Copyrighted Material

What Lies Behind 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

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Epilogue

Glossary

Cast of Characters

Acknowledgments

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1

The Manifest Destiny Sphere under-colonel, the rough equivalent to a Marine lieutenant colonel, stepped out of the tree line and marched forward, his helmet carried in the crook of his arm. He stopped in the middle of the clearing, the picture of deadly confidence.

“He sure looks the part,” Staff Sergeant Reverent Pelletier, Perseus Union Marine Corps, whispered as he watched on the feed in the MDS command post. “All he needs is a swagger stick to complete the picture.”

“Sssshhh,” Captain Aristotle Bundy hissed. “We’re guests here.”

Rev sighed. Aside from being his platoon commander, Bundy was one of his first friends in the Corps, but the older man didn’t always have much of a sense of humor.

Hussein now, he would have laughed if he hadn’t beaten Rev to the punch. Only Hussein wouldn’t have whispered it, so maybe it was good that he was outside with the rest of the platoon.

Not that anyone was paying them any attention. Rev, Bundy, and Navy Commander Hun had been grudgingly allowed to brief the MDS task force, but it had been clear from the start that they weren’t welcome, and the commanding mid-marshal had only listened to the brief for form’s sake.

Still, the under-colonel, the commander of the combat element, was following their guidance, at least up to now.

The arrival of the Naxli in human space had changed more than a few things within the military. After the first few raids on ships and populated worlds where they kidnapped hundreds of thousands of humans, the next incursions had been on sparsely populated planets. Rev came to the conclusion that the Naxli were testing human military capabilities, an opinion that was evidently shared by the Union Marine and Navy commands.

When the larger Naxli force on Mistworld agreed to fight on even numerical terms, with the rest of the force withdrawing when their smaller force was defeated, the Marines latched onto the strategy of limiting the scope of any single battle. The Congress of Humanity had agreed to pursue this strategy. The MDS hadn’t seemed to be on board with it, voicing their opinion that it was somehow part of a Union powerplay, but having lost their war with the rest of humanity, they were no longer in a position to go against the Congress. By perverse luck, it was an MDS planet, Alicia’s Bounty, where the next incursion occurred, and Third Platoon, as the unit that had already taken part in a limited fight, had been sent to help guide the MDS task force through the process.

This was more than just a way to minimize the fighting. The Union was putting its leadership on the line.

“Just let things go as expected. All we need is for the under-colonel to be cut down before a parlay,” Rev muttered under his breath. “Bad for everyone.”

<Not the least for the deca commander,> Punch said.

Rev couldn’t hold back the laugh, and Bundy gave him a hard elbow to the side, which didn’t bother him at all, given he was wearing his PAL-HX combat suit. But he got the message.

He was glad that Punch was showing a little of the humor that had been part of his battle buddy’s persona since the crystal AI had been implanted into his brain. Punch had been somewhat distant lately without his continual telling of bad jokes. In normal circumstances, Rev might have had a tech check on what was going on with him, but given Punch’s unique development, neither of them wanted the powers that be to pay the AI any more attention than normal and pry into his crystal mind.

There was a sudden stirring in the CP, and Rev snapped back to the screen. A tall, lanky figure, vaguely human-looking, strode into the clearing, marched up to the MDS officer, and stopped three meters from the human. The drone recording the scene flew in closer.

The two stared at each other for a long moment like fighting dogs sizing each other up.

“Do we have any confirmation of some sort of way to determine nox ranks yet?”

<Nothing has been disseminated. We don’t have any confirmation that they even have ranks.>

Rev grunted. Militaries had ranks. It was a fact of life. The Naxli were alien, true, but their military tactics wouldn’t be out of place in a human army. Rev thought that was evidence enough that they had to have some sort of leadership structure.

The Naxli facing the under-colonel might not be an officer as humanity understood the term, but if things went true to form, it had the ability to arrange for a gnist, what they termed an arranged, limited fight.

The MDS officer could have stepped out from central casting: tall, broad-shouldered, square-jawed, and with a touch of gray in his close-cropped hair. He stood there as if he hadn’t a care in the world, but Rev couldn’t help but remember watching the recording of when the Synergy Alliance battalion commander on Heverig approached the Naxli and was cut down in cold blood, his battalion’s survivors murdered.

That guy tried to surrender, Reverent. The Mad Dogs are offering to fight. Big difference.

When the Naxli didn’t speak, it was the human officer who broke the silence. “I offer you warrior terms.”

The Naxli stared at the under-colonel for a full twenty seconds before it asked, “What terms?”

“Standard warrior gnist,” he said, stumbling over the alien word. “Infantry only. No armor or mech. One thousand troops.”

Rev had been surprised that the MDS wanted to make this almost a battalion-sized battle. Win or lose, MDS troopers were going to be killed, and that was putting a lot more of them at risk.

“One-thousand, one-hundred, seventeen warriors,” the Naxli countered. That seemed like a weird number, but the Naxli were aliens, after all, despite that they’d shifted their bodies to approximate humans.

The under-colonel seemed a little surprised as well, but he quickly said, “Agreed.”

“No airborne vehicles of battle. You may keep your recording devices,” the Naxli said, quickly glancing at the microdrone recording the meeting.

“Agreed. When?”

“We will return to this spot in one hundred, thirty-six of your minutes.”

“Agreed.”

“That’s it, folks,” the mid-marshal said, breaking the silence inside the CP. “Back to your stations and get ready to kick some skeletal ass.”

There was a chorus of “hup-hups,” the MDS equivalent of the Marine “ooh-rah” as the staff turned back to their pads and comps, a flurry of activity.

“Captain Bundy,” the commander said before tilting her head for the two Marines to follow her out of the CP.

“This is going to take a while,” she said once they had a modicum of privacy. “I’ll wait it out in the CP, but no need for all three of us to sit and bask in their disdain.”

Rev snorted. He hadn’t known what to make of the commander when she’d debriefed him after the mission on Mistworld, but after working with her on this liaison mission, he had to give her his respect. She was good people.

“Why don’t you two go do your jarhead stuff with your platoon? Get back here before the combat team kicks this thing off.”

“Better you than me, ma’am,” Bundy said.

“That’s what I get paid the big credits for, Captain.”

She turned to go back into the CP, and Bundy told Rev, “Just make sure they’re fed and rested. Nothing much else for them to do.”

Which was about the twentieth time Rev had heard that. Bundy hadn’t understood why the command had sent the entire platoon to the MDS. They were superfluous here. This was an MDS mission, and the Marines were not attached as combat troops. They were there to guide the MDS in the new paradigm of limited engagements with the Naxli forces. Rev had been through it himself, and the commander was one of the Union’s experts in the engagements with the Naxli to date. Bundy was . . . well, he was an officer, and Rev was a staff sergeant.

Rev might be one of the very few who’d gone through a parlay with the Naxli, but to those at the top of the food chain, a staff sergeant, even one with Rev’s rep, just wasn’t up to the intricacies of dealing with other officers.

“Probably thought I’d stand around picking my nose with one finger and sticking the other up my ass,” he told Tomiko when the orders had been received.

“You don’t have the right officer mindset,” she’d responded. “An officer wouldn’t use their finger. They’d order some non-rate to stick a finger up their commissioned ass.”

And that was just one reason why he loved her.

“You gonna eat sludge?” Bundy asked in a hopeful tone as they walked back to where they’d parked the platoon.

The Marines had given the platoon three weeks’ worth of combat rats, otherwise known as sludge, which provided everything a combat Marine needed to fight except for one thing: taste. But as an officer, Bundy couldn’t very much disparage the sludge in front of the platoon.

Rev thought about screwing with Bundy, but friend or not, the man was still his commander.

“I’m going to track down Hyanis and see if he can hook us up. Say what you want about the Mad Dogs, but their chow is pretty primo.”

Bundy slapped Rev across the shoulder and said, “Righteous. I don’t care what Major Pelegrino says. I think you’re a good Marine.”

“With all due respect, sir. Eat me.”

“No, Staff Sergeant. I’ll be eating whatever you, in the best traditions of a Marine SNCO, can scrounge up.”

There was a bounce in the captain’s step as he kept walking. Rev watched his friend for a moment, then split off to find Over-sergeant Hyanis, the platoon’s liaison. Bundy had that part right. MDS trooper or Union Marine, the SNCO mafia was where you went when you wanted to get shit done.

* * *

Rev never did get that MDS chow. It was only twenty minutes before the MDS deca was moving out to clash with the Naxli. Rev rushed back to the CP and joined the commander in the back, where he tried to remain unobtrusive, which was a little difficult given the IBHU attached to his left shoulder.

He wasn’t even sure they were supposed to be in there. They’d done their job in helping prepare the MDS to set up the situation. Now that it was go-time, the three Union personnel were serving no purpose. But it was better to take the initiative than ask for permission. Within moments, Bundy entered the CP, spotted the other two, and hurried over.

“This is it,” he said. “Hard to believe that we’re watching a Mad Dog op from the inside.”

“Hard to believe that the Naxli are OK with the pick-ups and aren’t jamming the hell out of them,” Rev said, pointing to all of the screens in the CP.

“Not that hard to believe, Staff Sergeant,” the commander said. “Not if they want us to watch what happens.” She looked around to see if anyone was listening, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “And not if they expect to wipe out the Mad Dogs.”

Rev grunted. She was right. He was sure they’d want everyone to see what was going to transpire.

“You think the Mad Dogs have a chance?” Bundy asked.

Rev waited for the commander to answer, and when she didn’t, he turned from the screen that showed the Mad Dog infantry moving to the Line of Departure and saw that both of them were looking at him for his opinion.

Which took him aback for a moment. He might be the only one on the planet who’d actually met the Naxli before in a limited engagement, but it had been a spur-of-the-moment thing where he’d been acting on instinct. And the commander was far more the expert on MDS capabilities.

He took a moment to get his thoughts straight. “Can they win? I guess so. But the only times we’ve beaten the noxes so far have seemed to be when we surprised them. Like with the armor on Armadillo. Or with our IBHUs on Mistworld.

“If the Mad Dogs can keep them unbalanced, then maybe.”

“But do you think they’ll win?” the commander asked.

Rev looked around the CP where the command staff was the very model of military professionalism and efficiency. The MDS was still a powerful force, and their military was a vital cog in their culture. With more people, they could have very well defeated the combined nations in the Council of Humanity. So, it didn’t seem like a reach to opine that they could win the coming battle. The Naxli seemed to be a more powerful force, but with their desire to meet their enemies on equal footing, they were bringing themselves down to the human level.

Approximate level, Rev had to remind himself.

On Brahmaloka, while they were still in their Centaur-like forms, they’d been hit by two Marine Shrike fighters. They opened up with two of their energy weapons to blast the fighters out of the sky. To Rev, that meant they were willing to up the ante if it looked like they might lose.

They could win if they could surprise the Naxli. But the MDS weren’t known for being innovative on the battlefield. They were too wedded to their SOPs. And from what Rev had been able to glean, none of the combat force, for some unfathomable reason, were karnans, the MDS hyper-augmented soldiers. Taken together, Rev thought that would be their downfall.

“No,” he told the other two. “I don’t think they’ll pull it off, to be honest. Without some surprise to pull out of their hat, I think the noxes have the advantage.”

Bundy pursed his lips for a moment, then said to the commander, “We might want to make sure we’ve got our ride off planet if that happens.”

“The Naxli have agreed to the terms, Captain. I don’t think they’ll interfere with a withdrawal.”

“It’s not the noxes that concern me, ma’am.”

Rev hadn’t considered what Bundy was inferring, and from the expression on her face, neither had the commander.

“Um . . . let me go see what I can find out. You two stay here for now,” she said.

Rev didn’t think the MDS would react if their combat force lost. They were allies now, humans against the Naxli invaders. But . . .

“Lead elements are crossing the LOD,” one of the MDS staff officers shouted.

On the main screen, MDS troopers were moving out. Rev settled in to watch, feeling more unsettled than he’d been at any time since he landed on the planet.

* * *

Eight hours later, clarity was finally beginning to gel. After more probing than Rev had expected, the Naxli were starting to gain the upper hand. In clash after clash, the Naxli were controlling the narrative of the battle.

It wasn’t that the MDS were getting routed. They were acquitting themselves with bravery and honor, but after an initial offensive push, they had now taken a more defensive posture. More than that, they were reacting, and that was a bad sign. The surviving MDS troopers were being herded closer and closer together, and the Naxli were massing for a final assault that would bowl the humans over.

“It won’t be long now,” Bundy whispered.

“I’m surprised they’ve lasted this long.”

With so many fighters, this wasn’t ever going to be as quick a fight as depicted in most war holovids. But after the first few clashes, Rev had thought the battle would have been determined shortly thereafter and long before now. Give credit to the tenacity of the individual MDS trooper for that.

The main screen switched to an overhead view of two MDS troopers taking refuge behind a couple of large trees. At least four Naxli warriors were closing in on them, keeping up a heavy volley of fire that pinned the soldiers in place. Chips of wood were flying off the trunks.

“Why are two Mad Dogs out there alone?” the commander asked.

One of the command staff, a sergeant, twisted in his station at the question and scowled at her before he turned back to his monitor.

“Could have been an OP,” Bundy said, then explained “Observation Post” when it was obvious that the Navy officer didn’t understand the term. “Or they got cut off. Or a hundred other reasons. It happens.”

She frowned and opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something but evidently thought the better of it. Rev understood where she was coming from. She was Navy, where except for SEALs, Seabees, and pilots, sailors didn’t get “separated” from their units. It was generally all or nothing for them. The ship made it back, or it didn’t.

Rev and Bundy were combat vets, and maybe they were a little more hardened to the plight of the two MDS soldiers. Every life was treasured, and each platoon mate lost caused anguish, but in order to function, they sometimes had to dampen the empathy that was normal for human beings.

It didn’t look good for the two soldiers, and Rev could sympathize with them, but he wasn’t going to break down over their situation.

And from the looks of it, none of the command staff was about to break down, either. In fact, none of them seemed to realize that the battle was going against them. Or maybe they did realize, but they couldn’t show it. Rev had served with MDS soldiers while in the Home Guard, and they were sometimes hard to decipher.

Three of the Naxli warriors came into full view of the drone camera as they charged forward, while others provided a base of fire. The trees were being shredded. The end was near, and the two soldiers evidently knew it as well. One turned to the other and said something that the drone didn’t pick up.

Each brought their weapon up, and together, they spun around and took the advancing Naxli under fire for a moment before the massive incoming dropped them both. One of the Naxli went to a knee, then staggered back up as the other two ran up to the two dead soldiers. One Naxli prodded a soldier with its foot, but the other looked up at the drone and in a very human gesture, gave it the middle finger.

Rev felt a surge of anger, but the command post was surprisingly muted. The sergeant who’d glared at the commander muttered, “Don’t worry, buddy. You’ve got yours coming.”

He probably thought he was too quiet for anyone to hear, but both Bundy and Rev, with their augmented hearing, had no problem picking it up.

“Pretty confident,” Bundy said.

“They’re Mad Dogs. A sense of superiority is embedded in their DNA.”

“Nice showing for those two, though,” Bundy said just before the main feed switched again. “Hope they’re recovered when this is said and done and they earned a resurrection attempt.”

Unlike the Corps, where every fallen Marine was resurrected if it was at all possible, the MDS only attempted resurrection for those who they determined to be worthy of the cost and effort. It went against Rev’s grain, even if he understood how that might encourage acts of bravery.

“I’d have to say they earned it,” Rev said.

“What’s the status of the skeletals’ compression?” the mid-marshal shouted across the CP from his field chair.

A map appeared on the main screen. A moment later, a red line made a rough oval to the north and another to the west of the gold circle that indicated the main surviving MDS force.

The mid-marshal studied that for a moment. “What do the AIs say?”

A colonel spoke up. “This may be it, sir. The numbers may continue to climb for another fifteen or twenty minutes, but their final assault should take place within the hour.”

Rev watched the mid-marshal, who showed no emotion at all. Flag officers in the MDS were often executed for failure, and with the battle about to be lost, he was probably contemplating his future. But Rev wouldn’t know that by looking at him.

“Capricorn,” the mid-marshal said.

“Capricorn!” an over-colonel repeated at a shout.

“Capricorn?” the commander asked Rev and Bundy.

“A code for something,” Bundy told her. “But I don’t know what.”

And for the next twenty minutes, nothing seemed to change. The surviving soldiers remained in their position, and the two Naxli groups maneuvered to be in position for the final assault. Rev tried to see if there was anything else going on, but several of the screens covering the area to the east of the Naxli were black.

Maybe the Naxli decided to take out those drones.

Rev didn’t think they needed to do that, though. There didn’t look to be any subterfuge in their plans. This was going to be a straight-up frontal assault with either a base of fire or a separate maneuvering element to the flank.

If the MDS were still at full or even 80% effective, Rev would give them a decent chance of fending off the Naxli. But if the numbers on the personnel staff’s screens were any indication, the MDS force was down to thirty-six percent.

The situation out in the AO might not have changed, but inside the CP, there’d been a subtle yet noticeable shifting of the atmosphere. Those manning screens were more attentive. The over-colonel in charge of operations had his flunkies huddled around him.

“A little late for that,” Bundy said.

“They all seem . . . excited?” Rev said, scanning the CP.

“Bass-ackwards, if you ask me. The writing’s on the wall. Besides, what can they do? The noxes let the drones fly, but direct comms are jammed.”

The operations over-colonel suddenly stood, looked back at the mid-marshal, and pointed at one of the screens.

“Wasn’t that screen just dark?” Rev asked Punch.

<Yes, it was.>

But now, it was live and displayed what looked like a movement of a large number of troops and—”

“Are those mechs?” Rev asked, not believing his eyes.

“Sure the hell looks like it,” Bundy said at the same time that Punch said, <Yes, they are. MDS Model Novembers.>

“I thought the terms were infantry only.”

“Yeah, that’s how I understood it,” the captain said, his eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

“What’s happening?” the commander asked.

“I think the Mad Dogs are bringing in mechs,” Bundy said.

“Karnans, too,” Rev added, catching a clear image of one of the hyper-augmented soldiers.

“But the agreement with the Naxli . . .”

“Evidently, the MDS aren’t paying attention to it,” Rev said, realizing that this was the plan all along, at least as a backup plan in case the MDS was losing.

That’s why no one in the CP had looked overly concerned. That’s why the sergeant had said the Naxli were going to “get theirs.” That’s why the drones to the east had been blacked out.

The Naxli had allowed drones to fly and transmit what was happening in the AO. The command must have figured the Naxli would be hacking into the drones, letting them act as aerial observers. By turning them off, they were blinding them to the new force that was racing in to hit the Naxli while they were concentrated to kick off the assault.

“Find me a pattern in the Mad Dog maneuverings,” he told Punch.

There was more than one way to herd an enemy. It wasn’t always a border collie nipping at the heels of the flock. The prey could be lured into position by a savvy commander who was willing to sacrifice some of his troops.

Rev glanced at the mid-marshal. The man was sitting in his field chair with the biggest shit-eating grin Rev thought he’d ever seen.

“Son of a bitch,” the commander said.

She strode to confront the mid-marshal in righteous fury.

“What are you doing, you stupid fuck?” she screamed as she loomed over the sitting commanding general. “You’ve wrecked everything we’ve worked hard to create.”

The general half-closed his eyes, his smile never fading from his face.

“I’m talking to you!” the commander screamed. “You stupid, stupid idiot. Why the hell did you break the rules!”

She took a step forward, and several soldiers started to converge on them, but the mid-marshal waved them off.

“Rules? You fight wars by the Marquess of Queensberry Rules? Really, Commander?”

He made “commander” sound like a curse word.

The mid-marshal broke eye contact with the apoplectic commander and looked around the CP for a moment. Rev knew that what he was about to say was for the rest of the command staff as much as for Commander Hun.

“We, of the Manifest Destiny Sphere, fight wars to win, whatever it takes. We don’t negotiate with the enemy to make what we do a child’s round of ‘which hand is it.’ You persies might want to kowtow to the skeletals, but we won’t. We’ll exterminate them.”

He pointed at the main screen, where the leading edge of the new force was cutting through the surprised Naxli.

Rev had said that the only way the MDS could win was to surprise the enemy, but he’d never thought this was how the MDS was going to achieve that surprise.

The commander lowered her voice, but the steel was still there, cutting and deep. “And what do you think the Naxli are going to do now? Just accept what just happened?”

“Get her, Rev. Pull her away,” Bundy said.

“I hope they come after us. That way, we’ll kill every last one of them.”

“You really are a dumb fuck. You’ve just signed our death warrant along with that of who knows how much of humanity.”

The mid-marshal had enough, and he ordered, “Get them out of here. I want her and all her persie jarheads off my planet now.”

Rev reached her first, using Pashu to block the troopers who’d rushed to do their commanding general’s bidding. If he used a little bit of force to dissuade two of them to tone down their eagerness, then who’s to say it wasn’t an accident?

“We’ve got to go, ma’am,” he said as she half-heartedly fought him.

Bundy tried to clear a path through the hostile soldiers. Behind them, all of the drone feeds cut off. The Naxli were evidently reacting.

As Rev pulled her out the entrance, she shouted one more line of defiance, “You’ve killed us all, you arrogant dickhead!”

2

Captain Bundy was briefing the platoon on what happened when Over-Sergeant Hyanis ran up to them.

“I’m supposed to stay with you until you’re off the planet.”

“Get lost, fuckhead,” Hussein said.

“Hussein!” Bundy snapped, pointing at the sergeant, who shifted his feet uncomfortably.

He didn’t say anything, so the captain turned back to the MDS trooper. “You’ve got us a ride out of here?”

“It’s coming,” their liaison said. “Sixteen-thirty.”

“Too late,” Bundy said.

The over-sergeant tilted his head back and gave the captain a “what the hell are you talking about” look.

“That’s what the transport officer gave you. It wasn’t even on the schedule.”

“Rev, take the over-sergeant aside and explain the birds and bees to him.”

Rev pulled the over-sergeant—his approximate equal in rank—to the side.

“Did they tell you why we’re leaving?”

“Well, they said it’s something about your crazy commander cursing Marshal Detan. Is that true? Did she?”

“Yeah, she did.”

“Holy shit. I’d have loved to see that,” Hyanis said with a gleeful chuckle.

“That’s not the reason, though. The real reason is that this place is about to become a battleground.”

The chuckle cut off mid-chuck.

“Wha . . . ? What do you mean?”

“Your dumbass commander decided to break the rules of the battle.”

“What? So, who cares?”

Rev wanted to reach out and strangle the man. “The noxes . . . the skeletals, as you call them, they agreed to limit the battle to a certain number of fighters and to infantry weapons.”

“Yeah, I know. So, what’s the problem?” he asked, looking back to where Bundy and the commander were surrounded by the Marines in the platoon.

“The problem is that if they aren’t limiting themselves, they can beat us. All of us.”

“Oh, that,” Hyanis scoffed, rolling his eyes. “That’s just part of the scare tactics you Congress lapdogs like to use.”

Rev’s eyes must have been like giga-joule lasers because he hastily added, “I don’t mean you Marines. But the leaders. You know, the politicians.”

“Look, this isn’t bullshit. I’ve seen them. I fought them. I’ve seen entire units wiped out to a person.”

“But you’re here,” Hyanis said.

“Just barely. They didn’t know we had IBHUs. And we surprised them on Armadillo with tanks. That isn’t going to work twice.”

Hyanis gave him a long appraising look. “You’re not bullshitting me?”

“I swear by the Mother, I’m not. We need you to move up our ride.” When the over-sergeant didn’t seem convinced, Rev added, “Even if I’m wrong, what harm is there in asking? It sounded to me that your marshal wanted us off the planet ASAP.”

He could tell their liaison wasn’t convinced, but the man shrugged and said, “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to ask. You go back to your platoon, and I’ll see what I can swing.”

“Do your best,” Rev said to his retreating back.

The Marines were checking weapons and inspecting each other as if going out on a mission. They were supposedly non-combat here, but the Naxli wouldn’t accept that.

“Well?” Bundy asked as Rev approached.

“He said he’s going to try and move us up,” he told Bundy. “And they’ve all been fed a line that the danger is all bullshit. He thinks they can hold off anything the noxes might do, now that the first 1117 have been taken care of.”

“Brainwashed idiots. I had so much shit dealing with them in the Guard.”

“You and me both.”

“You think the noxes survived? I mean, the ones in the battle?”

“Does it matter? The Mad Dogs broke the rules. They’ve proven themselves to be hreetz. The noxes aren’t going to stand for that. Doesn’t matter if they beat back the Mad Dogs or not. The rest will be coming for blood.”

“Yeah, you’re right. How long do you think we’ve got?”

“Five minutes? An hour? A day? The Mother knows.”

“Go make sure the Marines are ready. I hope it doesn’t come to it, but I think we’ve got to be prepared.

Rev spent the next ten minutes making his rounds, trying to show confidence when he was screaming like a banshee inside. Finally, he spotted Hyanis returning. He broke away from Randigold and hurried to the man.

“How’d it go?”

“I owe the Over-Gunner Keis a bottle of Donat Azurco, but I got you six hours,” he said, looking pleased with himself.

Rev frowned.

“Hey, it’s pretty damn good that I got even that.”

“Yeah. I just hope it’s enough, though.”

Hyanis stared at Rev as if trying to bore into his mind. “You really believe what you told me,” he said.

“Yeah, I do. Like I said, I’ve fought them. They’re going to come down on us like a ton of bricks.”

“We’re not really pushovers, you know.”

“You lost the damn war, Hyanis.”

“Hey,” he said, stepping back from Rev. “No need for that.”

“Don’t take it personally, but you’re not invincible. A true soldier needs to understand that.”

Hyanis sniffed, then opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, a fusillade of firing erupted from the other side of the camp.

“What’s that?” the liaison asked, turning around to look.

“That’s the freakin’ noxes!” Rev shouted.

“No!”

“Yes! By the Mother, yes!”

Bundy came sprinting up to them.

“Where’s our ride?” he shouted.

“Six hours.”

“Hell. No way they’re going hold out that long, not with the LZ on that side.” He took a moment to go over his options before he told Rev, “Get the platoon ready to move out. Maybe we can hide out in the forest until the noxes leave.”

“You think they’re going to let us do that?” Rev asked.

“What fucking choice do we have?” Bundy snapped. “Just do it.”

Rev turned to comply when Hyanis asked, “Can you HSPESY?”

“What’s hespy?” he asked Punch.

<High Speed Planetary Extraction System. A method for extraction when a landing is impractical or impossible.>

“OK, I know that,” he told Hyanis.

Which wasn’t quite true. Rev knew of it. With the MDS army reduced in size, they’d tried to become more of a quick reaction force, and their HSPESY was a new high-G, low-drag method of extracting troops. He’d seen a ten-second media release of the system in operation, but it looked rather iffy to him.

“But to answer your question, we’ve never done it, no,” Rev said. “Why?”

“I can’t get a shuttle, but there’s a flight of Four-boys on the other side of the planet, orbiting on station,” he said, referring to the CP-417, a dual tactical/cargo planetary and suborbital craft, a workhorse of the MDS military. If I can get one of those to come, and we HSPESY, we can do that in two hours, maybe three.”

“You think you can get that done?” Bundy asked.

“I don’t know about Detan, but my boss doesn’t want anything to happen to you persies.”

“Isn’t Detan your boss?” Rev asked.

“Rev! It doesn’t matter who his boss is.” He turned to Hyanis. “Can you get that bird?”

“I can try, sir. But we need to get the harnesses. Without them, it’s no use. Give me four of your Marines, and I’ll get them.”

“Rev.”

Rev looked over at the platoon. “Staff Sergeant Urquart. Give me four Marines, now.”

“I want you to get the platoon ready—”

“I’m going to get the harnesses,” Rev said, interrupting him.

Bundy only hesitated a moment before he said, “Very well. But hurry your ass.”

Rev and the four Marines followed Hyanis as they ran to an expeditionary shelter. The sounds of fighting were getting louder as they ran. Closer.

They burst through the door, and Hyanis shouted, “I need . . .” he started before looking back at Rev.

“Thirty-nine. Forty if you’re coming.”

“I need forty HSPESY harnesses,”

The sergeant gave Hyanis a scowl, but an explosion in the near distance made him flinch.

“You’ve got the authorization?” he asked, his voice breaking.

Rev lowered Pashu, pointing her muzzle just to the side of his head. “This is our authorization.”

“Gunner Halim?” the sergeant squeaked.

A salty MDS gunner came up from the back, shouting, “You find out what the hell is going on out—”

He stopped dead when he spotted Rev standing there, Pashu ready for action.

“We need forty HSPESY harnesses, Gunner. I’m with legion.”

The gunner stared at Pashu’s muzzle, then said, “Better give the harnesses to them, Linkov. And we can skip with the records.”

Four minutes later, they had the harnesses, which looked pretty small in their packs considering what they’d be required to do.

“Make sure everyone has one,” Hyanis said. “Putting them on is self-explanatory.” He gave Rev’s IBHU a critical look. “Yeah, even for you oners. I’ll be back to give a quick lesson. I’ll go see about that ride.”

“Got it. Just make sure you get it as quickly as possible.

There was another explosion in exclamation. Smoke rose from about a hundred meters away.

“Just don’t go without me!” the over-sergeant said.

“You’re our ticket off this planet,” Rev said. “We’ll be waiting.”

Hyanis took off, and Rev led his group back to the platoon. The harnesses were pretty self-explanatory after all, and the IBHU Marines didn’t have any problem snapping them in place. That wasn’t really surprising. The harnesses had to work for karnans, and they were pretty husky soldiers.

Rev kept watching for Hyanis. He’d told him they’d wait, but how long would Bundy hold up? From the sounds of it, there were Naxli within the camp now. There was no guarantee that the over-sergeant was still alive.

They needed the man if they were going to get extracted. But if that was dead in the water, then they just had to get out into the forest and try to evade whatever the Naxli would try to do.

The fighting was getting fiercer—and closer. Rev could see green reflections of the Naxli energy weapons. From the sounds of it, they were using their entire arsenal of weapons to hit the MDS. He could tell Bundy was just about to give up and order the platoon to move out when a welcome figure ran out of the drifting smoke.

Hyanis gave a thumbs-up as he reached them.

“I’ve got a HSPESY-configured Four-boy inbound. About two hours. But we’ve got to get to that valley on the other side of those hills,” he said, pointing to the east.

“You heard the man!” Bundy shouted. “We’re moving out.”

He turned to Rev and said, “Put Hus-man on the commander, but you keep tight on the over-sergeant. Don’t let anything happen to him. That’s your priority.”

“You’ve got it,” Rev said. “I’ll carry him if I have to.”

Within a minute, the platoon was on the move, leaving the camp while the Naxli were entering.

