Copyrighted Material

United We Kill 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

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Epilogue

Glossary

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

Cast of Characters

Acknowledgments

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1

“Nothing different so far,” Kelly O’Donnel said. “Just like a normal deployment.”

“What did you expect?” Gunnery Sergeant Reverent Pelletier, Perseus Union Marine Corps, asked. “We’re on a Union ship.”

“I know,” the staff sergeant said. “But I expected something . . . well, not this. Different.”

“This” was playing Knock On with several of the company’s Marine and Frisian SNCOs. As a gunny, Rev could lounge in the chief’s mess, but with Kelly, Tomiko, Bob, Hussein, and Yancey too junior for that, they holed up in the ship’s library, anxious to kill some time while staying out of the junior troopers’ hair.

Their mission could be one of the most notable in the history of humankind, but Kelly was right in her assessment. So far, other than the speech given to them by the Perseus Union Director Prime himself at the Anastasia spaceport, this could be any other deployment.

“There’s a clicker on the bridge,” Tomiko said before removing two cards and putting them face-down in front of Hussein. He immediately put two of his in front of her. Tomiko picked them up and gave them a quick glance. Rev caught the slightest tic in the corner of her mouth.

You don’t like them, do you, Miko?

His fiancée sometimes wore her heart on her sleeve. Good for him, but bad for her skill at cards.

“Do you know that for sure, Miko?” Kelly asked. “Have you put eyeballs on it? You know what they tell you. If you don’t see it with your little eyes, then don’t say it with your big mouth.”

Tomiko shrugged. “No, I didn’t see it with my own eyes while I’m down here in the hold. But why would they lie to us?”

The rest of the players laughed at that, and Tomiko frowned. All of them had been in uniform long enough to understand the ways of the military, especially as members of a joint unit—in this case, the First Human Expeditionary Brigade. Humanity might be unified in the fight against the Naxli, but it hadn’t been too long ago that humans were fighting humans, and distrust remained rampant.

Rev didn’t think the Union brass would go out of their way to lie to the Marines, but they would lie if they thought it could earn them an advantage in the eternal game of thrones against the other human governments. That was a certainty.

Yancey surrendered three cards to Bob, and the Frisian picked three to surrender back. Not as recently as the war with the Manifest Destiny Sphere, the Frisians and the Union had been in a conflict of their own. It hadn’t devolved into all-out war, and now the two nations were welded at the hip. That didn’t mean, however, that the two nations shared everything. This wasn’t the wholesale embracing of the CoH’s Pax Humanity Initiative, but more of a marriage of necessity.

The natural human competitiveness kept some tensions high, which made the brigade unique. As a military force, the troopers had to trust each other, no matter their nationality. With Bob, who was a friend, that wasn’t such a reach. But Rev had MDS karnans in his platoon, and he had to trust the hyper-augments as much as he trusted Union Marines.

And now, they were heading into the unknown, to work with the aliens they didn’t even know existed only six months before. They were going to be a long way from home. Even with the battalion being heavily Marine Corps, there were still troopers from other nations, and they had to fight as one or they’d fail.

And with the stakes as they were, failure wasn’t an option.

“Rev?” Tomiko asked, breaking into his wandering thoughts.

“What?”

“Are you exchanging?”

Rev looked around the table. Everyone was waiting on him.

“Sorry. Got lost in my thoughts.”

He looked at his cards. “What should I discard and to who?” he muttered under his breath.

<I can tell you that,> Punch, his embedded AI, said.

“No, no. We don’t play with our battle buddies.”

<You’re foolish to waste any advantage you have,> Punch grumbled.

Rev ignored him. They’d had this conversation before. Many times before. And Rev was tempted, to be sure. He wasn’t the best Knock On player in the galaxy, and he continually lost to the others here. It would be so good to wipe the smirk off of Yancey’s face when he won, but using his AI to calculate odds was something they just didn’t do.

In the end, he pulled a single card, the Three of Destiny, and slapped it down with some force in front of Kelly.

“Ooh, he’s being aggressive,” Tomiko said with a laugh. “He must be sure of himself.

Kelly stared at the card before her for a moment, then selected one of her own, and with much less force, placed it in front of Rev. They both picked up their new cards. Rev felt a little flutter. Kelly had surrendered the Nine of Life, and that gave him a carnival. Not an amazing hand, but a darn good one. They were playing twenty, so this was the final hand. If Rev could pull this off, and if Yancey didn’t take seconds, he could finally win a game.

“Reveal,” Bob said, throwing down six of his cards.

Rev smiled. Bob’s ladder was a weak hand, one that Rev had beat.

Kelly just grimaced and put her hand down face first. “This game sucks hind tit.”

Yancey was next. Rev had him beat, but he needed Hussein, Bob, or Tomiko to knock him down to thirds.

“Reveal, Hus-man,” he said, getting a little excited.

Hussein had a double nest, which wasn’t good enough, but Bob had a ladder, and that was better than Yancey’s. And that meant . . .

Rev slapped down his red sweep. “Read them and weep, suckers,” he said, making a show of switching his wristcomp to receive. “I love me some staff sergeant money!”

He turned to Tomiko and said, “Make it official, Miko.”

She scowled, then revealed a . . .

“What?” Rev said as he saw her picket sweep. “But—”

“But you saw this?” she asked as she looked straight at him, pointed at her mouth, and made the corner of it tic. “Oh, so sorry you got confused.”

She made a bigger show of turning her wristcomp to receive. “Pay the lady!”

Rev’s mouth dropped open. His dear, somewhat naïve fiancée had played him?

Un-fricking-believable.

<I could have told you the odds were in her favor.>

“Oh, shut up, Punch,” Rev subvocalized as he switched his wristcomp to send and transferred over ten credits.

* * *

“That’s the latest word. As soon as we have anything more, I’ll let you know. Captain, out.”

“That sure didn’t tell us much,” Rev said.

First Lieutenant Lilly Marble, a Tau Ceti Ranger and Rev’s platoon commander, just grunted.

The battalion was heavily Marine, even more than the Second Combined Assault Battalion had been, but there were still representatives from the other militaries. While not taking issue with the lieutenant as a soldier or the Rangers as a unit, Rev had hoped the battalion would have been all Perseus Union Marines and Navy corpsmen. It would have made things easier.

Even with Rev’s experiences in the Home Guard and the Combined Assault Battalion, Rev was a Marine, and he was used to the Marine way. Something as simple as calling his men and women “troopers” and not “Marines” was still a little jarring to him.

Rev waited to see if the lieutenant had something to add. When she didn’t, Rev asked, “Do you have any theories as to the delay?”

Their ride had been scheduled to arrive at their as yet unknown Uauii base forty hours ago. That had been changed, and they’d been “cutting spherical cubes in space” for the last fifty-plus hours, to use the naval slang. In other words, they were going nowhere and taking time to do that.

The lieutenant shrugged, then said, “You heard the CO. You know as much as I do.”

It had taken the ship’s CO a long time to address the crew and embarked battalion, and when she did, she’d given them nothing concrete. Maybe she was in the dark just as much as the rest of them were.

“Some of the troopers think our mission is getting canceled.”

The lieutenant gave another grunt.

“The clickers don’t trust us,” Rev said, trying to draw his platoon commander out.

“We don’t know what’s happening. But in the Rangers, we say not to fret over what you don’t know. You’ll find out soon enough.”

Rev resisted rolling his eyes. It was probably good advice, but he wanted to know what was going on. He hated being in the dark. Not knowing kept him from being able to plan what he was going to do next.

Tomiko sometimes accused him of being more than a little anal retentive, and there was probably some truth to that. He didn’t like not being in control. But planning ahead for every possible contingency was one of the reasons he was still alive and kicking when so many of his fellow Marines were no longer around.

“Do you have any orders, ma’am? Anything you want done while we wait?”

“How are we with the Ranger Handbook?”

Rev’s heart fell. The Ranger Handbook was essentially a full basic training course on Tau Ceti Ranger history, tactics, and procedures. The lieutenant had directed that the entire platoon take the virtual course.

It wasn’t that the course was bad. But Rev had been a Marine Raider when he first was conscripted, and he had pride in the Raiders and thought they were better than the Rangers.

And this was a Marine-centric battalion, not a Ranger-based battalion. Rev had asked Master Sergeant Olyn about the course, and the top had said it wouldn’t hurt. Besides, idle hands on a ship usually resulted in fights and problems.

“About a third of the way through.”

“Then, I think it’s a good time to get through the rest.”

“Aye-aye, ma’am.”

Rev got up to leave the lieutenant’s tiny stateroom when the platoon commander said, “Don’t get stressed, Gunny. We’ll find out soon enough what’s going on. And if our mission is scrubbed, then that will just give us more training time. Soon enough, we’ll be hooking and jabbing with the Naxli, so the better we’re prepared, the better we’ll perform.”

Rev nodded and started to return to the platoon berthing spaces. The platoon commander was right, of course. But that didn’t make it any more palatable. All they could do now was keep the troopers occupied while they waited for some sort of decision to be made.

* * *

They didn’t have that long to wait to find out what was happening. Three hours after the ship’s CO passed the message, and while the troopers were all following the Ranger Handbook chapter on ambush patrols, Rev’s wristcomp buzzed.

He read the message, then waved Yancey over.

“I’m getting summoned to the officer’s mess.”

Yancey raised his eyebrows and asked, “Do you think we’re finally gonna find out what’s up?”

“That, or he’s just going to tell us to stay patient. You know Os. Even if there’s nothing to say, they’ve got to take the time to say it. You’re in charge here. First call for chow’s in another thirty-five minutes, so get the platoon out of here in thirty. If I’m not back by then, get them back here for our time slot.”

The good thing about being on a troopship was that there was a big galley, which doubled up during non-chow hours as a space where the platoon or even a company could gather for classes or briefs. And the ship could run the entire crew and a full battalion of Marines through chow in two seatings. Alpha Company had the second seating today, so they had to vacate the galley before chow started and then return for the second sitting.

“Got it,” Yancey said. “Hopefully, you’ll find something out.”

Rev headed back to officers’ country. He’d downplayed the summons to Yancey, but he was excited, nonetheless.

“What do you think it might be?” he asked Punch.

<I don’t have enough data to make a reasonable guess.>

“You’re no fun.”

<OK, then you’re being summoned because you’ve been plucked from the ranks to be the new commandant, and you’ve got orders back to New Mars.>

“Ha-fucking-ha. You’re so funny.”

Punch’s snark level had been rising over the last six months. Rev was happy that his battle buddy was becoming more human, but sometimes, he missed the old, uncomplicated Punch.

<Then don’t ask me to guess when I have no input.>

“Duly noted.”

“Rev! Wait up!”

He turned to see Bob jogging over.

“I see you got the same message,” the Frisian said.

“So, I’m not getting promoted to commandant?”

“What the hell are you talking about,” Bob asked.

“Ah, nothing. Just something stupid.”

<It wasn’t stupid. I said that to make a point.>

Rev tuned Punch out. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any idea on what it’s about?”

“Hopefully, we’re back on track for the clicker base,” Bob said.

“Yeah. I’d like to get this show on the road, not just sit here in a holding pattern.”

The PUNS Wessex was a huge ship, as big as some battle cruisers, and it took several minutes for the two platoon sergeants to reach officers’ country, then another minute to make their way to Captain San Denis’s stateroom. The four platoon commanders and the XO were already there. It took another few minutes for the first sergeant, the company gunny, and the other two platoon sergeants to arrive.

Staterooms on a Calgary-class ship were larger than usual, but still, with twelve people, it was a tight fit. Someone needed a shower as well, and the stateroom’s blower was working overtime to keep the temperature down.

“That smell isn’t me, is it?” Rev asked Punch, resisting the urge to lift his organic arm and sniff the armpit.

<Your nose is my nose, but no, I don’t think it is.>

“Is that everyone?” the company commander asked as he looked around, counting heads.

“That’s everyone, sir,” the first sergeant said.

Captain San Denis was one of the new IBHU Marines. He’d lost a hand on Oris, and with the push for more IBHUs, that evidently had qualified him for the program.

Rev wasn’t sure what he felt about that. The captain had only lost a hand, but to be fitted for his IBHU, they’d amputated most of the forearm to accept the B version of the IBHU, which was a shorter model of the weapon that attached at the elbow instead of the shoulder as Rev’s did.

But that wasn’t Rev’s call. All he knew was that the captain was his commander.

“I just left the ship’s CO’s stateroom,” the captain said.

That immediately captured everyone’s attention.

“We are not proceeding to the clicker base.”

“Shit,” SFC Finnegar, the Third Platoon sergeant, muttered. “I knew it.”

Rev sympathized. They’d been hyped up so far. They’d been told they were making history, that what they were doing could ensure the survival of the human race. But now, it looked like this entire mission was crashing down around them.

“Instead, we have a mission. Something’s come up.”

What?

“A target of opportunity has appeared on our horizon, and the brass has decided that we are in position to take advantage of the situation.”

Rev’s warrior started to awaken, and he felt his blood begin to stir.

“Which brass, sir?” the first sergeant asked. “Who decided this?”

The captain took a moment, then said, “We don’t know for sure, but the CO thinks it’s the clickers. They requested—or maybe demanded—from the Congress of Humanity that we respond to the situation. We’ll be making an opposed landing on a nox-held planet.”

“Bastards want to test us,” the first sergeant said with a snarl. “As if we haven’t proved ourselves already. They probably set this whole thing up.”

“And you’re probably right, First Sergeant,” the captain said. “But it’s a done deal. We’ll get our operations order within three hours. And in nineteen hours, if all goes according to plan, we’ll be engaged. That doesn’t give us much time, so break out the weapons and run checks on our combat systems.”

“How are we inserting, sir? Pissers?” the XO asked.

“This ship doesn’t have enough of those on board for a platoon, much less a battalion. We’ll be taking the ship’s shuttles.”

There were a few groans at that, but Rev didn’t care. He’d had enough of waiting around.

It was time to take it to the Naxli.

2

The shuttle flared in hard, the compensators struggling to keep the platoon from being squashed by the G-forces.

It hit even harder, the jolt knocking the breath from Rev’s lungs. He could swear he saw the bulkheads of the shuttle bow outward with the force of the landing, but it didn’t break apart. The old adage of any landing you can walk away from is a good landing was proving true.

But they still had to walk—or run—away from it.

The back ramp lowered, and the J-harnesses that had been holding them in place retracted back into the bulkhead. Yancey and Third Squad were already rushing, bolting down the ramp and onto the planet’s surface.

“Move it!” Rev shouted needlessly from the front of the cargo hold, more to release pent-up energy than anything else as his warrior self fought to take control.

Rev kept him in check. Now wasn’t the time to let loose the berserker he could be. He wasn’t even sure if this was a hot zone.

Intel had been sketchy for the mission, all of it generated by the clickers. Rev had never been inserted on a mission so blind. All they knew was that there was a force of about seven hundred Naxli on this otherwise uninhabited planet, and that the battalion, along with an alien unit, was tasked with destroying them.

Why this objective, and why now, Rev found quite suspicious. It was too convenient for him, that the mission popped up just as the battalion was transiting to the clicker base.

If he wasn’t so accepting, he’d wonder if this was a setup, something to get the battalion blooded where the alien alliance could observe them in action.

Luckily, I trust all the brass, human and alien, and that kind of thought would never cross my mind. No, not at all.

Within seconds, the platoon egressed the bird, and Rev, as the last one, stepped off the back of the ramp. The troopers were forming a hasty perimeter as the shuttle lifted off on its fans, transiting to impulse power perhaps a few seconds too soon if the alarms on Rev’s PAL-HX were any indication.

Not that he blamed the pilot. The shuttles were not heavily armored, and with the situation on the ground so unclear, the pilot wanted to get out of there in the least amount of time.

A fast-mover thundered over the LZ, so low that Rev felt the shock wave. Rev glanced up as he sprinted for a position in the perimeter . . . and stumbled. That wasn’t a Navy or Marine fighter from the Wessex. The jumbled angles had never been constructed in a human factory.

It seemed that it wasn’t just the humans and the Kanters, the other alien force on the mission. It could be Naxli, he supposed, but the enemy had never shown much in the way of atmospheric fighters before, and the fact that the plane had overflown them to fire on a distant hilltop would lend credence to the fact that this was one of the good guys.

“Do you recognize that?” he asked his battle buddy.

<I don’t have anything similar in my database. But our knowledge of the other races is still quite minimal.>

Rev watched for a moment as the fighter seemed to pivot on its tail and shoot straight up.

“I guess it doesn’t matter as long as it’s on our side.”

“Let’s get off the LZ,” the lieutenant passed on the platoon net—for once, they seemed to have working comms without Naxli jamming. “We’ve got another shuttle incoming in two.”

A center location popped up on Rev’s face shield. Rev overlaid it on his view of the landscape. They were moving to the high ground to the planetary northeast.

Rev grunted in appreciation. First Platoon was the lead element for the battalion, so this was when the human landing was the most vulnerable. The high ground gave them good observations and fields of fire to what could be an avenue of approach from the hills farther out—the same hills the alien fighter had just hit.

Rev knew that the Tau Ceti Rangers had a good rep, but he’d never seen his new platoon commander in action before. Her first decision had Rev’s approval.

The platoon shifted to a diamond, with First Squad leading, Second and Third on the flanks, and Fourth bringing up the rear. The lieutenant shifted forward with First, so Rev fell back to Fourth. That might mask his fire with Pashu, should they be hit, but it put him in position to help control the platoon.

The troopers broke out into a steady jog and quickly got off the LZ before the next shuttle came in. The planet was at Earth 1.23 G despite being slightly smaller than the Mother. Rev could feel his PAL-HX servos kick in. For a moment, he considered overriding the assist. With his augmented muscles and joints, he could handle the extra effort, and the mechanical assist depleted his power. But he let it go. He had two extra powerpacks, so he could probably afford the usage, but he’d been caught in a powerless PAL before, and once burned, twice shy. He decided to keep going without the assist.

Rev took the opportunity to take in the landscape as they moved. The planet was barren with no vegetation. The rocks showed signs of wind erosion, but no water. “Desolate” fit the bill.

“I’d hate to buy the farm in a place like this,” Rev muttered.

<If we get killed, then it really won’t matter to us, now, will it?>

“Hell, Punch. They’ll just pull you out of my dead brain and pop you into the next IBHU coming off of the assembly line.”

<Just when I have you trained? And have to start again with someone new? No, thanks.>

Rev rolled his eyes. This new iteration of his battle buddy’s ever-developing persona was more than a little snarky. That was probably better, though, than when he’d been first inserted into a hesitant Rev so many years ago. He’d even limited Punch’s Personality Quotient for the first year or two.

“Gee, I’m touched.”

The platoon made steady progress, cutting down the distance when the second shuttle came screaming in for a landing behind them. The Wessex’s assault shuttles were a new, improved model, and this one’s landing was more of a collision with the planet’s surface.

No wonder we hit so hard.

But within seconds, troopers were egressing and rushing into a hasty perimeter around the shuttle. With two platoons down, the tempo was supposed to pick up. If everything went smoothly, the entire battalion would be on the ground within fifty more minutes.

Of course, things never went as smoothly as planned, but so far, so good.

Up ahead of him, First Squad was just reaching the crest of the high ground when the sound of a single shot echoed off the rocks, the sound tinny in the thin atmosphere. Specialist Third Yolla went down, her icon immediately switching to red on Rev’s display.

Rev broke into a sprint as the troopers took cover. He pounded up the rise, stopping and going prone to the right of the lieutenant just short of the crest. He linked into the platoon commander’s P2P, who was connected with Hussein.

“. . . an exact direction,” the squad leader was saying. “But the higher ground is just over three klicks away.”

“Could the sniper have been closer in, down in the lower ground?” the lieutenant asked.

“No, ma’am. I don’t think so. Yolla had barely reached the top when she was hit.”

“Three klicks? That’s a helluva shot with that kind of accuracy.”

Rev frowned. Three klicks was a good shot, but not an amazing one. Most snipers could make that shot, and certainly the Naxli, with their meter-and-a-half sniper rifles, had proven that distance was within their capabilities. Why didn’t the platoon commander know that?

He looked to where Yolla had fallen. Doc LeRon, the Legionnaire who’d replaced Doc Gintly, who’d been WIA on Orange, was working on her, but with the way her helmet was demolished, he didn’t hold out much hope for a resurrection. Looking at where she fell, Rev thought that Hussein was right. The shot had to have come from the far high ground.

He pulled up the First Squad net, excluded Hussein, then asked, “Did anyone see anything? Any ideas on where the nox sniper is?”

“Maybe, Gunny,” Caporal Chef Archambault said. “I’m looking at my feed, and I think I see something.”

“Can you send it to me?”

“Roger.”

A moment later, a snippet from the Legionnaire’s feed arrived, and Rev bifurcated his display, the right side showing real-time vision, the left the snippet. Archambault had thought to tag the position with a red arrow.

Rev watched it carefully, and he wasn’t sure he could see something, but it was possible. Punch gave it a thirty-five percent probability that was the sniper’s position.

In the Marine Corps, snipers were taught to fire and displace, but even if the Naxli snipers did the same, at least this gave Rev a starting point.

Rev switched back to the platoon commander on the P2P.

“Sorry to break in, ma’am, but I think we might have a location,” he said, cutting off whatever the lieutenant was saying.

“What? How? You were back with Fourth Squad.”

“I got the feed from Archambault,” he said, not wanting to rub it in that maybe the lieutenant should have asked the squad instead of focusing on Hussein, but . . . “Sending.”

The lieutenant took a moment to study the feed, then she said, “Maybe. But we can’t be sure. I’m thinking of sending over a few Dragonflies to see what they can pick up.”

“With all due respect, ma’am, I’m not sure we can spend the time for that. We’ve got shuttles stacking up as they bring in the battalion.”

There was a moment of silence, then, “Do you think they can bring down a shuttle? The LZ’s in defilade if that’s really the sniper’s position.”

“The LZ’s in defilade. The approach isn’t.”

“But that has to be five klicks.”

“That’s a large caliber bullet, ma’am. And a shuttle’s a big target. It only takes a seeing-eye shot, and that could do a world of hurt.”

For all he knew, their shuttle had taken a shot or two on the approach. They’d made it to the LZ safely and the shuttle had taken off OK, but there was no use in taking chances. And the platoon was not performing their mission while huddling behind the crest.

Rev saw Hussein getting cut off of the three-way connection. “What do you suggest, Gunny?”

<At least she’s willing to ask.>

“Can we call up that fighter that overflew us? That sure had a big punch.”

“I don’t think so. We didn’t even know there would be alien air assets. I wouldn’t have a clue as how to contact it, especially with the battalion still landing. Any other ideas?”

“Well, one. We’ve got a lot of firepower, ma’am. Get Fourth up here, our IBHUs, and our snipers. Let the heavy weapons suppress the bastard while our snipers lie in wait. When the nox sticks its head back up, bam.”

“That sounds like a lot of overkill,” the platoon commander said, but without conviction.

“Better overkill than under.”

The lieutenant took a deep breath, then said, “OK, let’s do it.”

Rev started to give the orders, but the lieutenant took over, bringing up Fourth Squad with their heavier weapons, four of the IBHUs, and all three snipers. She gave a quick FRAG, and the troopers started getting into position.

Another shuttle came in on its approach. Rev turned to watch it. At the distance, speed, and field of fire to the sniper, he had to admit that it would be a difficult firing solution, but not an impossible one. And the bullet, which was big enough to penetrate a PAL, was not particularly large when the target was a Navy shuttle. Maybe Rev was being overly cautious, but a smart Marine never took chances that he didn’t have to.

The lieutenant gave them a one-minute countdown. Rev took that opportunity to bring up the three snipers on the P2P.

“The feed we have might indicate the nox position, but it might not. Don’t get tunnel vision.”

Then it was time. The lieutenant gave the countdown, and at zero, five IBHUs, including Rev, the three Hellborer teams, and the three Jackhammer teams opened fire. At the same time, the three snipers edged forward while covered with their tarnkappes, the high-tech, light-bending camouflaged tarps that made them virtually invisible.

Three klicks away, the rocks erupted into pulverized dust as the heavy weapons chewed them up.

“Cease fire, cease fire!” the lieutenant ordered after fifteen seconds, and the troopers ducked back down into defilade.

Rev turned on his side to look at Corporal Weld, Second Squad’s designated sniper. Not that he could really pick him out. The tarnkappe was designed to bend light from the front, but active camo made him difficult to see even from the side. He thought he could walk right past the Marine and never see him.

But there was nothing but silence. None of the snipers fired, and Rev started to think his plan was a bust.

The P2P indicator flicked on, and Rev waited for the lieutenant to start speaking when behind him, a single shot rang out. Rev turned over to where Sniper 1 Günther was positioned.

“Got the gaunt,” a voice came out from under the tarnkappe. “Head shot.”

Rev snorted. The lieutenant thought three klicks was too long a shot, but it was her fellow Ranger that got it done.

“Günther, are you sure?” the lieutenant asked.

“Unless the gaunts can survive with half their head gone, I’m sure, ma’am.”

“Damn. Great. Mission accomplished.” The lieutenant turned to face the bulk of the platoon, ready to give the order to get up.

There was the whisper of a hypervelocity rifle, and Rev flipped back to Weld.

“I think I got the a-gunner.”

“You think?” the lieutenant asked. “I want certainty.”

“I can’t give that to you, ma’am,” the Marine said. “When Ewe got the sniper, another nox started retreating. I took the shot, and I think I got it, but I can’t be sure.”

The lieutenant started to press Weld, so Rev stepped in. “Ma’am, either way, I think the threat’s neutralized, and we can get into position. Shuttles are still arriving.”

The platoon commander started to scowl, but evidently, she realized what their mission was. They’d have a chance to kill Naxli, but right now, they were the battalion security along the most probable axis of advance. That was their mission.

She gave the order, and the platoon shifted away from the dead sniper and toward the bigger threat.

Rev just wished he knew how big that threat really was and where they were.

3

“When are we going to kick off?” Rev asked Captain Aristotle Bundy, one of his oldest friends in the Corps. “The longer we wait, the more time they have for reinforcements.”

The Marines’ SOP relied on quick, decisive, and forceful action. They had the element of surprise, but the more time they gave the Naxli to prepare their defenses, the harder it was going to be to dig them out. The battalion had been on the planet for eleven hours now, and they knew where the Naxli position was. Rev couldn’t see any reason to delay.

“The word is that there’ll be no reinforcements. Those noxes over there are all there’s gonna be.”

“Like we’ve never heard that before,” Rev said.

“I think it might be the case this time. The rest of this planet has been scoured. This area here is about the only relatively untouched section.”

Rev scrunched his eyebrows together as he let that sink in. “The only section? On the entire planet? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Evidently, this planet was the site of a major battle. We’re doing the cleanup operation.”

“That’s just too friggin convenient, Bundy. There’re these nox survivors from some big battle, and while we just happen to be passing through on our way to Clickerland, they decide we’ve got to divert and finish the job here? I’m calling BS.”

Bundy shrugged but didn’t say anything.

“They’re testing us. The clickers. They left a unit of noxes alive, keeping them in their back pockets for just such an occasion. Now they want to see what we can do firsthand.”

“You said it, not me.”

Rev gave Bundy a piercing stare. Evidently, Rev wasn’t the only person to come to that conclusion.

“But why the Kanters? They already know . . . oh. That’s part of the test. To see how we work with another race.”

Bundy nodded. “It would seem that way.”

“This is still BS. They know we can defeat the noxes. They saw it on Orange when we saved their round asses. So, now we’ve got some sort of entrance test to see if we’re good enough?”

“It is what it is. And the CoH’s going along with it.”

Rev didn’t like having to justify their fighting abilities, but he was so far down the food chain that what he thought didn’t matter. The battalion—the entire brigade—was much more than a simple fighting force. Along with a diplomatic team being dispatched, they were the first point of contact with races that humanity didn’t even know existed six months ago.

He wasn’t stupid. He understood that the symbolism of their overall mission was more important than any single battle. But Rev was a platoon sergeant, not a high-ranking diplomat. His job was to get as many of his troopers as possible back home again, so for him, tactics took center stage. And sitting on their asses while six or seven hundred Naxli continued to prepare for them was a sure way to get troopers killed.

“How’s San Denis doing?” Bundy asked, changing the subject.

Something in his voice caught Rev’s attention. He knew his friend chafed at being in the battalion S-3A—not even the operations officer, but the assistant. He’d be a major in another year or so and too senior for a company command. Time was running out for him. But with the new battalion only recently standing up, all of the company commanders were just starting their tours.

Bundy wanted one more shot with a company. Unless one of the commanders screwed up—or was killed—though, he wasn’t going anywhere.

Rev wasn’t going to say it, but Bundy should be in the Three. He’d been a good commander, but he excelled at developing operational plans. That’s where he was the most valuable, and Lieutenant Colonel Suk knew that.

“San Denis? Hard to tell. This’ll be our first hot mission.”

Bundy started to reply when he stopped, and Rev could see the reflection of a call sign on the inside of his face shield.

“Well, that’s that. Our visitors are leaving,” he said.

The “visitors” were a Uauii—the real name of the clickers—and two Kanters. The CO had cleared the CP of everyone but the principal staff, which was why Bundy was outside, wasting time and talking with Rev. With them leaving, maybe the S-3 could come up with their ops order.

Bundy raised his XL-12 ration tube to the nozzle on his helmet and squeezed the last bit of sludge out, sucking the side nipple dry.

Rev shook his head. His friend had to be the only person he knew who actually liked the high-energy combat rations.

Ever conscious of regulations, his friend slipped the empty tube into one of his thigh pockets. Even here, far outside the reaches of humanity and on a desolate world, he wasn’t going to litter.

“The Green Bees would be proud of you,” Rev said.

“Nice and neat. That’s what my momma taught me.” He turned to leave and said, “Back to the grind, now that the aliens are gone.”

“Try to come up with an ops order that doesn’t get us killed, OK?”

“That’s the plan, Rev. That’s the plan.”

Rev watched his friend head back to the CP. He trusted him and Majoor De Groot, the S-3. He just wasn’t used to making a planet landing without an operations order already in hand. He’d feel much better when he knew what they’d be doing.

His P2P lit up with Lieutenant Marble on the other side. Rev had played hooky long enough, using finding Bundy and getting some scoop as an excuse.

“On my way, ma’am,” Rev said as he headed back to the platoon position.

4

“Is that them?” Hussein asked over the P2P.

“Must be,” Rev answered as he looked through his Optisight. “Not quite what I expected.”

“They look like rats.”

Rev wouldn’t call them rats, but the description wasn’t terribly off. None of the humans had seen the Kanters before, not even an image. So, despite the normal pre-battle jitters, Rev was intensely curious about their allies in the fight.

His first impression of the aliens wasn’t their appearance so much as the fact that there were a lot of them.

A lot.

He couldn’t tell as they moved like a living carpet covering the ground, but there had to be thousands of them. And that was just on this flank of the objective.

About a meter high, they alternated between rising and advancing upright on two legs for a few steps before and dropping down to move forward on four legs, with smaller, spindly arms in the middle that held what looked like human handguns. Arching over their backs was a tail of sorts, or maybe a tentacle. When on four legs, they moved more like ferrets or weasels, not like rats.

“What the hell? They don’t have armor,” Hussein said.

Which wasn’t quite true. What looked like applied armor was common throughout the mass of Kanters, but it was haphazard: a helmet on this one, greaves on that one, an armored breastplate on another. It looked like the Kanter army was given access to a limited warehouse of medieval armor, and the soldiers had grabbed what they could like a scrum of Christmas shoppers at Balgray’s Department Store when they ran a Blue Star special.

“They don’t even have full helmets,” Rev said. “Either they’ve got air tanks we can’t see, or they can breathe the shit they call an atmosphere here.”

“Breathing or not, they’re gonna get slaughtered,” Hussein said. “The noxes are gonna eat them alive.”

“Don’t be too sure about that, Hus-man. They’ve been fighting the noxes a lot longer than we have, and we don’t know their capabilities.”

“No armor to speak of. No heavy weapons, at least that I can see. Mark my words, Gunny.”

Rev wanted to protest, but his misgivings were rising. Common sense told him that Hussein was right. And that had him worried.

The Kanters’ mission was to fix the Naxli defense in place, so if they were mowed down, they could still succeed in their objective. But despite just now seeing them for the first time, they were brothers in arms at the moment, and Rev paled at the potential loss of life.

“One-six, we’ve got the Kanters in sight,” Rev passed to the platoon commander.

“Roger that. We’ve got them, too.”

“They don’t, uh . . . I don’t see any sign of heavy weapons. They look like light infantry. Real light.”

“There’s nothing I can see from our pos, either. But all they have to do is fix the gaunts in place. We’ll do the rest.”

Rev had just told Hussein the same thing, but it still felt wrong. In another few minutes, the leading edge of the Kanters would emerge from the fault in the ground and come within direct fire range of the Naxli position, and Rev knew how effective the Naxli crew served weapons could be. And with the Kanters packed so closely, any indirect fire would wipe out scores of them.

A far-off whump reached Rev. The battalion’s heavy mortars had finally opened up, giving the main Kanter force some cover. Thirty seconds later, the first of the rounds landed on the Naxli position, out of Rev’s sight. By the time the second volley landed, the Naxli opened up with their weapons.

On this side of the objective, Rev couldn’t see what was happening, but if those Kanters were advancing in the same manner as those below him, the carnage had to be devastating.

Alpha Company was not the point of main effort for the battalion. The company was acting as both a reaction force to reinforce success of the other three companies and as a blocking force should the Naxli attempt to withdraw. First Platoon was the farthest removed from the main body, and Rev and First Squad were at the very end of the human line.

The sounds of fighting increased, but the thin air was affecting how his ears perceived the reports from the various weapons.

“Has the rest of the battalion engaged yet?” he asked his battle buddy, who could analyze the sounds and match them to known weapons.

<Other than the mortars, all of the firing is coming from the Naxli.>

“What about the Kanters?”

<Unless they’re firing Naxli weapons as well, they’re not returning fire.>

Rev had to force his mind from what was happening on the other side. He couldn’t do anything to impact that. What he could do was to be ready for a Naxli breakout.

But he couldn’t quite ignore the Kanters below him. They were streaming up the fault, just about ready to clear the high ground where Rev and First Squad were occupying and be exposed to the Naxli defenders.

Rev hadn’t spotted any of the enemy, yet, but he knew they were there. He could feel it in his bones.

These last surviving Naxli had been left alone for too long, and they hadn’t given up. They’d prepared their position the best they could, digging in and camouflaging. They were there, and in a few moments, the Kanters would force the Naxli to reveal their positions.

And that time was now. As the leading Kanters emerged from the end of the fault, the Naxli opened up with a beamer that crackled as gigajoules ionized the thin atmosphere. Rev watched in horror as the entire front of the Kanter push was cut down. At least fifty of them were killed, their bodies torn apart by the big gun that seemed to be firing out of solid rock.

But instead of taking cover, the mass kept coming into the teeth of the Naxli fire. Kanters were having to struggle over the bodies of their comrades, but still, they advanced. And still, they died.

“Shit, Rev. I didn’t think it would be this bad,” Hussein passed, his voice a whisper.

“Neither did I.”

He switched to the lieutenant. “One-six, the Kanters are assaulting, but they can’t push forward. The nox beamer is tearing them up.”

“The same thing’s happening on the other side with the main assault. Battalion’s pushing up their schedule.”

“What about us here?” Rev asked, hoping for the go-ahead.

He wasn’t going to get it.

“We’re still the reaction force.”

More Kanters kept advancing into the teeth of the beam. Shrill screams reached Rev as the Kanters burned . . . only, they weren’t screams of fear, he realized. They were screams of warriors shouting threats to the defenders. Rev didn’t need a translator to understand that.

“They’re like lemmings, rushing over the cliff,” Hussein said. “What are we going to do?”

“The lieutenant said . . .”

But just what had she said? She’d said that the platoon was still the reaction force.

So react, Reverent!

“Screw it!”

He was not going to let their allies die like this. Rev rose, swung Pashu around, and fired a Moray. The missile flew across the gap and slammed into the beamer with spectacular results. Two explosions—the Moray’s warhead and then a much larger one as what had to be the beamer’s power supply—erupted from the hillside.

The shrill screams below Rev increased in volume and urgency as the mass of Kanters rushed forward like a furry tsunami.

“What the hell was that?” the lieutenant asked over the net.

“Accidental discharge,” Rev said, biting his tongue. He knew he’d have to come clean with his platoon commander, but not now.

More Naxli opened up with both projectile weapons and another beamer that sliced into advancing Kanters before Sergeant Tsao silenced it with one of her Morays.

But by engaging, the squad had revealed its position, and some of the Naxli had shifted to take the squad under fire, and rounds were impacting around them.

“We’re taking fire,” Rev told the lieutenant. “Can we get a mortar mission, Apple-six . . . no, wait one.”

He’d been about to request mortars on the Naxli positions, but amazingly, with the initial pressure off of them, the Kanters were already swarming the slope. If he called the mortars, it would rain on their heads.

“Scratch the mortars. The Kanters have already breached the Naxli lines,” he told the lieutenant.

“That’s not supposed to happen. They were supposed to fix them in place.”

“Well, chew their asses for that later.”

“What am I supposed to do now?” the lieutenant muttered, still on the net with Rev.

He knew the question wasn’t directed at him, but he chose to answer it anyway. “We’re the reaction force, ready to reinforce success. The Kanters have succeeded in breaching the enemy defense, so reinforce them!”

He didn’t wait to be shut down. He cut the connection, switched to the squad net, and screamed, “On me! Get up and charge their asses!”

With the Kanters swarming the first few positions, the Naxli had other things to worry about, so the incoming had dropped off as Rev pelted down the slope, trusting his hyper-augmented legs and joints to keep him upright. He slowed down as he reached the bottom and the seemingly never-ending supply of Kanters, afraid he’d crush them under his PAL’s feet, but the alien soldiers seemed to anticipate each step, twisting their bodies just enough to avoid the footfalls as they surged forward.

Rev searched for a target as he started climbing. Around him, Hussein had his squad on line as they advanced.

“What the hell are you doing, Gunny? I’ve got you on the move,” the platoon commander asked.

“Roger that, ma’am. Like I said, we’re reinforcing success.”

“That wasn’t our mission. What the hell do I tell the captain?”

“Just what I told you, ma’am. Tell him that. And since we’re committed, you might want to join us.”

<This isn’t how it’s supposed to work. You’re not the platoon commander.>

“I wasn’t going to let the Kanters get wiped out.”

<I understand the sentiment. But you’re going to have to answer for this, so you need to prepare yourself.>

“It will be easier to answer if we win this battle.”

And then Rev was at the destroyed beamer position. The missile had taken out a rock face, and the powerplant going up had scorched the interior of the carved-out bunker. With the mass of Kanters swarming the area, he couldn’t see much of the floor to tell how many dead Naxli might be there.

Hussein brought him up on the P2P. “What now?”

“Standard clearing. We’ve done this enough times. Let the Kanters lead us, and we’ll mop up.”

Rev took his own advice and let himself be swept along with the flood of furry soldiers. A Naxli bolted from a position, weapon firing wildly. Rev drew down on it, but a dozen bright lines converged on it first, the beams passing right through the thing’s armor. It collapsed, to be swarmed over with Kanters.

That impressed Rev. While a close-range shot with his 20 mm might get a through-and-through on a Naxli, his beamer probably wouldn’t, not with their armor. The small Kanter handgun was evidently more powerful than he’d imagined.

As they advanced and reached the top of the position, they attracted more and more fire. Rev could be mistaken, but he could almost taste a note of panic among the defenders, something he’d never experienced before.

The Naxli weren’t rolling over, though. Hundreds of Kanters were being mowed down by any number of small arms. For the first time, Rev saw the Naxli using high-volume hypervelocity flechettes, which weren’t much of a threat to troopers in PALs, but they were deadly to the Kanters.

But the humans weren’t invulnerable. Lance Corporal Jones, from Second Squad was killed, and Tech Second Oriel with First was down with a damaged leg.

An automated cylinder gun popped up and started a sweep, but Rev’s finely tuned reflexes kicked in, and before the gun had traversed more than ten degrees, he blasted it with his twenty, breaking the gun barrel free. The turret kept rotating impotently as its programming continued to target the assaulting forces.

The lieutenant took over upon reaching the Naxli position. She might have been taken by surprise, but once the platoon was committed, she was fully vested. She quickly organized the platoon and started a more methodological clearing operation. The Kanters might be a disorganized mob, for all Rev knew, but the human troopers reverted to their training.

Down below the position and on the other side, Lieutenant Colonel Suk adjusted. Alpha Company hadn’t been the assault force, nor were the Kanters supposed to be, for that matter. But both the Kanters and Alpha were within the Naxli defenses, so missions shifted. Alpha became the point of main effort, while Bravo shifted to support and Charlie and Delta started another assault on the far side of the position, which relieved pressure on Alpha.

All the while, more and more Kanters swarmed the top of the high ground, frantically searching out Naxli among the rocks and crevices, their shrill whistles filling the air.

Rev stayed with First Squad. Hussein was leading the squad, giving orders, but Pashu was too powerful a weapon to be left out of the fight. Besides, Rev’s warrior self had his blood pounding, and he needed the release of seeing the enemy fall before him.

He knew that was the wrong attitude. He was a gunnery sergeant, not a lance corporal rifleman. But he had fighting in his DNA, and sometimes, the call of the trumpet was too strong to ignore.

That and his virulent hate for the Naxli and everything they stood for.

And sometimes, being wrong was being right. Rev thought he saw movement ahead and in amongst a jumble of rust-streaked boulders. He shifted to the right to get a better angle on the spot just at the moment a rock face disappeared as a hidden BFG opened up, the large rounds blasting through the position Rev had just occupied.

The barrel started to chase Rev, who tried to twist around before being knocked over by a concussion. It took a lot to throw a 350-kg IBHU Marine in a PAL-HX, but Rev hit hard, then somersaulted over before slamming into a boulder. Pashu was jammed beneath him, and he struggled to free her before the BFG could acquire him.

He rolled to get his feet under him and brought up his IBHU, but to his amazement, a dozen or more Kanters were climbing up the big weapon, thrusting their handguns almost like Roman gladii. Sparks flew as the beams attacked the BFG’s surface.

Rev darted to his left to try and get a clear shot at the weapon without hitting the Kanter soldiers, but the big Naxli gun stopped moving, the barrel sinking to point at the ground. The Kanters jumped off and joined their brethren in seeking out more of the enemy.

“Did I just see what I saw?”

<The Kanters taking out a BFG with handguns? Yes, that’s what you evidently just saw.>

Even Punch sounded surprised.

From a visual aspect, the gun was still in good shape. It looked out of commission, but Rev wanted to make sure. He fired a burst of seven twenty-millimeter rounds, and pieces of BFG went flying.

“That’s better,” he muttered before he looked around.

There looked to be more of the Kanters running around than he’d initially spotted, and they were overrunning the high ground. Rev didn’t have full visibility over the area, but Naxli resistance looked to be coming from pockets.

“You’re a little exposed, Rev,” Hussein passed.

Rev spun around. His friend was thirty meters behind as his squad was clearing a line of trenches.

“Crap!”

He’d let his warrior self get the better of him and send him off chasing the Kanters. That was a good way to get himself killed.

He raised Pashu in acknowledgment and stopped, giving the squad cover and letting them advance to him. Twice he engaged Naxli in support of the squad, but his main focus was to keep the four squads coordinated as they patiently provided cover for each other as they cleared the ground.

Strap Gantz and Fourth Squad were proving their worth. Their heavy weapons teams smashed Naxli defenses, letting the other three squads get to the nitty gritty of digging out the enemy.

Not that there seemed to be many left. With supposedly seven hundred of them, their defense was relatively light.

“Either the intel they fed us was wrong, or the Kanters have killed more of them than I would have guessed,” Rev subvocalized.

<Or it could be some of both.>

The furry aliens finally started to slow down. A dozen times, one or two scurried up to Rev, popped up on their hind legs, and gave him a quick look as if asking what was taking them so long.

The sounds of fighting died down, and there were only sporadic outbursts. Finally, even that ended. As if turned off by a switch, the Kanters’ frenetic aggression quit. But the humans did not. Alpha, Charlie, and Delta linked up, and with the CO leading, conducted a thorough clearing operation, going into every fighting position and tunnel. Over six hundred Naxli bodies were tallied before the colonel declared the position secure.

From a human perspective, this might have been the most lopsided victory in the war so far. More than six hundred Naxli dead to seven human KIA.

But that wasn’t the entire story. Kanter deaths were in the thousands, maybe tens of thousands.

The battle was a victory, but it sure didn’t seem so to Rev.

5

“We kicked their Mother-loving asses,” Randigold said before letting out a huge burp that resonated so loudly that several of the lemmings, as the troopers had started to call the Kanters, rose on their hind legs to give her a long look while whistling either at her or at each other.

With the battle over, the lemmings seemed curious about their human allies, and there was a steady presence of them around the troopers. Most of the humans didn’t know how to handle that, but the word from above was just to ignore them.

“We wouldn’t have gotten off so easy if the lemmings hadn’t taken the brunt of the noxes’ attention,” Rev said quietly, watching as two of their allies seemed inordinately interested in a discarded powerpack.

“You don’t give us enough credit, Gunny. We were fucking awesome!” Randigold said. “The lemmings did their job, but we were the deciding factor.”

If the lemmings disagreed with that, they didn’t show it. The aliens had tiny translators attached to one of their small-arm wrists, and they seemed to understand what the humans said when something was directed at one of them. But going the other way, the translators ignored most of their whistles, only rendering a few sounds into Standard.

When Rev asked Punch about it, his battle buddy said he thought that the lemmings didn’t often speak as humans thought of it, but rather did their whistling equivalent of sighing, grunting, and even laughing. They were showing emotion rather than conveying specific thoughts, so the translators ignored those.

“Hey Gunny,” Lvarn said, looking past Rev’s shoulder. “Heads up.”

Rev turned around. Lieutenant Marble was making her way to them.

He stood, walked over to meet his platoon commander, and tossed her a sludge tube.

The lieutenant caught it, frowned, and slid the tube into her thigh holster. “You jarheads can’t do sustenance for shit, Gunny. You know that, right?”

“You’ve told me it enough, ma’am.”

The lieutenant was a Ranger hyper-augment, and she could gain sustenance directly from sunlight and over a wide range of star colors. But inside a PAL combat suit, her skin was not exposed, so she was stuck with Perseus Union combat rations.

It wasn’t just the rations. The lieutenant found a lot of fault in the Marine way of doing things. Rev had learned to let most of it slide off his back, but it could get tiring at times.

Not to disrespect the Rangers, who were quite capable for the most part, but it wasn’t going to be them who saved humanity. That was going to rely on the strength of the Union, the Hégémonie , the Rigel Cluster, and even the Manifest Destiny Sphere, as much as Rev hated to admit that last one.

But that was neither here nor there.

“What’s the word, ma’am? We getting off this planet?”

“Not yet, Gunny. We can’t abandon the Kanters, and they’re not through. They’ve got a lot of dead to clean up.” She looked around, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “I heard they eat them.”

“They what? Eat who?” Rev asked.

“The Kanters. They eat their dead,” she said with unabashed glee.

Rev didn’t share that emotion. He recoiled. “Are you sure, ma’am?”

“Intel isn’t sure, but it looks that way. I tell you, these are some strange-ass critters.”

They’re not critters,” Rev thought, but he was repulsed by what the platoon commander had just said.

“I mean, look at them. They breathe O2 just like us, and what do we have on this planet? Less than two percent? Intel thinks they can breathe methane in a pinch.”

“Punch?”

<It’s theoretically possible. We really know nothing about them.>

“Majoor De Groot wants us to grab a few of their bodies to send back, but the CO put the kibosh on that. He said we don’t want to risk an incident.”

Yeah, good idea. We don’t want them deciding that we’re the enemy.

With their weapons, particularly the various forms of beamers, Rev thought the battalion could hold off the lemmings if it came to that, but he didn’t want to test it. Not just for the risk, but cannibals or not, he’d developed a healthy degree of respect for the diminutive allies.

<You do know that there have been many human civilizations that consumed their dead, right?> Punch asked as if he’d been reading Rev’s thoughts. <Sometimes, it was to gain the strength of the enemy, but with other cultures, it was a sign of respect or to free their spirits.>

“You’re just a font of pleasant knowledge, aren’t you?”

<Of course, that caused kuru among the Fore peoples back on Earth who practiced the rites, so it might not have been the best tradition known to humanity.>

“Ya think?” Rev said.

He knew he was projecting. He couldn’t help it, though. The lieutenant might be fascinated, but he didn’t want to think about it.

Angry shouting broke out, and Rev spun around toward the platoon. Caporal Chef Archambault was shouting in French as he chased one of the lemmings. The lemming was clutching something in its left small-arm as it bounded up and over troopers who were trying to scramble out of its way. Nye Torking shouted and fell over backward as the little fighter jumped off the big karnan’s chest, using it as a springboard to jump to the top of a rock where it stopped, whistled, and disappeared over the side just as Archambault lunged for it.

“Caporal Chef!” the lieutenant shouted. “What the hell are you doing?”

Archambault turned around, his face red with anger. “That little fucker stole my opinal! I just put it down beside me for a moment, and it snatched it!”

He spit as he shouted, and it rolled down the front of his face shield.

Most of the Legionnaires carried an opinal, which was a traditional military blade that went back to Mother Earth. From his vantage, Rev could now see the lemming, surrounded by four more of his buddies, examining the blade. A couple of the others tried to take it from him, but this one was having none of that. He’d snatched it, and it was his prize. After a moment, the little guy held it aloft for a moment, then darted out of sight.

Archambault was ranting about what he was going to do to the lemming while the lieutenant tried to calm him down. More lemmings were showing up, probably looking to see what goodies they could grab.

And Rev just started laughing.

It should have been obvious. They were traveling halfway across the galaxy to join an alliance of aliens that humanity didn’t even know existed. Of course, things were going to be different.

But it took a thieving, cannibalistic, six-limbed rat for it to hit Rev just how different.

* * *

They stayed on the planet for another five days while a Uauii ship conducted a grid search of the area with some sort of penetrating beam to locate any remaining Naxli. Rev wasn’t too comfortable with that idea. Like all augmented Marines, and even more so as a hyper-augment, Rev was afraid of the rot. He knew it wasn’t a matter of if but when he’d contract the disease. And despite the assurances of the command that they were harmless, he had to think that if these alien search beams could penetrate meters into solid rock, they could be wreaking havoc inside his body.

But no Naxli were located. It seemed that if the alien command had kept this little enclave of Naxli in their back pocket, that resource was gone now. This nameless planet was now just one more scoured, lifeless rock.

Officially nameless, that is. The CoH undoubtedly had given it a number, but for the troopers who fought here, a number wasn’t going to make it. Within two days, the name “Lemmingville” was in common usage.

A Lemmingville that would soon have no lemmings.

“How the hell are they going to fit inside that thing?” Tomiko asked as she and Rev perched on the high ground, watching the mass of their allies crowd up the ramp to the sphere down below them.

“Pack them in tight, I guess,” Rev said. “Like sardines.”

Tomiko gave him one of her sidelong glances. “Have you ever eaten a real sardine, like in a can, even once in your life?”

“It’s an old saying,” Rev said. “I can’t help it if time has passed it by.”

Tomiko leaned over and gave him a bump with her shoulder. “You’re an old soul, Rev.”

Rev didn’t respond. He didn’t think he was an old soul. But with his growing interest in history, and with Punch continually chiming in with pertinent bits of trivia concerning whatever subject Rev was researching, it was hard not to pick up little-known facts and phrases from the past.

Punch hadn’t completely abandoned the bad jokes he was so fond of, but he’d replaced some of them with historical trivia. That was generally a good thing, but Rev would barely admit it to himself, and would never admit it to Punch, that maybe he missed some of the corny jokes.

“Hey, did I tell you? I found out about the lemming stew,” Tomiko said.

Rev rolled his eyes. Ever since his fiancée found out that he was so bothered by the rumors of cannibalism, she’d been coming up with references to lemming stew, fricasseed lemming, lemming tartare, and so on.

“What?” he asked. “I can tell you’re enjoying this, so give it to me.”

“They’re recycling the bodies. They’ve got these conversion ovens.”

Rev frowned at her word choice. “Ovens” carried too much visual and mental baggage.

“They shove a dead lemming in one side, and out the other comes some sort of pellets that they pack up in containers.”

“That’s not so bad,” Rev subvocalized.

<More aligned with human cremation.>

“So, they take these pellets back to their home planet?” Rev asked hopefully.

Tomiko laughed and gave him a hard shove to his shoulder. “For a certified killing machine, you’re such a wimp. We don’t know for sure where they’re going, but the alien shrinks found out they recycle the bodies, like I said. Fertilizer for growing. Food for eating.”

Rev groaned. He watched the Kanters crowd up the ramp into their ship. A few of the “alien shrinks” were at the edge of the ramp, watching the loadout from close range. These were some of the most noted xenobiologists of humanity. They’d been drafted into their national militaries as officers and assigned to the brigade.

The CoH command was not going to rely on a bunch of grunts to figure out humanity’s place in the new galaxy.

“So, it isn’t like they’re tearing into their buddies’ bloody bodies. And that means they’re not going to get your kooky thing if the body’s processed, right?”

“Kuru, not kooky.”

He’d passed on to the others what Punch had told him about kuru when they’d discussed the rumor.

“Whatever. They’re not gonna get sick.” Then, in a more serious tone, Tomiko said, “I was talking to one of the shrinks. She said they think the lemmings breed like rabbits.” She stopped for a second. “Hey, I said a funny. Lemmings breeding like rabbits.”

Rev just grunted.

“Anyhoo, they probably breed, like all the time. Almost like real lemmings back on the Mother. So, with trillions of them, resources could be scarce. Nothing can be wasted.”

<That makes logical sense.>

Rev knew that, but it still bothered him. And the fact that it bothered him was upsetting in its own right. He admired the Kanters, so what did it matter how they treated their dead?

The two fell into silence as they watched the boarding down below them. It took another twenty minutes, but finally, the last of the Kanters entered the ship. Despite what Rev had said earlier, he was surprised that they all made it aboard. They had to be jam-packed inside.

The ramp didn’t retract as much as fold up along the side of the ship, then sink partially into the skin. The xenobiologists cleared the area, and the ship slowly rose from the ground until it picked up speed and disappeared from sight.

“I guess it’s just us humans now,” Tomiko said. “For a couple more hours, at least.”

They turned and headed back to the company area. Who knew what trouble their troopers had gotten into while they’d been watching the Kanters leave.

Just before they reached the company, Tomiko turned to Rev and asked, “If I die before you, will you eat me?”

“That’s gross, Miko. Don’t even joke about that.”

“Gross? I like it when you eat me now while I’m still alive.”

“MIKO!”

6

The Wessex’s shuttle landed with a soft bump.

“Welcome to the rest of the galaxy,” Yancey said.

The shuttle only had one window, and the lieutenant had positioned herself there, so Rev waited for the back ramp to come down so he could get a look at his new home for the next however many months.

Or years.

During workups, and then the fight on Lemmingville, it hadn’t really hit him that he was going to be cut off from humanity. There wasn’t going to be any Hungry Hank’s or McDonald’s, those beacons of humankind. There wasn’t going to be a Leteeka’s where they could unwind and hang out. There wasn’t going to be his family.

The Union had gone all out in an attempt to send humanity with the battalion. They had two high-end fabricators, the kind used in the finest restaurants, and they had enough organic bases to keep the fabricators humming for five years. The troopers had every known entertainment recording. And there were no fewer than eight commercial quantum communicators so the troopers could talk to friends and family back home.

It wasn’t going to be the same, however. The rest of the brigade would deploy, either to this same location or others, and eventually, the plan was for massive deployments of troops from the various militaries, but for the moment, the battalion and a small contact team were the only humans within light-years.

The ramp fully lowered, but the troopers stood fast, waiting for the order to disembark. Rev, from his position in the middle of the cargo bay, craned his head in an attempt to see out, but all he could see was a harsh, yellowish light and ten or fifteen meters of their landing pad. It could be any landing pad throughout human space.

A puff of a breeze filled the cargo bay, a puff that had a slight tinge of thyme or maybe rosemary. Slight, but with a little bite to it. Several troopers rubbed their noses in annoyance.

They’d been assured that the atmosphere was safe for humans, but how much could they really trust the Uauii? Rev knew it was a reach, but could this be some elaborate ploy, choreographed by the Naxli to capture an elite fighting unit?

The wait grew longer, and the troopers were getting restless. Rev took the opportunity to put on his platoon sergeant hat, and he went down the lines of troopers, asking how they were doing, as he made his way to the ramp. But if he hoped he’d see much of anything, he was sorely mistaken. The back of the shuttle faced what looked like blast shields.

Rev made his way back to his seat. He was tempted to bring up Tomiko on the P2P, but orders were for comms silence. There wasn’t a known threat, but until the situation solidified for them, the less passed, the better.

“Did you see anything?” Strap asked as Rev sat down.

“Just the pad and what looks like a blast shield.”

“Blast shield? They still use those?”

“I said it looked like a blast shield. I don’t know if it really was one.”

There were still outposts within human space that still had blast shields that hadn’t been removed, but there hadn’t been a need for them in almost 600 years. Larger ships didn’t land, of course, but shuttles and smaller ships used impulse drives when in proximity to the ground. If the Uauii needed blast shields, then that said something about their level of technology—at least for landing and taking off from a planet’s surface.

Don’t dwell on it, Reverent. Even if they do use them, that doesn’t mean their overall tech is inferior.

Rev settled into his seat and leaned his head back. And in the best traditions of soldiers since the dawn of time, he went to sleep.

* * *

Strap nudged Rev, who was instantly awake. A human in a generic, dark blue set of overalls was stepping up onto the shuttle’s ramp. He made his way around the pallet of the platoon’s seabags and stopped, facing them.

All eyes were on the man who cleared his throat, then shouted, “Marines, I’m Haro Tonsel, and I’ll be your guide for the next few hours.”

“We’re not all jarheads,” Nye Torking protested.

“No, you just wish you were, Mad Dog,” Randigold replied to the laughter of the rest of the platoon.

The guide looked confused, and Rev shouted, “At ease. Let the man talk.”

The man shook his head and cleared his throat again. “Like I said, I’m your guide. I’ll be taking you to your billeting. Please stay close to me at all times. We don’t need anyone wandering off, OK?”

In the first seat and to the man’s side, just out of his field of vision, Til König slowly raised his middle finger. Rev sighed. Waiting for so long had put his troopers in a bad mood, and now it was obvious that they weren’t giving this Tonsel guy any respect.

Rev leaned over to Strap and said, “As soon as we get off this shuttle, grab the other squad leaders and bring them to me. We’re going to have to keep a tight rein on the troops. What we don’t need is some international . . . interspeciesal? Can I say that? Screw it. We don’t need any kind of incident.”

“Got it, Gunny. I’ll get them.”

“OK,” the civilian said. “We’ve got a kind of truck waiting for you. More of a flatbed. So, the first thing we’re going to do is get off this shuttle . . .”

There was a cheer from the troopers.

“ . . . and head on over to it. Once we reach it, please line up so I can scan each of you as you get aboard.” He paused to see if they understood, but as no one replied, he just went on.

“You’ll see that this place is . . . different. You will all be briefed as to what we’ve found out so far, but for the ride, please refrain from making a scene. Keep calm and respectful. We’re not taking your wristcomps, but please, don’t play tourist. Don’t be taking pics or holos, OK?”

There was an undercurrent of chuckles at that. They didn’t need their wristcomps to take pictures. Most of the troopers had some sort of embedded AI, and they could record images of whatever the trooper saw. Even those without a full-fledged AI had basic recording and uplink capabilities. The only way for this guy to keep them from taking holos would be to blindfold them.

“I know you probably have a million questions, but now isn’t the time. Someone will get to those later. So, for now, let’s just get the show on the road. If you could all follow me? And remember, please don’t stray.”

“Yes, daddy. I’ll be good,” Randigold said in a high, child-like voice as she stood and held out her hand for him to take.

The troopers laughed, and their guide just frowned, turned, and stepped off the ramp. For all their lack of respect, the troopers were anxious to get off the shuttle and get their first glimpse of their new home. Everyone stood up and in a semi-orderly fashion, started to debark.

Rev was able to make it a few steps before he had to stop. Those in the front slowed almost to a halt as they stepped onto the landing pad and looked around.

“Keep it moving,” he shouted.

The front of the platoon started moving in fits and starts. Like an accordion, the rest of the troopers made it down the ramp, and finally, Rev stepped off and onto Uauii firma . . . and almost stopped as well as he got his first look at the planet.

Their guide’s choice of “different” to describe the place was an understatement. The landing pad was larger than many Rev had seen, and it was completely surrounded by a blast shield. But it could be on any human planet.

There was no obvious terminal nor control tower, but what set the place apart was what was just inside the blast shield and beyond it.

Inside the shield, a group of about a dozen Uauii were working with some pentagonal containers stacked upon each other like beehive cells. Mixed with the Uauii were three larger creatures straight out of a New Bollywood holovid. Close to three meters tall, they had a plant-like—no, tree-like, Rev decided—vibe, and from the way the arms(?) were waving, he didn’t think that the things were happy.

Not that it seemed to bother the Uauii. They showed no obvious signs of distress.

“Gunny?” Strap said behind him.

“Oh, sorry,” Rev said when he realized that he was blocking the staff sergeant.

But he didn’t stop taking in the scene.

Beyond the blast shield, the city sprawled but without much of a pattern. Small, cubical buildings were haphazardly stacked on top of each other but not aligned in any way Rev could see. One cube might be on top of a single one, but the next cube might be partially on three others. And while a few of the cubes had smooth walls, most had what looked to be spikes extruding from the walls.

“Wow. That’s enough to give me a headache just looking at them,” he subvocalized.

<Which might be the purpose. The Uauii are at war, after all.>

“Could be. Discordant camo.”

“Oh, wow. Airships,” Rappa said, pointing to the right.

Rev turned. There was something floating across the sky in the distance. It looked like a gas bag trailing lines, but with nothing to give it perspective, he couldn’t tell how far away it was, and that meant he couldn’t tell how large it was.

“I think it’s a kite,” Božič-Mizaki said.

A sharp report, almost like a rifle shot, echoed off of the blast shield, causing a platoon’s worth of combat vets to spin around, reaching for non-existent weapons. Fifty meters away, one of the tree-like aliens snapped an arm again, recreating the sound. Alien or not, there was no mistaking its anger. But it didn’t seem to faze the clickers.

“I wonder what that’s all about,” Rev muttered.

<Without much more data than we have now, there’s no way to tell.>

Rev meant the specifics of what made the tree-guy angry, but Punch didn’t seem to be able or willing to recognize the anger. For every time Punch did something that convinced Rev that he was fully sentient, something like this would pop up, and he’d be reminded that when all was said and done, his battle buddy was a creature of his programming.

Walking slowly and gawking, the platoon took several minutes to gaggle over to the “truck.” It looked more like a flat platform of some sort of metal lying on top of five oversized beachballs.

“This is our ride. So, if you could just line up—”

The troopers brushed past the civilian and hopped aboard. With no seats, they sat on the edge, their legs dangling over the sides. Tonsel complained—not that anyone listened—but he accepted the fait accompli and started to walk the perimeter of the platform to scan each trooper.

Strap brought over the other three squad leaders, and Rev gave them his quick and dirty about keeping a tight rein on the troopers. Rev then snagged the civilian by the arm.

“What about our gear?” he asked, pointing back at the shuttle. “Are we going to get it?”

“No. We thought we’d just send it back to your home base. Why take up room?” Tonsel asked with more than a bit of a bite to his voice.

What the . . .

