she said with a glint in her eyes.

On the one hand, it wasn’t surprising. Corinth had been awarded the Platinum Nova for her actions on Orange. But if her arm could have been saved? Is this where they were coming to?

The Union Marines were short on IBHUs, and there were rumors about changes as to who would qualify to get them. It was somewhat disturbing to Rev, especially with Tomiko’s obvious approval.

Rev’s mother, father, Neesy, Kat, and Alyce were patiently waiting for them to reach them. Seeing Alyce, but not Grover, hurt, but it was a reminder of the importance of what they were about to embark on.

Rev’s mother hugged him, then tried to surreptitiously slip him a package. “It’s a blackberry cobbler,” she whispered.

“It’s OK, mom. You don’t have to hide it.”

Rev and Tomiko went down the line, getting long hugs from each one. When he hugged Alyce, she whispered in his ear, “Kill all those fuckers. Every last one of them.”

“I’ll do my best.”

They stood there, chatting for twenty minutes. It was mostly mindless as if no one wanted to talk about the future. The initial mission was planned for three years, but who knew what would happen during that time.

Well, Kat knew. She was going to enlist next year when she turned eighteen, as she kept reminding Rev. But the rest talked about food, the weather, flipball. His mother did mention the wedding, saying she could take care of things on her end, but other than that, the future was avoided.

Yancey spotted them and hurried over. “Were you serious about the first round being on you?” he asked.

“Yeah. Why?”

“Well, the manager at the club doesn’t know anything about it. You’d better get over there before there’s a riot.”

“Crap. I told Angie. I guess she didn’t pass it on.” He turned to his parents. “Mom, Dad, I’ve got to go take care of this.”

“I’ll tell him you’re coming,” Yancey said before hurrying off.

He and Tomiko got in more hugs. His father held him a bit longer than expected, whispering, “I’m so proud of you, son.”

Tears came to Rev’s eyes. That meant more to him than the second Gold Nova he’d been awarded that morning to go along with his Letter of Admonition. Family came first.

“I’m so glad you came into Mom’s and my life, Dad.”

The two broke. His father’s eyes were wet, too. He clapped Rev on the shoulder, then stepped back and put an arm around Rev’s mother.

Tomiko gave him a nudge with her elbow. “You ready, Big Boy?”

“Always.”

* * *

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Rev will return in UNITED WE KILL, available to preorder now on Amazon.

GLOSSARY

AGMS: Anti-G Straining Maneuvers

AIW: Association of Independent Worlds

ASAP: As Soon As Possible

BC: the digital currency for most nations

BIPAC: A heavy weapon used by MDS soldiers

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

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.

Deca: an MDS unit about the size of a battalion

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.

Frag Order/FRAGO: Fragmentary Order. A modified and abbreviated version of an operation order to modify or issue a follow-on mission

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

Groundpounders: slang for infantry

Hammerhead: A man-packed missile

HE: High Explosive

Hellborer: a man-packed beamer

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

HSPEY: High Speed Planetary Extraction System

IBHU: Integrated Bionic Hopological Unit

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

KIA: Killed in Action

Leaches: Military slang for civilians

LOD: Line of Departure

LZ: Landing Zone

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

M-103: a 40mm grenade launcher attachment to the M-49 and M-51

M-133: a heavy weapon fired by mech Marines

M-305 Jackhammer: a crew-served 40mm grenade launcher

M-49 Assault Rifle: the standard weapon of the Union Marines. It fires a 2mm high-velocity dart.

M-51: a modified version of the M-49. Bigger barrel to fire a heavier dart that has tiny warheads in the tip that can help burn through body armor.

MF-30: a standard issue handgun

MM-37 Mantis II: a man-packed launcher for the Mantis II missile

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

Nox: nickname for Naxli

NVD: Night Vision Device

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

OP: Observation Post

Optisight: a flexible optical tube

Order of Saint Bome: a fraternal/political elite organization within the MDS military

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.

PAL-H: new and improved heavier PAL

PAL-HX: PAL-H version designed for IBHU Marines

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

POO: Point of Origin. From where an incoming round was fired.

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

PS-40 “Viber:” an unpowered ground sensor

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.

Rodan: Mezame hyperaugment. Can fly.

Safe Harbor: Rev’s homeworld

Secdrones: Security drones used by the police

SFC: Sergeant First Class, the equal to a Marine gunnery sergeant

Shrike: Union Navy fighter aircraft, capable of atmospheric and vacuum operations

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

T/E: Table of Equipment. This is the document that identifies all the equipment of a unit.

T/O: Table of Organization. This is the document that identifies all the members of a unit.

Torinth Accords: a treaty governing the rules of war

VGW: Veterans of Galactic 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.

NATIONS, INDEPENDENT WORLDS, AND POLITICAL ENTITIES WITHIN THE CONGRESS OF HUMANITY

Bugatti’s World

Association of Independent Worlds

Enclave of Humanity (Home System)

Federation of Independent States

Freedom Confederation

Frisian Mantle

Hégémonie Liberté

Manifest Destiny Sphere

Mezame Concordate

Nowhere

Osnovnoy Alyanz

Paxus

Perseus Union

Rigel Cluster

Samsara

Sunberry Group

Synergy Alliance

Tau Ceti

Tigana 3

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.

* * *

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.