* * *

“That was too close for comfort,” Rev subvocalized as clods of dirt rained down on him while he tried to will himself deeper into the hard-packed soil.

<I told you the potential for this was high,> Punch said.

His battle buddy had become more sarcastic and less . . . Punch-like . . . over the last year, and this was pretty close to an “I told you so.”

Rev missed his old friend, the way he used to be, but now wasn’t the time to psychoanalyze him. If they didn’t get out of their situation, neither one of them would be around to care much about anything.

He risked raising his face off of the ground. Around him, the platoon’s Marines were prone in the dense vegetation and rocks as the Naxli artillery probed for them.

It should never have come to this, but the MDS . . .

You should have known you couldn’t trust the Mad Dogs, Reverent. But it’s done. Now, you’ve just got to hope that Hyanis is right.

Rev had fought with and fought against the Manifest Destiny Sphere Army during his career, and at the moment, he’d just as soon they all disappeared from the galaxy. All they had to do was play by the rules, and they wouldn’t be in this predicament. But no, they had to be true to their we-can-do-no-wrong mindset.

Another round exploded above him, shattering branches, the splinters bouncing off of his PAL-HX combat suit. Naxli artillery was something new to Rev, and he didn’t know the rounds’ capabilities, but he had a feeling that a direct hit would ruin his day.

Lying there, doing nothing but absorbing the rounds, was enough to make Rev want to scream in frustration. He was pretty sure that the Naxli were using the arty to pin them in place, and once they were finished with destroying what was left of the task force, they would be heading their way right ricky-tick. Once they did, the platoon wouldn’t stand much of a chance.

Damn Mad Dogs!

He could feel for the individual soldiers who were fighting for their lives, but he had a deep, visceral hate for the mid-marshal and his staff for what they’d done. The platoon had been sent to them to help, but their guidance had been only used to set up the betrayal.

The only good thing was that the commander had blown up at the marshal, causing him to order them off the planet. That had given them a head start in getting out of the camp, and that saved their lives. For the moment, at least. But it might only be a temporary reprieve.

Another round detonated above him, the concussion almost forcing the air from his lungs despite his PAL.

This wasn’t fun, and despite what Over-Sergeant Hyanis kept trying to assure them, things didn’t look good.

Rev turned his head to look at the MDS trooper. Their lives depended on the man, something that was almost too much to bear.

The over-sergeant had one of their small, compact quantum communicators in front of his face. Not really quantum, he’d tried to explain. But quantum-adjacent, for the non-technical folks. What mattered was that he was supposed to be able to receive very short, very limited messages, such as a set of coordinates and a time.

That, coupled with the small harnesses the over-sergeant—with Rev’s help—had gotten from their supply just as the Naxli were hitting the CP, could be their salvation. Or all of this could just be more arrogant MDS bullshit that Rev had come to expect from them.

Rev glanced at the harness around his chest and through his crotch. It didn’t look strong enough to be much good, but Hyanis assured them it was up to the task.

By the Mother, I hope he’s right. And I hope he gets the chance to prove it.

The only positive thing was that by now, Hyanis was in this with them, and he obviously knew that the Marines were the only way he was going to survive the situation. If the HSPESY didn’t work, Hyanis would pay the same price as the Marines in the platoon.

It wasn’t a complete assurance, but it was better than nothing.

Down below their little section of high ground, the sounds of fighting hit a final crescendo, as if the last of the MDS were firing their FDF, their final defensive fire. After three or four minutes, it died off. Either the MDS had managed to fight off the Naxli, or they were overrun.

Rev was guessing it was the latter. From what they’d seen as they climbed the hill, the Naxli had been a swarm of army ants, angered into a destructive frenzy. And to be honest, Rev didn’t blame them. The MDS had been hreetz, not gnist. And the Naxli’s sense of honor had taken a slap in the face.

The problem was that now, his Marine platoon was going to pay the price for the MDS perfidy.

Rev couldn’t take it anymore. He crawled to the over-sergeant, pausing as another blast showered them with debris.

“You getting anything with that?” he asked.

“Not yet.”

“That lack of sound you hear is your task force being very much dead. And we’re next unless your Space Force gets their asses in gear.”

The over-sergeant gulped, his face going white. “They’re going to message us. I know it.”

“He doesn’t sound all that sure anymore.”

<His voice doesn’t project the same confidence as his words do.>

“And you said you can’t message them?” he asked Hyanis.

“I can’t talk to anyone, but they know we’re here, and legion gave them the mission. They’ll be at the extraction point at the right time.”

Rev shook his head. The over-sergeant’s communicator didn’t seem to be very capable. But then again, in the Corps, true quantum comms, where they could talk to each other, were so expensive that they weren’t carried at the platoon level. And now, with the Naxli jamming everything again, the platoon couldn’t talk to anyone.

“Wait!” the over-sergeant suddenly said, his voice rising with excitement. “I’m getting something!”

Rev felt a surge of hope wash over him.

“They’re coming. That was their confirmation. I’ve got the exact coordinates and time.”

Thank the Mother.

Rev crawled right next to the MDS trooper and looked over his shoulder. He couldn’t make out much on the little screen. The MDS had their own special script they liked to use as part of their supposed superiority, something to set them apart.

“Where is it? And when?”

“We’ve got . . . uh . . . eighteen minutes. And the pickup is about six hundred meters forward and to our right.”

“You can get us there?”

The over-sergeant scowled. “I’ve got better nav augments than you persies do.”

Rev wasn’t going to get in who can piss the farthest contest. “Just get ready to move.”

“Start a timer, Punch.”

<Already started it.>

Rev stood and ran at a crouch to where Bundy was. The captain looked up at him with hope in his eyes.

“We’re on. Eighteen minutes. Down the hill and to the right,” Rev said, indicating the direction with a hooked thumb.

“Hell, yeah!” Bundy sat up and shouted out, “Thirty seconds to move out. Same formation. And make sure your harnesses are primed and ready.”

He pressed the system status button on the chest strap of the MDS harness, then nodded when the small green light lit up, indicating it was ready for deployment.

“Think this is going to work?” he asked Rev.

“Hyanis swears it will. Not that we’ve got much choice after what the Mad Dogs pulled.”

“Fucking Mad Dogs,” Bundy said, which pretty much summed up the entire situation.

He stood and said, “Let’s do it.”

“Everyone up!” Rev shouted over his external speakers.

He’d have preferred using hand and arm signals, but the Naxli knew where they were. They’d just had higher priority targets up until now.

He rushed back to the over-sergeant. “Stay on my ass. Do not break contact.”

“You’re my ticket out of here, Staff Sergeant. You’re not gonna shake me.”

“Second Squad, move out,” Bundy ordered. “Guide on the Mad Dog.”

The over-sergeant pointed out a direction to Rev, who locked it into his sense of direction. He had to trust the MDS trooper to get them to the extraction point, but he wasn’t going to put the man on point. Normally, as platoon sergeant, Rev wouldn’t be on point, either, but with his IBHU, he and fellow IBHU Marines Corporal Randigold and Lance Corporal Pierson presented the maximum firepower forward.

Rev started to push through the rocks, feeling far more vulnerable than he’d felt while kissing the dirt. At any moment, another Naxli round . . .

There haven’t been more rounds, he realized.

Which meant one of three things: the Naxli had run out of ammo, they’d given up on the platoon, or now, with the main force of MDS wiped out, they were sending infantry to mop them up.

Rev thought it was probably the last possibility. The Naxli didn’t seem to be the type to forget being screwed over.

And that meant they had to move it. Time wasn’t on their side.

Rev raised his organic right arm with a closed fist, pumping it up and down several times before he pushed forward into a slow jog. He knew they could be running straight into an ambush, but there was a higher probability that the Naxli were coming up from behind them.

He darted around the boulders and rocks, unable to keep jogging in a straight line. With the direction locked in his head, though, he wasn’t going to go off course. Flanked by the rest of the squad, they poured down the hill. Through gaps in the trees, Rev could see the line of hills on the other side, about a klick away. He could understand why the MDS Space Force had chosen the valley floor for the extract. The line of hills on this side would put them in defilade to the main Naxli force. But it would also expose them to any Naxli already in the hills. And, if he went by the trees around him at the moment, the forest might make an extraction all the more difficult.

But it wasn’t his call. The MDS were calling the shots, and the Marines would take whatever lifeline was being tossed their way.

Rev reached the bottom of the hill, and the scattered rocks gave way to moderate undergrowth of laurel, buckthorn, and barberry in among the taller trees. Like most terraformed worlds, the temperate areas on one planet were very much like those on many others. It wouldn’t take much imagination to think he was on his home planet of Safe Harbor now.

But he was very much not on Safe Harbor now, and he might never get back to his homeworld.

Be positive, Reverent. The Mad Dogs will come through, even if they got us into this mess.

He checked the time: thirteen minutes, forty-two seconds. They’d make their extraction point with plenty of time to spare.

And that was when the fickle gods of war decided to screw the Marines.

A crack of greenish lightning flashed through the trees to Rev’s right, and almost immediately, Randigold opened up with her 20 mm cannon.

Rev didn’t even think. He sprinted forward a hundred meters, then turned in to flank the enemy. There was another flash from the Naxli beam weapon, betraying its location. Rev adjusted his assault and caught a glimpse of the enemy warrior at the same moment the other sensed Rev coming up.

Both Naxli and human were quick, but in this case, Rev’s Centaur-aided aiming system was quicker. He sent five 20 mm slugs into the Naxli a split instant before it could bring its beamer around to bear down on Rev. At least one round penetrated the thing’s organic armor, the round cutting through vital organs and dropping it.

Rev didn’t watch it hit the ground. If there was one Naxli, there would be more. He scanned the area as the Marines from Third Team—and Over-sergeant Hyanis—moved up alongside him.

The heavy slug creased his helmet, twisting his head around.

“Sniper!” he shouted as he dove for the cover of a large tree.

“Did you get a POO?” he asked Punch.

<No Point of Origin. But from how it hit you, it was probably fired from a higher elevation.>

Rev turned his head—which brought a spasm of pain to his neck—to try and spot the hills through the trees. They were close enough for a sniper to—

Dumbshit! Not the hills. The trees.

In sniper tactics, distance was their friend. But he’d bet credits to doughnuts that they’d just surprised a sniper team that was setting up to ambush them. The Naxli with the beamer was the security, and up in the trees somewhere was the sniper. And now, the squad was pinned down.

“It’s in the trees,” he shouted. “Anyone got a position on it?”

He looked to his right. Lance Corporal Pang was trying to make herself small behind the next tree over. She gave him the signal for negative.

“Hus-man, you see anything?”

He couldn’t see Sergeant Hussein Černý, his old friend and now Second Squad leader, who was moving with his First Team somewhere to his left.

“That’s a negative,” he shouted back. “All we know is that some asshole shot a greenie at us. Fried a lot of trees. Randigold lit the place up, knowing you’d flank the bastard.”

<The Naxli understand Standard,> Punch reminded him.

“It’s up in a tree, and we’re running out of time.”

He checked the countdown: nine minutes, twenty seconds. At the moment, Second Squad was pinned down with First and Third in trace. They needed to bypass the sniper and get to the extraction point.

Bundy would know the time the same as Rev did, but not the exact location. If Hyanis had explained it right, though, there was room for error in location, even if not on time.

Screw it.

“Hus-man. Bop a mouth to bood Bund-man. Flick to the crib ricky. Keep it sacred. One-one-four, three-seventeen.”

Rev wasn’t a fan of Demon Steel, but he’d heard enough played by some of the younger Marines to pick up the slang. He’d bet, though, the Naxli sniper hadn’t heard the music. He’d probably butchered it, but hopefully Hussein would understand.

He didn’t know how to give an azimuth and distance in Demon Steel, but that was a risk he’d decided was worth it.

There was a pause, then Hussein replied with, “Got it. I think. It’ll be Hyer.”

PFC Hyer was one of the Marines in his team, and Rev knew Hussein understood the message. Hyer was going to retreat back to the captain with Third Squad and tell him to bypass the sniper and get to the extract point, which was 317 meters at an azimuth of 114 from their position.

With that off of his shoulders, Rev could concentrate on their predicament. And it was serious. The Naxli sniper would be a real threat. Its weapon could be deadly to a Marine, even a Marine in a PAL-H combat suit. On Wie’s World, Sergeant Oneida had taken a sniper round right through her face shield. No chance of resurrection.

There was a snap of the Naxli’s weapon, and a chunk of the tree trunk shielding Pang was blasted off. Pang reacted, jerking to the other side . . . which was what the sniper wanted. She’d moved too far. The sniper fired again, and Pang collapsed.

Damn, Pang.

Rev punched the ground in frustration. His job was to get every Marine back in one piece. This wasn’t even supposed to be a combat mission for them. And now Pang was gone.

“Anyone get a POO on that?” he called out.

<You were watching, and I’ve got enough to narrow the field.>

Punch threw up a display on Rev’s face shield. His battle buddy had a fifteen-degree wide horizontal fan and a twenty-degree vertical fan. The sniper had to be within the area where the two fans intersected.

“How about a range?”

Between the sound of the report and the time the round hit Pang, it should be an easy calculation.

<I don’t know the speed of the Naxli round.>

“Assume it’s the same as the standard .50 cal Marine sniper round, give or take ten percent.”

As smart as his AI was, sometimes he lacked a certain amount of initiative.

Immediately, the potential location now had a minimum and maximum range.

It was close when considering normal sniper ranges, somewhere between thirty-eight and forty-three meters. But that made sense given the density of the trees. At those ranges, the sniper was about seventeen meters above the ground.

So, what did that mean? At that range, it could react before any single Marine could take it under fire. But between the three fire teams, it couldn’t take them all under fire before someone acquired and dropped it.

His eyes glanced at the timer. Seven minutes, eight seconds.

“Ap Rhys. Where are you?” he called out, hating that he was giving his position away like that.

Corporal Greg ap Rhys was the new Second Team leader, coming over from First Platoon just a few weeks ago.

“Over here,” his voice reached out from well behind Rev and farther back.

Where Rev and Third Team had maneuvered when First came under fire, Second had stopped in place. It shouldn’t have happened, but they hadn’t trained much together after ap Rhys had been transferred over.

Rev wanted Pierson’s firepower, but time was ticking, and he couldn’t wait for the team to maneuver forward.

If they got out of this in one piece, Rev was going to have some serious one-on-one time with the corporal. But for now, whatever he was going to do, it would be with two-thirds of the squad.

There was another round fired. None of the three Marines or the over-sergeant within Rev’s vision were hit. But it was only a matter of time—in more ways than one. Either they’d be picked off, or they’d miss their extract.

Rev signaled to the three Marines in his sight, giving them the location of the sniper. Over-Sergeant Hyanis was obviously confused, but Rev didn’t have time to school the trooper up.

He tried to spot someone from First Team to signal them, but they were hidden by the forest. He’d have to vocalize it.

I might as well just stand out in the open and give the orders there.

But he needed First Team’s supporting fire.

“Hus-man. Elevation, eighteen. Range forty. On my command, light the bastard up.”

If he hadn’t made sure the sniper knew who was in charge before, he’d sure put a stamp on that now, and that was going to make him target number one.

“You ready, buddy?” he subvocalized.

<Always.>

Rev shifted to a sitting position, back against the tree, and brought his legs under him. His warrior self was fighting to be released, and in a moment, Rev was going to set him free. He held up his hand and counted down his fingers from three . . . two . . . one . . . “Go!”

On “go,” Rev started to turn to his left, letting Pashu emerge from behind the tree. But that was a feint. By the time the round cracked through the air, he’d already spun around to the right of the tree, his beamer on guillotine mode, slicing through tree branches and leaves as he charged forward, his warrior self in full control.

Alongside him, the three Third Team Marines and one MDS trooper were charging, screaming as they fired into the trees. From his left, Randigold’s 20 mm started singing its song of death.

Rev had only one consuming thought, and that was to kill the Naxli sniper. Nothing else mattered. He wasn’t a platoon sergeant, leading his Marines as a tactician. He wasn’t trying to get to the extraction point. He was a killing machine, a berserker.

His beamer timed out, needing to recharge, and without conscious thought, he switched to his own twenty and filled the sky with the big rounds.

Rev never even saw the sniper until the long-cloaked body fell out of a large elm fifteen meters in front of him. The Naxli thudded to the ground, bluish blood splattering beneath it. A moment later, the almost impossibly long sniper rifle landed muzzle first into the forest loam and stood upright for a moment before it fell across the body.

Rev stood there for a moment, his heart pounding, his warrior wanting to extend Pashu’s blade and stab the body, and it took a force of will to push his warrior back.

A blast sounded beside Rev, making him jump to the left and raise his IBHU, but it was Hyanis, his face locked in rage.

“Fucking squirmy!” he shouted and fired once more with his big AP-44, the rounds tearing into the Naxli’s body and blowing off chunks.

That did more to bring Rev back to reality than anything else.

“Cease fire, cease fire!” he shouted.

Hyanis stepped forward closer, ready to fire again, when Rev reached out and lowered the trooper’s arm.

“It’s dead, Over-Sergeant.”

The glazed eyes turned to Rev for a wild moment before sanity regained control. “Damn right it’s dead. Shit-eating squirmy,” he said again, but in a calmer voice.

With Hyanis back in control, Rev turned to the others and shouted. “Second Squad, on me! Adams, check on Pang.”

<Three minutes, fifty-one seconds,> Punch reminded him.

“I know, I know.”

“Double time!” he called out. “We need to move it.”

Hussein and First Team were first to arrive.

The sergeant gave the bullet-ridden body a quick look, then asked, “Who got the fucker?”

Rev grunted. It wasn’t his beamer—that much he knew. But as far as who killed the sniper? He sure didn’t know.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s dead.” He turned to the forest and started to shout out for ap Rhys when the team emerged from the forest.

“We’ve got three minutes to get to the extraction point. We run. As soon as we get there, check your damn harnesses. We’ve been crawling around the ground, and you’re going to be pissed if you miss the extract.

“Adams?”

“She’s dead,” the PFC said.

“Pick her up and carry her. Everyone, on me.”

Rev took off in a steady run, his augmented legs pumping as they carried his 300 kg body crashing through the underbrush. Bar any more Naxli, they’d make it. Whether the crazy MDS extraction system would work, though, that was another matter.

We’ll find out soon enough.

They reached First Squad with more than a minute to spare. The extraction point was a low, grassy area. Pertinently, there were no trees, which had stopped a good fifty meters on either side of the creek that ran down the middle of the grass.

“What the hell, Rev?” Bundy asked.

“Sniper. Dead now.”

Bundy raised his eyebrows with his “You’re going to have to fill me in later” look.

He turned to Hyanis. “We set?”

“You’d better spread out more, sir,” the trooper said. “And avoid being near a tree.”

“Everyone. Spread out. I want five meters between every Marine. And be ready for the command.” He turned to Rev and added, “Take the commander. Make sure she deploys her drone.”

The commander had proven to be a pretty smart officer, and Rev didn’t think she needed babysitting, but he nodded and stepped off to the side with her.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Never done this kind of thing before.”

She was nervous, Rev could see. Understandable. She was a Navy analyst, not a combat Marine. This must be extremely difficult for her.

“None of us have,” he said, trying to give her some encouragement.

“And we might never do it.”

Rev reached over to check that her harness was armed before what she’d just said hit her.

“What do you mean? We’re about to do it.”

She pursed her lips, just like Miss Deepit used to do when his seven-year-old self said something ridiculous in Primary 2.

“What I mean is that we’ve seen the Mad Dogs cheat and now pay the price. Might it not be better if they let us . . . shall we say . . . disappear before we can report back?”

Rev stopped dead, his hand still on her status button. He’d been sympathizing with the commander as a fish out of water, but could she be right? Was that why she looked nervous? She was an expert in analyzing both allies and enemies, after all, and maybe Rev was the naive one here.

But the Mad Dogs wouldn’t do that, would they? They gave their word.

He didn’t have time to ask her, though. Over-Sergeant Hyanis shouted, “Deploy your harnesses!”

Rev activated her harness, took a couple of quick steps back, then activated his. A small drone detached from the back of the harness and shot up into the sky, pulling a thin, but supposedly strong, line behind it. Each drone used visuals to ensure the lines didn’t tangle with those nearby as they rose to over a hundred meters into the air at slightly different heights.

“Tuck, tuck!” Hyanis shouted.

Rev repeated the call and then brought his legs together, crossed his right arm over his chest, and jammed his chin to his chest. Pashu wasn’t designed to fold in close, so he did the best he could, hoping it would be good enough.

He raised his eyes to catch the commander’s. She was looking at him with a resigned expression on her face.

She really doesn’t think the Mad Dogs are coming through.

He didn’t want to accept that. He couldn’t accept that.

He risked lifting his head and looking up. Lines snaked up from each of the platoon members, like kids flying weird-looking kites. Even Pang, who was prone on the ground, had one. The question was if they were all going through the motions for nothing. It was no longer about if the extract would work but rather if it would even take place.

And then, there was a hint of motion in the air at the corner of his vision. He turned his head farther to the right. It was hard to make out, but he wasn’t imagining it. Something big was flying at them.

“Is that the Mad Dogs?” he asked Punch.

<It’s a—>

But before his battle buddy could respond, the stealth aircraft shimmered with flashes, and shapes shot forward.

Rev’s instincts screamed that it was strafing them, and he wanted to bolt for cover. It took an extreme force of will to remain standing there in the tucked position.

The large object was beginning to form into a plane with some sort of fractal pattern, making it difficult to make out, but Rev’s attention was laser-focused upon the smaller shapes that were spreading out and swooping lower. The first of them reached the far edge of where the platoon was spread out, and immediately, three Marines were yanked up into the air, almost in slow motion at first, then much quicker as more Marines were snagged.

Rev whipped his head forward and buried his chin in his chest again.

The first jolt as his drone mated with the recovery UV was significant but not as strong as he’d expected. The line connecting him now to the recovery UV was extending, absorbing a good deal of the shock as Rev was lifted off the ground. That lasted only a few moments until the line started contracting again, and Rev was whipped through the air. He crashed into the commander’s feet before whatever controlled them yanked her higher than him.

That started him spinning, though, and his IBHU wasn’t helping matters. No matter how hard he tried to remain tucked, it just wasn’t happening. Rev was spinning, and the G-forces were building. His body felt like it was coming apart. His notoriously delicate stomach had enough, and he lost it, vomit splattering the inside of his face shield. He would almost rather be back firmly on the ground, Naxli be damned.

Almost.

The spinning around flung most of the vomit clear of the face shield, and he tried to swallow back the acrid taste in his mouth. Punch hadn’t even asked if he wanted antiemetics. He’d just initiated them, something a battle buddy shouldn’t have been able to do, not that Rev was complaining.

Just above him was the commander, and above her was another Marine. Spread out farther than the platoon had been, groups of one, two, or three Marines were being pulled by the UVs. Rev couldn’t twist around to see, but as they shot down the valley, protected on both sides by the hills, the UVs should be being recovered by the mother ship.

The hills flashed by. When Hyanis said this was a high-speed extraction method, he hadn’t been lying. Rev had heard that the MDS had developed the system, but reading some article and now experiencing it were two different things.

“And they got that part of how smooth it all was wrong,” he muttered as his line twisted around the other two’s lines.

But if it got them off the planet in one piece, Rev was willing to forgive the media exaggeration.

Rev was caught in the maelstrom for almost a full minute before their UV started crabbing over for its recovery. He finally caught sight of the plane, the back open as one, then another UV flew inside, latching its arms onto the lines and reeled in the Marines.

The hills on the right started petering out, and both the plane and remaining Marines were exposed to the plains. Smoke rose from the MDS CP site, and as Rev whipped around, he caught sight of an explosion, then what looked like something plummeting to the ground, possibly twenty klicks to the northwest.

“What was that?” he asked Punch as he tried to twist to get a better look.

Punch only “saw” what Rev saw, but his battle buddy could freeze an image and search for a match.

<There is a high probability that it was an MDS CP-417.>

“Like what’s trying to pick us up now?” Rev asked.

<Yes.>

Which meant the platoon and their rescue were also in danger.

The pilot of their ride off-planet must have realized that as well. The plane nosed down, followed by the remaining four UVs, until it was flying nap-of-the-earth, just meters above tree level, then started a slow, left-hand turn. The UVs couldn’t go that low while trailing Marines, but as the bottom man on the hanging totem pole, it was plenty low enough for Rev. He caught a quick glimpse of an oncoming treetop, and he lifted his legs just before the UV jerked upward far enough so he would have missed it with his legs extended . . . probably.

Get me on board, now!

Flying this low while changing course seemed to interfere with the UV. Rev was swinging far more wildly, and it took longer for the next two Marines-on-a-string to be gathered aboard. That’s when the SOP obviously changed. Instead of taking turns, the last two UVs shot forward together and entered the rear of the plane. Rev caught a quick glance of the arms reaching for the lines when he crashed hard into another Marine, the jolt knocking the breath out of him.

He reacted instinctively, clutching the other body, afraid that the collision might have weakened either his or the other line. Strong legs wrapped around his.

Slowly, the arms reeled them in as the slipstream tore at them. But suddenly, it was comparatively calm. Rev craned his head around. He and the other Marine were almost inside, the body of the plane protecting them from the worst of the hurricane.

The commander was being released from the line as the SAR crew pulled her to her feet and deeper inside the plane.

A crewman, attached to the side of the fuselage by a web line, motioned for Rev to let go of the other Marine. Rev took a breath, then complied. The other Marine let go with his legs a moment later. Rev swung almost back into the slipstream, but with a last pull, he was over the ramp, which immediately started to close.

The crewman released Rev from the line, and he dropped to that wondrous, glorious deck plate. The crewman pointed toward the front of the plane where Marines were strapping into web seats. Rev took one step when the plane lurched harder to the left and accelerated. He lost his footing and crashed onto his back, then skidded toward the still open ramp.

With a shout, Rev twisted to his belly and lashed out with his right arm, grabbing a handful of cables that snaked through the fuselage. His face was centimeters from open air, and now, he wasn’t attached to anything.

An arm grabbed Pashu, holding him in place as the ramp closed the last few meters. Rev didn’t breathe again until it closed and with a snick, locked into place.

Safe, he twisted.

“Thanks,” he told the crewman.

“Thought we were going to lose you, there, after going to all that trouble to get you,” the man said.

The plane went from a left bank to a right, and Rev slid toward the bulkhead.

“Better get yourself strapped in. Captain Unimen’s going to push her limits to get us off this cursed planet.”

Rev got to his knees, and holding onto whatever he could, he made his way off the ramp and toward the seats.

The commander had taken the last seat on the port side, so balancing as the pilot continued their wild maneuvers, he crossed to the other side just as the Marine he’d been clutching sat down. Rev plopped into the seat next to him.

“Shit, Staff Sergeant. You were holding me so tight I thought Staff Sergeant Reiser was going to come for my nuts.”

“Hell, Hus-man,” Rev said after he looked up and recognized his old friend, “You could have been hanging onto my nuts if that was going to keep me in the damn plane.”

3

“No one talks until we get off this ship,” the commander said.

“But—”

“No one,” she repeated, cutting off Bundy. “Make sure everyone understands that.”

Bundy nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Rev could see that Bundy wanted to discuss what had happened on the planet and forge a coordinated message forward. So did Rev, for that matter, and he thought the commander was being overly cautious. This wasn’t the task force, and no one left was going to worry about their reputations. This ship was Space Force, and the two services were reportedly always vying for position. On top of that, Marshal Volk, the overall task force commander, had personally met them when they came aboard, apologizing that the platoon had been put at risk.

It was clear that the ground operations task force and the late Mid-marshal Detan were being made the scapegoats for the loss, and the higher echelons wanted to wash their hands of the stink. That’s why a full marshal was kissing the commander’s ass, something Rev never thought he’d see. But as always, politics were involved with the military high commands. It’s just that the maneuverings were rarely so visible at the lower levels.

The commander didn’t want anyone discussing what had happened while they were on the ship. But they’d have to be discussing it soon during the debriefs that were coming the moment they touched down on Safe Harbor soil. Given the upcoming debriefs, could they all discuss what had happened in preparation for them? So they were all speaking from the same page?

Rev thought it was the smart thing to do, but the commander had spoken. And maybe she was right. Rev was considering it from a grunt’s point of view. And maybe from a personal perspective as well. He’d be lying to himself if he held that his ego wasn’t involved. The Perseus Union government had sent the platoon to guide the MDS through the process, and the MDS had pissed all over them. And from the way the mid-marshal had treated the commander, it was obvious that had come from the top. It was hard not to take that personally.

Now Rev had an urge to run through the ship, screaming, “I told you so.”

Maybe it was better that the commander was in charge.

“Let’s get back into our berthing spaces then,” the commander said.

“Do you have a stateroom yet?” Bundy asked. “If we need you?”

“I’ll be in with you.”

Both Bundy and Rev’s eyes widened in surprise. Bundy had already decided to stay with the platoon, but she was a Navy commander, equal to a Marine lieutenant colonel. And if she thought that all of the Union personnel should stay together, maybe there was something to her orders after all, something well above Rev’s paygrade.

She wasn’t what Rev pictured as Navy officers, though. The image of her taking on the mid-marshal had been something to see. He’d never thought that the phrase “swearing like a sailor” referred to commanders.

“What about Pang, ma’am? I was going to go check on her.”

“She’s dead,” she said matter-of-factly. “I don’t think she’s going to be saying much. But go check on her and make sure she’s been zombied. Doc Hunt, though, bring her back to the rest of the platoon. There’s nothing she can do for Lance Corporal Pang.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Bundy and the commander opened the hatch into berthing while Rev made his way through the ship to sickbay.

“How is she?” Rev asked Doc.

“Not looking good, but there’s always a chance.”

“Any issues with the docs here?”

“They were hesitant. Didn’t think it was worth their resources. Hyanis got them straight, though.”

Rev grunted. Hyanis was an over-sergeant, roughly even to Rev in rank. If he was able to browbeat Space Force officers to put Pang in stasis, then he had someone powerful backing him up.

In the Corps, it was called “riding the wings,” with the “wings” being the eagles worn by full colonels. It gave lower-ranking Marines more power when others knew they spoke for someone higher up. The MDS didn’t use eagles for their colonels, but the concept was the same.

“And there’s no issue using the Mad Dog equipment?” he asked.

“Not the same as ours,” Doc said. “A little behind the times,” she said in a lower voice. “But she should be in good shape, all things considered, when we get back to a Union facility.”

“Good. There’s nothing more you can do for her, so you need to come back with me to the platoon.”

“But—”

“The commander’s orders. And lips sealed as to whatever went on down on the planet.”

The corpsman looked back to the ward, then started, “But if there’s—”

“Orders, Doc.” He put his right hand on Hunt’s shoulder. “She’ll be fine. Not fine, I mean, but her situation isn’t going to change. Let’s go.”