“Of course, your gear will make it to the camp. Later, and with all the pallets together. You just let me do my job, and I’ll let you do yours.”

Ah, so that’s the way it is. Still in a bit of a snit after Eth teased you?

Rev let it slide and walked around, looking for a spot until Lvarn and Ikinikin scooted a little apart and pointed to the spot they had just made. Rev hopped up and sat down.

Tonsel made his way around the truck, and when the civilian got to him, Rev held out his left social arm, which with his long sleeve and a glove covering it, was not obviously a prosthesis. Tonsel tried to scan it. He looked at the readout, frowned, and scanned it again.

“There’s something wrong here—”

“Oh, sorry,” Rev said. “Wait.”

He twisted the arm out of the collar and made a show of smacking it a few times on the edge of the platform like a recalcitrant piece of gear. The platoon broke out into laughter, and the civilian rolled his eyes and shifted his scanner to Rev’s right upper arm.

<Was that appropriate for a platoon sergeant?>

“No. But it was funny, and he deserved it with that bit about our seabags. And since when have you been such a spoilsport?”

But Punch was right. The civilian’s bad mood was immaterial. It was bad enough that Randigold was subverting whatever small amount of authority the civilian had, but as the platoon sergeant, it was far worse when he did something like that.

“OK, I’ll go apologize to him later, mommy.”

<You do that, son.>

So much for me wondering if Punch’s sentient.

It took another minute for Tonsel to confirm that they were all authorized to be there.

Thank the Mother, Rev thought. We’re at such a high risk of someone infiltrating us out here in the far reaches of the galaxy.

The civilian tried to hop up but missed his footing and started to fall back before Tsao reached out and snagged him. He was embarrassed, Rev could see, and he felt a little twinge of guilt for screwing with the man.

He didn’t see Tonsel give any orders, and there weren’t any obvious controls, but the platform lurched into motion, making the troopers reach down to steady themselves. They headed straight to the blast shield, and Rev wondered if the strange balls under the platform would allow them to crawl over the wall. But fifteen meters away, the blast shield split open into a gate.

Rev gave the Uauii and tree-guys one last look as the platform exited the landing pad. They moved into the town proper . . . and were bombarded with sights, sounds, and smells that assaulted their senses.

There were hundreds of the Uauii hustling about in their weird, twisting walk. Among them were a few tree-folks but also four or five other races.

Or pets. How the heck would Rev know what they were?

It was so loud that his combat dampers kicked in, lowering the decibel level to something manageable.

This close, some of the buildings looked like they were perched precariously as if a slight breeze or a tiny nudge would send them tumbling into the street below. With some of the cubes on the bottom level, the spikes changed colors, forming images of clickers, mostly, performing a variety of actions, none that made any sense to Rev.

“Advertising?”

<There’s no way to tell yet.>

Into this chaotic mess, the platform advanced. It looked like they were going to run over the crowd, but it seemed that always at the last second, whoever was in front of the truck spun out of the way.

Almost all of them. One of the tree-folks wasn’t quick enough, and the platform nudged him before coming to a stop. The creature erupted in anger, flailing two of its arms in whip-like cracks before it stalked off and disappeared into the crowd.

“Wow,” Lvarn said in awe.

“What do you think, Gunny?” Ikinikin asked. “I mean, about this place.”

Rev took a moment to look around as the truck started up again.

“I've a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore.”

7

“A kite, BM. Yeah, you sure nailed it,” Ewe Günther said, elbowing the IBHU Marine.

“You didn’t know what it was, either,” Božič-Mizaki said.

Rev leaned forward over their shoulders and hissed, “Keep it down, you two, and pay attention.”

Božič-Mizaki’s “kite” and Rappa’s airship turned out to be a sentient being. A “Sia,” their briefer had called it.

Rev focused on the image being projected above the holo disc. The Sia was large—about nine meters across the gasbag and with tendrils that could extend up to thirty meters or so. As large as they were, however, they only massed somewhere in the neighborhood of ten kilograms.

“We have not had a chance to examine or even meet one of them,” the civilian briefer said, “so these figures are what was given to us by the clickers. Keep in mind that the clickers seem to hold the Sia in high regard, even to the point that they contend the race can cross the void of space just as we see them here, without a spaceship.”

A low rumble rose from the two platoons. Normally, the hard part was to keep troopers awake during a brief. Not this time. Every single one of them was latched onto everything the briefer was saying.

“But we’re taking that with a grain of salt for now. The translators the clickers have given us are still in the learning phase, so that could just be a misunderstanding. And from what Dr. Poiry has said, it is doubtful that the physical makeup of the Sia would allow them to survive in a vacuum. The gas in their bag would expand tremendously, for one thing.

“What we need to take away from that is that the clickers sort of put them on a pedestal and that they are not involved in military operations of any kind.”

“If they aren’t in the fight, then I don’t give a shit about them,” Yancey whispered. “Let’s get to more of the fighters.”

The image was replaced by one of the tree guys. “And this is a Breel. Tough hombres, from what we’ve gathered, and one of the more powerful military forces.”

“That’s more like it,” Yancey said.

“We’ve gotten very little about them from the clickers, but we’ve seen a number of them in the short time we’ve been here, and based on our observations, they may be vegetative.”

That caught Rev’s attention. He’d thought these Breel looked like walking trees, but he’d never considered that they might actually be sentient plants.

“At least we think they can absorb energy from the sun. Whether they are actually plant analogs or not is something we are anxious to find out.”

“They get their energy from the sun? They’re your long-lost cousins, Rappa,” Lvarn said.

The Tau Ceti Ranger replied, “So, they’re more advanced than you dirt eaters,” to general laughter.

Rev was about to step in again and tell them to pay attention, but it looked like a one-and-done, so he let it go.

“It was pretty funny,” he muttered.

<Funny because the Rangers can absorb energy directly from the local sunlight, even if they can’t get all of their energy needs that way, right?>

“You’re learning, Punch.”

Punch had always excelled at pulling jokes out of his data bank, but in his early development, Lvarn’s joke wouldn’t have made as much sense to him. That was both because the Rangers could only supplement their caloric requirement with sunlight and that a human obviously couldn’t be a cousin to some alien sentient bush.

Rev focused back on the brief as the civilian went on with both what was known about the Breel and what the xeno team conjectured. It wasn’t much, and if the humans were going to fight beside them, it would help to know what made them tick.

“We need better intel on these guys,” he told Punch.

<Frankly, it’s impressive that the advance team has gotten this much, seeing as how the Uauii don’t seem to be overly generous with the data.>

“Maybe. But one way or the other, we need to find out.”

Humankind had fought the Centaurs without ever really understanding much about them. And that really hadn’t changed when they became allies in the enemy of my enemy vein. But if humans and their new allies were going to fight together, like they did on Lemmingville, they’d have to understand each other better.

<And that may come from direct contact. We already know more about the Kanters than what the Uauii have told us.>

Rev had to admit that was a good point. The xeno team might be the experts in analyzing their new allies, but everyone who fought on Lemmingville already knew more about the diminutive allies than anyone else.

He’d rather learn as much as he could about the other races before the next fight, not with a learn-as-you-go situation. The problem was that the Uauii were not being too forthcoming.

Rev still didn’t have a firm grasp of the overall situation. From what humanity was told, there were seventeen other races allied in the fight against the Naxli. But they knew of only the Uauii, the Sia, the Kanters, the Breel, and the Niklith, an insectoid race. Rev had seen several more races among the crowd as they left the landing zone, but those weren’t mentioned during the brief. He didn’t know if that was because there was something classified about them that the contact team was withholding from them or if they simply didn’t have any information on the other races.

Rev had to think that the underwater version of the Naxli they’d encountered at the battle for the anti-orbital guns indicated that there was at least one other race in the fight, but no mention was made of them.

What was clear, though, was that with the exception of the Sia, the other five were actively fighting the Naxli. Were there more providing fighting forces? No one on the human side knew yet.

The civilian went on for another fifteen minutes, but he didn’t really give them anything more of consequence. It was becoming obvious that they really didn’t know much about their allies or what was expected of the human forces. They were being kept in a shielded bubble, and Rev could hear the frustration in the man’s voice. He wanted to know all he could about their allies because he needed to be able to work with them. Pulling that information was their briefer’s job, the very reason he’d been sent from human space to the Mother knew where they were now. It had to kill him to stand in front of the gathered troopers and tell them squat.

He finally finished and opened it up for questions. Not answers. The questions were there, but very few answers. After five minutes of “We’re trying to find that out,” and “We don’t know that yet,” it was obvious that the Q & A was an exercise in futility, and Lieutenant Kongi, the Third Platoon commander, ended the brief.

“That wasn’t much,” Yancey said as they stood.

“More than we had before,” Rev answered. “And now, it’s on us to figure out how to work with these other forces.

* * *

“Another day, another case of boredom,” Tomiko said as they waited in line for their chow.

“Just be glad we’re not on sludge,” Kelly said.

“Thank the Mother for small favors.”

The battalion had been on Clickerland for fifteen days now, and they still hadn’t started cross-training with any of the aliens. And as far as Rev knew, there hadn’t been any meetings to work out the details yet.

There was only so much the troopers could do. They’d broken out their weapons and gone through their combat checklist. They’d started the troopers on remote lessons on a variety of subjects, but the troopers weren’t dumb and knew the lessons were just make-work. That led to a decided lack of urgency and a high failure rate.

“Composition for Marines” was one such class. The non-Marines didn’t care about writing Union Marine Corps reports and forms. The Marines felt that reports were what admin Marines did. The first test had a sixteen percent pass rate.

All of that made chow the highlight of the day. The three squares were what everyone looked forward to. Finish breakfast, and the clock was ticking until lunch. At least here the command had come through. The high-end fabricators were as advertised, and they were eating high on the hog. This was the best food Rev had ever eaten as a Marine.

“Lemming alert!” someone behind Rev shouted, and he automatically checked the seal on his pockets before turning around.

Four days before, a lemming had reached inside the pocket of a trooper from Bravo and snatched an MF-30 handgun before running off. Since then, the humans had been even more careful when their furry allies were around.

Three of the little soldiers had entered the chow hall and rose off of their front legs to lean on the edge of one of the tables. Jones held out a forkful of duck à l'orange to them. One of them leaned closer to sniff it, recoiled, and with a whistle, dropped back off the table and scurried out of the chow hall, followed by the other two.

“Not the strongest food review,” Kelly said.

“It would help if we had a real base where we could keep them out,” Tomiko said.

“Amen to that,” Rev said.

The battalion wasn’t even on a military base as humans considered it. They were smack dab in the middle of the city, having taken over a section of the hodgepodge collection of cubes. There wasn’t a gate into the area. There wasn’t even a fence that would need a gate.

The berthing seemed almost random, with some cubes larger than others. Inside, there were cell-like cubicles where each trooper slept. This wasn’t that unique for Rev, and others who’d served in the Home Guard, where they’d had similar sleeping compartments, but there was no discernable rhyme nor reason as to how the cubes were set up. Some had two or three cells, and some had up to eleven.

With the military’s love of order and unit integrity, that was almost sacrilege. Squads couldn’t be berthed together. It had taken the platoon sergeants and squad leaders a full day to figure out something that was acceptable to their sense of order.

But beyond berthing were weapons and supply security, particularly with lemmings around. The solution was to use those cubes in the center of their area and keep guards on them at all times. Luckily, there didn’t seem to be too many of the lemmings around, and of those that did wander into the area, they didn’t seem to mind being shooed away.

It wasn’t just the lemmings. Several of the other races seemed curious about the humans, and it was nothing to see some of them walking, slithering, or rolling through the battalion area. Having an open “base” like this offended Rev’s sensibilities, and he’d feel much better with a Camp Nguyen-type facility.

The line moved forward, and with Kelly and Tomiko going before him, it was finally the gunnery sergeant’s turn.

“How’s the duck?” he asked Hussein, who was standing behind the servers.

“Sweet. I like the yakisoba better.”

With only a single technician hired to maintain the fabricators and keep the hoppers full, the troopers had to man the chow line. For every meal, a squad was assigned mess duty, and First Squad was up to bat.

“The flan is amazing, though,” Hussein added.

A fabricator could individualize any meal in its library, of course, but with so many mouths to feed, it was more efficient to run through masses of a limited number of dishes. Rev grabbed a chunk of bread, then looked at the duck and the yakisoba, the two choices for lunch.

“Gunny?” Lvarn asked.

“Heck, give me both.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” the karnan said, putting a heaping helping of both on his tray.

That wasn’t all, of course. Rev, like all hyper-augments, burned through a lot of calories, and he loaded up with dirty rice, some sort of fruit salad, and then both flan and chocolate cake. He followed Tomiko and Kelly to one of the tables and placed his tray beside Tomiko’s.

“Looks good,” he said, his mouth already starting to water.

Someone touched his back. “Gunny Pelletier?”

Rev turned to see Sergeant Deke “Chesty” Puller from the Three Shop.

“Whaduyah need, Puller?”

“Captain Bundy told me to find you. All of the officers and some of the senior enlisted are being summoned to the CP.”

“I’m one of those being summoned?” Rev asked.

“Not exactly, but he said you’d want to be there.”

Rev turned to the two staff sergeants, and they were looking at him expectantly. His gaze fell to his food tray, and his stomach grumbled.

“Do you know what this is all about?” Rev asked.

“Not really. They aren’t telling mere sergeants. I was just told to pass the word to you.”

Rev really wanted to eat, but if Bundy was saying he should be there, then there was probably a pretty good reason for that.

Crap, Bundy. Couldn’t you have waited fifteen more minutes?

“OK, I’m coming. Miko, see if you can save that for me, please.”

He started to follow the sergeant when he stopped, grabbed the container of flan, and almost inhaled it while he was standing there.

“Let’s go, Chesty,” he said, giving a burp that brought all the flavors of the flan back up.

Hell, Hus-man was right. That’s freakin’ delicious.

* * *

Rev snuck into the back of the CP, which was the largest cube in the battalion’s area. At about ten meters by thirteen, it was crowded with all the officers and the first sergeants and above.

Bundy caught his eye as Rev entered and gave him a slight nod. No one else seemed to notice him. At least no one told him to leave.

It was a full twenty minutes before the CO and Colonel Pratt, the Task Force Commander, arrived with one of the civilians in tow.

I could have eaten my lunch and still gotten here on time.

But he was glad that Bundy had given him the heads up. He’d rather know what was going on than fill his belly.

Colonel Pratt spoke first. “I know all of you’ve been anxious to find out what the hell’s been going on. I can assure you that it’s been no different for Colonel Suk, Dr. Poiry, and me, and we’ve been doing all we can to break through the log jam with the clickers. Not just the clickers, but the other primaries as well.”

So, that’s the infamous doctor.

Rev had heard the woman’s name often enough. The rest of the civilian staff kept referring to her opinions as if they were gospel. She didn’t look physically imposing, but there was a glint to her eyes that hinted at a sharp mind.

“It seems that there was a reason behind the delay. That’s because . . . well, Dr. Poiry, if you might?”

The civilian stood up. Slender to the point of emaciation, there was still something refined about her despite her wearing the same blue jumpsuit as the other civilians.

“Thank you, Colonel,” she said in a soft voice that still cut through the room. She shifted to the gathered officers and said, “The simple reason is that they don’t trust us.”

That surprised a lot of the troopers, including Rev.

Why ask us to join in the fight if they don’t trust us?

“They know they need us, but they don’t trust us. We’re too . . . primitive, I guess you would call it, and there seems to be an undercurrent of wondering if they’re trading one enemy for another, one maybe worse.”

“Wait a minute, ma’am. We never attacked them,” Captain Bertrand, the Bravo Company Commander, said.

“But they think we have the potential to do so. They’ve been monitoring us for some time now, and they know that we’ve gone to war with ourselves.”

Captain Pratz, a karnan and the Charlie Company Commander, shifted uncomfortably in the front row.

“Evidently, there was some consternation that the clickers on Orange made the unilateral decision to invite us to the dance. Other factions, such as the Breel and the Niklith, do not want us in the alliance. Most of the non-militarized races don’t want us. Others are more in a wait-and-see mode. Even the clickers are not completely behind our participation in the overall war. In fact, from what we can determine, there is only one race that is totally on our side, and that’s the lemmings.”

This was a lot to take in, but Rev was pleased that the Kanters welcomed the humans. Despite their thieving and devil-may-care attitude, Rev had a soft spot in his heart for the furry soldiers.

“I might add that the lemmings were in the wait-and-see camp until the last battle. Now, they are wholeheartedly supporting us.”

She looked back at the colonel, and he took over.

“So, the delay has been because of recalcitrance from some of our allies,” he said. “But back at the CoH, where negotiations are taking place, the Counsel General herself told the aliens to shit or get off the pot.”

There were a couple of chuckles at that. The DP was not known for earthy or homespun manners, and for all they knew, the Uauii didn’t use a toilet.

“Admiral Montrose told me that the CG said we’d rather work within the alliance and would listen to all of our allies’ concerns, but the fact of the matter was that we were going to prosecute the war with the Naxli to the fullest and with all of our resources. If they wanted any input on how we did that, then they’d better come around.”

Montrose was the officer in charge of the entire allied effort. He, unlike the counsel general, was rather known for his ability to “swear like a sailor.” So, the “shit or get off the pot” comment probably came from him and not the CG.

“The bottom line is that we’ve got a green light to commence training. Starting tomorrow, we’ll begin cross-training with the clickers and lemmings. We’ve got seventeen days to get a feel for each other and to formulate how we’re going to conduct joint exercises. Eighteen days from now, we’ll be conducting our first field exercise.”

There were more than a few salty exclamations at that. Every trooper in the CP had been anxious to get going, but seventeen days was not very long in which to develop an SOP for working together.

“And with that, Colonel Suk, you don’t have much time. I suggest you get going.”

The battalion commander spoke for the first time. “Not much time at all. Commanders and principal staff, remain in the CP. Everyone else, back to your units. Get your troopers ready, ’cause we’re hitting this hard and heavy in the morning.”

Rev followed the lieutenants and first sergeants out of the CP. The staff and commanders would be going full bore from this moment forward. For the troopers, this might be their last respite before things got crazy.

8

Crazy wasn’t the correct word for it. Disaster. Unmitigated disaster. Goat rope. Utter failure. All of those fit.

Rev had been right in that the staff had worked their butts off in an attempt to come up with a working plan. While they were doing that, the trigger-pullers had attempted to cross-train with some clickers, lemmings, and even a small number of ents—the troopers’ nickname for the Breel taken from ancient literature. In human space, cross-training usually consisted of using the other services’ weapons and practicing some of the small unit tactics.

However, with the other three races, only the ents had the ability to fire human weapons, and “ability” was stretching it. They could trigger an M-51, but having effect on target was seemingly not in the cards.

It wasn’t just the other races. The human troopers had a difficult time using the ent or clicker weapons, and the lemmings’ tiny beamers were just about impossible. The best they could do was a dog-and-pony show, where they could watch the others use the weapons. And even then, neither the lemmings nor the clickers seemed particularly interested.

Not surprisingly, when they kicked off on the actual exercise, which was purposefully a walkthrough, a simple movement to contact and assault without supporting arms or armor, it was a cluster fuck of the highest magnitude.

The coordinating instructions had been detailed and extensive. Maybe too much so. After the combined crossing of the LOD, the ent detachment started speeding forward, ignoring all attempts by the humans to stay online with them. It was as if they were racing to beat the humans to the objective.

And troopers being, well, troopers, they were not going to let the challenge pass them by. Despite the efforts of Rev and the other SNCOs and lieutenants in Alpha and Charlie, the troopers surged forward, staying abreast of the ents while the clickers fell back and the lemmings’ formations broke down into a free-for-all.

The platoon-sized ent unit reached the objective first, but instead of proceeding with the actual clearing of it, they turned as if waiting for the humans to show up. Alpha, which had been on the human’s left flank, reached them, and in the confusion, several fights broke out.

Rev waded in.

“Stop, Lvarn!” he shouted, pulling the karnan away from one of the ents. The alien soldier wasn’t having it. It tried to get around Rev and at Lvarn, flailing with its branches/arms/tentacles.

Rev was pushing Lvarn away, back to the ent, when one of the arms whipped over and around his shoulder and smacked him in the side of the face.

The ent was much stronger than it looked, and the blow staggered Rev. His warrior self surged to the fore, ready to attack, and for a moment, Rev was going to let him gain control. He wheeled around, raising Pashu.

She wasn’t armed, but he had his blade. He was about to extend it when reason took hold, but it still took an extreme force of will not to light into the ent, which had shifted its focus to him.

Lemmings surged around their feet. Their whistles sounded like scolding. One got in front of Rev and rose on its hind legs, its front leaning against Rev’s thighs.

“Don’t fight,” it said, the first time Rev had heard a lemming speak something that his translator could pick up.

That, more than anything, brought Rev back. “OK, OK,” he told it. “No fighting.”

The lemming dropped down, ran a quick circle around his feet, then looked back up at him again for a moment before it darted off.

Lvarn and the others had started to converge on Rev, coming to his defense, and Rev shouted, “All of you, get back!”

He could hear Yancey and Iglesias trying to gain control of their troopers. Rev gave Lvarn a light shove in the chest and calmly, but with conviction, said, “That’s enough, Leith. Back off.”

“But that squirmy—”

“Is our ally. Back off,” he repeated, putting a little more steel in his voice.

The karnan looked over Rev’s shoulder and gave the ent the finger. Rev realized he had his back to the alien, and he turned to face it.

More of them had gathered, and their body language, if it was anything like human body language, made it clear they were ready to rumble. But with only thirty or forty of them and over 150 humans in Alpha Company alone, many of whom were drifting over to Rev now, they evidently had a change of heart.

“Hreetz,” one of them said, using the Naxli term for less-than-nothing coward while it did a flick and snap sort of thing at Rev with one of its branches and started to back up.

That brought a surge of anger that rushed up Rev’s spine as his warrior fought for dominance, but it was Lvarn trying to push past Rev to confront the Breel who had spoken that switched him back to platoon sergeant mode.

He grabbed the karnan’s combat harness and yanked him back. “Hold, Leith.”

The ents retreated, but not before shouting a few phrases that the translators couldn’t find the appropriate words in Standard.

The troopers chased them with choice words of their own, and Rev doubted those got translated as well. Either there was a governor that blocked certain words, or more likely, the translators needed more cursing to fill in their data banks.

And he had a feeling that if this was any indication, that would happen quickly.

Lieutenant Marble arrived and stood next to Rev as the Breel retreated. “What a pile of pig shit this turned out to be.”

“It wasn’t good, ma’am.”

“We’re gonna get our asses handed to us,” the platoon commander said.

You more than me. Sucks to be in command sometimes.

And he was fine with that. Rev knew he wasn’t faultless. He’d almost let his temper get away from him, but if he could avoid any of the shitstorm that was coming from drenching him, he wasn’t going to complain.

It’s not like I didn’t have due cause, he thought, as he reached up to touch his face. He could feel the welt already rising.

“Ma’am?” Yancey said as he came up to them. “The skipper’s coming.”

Both of the leaders of the platoon turned around. Captain San Denis was striding up to them, and he didn’t look happy in the least.

“Here it comes,” the lieutenant said. “Guess I better get this over with.”

Rev watched her go to meet the company commander halfway. He was glad it was her and not him. But he knew this wasn’t going to be the end of it. Heads were going to roll. The question was just how bad the fallout was going to be.

* * *

Tomiko reached up and ran a finger along the welt on his face. “That’s why we wear our PALs.”

“They wanted to make it easier for us.”

“Yeah, and see where that got you. Does it hurt?”

“Of course, it hurts. That sucker was strong.”

“Anyone else get injured?”

“I’m not injured.”

She raised a single eyebrow, something Rev couldn’t do, and for her, could mean a thousand things. This time, he knew it meant, “Really?”

“OK, I got injured, but I’m completely combat capable. As far as anyone else, Jones is at sickbay, but it doesn’t look serious.”

“What about the ents?”

“The ents? I don’t think any of them were hurt.”

“Thank the Mother for small favors,” Tomiko said.

“You think it’s good that Jones is in sickbay and none of the bastards were hurt?”

She raised her eyebrow again, and he knew that this time, it was telling him to be reasonable.

“No, it’s good. We don’t need an interracial incident.”

The Breel might have been outnumbered during the exercise, but the humans were far outnumbered by the other races on the planet. Rev didn’t know what the consequences of the aborted mission might be, but things could get ugly for the battalion if the situation deteriorated.

“Rumor has it that we might go home,” Tomiko said.

That caught Rev’s attention.

“What? Where did you hear that?”

“Oh, you know. It’s just a rumor.”

“No way that’s going to happen. They need us to fight the noxes,” Rev said but with a touch of uncertainty.

“I don’t know. The ents never wanted us here.” She looked around at the other SNCOs, then turned back to Rev and in just above a whisper, said, “Kelly heard that the ents instigated the fight to prove that we can’t be trusted. Now they have a reason to get us booted.”

As if she knew Tomiko was talking about her, Kelly opened her eyes and gave them a measured stare before she went back to her music.

“That’s too much conspiracy theory stuff, Miko,” Rev said, but not totally convinced of that.

“I don’t know. It makes sense, Rev. Think on it.”

Before Rev could answer, the door into the CP opened, and the officers filed out. They looked pretty beaten up. Lieutenant Marble caught Rev’s eyes and gave a half smile, then she turned away and walked right past him.

“Doesn’t look good,” Rev whispered.

“What did you expect?”

They waited silently until the officers were gone, and then the sergeant major came to the door. “Come on in,” she said.

It was a quiet group as the SNCOs filed into the CP. To Rev’s surprise, neither the CO nor Colonel Pratt was there. That could be good or bad.

Probably bad, Rev decided.

Officers were officers, and they had a certain code of conduct, especially as they got to be more senior, and that revolved around the rules. SNCOs, on the whole, were less beholden to the regulations. They focused on results.

Brown-Master Lyztomontz was a Frisian, and as such, she was not hyper-augmented. Because of that, she wasn’t on the original roster of the battalion, but Lieutenant Colonel Suk had insisted that she come over from the Second Combined Assault Battalion when the expeditionary battalion had been stood up.

The sergeant major was small of stature and looking like someone’s grandmother. But Rev had felt her strength of will before, after he’d killed the Naxli assassin at his brother’s wedding. He’d made it almost a religion of avoiding the woman at all costs after that. She intimidated him.

And now, Rev waited for the inevitable explosion. Not only Rev, if the uneasy shifting of the other SNCOs was any indication. He slowly wormed his way back to the rear, hoping to escape her notice.

She scanned her gaze across the SNCOs, then said, “You disappoint me,” in a quiet voice.

Expecting her to erupt, Rev was taken by surprise and put off balance.

“All of you. We’re the backbone of this battalion. The officers, they make the plans. They decide what to do. But it’s us, the staff non-commissioned officers, who implement their plans. We’re the ones who get things done.”

They all knew that, of course, but some things were worth retelling.

“We landed here to a less than enthusiastic welcome. Not all of our allies want us here. They don’t trust us. Heck, after what I saw today, I’m not sure I trust us.”

That one hurt, and Rev winced.

“Be that as it may. We arrive, and we’re frozen out. And once we finally get the go-ahead, the officers and some of you here right now have to butt heads with the aliens to come up with an exercise.”

Rev had figured there had been issues during the planning, and that confirmed it.

“But we finally put together a plan. And it’s bullshit. It’s a horrible plan. There’re a million things that could go wrong.”

Rev pursed his lips as he listened. Maybe this wasn’t going to be too bad. She understands the problems we faced.

She swept her gaze over them again. “Cry me a fucking river,” she said, her voice low, but cutting like a Damascus blade.

Half the SNCOs, including Rev, recoiled at the strength of her disdain.

“Unless you persies, you Mad Dogs, you frogs, and the rest of you are so much better than we Frisians are, then nothing ever goes according to plan. Officers may think they’re gods, but they’re not omniscient. And that’s where we come in. Or, at least, where we’re supposed to come in. We’re the ones who make the plan work. We react to reality.”

She stopped for a moment and shook her head. “So, what happened this morning? The fucking ents want to make a race of it. Maybe they were trying to provoke us. If they were, it worked. Our troopers are feeling their oats, and they can’t let the ents beat us. They abandon the plan because their precious pride was on the line, and you all LET them! No control at all. You . . . fucked . . . up.”

She still hadn’t raised her voice, but that didn’t make a difference.

“Not only that, but some of you lost control of yourselves as well. Gunnery Sergeant Pelletier!”

Rev’s heart stopped.

“Don’t think I don’t see you hiding back there, Gunnery Sergeant. You got into a fight with one of the ents.”

Rev wanted to slink away, but his warrior self wouldn’t let that happen.

“I was trying to stop the fighting when one of the ents sucker pu. . . sucker whipped me.”

“So, you’re trying to tell me it wasn’t your fault?”

Which was exactly what he was trying to tell her. But he wasn’t going to admit to that out loud.

“Because you were at fault. You put yourself in a position where the ent could hit you.” She sighed, then caught Rev’s eyes through the crowd. “Your troopers will do anything for the hero Reverent Pelletier, you know.”

Rev felt worse when she said that than when she’d said he was at fault.

“If they think you’re in trouble, they’ll break down the gates of hell to come to your rescue. Yet you allowed yourself to get into a barroom brawl, knowing that could draw your entire platoon into a fight with our allies.

“Despite that IBHU you wear, you have to understand that you’re a platoon sergeant, not a lance corporal, and you can never let yourself get put into a position like that. You need to control yourself. Situational awareness.”

She sighed again, then said, “I thought you had potential, Pelletier. Now, I’m not so sure.”

Rev wanted to argue. He’d done his best to stop the brawling, and as he said, the Breel had cold-cocked him. That wasn’t his fault, right?

Mercifully for him, the sergeant major moved on to other victims. She slammed seven more SNCOs, with specifics on how they’d messed up. Rev wasn’t sure how she had that much detail, but it didn’t surprise him. The woman might not be a hyper-augment, but she had superpowers.

One by one, she tore down the other seven, never raising her voice, never shouting. But it was an evisceration nonetheless. Rev only listened to her do that with half an ear.

“Is she right?” he subvocalized. “Was I wrong?”

<The results could have been catastrophic.>

“But that would have been on the friggin’ ent, not me. I didn’t hit it. It hit me!”

<Does that matter?>

“What do you mean does it matter? Of course, it does.”

<But does it really? Our mission here is to form a joint force that can take on the Naxli. If this is successful, then a wider effort of military cooperation can be undertaken, and that might be what’s necessary to defeat the Naxli.>

“Well, yeah, but—”

<Then anything that interferes with that mission could put humanity’s very existence at risk. Don’t you think that might be worth putting pride aside?>

Punch had never interrupted Rev before, and that alone gave him pause. He had to think about it for a moment.

“It wasn’t pride. I was trying to stop Lvarn from fighting that thing.”

<Maybe. But from your heartbeat and surge of adrenaline, I think you were about to fight the Breel.>

Rev started to protest, but then he remembered his warrior taking over and how difficult it had been to regain control.

“But I didn’t fight it.”

<Was the potential risk to the mission worth even coming close? Was it smart to let a Breel take action that could jeopardize the mission? And even without you fighting, the sergeant major was right when she said the platoon would come to your rescue if they thought you were in danger.>

Rev didn’t like the direction this conversation was going. Punch was his battle buddy, his AI. He was supposed to support Rev, not oppose him.

He felt almost as if Punch and the sergeant major were ganging up on him when all he was doing was trying to gain control of the situation. And even if he came close to attacking the Breel, he didn’t.

Yet deep inside, he knew there was some truth to what both of them were saying. The mission’s success could make the difference in whether humanity came out of this war as a viable race.

Even if the mission might not make a difference, the slight possibility that it would was enough that Rev couldn’t let anything get in the way of it, whether it was his “fault” or not.

The sergeant major finally finished, and she dismissed the chastened SNCOs. Rev quietly joined the exodus as they left the CP, and he didn’t even wait for Tomiko before he headed back to the platoon area.

The sergeant major had challenged his understanding of his position as a Marine SNCO, and he had a lot to think about.

9

The Breel made a formal complaint to the Convergence, the word the translators used for the governing body of the alliance—although it didn’t seem to be the same sort of body as the Congress of Humanity. The human experts thought it might be more akin to an arbitration committee.

Whatever it was, they came out with a decision within two days. The humans were still part of the alliance, albeit still on a probationary status.

Not all of the troopers were happy about that. A minority were of the mind that humanity should tell the other races to fuck off and deal with the Naxli as they had been, with only the Centaurs as minor allies.

Tomiko had adopted the theory that the Breel had purposely set up the mess during the first exercise to prove that humanity wasn’t worthy. Rev wasn’t sure about that, but it was OBE. The Congress of Humanity had decided to proceed. The Convergence had decided to proceed. It was a fait accompli as far as the battalion was concerned.

The focus now was on how to create a command and control structure so that the joint force could act as an integrated fighting unit. And that was easier said than done. The lack of trust on all sides was a barrier, one that kept a single command from being adopted. Over the next few months, a command-by-committee evolved, something that was an anathema to human military theory. Alexander, Sun Tzu, Napoleon, and Singh had to be spinning in their graves so fast that they could power Safe Harbor for a year.

Surprisingly, with the humans and Breel at odds with each other, it wasn’t the Uauii but the Kanter, the happy-go-lucky lemmings, that were the glue that brought them all together. Rev thought it was their continual scolding that shamed the other two races into cooperating.

With days of hard work, the joint unit slowly came together. Rev wasn’t sure they were combat ready, but at least they weren’t breaking out into fistfights at the slightest provocation.

During one exercise, Rev was surprised to see three insectoid aliens, looking like a cross between a mantis and a scorpion, silently watching as the humans provided a base of fire for a maneuvering Kanter unit. He hadn’t forgotten that there were more races, including more military races. He knew these had to be the Niklith. They were not part of the joint experiment. It was accepted that the powers that be wanted to limit the participating races at first to make things easier. But it made sense that they would be interested in what was happening.

They weren’t the only ones interested. Other races, that the civilian analysts thought were not military, often came into the battalion area to observe them, and several times, the graceful Sia floated over the training area during exercises.

Rev finally heard their “singing” one day as a Sia floated over their training. It didn’t have a high degree of musicality, being a little closer to whale songs back on the Mother, and no one was going to be whistling their songs while going to chow, but there was something comforting in the sound.

The training tempo was hard, but finally, there was progress. And seven full months after arriving on Clickerland, a milestone was reached. The joint human-Uauii-Kanter-Breel unit was certified combat ready.

It was time to be blooded against the Naxli.

10

“Now, now, now!” the Navy chief shouted. “Get on the damn Pelican!”

“We’ve got three hours yet,” Rev said, releasing his PAL-HX’s seat function so he could stand up.

“No, you don’t. Change a hundred and five. You’ve got five minutes to load.”

The Navy crew chief and pilot rushed into the hangar and made a beeline for the shuttle.

“Get on the bird, or I’m leaving you behind,” the pilot shouted as he darted up the ramp and disappeared inside.

“Just drive another nail up my ass, why don’t you,” Rev muttered.

He turned to the platoon. “You heard the chief. Get on board! Helmets on!”

There was a scramble as the troopers got to their feet and donned their helmets.

They started to fall into stick order, and Rev said, “Just get the hell on. Find a seat, and we’ll worry about organizing once we’re aboard.”

“What about the lieutenant?” Yancey asked as the two SNCOs made their way to the ramp.

“I sure hope she gets here before we take off,” Rev said.

The landing was supposed to have gone almost fifteen hours ago, but after waiting in the hangar, ready to load for eight hours, the word came to stand down. Exactly thirty-three minutes after getting out of his PAL and just as he was stepping into the shower, that was reversed once again, and the company was called to prepare for the descent.

Forty minutes ago, the lieutenant left the hangar to try and find out what was happening. A Ranger in a PAL wandering around the ship’s passages wasn’t the most unobtrusive figure. Rev hadn’t seen her molt out of her combat suit, but he had to guess the platoon commander had done so. And now, with such a tight timeline, he wondered if she would make it back to the shuttle before the pilot flew them off the Wessex.

Rev caught a glimpse of Tomiko in the next bay as Second Platoon embarked upon their Pelican, but she didn’t look back at him. He’d trained himself not to worry about her before each operation . . . almost. He’d lost her once, on the iceball of Tahiti, and he knew he could again.

May the Mother watch over you, Miko.

And then he was stepping up on the ramp. The Pelican, the Navy’s newest assault shuttle, could easily hold sixty pax—sixty pax not in combat suits. Thirty troopers were in Union PALs, while the five karnans were in the slightly larger MDS Crippon-2s. The remaining four were in their individual specialized combat suits. They constituted a pretty large load, and Rev was second-guessing his order to just get aboard and sort out the organization later. Troopers were trying to slide past each other and sit with their squads. It was important that they were organized in their units when they debarked the shuttle.

“Lieutenant, are you coming?” Rev tried to pass on his P2P, but there was no answer, which was not surprising. As part of Navy SOP, the Wessex had a deadening field projected around the ship to help cloak it from the enemy. But it also made comms among the ground force almost impossible.

Rev pushed his way forward and jacked into the shuttle’s interior comms. “This is Gunny Pelletier. We’re short our platoon commander, but she should be coming back.”

“Well, she’s got about two minutes,” the warrant officer pilot snapped in a harried voice. “I’m not waiting.”

“What . . . can you tell me what just happened here? Why the short fuse, sir?”

“Who the hell knows? Damn flight control’s got their heads up their asses.” He paused a second, then, in a calmer tone, said, “I can’t confirm this, but I heard that the ents already took off without warning, and now we’re playing catch up.”

Son of a bitch.

The landing phase of the operation relied on a simultaneous landing while orbital platforms bombarded the Naxli positions. The plan was to overwhelm the planetary forces. If the Breel took off early, then the Naxli would have local numbers superiority and could bring their full defensive fires upon the piecemeal allied force.

“Sixty seconds,” the shuttle’s AI announced.

“You heard the lady,” the crew chief shouted. “Get in your damn seats and strap the fuck in.”

She stepped into the mass of troopers, dwarfed by their size in the combat suits, and started pushing them into seats.

This was a cluster, and she was only making things worse, but Rev let it go. They’d have time during the passage over to the planet to sort things out before they hit the atmosphere.

“Lieutenant, you need to get here now,” Rev passed again. There was still no answer.

He hesitated. The lieutenant liked to be the first one off the ramp, and if Rev was going to be the acting platoon commander, he wondered if he should make his way aft. But he decided to stay put. The four squad leaders could get the platoon off the shuttle, but up here, jacked into the main system, Rev could tie into the Pelican’s cameras and view the LZ as they came in.

Rev hadn’t known he could have done that on the last mission. In typical military oversight, no one in the Navy had thought to brief them on the Pelican’s capabilities. The older shuttles hadn’t been set up for that.

“Thirty seconds,” the AI said, and the cabin lights started pulsing in intensity, one pulse every five seconds. At ten seconds left, the pulses switched to one-second intervals, and the ramp started to close.

Rev started to shift his mentality to commander rather than platoon sergeant when with only a meter gap left in the ramp, a body dove through and tumbled into the cargo bay as the ramp sealed against the overhead.

Lieutenant Marble, without a PAL or even her M-51, winced and sat up on the deck. The troopers started clapping their approval, but the crew chief came running while screaming at her to get seated.

The platoon commander grinned at the reception, then gingerly got up, wedged herself between Rappa and Archambault, and strapped in.

<She’ll be vulnerable.>

“No shit, Sherlock.”

Punch didn’t seem to take that personally.

<You’ll have to take that into consideration. Lieutenant Marble is not shy about putting herself in harm’s way.>

Rev was relieved that the lieutenant had made it. Missing a mission was a court-martial offense, at least within the Marines, so that potential political problem had been avoided. But even if Punch was stating the obvious, the fact that the lieutenant was on the mission without a combat suit, without even any personal body armor, did present a problem, one Rev was going to have to deal with.

In a little over three hours, the shuttle would hit Granite’s—all enemy planets were to be assigned rock names—atmosphere. So, Rev and the lieutenant had that amount of time to figure out how they were going to handle this.

* * *

The shuttle shuddered as it descended. This was a combat landing where speed, maneuverability, and supporting fire were paramount. The Pelican had state-of-the-art compensators, but even those couldn’t completely dampen the intense maneuvering forces as they approached the planet’s surface.

Rev had tried to watch through the visuals, but that only made his queasiness worse. He was jacked in, so Punch could monitor their progress, and when they were within visuals of the LZ, his battle buddy would tell him to open his eyes and look.

Until then, Rev had his head back, his eyes closed, while he tried to control his stomach.

Hopefully, the humans and the rest had caught up to the Breel. The pilot had told him that the Marine assault force was trying to close the gap, but they wouldn’t enter the atmosphere together. It would be slightly staggered. How that would affect the landing was yet to be seen.

<We’re within three klicks. You can open your eyes now.>

The shuttle gave a more severe lurch, and Rev could taste the bile that came up his throat.

“Just a moment longer,” Rev said as he swallowed it back down, keeping his eyes closed.

<I’m recording the feed, but I think you need to be observing it real-time.>

Rev sighed. He knew Punch was right.

He still kept his eyes closed, but he told Punch, “Do it.”

Punch immediately routed the shuttle’s external feed into Rev’s visual cortex, and for a moment, Rev thought he’d fallen out of the shuttle and was in free fall. He could feel the sourness in the back of his throat as he fought to keep his last meal down, but at the same time, he was fascinated.

The Pelican had a spherical visual that surrounded the shuttle. Humans weren’t houseflies, though; their brains could not make sense of that much input. But the shuttle’s system took that into consideration, and Rev could only “see” where his head was pointed. If he turned to look over his shoulder, the system’s crystals would feed him the visuals from that direction.

“Where is it?”

Punch overlaid the LZ into what Rev was seeing. Their landing zone was a gently sloping clear spot, approximately 350 by 240 meters square, surrounded by a thick, gray forest. All four shuttles bringing in the company and a single larger Uauii shuttle were going to land at the same time. It would be a tight fit—too tight for training exercises, but the needs of combat often did away with safety measures.

Captain San Denis had objected to five craft coming in at the same time to the same LZ, and Rev agreed, but the joint command wanted the human and Uauii companies to be immediately ready to form and get out of the LZ before the Naxli could bring indirect fire to bear on them.

The goal was to be out of the LZ within ninety seconds, which Rev thought was a Herculean task. He just didn’t see it happening, but he’d do his best to get it done.

A bigger issue was that while the two companies were supposed to advance on their objective and assault it together, there was no single commander. According to the lieutenant, Major Ma, the S-3, had told Captain San Denis that he was actually in command, but for “political reasons,” it just wasn’t stated.

No one Rev talked to knew how to take that. In the military, there was always a commander. Rev knew they were working with aliens who had different philosophies, but this seemed like a universal truth.

At least their route out of the LZ looked to be clear. Rev started visually reconning the route farther north when a streak of fire hopped over the far hill and headed directly at him/the Pelican. He flinched as the shuttle juked to the right and fired its Close-In Self-Defense Gatling. It looked like a string of angry hornets homing in on the attack, and the enemy missile came apart and started to fall to the ground.

“Well, I guess they know we’re here,” Rev said as his heart raced.

<That was expected.>

“Good to see that the CISDG was effective,” Rev said as he watched the missile pieces fall.

He turned back to their movement to contact route when the sky lit up with a brilliant flash.

“What the hell?” Rev said as he turned his head . . . and his stomach rose to his throat.

The farthest Pelican was broken in half and plunging toward the ground. Rev thought he could see bodies falling free of the wreckage. Beyond it, the much larger Uauii craft was still whole, but it was peeling away in a slow arc that was taking it down.

“What just happened? Can you show me?”

A moment later, the scene shifted as Punch pulled up the last fifteen seconds. The line of shuttles was coming in as planned, with overlapping defenses. Two more Naxli missiles seemed to come from nowhere. The two far Pelicans juked left, their CISDIGs spitting rounds . . . at the same time that the bigger Uauii assault craft juked right.

“No!” Rev shouted, despite already knowing what had happened.

Both missiles were hit and destroyed, but the human shuttle and Uauii assault craft were on a collision course. It looked like the Pelican pilot or AI realized the danger and tried to slide under the Uauii vessel, but that craft tried to come around in a turn, which caused its left side to dip.

Rev watched in horror as the two craft collided. The smaller Pelican was cut almost in two, while the Uauii boat fell into a fatal plummet.

“Real-time, Punch.”

The view immediately shifted back to the present. The Pelican had broken up more as it fell, and the Uauii craft was on its inevitable swan dive into the ground.

Rev was in shock, and he realized that none of the others knew what had happened. He started to switch to take over the shuttle’s 1MC, but then stopped. It wasn’t going to affect their debark. The threat of Naxli indirect fire was still there. He tried to tell the lieutenant on the P2P, but the inevitable Naxli jamming was already blocking his transmission.

The pieces of the Pelican hit the ground first. It took twenty-six more seconds for the Uauii shuttle to plow into the surface three or four hundred meters from the LZ.

Fourth Platoon was gone. There could be no survivors. A company of Uauii was gone. More than half of the force assigned to their objective had been wiped out before they’d even landed.

Rev had seen plenty of death before, but this . . . ? It hadn’t been enemy fire that knocked down the two shuttles. It was a stupid accident, one that could have been avoided.

He barely noticed when the three remaining Pelicans swooped in and flared for their landing.

Snap out of it, Reverent. We’ve still got a mission to accomplish.

Unfortunately, Rev had plenty of experience putting the horrors of war behind him when required. As the back ramp started to lower, he buried his emotional response into the deepest recesses of his mind and shifted into combat mode.

“Thanks for the ride,” Rev told the pilot before unjacking.

The Pelican came within a meter of the ground, and Second Squad jumped off the back of the ramp. The rest of the platoon pushed to the rear, with Rev as the last one. The moment he stepped off the ramp, the Pelican started lifting off.

The lieutenant was directing the squads to get into position, and Rev jogged over to her.

“Didn’t think I was going to make it,” the lieutenant said.

Rev ignored that. “We lost Fourth Platoon and the clicker company.”

The platoon commander looked surprised and wheeled around to count the three Pelicans that were now gaining altitude as they sped away.

“What the hell happened?”

“Collision.”

He pointed to the southwest where smoke and dust were rising from where the Uauii boat had gone down. There wasn’t as much evidence rising from where the other Pelican had crashed.

“Any chance of survivors?” the lieutenant asked hopefully.

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Well, shit.” He hesitated a moment, then said, “We’ve still got to get out of this LZ.”

With only three Pelicans, the LZ looked much larger. Across its breadth, Second and Third Platoons were already moving out. Captain San Denis, who was moving with Second, turned to First and motioned for them to get moving.

“Let’s go, First!” the lieutenant shouted as she started to move to run to her position behind Second Squad.

Rev sprinted a couple of steps and grabbed her by her combat harness.

“What now?” the lieutenant asked.

“You don’t have armor,” Rev said, stating the obvious.

“No time to grab it.”

“I know, but maybe I should be with Second and you hang back? You can still command from that vantage.”

Marble started to protest, but reason took over. The two leaders switched positions as the platoon jogged out of the LZ.

They had just cleared it when the first of the Naxli rounds started to land.

11

“I don’t like the delay,” Rev said. “Gives the noxes more time to prepare.”

“Neither do I,” Captain San Denis said. “But we’re stuck until we get new orders.”

It was a sober group gathered under an outcropping of rock. In the rush to get out of the LZ, there hadn’t been much time to reflect on the loss of Fourth Platoon. But about halfway to the objective, a messenger drone had arrived with orders to halt in place.

The XO, newly promoted Captain Geroge, had been with Fourth, as had Gunny Lian. That made SFC Finnegar, the Third Platoon platoon sergeant, the acting company gunny, and Lieutenant Marble the acting XO. Neither would be leaving their present position, but the other duties would be in addition to their normal ones.

“We’re going on a port and starboard until we get the word, so see if you can get your troopers some sleep. The Mother knows when we’ll have another chance,” San Denis said. “And I know Fourth’s lost, but I’ll use the delay to send someone to check the crash site.”

Despite that it had seemed like days, the troopers had only been awake for about nine hours, so Rev didn’t know if they’d be able to get some sleep, but it was a smart move. With the help of military drugs, a modern soldier could fight for four or even five days without sleep, but the crash after that was severe. It was always better to delay the boost until it was absolutely necessary.

“So, head on back to your troopers. I’ll get you the word as soon as I get it.”

Rev and the lieutenant walked alongside each other as they returned to the platoon position.

“What do you think, Gunny?” Marble asked.

“Like I said, I don’t like giving the noxes more time to prepare. Any advantage of surprise is lost now, and unless our mission has completely changed, we’re going to have to dig them out.”

“But without the clickers, we might not have the manpower.”

Rev shrugged inside his PAL. He wasn’t totally sold on the abilities of the Uauii. They talked a big talk, but from what Rev could see, they didn’t actually walk the walk. For example, they’d initially had far more soldiers on Orange than the human assault force, but they’d been devastated by the Naxli army, the same one the humans defeated. Just several hundred survived the battle, and that was only because the humans won the fight before those last few could be killed.

Nothing he’d seen during their training had convinced him that they were a particularly effective force. He hoped he was wrong, but for the moment, he had more respect for the Kanters. He may not like their tactic of throwing bodies at a problem, but they could be effective, and no one could deride their fortitude and courage.

Frankly, he was more concerned about the loss of Fourth Platoon than the Uauii company. Aside from the humanitarian aspect of the casualties, he thought that losing the platoon would have greater tactical degradation than losing the Uauii.

“If Intel is right about the strongpoint . . .” the lieutenant said before trailing off and leaving the rest unspoken.

Their objective had been to assault and destroy a Naxli strongpoint along one of the major highways through the area. Strongpoints normally had a series of interlocking and mutually supporting bunkers. Other than a massive bombing campaign, which from a historical perspective from battles for Iwo Jima to the New Regina Redoubt were usually ineffective, the only way to defeat such a strongpoint was to take out one of the bunkers first. Once that was done, use that as a foothold, reduce the next bunker and the next and the next like dominos.

The lieutenant wasn’t wrong in that the loss of manpower could jeopardize that plan. They might not have the firepower to take that first bunker.

They passed through Second Platoon’s position. Rev scanned the area and was rewarded when he spotted Tomiko. She saw him a few seconds after he saw her, and she gave him a half-wave.

He hadn’t spoken to her since they first were mustered for the landing, but if they were going to be there for long, he could probably break away for a few minutes and see how she was doing.

As the two reached the platoon, the lieutenant idly scratched at her arm. Rev had noticed that it was puffy and had a reddish tinge before the meeting with the skipper.

“You doing OK, ma’am?”

The platoon commander looked down at her upper arm and gave a little grimace. “I’m fine. The branches here are a little sharper than they look.”

Rev hadn’t noticed, of course, clad in his PAL-HX. The gray plant life, with streaks of purples and mauve, looked like dead brush as could be found around rivers on Safe Harbor. He’d pushed through it, protected by his PAL’s neodymium skin. But the platoon commander, without any body armor, was getting chewed up.

“Why don’t you lower your sleeves?” Rev asked.

The lieutenant reached up with her left hand to touch her right upper arm and smiled. “Habit, I guess. Ranger Ready. We expose ourselves to sunlight as often as possible. Not that it’s doing much good here. We’re optimized to the six-twenty-to-six-seventy nanometer wavelengths, and the light here’s too cool.”

“What’s she saying?” he asked Punch.

<The Tau Ceti Rangers have synthetic cyanobacteria in their skin that can absorb sunlight and convert it into energy.>

Rev knew about the ability to absorb sunlight, which minimized the amount of normal food a Ranger had to carry with them on long patrols. He just didn’t understand what the platoon commander was saying about wavelengths.

<The synthetic cyanobacteria can be adjusted, but Lieutenant Marble’s cyanobacteria are optimized for light in the red spectrum. The light from this planet’s sun is cooler, with more in the blue and green spectrums, so her cyanobacteria are not as efficient in drawing power from sunlight here.>

But if this sun’s light isn’t as good for her . . .

“Ma’am, why don’t you, you know, cover up here, if the light’s not so good for you? It’ll save your skin.”

The platoon commander gave a wry chuckle and said, “Maybe you’re right. When we move out again, I think I will.”

Rev gave the discolored skin another look. “And get Doc to check you out. That could be infected.”

“Nah. Different DNA, if this place even uses DNA. It can’t infect me.”

This was the standard litany, but Rev had been on Syron III, where the mold there had caused lots of problems if it got in a cut or a scrape—he had first-hand experience with that.

“Still, it can’t hurt to let him look, ma’am.”

“I guess not. But we’re here. Set up the watch and get the off-watch fed and to sleep. I’ll walk the lines after that and make sure we’re tied into Second Platoon. Maybe after that, I’ll check with Doc LeRon.”

He couldn’t order the lieutenant to see the Synergy Alliance medic, so he had to accept that as the best he could get.

He stopped, turned the volume up on his external speakers, and shouted, “Squad leaders up!”

They could be here for fifteen more minutes or fifteen days. Either way, he needed to set up the schedule.

* * *

The next two days were an exercise in nothing. No word. No plan. No signs of conflict.

The company could be the only sentient beings on the planet. The captain stretched his orders to the limit and sent out several patrols, but those turned up no sign of the enemy—or of their allies.

Second Squad had just returned from one, and with the schedule Rev had devised, that meant they had an hour outside of their combat suits to air out and wipe down their bodies.

“It’s the damn command committee,” Randigold said as she sat on the ground and cleaned both of her leg stumps.

“What the hell are you talking about, Eth?” Under-sergeant Kimms asked as he wiped Rappa’s back.

“I’m serious. Look. We don’t have a single commander, right?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Sos there ain’t no one person to say we’re gonna do this or we’re gonna do that. It’s all done by committee. We humans, we gotta get the clickers and the ents and the lemmings all to agree. And we already seen how the ents gotta have their way. Sos nothing gets done until it’s all negotiated out. That’s what we’re waiting for now. The negotiations.”

Kimms wadded up the body wipe he’d been using and threw it at her. “You’re putting too much into it.”

But Rev looked at the IBHU corporal in surprise. She could act the dummy at times, and her accent didn’t position her as part and parcel of high society, but she occasionally let slip that she was actually a pretty smart cookie. Rev hadn’t considered what she said as a reason for the delay—a delay that went against every fiber of Marine Corps combat philosophy. Now that she’d said it, though, it made sense.

In fact, if he was a betting man, he’d put money on the fact that she was right. That didn’t excuse this BS, which he considered as nothing short of a travesty, and there was nothing he could do about it, but it was still good to know why.

“Twenty minutes,” he said, “then back into your PALs.” He motioned for Iglesias to come over.

“Give them thirty, but make sure they eat. I’ll be sending Doc over a little later to check.”

Not everyone was taking in enough calories. Sludge could be pretty nasty, but they’d need the sustenance if they ever got into a fight.

“Then get some sleep.”

“They’ll sleep better if we can stay out of our combat suits,” the squad leader said.

“Nice try. You know our orders. And I’m already giving you ten extra minutes.”

Iglesias nodded as if he knew what Rev had been going to say but figured he had to try. Just as Rev would have in his position.

“Gunny?” a voice called out.

Rev turned to see Sergeant Teller approaching.

All eyes in the squad swiveled to the company clerk and locked in.

“What do you want, Teller?”

“The skipper wants you and Lieutenant Marble.”

Rev felt a little rush. “What about? Do you know?”

The sergeant shook her head. “He just said to get all the platoon commanders and platoon sergeants.”

“OK. Five minutes, Teller. I’ve got to go wake up the lieutenant.”

The sergeant nodded and left.

“Do you think this is it?” Iglesias asked.

“Can’t say. Maybe.”

But his gut told him that their orders were finally ready.

“I’m taking back those extra ten minutes. Finish cleaning up and then make sure everyone’s fed, but hold off on anything else until I get back.”

“Roger that, Gunny.”

Rev headed over to the spot he and the lieutenant had claimed as their CP. This could be nothing, he knew. But maybe they were finally going to get to work.

12

The strongpoint was out. It was being bypassed, which Rev thought was a good idea. Why throw the company at it when, as long as they remained inside their bunkers, the Naxli there couldn’t affect the outcome of the overall battle?

Their new objective was a powerplant that tapped the planet’s core. If it was knocked out, that could seriously degrade the Naxli defense. A Breel pod—roughly equivalent to an undersized Marine company—had been assigned the target, but like Alpha Company, they’d suffered losses in the descent, and they were now in a stalemate after two aborted assaults.

As the closest unit still not engaged, the company was being diverted to join with the Breel and complete the mission. “Close” was relative. The Breel objective was sixty-three klicks away.

“How come we don’t have discs, Gunny?” Randigold asked as he conducted his final check.

“Why’re you asking that, Eth? You’re about as graceful as a drunk hippo on one of them,” Rev answered.

“Better than humping,” she said as he moved on.

It was a good question, though. Discs were standard when air assets weren’t available and long distances had to be covered by infantry.

“Remind me to find out when we get back,” he told Punch.

<Roger that.>

He finished his check and gave one last look around the platoon. They were in formation and ready. He gave the lieutenant a thumbs-up, who in turn signaled the captain that First Platoon was in position and ready to move out.

“Systems check.”

<All systems green. You have a full combat load. Power’s at eighty-six-point-four percent.>

“And when we get to the objective? What will my power be?”

<As I told you before, it should be in the seventy-percent range barring weapons usage.>

“I know you told me before. But it doesn’t hurt to check.”

Rev had considered switching out to a full powerpack, but even with seventy percent, he would be more than fully combat capable. He’d wait until he really needed it before he switched out to a new one.

Rev turned to watch the company commander. There’d been some breaks in the comms, and their AIs, which ran through frequencies up to 3,000 times per second, had been able to create moments of connectivity, but the company was now on a complete comms blackout. Even attempting to communicate could indicate to listening Naxli that they were on the move.

Finally, Captain San Denis gave the signal to begin. Lieutenant Marble repeated the signal, and First Platoon, which was on point, started off at a slow jog.

This was going to be rough on the lieutenant. Without even her body armor and its built-in assists, the entire sixty-three klicks were going to be up to pure Ranger Power, as she called it.

All Rangers were augmented, but while that would help, their augments were designed more for endurance than speed. Almost all physical augments, to the best of Rev’s understanding, used increased blood flow as one of the ways to maximize performance, but the Rangers relied on that almost exclusively, with none of the animal-based genetic modifications other augments had to improve on tendon strength and “bounciness,” muscle mass, and stronger bones and joints. The “bounce” factor of the modified kangaroo tail tendon DNA, for example, was one reason why augmented soldiers could run so much more efficiently than normal humans.

So, the question was if Ranger Power could keep up with the rest of the company, all of whom had some degree of power assist along with their augments and even hyper-augments.

Captain San Denis had made his position clear. If the lieutenant could keep up with his platoon, then fine. But if she fell behind, Rev was to assume command.

First Squad was the point squad, and Rev had told Hussein to keep an eye on her throughout the movement. He couldn’t slow down the pace too much, but if the lieutenant started struggling, he could adjust it a bit and slow them down.

He gave a quick glance behind him as they started off. The platoon commander looked at ease as she jogged. They’d rigged up an assault pack for her after their landing so she had some basic combat supplies, and Rev had told one of the Jackhammer teams to keep their eyes on her. PFC Morehead still carried his load of forty-millimeter grenades—only now he shadowed the lieutenant and carried her assault pack as well.

Keep it up, Lieutenant.

Rev had to focus on the movement to contact. Because of the enemy situation, the company couldn’t make a beeline to their new objective. They had to give a wide berth to the strongpoint, for one. And there were signs of enemy activity in the area, so that had to be avoided.

But the company made steady progress, their augmented legs eating up the kilometers. With no multicellular animal life on the planet, the gray forest was silent as the troopers jogged through.

Oppressively silent.

Following directly in trace of First Squad, Rev tried to push his senses forward for the first ten klicks until Punch reminded him that was a waste of nervous energy. He wasn’t going to spot anything before the troopers in First Squad did.

Rev grudgingly relaxed, instead using the time to go over possible scenarios and what his reaction should be. But none of the scenarios he imagined came to be, and they reached their assembly area, which was just over three klicks from their objective, without contact.

He brought the platoon to a halt and moved them into a hasty defense. Muffled sounds of combat reached them, but without the intensity he’d expected. That could be good news or bad.

The lieutenant hadn’t been quite able to keep up for the entire route. She’d fallen back to Third Platoon, and the company commander had to have noticed. But until Rev received specific orders to the contrary, he was going to assume the lieutenant was still in command.

He waited until Third Platoon arrived along with the lieutenant.

“No issues during the movement, ma’am. I’ve got the platoon in their hasty defense, but we’re ready to proceed.”

The platoon commander was puffing, but she said, “Very well. Be ready for the order to move out.”

An assembly area was usually the last covered and concealed position from an objective where final orders could be given, ammo distributed, or any of the last-moment tasks needed for the mission to be done. With modern technology, the company couldn’t assume that the Naxli didn’t know of their presence, but the assembly area was still a valuable control measure.

The captain wasn’t looking to make any adjustments, however. As Second Platoon arrived, he gave the signal to move into the assault formation. The last three klicks would be covered in a much slower, more tactical advance.

First Platoon shifted to the left. They were going to provide the base of fire for the other two maneuver platoons and possibly the Breel. Second Platoon was the Point of Main Effort for the assault, while Third’s mission was two fold: they would join Second in the assault, but their main mission was to make contact with the Breel and coordinate with them.

The captain had briefed the company that this was a very fluid situation, and chances were high that the assault plan would change once they’d coordinated with the Breel. The entire operations order might be thrown out the window, so flexibility was paramount.

First Platoon shifted into a diamond with First in the lead, Second and Third Squads on the flanks, and Strap and Fourth Squad in the rear. They moved into the heavier brush to the left, heading to a slight high ground that should give them fields of fire into the objective.

Rev quickly lost sight of Second Platoon, but they weren’t his concern. With the lieutenant struggling through the thicker vegetation, it was up to him to keep the formation’s integrity intact.

The first klick was quite difficult, and even in his PAL, he found it rough going. But as they started climbing, the brush cleared out a bit, the gray branches shifting to the larger, but more pliable, mauve ones. Rev heaved a sigh of relief as he now had eyes on more of the troopers at the same time.

He turned around to check on the lieutenant when the forest to the left opened up in a wall of fire. Several troopers from Second Squad fell under the initial volley.

Rev immediately reacted, reverting to countless hours doing immediate action drills. They were in a kill zone, and to survive the ambush, they had to get out of it. That meant retreat or assault through it.

In typical Marine fashion, Rev chose to assault through.

“Strap! Give us cover!” he shouted, his external speakers on max. First and Second, on me!”

He started charging, sending twenty-millimeter rounds into the thick brush, aiming at the muzzle flashes. He couldn’t see the Naxli fighters themselves, but the flashes were enough for him to give him targets.

It wasn’t just muzzle flashes. He caught a slight shadow as a Naxli tried to change its position. The enemy was quick, but Rev was quicker. He shifted his aim, chasing the figure, and was rewarded when the mostly unseen enemy crumbled to the ground.

He kept charging, surrounded by his fellow troopers, when his face shield flashed red, the indicator rising as he absorbed an energy blast. He dived to his right to try and get out of the beam before his shielding failed.

“What was it?” he asked Punch as he switched to a Moray.

All of the known Naxli energy weapons and their characteristics were uploaded into each battle buddy. If Rev wanted to use his Moray to counterfire the enemy beamer, he needed the specific beam characteristics to be loaded into the missile for maximum effectiveness.

<It’s a new weapon. It doesn’t match anything in my data banks.>

Crap!

He was just going to have to go raw with the Moray.

He gathered his legs under him, Pashu at the ready, when he hesitated, and he wasn’t sure why. His mind was working on something, and he’d learned to trust his instincts.