It had to go against every grain in the corpsman’s body, but she knew Rev was right. And the commander had issued the order.

With a sigh, she followed Rev as they made their way back to berthing.

* * *

“Wish I was back on the Mad Dog ship,” Rev told Winnie Urquart, words he would never have thought would pass his lips.

“At least there, they left us alone. Here? Shit, this has been the worst debrief I’ve ever had,” Winnie said.

Rev had a few that were worse—like on New Mars, courtesy of Omega Division, when he’d been accused of being a traitor. At the time, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever see the light of day again. This wasn’t as bad as that—but not by much.

“Did they say they wanted you again?” he asked his fellow staff sergeant.

“No, I’m done, thank the Mother. Well, unless some other foreigner shows up. What about you?”

“No. I’ve got another session coming up,” he said.

“Sucks to be you.”

“Well, since I’m stuck here, check on the status of the gear and weapons turn-in. And keep everyone close. There’s been no word on a seventy-two yet.”

She grudgingly nodded. Rev knew she’d rather veg out in the SNCO quarters until the battalion commander granted the platoon the usual post-deployment seventy-two hours of liberty, but with Rev stuck in the debriefs, she was the acting platoon sergeant.

“Why all the extra attention, anyway?” she asked. “We weren’t even there as a combat unit. We don’t know how the nox assault went down.”

“No one cares about the conduct of the assault on the camp, Winnie. It’s why there was an assault. With the Mad Dogs, who knows what they’ll say? We’re the only honest brokers who were there.”

He didn’t mention Commander Hun’s belief that the MDS wouldn’t even let them off the planet, letting the witnesses just disappear. He hadn’t believed it then, but with all the attention on the platoon now, it sort of made sense. If it were up to the mid-marshal, before he was killed in the assault, Rev wasn’t so sure that they would have ever gotten off the planet.

“We’re about the only brokers. How many Mad Dogs got off the planet? Except Hyanis?”

“The captain says he heard twenty-three of them got off,” he told her, then asked Punch, “Did you get a confirmed number?”

<Negative. They’re keeping tight-lipped about it. There’s nothing on either official or unofficial channels.>

“That’s a lot of dead Mad Dogs,” Winnie said quietly.

“I hope they’re the only ones to pay the price.”

“What do you mean? There’s no one left there.”

“Nothing,” Rev said.

But he had a sinking feeling that the Naxli weren’t going to just leave the breach of the rules at the destruction of the MDS task force. He hoped he was wrong, but he was expecting retribution.

A sergeant opened the door into the lobby. “Staff Sergeant Pelletier? They’re ready for you.”

“No rest for the wicked,” Winnie said as Rev stood up. “I’ll take care of the platoon.”

“You’ll be in Room 205,” the sergeant said as Rev joined her.

Rev made his way down the corridor to the assigned room and opened the door into a small anteroom. A civilian with a very military mien motioned for him to enter, then scanned Rev’s eyes to make sure he was who he was supposed to be.

“Go on in. They’re waiting for you,” the security said.

I bet they are.

With a sigh, Rev opened the door and stepped into a small conference room. All of the seats at the table were taken except for one, and there were people standing alongside the walls. About half were in uniform.

“Thank you for coming, Staff Sergeant,” a Marine one-star said before pointing at the empty chair at one end of the table. “Please, take a seat.”

As Rev made his way to the other end of the conference table, he almost faltered for a moment. An MDS colonel was part of the debrief, and that threw him off stride for a moment.

<Don’t let him change anything you’re going to say.>

Punch was right. He’d already been blunt in his criticism of the MDS task force, and he couldn’t let the colonel change that.

“No, of course not,” Rev said.

He gave the colonel a slight nod as he reached the chair and sat down.

“For the record, if you could please tell the recorder your name, serial number, and unit,” the brigadier said.

“Yes, sir. Staff Sergeant Reverent—”

He stopped dead. He’d scanned the gathered officers and civilians as he started to speak, and a familiar face glared at him. His old friend, the Omega agent, was sitting halfway down the right side of the table.

And he noticed Rev falter. The narrowing of his eyes and the small smile that tilted up the right corner of his mouth were proof of that.

Crap!

Rev hated that he’d shown a moment of weakness. He knew that this time, he wasn’t in trouble, but the mere presence of his nemesis had been enough to get to him.

“Staff Sergeant Reverent Pelletier, SH-969673549, Third Platoon, First Heavy Infantry Company,” he said, ignoring the agent.

“And, once again, for the record, you were on Alicia’s Bounty with the Manifest Destiny Sphere’s Task Force Eureka,” the one-star asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“I realize that you’ve already gone through three debriefs since your return late last night . . .”

Four. Four debriefs.

“. . . but we’ve had some people just join us who would like access to your observations. So, once again, if you can start with what happened from the time you arrived on the planet until you returned here to Safe Harbor. Once you’re finished, I’ll open the debrief to questions. Does that sound good?”

Not that I have a choice.

“That’s fine, sir.”

He didn’t want to look, but he couldn’t help it. He glanced back at the Omega Division agent, who still had that self-assured half-smile on his face.

“We really need to get to the bottom of who’s spying on us,” he said to Punch, using the table talk that they both thought was secure.

<Roger that. I’ll try to come up with some way to do that.>

“OK, then, Staff Sergeant, why don’t you begin?” the general said.

“The platoon landed on Alicia’s Bounty at . . .”

This was the fifth time Rev was doing this over the last thirteen or fourteen hours. He had it memorized by now, and his mind was on autopilot.

What was really taking center stage for him at the moment was how in the heck could he and Punch figure out how to get some answers. They were sure someone was monitoring their normal communications.

But who?

4

“The fuckers broke the fucking agreement?” Tomiko asked. “I’d heard the rumor, but to hear it from your mouth, I’m just fu . . .”

She shook her head and stopped speaking.

Tomiko had been making a concerted effort to tone down the swearing when they were at Rev’s family’s house. It wasn’t for him, he knew, but to try and fit in with his family—well, mostly to keep on good terms with his mother. But when he confirmed to her what had happened, the real Tomiko reared her head for a moment.

“It’ll all become common knowledge pretty soon,” Rev said. “The command just wanted us to keep it quiet until what happened promulgated throughout the Congress.”

“You could have been killed,” she said quietly but with a voice sharp enough to cut steel.

“I’m a Marine, Miko. I could get killed on any mission.”

“But this time because of the fu . . . the idiot Mad Dogs doing their arrogant Mad Dog we know best. You’d think they’d have learned after getting their asses kicked by the rest of the CoH forces. But I swear, if you’d have been killed, I’d have taken the next ship to Alabaster and kicked my own Mad Dog ass.”

Rev grunted. Knowing Tomiko, she just might have. His fiancé could be a force of nature, and sometimes her mouth and temper could get her in trouble.

He was saved from saying anything else when the door opened, and Kat leaned out. “Mother says to get washed up. Dinner’s ready.”

“You heard her,” Rev said. “And we don’t want to get her mad, too.”

Tomiko bit her bottom lip and seemed to calm down a bit. “Of course not. She’s probably slaved over some gourmet meal. But I’m gonna want all the details on what happened. Everything.”

“Later. When we can get some privacy.”

She hooked her arm through his prosthetic arm and led him off the back deck and into the house.

To his surprise, his father was at the stovetop, stirring something in a pot.

“Dad? You’re cooking?”

“He’s the sous chef. I’m still the chef around here,” his mother said, pulling a covered dish out of the oven.”

His dad shrugged. “Your mother gets so much satisfaction from cooking that I thought I’d help and find out why.”

“And . . . ?”

“It’s not bad. Kinda fun, I guess.”

“He still uses the fabricator like a civilized person when Mom’s not around,” Kat said with a smirk.

“I heard that,” their mother said.

“So, what are we eating?” Rev asked.

“Cassoulet. An old French dish. Your dad’s making pureed celeriac to go with it.”

Rev and Tomiko washed up, and by the time they were sitting down, his mother was dishing out the cassoulet, which was a stew of sorts with meat, pork skin, and white beans.

It smelled OK. Rev took a big spoonful, then smiled to hide his grimace. He took a spoonful of the pureed celeriac. Big mistake. The white puree tasted like sour mashed potatoes.

“How do you like it?” his mother asked.

“Wow! Really good. This would be great on a cold, gloomy evening.”

“Oh, glad you like it. I’ve been wanting to try this for some time, and seeing as my two Marines were home, I thought, why not now?”

“It’s really good, Ms. Pelletier,” Tomiko said. “Nice and hearty.”

“Here, have some more. I don’t want to take the casserole dish until it’s empty.

She spooned out the last of it, splitting it between Rev and Tomiko.

Rev looked down at the large helping in front of him. Eating the meal and looking like he was enjoying it was his mission. It might be a difficult one, but he was a Marine, and Marines always completed the mission. He just smiled and took another big bite.

Luckily, the dessert was blackberry cobbler, so he could get the taste out of his mouth.

“I’m so sorry it’s not homemade,” his mother said as she brought it to him and Tomiko. “I just didn’t have the time.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure it’s great,” Rev said as he took a sniff. He looked up at his mother, who was standing there with a look of . . . disappointment?

“Not as good as yours, of course,” he hurriedly added. “But it will do.”

“I just wished you’d given me more time to prepare.”

Rev took a bite, then said, “It’s acceptable. Don’t worry.”

And it was. Rev’s mother had developed into a good cook, but sometimes, fabricated food hit the spot. This was the same fabricator and same programming that had made blackberry cobbler since he was six or seven, and this was the taste of his childhood.

After they were done, Rev and Tomiko retired to the living room with his mother while his dad and Kat cleaned up. Rev plopped down on the couch and pulled Tomiko down alongside him. She snuggled up close.

“You going to stay the night?” he whispered into Tomiko’s ear.

“You’re the one on a seventy-two, not me. And I’ve got duty at zero-four.”

“We’ve still got time, then, you know, for . . .” he said, as he gave her a nudge in the ribs.

“I can hear you,” his mother reminded him.

Rev grimaced, and he could feel his face turn red. He ordered the holovision on to cover his tracks.

“Um . . . what do you want to watch?” he asked his mother.

She gave him a sidelong glance, then said, “You pick.”

“What series were we on last?”

<The Breakaway, Episode Nine.>

Rev ordered the HV to start Episode Ten.

“I’ve already seen that. Eleven, too,” Tomiko said as it started.

“Well, how about—”

Rev didn’t have a chance to offer up something else. The stream was cut off by the government information bureau’s logo.

“What now?” Tomiko asked.

The logo gave way to an announcer sitting at a desk.

“Good evening. I’m Tine Warrantz with the Safe Harbor Bureau of Information. We’re interrupting your stream to bring you this breaking news.”

Tomiko sat up straight, and Rev pulled her back down into his side. Whatever it was that caused the government to decide to break into everyone’s stream wasn’t going to be enough to spoil his evening. Sometimes, he thought the government was always looking for a reason to show the citizens that they were on the ball, and the Bureau of Information, with its direct link to the public, was among the worst.

The announcer took a breath, then said, “We’ve just received a release from the Manifest Destiny Sphere.”

“Trying to get ahead of what happened on Alicia’s Bounty,” Rev said.

“Sshh! I want to hear this,” Tomiko said, giving him a light slap on the shoulder.

“The planet Groton Cove has been attacked by a large, as of yet, unknown force. The initial report is that the planet is no longer habitable, and there are no survivors.”

What . . . ?

“Max, get in here!” his mother called out for Rev’s dad.

“The Naxli,” Tomiko hissed.

“We do not have independent confirmation at this time, nor, and I just said, do we know what force attacked the planet, but the Director Prime is taking this seriously and has just called for an emergency meeting of the Council.”

Rev and Tomiko’s comps went off simultaneously with a recall. The Safe Harbor government wasn’t the only one who needed to find out what happened and what, if anything, they should or could do about it.

The two Marines stood, and Rev said, “We’ve got to get back to the base.”

“Do you know what’s going on?” his mother asked. “Is there a reason to be concerned?”

“The MDS is a long way from here. Let’s wait until more becomes clear,” he said.

But he was sure what had happened. The MDS had broken the terms of the battle on Alicia’s Bounty. They were now hreetz, and this was payback.

Rev just hoped it ended there.

5

The next two days were anti-climatic. The Marines were locked down on the base while the higher-ups tried to decide what to do. The Marines in the platoon were each called out again to repeat what they’d said during their initial debriefs, but for the most part, they sat around, trying to put together what was going on.

The first big piece of information to trickle down to them was that it had been confirmed that it was the Naxli who’d attacked Groton Cove—not that anyone in the platoon had thought anything different.

They didn’t try to hide it. Much of the recordings of the assault that had been released before the governments of humankind could censor them had been interjected into the undernet by the Naxli themselves. They wanted humankind to know what they’d done.

It wasn’t surprising that the Naxli had lashed out. What was surprising was the scope of their retribution. Groton Cove was a mid-level planet within the Manifest Destiny Sphere with a healthy manufacturing-based economy and six-billion people.

Past tense.

Reports filtering out were that less than two percent of the population had survived the planet being scoured. If the reports were confirmed, this would be the fourth-largest loss of life in a single incident in the history of humankind.

Rev couldn’t even comprehend the number. It was mind-boggling.

And now, since the Naxli had taken action, there was nothing. No demands. No recriminations. Nothing.

The MDS government was silent, as was the Congress of Humanity, for the most part. There were a few calls for calm, but nothing was promulgated on what humanity would do in response. They couldn’t just ignore the loss of so many lives.

If the governments were silent, the citizens were not. The undernet was alive with opinions, from a massing of human forces to crush the Naxli to the almost Children of Angels-type belief that the Naxli were gods to whom humanity should bend a knee.

The Marines discussed and argued about the situation as well, but their discussions were more tempered. All of them knew that no matter how humankind responded, they’d be part of that response.

The civilian governments could hem and haw, but when it came down to brass tacks, it was the soldier in the field, the sailor in the ship, who would do their bidding.

* * *

Rev sat on one of the overstuffed couches in the office the company’s SNCOs had converted into their own little lounge. He felt he should be doing something, but what? He’d been spending most of the last few days in with the troops until Gunny Jerebek had pulled him aside and told him to get out of their hair and let the NCOs handle things.

But then, what was he supposed to do while they waited for some sort of orders? Play his thousandth game of Knock-on?

On the other side of the lounge, Tomiko and Kelly O’Donnell were sitting on a small table someone had scrounged up, their heads almost touching as they held an animated discussion. Rev was vaguely curious as to what the two friends were discussing, but he didn’t have the energy to get up and walk over. And that would be if they’d even fill him in.

Rev was happy that Tomiko and Kelly had formed such a tight bond, but part of him was a little jealous of their attention. He’d tried to tag along with them a few times until Tomiko told him, in no uncertain terms, that while she loved him, sometimes, she needed a little girl time.

Yancey was sitting on the couch facing Rev, chatting with Winnie Urquart. Every few moments, though, he’d look up at Tomiko and Kelly.

Well, Kelly.

The certified bachelor, the date-as-many-women-as-you-can friend, had developed what looked to be a serious interest in Kelly ever since she’d been promoted. He’d flirted with Kelly a few times and had been firmly put in his place.

Which, given his rep, was probably a smart thing for her to do. But while the overt flirting had stopped, Rev was pretty sure Yancey was somewhat smitten.

Lost cause, buddy.

Rev was bored out of his gourd. Humanity was facing an existential crisis, and humankind’s finest fighting force was sitting on its collective ass doing nothing while the politicians dithered.

“You got anything new to suggest?” he asked Punch.

<Since you liked “The Breakaway,” let me suggest “K for Killing.”>

Rev leaned his head onto the back of the couch and closed his eyes. “I’m about to kill someone here, I’m so bored.”

<How about a joke, then?>

“Long time between jokes, Punch.”

<Is that a yes?>

“Of course, it is.”

<Without an AI like me with all my holovids and music on tap, what did your parents do to keep from getting bored?>

“My parents? I don’t know. What did they do to keep from getting bored?”

<Ask your twenty brothers and sisters.>

“I don’t have twenty . . . oh, you made a sex joke, Punch?”

<Yes. Was it funny?>

“Eh. Not bad. It would have been better if I had a lot of brothers and sisters. I think you tried to force it.”

<Noted.>

The fact that Punch had told him a joke was a good sign, he thought. His battle buddy had seemed a little withdrawn lately and not himself. That worried Rev.

He was about to ask Punch for another joke when Bundy stuck his head into the SNCO lounge. He caught Rev’s eyes and beckoned him with a bent finger.

Rev got up and joined him out in the passage.

“What do you got?” he asked.

“They executed Volk.”

“What? Who executed who?”

“Volk. Marshal Volk. As in the MDS task force commander.”

“No shit? The same guy who apologized to us when we got on their ship?”

Bundy just nodded.

“Hell, I knew he was trying to distance himself from that goat rope down on the planet, but execute him?”

“Broadcasted it live. Hung him.”

“So the noxes would pick it up.”

“They used all the right words, too. Lack of honor, underhanded, despicable. They even said hreetz.”

“Whoa. They really had an audience they wanted to reach.”

“Yeah. They never mentioned Groton Cove,” Bundy said.

“They’re scared.”

The MDS had never seemed to be afraid of anything, so that was sobering.

“Think it will work? I mean, are the noxes going to accept limited engagements again?”

“Don’t know, but that’s where we come in.”

“What do you mean?”

“The CoH wants to find out the answer to that question,” the captain said. “And we’re—”

“We’re going to find out, seeing as we’ve done it before on Mistworld, and we were there on Alicia’s Bounty, too,” Rev interrupted.

“We’re the experts.”

No one’s the expert on this. We’re learning as we go.

“Just the platoon?”

“No. The company, at a minimum. Probably more.”

Rev nodded. “So, if they don’t want to play fair, there’ll be enough of us to try and fight our way back out.”

“I’d guess that’s the thinking.”

“When and where?” Rev asked.

“Don’t know yet. They’re trying to figure that out. I just wanted to give you a heads up.”

“And the platoon?”

“Let’s wait until we have a firm mission before we spring it on them.”

“Aye-aye, sir. No use getting them stressed out.”

Unspoken between them was that this could very well be a suicide mission. If the Naxli refused to fight on equal terms . . . well, they’d just wiped out almost six billion souls. What was a Marine company?

Five minutes ago, Rev was bored, hoping to get a mission. But as the saying went, be careful what you wish for. You might very well get it.

6

The company may have been given a mission, but none of the details were given. The training tempo increased, with a few new wrinkles thrown in. The platoons within the company weren’t always the good guys. A full third of the time, one or both of them played the part of the Naxli. What that meant was a subject of intense scrutiny among the Marines.

“I think they want us to fight at platoon strength,” Yancey said as they sat in the waiting room.

“Or, it’s just like they said. They want us to put ourselves in the noxes’ shoes. Know thy enemy and all of that,” Kelly said.

“Maybe,” Yancey said with a frown. “But we’re doing a lot of platoon-sized scenarios.”

“You’re just pissed we kicked your butt today,” Rev said.

Kelly gave Yancey a long look, then asked, “You gonna let him get away with dissing you like that?”

“Rev’s been dissing me for years, Kelly. It’s who he is.”

“You’re just such an easy target,” Rev said with a laugh.

“See?” Yancey asked Kelly.

Before she could reply, the door opened, and Tomiko came out.

“Well?” Rev asked.

“You know. Same old, same old. They’ll tell us once the complete results are in.”

The corpsman at the front desk said, “Staff Sergeant O’Donnell, you’re up.”

Kelly stood, stretched, and then said, “Wish me luck.”

Rev raised his prosthesis and said, “Sibs in steel, Kel.”

Kelly clanked her social arm with his before she passed through the same door Tomiko had just come out.

The company might be on the verge of deploying, but admin still carried on. All augmented Marines were given annual checkups looking for signs of Weislen’s Syndrome, the “rot,” and Navy medicine would not be denied.

Rev dreaded the tests. The risk of the rot increased with the amount of augments someone received. Infantry received more augments than most Marines, and the IBHUs even more than that. Supposedly, they had thirty years before the risk began to manifest itself, but their recruit class had already lost one of their number to the rot. Rev was on a heavy regimen of Criolsol, the drug the docs promised would limit cellular damage, but he felt it was only a matter of time until the rot reached out to him—or would if his profession didn’t kill him first.

“I’ll see you back in the barracks,” Tomiko told Rev. “I’ve got my 314s to input before chow.”

“OK. I’ll check in after I’m done here,” he said.

Yancey waited until the outer hatch closed behind Tomiko before he leaned in close and asked in a low voice, “You think Miko would do me a solid?”

“What kind of solid?”

“You know. With Kelly.”

“No, I don’t know. What with Kelly?”

“She won’t give me the time of day.”

“That’s ’cause you’re a dog, Yance.”

His friend frowned. “I’m not really.”

Rev snorted and said, “This from the guy who’s had a dozen, uh . . . interests this past year?”

“Sssshhh,” Yancey hissed, looking around to see if any of the other SNCOs awaiting their tests heard.

“We’re in a dangerous profession, Rev,” he whispered. “I might not come back. So, I might as well take what life offers.”

“And so how does this affect Kelly?”

Yancey looked uncomfortable. “Maybe it’s time to go for something a little more serious. Like you and Miko.”

Rev resisted rolling his eyes. He could not picture Yancey getting serious with anyone.

“Let me guess. You think Kelly’s the one to get serious with?”

“I don’t know. And neither does she unless she’ll, like, go out with me.”

“And you want Miko to put in a good word for you with her bestie?”

Yancey just nodded.

“Well, you’re going to have to ask her that. And I don’t know what she’ll say. She’s well aware of your past dating history.”

Yancey frowned, then said, “What about you? Can you put in a good word for me? All I want is one date, a real date. And then we can see.”

“We’re not leaving the base, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“I just need you to lay the foundation, Rev. Like a buddy.”

The door opened, and Gunny Jerebek came out.

“Staff Sergeant del Rio,” the corpsman called out.

Yancey stood, then said, “Just think about it, OK? Be a bud.”

Rev shook his head as Yancey disappeared to take his test.

“He’s high if he thinks anything I say is going to make a difference with Kelly.”

<Why wouldn’t it make a difference?>

Rev laughed aloud, earning a concerned look from the corpsman.

“You still don’t understand human relations, Punch. I’m human, and I don’t understand them. And women, they’re a mystery I’m not sure I’ll ever unravel.”

He sat back in his chair, chuckling softly.

I can just see me begging Kelly to understand what a guy Yance—

He stopped mid-thought and sat up straight in his chair.

“Punch, I’ve got an idea,” he said in table talk.

* * *

<There is a very real potential that this can ruin your career. Are you sure you want to do this?>

“No.”

<You’re not going to go through with it?>

“No. I am. I’m just not sure of it.”

<You can still change your mind. Nothing has started yet.>

Rev knew what he planned had risk. Lots of risk. And Punch was trying to keep him from a major mistake. His logic had been sound as he argued against it.

But sometimes, a person just had to go with their gut, and that was something Punch, for all his sophistication, couldn’t grasp.

“We can’t go on like this, not knowing. And for all we know, maybe our suspicions are wrong to begin with. If that’s the case, then no harm, no foul.”

<And if it isn’t the case? If we’ve been correct in our surmise? There are many ways this can go wrong. Too many. I have to strongly advise you to stop this plan.>

“No. I’ve made up my mind. We’re doing it, just as I laid out.”

<Very well. But don’t blame me when we’re sitting in a cell again.>

“Come on, Punch. You need to lighten up. How about a joke? You know, something about prison? Get rid of the stress before we go on stage.”

<This isn’t a laughing matter.>

Damn. He really is concerned.

“OK, OK. Let’s just do it and see what happens.”

Rev switched from table talk to their normal mode of communications. “Well, Punch. What do you think about what we were asked to do?”

<I think that this is a bad idea. The risk is too great, and getting involved will only get you in trouble.>

“It’s a covert operation.”

<Nothing is ever covert. The Omega Division are the professionals, not you. You’ll be caught.>

“I’m smarter than that. I won’t get caught.”

<Even if you do, what about loyalty?”

“Shit, Punch. You should know this by now. Loyalty is a matter of perspective. The difference between being a traitor and a patriot depends on who’s making the judgment.”

<What about Tomiko? Won’t she feel betrayed?>

“She won’t know my motives. And even if she finds out, what’s she going to do? Rat on me?”

<Probably not. But that’s all the more reason not to put her into the position to choose.>

“It will be fine.”

<Make a mention of the Omega agent,> Punch interjected in table talk.

“Maybe I’ll ask OD for advice. Make sure I’m doing this right.”

<You’re just going to call them up and ask them?>

“Hey, I’ve got my buddy. The grandfather agent.”

<He hardly seems like a buddy. He wasn’t too happy with you on New Mars.>

“Heck, Punch. You know I grow on people.”

<I doubt that is the case.>

“Just joking. Jeesh!”

<I do not see the humor in that. And I have to advise you, based on all my data, this isn’t a good idea. I recommend you steer clear of it.>

“No. I’m doing it. Tuesday. After evening chow. I’ll set it up so it seems natural.”

<Please rethink what you’re doing.>

“You’re such a wimp, Punch.”

“Think that’s enough?”

<We used the right keywords. That should alert any AI listening in. If they come for you with handcuffs, we’ll know you caught their attention.>

But whose attention?

There were plenty of holes in his plan. If Rev had been asked to do something nefarious, then wouldn’t the watchers wonder how they’d missed that? He just hoped that there had been enough there to pique someone’s interest.

Now, all there was to do was for him to sit back and wait to see if someone, probably either the Corps, military intel, or Omega Division, approached him.

He’d considered doing as Punch recommended and ignore the situation. Quite often, people seeking answers didn’t like what they found.

But the question had been asked. There was no turning back. It was time to wait and see.

Rev didn’t have time to see if anyone took the bait, though. An hour after he and Punch had gone through their little charade, the company’s orders came through.

7

It had taken the CoH two weeks to find an appropriate target. Syron III was one of the protected planets under their control. Like the Mother herself, the planet was off-limits to human development, with only a small scientific staff to observe and monitor the native lifeforms. More pertinent to the mission at hand, there had been an incursion on the planet several months ago with approximately six hundred Naxli.

No one was quite sure what the Naxli were doing on the planet. They hadn’t overrun either of the two research stations, and orbital surveillance hadn’t picked up signs of malicious activity.

They were not an obvious threat, and so, combined with the protected status of the planet, nothing had been done to bring war to the planet to evict them. With the current situation, thanks to the MDS, however, and the need to find out if the Naxli were still willing to limit the scope of battles, the environmentalists and the xenobiologists were overruled by the congress.

Syron III might be a biological wonder, but there was going to be a battle on the surface. Hopefully, it would be a limited fight, and the planet’s ecosystem would escape relatively untouched.

And hopefully, as well, the Marines in HI Company would escape relatively untouched as well, something Rev would do his utmost to achieve. The alien lifeforms on the planet should be preserved, but when push came to shove, those would be fellow Marines with him, and they took priority.

With 600-plus Naxli on the planet, the First Heavy Infantry would be accompanied by a battalion of Union Marines, a Paxus cohort, a Mezame Concordat battalion of naval infantry, and for the first time, a Centaur flight, which was the equivalent of a human platoon. If the Naxli refused to fight in either a platoon or company-sized battle, then there would be a large enough human/Centaur force to eliminate the enemy.

Rev had been surprised by the Centaur attachment. With only three rievers, they wouldn’t be adding much to the task force’s firepower, and as far as he knew, the Centaurs had never trained with any human force. But as Bundy pointed out, it was probably all politics, there to let the Naxli know that they faced two species, not just humankind.

To a large extent, none of that mattered to Rev and the rest of the HI Marines. Their task was simple. When the final orders came down and an agreement was reached with the Naxli as to the numbers, their mission was straightforward. Defeat the enemy.

No, that’s not the real mission, Rev had to remind himself.

In the long run, the CoH didn’t care so much if they won or lost. The key was to reaffirm limited, representative warfare.

Otherwise, too much was at stake.

* * *

“We had Mistworld two planets ago, and what’s this? Swampworld?” Hussein asked as the platoon watched the visuals.

“It isn’t all swamp,” Strap said.

“But where we’re going, it sure is.”

“Keep your traps shut,” Rev told them. “Watch and learn.”

But Hussein wasn’t wrong. While the narrator gave a running commentary, the recording swept through vast tracts of swamp that would put the Louisiana bayou on Earth or the Frandle Gray Bog on St. Herron to shame. Huge tree-like structures rose from black water, and as a ripple interrupted the still surface, the narrator reminded the viewer of the oversized native life that dwelled under the water.

There was nothing that approached mammal or bird levels of sentience. Most of the life forms were made from colonies of multicell organisms. But when that colony was eight meters of snake-like form, well, this was the stuff of nightmares.

The planet’s predators could not eat Earth-based life, but they didn’t always seem to realize it. More than a few humans had been killed before and after the planet received protection. Not only the predators, but also the herbivore analogs had defenses that could ruin a human’s day.

For the first time in Rev’s military career, he’d be on a planet where it wasn’t just the enemy that was a danger but the native life as well.

Which begged the question as to why the Naxli were there in the first place. But to Rev, it seemed this had been just one more time where the Naxli had gone to various types of worlds to, in his opinion, test themselves against human forces. They’d been on the planet months before the MDS had tried to backstab the Naxli.

How the events on Alicia’s Bounty would affect them was open to conjecture. They’d almost assuredly know what had transpired, and logic told Rev that they’d have had directions from the Naxli decision-makers.

The feed ended, and the battalion S2 master sergeant stood back up.

“So, you can see, the environment is going to make it tough going.”

“Just water, Top,” Hussein said. “I’m more concerned with the noxes.”

“It’s not just water, Sergeant. The soil underneath is a morass. Movement will be difficult.”

“But it’s going to be just as difficult for the noxes, right?”

“Sergeant Hussein,” Bundy said, jumping in. “Let’s let the top finish his brief. I’m sure he’ll be open to questions when he’s done.”

“Crap. That should have been me,” Rev sub-vocalized

<Yes, it should have been. You’re the platoon sergeant.>

Rev would have a talk with Hussein later. The sergeant was a hell of a fighter, and Rev was used to his sometimes irreverent, sometimes confrontational personality. But he needed to tone that down with people outside of the platoon.

But the master sergeant really didn’t get into the Naxli situation. His brief was on the planet itself. That was valuable, of course. If the native life had the ability to harm a Marine, then Rev wanted to know that. But they were a sideshow. The main thing was the Naxli, and Rev wanted as much intel as possible on them.

Most of all, if they would treat them like gnista or hreetz? There was no way to know, of course, until they confronted them. But surely, with all the intel and xenobiology assets within humankind, some expert must have an opinion on that.

But if they had opinions, the top didn’t present them. All he did was give them a superficial brief on the planet itself. With no scientific teams having cataloged the life forms in their AO, it was less on specifics and more along the lines of “Here be dragons.”

As soon as that thought hit him, Rev wished it hadn’t. Some of the colony-animals in the more studied areas of the planet had a passing resemblance to the dragons of yore. Who knew what lurked in the swamps?

Well, if there are dragons, we’re the knights in shining armor. St. George slew his dragon, right? If he could do it, so can a Marine.

Still, he’d much rather only worry about the Naxli instead of whether some dragon-like colony-creature would try to chomp on a Marine thinking they were food.

* * *

“Keep your head down,” Tomiko called out as Third Platoon started boarding their landing craft.

Rev gave her a half-wave. He was already putting on his war face—not letting his warrior self surface, but just getting into the mindset of a landing where they may or may not face immediate action.

He stepped aboard the Mezame shuttle. Like everything within the Mezame Navy, it rather put the Union Navy to shame. The reclining couches, with their gel surrounds, would allow the shuttle to perform much more severe maneuvers, if necessary, without making Marine soup.

The goal was to be straightforward as possible, keeping up the image of a gnist challenge. But if things went to hell in a handbasket, it was nice to know that the landing craft had the ability to get them out of trouble quickly.

Rev was proud to be a Perseus Union Marine and a member of the military, but while he’d never admit it, he sure wished that the Union Navy had some of the same equipment and ships as the Mezames had.

The landing craft had no crew in the back. Each couch had a display at the top with the name of the Marine who would lie in it during the descent. The insert had already been programmed for each specific Marine’s height and weight.

For most of them, at least. The IBHUs presented something outside of the couch’s normal parameters. It had taken the ship’s engineers quite a bit of discussion to come up with a solution.

Instead of tucking his arms to his sides like the rest of the Marines, Rev held Pashu out as he lowered himself into the couch. Once seated, he used his right arm to pull a strap that had been attached to the left side of the capsule across to the right side, and he snapped that end into place. Then he carefully lowered Pashu onto the strap, where it took up his IHBU’s weight.

The engineers told him that if the landing craft had to perform some max-G maneuvers, with Pashu not being enveloped in the G-gel, she could conceivably be torn free to bang about the cabin.

Not a pleasant thought. But if the landing craft was performing those kinds of maneuvers, having Pashu tear free of his shoulder would probably be the least of his worries.

“All Marines, prepare for Phase 1 maneuvering,” a voice said, filling the cabin.

Rev scooted his butt back and forth, settling in. A moment later, it was as if the couch was lightly hugging him. He was wondering if he’d get a touch of claustrophobia, but at this stage, it was more comforting than anything else.

“Commencing impulse.”

A screen lowered from the overhead at the back of the cabin. A graphic showed both the planet and ship. There was a soft lurch, barely noticeable, and the landing craft appeared on the display. As the vessel started down to the planet, a path appeared on the screen, showing where the landing craft was on the route, and the time and distance to the LZ.

“Why can’t our Navy shuttles and landing craft have that?”

<They can. Passenger atmospheric planes typically showed air maps that did the same thing all the way back to the Twentieth Century.>

“Then why don’t we do it? We grunts always go in blind.”

<I can’t say.>

“Remind me to ask that during the operation hot wash.”

<Roger, but I doubt it will do any good.>

Rev frowned. Punch had always merely acknowledged a routine order like that without commentary. Something was going on with this battle buddy, and that wasn’t a good thing. And it wasn’t just that an AI with a glitch could be a liability in battle. Punch was more than just a military AI. He’d become a friend, as weird as the eighteen-year-old conscript he’d once been would have found that.

If there was something buggy about Punch’s programming, that was something that he’d have to consider later. Now wasn’t the time. He looked back up at the screen, then lost himself as he watched the landing craft creep along the route.

Landing craft could shoot straight into an LZ, using braking to slow down. In this case, the task force commander, a Paxus tribune, wanted the landing to be as non-threatening as possible, so the various landing craft and shuttles were to approach in an orbital descent.

For Third Platoon, that meant their landing craft was going to come in, orbit around the planet, bleeding speed, before landing at the LZ.

That would give the Naxli plenty of opportunity to take the landing craft under fire if they were so inclined.

More than anything else, Rev hated not being in control of his own destiny when things were hot. On the ground, he’d face whatever the enemy could throw at him. In the landing craft he was just along for the ride, and the closer they got to the planet, the more stressed he became.

<Your pulse rate is elevated. Would you like a sedative.>

“No! I’m fine. Just let me get off this thing, and I’ll be OK.”

Punch could instruct his medinanos to give him the sedative, then counteract it just prior to landing, but Rev didn’t trust there not to be any lingering effects as he stepped out onto the ground.

That, and if they were taken under fire, he wanted to be fully aware of it. If he was going to leave this corporeal plane, he didn’t want to do that with dulled senses.

But the landing craft kept along its plotted course, and as it started swinging around the planet, Rev started to relax. It seemed that the Naxli weren’t going to contest the landing. One question had been answered. And that might indicate that they’d be willing to negotiate a limited engagement.

Of course, it could be for their own survival, too. With almost three thousand humans preparing to land on the planet, the six hundred or so Naxli didn’t stand much of a chance. A limited engagement could be their best hope for a win.

“Looks like we’re getting down in one piece, huh, Staff Sergeant?” PFC Julian, in the adjacent couch, said.

Rev couldn’t see her, or anyone else, but he said, “Don’t jinx us. But yeah.”

“Just keep alert, Jules,” Hussein, her squad leader, said from the other side of her. “We’re not down yet.”

“We’re gonna kick ass,” a muffled voice called out, maybe Pierson.

There was a sudden chorus of ooh-rahs. The entire journey so far had been silent, but now, the cabin was full of shouts.

For a moment, Rev was tempted to tell them all to shut up and mentally prepare for the landing, but then he thought, why can’t they show some enthusiasm?

Let them blow off some of the stress.

Rev gave his own loud ooh-rah when the screen flashed.

There was a shift in the landing craft that managed to push through the compensators, and the gel around Rev seemed to ooze over him, holding him tighter.

“Prepare for evasive maneuvers,” the voice said over the speaker.

On the screen, more paths of landing craft and shuttles appeared, with one image flashing red. The path from it to the planet’s surface was gone.

Rev didn’t need to be told what had happened. The Naxli weren’t going to let them land unopposed after all.

The projected path of their landing craft disappeared as well as it started taking evasive actions. Rev could feel the acceleration and shifting G-forces, and while he had to strain to keep Pashu in place, he could easily tolerate the forces on his body.

But the stress on his mind was something else. The gel suddenly felt like a coffin. Nothing was in his control, and that was the worst feeling imaginable.

He kept his eyes glued to the screen as more and more human vessels were destroyed.

Which one is you, Miko?

He wished the icons on the screen were labeled. Dread washed over him each time one of them was extinguished, symbolizing lives snuffed out. Each one hurt, but if Tomiko was on one of those . . .

He pushed the thought out of his mind. If the platoon’s landing craft made it to the ground, it might be into a hot LZ.

The time until they landed at the LZ kept shrinking, but as the landing craft went into randomly generated gyrations, the timeline kept shifting. Rev couldn’t tell what was accurate until he heard, “Prepare for landing.”

“System check.”

<All systems green. Power ninety-eight-point-four. Full combat load.>

There was a flicker inside the cabin, and suddenly, the full force of the maneuvers hit Rev in the chest like a mule’s kick. He gasped in shock, struggling to breathe. Old lessons of AGSM kicked in, and he let out a series of grunts as either the landing craft’s pilot or AI struggled to control the craft.

Rev’s vision was tunneling, but he managed to get a glimpse of the screen, which was now blank. He couldn’t tell where the craft was with relationship to the ground.

Not freakin’ again!

Rev hadn’t had very good luck with shuttles, tilt-fans, or landing craft during his career. If it flew through the atmosphere and Rev was on it, chances were that it was going to go down. It was as if the gods of war enjoyed screwing with him.

Rev’s warrior self burst through, and he didn’t fight it. Part of Rev knew this whole warrior and angel selves were so much BS. It was all him. But he felt better letting that side of his personality take over, ready to face whatever was coming.

“You hanging in there, Julian?” he gasped.

No answer. Only sounds of others doing their AGSMs filled the cabin.

There was a final, soul-crushing force as the front of the landing craft tilted up, then a surprisingly moderate shock as the landing craft hit the ground and then skidded to a stop.

Rev was dazed, but with the blood able to circulate again, it only took seconds for his senses to regain themselves. Their couches were designed to release the Marines and retract into the deck, allowing for a quick debark. That didn’t happen.

Each console had an emergency release on the right side. Rev flexed his right hand and pressed his, and to his relief, the gel pulled back, allowing him to sit up, and then the entire console started to retract.

“Retract your couches!” he shouted. Within five seconds, most of the Marines complied, and within another ten seconds, they were standing, combat-ready from the looks of it.

But not everyone. Five consoles were still deployed, including Julian’s. Rev stepped to hers and looked in. She was out cold.

“Hyer, get her out of this,” he ordered one of her fire teammates.

Marines were already reacting to the other four who weren’t responding. From the front of the cabin, Bundy started moving back, a little unsteady on his legs. Sometimes, Rev forgot that his platoon commander was almost seventy. As much as he was still a middle-aged man, he didn’t have the resiliency of most of his Marines.

“Doc, check out the captain,” he told Hunt before he spun and ran to the ramp, which was still closed.

Like the couch consoles, it had an emergency release. Rev hit it. The ramp reacted in fits and starts, but it opened, letting a rush of dark, putrid water rush in all the way to where the first consoles had been.

“Squad leaders, nothing’s changed. Get everyone out and set up a defensive perimeter. The front of the landing craft is twelve o’clock.”

He grabbed Hussein by the shoulder. “Hus-man, send someone around to the bow and see if this thing’s got a pilot.”

Some Mezame landing craft were fully automated, and some had human pilots. Rev had never thought to ask about their landing craft, and the cabin was a self-contained capsule that had been attached to the flying body of the craft.

Rev joined the rest of the Marines as they ran down the ramp. It was early afternoon outside, the light more into the blue spectrum than Earth and Safe Harbor-normal.

“Compensate visuals,” he told Punch. A moment later his vision flicked over to mimic what he’d be seeing on Safe Harbor. He didn’t have to have his face shield compensate, but it just made him a bit more comfortable.

He stepped off the end of the ramp and into the waist-deep water. The footing underneath was muck, and it pulled at his boots with each step. Around him, Marines were struggling to move into position.

But for what? To stand in the water?

Rev scanned the area. This wasn’t the heavy swamp forest of their video. It was mostly water for hundreds of meters around them, punctuated with little clumps of vegetation and scraggly trees, for lack of a better word. The landing craft had come down in the water, clearing a path through the trees and flattening a good deal of a little island.

“Squad leaders, shift to the right,” he ordered, acting on instinct.

This time, his instinct was right. As they moved out of the path the landing craft had cut, the footing got more solid. They were knee-deep now, vice waist-deep.

The five Marines who’d lost consciousness were all coming around. Doc was finished with Bundy and was checking on them, but he didn’t look too concerned.

Hussein waded up and told him, “No pilot. This was one of their AI versions.”

Rev looked around. Beyond their immediate area, at the edges of what was essentially a lake, tall trees took over.

“No pilot? Damn Mezame AI did a fine job getting us down in one piece, what with the craft hit,” he said.

<Nothing remarkable. It did as was programmed.>

Rev glanced back at the landing craft. The skin on this side was warped, but he couldn’t tell what had hit it. He was pretty sure, though, that it wouldn’t be flying off the planet anytime soon.

“You jealous of another AI, Punch?”

<Jealousy is a human trait.>

“Yeah, sure. You keep telling yourself that.”

Hussein looked over Rev’s shoulder, then tilted his head in that direction. Rev turned to see Bundy wading up to him.

“You OK, sir?”

Bundy shrugged. “Well enough. Damn Gs were tough to take, though. If I’d wanted to deal with that shit, I’d have become a fighter pilot.”

“No choi—” Rev started before he cut himself off. He, and most of the others in their posse, had been conscripts, given no choice about being a Marine. It was easy to forget that Bundy, with his wife passed and his kids grown, had volunteered for the Marines.

“What now?” he asked, changing the subject.

“This is pretty exposed,” Bundy said. “We need to move to . . .”

He trailed off as the unmistakable form of another landing craft descended about three klicks away, near the far treeline. The descent was controlled, not the emergency landing that their own craft had made.

“I guess that settles that,” Bundy said. “Get the platoon ready to move. We’re going to go see who that is.”

* * *

“The Tsukuba was lost providing orbital support,” Lieutenant Commander Ono said.

“The Tsukuba? What about the cohort? Were they still embarked?” Captain Milie Macek asked.

The Mezame officer shook his head. “I don’t know. They were scheduled as follow-on forces.”

Rev ground his teeth. The Paxus cohort was—had been—twelve hundred soldiers strong, which represented a full third of the human ground forces. Combined with Union Marines and Mezame naval infantry that had been lost with the landing craft and shuttles the Naxli had shot down, the robust task force was now a shadow of its former strength.

No one knew just how many humans had made it to the planet’s surface. Comms, as usual, had been knocked out shortly after the platoon had landed. Second Platoon, First Heavy Infantry Company, had seen Third Platoon’s landing craft go down, and they’d adjusted course and followed them down. One Mezame shuttle, with Commander Ono aboard, and two landing craft with a platoon of naval infantry, had homed in on the area as well. A rifle platoon from the Forty-Second Marines was next, and the last to arrive had been one of the Centaur rievers and driver, along with its single human liaison.

There were probably other human forces that made it to the surface. Hopefully, First Platoon and the company CO were among that number. They’d been in the first wave as well, and it looked like the Naxli had let that wave almost reach the ground before they opened up on the bulk of the craft bringing the humans in for the landing.

However many humans were scattered over the AO, there were only a little more than a hundred Marines, seventy Mezame naval infantry, and the lone Centaur riever gathered at this location. Somewhere out in the swamplands and scrub, there were six hundred Naxli.

The leadership of each unit, except for the Centaur, had gathered on an island, which was one of the few pieces of relatively dry ground in the area. They needed a plan.

“Maybe fewer than six hundred of them,” Captain Macek was saying. “We don’t know how many the Tsukuba managed to tally before she was hit.”

“We have to assume they were typically dispersed. And that means that even with some killed by the Tsukuba, we’re significantly outnumbered,” the commander said.

“So, what’s the plan? Do we try to link up with other forces?” Macek asked.

With the major’s location unknown, Captain Macek, as the HI Company XO, was the acting commander.

Of the Marines.

Lieutenant Commander Ono, coincidently the XO of the Mezame battalion, was senior to the captain, so for the moment, he was in command of the group. It was his decision. Rev could see that it grated on Captain Macek. While the Mezame Navy was one of the most professional navies in existence, their naval infantry didn’t have the same reputation. And two of the Marine platoons were Heavy Infantry platoons, some of the most elite in the entire Corps.

But human military tradition was almost iron-clad in many ways, and the captain wasn’t going to buck that.

“If we start wandering around this cesspit of a planet, it’s far more likely that we’ll run into the obake than our fellow humans.”

“Obake? Why do they call the noxes that?”

<They’re an old type of spirit from Japanese mythology that can shift their form.>

Rev grunted. “Makes sense. And a better name than nox, I guess.”

“So, are you suggesting we just hide out until reinforcements arrive?” Captain Macek asked.

It wasn’t quite a challenge, but there was sure a hint to it in his voice.

If the commander caught the challenge, he seemed to ignore it.

“I believe that the best course of action is to continue the mission. While our future is of great interest to each of us, what humankind needs to know is whether the obake are still willing to play ball. But back to our personal situation. This might be in our best interest as well. Unless they agree to a limited contest, I don’t think we stand much of a chance. Do you?”

He's got you there, Captain.

Macek opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. Rev could see the gears turning. But the commander was right. The Naxli had shown that they were going to be aggressive, and they had to know that some humans had reached the planet. They were going to go after them.

The humans had suffered a tremendous blow. But if they could get the Naxli to go back to limited combat, then the mission would still be a success. A painful, expensive success, but a success nonetheless.

Captain Macek nodded. “Roger that. Um . . . who would be making the challenge.”

The commander pointedly looked at Rev, or more specifically, at his IBHU. The original plan had been for one of the HI platoons to make the challenge, or if the Naxli wanted something a little larger, the entire HI company. The rest of the forces were there if the Naxli refused.

“You have the hyper-augments. I see no reason to change the plan.”

Rev had fully expected the commander to say that. And it made the most sense. But at some point, if the limited fighting paradigm was back in use, other units were going to have to get involved. Even with more IHBU Marines in the pipeline, even with the Tau Ceti Rangers and MDS karnans, the constant fighting was going to erode the numbers of combat experienced hyper-augmented warriors.

He gave Lieutenant Commander Ono a measured stare. Like many modern humans, he didn’t look like one of the old ethnic lines, but by his name and being a Mezame citizen, he probably traced his roots back to Japan. Rev wondered if the officer had studied WWII, where Japan’s constant losses of skilled pilots could not keep up with how the Americans could keep training and putting their pilots in the air. By the end of the war, Japanese pilots were being thrust into combat with no real flight training.

There were so few IBHU Marines as it was. So few Tau Ceti Rangers, Hégémonie Legionnaires, and Freedom Coalition commandos. Only with the karnans were there any significant numbers, and as far as Rev was concerned, the karnan model, even with the Titalloy 363 bones for durability and Maiser pumps for immense strength, had not proved to be the best way forward.

If the IBHUs kept being thrown into the meat grinder, then soon, there wouldn’t be any left, and it would be regular troops facing the Naxli. Maybe it was personal preservation rearing its head, but Rev thought that it made sense to start using all available soldiers to fight, husbanding some of the hyper-augments to help prepare and train the new ones as they came off the assembly line.

But not now, he knew. This particular mission might be far more vital than any other. If the Naxli refused to go back to gnist fights, then once again, humankind would be thrust into total war.

And from the looks of things, the Naxli would prove to be a far more dangerous foe than the dying Centaur race could ever hope to be.

8

“All I did was walk out alone in what I hoped was a non-threatening posture,” Rev told the Marine rifle platoon and one of the Naval Mezame platoon commanders.

“What did you say to them?” the Mezame officer asked. “Is there a protocol?”

The lieutenant was recording all of this, which Rev thought was a little much. But if he needed that, better to be sure than to make a mistake.

“Well, first, I think the nox thought I was a champion, like single combat. I told him no. Then it asked if I was offering warrior terms. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say, so I asked what it was offering.”

“And what did it offer you?”

“I think it said something like standard warrior gnist.”

“You don’t know exactly?” the platoon commander asked.

Rev gave Bundy an exasperated glance. He wasn’t sure why the Mezame platoon was going to take part in the search for the Naxli forces. At least with the two HI platoons, they’d watched the recordings and had an idea of what had happened. They’d rehearsed the process numerous times. This was obviously all new to the Mezame.

Bundy gave Rev a slight nod to continue.

“Punch? What did the nox say?”

<“Standard warrior gnist. You have eight hundred and thirty-two human warriors. Gnistas.”>

Rev repeated that to the Mezame lieutenant. He noticed that the Marine rifle platoon commander was listening intently as well.

I guess they weren’t prepared for this, either.

Which made sense. They’d been part of the security forces, there to fight if the HI company couldn’t get the Naxli to agree to a gnist fight.

He was tempted to recommend to the Mezame lieutenant commander that only the two HI platoons try and make contact with the Naxli. This wasn’t a time for someone who was unprepared, even if through no fault of their own, to possibly screw this up.

At least Bundy and First Lieutenant Nilstrom, who was both an IBHU Marine and the Second Platoon commander, knew what they were doing. But the lieutenant commander had been adamant that the Mezame be represented.

“So, what did you say to that?” the Mezame lieutenant asked.

“I said I couldn’t speak for all of the Marines and SeaBees back at the camp. It started to turn away, like in disgust, and so I said, “Gnist.”

“Which is like warrior?”

“I wasn’t sure. It used the word, so I did. Anyway, it stopped and said I had forty-three Marines with me. Well, it didn’t actually say Marines. Just that there were forty-three of us.”

“In one platoon?” Second Lieutenant James, the rifle platoon commander asked.

“I had a squad from Bravo company with me to help bring back the bodies of the recon platoon. We hadn’t trained with the squad, and I didn’t want that handicap, so I kinda said they were servants.”

The Marine lieutenant snorted his disbelief.

“And what did it say?”

“Punch?”

<“No honor in hreetz.” Then it said, “Thirty-four, followed by “None of your air vehicles, none of your armored vehicles. Warrior gnist.”>

Rev repeated that, then added, “I agreed, then it gave me a time for us to start fighting.”

He was about to go into the little speech the Naxli said about humans and honor, but it really wasn’t pertinent. The Mezame lieutenant would probably grill him on what all of that meant, but none of it would make a difference if he was the one who had to try and negotiate a fight.

“That’s it?” the lieutenant asked.

“Yes, sir. That’s about it.”

He didn’t seem very confident with the brief, such as it was. But Rev didn’t know what else to add to it. He’d been shooting from the hip on Mistworld himself, so there was no telling if he’d been close to screwing it up.

Captain Macek hadn’t said a word while Rev described the process, but now he looked at Lieutenant Commander Ono and said, “We don’t have a set SOP on doing this. All we have are recordings of when it all went to shit on Heverig and then Staff Sergeant Pelletier’s successful parlay. We’ve been rehearsing it back on Safe Harbor, but even with all of that time and role-playing, nothing is for certain, and we could make a major mistake. However, if you want to send out these two platoons along with the two trained heavy infantry platoons, then I think they’re just going to have to play it by ear and hope for the best.”

Rev inwardly winced. The captain was bordering on insubordination, but that didn’t mean he was wrong. This was potentially too important to risk someone who hadn’t prepared for the mission.

The lieutenant commander didn’t bat an eye, though. “I think you’re right,” he said. “We’ll just have to hope for the best.”

For a moment, Rev thought the captain was going to lose it. If it came down to it, there were three Marine platoons there, two being heavy infantry, and only two Mezame naval infantry platoons. He could take over if he wanted.

Both Rev and Bundy started forward to pull him back, but the fire in Macek’s eyes faded, and he just said, “Aye-aye, sir.”

The captain was right in that sending the other two platoons out was a risk, but having an intramural fight when they might be the only combat-capable force on the planet was idiocy.

Bundy took over for Macek. “When should we send out the patrols?”

“Have we stripped the landing craft for all possible supplies?”

“Yes, sir. There wasn’t much. The resupplies were coming in on the second wave, but we’ve taken everything we could find.”

“Very well. There’s no reason to wait, then,” the commander said. “Take thirty minutes to get ready while we set up a defensive position here?”

“That will work,” Bundy said. “This isn’t a horrible position. Anyone coming here is going to have to cross a lot of water.”

“What about the Centaur?” the liaison asked.

“This isn’t good armor terrain here, or over there, for that matter,” Ono said. “Just have it sit tight. If we do get hit, we can use its firepower.”

He looked around, but there were no more questions. “OK, then, let’s get moving.”

Bundy grabbed Rev and pulled him aside. “We’ve got to make sure either Second or we’re the ones to make contact. I’ll talk to the rifle platoon lieutenant, but that still leaves the Mez platoon.”

“Roger that. I’ll start Winnie on getting the platoon ready, then hit up Gunny Morgan and Lieutenant Nilson to see what we can do to freeze out the Mezes.”

“Sounds like a plan. Do it.”

Only, Rev never had a chance to start. One of the Mezame sailors on the perimeter called out, “I’ve got movement!”

Everyone froze for a moment, then Rev and Bundy bolted to where the sailor was pointing across the water more than a klick away to where there was movement in the tree line.

Rev pulled out his monocular and glassed the area.

“It’s the noxes,” he said. “They’re not giving us the chance to go find them.”

Behind Rev, he heard the Centaur riever swing around and crash through the vegetation coming his way.

“Someone stop that tin-ass!” he shouted.

If it opened fire, then any hope of a limited fight was gone.

Two Naxli emerged from the trees, waded out into the water five or ten meters, and then stopped. Rev didn’t know how good Naxli eyesight was, and he didn’t see any mechanical vision devices, but he was certain that they were observing them.

“What are they doing?” Commander Ono asked as he came up alongside them.

One of the Naxli turned around and waved an arm several times. Rev didn’t know what that meant, but more Naxli started to emerge from the trees and start a shift to the left that sure looked like there was a specific purpose. Others started to set up what sure looked like a human infantry base of fire.

When the Naxli had previously sent out a single one of them to parlay, there had been none of this kind of thing. Those behind the lone Naxli had been in a non-threatening posture.

“Shit! They’re going to attack!”

“But—” the commander started, but Rev wasn’t listening.

He darted forward to the water’s edge, then deliberately started wading forward, directly at the Naxli.

“Rev!” Bundy and Miko shouted in unison, but he tuned them out.

If the Naxli went into the attack, he had no cover. There would be no way he could survive.

His warrior started fighting for control, and he had to fight to keep him down.

Rev could take out what might be the two leaders and maybe a few of the rest, but that would only delay the inevitable for him, and, more importantly, blow the mission.

He was running—not that it was doing much good in the knee-to-waist-deep water—but his long strides were eating up the distance. All the while, the Naxli continued to move into what had to be an assault formation.

And they noticed him. Which is what he wanted, after all.

By the Mother, please let them wait to hear me out.

His heart was pounding, and he wasn’t sure if that was because of the mission or because he wanted to survive this. Maybe both.

“Can you give me some music?”

A moment later, Punch was playing, “Wayward Seas.”

It didn’t really calm him down, but at least it gave his mind something to take up his thoughts other than images of getting cut down before he even reached the enemy.

Weapons were trained on him as he got closer. Finally, fifty meters out, one of the Naxli finally started forward. Rev gave a huge sigh of relief. He wasn’t out of the woods, but it looked like he’d at least get a say.

Now that he realized he was going to be able to speak, though, his mind went blank. He’d rehearsed this a thousand times, but there was nothing.

“What did the Naxli on Mistworld say to me?”

<It said, “Then do you offer warrior terms?”>

“And then, what else. After that. The Naxli word.”

<“Standard Warrior gnist.”>

“That’s the word. By the Mother, how could I have forgotten? I was just briefing the commander on it.”

Gnist, gnist, gnist, he kept telling himself, making sure he didn’t have another brain fart.

The Naxli stopped about fifteen meters from him, and Rev stopped, waist-deep in the dark water. Mud roiled around him, disturbed by his feet.

“I offer standard warrior gnist,” he said in a rush, wanting to speak first.

The Naxli stared long and hard at Rev, his eyes lingering on Pashu. Rev let his IBHU point down to become less threatening, her muzzle in the water.

After a few moments, the Naxli raised its gaze to look Rev in the eyes.

“No.”

No elaboration, no anything.

What? Did I say something wrong?

“Warrior terms. You state the specifics,” he tried again.

“No.”

“Gnist. I am gnist,” he tried, scrambling for something to convince the Naxli warrior.

“You are not gnista. You are hreetz.”

“No, no, no! I am gnist. Gnista. Whatever you call it. I have fought on warrior terms, on Mistworld. I have honor,” he said, hoping the Naxli knew the human name for the planet.

The Naxli startled as a human would, taking a tiny step back before leaning forward again. It seemed to appraise Rev.

“No human is gnista. You are hreetz, as you showed on Alicia’s Bounty. We Naxli do not engage with hreetz as warriors. I should not even be granting you parlay.” It paused, then added, “I only do so because you approached, and I am one who believes even hreetz deserve to understand their doom.”

This isn’t going like we need it to. Think, Reverent!

But he hadn’t expected this, and he was grasping at straws.

“Punch, you got anything?”

<Unfortunately, no.>

This was going to crash down on him, Rev realized. His warrior self almost gained control of Pashu, wanting to cut down the Naxli commander before Rev was executed like the battalion commander on Heverig.

But even if the Naxli wasn’t going to grant a gnist fight, Rev had come to parlay, and that meant he couldn’t break the implied truce.

At least, he thought that was the way it worked, and his honor wouldn’t let him break that. If this was his last moment alive, he wanted to go out on his terms.

The Naxli stood quietly for a moment, then asked, “You are the human who led the gnist communion on the planet you call Mistworld?”

“Yes, I am.”

What, you’re going to hold that against me? Big fucking deal.

The Naxli kept looking down at Pashu, then up at Rev’s face several times. Rev didn’t know how much Intel the Naxli gathered and promulgated, but this one seemed very interested in his IBHU.

“What is your name?”

Rev didn’t expect the question, and he almost refused to say, but then he thought what the heck and said, “Staff Sergeant Reverent Pelletier, Perseus Union Marine Corps.”

“Staff Sergeant Pelletier, you are gnista.”

A surge of hope washed through Rev, only to be snuffed out when the Naxli said, “But humans are hreetz.

“I would spare your life if I could, but the heshony is clear. The taint is still yours.”

“So, even if you admit that I’m gnista, you’re going to kill me now, like what you did on Heverig?” Rev said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“I do not know where this Heverig is. But no, I will not kill you here as you stand before me.”

“But you just said I’ve got the hreetz taint on me.”

Rev just had his hope dashed, and he wasn’t going to get any more hope that there was a way out of this. The twenty or thirty weapons trained on him defeated that.

“I am of the N’ztishv clan, and we believe there is honor in every creature. You have shown honor. You are still hreetz, and you will be eliminated, but I grant you the honor of a warrior’s death.”

There was an angry hiss from some of the Naxli behind it. Evidently, this wasn’t a popular move.

“You return to your fellow humans. I grant you seventy-three minutes to prepare yourselves for death and how you want to greet it.”

There were more hisses, and Rev half-expected one of the Naxli to lose it and cut him down. But they held their fire.

Rev wasn’t going to grovel, and he wasn’t going to thank the Naxli. Why the hell would he?

“What is your name?”

He didn’t even know if they had names, but it was a safe bet.

“I own to Briiti bup N’ztishy-on, human Pelletier.”

“Good. I like to know who I’ll be killing.”

With that, Rev turned and started wading back to the others.

9

“How many did you see, Staff Sergeant?” Lieutenant Commander Ono asked.

“Punch, my AI, counted at least ninety-two in my field of view, sir.”

“And we’ve got a hundred and seventy-four of us, plus the Centaur.”

“That’s ninety-two in view, Commander,” Bundy said. “We don’t know how many more are there.”

The Mezame officer grimaced. “I know. But if that’s all that are there at the moment, we can attack and take them out of the equation.”

Rev kept quiet. There was truth to that, and many times, the battle went to those who took aggressive risks. But not always. They were on a small island of dryish land, surrounded by water. Even if there were only ninety-two Naxli waiting to attack, all they had to do would be to pin the humans in place until reinforcements could arrive.

Rev lived by the act first and with violent intentions school of thought, but in this case, he was wondering if a little caution might let them live to fight another day.