Around him, troopers were engaging the enemy—and taking fire in return. Another trooper fell, and Rev knew he had to get back in the fight, but there was that elusive thought that kept nibbling at his consciousness. Trying to pin it down, though, was like trying to grab smoke.

Make a decision, Reverent.

He shifted to the Naxli he’d just dropped. He had just gotten the tiniest of a look at it through all the brush, and as he recalled it, he realized it didn’t look quite like any of the versions of Naxli he’d fought so far.

But they’re shifters, so what are you wor—

“Shit! Punch, what are the specs on the ents’ energy weapons?”

<We don’t have them.>

Rev was already reacting.

“Cease fire, cease fire!” he shouted over his externals. “Everyone, cease your damn firing. They’re ents!”

In their battle mode, most of the troopers continued their assault. A few of the troopers hesitated. Lance Corporal Oriel, slowed and looked over to Rev a moment before she was hit and went down hard.

“CEASE FUCKING FIRE! Take whatever cover you can!”

Rev grabbed one of his magenta star clusters, chosen because it was the most visible color between the four allied races in the operation, and stood up.

“We’re human!” he screamed over his externals as he fired the cluster over the heads of their ambushers. He marched forward, his IBHU raised high.

Several rounds hit him, and his PAL gave him a damage warning on his right leg, but he kept slowly advancing, waiting for the kill shot that would take him down.

Troopers started repeating the command to cease fire, and the human fire petered out. It took longer for the incoming fire to stop, but when it did, Rev quit advancing. He stood there, hands over his head for a long moment, before a Breel slowly rose in the bushes, less than thirty meters away.

“We’re human, damn you,” Rev said.

* * *

Rev had been in friendly fire situations before. It was part of the fog of war. But this wasn’t artillery or aircraft, firing from a distance. These were grunts, ground pounders, close enough to be able to see each other, which somehow made it worse.

The platoon had been ambushed by a small Breel patrol. Three of the seven had been killed in the counter assault, including the one Rev had engaged. But they’d hurt the platoon more. Four troopers were KIA, one without a chance at resurrection. Three more were wounded, and three had damage to their equipment. The right leg of Rev’s PAL had taken a serious hit, and the self-repair circuits were trying to reroute, but it wasn’t going to be at 100% until he could get back to the armorer.

Rev had managed to keep his calm when he confronted the Breel leader, a slightly smaller but still large individual with an auburn splotch across the side of its torso and one arm, but when it never apologized, he wanted to smash it across the face with Pashu. The lieutenant must have sensed Rev’s anger because she pushed him away and told him to back down.

Rev watched Doc work on Hussein, who’d had a round tear off a chunk of his PAL’s greaves, and a chunk of shoulder underneath. Beyond Doc were the four bodies of dead troopers. HIS dead troopers.

“How in the hell couldn’t they see we’re humans?” he asked Punch.

<The Naxli have forms that mimic humans.>

“But they knew we were coming. That’s what this operation was all about!”

<Do we know this patrol knew that? Command and control have been decidedly lacking.>

Rev knew that was true, but as he continued to look over the four dead, he didn’t want to admit that. He wanted to be angry. He wanted to blame someone. And that had to be the Breel.

“We’re not noxes,” he muttered. “Any fool could see that.”

The Breel broke with the lieutenant and melted back into the brush.

Rev limped over and asked, “Now what?”

“We continue the mission, Gunny. That’s what. Get the platoon ready to continue.”

He signaled to Iglesias, Yancey, and Strap to form the platoon back up, then asked Hussein, “You with us? Do I need to put Tum in charge?”

Staff Sergeant Tsao was quietly watching. Rev knew she would never wish anyone harm, but he also knew she was still smarting from Strap being given Fourth Squad instead of her. That had been Rev’s intention, and the lieutenant had agreed, but the captain had nixed it, preferring to put her firepower in one of the three line squads.

“I can do it. I’m right-handed anyway,” he said, lifting his M-51 off the dirt beside him.

Rev hesitated a moment, and Hussein said, “You do OK with one arm.”

“And you don’t have an IBHU,” Rev snapped. “You’ve got two minutes. If you’re not ready, Tum’s taking over.”

“Finish it up, Doc,” Hussein told the medic. “The gunny’s being a hard ass.”

“I should have put Tum in charge,” Rev said as he moved into position.

<It isn’t your call. It’s the lieutenant’s. And what about you? Your leg’s at forty-three percent.>

Rev tended to consider the platoon his, but Punch was right again. It would have been the lieutenant’s call on whether to replace Hussein or not.

“Forty-three percent and climbing,” Rev said. “And even with a balky leg, I’ve got Pashu.”

Punch, his point made, didn’t respond.

Rev moved into position, and the platoon formed around him. Hussein took less than a minute before he hurried into position. Rev gave Doc LeRon the hand and arm signal for interrogative, and the medic signaled back with a thumbs-up.

If the medic cleared Hussein, Rev had to accept that.

The lieutenant gave the signal to move out, adding the “quick” modifier. The ambush had taken time and put them behind schedule. They’d been given a little bit of a window to get into position, but that window was pretty much gone.

Rev took one last glance at the dead. Kimms was immobile, having taken a round through the thigh and shattering his femur, but with the MDS drugs coursing through his body, he was capable of firing his BIPAC. He’d watch over the four KIA until the platoon could retrieve them all.

He hated to leave the karnan like that, but those were their orders. Kimms saw Rev looking back and gave him the OK sign.

We won’t be far, Kimms, and we’re coming back.

The platoon moved forward, pushing through the brush. They couldn’t hear any sounds of fighting, so the main assault hadn’t kicked off. But if the Naxli didn’t know they were coming before, then the intramural firefight sure tipped them off.

The entire platoon was on edge—Rev could feel it. But they reached their position on the low bluff overlooking the powerplant 400 meters below. While the platoon held back, Rev and the lieutenant started forward to eyeball the objective, but they’d just crept to the edge of the bluff when fighting broke out below.

There was no time to pick the perfect fighting positions. Whether the assault force had initiated the attack or had been discovered and taken under fire didn’t matter. The platoon had to get rounds on target.

Rev fired one of his Morays, then several rounds from his twenty before the rest of the platoon got in positions and started putting fire on the objective. Then he pulled back and, along with the lieutenant, started repositioning the troopers.

From the terrain study, the position should have had decent fields of fire, but it wasn’t as good as they’d hoped. The layout of the powerplant, coupled with the terrain and vegetation, didn’t allow for full coverage over the objective. Worse than that, they didn’t have eyes on the assault force. After what they’d just gone through, friendly fire was on everyone’s mind.

Forty-millimeter grenades started impacting on top of the main structure, but they didn’t seem to be having much effect. Rev knelt by the closest Jackhammer team.

“What’re your fuze settings?” he asked Kzing while Haroldsdotter pumped out the rounds.

“B3, Gunny.”

Rev grunted. That was the textbook fuze for this type of target, focusing the blast in a narrow cone that could penetrate soft structures. Evidently, the building wasn’t so soft.

“Shift for any targets of opportunity, but otherwise, keep hammering at the same point. Maybe you’ll break through.”

“Got it,” the Frisian Red Apprentice said.

Haroldsdotter didn’t say anything. Rev patted the corporal on the shoulder. She’d lost her left leg just above the knee on Mistworld and missed most of Second Assault’s missions, only returning in time to join up with the First Human Expeditionary Battalion.

As the platoon settled in, they kept up a steady, if dispersed pounding upon the objective. Rev wasn’t used to this. Marines from time immemorial worshiped at the altar of one shot, one kill. This . . . without organic indirect fire support, the platoon was essentially taking that mission. They were putting area fire on the target in the hopes that they could take out some Naxli, but if they didn’t, they were making them keep their heads down, giving the assault force a better opportunity to breach the objective.

But the platoon’s ineffective efforts were not keeping the Naxli from returning fire. As of yet, none of that was being aimed at First Platoon. It was all being sent out into the teeth of the assault

“Be ready to shift fires!” the lieutenant shouted.

Rev craned his head to get a better angle, but he still didn’t see the first of the assault force. They had to be getting close, though. According to the operations order, the nearest force to them should be Second Platoon.

It wasn’t only Second Platoon he hadn’t seen yet. So far, not a single Naxli had showed itself, and given that coupled with the fact that First Platoon was still not being engaged, Rev wondered if this was like NW-32, where the orbital gun had been protected by automatic weapons systems.

The closest IBHU to Rev was Božič-Mizaki. He shifted over to her and said, “Remember the water noxes, BM? I think these might be automatic weapons like that.”

“But Intel said—”

“Has Intel ever been wrong before? Look, I just want you to hold off and increase the gain on your scans. Try to find a gunport, then hit it with a Moray.”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said. But if we have a point target, the Moray can penetrate deeper.”

Despite Rev firing one of the missiles first, the Moray wasn’t the best weapon for the situation. The missiles were deadly against armor and enclosed bunkers, and with the right fuze, were an expensive but effective weapon against ground troops. But against a facility like the one below them, it wasn’t particularly effective. It didn’t have the brisance to blast giant holes through walls. It worked with a shaped charge that could burn through a wall, but if the other side of the wall opened up into a large enough space, then further damage would be limited.

But if Božič-Mizaki could pick up a specific location for a weapons port, then she might be able to surgically remove it. It might be a long shot, but removing her from the general base of fire wasn’t going to affect much.

“Shift fire, shift fire!” the lieutenant shouted.

And below him, Rev finally saw the first troopers from Second Platoon move into . . .

“Oh, shit.”

It wasn’t Second Platoon. Those were Breel, not humans. The Breel were supposed to have the right flank, not the left, unless . . .

Rev quickly checked the operations order overlay to make sure First Platoon was in the right place. And they were. It was the Breel who were wrong, or maybe Second had screwed up somehow.

Doesn’t matter who’s wrong. This assault is on.

“Let’s give them some support,” Rev said.

His warrior self had been quiet, but as the Breel surged forward, he tried to make himself known. Rev fired a long burst of his twenty, keeping his IBHU locked in place so as to put the rounds impacting on the same spot. Dust and chips flew, but after the burst, the wall was still solid.

That was a waste of rounds.

But it calmed him down just a bit, so maybe it had been worth it.

Around him, the platoon opened up, raining fire upon the facility. But still, they weren’t attracting much, if any, attention. It was as if they weren’t considered a threat.

If they were being ignored, that was not the case for the Breel. They were being scythed down like winter wheat. The lead elements of the assault reached a high-water mark of about forty meters from the front of the facility before it petered out. The intensity of the fire was just too great, and there weren’t any gaps that Rev could see.

But maybe Punch can.

“Can you make sense out of the firing? Can you pinpoint the nox firing positions?”

Punch activated Rev’s J-scan for two quick bursts, then he overlaid a pattern into Rev’s visual cortex.

<This isn’t complete, but it should indicate some of the positions within one-point-six meters.>

Rev studied it for a moment. If this wasn’t complete, it was bad enough. The positions were mutually supporting and created a blanket of death in front of them. The powerplant might not be the bunker complex that was their original objective, but it had to be reduced in the same manner, or the assault was going to fail.

This shouldn’t even be an infantry mission, not without robust fire support. A single orbital monitor could take out a good deal of the complex, enabling the infantry to penetrate the walls. But as a straight-up ground assault, this was going to be very expensive.

All the more reason for Rev to take out one of the weapons systems. He’d just selected a likely target when Nezev shouted, “There’s Second!”

Rev swung around, and seven hundred meters away, on the other side of the Breel, human troopers were moving into sight. He couldn’t tell if they were Second or Third. Logic said Second, but logic hadn’t been playing too big of a role here so far.

With the surviving Breel pinned down, though, the defenses were able to shift to the humans, and in the five seconds Rev watched, three went down hard.

Eyes on the prize, Reverent.

He swung back to the objective, locked onto his selected spot on the wall, and fired another Moray. The missile ran true and slammed into the side of the building. There was a flash of light and pulverized dust, but he couldn’t tell if he’d scored a kill.

He switched the fuze to a shaped-charge and fired a second missile. This time, the Moray was knocked down 130 meters short of the wall by a spike-like tube that had snapped into place on the main building’s roof.

With a snarl, Rev shifted to his twenty and fired a long burst that broke the top half of the tube free. He lowered Pashu and locked in again on the same spot in the wall then fired one more Moray. This one made it through, and with a flash as bright as the heart of a star, took out a chunk of the wall.

“Did I get it?” he asked Punch as he shifted through several of his scanners trying to get a BDA, a Battle Damage Assessment.

<I can’t tell.>

A large explosion rocked one of the smaller outer buildings, and a significant section collapsed on itself. Rev didn’t know what caused the damage. Nothing the platoon had could do that unless it had kicked off a secondary explosion.

Maybe the Breel had finally been able to get something done. But the Naxli were still in the fight. He took a quick glance at where the human platoon had started its assault.

It was going nowhere. Bodies littered the ground, and as he watched, yet another trooper in a PAL was cut down.

“Come on, First! Those are our people getting killed down there!” he screamed as his warrior struggled to take over.

He had visions of himself pelting down the slope and firing point blank into the weapons stations, taking them out one-by-one. It took all of his discipline to remain where he was and help coordinate the base of fire.

He scrambled over to Haroldsdotter. “Any luck?”

The corporal frowned and said, “I don’t think so. I’ve got a hole going, but I’m not through yet.”

Rev’s eyesight was augmented—tech trumped that, though. He pulled out his monocle and followed the corporal’s outgoing rounds. The 40mm rounds had eaten a hole in the wall. From the disturbance in the air patterns, Rev was pretty sure that the Naxli weapon was still putting out rounds.

He considered putting a Moray in the hole. He was down to two missiles, though, and he wanted to save them for real targets. He did fire a long burst from his twenty without being able to tell if he had much effect on target.

He started to crawl over to Nye Torking. He wanted to see how effective the karnan’s BIPAC was, but he never made it. A lone tangerine star cluster rose above the assaulting platoon, followed immediately by two more.

Shit!

That was the signal to withdraw. The assault was being abandoned.

“Stay at your position!” the lieutenant passed. “We need to cover them.”

The tempo of outgoing fire increased. Breaking contact was one of the most dangerous maneuvers on the battlefield, and First Platoon couldn’t give the Naxli free rein.

Rev joined with his twenty, knowing that he wasn’t doing much. If the power station was, in fact, defended by an automated system, then “keeping their heads down” was a mission in futility.

His anger was growing. There was no way a professional, capable force should be defeated by an automated defense, no matter how sophisticated. But that anger was focused on the alliance. They weren’t a professional fighting force. They barely knew how to fight together, and without a single commander, they didn’t have a strong, unified commander’s intent. They were piecemeal. And because of that, Breel and humans were pulling back, dragging their dead and wounded out of the way.

As Rev glanced over to Second, hoping and not hoping to spot Tomiko, another human, this one dragging a trooper by the dead man’s handle, was hit and went down. Two more darted out to recover both of the bodies.

“Respect for the fallen,” he muttered, trying not to think of who those might be.

It was a long eight or nine minutes as the Breel and humans withdrew while First Platoon poured ineffectual fire from above. And then things switched. The ground around the platoon exploded as the weapons below evidently recalculated priorities, and now it was time to rid themselves of the pesky base of fire.

Corporal Torres took a large caliber round that split her helmet in the first volley, but the rest managed to duck back into defilade.

Rev looked over to the lieutenant, who looked tiny without a combat suit, to see what the platoon commander wanted to do. The lieutenant edged forward again, and Rev kept expecting to see her hit, but after looking over the battlefield below, she slid back down and gave the signal to withdraw.

Rev was still seething, but he didn’t know if the lieutenant’s orders made him angrier or not. It wasn’t as if the platoon commander had a choice, though. That star cluster also pertained to them. Once they could no longer give the assault force support, they had to withdraw as well.

It was a silent platoon that moved through the dense brush, picked up Kimms and the four KIA, and made their way back to the rally point. Rev put the platoon into a defense while the lieutenant sent off a message drone.

Now, if things went according to plan, they’d be picked up by the Uauii and flown back to an assembly point to await further orders. They’d be given another mission, or if things were going to hell in a handbasket elsewhere, they might be taken off the planet.

Rev hated defeat. HATED it! But for one of the few times in his life, he’d just as soon abandon the place. The assault on the power station did not fail because of the troopers or Breel. It failed because of the leadership. There was no coordination, no single sense of purpose, and that wouldn’t change until some serious issues were addressed.

But that was way above his level. His job right now was to make sure the platoon was still ready to answer the call. He made his way around the perimeter, checking on each trooper, making sure they were mentally in the game and had the munitions to fight. He was managing the redistribution of ammo when a drone came in. Rev left the redistribution to Yancey and jogged up to the lieutenant.

“What’s the word,” Rev asked when the lieutenant unjacked from the drone.

“We’re not getting picked up,” the platoon commander said as if she were announcing that the chow hall was out of bug juice.

“What do you mean? They want us to make another attempt?”

“No. We’re done. But the clickers aren’t coming in. Too dangerous to fly, they said.”

Rev’s anger, which had just started to bank, flared red hot again. “Just order those chickenshit bastards to fly!”

The lieutenant shrugged. “Who’s going to order that? Who’s in command? No one, that’s who.”

Un-fucking-believable.

“So, what now?”

“We march out. The entire operation is shutting down, not just us. So, we’ve got eight hours to reach the LZ. There’re no promises that the shuttles will wait any longer.”

“How far, ma’am? To this LZ?”

“Seventy-eight klicks.”

Rev was surprised that the lieutenant said that so calmly. Seventy-eight klicks in eight hours was a good haul for a trooper in a combat suit. It would be a feat for her without a suit, especially given the terrain and thick vegetation. And with the allied force in retreat, that would free up the Naxli to pursue them the entire way.

“Then we’d better get going now, ma’am,” Rev said as he jacked into the message drone to download the coordinates.

* * *

Seven hours and thirty-one minutes later, the platoon reached the LZ to the glorious sight of a shuttle waiting for them, an anxious-looking crew chief standing on the ramp.

Rev gave the signal to board, and the troopers gratefully tramped up the ramp and took their seats. Rev stopped at the bottom of the ramp and waited as the platoon filed by.

It had been a rough retreat, and Rev wasn’t the only one cursing the Uauii with each step. It wasn’t just the terrain and vegetation that fought to slow them down. They were hit three times by the Naxli—luckily not in pitched combat, but by indirect fire. And luckily as well, the same thick vegetation that impeded them helped shield them from the worst of the blasts. No one was killed, and only six were wounded, none seriously.

Caporal Chef Archambault entered the LZ and approached the shuttle.

“How is she?” Rev asked about the lieutenant who was strapped onto the caporal’s back.

“Still out cold, but breathing.”

“Good job. Just put her in a seat and have Doc check her out.

The lieutenant had surprised everyone. She’d kept up, despite the heat, vegetation, and shelling. Her exposed skin was lacerated and streaked with red—both from blood and overheating. Her body finally gave out nine klicks back, and Rev had ordered her strapped to Archambault’s back and carried the rest of the way.

When she came to, Rev knew the lieutenant’s pride would be hurt. But she was alive. And she’d gained respect.

Rev had the advantage of kangaroo tail tendon DNA in his legs, increased musculature, larger lungs, vastly improved blood flow, and a PAL-HX, and he’d been pushed close to the limit. He couldn’t imagine how the lieutenant had done as well as she had.

Rev waited until Tsao, who was Tail End Charlie, boarded before he stepped onto the ramp. The crew chief kept asking if that was everyone. Rev thought it was, but he walked up and down the cargo bay with the crew chief nervously pacing him, and he physically laid hands on each trooper, the living and the dead.

Rev gave the crew chief a thumbs up, then jacked into the front and told the pilot they were all aboard.

He watched the visuals as the shuttle lifted off and started the transition into horizontal flight. As the shuttle pulled away from the surface of the planet, the LZ erupted in explosions when the Naxli artillery found them.

Rev didn’t have the emotional energy to care.

13

“Was it as bad as it looked?”

Rev found Tomiko sitting on the ground in a narrow corridor at the periphery of the battalion’s area. She looked up at him, then rose and gave him a hug, her head buried in his chest.

He’d never seen her like this. She was always the strong one, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do. So, he just wrapped his arms around her and gave her silent support. Finally, she broke the hug and stepped back. She wasn’t crying, but her eyes were red and puffy.

“It was worse, Rev,” she said.

“I haven’t seen . . . uh . . . who, you know . . .”

“You know about San Denis, right?”

Rev nodded. “How’d it happen?”

“Thought he was invincible. Typical IBHU shit. Stood up there like some Mother-damned hero, and they nailed him.”

Rev shook his head. This was the captain’s second time in combat as an IBHU, and he was gone. That was happening too often lately, and Rev had to question the training the newbie IBHUs were getting.

“Bob and Kelly are WIA. I don’t know how bad. The lieutenant’s KIA. Grayson, Meeker, Ute, Gray Hawk. More.” Tomiko took a deep breath, and he could see her center herself. “Tori’s WIA, so I think I’m acting platoon sergeant now.”

She gave a rueful chuckle. “Hell, what am I saying? Platoon commander. And that reminds me that I’d better check the aid station.”

“It’s a madhouse there right now,” Rev said. “That’s where I just came from.”

She brushed back her short hair with her hand, then pulled at the bottom of her utility blouse. “I need to check. I’m not getting updates on this for anyone not in the squad,” she said, pointing at her wristcomp.

“They’ll clear you for the platoon data as soon as things get straightened out,” he told her. Then he added, “Do you want me to go with you?”

She gave his upper arm a squeeze and said, “No. It’s OK. But when I get back to the company area, I want to know what you saw, if you’ve got some time. I’d like to know before the debrief.”

And just like that, the vulnerable Tomiko was gone, replaced by the professional Marine. The Second Platoon acting commander.

“Sure thing. I’ll be there.”

She nodded, then left him as she headed for the battalion aid station.

“Can you put together a little montage of what we saw? Something I can upload to her?”

<Yes, I can. I’ll have it ready,> Punch said.

“Speaking of which, I should get ready myself. I’m going to tear up some asses when it’s my turn.”

<Don’t let your emotions get the best of you. You need to present your opinions calmly and with facts to back you up.>

“Don’t worry, Punch. I’ll be good. But I’m still going to make sure I’m heard.”

With such heavy losses, there was going to be some serious discussion during the hotwash. Rev was certain that he knew what happened, but Punch was right. He couldn’t go into it half-cocked if he wanted them to listen to him.

The problem was the anger that still roiled within him, always present if just under the surface. He was afraid someone would say something that would push him over the edge.

<How about a joke?>

Rev was about to rebuke his battle buddy that now wasn’t the time, but then he realized Punch was just trying to look out for him and blunt the sharp edge of that anger.

“I’m OK, Punch. I’ll keep control. Don’t worry.”

Rev had spoken to most of the platoon on the way back to Clickerland, but he knew that he should do that again. A little time had a way of putting things in a new perspective, and he wanted to talk to them once more before he formulated what he was going to say.

He started to head to the company cubes when Punch reminded him, <The lieutenant told you to let her know how our WIA are.>

“Crap, you’re right.”

Lieutenant Marble had suffered numerous cuts and abrasions during their movement to the LZ, but the worst things were heat stroke and utter exhaustion. She’d recover, but for now she was on bed rest with orders to stay there. Rev connected to the platoon commander via wrist comp. “Ma’am, I’m back from the aid station.”

“I’m on my way to the Three. Give it to me quick.”

So much for bed rest, Lieutenant.

But that wasn’t Rev’s call. “Like Doc said, the three KIA have got a great shot at resurrection.”

Three, not five. Krakov and Torres, as they had figured, had no chance.

“Kimms is the worst off of the WIA. A month minimum before he can return, and that won’t be at 100%. The rest should be back to full duty within a week.”

Which is supposed to be when you’re back to duty, too.

“I talked to Staff Sergeant Reiser. Second Platoon was hit hard,” Rev said.

There was a slight pause, then the lieutenant said, “I know. Such a waste.”

“Any word on a new skipper?” Rev asked.

With Captain San Denis KIA, they needed a new commander. Rev knew Bundy wanted the position.

“Nothing. Lieutenant Kongi’s the senior platoon commander, so he’ll be the acting. But they’ll get someone in soon, I’m sure.”

Hopefully Bundy, but I’ll take anyone who can handle it.

“I’m going to get ready for the debrief,” he told the lieutenant. “I just want to let you know that I’m not going to be quiet. I’ve got a lot to say.”

“About that . . .”

Oh, shit. She’s not going to try to tell me to back down, is she?

“The hot wash has been delayed. It’s going to be bigger than just with the battalion. So, keep all of that ready, but no rush. You can take a little time to decompress. The CO’s authorized beer for tonight.”

Rev didn’t know how to take that. A “delay” might be OK, but it could also be a way to push it off into never. He wasn’t stupid, and he knew that this joint effort was vital. What happened to one battalion was trivial in the grand scheme of things. If the powers that be decided that it was better for the overall situation, then the fiasco would be swept under the rug.

Rev understood that, but he also understood that he was a Marine, and now a trooper. A platoon sergeant. And big picture or not, it was his duty to make sure this didn’t happen again. If he had to be a gadfly, then that was his duty, not some grandiose strategic initiative.

“Beer,” he said. “A bribe?”

The fabricators could produce a rather decent beer, among other alcoholic beverages. But in the interest of presenting a good face, they’d been blocked from producing them. Removing the blocks smacked of an ulterior motive to Rev.

“Maybe just the CO trying to be nice, Gunny. Don’t keep putting the worst possible slant on things. Look, I’m here. Just get back to the platoon and let them know that nothing’s due right now and to enjoy the evening. And Gunny, you too. Relax. Have a beer. Just forget about everything for the night.”

“Aye-aye, ma’am.”

But he wasn’t going to forget. He couldn’t. First Platoon had come through the battle relatively unscathed, but if nothing changed, then it could be them next.

But orders were orders. He relayed the message to the squad leaders, then made his way back to his cube. He wanted to be ready when Tomiko got back.

The company berthing was a maze of haphazardly stacked cubes. As platoon sergeant, Rev had a single cube of his own. He made his way through the narrow corridors and, with a sense of relief that he’d never thought he’d ever feel, opened the door—

Rev immediately started to shift into attack mode. Standing in his room were three Breel who turned at his entrance. The only reason Rev didn’t attack them was that they weren’t making any aggressive moves.

“What are you doing here!” he shouted before he noticed the auburn birthmark-looking splotch on one of them.

“I know you. You ambushed us. But what the hell are you doing here?” he said, lowering his arms a few centimeters.

The splotched Breel reached into a pocket on the almost safari-like blouse it was wearing and removed a shiny, iridescent flask. In a very human-like motion, it lifted the flask and took a drink. A ripple of color flowed out from below its mouth and spread across its chest before fading.

Despite the total weirdness of what was happening, Rev couldn’t help but notice that the purple changed to a light lilac as the wave reached the auburn markings.

The Breel held out the flask to Rev. Its meaning was obvious.

Rev warily looked at the flask, then said, “We are different beings. I cannot consume your drink.”

“We have checked. This is alcohol, the same as you humans consume. The other elements are harmless to you.”

Rev wasn’t convinced. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the Breel . . . or maybe it was. Conspiratorial thoughts bounced back and forth in his head like a canary in a cage. Rev was going to lay the hammer on the Breel during his debrief, and maybe this was a chance to shut him up?

“We met in battle. You killed us, and we killed you.”

The translators were getting better as more exchanges were recorded and analyzed, but they weren’t perfect yet. Still, this sounded like it was getting into Naxli challenge territory, and Rev tensed, ready to act. He was suddenly aware that he was in his room alone with three of them.

“This was unfortunate. We spilled blood, and now we should share the blood of life to—” the translator cut out, and all Rev could hear was the Breel’s low vibration-like speech for a moment before it came back. “. . . amalgamate the life-bonds.”

The entire time, the Breel’s arm offering the drink didn’t budge, and the other two might as well have been statues.

“Punch, what are they saying? Is this a peace offering or a challenge of some sort.”

<I don’t have enough data to answer that.>

“Then guess, damn it. I’m kinda exposed here right now,” he said as he looked out the open door, wondering if he should make a break for it.

<The Uauii translators are still working on seamless translations, but if you want me to guess, then I’d say some of that was literal. “Blood of life” might be the drink. “Amalgamate the life-bonds” could be a ceremony of friendship.>

Which was what Rev had been thinking.

<Or it could be a curse and challenge.>

Damn. Thanks for that, Punch.

But as Rev stared at the lead Breel, he didn’t see aggression. He’d fought too many times that even with an alien, with all the differences, he thought he’d recognize someone with ill intent.

What the hell?

Rev reached out and grabbed the flask. His fingers touched the twig-like appendages for a moment—they were cool and smooth—before the Breel released it.

The wary side of him, the distrustful part, wanted to sniff the drink first. But he was committed. He raised the flask to his mouth. For a moment, nothing came out until he realized the spout was closed, and he had to apply pressure to open it.

He bit down and squeezed, and a rush of Breel booze exploded in his mouth. He was expecting something fierce, something that would burn, but it was surprisingly refreshing, like a cool mint shake—except it didn’t taste like mint nor a shake. But that was the impression it gave him.

Minty shake didn’t mean it was lightweight. It had a kick that snuck up on him, and Rev could feel his face turn red as he handed back the flask.

“My name is Koral,” the Breel said.

Rev had no idea how the translator determined that pronunciation from what had sounded like a groan to him.

“Sam” and “Tyli,” the other two said.

“I’m Reverent Pelletier.”

Koral handed the flask to Sam and Tyli, and each took a sip.

I guess all three of us are buddies now.

Rev wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He wasn’t fond of the race, and they’d screwed up. A big screw-up, one that cost the platoon. But like it or not, they were allies, and it was probably best that they all learned to get along.

The three looked at each other, and Rev got the feeling that with the little peace ceremony done, they were going to leave. Suddenly, he didn’t want that.

“Did you know we were coming?” he blurted out. “I mean, did you know humans were going to be at the objective with you?”

The three exchanged looks again, and then Koral said, “No. We were not told. Coordination failed.”

He might be mistaken, but Rev thought he could detect anger in Koral’s voice when he said that coordination had failed.

“When we saw you, we thought you were Naxli shifters. We know the Naxli have chosen your human form to use in battle.”

Rev’s ear must be getting used to their speech because he could make out the word “Naxli” in the rumblings at the same moment his translator repeated it in a higher range into his ear.

But the revelation floored him. He’d been angry at the Breel, blaming them for the intramural fight. But if the coordination was so messed up that they didn’t know the humans were coming, and if they knew that the Naxli seemed to like fighting in their human form, then their reaction was understandable—tragic, but understandable.

“That might be why the ents attacked the objective first,” he told Punch, thinking on how they’d started their assault alone, without the other human platoons.

<That’s a reasonable assumption. We’ll most likely find out during the hotwash.>

“Coordination has been . . . lacking,” Rev said, not wanting to sound like he was accusing them.

Sam and Tyli immediately reacted, waving their arms and grumbling like speakers with the bass turned way up. Rev’s translator was having a difficult time with both speaking at once, but it was obvious that they weren’t happy with the way the joint unit was being set up.

“We cannot continue in this way. We need”—there were more rumblings that were stymieing the translator—“coordination.”

“Bingo!” Rev said, then, “You’re right,” when he realized that “bingo” had been too much for their translators.

Rev felt a heady rush when he realized that they were singing the same tune. Their firefight had been a tragedy, but it was a systemic problem, not anything they did wrong at the unit level.

But after that initial surge of mutual anger, the four fell into an awkward silence. Sam pointedly turned to look out the door.

Rev wasn’t ready for that. “Do you have more of that?” he asked Koral, pointing at the flask in Sam’s hand.

Koral made a short, low hooting sound, then said, “You like the blood of life?”

“Well, I could get used to it.”

“Yes, we have more. We like the blood of life very much.”

“And can I ask my squad leaders here? I want them to amalgamate the life-bonds, too.”

“That would be satisfactory.”

Rev got on his wrist comp and told the four squad leaders to put someone else in charge and to get to his stateroom. He didn’t tell them why. It would be easier to explain it to them in person.

And that’s where the lieutenant found them two hours later. Six drunk humans—Tomiko had come looking for Rev and then just stayed—and three drunk Breel, all telling sea stories, each one more outlandish than the rest.

Evidently, Breel and humans were a lot more alike than anyone had thought they were.

14

It was five full days before Rev was able to give his after-action notes, and he was given four minutes, start to finish. He almost didn’t even get that, being told that due to the fact that the main debrief was being done over a quantum conference call, only principal staff and officers would speak. But Rev knew he was in a special position not normally granted to a gunnery sergeant, and he raised a pretty big stink about not having the opportunity.

He’d shifted from his initial intention. Instead of laying any of the blame specifically on the Breel, he attacked the concept of shared responsibility and the very concept of the force.

Punch had reminded him to ask about not having discs, but with only four minutes to speak, he left that off as well as some of the other minor specifics. He could bring those up at the battalion level.

He got the distinct impression that the generals, admirals, and politicians back on New Mars weren’t paying much attention to his four-minute report. He saw some conferring among themselves as he spoke.

The question was if that was because they were blowing off his concerns or if they had already come to the same conclusion on their own and were merely giving him a say for appearance’s sake.

These weren’t even the ultimate decision-makers. The Union might be the sponsors of the First Human Expeditionary Battalion, but the CoH on Titan was the real power broker here. Rev considered trying to get an audience with them, but he didn’t have nearly enough pull to get that done despite his relative notoriety.

“How’d it go?” the lieutenant asked as Rev left the briefing room.

She wasn’t called to the hotwash at this level, but she’d come with Rev, who wasn’t sure if it was for moral support or to keep an eye on her somewhat headstrong platoon sergeant.

“I don’t know, ma’am.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? How did they react?”

“That’s the problem, ma’am. They didn’t react. I think they’ve already made up their minds.”

“Which is . . . ?”

“You’d probably know better than me. You’ve been in all the battalion meetings.”

The lieutenant sighed as they started back to the platoon area. “All I know is what we put in the written after-action report.”

“Which put the blame on the ents,” Rev said. He’d already talked to Bundy about the report, trying to get his friend to pull back on that aspect of it.

“Not entirely, no. And I know you’re all buddy-buddy with them now, but you weren’t there during all the planning.”

Neither were you.

“I’m not buddy-buddy with them. It’s just that they’re being hamstrung in this organization, just like we are.”

The lieutenant opened her mouth to say something, but Rev beat her to the punch. “We aren’t some show force, putting on fancy uniforms and making sure everyone has representation. That’s all well and good for politics. Give everyone a seat at the table. But we’re a fighting force, and that doesn’t cut it with us.”

The lieutenant stopped, grabbed Rev by the arm, and pulled him around. “Just what do you suggest then, Gunnery Sergeant?”

Rev wasn’t sure what she wanted. Everything had been sort of jumbled up in his mind without coalescing into something he could articulate.

Just give it a shot.

“Look, ma’am. We all know the clickers are lousy soldiers.”

“Big economic power, though.”

“Great. They’ve got a strong economy. But they suck as soldiers. The lemmings put them to shame, and the ents are better. So, right now, we’ve got three, well, somewhat capable forces.”

“They’re the Niklith. They’re supposed to be good fighters.”

“And they’re not here. Neither are the five, six, or however many other alien militaries there are. Hell, not even the Centaurs are here.”

“You’ve been briefed on that, Gunny.”

“Yeah, yeah, the Centaurs have fought against some of our allies. But we fought against them, and yet it was a Centaur riever that saved my ass on Syron III. I wouldn’t be here today if we couldn’t get past former enemies.”

He didn’t bother to mention that even among the humans in the battalion, there were many who’d fought against their current brothers in arms.

“The clickers brought us into this alliance,” the lieutenant said. “Don’t you think we owe them?”

“Shit, Lieutenant!” Rev said in exasperation. “Sorry, but with all due respect, they owe us for coming, not the other way around. The only reason they invited us is that we saved their round asses on Orange.

“Look, I don’t hate the clickers. And if they can support us, all the better. But they suck at being soldiers. And by us pussyfooting around . . . ‘Oh, we have to have everyone represented in the command . . .’” Rev said in an affected falsetto. “Bullshit. That’s how we get people killed. That’s how Second Platoon lost more than half of their troopers. That’s why we had to hump seventy-eight freakin‘ klicks to get taken off the planet.”

He didn’t think he had to mention that the lieutenant had almost died on that march.

Rev was getting more heated as he was finally able to verbalize the feelings that had been percolating inside of him.

“Our mission here is to be the most lethal force in the galaxy, not whether we’re hurting the feelings of the clickers or any of the other aliens in this alliance.”

To Rev, this was just common sense, but he could see resentment in the lieutenant’s eyes, and that confused him. Then it hit him.

The lieutenant was a Tau Ceti Ranger. Rev had nothing against the Rangers. They were a capable force with good soldiers. But when all was said and done, they were a third-rate world with a third-rate economy. There was a reason they didn’t have the same level of augments that some of the other forces have.

Even their skin augments, which could draw sustenance from sunlight, came about because the Tau Ceti Navy couldn’t always keep forces supplied as the nation tried to retain military relevance.

And because of that, sometimes the Rangers had an emotional chip on their shoulders. Rev didn’t feel that way. He admired them. Heck, the lieutenant had just put on a show without a combat suit. They might punch above their weight class as a military, but they were still a relatively small force even if they at least brought something to the table.

Lieutenant Marble was taking the representation comments personally, and Rev needed to rephrase what he was saying. “The clickers can help us fight the Naxli. And if they want to field military forces on their own, fine. But where human forces are concerned, if we can’t trust them to act when they need to, then well, we can’t be so worried that we’ll hurt their feelings that we give them a seat at the command table.”

He turned inward to Punch. “What was that quote by the Duke of Wellington? About what a commander is supposed to do?”

His battle buddy gave it to him.

“Ma’am, you know who the Duke of Wellington was, right?”

Lieutenant Marble rolled her eyes and said, “If you mean the one who fought Napoleon, then yes. I am educated, you know.”

Rev gave a little inward wince. He realized that might have been a little condescending, not something you wanted to do with an officer. But he forged on.

“He once said, ‘I shall see no officer under my command is debarred . . . from attending to his first duty, which is and always has been to train the private men under his command that they may without question beat any force opposed to them in the field.’”

The platoon commander scrunched her brows and asked, “What does that exactly mean?”

“It’s . . . he means, that the only thing officers—and I’ll say NCOs, too—have to do is to make sure their soldiers can kick the enemy’s ass. Not whether the clicker’s economy is better than ours. We can’t worry if having a beer might upset the locals here. We can’t worry about the singers floating above our heads. That’s for the CoH. I’m not saying those issues aren’t important, but yeah, they aren’t, at least for us and our mission.

“We need to be the baddest badasses in the valley. Period. If the ents and the lemmings want to fight with us, then great. But a single command, not this shared shit. Hell, I’d rather fight under the ent command, or Mother help me, lemming command, whatever that would be, than keep up this bullshit.”

Rev was getting excited, and he was breathing hard as he lectured—because that’s what he was doing—the lieutenant, who looked back at him with a piercing gaze.

Rev knew he was sounding like one of the fervent Sunday morning speakers in Freedom Square in Anastasia, where anyone with an opinion could stand and preach to the world.

“Anyone who can contribute, ma’am, would be welcome. Under a single command. But if you can’t contribute on the front line, then get the hell out of the way and let us save you,” he said in a somewhat calmer voice. “We can’t worry about hurting the clickers’ feelings.”

The lieutenant just stared at him for a long moment, long enough for Rev to start to feel uncomfortable. Finally, she said, “You’ve got a pretty high opinion of yourself, don’t you, Gunny?”

That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it. I’m just saying that we need to do this the right way. Kill the Naxli. That’s what’s important.

But he didn’t say that. He’d already made his position clear.

“Yes, ma’am, I know we’re good. I was with Second Assault from the beginning, long before we morphed into First Expeditionary. We’re combat tested, and I know just how capable we are.”

There was another long pause before the lieutenant said, “Well, we’ll see.”

We’ll see what? What are you saying?

The lieutenant turned and started walking again.

“Get back to the platoon, Gunny. Like the duke said, we need to prepare the troopers for whatever’s coming next.”

* * *

“Can I come in, Gunny?”

Rev spun around to see the lieutenant at his door. He subconsciously moved his chair a few centimeters farther away from Tomiko. With the door open—as per regulations—it wasn’t as if they were doing anything, but they might have been sitting a little closer than was necessary.

“Of course, ma’am. Come in,” Rev said as he and Tomiko stood.

The platoon commander gave Tomiko a measured stare, and Rev said, “You know Staff Sergeant Reiser, right, ma’am?”

“I know who she is,” she said, then seemingly dismissed her from her thoughts as she turned back to Rev.

“Does the staff sergeant need to step out,” Rev said, bristling a bit as he reverted to formal speech.

“No, no need.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “It looks like you’re not the only one who thinks like you do.”

What the hell does that mean? Think about what?

“Ma’am?”

“We’ve gotten a new set of orders.”

That caught Rev’s attention.

“We don’t know all the details, but it looks like your Marine command put their foot down, and the CoH caved. They issued an ultimatum—no more command by committee.”

“Oh, thank the Mother,” Rev said.

It’s what he wanted, but he didn’t think it would happen.

Wait. Who’s in command here? If it’s the clickers . . .

“Who’s—”

“In fact, it’s us who are the lead force here. You played your hand, and the clickers blinked.”

Rev gave a mental sigh of relief. This was working out better than he could have hoped for.

“It’ll be for the better, ma’am. You’ll see.”

“Don’t you think I know that, Gunny?” the lieutenant snapped.

Beside him, Tomiko tensed up, and Rev thought for a moment that she’d say something.

“Of course, a single command’s going to make things better. I just don’t agree with how you Marines threw your weight around to get it done. But I guess I’m in the minority.”

Rev kept his face frozen.

What’s eating your ass? If it took us to play hardball, then the results justified the means. Now maybe lives won’t be needlessly wasted.

The lieutenant was obviously angry, but Rev didn’t care. He’d come to respect a lot about his platoon commander, but if she was upset that the Marines had to take a stand, then she’d just been knocked down a few pegs in Rev’s level of respect.

“You didn’t get everything you wanted, though.”

“Ma’am? I wasn’t making any demands. I was just laying out my thoughts to you.”

“Whatever. But the clickers are still going to be part of the force. They will have representation.”

Rev would have liked to see the clickers gone. If they couldn’t be counted on, then better that they weren’t even there. But with a Marine command, then maybe they could be handled.

“Ma’am, is this just for the battalion, or is humanity taking over the fight?” Tomiko asked.

Oh, good question, Miko.

The lieutenant turned to Tomiko as if he’d forgotten she was there.

“Just this force, Staff Sergeant. They’re working out the details, but it looks like follow-on human forces might be in under other races. Nothing is set in stone yet.”

Rev grunted as he took that in. This force represented just a fragment of the loose alliance that was fighting the Naxli. Humanity standing up to the Uauii and the rest for this initial effort suddenly didn’t look like the victory he’d initially thought it was.

Doesn’t matter. What does matter is what’s happening to us. The follow-on forces will have to deal with the problem.

“I guess there’ll be a lot of changes tomorrow as we reorganize,” Rev said.

The lieutenant gave a humorless chuckle. “More than you realize, Gunny.”

When she didn’t expound on that, Rev asked, “Ma’am?”

“We won’t be part of the reorganization.”

“That’ll be done at the battalion staff level and higher, right, ma’am? We’ll just implement what they give us.”

“No, we won’t implement anything they come up with. As of tomorrow morning, Gunny, the platoon will be leaving the planet.”

Tomiko startled beside him, and he asked, “We’ve got a mission?”

Again, the humorless chuckle. “You can say that. As of tomorrow morning, we’re being detached from the battalion. Where are we going, do you ask? Well, I’ll tell you. We’re being attached to the ents. Seems like the CoH wants representation, too.”

Tomiko took a step forward and put her hand on the small of his back as she crowded him.

Rev’s heart fell.

The ents? The arrogant, stuck-in-their-ways ents?

Rev had shared the blood of life with the Breel, and he no longer actively disliked them, but they were extremely difficult to work with. If a Breel unit was under Marine command, that unit could be given a mission to accomplish.

But this was different. The platoon was going to be attached to a Breel unit? They’d become part of it?

“But—”

“You said you’d serve under an ent command, Gunny. I told the captain that, and it looks like he passed that up the chain. Next thing I know is that the platoon is attached to your drinking buddies. You do the math, Gunny.”

So, that’s why she’s pissed, Rev realized through his shock. She thinks this is my doing.

“Ma’am, what about Second Platoon?” Tomiko asked.

She gave her a dismissive flick of the hand. “You’re nowhere near combat effective. You’ll wait here until you’re reinforced and can train back up. A master sergeant from Charlie Company’s coming to take over the platoon until they can bring in an officer.”

The lieutenant let her gaze go from Rev to her and back to Rev. “Say your goodbyes, Gunny. Reveille’s at zero-five, and we leave sometime after eleven-hundred.”

And with that, she wheeled on her heel and left the room.

“Rev . . .” Tomiko said.

“I know,” he answered with a sigh.

This was their life. They may be engaged, but they didn’t control their futures. They’d thought that they’d be in the same place for the duration of the mission, but fate had a different plan.

Who knew when they’d see each other again?

“I guess I should leave and let you get ready,” she said quietly. “Here, give me a hug first.”

She held out her arms, but Rev didn’t take them. He stared at the open door.

“Fuck regulations,” he said suddenly before slamming the door shut and locking it.

He turned back to Tomiko and asked, “Now, how about that hug?”

15

Rev yawned, his jaw almost cracking open.

“Am I boring you, Gunny?” Jōtōheisō Iwata asked.

“Ah, no. Sorry Chief. Just didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“None of us did, getting ready for this. But we’re managing to get this done without falling asleep.” The S-4 chief turned back to the platoon’s NCOs while Rev shook his head to wake himself up.

<Do you want a boost?>

“And suffer later? No thanks. I’m fine.”

<What do you call a sleeping bull?>

“What are you talking about? A bull?”

<What do you call a sleeping bull?> Punch repeated.

Oh, a joke.

Rev thought he knew the answer to that one, but despite what he told Iwata, his mind was a little muddled.

“I give up. Just tell me.”

<A bulldozer.> He added a rim shot after that.

It was bad, but Rev let out a chuckle that he immediately cut off.

“Something I said funny, Gunny?”

<“Funny, Gunny.” That’s good.>

“Stop it!” he subvocalized, then to the S-4 chief, “No, sorry. Go on.”

Iwata frowned, then returned to his brief. “As I was saying, your deployment crates are laid out, and we’ve got guards on them so the lemmings don’t start snatching what they want. As soon as we have confirmation on the ship, we’ll load . . .”

“Even for you, Punch, that was a pretty bad punchline.” Simultaneously, as he said “punchline,” he used tabletalk to write the word with a capital “P.” “Punchline.”

<And you think that was better?>

“Yeah, I do.”

Rev wondered what was going on with his battle buddy. The jokes had dropped off in frequency, and when he did tell a joke, they seemed to have gone downhill.

Bulldozer. Really? What are you, a three-year-old?

<So, do you feel more alert now? Your bios would indicate that you are.>

Rev pursed his lips. He’d been had. When he turned down the boost, Punch had taken matters into his own hands—figuratively, of course. He’d proactively told a dumb joke to get a reaction from him, which not so coincidently served to wake him up.

Punch had played him, and Rev was sure that wasn’t programmed into his battle buddy. This was just one more thing that had evolved, and it was one more reason to keep Punch’s development from the powers that be. They’d take him apart to try and figure out what had happened to him.

He shook his head and focused on what the S-4 chief was telling them. The eleven-hundred departure had already passed. The Navy had balked at a major capital ship being used to transport the platoon to sites unknown. For them, it wasn’t just First Platoon. A platoon from two other companies were being attached, one each to the Kanters and Uauii. So, that was three ships. And the civilian charters did not want to be plying the lanes outside of human space.

Jōtōheisō Iwata finally finished telling them that he had nothing to tell them, and once he left, Rev faced the NCOs.

“Well, you heard him. Hurry up and wait. I’ll see if the lieutenant’s found out anything, but for now, I don’t want anyone wandering off. And I want three troopers on the gear at all times. It’s not that I don’t trust the Four Shop—”

“Or your pet lemmings,” Randigold said to the laughter of the rest.

Rev rolled his eyes, and he could feel his face turn red. It had taken him a while to admit it to himself, but the Kanters did seem to take an inordinate amount of interest in him. They were an insanely curious race, and they were interested in all things human, but they seemed particularly interested in him.

Tomiko said it went back to that first fight with them, when Rev had opened fire in their support. Rev doubted that. They wouldn’t even know he was the one who’d initiated that. More likely, they were fascinated with Pashu, even when he was wearing his social arm. Switching out arms had to be a new concept to them.

He ignored the fact that they didn’t seem to have the same degree of interest in the other IBHUs.

“They’re not my pets. They’re sentient beings and our partners,” he said.

It didn’t do any good. They were screwing with him, all within the boundaries of military decorum.

But Rev had power, and a perverse side of him suddenly decided he could give as well as he could take.

“But you’re right, Sergeant Randigold. Thank you for reminding me of that. The lemmings are kleptos. So, I want an inventory every hour on the hour to make sure they haven’t taken anything. Staff Sergeant del Rio, set it up.”

There were a few groans, but it wasn’t as bad as all of that. The weapons and gear were locked in the deployment boxes. The inventories wouldn’t be physical—they would have to download the data from the readouts on each box. But the process required two troopers—one to record the data and the other to sign off on it—who would rather be back in the platoon area.

Rev turned away, feeling pretty good about himself.

Yeah, when you mess with the bull . . . the bulldozer, you’re gonna get the horns.

* * *

It was a full four days before they finally got the embark orders. After the first day, Captain Omenuko, the new company commander who’d transferred in from the S-4, put them back into the training schedule. They still left a watch on the gear, but Rev relented and took away the hourly inventory.

He was as frustrated as everyone else. He wasn’t looking forward to being attached to the Breel, but once faced with orders, military people tend to want to get on with them. The one good thing, though, was that with Second Platoon’s duties light as they waited for replacements, he had more time to spend with Tomiko.

But finally, Rev’s wristcomp alerted, and he put down his fork.

“Is that it?” Tomiko asked.

Rev nodded, then stood. “Listen up, First Platoon! It looks like we have a ride. Finish up your chow, ’cause it’s the last of this good stuff you’re gonna get for a long time. Squad leaders, fifteen minutes, and I want everyone standing tall at the embark point.”

He looked down at Tomiko, who was still sitting.

“Are you going to eat that?” she asked.

Rev pushed the tray to her.

“I don’t mean that. Like you said, you’re not going to be getting this kind of chow until you get back.”

Which was true. They weren’t even going to have a field fabricator going with them. They had a year’s supply of M-rations and combat rats, which were going to get old really quick.

With a shrug, Rev shoveled the last of the chicken tikka into his mouth, but he couldn’t really taste it anymore. His mind was already racing on what was coming up.

“Well, I’ve gotta go, Miko.”

“I know. Keep your head down, Rev, you hear me?”

“You, too, Miko.”

And that was it. No last hug out here in the chow hall. Rev turned on his heels and made his way back to his cube. His assault pack was ready and on the rack. Rev snagged it and headed to the embarkation point. He beat everyone else there, including their ride.

Everyone human, that is. Two Kanters were there as well, and as soon as he arrived, they disappeared. But thirty seconds later, four reappeared and approached him.

One stood on his hind legs, front legs and mid-arms propping him up on Rev’s upper thighs. “You are leaving now?” he said in passable Standard, bypassing the translator.

Rev was surprised, but he managed to stammer out, “Yes, we’re leaving.”

The other three Kanters crowded forward to join the first. Their heads were at Rev’s waist level.

“Go with the Mother, Gunnery Sergeant Pelletier,” the first one said.

A moment later, all four dropped to the floor, and they scurried away, leaving a totally befuddled Rev. He wasn’t sure what surprised him more: that they spoke Standard, that they knew who he was by name and rank, or that they mentioned the Mother. That was a whole lot to take in, and he didn’t understand the ramifications.

A minute later, the first of the platoon arrived with Randigold in the lead.

Rev stared at her with a shocked expression still on his face, and she asked, “What’d I do now, Gunny?”

“Nothing. Just stand by,” he said.

There was no way he was going to tell her about the Kanters. It was too weird.

The rest of the squads arrived, and a few minutes later, so did the lieutenant, accompanied by Captain Omenuko, the battalion CO, the force commanding officer, and a few force staff.

Rev called the platoon into a school circle around the CO.

“I came here to see you off, First Platoon,” Colonel Pratt said. “And pass on a personal message from the commandant.”

Rev glanced around at the others. Fifteen of them were not Marines, and he didn’t know if they cared one way or the other what the Perseus Union Marine Corps general had to say.

The colonel touched his wrist comp, which projected the text the standard twenty-five centimeters into the air above it.

“First Platoon, Alpha Company, First Human Expeditionary Battalion, you are about to embark on a historical mission,” the colonel read. “You are being attached to an alien military force, something that’s never been done since the dawn of time.

“I want you to remember that you are representing not only your nation and your service, but you are representing humanity at its finest. The Ua—”

The colonel stumbled as he realized the mistake, and he changed it to “Breel” in stride.

There was a stir among the platoon. They hadn’t missed the goof. Either it was a typo, or this was the speech that was supposed to be read to the platoon from Echo Company, the one being attached to the Uauii military.

Rev had never met this commandant, but she had a good rep. Too bad this would color the opinion those in the platoon might have of her. He wondered if that would be cleaned up in the official record of the statement.

“. . .will form their opinions of humanity largely based on the work you’re about to do. I want to tell you, that from the Director Prime to me, we have full confidence in your performance of your duties, no matter where that takes you.”

The colonel went on for another ten minutes, and the troopers were getting restless. He must have read the platoon as well because when he finished reading, he only added about thirty seconds of his own before stepping back and shouting, “Release the Kraken!”

There were some ooh-rahs and up-hups at their company battle cry. Company battle cries were one of the few new non-Marine traditions that Rev heartily approved of, and Captain Omenuko had made a good initial impression when he hadn’t changed it when he took over.

The colonel looked relieved at the response. Rev had to give the man credit. He’d been thrown a curve with the flub in the commandant’s speech, but he’d recovered well.

With the formal go-get-them-we’re-proud-of-you out of the way, the colonel made the rounds, shaking hands before settling in to wait for the actual send-off. And they waited. And waited. The Uauii flatbed didn’t arrive, which was no surprise to the troopers in the platoon. They’d dealt with timeliness issues before.

After almost half an hour, and after he’d told one of his straphangers to find out what the delay was, Colonel Pratt made his excuses and left along with Colonel Suk and the staff. Captain Omenuko stayed, and he resisted the urge to give his own speech. He mingled with the troopers, exhibiting a pretty extensive knowledge of each of them.

Rev knew his battle buddy was probably feeding him all of the data, but still, he was impressed at how seamlessly the captain was incorporating that knowledge in casual conversation.

The flatbed arrived two hours and fifty-two minutes late.

“It could have been worse,” Yancey said as they loaded up.

“They could have canceled,” Hussein said, “and told us to go back and try again tomorrow.”

“Would we have to stand through another speech from the commandant if they did that?” Tsao asked.

“Don’t tempt the gods to screw with us like that, Tum,” Rev said. “Let’s get everyone aboard before they change their minds.”

It took only a few minutes before everyone was on the flatbed. The lieutenant gave the automatic driver the go-ahead, and the truck lurched into motion.

Captain Omenuko came to attention, saluted, and shouted, “Release the Kraken, First Platoon!”

Forty-nine throats yelled the motto back as they headed off to the Breel.

16

Omumbor was not anything like what Rev expected. He’d imagined some sort of primeval forest with three-hundred-meter-tall trees and a religious-like dedication to the environment.

There were forests—this was a Breel frontier world, colonized less than a century before, but the Breel city—Omumbar, with an “a” sound instead of the “o” sound in the name of the planet—was celebration of architecture, with graceful, sweeping towers and nary a splash of green.

Their ride in from the spaceport wouldn’t have looked out of place on New Hope or Titan. The sleek cars rose and whooshed to the city on magrails.

“Are you sure the clickers have a stronger economy than the ents?” Rev asked Punch as they entered the city. “This looks a lot more advanced than Clickerland.”

<From the information that we’ve received, the Uauii have a much larger economy. You can’t make judgments based on the appearances of their buildings in a single location.>

Rev frowned. Maybe Punch was right, but the differences between the two cities were significant, and that had to reflect something about the two races.

“I feel like I’m in a fantasy holovid,” Tsao said from the seat beside Rev. “This is all, too . . .”

“Human, but not too human,” Rev offered.

“That’s it. We know the ents are aliens, not like us, but all of this isn’t really that different. This looks like it could be the setting of a hundred different holovids.”

“And no flatbed,” Rev said. “These seats are pretty comfortable.”

They’d found out that the flatbed they had ridden on Clickerland was not the Uauii’s normal mode of transport. But the local transport’s “seats,” if you could call them that, were not suitable for the human body.

The train didn’t stop in the city, however. It whizzed by what had to be stations and reached the outskirts on the other side before it came to a stop.

Their lone Breel guide, who’d been riding with the lieutenant, stood and announced, “Please debark the train and wait. Do not leave the platform.”

“You heard him,” Rev said. “Make sure you’re not leaving anything behind, and form up on the platform.”

“‘Him,’ Gunny?” Tsao asked as she stood up.

Rev shrugged. For his entire military career, aliens were “it.” But somehow, he’d slipped into the habit lately of using “him,” which from what they’d been briefed, was doubly wrong. They did not have male and female genders. When it was time to make a baby Breel, they calved one off. They weren’t clones, though. Calving didn’t happen until they received what sure sounded like getting pollinated by airborne genetic particles.

“Doesn’t seem quite right to call them ‘it’ if they’re our allies.”

“They could just as well be ‘she.’”

“True that.”

But it was already locked into Rev’s mind.

The platoon formed on the train platform. About a dozen Breel, including what might be a Breel child, stood around and watched.

The lieutenant spoke quietly with their guide, then marched to the front of the platoon. Rev hadn’t really meant it to be a formal formation, but when the platoon commander stopped in front of him and performed a left face, Rev called the platoon to attention and saluted.

“We’re marching in like a real military unit,” she told Rev as he returned the salute.

None of this was planned. The Rangers were proponents of close order drill, and that was a part of every Ranger’s training, but Rev wondered if the lieutenant realized that not every military thought it was important. She hesitated a second, trying to figure out how to phrase that, but in the end, she just marched to the rear of the formation. Once she was there, the lieutenant gave a “Platoon! Right, FACE!”

The troopers weren’t ready for this either, and they were ragged in their movements as they exchanged confused looks with each other. From what Rev had been told, neither the Frisians nor the Legionnaires were ever taught close order drill, and they tried to mimic what the others were doing.

This wasn’t the Marine Corps’ Silent Drill Team by a long shot.

The lieutenant might have been surprised by the lack of cohesion because she said in a quieter voice, “When I give the order, we’re going to march off the platform and across the street to the gate of the base. Just . . . just do your best to keep some degree of order going down the steps, then look proud as we cross the street.”

If you really wanted to do this, you should have put us in a column of files.

With First Squad leading, and the other squads falling in trace one after the other, there would have been an appearance of order, but without the need for close unison of movement. Of course, Rev didn’t even know if the Silent Drill team would impress the Breel. No one knew what they thought of close order drill.

“Forward, HARCH!” the lieutenant ordered.

It wasn’t in unison, but it wasn’t the goat rope Rev envisioned. And the troopers even managed to keep a degree of order as they went down the steps, to his surprise. Rev started giving out a cadence, which made it easier for even the Frisians and Legionnaires to keep in step. It might mean nothing to the Breel, but they didn’t look bad crossing the street toward the gate of what Rev was relieved to see was a military base as the humans understood them.

The gate swung open as the platoon marched up to it, and Breel soldiers started to gather inside the base to watch the humans march past. The lieutenant didn’t stop. She marched them down the main thoroughfare, then gave two column movements, bringing the platoon to a halt in front of a low, long one-story building with a curved roof.

“Left, FACE!” she ordered as she she performed her own facing movement toward them.

To Rev’s surprise, the lieutenant’s face was white, and she looked terrified. This was the same Ranger who’d gone into battle without her combat suit and hadn’t blinked when she found out she’d have to push herself to the limit to keep up with the platoon. Evidently, by getting a hair up her butt to start marching, she’d acted before thinking that it could have been a disaster.

“This is our billeting. When I dismiss you, I want to hear you let everyone on this base know we’re here. Then, get inside and wait while the gunny and I find out what’s next.”

“Platoon, dis . . . MISSED!”

The troopers shouted “Release the Kraken!” with far more fervor than Rev expected, performed their about faces, and broke ranks to start filing into their new home. Several pounded each other on the back.

The lieutenant gave a sigh, then approached Rev. “That wasn’t my smartest move ever.”

“It worked. I don’t know about them,” Rev said, tilting his head at the Breel who’d gathered. “But the troopers liked it. And given the fries and the heges, they didn’t look half bad,”

“What do you mean about the fries and heges?” the lieutenant asked.

“You didn’t know, ma’am? The Frisian Army and Hégémonie Legion never do close order drill. That was probably the first time any of them had heard the commands.”

The lieutenant’s mouth dropped open. “No shit? I mean, why? That’s how we build teamwork and discipline. Close order drill has been around since Roman times.”

She seemed totally in shock that such a thing could happen.

Rev shrugged and said, “Evidently, they don’t think it’s important.”

The lieutenant let that sink in for a moment, then she muttered more to herself than to Rev, “I’ve really got to learn more about my troopers.”

You’ve got that right, ma’am.

She shook her head and then said, “It’s a strange galaxy, Gunny.”

Rev almost laughed out loud. We’re on a planet populated by walking trees, and you think it’s strange that some armies don’t drill?

“Well, we made it,” the lieutenant said. “That’s the important thing. And now, the command here is waiting for us. Let’s go find out what we’ve gotten ourselves into.”

* * *

“This is going to be a long suck,” Hussein said.

Rev wanted to tell him to have more confidence, but that exactly reflected his mood. After six days at the Breel camp, they’d finally done their first joint training, and “suck” was a pretty accurate description.

“Some of this stuff is just basic military science,” Nye Torking said. “I mean, freezing in place during an ambush? We assault through one.”

“They’re not humans,” Iglesias said. “You’ve got to expect some differences.”

“Some differences?” Yancey said, coming to the karnan’s defense. “There’re a shitload of differences. Rabbiting up in an ambush was only one of them.”

“OK, OK. Look, it is what it is, and it’s up to us to figure out a way to work with them. They’re our commanders, not the other way around,” Rev said.

After the day’s goat rope, which was supposed to just be an opportunity to feel each other out but turned into the Breel commanders coming down hard on the platoon, Rev had decided to get together with the squad leaders and senior troopers—Tsao, Torking, and Ikinikin—to do a mini-hotwash. He’d been just as frustrated as the others, and frankly, he didn’t have a ready answer at his fingertips. If the SNCO brain trust could come up with something, he’d be more than grateful.

But the group wasn’t ready to quit bitching.

“It’s like they don’t got no brain cell among them,” Hussein said.

The others gave him a strange look.

“Uh . . . they don’t,” Rev said.

Now it was Hussein’s turn to look confused. “They don’t what?”

“Have a brain cell. They don’t have brains,” Rev told him.

Hussein looked incredulous, then said, “I’m calling bullshit on that, Gunny. Everything’s got a brain. Else, how can it think?”

“Don’t you pay attention to any brief, Hus-man?” Yancey asked. “They already told us the ents don’t have any brains.”

“They’ve got a head with eyes and a mouth. What’s in that if not a brain?”