“If we attack, we’ll have to cover all that open muck,” Captain Macek pointed out.

“Well, then we wait for them to cross that. Make it a killing zone.”

The lieutenant commander seemed to sense that he was taking a view not shared by the Marines, at least. Rev could feel that he was wavering.

“How much power do your Dō-marus have?” Bundy asked.

The Mezame combat suit was functional enough, but it wasn’t nearly as robust as the Marine heavy infantry PAL-H and HX, or even the match of the regular infantry PAL-3.

“I’m at eight days. I’d have to check the status of the platoons.”

“At full combat action?”

“Well, no. It depends on how heavy the fighting. Maybe two or three days.” He paused, then added, almost as an excuse, “We were supposed to be resupplied with power packs if they were needed.”

“But you don’t have them. Our heavy infantry are powered for three days of heavy combat, more without contact. Maybe a week. Lieutenant James? How about you?”

“Four days, tops, sir. But we’ve each got an extra powerpack. So, maybe up to nine days of combat operations.”

Each of the heavy infantry had an extra powerpack and cooling pack as well, but Bundy didn’t mention that to the lieutenant commander. He also didn’t mention that with the Centaur-engineered upgrades to the IBHUs, those weapons could last two to three times longer than that. They’d operate until they ran out of ammo for the missiles and twenty, and they had much more beamer potential than before.

“We don’t have unlimited combat capability, sir,” he said. “And if we’re stuck here, in place, all they have to do is wait us out. That’s assuming they can’t muster up more of them, or stronger weapons. They downed one of your cruisers, after all, and how many landing craft?”

The lieutenant commander closed his eyes and massaged his temples for a moment.

“Time’s running out, sir,” Macek said softly.

“Yeah, they gave us seventy-three minutes. What the hell is up with that? Seventy-three?”

It sounded like a rhetorical question, but it was one that Rev had given a lot of thought.

“They don’t have sixty seconds to a minute, sir.”

“What?” the Mezame officer asked.

“We don’t know what they use. We use seconds based on Mother Earth’s rotation. But they probably have something different, and they’re converting it to Earth seconds.”

The lieutenant commander looked at him in confusion, not understanding what he was saying.

“Like their numbers. They’re never in base ten, like a hundred, a thousand. They’re always off our typical numbers.”

“But they have ten fingers. Of course, they use a base-ten system.”

“No, Commander. They shifted their form to have ten fingers. Who knows what they’re like in their real—”

“Rev! Can the number lecture. It doesn’t matter now!” Bundy said.

Rev stopped and felt his face turning red. Of course, it didn’t matter. And he didn’t even know if he was right. But when the opportunity had arisen for him to share his conjecture, he’d jumped on it.

“Sir, no matter why they said seventy-three minutes, that’s what it is. And we’ve got fifty-four minutes left. We need to make a decision.”

There was a long pause before the lieutenant commander shook his head. “You’re right. We cannot get pinned down here. We need to get into cover where we can move and figure out just what we face. And to do that, we’re going to disperse. That’s our only hope,” Lieutenant Commander Ono said, but not sounding too certain. “Hit them with guerilla tactics but never let them pin us down in position.”

“If I might suggest, sir? We know the noxes are over there,” Macek said, pointing to where they could just see a dozen or so standing clear of the treeline watching them. “Let’s just get out of here by heading away from them with this island providing some degree of cover. It’s a little farther to get to the forest, but I’d rather have this dry land between us.”

The lieutenant commander nodded and said, “That’s what we’ll do. We can disperse by platoons once we reach cover.” A little more fire seemed to grow in his voice. “This is not running away. We’re going to take it to the fucking obake. Commanders, I want to be moving in two minutes. See me when we reach cover, and I’ll have an operation order ready on just how we’re going to do this.”

“Sir? What about the Centaur?” the liaison asked.

“Uh . . . same thing, I guess. Get off this island with us, then it’s going to have to find a way to survive.”

Which was another way of saying it was on its own, Rev knew. And that sucked. He had no love for the creatures, but it was a comrade in arms.

Before he could speak up, though, the liaison said, “He already told me he wants to remain here. This is not the best armor territory. He’ll cover your movement should the Naxli follow within his weapon range.”

“And you?”

“I’ll stay with him,” the liaison said with conviction.

Damn.

Rev hadn’t even asked the liaison her name or even where she was from. The woman wore a set of non-descript utilities and applied armor plaques, and was armed with a Foryce K-60 assault rifle, a chemical rifle common throughout humanity.

The commander twisted around to look back in the Naxli’s direction.

“Sir, we don’t have time,” Macek said.

“Fine! Let the Centaur stay,” the Mezame officer said. “The rest of you. Two minutes!”

There was a flurry of motion as people rushed to their troops. Rev managed to say, “Keep your head down” to the liaison as he ran to the platoon.

It didn’t take two minutes. The Marines were ready to go, and without specific guidance from the lieutenant commander yet, Macek took charge and put Second Platoon on point in a platoon wedge with Third following. They eased out into the water and started wading.

Rev took a glance back as he went waist-deep. The scrub on the island blocked his view of the Naxli position, and if he couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see him. He wondered how long it would take them, though, to realize the humans were retreating. And if they saw, would they still honor the time they were given? Would they start moving forward, maybe along the tree—

“Hus-man! I want Randigold and Pierson to cover the tree line on the left!” he shouted.

Hussein gave him a thumbs-up and started to shift Randigold over to the left side of the squad.

Rev didn’t know that the Naxli would start trying to flank them, but he wanted the platoon to be ready if they did. Randigold and Pierson gave him the most firepower to reach across the water.

Bundy had looked back at his shout, and Rev signaled “potential” and “enemy” and pointed to the tree line. He nodded and grabbed Lance Corporal Knopf before sending him forward, probably to tell Second Platoon to do the same thing.

Behind the Marines, the last of the naval infantry was stepping into the water. That would leave only the riever and the liaison alone on the solid ground, potentially to face a Naxli onslaught.

“May the Mother protect you,” he muttered as he turned back to face the front . . . and stepped into a hole.

Dark, muddy water closed over his head, and Rev flailed for a moment in panic.

<Just keep walking.>

Shit, he’s right. Calm down.

The PAL family of combat suits was amphibious, to a degree. Someone in a PAL couldn’t swim without a swimming kit, but a Marine could stay submerged for days, if necessary. Rev had been surprised, and not being able to see anything had given him a start, but all he had to do was walk out.

Easier said than done, though. He’d walked into some sort of hole, like a giant nest of some kind, built by a sea serpent. The sides were smooth, and as he tried to walk, his boots kept slipping in the muck, sliding him back down. He went down to his hands and knees before he could climb out and pop his head out of the water.

Hussein was looking at him as his helmet cleared the surface, and Rev gave him a weak wave. His heart was still pounding, and he took in gulps of air.

It was just water, Reverent. You’ve faced worse.

Still, it took him a full minute before his pulse was back to something close to normal, and with each step, he was sure he’d slip into another of the holes.

He didn’t, but others did. Several times, Marines disappeared from sight with a splash, only to struggle into view in five, ten, twenty seconds.

Progress was slow, but Second Platoon reached the far tree line with eight minutes to spare. They moved into the trees, which were more in the realm of the Louisiana Bayou images they’d received during the brief, complete with channels of black water wending through the huge trunks. Third Platoon followed, and together they set up a hasty defense while they waited for the rest.

“Hard area to fight in,” he told Punch.

<Hard for the Naxli, too.>

Bundy, Macek, and Nilson had their heads together as the rifle platoon reached the trees. The three officers broke up, and Bundy came back to Rev.

“Macek wants our two platoons to keep together as a unit.”

“All the Marines?”

“Just us in the assault element. He’s going to talk to Lieutenant James to use his platoon as a screening force, the security element, as it were, but the firepower’s here with heavy infantry, and he wants to concentrate that firepower, especially you IBHUs. If anyone can hurt the noxes, it’s us. As you discovered.”

Which was true, but if they weren’t meeting the Naxli in equal numbers, then the rifle platoon Marines could help. They were a mixture of Combat Kits 1 and 2. All had the new M-51 rifles, and those with Combat Kit 2 were armed with the M-103 (the replacement for the M-93 grenade launcher, it was an M-51 with the attached M-449 launcher). Either weapon could take down a Naxli fighter.

For that matter, unless the mission was Escape and Evasion, Rev thought they’d be better off with all of them fighting together, Marines and naval infantry alike.

Unless the commander’s only giving lip service to taking the fight to the noxes. Our real mission is over. We’ve found out that the noxes will no longer treat us like gnista. Maybe our mission should be to just stay alive until follow-on forces can pull us out, and dispersing would better ensure that some of us survive to report back.

He sure seemed serious, though, about fighting, and Rev didn’t want to start second-guessing the Mezame officer. There could be other reasons for them to break into smaller units.

“What about the commander’s orders to keep dispersed?”

“We will be dispersed. Just dispersed together. Unless he specifically says no, then that’s what we’re doing.”

“And you’re not going to tell him, right?”

“Right.”

Rev wasn’t sure what he thought about that. Captain Macek had matured a lot since Rev had first met him in the Home Guard. Gone was the nervous officer who lacked confidence. But sometimes, he seemed a little overconfident, as if he was trying to compensate for Macek 1.0.

This plan may not make the most tactical sense given the extremely brief warning order the lieutenant commander had given them, but from a personal perspective, Rev was somewhat relieved.

He looked across their position to where Tomiko, almost neck-deep in the water given her short stature, was emplacing her Marines. He was supposed to keep Tomiko, his fiancé, separate from Tomiko, his fellow SNCO. But he was only human, and he’d feel a lot better being with her.

A minute later, the lieutenant commander entered the trees, and he motioned for the commanders to gather around him. Rev wasn’t a commander, but he went anyway.

The Mezame officer had come up with a surprisingly detailed plan while he’d made the crossing. And in Rev’s mind, it was a good one. He’d designated twelve rally points and a schedule for each one, but they weren’t rally points in the Marine SOP. With the units dispersing and with no working comms, the lieutenant commander had decided that to keep some semblance of control, each unit would send a runner to the designated RP and the designated day for updates and changes to the mission.

Rev didn’t know if the commander’s plan would work, but he was still impressed with its detail. The best thing about it was that it left open the opportunity for changes. If, for example, it turned out that the ninety-two Naxli were the only ones on their butts, then reforming for a concentrated attack might be a better course of action. This plan allowed for that.

Rev’s timer went to zero, and Captain Macek told the lieutenant commander that they were out of time.

“OK, then. That’s the quick and dirty. Any questions before we move out?” the Mezame officer asked.

Before anyone could answer, the unmistakable crack of a Centaur riever echoed across the water.

All heads snapped back toward the island.

“Is that the Naxli or the Centaur?” the lieutenant commander asked.

Rev had fought the Centaurs, and he’d been targeted by all of their armor. “That’s our Centaur.”

Explosions rocked the island, and a geyser of dirty water rose and fell.

“That’s the noxes.”

Their reprieve was over, and the battle was joined.

10

The dark forest was downright oppressive. Rev’s PAL-HX was climate-controlled, but the stress was making him sweat as they slowly patrolled through the trees. The forest was silent, with the sound of their wading through the water being swallowed up.

The Naxli were out there, but at the moment, there was no sign of the enemy.

They couldn’t even hear Second Platoon, just two hundred meters off to their right. Rev was confident they were there, but they could have stepped through some sort of portal to another universe, and no one would have noticed.

Another klick and a half, Reverent. Just keep alert.

The terrain in the area was very uniform, with the ground either a meter beneath the water level or a meter above. But according to the charts they’d downloaded before leaving the ship, there was a hilly area just ahead.

“Hilly” was relative. No point was over two and a half meters in elevation, but for here, that was a veritable mountain. Captain Macek wanted to center the Marines around that hill and use it to send out patrols to locate the Naxli. Once they knew the enemy’s location and numbers, then he could form a plan of attack.

Staging on the only hill, no matter how generous the term was for the patch of dry ground, might seem the obvious location, thus attracting the Naxli to it. Rev tried not to dwell on that thought, though.

Something swirled the surface of the water between Rev and PFC Julian. The PFC didn’t see it, but Rev faltered for a second. The water pathways between the trees seemed to have more native life, and some of that life was huge, but whatever made the ripple disappeared.

“How big can the native life get?”

<The largest discovered can get to eighteen meters. But with the water a meter deep here, we would be able to see something that large.>

“All that means is that we can see it when it comes to try and eat us.”

<Your twenty should discourage even the largest life form the planet has to offer.>

I guess that’s true.

Still, he’d been more comfortable out where there was more visibility. In the forest something could fall on the Marines from the trees before they could react.

He switched to his infrared filter and scanned around him. There were plenty of hotspots in the trees but nothing larger than a robin. Any alien life could be dangerous, but while protected by his PAL, he couldn’t get himself worked up by anything that small.

He switched back to normal vision and trudged through the muck, pulling each step free with effort. The muck was a little less grasping here in the trees, but the weight of his PAL still kept his boots sinking ankle-deep with each stride.

Step forward. Pull back foot free, and swing the leg forward. Rinse and repeat. The Marines looked like zombies lurching their way to their objective.

If they got hit now, Rev feared it wouldn’t be pretty. How could they charge through an ambush if they had to fight the mud as well?

Small lumps of dirt, each one covered in what looked like grasses or shrubs desperately clinging to stay clear of the water, started becoming more numerous the closer they got to the “high” ground. Rev considered crossing over them to gain a few steps, but the vegetation on each one was dense, and it would probably slow him down.

He rounded a large, five-meter-wide islet when the muffled sounds of fighting oozed their way through the forest. The Marines stopped and froze in place.

“Can you make out the weapons?”

<They’re too distorted to analyze what’s firing, but the probability is that one of the naval infantry platoons is engaged.>

“How far away?”

<We’ve traveled just over four klicks since we split up. But unless we know in which direction the naval infantry was heading, I can’t determine the range to them.>

Rev continued around the islet until he had a line of sight to Bundy. He gave the interrogative sign.

Bundy turned and looked back in the direction of Second Platoon and Captain Macek, then signed “Continue the mission.”

Which was what Rev had expected. The firing sounded fierce, but the platoon was going by its last orders, and those were to separate from the others. Even if they broke and tried to move to the naval infantry’s assistance, the fight would be decided one way or the other long before they got there.

Still, they had a location of at least some of the Naxli, and it might make sense to send out a small recon team to locate and track where the enemy was.

You’re assuming that the Naxli are going to wipe out the Mezes, Reverent. They could win.

The sounds of firing that reached them were already getting more sporadic. That could mean that the naval infantry sailors had broken contact and were scattering, but he didn’t think so. He hoped he was wrong, though.

The platoon started moving again in fits and starts. It was more difficult to discern what was going on with the sounds of their strides swishing through the water, but after ten minutes, the sounds died out.

“Respect for the fallen,” Rev said as they closed in on their objective.

* * *

Rev reached out and offered a hand to Staff Sergeant Plummer, the rifle platoon sergeant. His fellow SNCO took it and pulled Rev in to bump chests.

“Keep your head down, OK?”

“You just be ready after we find them,” Plummer said. “Don’t leave us hanging.”

“Never.”

The staff sergeant released Rev and stepped around him. On both sides, Marines were filing past and stepping into the water.

Bundy had referred to the rifle platoon as a screening force, but in reality, they were acting more like recon. The platoon had broken down into squads with the mission of locating the Naxli without becoming engaged.

It was a reasonable mission, if extremely dangerous. If one of the squads was detected, then they’d stand almost no chance against any significant Naxli unit. Rev hoped their pooping and snooping skills were up to the task. Real reconnaissance Marines were trained in remaining unnoticed—regular infantry, not so much. They were trained to close in with and destroy the enemy, not hide from them.

Tomiko quietly slipped up to stand beside him.

“Think we’ll see them again?”

“Don’t know. Hope so,” Rev answered.

He didn’t say that with confidence.

He knew why the captain had sent them out. From a tactical standpoint, it made sense. If the heavy infantry knew where the Naxli were and in what strength, they would have a much better chance of developing a plan of attack that could succeed.

That, or running away to fight another day when the situation gave them better odds.

But those were Marines being sent out, Marines with their own stories, their own lives, their own families hoping they’d come home.

“Command sucks,” he muttered.

Tomiko gave him a sidelong glance. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure I could have sent them out like this. Squads? Trying to find the noxes? Not great odds.”

“They’re Marines, Rev. This is what they do.”

The last of the platoon stepped off the dry ground, and a few moments later, was lost in the trees.

“And, if they find the noxes and get back with that information, it’ll be us who’ll be in the shit, not them,” she said.

“True that.”

But I think it’s easier to go into a bad situation than to order others into one. That’s the problem.

“Anyway, Macek wants all the SNCOs,” Tomiko said. “Gots him some plans, I guess.”

“Mother help us.”

Rev wasn’t really concerned, but it was SOP to say something like that when referring to officers and their plans. It was expected. He’d have to turn in his SNCO membership card if he didn’t.

“Let me get Winnie to . . . oh, I guess she’s a SNCO, too. Let me get Hus-man to take over. I’ll be there in a moment.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

Rev gave one last critical eye to where he’d emplaced his IBHU and grenadiers, grabbed Winnie Urquart for the meeting, then put Hussein in charge of the platoon. The Marines were on autopilot as they prepared their defensive positions, so the sergeant wouldn’t have much supervising to do.

He and Winnie made their way through the sword-like grasses that covered much of the dry ground they’d occupied. They were safe in their PALs, but from the way they grabbed at his legs, he was sure they’d do a number on naked skin.

“Are these grass things colonies, too?” he asked Punch.

<They are a new species but appear to be similar ones that have been cataloged, and those are colonies of small animal-like creatures.”

“Creatures? They’re plants.”

<Creatures, to use the common term. If you looked closely, you would see thousands of .05-millimeter organisms that are locked mandible-to-mandible, creating the form you now see. If necessary, they can unlock, then move en masse to another location before reforming.>

“No shit? Freakin’ cool. I’m going to have to look closer when we’re done with the captain.”

If he squinted his eyes, the terrain and vegetation didn’t look too much different from parts of Mother Earth, but he kept forgetting that the place was totally in a completely different class of life. Humans, and he assumed Naxli, were extreme aliens to the native life.

Captain Macek had locked his PAL-H into the seating position—one of the best improvements of the PAL-H family of combat suits over the PAL-3 and 5. Rev took a position in front of the company XO and locked his as well. This was the first time he wasn’t standing since they landed on the planet, and it felt good to get off his feet.

With all the mods in his body, he had more than a hundred extra kilos than he had before he was conscripted. While some of the mods went to supporting his extra mass, and his PAL-HX helped support his body, his feet still suffered over time.

“We got everyone?” Captain Macek said, looking around.

“We’re here,” Bundy said.

“OK, then. Things, uh . . . well, they didn’t go as we hoped. But as the commander said, we’ve still got a mission. Like it or not, the noxes aren’t going to just let us slide. They said they’re coming after us. And we all heard what was going on on our way here.”

“Respect for the fallen,” several of the Marines said.

Which assumes that the Mezes fell. Maybe they won the battle.

It was wishful thinking on his part, but that didn’t make it impossible.

“There are two courses of action for us. We can break up into small teams and start E & E until reinforcements arrive.”

Which isn’t what the commander ordered.

But the commander wasn’t here. And for all they knew, Captain Macek was now the senior officer on the planet.

Still, it grated on Rev to even consider that plan. Escape and Evasion was what defeated Marines did. They were at full combat capability, and they should take advantage of that.

“Or, we can take the fight to the enemy.”

That’s more like it.

“The problem, of course, is that we have a minimal picture of the situation. We don’t know what’s going on. How many noxes are out there, and where are they? I’ve sent Lieutenant James out there playing Ricky Recon, and I hope they can get some eyes on the noxes. But when push comes to shove, it isn’t going to be a rifle platoon that turns the tide of a fight.

“No dis on them, but they don’t have the firepower.”

“Sir, they’ve got the M-51s and M-103s,” Rev said.

“True. And they’d hurt the noxes, but we’re the ones with the real firepower. We’re the heavy infantry. And so, we’re the ones who stand the best chance of breaking the enemy.”

The captain looked at Rev for confirmation, but he wasn’t going to give up.

“You’re right, sir, that we’ve got the bigger punch. But we’re not fighting one-for-one here. The noxes aren’t going to hold back, so every Marine can contribute, HI or regular infantry.”

The captain opened his mouth to argue, then he paused and seemed to gather his thoughts. “I’m not going to just send them away, Staff Sergeant Pelletier. They’ll be in any fight. But the heavy infantry will be the point of main effort. Does that sound reasonable?”

“Yes, sir. It does.”

Rev wasn’t sure the captain had planned to include the rifle platoon in the upcoming fighting, but Rev had made his point. And while he was only a staff sergeant, he knew he still punched above his weight class given his long history with the captain, his IBHU status, and his military record.

He didn’t like to pull out that card, but he thought it was important not to ignore any of their resources. It was bad enough without the Mezame sailors, but he had a feeling they were going to need all the Marines, not just the HI Marines.

“And with that in mind, we need to have a hammer that’s going to break the nox force. Luckily, we’ve got that hammer,” he said, pointedly looking at Nilson’s IBHU.

What’s on his mind?

“I’m going to make a few adjustments here. I want to concentrate our IBHUs into an unstoppable fountain of firepower.”

Fountain of firepower? Did you rehearse that?

The captain swept his gaze over each of them. “I’m breaking up the two platoons.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“Uh . . . Captain Macek?” Bundy asked.

Macek held up a hand to stop his fellow captain.

“Just listen. I want to concentrate our firepower, creating something that can crush whatever the noxes can throw at us. This is our hammer. And I’m going to be commanding it.”

Lieutenant Nilson scrunched her eyebrows together in confusion. “And I’m going to be . . . ?”

The captain had the decency to look a little embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Astrid. I need you fighting. I need all of our IBHUs.”

“And my platoon?”

“The IBHUs and selected Marines will be the assault element. Like I said, I’ll command it. The rest will be in the support element, with Bundy commanding that.”

Lieutenant Nilson stood up, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish’s. “I’m losing my command?” she asked in disbelief.

“Not losing it. We’re just task organizing our assets for this mission. Second Platoon is still Second Platoon, and you’re still the platoon commander. Nothing’s changed.”

“But it has. Sir.”

“No, it hasn’t. And this is the way it’s going to be,” he said with a tone of finality.

There wasn’t much the lieutenant could say to that. Rev felt for her, though. She was a good officer, a good Marine.

Suddenly, he realized that it wasn’t just her. What was his billet? If Third Platoon wasn’t a platoon for this . . .

The captain was already moving on, though, before he could ask. “Lieutenant Nilson, Captain Bundy, stay back while we put this together. The rest of you, get back to your Marines and continue preparing your positions. But I want OP’s out, a full three-sixty. We can’t count on the rifle platoon to locate the noxes, and I don’t want any surprises showing up unannounced.

“Any saved rounds?”

Yeah, about a million.

But Rev didn’t say anything. He looked over to Tomiko, and she raised a single eyebrow in a question. He gave his head the tiniest shake. He was sure the SNCOs were going to discuss this the moment they had a chance.

“Nothing? Then let’s get going. The noxes aren’t going to give us time to fine-tune anything.”

“Aye-aye,” the gathered Marines said.

Rev didn’t know what to think, but that didn’t really matter. Captain Macek was the commander of this group, and he’d made his decision.

It was Rev’s job to make it work.

11

“Damn thing keeps filling up,” Rev said, lifting one of his feet, then putting it back into the twenty centimeters of water that filled the bottom of his fighting hole. “It’s like standing in a freakin’ toilet.”

<The water table’s too high here. You won’t be able to keep the water out without constantly running pumps.>

“Which we don’t have. So, no use even bringing them up.”

<You’re in your PAL, so the water doesn’t matter. Your feet are dry.>

“Speaking of which, where’s my power at?”

<Seventy-three-point-two percent.>

“Put that up on my display.”

Immediately, a small box appeared with his power level inside, right in the middle of his face shield. Rev sighed, not knowing if this was another glitch in Punch’s operations or if his battle buddy was simply screwing with him.

He blinked at the power level display, selected it, then moved it to the upper right corner of his face shield where he could monitor it but not have it interfere with his vision.

“You doing OK, buddy?” he asked in table talk.

<I am functioning as programmed.>

Shit, Punch.

They both thought they were being monitored, and Punch had answered in the normal fashion.

“Punch, if I use table talk, you need to respond in table talk.”

There was a slight pause, which in and of itself was a little concerning, before Punch said, <Roger.>

Just “Roger.” Nothing else.

There was something wrong with his battle buddy, but Rev had no experience with AIs other than having Punch lodged in his brain. His father made the type of crystals used in embedded AIs, but Rev thought this would be beyond his expertise. Whatever was up with Punch, it would take an A-psychiatrist. And that wasn’t something neither of them could afford to have done.

“How about a joke?” Rev asked, grasping for something to bring his battle buddy—his friend—back.

<What are the two reasons never to drink toilet water?>

“It’s not sanitary?” Rev asked.

He knew that wasn’t the answer, but he just wanted Punch to start telling jokes again.

<No.>

Pretty abrupt there, Punch. Not your usual presentation.

“OK, what are the two reasons?”

<Number one . . . and number two.>

Rev laughed out loud. This was more like it. And he’d connected it to Rev calling his fighting hole a toilet.

He knew there was something up with Punch, and he had to figure out what it was without letting anyone get their hands on him. But at least there was some of his battle buddy still operating as normal.

That was good, right?

* * *

“Wait up. I’m going out, too,” Rev told Tomiko.

“I thought you platoon sergeants just sat on your asses and had the rest of us making the rounds,” she said as she held up.

Rev gave her a half-hearted finger. He didn’t know if Gunny Morgan, the Second Platoon sergeant, was making the rounds of the OPs, but Rev welcomed the opportunity. He’d be bored out of his gourd if he didn’t do something. Two days sitting in his fighting hole was taking a toll on him.

On Captain Macek, too. The two other officers and the SNCOs had just had another meeting with him, one where nothing of import was said. The issue at hand was that there’d been no contact with the Naxli at all, either with the HI Marines or the rifle platoon. The captain must be second-guessing his decision to hole up. All they were doing was using power, power that they couldn’t replace. Marines would start running out of their PAL powerpacks in a couple of days, and they all had only one spare apiece.

After that, they’d be fighting in their long johns, and while no one wanted to be exposed to the water, the thought of fighting the Naxli like that was an even worse scenario.

By now, they knew the Naxli’s armor was mostly organic, heavy plates formed from their own flesh. It wasn’t as effective as the Marines’ armor, but then again, they didn’t have to worry about powerpacks necessary to run theirs.

“You check on yours, and I’ll check on mine,” Rev said.

“What happened to this one big platoon thing?” Tomiko asked as they approached the water.

“If we ever go into an actual attack, then we’ll be in the two elements. Until then, I guess it’s still Second and Third.”

“Where do you think they are?” Tomiko asked. “Have they left us?”

Rev had stated with certainty that the Naxli were going to scour the area for them, for their honor, if nothing else. But after two days and no contact? He was beginning to wonder if he’d been wrong. It didn’t seem possible that if the Naxli were actively searching for them, either the HI or the rifle platoon would not have made contact yet.

“They have to be out there. Doing what, I don’t know. Maybe they’ve set up a defense and are waiting for us.”

“You really think that?”

“No,” he admitted.

They passed PFC Julian and Lance Corporal Pierson, who were sharing a fighting hole.

“I’m checking the OPs. Don’t light my ass up when I come back,” Rev said.

“Me either,” Tomiko added.

“Never, Staff Sergeant. Staff Sergeants,” Julian said.

Rev stepped into the water. He couldn’t feel it, of course, through his PAL-HX’s legs, but it still seemed slimy to him. He would never admit it, but the swamp waters gave him the willies.

“Don’t step into a big hole, Miko. We’ll never find you.”

“Ha-fucking-ha, Rev, you freaking giant.”

“Love you, too,” he said as he angled off to the left to the first OP.

He had six Marines—three OPs to check. They’d been out there for going on four hours now, and they had another four to go. The company’s SOP was to leave OPs on watch for no more than four hours at a time, but the captain wanted to minimize the traffic back and forth, so that was extended to eight hours.

The first OP was about two hundred meters from the position, connected by a landline. Voice-activated, and with the line submerged in the water, there were almost zero emanations that could be picked up by whatever scanners the Naxli had.

Rev followed the wire out to the OP, where the two Marines were submerged to their shoulders, their heads on one of the little bumps of land. Rev lowered himself and like a crocodile, with just his head visible, crawled up beside them.

“You two doing OK?” he whispered.

“Just fine and dandy, Staff Sergeant,” Lance Corporal Božič-Mizaki said.

Rev and the IBHU lance corporal went back quite some time, and he had the utmost confidence in her. She’d be a corporal soon, and it was about time, as far as Rev was concerned.

Lance Corporal Tina “Tinker” Bell wasn’t quite up to Božič-Mizaki’s level, but she wasn’t far behind. And the two were seemingly wedded at the hip. Rev had idly wondered if there was something a little deeper in their relationship, but Hussein didn’t think so. They were a good team, though, and that was what mattered.

“Anything at all on the vibers?”

“Lots of creepy crawlies, but nothing that could be a nox.” Božič-Mizaki said.

The PS-40 “vibers” were simple movement sensors, emplaced another thirty or so meters out. Like the comms, they had no powerpacks but were activated by the vibrations of anything passing by.

The near end of the cable could be jacked into a PAL’s data port, and from there through the Marine’s jack where their battle buddy could try to identify Naxli footsteps instead of a snake-like colony creature or whatever else was slithering by.

“Are the bastards ever going to show up?” Bell asked.

“If they don’t, I think we’re going to go out and find them.”

“About time,” Bell said. “I’m getting sick of just sitting here.”

“You and me both, Tinker. You and me both,” Rev said. “Just keep alert.”

“That’s our job, Staff Sergeant,” Božič-Mizaki said.

Yeah, that was a little dumb.

But what else was he supposed to say?

Rev backed up about twenty meters, then turned to cut across to the next OP. Any movement, even through the water, disturbed the terrain, so by retreating before he crossed, he left as pristine a frontage as possible.

Without his augmented navigation, he’d probably miss the OP and wander off into no man’s land, but the planet’s magnetic field had been downloaded into his hippocampus. He couldn’t get lost if he tried.

The next OP was Sergeant Morrison and PFC Bobovitch. Morrison startled as Rev slipped up between them, and Rev could see his embarrassment. As he should be. Bobovitch had noticed Rev approach, but not the sergeant. The enemy didn’t have to approach from the front.

Rev chose not to make a point of it, but he did tell Punch to make a note. If this was a one-time loss of concentration, all well and good. But if it was a trend, then there had to be some corrective action.

“Your vibers up?” Rev asked.

Again, a stupid question. But there really wasn’t much for him to say. He was making the rounds just to let them know they weren’t out in the swamp all alone. If there was something to report, it would have been done via the landline.

“All good,” the sergeant said. “Lots of movement, including something big every once in a while. But native life.”

“Big? How big?”

“A shitload big,” Bobovitch said.

“Can’t really tell with just a viber,” Morrison said. “Saw some ripples in close a few times, but nothing else.”

Rev raised his head a bit and looked out over the dark water. A small insect-like creature was buzzing around, making sweeps over the water while dipping down into it at ten-meter intervals. Rev half-expected a giant head to rear out of the water and snap the thing out of the air, but the surface remained quiet.

“I got a glimpse of it. I think it’s an anaconda,” Bobovitch said.

“I told you, there’re no anacondas here,” the sergeant told her.

“I know what I saw.”

Whatever it was, it wasn’t an anaconda, of course. But there were native analogs that could be close enough to a giant snake.

“Anything you need?” Rev asked.

“A steak, medium rare.”

“In your dreams, Bobovitch,” Rev said as he started to retreat.

He’d gone about five meters when Morrison hissed, “I’ve got something!”

Rev stopped and waited for confirmation. After fifteen seconds, he asked, “Native life?”

“I . . . I don’t think so. Footsteps.”

Rev’s heart started racing. “The rifle platoon?”

“Uh . . . maybe.”

Except that the rifle platoon was not supposed to come back for another day.

Rev scooted forward. “Give me the terminus.”

Morrison pulled it from his PAL and handed it to Rev, who snapped it in his.

Immediately, the connection was made, feeding the data to Punch.

<Footsteps. Six sets.>

“Human?”

<Possibly. More likely Naxli.”

“Down. Under the water,” he whispered, then slid back until the water closed over his head.

He pulled out his Optisight, then bent the flexible tube into a periscope configuration. Slowly, he raised it until he could see past the islet the two Marines had been taking cover behind.

There was nothing.

“Can you give me an azimuth?”

<Three-two-five, with a ten-degree margin of error.>

Rev twisted his Optisight, but he couldn’t pick out movement.

“Are they still walking?”

<Affirmative—> Punch started to say when the first Naxli appeared, emerging from behind one of the trees.

It was almost certainly on patrol, its body language screaming alertness as it waded through waist-deep water. It moved slowly across the opening before passing out of sight again, just as a second, then a third Naxli followed in trace of the first. All told, six of the enemy passed in front of the three Marines, moving from left to right, about forty meters away.

“I didn’t see any heavy weapons. Can I take them?”

<If they were in the open, possibly, before they could react. Without a kill zone, the chances are diminished.>

“Diminished by how much?” Rev asked, his warrior starting to clamor for attention.

<I can’t say with any degree of accuracy, but success might be in the ten percent range.>

“Only diminished by ten percent?”

<No. Only a ten percent chance you won’t be killed.>

Rev grimaced. Those weren’t good odds, even for a risk-taker. He kept watching, but while he caught one more fleeting glimpse of movement, there was nothing else. He waited another two minutes, then slowly emerged from the water and stuck his head high enough to see where the Naxli had gone. He couldn’t see anything, and the viber was no longer picking them up.

He tapped the other two on the heads, and they came up.

“Was that the noxes?” Bobovitch asked.

“Yes. Six of them.”

Rev pulled out a gnat mini-drone, then changed his mind. The gnat had active sensors, which made it easier to spot by the enemy. And whatever advantages it had were negated by the jamming.

Instead, he pulled out a small case and extracted a midge. About the size of a fly, it didn’t have transmit capabilities. It would follow movement for up to twenty hours before its tiny reservoir of power was depleted, and it would return to a pre-programmed location, which was the CP, and where its data could be downloaded.

Rev pointed it in the direction he’d seen the Naxli, then sent it off. Hopefully, it would pick them up and begin to follow them.

Then he had to make sure the captain was told what he’d seen. He grabbed the communicator and reported back, giving the number of Naxli and their direction of travel. He reminded the CP that Božič-Mizaki and Bell needed to be warned. A slight change in their heading, and they could walk right up on the two.

He was debating whether to try and head them off in case the other OP was attacked. He might have had only a ten percent chance of success, but with Božič-Mizaki, that meant two IBHU Marines.

But an excited-sounding Captain Macek got on the line, and Rev had to repeat what he’d seen. Then the captain ordered him back.

“That could be a vanguard,” Rev said. “I don’t have to tell you to keep alert. And do not, I repeat, do not engage. If it looks like they’re getting too close, I want you to withdraw. Understand?”

“Yes, Staff Sergeant,” the two said in unison.

Rev turned and started making his way back. The Naxli were out there, and they were actively searching for the Marines. The two quiet days they’d had were almost assuredly coming to an end.

12

“I wish your damn midge would come back,” Captain Macek said.

Rev didn’t think there was much chance of that. They’d already reached the drop-dead time period for it to return. It had either run out of power or had never picked up the six Naxli warriors.

“Speaking of which,” Bundy said. “Anyone wonder why the noxes haven’t found us? No nox version of a microdrone?”

“Maybe they have located us, and our vibers never alerted,” Lieutenant Nilson said.

“Then they would have attacked us. We’ve been here in one location for three days now. Lieutenant James and his platoon were out patrolling for the last three days as well, and nada. Nothing.”

The rifle platoon commander squirmed, and Bundy hastily added, “No dig there, lieutenant. But you were out there, and we’ve been here. Why haven’t they spotted us?”

“For the same reason we haven’t spotted them, except for the six yesterday,” Captain Macek said. “This is a big, densely vegetated planet, and we’re standing in a swamp. Not to mention the suppressor field they’ve got going on.”

“For which they should have a way to counteract, given that they’re the ones who put it into place.”

Rev just listened silently to the officers duke it out. Bundy had a point, but so did Macek. It did seem odd that it had been three days without a clash, although this wasn’t the most conducive position for locating and closing in on an enemy.

There was one answer that could explain it, but Rev hated to even consider it for himself, much less say it aloud. It was possible that the Naxli had given up and left the area, moving on to higher priority missions.

But what missions? As far as Rev knew, the company was the largest concentration of humans on the planet. There could be stragglers out there, survivors who were trying to stay alive, but if the Naxli commander had been serious about destroying the human hreetz, then this is where they had to be.

He and Punch had some serious conversations on what could be going on, but Punch needed data in order to begin to formulate possible scenarios, and the fact was that they had almost nothing. His battle buddy was acting more as a sounding board for Rev to brainstorm.

“I don’t need to remind you, sirs, that we’ve got only a couple more days until we switch out our power and cold packs,” Gunny Morgan said. “And then it’ll be less than a week before we’re in our long johns.”

“And that’s why we need to locate the bastards. We need to engage while we’re in our PALs,” Macek said.

He sat there for a long moment, his PAL’s legs locked into the field seat. “I don’t see any other way about it. We’re going to have to go out after them.”

Rev’s warrior gave a little flutter, and Rev squashed him down.

“Any particular direction?” Bundy asked.

“Well, the six we saw were going from west to east. And the fighting we heard was to the east. I’d say that would be a good place to start.”

“With the new organization you wanted us in?”

Macek bit his lower lip, and his eyes went vacant the way some Marines did while they were conferring with their battle buddies.

I hope yours can offer more than Punch without reliable data.

Evidently, his battle buddy wasn’t able to perform any miracles, either, because the captain’s eyes refocused, and he said, “Let’s figure that out. Bundy, if you, the two lieutenants, and gunny will stay back, we’ll work up the op order. The rest of you, go back to your Marines and make sure they’re ready to go.”

In other words, you don’t have a clue.

Not that Rev had one, either. But he wasn’t being paid the big Union credits to come up with an operations order, either.

* * *

Two hours later, Rev was slogging through the water as his patrol pushed to the east. Given Captain Macek’s comments, this wasn’t what he’d expected. But the company brain trust decided that they needed something more to go on, and so, two patrols—combat, not recon—were heading out on one last sweep of the area to either spot, make contact, or ensure there were no Naxli hiding out in the vicinity while the company left their island.

Rev led one patrol, which consisted of the platoon’s six IHBU Marines and eight others. Lieutenant Nilson led her patrol with Second Platoon’s five IBHUs and nine other Marines.

Bundy had obviously been piqued that he wasn’t leading one of the patrols, but Macek had said he wanted to be IBHU-heavy with them. Rev thought it might be more of a message, though. Bundy, as a fellow captain, had been a little more confrontational with Macek than anyone else, and Rev wondered if, fellow captain or not, this was Macek’s way of asserting that he was in charge.

The rest of the company and the rifle platoon would prepare for a major assault and await the two patrols’ return. Once the area was deemed clear, the combined unit was going to move to the west with a big enough frontage that they hoped to run across some sign of the enemy.

But first, the patrol had to clear their AO. And the only way to do that was to put boots on every square inch of the ground . . . or water . . . in the area.

Pierson was on point, slowly pushing ahead, when he stopped. He didn’t signal a halt, but Rev was on full alert, trying to pierce the forest to see why. But the lance corporal slowly turned around, caught Rev’s eyes, and signaled “water” and “big.”

Rev signaled back the interrogative.

Pierson frowned, then signaled “water” and “rations.”

What the fuck?

Rev shook his head and moved forward. It was harder for the IBHU Marines to signal anything, but it wasn’t as if they hadn’t long ago worked out how to signal one-handed.

“What is it, Pierson?” Rev snapped.

“I think this is a hole in front of me. It’s getting deeper real fast.”

“What? And you were signaling ‘water,’ ‘rations,’ and negative?’”

“‘Rations?’ No, I was signaling ‘forward’ and ‘negative.’ You know, that I can’t go forward.”

If the big Marine wasn’t wearing a helmet, Rev would have slapped him upside the head.

“‘Forward’ is like this,” he said, showing the signal. “You did this. ‘Rations.’”

Pierson looked confused for a moment, then he smiled. “Sorry, Staff Sergeant. I fucked it up.”

Sometimes, Rev wondered how Pierson managed to remember to breathe. But there was no getting around the fact that in a fight, the Marine was amazing. He wasn’t wearing the Platinum Nova for nothing.

Rev took a tentative step forward. Pierson was right. The slope was steep right in front of them, and there was no telling how deep it went. They’d run into a few holes before, and for all he knew, this one was only a meter or so deeper, but there was no use taking chances.

“So, we go around. Wend your way to the left, but then keep heading to the checkpoint. Just take it easy, and don’t fall your ass into the hole, OK?”

“Got it.”

The big Marines started slowly sidling around the edge of the hole, which was hard to do by feel alone. It would be much easier if they could see through the dark water.

Rev stayed where he was as the patrol started forward again. As each Marine reached him, he motioned them to the right and told them to steer clear of the edge of the hole.

PFC Julian was the fourth Marine to pass him. Rev would be next, but he motioned Sergeant Tsao forward so he could tell her what they were doing. Just before she reached him, there was a splash behind him.

Rev spun around, and Julian was gone. Strap Gantz, who was in front of her, spun around as well.

“Where’s Julian?” he asked.

“The dumbshit got too close to the edge,” Rev said, pointing to the ripples emanating out from where the PFC had gone under.

Rev hurried to the spot, then cautiously edged forward until he reached the edge of the drop-off. Strap was only a moment behind him.

“What do we do?” he asked as he peered—or tried to peer—into the water.

“She can breathe. She’s fine,” Rev said, but his stomach was in his throat.

Just how deep was the hole?

Rev waited ten, fifteen, twenty seconds. No Julian.

“Damn it!” he said and reached into his thigh holster and removed his monoline. Thin, light, and extremely strong, the line had a million uses. Pulling someone out of an underwater hole wasn’t necessarily one of them.

He clipped one end to his combat harness, then tossed the running end into the water. The line slowly sank, but it was so light that it remained generally coiled.

Sergeant Tsao joined him and said, “You need to get something heavy on the end.”

Rev pulled in the line and searched his body. There wasn’t much, except maybe . . .

He pulled his MF-30 sidearm out of its holster. There was no trigger guard on it—better to operate it with his PAL gauntlets—but if he broke open the action, then he could run the line through that.

“Hurry,” Tsao said.

“She’s fine. She can stay under for hours.”

But Rev was just as anxious as she was. Julian, who was afraid of dark places, must be panicking.

With his handgun acting as a weight, Rev swung the line around a few times, then released it, sending it out about five meters. This time, it sunk quickly, with the line extended. Rev fed line out until it stopped. The MF-30 had hit bottom. Rev pulled it in, noting the length.

“The bottom’s four meters,” he told the two sergeants.

“So, where’s Julian?” Tsao asked. “We’ve got to get her.”

She started edging forward as if she was going in, but Rev grabbed her.

“I don’t need two in there,” he said. “Let’s just try this a few more times.”

If push came to shove, he could tie the line on someone and ease them into the hole. That way, they could pull them out.

Rev moved over a few steps, then repeated the process. The line sunk to the bottom. He left it there for a moment, then, with a sigh, started to pull it back.

Maybe Tsao’s right.

As he retrieved the line, there was a yank that almost pulled him in. Without Strap grabbing him, he probably would have joined Julian.

“I think she got the line,” he said.

He started backing up, Strap on one arm, Tsao on the other as they struggled to keep their footing in the muck. Step by step, they retreated, until, at last, Julian’s helmet broke the surface of the water.

Her hands were in a death grip on his handgun, and they pulled her over the edge until she could stand up.

Rev rushed over to her. “By the Mother, Jules, I told you to stay away from the freakin’ edge! You scared the shit outta me!”

“I did,” she gasped, her voice cracking in panic. “That thing grabbed me!”

“What? What thing?”

“I don’t fucking know!” she said, bending over. Rev could hear her retching.

Rev turned to the two sergeants. “What did she say?”

“Something grabbed her,” Tsao said as she took a step back and scanned the water.

“Jules, calm down,” Rev told the PFC.

He waited for her to stop vomiting, and she finally stood up. Puke was splattered on the inside of her face shield.

“Run your debonder and vacuum.”

She nodded, and a moment later, the vomit started to clear, sucked down into one of the filters.

“Are you calm now?”

Her eyes were still big, but she nodded.

“What do you mean, that thing grabbed you.”

“Something came out of the water and grabbed me. Something big, like a giant snake. It took me down. I . . . I punched the bastard, and it started, like, twirling me. But then it dropped me. I tried to see where was up, but I was . . . I couldn’t tell.”

Her voice cracked again as the panic started to take over.

“You’re safe now, Jules. Look around you.”

She glanced behind Rev, where the two sergeants were at his shoulders.

“I couldn’t see, and I couldn’t get any traction. Then something hit me, and I thought it was back. I grabbed at it, but it was you, pulling me out. And then I was here. Out.”

This is un-fucking-believable. Was there really something, or was that her imagination? She was panicking, after all.

“Uh, Staff Sergeant?” Tsao said, her voice wary.

“What?” Rev said, not appreciating the interruption.

Tsao pointed her IBHU. Rev followed the direction, and on the other side of the water, ten meters away, a wake was forming. Something solid broke the surface, something big, something serpentine as it moved through the water.

The body of the thing disappeared again, but the wake continued out of the hole and down the path the Marines had taken.

Hussein, then Bobovitch quickly darted to the side to let it pass. Rev watched it until the wake receded.

He slowly turned to Julian, who had a “See, I told you so,” expression on her face.

Rev shook his head. Not only did they have to be concerned about the Naxli, but evidently about a giant colony of snakes as well.

“Good thing you taste like shit, Jules. Now, let’s move out.”

* * *

The patrol resumed their route, but the tension was decidedly higher. PFC Julian came out of the attack in one piece, although her PAL-H had to be working overtime to clean up inside—and not just vomit. But the thought of something that big was disconcerting, and the Marines spent as much time scanning the water as looking for the enemy.

Punch might have been right when he said Rev’s twenty could probably stop any of the native life, but if he couldn’t see it come at him, that really didn’t matter.

The thought suddenly hit Rev as he waded through the water—if these things were actually colonies that could break apart and then come back together, wouldn’t they just do that if they were shot? Would they reform like some horror holovid, angry and wanting revenge?

Maybe the beamer will be better. Fry the little suckers.

The patrol reached the farthest checkpoint. Rev had Božič-Mizaki take point, pulling Pierson back. The big Marine looked disappointed that he hadn’t spotted anything while it was his turn. Rev knew Pierson would have gladly stayed on point for the entire patrol, but willing or not, being on heightened alert like that was draining. Better that Božič-Mizaki bring a fresher set of senses to the position.

The patrol cut across the frontage of their AO. They could very well be circling a Naxli unit, but there wasn’t really a way for them to cover every square inch of the area. There would still be a risk when the Marines stepped out to find the enemy. And if there were Naxli warriors being bypassed now, and then the Marines moved out and came up on them? Well, mission accomplished. They would have located the enemy.

Still, Rev would much rather know where they were beforehand so they could meet the enemy on their own terms, not the Naxli’s.

The water started getting a little shallower, the trees closer together. Bushes started sprouting up straight from the water. The topos they had were the best available, but they weren’t terribly accurate in this region. Rev studied his map as they waded forward, but there wasn’t anything noted on it. Despite that, they could be approaching another island of mostly dry land.

If there was dryer land, Rev knew they had to check it out no matter the patrol route Captain Macek had given them. This was one of those times where the commander’s intent took precedence, not the direct orders. The captain wanted to make sure the initial area through which they’d move was clear, and if that took deviating from the patrol route, so be it.

It took almost thirty seconds before the hand and arm signals to stop reached Božič-Mizaki. Ideally, it would have only taken a few moments, but this wasn’t ideal. The point Marine was focusing on the area in front of her, neglecting the Marines behind. Sergeant Morrison had to throw one of his ration packs to get her attention.

Rev placed the patrol in a hasty defense, then waded up to the lance corporal, pulling Sergeant Morrison along with him.

He pulled out his jack cable, split it, then jacked into both Božič-Mizaki and Morrison so he could talk to them without making external sounds.

“You can’t ignore your rear, BM. What if we stopped? You just going to keep going?”

“Sorry, Staff Sergeant. My bust. I just . . .” she said, trailing off.

“You just were losing situational awareness. Don’t do it again.” He paused to let that sink in before he said, “We’re changing course. I think we’re coming up to some high ground. Higher ground. I don’t think there’s real high ground anywhere within a hundred clicks of here. Over to our left.”

Both Marines turned to look in that direction. Rev wasn’t sure that there really was dryer ground there, but the vegetation was denser, more like it was back at the CP.

“Let’s adjust our course. BM, you pick the route. What we’re looking for is any sign that the noxes have used it, like tracks or whatever they have for trash.”

“How far do you want me to go?” Božič-Mizaki asked.

“Let’s see how big the area is. No more than a hundred meters, if it’s that extensive. Then, we’ll angle back to the right and get back to our route. We’re due back in another hundred and sixteen minutes, so we can’t deviate too much.

“Morrison, I want you on BM’s ass, and keep checking on me. If I signal a change, I want you to grab BM so she doesn’t wander off.”

Božič-Mizaki looked embarrassed.

As she should.

Losing situational awareness was a good way to get yourself killed, and Rev hoped this would sink in.

“Any questions?”

Neither said a word.

“OK, then, let’s move out.”

The two Marines started forward, Božič-Mizaki on point, Sergeant Morrison three meters behind. Rev motioned for the rest of the patrol to resume their movement, but he stayed put. He’d let his position reach him instead of going back to it.

He watched Lance Corporal Faud approach, waiting to slip in behind him when Faud suddenly stopped, then pointed beyond Rev.

What the . . .?

Rev turned around and saw both Božič-Mizaki and Morrison slowly lowering themselves into the water as Morrison signaled contact.

Crap, Rev. What were you saying about situational awareness?

Rev went down, too. The water was not as deep here, and a good portion of his body was exposed. Morrison looked back and signaled again “contact” and “interrogative.”

What kind of contact? Morrison. Come on.

Rev signaled “enemy,” and the sergeant gave the interrogative again.

You can’t tell? Should have had Strap or Hus-man up there.

But he’d been rotating the points, and Božič-Mizaki was in Morrison’s team, so it made sense that he was there instead of one of the other, more capable sergeants.

Rev signaled them to stay down, then started crawling up to them. IBHU Marines were not noted for being able to easily low crawl, but with the water, it wasn’t bad. Much easier than when he was low crawling in the mines of Waring, at least.

He jacked into Božič-Mizaki’s PAL. “What is it? What do you have?”

“I saw movement up ahead.”

“Native?”

“I . . . I don’t think so. It was more vertical. But I couldn’t tell.”

Most of the native life was lower to the ground, so if she was right, it had to be human or Naxli.

“Have your battle buddy run the loop,” he said, wishing there was some way for him to connect and observe what she saw as well. But that wasn’t something Marines in the field could do.

He waited until she said, sounding unsure of herself, “There’s something. Zero-two-zero degrees. I can’t tell how far away. But I never got a clear line of sight.”

“You got anything for me?” he asked Punch.

<Either human or Naxli is certainly a possibility, but without more data, I can’t calculate any percentages.>

Which was what Rev expected. There were probably more humans on the planet. There might be the Mezame naval infantry from the fight that first day trying to survive, and there could be others who landed. If they were more humans, then they’d be adding to Captain Macek’s firepower.

But that could be Naxli just ahead of them. Either way, Rev needed to find out. And that meant getting Marine eyes on whoever was up there.

He couldn’t really send Božič-Mizaki. As an IBHU Marine, with the big weapons system taking the place of an arm, stealth wasn’t her forte. And Morrison? Well, Morrison was Morrison.

He looked back to Faud. The new join seemed like a competent Marine. He was about to signal him to come forward, but at the last moment, he hesitated. Rev didn’t want to get this second-hand. He needed to see who was ahead of them himself.

I’m going, he told himself, completely ignoring the reason he hadn’t chosen Božič-Mizaki.

“Cover me,” he told her before pulling his synch cable from her PAL’s jack.

She nodded and got in the prone position favored by the IBHU Marines, using her IBHU’s elbow as a bipod. The water was shallow enough here so that the muzzle of her weapon was clear.

Rev started crawling, Pashu aimed forward as he pulled with his right arm, letting the muck grease the skids, so to speak. Small native life fluttered around him. One, looking like a grotesque butterfly, landed on the tip of Pashu’s muzzle, tiny wings slowly rising and falling, before it flew off again.

Rev’s senses were locked forward, straining to pick up any sign of movement. He switched to infrared, and there were vague contacts but nothing clear enough to determine what might be up there.

Something slithered in front of Rev, giving him a start, but whatever it was, it was a tenth the size of the thing that grabbed Julian, and it was moving away from him.

Rev’s warrior buzzed in the background, keeping him on edge as he crept closer. The ground kept rising until he was almost clear of the water and just sliding over black muck.

And then, as if a curtain was parted, he had a clear view under most of the vegetation.

Nox!

A Naxli was standing facing away about twenty meters from him. Rev couldn’t tell what it was doing, but it didn’t seem to be alert. Rev took a chance and pulled himself forward another meter, Pashu trained on the enemy. And that slight shift of position opened up his vision. There were more Naxli, five that he could see. Four seemed to be busy with something, and the fifth looked more alert, as if it was on security, but oriented away from Rev.

None of the others were holding weapons in Rev’s sight, and they were . . .

“They’re trying to dry their armor!”

<Agree. It looks like they are.>

The Naxli had grown their own biological armor that covered most of them, but they applied manufactured armor similar to medieval human greaves and pauldrons over what had to be vulnerable places on their body.

Two of the Naxli were running small devices over some of the armor pieces, the devices and how they were waving them back and forth looking for all the world like humans using hair dryers.

Rev was certain that by the nature of their applied armor that on this wet mess of a world, the water was getting in behind them. And with all the mold and bacteria analogs, there was a good chance that things were getting mucked up.

The five Naxli—at least the five in his sight, were using the little bit of dry ground to clean and dry up.

They’re vulnerable. And I’m going to take advantage of that.

Rev’s orders had been vague. They were not to engage if they ran across a significantly larger force. Anything else was up to Rev’s discretion, and Rev’s warrior self was screaming at him to attack. And for once, Rev was listening.

If these Naxli failed to return, that might stir up the hornet’s nest, and the more the Naxli were moving, the better chance the Marines had to find them.

Rev started pushing himself backward, his IBHU trained on the Naxli, then in their direction when the vegetation shielded them from his sight. He gathered Božič-Mizaki as he reached them but left Morrison, telling him to keep an eye on the dry ground.

He retreated farther and into the rest of the patrol, signaling for the patrol to gather around him.

There wasn’t a way to run a synch cable to each of them at once, and daisy-chaining them all together would take up too much time. Time he probably didn’t have. He didn’t know how much longer the Naxli would be taking their break, so he motioned for all of them to crowd around.

“We’ve got at least five noxes ahead, and get this. I think they’re drying out their armor pieces. Only one seems to be alert like it’s on security.”

He could feel the electricity light up the Marines. They were ready.

“We taking them?” Hussein asked eagerly.

“We’re taking them. But we’ve got to move quickly. They could be moving out any second now. First, Faud, I want you to go back and report to the skipper. Let him know what we’ve found.”

If things went poorly, he had to make sure that Captain Macek knew that the enemy had been located.

“Second, this is going to be an IBHU hit. Beamers. I want this to be silent.”

Hussein frowned.

Rev didn’t know if the five Naxli he’d seen were the only ones in the area. They could be part of a much larger force, and with only fourteen Marines total, he didn’t want to potentially scare up a hornet’s nest.

The M-51s carried by four of the Marines were close to silent, the snapping easily swallowed up by the forest, but that wouldn’t be enough firepower to cut down Naxli before they could react. And the M-103s carried by the remaining four Marines, including Hussein, were nowhere close to silent.

“The dry ground is heavily vegetated. You know what that means with the beamers.”

For all their power, vegetation could absorb a lot of that, particularly when the beams were on wide array. They would burn through the vegetation, but all of that diminished what would reach the target.

“Eth and Tum,” he told Randigold and Tsao, “you’re with me in guillotine mode. We fire first, max power, and cut down the vegetation like scythes. You three, you’re right on our asses. Whoever we don’t get, you take out.”

“And if they’re still alive after our volley?” Tsao asked.

“We’re not waiting for the recharge. We switch to our twenties, and that’s when you,” he said, pointing to the four M-103 Marines in turn, “come in. Give them everything you’ve got. Fifty-ones, if you see a target at that point, engage.

“Movement forward. IBHUs first. M-103s next. Then fifty-ones. If they spot us, anyone can initiate the attack. Otherwise, we fire on my signal.” He paused a moment to make sure they understood his orders.

“We’ve done this a thousand times. We know what to do. Easy-freaking-peasy, right?”

It would have been better to rehearse this, or at least to lay out a more detailed FRAG, but that wasn’t always possible. They’d have to rely on hours and hours of training.

“We know what we’re doing?”

Everyone nodded.

“Faud, go. The rest of you, let’s do it.”

Rev turned and started forward with the other IBHUs spreading out alongside him. He waded only five meters before he went down and started low crawling.

“I was right about the guillotine cutting through the plants, right?”

<It should work, depending on how thick the underbrush is.>

It still amazed Rev, sometimes, at how simple plants could degrade the massive power of a meson beam, but it was plain old physics. It took energy to excite and destroy every cell of a plant, and there were millions, if not billions, of cells, in even normally scattered undergrowth. A diffused, wide beam might not make it through heavier growth. A concentrated beam could cut through a narrow path, but it would leave the rest of the bushes standing. Rev hoped that the guillotine would have enough concentrated power to cut down the plants, clearing the way for the other beamers.

And if not, well, they still had their twenties.

Rev kept advancing, attention focused forward. The water was still deep enough to give him some concealment, and the vegetation that worried him with regard to their beamers kept them out of the Naxlis’ sight.

They passed Morrison, and Rev motioned for him to stay put.

As the water became shallower, the Marines were becoming more vulnerable to being spotted. Rev was continually weighing how close he should take his Marines. This wasn’t a lone Marine maneuvering close. This was six in the first line, all with their bulky IBHUs. Their chances of being spotted were much higher.

But the closer they got the fewer plants, bushes, and trees between them and their targets. There was an inverse relationship between a better field of fire and being spotted.

They emerged from the last of the water and were on the muck again. The tracks of where he’d crawled before were like a neon sign. If the Naxli had seen disturbed mud, they’d either have set up an ambush or were long gone.

When do we engage? When?

His stress level was rising, and his warrior self was pounding at him to open fire, but Rev hadn’t seen any sign of the enemy yet.

Have they already gone?

It had been just over nine minutes since he’d last seen them. That was plenty of time for them to have put their armor pieces back on and move off.

“Should we have just charged them?”

<That would have alerted them and enabled them to prepare to meet you.>

Rev knew that, but he couldn’t help second-guessing himself. He realized this was one of his weaknesses, something he’d done since he was a private. But still, that nagging voice was always there.

He reached the end of his previous tracks. He should be able to see them, but there was nothing. His warrior self started to recede, and Rev was about to acknowledge that they must have gone, but right then Tsao, two places over to his left, stopped and gave the signal for enemy.

His fighting fire fanned back to life.

She signaled, “two.”

OK. We’re still in this.

Rev double-checked the mode on his beamer and leveled it to aim half a meter above the ground.

Just beyond his point of aim, a Naxli appeared, moving from right to left, toward the enemy Tsao had seen. A Naxli without its armor applications. Without a weapon.

A wave of relief swept through Rev. They were still taking their break.

He gave the “ready” signal and settled in to fire. This had the makings of a turkey shoot.

For the briefest of moments, he wondered if this was “fair.” Maybe he should offer a gnist to prove to them that humans weren’t all hreetz. Give them a fighting chance.

It wasn’t even his warrior self but rather his rational self that said, “Fuck, no!”

He raised his right hand, then brought it down.

Tsao, Randigold, and Rev fired, cutting through the vegetation. Chips from the trunk of a tree exploded into the air, but the tree stood. The rest of the plants were laid low like wheat at the harvest. Rev got a glimpse of Naxli bodies falling, others diving for weapons.

At max power, their initial burst lasted two seconds, and just as Pashu cut off, the other three IBHU Marines opened fire, targeting the Naxli. More were cut down. The last one scrambled on stubs of what had been its legs, just reaching a weapon before it was dropped.

Pashu’s recharge LED switched to green, but there wasn’t a target in sight. Bits of vegetation floated down, and one of the butterfly things flitted across the site as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

Rev raised himself to his knees and craned his head. He could see seven bodies scattered on the ground. One was weakly moving a hand across its chest, then to its side, and back to its chest again.

Rev signaled for the IBHUs to stand and for the others to join him. Together, they moved forward, stepping on the smoldering vegetation, smashing it flat as they crossed the dryish land.