The Breel “head” wasn’t a separate structure as with humans. It was merely the top of the torso where its eyes and mouth were located—and even “mouth” was just a term for the respiratory opening. While Koral, Sam, and Tyli had drunk the blood of life through the mouth, that was to quicken the effects of the alcohol. They absorbed most of their sustenance through pores in their skin—and they “heard” through their hard skin as well.

“Just holds their eyes high and keeps their breathing freer of dust,” Rev said.

“But they still think,” Hussein said. “They need a brain for that.”

Rev sighed. Hussein was one of his oldest friends, but his mind wasn’t known for its acuity. And that was just one reason why the man was still a staff sergeant even though he’d been in the Corps almost three years longer than Rev.

“They store and manipulate data inside their DNA. So, their entire bodies are a brain, in a way,” Rev said. “Supposedly, it’s a more efficient system than we have.”

“I still say that’s impossible. How can that work?”

Rev started to answer, then he realized he didn’t know how that was possible. He’d just accepted it.

<It’s very possible. Humankind started storing data within plant DNA as early as the Twenty-first Century. At times it was very popular, only falling into disuse after the Corolla Wars.>

That didn’t really answer the how, but Rev said, “We’ve done it. Back on the Mother. But we quit when everyone started worrying about the Genesians and the Eucharans.”

Hussein didn’t look convinced. Or, more probably, he didn’t want to admit even just to himself that he was wrong.

“Shoot one in the head, and I bet it’s going down,” he muttered.

“We don’t go shooting our allies, Hus-man,” Rev said before turning back to the rest.

“Did Punch just offer that last tidbit?” Tsao quietly asked Rev.

Rev nodded, and she said, “Yeah, Ginger just told me the same thing.”

That caught Rev’s attention. He rarely talked with others about their battle buddies, probably because he was afraid of revealing some of Punch’s more unique capabilities. One of those was his relatively recent habit of offering unsolicited advice, knowledge, or even jokes. He’d been under the impression that other battle buddies didn’t do that, but if he understood Tsao right, then her Ginger was doing the same thing.

That probably deserved a discussion with Punch, using table talk, at least. Omega Divisions couldn’t listen in to him this deep into Breel space, but that didn’t mean everything Rev and Punch said and did wasn’t being recorded for retrieval after their return.

But not now. Working with the Breel was his priority.

“Brains or no brains, we need to be able to adjust,” he told the platoon’s SNCOs. “Crappy tactics, if done in coordination, are better than the best tactics done to crap. So, let’s put our heads together and figure out how to get ‘er done.”

* * *

Rev pressed the thumb trigger and felt a release as thirty 11.2 mm rounds—every fifth round a tracer—arced downrange. There was a kind of beauty about it, belying the lethality, that almost let him forget about the frustration of trying to assimilate into the Breel battalion.

Of course, it was that lethality that made the PLK-466 “Big Bite” so much fun for a Marine to fire. The recoil, the “brrupppttt” sound as the rounds left the muzzle, and even the smell from the propellant stirred the blood. And seeing the target—a surplus metal container someone had scrounged—almost come part, well, Hussein had called it orgasmic when he fired, something not that much of an exaggeration.

The Marines had several crew-served heavy weapons at the platoon level: the Jackhammer, the Hellborer, and the Gargoyle. First Human Expeditionary Battalion was Marine-sponsored, so those three weapons were part of the T/E and assigned to each platoon’s Fourth Squad. But these weren’t the only weapons available to them. Specialized weapons, from the Ranger sniper rifle to the Rigel Army’s man-packed mines, had been added to the inventory.

One of those was the MDS Big Bite, and to Rev’s surprise and evident delight of most of the platoon, one of them had been included in the platoon’s mount-out. They might not have a designated Big Bite gunner, and it was a rather bulky weapon and ammo load for infantry—even infantry in combat suits—to lug around in an assault, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a heck of a lot of fun to play with. So, when the lieutenant arranged for a day at the range for the troopers to fire their weapons, Rev brought along the machine gun.

Because, that’s what it was, not much different from its long-ago ancestor, the M-2 “Ma Deuce.” The round was slightly smaller and with higher velocity, but a US soldier from the Twentieth Century wouldn’t have much problem figuring it out. With nothing even as primitive as auto-targeting, it was essentially a basic slug-thrower—which made it a whole lot of fun to fire.

“Go ahead, Gunny. Take another burst,” Torking, who was acting as the instructor for the weapon, said.

Rev turned his head to where the lieutenant was impatiently waiting for her turn. He should give up the weapon and let the platoon commander finish it off. They didn’t have unlimited ammunition, and once the lieutenant fired, they could close the range and get back.

Screw it. I want another.

“I never disobey a firing range instructor,” he said to Torking’s laugh.

Most of the targets they’d hauled out to this makeshift range were destroyed by now, and Rev wanted to leave the lieutenant with something to hit, so he quickly searched for something else. He spotted a rock at the edge of their impact area just poking out of some vegetation.

“I think I see Master Sergeant Fooma sitting on that rock over there,” he said.

“Fooma? Nail the bastard,” Torking said.

Master Sergeant Fooma—originally the rank was translated as “Most High Important,” until the translators figured out rank equivalents—was one of their Breel contacts and the bane of Rev’s existence. “Arrogant asshole” didn’t begin to adequately describe him.

Rev shifted his aim while behind him, the lieutenant groaned.

Just hang on, ma’am. You’ll get your turn.

He adjusted for the range, brought the crosshairs on the rock, and let loose another burst. The weapon chattered and rocked with the recoil. The rounds reached out, and the rock simply disintegrated into a cloud of dust. Behind him, the rest of the platoon oohed and aahed.

“Get some, Gunny!” Randigold shouted out.

“I think you nailed the bastard,” Torking said.

“If it were only that easy, Nye.”

Rev started to get up, and the lieutenant started forward.

“Ah, Gunny. You started a fire,” the karnan said.

Rev turned around. Sure enough, smoke was rising around the destroyed boulder.

Fires were common enough during live fire training, and with the Big Bite’s tracers, it wasn’t surprising. Maybe Rev shouldn’t have aimed off of the denuded impact area.

“Stomp party?” he asked the lieutenant, who seemed to be considering if she could get in her rounds first.

All the way back, under a small awning, their three Breel observers seemed to be getting upset, and that seemed to sway the platoon commander.

“Second Squad, go put that out,” she ordered, before adding, “You go with them. You started it.”

Rev smiled and said, “You’ve got it.”

He’d always liked stomping out the small fires when he had a chance. It was kind of fun to play firefighter.

Second Squad and Rev jogged out to the smoldering fire. Branches crackled as the heat boiled the moisture inside away.

The troopers attacked the small sections of fire with enthusiasm, fighting and pushing others to be the ones to stomp on each flickering flame. Randigold made a show of yawning while standing in a little larger bit of flame, her two prosthetic legs protecting her from burns. Jones unzipped his utility trousers, saying he was going to use his “firehose” to put the flames out.

“OK, quit screwing around,” Rev said. “The lieutenant’s still waiting her turn.”

It didn’t take long—maybe two minutes—before the fires were out, and all that was left was about a ten-by-seven-meter oblong of blackened ground.

Rev took a moment to get a closer look at the boulder he’d targeted. The top half was gone.

“Uh, Gunny?” Iglesias asked.

Rev turned around. An aircraft of some sort was approaching from the main base. Rev didn’t recognize the blimp-like shape, but it was moving quicker than any airship he’d seen before.

“It’s coming here,” Ikinikin said.

“We’ve already put out the fire,” Randigold said.

Rev watched it for a moment, then looked back toward the firing line. The three Breel still seemed agitated, and as soon as they spotted the aircraft, Master Sergeant Fooma—Rev knew it was him by the silver band on his upper right arm—started heading toward them. He didn’t look happy.

Oh, great. Just what I needed.

“Just hold fast,” Rev told the others. “They’ll see the fire’s out.”

Rev stood silently as the aircraft approached. In the distance, it even looked like a Sia was floating their way.

And now a singer’s coming? What an overreaction for a little fire.

The aircraft looked like a white flying cucumber, and it came to a halt about 200 meters above the range. Rev waved at it when there was a massive explosion of a white torrent that caught the troopers by surprise. Rev only had time to take two steps before he was covered in a wispy foam. He held his breath and started shoving his troopers to get out of the foam’s impact area, but when he lost his balance, he involuntarily took a breath.

“Am I OK?”

<You’re alive, so yes.>

Rev tentatively took a few breaths. Other than a faint smell of chicory, there was nothing different about the air.

He wiped the foam off of his face and looked around. The last faint wisps of smoke had disappeared, and except for Archambault, who was still running for clear ground, the rest of the troopers had stopped and were staring at the white mess. Above him, the firefighting aircraft was turning away.

“Pelletier!” Fooma rumbled, bypassing the translators.

Rev had been around the Breel enough by now to know that the master sergeant was angry. Evidently, fire was a hot trigger topic with their allies.

With a sigh, and looking like some kind of marshmallow man, Rev turned to face the onrushing Breel.

* * *

“Keep your squad on line. You’re lagging,” Rev passed to Hussein on the P2P.

“The damn ground is muddy as shit, Gunny. It’s hard going.”

“And you’re augmented to handle that stuff, Hus-man. No excuses. Just get it done,” Rev answered, then cut the connection.

At least we have comms with each other, if not the ents.

Well, the lieutenant had comms with the Breel, and that was better than nothing. But if history was any indication, the Naxli weren’t going to let that happen in a real battle.

Rev kept a close eye on First Squad. Hussein was right about the terrain, though. This was not a great location for an assault. The muddy morass on the left flank acted as a natural barrier, and Rev wouldn’t have ever sent troopers on line over it. The area could be covered by fire, but not effectively by boots on the ground.

But Rev wasn’t making the decisions. Neither was the lieutenant. This was the mission assigned to the platoon, and their job was to get it done, whatever that took.

This whole mission was sucked, to use Randigold’s words. The Breel company was the point of main effort, not that they used that terminology. The two pods (oversized platoons, by human standards) were conducting an assault right into the teeth of the defensive position. The human platoon was almost an afterthought, stuck on the flank and seemingly out of the way.

Which really wasn’t surprising. The Breel had made it clear that they didn’t think much of the human forces. While they occasionally acknowledged that humanity could be useful in the war against the Naxli, their opinion of humanity as a fighting force wasn’t the best. Certainly when compared to them, and even when compared to the Niklith. They might be a step up from the Kanters, but that remained to be seen.

It wasn’t as if they actually blamed the humans for the loss on Granite, particularly for the friendly fire incident, but the overall impression they gave was that if the humans were better fighters, none of that would have happened.

The Breel command, which worked surprisingly like human military commands, had made it clear that they considered the platoon a political necessity first, and as students, second. They thought that the humans should watch and learn, then bring that back to the rest of humanity.

“Yet we’re marching online to a fortified position,” Rev muttered.

Punch didn’t respond. He and Rev had discussed this ad infinitum.

Rev had a chance to observe the Breel closely over the last few weeks. They weren’t terrible, like the Uauii. They had discipline, decent equipment, and physical prowess. But it was quickly obvious that First Platoon had more firepower than any single Breel pod.

Rev had almost browbeaten the lieutenant into suggesting that for this exercise, either the platoon was to take the place of the point of main effort with the Breel supporting, or if that wasn’t in the cards, it should act as a mobile reserve to exploit success against the target. That had been turned down in a rather condescending manner, and the lieutenant was still pissed at Rev for making her do that.

“Gunny, kick Hussein in the ass. They’re falling back,” the lieutenant passed.

“The terrain’s pretty bad there. Lots of mud.”

“I don’t give a damn. Get them on line,” she said, then broke the connection.

<That was pretty much a mirror of what you just went through with the staff sergeant.>

“I know, I know,” he sighed, then said, “I guess I’d better shift over to them.”

Rev had been following in trace of Second Squad, but he started shifting left. The ground quickly sloped down, and within minutes, Rev was slogging through mud that seemed determined to suck him down into the pits of hell. Every step was a fight.

Ever since he was a private, Rev had treated every training evolution as if it were actual combat.

“Men are seldom born brave but they acquire courage through training and discipline—a handful of men inured to war proceed to certain victory; while on the contrary numerous armies of raw and undisciplined troops are but multitudes of men dragged to the slaughter,” he muttered, trying to convince himself to do the right thing.

<Publius Flavius Vegetius Renatus. You remembered the quote.>

“I don’t forget everything you tell me, Punch.”

<Just most of it.>

But it was difficult to maintain intensity in this situation. Being shunted aside, without even making a pretense about it, had ruined any degree of urgency. The platoon’s mission at this point was simply to maneuver in conjunction with the Breel forces. The objective was immaterial.

So, Rev did something he swore he’d never do. He decided to throw realism in training out the window. He ignored tactical movement, and he quit trying to come up with scenarios he might have to react to. All that mattered was to keep on line.

“Hus-man, screw tactics. Just do what you have to do to keep up,” he passed.

There was a moment of silence, then Hussein said, “Got it.”

From there on out, it was just a struggle to cover the ground. Rev didn’t know who had it better: the bulk of the troopers in Marine PALs or MDS DDDD, or the two with their own lighter combat suits. The PALs had much more power to fight the sucking mud, but they were also much heavier than the Ranger Vis-44, for example.

Sink deeper or lack the strength to break free. It was a Morton’s Fork.

When the assault kicked off, and the sounds of fighting reached them, Rev and First Squad ignored it. They started bunching up in order to help each other.

On the platoon net, Rev could hear the lieutenant playing the game, controlling the other three squads—the two rifle and Fourth Squad. Fourth wasn’t actually a base of fire. The Breel didn’t designate one, but the lieutenant decided she could interject a little more realism—not that they actually faced any of the “enemy.”

For First Squad, the mud was the enemy. They struggled to keep up the pace.

<I know Marines take pride in running to the sound of gunfire, but I didn’t know that included lurching to the sound.>

Rev didn’t give him the courtesy of a response. It wasn’t that funny.

When the Breel assaulted through the objective, most of the platoon was on line with them, pushing through in front of no opposition. Rev and First Squad weren’t that far off. When the exercise was called, they were still knee-deep in the mud and below the objective but essentially abreast of the rest.

“That’s it, Gunny. The exercise is over,” the lieutenant passed.

“Are we going to run through it again?” Rev asked, and for once, he was really hoping they were through.

He was a hyper-augment, with all of the advantages that offered, and he was in a PAL-HX, which gave him even more capabilities, but he was beat, mentally and physically.

“No, that’s it. The exercise judges have declared victory.”

Of course, they did. They wouldn’t evaluate it as if there were real Naxli at the objective, firing real weapons.

“I’ll try and find out what’s next. Get the platoon back and start weapons and gear cleaning. You probably need it.”

Rev looked down at Pashu. He could barely make out her shape from all the caked-on mud.

Yah think, ma’am?

17

“We’d all have been dead if the gaunts targeted our approach,” Rappa said as he wiped off hunks of mud from his M-51. “We couldn’t maneuver.”

“Man, you guys look like pigs in a poke,” Weld said. “Glad it was you and not me.”

Rappa took a handful of the mud and threw it at the Marine corporal.

“Hey, cut that shit out,” Weld said, turning his back and protecting his weapon.

Without a trained armorer, weapons maintenance was paramount. They had extra weapons, but it was a long, long way back to where someone would do anything more than very basic repairs.

It was even more important to the IBHU Marines. Daryll Begay was with the battalion on Clickerland, so if anything went wrong with an IBHU, they were pretty much out of luck. And except for a few modular pieces that could be snapped in, there was no such thing as a spare IBHU on the shelf ready to replace a broken weapon.

Rev took a long piece of plastic he’d broken off from one of the crates and used it to scoop down the length of Pashu in an ineffective attempt to scrape off some of the mud.

This is going to take forever.

“It’s not just you guys,” Strap said. “We were just walking along, like we were on a Sunday stroll. We’d have been mowed down like Pickett’s Charge.”

“Who’s what?” Hochenspatter asked.

“History, Hoch. History. Ask your battle buddy.”

“These ents, they’ll get us killed, you know,” Torking said.

“The lieutenant tried to tell them, but they wouldn’t listen.”

“They’re so fucking arrogant,” the karnan said. “Always think they’re right.”

“Exactly right,” Yancey said, holding up his hand, which Torking gave a high five.

Ikinikin tried to hold it back, but the Frisian failed, and burst out in a laugh.

“What?” Torking asked.

“Nothing.”

“What’s so funny?” the karnan asked, sounding a little bit upset.

Rev frowned, but he let it go. Over-Sergeant Torking was a good trooper, but sometimes, he had a bit of a chip on his shoulder, probably due to the fact that the MDS had so recently been defeated, and now he was serving with his former enemies. Rev turned back to the task at hand, namely cleaning his IBHU.

“Günther knows. So does Nezev.”

“Günther and Nezev know what?” Torking asked. “Günther, you gonna tell me?”

“Yeah, what?” Yancey asked.

Sniper 1 Günther shrugged, then said, “You calling the ents arrogant.”

“They are.”

“Maybe they are, but that’s rich, you calling them that,” he said with emphasis on the “you.”

Torking frowned, but Yancey asked, “What do you mean by that?”

“You. An MDS karnan and a Union Marine. You’re calling someone else arrogant?”

Rev stopped cleaning and looked at the Tau Ceti Ranger. This was getting a little personal.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at,” Torking said, standing up.

“What he’s saying is that you Mad Dogs and Marines are the most arrogant sons of bitches known to humankind,” Archambault said with a laugh. “So, it’s rich that you’re accusing the ents of being arrogant.”

“Bullshit. We’re not arrogant,” Lvarn shouted.

All of the non-MDS or Marine troopers broke out laughing.

“It’s not being arrogant. It’s being right,” Randigold said.

That elicited even more laughing from the others.

“Yeah, saying you’re always right. That’s the definition of arrogance. Ask your AI what arrogance means, and it’ll show you an image of a Mad Dog and a Marine yelling at each other,” Ikinikin said.

“At ease!” Rev shouted. “Cut this shit out, or do you all need some extra duty to cool off?”

He glared at the platoon, and after a few moments, most went back to their cleaning. Lvarn was still steaming, but he didn’t look like he was going to lose control.

Rev was upset, too.

Marines are arrogant? Maybe the MDS, especially the karnans, but not us. What is this shit?

But as he continued to scrape the mud off of Pashu, he started to wonder why the others had even said that. Was it just to give them shit?

Marines were confident. They should be, being the best fighting force in humanity. The MDS would tell you different despite being recently defeated. They’d tell you that was because of their lousy allies and that they were so outnumbered. But the MDS were wrong. It was obvious that the Marines were the better force.

That doesn’t mean we’re arrogant, right? Not like the ents.

He started to ask Punch for his opinion, but something held him back.

Just clean Pashu, Reverent. The others, they were just giving us shit.

His mind wouldn’t let it go, though, until his wristcomp buzzed.

“Gunny, come on over to the CP,” the lieutenant said.

He looked at his IBHU, which was still a muddy mess, and now the mud was drying. It wasn’t just his IBHU. He was a complete mess. Just getting his PAL off had transferred half of the planet onto his utilities, face, and hair.

“I’m not really suitable right now, and my IBHU is not even close to being clean.”

“Doesn’t matter. You can get to that later. Just get over here.”

Crap. What now?

“Aye-aye, ma’am. On my way.

He wheeled the makeshift cart he’d made to hold his IBHU out of the way and said, “Yancey, you’ve got the platoon. No one leaves until weapons and combat suits are spotless.”

Yancey gave a pointed look at Pashu.

“No choice. I’ll get to it when I get back.”

As he started to leave, Tsao said, “I’ll take care of Pashu. Jiu Tian didn’t get that dirty.”

It would be a lie to say Rev wasn’t tempted. She was a SNCO, after all, not a non-rate. But there was still the platoon sergeant-to-subordinate dynamic going on here.

“No, it’s OK. I’ll take care of it. Thanks, though.”

He started over to the CP, wondering what was going on. The Breel must have found fault with the humans again. Rev knew that while the judges had declared victory, that was far from the truth. It wouldn’t have taken much for the Naxli to have wiped out First Squad while they floundered around.

He wouldn’t have given the exercise a passing grade. But it was the Breel’s plan that was screwed up, in his opinion. He debated making that point clear, but he knew what he had to do—suck it up and say they’ll do better next time.

He entered the CP, which was less formal than a human CP. The lieutenant was still in her Vis-44—which looked almost pristine compared to Rev’s PAL that was waiting for him to clean. She was talking with several of the Breel, spotted Rev, and motioned him over.

The Breel didn’t smile, but by habit, Rev forced one on his face and marched up to them.

“Well, Gunny, we did it,” the lieutenant said.

Her broad smile didn’t look forced at all.

“Ma’am?”

“We passed.”

We knew that, even if it was a goat rope.

“That’s great, ma’am. And we’ll try to even do better next exercise.”

“No, you don’t understand, Gunny. We passed. As in . . . what do you Marines call yours? The MS . . . S-something?”

“The MCCRE? The Marine Corps Combat Readiness Evaluation?”

“Yeah, that’s it.” She paused a moment, then asked one of the Breel, “Do you want to tell him, Kran?”

“Kran?” Can the lieutenant actually tell these guys apart?

The Breel were far from identical. They had a much greater variety than humans had. But Rev wasn’t to the stage where he could readily pick out and recognize those differences. It had been easier to rely on the different colored bands for those who’d been working with the platoon.

One of the three oriented on Rev and said, “First Platoon has been incorporated into the fold for combat.”

Rev scrunched his brows together as he tried to figure out what the Breel had said. The translators were amazing pieces of tech, but sometimes, there were still disconnects.

“Incorporated?”

They’d been “incorporated” since their arrival, if that meant being attached. He looked about in confusion as he tried to parse what the Breel was saying, and then he noticed that there was a decided lack of purpose to the CP. Breel were lounging around, and several had drink flasks. It looked more like a celebration than . . .

The only reason to celebrate was because the training was over. And the lieutenant had just mentioned the MCCRE.

“We’re certified for combat?” he asked somewhat incredulously.

“Signed and sealed,” Lieutenant Marble said. “No more training.”

She was obviously quite happy. Rev didn’t quite share that. Sure, he hated the training they were doing, which looked less like actual preparation and more like a cursory checklist. But were they ready for combat?

Not in his book.

One of the Breel on the other side of the CP spotted Rev and started over. The silver band gave his identity away, but this close, Rev could see the slightly variegated stripes along the lower torso.

“Pelletier,” Fooma said, holding out a flask.

Rev took it, then looked back at the lieutenant, who sheepishly pulled her own flask out of her back pocket.

That’s why he’s so happy.

“Drink to our incorporation,” Fooma said.

Rev hadn’t had any alcohol since the three Breel had come to his cube back on Clickerland, but he had fond memories of the blood of life. And while the lieutenant might be drinking in celebration, Rev was more in the mood of drowning his sorrows.

He raised the flask, bit down on the stopper, and sucked a large draught. It wasn’t blood of life, but it wasn’t bad, either. It reminded Rev of wet cardboard, which should be disgusting, but the kick was sure nice. He took another swallow and grunted. He could get used to this. He drained it, and as expected, Fooma produced another out of the pouches the Breel affected.

The lieutenant was a couple of sheets to the wind already, and she was going on about human capabilities and how that was going to make a difference in the war. It was typical chest pounding that took place at military clubs across human space, only with an alien audience. But, not surprisingly, the Breel were doing the same.

Humans and Breel were extremely different, their biology not even close. But aside from parallel evolution that gave them roughly the same upright, bipedal bodies, they shared an affinity for alcohol and arrogant boasting.

But we’re not as arrogant as them. I don’t care what the Rangers or fries say. The booze? Sure.

<Your blood alcohol is at 0.006.>

“Yes, Mommy.”

Punch had assured him that it didn’t affect him when Rev drank. Rev wasn’t so sure about that. His battle buddy tended to nag him more when he’d downed a few.

“Give me a joke, Punch.”

<How are Breel and humans alike?>

“We’re gonna kick the noxes’ asses.”

Punch didn’t respond.

“OK, how are we alike.”

<You’re both drunks.>

“That wasn’t even funny, Punch. You’re losing your touch.”

He drained the flask almost to spite his battle buddy, and Fooma immediately handed him yet another.

“So, what’s with you now, with us being officially combat certified?” Rev asked the Breel. “Are you going to train someone else?”

“I will stay with you humans, Pelletier. I will be your god.”

Rev laughed, which caused some of the booze to go up his nose. It was better in his throat than in his nasal cavities.

“God” could be another translator glitch, but he had a feeling that it was an accurate translation of what the Breel had meant to say.

“The gods of war. They like to screw with me, you know. Until I told them we were the real gods of war.”

Rev could swear the Breel master sergeant was confused, and Rev realized he might not have been too coherent just then. That, or the disconnects in the translators went both ways.

“You know what gnista is, Fooma?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever fought them that way?”

“No. They pray to gnista, until they might lose.”

“You’ve got that right,” Rev said, raising his flask to toast with the Breel.

Evidently, though, the Breel didn’t toast. At least Fooma didn’t raise his flask as well.

“But I fought under gnista.”

Rev couldn’t miss the sudden interest from the master sergeant.

“Do you want to hear about it?”

“Yes. Tell me.”

“Give me another drink, and I will.”

Two hours later, Rev stumbled back to the platoon area. Punch kept reminding him that his BAC was 0.011, well above the legal limit. He was drunk, but not too drunk to forget his dirty gear. And as much as he just wanted to go to bed, he couldn’t leave Pashu and his PAL until the morning.

He nodded to PFC Morehead, who had the weapons watch, while he tried to minimize his breathing in hopes the PFC wouldn’t smell the booze on his breath. Given the PFC’s expression, it didn’t work.

OK, Reverent. The sooner you clean them, the sooner you can hit the rack.

He went to the rack where he’d left Pashu, but one of the other IBHUs had taken his rack over and put their IBHU on it instead.

“Real cool, asshole,” he muttered as he looked to see where they’d put Pashu.

But then he did a double take and stepped closer. It was Pashu, not another IBHU, and she was spotless. On the other side of her was his PAL, spotless as well.

“What the . . .”

There was a note on his IBHU. Rev grabbed and unfolded it.

In Tumeric Tsao’s handwriting, it said, “Sibs in Steel, Gunny.”

18

Their first mission was not long in coming. Three days after being cleared for combat, the Breel battalion was embarked aboard one of their ships. Rev didn’t have a firm grasp of the big picture yet, but Breel Intel had determined that one of their outposts, Grum, had a high probability of being targeted by the Naxli.

The crossing was uncomfortable. On Omumbor, the troopers had been able to scrounge up enough material to create racks, chairs, and tables. On the ship, they had none of that. Breel slept—it wasn’t actually sleep, as humans used the term, but it was close enough to call it that—standing up, so there were no racks in their berthing. The troopers made do with their assault packs and by using each others’ bodies as pillows to try and sleep.

It was a relief to finally arrive at their destination, an almost empty planet that had been terraformed but not fully developed after the war got in the way. It was even more of a relief to see all the junk at their new base. There was definitely a frontier vibe, where nothing looked to be thrown away. The platoon should be able to construct something that approached physical comfort.

“How many mining planets have we been on?” Yancey asked as they surveyed the scene.

“People—even ents—need metals to keep the gears turning,” Rev said. “Besides, places like Aardvark weren’t exactly mining planets. They were regular planets that had mines.

<Planets with rich natural resources are more likely to be targets than those without them.>

“Good point,” Rev subvocalized before repeating that to his friend.

“I just hope we don’t have to fight down there. It gives me the creeps to be surrounded by all that rock.”

Rev gave Yancey a sideways glance. He’d been with the Marine for over fifteen years, and he’d never known Yancey was claustrophobic. That was something to file away.

“Chances are that we won’t have to do anything. I spoke with Fooma, and he said that when their Intel gives an assessment like this, it’s always about twenty percent that the noxes will show up.”

“Better than our Intel,” Yancey said.

Rev laughed, even if he knew that was a little harsh. Marine Intel, at least, tended to do better than that. CoH Intel, too.

“Well, I’d better find out where our esteemed hosts want us,” Rev said. “But let’s see if we can discreetly start gathering some supplies. We don’t know how long we’re going to be here, and I’m tired of using your fat ass for a pillow.”

“Ah, Rev, I told you I won’t tell Miko. What happens here, stays here.”

“Eat me,” Rev said as he stepped off. “I’m serious, though. Get what you can, but don’t be obvious about it.”

“Already on it. I put Torking in charge.”

Good choice. That karnan’s got the soul of a thief.

* * *

Evidently, Rev wasn’t the only one who didn’t put much credence in their combat certification. The platoon had been given one day to create their berthing space, then the hull—roughly a Marine battalion—went through intensive training. One of the two Breel shells—companies—was always on duty, but First Platoon alternated with the off-duty shell in basic exercises. They never strayed too far from the mine head, and the exercises were somewhat on the basic side, but it was obvious that the Breel hull command was trying to improve coordination.

Fooma and three others of their previous training staff had deployed with them, but it seemed that once they were out from under the flagpole, the battalion command had a different, and certainly less political, viewpoint on a joint Breel/human unit.

That was just another similarity, evidently, between human and Breel militaries. What went on back on base was not necessarily how things worked while deployed in potentially hostile territory.

And in this case, Rev was all for it. Already, in only ten days, Rev could see improvement. Their level of competency might make a Marine commander shudder, but it was leaps ahead of where they were back on Omumbor.

The troopers were tired, and not only because they were using the twenty-nine-hour Breel “day.” The tempo had been nonstop. But that was a good thing—idle hands and all of that.

And after about sixteen hard-pressed hours, Rev was ready to catch some Z’s. He gratefully flopped down on his rack, which creaked under his weight but held. It was made from a corklike substance that grew in seams under the ground. The cork wasn’t the purpose of the mine, but it took the opportunity to grow in the seams and tunnels the Breel mining equipment dug out. Plentiful and easily cut, the material made some surprisingly comfortable racks, better than what they had back on Omumbor.

It was still light in the planet’s fourteen-hour day, and Rev slipped the eye mask down. He was just drifting off when he felt a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him.

“Gunny?”

“This better be good, BM,” he said, not raising the mask.

“I don’t know about good, but I think you need to get up,” Corporal Božič-Mizaki said.

“I swear, if this isn’t something you can handle. You’re an NCO and an IBHU,” he said as he raised the mask and then shifted to lean on his elbow.

Standing in the doorway was one of the non-rate Breel—the translators gave them all the rank of private—from the hull staff.

Rev didn’t have his prosthesis on, and he was leaning on his right elbow, but he managed to wave the Breel over.

“The commander is requesting your presence and Lieutenant Marble’s presence in the CP,” the Breel private said in pretty good Standard. He looked around, then asked, “Where is Lieutenant Marble?”

“Uh . . . she’s fertilizing,” Rev said, using the term the troopers had started to use in jest but was now pretty much cemented in.

As far as they could tell, the Breel did not defecate or urinate. They got rid of bodily waste through pores in their skin, which instigated no end of jokes among the humans. Even Punch had joined in. The process didn’t make them smell bad but rather gave them a slight cinnamon aroma.

“Can you please get her and follow me?” the private asked.

“Sure.” Rev sat up on the edge of his rack and reached back to where he stashed his arm. With two twists and a click, he was ready to go.

Yancey was already asleep, so Rev told Iglesias that he had the conn, then he followed the Breel toward the door.

“What’s your name, Private?”

He’d spoken to the Breel several times before but had never asked him that.

The Breel turned around and hesitated as if he were contemplating whether or how to answer. Rev wasn’t sure if that was because of their different races or if it had to do with the rank gap. Humans could be picky about ranks, but the Breel seemed to take that a step beyond.

“I am Private Ju,” he said, which was the shortest Breel name Rev had heard so far.

He gave a mental shrug, then hesitated as a thought struck him.

“Is there a rank-related reason that corresponds to names?”

<Not that has been recorded.>

“Make a note of that question. I’m just curious.”

The lieutenant was coming in, RAC-5 in her hand, as the two were going out. The Rangers, as a whole, were extremely fastidious in the field, and that included carrying their Tau Ceti military sonic butt wipes. “RAC” evidently didn’t stand for anything, but given its purpose, and that it was a sonic cleanser for Rangers, the non-Rangers in the platoon had their own name to refer to it: “Ranger Ass Cleaner.”

“Sir, we need to head to the CP. The CO wants us.”

The lieutenant looked past them to her rack, which was all the way to the back of their space.

“Can I take a moment to get cleaned up?” she asked the private.

“The commander said it was ASAP,” he answered, and Rev thought he could detect a little pride when Ju used the acronym.

The lieutenant looked unsure, so Rev told Božič-Mizaki, who’d followed them, to grab the toilet gear from her and take it to her rack. The platoon commander didn’t want to give them up, but she grudgingly offered the kit, towel, and RAC.

Božič-Mizaki took the kit, and with her other hand, the towel. Once the towel covered her hand like a glove, she accepted the RAC.

“Do you know what this is about?” the lieutenant asked Rev as they headed over to the CP.

“Not a clue. I was just dropping off to sleep when Private Ju here came to get us.”

“He’s probably setting up more training. I think we’re getting better, though.”

The CP was just inside the mine entrance in a large chamber. Several Breel were scraping the walls of the cork that was forming, which was an added job, but by being inside the mine, the CP had excellent cover and concealment.

Private Ju didn’t lead them to the CO but rather to Captain Kumphun, who was the equivalent of a Marine S-3, Operations Officer. The captain was the one who briefed the operations orders, and unlike in a Marine battalion, where the S-3 was the third highest in command, the captain didn’t seem to carry much weight in the battalion leadership structure.

“What’s up, Captain Kumphon?” the lieutenant asked. “More training?”

“The training is over, Lieutenant Marble,” the S-3 said through the translator. “The Naxli are in the system.”

19

Yancey had to deal with his claustrophobia. Rev gave Yancey the interrogative sign, and his friend gave him a thumbs-up.

The platoon was huddled in a side tunnel, waiting for the battle to develop. Rev thought that the plan had too many parts, ignoring the KISS principle. If it worked, though . . .

Before the plan could be implemented, however, they had to determine how many Naxli were in the invading force. Breel Intel thought there could be as few as several hundred and as many as a couple of thousand. With three Breel battalions on the planet, one at each of the three suspected targets, they should be able to defeat the Naxli. But as always, the enemy rarely cooperated, and they could be invading with tens of thousands of fighters.

If they did, the Breel battalions would not engage. They’d give up the planet and conduct an extraction.

Rev had questioned why the Naxli would only invade with 500 fighters. The planet’s economic activities were mostly automated, true, with fewer than 100 Breel techs, so 500 could seize the three mines. But they couldn’t hold it from a Breel counterattack.

With condescending arrogance, the Breel officer explained that the Naxli had no intention of holding the planet. While the leading edge of the Naxli march across the galaxy was more in terms of massive concentration of firepower and forces, back here it was more of sabotage of the allies’ means of production and capture of products and raw materials for their own war effort.

So, this was an economic raid, a quick in and out designed to seize processed metals and get off planet before the Breel military could arrive.

Or not. It could also be a major effort to establish a presence in this sector of space.

All the platoon could do was wait in the closed-off compartment the excavators had built for them. Roughly fifteen meters across, their access had been filled behind them. Their survival, no matter how many Naxli arrived, depended on the small excavator parked up against the outer wall. Once the order came, the machine would break through the twelve meters of solid rock that separated them from the outside.

Rev’s eyes drifted to the single conduit that emerged from deeper within the mine. That was their lifeline. Aside from pumping in air, that was the only way to communicate with the Breel, and that was the only way their excavator would get the command to break them out.

The Breel battalions were on a complete comms silence. The local residents were keeping up the routine, and the mines were still working. But the military forces were waiting inside their rock cocoons to emerge to fight or run away.

“Systems check.”

<All systems green. You have a full combat load, and power is at eighty-three-point-four percent.>

Power’s down more than I thought.

He glanced at the spot on his face shield where his timer usually displayed. He turned it off because the ticking was getting on his nerves.

“How long have we been in here?” he finally broke down and asked.

<Six hours and thirteen minutes since we were sealed in.>

“And how long did they say we might wait?”

<They didn’t say.>

“How long do you think, then?”

<You know the answer to that. I don’t have the data to make a reasonable projection. I don’t know where and when the Naxli entered the system, nor do I know their approach pattern.>

Rev did know how Punch was going to answer that, but he couldn’t help asking.

<Your stress indicators are rising to the warning level.>

“It’s the waiting. I’ll be fine once we get out of here.”

<Meanwhile, you’re burning nervous energy. Can I suggest we watch Episode 4 of “Yellow Bridge?”>

“‘Yellow Bridge?’ We haven’t watched that for a long time. It was a little boring.”

<But better for relieving stress.>

Rev looked around the compartment. Several troopers were asleep. Others had a vacant look in their eyes as they listened to music or watched their own shows. The lieutenant and her fellow Rangers were linked together as they played Syke, their weird role-playing/gambling hybrid that no one else seemed to get. Fooma was standing by the excavator, but Rev couldn’t tell if the Breel was asleep or not.

If the lieutenant hadn’t been playing Syke, Rev would try and sit down with her to work through their mission one more time, and he had a feeling that the platoon commander might be gaming just to avoid him.

“OK, let’s watch. But give me an update on where we are now. I’ve forgotten all the details.

* * *

Rev and Punch were on Episode 6—the show was far more interesting than he’d remembered—when Fooma came to life.

Rev told Punch to stop the show, and he hurried over to the Breel. “What’s happening?”

“It is a raiding party, and we will engage.”

A thrill ran through him, and his warrior self started stirring.

“When?”

“I don’t know. It depends on their speed of action.”

“Are they at the mine head yet?” Rev asked.

“No, but they’re close. Unless they smell a trap, they should enter the processing tunnels to begin diverting the product.”

A part of him idly wondered what the Breel had said in his own language that the translator converted to “smell a trap.” The little AI devices were getting better and better, which sometimes made Rev forget that the Breel were completely alien to humans—and that was dangerous. He couldn’t count on them to react as a human soldier might, much less a Union Marine.

“I’m getting the platoon ready,” he told their liaison.

He grabbed the lieutenant first, then the squad leaders. Within four minutes, the platoon was on full alert, waiting for the command to move out. Thirty-two minutes later, they were still on the alert, albeit with a bit of the edge gone. His own warrior self had evidently decided it was a false alarm and had faded back into wherever he was housed in Rev’s mind.

Twice he’d gone back to Fooma to ask if there was any update. Twice he’d been told there wasn’t, and that he’d tell Rev the moment something came through the optical cable.

Rev was going to ask him once more when there was a tiny shock wave under his feet. Immediately, every trooper looked up at the ceiling as if it were about to collapse on them.

Fooma went still, then he stepped out of the way as the excavator came to life.

“This is it,” the lieutenant shouted. “Get ready!

There was shuffling as the squads moved into position.

The excavator started slowly moving to the rock face. The cutting arm was covered with a dozen studded balls that rotated around each other in a weird dance. The moment the lead edge of the arm touched the wall, the machine sped up, quickly disappearing into a massive hole it had just cut.

“Third Squad! Move out,” the lieutenant shouted over her speakers and barely audible over the scream of the excavator.

Even in his PAL, Yancey looked relieved as he led his squad into the tunnel. Before it was Rev’s turn, the excavator broke through and out onto the mountainside. It had destroyed twelve meters of solid rock in less than twenty seconds.

The platoon commander signaled “double time,” and the platoon rushed through the tunnel and out into the open air. Speed was now of the essence.

Another vibration shook the ground. The battle was engaged, and First Platoon had to get into position as a blocking force.

The Breel platoons had been ensconced in solid rock, just as the humans had been, but they’d been at various spots within the mine and processing area. The plan was for them to surprise the Naxli and overwhelm them with an aggressive assault. But it wasn’t reasonable to think that all of the Naxli raiders would be trapped, and that’s where First Platoon was to come into play. They were a blocking force, closing off the entrance and preventing any of the Naxli from escaping.

The main entrance to the mine was about 300 meters from their hiding place, and with Third Squad in the lead, the platoon ran along the side of the mountain. Rev would have liked to walk the ground first, but the CO hadn’t wanted there to be any sign of them.

It made sense, but running pell-mell along a steep grade with loose tailings could be a recipe for disaster. The footing was loose, and each step sent scree sliding down the mountain. Randigold fell hard, creating a small landslide as she tried to stop herself.

Rev’s first reaction was to go after her, but his job was to get the troopers inside the entrance. Heisō Kata, who, as Mezame Naval Infantry, was the lightest armed trooper in the platoon, started skidding down on his heels to help her, so Rev kept going.

He kept glancing up at the entrance, but only for brief moments as he had to concentrate on his footing.

It was only 300 meters. On level, unobstructed ground, thirty seconds in a PAL. After a minute and a half, they were still fifty meters away when three Naxli of a type Rev hadn’t seen before emerged.

They looked surprised to see a platoon of humans converging on them, but two managed to react, firing their weapons before they were cut down by a barrage as the troopers reacted, shifting from trying to keep their balance to fighting.

Rev acted without thinking.

“Second Squad, spread out and cover the rest!” he shouted.

He took two steps up the slope to give him a clearer field of fire, then stood there, Pashu raised and aimed at the entrance while the rest of the platoon pushed forward.

Another Naxli cautiously started to emerge, but it didn’t even make it a meter before Rev’s twenty-mm rounds blew it apart.

Two more attempted to leave the mine, using some sort of metal cart as a shield, but the cart wasn’t designed to stand up to human weapons, and the cart was riddled like Swiss cheese. The Naxli didn’t have a chance.

And then the lead troopers from Third Squad reached the entrance. Shifting from the loose scree to the hardpack road gave them much better footing, and they quickly took positions covering the entrance.

“Iglesias, move the squad forward.”

Without having to fire, and with troopers at the entrance, Rev didn’t have to put himself at risk from tumbling down the mountainside to join Randigold and Kata, who were only now starting to climb back up. His fellow IBHU was probably fuming, but she didn’t look hurt.

Rev reached the mine entrance just as the lieutenant sent Third Squad inside. The plan was to occupy what had been the battalion CP and use that to create a blocking position. That would give them more dispersion to any Naxli trying to retreat and escape.

He gave a quick glance at the dead Naxli. Their bodies were chewed up, but the differences between them and previous Naxli were evident. Shorter than the human-like versions, these had rounded, smooth skulls that flowed in one smooth curve from their faces all the way down their backs to their leg joints, almost like a narrow, half-meter-wide shiny turtle shell. It would be a stretch to call them humanoid, but they were bipedal with two arm-like structures sprouting out above the hips.

Rev briefly wondered who they were modeled after. The xenobiologists would love getting their hands on these bodies, but that probably wasn’t going to happen. They’d have to make do with visual recordings.

But that was for later. Right now, they had a mission to accomplish. There were muffled sounds of explosions reaching out through the main tunnel, and the ground trembled with attenuated shock waves.

“Set up your defense,” Rev told Iglesias.

The Federation commando nodded and started to position his troopers. Rev would rather be inside the mine entrance, ready to repulse any Naxli, but this was a sound move. There was no guarantee that all of the invading Naxli were inside the mine, and the platoon didn’t need to be surprised with a force coming up their rear.

The road leading to the entrance was built on tailings, which, in places, had created a solid bridge thirty or forty meters above the mountainside. In other words, this was a very defensible position. With nothing but scree well below either side of the straight road, that left a long, exposed approach. Once Iglesias had his squad positioned, Rev took his own place, just to the right of the entrance and where he could cover the entire road with Pashu. Along with Randigold, who’d just rejoined them, the two IBHU Marines alone could hold off a battalion.

“You doing OK?” he asked Randigold.

She went off on an impressive string of cursing, which was a good indication that she was fine. Inside her PAL, she would have been protected against most anything but a bruised ego.

One of Fourth Squad’s Jackhammers opened up inside the tunnel, and Rev wheeled about. He could see the flashes as the 40 mm grenades exploded farther down the tunnel, but he couldn’t make out any of the details. That was followed by a short volley from M-51s, which quickly cut off.

There was nothing more, and after twenty seconds of silence, Rev had to assume that some Naxli had started to retreat, and the platoon had pushed them back.

Still . . .

It was improbable, but possible that the platoon had been suddenly overrun. Rev shifted his position slightly so that while he still had coverage over the road, he could also keep an eye on the first twenty meters inside the entrance.

The far-off sounds of fighting deep within the mine continued. The plan had been to use surprise and shock to overrun the invaders, quickly subduing them. That evidently hadn’t happened, and Rev wished he knew what was going on. Without comms, he was blind.

“This is why I hate mines. Asteroids, too,” he muttered.

<There are advantages to them. The enemy is trapped. Being underground worked on Samara where the Dalit lured the Naxli underground, then eliminated them.>

“But I can’t see them. I don’t know where they are.”

At that moment, the side of the mountain about sixty meters away and ten meters below them seemed to explode outward. An excavator appeared, tottered on the edge, then plunged down the mountainside, tumbling over and over until it hit the treeline forty more meters below.

Several of the new Naxli appeared, then ducked back when they spotted the squad.

<I think that’s where they are.>

Rev had expected a possible approach up the road, not that they’d break out the side of the mountain itself. But if the platoon could do it, then why not the enemy?

Rev quickly popped a pink star cluster and shot it down the mine entrance. That was the signal for contact. And then he was moving. He had no idea how many Naxli were attempting to break out, but he did know that their best chance to neutralize them was to keep them bottled inside. A concerted rush, and some of them, at least, could reach the cover of the native forest, and the squad wasn’t big enough to chase them down if that happened.

He knew they had to bottle them up inside, and the squad was the cork.

“On me!” he shouted as he ran, slipping and sliding on the tailings. A Naxli leaned out, bringing its weapon to bear, but Rev’s reflexes were quicker. Twenty-millimeter rounds slammed into the edge of the rock, obliterating the top half of the enemy in a mist of red and rock dust.

What was left of the Naxli fell, its weapon going over and sliding down the mountainside, coming to rest against the upside-down excavator. Dark red blood and tissue dripped over the white rock.

Rev took a moment to signal to Iglesias to take a team over the top of the opening and come back on the other side of it. Just as he was turning back, a missile zipped by him, just a meter from his face.

He slipped on some scree in startlement and looked up just in time to see two Naxli, one aiming a large energy weapon at Rev, the instant the missile detonated, showering the mountainside with shrapnel. At least one piece reaching back to ping off of his PAL. But the important thing was that the Naxli had been blown back before the one had been able to get off a shot at Rev.

“You’re welcome, Gunny,” Randigold shouted as she ran by him.

Head on a swivel, Reverent. Head on a swivel!

By now, the platoon was keeping up a steady fire as they closed in on the enemy. No more Naxli showed their faces as the squad got into position above and to either side of the opening.

Iglesias gave Rev the interrogatory signal.

Rev looked back the way they came. None of the rest of the platoon had made an appearance, and either because the fighting inside had intensified or because this new opening was channeling what was happening better, the sounds of fighting were louder and more intense.

“Do you think we already got whoever was in there?” he asked Punch.

Something bounced out and started falling past them when it exploded, scattering shrapnel.

<No.>

Rev signaled PFC Neary to toss in one of their own grenades. She edged close, then, with a roundhouse swing, threw the grenade inside. Intense firing reached out before the grenade detonated—and it continued for ten seconds after. Rev hadn’t expected the grenade to clear the tunnel. He’d used it to prod them into responding, and they had.

“Can you analyze the outgoing fire?” he asked Punch.

<At least six weapons. Possibly as many as eight.>

“That’s not so bad.”

<Not so bad if all of those inside fired. Some might have been holding back.>

Rev wanted to slap his forehead. He knew better than to make assumptions like he just had, and he was embarrassed that Punch had to remind him of that.

He looked again back at the main entrance, which was now left unguarded. Someone from the platoon should have come to see what was going on. If he could get someone’s attention, then he could send for a Jackhammer. Strap’s squad had three of them, but he’d only need one to close the opening the excavator had made.

He considered sending Neary back as a messenger, but there were increased sounds of movement inside. The longer he took to make a decision, the more time he was giving the Naxli to work something out. And if they were able to hijack a Breel excavator, who knew what else they could come up with given all the machinery and equipment inside the mine and processing area?

Be aggressive, Reverent.

He gave his orders in quick signals. It wasn’t as if this was going to have many moving parts.

The troopers edged into position, waiting for him. Rev almost hesitated, wondering for how many that this could be their last few moments alive, but he quickly pushed that out of his mind, using his warrior self as a wall against indecision.

He raised his organic arm, then dropped it.

König and Kata, who were just above the opening, reached down and threw in four grenades. Immediately, the Naxli inside fired out while Rev took three deep breaths. The instant the grenades detonated, Rev, on the right, and Randigold, on the left, reached around, only exposing their IBHUs. A round of some kind hit Pashu, but he was still able to fire a single beamer blast on full power.

The stone walls inside the tunnel should serve to amplify the blast as it reflected back upon itself over and over.

In theory, that is.

But Rev was moving, switching to his twenty and blindly filling the tunnel as he rushed inside. The excavated tunnel wasn’t large, and Rev ran at a half-crouch, hoping that the three M-103 gunners could fire their 40mm grenades over his and Randigold’s heads as they charged forward.

There was a clunk that didn’t slow him down. One of the grenades must have hit him on the helmet, but it didn’t detonate.

Thank the Mother for the minimum arming distance.

Rev stepped on several bodies in the narrow tunnel as he charged forward, Pashu’s twenty spraying out its fatal gifts. He took a few hits, and he caught glimpses of shadows just beyond the reach of his helmet’s lights, shadows that melted away as he fired. Suddenly, the tunnel opened up, and he caught a quick look at rows of machines before something hit him hard on the side, knocking him over several steps. He started to recover his balance, but that tiny effort slowed him from bringing Pashu around before another Naxli rushed under his IBHU and tried to tackle him.

He was hit so hard that one foot came off the deck, and as the Naxli drove through the tackle, he had to keep hopping on his right foot to remain standing. The Naxli kept pushing with its shoulders as it was digging at Rev using what looked like a knife. With the enemy soldier up under Pashu, he couldn’t force her down and bring her into play.

He was aware of Randigold firing to his side, the flashes from her twenty lighting the area. But Rev was in trouble. He was weaponless and off-balance.

Use what you have.

Rev let go of the Naxli with his right arm and started pounding away at the Naxli’s neckless head. His right arm might not be a weapon, but Rev was an augmented Marine before he became a hyper-augment, and he was strong.

Naxli tended to grow organic armor, but in this case, most of his blows were glancing off his assailant without the slight give the armor normally had. His blows were having an effect, though, and the Naxli made a mistake. It drove Rev into one of the machines, and with their motion stopped, Rev was able to plant his left foot.

Now, with both legs in play, Rev pushed back while flinging the Naxli with his right arm in a twisting motion. That created all the space Rev needed to bring Pashu down between them.

The first twenty-millimeter struck the Naxli in the leg, which made it fall away. The second took it in the chest.

Rev had been focused on just surviving, but now he looked around. It was a madhouse. The squad was with him, but it looked like a street brawl. Figures were locked into hand-to-hand. He could hear the subdued reports of M-51s, but in the chaos, he couldn’t see who was firing.

A trooper and a Naxli pushed by him, the Naxli’s back exposed. Rev almost fired, but a twenty could go right through a body and hit whoever was on the other side.

With a quick flick of his wrist, his blade extended, and with a thrust at what had to be the Naxli’s spine, he struck . . . only to have the blade skitter off. Shocked, he reached up and grabbed the Naxli’s helmet with his right hand, pulled back, and with a more calculated effort, pushed the tip of the blade through the armor and into the body.

The Naxli collapsed in the trooper’s arms, revealing Nezev. The corporal gave Rev a nod before they both looked to find another Naxli, but the fight was over. It had seemed longer, but the entire battle had probably taken less than thirty seconds. Seven Naxli were on the ground. One trooper was.

PFC Neary’s PAL was peeled open at the belly, revealing a mass of mangled flesh.

“Weld, see to her,” Rev ordered. “Iglesias, give me a perimeter. We need to figure out where we are.”

The PAL’s helmet lights were pretty powerful, and it didn’t take long for them to figure out that this was one of the processing stations. At the far end were low pallets of metallic bars, ready for loading.

Rev looked back at the tunnel they’d come through. Several of the big processing machines had been shoved out of the way, giving the excavator access. Why here? That was obvious. The distance from this processing center to the surface wasn’t very far. If the main entrances were blocked, then make your own. That was Marine thinking.

He grabbed Iglesias. “Send someone back to the lieutenant. Let her know what we have here and ask her what we should do next.”

Rev and Iglesias made a quick survey of the space, then settled on the area around the real entrance to set up a defense. He didn’t know how long they’d be here, but he wasn’t going to be caught unawares. They were just finishing up placing everyone when Kata returned.

“What did she say?” Rev asked.

“Things aren’t going according to the plan.”

No shit.

“But for now, she wants us to stay here. They’ll cover the main entrance from both directions. And she said, don’t let anyone get past us.”

Rev grunted. “Anyone” could be a couple hundred angry Naxli trying to get out.

But orders were orders.

He turned to Iglesias and said, “You heard the man. Now we settle in and wait.”

20

“Waiting” turned into thirteen hours. Doc LeRon came to attend to Neary about twenty minutes after the fight. Without a way to get her out of there, her chances were not good, but he took her back to the rest of the platoon. Other than that, there were periods of silence interrupted by the sounds of fighting. One fight went on for thirty-three minutes, by Rev’s count.

The sounds were muffled and nebulous, so Rev couldn’t make out much of what was going on. Even Punch, with all that processing power specifically programmed for that kind of analysis, couldn’t differentiate between the weapons used to make much of an analysis. So, the squad sat and let their imaginations go wild as they tried to guess what was happening.

Finally, Kzing came to summon Rev. They left by way of the excavated tunnel, then moved across the tailings slope. Walking, it wasn’t that difficult, not like when they were running and under fire. The two of them made it without issue, passed Torking and his team at the entrance, and made their way into the tunnel, then to where the lieutenant was head-to-head with one of the Breel.

“Ma’am?”

“Gunny, good to see you. You did well, you know.”

“Neary?”

The lieutenant shook her head. “She passed about six hours ago.”

“Resurrection?”

“If she was back at a Class A facility, then maybe. But here . . .”

“Fuck.”

“We knew this was an issue, Gunny.”

Yes, they’d all been briefed that medivacs probably wouldn’t be possible until the planet was secured, and even then, it was a long way back to Clickerland and the battalion sickbay. But now it was real. And Neary was going to pay the price.

If this were a Marine operation, Rev was sure that someone would have made the dustoff. But it wasn’t a Marine op—not even a human op. It sucked, but Rev was powerless in this situation, and he tried to force that from his mind. “What about the overall situation?”

The lieutenant and the Breel exchanged looks, then the lieutenant said, “We’re pulling out.”

“Ma’am?”

Rev hadn’t expected that answer.

“Things have turned into a stalemate. After some initial success, our effort has foundered, and a small group of Naxli have managed to barricade themselves in one of the processing stations.”

“A small group? How small?”

“We don’t know,” the Breel said. “No more than thirty, we think.”

Rev frowned. There were more than 800 Breel and humans at this location, more than enough to handle thirty Naxli. Unless . . .

“What have our casualties been, ma’am?”

“One human. Maybe sixty Breel.”

Rev frowned. Something wasn’t adding up.

“Why are we pulling out? We can crush them.”

“There is a problem,” the lieutenant said. “They have the Breel staff. Eighteen of them. And they have twelve Breel soldiers. They’ve relayed to us that if we try to rescue them, all will be executed. So, the command has ordered us to pull back.”

“Ma’am? That’s bullshit. We’re abandoning the mission?”

“The mission was to keep the Naxli from taking the resources off planet. They won’t be able to now.”

“And the prisoners?”

“The command says they don’t want to risk any more lives,” she said with a shrug.

Rev started to protest, but he was conscious of the Breel officer standing with them. He decided to carefully word what he felt he had to say without the Breel understanding.

“Iffen our bros are cut loose, the baddies gonna zero ‘em. Dude, you ken that right? They be hreetz, so’s worth zip.”

“Yes, they’ll kill the prisoners,” the Breel said. “Like you said, they’re hreetz.”

Damn. The translators are getting better.

“So, why are we leaving them?” Rev asked, perplexed at the decision.

“Command decision,” the lieutenant said.

Rev gave the Breel a long stare, then said, “Our CO is that chickenshit?”

He didn’t care how that sounded, but he was angry.

“Not Colonel Gaffenuo. From much higher,” the Breel said.

“So, we’re just gonna leave and let our comrades . . .” he started before trailing off. He looked at the lieutenant, then at the Breel closely, and there was something about their postures, the way they were holding themselves.

“You want to go after them.”

“I told you he’d understand,” the lieutenant told the Breel.

“There will be consequences,” the Breel said.

“There’ll be consequences to your people if we abandon them.”

The Breel nodded in a very human manner.

“But to us, too. Starting with the colonel. He will be certainly relieved, and the best he can hope for is prison.”

“The worst?” Rev asked, knowing the answer.

“Commanders are executed for disobeying orders.”

Shit.

“And he’s willing to do it?”

“He is,” the Breel said. “But there are limitations.”

OK, here it comes.

“He’s not willing to put a large number of his soldiers at risk.”

“All war is a risk,” Rev said. “Some can always die. Like Neary.”

He stared at the Breel, who didn’t respond. Then it hit him. He must be beginning to understand the body language of the tree people.

“Anyone who joins in this would be taking part in a mutiny. Can they be executed?” he asked.

“The officers, yes. The rest, maybe.”

“And that’s where we come in,” the lieutenant said.

Rev understood now. “And if we do this, are we going to be executed? I want to help, but I’m not going to sacrifice my troopers.”

It was the lieutenant’s call, not his, but officer or not, if this was going to put them all at the hangman’s gallows, he wasn’t going to let it happen.

“You will not be executed. Your race’s continued participation in the war is vital. You might be sent away, back to your people, but you will not be killed.”

“Are you sure about that?”

The Breel hesitated, and if he said yes, Rev was going to refuse.

“No. We have a saying: ‘The forest answers in the same way one shouts at it. What is asked is swallowed without an answer.’ So, we never know. But I can say that I don’t think that you’ll suffer any physical danger.”

Rev looked at the lieutenant to see her take on that. “I don’t think there would be brig time, but our careers could be over if the Breel complain. It’s just as important to us that this alliance remains in place.”

“So, what’s the plan? We’re only a single platoon,” he asked.

“The prisoners are being held in what’s essentially a machine shop, where the mine’s equipment is repaired and maintained. Because of the location, we can’t send a large force. It’s too constrained. But no matter how tight things are, we still want to double their numbers, and that might be possible if we go about this right,” the lieutenant said.

“We don’t have sixty troopers.”

“We will be accompanying you,” the Breel said.

“Even if you’re going to get executed?”

The Breel spread its arms, the crooked branchlets fluttering.

“Why you, sir?” Rev asked after a moment. “Why are you risking your life?”

“I am Colonel Gaffenuo’s scion,” he said as if that was enough.

“Punch?”

<A scion is a branch that is grafted onto rootstock to make a new tree. It’s also an old term for a child of a notable family.>

“So, he’s the colonel’s son?”

<They don’t have male and female genders, but yes, an offspring, so-to-speak, if the translator chose “scion” correctly.>

Rev gave the Breel a hard look. This officer was willing to sacrifice his life to do this. That meant something.

He shifted to the lieutenant. “Why are you asking me? You’re the platoon commander.”

The lieutenant gave a wry laugh, then said, “I’m not an idiot, Gunny, despite what you SNCOs think of junior officers. You are the soul of the platoon, and they’ll do what you want. They’ll follow you into the pits of hell if you ask.”

Rev didn’t bother to object. The lieutenant was just stating the truth.

“I know this isn’t a democracy, but given the repercussions, I think we need to ask the troopers. If you say no right now, though, then it’s over.”

Rev knew it was on him. He knew his troopers, and every one of them would volunteer if Rev said he was going.

“What is your name, sir?” Rev asked the Breel.

“Lieutenant Vorbando.”

“Well, Lieutenant Vorbando, like Lieutenant Marble said, we need to approach our troopers, but we’re in. We’ll go try and save our people.”

The Breel lieutenant paused, then said, “I am pleased to hear you say that, but they are not your people.”

“We’re allies, sir. And twelve of them are our brothers-in-arms. That makes them our people.”

* * *

It hadn’t even been a debate. When the question was put to the platoon, the response was immediate. They were going to proceed, and Rev got the feeling that “soul of the platoon” or not, even if he’d said no, the platoon would have ignored his reservation.

Fifty-seven minutes later, the platoon, along with twelve Breel, was slowly making their way forward. A single Breel led the way, sweeping the corridor with a handheld instrument. Rev didn’t think the Naxli had time to have boobytrapped the way, but they could have left sensors that would alert them to their presence.

And with the hostages’ lives at stake, surprise was paramount.

Rev was confident that they could take out the Naxli. The plan, at his insistence, was a human one. Lieutenant Vorbando offered suggestions, but the final call was Lieutenant Marble’s.

There was none of the conservative, more methodical approach that the Breel seemed to favor. They were going to rely on surprise, shock, and a violent projection of lethal intent. They would force the engagement and then eliminate the Naxli before they could carry out the executions.

It sounded good on paper, but as they neared their objective, it didn’t seem like such a sure thing. The corridor wasn’t the same as the cramped tunnels on Armadillo, where Rev had to low crawl, but they weren’t wide-open highways, either. They could get four PAL-clad troopers abreast, but that would be about it. The door into the machine shop was almost as wide as the corridor, at least, given that it had to give access to larger pieces of equipment.

With sixty humans and Breel, they outnumbered the Naxli. But for the first troopers to enter the space, it would be thirty-to-four. The problem facing them was how to get enough fighters into the machine shop quickly enough to shift those odds.

Yancey had suggested using an excavator to make a larger opening, which initially seemed to have promise, but as quickly as the machine could chew through rock, it was hardly stealthy. The Naxli would hear it coming.

In the end, it came down to firepower. And who had the firepower? An IBHU Marine.

Tsao, Randigold, Božič-Mizaki, and Rev would be the lead element. The lieutenant had initially said the fourth IBHU would be Hochenspatter, but Rev pointed out that he was the most experienced IBHU Marine, and his new IBHU was the most advanced model in existence.

Following the lead four, the three karnans and Ewe Günther, their Ranger sniper, would be right on their asses. Then would come the rest of the platoon as they attempted to build up their forces as quickly as possible. The Breel would pull the hostages out, then the humans would collapse upon the entrance and retreat.

Torking had argued that they should hunt down every last Naxli, but the lieutenant had pointed out that they weren’t even supposed to be there. The high command thought they were already moving to their extraction point, and the battalion CO could only cover them for so long. The machine shop was large and full of equipment, giving the odd Naxli opportunities to hide and require them to be dug out. They couldn’t afford the time for a long, drawn-out fight.

The lead Breel suddenly stopped, and Rev’s heart jumped into his throat as his warrior self clamored for release. But after a moment, he seemed to be satisfied and started up again.

Thanks for giving me a heart attack, buddy.

When Rev was in recruit training, they practiced in wide open areas. With the Home Guard, they were in the wider reach of space. He never imagined then that he’d be fighting in mines so often or even inside a freakin‘ asteroid. Yet here he was again, feeling like the rock walls were closing in on him. If he never had to enter another mine in his career, that would be fine with him.

He checked their position. This planet’s magnetic fields were not mapped, so the goose DNA and the ferrous particles embedded in his brain couldn’t tell him where he was. But the Breel had maps of the mines, so by old-fashioned plotting, he could follow along their movement. According to the map, they’d closed to fifty-three meters from the shop entrance.

“You ready, buddy?”

<Always ready. You know that.>

“I think it’s a good plan.”

Rev realized he was only looking for confirmation.

But when Punch said, <It maximizes the potential for success,> it still felt good to hear it.