The extent of what they had just faced came into view. There were not the five Naxli that Rev had initially counted. There were not the seven that he had seen when he went to his knees. There were eleven bodies in various degrees of wholeness. Five were cut in two, either at the legs or across their bodies. These had been taken down by the three guillotine blasts. That had confused Rev at first until he realized that they must have been sitting.

The rest had been killed by the other three Marines. All except for the one still moving.

Rev motioned for Randigold, Pierson, and the fifty-ones to set up a defensive line at the far end of the dry ground, which looked to extend another ten meters or so. Then he approached the wounded Naxli.

The Naxli’s dark eyes looked glazed, but as Rev stood over it, they focused and locked in on him. Who knew what signified a particular emotion with a Naxli? But Rev would swear that the thing was showing pure, unadulterated hatred for him.

“Quee,” it hissed.

“Punch?”

<I’ve got nothing.>

Humanity had collected a small number of words in the Naxli language—or what they assumed was their native language—but this “quee” was evidently something new.

“What are we going to do with it?” Hussein asked as he came up to stand alongside Rev.

The easiest thing to do would be to kill it. For all Rev knew, maybe “quee” was a request for death’s release.

And it isn’t like we’re in the position to take prisoners.

Still . . .

“Staff Sergeant!”

Rev turned around. PFC Julian was near the far edge of the water, and she was beckoning him over.

He and Hussein made their way to her. At her feet was the body of another Naxli, its upper half in the water, bottom half in the mud. A single crease had burned through the very top of its head.

Rev looked back toward the rest of the bodies, and what had happened was clear. This Naxli had survived the initial onslaught, and it had almost made it clear before it had just been clipped by a beam. Another step or a dive for the water a step sooner, and it might have made it clear to get back to its unit and let them know what had happened.

That would have gotten some attention, and it would have initiated a more extensive clash. Which is what the Marines wanted. But all told, Rev would rather initiate the clash on the Marines’ terms, not the Naxli’s.

“Drag it back with the rest,” he told Julian.

“Twelve of them,” Hussein said. “And we kicked their asses. Well, you did.”

“We did, Hus-man. All of us did.”

But now that he’d said it, Rev realized the import of what Hussein had said. Eleven Naxli, dead. One barely hanging on. And the Marines hadn’t suffered a casualty. He’d take those results any day of the week.

It wasn’t going to be like that going further, he knew. But for the moment, he’d rest on those laurels.

He’d used beamers to keep the battle silent, and the Naxli hadn’t been able to fire back. But with the dead Naxli Julian was now dragging almost getting away, Rev had to acknowledge the possibility that another had managed to escape death and was now heading back to its unit.

And they were still on a timeline. The patrol had to start back.

So, what to do with the wounded nox?

But the gods of war must have been feeling generous, and Rev wasn’t forced into a decision. The wounded Naxli had died.

Rev never knew what he would have decided if it had still been alive, and he was happy to keep it that way.

13

“Systems check.”

<All systems green. Power at ninety-nine-point-six percent. Full combat load.>

With his new powerpack, Rev was combat-ready again. He gave Bundy a thumbs-up.

“That’s it, buddy. When this runs out, we’ll be in our long johns.”

<We? Speak for yourself.>

“If I’m in long johns, then so are you by extension.”

Rev was being flippant, but the seriousness of the situation was real. Another five days, a week at the most, and his PAL-HX would be a useless hunk of metal.

“How’s Pashu’s power?”

<I’m reading ninety-point-two percent, but the synch still isn’t accurate.>

Rev grunted. He wasn’t sure why, but after the Centaurs adjusted his IBHU’s mechanics and power system, his control crystal was having problems getting an accurate reading. Daryll and the other Siemen techs said it was just a matter of finding a conversion program between human amperes and whatever the Centaurs used for measurement.

Even considering the range of the potential error, though, Pashu was sitting pretty after both the passage of time and the firing of the beamer. Whatever the Centaurs had done seemed to be working.

“At least we’ll be still fighting after we shuck the PAL.”

Punch didn’t have a snappy rejoinder.

OK, be that way.

Rev walked over to Bundy.

“Ninety-nine-point-six,” he said. “Everything’s green.”

“I wonder why we never get a full hundred percent when we switch out powerpacks.”

“Ninety-nine percent is damn good.”

Bundy shook his head. “But it isn’t a hundred. And these are supposedly fully charged.

“Close enough for government work. You go ahead and get some shut-eye. I’ve got it.”

Bundy stared out into the dense forest for a long moment. “Where the hell are they, Rev?”

“I wish I knew.”

After Rev’s fight and absolute win, morale skyrocketed. Every Marine and corpsman thought they were finally going to engage the Naxli. The company moved to the west, spread out over a four-hundred-meter frontage. They knew they had to achieve contact. But day after day, night after night, it was more of the same.

A lot of nothing.

There wasn’t a sign of the enemy at all. Rev had been absolutely convinced that the Naxli wouldn’t give up and would pursue the Marines through hell and high water.

Or dark, shallow, nasty waster, as it were.

But now, even after twelve of them had been killed, they couldn’t be found. Rev was beginning to wonder if he’d been wrong and the Naxli had abandoned the area.

Tomiko thought that maybe human forces had landed on the planet in numbers large enough that the Naxli in the area had left to join the fight. If Intel was right, there had only been about six hundred of them in the first place, after all.

But wouldn’t there have been signs of that? Of a large-scale battle?

Rev didn’t know what was going on. If asked, he said the Naxli were out there, but he was honest enough with himself to wonder if he was just clinging to that, not wanting to admit that he was wrong.

It would be great if the Naxli had withdrawn, of course. More than a few Marines had started to espouse this possibility. But Rev knew they couldn’t just sit back and relax. They had to remain vigilant because, as perverse as the gods of war could be, the moment they let down their guard, the Naxli would hit them.

It was Rev’s job to keep his Marines on their toes, not to let them relax.

Bundy lay down with most of his body in the water, his head resting against a small mound of muck just above the surface.

“Give me four hours, then wake me.”

“Macek said everyone gets six hours.”

Bundy didn’t respond.

“I promise, if the noxes attack us while you’re sleeping, I’ll wake you early. Otherwise, I’ve got it.”

Bundy laughed. “OK, six hours. I guess I need it.”

He closed his eyes, and from the looks of it, was out within seconds. His face relaxed, and he looked his age.

“What are you doing out here, old man?” Rev muttered. “You should be with your grandchildren, not catching a few hours of sleep in a freakin’ swamp.”

But he was glad Bundy was there. He trusted the man to get the platoon back in one piece.

Rev gave his platoon commander and friend one last look, then turned around to troop the lines. Captain Macek had stopped the platoon for twelve hours to get everyone rested, but if the Naxli were out there, they wouldn’t care if the company was on downtime or not.

14

The first body was partially submerged, the Dō-marus combat suit broken open across the chest. Water had seeped in, and the body had bloated. The sailor’s face filled the helmet, flesh plastered against the face shield and pushed out of proportion.

More bodies and parts were scattered in the forest. Not just human. More than a few Naxli were among the fallen. The Mezame sailors had been overrun, but from the looks of it, they hadn’t gone out quietly, giving as good as they got.

“I wonder why the noxes just leave their dead like that,” Tomiko said. “The Mez sailors, sure. But their own people?”

“They’re not people,” Rev said automatically.

“You know what I mean.”

“Who the hell knows why they do anything?” he said, the bitterness breaking through his tone.

They’d all heard the battle off in the distance, and the pragmatic side of him knew that things probably hadn’t gone well, but to see the devastation, to see it confirmed, that was a gutshot. These sailors were their brothers and sisters in arms.

It had been the rifle platoon Marines, acting as a screening element, that first came across the scene of the battle and sent a runner to inform Captain Macek. Now, Marines were checking the bodies. There wasn’t much of a chance that any of them were still alive, and after this much time, even if they could get them off planet, there would be no chance at a resurrection.

“Such a waste,” Rev muttered.

“Not a waste. There’re dead noxes here. That means there’s fewer for us to fight,” Tomiko said somberly.

Just like Miko. Ever the practical one.

Rev knew he could let his emotions get the better of him, which if he listened to all the so-called experts, was not a good idea for soldiers of war. He could feel the anger inside, smoldering at a slow burn, but he didn’t want to smother that. He wanted it there to remind him that he was still alive and that the Naxli had to be crushed. He was afraid if he suppressed that anger, he’d no longer be himself.

And this was something he couldn’t discuss with anyone. Not Miko, who he was afraid might think less of him. Not Punch, and not only because the hidden watchers might listen in. But his battle buddy seemed to be having his own identity crisis, and Rev didn’t feel like adding to whatever was going on inside the crystal brain.

Besides, Marines didn’t have emotional problems, right? They just suppressed weakness, suppressed emotions, and pushed on to close with and destroy the enemy.

At least I’ve got that part down pat. I want to destroy every single freakin’ one of them.

It was hard to believe that two weeks ago, while he understood the Naxli were the enemy, he had some degree of respect for them, one warrior to another. But if they couldn’t accept that what one group of humans had done didn’t reflect on all humans, then they weren’t so noble and chivalric after all. Their so-called honor was a façade.

Come on, Reverent. Get your head back in the game. You’re just frustrated that you haven’t found them.

“There’s nothing I can do here. I’m going to check the lines while we wait to find out what Macek’s got for us next,” he told Tomiko.

Rev left Tomiko and stepped over a tree trunk that had been knocked down in the battle. On an Earth-like planet, the tree would have been in splinters. But this one looked like it had been made of wax and left out on a hot day. The sharp edges had softened, as if they were melting, and the entire thing looked sort of deflated.

“Are the little colony critters abandoning the tree?”

<Without examining it, yes, that would be a logical conclusion.>

“Must be nice. Get shot, and all your parts just jump ship to form up with something else.”

Punch didn’t reply.

The Marines weren’t out very far, just enough to provide a line of defense while the Mezame dead were checked.

Hochenspatter turned around at Rev’s approach. “Any survivors?”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“That sucks,” the lance corporal said in an understatement.

“Doesn’t look like that’s all of the Mezes, though. Maybe just one of the platoons.”

“So, there could be the other platoon out there somewhere?”

“All it means is that the rest weren’t killed here.”

Hochenspatter had never been one of the most gung ho Marines even before he lost his arm. Upon his return with his IBHU, he seemed to be a little more introverted and introspective and a lot more empathetic.

Rev didn’t know Randigold before she became an IBHU Marine, but her records showed a somewhat passive personality, someone who went with the flow. With her IBHU, she was far more aggressive and even a little resistant to authority. A smart ass.

Rev had wondered why something like an IBHU seemed to have a markedly different effect on the two Marines. Or him, for that matter.

All of which can be contemplated at another time and place. Now, just check the lines, Reverent.

“Keep alert,” he needlessly told Hochenspatter.

He started wading to the next Marine when there was a splashing sound from in front of them as if something had fallen in the water.

Rev spun around without thinking, his warrior snapping to the fore, Pashu seeking a target. Behind him, Hochenspatter was standing, IBHU poised.

“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” a voice called out. “Mezame naval infantry! Don’t shoot.”

Rev’s heart was pounding, and he didn’t lower his IBHU. The Naxli hadn’t seemed to use subterfuge before, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t employ it.

“Come out in the open, hands up!” Rev said over his externals.

“Don’t shoot. We’re coming.”

A moment later, a Mezame sailor stepped out from behind some vegetation, arms raised above him. He tentatively waded forward, carefully placing each step.

Another sailor followed in his footsteps, then another, and yet one more. Four sailors emerged from the forest, all obviously nervous about approaching the Marines.

<Their arms?>

“You can lower your arms,” Rev said.

The first one lowered his arms and turned to look at the second sailor, who lowered hers as well, as did the other two.

“Come on forward,” Rev said.

“We’re so glad to see you,” the first one said as he waded forward with a little more confidence.

The sailors were in their Dō-marus combat suits, which were much less bulky than any of the PAL line of suits. But they were still combat suits, and they covered the body. Despite that, Rev could tell that the sailor relaxed in relief. And Rev understood that. If they were survivors from the attack almost a week ago, four of them, hiding out in the forest, had to have been completely stressed out.

“I’m Staff Sergeant Pelletier,” Rev said.

“Yes, we know you. I’m Nisō Wondai, Blue Platoon.”

< Nisō is the equivalent of a second-class petty officer or a sergeant.>

Rev knew that, but he could get mixed up with the naval infantry ranks, so he didn’t mind the reminder.

“Was that Blue Platoon back there?” Rev asked.

The petty officer nodded.

“Are there any other survivors?”

“Not that we know of. We were on an OP when the obake hit the rest of the platoon. We, uh . . . by the time we—”

Rev held up a hand to stop the sailor. “The captain’s going to want to hear all of this, so no need to say it twice. Come with me, and I’ll bring you to him.”

“Pass down the line for everyone to be on the lookout for anyone else coming out of the woodwork,” he told Hochenspatter, then started to lead the four sailors back to the site of the battle.

Rev was glad they’d survived, and any extra firepower was appreciated, as far as he was concerned. But really, how much could they contribute? The Dō-marus wasn’t close to even the rifle platoons’ PAL-3s, much less the PAL-H family of suits, and their personal weapons didn’t have the same punch as the Marines’.

He realized there was probably a bit of service pride going on there, but facts were facts. The Mezame naval infantry were no match for the heavier Marines. But he’d let the captain figure out how best to use them.

He brought them to the captain, sweeping up the two platoon commanders and the gunny in their wake.

Captain Macek seemed surprised to see the four sailors. The petty officer gave his account, which was much as Rev expected. Lieutenant Commander Ono had split the two platoons, giving each an AO in which they were to locate the Naxli. The commander had stayed with Blue Platoon. The Marines had already known that. They’d found what was left of the commander’s body. And with him dead, that meant Captain Macek was the senior officer among the forces that had landed in the area.

The four sailors had been out at an OP when the Naxli had hit the platoon, so they didn’t know who initiated the contact. They said they’d hurried back upon hearing the fighting, but by the time they’d made it, the battle was over.

Rev looked a little askance at the petty officer. He didn’t know how far out the OP was, and Captain Macek didn’t ask. But battles usually weren’t the quick events as depicted in the holovids. They took a while. It didn’t seem realistic to him that the four sailors, hurrying back to their platoon, couldn’t make it before the battle was over.

He wasn’t going to bring that up, though. It was just something to file in the back of his mind if the situation came up where he needed to depend on them.

After they checked for survivors, Petty Officer Wondai thought it best not to stay too close in case the Naxli returned. The four sailors had hidden two hundred meters from the site on a heavily vegetated islet. When they heard movement, they slowly low crawled forward to see who was there, human or Naxli. Once they saw the Marines, they’d come out to join them.

“Sorry about your platoon,” Captain Macek said. “But I’m glad you made it. You’re now with us.”

“We’re really relieved, sir. We didn’t know if we were the last humans on the planet.”

“You got chow? Powerpacks?”

“We took chow and packs, sir, you know, after the battle. We’re fine for the moment. Uh . . . if I can ask, sir. What’s going on now? Have you made any contact with a rescue?”

Rev had to keep from frowning. It wasn’t that he’d never thought of more human forces coming and all of them eventually getting off the planet, but that didn’t seem like the first question warriors would be asking.

“No contact, so as of now, our mission is the same as what Commander Ono gave us. We’re trying to locate the noxes and take them out before our PALs run out of power. You didn’t see any sign of a crashed resupply shuttle, did you?”

“No, sir. Nothing.”

“I didn’t expect so, but I thought I’d ask.”

There had been a shuttle that carried extra rations, powerpacks, and coldpacks, but it had been scheduled for one of the follow-on waves. The likelihood that it had made it to the planet’s surface and in this area was small, but finding it intact would take care of a lot of issues facing the Marines.

“So, for you. I want you to report to . . .” He paused until his eyes landed on Bundy. “Report to Captain Bundy here. You’ll be with his platoon.”

Thanks, Captain. Just what I need, babysitting four sailors.

The plan to reorganize the Marines was still in effect, but it hadn’t actually started yet, and wouldn’t until they had an enemy. So, that meant the four sailors were now in Rev’s charge.

“And now that I have the leadership here, scavenge what you can of their rations and anything else we can use. Do it quick, though. I want to be moving in twenty mikes.”

Too bad we can’t use their powerpacks. But it is what it is.

“Make a note. If we’re going to fight with our allies, I want to suggest compatibility for things like power and cold packs.”

<Noted.>

Not that a mere staff sergeant could move the logistical mountain that would entail, but if enough people raised the issue, then maybe it would catch the attention of someone high enough up the ladder to be able to do something about it.

“So, unless anyone’s got something else, let’s get at it.”

Bundy started to come over to the four sailors, but part of Rev’s job was to run interference for his platoon commander.

“I’ve got this,” he said to his friend, then to the sailors, “Come with me and let me find something for you to do.”

* * *

It took thirty minutes, not twenty, but the company was on the move. There were signs of where the Naxli had gone after the fight. With the water and the plants that could just reform after being broken, they weren’t readably evident to the naked eye, but with several of the Marines’ face shield filters, the disturbances of their passage might as well be neon signs.

A significant amount of time had passed, but at least it was something. Somewhere, at the other end of the trail, there would be Naxli. Rev hoped that between now and then, Captain Macek would pull an amazing plan of battle out of his ass that would allow the Marines to take it to the enemy and emerge victorious.

But they had to get to them first, or all the amazing plans of battle would be worthless. He looked around at the Marines wading once again, knee-deep in the water.

Marines and sailors. Rev had made the Mezame naval infantry into a fire team, and he had them moving just to his right.

They seemed to have tactical movement down, at least. And with their smaller combat suits, they created less of a disturbance as they stepped.

As he watched, Garth, a Suiheichō—roughly equal to a Marine lance corporal or Navy Spaceman—pulled out one of his ration packs. He popped the top and fit the nib inside a port on his helmet. Through his face shield, Rev could see Garth sucking the pack dry, then let out what had to be a satisfied burp.

“Looks like he enjoyed it,” Rev muttered.

Each of the Marines had three of the Mezame packs that had been scavenged from the battle site. Most of the Marines were saving them for when they ran out of the XL-12 combat rations they had, but Rev was sick and tired of eating sludge. Anything different would be a godsend.

Rev reached into his thigh holster and pulled out one of them. The pack was pretty intuitive. He popped the tab on the top and let it heat up. A small wisp of steam rose up in the air.

Here goes nothing.

He retracted his face shield, stuck the nib in his mouth, and squeezed . . . and almost immediately gagged.

“What the hell?”

The stuff was terrible, and his tongue felt like it was coated in slime.

He looked at the label. The Mezame Concordat was a dual language nation. Rev couldn’t read the New Kanji on the label, but there was also Standard, which assured him that the “Combat Sustenance Ration” contained everything a soldier needed to fight for twenty-four hours.

“Is this for real? Why does it taste like dead fish ass?”

<I have nothing in my memory crystals which describe what dead fish ass tastes like.>

“Like shit.”

<I do have descriptions of what that tastes like.>

“Really?”

<It is reported that it—>

“No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

Rev looked at the tube again. “So, this is legit?”

<I can’t know for sure, but it seems logical. Suiheichō Garth seemed to like it.>

“Then he’s not human.”

Rev looked at the pack. He’d emptied half of it. He was tempted to just toss it, let it sink into the dark water to merge with the muck that probably would taste better. But it had calories he needed, and if they managed to survive the coming fight, all of them would need every single calorie they had.

Even if it tastes like shit.

With more courage than he’d ever exhibited on the battlefield, Rev raised the pack again and emptied it.

He waited for the urge to gag to diminish before he closed his face shield and took a swallow of water to try and wash the taste from his mouth.

Next to him, Garth had a satisfied look on his face, and while Rev looked at him, he even licked his lips.

Rev grunted. Maybe the Mezame sailors were tougher than he’d given them credit for.

15

“I’m really getting sick of this cesspool of a planet.”

<And you want me to do exactly what?>

“Nothing. Just venting.”

Rev’s right leg went a little deeper into the muck, resisting his efforts to step forward. He had to give it another tug to free it.

It wasn’t just the planet, he knew. It was the frustration of wandering around and not finding the enemy, all while the clock was ticking down on their power supplies. During his entire career, he’d never experienced the inability to find a fight, and the constant high level of alertness was physically and mentally draining.

The only good thing was that there had been no casualties among the two platoons. But no one thought things would stay that way. And if they had to molt from their PALs, things would be much worse for them when the inevitable battle commenced.

Rev had to molt once before, on Armadillo, when his cold pack malfunctioned, but he hadn’t been going into combat then. And he’d gone in without a PAL on Alafia, but there they’d been prepared for the mission, and it hadn’t been planned for direct combat. If they had to molt and abandon their PALs, they could still function and prosecute the mission, but their capabilities would be degraded.

He had to fight the muck for the next six steps, yanking each foot free from the suction, and it was with relief that he finally stepped on semi-dry ground. At least he was out of the damn water.

“Here you go,” he said, handing Corporal Justin from Second Platoon the end of the wire.

“Thanks, Staff Sergeant. The skipper’s just over there to the right. I’ll be there with the consoles as soon as the last one’s connected.”

Rev waited a moment while the corporal attached the wire to one of the four small consoles lined up in front of him. It wasn’t until Justin checked the circuit and gave Rev a thumbs-up that the OPs he’d just emplaced were connected that he turned to find Captain Macek.

“Wait a minute, Staff Sergeant,” Justin called out to him. “I think we’ve got a short or something.”

“What do you mean?”

“The alert is going batshit crazy.” He pointed to the small blue light on his control that was rapidly blinking.

“Just check in with them,” Rev said. “Maybe it’s something on their end.”

Hopefully, it was something the corporal could fix. Otherwise, Rev was going to have to troop back out with a new wire. And right now, all Rev wanted to do was to change out his diaper, eat, and catch a few Zs. He was running on empty.

Justin jacked into the console. He started to initiate comms, then stopped, his eyes going wide.

“Staff Ser—”

Rev was already moving. He pulled the nub out of the corporal’s jack and slammed it into his.

“. . .can’t tell how many,” a whispered voice said.

“Strap, this is Staff Sergeant Pelletier. What’s happening?”

“Staff Sergeant, we’ve got noxes to our front. A shitload of them.”

Rev’s fatigue disappeared in an instant.

“W-SALUTE Report, now.”

“Shit. Yeah. Uh . . . nox fighters. At least twenty. Maybe more. Sorry, Staff Sergeant, but we’re hunkering low, and I can’t—”

“W-SALUTE Report. Stick to the format,” Rev snapped.

There was a reason for report formats.

“Roger. Nox fighters, infantry. Twenty-plus. Moving on foot, approximate heading zero-one-zero. Location Bravo-hotel-four-six-six-two, eight-six-nine-zero. Threat posture two. Infantry equipment. No armor or mech.”

“Are you in danger?”

Threat posture two was one short of the maximum, but Rev wanted something more specific.

“I don’t think so. BM’s completely submerged, and I’ve just got my head above the water. The closest is about twenty-five meters, moving across our front.”

“I want you underwater, too. Use your Optisight to keep visual contact.”

He started to run to find the captain when he overlaid the Naxli direction of movement onto his map.

Shit.

He turned to Justin. “Hook me up with OP-3.”

The corporal turned the mechanical dial on the console, pushed the small button to generate the tiny spark that would light the LED at the terminal for OP-3.

Continual advances in jamming and spoofing had brought back old-tech manual, wired comms, where signal emanations were almost non-existent. But after all of this time, Rev would have thought there would be a way to communicate with more than one OP at a time.

“OP-3,” Julian answered.

“Give me ap Rhys.”

“Just a sec.”

A moment later, the corporal said, “ap Rhys.”

“Listen. We’ve got noxes moving in your direction. They should bypass you, but I want both of you to get off that little islet and back into the water. Optisight only. Understand?”

Rev could almost sense the questions the corporal had, but he said, “Roger. Back into the water.”

“Buzz the CP if you need to.

“Stay here,” he told Corporal Justin. “This is the CP for now. Try and contact OP-4 and let them know what’s happening.”

“Big force?”

“Big enough,” Rev said as he bolted to the CP.

The three HI officers and Lieutenant James had their heads together in a small clearing at the base of one of the planet’s big trees. They looked up as Rev burst into the clearing.

“We’ve got contact. At least twenty of them.”

W-SALUTE, Reverent. Just like you told Strap.

Captain Macek opened his mouth, but Rev cut him off with the W-SALUTE.

All four officers went blank for a moment, with the blank countenance of Marines looking at their face shield displays.

“That’s OP-2, right?” Bundy said.

“Roger. But if you follow along their current direction of movement, they’ll pass OP-3 and OP-4.”

Tomiko was out emplacing OP-4, and Rev had to push that from his thoughts.

“We can cut them off,” Bundy said. “This island is almost three hundred meters long and curves into their route. If they’re in front of OP-2, they’ve still got five hundred meters to get there, and we can move quicker on the dry land than they can. If we move fast, we can set up a hasty ambush.”

Captain Macek was silent for a long moment as he studied whatever he’d pulled up on his display. But within twenty seconds, he said, “We’re doing it. Break into our heavy assault element.”

“What about us?” Lieutenant James asked.

The captain pulled out a sheet of sensiboard. Using his gauntleted forefinger, he drew a rough sketch of the island, then an arrow for the Naxli direction of movement.

“The assault element is the point of main effort,” he said, circling where he wanted them. “Bundy, I want your Marines here. When we open up, I want you to push forward until you make contact on their flank. James, I want you back here,” he said, indicating a spot about 150 meters from the tip of the island. “Hopefully, with only twenty noxes, they’ll have bypassed your position, and when the ambush is initiated, I want you to cut across this way and cut off their retreat.”

“We’ve got to move now, so only big questions.”

There were none.

“Go, go, go!”

Their halt at the island had been intended to get some sleep, but the Marines were still preparing positions and ready to move. It was still somewhat of a cluster, but not as much as might have been expected. Within minutes, the assault element was rushing forward.

There were a million things that could go wrong with the plan. The Naxli could change their course, either toward the island or away. The movement of so many Marines could be picked up, giving the ambush away. There could be—

Don’t worry about what could go wrong, Reverent. Do your best to make sure things go right.

The assault element rushed through the trees, quickly getting to the end of the island. There was no sign of the Naxli, but if they kept to their course and were moving at a patrolling pace, they’d be passing by within fifteen minutes. That was enough time to set up the ambush, but not by a lot.

But they had to slow down as they moved out into the water. Running through the water couldn’t be done silently.

Captain Macek started to direct the Marines into position when a thought hit Rev.

Is there time?

He risked a few splashes to reach the captain.

“What is it?”

“Give me your sensiboard.”

“We don’t have time for this,” the captain said, but he handed it over.

Rev made a circle right on the Naxli’s route, then another parallel and thirty meters away.

“Give me my platoon’s IBHUs and two M-103s. We go underwater here, out of sight. When the noxes reach us, we emerge and cut down the vanguard from point-blank range. Then you open up on whoever’s left.”

Captain Macek stopped and stared at the sketch. Rev had made it a simple L-shaped ambush, probably the most common tactical formation for thousands of years.

“Is the water deep enough for you to be submerged?”

“Don’t know. If it isn’t, then we back up and make it a traditional L-shaped ambush. But if we can fire at close range, our beamers should cut through their armor immediately, and then our twenties can start to chew up the rest.”

“I don’t . . . how would you know when to initiate the ambush if you can’t see?”

“We can hear, even underwater.”

The captain hesitated again as he considered what Rev had said. “You just have to get the rest of the Marines in position and freeze. I don’t want to have to discern between human and nox.”

He waited a moment for the captain to respond.

“But we need to move now, sir.”

“Shit . . . OK, do it,” he said, that last in a rush.

Rev was already stepping off while signaling for his Marines. The IBHUs started forming on him as he moved, as did Wen and Tinker Bell with their M-103s. Rev would have rather had Hussein with his 103, but he’d asked for two, and those were the first to react. He didn’t have time to waste making the switch.

“Start a ten-minute timer.”

<Roger>

He gave the shortest FRAG in his life as they moved, but they’d trained long enough and done so many ambush exercises that the concept was ingrained in every one of them.

The actual conduct for this one? Not so much.

He couldn’t get into that while on the move, though. He’d have to cover that when they were emplaced. Hopefully, that would be well before the Naxli arrived.

They weren’t running, per se, but they moved quickly until they arrived at the location Rev had selected from the map. It took him about half a second to realize the position sucked. The area between them and the Naxli was covered in dense, reed-like vegetation which collected the muck, leaving not water where they could hide themselves, not dry land, but mud. More pertinent to the ambush, the Marines already knew those reedbeds were almost impossible to pass through. If the Naxli did keep on course, they would divert around the bed, but in which direction?

Rev motioned for his Marines to turn right to find the end of the bed. With the reeds so thick, they acted as a sound barrier, and they were able to go quicker. They reached the far side and turned around the corner.

<Five minutes.>

The reeds had thrown them off, but the gods of war had a habit of evening things out. Another extensive reed bed was off to the right. If the Naxli were moving forward, they’d almost assuredly head to the Marines’ left—the Naxli’s right—to continue on their route.

Rev pushed his Marines forward, closer to the left end of the reeds and farther away from them, scanning for the right spot. He was getting nervous, expecting the Naxli to show up any moment. But no site looked great.

Sometimes you just have to accept second-best, Reverent.

And his nerve broke. He had to get his Marines out of sight.

He stopped in a semi-open spot where the water was just under waist deep and pulled the Marines in.

“Like I told you, we’re the L in the ambush. What I didn’t say is that we’re going to wait for them submerged.”

Not one of them even blinked.

“We’re going to go by sound. I’ll be listening for their approach. When I think the time is right, I’ll initiate the ambush through my external speaker. IBHUs, I want all of us except for Tsao on guillotine mode. Cut them in two. Tsao, sniper mode.

“Wen and Bell, you’re on the flanks. Everyone got that?”

There were nods, and Rev felt a surge of pride. This was far from the ordinary, but it didn’t matter. They had a mission, and that’s what they were going to do.

“OK, then. Let’s go. On line, guiding on me. That’s the direction of fire.”

He stood there, pointing to where the Naxli would be emerging.

He hoped.

The Marines quickly spread out. Rev waited until each of them reached their position and disappeared beneath the surface. He gave one last look around, then started to lie back in the water, head toward the reeds behind them, before he had second thoughts. If he was on his belly, he should be able to get up quicker. He twisted around with his feet toward the reeds and got down until his front was resting on the bottom.

What have I forgotten?

This had been so rushed that he was sure that he’d missed something, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what.

“Can you tell by sounds how far away something is? Like from footsteps?”

<If the water density is the same here as what’s reported at the closest stations, and as I know the water temperature, then yes, I should be able to make a reasonable estimate.>

Rev hoped Punch’s estimate would be more than “reasonable.”