They pushed forward, and the door into the machine shop came into the range of their infrared lamps. It was a massive hunk of foreboding metal, and Rev had to wonder why it was so robust, almost like a bank vault. He wondered if a Marine Davis tank would make much of an impact on it.

The image of the Davis that had been destroyed in the mine tunnel on Armadillo rose unbidden into his mind, and he had to try and force that back. It was bad juju to focus on past defeats when moving into a new battle.

Completely different situation, Reverent. Just focus on this mission.

The Breel leading them stopped and retreated. Another one made his way forward through the human troopers. He carefully approached and stopped at the door, where he raised a different instrument, a box with a protruding tube flared at the end, like an ancient blunderbuss. There was a faint glow from the box, and then the Breel retreated past the IBHU Marines and to the waiting lieutenants.

Rev almost followed, but he forced himself to wait. If he was taking a place with the assault element, using Pashu as an excuse, then he had to give up his platoon sergeant duties. His focus right now was on that door and who might be coming out.

Hopefully, no one—that would mean the Naxli knew they were coming and the hostages were dead. But there were fifty-two troopers and Breel behind him, and at the moment, Rev’s team of eight was the first line of defense against a Naxli assault.

Finally, the two lieutenants came up to brief them.

“It looks like the hostages are here,” Marble said, pointing to a spot along the side of the diagram of the machine shop.

That would put them about twenty meters from the door. It could have been worse. The shop was fifty-two meters long. But twenty meters was longer than Rev wanted to have to cover if the Naxli had guards on them.

“Unfortunately, there are readings that at least four might be scattered throughout the shop.”

That wasn’t good news.

“Where are they?”

“Our scanner is designed for buildings, not rock walls,” the Breel lieutenant said. “We’re relying on organic mass for the signals. The more people and the closer together, the more accurate the results, so these other hostages are producing almost ghost readings. We can’t tell their exact locations.”

Rev exchanges looks with Tsao. If they didn’t know exactly where these other four were, they couldn’t get to them before the Naxli acted.

“There’s also something else,” Lieutenant Marble added. “Like Vorbando said, the readings are not exact, but it looks like there’re more gaunts than we thought.”

“How many more,” Rev asked, his voice catching as he waited for the numbers.

“Could be fifty.”

“Could be sixty,” the Breel lieutenant said.

That was a gut punch. Rev would put up any one of his troopers against a single Naxli, but their operation relied on an overwhelming force. If there were sixty Naxli in the shop, then that could lead to a protracted battle, and human casualties could be high.

All for Breel who might be cut down before the four IBHU Marines made it ten meters inside.

“So . . . ?”

Lieutenant Marble looked at her Breel counterpart, then said, “We’re still on. The bulk of the gaunts seem to be congregated toward the rear, and we think we’ve still got the element of surprise. Your mission’s the same. Drop whoever’s around the hostages, then protect them. We’ll follow and deploy across here,” he said, swiping a finger to create an arc through a third of the room.

“Then, the Breel will free the hostages from whatever might be restraining them and pull them out. From there, we stick with the plan.”

Rev studied the plastisheet for a moment. He was used to detailed images displayed upon his face shield that he could manipulate and zoom in on. This hand drawing on a piece of plastisheet seemed so . . . primitive. But despite that, what the lieutenant said made sense.

“Punch, you see anything that concerns you?”

<Other than sixty Naxli?>

“Yeah, other than sixty noxes.”

<It could still work. The plan is within acceptable theoretic military parameters.>

I don’t want theory. The noxes haven’t read our military textbooks, and they might have other ideas.

But he knew that was about as good as he was going to get from his battle buddy.

“OK, ma’am. We’ve got it.”

“Brief your team. We go in six minutes,” the platoon commander said and turned around.

Lieutenant Vorbando didn’t turn with her and instead reached out to grab Rev by his IBHU.

“You humans have more honor than we were led to believe. To use our enemy’s words, you are gnista. And for that, I thank you.”

Rev faced death if this operation went to pot. But the Breel lieutenant faced not only that death, but also their execution if they were successful. To Rev, that was a truer demonstration of honor.

“You are gnista, sir, and the honor is mine.”

The Breel gave his full-body nod/bow in his race’s manner, then retreated, and Rev returned to his element. The other three IBHUs, the three karnans, and Günther gathered around as Rev gave them the update. None of them flinched. Their mission was the same, despite the change in the number of Naxli.

They edged forward into position, four meters from the three-meter-high door. Rev looked over his shoulder. “One shot, one kill, Günther.”

There’d been some discussion about including the Ranger in the assault element instead of one of the Fourth Squad troopers with a heavier weapon. But Rev wanted someone who could be surgically eliminating Naxli. And when it came down to it, Günther was a better shot than Seth Weld, the Marine sniper. So, despite the Ranger’s lighter armor, Rev wanted him.

“One shot, one kill, Gunny. As always.”

The eight settled in, doing their mental preps. Behind that door was their future, either long or short that it may be.

“Systems check.”

<All systems green. Power at seventy-one-point-three percent. One thousand, three hundred, forty-eight twenty-millimeter rounds, four Morays.>

He was ready to go.

A Breel pushed between Randigold and Božič-Mizaki, then walked almost casually to the machine shop door. He removed what looked like a piece of jerky and placed it at the lower left corner of the door, repeated that at the middle, and then used a small expanding rod to place another at the top left corner. He repeated the entire process on the right side, then placed one more right at the top middle of the door.

Rev had been assured that the Breel would be able to create an entry into the shop. He’d been a little nervous when he was told to have his team only four meters away, but now he was more concerned that they’d be able to breach the massive door, especially with seven small pieces of shriveled-up jerky.

The Breel pushed back through the eight troopers, then stopped and waited for his signal.

“Is that it?” Randigold asked Rev.

She was evidently as disbelieving as Rev was, and he began to wonder if he shouldn’t call Tech First Multar from Fourth Squad with his MM-24 mine. There was no doubt in his mind that the device would make short work of the door.

The Breel evidently got the signal, and he told the troopers, “Get ready.”

A moment later, six small, almost invisible puffs of smoke jutted out from the sides of the door, which remained in place. It didn’t even look damaged.

What the—

The seventh puff of smoke came from the top center, and almost in slow motion, the door started to fall forward, the top coming at the eight troopers. Light from inside the shop flooded the corridor, causing Rev’s face shield to shift to normal vision.

The door, which looked to be about fifteen centimeters thick, slammed into the ground, shaking their footing and raising a cloud of dust.

The instant it hit, Rev shouted, “Release the Kraken!” and the assault element surged forward. Rev’s warrior surged as well, and the hatred Rev felt for the race that killed his brother almost overwhelmed him.

Three steps and they were inside. The hostages were clearly visible, most leaning against the wall to the left. All of them looked startled to see the eight combat-suited humans charging into the shop.

The Naxli—the same type as Second Squad had battled—looked startled as well, but they reacted. Two raised their weapons—not at the humans, but at the hostages. Rev was quicker. He snarled as his beamer, in guillotine mode, sliced completely through one of them, the body falling into two pieces, while either Randigold or Tsao riddled the other with twenty-millimeter slugs.

There were at least eight other Naxli with the hostages. Several oriented toward the humans, and some managed to get off shots before the massed firepower of IBHU Marines and karnans chewed them up. One darted to the side, going low and just avoiding Rev’s twenty as he switched from his beamer. The Naxli rolled and came up inside the group of hostages. It dragged two of the hostages in front of it as shields, which made Rev hold his fire.

There was a crack just centimeters from Rev’s right ear, and the Naxli’s face, which was barely visible between the two Breel, burst into a dark red explosion. The body fell, dragging the two Breel down after it.

“Told you, Gunny! One shot,” Günther shouted.

One Naxli stepped out from behind a machine, arms spread out to the side, its weapon clattering onto the ground. It was cut down immediately by Lvarn and Randigold, the body blasting apart as if it had been hit by an artillery round.

For a brief moment, Rev thought the Naxli was trying to surrender, but he knew that was ridiculous. The enemy didn’t just surrender in the middle of a fight.

Rev swept the area, looking for another target, but nine Naxli bodies littered the spot. None were standing. The entire action had taken just over fifteen seconds with a ferocity so intense that the Naxli had been cut down without a single human casualty.

But there was no time for celebration. There were still more than fifty of the enemy in the machine shop.

The assault team swarmed into position between the horrified Breel, who were recoiling from the demonic apparitions who’d just appeared in their midst, and the rest of the Naxli. To their right, the rest of the force was streaming into the shop, moving deeper to form a defensive line. Rev spotted Lieutenant Marble and signaled their success.

“I don’t think the hostages have their translators,” Lvarn told Rev. “They don’t seem to understand me.”

Lvarn had been tasked with letting the hostages know what was going on. Rev turned to look at them. They were connected to each other by some sort of cable system, and as a group, they had pushed themselves up against the wall as if trying to put as much distance between themselves and the humans as possible. A couple of the soldiers seemed to be bucking that trend, which made sense. They would recognize who’d come to their rescue.

“Forget it. They’ll figure it out. Take your position.”

One of Fourth Squad’s Jackhammers opened fire, followed quickly by the sounds of fighting. Rev caught glimpses of the rest of the platoon as they maneuvered through the machines and engaged the enemy. Rev’s instinct was to push his troopers forward so they could add their firepower to the platoon, but he held in place. The hostages were his priority.

But if I can spot one of those bastards . . .

The white-hot anger that drove him through the door as he remembered Grover’s murder had faded, but not by much. He looked as far as he could, hoping to catch a glimpse of a target. He’d love to tally another of them and send him on the path to Naxli hell.

Something tore up the wall just above the Breel hostage’s heads, causing a deep, staccato rumble from them as they tried to get as low as possible. Rock dust rained down upon them.

And then Vorbando and his Breel were through the door. They ran to the hostages, which had to relieve them. It took a moment for them to figure out what to do, but they were soon attacking the cables securing the hostages. As the first few were freed, they were quickly guided to the entrance and sent out. Not that the hostages needed much encouragement. Breel were not particularly quick movers when compared to humans, but the rescued didn’t waste any time getting out of there.

The fighting intensified, with stray rounds and ionized air from at least two energy weapons reaching them. Rev kept glancing back to check on the progress.

Hurry your asses up, Lieutenant!

The Breel seemed to be having problems with the cables, and progress was slow. But finally, the last of them were freed, and some with sections of cables still attached and dragging on the ground behind them, were ushered out of the door.

As the last one left the shop, Lieutenant Vorbando triggered the rod in his hand. Immediately, a bright tangerine strobe lit up the entire shop, so bright Rev thought he would see the bones in his hands if he looked.

Rev wasn’t so sure the Breel signaling device was as good as the various human devices used were when comms weren’t working, but it was as if the strobes had a life of their own as they sought to fill every square centimeter of the machine shop. There wasn’t any way a trooper could have missed it.

“Shift right,” Rev ordered his element.

The eight moved into position, where they could cover the rest of the platoon as they pulled back. The question was when they would break contact. There were four hostages out in the shop somewhere. It would be the lieutenant’s call, one Rev was glad he wouldn’t have to make.

The probability was that the four were killed when the fight started, but there was always a chance. The platoon commander had to weigh that against the risk to the platoon. Whatever she decided, there would be consequences.

The fighting was ongoing but not quite as intense. Rev could see several troopers taking cover behind machinery, but they weren’t making efforts to advance.

“She’s just going to hold the position.”

<That’s what it looks like.>

“So, no going after the last four hostages.”

Rev was disappointed, but he knew that was the most reasonable decision. The hostages had to be dead. If he was in command, he knew he’d probably do the same when it came down to it.

A Naxli, far beyond the troopers, popped out from behind a machine. Rev aimed in, but he had to hold his fire because of troopers between him and the enemy. It didn’t matter. The troopers dropped the warrior. Dark reddish blood started to flow out onto the white machine shop floor.

A moment later, a Naxli rifle appeared to be thrown from the same spot. The muzzle of the rifle hit the just-killed body, causing the weapon to tumble and clatter on the ground. The dead Naxli’s blood continued to flow until it reached the discarded weapon.

“Did you see that?” he asked Punch.

<I see what you see,> his battle buddy reminded him.

“Did it throw away its weapon?”

<That’s one explanation.>

No, can’t be. Naxli don’t give up. There’s got to be another explanation.

If, by some miracle, whoever owned that rifle, which was now acting as a little dam for the dead Naxli’s blood, had given up, that wasn’t true for the rest of them. Fighting was still going on.

But not for long. Lieutenant Marble had reached a decision. She triggered another of the Breel signals, this one a fluorescent turquoise.

“We’re up!” Rev shouted.

But his element knew that. They were ready.

It took almost twenty seconds for the first of the troopers to retreat past the eight of them. The Naxli could see what was happening, and they intensified their efforts.

Lance Corporal Nikolaou took a few too many steps before taking cover, and she went flat on her face eight meters in front of Rev. He started to rush to the Marine, but Blue-master Lynthnic darted into the passage from a side passage and dragged Nikolaou into cover.

The assault element was spread out, covering six different aisles in the shop. Rev was the only one on the aisle on which Nikolaou was hit.

“BM, shift to me,” Rev shouted at Božič-Mizaki.

She scrambled over until she was just across the aisle from him.

“Niko’s down. We need to cover her and Lynthnic.”

She gave him a thumbs-up, and Rev called out, “Lynthnic! We’ve got you covered. Make your move!”

“Roger,” the Frisian shouted back. “I’ve got Anne. Coming in five.”

“Get ready,” Rev told Božič-Mizaki.

A moment later, Lynthnic emerged from the side aisle, dragging Nikolaou by her dead man’s handle. Both Rev and Božič-Mizaki started pouring rounds downrange, not really having targets but relying on the pure volume to keep the Naxli from getting a clear shot.

A Marine in a PAL is a heavy load, but Lynthnic was also in a PAL, and with the strength assist, he was able to drag Nikolaou clear. Rev’s personnel status display was barely working, and he couldn’t get a reading on her, but it didn’t look good.

Breaking contact is one of the most difficult military evolutions in the books. But the platoon retreated like clockwork with mutual support and coordinated movements. The troopers started passing the line of the eight in the assault element.

Strap rushed into the side aisle Rev was in, pulling a Breel by the arm. Rev was surprised but happy to see that.

“What about the others?” he asked the staff sergeant.

“They executed one. Pushed him out into view and shot him, just so we could see. I found this one and grabbed him.”

“Nothing on the other two?”

“Nothing.”

Rev didn’t expect there would be any survivors among the four, so with the trembling Breel civilian next to him, that was a victory.

“Get him out of here,” he told Strap.

The squad leader hesitated and glanced back toward the remaining Naxli. Rev knew he wanted to stay.

“Keep to the orders, Strap. And this guy here’s a priority.”

Strap nodded, then gathered up the Breel. He pointed at the door fifteen meters away and said they were going to go for it. Whether the Breel understood the words or the pointing, he gathered his feet, and with Strap’s help, the two made the dash.

A second after they started running, there was a flash on the side of the rectangular machine Rev was using for cover, and an instant later, an explosion rocked the side of the exit. The blast knocked Strap and the Breel over, but Strap quickly regained his feet and dragged the limp body through the door and out of sight.

Rev glanced up where there was now a gouge in the metal.

“That was a missile, and clipping this machine made it miss,” he said as it all became clear.

<It looks like a missile strike. The sheet metal covering couldn’t stand up to the missile, but it was just enough to nudge the aim.>

Rev did want to think what a direct hit on Strap would have been. Judging from the damage to the wall, it could have been bad.

Fighting was getting haphazard, and Rev was just sitting in place, reacting to what the Naxli were doing. With the lieutenant and the rest of the platoon retreating, the momentum was shifting, and they were now letting the Naxli control the battle as they tried to enforce their will upon the humans.

That was a recipe for disaster.

Rev needed to make sense of what was happening and do something to thwart the Naxli, and that necessitated trying to place the enemy within the machine shop.

“Can you give me a POO?” he asked Punch.

The incoming fire didn’t seem to be uniform, and that was confusing. If Punch could run a Point of Origin based on the sounds of combat, maybe Rev could see a pattern.

Punch had taken a snapshot of the plastisheet with the machine shop’s layout, and now he overlaid that directly into Rev’s visual cortex. He then highlighted two areas two-thirds of the way down the shop. The first was directly down the aisle Rev was covering, extending to the next aisle. The second was on the far right.

Almost on cue, there was an explosion at the top of Rev’s cover, and burning bits of machinery peppered Rev’s back.

Of course, he realized as he studied the map. These are the only two aisles with a line of sight to the area around the door. They knew that’s our only way out.

That didn’t answer what the group on the far right was doing, but they weren’t the most immediate threat.

Rev didn’t know if these Naxli could understand Standard, but he took a chance and cranked up his loudspeaker. “Platoon, avoid aisles Charlie, Delta, and Foxtrot. I repeat, avoid Charlie, Delta, and Foxtrot. Use other aisles. Tum, stay on Foxtrot. Eth, shift to Delta.”

The forward two-thirds of the shop was laid out in four long rows of machine stations. Some of the stations were individual machines that looked like drill presses or other human tools, while others were box-like contraptions like the one Rev was taking cover behind. That left six long north-south aisles, which the troopers had designated A-F.

East-west were side aisles, all numbered in order. Not all of the side aisles ran the width of the shop as some of the machinery was larger than the nice little squares.

Aisles Charlie and Delta had a direct line of sight to the entrance area, and Rev put two of the IBHU Marines on those, leaving Tsao to cover the still active Naxli down Foxtrot. And by telling the platoon to focus on using Alpha, Bravo, and Echo, Rev hoped he’d just taken the troopers out of the most intensive fire.

Unless he’d just made a nice condensed target for Standard-understanding Naxli.

Rev leaned over to fire down Charlie, and rounds immediately impacted on Pashu, and he rolled back.

Crap!

One of the rules taught to every recruit was not to expose yourself from the same position. If you popped up a second time in the same place, someone would have targeted you.

But there really wasn’t much of a choice. He was sort of stuck. Unless . . .

Rev stood, his head just below the top of his cover. He took a deep breath, then swung Pashu around at shoulder height instead of close to the ground. A trigger-happy Naxli, from down where the shop’s organization was more muddled, fired, the rounds coming right at knee level.

Rev instantly switched to his Moray, imprinting the location into the missile’s crystal brain an instant before he fired and ducked back. He didn’t see the missile strike, but he heard it, and he knew in his heart that it was a righteous hit.

Troopers were emerging from the three aisles. Rev held the ones from Alpha and Bravo up until there were several of them, then with Božič-Mizaki and him covering them, he sent each across the head of Charlie and out the entrance.

The lieutenant didn’t go immediately out the door. She turned to kneel by Rev.

“That was smart, Gunny. Thanks. It was getting a little hairy for us.”

“How many more, ma’am?”

“That’s the last from this side,” she said. “I’m not sure about Master Corporal Iglesias. They should be coming up Echo.”

“We’ll stay until we’re all out of here. No one’s being left behind.”

The platoon commander had that look of someone coming up with a new plan, and Rev said, “Get out of here, ma’am. Set up Fourth. Strap’s got an ent civilian, and he might need help.”

The lieutenant nodded, then turned and dashed for the entrance.

Rev knew the machine shop hadn’t been constructed with defense in mind, but he was glad his machine blocked the actual view of the door from most of the shop. As flimsy as the case was, it still gave concealment as troopers actually went through the door.

Božič-Mizaki fired a volley and was chased back by return fire. Her cover wasn’t like Rev’s large, boxlike machine, but rather something more open with a conveyer-looking belt and cutting blades.

To his right, two troopers appeared from down Echo and were waiting to cross over Delta aisle. Randigold fired a burst down the aisle, and the two darted across and started for the entrance before Rev called out, “Nezev!”

The corporal skidded to a stop, then turned and joined Rev.

“How many forties you got left?”

“Five. Why?”

“Did your battle buddy snatch a copy of the diagram of this place?”

“Sure did. Why? What do you need?”

“You see that big-ass machine at the end of Charlie Aisle?”

“Yeah . . .”

“Some bastard there’s making life suck for BM and me. I already hit it once with a Moray, but either it didn’t do much, or someone new crept in. If you fire over this thing,” he said, bopping Pashu’s elbow backward to smack the machine, “you think you can hit it?””

The top of the machine was too high for the corporal to see over it at the target, but the ceiling was a good three meters above it. The trajectory of a M-103-fired 40mm grenade could work within that window if Nezev could aim it blind.

“I think I can, Gunny,” he said as a huge smile lit his face.

“Get ready but hold on a moment,” Rev said.

The corporal dropped his magazine, took a grenade from his pouch, and inserted it into the breach. Then he reinserted the magazine. This way, he’d be able to fire all five without a new magazine for the last grenade.

The incoming fire was slackening, which hopefully meant that the Naxli were running out of targets.

<Or they could be advancing,> Punch reminded him.

It didn’t matter. They had to stay in place until the last of Second Squad made it out. And a few moments later, Iglesias and Kata appeared. It didn’t surprise him that the squad leader was last, and Rev knew he should rebuke him later, but he knew he wouldn’t. It wasn’t as if Rev never did the same thing.

“That’s it,” he announced to the rest. “As soon as you get the signal, collapse on me and get the hell out of here.”

“What’s the signal?” Torking asked.

“You’ll know it,” Rev said and nodded to Nezev.

The corporal stepped back and raised his M-103. Rev could see him adjust the aim, using the image of the shop to guide him. Finally, he seemed satisfied.

“I’m ready.”

“Let ’er rip!”

The corporal fired all five grenades within a six-second span of time. The first ones were already hitting the far-off machine before the last one was fired.

“Go, go, go!” Rev shouted the moment the first grenade hit.

At the same time, he swung out into the aisle and started adding twenty-millimeter fire. Four of the five grenades struck true, splattering the massive machine. Rev caught a glimpse of a body diving for cover, and he chased it with his rounds.

He kept up a steady string of fire along with Božič-Mizaki and Randigold while vaguely aware of the others moving in.

“I’m the last!” Tsao shouted.

Rev fired one more burst to give her cover when a figure darted out into the aisle about halfway down, slightly lost in the smoke of the battle.

He immediately shifted Pashu to engage when Punch screamed, <No! Cease fire!>

Rev’s reaction time to acquire and engage a target was extremely quick, but Punch’s warning registered just in time for Rev to raise Pashu’s muzzle as the rounds went downrange, probably missing the . . .

And it was only then that Rev realized the target wasn’t a Naxli but a Breel.

By the Mother, how did I miss that?

The Breel was running as fast as it could, which was agonizingly slow to Rev as he urged him along.

Next one, then another, Naxli emerged from cover to chase the Breel. Rev shifted his aim, but the Breel was weaving back and forth. Rev couldn’t get a clear shot.

Another Naxli appeared and joined the chase. It was obvious that the Naxli wanted the Breel alive, but Rev knew that if he got close to getting away, the Naxli would cut him down.

Ah, hell.

Rev was already up and running down the aisle. He had to close the distance so he could get a shot. Alongside him, Božič-Mizaki was running as well, which wasn’t surprising.

“Wait until you have a clear target,” he told her as they ran.

It seemed like everything was moving in slow motion, but it probably only took a few seconds. The Breel saw Rev and Božič-Mizaki at the same time as the Naxli did. One of the Naxli skidded to a stop and raised its weapon. Rev didn’t know if that was to kill the Breel or to engage the two Marines, but it didn’t matter.

He switched to Pashu’s beamer, focused on a pencil beam, and fired a single pulse. He had to have singed the Breel’s head, so close was his line of fire, but the beam hit the Naxli at what might be chin-level for this version. At this range, and with all the power of the beam concentrated, the beam burned not only through the Naxli, dropping it instantly, but also nicking the one behind it.

The Breel might have been horrified that Rev had almost shot it, but it doubled down and ran at the two IBHUs. And as they got closer to each other, the angles improved for the humans. Rev switched to his twenty and started firing past the Breel, not really choosing targets but hoping to slow down the others, of which there were now five in the chase.

Božič-Mizaki had fired her beamer as well, but when Rev fired his twenty, that panicked the Breel into pushing to his right, closing down her line of sight to the enemy.

With final bursts from both Breel and IBHUs, they reached each other.

“Take him!” Rev shouted at Božič-Mizaki as he moved to the center of the aisle to shield the Breel from the Naxli, who only seemed to now realize what they were facing.

Now past the Breel and no longer in danger of killing him himself, Rev fired another burst. Then as his beamer LED turned green, he switched to guillotine-mode and covered the width of the aisle with the deadly beam. All five Naxli went down hard. The Naxli Rev had winged had fallen below the sweep of the guillotine, and now, as it started to rise, it was lifting its arms to the side.

Rev didn’t know what it was doing, but he wasn’t going to hang around and find out what it had up its sleeve. Rev put a single twenty into its head, splattering tissue against the large saw behind it.

Seven Naxli had tried to chase down the Breel, and all seven were dead. More importantly, the Breel was alive. The Naxli were better than this, better soldiers, not that Rev was complaining. He fired one more burst from his twenty and started backpedaling.

A single Naxli appeared atop the large machine at the end of the aisle, and Rev knocked it off before it could engage them. No one else opposed them. Even backpedaling, Rev caught up to Božič-Mizaki and the Breel, who seemed to be on his last legs.

They reached the end of the aisle to Tsao and an anxious-looking lieutenant standing in the doorway. That look turned to astonishment when the two IBHUs showed up with another Breel.

Rev grabbed the Breel and helped Božič-Mizaki drag him through the doorway and past Fourth Squad, who were already set up. The lieutenant and Tsao followed, and as soon as the two stepped through the Fourth Squad Marines, Strap gave the order. All nine of the heavy weapons opened up a tsunami of firepower.

From inside the tunnel, they didn’t have any specific targets. But that wasn’t their purpose. If they managed to take out some Naxli with the barrage, great. But the massive barrage was intended to let any surviving Naxli know that it would be a very, very, bad idea to try and follow the platoon and Breel as they made their way out of the mine.

21

The surviving Naxli must have had enough because the retreat from the mine and movement to their extraction point was unopposed. It was an ebullient group of humans and Breel who arrived at the LZ, waiting for the shuttle.

The mission had been a rousing success. All but two of the Breel hostages were rescued, while there were only three human casualties, two of whom should recover. Nikolaou was already conscious and accepting the teasing from the others for not ducking quickly enough.

It was also bittersweet. Rev didn’t know what kind of shit they were in, but he knew it paled in comparison to that awaiting the twelve Breel who’d been on the mission with them.

Lieutenant Vorbando was facing charges of mutiny. Rev was getting to understand the non-verbal cues of the Breel, but he couldn’t tell if the Breel officer was now contemplating his future or enjoying the success of the mission.

Rev was happy things turned out as they did, Neary notwithstanding, but he didn’t understand it. From the inability of the Naxli to execute more than the one, possibly two Breel, to their inexcusable defensive plan, and to their questionable tactics, he was puzzled. There was no way Rev, Božič-Mizaki, and Kumph, the Breel they’d rescued, should have gotten off without a scratch while eight Naxli soldiers were killed.

Any other time, Rev would have thought they’d come across a rear-echelon unit. But that made no sense. This was a raiding party. Sure, it would help to have knowledge of the equipment. That helped the first group Second Squad engaged when they were able to use a Breel excavator to try and break out. But still, there should have been top-line troops leading the raid.

And these weren’t that.

Rev ran through several possible explanations, running from just bad luck on the Naxli’s part to the gods of war finally having pity on Rev and his units. But nothing seemed to fit. The only possible explanation was that the physical characteristics of the race the Naxli had chosen to mimic lacked certain capabilities.

But they still had the normal Naxli weapons. Except for maybe the underwater form, the weapons didn't depend on whatever form they were using.

Finally, he approached Lieutenant Vorbando, who was with Lieutenant Marble at the edge of the LZ.

“Gunny, that was very rewarding. Many families owe you humans,” the lieutenant said, pointing to where the rescued Breel were standing. “And Colonel Gaffenuo sends his personal thanks to all of you.”

You’ve got comms with him? he wondered for a moment. Of course, with the Naxli out, we’d have comms here now that we’re out of the mines.

“How is the colonel? Is he, uh . . .”

“The colonel is at peace with whatever happens now.”

Rev exchanged looks with Lieutenant Marble, then said, “Since we recovered your people, and we’re now just waiting for our extract, uh, does anyone have to know?”

The lieutenant rumbled, which seemed to be the Breel equivalent of a chuckle or a snort. “He will give a full report.”

Rev shook his head. On the one hand, he could admire the honor, but on the other hand, this was ridiculous. They’d done a good thing, and it was crazy that the Breel would execute some of their best officers. The Naxli were trying hard enough to kill them, so why help?

Even if they didn’t try very hard here, which was why Rev had come over.

“Sir, if I could, I’ve got a question as to the Naxli here. I know you Breel are still keeping some things close to the vest, but could you help me with some answers?”

“Certainly,” the Breel lieutenant said while Lieutenant Marble gave Rev a questioning look.

“These Naxli, they weren’t very capable soldiers. I was wondering, what kind are they? I mean, which race did they copy?”

Vorbando paused, and Rev thought, Here it goes. Even after all of this, he’s going to clam up.

“They are Naxli,” he finally said.

“I know they’re Naxli. But what kind? I mean, the Naxli shift to take the shape of other races. So which race? And why this one?”

There was another pause, and the Breel lieutenant reached up and touched the spot where their translators were inserted into their skin. That made Rev touch the one in his ear as if checking that it was working as well, even if the Breel lieutenant was speaking Standard.

“Our enemy here were Naxli,” he said again, but this time speaking his native language, letting the translator work.

Rev let out a sigh. This was BS.

“What kind of Naxli. It’s a simple question. Like the swimmers we encountered on NW-32.”

“What swimmers?”

Of course, he doesn’t know what I’m talking about, and he sure doesn’t know what we designated as NW-32. That was before we knew the Breel even existed.

“When we attacked a gun position on one of the Naxli worlds, we used an underwater approach. On the way, we were attacked by the Naxli, using another race’s form.”

He went on to describe the swimmers, and suddenly, the Breel’s arms seemed to shrink in on the torso slightly. He was obviously bothered by what Rev said.

“What’s the matter? Why did you react like that?”

“I think you are telling me about the Fo.”

“I don’t know who they are. But it was Naxli. We tested.”

“Yes, you faced the Naxli, because there are no Fo.”

Rev was confused. This conversation wasn’t going anywhere he’d intended it to go.

“So, there are no Fo, but the Naxli shifted to them. Did they invent the body form?”

“The Fo no longer exist. They existed before.”

“Before? What happened to them.” He glanced at Lieutenant Marble for help, but the woman had suddenly gone white. It took a moment, then it hit him.

“Oh, shit. The Naxli, they killed them, right?”

“The Fo were one of the first to form an alliance against the Naxli conquest. They brought us into the alliance. The Naxli retaliated. It was a fierce fight, but the Fo were exterminated.”

Rev stood there, his mouth gaping open. War was brutal, and in fighting the Centaurs and Naxli, entire worlds had been scoured. But humankind was still flourishing among the stars. To think of an entire race, gone, was almost too much to fathom.

“All of them? There’re no more alive?” he asked, knowing the answer.

“Their limitation to a water environment was the determining factor. They had too few potential homes among the reaches of space, so the Naxli were able to concentrate their efforts.”

Rev and his platoon commander stared at each other. Rev knew that they had to report this. The human leadership probably already knew about the Fo, but on the slight chance they didn’t, the story of the Fo had to be passed up the chain to them.

Rev didn’t want to think about that. It was too disheartening. He had to change the subject, and his original question still wasn’t answered.

He took a deep breath and tried again. “So, the Naxli copied the Fo. They copied us. They copied the Centaurs. Who did the ones we fought here copy?”

“I see what you are asking. But they are Naxli,” Vorbando said.

“But . . . you mean, these are the real Naxli? This is the race that threatens the entire galaxy?” Rev asked, astounded by the possibility.

“You misunderstand. We fought the Naxli, not the Naxli.”

Rev just stared at the Breel, wondering if he was going crazy.

“Naxli, not the Naxli,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

Rev looked at Lieutenant Marble again, but it was clear she was just as confused as Rev was. He reached up and touched the translator in his ear once more.

<I think I might see what’s happening here.>

Rev was eager for a lifeline. Any lifeline.

“What is going on?”

<If you listen to Lieutenant Vorbando speak his native language, there is a slight difference in one of the words, the one which is clearly their pronunciation of “Naxli.”>

“What are you saying?”

<I think that he is using two words, but the translators are giving us one word in return.>

“Why would it do that?”

<Because we don’t have two different words in Standard. Our use of the word encompasses both.>

Rev turned toward the Breel officer. “When you say ‘Naxli, not the Naxli,’ are you using two different words?”

Lieutenant Vorbando seemed relieved. “Yes, now you understand.”

“No, I don’t,” Rev said, frustrated that he was making progress but was still so far apart.

“Punch, any ideas?”

<Nothing with a high probability of being correct.>

“I’m grasping at straws here, Punch. Help me.”

<OK. The key has to be in the difference in the meanings of both words. But as they are so similar, the words must be closely related. Do you follow that?>

“Yes, sure. But get to the meat of it.”

<It could be that “Naxli” is both singular and collective. Each one is pronounced slightly differently.>

“We already do that. One Naxli, two Naxli. Plural and singular.”

<That’s not the same thing. Collective. Not plural.>

There was a germ of an idea there, but it wasn’t fully formed.

“Say the word for the race that ex . . . killed the Fo.”

“Naxli,” Vorbando said, the translator repeating it.

“Now say the other word,”

“Naxli,” he said again, this time sweeping an arm to encompass the direction back to the mine.

<You saw these Naxli’s blood. You noted it.>

“Yeah. Dark red. When it’s usually—”

“Shit!” he said aloud.

Every Naxli, no matter their outward shape, had dark, blueish blood. These ones had reddish blood. That meant that Naxli they’d just fought were different. They were not the same.

“These Naxli are not the same as who killed the Fo.”

“Now you understand.” He sounded relieved that Rev understood him.

But he wasn’t quite there. Why the name thing then if they were a different race?

But then Lieutenant Vorbando added, “The Naxli,” he said as he pointed back toward the mine, “joined the Naxli,” he said, pointing to the sky. After pointing, he brought two of his branches together and intertwined the branchlets. “Joined to fight us.”

“Oh, fuck,” Lieutenant Marble muttered.

Rev was a split second slower, but understanding washed over him.

The Naxli weren’t alone in trying to conquer the galaxy. They had allies.

22

“There you are: the Nexus of Chaos.”

Rev spun around. Tomiko was standing in his doorway. She caught his eyes, then rushed into his arms.

“Good to see you, Rev.”

“Good to see you, too, Miko,” he said as he tried to crush her in his hug.

They finally broke enough to lean back and face each other.

“What’s going on?” she asked him. “We get all drips and drabs that you’re coming back, then it’s you’re being recalled to Titan. What the hell did you do?”

Rev let his hands drop from Tomiko’s back. “You’re not supposed to be in here, Miko. We’re isolated.”

She gave him “that look,” and with a sigh, Rev stepped over to close the door.

“Give.”

“We didn’t do anything wrong. I mean, we made the right choice, but . . .”

“It’s the fucking ents, isn’t it? The arrogant bastards.”

Tomiko could always swear like a sailor, but she’d cut way back given Rev’s family’s displeasure over certain words.

“It’s not them. Well, yeah, it is. But they’re, I mean, some are really good folk.”

“Rev, you’re not making any sense. Slow down and tell me what happened.”

Rev glanced around his small cube. Their quarters had been scanned for surveillance devices, and they were supposedly clean, but the Uauii, for all their weakness as a military force, were technologically quite advanced.

Rev knew Tomiko wasn’t going to give up, so he took her through the events of the last battle, how the decision was made, and how the rescue went. Tomiko’s eyes widened when he told her that their foes were a separate, allied race of the Naxli, but she held her tongue.

After that shocking revelation, which he and the lieutenant had kept to themselves for the time being, and after the euphoria of the victory, the platoon had settled into a nervous funk on the way back to their base. That funk persisted for two days before they were abruptly told they would be returning to Clickerland.

Tomiko stared at him in silence after he was done. She was taking all of this better than Rev had.

“So, they’re executing this colonel?” she finally asked. “For rescuing their own people?”

Rev shrugged. “Looks like it. Just before we left, two of the ents who were with us on the mission came in to see us. They said Colonel Gaffenuo and Lieutenant Vorbando were arrested almost immediately after we returned, and they were going up on an ent version of a court-martial.”

“That’s fucked up in so many ways, Rev. And you say the ents are good guys?”

“They are, Miko. The CO, he gave the order to save his people, even if he knew he was probably signing his death warrant. And Vorbando? He let Marble take over ’cause he knew it was the right thing to do. Marble knows our strengths and weaknesses.”

“And they might get killed because of that. What does that say about the ents as a whole?”

Rev didn’t have an answer to that. He was angry at the Breel command, but he couldn’t be angry at the thirteen, including the colonel, who went into this knowing the potential consequences.

“So, what’s happening to you?” Tomiko asked.

Rev shook his head. “Don’t know. They just told us we’re being sent back.”

“To where? We heard that’s to Titan, but for what? Remember after the tin-ass asteroid?” she asked.

Rev wasn’t going to forget what happened after the non-fight at the Centaur installation inside Asteroid 6-067-442. They’d been sent back to New Mars and imprisoned as traitors, their fate on a knife’s edge. That’s where Rev first came under the notice of Omega Division.

“I didn’t hear anything about Titan. Just that we were coming here.”

“There’s an admiral coming. At least that’s the scoop,” Tomiko said.

“Union?”

“Heg.”

Rev didn’t know if that was a good thing or bad.

Tomiko started shaking her head. “Rev, Rev, Rev. How do you always get yourself in these situations?”

“It’s not my fault. Shit just happens.”

“Always to you, though. Nexus of Chaos.”

Rev had never liked that appellation, first given to him by the former commandant. Tomiko wouldn’t let it go, though.

Rev was tired and worrying about the situation, and Tomiko wasn’t helping, what with her telling him getting pulled back to Titan and Heg admiral arriving. He wanted to change the subject.

“What about you? You have a full platoon yet?”

“We’re still waiting. Word is that we’ll get a replacement team in another week or so. I’m not holding my breath over that, though. If it does come, word is that there’ll be some IBHUs with them.”

Rev wasn’t expecting that, but it made sense. He knew the Union was trying to step up the IBHU production line. Eventually, the field units would start to see them hit the fleet.

He wondered if he could snag a couple. The platoon was down to five, including him, and that wasn’t enough the way they’d been employed so far. But then he looked at Tomiko. Second Platoon was down to one IBHU: Kelly. They’d have to have priority.

“What about anyone else? Any action?”

Her face flashed dark. “Bastard clickers won’t give us one, and they won’t say why. They’ve deployed. Even the lemmings deployed, so something’s up. But we sit here playing grab-ass.

“But I thought this was a human-run battalion.”

“Who needs a mission from the high command, which is clicker.”

What the hell? If we can’t work together, then what chance do we have against the noxes?” Rev said. “I swear, the politics here are worse than back at Titan.”

“Tell me about it.”

When Rev made contact with the clickers on Orange, he’d naively thought that this was the solution to Naxli aggression. But if they couldn’t present a united front, then humanity might be better off going on alone. At least that way, they could count on each other.

“The platoon from Bravo deployed, though. We haven’t gotten any other updates on them,” she said.

Rev knew the platoon sergeant for Bravo Company’s Second Platoon. Deen LaPete wasn’t an IBHU, but he’d been a Raider with Rev back when they were both non-rates. The platoon was assigned to a Kanter unit, and Rev was extremely curious as to how that was going. Rev liked and respected the diminutive warriors, but he couldn’t imagine how they organized their daily life, much less military operations.

There was a rap on his door, startling him. They’d been ordered to hole up in their quarters, seeing or talking to no one. With Tomiko in his room, he’d disobeyed that order.

No use hiding it.

With a sigh, he opened the door, hoping it was Yancey or Hussein. It was the lieutenant. But although she frowned when she saw Tomiko standing there, she didn’t say anything about it.

“Let’s go,” she told Rev.

“Where’re we going?”

“Don’t know. The skipper just told me to grab you and tell you to wait by the CP.”

As Tomiko had reminded him, the Union wasn’t always kind to people who they thought had flaunted orders, and he began to feel a little nervous. But it wasn’t as if he had any choice.

“I’ll be back,” he told Tomiko, hoping that was true.

She flashed the sign for “hold fast.”

The two didn’t speak as they made their way through the maze to the CP. Rev was lost in his own thoughts when he noticed the sweat building up on the lieutenant’s neck, and then he realized the woman was as white as a ghost.

He’d been so caught up in his own worries that he hadn’t really considered Marble’s position. She’d been the one in command, after all. Rev could be in big trouble, but the Ranger officer had been the ultimate authority.

Sergeant Puller looked up as they entered the CP, and he made a follow-me motion and stepped outside. “If you’ll follow me?” he said, then when both the lieutenant and Rev moved to follow, he stopped and said, “Just the Gunny, ma’am.”

If the lieutenant was white before, she just went ten shades lighter, and Rev could see her gulp.

“Uh, Chesty. The lieutenant’s the platoon commander,” Rev said.

“I know, Gunny. But I’m just following orders. Union only.”

This isn’t good.

He turned to the lieutenant, not sure what to say.

“You go, Gunny. I’ll man the fort back here.”

“It’s probably just some Union business, not, you know . . .”

If it was “you know,” then the lieutenant might be being offered up as a sacrificial lamb. Rev made a promise to himself that if that was what was going on, he’d protest. It might not make any difference, but the lieutenant, while she could be annoying at times, didn’t deserve that.

He followed Puller through the maze to an unmarked cube alongside one of the main thoroughfares. The sergeant pointed at the door, then he turned and left.

Rev watched him until he was out of sight, then faced the door.

No use waiting.

He pushed it open and stepped inside.

“Gunny!” Captain Omenuko said, motioning him over to join him. Six other Marines were inside: four officers, Master Guns Falconer, and First Sergeant Pont.

“Welcome back. Quite an adventure,” the captain said, shaking his hand.

“Good to be back, sir,” Rev said as he tried to gauge the captain’s mood.

“Uh . . . did Lieutenant Marble go to the CP with you?” he asked Rev.

“Yes, sir. We went together.”

“Damn, I wish I hadn’t done that. I didn’t know this was Union only.”

That would have been less awkward.

“Do you know what’s up, sir?”

The captain shook his head and said he didn’t, but while speaking, he used the hand and arm signal for caution.

That’s advice I’m going to take.

Several of the others welcomed Rev back as well, but there was a forced nature to their comments. They were all waiting to find out why they were standing around in a cube away from the battalion area.

Major Ma, the task force S-3 arrived, then Captain Ramos, the Delta Company commander. The only senior Marine officer left was the battalion commander himself.

“Any patterns here?”

<All senior Union Marine officers. No lieutenants. The three senior Marine SNCOs. Then you. Your inclusion would indicate that this is about the hostage rescue, but as it pertains to the Union.>

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

<It could be either.>

“If I have to talk, don’t let me say something stupid, OK?”

<That’s a monumental task, Rev.>

Rev suppressed a chuckle. Punch’s humor was getting a little more subtle, and beyond that, pertinent to the situation. Rev had been getting nervous—something Punch could tell—and his little dig had been just the right thing to break some of the tension.

Twenty-eight minutes after Rev arrived, Lieutenant Colonel Suk, Colonel Pratt, and an unfamiliar civilian arrived.

“Do you know who she is?” he asked Punch.

<I don’t have her in my database, but based on their body language, the two officers are deferring to her.>

Rev stared at the woman as Colonel Pratt stepped forward to start shaking hands. She could have been anybody. He’d never have given her a second glance. But if her identity was blocked from what Punch could access, then she was a pretty big deal.

Rev could see what Punch meant about the two senior officers. They were circulating, with Pratt taking charge, but he kept shooting quick glances at the woman as if checking on her.

The colonel reached Rev, shook his hand, and said, “Welcome back, Gunny. I’m looking forward to your impressions on working with the Breel. Mighty fine warriors, those Breel.”

Who’s he performing for? Rev wondered.

“I’ve been preparing for the debrief, sir. So has Lieutenant Marble. She was the platoon commander, after all.”

The colonel knew darn well who Lieutenant Marble was, but Rev couldn’t resist that little reminder. He hoped now that the colonel knew whose corner he was in.

“Yes, yes. I’m sure you’ll do fine. We’re starting tomorrow, aren’t we, Colonel Suk?”

That was news to Rev. They hadn’t received any timeline.

“Yes, sir. Tomorrow.”

Rev didn’t see the signal, but Major Ma stepped forward and cleared his throat. “Thank you all for coming. As you know, one of the platoons we sent forward to embed with our allies has returned after a successful mission.”

Rev couldn’t help but glance over at the civilian when the major said “successful.” He didn’t see any change in the woman’s expression.

“So, while we have the opportunity, I thought we could make use of Gunnery Sergeant Pelletier here to walk us through his platoon’s recent mission with the ents. We’ll be using one of the training ranges that approximates the actual terrain of the operation, which is why we’re meeting here. Transportation is waiting outside to take us there.”

Glad someone told me about this, he thought, initially worried about not having anything prepared. But then he started getting suspicious.

Walking the terrain of pivotal battles was something lieutenants did at butterbar school. He’d seen a few infantry companies do it, but Rev didn’t think he’d ever seen a lieutenant colonel take the time to do one, much less a full bird—and never with a civilian, who still had not been introduced.

Something was going on here, and it wasn’t the Task Force commanding officer wanting to see how a platoon had fought a battle.

“So, instead of asking Gunny Pelletier to set the stage here, let’s just head on out. Please load on the truck.”

The Marine leadership shuffled out the door, and it wasn’t a flatbed sitting there. It was one of the sausages, what the humans had nicknamed the tubular Uauii version of a bus. Rev had to duck to get in the door, but once inside, he saw that whatever the Uauii used for seats had been taken out and replaced with unpadded, but human, seats. Rev grabbed one in the back, hoping that would keep any of the others from grilling him. He wanted to keep as quiet as possible until after his formal debrief.

From the outside, the sausages looked like solid vehicles without windows. From the inside, though, most of the skin of the sausage was clear. When riding the flatbeds, Rev had always played platoon sergeant, keeping an eye on his troopers to make sure they didn’t do something stupid. But as the junior Marine on the sausage, he just settled in to take in the sights as they made their way through the city and out into the countryside.

A full hour and twenty minutes after boarding, the sausage finally stopped at their destination. Like all of the other Uauii ranges, this one didn’t have signage or anything else to indicate it was part of a military facility. As far as Rev could tell, it was simply another piece of countryside.

The Marines debarked the bus and stood around while Major Ma huddled with both colonels. After a couple of minutes, he gathered the officers in a school circle.

“Listen up. We’ll be walking the terrain to a building about a klick-and-a-half ahead. That building will fill in for the mine system that was the ent objective. First Platoon had two engagements, but we’ll ignore the first one for the moment as nothing remarkable.

“Gunny Pelletier will describe the key points of the second engagement. Listen up to what he has to say, and use this experience as a learning engagement. The more we understand, the better we’ll be able to fight alongside our allies.”

Rev still wasn’t sure what was going on, and the major sure hadn’t cleared anything up.

“Gunny, why don’t you walk with Colonel Pratt? The rest of you, listen in as you can.”

As Rev approached the colonel, the major intercepted him as if to lead him to the task force commander. “Just give us whatever you can. It really doesn’t matter what you say, but try and stay somewhat to what actually happened. Colonel Pratt will tell you when you can stop.”

“Aye-aye, sir,” Rev said as if this was a perfectly normal set of orders.

“So, this is all show,” he subvocalized.

<It looks that way. I would surmise that Colonel Pratt, or more probably the civilian, felt they needed to get out of the city to query you.>

“Which means that despite scanning our spaces for surveillance devices, they think that we are being spied upon.” He paused for a moment, then said, “And since this is a Union-only party, this isn’t for dissemination to the CoH or any other nation.”

<That’s the most logical conclusion.>

This, Rev could understand. And after the colonel indicated that he should begin, he played the part, describing in minutia what had happened. The range wasn’t anything like the base of the mountain under which stretched the mine system, but Rev took the task and ran with it.

There was a core group around him: Colonel Pratt, Lieutenant Colonel Suk, Master Gunnery Sergeant Falconer, Major Ma, and of course, the civilian, who hadn’t said a word and barely seemed to be paying any attention.

The other Marines initially pushed closer, but either they figured out what was going on or they were told. They were camouflage, nothing more.

After they’d covered about 300 meters, Colonel Pratt said, “OK, Gunny. Keep up the show, but in between, we need a real account of what went on with your rescue. What were you told, what decisions were made. We need to know whose idea the mission was. If it wasn’t yours, then how was it presented? What steps did Lieutenant Marble take? What did you contribute? How was the rescue organized? In short, we need to know why you went on this mission when you were ordered to pull back.

“I don’t need to remind you to be frank. Don’t try and protect anyone.”

So, I figured as much.

He was surprisingly calm. This wasn’t Omega Division trying to screw him . . . or was it? He glanced at the woman.

Maybe it is, but not only Omega Division.

But with Colonel Pratt, this is Marine Corps, too. If they wanted him to give them enough rope to hang himself, well, he and the lieutenant knew that was always a possibility. And right now, Rev just wanted to get whatever was going to happen over and done with.

Rev started at the beginning, from when Lieutenant Vorbando first approached them. With Punch there to prompt him, he gave a word-by-word playback of the entire discussion.

It would all come out, anyway. At the minimum, they were going to download the conversation once they were at a facility that could do that.

He interspaced his retelling with a few comments to the others, still playacting. He didn’t know if it was necessary, but none of his core audience objected.

Rev went into some detail about the development of the operations order, and why they made the tactical decisions they did. It seemed important to Rev, so he stressed that from that standpoint, the plan was human-developed, not Breel.

He glossed over the prep, and he was just about to turn to the actual rescue when they reached the “mine,” a two-story training structure. It was almost comical, using this shell of a building to simulate a massive underground mine network.

As they approached, the colonel told Rev to hold up on the real brief, which made Rev wonder if he thought this dilapidated, empty building was bugged as well. He went back to playacting, but halfway through his description, he realized there was no real reason to be at this stage. He’d gone over the planning and decision-making, and even if the colonel hadn’t told him to stop acting, this was pretty much the exact thing he would be telling them, and, not coincidentally, the same thing he’d be going over tomorrow to the full, multinational battalion and task force leadership.

Once he was finished, Major Ma thanked him and gave some BS assignment to the others before he told everyone to return to their vehicle.

They started back, and when the colonel told Rev to continue, he told him that what he’d just briefed was what happened. The colonel looked confused, then with a “duh” expression and a short laugh, accepted that.

There wasn’t much else to tell—their final conversations with Vorbando, their return to Omumbor, and the recall to Clickerland. He initially hesitated on the key bit of information of a Naxli ally. He wasn’t sure who knew what, and this didn’t seem to be the time nor place for a revelation, but once again, it was going to come out as soon as they accessed Punch.

He told them first about the exterminated water race, then he laid the bomb about their enemy not being Naxli but allies.

Master Guns and the major both faltered in their steps, but the woman didn’t blink. Rev wasn’t so sure about either of the two colonels.

He waited for questions as they walked back. Colonel Pratt and the civilian fell behind a few steps and whispered to each other, too quiet even for Rev’s augmented hearing to pick up more than a word or two.

When they caught back up to the rest, the civilian spoke for the first time.

“Are the Breel divided?”

Which wasn’t what Rev expected. He’d been waiting for something about the Naxli allies.

“Divided? What do you mean, ma’am?”

“What is your impression of the Breel as a people. Are they divided?”

Rev’s mouth gaped open a few times as he tried to marshal his thoughts.

“Our battalion, ma’am. I guess you can say it was divided. From the command, I mean. The lieutenant, their CO, and the other eleven that went with us. They didn’t want to follow the orders they were given. I mean we were given.”

She went right to her next question. “You’ve spent time around the Breel, not just for this exercise. Did you ever hear any of them express anger or opposition to their government?”

“You mean differences? Like us and the Mad Dogs before we beat them?”

“That, but it wouldn’t have to be that extreme.”

“Punch? I don’t remember any.”

<There weren’t any comments made that would fit the questions she’s giving you.>

“No, ma’am.”

She paused for a moment as if taking mental notes. Rev didn’t know if he’d told her what she wanted to hear. And it sure seemed like she was fishing for something.

“One more question, Gunny. Why did you agree to rescue the hostages?”

“Like I said, me and the lieutenant—”

“No. Not you and the lieutenant. And no ooh-rah platitudes about the mission and duty and all that Marine stuff. Why did you, a Safe Harbor boy, disobey direct orders and put your life on the line—not only yours, but those of your Mar . . . troopers?”

Rev thought he’d been clear. Marines don’t leave their comrades behind. It was their duty. Only she just told him not to use that reason.

He only knew he had to, and he wasn’t sure he could verbalize that.

“Punch, help!”

<Just tell her what’s in your heart.>

“Go ahead, Gunny,” the colonel said. “Answer the question.”

“It’s like . . . look, I told you that those were our brothers in arms.”

She looked at him impassively, waiting for more.

“That’s not just some saying. We fought with them, and that forges bonds that you civilians just can’t understand.”

He half-expected her to argue, but she remained silent.

“It don’t matter none that we’re not the same race. Hell, sometimes I think the ents and us are closer than the Union and the Children of Angels or even the Mad Dogs. But it’s not our skin or our shape that makes us brothers. It’s what we do.

“And if there’s one thing I know, ma’am, it’s that if we wanna beat the noxes, we’re gonna haf’ to work together.”

Rev knew he was getting excited, and Standard was sliding, which wasn’t going to impress this woman who undoubtedly had more degrees under her belt than Yancey had ex-girlfriends. He took a deep breath and tried to clean up his grammar.

“We need to be able to work as a team, ma’am. Not humans and ents and lemmings. Not even clickers. We have to be one family, with the single goal to turn back the nox threat. And I thought . . . the reason I told the lieutenant to agree was that we had to show that as humans, we supported our allies. We weren’t going to let them hang in the breeze.”

He'd never really thought about why he’d agreed to the rescue other than it “was the right thing to do.” But as soon as he said it, he realized that’s what it was.

“You were supporting our allies by disobeying direct orders?”

“It’s more important to let the soldiers in the trenches know we’re on the same team instead of the fat government hacks who wouldn’t know honor if it bit them on the ass. It’s the soldiers who’re going to win or lose this war.”

As soon as he said that, he realized what he’d said to a “government hack,” he looked at her in horror.

The slightest of smiles cracked the corner of her mouth.

She turned to the colonel and said, “I think we can use this.”

“Ma’am?” Rev asked.

“Thank you, Gunny. This has been worthwhile.”

They crossed a slight rise, and their vehicle came into view.

“Do you have any other comments or questions for me?”

Rev really just wanted this little evolution to be over, but he couldn’t let it go.

“Are me and . . . are Lieutenant Marble and I in trouble?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

A wave of relief swept over him. But there was something bigger than that.

“And the platoon? Are we getting sent back to Safe Harbor? Or . . . Titan?”

“Oh, by the Mother, no!” she said.

The colonel gave her a pointed look, and she said, “Well, there was a call for that. Our Mad Dog friends demanded it, in fact. To Titan, not Safe Harbor.”

“Ma’am?”

“Don’t worry. That wasn’t going to happen even if the entire platoon had turned out to be craven cowards. Fat government hacks have to be concerned with politics, you know.”

Rev felt his face turn red.

“But you’ve given me a few thoughts on how we’re going to play this out.”

She seemed pretty pleased with herself. Rev had the feeling that he didn’t change anything that had already been decided, but with their due diligence in making sure they knew all the facts, he hadn’t given them a reason to change course. And if he’d given her an argument she could use, then all the better.

They reached the edge of the parking pad where their ride sat, and Rev stopped dead. Colonel Pratt and the woman stopped and turned to him.

“Is there something else, Gunny?” she asked, almost in a monotone.

Rev knew she had gotten what she wanted out of him. She was done. She only asked if he had anything else out of politeness.

How do I put this?

He looked up in the sky as he tried to figure out how to approach the question. A singer was floating overhead, its song barely registering. As with the other singers’ songs, it was pleasant, but with a hint of something else in there.

I’m not going to get an answer from that. Just say it, Reverent.

He looked back down and faced the woman. “Yes, ma’am. Their Colonel Gaffenuo. They’re gonna execute him.”

Her eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly.

“Is there anything we can do about that? You know, like register a complaint or something?”

She pursed her lips together, and Rev knew he didn’t want to hear some BS answer.

“He didn’t do anything wrong. Wouldn’t it show unity, like we’re all in this together?” Rev asked, knowing he was pushing it.

“That’s a matter for the Breel.”

“But—”

“Thank you, Gunny,” Colonel Pratt said. “You’ve been very helpful. Now, go ahead and get on the sausage, son.”

Rev wanted to argue. He’d just given this ooh-rah speech, almost, about brotherhood and fighting for each other, no matter their race. But he wilted.

He mumbled a quiet, “Aye-aye,” and joined the rest as they loaded.

Captain Omenuko caught his eye and signaled “meeting.” Rev nodded and headed to the back of the bus. He knew he had a lot to brief his company commander, but he didn’t want to do that now.

Major Ma moved to the back and approached him, and for a moment, he thought that he was going to sit by him. He’d seemed surprised about the Naxli having allies and was undoubtedly full of questions.

But he said, “Thank you for your frankness. That’s what we wanted. For tomorrow, though, I’ll be sending over a set of bullet points. That’s what we want for the official debrief.”

You’re telling me what you want me to say?

His warrior self stirred, but it was half-hearted, and Rev didn’t even have to try to force him back down.

“Understand, sir. I’ll stick to the script.”

The major smiled, thanked him, then retreated back to the front of the bus.

Rev sighed and settled in for the ride.

<There’s nothing you can do about Colonel Gaffenuo.>

“I could have fought.”

<No, you couldn’t have. And you know it. The galaxy doesn’t revolve around you, you know.>

Rev knew his battle buddy was right. But why, then, did he feel so shitty about it?

He looked up to the front where Colonel Pratt and the woman were taking their seats together.

Hell, she wouldn’t have the power to decide to interfere with another government’s internal affairs. She might be a bigwig here out in Uauii space, but she was nowhere near the real decision-makers in the Union.

The truck/bus rose in its skirts and started to move out. The colonel said something to the woman, and she nodded in agreement.

I never even got her name.

23

“Jericho, sir. That’s who we want.”

“You’re sure?” the lieutenant asked. “Not Knovrann?”

“As a second choice. But we want Jericho. She’s got a lot of campaigns under her belt.”

“So does Knovrann. But OK. I’ll probably have to fight for Jericho, though. Kongi’s said he’s leaning toward Jericho, too.”

The replacement platoon was almost done with their initial orientation and training, and now the scramble for the “regular” troopers was beginning. The IBHUs needed more time given their lack of experience, but there were a lot of combat veterans in the junior ranks, up to sergeant, who were ready to be slotted in, and the captain said the S-1 was willing to accept requests.

That must be an FC practice. It certainly wasn’t Marine SOP. But Staff Lieutenant Bankole, the battalion’s S-1, was from the Freedom Confederation, the only FC officer on the staff. It wasn’t so long ago that the FC were allied with the MDS in the war against the rest of humanity, and the staff lieutenant was probably enjoying screwing with the Union Marine process, knowing that the platoon commanders and sergeants weren’t going to complain if they had input.

<Just a little hypocritical, are we?> Punch asked as the door closed behind the lieutenant.

“What do you mean?”

<Knovrann has the most experience, and as a Frisian Commando, offers particular skills that would be useful to the platoon.>

“Then let Fourth have him.”

<Just because Bob’s Frisian?>

Rev realized what that sounded like. Bob was now the reformed Fourth Platoon sergeant, so it sounded like Rev was just saying that because he was a Frisian, too.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

<Curious that you said Fourth Platoon, when Lieutenant Kongi’s Third Platoon. Second’s still in the rebuilding phase.>

Damn it, he’s right.

Knovrann was a better prize, on paper, at least. But Rev wanted Jericho because she was a Marine. And for all Rev’s discussions with others after his little debrief with Colonel Pratt and the civilian woman where he was pushing for unity, to include the Centaurs, here he was making a decision based on tribal preferences.

His door opened, and Rev turned to tell the lieutenant that he’d changed his mind, but Tomiko came in instead, marched to Rev’s chair, then sat and put her feet up on his makeshift desk.

“Hello to you, too, Miko.”

“Life sucks.”

“OK. That surprises you?”

She didn’t respond. Rev couldn’t tell if she was angry or frustrated. Maybe it was a little of both.

“Replacements?” Rev asked.

“Not all. The IBHUs.”

Rev frowned, turning away to make sure she didn’t see him. Tomiko had a hair up her butt about IBHUs. He knew she wanted to be one, but she also was prone to uttering digs about them. Never about Rev specifically, but about the program and effectiveness.

“What now?” he asked, knowing she was here for a reason, and he was going to hear about it one way or the other.

He’d rather pull that Band Aid off now and get it over with.

“They’re not ready. Only Manning has a clue. The rest are useless.”

“Kelly was a Ninety-nine,” he said, reminding Tomiko that her best friend had come from the dregs of the military, the lowest of the low who were essentially slaves, doing the grunt work required to keep the wheels greased. “She’s turned out to be a pretty outstanding Marine.”

“At least she was in uniform,” Tomiko said with a scowl.

Rev scrunched up his face when he heard that. What was she talking about?

“Uh . . . the rest of them are all corporals. I saw the list.”

“You know damn well that . . .” she started before giving Rev a long stare. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

Rev loved Tomiko, but she could be the most frustrating woman he’d ever met.

“The IBHUs. The IBHU corporals.”

“What about them?”

“They weren’t Marines.”

“Miko, speak rationally. I don’t know what the heck you’re saying.”

“They . . . weren’t . . . Marines.”

Rev wanted to tap the translator in his ear. This was worse than when he was first with the Breel. The words were standard, but she wasn’t making any sense.

“They just magically appeared as corporals. IBHU Marines.”

“Pretty much so. Look, Rev, I know you’ve been out of the loop, but this isn’t any big secret. The Marines are kinda running out of potential IBHUs. So, they’re recruiting. You lost an arm? No problem! Join the Corps, and we’ll make you a corporal and give you a killer arm. Be a hero and hold back the nox threat.”

Rev just stared at her. This was . . . unbelievable.

“They’re making recruits corporals if they enlist to become an IBHU?”

“It gets worse. Because we need you IBHUs here, they’re cutting boot camp. The official explanation is that they’re spending six months learning their IBHUs. They get five days—FIVE days—of recruit “orientation” before they’re shipped out.”

This was a lot for Rev to take in. It didn’t make sense. You can’t just make some raw recruit a corporal.

“And except for Manning, none of them ever served?”

“Well, Tyson was a sailor. But the rest, no.”

“And they weren’t just brought back after getting out?”

“That was Ophelino. Did six years, was out since the end of the Centaur War.”

“The sergeant in Delta Company? He was recalled?”

She nodded. Rev had met the man for only a few moments back at Safe Harbor, and he’d just thought he was a little older looking for a sergeant.

“Why would they send five newbies here?”

“Like I said, Rev, they’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel. The numbers just aren’t there. And we’re not like the karnans. They can’t just give Marines orders, then make them into hyper-augments.”

“Still, raw Marines? Corporals, at that? I mean, when we left to join the ents, there were a dozen IBHUs being pulled from other units to come here.”

“Who were on the Ganges,” she said quietly. “Respect for the fallen.”

Oh, shit.

“Punch, I need you to pull the current status of the IBHU program.”

<Roger that.>

Punch had access to most of the information available through normal channels. But that didn’t mean he was scanning every byte of data on a continual basis. Unless something was on the main newscasts or Marine orders, he had to direct his search to obtain information.

“Kelly’s been pulling out her hair,” Tomiko said. “It’s too much. And Captain Omenuko’s been on her ass to get our IBHUs functioning so the Second Platoon is back in service.”

Right then, he realized the reason for Tomiko’s visit. It wasn’t just to blow off steam.

He immediately went into platoon protection mode. There wasn’t a platoon sergeant in history who wanted to give up assets, even if only temporarily. But sometimes, it just had to be done.

“If you want, I can come over and talk to them. See where they’re at. Then, after that, I can talk to the lieutenant to see what we can do. Maybe send Randigold—”

“Eth Randigold? Really, Rev? We’re trying to make them into Marines, not whatever Randigold is.”

“Eth is one of the best.”

“Best brawler? Sure. But we’re trying to make these five into Marines.”

Beggars can’t be choosers, Miko.

But he could see her point. “OK, Weld was a DI. Maybe he can help with the military stuff. And then Tum or BM can spend time with them.”

Tomiko got out of his chair and came over to give him a hug. “You’re the best, Rev.”

“Took you long enough to figure that out. Hey, as long as I have you here, Knovrann or Jericho. You know them best.”

“Knovrann, if you have the choice. No question.”

Oh, great.

She pulled his head down and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before she turned to leave. “About that meeting. Twenty-hundred tonight right here. I’ll have them ready. Don’t be late.”

Tonight? I said I’ll try to help, but I didn’t say tonight.

Rev stared after her for a long moment, trying to figure out if he’d just been played.

* * *

Rev’s cube was crowded with the six new IBHUs, Tsao, Weld, and him. This should be taking place in an actual classroom, not in his quarters. But there really weren’t too many obvious places in their assigned area. That was one of their problems in not having a designated military base in the human or Breel understanding of one. And it wasn’t as if they could commandeer the CP or the dining area.

Rev had briefed the lieutenant on what he was doing, and the lieutenant had briefed the captain. It was the captain who decided that while the extra training had merit, he didn’t want it to be broadcast to the battalion at large. Rev knew that he feared being blamed that the new joins weren’t ready, but to him, the fact that the captain had approved the plan meant he’d identified a weakness and was taking action to rectify it.

Not that you even knew about this until Marble briefed you.

That was another one of the issues. Second Platoon still didn’t have a platoon commander or a permanent platoon sergeant. The Charlie Company master sergeant and Tomiko were doing the best they could, but not being combat ready, Tomiko had been working mostly with Master Sergeant Olyn, the training SNCO, and had been somewhat ignored by the company command.

As Tsao gave the new IBHUs a brief of what they were going to be covering over the next few weeks, Rev, standing behind them, studied the students—he had a hard time calling them Marines given that they hadn’t graduated from boot camp.

Sergeant Manning wasn’t hard to pick out. Like most Marines who’d lost limbs, she had the shiny metallic prostheses favored by grunts. It wasn’t just her arm. Half of her face was covered in a Phantom of the Opera mask.

Manning had been a Combat Support Marine, a communications tech, when her base had been hit in one of the final battles with the MDS. It had taken her some time to feel ready for an IBHU.

Corporal Ziegler had been aboard the PUNS Ptarmigan when it had been hit during the war with the MDS. She had suffered severe burns and had died in the vacuum. She’d been resurrected without too much effort but had suffered—reasonably so—from PTSD. She was no longer qualified for duty in the Navy, but given her qualification—missing two arms—strings had been pulled and waivers granted. She entered the Corps and became an IBHU.

Rev was concerned about Ziegler’s PTSD. And something in him balked big time that Ziegler was not qualified for sailor duty, but she was as an IBHU Marine? What happened to the IBHUs being the best of the best? But as much as he was worried about Ziegler, he was more concerned about the other four. They were willing enough, but they had no frame of reference to know what it meant to be a Marine.

Calcione had lost an arm to an aggressive form of cancer, which made Rev wonder if he was more susceptible to the rot. The other three had lost arms due to accidents. While all of them knew how to operate their IBHUs, that was a far cry from being proficient with them.

“I’ve got a feeling this is like those Japanese pilots you told me about on the swamp world.”

<That’s an apt comparison.>

During WWII, back on Earth, the Japanese started the war with some of the best, most skilled pilots of the era. But as combat losses mounted, they didn’t have the pipeline to train new pilots fast enough. By the end of the war, the American pilots were racking up huge numbers of victories against inexperienced pilots, some who’d had fewer than ten hours of air time before being thrust into battle against seasoned American aircrews.

“These are our Japanese pilots.”

<You just have to keep them alive long enough for them to gain the experience they need.>

“That’s easier said than done. And if these are going to be Second Platoon’s IBHUs, Miko is in deep kimchi.”

Tsao finished her brief, then said, “Gunny?”

Rev started to push through to the front to face them, but with it so crowded, he told them, “Go ahead and turn around.”

All six were intensely focused on him. Maybe they were still in awe after having a Platinum Nova holder speaking to them, or maybe they understood they weren’t ready.

Rev had a little speech planned, an ooh-rah, this is for humankind, I’ve got confidence in your façade, but looking at the faces, he scrapped that. It was time to be blunt.

“I’ve spoken to Daryll Begay. I’ve read your performance data. And you’re not ready for this. Yet, here you are, deep into clicker space. At any moment, we could be attacked by the noxes. At any moment, we could get deployed to meet them, whether you’re combat certified or not.”

Theil and Harris—or maybe it was Harris and Thiel—gulped.

“In a perfect galaxy, you’d have gone to boot camp, then infantry school. You would have been put in a unit for OJT before you’d be sent here. But this isn’t a perfect galaxy. The noxes won’t let it be.

“So, we’re going to do the best we can do to make you ready, to give you the best chance of not only surviving but to get the mission done. For however long we have until the trumpet sounds, we’re going to be on your asses so hard that it’ll hurt to take a dump. Corporal Weld here will be training you how to be a grunt. Staff Sergeant Tsao and Staff Sergeant O’Donnell will be refining your skills as an IBHU.

“You’re going to curse the day you met us, but hopefully, fifty years from now, when you’re watching your great grandkids play in the park, you’ll look back and thank us.”

The eager faces had shifted to fear as Rev spoke.

You don’t know fear. What until a hundred noxes are rushing your position. You’ll see this is nothing.

“Your training starts now. Corporal Weld. They’re all yours.”

* * *

“Are they combat ready?” Bundy asked.

Rev shook his head. “They’re better, but no. For anything other than putting rounds downrange, they’re a liability.”

“You’re not the only one who thinks that. DeGroot’s been taking a personal interest in your reports.”

That surprised Rev, although it shouldn’t. Captain Omenuko must have been sending Rev’s reports on up. But it just seemed a little odd that a Frisian officer was evidently becoming the battalion point man for IBHUs.

“He thinks they should be sent back.”

Rev perked up at that. Sending them back would solve a lot of problems. They’d be short IBHUs, but it was probably better to be short than to go into combat with some who weren’t prepared.

“You think that’ll happen?”

Bundy shook his head. “Not a chance in hell. Politics, Rev. Politics.”

He should have realized that.

“How much time do we have, ya think?”

Bundy pursed his lips, then said, “There are rumblings, if I was an astute person, which might lead me to believe that not much time at all.”

Bundy was an astute person, and either he knew and couldn’t tell Rev, or he was putting two and two together to get four.

Rev grimaced as he tried to decide what to do.

“What, Rev? You’re scowling like my Tyler when he was three and getting potty trained. You didn’t come here to see me just to give me an update on our Team Newbie.”

“Second Platoon should be combat ready soon. But we can’t send them out with these IBHUs. I mean, Manning’s OK, but the rest? Zielger’s a sailor who’s got PTSD from being killed. And the other four. No military. Hell, Thiel’s sixty-two years old.”

Bundy frowned. “Uh . . . I’m pushing seventy.”

Oh, crap.

<That was pretty insensitive and not a good way to make your point.>

“Like I don’t know that now,” he told Punch.

Then he said to Bundy, “I didn’t mean that.”

“What did you mean?”

“Well . . .” Rev said, stalling for time. “You went to boot camp. You proved yourself there, and you’re fit. Thiel never did that. It was sign on the dotted line, then boom, he’s a corporal with an IBHU.”

“Is this about Second Platoon or Miko?”

“She’s the platoon sergeant. They’re one in the same now.”

Bundy grunted and grudgingly nodded.

“And with a new platoon commander, this is asking a little much.”

“Well, since you’ve been thinking about this, what’s your solution?”

Rev hesitated again before he plunged forward. “We need to break up Team Newbie. Let First Platoon send over Tsao and BM. We’ll take two of theirs.”

That took Bundy by surprise, and his eyes opened wide. “You’re willing to cannibalize your own platoon? Make the platoon weaker?”

“Slightly weaker. But it makes the entire company stronger, which means more of us have a better chance to come back from the next mission. They’ll have Kelly, Tum, and BM. We’ll have Randigold, Hoch, and me.”

“Would you be making this most generous offer if Miko wasn’t the platoon sergeant?”

Rev stammered and felt his face turn red, but he managed to say, “Doesn’t mean it isn’t the right thing to do.”

Bundy brought his hands together and tented them. He stared at Rev over the top of his fingers.

“And what does Lieutenant Marble think of this?” When Rev didn’t answer, Bundy said, “Of course. You haven’t told her. Doing so could be perceived as disloyal, so you’re coming to me. If this came from battalion, you could wail, gnash your teeth, and curse us.”

Rev shrugged.

“I’m not saying yes, Rev. But I’m not saying no. The other solution is to hold Second Platoon back. Don’t make them the point of main effort for the next fight.”

“You know as well as I do that there’s no such thing as a safe place on the battlefield.”

“True, to an extent. But like I said, I’m not convinced either way. Let me think on it, and I’ll figure out what to do.”

“When will I know what you’ve decided?”

“Oh, you’ll know. Go on back to your platoon, Rev. Whatever way this goes, any training at all you can shoehorn in could be important.” He paused a moment, then added, “And sixty-two isn’t old!”

24

“You’re lagging behind, Ziegler,” Rev passed on the P2P. “Situational awareness. You have to know what’s going on at all times.”

“Roger, Gunny,” the former sailor said as she scurried up to Haroldsdotter.

“Remind me to talk to Jen. I put her with Ziegler for a reason.”

<Duly noted.>

With the loss of Tsao and Božič-Mizaki, the platoon had gained Ziegler and Manning. The sergeant was fitting in well with Third Squad. She just had to gain proficiency with her IBHU.

Ziegler was another story. She just didn’t have the background, and worse, it was obvious that she didn’t want to be an IBHU Marine. She seemed to be trying to make the best of the situation, but with the lack of motivation, she was a significantly weak link.

The lieutenant had initially wanted to put her with Third Squad, taking Božič-Mizaki’s place, but Rev frankly told him it was a no-go. She should go to Fourth, where she would be more likely to just provide firepower, and Hochenspatter would switch to Third.

Hochenspatter was not the most gung-ho, effective Marine, but he was head and shoulders above Ziegler. And with Strap guiding her, Ziegler was just another crew-served weapon, as bad as that sounded.

But Strap couldn’t do it alone, even with Haroldsdotter assisting, which was why Rev was following in trace of Fourth Platoon. The lieutenant was leading the assault, so Rev could focus on Ziegler and Manning.

That didn’t mean he couldn’t check on Second Platoon. The exercise was a final certification for them. If they weren’t deemed combat capable, heads would roll. With Tomiko as the official platoon sergeant now, hers would almost certainly be one of them.

The platoon looked good on his display. Dispersion was decent, and they were making all their checkpoints as they approached the objective. Because he was not in the platoon, Rev didn’t have access to identify each trooper, but he thought he knew where Tsao was given the pattern on his display. Rev was sorry she was gone, but he was happy she was finally a squad leader.

Kick some ass, Tum. You waited long enough for this.

He definitely could recognize Tomiko, and not just because she and the lieutenant had command icons. She was all over the place like a border collie on a flock of sheep.

She needed to calm down, Rev knew. She couldn’t afford to be going at a thousand klicks a minute. It might be OK for an exercise, but it wasn’t sustainable in combat. Adrenaline could only take you so far.

“Second’s in contact,” the lieutenant passed to him on the P2P.

The lemmings, who the humans still couldn’t enter into their display AIs, were the exercise aggressors. Rev admired the small aliens, but he’d really wished a human platoon had been assigned as the enemy force. You could better foresee what humans might do, but with the lemmings . . .

But Lieutenant Colonel Suk had decided that if Second Platoon was going to prove itself combat capable, then they needed to face an alien unit.

“Are you shifting now?” Rev asked his platoon commander.

“Not yet. Captain Omenuko passed that the CO wants us to hold back a bit. He wants to see Sato’s reaction.”

That’s a cheap shot.

Kaigun Chūi Sato (equivalent to a Perseus Union lieutenant (jg)) had taken over the platoon only two weeks before. He had a sterling reputation, according to the other Mezame naval infantry in the battalion), had served for eighteen years in the enlisted ranks and was highly decorated. Most telling of all was that Tomiko was very impressed with the officer. But he’d never worked with other militaries.

With the platoon’s combat rating riding on this test, Rev didn’t think throwing in a monkey wrench was fair. Then again, nothing in war was fair.

Come on, Miko. Get ’er done.

Rev watched on his display as Second reacted. One of the squads froze in place. That would be their base of fire, something that was First Platoon’s mission. Three squads started fire team rushes.

On the other side of Second . . .

“Where are you, Finnegar?” Rev muttered.

<It looks like Third Platoon has gotten the same instructions as we have. This is Second Platoon’s fight.>

You bastard.

Rev respected Lieutenant Colonel Suk, but he was not feeling very charitable to him at the moment.

“That’s it. We’re standing down,” the lieutenant told Rev before passing it over the platoon net.

Rev just shook his head. All the platoon had done was to be a dummy, evidently, to see how Second would maneuver in the advance to contact. Now that the contact had initiated, the other three platoons—First and Third as maneuver elements and Fourth as fire support—were no longer needed.

“But we could have used the practice, too,” Rev said as he looked over at Ziegler, who had activated her PAL’s sitting function and was now seemingly staring off into the sky.

Probably watching the Sia that’s hovering overhead.

He contemplated for a moment getting on the P2P and telling her to pay attention to her fellow troopers, not some floating jellyfish, but it wasn’t worth the effort. Technically, they’d stood down and were out of the exercise.

“I’m going to go watch what Second does,” Rev told the lieutenant.

“I’ll join you.”

Rev told the squad leaders to stand by, then he jogged ahead to the higher ground until he could see the objective and stopped. Lieutenant Marble joined him a few moments later.

This was where First Platoon had been supposed to set up the base of fire, and he had good visibility down below. The lemmings were at the objective, which was nothing more than a pile of rocks. Some of the lemmings didn’t seem to be taking it seriously. They would scurry to the top of the highest rocks and proceed to do backward flips, which Rev thought might be the lemming equivalent of mooning the enemy.

They’re not important, he reminded himself and shifted to take in Second Platoon. It was chaos, but there was method to the madness. The team rushes were by the book. They weren’t perfect. The closest team to Rev, for example, shifted too far to the right during their rush, which would have put them directly into the team covering them’s line of fire. But overall, it appeared OK.

“Look. They’re improvising,” the lieutenant said, pointing to the far side of the platoon.

“Damn, you’re right.”

The original mission was for Second to conduct the main assault while Third became an enveloping force. Now, with no Third, Sato had adjusted. The far-right squad was swinging around to become the enveloping force.

Rev spotted Tomiko popping up for a moment before she took cover, leading that effort.

“Kinda small to take Third’s mission,” Rev remarked.

“In real combat, maybe. But Sato’s showing the ability to improvise on the fly. What’s that saying you always like to tell me from that wet-water navy admiral?”

“He who will not risk, cannot win. John Paul Jones. US Navy. And he wasn’t an admiral in the US Navy. He was a captain. But he was an admiral in the Russian Navy.”

Rev wasn’t sure why he added that last correction, but it didn’t matter. Lieutenant Marble didn’t seem to notice once she heard the quote.

“Yeah, that one. Well, Sato’s risking,” she said, her voice cracking with excitement.

I hope Suk has a similar opinion of what they’re doing.

When Tomiko and the squad began their assault on the objective’s flank, the lemmings broke. Rev was used to seeing thousands of them at a time, so it seemed weird and almost a little pathetic to see thirty of the warriors leave their rocks for a direct counter-assault on the main body of the platoon.

Which they did with obvious glee, somersaulting every five meters or so. They charged the troopers. One of the lead troopers stood, weapon leveled, and suddenly, six of the lemmings diverted to charge him. All six lunged at the trooper—six 30-kg lemmings against a 200-kg trooper in a PAL—bounding up the chest to the top of the helmet and somersaulting off. They landed on the other side and joined the mass of celebrating lemmings as they fled the area.

The trooper who’d just been used as a springboard flailed his arms and stepped backward, and Rev couldn’t help it. He was concerned that the platoon might not pass their test, but he broke out in laughter at the sight, joined by the lieutenant.

“Did you see that guy? You’d have thought he was being charged by lions,” she said.

“You know that’s making the rounds,” Rev said. “Everyone in the battalion’ll see it.

“Sucks to be him.”

“You’re a platoon commander. Who was that?”

While Rev couldn’t see individuals in another platoon, the lieutenant could.

“Corporal DeMoray.”

Rev was hoping it wasn’t a Marine, but if it had to be one, DeMoray was a good choice. Tomiko had told him the guy was something of a blowhard.

“The lemmings sure looked like they were having fun,” Rev said.

“Yeah. I can’t believe they don’t train against aggressors.”

Rev couldn’t believe it, either. How could any military train for combat without facing someone playing the part of aggressors? But that’s what Lieutenant Marble brought back from one of her meetings.

Rev thought there might have been a misunderstanding. Maybe they were just excited to play the OPFOR against the humans.

But the lemmings didn’t matter. What mattered was the opinion of the Task Force staff who were evaluating Second Platoon.

“Do you think they passed, ma’am?”

“Yes. Sato reacted well, and the troopers did well, too.”

“I saw some mistakes—”

“Don’t worry, Gunny. Your girlfriend’s not getting canned.”

Rev felt the flush spread across his face, and he was glad he was in his PAL. He resented the lieutenant’s tone, and he resented that she even thought that.

Even if it was true.

* * *

“I will not have my troopers living in a pigsty,” the captain said, glaring at the platoon commanders and sergeants. “What does that say about discipline?”

When the company commander’s gaze passed them, Tomiko nudged Rev with her elbow.

“Welcome to being a platoon sergeant,” Rev whispered.

The captain snapped his head back, his eyes flashing fire, and Rev tried to keep his face blank. Sometimes he forgot that all Marines were augmented, to include their hearing—not just the IBHUs.

With the urgency to get Second Platoon certified, things had ground to a halt. The CP was busy, but at the company level, there seemed to be a lull, and the training had the definite feel of busywork.

And that sense they should be doing something seemed to have gotten a hair up the ass of Captain Omenuko. He’d made a surprise inspection of a couple of the berthing cubes and blown a gasket, throwing everything out of one of Third Platoon’s cubes, screaming so loud that several lemmings wandering through the area had run away.

Trashing a room was a rather boot camp thing, not something done to combat troopers, but he was the commander, and it wasn’t up to Rev to naysay him.

“Zero-six tomorrow. Junk on the bunk. All hands.”

Rev had to fight to keep from rolling his eyes. His entire day had just been settled. He’d let the squad leaders know, then give them time to do their thing. Sometime in the afternoon, he’d inspect every cube in the platoon, then make sure they were ready for the lieutenant’s inspection. Once the area met her approval, the troopers would probably sleep on the deck so as not to mess up their racks.

All of this in a combat zone.

The captain glared at the company’s leadership, letting it all sink in, when there was a rap on the door.

“Come in!” he shouted.

Sergeant Teller cracked the door open and tentatively stuck his head in.

“What the hell do you want, Teller? I told you I didn’t want to be bothered.”

“Sorry, sir. But it’s about Gunny Pelletier.”

Rev looked around in surprise.

“What did you do now, Rev?” Tomiko whispered.

“What about him?” the captain asked, clearly upset at being interrupted.

“We got a Q-call for him. The battalion XO said he’s got five minutes to get there.”

Rev’s heart fell. Getting a Q-call like this couldn’t be good. With the battalion so far outside human space, the only form of contact with the rest of humanity was over the quantum comms. The battalion technically had eight links, but only one was open to the troopers at any given time, and Alpha would not have their slot for another nine days.

The captain’s anger faded. He understood the situation just as well as Rev did. “Go, Gunny, now.”

Rev jumped up. Tomiko gave his leg a squeeze as he turned and rushed to the door.

Sergeant Teller jumped out of the way, and Rev ran for the comms shack, his mind racing over what it could be. He didn’t even knock on the cube’s door and ran in. Major Synne, the battalion XO, Major Ma, the task force Ops-O, and Captain Olivia, the battalion S-2 Intelligence Officer were waiting there.

“What’s going on?” Rev asked, his heart in his throat.

“You’re on a seven-second delay,” the captain said. “No tactical details or I’ll have to cut you off.”

“Ma’am? What . . . ?”

But one of the comms troopers sat Rev down in front of the flat screen and gave him the headset. “OK, Gunny. This is pretty simple. When you want to talk, just speak—”

“I know, I know. Just connect me!”

A moment later, Rev’s mother appeared on the screen, his father hovering over her shoulder. Her face lit up, but just as she was opening her mouth to speak, Rev beat her to it.

“What’s wrong? Is everyone OK?”

Her expression changed to one of confusion, and she said, “Of course, everyone’s OK. Why wouldn’t they be?”

“But the call. I wasn’t scheduled to have a slot for another nine days, and that’s if I even nabbed one.”

“Oh, but this—”

Another person slipped in next to his father. “Gunnery Sergeant Pelletier. I’m Crispin Morales, with SGN-14 News. There’s nothing wrong. We’re doing a feature on all of you Swanseans serving in the First Human Expeditionary Battalion, and the CoH granted us the Q-time.

“A feature?” Rev asked, confused.

“We’re pretty proud of all of you,” the reporter said before stepping out of the pickup.

“We’re all proud of you. All of us Jacks, not just the family.”

Rev’s heart was still pounding, and it was taking him a moment to realize that there wasn’t some family emergency.

“I don’t understand. Why are they doing a feature?”

His father leaned in closer, as if that would make his image clearer. “There are more of you in the battalion than anywhere else in all of humankind. Swansea is proud as he—” he started to say before glancing off the pickup. “Proud as heck, son. Really proud.”

“More of us? That can’t be right. Swansea isn’t even that large.”

<There are eight of you. That is far above pure statistical averages. But that doesn’t take into account that Camp Nguyen was selected as a test bed for IBHUs, and Safe Harbor Provincial 8th Infantry Regiment formed a ready pool of non-IBHUs to fill out the ranks. Then, because of that pool, the camp became the home base for Second Combined Assault Battalion and now First Human Expeditionary Brigade command and First Battalion.>

Rev had never thought of that. Eight Swansea natives, or “Jacks,” as they liked to refer to themselves, didn’t seem like many in an entire battalion, but it could be the most of any single city throughout humanity.

“So, this is just a feature. Everyone’s OK,” he asked, just to make sure.

“Yes, sweetie. Oh, I probably shouldn’t call you sweetie on the news.”

“Don’t worry, Ms. Pelletier. We’ll edit everything to your satisfaction,” the reporter said from off-screen.

“But why me?”

His mother laughed. “You’re our favorite son, as it were. You were awarded your Gold Nova, and that was all over the news.”

“Staff Sergeant Tsao and Corporal Pierson have Platinum Novas,” Rev protested.

<Corporal Pierson isn’t from Swansea, and Staff Sergeant Tsao isn’t even from Safe Harbor.>

Duh!

Rev knew that, but he’d been with them for so long that he thought of them much as he thought of the others.

“And then, you know. Everyone knows what you did at the wedding,” his father said in a somber voice. “You have a lot of people who look up to you.”

Rev grimaced. He tried not to think about Grover and what had happened. That only flamed the coals of hate he’d developed for the Naxli.

“Forget it, Dad. So, what are we supposed to talk about?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.

The reporter had evidently given his mother a talking paper—almost assuredly one that had been approved by Marine censors.

His mother gave him a rundown of what had been happening with the family and the city at large. Just a good old local flavor. It would probably land well within Swansea, but Rev didn’t know how many people outside of the city would care much.

This new water park opened. That famous chain finally opened a restaurant in town. The Swansea City Jacks had crashed out of the Safe Harbor tournament—that was going to break Hussein’s heart. It almost sounded like a tourist spot. See how great things are in Swansea and how much the citizens supported their brave troops who were away fighting the Naxli and defending humankind.

Then his mother asked him about the “cute” lemmings, and what it was like serving with them. Rev glanced at the three officers, who’d been hovering to the side. The S-2 nodded.

Rev hadn’t been prepared for this, but he knew what was expected, “They’re great. They may be small, but they’re fantastic fighters, and I’m proud to be serving with them.”

He glanced at the officers again, and all three were nodding. Rev knew this was why the CoH approved the call. The homey stuff was good, but how great the allies are was the key.

It just surprised Rev that he hadn’t been briefed every which way but loose beforehand. The only thing he could think of was that this had been a surprise to the task force as well.

Rev gave similar generic, but approving, descriptions of their alien allies. He even had good things to say about the Uauii.

On a whim, he told his parents about drinking with the Breel. Major Ma frowned, but the other two smiled and nodded.

Screw it. They can edit it out if they want.

The reporter said they were running out of time for the slot, and Neesy sat down beside their mother.

“We’re so proud of you, Big Bro,” she said. “Really proud.”

She kissed the tips of her fingers, then held them out to the pick-up. Rev reached out to meet the image with his fingers.

Then Kat slid down beside her sister, using her butt to push her aside and make room.

“Hey, Kat,” Rev said.

“Hey. Uh . . . I’ve got something to tell you,” she said, her sly grin making Rev suspicious.

“What?”

“I report in next week.”

“Report to what?”

“Boot camp, silly. I’ve enlisted into the Marines.”

Rev’s mouth dropped open in shock. “But . . . but . . . you’re only—”

“I’m nineteen, Rev. I owe my life to the Marine Corps. And to you. Without you, I wouldn’t be here today. You’re my hero, and I love you. And if you can sacrifice so much for the rest of us, then how can I choose not to serve?”

But she’s just a little girl. She can’t enlist!

The thought both excited him and terrified him—more on the terrified side.

Her expression shifted from joy to concern as she saw his expression.

“Aren’t you, uh . . .”

“No, no, no! I am so proud of you, Kat,” he hurriedly said. “So proud. You’ll be a great Marine!”

The reporter leaned in and said, “We’ve only got eight seconds left. Thank you, Gunnery Sergeant. This is great, and it’ll make an impact. We’ll edit—”

And the connection was cut. Rev stared at the screen for a moment before he turned around to the three officers and the corporal who’d run the call.

“Nice job, Gunny. Good PR. I especially liked the drinking with the ents thing. Humanizes them, you know,” the XO said.

Major Ma frowned slightly at that.

Uh, Marines drink, Major. Sorry to pop your bubble.

The XO turned to the Two. “Do you have anything for the gunny?”

“No, sir. I think it went well, especially as we had no warning. Really well.”

“OK, Gunny,” the XO said. “Good job. I’m going to have to try and find me some of that blood of life. Go ahead and get back to your unit.”

Rev thanked the officers, then thanked the corporal before leaving and heading back to the platoon.

Kat. My little sister Kat. By the Mother, she’s gonna be a Marine!

25

“Are you exchanging? You gotta shit of get off the pot, friend,” Kelly asked Frdir.

“The two of life is higher than a two of destiny, correct?” the Uauii asked.

Rev started to roll his eyes, but he managed to catch himself.

“No, it’s lower, and it has a point-six multiplier,” Kelly said as she gave Tomiko a quick sidelong glance.

Rev still wasn’t sure how he ended up here, at a Uauii juice bar, playing Knock-On with two Uauii, of all things. But finally, he might be able to come out ahead. And not only because he was partnered with Tomiko. The aliens were proving to be just as bad at cards as they were at fighting.

He eyed the blade on Frdir’s mid-harness. The human and Uauii monetary systems were not compatible, so when the two Uauii had asked to play, the stakes had been decided. Whoever reached five hundred first won the game and could pick something carried by any of the others as a prize.

Rev and Tomiko had already decided they were going to take the blade, a truly fine example of Uauii engineering. The Marine vibroblade was arguably more effective, but the Uauii blade was a wicked-looking piece of art. Of course, they had to beat Kelly and Yancey as well, but for once, their famed luck had deserted both of them, and with only eighty-three points, they were out of the running.

By pure chance, the two Uauii were in second, but even a blind squirrel could find a nut every now and then. Rev and Tomiko were well in the lead, though, so close to five hundred that they could smell it.

They hadn’t intended to play cards with aliens when they left the company area. They’d just needed a break from the stress of waiting to find out their next mission, and the juice bar was one of the few Uauii places in which they could relax. The “juice” was barely palatable to humans—it would be better if it was alcoholic. But they could pay with the small stipend the Uauii government gave them, and it was away from their units, which was the big thing.

This time, however, two Uauii had become interested in the game, and after the basic rules had been explained, asked to play.

“We’re supposed to be ambassadors to the others,” Yancey had said. “I don’t think we can refuse if they want to lose . . . I mean, enjoy the game.”

And that was that. They switched to team play, and now, Rev and Tomiko were on the verge of winning.

“We need to close this out,” he whispered to Tomiko. “I want that blade.”

“We want that blade, sweety.”

The Uauii considered his cards, rearranging them as if that would somehow make the hand stronger. He removed two cards and started to extend them but then changed his mind.

“We’re waiting,” Rev growled.

“Rev,” Tomiko said, elbowing him. “Play nice.”

Finally, the Uauii removed one card and placed it in front of Tomiko. “I am exchanging one.”

Tomiko picked it up, and Rev could almost feel the excitement as she saw it. She leaned closer and showed it to him. A red death.

He covered his mouth with his card and whispered, “A light ladder if we merge.”

Merging in team play could be dangerous. If they merged and then lost the hand, they’d have to start from scratch, and all their maneuvering up to now will have been for naught. But a light ladder?

“Give him the four of destiny. If he had a red death before, then that won’t give him squat. We’ve got them beat.”

<Are you sure?>

“Shut up, Punch. I keep telling you, no helping.”

<You’re playing against Uauii, not fellow humans.>

“Doesn’t matter.”

Rev looked at Tomiko, waiting to hear what she was going to say. It was her turn, so her call.

“If that’s all he has, then we might be able to end it all now. But we don’t know what his buddy has.”

“Nothing much,” Rev said. “Can’t be.”

Tomiko took a few more moments, then gave Frdir the four of destiny.

“We’re merging,” she said.

“So, we can merge, too?” Frdir asked.

“No,” Yancey said. “We told you that. Only one team can merge at a time, and that calls for a reveal.”

Yancey folded, not even showing what he had. Kelly folded as well.

“Since you merged, I believe you must reveal first?” Frdir asked.

Rev handed Tomiko his cards, then watched the two Uauii. He wanted to see what Uauii despair looked like.

Tomiko took the two cards she needed from Rev and slapped them down. “That’s a light ladder, by the way. And with a point-three multiplier, that will give us five hundred and twenty-two points.”

Rev smiled at the two. The Uauii couldn’t fight a lick, but they were as arrogant as the Breel in their own way.

Haafa, the second Uauii, folded his hand. So, it came down to Frdir, who could possibly have a double nest but no better.

The Uauii made the keening sound, which was their way of showing sadness, and Rev looked on eagerly as he revealed a . . . heavy ladder?

How could . . . what the hell just happened?

“That beats your light ladder,” Frdir said. “And with a point-seven multiplier, that gives us five hundred and two points. We win.”

The translator spoke in a monotone, so it didn’t indicate the glee that both Uauii’s skin revealed with the changing color patterns.

“How did you do that? You had a blue death?” Yancey asked.

“You assumed I had only a pair in the destiny suit. But even a basic probability calculation would have shown that the chances of that were extremely small.”

“Three-point-six percent,” Haafa added.

“A much greater possibility would have been for set.”

“Twenty-one-point three percent,” Haafa added.

Rev was getting a little pissed at Haafa.

“But a common set only has a point-two multiplier, and even if it could take the hand, it wouldn’t get us to five hundred. So, knowing you would probably merge, I needed to be able to beat you if you did have a ladder.”

Tomiko frowned as if she knew where this was going.

“If you thought I had a double building, then there was a high probability that you would discard something in the same suit. And given what’s already been played, it was a good chance you would discard the four of destiny.”

“Fifty percent chance,” Haafa said, purples and violets flowing across his torso.

Rev glared at Tomiko, who said, “Fuck. The sucker played me.”

“And so, we win. And I believe we can choose what we want?”

“Not our wristcomps,” Kelly said.

“Yes, that was in the agreement. But we don’t want them. We want that,” Frdir said, pointing at Rev’s legs.

“What?” Rev asked. “You can’t take my legs. They’re me, not a thing.”

“Not your legs. Your pants.”

It took a moment for that to register. It wasn’t until Yancey broke out laughing that it sunk in. “My pants? You’ve got to be kidding me? Why would you want them? You’ve got three legs, and we’re not the same size. They won’t do you any good.”

“No, but we find your symmetrical bilateralism fascinating, and your coverings will make a good trophy. And, we surmise that their value is small, and you should be able to replace them easily.”

Rev looked at his three friends, but he wasn’t getting any support from them.

“We made an agreement, Rev,” Tomiko said.

“OK, fine, fine. Let me go back and change, and I’ll bring them to you.”

He stood up to leave, and Frdir stood, too.

“We Uauii pay our wagers when incurred.”

“But, I need to get something to wear,” Rev protested.

“When incurred.”

Rev looked at his friends, but they wouldn’t catch his eyes. Yancey was having a hard time trying not to break out laughing.

“Tomiko!”

“A bet’s a bet, Rev.”

Rev looked back at Frdir. He knew there was something fishy going on. It was just too pat that he was asked for a pair of pants, and Rev’s in particular.

“There’s something more to this,” he subvocalized.

<They have access to human literature on psychology, and if they know that you have not been their advocate—which is probable if our quarters are, as the command believes, not secure, then this could be an attempt to embarrass you.>

“Really, Punch? This is some big operation to embarrass me?”

<Who knows what the Uauii Omega Division equivalent would do. But it fits. You have been vocal in your lack of respect for them. And even a basic understanding of the human psyche would indicate that in your dislike, you would be eager to get into a game where you could show your superiority to them.>

“So, they used my dislike and ego against me?”

<It certainly is a possibility.>

Rev stared at the Uauii, whose colors had stopped flowing. Rev wasn’t sure what that meant.

Screw it. A bet’s a bet, like Miko says. And I can only be embarrassed if I let myself be.

Rev undid the waist strap, then kicked his pants free. He picked them up and handed them to Frdir.

“I see you like going commando,” Kelly remarked. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

It was difficult to be in the modern military with body shyness. But Rev was a little self-conscious, not of nudity in general, but in the lumps and misshappen body as a result of his hyper-augments. But the four of them all had augments that had screwed up their bodies, and Kelly, as a fellow IBHU, had the same extreme ones Rev had.

That didn’t mean, however, that Rev wasn’t feeling vulnerable standing there like that. He was going to cut this short.

“It was a good game. Thank you,” he told the Uauii.

He turned and headed for the door.

“Rev! Wait up!” Tomiko said as she scrambled to her feet.

Rev pushed open the door and stepped out.

<You should have let me advise you. I am not just a music and holovid player, you know.>

If Rev didn’t know better, he’d think that Punch was a little upset with him.

“I suppose you had worked out those percentages?”

<Of course. I can’t help it. It’s my nature.>

“Maybe next time. If there is a next time.”

The door slammed open, and Tomiko ran to catch up.

“You OK, Rev?”

“No biggie. Just a pair of trou.”

She took his arm. “Yeah. Just a pair of trousers. ’Sides, I like you without your trou on.”

Rev rolled his eyes.

“They really played us, huh? Who would’ve thought that being so bad at fighting, they’d be good at cards?”

“They didn’t get to be so economically powerful by being dumb.”

“I guess so.”

She looked around. There were quite a few Uauii and other scattered races in the area, none of who were paying the two much attention.

“I guess they must see big, pantless humans all the time around here.”

Rev was about to attempt some smart remark when both of their wristcomps went off simultaneously. They stopped to read the message.

“Condition One-C,” Tomiko said.

“This is it. We’ve got our mission,” Rev said as they both broke out into a run.

They headed for the company CP, but Tomiko gave Rev a shove to the side before they reached it.

“What was that for?”

“Get dressed, Rev. The captain can wait a few minutes so you’re not showing off what you’ve got.”

26

The next three days were hectic. This was a battalion mission, but there wasn’t enough human shipping to transport the battalion. The PUNS Pretoria had to return to the shipyards to repair damage taken during the initial transit, and a replacement ship had not been designated.

It hadn’t mattered before as the battalion hadn’t deployed as a unit, but now, the task force S-4 was scrambling for shipping, and Alpha Company was given no fewer than four embarkation orders in three days—all while coming up to speed on the operational order.

Finally, the captain told the platoon commanders to stand down in the embarkation prep. When the plans were finalized, they’d make it happen. But now, they’d spend time rehearsing for the actual operation.

The objective was a planet within Naxli control. It was an arms manufacturing hub, and among the items produced were the main Naxli small arms. The Uauii wanted that facility destroyed at best, degraded at least. The planet was protected by several division’s-worth of Naxli, at least 30,000 fighters, and a division of “Naxli-5’s,” the Naxli “baby noxes” allies Rev and the platoon had faced during the last mission.

To make matters worse, the workers at the site were some sort of reservists, would be the closest analogy. They were the labor force for the facility, but they had military training and would resist an assault.

This would be the most defended Naxli objective that Rev had faced. And they’d invade with approximately 15,000 Breel, Uauii, Kanter, and human fighters.

Not great odds. But the plan was for a quick raid. Get in, destroy the facility, and get out before the bulk of the Naxli could mobilize an attempt to repel the assault.

The only advantage was that the Naxli wouldn’t be able to bring their full force upon the facility, not if they wanted to keep it operational. So, no long-range missiles. No orbital bombardment. The only way to repel the invasion force would be to dig them out. And that would take time and effort, hopefully more time than they had. Before they could mount a counter-offensive, the invasion force should be gone.

“The noxes thought they’d have a quick in and out on Grum, too. Just a little raid, and we saw how well that worked out for them,” Iglesias said after they were given their initial brief.

“Baby noxes,” Rev said. “And we’re just gonna haf’ to make sure we don’t make the same mistakes as they did.”

Soldiers liked to nickname everything, but nothing had seemed to catch on to describe the Naxli allies, and “baby noxes” had started to take over by default.

“I just can’t believe we’ve got another mine mission,” Yancey grumbled.

“Not a mine. It’s a manufacturing facility.”

“An under-damn-ground, facility, Gunny. Same freakin‘ thing. It’s not out in the open where we can actually maneuver.”

“Just think of it like some big spaceship, Yance,” Strap said.

“Oh, that makes it so much better,” Yancey said as he rolled his eyes.

Rev wasn’t too happy about going underground again, but it really wasn’t a mine. It was basically a big complex of buildings built into the side of a hill for protection. That was why orbital bombardment to destroy it wasn’t in the cards, and it would take ground troops to complete the mission. But there wouldn’t be long passages through small tunnels as in a mine. For Yancey, though, who had claustrophobia, Rev could understand his resistance to the idea.

The good thing was that he knew the squad leader would power through. He always had.

Other than the initial brief, not much was known in the way of specifics. The human battalion would be part of the assault force, along with the Kanters, while the Breel and Uauii would clear the local Naxli and create a defensive position to keep the enemy from counter-assaulting.

Both colonels wanted to use the time available to prepare and rehearse, but the problem was that there were no underground facilities in the area that could sub in for their objective. The humans had to figure out a workaround. However, Major Ma and Major DeGroot, the two S-3s, seemed to be of different minds on how to rehearse.

That was one of the limitations of the task force organization. Usually, a task force would have two or more battalions, and they’d leave the training and preparation down at the battalion level. In this case, there was only one battalion, so the lines were a little blurred. The task force wanted to get down in the weeds, and the battalion wanted them out of their hair.

But the fact of the matter was that the task force was the higher headquarters, and when it came down to a decision, Major Ma held sway. The end result was that instead of trying to build something that could approximate their objective, they were rehearsing the operation out in the open.

Rev agreed that constructing the framework of a large manufacturing center would have taken resources and time, but he had to also agree with Major DeGroot that it would have made the rehearsals more effective.

Time ended up being the major limiting factor, though, so maybe Major Ma was right. The battalion had only run through two rehearsals when the embarkation plan came out. They’d board the next day.

And that wasn’t all. Due to the limited shipping, Alpha Company would not be boarding a Union Navy ship. They would not be boarding a Mezame or Hégémonie Liberté ship. In fact, they wouldn’t be boarding a human ship at all.

Alpha Company, First Human Expeditionary Battalion, would be transported to the objective planet aboard a Kanter ship.

* * *

“What in the hell is this?” Tomiko asked as they entered the Kanter ship.

Rev didn’t reply. He was too gobsmacked as the chaos stretched out in front of him. And it stretched out a long way.

They’d been told very little about what it would be like aboard other than being shown an image of the spherical shell and that the ship did not use artificial gravity. Nothing prepared them for the reality.

Instead of spaces within the ship, it looked like the entire interior was open. Rev could stare across to the far side—or at least he could if there weren’t thousands of Kanters maneuvering through the empty space with no orientation to each other, or to anything, for that matter. Small cylinders, seemingly unattached to anything else, were positioned throughout the open space, and the Kanters were using those as anchor points to grab or bounce off, redirecting their axis of travel.

“I don’t see a bridge,” Rev said.

“I don’t see a fucking engine,” Tomiko responded.

“Keep it moving,” Gunny Lian shouted from behind them.

Rev and Tomiko moved to the side as more of the troopers boarded, and all stopped as they took in the sight.

Due to the . . . lack of respect for personal property, every trooper was in their combat suit with all weapons and personal gear. And as they’d been told there was no artificial gravity, the bottoms of their sabatons were in chameleon mode, able to grip and release from almost any surface, and they’d all been fitted with small impellers that could slowly maneuver them if necessary.

Rev had thought the impellers would be used to move down corridors, if necessary, but as far as he could tell, there wasn’t a single corridor in the entire ship.

What kind of setup is this?

As the company filed into the ship, most of the Kanters seemed to ignore them. But not all. At least a hundred took notice and approached. One flew in and used Rev’s chest as a springboard to bounce away.

Another came close, looked through Rev’s open face shield, and said, in clear Standard, “Pelletier!”

“What is it with you and aliens,” Tomiko asked him. “I don’t see them greeting anyone else.”

“It’s my sparkling personality.”

“In your dreams.”

Kelly and Tsao shuffled over in the “chameleon walk.” The skilled, like Archambault, could look almost normal as they walked. For the rest, the fear of losing contact with the deck made the place-lift-step-place-lift-step exaggerated and jerky.

“This is a madhouse,” Kelly said, but there was a happily amazed feeling in her voice. Her eyes were bright as she took it all in.

“Where’re we supposed to berth?” Tsao asked Tomiko.

“That’s up to Gunny Lian, but I don’t think we’re getting individual staterooms with room service and gentle wake-up calls.”

Tsao sniffed the air. “This place smells weird.

Rev sniffed, too. There wasn’t much of a smell. If anything, it was something like wet straw, but with a hint of mint or basil. Something green.

“I don’t smell much,” he said.

“That’s because you were always a grunt with your dead-ass nose.”

Rev had lots of augments, but the sense of smell wasn’t one of them. It was one of those left out for infantry and raiders. Recon had the olfactory augments, as did combat engineers, which was what Tsao was before becoming an IBHU Marine. The Corps tried to limit the number of augments to lessen the chance of the rot, but Rev didn’t know how they determined who got and who didn’t get some of them.

A Kanter hit the deck beside Tsao, his feet sticking without any noticeable artificial assist. He reached up and tugged on her assault pack.

Tsao shouted and pulled it back, and the Kanter rose on its hind legs to give her a long stare before bounding away.

“Little thief,” Tsao said.

That’s why we’re keeping our gear close at hand,” Rev said.

“I’ve got a feeling that this is going to be a long passage,” Tomiko remarked as one of her troopers shouted out as he tried to chase a Kanter who had something small grasped in its middle arms.

* * *

The passage to the objective was interesting, to say the least. With no designated berthing, the company staked out a section of the inside hull. There was a round-the-clock gear watch, but for the most part, the troopers were left alone. Lieutenant Kongi had attempted to do some classes, but with the Kanters everywhere and the overall activity level, he gave up after about forty minutes.

Gear maintenance was the priority among the troopers, which seemed to fascinate the Kanters, who would gather and stare at the most mundane tasks.

More than a few items were stolen from unwary troops, but most of what was taken were eventually returned. Captain Omenuko attempted to register a protest to their liaison, but that didn’t do much to stop it.

The highlight was the cross-ship leaps. From one side of the hull to the other was about sixty meters. The Kanters had a habit of pushing off from one side to the other, performing acrobatics along the way.

“Damn things can’t have a spine,” Hussein said as they watched one of them go through gyrations that didn’t seem possible.

With bored troops, at least it was something to watch. But bored troopers had a habit of upping the ante. Lvarn, of all people, suddenly released the seat function on his PAL and stood.

“See that white line over there?” he asked the others. “I’m gonna hit that sucker right in the middle.”

With that, he sprang off the deck and shot across the center of the ship. Kanters scrambled out of the way, but Lvarn nicked one and sent him tumbling.

Oh, shit, Rev thought, but the Kanter didn’t seem to mind.

The other Kanters kept Lvarn’s path clear, but they lined it to watch him.

Lvarn was off course, though. Rev wondered if he’d use his impeller to correct, but evidently, that wasn’t allowed by the karnan’s self-imposed rule. He barely got his feet under him before he hit the far side, a good two meters off the line.

“You suck, Lvarn!” Omint, one of the karnans in Third Squad, shouted, his loudspeaker on max.

“You can’t do better!”

And that started the competition. Omint couldn’t do better, as it turned out. But Doc LeRon could, one foot hitting the line. Kanters quickly got into the fun. They were more accurate, and they also did their gymnastics mid-flight.

A target was put up, taking the place of the line. Bets were being laid. While some troopers ignored the game and caught some Zs, most of them were highly vested in it. Soon, SNCOs were involved. Then Lieutenant Kongi.

Rev resisted at first, but his competitive nature woke his warrior self. When he stepped to the starting position, he was bombarded with cat-calls.

<I can help you.>

Rev was tempted, but when it came down to it, even with any slight adjustment Punch might make, it would still be up to his legs launching him.

He looked across the ship at the combat ration pack on the far bulkhead. It seemed like it was a galaxy away. He centered himself and pushed off.

But he wasn’t just going to fly superman-style across the ship. Just before he was halfway, Rev swung Pashu down and pulled in his feet. A PAL-HX wasn’t an EVA suit. It was far heavier and stiffer. But physics was physics, and he tumbled over in a somersault. He didn’t come out of it with his head pointing at the target, but he was on line. Once he brought his legs around, he thought he might actually hit it.

That is, until fifteen meters away, a furry torpedo intercepted him, feet hitting him in the helmet, one foot slipping inside the open face shield and giving Rev a mouthful of Kanter.

Rev outmassed his furry assailant by twelve-to-one, and the Kanter tumbled out of control, but still, the hit was enough to knock Rev off course. There was no way to recover, and Rev hit the bulkhead a good two meters from the target.

Rev spun around, his warrior flaring, but the humans were laughing, and the Kanters were all doing what Tomiko called their “happy dance.”

“Can’t handle a little lemming, Gunny?” Lvarn, who had taken the position of master of the target, asked.

“Eat me, Lvarn,” Rev said before laughing himself.

“It probably looked pretty funny. Remind me to see if Tomiko’s got it recorded.”

<Roger, but you can be sure she wouldn’t pass up that opportunity.>

The rules of the game had been changed. Now, each attempt ended up more like an obstacle course, or when the captain took his turn, a rugby scrum. It became Kanter versus human, Kanter and human versus other kanters and humans, and everyone versus everyone else.

When Tomiko tried, Rev moved right in front of the target, blocking her out.

Rev didn’t know how long the game lasted. He took two breaks to eat his combat rats, and tried five more crossings. When the interior lighting changed to amber, it took him by surprise. But the Kanters immediately taking off to the pile of haphazardly gathered weapons snapped him back to reality. They were in system.

“Alpha, form up!” Gunny Lian shouted.

Rev pushed off again, this time to the little piece of company real estate. He hit the bulkhead and moved into position as troopers found their place.

“This has been one of the weirdest crossings I’ve ever made,” Yancey said as he got in front of his squad.

“And the most fun, probably,” Rev said. “But fun’s over. Now, it’s time to earn our paycheck.”

27

The Kanter shuttle rose into the air and quickly disappeared from sight. As much fun as the crossing had been, the ride down to the planet had been less enjoyable. The shuttle was a miniature version of the ship itself—a sphere without much inside.

They’d only managed to fit in two platoons. With the humans in PALs and other combat suits, it had been crowded leaving the ship, but as the shuttle hit the planet’s gravity well, things got downright hairy. All of the troopers had slid to the bottom of the sphere. Without the combat suits, people would have been hurt. As it was, there had been a scramble to get the Tau Ceti Rangers to the top of the pile. With their lighter armor, they couldn’t take the crush.

Lieutenant Marble, Ewe Günther, and Til König made it planetside without injury, but Rappa had been hurt. Doc LeRon was assessing the Ranger now.

At least the shuttle hadn’t attracted any attention. A huge column of smoke rising from about four kicks away was an indication that not all of the incoming craft escaped unscathed.

“Ents?” Rev asked Punch.

<From the location, that would be the most probable.>

“Can you tell what kind of shuttle?”

<Not just by the smoke column. I would need more data.>

Like the humans, the Breel had different shuttles with different capacities. Hopefully, it was one of the smaller ones. The larger ones could carry over a hundred combat-loaded Breel soldiers.

If one of those had been shot down, that would affect not only the security force, but it could also leave active Naxli still defending the facility. That wouldn’t scuttle the mission, but if the humans had to clear the way to the objective, it would take time, time that maybe they didn’t have.

Hopefully, all of the humans and Kanters made it down, and the assault force was at full strength. They’d need it if they had to fight the Naxli. But before it came to that, the company had to be formed.

“Clear the LZ,” Rev shouted. “We’ve got the next shuttle coming in.”

First Squad and Second Platoon’s Third Squad linked at the edge of the LZ. With that done, the other squads took their position, forming a defense around the area. The two lieutenants huddled with the captain and the first sergeant, setting up the axis of advance, so Rev walked his platoon’s line, making sure there weren’t any gaps. If the Naxli wanted to blow up the assault, now, with only half of the company on the ground, would be a good time to do it.

But the troopers knew what they were doing. Their focus was outboard, trusting those behind them to secure the LZ from that direction. He checked on Rappa. The Ranger was banged up, but he was combat capable.

Four minutes after their shuttle left, the next one appeared in the sky. The sphere approached at breakneck speed, and Rev knew what those inside were going through.

“Run a check on Pashu,” he told Punch.

He realized he should have done that the moment he was on the ground. Everything seemed to be functioning, but the press of bodies had been significant, and it was possible his IBHU had been damaged. If she was, better to know now than when drawing down on a Naxli warrior.

<All green. Your IBHU is fully functional.>

The shuttle came in quickly. Rev felt a small wave of uncertainty. Spaceships plying the atmosphere on impulse drives could fry ground troops caught in their wash. The Uauii had assured them that the Kanter shuttles were safe, but Rev wasn’t comfortable seeing the shuttle coming in on their heads. He’d been nervous about alien ships since he first arrived at Clickerland and saw what he initially thought were blast shields around the spaceport, and that uncertainty hadn’t gone away even when he was told they were just fences to keep out pedestrians.

But the vegetation barely moved as it came to a stop, hovering about two meters above the ground. The bottom of the shuttle dilated, and as with the first shuttle, the bottom troopers tumbled out to land on the ground. More landed on top before the ones still inside managed to stop the discharge. After that, the troopers on the ground could get clear while the ones still in the shuttle could jump or, in a few cases, grab the edge of the opening and swing down.

Rev stepped out into the LZ, Pashu pointing to the northeast, to orient Third Platoon. Bob, who was back with the platoon, spotted him and started forming his troopers, ready to take the point on the captain’s order.

The last of the troopers exited, and the shuttle started rising. A bright, blinding flash lit up the sky, and for a moment, Rev thought the shuttle had taken a hit, but it kept rising untouched. Rev spun around. Something was falling in flames in the distance.

“Respect for the fallen,” Rev muttered as he watched the landing craft burn.

He didn’t know if they were Uauii or Breel, but they were brothers in arms.

“Listen up, Second. Get ready to fall in behind Third.”

The entire company was on enemy soil without a loss. He knew it wasn’t going to stay that way.

* * *

Rev reached out and let his gauntleted hand run through the branches on his left. Change the hue slightly to the blue instead of the slightly orange tint, and he could be walking through the same Colorado Spruce that grew in the mountains above Swansea.

“Are you sure this is just parallel evolution? I mean, this is just too coincidental.”

Rev had been on a lot of planets, and he’d seen some pretty strange versions of plant and pseudo-plant life. But except for terraformed worlds, nothing looked this close to earth life.

<You do realize how far we are from human space, right? Parallel evolution is by far the most likely explanation.>

Rev knew Punch was right, but it just seemed weird. He half expected to see squirrels in the trees, scolding the troopers as they passed underneath.

Don’t worry about the trees, Reverent. Focus on the mission.

He looked around at the platoon as the troopers quietly advanced. The company was in a column, as were the platoons. A column allowed the company to advance quicker, but it was far less secure, and without knowing what Breel unit had been in the landing craft or shuttle that had been shot down, Rev thought the risk was too high. They could be advancing into an unsecured area.

Hopefully, the captain, with his Q-comms, was getting updates, and Rev was just being overly concerned. But that didn’t calm his jittery nerves.

And hopefully, when they initiated contact, they’d be able to use the standard comms. Along with the last group of replacements was a new toy from the comms chief. It used a new frequency hopping system that the Naxli hadn’t seen before. Hopefully, that could give them comms, at least until the Naxli figured it out.

At the moment, though, they were still in comms silence. There was no benefit in giving the Naxli more time to analyze and work out jamming.

There had been sounds of fighting while the company moved forward, but nothing from the direction where the rest of the battalion should be advancing. Hopefully, the Naxli attention was on the Breel and Uauii. But the Naxli had to know that the facility was the allied objective, and they’d be collapsing on it. There were other facilities in the area, but if the Uauii intel was right, there was nothing as valuable as the weapons manufacturing facility.

Rev was moving with Strap and Fourth Squad, and they reached an opening in the trees. The low vegetation in the clearing didn’t quite match what grew in the mountains of Safe Harbor, but if he squinted his eyes, it wasn’t too much different.

Parallel evolution my ass.

He felt a little more vulnerable in the open and glanced up. About 500 meters high, a Sia floated across his field of vision.

“How the hell did that get here?” he muttered.

As far as he knew, the only forces were human, Kanter, Breel, and Uauii. Who would bring a Sia? They didn’t add anything to their combat power.

Rev slowed down a moment as he studied the ethereal creature. He couldn’t be sure, but it was almost as if it was birddogging the company.

He was relieved when he reached the cover of more trees. The Sia were allies, but he didn’t like being within the thing’s view. And if it was following them, then it was revealing their location to the Naxli.

“Shit. Could the Singers be spies?” he asked Punch.

<Anything’s possible. But what prompted the question?>

“They’re always hanging around. It’s like they’re watching our training, learning about us. Isn’t that what spies do?”

<The other races are adamant that the Sia are allies. And they all give the Sia a large measure of respect.>

“Wouldn’t that make them the best spies? No one would suspect them.”

Punch didn’t answer the question, instead asking, <What is going on with you? First the trees and now the Sia. You are usually more focused on the mission, not on conspiracy theories. Yet your bio readings are all within normal parameters. Is there something I’m not picking up?>

“Give me a break, Punch. I’m fine.”

<If you’re fine, then I would suggest focusing on the mission, not on things that have no bearing on the success of the mission.>

Rev grunted. Punch was right.

It was usually Rev who told Punch to “read the room” when he wanted to tell a joke at an inopportune time. But now his battle buddy was chastising him. Rev hadn’t even known that was possible—but then again, Punch had evolved past a normal combat AI.

He made a mental promise to keep his mind on the mission—five seconds before he couldn’t help looking up through the trees again to see if he could spot the Sia. And the more he promised to focus, the more he thought about the intrusions into his thoughts. It was a self-perpetuating cycle.

The explosion of fire to the front broke the cycle, and Rev wholly snapped back into warrior mode.

The dull reports of the initial volley identified them as Naxli. Immediately, the sharper snaps of the return fire and the stream of IBHU twenties showed that Third Platoon was engaging back.

“Contact front!” Rev shouted as he sprinted forward.

The immediate action for this situation was for First Platoon to split to the left and move forward, both to suppress the fire and be in position to conduct an assault into the enemy. The lieutenant was already taking control of the first three squads. That left Rev with Fourth.

Indirect fires started piercing the tree cover, but too late. The explosions hit where the platoon had been, not where they were. Indirect fire could shift, though, so Rev pushed his troopers forward.

As they approached a fault in the ground, they started taking incoming direct fire. The lieutenant gave the command to take cover, and the fault was ready-made for it.

Rev stopped behind a long-dead tree, which looked to have been right on the fault when a long-ago earthquake had created it. Most of the branches had rotted away, but the massive trunk was still whole.

He quickly pulled out his Optisight and raised it above the upper side of the fault.

The forest in front of him thinned out, leading to a rocky rise about 220 meters away. The Naxli were occupying that natural fort, fixing the humans in place with heavy automatic gunfire.

Rev wanted a better idea of the enemy’s disposition, so he pulled out one of his dragonfly drones, set it to return, and released it. The little drone rose and started through the trees. It hadn’t gone more than twenty-five meters when there was a small flash, and it tumbled to the ground.

Crap!

He didn’t know what had taken it down, but he didn’t want to risk a second drone like that.

“Strap! Start getting fire on that hill!” he shouted a split second before a string of twenty fire erupted from his left . . . and kept going on and on.

Rev immediately reacted, scrambling while shouting, “Cease fire, Ziegler. Cease fucking fire!”

He rounded the fallen tree. The IBHU corporal was standing upright, screaming while she sent a never-ending string of rounds downrange.

She ignored Rev, who charged her from the side. He used Pashu to knock her IBHU up and rammed her with his shoulder, sending her flying. The IBHU Marine hit the ground hard, tumbled over, then turned to stare at Rev with a cross between horror and shock.

“What the hell were you doing?” he said as he crouched over here, ready to tackle her if her IBHU so much as twitched.

Her mouth gaped open, but nothing came out.

“What’s your ammo count, Corporal! Now!” Rev said with as much command imperative as he could muster.

He watched her eyes unfocus, then come back. “One thousand twelve, Gunny,” Ziegler choked out.

“You just wasted over a thousand rounds? On what?”

One of the Jackhammers opened up as the squad started engaging, but Rev had to take care of this first.

“They . . . I . . . nox . . .”

“Did you have a target? Did you see a nox?”

“I . . .”

“Did you see a nox, Ziegler?”

“No . . . no.”

Rev shook his head. “You wasted half of your combat load at nothing?”

She opened and shut her mouth, gaping like a goldfish.

The IBHU twenty-millimeter cannon was designed as a point weapon. It could be used for area suppression, but in seven to twelve round bursts, not spraying it like a garden hose.

Ziegler had panicked, pure and simple, and Rev was fuming. But he couldn’t sit down with her for a teaching evolution.

He leaned closer, and she tried to retreat from his anger. “No more twenties until I tell you. Beamer. Now!”

With the meson cannon, the need for the capacitor to recharge would keep her from depleting her power cells like she was about to run out of 20mm rounds.

Where’s Haroldsdotter? Rev wondered.

The other corporal wasn’t there. Rev moved down the line. The Naxli fire was heavy, but for the moment, it wasn’t hitting Fourth Squad very hard. But as more of the heavier human weapons started joining in, that would change.

Rev didn’t want to get into a slugfest, which was a possibility in a case like this. They could trade shots for hours, if not days, while each side tried to find the chink in the other’s armor that could initiate an advantage. But that couldn’t happen now. Even a delay in their advance was a victory for the Naxli. The clock was ticking, and the company couldn’t afford to be caught in a drawn-out battle.

“We need to bypass them.”

<That’s up to the captain.>

“Do you see anything that would block us from going around?”

<It would leave a Naxli force to our rear, but no, I don’t see anything.>

The idea of an intact force behind them was menacing, but so was getting stuck, and with the high ground, the Naxli would eventually wear down the humans.

A tremendous explosion rocked the ground to Rev’s right, then as he spun around, another one hit just in front of the platoon’s line, sending a huge eruption of dirt and trees into the air.

They’ve got us zeroed in. Come on, Captain. Get us the hell out of here.

Rev popped his head up just in time to see the faintest ripple in the air at a spot a third of the way below the peak. He just reacted, bringing up Pashu and firing a Moray. The missile ran true, detonating against the rock. He didn’t know if he got the Naxli weapon, but if he didn’t, he sure got the gunner’s attention.

A sudden thought hit him. Rev had fought Naxli automated systems before, on both NW-32 and Granite. Was this another one of those? If so, then bypassing it was the absolute best course of action.

No, this has a feel of the real thing. Why would they have a lone automated defense system out in the middle of nowhere? But we still need to bypass it.

Rev gave Fourth Squad one last glance before he started off to find the lieutenant. Someone had to get to the captain.

He spotted Strap as he moved down the line.

“Where the hell is Haroldsdotter?” Rev asked. “She’s supposed to be watching Ziegler. That dimwit fired off half of her twenty-rounds in a panic.”

“Shit. She was supposed to be on her at all times. I’ll fix it.”

“I’m heading to find the lieutenant. Be ready to move out.”

“Are we going to bypass the strongpoint?” Strap asked.

“We are if I have any say in it.”

Rev pulled back slightly and made his way forward. A blast exploded about ten meters high in the trees, showering him with wood debris, but it didn’t even slow him down.

“Where’s the lieutenant?” he asked Feda.

“Last I saw, with Second,” the lance corporal said as she looked through her Optisight.

She must have seen something because as Rev moved farther in, she popped up and fired five rounds before taking cover again.

What the hell are we doing trading potshots with the noxes?

From the looks of it, neither side was being very effective. The Naxli were ensconced in the rocks on the hill, and the platoon had the fault. A lot of rounds were being fired without finding their targets. This was all a waste of time, which the company couldn’t afford.

Rev found the lieutenant with Iglesias pushed up against the wall of the fault. He slid in beside the platoon commander.

“What are we doing, Lieutenant? Playing grab ass?” he snapped.

“Waiting for orders,” the lieutenant said, clearly agitated.

“We can’t wait for freakin orders, ma’am. We’ve got a timeline to make, and we can’t sit here letting the noxes control us.”

“I know, I know. But what do you want me to do? Just send the platoon forward?”

“Get on the hook with the captain. Tell him we need to bypass this piece of shit hill.”

“I tried. Comms are still down.”

“You tried the new system?” Rev asked.

If the Naxli had managed to decipher and jam the new comms this quickly, that sucked big time.

“No. Normal comms.”

“Don’t you think this might be a good time to break it in?”

A low rumble rolled over them, followed by a distinct, if faint, shock wave. Something big had gone up in the distance. All the more reason that Alpha company had to get moving.

“The orders were not to use them until we were at the objective. We can’t give the nox AIs time to dissect the freqs.”

“We’re not going to get to the objective if we just sit here,” Rev said, getting angry. “You need to either make a decision or get the captain to do it.”

Making a decision wasn’t really an option. First Platoon couldn’t just go cowboy on its own. But Rev hoped that by putting it like that, he was forcing the issue.

“Crap, crap, crap,” the lieutenant said. She raised her Optisight and studied the enemy’s position for a moment.

“You’re right. I’m going. You’ve got the platoon until I’m back,” she said.

Rev had thought she would send a messenger to get the order, but if she wanted to go, he was good with that.

She took a couple of deep breaths, rose to a crouch, and darted off toward the right and Third Platoon.

“What is your squad doing?” Rev asked Iglesias.

“It’s weapons free. Fire when you have a target.”

A whoosh filled the air as a Moray was fired. Rev paused to hear it hit, but there was nothing other than the continual snap of small arms. Either it was a dud—unlikely—or the Naxli shot it down—far more likely.

“Weapons free? Bullshit. We’re not a bunch of individuals. We’re a team.”

“What? I don’t get what you’re saying, Gunny.”

“Just because we’re stuck with our faces in the dirt doesn’t mean we just abandon teamwork. I want every heavy weapon—IBHU, Jackhammer, M-105—paired up with another trooper who’s gonna act as a sniper spotter. If they can jack together, all the better. The spotter finds a target, relays it to the heavier weapon, who then takes the shot and displaces a few meters to the side for the next shot.”

“Like we did back at Safe Harbor during the workups?”

That wasn’t quite the same. That was everyone getting cross-training as actual sniper spotters, complete with the spotter scopes. But if that explanation made it easier to grasp, Rev was going to go with it.

“Yeah, just like that. Get it done and pass the word to the other squads.”

Rev had meant to just shake things up and take a more offensive posture, but it worked. Within a couple of minutes, Randigold shouted that she nailed a Naxli sniper. Rev looked through the trees to see her high-fiving Kata.

Around him, there seemed to be more of a sense of purpose to the outgoing fire—but Rev knew he could just be imagining that.

The incoming fire was steady, and twice, Rev heard calls for Doc LeRon. Rev wanted to rush to each one, but the lieutenant had picked a good spot where he could control the platoon, and Rev knew his position was here.

“How long has the lieutenant been gone?”

<Twelve minutes, fourteen seconds.>

It seemed twice as long as that.

“And how long since Third Platoon came under fire?”

<Forty-three minutes, twenty-two seconds.>

Which was nothing on the one hand. One of the big misconceptions about firefights was that they were initiated and concluded in minutes. That’s what happened in the holovids, and that’s what the civilians believed happened.

In reality they could drag on and on. One of the ironic things about battle was that it could be incredibly boring while still being stressful and tense with rounds zinging by and the knowledge that any second could be your last.

But on the other hand, forty-three minutes was too long when they had to link up with the rest of the battalion to conduct the assault before the Naxli could bring more forces to bear against them.

It was a time warp. It was not long and too long, all at the same time.

Rev was feeling the stress build up, and he shifted out of acting platoon commander mode a couple of times to fire Pashu. He wasn’t sure if he hit anything, but it did work to calm him down just a bit.

Finally, the lieutenant rushed back and slammed down on the dirt beside Rev. “Captain’s KIA,” she told Rev.

“Shit!”

Which probably explained why the delay in getting anything done.

“What happened?”

“Tjivyrtzlin told me he charged forward at the initial contact, and something big hit him at the base of his helmet. Took his head off.”

Rev hadn’t been enamored with Umenuko, but he wasn’t a bad officer. And Rev was getting mighty sick of losing his company commanders.

“We need to figure out a better transfer of command while we don’t have comms. Make a note for the hotwash.”

<Noted.>

“Kongi?”

Lieutenant Kongi was the acting XO as well as the Third Platoon commander, and he’d be the one stepping up.

“DeMoray recovered the captain’s q-phone as I came up, and Kongi contacted battalion. We’re behind schedule, but so is Charlie. But the big thing is we’re bypassing the gaunts.”

Thank the Mother.

“We’re leading. Second and Third will follow, and Fourth will take rear security in case our friends here’ll try and follow.”

Rev frowned at that. Fourth was the “heavy platoon,” and he’d rather have that firepower projecting forward. But he wasn’t going to argue. He was just glad they’d be breaking contact.

“How long?”

A string of automatic fire chewed up the top of the fault, showering the two with dirt.

“Four minutes and counting. Fourth’s going to open up heavy, and we’re going to use that to start off.”

Rev grudgingly admitted that might be a better plan than having Fourth Platoon in the forefront. Their heavier weapons would do a better job of keeping the Naxli’s heads down.

But four minutes wasn’t much time.

“What’s our route?”

“Send Randigold and König to me. They’ve got point. You get the rest ready to move out. Platoon column, squad Vs.”

“Roger that, ma’am.”

He’d rather have the platoon in a V, but with the time crunch, he understood. Columns had poor security, but they could move quickly.

Rev ran down the line, letting the troopers know. Something heavy zinged off the top of his helmet, but he didn’t know if that was just another random shot or if he’d made himself a target.

It was still a work in progress when heavy fire opened up and the lieutenant gave the order to move out. Rev was still with Second Squad, so instead of fading back toward the rear of the platoon, he fell in with them.

Randigold had point, while König was the navigator. With their augments, anyone could navigate, but if the lieutenant wanted a fellow Ranger to guide the platoon, then Rev didn’t have a problem with that.

Iglesias, as the squad leader, positioned himself behind the lead team, and Rev slipped in behind Ikinikin’s team.

The platoon fell back from their line until the trees gave them both cover and concealment, then they looped around to the right, giving the Naxli position a good cushion. The firefight behind them spurred them on. The sooner they could break beyond the Naxli, the sooner Fourth Platoon could break contact as well.

“What’s the distance to the assembly area?”

Normally, Rev “knew” where he was and where he was going. But the humans didn’t have the magnetic field map of the planet, and the allies didn’t seem to think it was important. So, for the troopers, it was basic map reading, just as soldiers had done for millennia.

Well, not quite. Napoleonic soldiers didn’t have battle buddies who could follow the contours and landmarks from the satellite photos and guide them to within a couple of square meters.

<On a direct azimuth, 2076 meters. Depending on the route Scout 2 König is taking, anything up to 3300 meters.>

“No way we’re making the timeline. But if Charlie’s being held up, we might still beat them.”

<I don’t need to remind you that the Naxli don’t care about our timelines. When they do arrive to reinforce the objective, the battle is essentially over.>

“You’re just a bundle of good news, aren’t you?”

<I’m just being practical.>

“What happened to the Punch who told me a joke at every opportunity? I kinda miss that Punch.”

<I can tell you a joke now, if you want.>

“No, I don’t want one now. The company’s still in contact.”

For possibly the first time in years, since Rev increased Punch’s PQ, his personality quotient, past ten percent, Rev wished he had an ignore function. He shook his head as if that could quiet his battle buddy and looked ahead as König started his turn to the right.

About time, Ranger Rick.

Rev knew he wasn’t being fair with König, but his frustration with the delay and with Punch was getting to him. He had to get his head on straight.

What’s with me today?

The platoon followed the lead team, reorienting itself along the edge of a tree line. According to the orbital images, they had a long shot now down a slight draw leading directly to the assembly area. Muffled sounds of fighting reached them, but it didn’t sound like there was anything in their axis of approach.

They were still going too slowly, though. There was a time for caution, but sometimes, caution was a luxury you couldn’t afford. And to make matters worse, König stopped as if trying to decide on the best route going ahead.

By the Mother, just go!

Rev moved forward, intending to tell Iglesias to speed up the movement when, with a blast, the Tau Ceti Ranger disappeared, and Randigold was flung five meters into the air to slam against the trunk of a tree and fall in a crumpled heap on the ground. A wall of incoming fire erupted from out of the forest.

Rev shifted to a full-out sprint. With Randigold down, Rev had to get Pashu’s firepower to suppress the ambush.

He’d just jumped all over Ziegler for using her twenty as an area weapon, but he blindly sprayed the big slugs into the trees. Beside him, Kimms, who’d rejoined the platoon for the mission but wasn’t at 100%, charged forward as well, his BIPAC chattering away.

An energy beam hit him, but Rev’s momentum carried him through it. His display lit up with an alarm—he didn’t have time for that, though.

Fomo-Grant, the squad’s lone Paxus soldier, went down to Rev’s left just as Rev passed Randigold’s body.

<Eleven o’clock. Guillotine.>

Rev didn’t hesitate, shifting Pashu to the beamer and starting the grim reaper’s scythe. Punch had picked up something in Rev’s peripheral vision. And as Rev fired, he saw the three Naxli, in their Centaur version, rushing out of the trees on the squad’s flank. Rev barely had to adjust his sweep, cutting one at waist level, the other two at chest level before the beam cut off.

Without conscious thought, Rev switched back to his twenty as he kept up his charge, Second Squad alongside him.

Bastards!

It had all been a setup. The Naxli knew their objective. They knew the company would want to bypass the strong point, which had just been a feint in the first place. They knew what route the company would take, and they’d set up this ambush.

It would have made a Marine commander proud.

Another trooper went down, and someone called out for Doc LeRon. Rev kept waiting for one of the big Naxli weapons to take them under fire, but so far, it was small arms. Enough of them, or having them hit in the right spot, and Rev’s PAL wouldn’t be able to protect him. But at the moment, it was holding up, even if the alarm was flashing red in the lower right corner of his face shield display.

<Two o’clock, twenty meters.>

But Rev already saw the Naxli emerge from behind a tree, sword in hand, screaming at him. He didn’t know if the Naxli was attempting to negotiate gnista, and he didn’t care. That ship had long sailed.

Rev almost casually targeted the Naxli and put five rounds into it. The organic body armor might as well have been tissue paper.

And then Rev, Kimms, and the others were inside the Naxli line, and they seemed confused. Rev had the impression that they never expected the platoon to charge and actually make it to their positions. And now, with the humans among them, firing at the troopers put their own fighters at risk.

Rev vaulted a fallen tree right between two Naxli. He swung Pashu around and fired at the one on his left, while at the same time, drawing his MF-30 with his right and aiming. He wasn’t as quick with his right arm as he was with his IBHU, and the Naxli got off a shot that hit Rev in the chest before Rev put two rounds into its center mass.

The Naxli went down, but it wasn’t out. It managed to fire once more, hitting Rev as he took another half-step and came to a stop. He spun around, rage threatening to take over, but instead of firing, he lunged while extending his blade.

The tip hit the very top of the fighter’s chest armor, gave a little hop, then started to penetrate into the thing’s throat. The Naxli dropped its weapon and grabbed at Pashu’s muzzle with both hands. It was far stronger than Rev had imagined it would be, and for the moment, it managed to halt the progression of the blade.

“Isht” it croaked out as Rev repositioned and planted his feet.

To his surprise, his translator said, “Curse word without direct translation.” He wasn’t used to having Naxli translated. In other contacts, the Naxli spoke Standard.

The surprise only resulted in a slight hesitation. Now, with his feet under him, his warrior self in control, Rev pushed forward with an inarticulate snarl. Strong or not, the Naxli wasn’t going to be able to resist, and the blade sank deeper into his enemy’s neck. Every centimeter was a victory as the Naxli struggled and kicked. And then, suddenly, it was over. Something gave, and the Naxli went limp. The blade plunged all the way through and into the ground on the other side.

He pulled Pashu back, and dark, blueish blood—normal Naxli coloring—dripped down the length of the blade as he shouted in righteous fury. He stood up and tried to find his next target, but only humans from Second and Third Squads were still standing.

That didn’t mean that all the Naxli were dead. There could be some rushing to them right then.

“Iglesias, give me a hasty defense, oriented to twelve o’clock!”

First Squad came into view, weapons at the ready as they searched for a target.

“Iglesias, give me a defense!” Rev shouted again.

“Iglesias is down,” Nezev told him.

“Shit! Ikinikin! Answer up!”

“Here, Gunny.”

“You’ve got the squad. Set up . . .”

No, too beat up.

He spotted Yancey as Third moved forward. “Yance! Give me a defensive line, twelve o’clock.”

“Got it!”

It was really the lieutenant’s call, but Rev was still in the adrenaline rush of battle. He knew what had to be done, and at the moment, he couldn’t just wait for the standard SOP.

“Ikinikin, give me a head count.”

It wasn’t good. Four KIA and three WIA. But that changed to two WIA when Randigold, who Ikinikin reported as WIA, looking madder than a wet hen, hopped over to him.

“The fuckers took my favorite leg,” she shouted. “Where am I supposed to get another?”

Her right leg was gone mid-thigh. With two prosthetic legs, the IBHU Marine had a special PAL-HX modified to end with a pelvic girdle.

Rev broke protocol and gave her a hug. “Damn good to see you, Eth. I thought . . .”

“You know they can’t take me, Gunny. But they took my leg. My best leg ever.”

“You’ll get another.”

“Where? All they have are a couple of crap Rycroft legs. The Hotchkins was made ’specially for me!”

Ikinikin ran up to Rev, and his eyes widened when he saw Randigold.

“The lieutenant wants you. She’s right there with First,” he said, pointing back over his shoulder.

“Is Cruella good to go?” Rev asked about her IBHU.

“Ready and able.”

“Hop her over and put her down where she’s got some fields of fire,” he told Ikinikin.

“Very funny, Gunny.”

As Rev started to find the lieutenant, another firefight broke out, this one far to their right and behind them.

“I think they’re hitting Fourth,” Rev said. “Probably the noxes from the strongpoint.”

The chatter from the big Nimon thirty-millimeter machine gun put the stamp on that.

<That makes sense. And if you hadn’t been able to break this ambush, it could have been effective.>

“How did we break it, anyway? We were essentially one squad.”

<Two squads. Third joined you pretty quick. We may never know for sure, but . . .>

“But what?”

Punch never hesitated or stopped mid-sentence.

<I don’t know what I’m basing this on, but I am somewhat confident that seeing humans took them by surprise. And they didn’t seem to expect you to assault through them.>

“What makes you say that?”

<I don’t know,> Punch said, for all the world sounding perplexed.

No, Punch can’t sound perplexed.

“Hell, Punch, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re getting downright human. You’ve got yourself a hunch.”

<I don’t do hunches.>

Rev was about to reply when he spotted the lieutenant and hurried over.

He gave a quick status report on Second and Third, then asked what his orders were.

The lieutenant winced when Rev gave her the casualties, but she said, “Nothing’s changed. We’re moving out again.”

Rev tilted his head back to the sound of fighting.

“That’s why Kongi put them there. They’re going to have to delay the gaunts, then break contact and follow. Our priority is to get to the assembly area.”

Rev expected that. “I’ll get teams to carry the KIA and WIA, and we’ll be ready to move.”

“We’re leaving them, Gunny.”

“What?”

“We’re leaving the KIA and immobile WIA.”

“Bullshit, Lieutenant!”

With the plan being that the battalion will be evacuated from the objective, any trooper not there would be left behind.

“We’re leaving them, Gunny. But they’re not being left. We need to make post haste, and we can’t be slowed down anymore.”

It didn’t take much for a trooper in a PAL to carry another. They were designed that way. And while they would be a little slower, it wasn’t by much.

“Fourth Platoon will recover everyone and get them to our extraction point.”

If Fourth survived their fight. If they made it to this location. If they found each wounded and dead. If they were able to make it to the extraction point with a bunch of Naxli on their asses. That was a lot of ifs.

“And you agreed to this?” Rev asked, his eyes snapping.

“In case you’ve forgotten, Gunnery Sergeant, this isn’t a damn democracy. I’ve got my orders, and now I’m giving them to you. Do . . . you . . . under . . . stand?”

Rev wanted to argue, but there was nothing he could say. And it was obvious that she wasn’t any happier with the orders than he was.

“Aye-aye, ma’am.”

“Get them moving.”

“Second Squad’s understrength, and they’ll be missing Randigold. Third needs to lead.”

“Do it.”

Rev turned and ran back to where Third and Second were linked. “I want all KIA and WIA here. You’ve got sixty seconds.”

He waved Yancey over.

“You know where the assembly area is, right?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You’re on point. Get us there, and keep the pace up. We’re really, really late.”

“Do we have a route there already?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just take us the most direct way. We broke this ambush, so there shouldn’t be anyone else between us and the assembly area.”

Which was BS. That didn’t mean anything. There could be a Naxli regiment between the assembly area and them. Rev wasn’t even sure why he said that.

The KIA were carried up, and the WIA came under their own power.

“Where’s Randigold?” Rev asked Nezev.

“Says she isn’t WIA.”

“Get her ass up here. Now!”

One of the WIAs was mobile, so Rev sent him back. Lynthnic was in bad shape, not even conscious.

Rev explained to Yancey and Ikinikin what was happening with the KIA and Lynthnic and told Yancey to start moving out.

He held back a few moments until Randigold hopped up to him.

“What’s going on? We’re moving out.”

“We are; you aren’t.”

“What the hell do you mean?” she asked, her eyes narrowing as she prepared for whatever Rev had to say.

“You can’t keep up on one leg. You’re staying here.”

“But—”

Fourth Platoon is supposed to sweep you and the KIA up and get you to the extraction site.

“That’s bullshit—”

“Eth. It is what it is. You’re staying. But I need you here. When Fourth Platoon comes through—”

“If they do.”

“When they come through, you need to make sure they see our KIA and pick them up.”

“And if they won’t?”

“You’re an IBHU Marine. Make them.”

She stared at Rev for a moment, then nodded. “And if they don’t even come?

Rev glanced at Lynthnic’s unconscious figure, with Doc still hovering over him. LeRon said the Frisian’s chances were not good.

Rev winced. This was going to hurt. “If the fighting stops and Fourth doesn’t show up within thirty minutes, just get yourself to the extraction point.”

“What about Lynth?”

With one leg, there was no way she could get both of them back. It was doubtful that she could make it alone.

“Fourth will be here. But if by some chance they don’t make it, you need to take care of yourself.” He paused, then said, “I’ll come back for Lynth if I have to.”

A look of determination came over her. “Fourth will come. But you need to get going. That’s Third Platoon coming up on us now.”

Rev looked around. The last of First Platoon was moving past them, and the first troopers from Third Platoon were almost upon them.

“Sibs in steel,” Gunny, Randigold said, holding up her IBHU.

“Sibs in steel, Eth,” Rev said, tapping Cruella de Ville with Pashu.

Then he wheeled around and sprinted to catch up with his platoon.

28

The platoon made it to the assembly area three hours, fourteen minutes after landing—an hour and fourteen minutes late.

But Charlie still hadn’t arrived. They were pinned down in heavy contact four klicks away. Rev wasn’t privy to the details, but it wasn’t good.

That was the problem with dispersing the elements for the assault. It increased the chances of some of the force to make it, but it also increased the chances that some would not.

It was probably a bit of closing the barn door after the horses escaped, but they were still on comms silence, so the lieutenant rushed off to meet with the acting company commander. She came back less than ten minutes later.

There really wasn’t a choice of delaying any longer. Already, Naxli fighters had initiated contact with the outermost reach of the Breel security forces. More pertinently, Colonel Pratt didn’t think he could keep the Kanters in check. They’d taken significant casualties reaching the assembly area, and they were champing at the bit to proceed.

The decision was made to kick off the assault. Alpha and Bravo Companies, along with the Kanters, were going to assault the factory complex, while Delta would provide direct support fires and local security.

Nineteen minutes after they arrived in the assembly area, Phase 2 of the mission kicked off.

* * *

Rev paralleled the road leading through the trees to the factory complex. He didn’t need it, and roads were generally to be avoided, but it still cemented in his mind that just up ahead, less than five hundred meters, the complex loomed.

Rounds kept falling among the troopers and Kanters, but without much in the way of an organized coverage. It was more like the defenders had limited artillery assets and were sending out harassment fire, reminding the allies that they were waiting for them.

Four times, automatic gun emplacements rose from hidden positions to engage the advancing forces. One killed tens, if not hundreds of Kanters, but the three that hit the troopers scored one KIA and five WIA before return fire silenced them.

The ineffectiveness of the Naxli weapons puzzled Rev. When the Naxli attacked in human space, their weapons seemed to be more effective, almost as if they’d been designed or adjusted to take in human body armor, mech, or armor.

Rev had to wonder if they hadn’t expected humans this far into their space and were armed for Kanters, Uauii, and Breel.

<The Breel have body armor,> Punch reminded him.

“But not as robust as ours. And that could be why their ambush was so easily broken.”

Brilliantly set up, he acknowledged, but two squads should not have been able to break it.

<The Naxli seemed to have stopped Charlie Company.>

Rev wasn’t in the mood to argue.

“Just concentrate on our mission now, Punch.”

A single Kanter rushed past Rev, then stopped and looked back while whistling at his comrades. They were supposed to be following in trace of the human forces, waiting for their heavier weapons to force a breach before they swarmed the complex.

But they were getting impatient, probably frustrated with the slower humans. Rev could feel the pressure building, like a child’s balloon being filled with water. Unless Rev and the rest could get them into the complex, then the balloon was going to burst into chaos.

He looked ahead, trying to spot the lieutenant. But there wasn’t much she could do to speed them up. The humans needed to hit the three entrances at the same time.

With Charlie missing, Bravo’s objectives were the two main entrances. “Personnel” entrances, the operations order read. Alpha had the loading docks. The road to Rev’s right would lead the company right to them.

The humans kept advancing, waiting for the inevitable defense. But it didn’t come from the complex. With a whoosh, something flew overhead, just above the treetops. Rev had only a very brief glimpse, but it was enough to know that while he’d never seen it before, it wasn’t allied. He fired his twenty, chasing the aircraft out of sight before a fireball erupted from where Bravo would be. The aircraft pulled up, back into Rev’s line of sight but out of his range.

It wasn’t out of range of everyone. The craft made it to about four hundred meters up when it disintegrated in a spectacular explosion.

They were hit twice more in rapid succession. Rev didn’t get off a shot, but one of the planes hit close enough for him to feel the concussion.

“What are those?”

<We don’t have them in our databases.>

Rev wasn’t used to thinking in terms of aircraft when dealing with the Naxli, but it made sense that if they could ply the stars, they would use the air to prosecute their campaigns. The strange part was that they did so rarely.

Torking, who was advancing just ahead and to Rev’s left, signaled to shift the formation. Rev repeated the gesture, then started to move to follow the karnan.

“This is it, Punch. You ready?”

<I’m always ready.>

Third Squad rapidly shifted left. Rev caught a few glimpses of the dock area as they moved through the trees to get into position.

“Commence comms,” a voice came over the new net.

Thank the Mother.

Rev didn’t know how long they had before the Naxli inevitably figured out how to jam them. But for the moment, at least, they could communicate with each other.

The Prymo-90 in Delta Company opened up. The big Confederation gun was made for fortified areas, firing mag-assisted hypervelocity ninety-millimeter armor piercing rounds. Rev could hear the firing, but there was no mistaking the impact on the first entrance.

The Perseus Union M-133 was basically the same weapon mounted for use by mech Marines, but the Confederation version was man-packed—barely. The gun took three troopers to haul and fire, and more to help carry the rounds, but Rev was glad it had been included in their mission T/E. It was going to make short work of the doors at the first entrance before being displaced to engage the second entrance. The loading docks were third in priority, but if it came down to the Prymo, then things were already a massive failure.

If Delta was engaging, then Alpha needed to get going. Yancey brought his troopers up to a sprint as they raced to get into position. The other three squads opened fire on loading docks, fire that was almost immediately returned. They didn’t know if these were more Naxli fighters or the workers, but it didn’t matter who fired the round when it shattered your face shield.

Third Squad made an abrupt turn, with the troopers rushing for the side of the slow bluff that rose above the complex. They made it to cover without drawing fire. Rev slipped in behind the lead team. With Hochenspatter, that put two IBHUs there, and combined with Torking and his BIPAC, that was a pretty powerful punch.

They ran alongside the bluff, which looked artificial at this point. Air vents protruded from the top. The planners had considered using them for access, but without blueprints of the facility, that had been determined to be too risky. There was no telling if the vents were even large enough to be passable.

Lance Corporal Feda was the point trooper with Hochenspatter on her butt. As they reached the edge of the wall where it opened up to the loading dock area, Feda came to a halt.

Rounds were zipping by in both directions as the platoon fired in and the defenders fired out. Yancey crept forward and stuck his Optisight around the corner.

A moment later, he stepped back.

“One large door at the two o’clock. There are reinforced weapons positions on either side that are not in defilade to the platoon. Two more exposed positions look like they’re destroyed. Look like hivers, not noxes.”

They didn’t know what the workers called themselves, but the Uauii called them ‘hivers.” At least that’s what the translators said. Their allies hadn’t been too detailed, but from what they did say, and from the translators’ selection of “hivers,” the humans gathered that they were some sort of hive culture, with different castes that performed their own functions. Whether that was a caste system such as what used to be in India on old Earth or more like ants with workers, soldiers, drones, and queens was something that wasn’t clear.

If they were facing the hivers, that was a relief. Not just the Uauii but the Breel were somewhat dismissive of the Naxli allies. While it was always dangerous to underestimate an opponent, their allies’ disdain for the hivers couldn’t help but affect the troopers’ impressions.

Yancey motioned for Hvaser to move forward. He gave the Alliance E-Specialist his Optisight to let him look around the corner.

Rev took that moment to glance at the rest of the platoon. A slight movement above them made him think that another Naxli aircraft was coming, and he started to raise Pashu before he recognized the Sia. He frowned, not liking having it up there overlooking him. He had an urge to shoot the thing down, but he started to look away when suddenly, it essentially came apart. There was a puff as the gasbag was punctured, then another hit blasted it into pieces that started falling to the ground.

Rev felt a moment of guilt as if his thoughts had somehow killed the Sia. He hadn’t been serious, but evidently, someone else was.

“Was that us or the hivers?” he asked Punch.

<There’s no way to tell given the capacity of your sensor suite.>

Maybe the Kanters don’t trust them any more than I do.

Hvaser finished his visual recon, then gave Yancey a thumbs-up. Rev forced his eyes away from the falling pieces of Sia.

“Stand by,” Yancey told the squad.

He took out a red smoke grenade as the troopers bunched up.

Rev’s warrior self had been just under the surface, but now he struggled to take over. Rev let just enough of him out to get his blood pounding, but no more.

Yancey tossed the small cylinder behind the last trooper in the squad. A moment later, crimson smoke started billowing out. This was a visual backup. The squad leader would also be telling the lieutenant that they were moving and to shift the supporting fires.

“Now!” the squad leader shouted both over the squad net and his external speakers as the rest of the platoon would (hopefully) shift their fire.

Rev was immediately moving, stepping out, then swinging to his left. The dock area could have been any industrial loading dock on a human planet. At the far end, hidden from the rest of the platoon and on a raised platform, was a large door into the facility. And on either side were the two weapons positions, each one with two of the mole-like hivers.

Rev engaged the first one before the team seemed to realize that death was rushing them. His twenty chewed them up.

Hochenspatter wasn’t as quick, nor was he on target—something that was almost impossible to screw up with an IBHU. Torking was on target, though, tearing into the second team before they could get off their third shot.

Incoming fire from what looked like ports in the walls of the loading dock peppered the troopers as they charged forward. Rev fired a Moray, then switched to his beamer.

Behind him, Hvaser went to one knee and aimed his T-33 Aija “bunker buster.”

With the visibly immediate threat of the two IBHU Marines, Torking, and Feda, the defenders were targeting them. But sometimes, it was the hidden threat that did the most harm.

Hvaser fired, and the big, slow Alliance weapon lazily arced over the loading apron, almost as if it didn’t have the range, and stuck with a splat on the door.

“Fire in the hole!” the Alliance guardsman shouted.

There was a whump and a crack, both sounding simultaneously. A cloud billowed out from the door, then half of the door swung open and into view through the smoke.

Rev wasn’t sure his beamer was effective, especially with the smoke, so he switched back to his twenty as the squad rushed forward. More smoke cleared, revealing the Aija’s handiwork. Half of the door was gone, probably blown into the building. The other was barely hanging on, the top torn away from the hinge.

Rev vaulted up on the dock, with Feda and Torking on either side. They rushed past the two destroyed positions and darted through the door. Smoke and dust filled the space, but Rev could see what looked to be a long ramp heading down as well as what had to be massive freight elevators. Ventilation was sucking away the smoke, revealing a large forklift-slash-bulldozer-looking thing. Rev barely gave it a second glance until it lurched forward, coming at him.

Rev instinctively fired another Moray, momentarily forgetting the minimum arming distance. The missile clanged off of the blade-like front and came apart, the motor sparking and sending the base skittering across the floor.

He switched to his twenty and opened up while Torking fired his BIPAC. They might as well have been firing peashooters. The rounds ricocheted off of the blade as the machine lumbered forward.

Feda shifted toward her left to try and get a better angle, but there wasn’t much room. Rev tried his beamer, but while the front blade smoked, the beam didn’t penetrate far.

“Loshad’ mochy,” Torking shouted in frustration as his BIPAC rounds didn’t faze the machine. “What the hell?”

I’ve got to target the driver.

Rev moved to the right, and opposite him, Feda darted forward, skipping past the raised blade to get to the side.

“Get the bastard, Feda!” Torking shouted a split second before the machine swerved hard to its right and rammed the wall. There was a sickening crunch of a PAL being crushed.

“Feda!” Rev shouted, wasting half a dozen rounds in anger before he collected himself.

A long time ago, during Rev’s first mission, he had not only survived, but he also took out a Centaur Paladin by jumping on top of it. Whether that prompted him or not, Rev took five running steps, jumped, and kicked off the top of the blade as the machine turned back away from the left wall. With a clear line of sight, he could see a hiver sitting in a driver’s seat, with only a mesh screen between them.

“Eat me, hiver,” Rev said as he extended his blade and drove it through the mesh, impaling the luckless creature between a series of dark brown spherical protrusions.

With a cross between a squeal and a grunt, the hiver died, red blood belying that this might just be a Naxli in yet another form.

The big machine lurched to the side and crashed into the right wall this time before coming to a stop. Rev jumped off the machine and ran to Feda. A PAL is an amazing piece of equipment, one that in some ways rivaled the larger and far more expensive Marine mech, but it couldn’t stand up to the raw power of a Naxli commercial loader. The PAL was mangled and bespattered with body parts. Rev had seen death in many guises over the years, but the gorge rose in his throat, and he had to force it back down.

“Respect to the fallen,” he said before he turned around and saw the rest of the platoon pouring into the room.

The breach made, Third Squad was supposed to secure the entrance. Yancey started to place his Marines as the rest of the company passed through them, followed by a mass of Kanters, so packed together that they looked like a living carpet.

Several of the Kanters popped up on their hind legs to look at the dead hiver in the machine or to whistle at Rev, but there was no stopping the tsunami of thousands of the warriors as they surged into what looked like a warehouse or staging area.

The facility shook with an explosion somewhere—Rev didn’t know if that was the allies or the hivers. A moment later, the sounds of fighting rolled up through the warehouse. Flashes lit up the walls and ceilings.

It didn’t look like the river of Kanters would ever stop, but finally, the last few rushed by, followed by the rest of First Platoon. The platoon was still part of the security element, not part of the main assault, but that didn’t mean it was limited to the loading dock itself. Third Squad would secure that, while the other squads would clear the smaller spaces in the immediate vicinity.

There was still fighting going on at the far side of the warehouse, but the lieutenant wasn’t waiting. She took Second and Fourth Squads into the space and immediately turned left. First turned right.

Rev hesitated a moment, then said, “Screw it,” followed by “Yance, you’ve got it,” before he sprinted down the wide hallway and joined First. He wasn’t going to be left behind.

Hussein glanced back as Rev reached them. “I wondered how long it was going to take you to join us.”

Rev didn’t want to step on his friend’s toes. “You’re still in charge here. I’m just observing.”

“Screw that. Do what you do best, and let’s just kill us some hivers.”

The squad made their way along the back wall. There were several offices, or what would be offices in a human facility, and each had to be checked and cleared. No one knew if the offices were vital, or if the odd-looking machines, or maybe they were hiver control panels, were important. But before leaving each one, an MG-33 Phoenix was left. Ten seconds later, the small incendiary grenades detonated with the light of a star’s interior, and the intense heat started melting down through whatever it was placed upon.

Comms were still up, and Rev had Punch monitoring the frequencies, giving him pertinent updates. While First Platoon checked empty offices, the rest of the company and the Kanters were heavily engaged just past the warehouse and into the complex itself. The hivers were resisting with both military weapons and factory machinery, and while Rev couldn’t get a clear picture of what was happening, he got the impression that the going was slow and casualties were mounting.

They’re factory workers, for the Mother’s sake. Come on, guys.

Several hivers were hiding in the fourth room they checked. Rev wasn’t with the breaching team, and the hivers didn’t last long enough for him to get there to see them while they were still alive. They tried to attack Archambault and his team, which included Sergeant Manning and her IBHU, and that didn’t go well for them from what Rev saw when he looked in after the fact.

He took a moment to give the hivers a closer look. He’d initially thought they looked like eight-legged/armed moles, but on closer inspection, they reminded him of something different.

“What’s that weird little creature you showed me a couple of months ago? Tardee-something?”

<Tardigrades. They’re able to withstand extreme ranges in temperature, both hot and cold, radiation, pressure, dehydration, starvation, and other stressors that would kill most Earth life.>

“Yeah, that’s the one. The hivers look like big, furry versions of them, don’t you think?”

<There is a reasonable similarity if you don’t take into account the size disparity. Let’s hope the hivers are not as resilient a species, though.>

Rev took in the damage even the M-51s did to the ones on the ground and said, “I don’t think we need to worry about that.”

But from the comms chatter, the hivers were putting up a stronger than expected resistance. From his direct contact with them so far, though, Rev might even give the Uauii the edge over them.

He made that remark to Punch.

<Or, more likely, the more experienced or heavier armed forces are being concentrated around the vital sections of the complex. Warehouses and loading docks are relatively easy to repair or replace.>

Rev frowned but said nothing. He wasn’t sure why his battle buddy was seemingly taking on whatever Rev had to say.

The squad moved past a section with no offices, then stopped at a non-descript door near one of the support columns. Lvarn gave it a tug, but unlike the office doors, it remained firm.

The karnan turned around to look at Rev.

Look at Hus-man, Lvarn. He’s your squad leader.

But Rev stepped closer. The floor leading to and under the door was slightly shinier than the rest of the floor, which on the one hand, could mean nothing. But on the other hand, it could mean it got a lot of traffic.

Rev started to order Rappa, but then turned to Hussein and said, “Break it down.” Hussein, in turn, then repeated the order to the Tau Ceti engineer. Hussein didn’t need Rev to be absorbing the role of squad leader.

Rappa held up one of his little scanners to the door, then pulled out a vibroblade. Rev had expected an explosive charge, but if the Ranger thought he could cut his way through, then all the better. But he didn’t attack the door itself. He moved to the side, and for a moment, Rev thought he was going to use the blade to try and jimmy open a lock.

Instead, Rappa powered up the blade and ran it down the seam of the door, which then swung open.

Duh, Reverent! Of course, he was just going to cut the bolt.

Although without knowing the hivers’ level of technology, the fact that the door had a bolt might indicate whatever was behind the door wasn’t high in importance.

The moment the door swung open, Bomar shouted, “Going in right,” while Lvarn answered with, “Going in left!”

The MDS soldiers had resisted using Marine SOP for things like entering structures, but they’d finally been worn away, and the Tigana sergeant and karnan over-private sounded like seasoned Marine infantry as they entered the space behind the door, followed by Archambault and Davydenko. The rest of the squad was poised to cover them, but ten seconds later, Archambault stuck his head out of the doorway.

“It’s just a stairwell,” he passed to Rev.

Rev motioned for Hussein, and the two approached the door and looked inside, and it was just as the caporal chef reported. A heavy-duty set of stairs wound their way down. A cable system hung in the center. Rev leaned over the railing and looked down to where the stairs ended about twenty meters below. It looked like there was another door down there, but he couldn’t tell for sure from his angle. Like the floor outside, the steps looked like they might have received heavy traffic.

“What do we do?” Hussein asked.

First Squad’s mission was to clear this section of the warehouse that had been bypassed by the others in their push to the factory complex. This stairwell led them below their assigned AO.

“I’m asking the lieutenant,” he told him.

He got on the P2P, which thankfully was still operational, and described the door and stairwell. The lieutenant just listened, then told Rev she was going to ask the company commander and for him to wait.

“What do you think?” he asked Punch.

<This is an active stairwell. There’s almost assuredly a space below us. I think it would be dangerous to ignore it.>

“I agree.”

It wasn’t the lieutenant who came on the net but Bundy.

“What do you see?” his friend asked.

Rev figured Bundy was monitoring the net and slipped in to find out firsthand what was there.

Rev told him, then said, “I’m waiting to hear back from Lieutenant Kongi on what he wants us to do.”

Bundy sounded a little surprised at that and asked, “What has Kongi got to do with this?”

Rev was silent for a moment, trying to understand why Bundy would ask that. After a moment, he said, “Because Omenuko is dead, so Kongi’s now the acting company commander.”

“Where the hell have you been, Rev? I’m the acting commander. The CO sent me to take over.”

You could have blown Rev over with a feather. It made sense, of course, but how could he not have known about this? He was one of the platoon sergeants, for the Mother’s sake.

I’ve got to have a talk with the young lieutenant when this is over, he thought, more than a little pissed.

But that was for later. It took him a moment to adjust his bearings, but he asked, “So, what’re our orders?”

“You need to check it out, Rev.”

“Roger that.”

“Hold up, though. I told Marble to split off a team from Fourth Squad to support you. As soon as they arrive, kick it off.”

“We’ve got two IBHUs and Lvarn.”

“I know. But I still want more firepower in case you open up a hornet’s nest. And keep this line open. I want to know what the hell’s down there.”

Rev didn’t think there would be much down below. Machinery, probably, for heating, air circulation, and the like. There looked to be conduits running alongside the column. Throw in a few grenades, hose it with twenties and Lvarn’s BIPAC, and tear the place up. Then get back upstairs and finish the job in the warehouse.

He started to argue but then cut it off before he actually said anything. He was pretty familiar, almost a peer in many ways with Bundy, but his friend was acting now as the commander, and that made things different.

“Aye-aye, sir,” he said. “We’ll go as soon as they get here.”

“With two squads, you’re in charge, Rev.”

Ah, that’s why you’re sending the team from Fourth.

If Bundy wanted Rev in charge of this, all he had to do was order it. But by having two squads there, it made more sense for Rev to be in command. Even in combat, Bundy was thinking of Hussein and his development.

It didn’t take long. He gave a quick brief to the others, and within a minute, four troopers from Fourth Squad arrived—including Ziegler.

Just what I need.

He placed the four troopers and told Archabault’s team to lead them down the stairwell.

As Ziegler started to pass him, he grabbed her, and on the P2P, said, “You stick with me. I dodge, you dodge. I fire, you fire. I charge, you charge. Got it?”

“Yes, Gunny. I’ve got it,” she said, her voice cracking.

“Look, Ziegler. There’s nothing to it. The hivers aren’t putting up much of a fight.”

“I saw Feda, Gunny.”

“There’s always a risk, Corporal. And she got taken out by a tractor. You think a tractor like that can fit in this stairwell?” Rev snapped.

She swallowed hard and shook her head.

“Then just do your job.”

Rev moved to the door and stepped inside the stairwell. Below him, the lead team was descending.

He motioned for the next team—the three from Fourth Squad—to cover the first from the landing, weapons pointing down over the rails, then started down the steps himself.

<Corporal Ziegler has never seen a fellow Marine or soldier killed before.>

“Your point is, Punch?”

<She’s most likely in an emotional flux.>

Rev glanced behind him. The IBHU corporal’s face was white behind her face shield, her eyes big.

“You’ll be fine, Ziegler,” he said before turning away.

The stairs had four flights to the bottom, each one alongside one of the four walls. No other corridor or exit. Rev paused at the second flight and scanned the bottom. There was only a single door there, with no corridor or other exit that he could see. He raised Pashu and was ready to engage as he watched Davydenko try the lone door. It didn’t budge, and the four looked up at Rev for orders.

“Can you blow it?” Rev asked Rappa over the P2P.

The Ranger engineer stepped up and did his scanning thing again before stepping back. He looked up at Rev and shook his head.

“There’s a significant casing on the inside. I can probably blast a hole in the door itself, but no one can stay in the stairwell while I do it, not if they want to get off this planet alive.”

Rev looked back up. If he had to stage his troopers outside, then that would give ample warning to anyone on the other side of the door, and they’d be prepared by the time they could get down the stairs and past the door.

“Can you cut like the one on top?”

“Probably. But I can’t guarantee it.”

“Do it,” Rev ordered.

“Hus-man, get everyone down here. We need to be ready to go.”

“No security up here?”

“The rest of the platoon’s our security.”

“Roger that.”

Rev moved down to the bottom as Rappa pulled out his vibroblade again. He studied his scanner for a moment, then put his hand on the door as if he could feel the structure. Finally, he nodded and looked at Rev.

There were now six of them on the ground and eleven on the last two flights of stairs, all ready.

“Do it.”

Rappa turned on the blade and applied it to the edge of the door. It took a moment, but the blade finally penetrated, and the Ranger pushed and manipulated it, causing a ruckus, until it cut through and . . . nothing. The door didn’t move.

“Shit!” he shouted. He quickly pulled out a small piece of what looked like everyday paracord and shoved it into the narrow slot his blade had made.

“Everyone, get back,” he shouted as he twisted the end of the cord. He then hugged the side wall.

Rev didn’t need to see more. He pushed Ziegler up against the wall next to Rappa and squeezed in beside her.

There was a soft whump, and a cloud of dust shot out. For a moment, Rev thought that whatever Rappa had tried had failed. But after an agonizingly long moment, the door started swinging open, revealing a corridor on the other side.

“Go, go!” Rev shouted.

Davydenko kicked the door open and with Archambault, charged in first. The other two in the lead team and Rev were right on their butts. The corridor was about twelve meters long, and Rev could see a large space on the other side filled with equipment. His first impression was some sort of storage space more than a warehouse, or maybe some sort of machine shop with the equipment needed to power the complex.

Within a few strides, the lead troopers burst into the space. Almost immediately, a wall of fire greeted them, dropping Davydenko. Rev started to return fire when what he was seeing registered. These weren’t hivers. These were the same Naxli he’d faced outside during the ambush.

Rev shoved Ziegler to the right as he dove to the left to take cover. He blindly fired a burst before he hit the ground hard and half bounced, half rolled behind a large piece of equipment. He caught a glimpse of Ziegler still standing in the open with a deer-in-the-headlights look on her face, her IBHU only partially raised.

But momentum was a cruel mistress, and he couldn’t reverse quickly enough.

“Take cover!” Rev shouted as he stopped rolling, then scrambled, feet seeking purchase, to turn back.

The Naxli gun peppered her, the rounds sparking on her PAL. She staggered back two steps but still stood there. The PAL somehow kept its integrity for a moment, and Rev finally got his feet under him to rush and knock the corporal out of the line of fire, but while the PAL was great on single shots, each impact degraded the armor at that spot. Just as Rev started to rush at her, the first round penetrated.

Rev hit her as she was falling, his tackle taking them across the entrance and into cover.

“Why the hell did you just stand there?” he shouted at the body underneath him, adrenaline coursing through his body. He pulled her around to slap some sense into her and stopped.

Corporal Ziegler had frozen, and she’d pay the price. The round that had penetrated must have been some sort of exploding round, given the damage he could see. Ziegler was dead.

“You poor dumb shit, Ziegler. And fuck whoever decided you were ready for combat.”

He let her fall as he swung around.

<You took two hits. Armor integrity at the two sites is at thirty-eight and forty-two percent.>

He hadn’t realized he’d been hit, and he checked his PAL display. Both hits were on his left side. He’d gotten them while trying to knock Ziegler out of the way. The hits were close to each other. If he’d been standing, they’d probably have keyholed each other, and Rev would be as dead as Ziegler was. He’d have to try and protect the degraded area, which would be more difficult with his IBHU being on that side.

“Can you see what we’ve got facing us?”

<You didn’t get a good look. Two on a new weapon I don’t recognize and probably another to their left. But I can’t tell unless you get a better look.>

“That’s more than I knew, buddy. Thanks.”

He passed on the squad net, “We’ve got noxes here, not hivers. And they’ve got an exploding round that can penetrate a PAL. I’ve got two on a BFG and maybe one to their left. Anyone get a better look?”

“There was one to their right, too. But I think I might have gotten that one,” Lvarn passed.”

“Fourth Squad, we need some cover here.”

“We’ve got you, Gunny,” Red-master Noor said. “See how they like a little hammering.”

Rev looked around. “Wait one, Noor. Don’t expose yourself until I say so.”

“What do you have planned?” Hussein asked.

“Where are you? Are you inside the room?”

“That’s a negative. We’re at the bottom of the stairs.”

“Hold there for a moment.”

The Naxli were keeping up a steady stream of fire. Rounds zipped by, forty centimeters past his head. The air crackled with ionization.

Rev looked to his right. The line of equipment stretched to the wall.

Or does it?

Rev scrambled down between the stacks of equipment. And it ended just short of the wall. He eyed the gap.

“Can I make it through there?”

<If you move sideways and hold your IBHU high, then yes.>

“Who’s with me on the right side of the entry?” he passed on the squad net.

Archambault, and farther back, Rappa, had taken cover to the right. Hochenspatter, Lvarn, and the other two from Fourth Squad were on the left.

“Lucien, I want you to move all the way to your right, up against the wall. Do it,” he passed to Archambault.

“Hoch, how far are you from the noxes?”

“I never saw them, Gunny.”

“They’re at the end of this corridor. In among whatever is there,” Rev said, trying to hold his temper in check.

“Let me get that.” There was a pause, then he said, “Thirty-two meters.”

Thank the Mother for watching out over the needy.

“OK, listen. Set your Moray for fragmentation.”

“But—”

“No buts. And no time to argue. I want a big explosion. I want the distraction.”

He got back on the squad net and gave his orders. They were very brief, and he hoped all the time in training was going to pay off.

“You ready, Lucien?” he asked the Legionnaire, who had joined him up against the wall. “It’s just the two of us.”

“Ready, mon sergent,” he replied, patting his M-103.

Rev laughed and said, “That’s gunnery sergent to you, carporal chef.”

He sent Archambault first, his M-103 at the ready, a flechette grenade in the chamber. Rev had to follow with Pashu held high. If they were hit, Rev was a sitting duck, unable to bring her to bear.

They scooted forward, crossing two side rows as the Naxli kept up a steady string of fire. It would be great if they figured they’d stopped the human advance, but they had to know something was up. Rev just hoped they didn’t consider their left flank.

It was a tight squeeze a couple of times, but finally, the two were about even with the Naxli.

“Can you see them?” Rev asked.

“No. But they have to be right there.”

“OK, let’s switch.”

It was tight, but they managed to squeeze past each other with a lot of close, intimate contact.

“I’m glad I know you’re engaged, Gunny, or we’d have to get married now after that,” Archambault said.

“You know you liked it,” Rev said as he studied the row.

Somewhere just ahead, at least three Naxli were taking cover. It looked like this was a hasty position, with equipment hauled into place to form a barricade. If that was so, then the Naxli had to have known they were coming, but not with enough time to put up something more robust.

“All hands, stand by.”

He edged a little closer, hugging the backside of the row. Finally, he decided he couldn’t risk getting any closer. He turned and held out a hand. Archambault stepped in it with one foot, his leg cocked.

“On my count. Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . . FIRE!” he said as he vaulted the Legionnaire up to the top of the stacks of equipment.

He averted his helmet and twisted so his right side was exposed and his compromised left side was protected as Hochenspatter’s Moray shot down the corridor and exploded just fifteen meters ahead of him. Shrapnel pelted his PAL but caused no damage. A barrage of fire pounded the equipment.

Rev started counting as he pushed forward to the edge of the row. Just a meter ahead, the air was filled with death.

There!

It wasn’t much of an opening, but Rev could see the disturbance in the air. That’s where the BFG was.

When Rev’s internal count reached ten, and hoping his troopers could count, too, he darted forward and rammed Pashu’s muzzle into the hole and started firing his twenty. His IBHU took a direct hit before he’d swung her around enough to hit what was on the other side.

The Naxli rounds cut off, and Rev switched to his beamer and triggered a single, three-second blast of pure energy.

From on top, Archambault’s M-103 fired twice.

“What do you see?” Rev shouted as from behind, his troopers pounded down the corridor to join him.

“One dead gaunt. Wait one.”

Rev heard the sound of a body hitting the ground.

“I hope that’s you jumping,” he muttered.

He eyed the opening, fighting the urge to bend down and look. He had to keep reminding himself that would be a good way to eat a round if the Naxli were playing possum.

“And two very dead gaunts over here,” Archambault passed over the net. “I think you went a little overboard, Gunny. Oh, and it looks like Lvarn got one, too.”

“Told you,” the karnan broke in.

The squads reached Rev and quickly checked the front of the heavy pieces of equipment. Or what used to be equipment. Whatever they used to be, they weren’t that anymore. If this was the complex’s machinery room, then the running of the complex had just taken a hit.

The question now was how to get past the makeshift barrier. But that was easier done than it initially looked. They could have all scaled it like Archambault, but they had a lot of horsepower between them, and the troopers were able to shove the lightest piece aside. They filed through and set up a hasty defense.

“What did you see when you were up there?” Rev asked Archambault.

“Lots more of this stuff,” he said, swinging his M-103 to encompass the ruined machinery. But over past the center, there are some really bright lights.”

Rev looked up, and he thought he could see a glow on the ceiling.

“What kind of lights?”

“I don’t know. They were too bright for me to see anything, and I was more interested in that guy.”

“That guy” was the Naxli whose day the Legionnaire had ruined. The body was flat on the ground in a pool of dark blue blood, one arm detached and lying two meters away, fingers still clutching a rifle.

Rev took a moment to consider. There were low rumblings from the fight above them, but now here, it was quiet, and there didn’t seem to be much down here. But why would four Naxli so fiercely defend this place if it weren’t important? Surely delaying a squad plus wouldn’t have much of an impact on the entire operation.

“We’re going to push through. And I want to see what’s with the lights,” he passed, then followed that with a quick, primitive diagram of the space with four broad overlaid arrows, one for each team.

“Hoch, go back and initiate the self-destruct on Ziegler’s IBHU, then bring her along.”

He was about to get someone to recover Davydenko, but Hussein was already on it. Within a few moments, the troopers had spread out and had started to make their way forward.

“Any idea on what the lights are?” he asked Punch.

<There’s not enough data for me to make a guess.>

Which is what Rev expected, but it hadn’t hurt to ask.

The squad-plus spread out, a team taking each row. Rev bounced back and forth, eyeballing each team to make sure none of them had gotten too far ahead of the others. He had his display, but while comms were still up, the display seemed a bit herky-jerky, freezing for moments at a time.

He couldn’t see the lights directly, but the reflection on the ceiling seemed to get brighter as they moved.

“Looks like those noxes might have been all that were here,” Rev remarked to Punch.

Which was a stupid, stupid thing to say. The gods of war hadn’t been getting their fingers into messing with Rev for a while, and they jumped right in when he opened the door like that.

Noor and her team started firing, and Rev darted over to them to see a mass of hivers charging them. They seemed to be galumphing, almost like bounding inchworms, straight at them. Some in the first rank were firing their weapons as Noor and her troopers fired into the mass.

Rev added his fire, going first with his beamer, which fried the unarmored hivers, then switched to his twenty. Between the five of them, bits and pieces of hiver were flying into the air, and a red mist seemed to rise before being sucked out of the way.

The mass kept coming, slipping on the blood and guts of their brethren. Rev was hit several times but without effect.

In the next row, Sergeant Klein’s team started firing.

“Multar, shift to Second Team,” he passed on the P2P.

<You just passed fifteen-hundred rounds,> Punch reminded him.

“I can’t really stop now.”

The hivers kept pressing forward, not letting the death and destruction slow them down. They were less than twenty meters away when a hiver in some sort of armor made it to the front. It tried to bring a large barrel to bear on the humans but was jostled by the other hivers.

Rev didn’t know what the barrel was, but he wasn’t going to stand there and find out. He blasted the soldier-hiver, cutting it down, and for good measure, put rounds in the weapon before the pressing mass poured over it.

“They keep coming, Gunny,” Noor said.

Rev’s warrior was in full fury mode. All he wanted to do was to tear into the hivers, and it took a bit of will to snap out of it. The Frisian was right, and Rev thought they’d be in hand-to-hand before too long.

“All hands, fall back on the main corridor. Give me a tight defensive perimeter. Corporal Haroldsdotter, get your Jackhammer emplaced with a PDF at twelve o’clock down the corridor.”

Noor’s team, all still combat-effective, started to fall back. Rev waited a moment, lighting up the advancing hivers, before he pulled back and started to sprint to the center of the room.

Just before he hit the next row, two of Klein’s troopers appeared, backing up as they fired. Rev reached them and looked down the row. Lourdes and Klein kept coming as they fired into the mass of hivers, and then Lourdes went down.

Rev moved to the side and started firing, his rounds just missing Klein, who shifted to straddle the still Alliance soldier and started pumping M-103 forty-millimeter grenades in buckshot mode, tearing holes into the wall of strangely silent hivers.

But it wasn’t enough, Rev could see.

“Get the hell out of there,” he shouted, but the sergeant didn’t move.

“Damn it!” Rev kept firing as he started to enter the row just as the wave of hivers overcame the two troopers. Rev started to fire into the mass, but he realized his twenties would tear apart a PAL.

“Dust them off!” Rev shouted at the other two troopers.

A “dust off” was when a Marine fired at one of their own tanks to rid it of infantry on or around it. You didn’t “dust off” infantry, but the two troopers understood. While Rev chewed up the hivers to the side, the lighter M-51s spewed hypervelocity darts into the hivers with great effect . . . except not great enough. The hivers kept advancing, five meters, ten meters past the two troopers.

“Rev, where are you?” Hussein asked on the P2P. “Do we need to come get you?”

Rev snarled and blasted another beam into the hivers. This position was untenable, and there wasn’t anything he could do for Klein and Lourdes.

“Get moving!” he told the other two.

“But Sergeant Klein and Lordy—” Lance Corporal Racine started to say.

“Are dead. Go!”

He gave the lance corporal a shove, and that broke her reticence. Together the three raced to the center row. As he passed the next row, he saw hivers galloping up it without any resistance.

The three burst into the main corridor where the humans were setting up a hasty defense.

“Thank the Mother, Rev. I thought you were gone,” Hussein passed.

“You should know better, Hus-man. No damn tardigrades are gonna get me,”

“Tardee-what?”

“Never mind. Where’re the—”

Hussein didn’t need to answer as Haroldsdotter opened up with her Jackhammer at a stream of hivers who had just entered the main corridor forty meters ahead of them. Hivers came apart, but still, they appeared. They didn’t seem to be fazed by their comrades being blasted into bits.

It seemed to Rev that they were on a suicide mission, with each rushing to their doom. But the suicidal bastards had just killed two troopers in PALs.

Other troopers joined the barrage, filling the forty meters with grenades, darts, and rounds. It was overkill.

“Haroldsdotter, hold your fire and let the 51’s take them. Wait until they come closer when we’re going to need your rounds.

Without the big Jackhammer, the hivers were able to get farther into the corridor and up toward the humans. But the riflemen were still able to put out a large volume of darts, and most of the hivers had no defense against them.

Rappa, who’d recovered König’s sniper rifle after the ambush, started picking off those with body armor.

Manning opened up with her IBHU, but not down the main corridor. She was firing down the cross row that Rev had used to reach the center. A moment later, Rev could hear the reports of forty-millimeter grenades from the other side of the row.

The suckers are trying to surround us. Should’ve pushed to get us up against the wall.

<You need to report in to Lieutenant Marble.>

Crap!

In the heat of the fight, he’d forgotten that.

He pulled her up, not on the P2P, but on the platoon net and reported both the initial fight with the Naxli, and now the hiver banzai charges.

“Are you holding? Do you need reinforcements?” she asked.

“We’re kicking their asses, but they keep coming. Unless they run out of bodies, yes, we’re going to need some help.”

“Can you withdraw?”

Rev looked back to where the Naxli had tried to stop them. A hiver rushed through the opening, then another.

“Not without a fight. They’re encircling us.”

“How long can you hold?”

“As long as our ammo holds out.” He paused a moment as he ran some numbers in his head. “Maybe fifteen minutes if they keep up the same pressure.”

“Roger that. Keep holding while I see what I can do. Six, out.”

Do it fast, Lieutenant.

Rev took a moment to assess the defense. Normally, dispersion was important, but the hivers didn’t seem to have much in the way of weapons. Maybe it wasn’t the way to go here. The ancient Romans had proven that in hand-to-hand combat, a testudo was pretty effective.

“Tighten it up,” he told his thirteen troopers. “Mutual support.”

The troopers heard him, and they shifted a bit, but not enough. Rev ran to each one, physically bringing them closer. Twice while doing that, he was hit, and one of those times was right at the edge of his compromised armor, but the lighter hiver round didn’t seem to degrade his armor much more.

“Do you see a pattern in the hivers?” Rev asked Punch. “What can you tell me?”

<The heaviest flow of hivers is coming from your eleven o’clock.>

Punch popped up an image with a broad arrow indicating the main body of hivers, with smaller arrows in proportion to the numbers. Rev looked over the machine room, orienting the image to what he could see.

“From those lights, then. I really want to see what that is. It looks like they’re trying to defend it.”

<You need to take care of the hivers first.>

“No shit, Sherlock.”

Rev fired a burst from his twenty, more to release a bit of nervous energy than anything else. The steady fire from the others was keeping the bulk of the hivers at a distance, but a few here or there were getting within ten meters before being dropped.

“How are you on ammo?” he asked Haroldsdotter.

“Six-hundred, twenty-six rounds, Gunny.

That was about half a combat load. It was a lot of firepower, but the fact that she’d already gone through half of her initial load was worrying. There had to be more than a hundred dead hivers around the humans, but there looked to be many more pushing against them.

The ones to their front were all coming in from the left side of the corridor. Suddenly, though, more started coming in from the right. Like an unstoppable tide, the hivers surged forward.

“Open up,” Rev said, slapping Haroldsdotter on the helmet. Then, he shouted, “Max firepower!”

An intensive wall of fire reached out and cut through the hivers, dropping ten, twenty, thirty of them. Yet the onslaught didn’t slacken.

“Lieutenant, we need some help.”

“We’re engaged, and I can’t break off. But I sent up the request,” the lieutenant said.

“What the hell are we supposed to do in the meantime?” Rev asked.

“You stop them, that’s what you do, Gunny. Six, out.”

Rev swore as the lieutenant cut the connection, and he fired a Moray into the charging hivers.

Get a hold of yourself, Reverent. That was a wasted shot.

A Moray could take out a Centaur Paladin, but it wasn’t the best weapon against personnel.

“Gunny! I can’t hold them,” Manning passed on the P2P.

He whipped around. The sergeant was alternating between her beamer and her twenty. Orantus was standing next to her, using his M-51 to pick off the hivers who escaped her fire.

Rev ran over. The smaller row was completely full of hivers, both living and dead. Several bodies were within two meters of the two troopers.

“Hold them!” Rev said before darting across the corridor and grabbing Morehead by the dead man’s handle.

He bodily picked the Marine up and half-dragged him across to Manning.

“Help her,” he said.

He spun around, trying to judge the situation. Everyone was engaged, and he only had so many pieces to move around. If the hivers got behind them, he just couldn’t plug the hole.

“I’m out!” Archambault shouted from the first row on the right side.

The caporal chef stood, taking his M-51 by the muzzle in his hands as he spread his legs to face the hivers. Lvarn shifted from the second row at the same time that Rev rushed toward the Legionnaire.

Archambault swung his M-51 like a baseball bat, crushing the head area of a hiver, but his rifle came apart, pieces flying through the air.

Rev and Lvarn reached him at the same time and fired as two more hivers hit Archambault—one low and one high.

The Legionnaire went down as he tried to hold off one of the hivers that was trying to break through his face shield with a metal tool of some kind.

It was too close to use his twenty, but Pashu was over a hundred kilos of heavy weapon. Rev swung her with every ounce of his strength, knocking the first hiver off of the Legionnaire and into the path of another hiver in mid-leap. That gave Rev the distance he needed, and he beamed both of them, his guillotine slicing both of them into two pieces.

He turned back to see Lvarn pulling the second hiver off of Archambault. The hiver wouldn’t let go, and it took three or four hammer blows from the karnan to break its grip.

Rev fired another burst of his twenties before he pulled Archambault to his feet.

“Get Davydenko’s 51,” he told the caporal chef as he shoved him back.

“Can you handle this?” he asked Lvarn.

“I’ve got it.”

He knew he could pull one of the three on the first row on the left, leaving two there, but even that wouldn’t do much. He had to collapse the defense once more. He didn’t want to pull the back two rows. That would give the hivers an easy route to get behind them. That left the front.

Quickly, he gave the orders. Haroldsdotter and the two troopers with him pulled back first, then four on each side tunnel fell in after them. They raced back past the rows of machinery, then fell in at the side passages.

They’d been quick, but so had the hivers, who immediately gave chase. Rev had to step in with Pashu to give Haroldsdotter time to reset. As it was, one hiver reached Hussein, and four came within two meters of the humans before they could reestablish their defensive fires.

Now, they had four directions to defend: the main corridor forward and back and the side rows on either side. Including himself, Rev had thirteen humans to hold the hivers back.

He glanced to the top of the machines. The open rows and the main corridor only limited the movement at ground level. Above them, the entire shop was open. The hivers hadn’t gone above yet, but if they did, the humans would be in deep shit.

“Rappa. Get up there and keep an eye open for anyone coming from on top.”

The engineer nodded and scrambled up the nearest machine. With the sniper rifle, he could pick out targets as easily from on high as down on the deck.

Still more hivers were appearing, all silently rushing the humans. If it weren’t for the dead bodies and gore in their way, Rev thought they’d already have been overrun.

“I’m out!” Haroldsdotter shouted as she unslung her M-51.

Rev started to call Manning to fill in the gap the loss of the weapon created, but she was heavily engaged.

Rev checked his display. He still had over thirteen hundred twenty-millimeter rounds, and his power was at over seventy percent. He’d hate to get overrun and have whoever recovered his body find that he still had ammunition. Maybe now was the time to forget about leading and to fight. It wasn’t like he had many options up his sleeve.

He kicked aside the empty Jackhammer, stood in the middle of the corridor, and started firing, alternating between beamer and twenty. His power started to drop, and his round count fell like a lead balloon.

But there was no use holding back. He wasn’t going to gain brownie points by turning anything in.

His warrior clamored for release, and Rev dropped his resistance. His warrior self flowed into control, filling his body with lethal fury. He reveled in hiver bodies simply coming apart under the power of his onslaught.

“Release the Kraken,” he screamed, and alongside him, his troopers added their own primeval cries of anger and death.

It didn’t faze the hivers. They kept coming . . . and dying. But while his warrior self raged, Rev still knew this power was fleeting. In a minute, maybe two, he’d be out of ammo. Once that happened, and once his troopers were out, he’d resort to hand-to-hand, but he knew it was only a matter of time before they were overwhelmed.

“Gunny! They’re behind us! Thousands of them!” Rappa shouted from above.

Rev had expected it, and it was almost a relief that they’d finally revealed themselves. No more uncertainty. The only thing now was to take as many of the bastards out with them as they could.

“Die, you bastards,” he shouted.

He refused to turn around and watch the new ones come over the barricades the Naxli had built. He had enough hivers in front of him.

Five hundred rounds, four hundred rounds . . . his count dropped. He’d probably run out of rounds before he fell, but he’d still have power, and that made him sad. Every joule he still had was a joule that hadn’t killed hivers.

“Here they are!” Hussein shouted.

Rev couldn’t help it. He hadn’t intended to look, but instinct took over. He spun, ready to trigger his beamer as a mass of fur swept over the barricade. He started to engage when his mind swept back into control and raised Pashu’s muzzle to the ceiling.

The tide of fur looked like otters . . . or lemmings.

Orantus fired once before Manning knocked his weapon aside. The rest of the troopers stopped what they were doing as the Kanters swept past them. One stopped by Rev, rose on its hind legs, and gave a very human-like salute before falling back in the flood that swept into the side rows and the main corridor, leaving the humans untouched before slamming into the front of the hiver line.

Rev could feel the impact as tons of smaller bodies crashed together. The Kanters were somewhat smaller, but they were deadly quick, and they were well armed. The hivers broke apart under the ferocity of the Kanter attack. Quickly, the corridor in front of the humans was cleared of living hivers, and the Kanters pushed them into the side rows. Kanters also went high, scampering up the machinery to disappear, probably to try and cut off the flow of hivers.

The continual chittering and whistling from the Kanters against the utter silence from the hivers while utter mayhem ensued was a little disconcerting, but the relief among the humans was palpable.

Three minutes after the Kanter’s appearance, most of them were out of sight, off in the side rows.

“Holy shit,” Hussein said as the humans stood among the dead hivers and Kanters.

“You can say that again,” Rev said as he struggled to come off of his rage high.

“Is that it? Can the lemmings kill all the hivers?”

Rev wasn’t sure about that. There had been a lot of Kanters. A lot. But enough? Before they arrived, the swarm of hivers showed no signs of abating.

“Don’t know,” he said as his mind raced through options.

“What now?” Hussein asked.

Rev turned to Rappa, who was watching out over the tops of the machines. “Do you still see the lights?” he called out.

Rappa pointed. “Yeah. I see them.”

“What do you see?”

“Five, like floodlights. Pointing at the ground. Uh . . . looks like cables, or maybe chains.”

“What is that?” Hussein asked Rev.

“I don’t know, but we’re sure the hell going to find out. Get the troopers ready to move. We’re going to see what the heck they were trying to defend, and if nothing else, we’ll find something more defensible while we wait for help from battalion.”

<I think the Kanters were that help.>

Rev grunted. He hadn’t considered that. “I think you might be right, Punch.”

* * *

They moved through an abattoir. The ground was slick with blood—both bright and dark red. Bodies and body parts littered the way. Twice, they ran into groups fighting each other. Rev helped beat back a group of about thirty hivers that were attacking ten Kanters, but his goal wasn’t to hunt down the hivers but to get to the lights. From down in the warrens of machines and equipment, it was difficult to get bearings. Twice, he had to send Rappa up on top of machinery for course corrections.

Finally, though, he could see up a row to where the floodlights washed out the floor. They were close.

Half of the troopers were out of ammunition, including Manning and Haroldsdotter. That left Rev as the only one with anything more than an M-51 or a sidearm, so he led the way as they crept forward. Fifty-two twenty-millimeter rounds were far from a combat load, but his beamer still had power.

Rev didn’t know how the fight was going, nor how long they might have before they were engaged again, but he felt the lighted area might be important. He broke into a slow run to reach it.

How long before they were engaged again was about five seconds. As they closed in, eighteen of the combat-outfitted hivers rushed around the corner and into the row. Rev was ready, and his beamer sliced through the mass, but several were able to fire, and Rev attracted the most attention. He was hit four times, and his alarm flashed red. His beamer quit, and he switched to his twenty as he continued to rush them. He let loose one burst before the remaining hivers were cut down by the humans’ combined firepower.

Rev’s PAL had failed where it had previously been degraded. A section on his left side, right under Pashu, might as well be made of paper now. It wouldn’t hold up to a handgun, now, and frankly, Rev wasn’t sure how he hadn’t been hit.

No time to worry about that.

Rev led the troopers to the end of the row and into the open area to a sight out of some sort of horror movie.

A huge, bloated hiver, easily five meters long, was on a platform of some sort, the blinding floodlights washing out its colors. For a moment, Rev thought it was a statue of some kind, but then he realized that the thing was alive.

Barely.

Above the hiver was a framework, and from that, cables hung down and appeared to be inserted into the creature. Massive fissures were opened in its skin, and liquid and possibly body parts oozed out. The base of the platform was covered with red-tinged fluid and what looked like dried hiver blood.

“What the hell?” Rev asked as he came to a stop, Pashu trained on the thing.

A shudder rippled the length of the body, which caused a bit of clear fluid to squirt out of one of the gashes. Rev couldn’t tell for sure, but he thought that the huge hiver could see the humans as they spread out to take in the sight.

“What is that?” Hussein asked in a horrified voice.

“It’s a hiver. A big one,” Rev said as he cautiously stepped forward, instinctively knowing this was no direct threat.

It was too big to easily move for one, but the damage to it had a fatal feel.

A scream erupted from behind the hiver, and a new creature emerged, a wicked-looking tool raised as it rushed the humans.

Rev reacted, blasting their attacker before it came close. Blueish blood exploded in a cloud as the rounds destroyed the body. It was dead before the fusillade of darts from the others riddled it.

“Another Naxli body?”

<That would be a logical explanation.>

Rev had an impression of a wispy, almost elf-like body before he’d blasted it beyond recognition. That hardly seemed like the type of body a Naxli would shift to in a combat zone, but the Naxli were a confounding race.

The xenobiologists would pore over the images from the squad, but at the moment, Rev didn’t care about the thing. It was dead, and the hiver in front of him needed his full attention.

“Cover me,” he told the four troopers who still had darts left. “The rest of you, step back.”

“Gunny . . .” Hussein said, but Rev ignored his friend.

He kept Pashu trained on what he thought was the thing’s head, then slowly approached it, ready for . . . for what? The thing was almost dead. He was sure of that. The agony almost pulsed out in such strength that Rev could feel it himself.

A light on the frame above the hiver came on, and a moment later, blue light seemed to envelop the creature, almost like an electrical current. The hiver shook and shuddered, and smoke rose from the contact points of two of the cables. The lights went out, and for the first time, Rev heard a hiver as a keening sound emanated from the center of its body.

The fissures had gotten larger during whatever had just happened, and more liquid leaked out. Rev glanced at the dead Naxli’s body, then put two and two together.

“The nox was torturing it!”

He took a step closer. “But why? They’re allies.”

“Gunny?” Hussein asked over the P2P.

Rev ignored him.

He took a step closer, then another.

“Inaudible input,” his translator said.

What the . . .

He hadn’t heard anyone say something. In shock, he turned back to the Naxli, as if it had risen from the grave, but no, it was still very, very dead.

<I think it was the hiver.>

Rev stepped right up to it, then leaned forward. He could feel the thing’s vision . . . hearing . . . attention on him.

“Kill me!” the hiver said. Or more accurately, it made a sound that was translated into Naxli, and then Rev’s translator translated that.

“What? Why?” he asked, as the hiver suddenly wasn’t the enemy in his mind. A moment ago, he wanted to kill all of them, but now he was hesitating?

The hiver didn’t answer, but once again, it said, “Kill me.”

Rev started to ask why again, but Punch interrupted him. <Its translator doesn’t understand Standard.>

Rev tried to remember how to give commands to the translator. It had pretty much been on automatic since he was issued it.

“Um . . . change output to Naxli. Keep input to Standard . . . I mean, keep input to human.”

He hoped this worked. The Uauii translator was pretty good, but that was with direct translations. How would it work going from Standard to Naxli to hiver? There would have to be some issues, some faulty translations.

He cleared his throat, then asked, “Why should I kill you?”

His words were translated to Naxli, and then to hiver.

“Pain. Too much pain. Too much damage. Time for renewal.”

Rev leaned closer. This struck him as wrong. The hiver was essentially a prisoner and one that the xenobiologists would love to get their hands on. A Marine doesn’t kill prisoners. The hiver was damaged, but maybe it could be saved.

“No,” Rev said. “We can help.”

“Kill me!”

Rev turned to look back at the others. Hussein held up his hands in a question.

“No.”

There was a moment of silence, then the hiver said, “You are Naxli same. You torture same.”

The hiver seemed to settle on itself and didn’t reply.

Rev pulled up the lieutenant to report in.

“The lemmings arrived and pushed back the hivers. Saved our asses. But now I’ve got some sort of huge hiver. It looks like the noxes were torturing it.”

“Is it a threat to you right now?”

“No. It’s almost dead.”

“Just kill it and complete your mission. The recall has to come soon.”

“But I don’t know. This hiver—”

“Damn it, Gunny! I don’t have time for this. We’re in a shit sandwich up here. Six out.”

What the hell?

He looked around. They were about in the middle of the vast machine shop, if that’s what it actually was. There were abundant sounds of fighting still going on. It was as if they were in a small bubble amongst all the chaos.

“I can leave the super hiver here, and we can sweep the rest of this place,” he told Punch. “Or I can just shoot it like it asked and help the lemmings.”

<It’s your call.>

Rev knew he had to make a decision. And the lieutenant had just given him an order.

“I come,” the hiver said.

“You’re coming? You’re right here,” Rev said, confused.

The translators weren’t working right. Maybe incompatibility between Naxli and Uauii tech.

“I come.”

Stupid hiver. You’re pretty screwed up.

“OK, listen up,” he said on the squad net. “I just got off the net with the lieutenant, and we’re—”

“Shit, look at that,” Archambault said, interrupting him.

Rev spun around. Hivers, lots of them, were emerging into sight as they flowed toward the troopers. Down the main corridor, Kanters were chasing them, but the hivers ignored the humans’ allies.

Rev turned back to the hiver. “You summoned them somehow, you bastard!”

“Kill me!”

Rev knew he needed to conserve his precious rounds, but in his anger, his warrior self had surged into control. And it wasn’t as if they really had a chance. A few rounds weren’t going to make a difference.

“Fine, if that’s what you want!” he shouted.

He raised Pashu and fired a six-round burst. The big rounds tore through the already decimated hiver, splattering the area with gore. The body seemed to collapse upon itself, and Rev could swear he heard a quiet “Gratitude.”

But he didn’t have time for that. He turned to take on the advancing hivers . . . except that they’d stopped. He had a good view of the group in the main corridor, and they simply quit advancing. Eight or nine Kanters kept attacking them, but other than a half-hearted attempt to move away, they didn’t resist.

His troopers fired into other hivers, but they started to hold back when it became obvious that the hivers were no longer in the fight.

Rev stood in shock as he took in the scene. He turned to look at the dead giant hiver, then to the others, then back to the giant again and his mind raced, putting together what he was seeing.

“Uh . . . Lieutenant?” he asked on the P2P.

“No time, Gunny. We’ve got a situation here. Hold on—”

“Have the hivers stopped fighting?” he asked.

There was a moment of dead silence, then the lieutenant asked, “How the hell did you know that?”

“That’s why the translators call them ‘hivers,’ ma’am. And I just killed their hive mind.”

29

All resistance from the hivers ceased. They wandered about what seemed like aimlessly before they slowly started to coalesce and move out of the factory complex. But there were still pockets of Naxli, and they continued the fight.

With the hivers ignoring the allies, the demo teams hurriedly emplaced their charges, and the withdrawal began. There may have only been a few pockets of Naxli within the complex, but there were huge numbers descending on the area. The allied force had to get off the planet.

Rev collected samples from both the queen hiver and the dead Naxli, then did a quick survey of the rest of the machine shop. It was extensive, and while there didn’t look to be any actual production, he was convinced that it was there to keep the complex functioning. As such, it would be a good target, but when he brought that up to the lieutenant, she shut him down, saying there was no time to change the plan and get the demo teams down there.

Nineteen minutes and fourteen seconds after the queen died, the squad got their recall. They moved to their initial entry point, joining at least a hundred Kanters as they left the machine shop. That was far fewer of their furry allies than had come to their rescue. Too many had lost their lives in the fight.

At the top of the stairs, there was controlled chaos. There were still a few pockets of fighting, but the bulk of the allied force was moving out. The knowledge that most of the complex was about to blow was certainly a strong impetus to move quickly, but knowing that major Naxli forces were inbound added to the sense of . . . not panic, but purpose.

Rev tried to spot the lieutenant, but linking up was probably out of the question. The important thing was to get to the LZ and catch their ride off-planet.

She agreed with him, saying they could link in the ship.

“Any word on the rest of the company?” he asked before she cut the connection.

“We had some heavy contact. Second was in the thick of things.”

Please be OK, Miko.

He could try and connect with her, but something held him back, and it wasn’t just that regs didn’t allow for personal calls. He wasn’t really superstitious, per se, but still . . .

The squad kept together in the mass exodus, exiting through the loading docks, just as they’d come in. It was crowded, but somehow, Rev had expected more humans and especially more Kanters—and not as many Breel. There were a lot of the tree-like allies making their way out of the complex and more along the way to the LZs.

The squad had just exited and gone about fifty meters when a shuttle lifted off from the nearest LZ. Rev watched for a moment, half expecting it to get shot down, but with the acceleration typical of a Breel craft, it quickly disappeared from sight.

That wasn’t their LZ, however. Theirs was down to their left and another four hundred meters farther.

“Let’s pick up the pace,” Rev told the others, or at least attempted to. The Naxli jamming ability must have finally figured out the new system, and comms were down.

Better now than while we were in the complex.

He repeated himself, but this time over his speakers.

As they branched off to their LZ, they split from most of the Kanters. The platoon might have come with them, but they were slated to leave on a human ship. For their wounded, having a human doctor and sickbay was a pretty big benefit.

A Hégémonie landing craft, easily recognizable, took off as the squad approached. Rev watched it lift, and as it began to climb, its shields sparkled.

“The noxes are engaging,” Rev said, his heart in his throat.

But the vessel kept going and disappeared into the sky.

<As they move closer, the enemy energy weapons will be more effective.>

“So, we need to hurry.”

Rev broke into a jog, urging his squad along. Within two minutes, they’d reached the outer security of Breel soldiers, who directed them toward the far edge of the LZ where a group of humans and Breel were gathered, many of the troopers in what looked like sticks ready to board.

“Let’s get our ride,” Rev said as they started to cross over.

They were only halfway when an air attack siren went off. The squad was exposed out in the open, and cover was too far away. Rev swung Pashu to the sky. He only had fifteen rounds left, but he might as well use them and hope for a lucky break.

But with a whoosh, a missile erupted from the treeline on the left. Rev only caught the briefest of glimpses as it crossed the LZ and flew out of sight, but a few seconds later, the sky lit up as if a dozen bolts of lightning went off at once, and the siren cut off.

“I think they got it,” Rev said.

<From all indications, yes.>

Rev looked over to the right where a surprisingly small weapons station was just visible. Two Uauii soldiers looked like they were cycling in another missile.

Rumor had it that despite the Uauii soldiers being somewhat lacking, they did have some good equipment. And if that small launcher could take out a Naxli fighter like that, then there might be some validity to that.

“Get some, clickers!” he said.

The squad hurried over to the staging area. A Marine staff sergeant quickly scanned each of them, then directed them to form a stick next to four others. Rev recognized the troopers as being from Bravo Company.

“Hey, has First Platoon, Alpha Company, loaded yet?”

The staff sergeant frowned as if he didn’t have time for this, but he checked his scanner. “They were on the last bird. You’re the last of them.”

Thank the Mother.

He started to join the rest when he thought he’d better make sure. “And Corporal Randigold? Ethereal Randigold? And Blue-master Gest Lynthnic.”

“I told you, your platoon’s all checked in.”

“Just check, Staff Sergeant. Please.”

He frowned and rolled his eyes, but he entered the two names. The frown got bigger.

“I don’t have them here. They’re in your platoon?”

Rev’s heart dropped. “Yes, they are. But they didn’t make the assault.”

“In that case . . .” the staff sergeant said as he hit a few commands. “OK, here they are. They’re KIA.”

Rev felt like he was mule-kicked. “KIA? Randigold, too? She wasn’t even wounded, at least really. She just lost a leg.”

“I’d call that wounded, Gunny,” the staff sergeant said, then he checked again. “Yeah, inside the complex. Bodies not recovered.”

“Bullshit. I told you they never made it to the complex. They were left out there,” he said, pointing beyond the LZ.

“I only know about what I have here,” he said, holding up his scanner. “And this has a Q-link. No jamming.”

“I’m telling you, she didn’t get killed inside the objective.”

“Inside or outside, it don’t make no difference. We’re not recovering the KIAs. Now excuse me,” he said before stepping past him and shouting, “Inbound five minutes. Next three sticks get ready.”

Rev stared at the staff sergeant for a moment, then joined his squad.

“He says Eth and Lynthnic are KIA,” he told Hussein.

“Oh, shit. Randigold, too? How’d that happen?”

“I don’t think it did. He said it happened inside the complex.”

“But . . .” Hussein said as he looked in the direction where they’d left the two.

“Exactly. And she sure the hell didn’t hop all the way inside to fight.”

“Can you raise the lieutenant? Tell her?”

“Already gone. She was on that last Heg landing craft.” He paused a moment, then said, “Wait here.”

He went back to the staff sergeant, who was now conferring with the Breel. The Marine glanced up at Rev, then with another eye roll and a sigh, asked, “What can I do for you, Gunny?”

“When’s the next shuttle?”

“You heard me. Four minutes now.”

“I mean, after that?”

He checked his scanner. “Twelve minutes and change.”

Not enough time.

“And after that?”

“There is no after that. Not human, at least.”

“That’s it?” Rev asked, more than a little surprised. “All the humans will be off-planet with that?”

“All from here. Bluebird and Flamingo still have a few more flights. Why? There’s room for your troopers. Them, too,” he said, nodding toward the other side of the LZ.

Rev turned to see about a platoon-sized group of troopers emerge from the trees.

“That should be the last of Bravo Company. All the rest that’re still here are at the other LZs.”

Shit. Twelve minutes.

Rev wheeled away without another word and ran to Hussein.

“I’m going after her. I’ve got twelve minutes.”

Hussein grabbed his arm. “Twelve minutes? You can’t make it. It’ll take you that long to get to her. And she can’t run, in case you forgot.”

“I’m not debating. You get your people on the second flight. No question.”

“If you don’t make it back. Then what?”

“I’ll make it back,” Rev said as he started running.

“What about Miko?” Hussein shouted after him.

Rev may not have the magnetic field of the planet mapped, but he still understood azimuths, and he plotted a direct path to where he’d left the two troopers. He veered to the azimuth and started into the trees before several Breel whirled around to step in front of him.

“You cannot proceed,” one of them said.

“I have to go,” Rev answered as he contemplated just barging through them.

“No one is to leave the landing zone. The last ships are inbound,” the Breel insisted.

“I’ve got two troopers out there,” he said as he eyed the gap between the pair.

He should have just gone when they first stopped him. One of the two shifted his weapon to not quite aim at Rev, but to make the possibility known.

Is he going to shoot me?”

His warrior stirred again, but Rev wasn’t going to fight the two of them.

Or the rest, he told himself as the others closed in. Within seconds, at least thirty were gathering around.

“I have to get my troopers!” he said again. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

“You cannot. Those are our orders.”

Rev was about to scream when one of the Breel caught his eye. A Breel with an auburn slash across his torso.

“Koral,” he shouted.

The Breel hesitated. He obviously didn’t recognize him.

“It’s me! Reverent! We drank the blood of life!”

“Gunnery Sergeant Pelletier! It’s a surprise to see you.”

“Tell them to let me go!”

“I’m sorry. I cannot. If you go, you will be left behind.”

Rev ran up to him and said, “We’re brothers, right? You said that.”

“Brothers for eternity, Gunnery Sergeant Pelletier.”

“That’s my brother out there, too. I cannot leave her. I will go, and you’ll have to shoot me to stop me. And right now, all that’s happening is that your soldiers are delaying me.”

“Your last flight is soon. Then our shuttle will pick us up. Do you have time?”

“I’ll make the time.”

“Run fast, brother,” Koral said without hesitation before he waved one of his branches/arms.

The two who’d stopped him stepped aside, and Rev darted through them and stretched out to a run.

<They are all correct. You can’t make it. The last shuttle will leave in nine minutes.>

“I have to make it, Punch.”

Rev stretched out, using the PAL to power his legs. He’d probably be quicker outside of his combat suit, but stopping to molt would take more time, time he didn’t have.

Punch had started a timer, and Rev tried to ignore it, but his eyes kept straying to the seconds as they ticked down. He heard the first shuttle leave, but he didn’t bother to turn to watch. He kept pushing, and every ounce of effort was focused on reaching Randigold.

He was so focused that he almost missed her.

“Gunny!” the corporal shouted. Rev skidded to a halt, sending a shower of dirt into the air.

He spun around, and there, twenty meters away and through the trees, he spotted the corporal—and Lynthnic. Her helmet was gone, and she had the Frisian by the dead man’s handle and was dragging him.

With a cry of relief, Rev ran to her.

“You’re a damn good sight, Gunny,” she said, her voice breaking.

“So are you, Eth,” Rev said as he came to a halt beside her. “Lynthnic?”

“Still alive. The bastard’s tough as nails. I tried to run his emergency molt, but it’s not working, so I just took him like this. What’s happening at the objective.?”

“We won. But the noxes are on the way, and the last rides off-planet are leaving.”

“How much time?”

He almost said there was plenty of time, but he knew he couldn’t lie to her.

“Not enough.”

She looked down at the Frisian. Behind her, Rev could see the trail over which she’d dragged him this far.

“Take him and go. I’ll follow.”

<You might be able to make it with just him. It will be close, but possible.>

“And Eth?”

<She won’t be able to make it to the LZ in time.>

Rev almost said he’d take her. Lynthnic might be hanging on, but his chances were still almost zero, while there was nothing physically wrong with her.

She must have read his mind because she said, “I’m not letting you leave him here. Go.”

“I’m not going to leave him. Or you.”

He hoisted the Frisian to his shoulder and locked him in place with Pashu. His IBHU wasn’t great at holding things, but once locked into position, she wasn’t going to budge.

“Take my shoulder,” he told Randigold.

“Just go on. I’ll slow you down.”

“That’s an order, Eth.”

She was putting on a brave face, but that broke her will. She reached up and grabbed his dead man’s handle.

“Now hop like you’ve never hopped before, Eth.”

He started off at a slow jog, but Randigold lost her balance and fell.

“Just go,” she said, tears of anger streaking down her face.

“Get the hell up, Corporal!”

She struggled to her foot, grabbed his dead man’s handle again, and in fits and starts, they began to move. It took a bit of trial and error, but they were advancing—not quickly, but still advancing.

“How’re we doing on time?”

<Not good. At this rate, you won’t be close.>

“I’m not giving up.”

But force of will can’t solve everything. The seconds ticked away.

Maybe Hussein will delay them.

And when the timer clicked to zero, and no shuttle lifted from the LZ, Rev had hope—hope that was dashed when two minutes later, explosions sounded from the direction of the LZ. After a moment, the shuttle lifted. Rev caught a quick glimpse as it rose. Something exploded against it, and a wave of guilt washed over him for delaying it, but the shuttle kept going.

“Was that our ride?” Randigold asked.

“Yeah. That was it.”

She started to slow down, and he snapped, “Keep going, Eth. We don’t quit.”

They pushed forward, Rev in a slow jog and Randigold hopping.

“I’m sorry, Gunny,” she said.

“I’m not. Now keep going.”

“Which is closer, Bluebird or Flamingo?” he asked Punch.

His battle buddy inputted their positions. <Two klicks to Flamingo.>

“Think they still have rides?”

<Possible.>

“If there’s nothing at Robin, that’s where we’ll go next.”

They made it another fifty meters when the ground shook, and Randigold fell again.

“What was that?” she asked as she pushed herself up to a sitting position.

Another shock wave hit them.

“That’s mission complete,” Rev said. “That’s the objective going up.”

“So, it wasn’t a waste,” she said.

“We’re not dead yet, Eth. Let’s go.”

He helped her up, and together they approached the LZ. Rev’s last hope faded away when there were no Breel surrounding it. He reached the spot where Koral had let him go, and it was empty.

Ah, I figured that.

They came around the last big boulder and into the LZ.

“I was hoping—”

“They waited!” Randigold shouted.

Rev turned his head. Somehow, he’d missed the odd-looking Breel vessel sitting there with thirty Breel outside. Koral looked to be arguing with another Breel who was on the ramp leading into the ship.

Two new craters had torn up the LZ, and as Rev and Randigold started to run, another round landed, sending a geyser of dirt into the sky.

One of the Breel pointed and Koral turned to see them running. Or hopping.

Koral said something and motioned, and four Breel came to meet them. Rev shouted at them to go back. Even hopping, Randigold was quicker than the Breel.

They skirted one crater and sprinted for the ship. The other Breel started loading, but Koral waited until the two humans reached the ramp and darted inside.

The ship started lifting the moment Rev’s foot hit the ramp, and he had to reach back to make sure Randigold made it up, then he locked his hand around her IBHU and yanked her aboard.

“Better than any sibs in steel I’ve ever had,” Randigold said as they both tumbled on the deck of the ramp, which kept closing.

Rev had a glimpse of another round landing in the LZ before the ramp closed shut, and he started to release Lynthnic’s body. He looked up into the main compartment, where Breel were strapping into their standing supports.

And then the gods stomped on him hard with the force of a thousand mules kicking him at once. Rev was slammed back to the edge of the ramp as the acceleration threatened to crush him. Rev knew that the Breel could withstand more Gs than humans could, but he’d never imagined it would be this bad.

He couldn’t even lift his head, but Randigold was right in front of him. She was unconscious, and blood was dripping quickly down her forehead, but he could see she was breathing. She might not have her helmet on, but her PAL was keeping her, as was his, body alive.

But Rev didn’t care. Getting stomped on was a small price to pay for hitch-hiking a ride off the planet.

30

Rev sat on the deck, back up against the bulkhead, with Lynthnic’s head in his lap. Somehow, the Frisian was still alive. His vitals were horrible, but they still registered. As long as they did that, he had a chance.

Randigold was stretched out beside him, softly snoring. Her face relaxed in her sleep, making her seem far too young—and too innocent—to be the hard-ass killer she really was.

Punch had told him it probably wasn’t good for her to sleep after suffering the concussion when the acceleration had slammed them, but Rev was emotionally spent, and she’d assured him her battle buddy said her bio readings were fine.

The acceleration had seemed to go on for hours, but Punch told him it had lasted just over twelve minutes. Rev wondered why the Breel didn’t have compensators. Sure, their hard, woody skin could stand up to a lot of abuse, but they had their vertical acceleration booths for a reason, so obviously, they weren’t immune to the effects.

Now, they just had to wait out the passage. Koral assured him that the Breel would get the three of them back to the human area on Clickerland.

“You keep hanging on, buddy,” Rev told Lynthnic.

It would be the cruelest blow if the Frisian died now after surviving so much.

<Can I ask you something?>

Punch had been silent after answering Rev about how long the acceleration had been, and the question was out of the blue.

Rev raised an eyebrow and said, “OKaaayy,” drawing out the “a.”

“Why did you go back for Corporal Randigold and Red-master Lynthnic?”

Rev grunted.

Where did that come from?

“What do you mean? They’re my troopers.”

<But you were told they were KIA. You were risking your life for troopers who were already dead. Not only that, you risked both the rest of First Squad as well as this Breel ship.>

“I told you. They’re my troopers.”

<But if they were dead, you couldn’t do anything, and your actions put others at risk.>

“But they weren’t dead.”

<Which you didn’t know. Which brings me to my question. Why go after them?>

Rev opened his mouth to answer, then shut it while he tried to marshal his thoughts.

Finally, he said, “I didn’t believe they were dead. Not based on what the staff sergeant said.”

<But you didn’t know. Your actions were not only against your orders. They were not logical.>

Rev didn’t know how to answer that.

<When Staff Sergeant Hussein called out to you with Staff Sergeant Tomiko’s name, you had a spike in blood pressure and pulse, which indicated that her name impacted you. Yet you still continued on what was almost assuredly a fool’s errand. Didn’t the thought of her reaction to losing you give you pause?>

Rev flinched. He still didn’t know if Tomiko had made it, and he wouldn’t until he got back. He regretted not bringing her up on the P2P when he had a chance, regulations be damned.

“You just don’t understand what it means to be human,” he said because he had nothing else.

<I am trying to understand. That’s why I’m asking you these questions.>

“These questions. You’ve got more?” Rev asked with a hint of resentment.

What’s with him? Is his programming finally breaking down?

<Yes, I do.>

Rev waited, but there was nothing more. After twenty seconds of silence, he said, “Then give them to me.”

<Your readings indicate that you’re upset. Maybe I should wait.>

Rev sighed, much louder than he’d intended. “No, get it over with so I can get some sleep.”

<Why did you use your IBHU blade>

“What? What are you talking about?”

<Your blade. In the entrance to the objective. The hiver in the vehicle. You jumped up on the vehicle after it crushed Lance Corporal Feda. You had a clear shot with your twenty or beamer. Yet you used the blade to cut through the mesh and kill the driver. Why?>

Rev hadn’t even realized that he’d used this IBHUs extendable blade, and he had to think back to the incident.

“To save ammo and power?” Rev offered.

<But you couldn’t be sure the blade would have penetrated the mesh. Either of the other two weapons would have been a sure kill, yet you went for the far less sure option. And that wasn’t the only time. You did it again during the ambush before we got to the objective. Why?>

Rev tried to recall the incident. Yes, he’d used his blade, and he didn’t know why. He grasped at his memories as he attempted to remember how he was feeling at the moment. What his thought process was.

But he didn’t have much of a process at the time. His warrior self was struggling for control, and he’d just reacted.

“I just . . . I just felt the need, I guess. To feel the blade drive home. To make it personal. To enjoy it.”

As soon as he said it, guilt washed over him. A Marine doesn’t make it personal. Killing is a task. It’s a duty. But it isn’t personal. And there isn’t joy in the act.

“Not to enjoy it. I didn’t mean that.”

But he did. As he thought about it, he realized that was exactly what had happened. Even now, guessing at the true situation with the hivers, he felt a thrill. No, not quite a thrill. Of revenge. Of satisfaction.

<You never were this vested in the act of killing. You’ve always been more impersonal. There were adrenaline spikes as you faced danger, but never the spikes in your mesocorticolimbic circuitry.>

“My what?”

<Your mesocorticolimbic circuitry. Your pleasure centers, as they are commonly called, are part of that.>

Rev didn’t know Punch could monitor his pleasure centers, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. He was too powerful a weapon for the powers that be to not make every effort to monitor him.

And now that he thought of it, it didn’t surprise him that Punch was concerned. Rev had been out of sorts lately. He’d been more short-tempered and prone to anger. He’d been more violent. He’d been increasingly impatient with Punch, even when it might not have been fair.

<Is this because of what happened to your brother?>

Rev’s heart skipped a beat.

Could that be what’s going on?

It was hard to make an honest assessment of one’s self, but as he considered it, the funk he’d been in had started about the same time Grover was murdered. His anger at the Naxli sure was. But could the rest be part of that?

It wasn’t something he wanted to think about now.

He forced a laugh and asked, “What, you think I’m getting so emotional that I’m going to get us killed?”

<Yes.>

That floored him.

Is it that bad?

Rev took pride in being a Marine gunny. He took pride in his military record. But was he living on his past accomplishments?

Self-doubt started to nibble at the edges of his mind. What if he wasn’t as good as he thought he was?

What if . . . no, that’s not it, he told himself as he forced the thought from his mind.

But like a worm, the thought kept trying to wiggle its way in.

Punch had asked two different questions, but maybe they were the same. Rev had courted what should have been sure death by going after Randigold and Lynthnic. He had used a blade instead of more sure weapons in combat. Both actions had turned out for the better, but what if . . .

This is going to hurt.

What if he was using his anger to mask a fear of failure? Too many troopers depended on him, and a mistake by him would cost them their lives. That was a lot of pressure.

And if he was taken out of the equation before he made that mistake, then . . .

Oh, this is getting way too deep. Put on your big boy pants, Reverent.

Still, if he was being honest with himself, there might be something to it. Maybe not that bad, but he’d been out of sorts since Grover was murdered. To be upset was natural. He couldn’t let that control his actions, though. He had to look at his job through clear lenses, not through emotional fluff.

Otherwise, he would fail.

Punch was becoming more human every day, and like a child, he wanted to understand just what that meant. But in his own quest to come to terms with what being human means, he was opening Rev up to understand himself, and that wasn’t necessarily an enjoyable thing.

“Thanks a lot, Punch. You’ve really screwed with my head.”

Rev sat there, Lynthnic’s head in his lap, his mind blank, too tired for deep thoughts.

Finally, Punch asked, <Do you want to hear a joke?>

“A joke? After all that you just laid on me, a joke?”

Punch didn’t answer, and Rev said. “Oh, what the hell. Yeah, Punch, give me a joke.”

<What did the psychiatrist say after she came upon the brutally beaten and unconscious man on the sidewalk?>

Psychiatrist. Of course, while he’s here psychoanalyzing me.

He sighed, wondering if this was just another Punch joke, or was this more of whatever his battle buddy was trying to do here.

“I don’t know, Punch. What did the psychiatrist say?”

<”By the Mother! Whoever did this really needs help!”>

Rev let it sink in, mentally sipping it like fine wine before a small chuckle escaped him.

“That was a good one, Punch. A real good one.”

31

A Frisian shuttle was waiting for them as the Breel ship landed. The crew rushed into the ship, strapped Lynthnic to the stretcher, and floated him out. Somehow, the soldier was still alive, and Rev finally began to hope that he’d make it.

Koral and Sam stepped up beside the two remaining humans. Tyli, the third Breel Rev had shared the Blood of Life with, what had seemed like ages ago, hadn’t survived the battle.

Rev absentmindedly held out his hand to shake before he hastily lowered it. And he wasn’t sure if the Breel hugged, so he just said, “I really haven’t thanked you yet for holding the ship for us.”

“We are siblings, Gunnery Sergeant Reverent Pelletier. I could do no less.”

“Still, I appreciate it. And you don’t have to say my rank and full name. My friends call me Rev.”

“And my intimates call me Asiv ni Koral.”

“Well, OK . . . Asiv ni Koral,” he said, trying to pronounce in the low rumble of the Breel language but fearing he just butchered it.

“If you want to come over sometime for a drink, you know where I am. Both of you.”

“It would be my honor,” the two Breel said in unison.

“Well, we’ve got to go,” Rev said.

The Breel reached out and grabbed Rev with his branches, then pulled him in.

Whoa. I guess they do hug.

It almost seemed weirder to Rev that they did. They were so alien to humans, so different, that when something was the same, like drinking booze or now hugging, it was a little disconcerting.

Sam was next as Koral hugged Randigold.

The other Breel started debarking the ship, and Rev stood awkwardly for a moment before he said, “Let’s go, Eth. He offered her his arm, but she waved it off and hopped down the ramp.

“You think someone could have met me with a leg,” she muttered.

Rev caught up with her at the bottom and called the lieutenant.

“Gunny, are you back?”

“Just landed. We’re looking for a way back. Randigold’s not very mobile.”

“We were told you’d be landing in another two hours. Hold on, and I’ll see what I can do.”

He looked at his fellow IBHU and said, “They’re not here. She said they thought we wouldn’t be here for another two hours.”

“Typical,” she said. “Well, can we at least find a seat in the shade somewhere?”

Rev looked around. Back in Anastasia, where the spaceport that served Camp Nguyen was, security was tight, and you needed orders to get to the military side or a ticket for the civilian side. Here, security was non-existent, just the low wall he’d once thought was a blast shield to keep beings from wandering onto the tarmac while a ship was landing. For a planet at war, that seemed foolishly optimistic.

But it made getting off the tarmac easy. They walked/hopped to the nearest building and sat on the deck, backs up against the wall—human-type seats were not a high priority among the Uauii given their body structure.

“That was kinda weird,” Randigold said.

“What was weird? Everything?”

“You told Koral that he could call you Rev. You know, shortening your name. He goes from just Koral to Asiv blah-blah Koral. The nickname’s longer than the real name.”

“Yeah, I noticed that. Different strokes for different folks.”

“Very different.”

They sat in silence, watching the Breel ship get unloaded. Very few human ships ever landed on a planet. It made far more practical and economic sense to keep spacefaring ships in space and shuttles or even elevators like they had on St. Croix. making the trip through the gravity well. But having one that could land sure made it more convenient for the passengers.

After almost ten minutes, Randigold said, “As long as you’re thanking the ents, I guess I should thank you.”

Rev just grunted.

“If you hadn’t come for us, we’d still be on that turd of a planet.”

“If you’d left Lynth, you would have made it to the LZ in time.”

“I couldn’t do that,” she said.

“So, what makes you think I could?” Rev asked.

There was another moment of silence, then she said, “I knew you’d come for us.”

“And if I’d been killed?”

“Someone else would’ve. But I knew it would be you. You’re my gunny,” she said as if that explained everything. “Still, thank you. It deserves to be said.”

Rev held out Pashu, and Randigold tapped her with her IBHU.

“Sibs in Steel, Eth.”

“Sibs in Steel, Gunny.”

* * *

It was almost two hours before Rev spotted a familiar face looking around.

“Miko!” he shouted.

She spun around, saw him, and ran over. As she got close, she saw Randigold, and she slowed to stop in front of him. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Oh, hell, Staff Sergeant. Give your man a hug,” the corporal said.

Tomiko stepped into Rev’s arms. “I was so scared, Rev,” she whispered.

“So was I.”

“I didn’t know that you’d made it off the planet until I got back here.”

“The ents reported it,” Rev said. “At least, they told me they did.”

“But the word didn’t make it down to us.”

Rev frowned. The lieutenant knew about his and Tomiko’s relationship. Why hadn’t she made sure Tomiko knew Rev was on his way back?

That’s another damn thing I’m going to have out with her.

“Well, we made it, thanks to the Gunny here,” Randigold said. “It was nip and tuck there, though.”

“But you made it. That’s what matters. So, let’s get out of here. We’ve got a ride outside.”

“Don’t suppose you brought me a leg,” Randigold said, pointing at the empty spot below her hip.

“No, but sickbay’s got one for you, ready for a fitting.”

“Don’t do me no good there,” she said as she got her single prostheses under her and stood.

“Do you need any help?” Tomiko asked.

“I made it this far on one leg. I guess I can hop along with you two.”

The three of them made their way to the other side of the low building to where Bundy was waiting with a smaller flatbed. The two friends hugged and slapped each other’s back.

“Good to see you, Rev. Uh, you too, Corporal.”

“It’s OK. No hugging necessary. Sir,” she said, adding the honorific almost as an afterthought.

Bundy just nodded. “Let’s get out of here. Battalion’s waiting to debrief you two.”

The four climbed onto the back platform, and the truck started off. Bundy reached into an assault pack and brought out a tray with a heavenly aroma wafting up from it.

“Thought you might like some spaghetti,” he said. “If you want to shuck those PALs, you can eat this on the way back.

“Screw the PALs,” Rev said as he reached for the tray. “We were out of them in the ent ship. Showers, too. But we haven’t had real food since we left.”

Tomiko and Bundy watched in amusement as the two Marines inhaled the food. Spaghetti was a fabricator standard, and their fabricators were nothing special, but it was one of the best meals Rev had eaten. Within a couple of minutes, the two had scarfed down the entire tray, and he and Randigold took turns licking it clean.

Rev let out a loud, satisfied burp, then asked, “So, what’s going on with Lynth?”

“The fries are taking him to one of their ships. We’ll get an update once they’ve assessed him. We sent up his last bios that we recorded before the noxes closed down the comms. Doc Talbot said it was a miracle that he’s still alive.”

“We didn’t think he was going to make it,” Rev said. “And he wouldn’t if Eth here hadn’t hauled him to the LZ.”

“You carried him most of the way, Gunny,” she said.

Despite devouring her share of the spaghetti, she seemed a little withdrawn.

Probably because of Bundy.

Rev was used to the man, and for him, as a gunnery sergeant, a captain was no longer such a big deal. But to a corporal, that was a little different.

“But if you hadn’t brought him halfway, we’d both be back on the planet as guests of the noxes.”

He didn’t bring it up now with her there, but he was going to insist that Randigold was put up for a medal. He was pretty sure Bundy would agree to write up a proposal and send it up.

He could tell Randigold was feeling self-conscious, so he shifted the topic. “How did the company do?” Which was a roundabout way to ask about casualties.

“The company? Twenty-six KIA, another nineteen WIA.”

Rev winced and said, “Respect for the fallen,” along with Randigold.

“And the platoon?”

“Twelve KIA, five WIA. Davydenko, Lourdes, Klein, Feda, König, and Ziegler with you. Tottington, Su, Liege, Smith, Laredo-Mia, and Omenuko.”

Once again, they said, “Respect for the fallen,” this time with Tomiko and Bundy chiming in.

“So, what now? Are we getting more replacements?” Rev asked, already thinking about how to train the newbies up.

“About that,” Bundy said before looking around to see if any of the several types of aliens on the street were listening as they drove by.

“What?”

“We’re going home.”

“What?” he asked again, this time with a little more emphasis.

“We’re going home. Back to Safe Harbor.”

“The expeditionary force is being stood down? That’s BS. I know things haven’t been very smooth, but we have to keep cooperating. Whose friggin‘ idea was this?”

“Calm down, big boy,” Tomiko said. “We’re going home, but the program is still on.”

Rev looked at her, then at Bundy.

“Think of it as a unit rotation. Third Battalion is going to come take our place.”

“The Mad Dogs?”

“They’re not just the Mad Dogs. They’re multi-national, just like we are.”

“But mostly Mad Dogs. I don’t know. Them and the clickers. Hell, them and the ents. Can you imagine that, as arrogant as both of them are?”

A brief memory flashed through his mind, of Archambault and the others saying that the MDS and Union were both as arrogant as the other. He quickly quashed that thought.

“Well, that’s what’s going to happen,” Bundy said. Then he looked at Rev’s expression and added, “Hey, smile! This is a good thing. You’ll be able to see your family. Take a little time off.”

“I don’t know,” Rev said.

It made sense, he knew. The battalion had suffered losses in both personnel and equipment. The last group of replacements, particularly the IBHU Marines, had not been prepared.

Respect to the fallen, Ziegler.

They needed to reman and resupply, then train together before they were thrust back into combat. But he was wary of the MDS coming in. There were three battalions, at least there were when they left human space. Why not send out Second Battalion? It was more representative, anyway.

“With that news out of the way, and before battalion gets their hands on you, what the hell, Rev?” Bundy asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You know damn well what I mean.”

“Nexus of Chaos,” Tomiko said. “Always the same thing.”

Rev said, “I don’t know what you’re getting at. I was just fighting along with Hussein and the rest.”

“Bull-fucking-shit. One moment we’re neck-deep in it, fighting for our lives, and the next moment the hivers are just wandering off.”

Randigold, who’d been keeping quiet, looked confused and asked, “What’s the skipper talking about, Gunny.”

“Nothing. The hivers quit the battle. That’s all.”

“Yeah. They quit the battle because you took out the hive queen.”

“What hive queen?” Randigold asked.

“It was no big deal. I mean, we fought our way to her, and then she asked me to kill her. So, I did.”

Bundy and Tomiko’s mouths dropped open in unison, while Randigold still looked lost.

“She what?” Bundy asked.

Rev thought back for a moment. Hussein and the rest would have already been debriefed. But none of them would have heard the queen asking to be put out of her misery. Somehow, in the rush to get off the planet, and then with the three of them on a Breel ship, that hadn’t been reported up.

“I guess maybe I should have let someone know.”

<That’s a fair assessment.>

“Uh . . . it . . . she was being tortured. I think the noxes were forcing her to make her . . . minions? . . . work. And when we were there, to fight us. And I don’t think she wanted to fight us.”

That was the conclusion he and Punch had come to during the crossing back.

“That’s why they had to torture her, to force her to make them fight. And I guess it was just too much. She asked me to kill her. Said it many times, in fact. Got pissed when I hesitated.”

“So, you killed her,” Bundy said.

“I was going to do it anyway. I just didn’t know all the little hivers would disconnect, or whatever they did.”

All three Marines just stared at him until finally, Bundy said, “How is it always you? Every freaking time, you’re in the middle of it all.”

“Nexus of Chaos,” Tomiko said. “That says it all.”

“Nexus of what?” Randigold asked.

“Nexus of Chaos. That’s what the last commandant called him.”

“What does that mean?”

“Miko!” Rev said. “Let it go.”

Rev hated the title. It wasn’t true. All the Nexus of Chaos bullshit was pure coincidence. He wasn’t anything. He’d just been at a few places where important changes occurred.

But Tomiko was on a roll. She went into a long explanation about the name and then started marrying up all the little coincidences that she thought buttressed the title.

Rev knew better than to try and stop her. He leaned back and closed his eyes. If it looked like he was asleep, he could pretend that he wasn’t listening.

Bundy leaned in. “I know you’re not asleep. You’d better figure out just what you’re going to say, though. The force and battalion staffs are waiting to debrief you.”

“Shit. Punch, let’s go over the recordings and make sure we know what they’re going to see. And if we need to change anything . . .”

<Is it a good idea for you to vocalize that?> Punch asked in table talk, their method of communicating that they thought Omega Division couldn’t eavesdrop on.

Out here in Uauii space, Rev had gotten lazy and ignored table talk. But if they were going back to Safe Harbor, Omega Division could be back to their games.

“I don’t mean we change anything, of course. I just want to make sure I remember everything correctly,” he quickly subvocalized.

“But I did disobey orders when I left the LZ to get Eth and Lynth. Can we clean that up? Make it like I didn’t hear the order? And I want to see what exactly went down with the queen. I hope I didn’t screw up.”

<I can try,> he said in table talk, while in normal speech, <Roger. I’ll have it all for review.>

Tomiko was still in full Nexus of Chaos theory when the flatbed pulled up to the battalion area.

Thankful that he could interrupt, he told Randigold, “Let’s get to the armory and get out of these PALs, then get you to sickbay for your leg.”

He hopped off the bed, then turned to help the corporal when Bundy said, “Gird your loins, Rev.”

“What?”

Bundy pointed behind Rev, who turned around to see Major Ma bearing down on him.

“Sir?” he asked as the major reached him.

“Welcome back, Gunny. We were very happy to get the message that you were on the ent ship. But if you can come with me now?”

“If I can, I’d like to get Corporal Randigold and me out of our PALs and cleaned up. She needs to get to sickbay to get fitted with a new leg.”

“Captain Bundy can take care of the corporal. We need to start our debrief, now. The staff has gathered, and we’ve got links going back to Titan and New Mars. So, if you please?”

He glanced back at Bundy, who mouthed, “I told you so.”

Rev sighed. It wasn’t as if the major used the word “please” to indicate he was asking Rev instead of telling him.

“Eth, I’ll check with you later. Miko, I’ll see you later, too.” He took a quick look at the major. “Maybe much later.”

He knew they’d be anxious to find out exactly what had happened, but he’d hoped to decompress a little before he faced that. At least Bundy had brought the spaghetti, so he wasn’t facing this on an empty stomach.

He turned to the major and said, “Lead on, sir.”

* * *

“I don’t suppose you found any Sober Up,” Tomiko asked Rev as she dropped her seabag next to his.

“No such luck. We’re not supposed to be drinking here, you know. I just had Punch up my electrolytes and amino acids. Tell Pikachu to do the same.”

“I did, but it’s not helping,” she grumbled.

“Well, you were in fine form last night, Miko.”

“And you weren’t?”

“It was kinda epic, wasn’t it,” Rev said with a smile.

“Galaxy shattering, Rev.”

As their last night on Clickerland, Rev, Tomiko, Kelly, and Yancey had invited Koral and some of the Breel over for a last drink together.

“Last,” as in one drink. Rev had scrounged up a bottle of Ceti Mandarin Rum, courtesy of the SNCO mafia, and he wanted to share it with his Breel brothers in arms.

Somehow, and neither he nor Punch could really quite figure it out, that had morphed into a party with most of the company’s SNCOs, and later with other troopers, more Breel, and even some Kanters stopping by. Alcohol, both human and Breel versions, somehow spontaneously appeared.

The proverbial good time was had by all. At least Rev thought it was. His memory was a little fuzzy, and when he was drunk, that affected Punch, which was something that always puzzled Rev. His battle buddy was crystal, after all, and he denied being affected, but the proof was in the pudding.

Tomiko sighed and sat on her seabag. “Our Mad Dogs don’t seem to think much of us,” she remarked as three MDS officers walked by, disdain plastered on their faces.

Most MDS citizens avoided alcohol, and they didn’t try to hide their opinion of drunks.

“They can eat me,” Rev said.

While the Third Battalion advance team had been on the planet for just over a month now, the main body had only arrived three days ago. The facilities had been crowded with almost twice the number of troopers, but while there had been a bit of jaw-jacking, the turnover had been relatively conflict-free.

The arrival of the MDS-led battalion wasn’t the only difference since the battalion had returned from its last mission. Evidently, the Niklith had decided they’d observed enough, and they were arriving in large numbers. Rev had very little contact with the race, which looked like mutant scorpions to him, but Third Battalion would evidently be working closely with them. He didn’t know if he envied or pitied them. He asked the Breel about the Niklith, but they’d been pointedly non-committal about their allies.

“Are you ready for . . . whoa! I heard you had a little party last night, but from the looks of you two, I’d say it wasn’t little,” the company first sergeant said as he came up to them.

“It was, uh, interesting,” Rev said.

“And you didn’t invite me?”

“We really didn’t invite anyone, First Sergeant,” Tomiko said. “Everyone just sorta showed up.”

“Yeah, right,” the first sergeant snorted. “Anyway, I just came to check to see if you’re ready for customs.”

He looked around at the haphazard group with his hands on his hips.

“Customs?” Rev said. “Here?”

“You didn’t read the memo?”

Rev guiltily looked at his wristcomp. Sure enough, there were not just one but two action alert memos there.

“They sent out a customs team. Seems they want to make sure your precious Safe Harbor isn’t infected with some exotic flesh-eating crud.”

The first sergeant was a Confederation sergeant prime, which was the senior enlisted rank in the Confederation Guard, and he’d made his opinion known of his perception of Safe Harbor being a backwater planet.

“But if it was dangerous, wouldn’t we be already eaten away?” Tomiko asked.

“Not my decision. Just get the seabags lined up and the troops backed away. You’ve got thirty-five minutes.”

Rev waited until the first sergeant left, then said,” I’ll tell Third and Fourth, so if you can get our two platoons going?”

“Fucking bureaucrats. You know they’ll hit us again when we land. Mother help us if someone has a souvenir or two. The planet will have to go into lockdown!”

But she stood to get First and Second Platoons ready. Rev went to tell the other two platoon sergeants.

<What are you going to do?>

“Damn if I’ll let them take my knives.”

Rev had three blades: a Breel, a Kanter, and an Uauii. The Breel and the Kanter had been gifts, but the Uauii, which was arguably the coolest of the three, was the prize. This was the same type of blade he’d tried to win back when he’d played the Knock-on game with the Uauii and literally lost his pants to them. But this blade had cost him. The Uauii who’d trade with him had driven a hard bargain.

He was not going to give them up. The customs team would probably keep them for themselves anyway.

“You’ve got thirty-five minutes. Come up with something, Punch.”

Rev passed the word, then came back to get the platoon ready. They lined up the seabags in platoon formation. The ever-present Kanters found this fascinating and took turns running over the rows of seabags and had to be continually shooed away.

Rev, as platoon sergeant, didn’t have an official spot in the formation, and he considered hiding his seabag, but he realized that wouldn’t work. The problem was, he didn’t know what would work. And he knew they’d load the seabags the moment they’d been inspected.

By the time the customs agents arrived, neither Rev nor Punch had come up with anything, not with all the bags lined up out in the open in full sight of everyone.

“Hey, get out of there,” Archambault shouted as one of the Kanters stopped their play to try and open the Legionnaire’s seabag, and Rev had an idea.

The platoon had gathered behind their seabags, and from the looks of it, there were more than a few who had some type of contraband. Rev eased back through them and motioned for one of the Kanters over.

Five came, not just the one he’d intended.

This had better work.

He got down to one knee and explained what he wanted. The Kanters seemed excited, but then again, they always seemed excited. Kanters could say a few words in Standard, and they could speak so that the translators could do their job, but the five only whistled and chittered.

Rev explained again, and he pointed to his bag.

“Do you understand?”

One of the Kanters did a backflip, and a moment later, they all disappeared from sight.

Well, crap. That was a wasted effort.

<It was a good idea.>

“But not good enough.”

With a sigh, Rev moved forward to watch the inspection. There was always hope.

And hope could be dashed.

The inspection was quick. The agents walked through the squad ranks with their scanners, only stopping to remove items. Troopers groaned as the items were confiscated, and Rev resigned himself to losing the knives.

But as the agents reached Fourth Squad, a bundle of five Kanters darted into the scene. One reached up to touch one of the agents’ scanners, which made her startle and take a step back. The troopers, who weren’t too happy with what was going on, laughed.

One Kanter started poking at Haroldsdotter’s open seabag, and the other two agents stepped up to shoo him away. Rev’s hope was rising, and then the remaining three darted to Rev’s seabag, sitting all alone behind Fourth Squad’s rank.

One of the agents shouted, but the Kanters were quick. They opened the right outer pocket, snatched the knives, and darted away through the troopers.

The platoon laughed again, and one of the agents stepped over Fourth’s seabags, looked inside the outer pocket of Rev’s bag, then, with a look of disgust, sealed it before scanning the bag.

Now let’s hope they don’t just keep them.

The agents took another few minutes finishing their inspection, confiscating more contraband, and as they moved to Second Platoon, the seabags were loaded onto a flatbed.

Rev kept watching, but no Kanters jumped up to return the knives, and as his bag became buried under Second Platoon’s, his elation started to fade.

Once all the company’s seabags were loaded, the flatbed took off. Rev kept watching, but he didn’t see his team of thieves return.

That’s the way things went sometimes, though. You win some, you lose some. This one hurt, though. Knives were one of the few things that seemed to be universal, and like most Marines, Rev loved both their utility and beauty. And to have a trifecta of alien knives . . .

It wasn’t meant to be, he guessed.

With the seabags gone, it was only a matter of time now. Rev meandered over to Tomiko and Kelly.

“I saw those lemmings. Was that you?” Tomiko asked.

“Didn’t work. I think they kept them.”

“What’re you talking about?” Kelly asked.

“Rev had a lemming, ent, and clicker knife.”

“Oh, uber cool. I shoulda gotten one. Oh . . . customs.”

“Ah, doesn’t matter,” Rev said.

Four more flatbeds moved into the area.

“I see we’re going out the same way we came in,” Tomiko said.

“As it should be,” Rev answered.

Above them, lower than normal, three Sia floated over the troopers.

“What do you think they’re doing floating around up there?” Kelly asked.

“Making sure we leave. As peace-loving as they are, they want to make sure we barbarians get the hell out of here,” Tomiko said with a laugh.

She turned to Rev. “You still think they’re spies?”

Rev stared at them. They were certainly graceful. The image of the one being blown apart on the hiver planet briefly flickered through his mind.

“I don’t know. They could be. But they sure the hell don’t contribute to the war, so I don’t know why the others worship their asses.”

“They don’t have asses, Rev,” Kelly said.

“Eat me, Kelly.”

“In your dreams.”

“Hey, Gunny!” a voice called out.

Rev turned around. Over-Private Lvarn was making his way to them.

“I just wanted to say goodbye.”

With Third Battalion being an MDS-centric unit, the karnan had managed to wangle a transfer, and he’d be staying on. Rev had gotten to like the young soldier, but it made sense. With his experience serving here, he’d be a valuable asset as the new unit came up to speed.

Rev held out a hand, which the karnan took.

“It’s been an honor, Gunny. Really.”

“The honor was all mine, Leith.”

And to his surprise, he realized it was true. Rev wasn’t an MDS fan. He’d fought against them not too long ago. But when it boiled down to it, there were all soldiers, and fighting alongside each other created bonds. The past was the past. Now was now.

Not just the MDS and Union. Not just humans. Breel. Kanter. Uauii. And now Niklith. United in a single, just cause—to kill the Naxli scourge.

“I just want to say that me leaving, that don’t mean nothing against you or the rest.”

“I know. And you’ll be fine. They need you.”

“You’re good people, Gunny. All of you,” he hastily added, nodding at Tomiko and Kelly.

“Alpha Company, start loading up,” Gunny Lian shouted out.

“I just . . . I just wanted to tell you that,” Lvarn said.

“And I appreciate it. But if you’re going to give a last goodbye to the others, then you’d better get at it.”

Rev held out his hand again, but the karnan just looked at it, not taking it. Rev frowned, wondering what was wrong.

“If you don’t mind, Gunny, you know,” Lvarn said, holding his left arm up, bent at the elbow, fist clenched.

Rev was confused for a moment, then he understood. The karnan’s hyper-augments were on the inside, covered in his flesh, unlike an IBHU Marine. But he still had a lot of stuff he wasn’t born with. Just like Rev.

“Sibs in Steel, Leith,” Rev said, raising his prostheses.

A huge smile broke out over the karnan’s face, and he tapped Rev’s arm with his. “Sibs in Steel, Gunny!”

EPILOGUE

“I’ll take that,” Rev said, reaching down to pick up his bag from where it had been laid out on the tarmac. He wanted to make sure it got onto the right truck.

He carried it over to the truck with the Alpha Company on the side and heaved it up. It hit with a bit of a clank, which made Rev scrunch his eyebrows together. He leaned over the edge of the bed and pulled it back. He didn’t think he had anything breakable inside.

He gave it the once over, and his eyes hesitated over the outside pocket.

“No!”

Rev looked around, then when no one seemed to be watching, he casually opened the pocket. Three carefully wrapped packages were inside.

“Damn lemmings! Thank you, you furry little bastards!”

Rev pulled the three blades out and slipped them into his thigh cargo pockets. He didn’t know if they’d go through customs at Nguyen, but he could stash the blades in the bus on the drive over, and he’d be in the clear.

He stepped back and supervised the loading of the bags, sure that official eyes were on him. But no one stopped him, and the last bags were loaded, and the trucks took off.

A master sergeant from the G4, in his bellowing voice, called out, “OK, First Battalion. Let’s get you out of here. We’re leaving through the main terminal. Stay inside the barriers and out to the buses. You already should know your bus number, but if you’ve forgotten, there are a dozen guides, all with a red armband. They’ll steer you to your ride.”

It wasn’t an organized movement, but the working party made their way back inside the terminal where the rest of the battalion was waiting. The last few troopers were scanned in, and then everyone was released to the buses.

Tomiko flagged him down, and he pushed through to join her and some of the other Alpha SNCOs as they merged with the crowd filing out through immigration.

This is freaking amazing,” Hussein said as they made their way through the gate.

A crowd had gathered at the terminal, and newsdrones hovered like a cloud of gnats just beyond the barrier.

“We’re news, Hus-man,” Tomiko said. “The first interspecies unit.”

“The Centaurs fought with us on Syron III. Saved you and me, Miko.”

Tomiko frowned and said, “You know what I mean, Rev.”

Rev did know what she meant, but this was one of his pet peeves, and he’d been harping on it to anyone who would listen. And he’d had plenty of opportunity. From the moment he, Randigold, and Lynthnic had returned to Clickerland until two days before they’d left to come home, Rev had been in debrief after debrief, once with the CoH Director Second. He might be only a gunnery sergeant, but hopefully, someone had taken his words to heart.

For all the feeling of interspecies unity he’d felt while leaving the Uauii outpost, there was a missing link. The Centaurs.

They might be on the decline as a race. They might be difficult to understand. But they’d managed to survive despite being at war with the Naxli, the humans, and the allies. They were still a force to be reckoned with, and their armor alone would be worth incorporating into any action. A few Paladins would have made a big difference on Granite or the hiver world.

Tomiko leaned in and whispered, “Be happy. Remember what that PAO told us. We’re the face of the allied effort, and every moment is being recorded.”

“They hated us for being Genesians and Eucharans. Remember Mr. Oliva? Now they love us? Don’t worry, though, they’ll change their mind.”

“What’s with you, Rev. Smile!”

He wasn’t sure what was with him. Maybe he didn’t trust the change of heart. Mr. Oliva had been jumped and assaulted by thugs because of his prostheses. Too much like the feared Genesians. And now, they were heroes?

Hussein might be eating it up, but Rev wasn’t buying it. Once the war became old news, once they defeated the Naxli, the public would turn on them. Of that, he was sure.

Tomiko nudged his side. She was right, not because the Public Affairs Officer who’d met them in orbit told them to be happy. He was home. He’d see his family soon. He was alive with his fiancé, and he should be happy.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

He put a smile on his face and waved to the crowd. At the moment, they loved the battalion, and he should enjoy it while he could.

“Gunny Pelletier!” a young man called out. “Tell our viewers how you knew that the Lth was a single creature.”

Rev just smiled and waved. He’d been told—warned—that his role in the fight on hiver planet had been leaked for PR purposes. Rev was already something of a local hero on Safe Harbor, and the Union wanted to feed into that narrative on a larger stage. He wanted to answer that he didn’t know about the Lth—it had taken the Kanters, of all their allies, to inform the humans of the hiver’s name—nature at the time. He didn’t know it was one being. Not a hive like a beehive or ant colony, but one single being. All the workers, all the fighters, they were as much one being as his fingers were part of him.

All he thought he’d done was to put a tortured being out of its misery. But now he learned he hadn’t done that. That Lth was still alive, just without the “brain,” if he could put it that way, and the xenobiologists theorized that another brain was growing to take its place.

But he said nothing. He was scheduled for several interviews, but the Marine Corps wasn’t going to expose him to the press until the command and the Public Affairs Division decided what his extemporaneous comments and opinions would be.

“When are you getting married, Staff Sergeant Tomiko?” another voice in the press area called out.

Rev felt Tomiko stiffen beside him. It was one thing to be asked about the war, but this was edging into private territory.

“Smile,” he whispered.

They filed past the press area, and Rev sighed with relief. He’d have to face them soon, but he felt more secure knowing that he’d be supported by the PAO. He should be upset that they would be handling him, but for the moment, he was glad they’d be there.

There was still a large crowd of spectators. Rev didn’t bother looking. This was Anastasia, and they wouldn’t be staying. They’d be boarding the buses for the ride to Nguyen, where the commanding general had set up a massive welcome home party for the conquering heroes.

Except they weren’t conquering heroes. They’d provided a proof of concept, one Third Battalion would be expanding upon. They’d won a major battle. But the Naxli were still out there. Once the celebration was over, it would be back to the grindstone, working out the lessons learned and developing new tactics and procedures.

A battle might have been won, but the war was ongoing. Humankind was being mobilized.

Tomiko suddenly grabbed his arm, bodily turning him around.

“What?” he asked.

She was pointing, and Rev looked up. A moment later, he ran across to the barrier with her beside him.

“No stopping. No stopping!” someone shouted.

“Mom! Dad!” he said, reaching across the barrier to hug his mother.

“Why are you here? We can’t join you.”

“Your mother couldn’t wait for this afternoon, son. It’s been too long.”

Tomiko pushed Rev out of the way and embraced his mother.

“Get back from the barrier, Marines. You’re not authorized to mix with civilians here,” someone yelled at them.

A person in the crowd reached out to pat Rev on the shoulder, and another said, “Give them room.” The crowd pulled back a bit, and revealed a young Marine private in her dress blues, standing nervously behind Rev’s father.

“Oh, by the Mother,” Rev exclaimed, reaching out.

The private hesitated, full of the stiff awkwardness of someone new to the uniform, but the dam broke, and she ran forward into his arms.

“Rev . . . uh, Gunny . . .” she said.

Tears came to his eyes, and he said, “I’m always Big Brother, Kat. Always.”

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Rev will return in MARINES NEVER DIE, available 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.