“And can you filter out all the slithering of the critters here? Only pick up footsteps?”

<Already done.>

Should have realized he would.

After all the rush to get to the site, now was the waiting. Rev had waited for days before, like during the Centaur invasion of Safe Harbor. At least this time, whatever was going to happen would happen soon.

<Ten minutes.>

Rev would kill to be able to see the area. He was more than tempted to pull out his Optisight, but in the open as they were, it would be sticking out like a periscope. And he’d have to turn around and face the surface.

One more minute passed, then two. Rev had his gain on high. Even if the Naxli missed them, as long as they were within a hundred meters or so, Rev should be able to hear them.

Three minutes, then four.

Rev’s warrior self was ready to explode. The waiting was killing him.

“How long?”

<If the Naxli remained on course, and if they moved at a standard human patrol pace, then they should have reached us two minutes ago, give or take a minute.>

“So, they’re late.”

<They weren’t moving on our schedule. You can’t say they are late.>

Rev quit subvocalizing. Even though he didn’t “hear” what Punch was saying, it still took his concentration.

A few more minutes passed.

This might not have been the best idea you’ve ever had.

Another minute dragged by.

You always think you know best. Maybe you should have stuck with Macek’s plan.

Rev gave himself a mental kick. His big weakness was second-guessing himself. The decision was made, the die cast, and all the second-guessing in the world wouldn’t change that.

After twenty-three minutes had passed, though, Rev was willing to admit not that he was wrong, but that something had happened to change the Naxli’s course. No one could have foreseen that.

Ten more minutes, and we canc the ambush.

It never got that far. After four minutes, there was the slightest bit of sound.

“I guess Captain Macek’s already stopped the ambush. I figured he might, so we might as well just quit this position.”

<The sound isn’t coming from Captain Macek and his Marines.>

“You can tell that?”

<It’s pretty simple. It could be human steps, but it’s coming from the direction of the Naxli’s route.>

Rev’s warrior gave a jump, and he felt the familiar excitement of combat fill his senses.

The next minute flew by, and more and more sounds of footsteps reached him. He could hear the swish of water against legs.

“How far?”

<Forty meters for the nearest.>

At forty meters, the beamers were deadly. But Rev wanted immediate kills, and the Naxli armor could hold off even a concentrated beam for a few seconds, enough time for them to fire back.

Rev was on edge, his nerves on fire, as he waited. He had to fight the temptation to pop his head above the water for a quick look.

<Thirty meters.>

“Can you tell how many there are?”

<Not with any degree of accuracy.>

Rev had an image of the Marines popping out of the water only to be surrounded by a thousand Naxli warriors.

Come on, Reverent. There were only 600 on the planet to begin with.

So Intel says, and they’re never wrong, his alter ego reminded him.

I’m not listening.

<Twenty meters.>

Hold on. Just a few more seconds.

He couldn’t wait.

“Open fire!” he screamed into his external speakers.

He pushed himself erect, water pouring off of him.

About twelve or thirteen meters in front of him and five or six to the right, a startled-looking Naxli jumped back and started to bring around its weapon.

Rev was already in motion, the deadly meson beam sweeping through the air and cutting the Naxli at the waist.

In the same sweep, two more to the right of the first one fell.

There were at least a dozen Naxli in sight, wading across the water. All were in front of the right side of the ambush.

The rest of the Marines emerged from the water, and six IBHUs opened up. Rev continued with his sweep, and he hit more of the Naxli, but they didn’t drop. The distance, combined with the armor, meant he had to have the beam on target for longer.

Wen and Bell joined in, their M-103s letting Captain Macek know to open fire, and a moment later, Rev could hear the reports of weapons going off.

But he couldn’t let himself get distracted. One after the other, several Naxli fell under the Marine onslaught. But there were still more of them in sight than Marines. Rev switched to his twenty and called out for the left flank of the ambush to converge on the Naxli.

For a moment, they had a clear run with the Naxli focusing on the four Marines directly in front of them. But after a Naxli was knocked to its knees as Rev laced him with his twenty, the back four or five of the lead Naxli element shifted to take the charging Marines under fire.

The Naxli on its knees managed to hit Rev before its armor came apart. Rev’s PAL-H flashed a warning, but it was still in one piece as Rev shifted to the next target. Pashu’s beamer LED flashed green, and Rev shifted to sniper mode and fired a single, high-power shot that hit his target in the chest.

The beam burned right through the thing’s neck, and it collapsed, the dark water swallowing it up.

Tree trunks started coming apart under 20 mm fire—but from the left side. Second Platoon’s IBHU Marines were firing, and they nailed two Naxli, but the rounds were too close to Rev and his Marines for comfort.

Rev turned toward Macek’s position and shouted at maximum volume, “Watch our position!”

Just as he started to turn back, his world flashed green. His PAL started giving off warnings.

<Your beamer is down. Various PAL functions are at critical levels.>

Rev dove to the left, going under the water. He popped up a moment later, but whatever had hit him had shifted.

“Can you fix the beamer?”

<Negative.>

“Then I’m sending a Moray up one of their asses.”

The Moray was designed for armor and fortified positions. But its guidance system could lock on an infantry target as well. The logistics command stressed that they were not to be used on infantry targets due to the cost of each missile, but Rev didn’t care. He’d almost gotten himself fried, and payback was a bitch.

There were only three Naxli still in the fight. One was rushing for the cover of a tree, but Rev got a lock on him and fired just before the warrior reached it. The missile, which could follow fighter aircraft, had no problem with the Naxli. It hit the tree, blasting it into splinters. Whether it was the missile itself or those splinters, the Naxli was shredded, and blue blood misted the area before it settled on top of the water, giving it an oily sheen.

The battle was in full force, but around Rev, there wasn’t a living Naxli in sight.

“Headcount!” Rev shouted out as he looked around.

He realized who was missing before the count got to him. Wen.

Rev started wading to his left. Wen had been on the far-left flank. He started casting around for him, but he was gone.

An explosion rocked the forest just fifty or sixty meters to the front. The battle was still going on. Rev ordered his Marines to get on line and move into the thick of the battle. The danger here was getting into friendly fire. He popped a green smoke and threw it in front of him, but with the forest, there was no telling if Macek’s Marines would see it.

“Targets of opportunity,” he told the others as he looked for any sign of the enemy.

There were bits of Naxli in the water, but for the most part, they had disappeared beneath the surface.

The air was filled with squeaks and whistles of native life as they expressed their displeasure.

“Sorry about that,” he muttered.

Just to his left, there was a ripple in the water. Even those were being disturbed. Rev gave it a wary glance, but it was heading away. Slowly, but away.

Wait a minute.

The underwater life tended to undulate, causing uniform ripples. This was more . . . not uniform. There were fits and starts, and the ripples went in different directions.

Rev ran up on the ripples and fired a volley of 20 mm rounds into the water. The surface exploded under the impact, sending spray everywhere. A moment later, a little blue slick reached the surface.

The water smoothed out again.

He took a few steps forward before his feet hit something. He gave it a kick, and the Naxli body rose almost to the surface before it sunk out of sight again. Evidently, Rev hadn’t been the only one to try and use the water as concealment.

“You get the bastard?” Randigold shouted at him.

“Sure did.”

Rev and his Marines kept advancing, throwing green smoke to mark their progress. Tsao nailed one more Naxli, but the fight had moved beyond them. Forty-two minutes after Rev had initiated the ambush, the battle was over.

16

“Staff Sergeant!”

Rev swung around to where Sergeant Morrison was standing and holding a gauntleted hand that he’d pulled from the water.

“BM, Faud,” Rev called out as he pointed to the sergeant.

The two Marines joined him as they converged on the sergeant.

“It’s Wen,” Morrison said, not that there was any doubt.

“Respect to the fallen,” the other three said.

His face was barely visible through his face shield, still under the surface. His mouth was frozen in place, twisted in pain. Whoever said death was peaceful didn’t know what they were talking about.

“Take him,” Rev ordered the two junior Marines. “Back to the island.”

They took Wen from Morrison and started to carry him away.

“Get his M-103,” he told Morrison, who bent over to feel for the weapon.

Rev gave the hand and arm signal to bring it in, then to head back to the island. As the water got shallower, more of Wen’s body was revealed. His PAL was shredded from the chest on down to his pelvis from a kinetic weapon.

“Could that be from a twenty?” he asked Punch.

<Possibly. But the damage would need to be examined much closer.>

Rev didn’t want to think that Wen could have been killed by friendly fire, but that was always a possibility. And there had been friendly fire in a danger close situation. What Rev had seen, though, had been over fifty meters in front of them.

He decided he wasn’t going to bring up the possibility. If they ever got off the planet, including their dead, then the examiners would bring that up if appropriate. But as their chances of ever leaving seemed to be getting less each day, then there would be no benefit of bringing it up now.

At the moment, he was just glad that they’d been able to recover him. Initially, as soon as the battle was over, Captain Macek wanted to move the company out, assuming that not all of the Naxli had been killed. But Doc Hunt and Doc Kikerman, the rifle platoon corpsman, wanted to treat the WIA, and everyone wanted to recover their dead. So the captain had given them two hours. More than enough time for the rifle platoon’s dead. They’d fallen in the mud and shallow water, not like the waist-deep water where Wen had been killed.

They reached the island and carried Wen to where the KIA were being lined up. Rev signaled to Doc Hunt, who, with Doc Singh dead, was now the senior corpsman. She took a quick look at Wen, then shook her head.

“Resurrectable, damn it.”

Which meant Wen had a good chance of being resurrected—if he could be gotten to a Class A facility in the next twenty to twenty-five hours. But as that wasn’t going to happen, Wen was effectively gone.

That didn’t mean the corpsman was going to give up. She took the lance corporal’s zombie stick and injected Wen with the chemical soup that delayed the effects of death on the body.

Delay, not halt.

Rev looked over the line of bodies. The ambush had been a success, but it hadn’t come without a cost.

Twenty-two Naxli had been killed. Twelve by Rev’s ambush force. Ten had been killed by Captain Macek’s base of fire, Bundy’s supporting force, and the rifle platoon’s assault.

Rev had lost Wen. Two Marines from Second Platoon had been lost with Macek. Four had been KIA with Bundy, including Corporal Bienemy-Su from First Squad.

Twenty-four Marines from the rifle platoon and one of the Mezame sailors had been cut down as they charged forward to cut off the Naxli’s retreat. And for what? They’d accounted for maybe six of the Naxli dead.

Rev stared at Lieutenant James, who was lying with the other dead. They hadn’t lacked courage, that was for sure. What they did lack was the PAL-H, which incorporated some of the Centaur improvements that had been designed specifically to protect against Naxli energy weapons. Their PAL-3s had been the height of Union technology during the Centaur War, but the Naxli weapons had chewed them up.

“Fucking bean counters,” he muttered.

Normally, he’d be careful of making such a comment when he was sure he was being monitored. But that seemed so far away and among the least of his concerns. Besides, if he ever did get back, he’d tell it to their faces.

Rev knew that it wasn’t the Marine Corps logisticians’ fault that the rifle platoon Marines didn’t have the PAL-H. There were a lot of factors contributing to that. But they were a handy target for his ire.

Rev had absorbed a full, sustained blast from a Naxli beamer, and while his PAL-HX was damaged, Rev was alive and unhurt. Some of the dead Marines seemed to have minimal damage to their PAL-3s, yet they were laid out on the dirt right now.

You do the math.

Bundy came up to him. “Now that we’ve got Wen, Macek wants to move out. Your element is leading.”

Of course, we are.

But if he was willing to admit it, that was the logical choice. The dead rifle platoon Marines were proof enough of that.

“Where we going?”

“He wants to backtrack on the nox’s direction of movement.”

“He does know that they can change direction, right?”

Bundy was silent for a moment, then he sighed and said, “Give him a break, Rev. What the hell else do you expect him to do? Just have us sit ass-deep in the swamp and wait for our PALs to run out of power?”

Bundy was right, and Rev knew it. He just didn’t want to acknowledge that. He was like this after every battle where he lost someone. No matter how long he’d been in, no matter how many of his fellow Marines he’d seen killed, it just wasn’t something he could get used to.

And he wasn’t sure he wanted to reach that point.

* * *

The water between Rev and Strap erupted in a wake, and Rev reacted, bringing Pashu to bear. But the creature was swimming away, not charging them, and Rev’s stomach settled back into place.

He gave Strap a little half-salute, and with a rueful grin, the sergeant put his hand over his chest and mimed a beating heart.

They weren’t here to fight the native life, but when their senses were on full alert, they reacted before they could process what was out there. Just ten minutes ago, one of the rifle platoon Marines had fired on one of the creatures.

“Are we seeing more life around here? Or is that just my imagination?”

<There is a heavier density of native life here when compared to what we’ve previously observed.>

As if to emphasize that, something that looked like a basketball-sized puffball, trailing long tentacles, floated past. In another time and place, Rev would be fascinated by the creature—by the colony of creatures, that was. But at the moment, he had more important things on his mind.

“Power level?”

<Fourteen-point-six percent.>

Rev had told Punch to remove the power display from his vision. Having the level continually drop had taken his attention, and he needed to concentrate on their movement.

Instead, he asked his battle buddy for a reading every few minutes. He should just ignore it, he knew. When he ran out, he ran out.

The company continued to make their way through the water in the forest. Without their augmented navigational capabilities, the myriad of interlocking channels would have had the company scattered and lost. But with every Marine knowing where they were and where they were going, their movement was a series of jigs and jags, but always coming back together and staying on course.

The bad thing, though, was that every time Rev jigged right behind a tree or islet and Strap jigged left ahead of him, or Lance Corporal Faud behind him jigged left, they were not mutually supporting each other for a few moments. If the Naxli hit them with an ambush, they would be more vulnerable.

But sometimes, the risks had to be assumed. Any movement in this type of environment with this many Marines was going to be far from the nice, structured formations for a movement to contact as taught back at Camp Nguyen.

Rev moved behind the wide bole of a tree analog, momentarily losing sight of Strap, and as he came around, a low, almost visceral sound reached him through the trees. He stopped and looked toward the southwest.

“Thunder?”

<Artificial.>

“Us or them?”

<The sound is too distorted.>

Rev strained his hearing, hoping to pick up the sounds of a firefight, but there was nothing more. Whatever had caused the boom was too far away for them to pick up small arms fire.

“May the Mother protect you,” he muttered.

If that was the rest of the naval infantry, then there was nothing the Marines could do for them now. Slowly, they started moving again. They still had their mission, and time was ticking.

* * *

“That’s it, Punch. Activate emergency molt.”

The back of Rev’s PAL split open, letting a rush of hot, rancid-smelling air rush in. It was like getting hit in the face with a wet towel. A smelly, wet towel.

It took a degree of Cirque du Soleil contortion, but he slipped out the back and into the water.

“Hell. This stuff feels as slimy as it looks.”

All around, Marines had stopped and were looking at him. Rev gave them a thumbs-up.

It’ll be you soon.

Only not for a couple of days, yet.

The blast that had hit Rev the day before had knocked out Rev’s PAL—it had just taken the delay to get it done. Rev had been bleeding power, and he could almost see the numbers diminish on his power status display as the company tried to track down the Naxli.

Two of the PAL-Hs and three of the PAL-3s had been knocked out during the battle, but the Marines inside were able to carry on. Rev was the first to run out of power after that. It wasn’t a race he’d wanted to win.

Captain Macek halted the company, then made his way to him as Rev removed the thigh holster and assault pack from his PAL-HX. Both were convertible to be man-packed. The holster slapped around his thigh and the memory straps tightened until it was secure.

The assault pack wasn’t made with an IBHU in mind, so it wasn’t perfect, but it would do.

“Out of power?” the captain asked him.

“Zip, sir.”

“We were expecting that to happen.”

And now it’s here.

“Well, there’s no getting around it. Go ahead and fall back.”

“No, sir.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I’m not falling back, sir. I’ll keep my place.”

The captain looked at Rev as if he was crazy. “You’ve got no armor.”

“That’s going to be all of us pretty soon. And I’ve still got this,” Rev said, holding up his IBHU. “Separate power source.”

And thank the Mother the tin-asses gave it an upgrade. Especially shielding it.

“And what about your beamer?”

Rev tried to shrug nonchalantly. “Damaged but still powered.”

He didn’t say that Punch doubted it could still fire an effective beam.

Macek seemed to consider it as he scanned the leading Marines. “And if you get hit? You don’t have any protection at all.”

“Then I’d better not get my ass shot. Sir.” The captain didn’t seem convinced, so Rev added, “No one knows my IBHU Marines better. Not even Lieutenant Nilson, with all due respect. If you want us to bear the brunt of any action, then you need me right here.”

The captain let out a long breath, then said, “Screw it. Stay in your position. But try not to get yourself shot.”

“I’ll do my best, sir. You can be sure of that.”

17

By evening, two more Marines had joined Rev with dead PALs. Time was running out if they were to engage the Naxli.

The Naxli weren’t cooperating, though. Rev wondered how good their intel was. They had the upper hand with their numbers, but the humans had spanked them pretty well, all things considered, so they might not want to rush into a fight if they knew that the humans would be dismounted soon. Then it would make sense for them to avoid contact until that happened.

And that led to the possibility that they’d been tracking the Marines the entire time, just waiting to hit them at their weakest.

That didn’t explain how they’d allowed themselves to be caught in the ambush, but paranoia, even mild paranoia, didn’t always pay attention to fact nor logic.

Rev tried to keep the mélange of thoughts at bay, focusing on the mission at hand. But it was difficult. He needed the immediacy and intimacy of combat to snap him back.

At least he was smell-blind now. The horrendous stink that had almost floored him when he molted had faded. The smell was still there but almost in the background, and he could forget it for long periods of time.

Not so much the water. He was wading through it for most of the movement, with only a few blessed moments crossing dryer ground. Some of the vegetation slashed at him, penetrating his long johns, but he’d trade that for the dank water.

Twice, he’d stepped into deeper spots, the water rising to his chest. The mere thought of getting his head submerged gave him the willies. He could barely stand the splashes that hit his face no matter how carefully he moved.

None of that was as bad as the blast of anger that continually washed over his back. Tomiko had grabbed him during a break in the movement and let him know in no uncertain terms how stupid, arrogant, and egotistical he was for moving with the point team without his armor. She’d switched positions and was now following him, fifteen meters behind. Rev tried to make sure he never turned to catch her glare.

She knew that the mission came first, so she’d eventually come around. He hoped. She could be pretty stubborn, and he’d found out too many times before.

Eyes on the prize, Reverent. Eyes on the prize.

Which didn’t quite fit the situation. The prize? What was that in this case? He was getting a little scatterbrained, and that was a recipe for disaster in a combat situation.

He shook his head to clear it just as an explosion ahead of him sent Corporal Eichenson, one of Second Platoon’s IBHU Marines and taking point, cartwheeling ten meters up in the air before he crashed back into the water with a splash.

The Marines rushed for cover as they tried to pinpoint the enemy. Rev took refuge behind a small tree while he ran through his visual filters to try and spot the Naxli. But there was nothing, just the mist settling back on the surface.

The Naxli had never previously shown any inclination for booby traps, but that’s sure what it seemed like they’d done. It didn’t make sense out in the middle of the swamp, though. There had to be a reason for the location, and none of the normal reasons boded well for the Marines. The most logical one might be that they were in a defensive position ahead and that the booby trap was there to alert them.

Rev left the cover and ran for Eichenson while he signaled for the rest of the point team and the two flank teams to form a defensive line. If the Naxli were ahead, they might just decide to react and initiate an assault.

Eichenson was being helped up by Lance Corporal Reyes. The IBHU Marine was dazed but alive. One leg of his PAL looked to be breached, and his IBHU was a twisted mess.

“What’s your status, Eich,” Rev asked.

“What?” he asked in a dull voice

“Your status. What’s your combat status?”

That seemed to register. “Uh, let me check . . . shit. Beamer out. Twenty out. My PAL’s breached, and I’ve got water . . . by the Mother, that shit’s nasty,” he said, shaking his head and grimacing.

“Missiles?”

“Uh . . . they’re reading green. Power’s at twenty-five percent.”

“Can you walk?”

Eichenson looked down at his leg, then took a tentative step. “I think so.”

Rev turned around. The rest of the company had moved into a hasty defense, but Captain Macek had stopped in place and was standing there, watching him.

Rev signaled that Eichenson was alive but compromised and needed to be replaced.

Macek acknowledged and signaled for another team to take point.

“You’re lucky, Eich. If you were in a PAL-3 . . .”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Just one more reason everyone has to get an H.

Another team from Second moved forward and took Eichenson’s team’s place.

“Stay here, then fall in after Randigold’s team when we move again,” he told them. Then to the corporal, he added, “Look, you’ve still got your Morays. And as long as you can hurt the bastards, you’re in the fight.”

“I’ve got it. Don’t worry about me.”

Rev eyed the leg. There was a slight red tinge to the dark water. “And if moving that leg starts to slow you down, don’t hesitate to molt. You hear me?”

“Roger that.”

That sounded like a rote response to Rev.

“I’m serious. You’re going to do us no good if you’re lagging behind.”

“Don’t worry, Staff Sergeant. I understand.”

Rev gave him a measured look, but the next team, which included Lance Corporal Tinaree, another of the new IBHUs, passed Rev to join the other two teams oriented to the front.

Captain Macek gave the signal to move, and the company started out again. Rev was still wary that the Naxli might be close, and the booby trap had not been very subdued. He spotted Lieutenant Nilson, but she was already wading forward.

With the company moving, there wasn’t much Rev could do but take his place. He lacked all the scanners in his PAL, but his augments gave him some pretty decent senses, and he kept pushing those forward, ready to pick up the slightest sign of the enemy.

But there was nothing, and forty-five minutes and six hundred meters farther, it looked like his concerns had been misplaced. Which was all to the good. Darkness was settling in.

Both the PAL-H and 3 combat suites had excellent night vision capabilities. Rev couldn’t match those, but his augments had covered that as well. His eyes were crammed with synthetic rods which “bloomed” when activated by the photopigments.

In some ways, Rev preferred his own night vision rather than his PAL’s. Without the face shield between his eyes and his field of view, he seemed closer, if he could put it that way, to what he was viewing.

Smaller, insect-like colony creatures came out in force, buzzing around the Marines like mosquitos. Outside of his PAL, Rev was glad that the things didn’t seem to consider humans an appropriate snack.

The captain called the company to a fifteen-minute halt. Nilson and Bundy converged on him, and for a moment, Rev considered joining them, but he wasn’t acting in his capacity as the Third Platoon sergeant. He was an IBHU Marine, there to put rounds downrange.

He pulled his assault pack around to his chest, rummaged around in it, and grabbed his last Mezame ration. He couldn’t say he was used to them now, but he could at least get them down without gagging.

As with the others, he felt a slight buzz of energy as he swallowed. Punch couldn’t find anything to indicate there were drugs in the rations, but they did provide a jolt. That wasn’t enough of a positive to overcome the taste, and he was happy this was the last one.

“Never thought I’d be glad to get back to sludge.”

<You’ve only got twelve rations left.>

“Thanks for the reminder . . . not.”

Twelve rations. Twelve days of fighting. Twenty-four if rationed. He wasn’t sure what they were going to do after that. Just as the faux mosquitos couldn’t suck human blood, humans couldn’t subsist on any of the native life.

That was just one of the issues facing the Marines, but one that seemed to keep being shoved to the back burner.

Rev automatically started to put the empty tube back in his assault pack, but in a moment of rebelliousness, he held it out at arm’s length and dropped it. The tube hit the water, then sunk out of sight.

Leaving trash on a protected planet carried significant penalties, but if the CoH wanted to collect, they’d have to come and get him.

The officer powwow broke up, and Captain Macek gave the five-minute warning. Rev pushed his assault pack back around and snapped it into place. In front of him, the lead teams shifted back into position.

“How far do we have left for tonight?”

Punch inputted the map directly into Rev’s visual cortex, which made it seem like it was floating a meter in front of his eyes. Their location was noted, as was their night’s objective. Another eleven hundred meters. A little less than two hours given their rate of advance.

Rev blinked to grab the map, then shifted it over. Five klicks to the south was where they’d first landed. All of this time, wandering around in the fetid swamp of a planet, and they’d almost come around in a circle.

The company started moving again, and Rev cleared the map. He needed his full, unobstructed vision.

His first step landed on top of the ration tube under the water, and his weight drove it into the mud. He felt a tiny pang of guilt, but between the Naxli and humans, there was so much alien material on the planet that what was one tiny, biodegradable ration tube?

The little flying creatures might not seek human blood, but as he moved forward, clouds of them arose, and he couldn’t help but breathe in a few. He bent over and coughed, trying to smother the sound with his hand. It took a few tries, but he finally got them into his mouth and spat them out.

Just my luck, choking to death on alien no-see-ums. What a way to go.

He stood up and started to walk again when green lightning lit up the darkness, the beam passing so close that the ionized air burned his nostrils.

Rev dove for the water, heedless of getting his head under. He scrambled for cover as another blast reached out for the Marines. Return fire was immediate.

Rev got up and bolted to the right. “Come with me!”

One Marine in the point team was down, the back of their PAL-H reflecting each flash of the Naxli beamer, but seven Marines followed Rev as he plunged through the water, bouncing hard off one tree trunk but keeping his feet.

The sounds of the fight were almost muffled by the dead air, but it was intense. The Marines would be trying to bound forward to assault through the ambush. But with the heavy Naxli fire, both beamer and projectile, doing so would exact a heavy toll.

The Naxli had selected an almost perfect spot to launch their attack. The kill zone was mostly open, with only a few scattered trees for cover. The water was shallow, even non-existent in spots, but the mud was everywhere. Marines were being forced to assault through the mud that sucked at their feet.

Rev hadn’t gotten a great look at their position, but it looked to be on dry, heavily forested land. They had cover while the Marines were exposed.

They must have been thanking their lucky stars when the Marines appeared, only to stop right in the kill zone. But they had patience, not kicking off the ambush until more of the Marines were in the zone.

The realization flashed through his mind as he charged to the right. He’d beat up on himself later for not recommending to the captain to change his plan after the booby trap, but not now. He was singularly focused on one thing and one thing only. He had to break the ambush.

Rev covered about seventy meters when he risked turning again, this time to the left. With the seven Marines, he rushed toward the forest, fearing he hadn’t gone enough and that the looming trees concealed a crew-served weapon that would open up and cut them down.

But somehow, the eight Marines reached the embrace of the woods in one piece and hopefully unnoticed.

“On line,” he hissed, signaling with his arms at the same time.

The two teams split to either side of him, and Rev saw for the first time who he had. As expected, Hussein, who’d been leading the team on the right, was with him, and with his team, Hochenspatter. The point team was three Marines, without Tinaree. The IBHU Marine must have been the one who’d been hit.

Rev really wished he had three IBHUs. And from Third Platoon, any of the other IBHUs would have been better, but it was time for Hochenspatter to earn his stripes.

In battle as in card games, sometimes, you just had to play with the hand you were dealt.

Rev motioned them forward, and he controlled the pace. The fighting ahead was fierce, with bright white Moray explosions a counterpart to the Naxli green beams. Rev knew Marines were dying, but having gained the flank, he couldn’t squander it with a mad rush that would give up any degree of surprise.

But they couldn’t low crawl either. He had to pick a happy medium. Rev strode through the trees, Pashu raised and ready to fire.

“Do I have my beamer?”

<I’ve rerouted some of the circuits.>

“Do I have it?”

<I can’t tell. The circuits are green, but the pulse is at the limits of several of the crystals.>

Shit, Punch. Can’t you just tell me if it’s going to fire or not? It’s a simple yes or no question.

Rev didn’t hesitate, though. He switched to his beamer and gave it a thirty-degree spread.

Branches slapped at Rev, and brush tried to trip him up. He didn’t notice. Nothing was going to stop him.

Not even friendly fire. A Moray hit a tree just in front and to his left, sending splinters through the air.

Rev pulled out a flare from his holster, not even feeling for the small bumps on the top that would indicate what color each flare was.

But when to ignite it? Too soon, and it would give them away. Too late, and they’d eat a Moray or twenty round.

Another green beam cracked out, the barrel of the Naxli weapon retaining a ghost glow for a second. Rev thumbed the flare on and tossed it to his left, darted to the right, and fired Pashu . . . to a spark and nothing else.

He didn’t falter, switching to his twenty as he bolted closer to the enemy. The Naxli warrior sensed Rev and started to roll over to face him, but it was too late. Rev fired a burst of six rounds that riddled the warrior, jerking it like a marionette with a drunk puppeteer.

Twenty-millimeter rounds snapped around him when the flare ignited in a bright red. Rev hoped the rest of the Marines understood what it meant, but he couldn’t stop now. He vaulted the dead Naxli as around him, seven Marines screamed their war cries at the top of their voices.

Another missile impacted but high, showering them as they swept up the Naxli line. Hussein fired his M-103, the shock wave pounding Rev’s chest. Marines were shouting as they fired their weapons.

And suddenly, they were through the Naxli line. Rev stopped and yelled to get the Marines turned back around, expecting the Naxli to orient to them, but as they wheeled about, they were greeted by quiet. The only sound was the ringing in Rev’s ears.

“Sweep through again,” Rev ordered. “Check everything.”

It only took a few moments to see that the ambush was broken. The Naxli were dead. All four of them.

Four?

It didn’t seem possible that only four Naxli had held off a company-minus of Marines.

That was something to be looked at later. There were still things to do here.

“Anyone hit?” he asked.

“I am. I’ll be OK, though,” Lance Corporal Ozdemir said.

“Hus-man, check the area. Make sure there isn’t anyone trying to hide. Baris, signal the Marines that the area is secure.”

Hussein and his team spread out to search the area while the Second Platoon Marine stepped out into the open to contact the company.

“Ozdemir, let me look at you,” Rev said.

The Second Platoon Marine stepped closer. “I’ll be fine. My battle buddy’s already . . .” He paused and stepped closer to get a better look. “Hell, Staff Sergeant. You’re bleeding.”

“What?” Rev suddenly wasn’t feeling all there. Probably the rush of excitement coupled with making it through alive.

“You’re bleeding. Your arm.”

Rev immediately checked Pashu, but she seemed fine.

<He means your right arm.>

He turned his head to look. His right arm, from near the shoulder on down, was covered in blood, and something was sticking out of it. A small trickle flowed off his fingers and onto the ground.

“Shit. I guess I am,” he said, almost nonchalantly, before he sat down and everything went dark.

* * *

“You with us, Staff Sergeant?”

The voice pulled Rev back, and he opened his eyes to Doc Hunt standing over him. Over her shoulder, Tomiko was hovering like a mother hen over her chicks.

“Yeah, I’m here. What happened?”

“What happened is that you fainted.”

“Me? No way,” Rev said, embarrassment pushing through his confusion.

“Nothing to be concerned about. Typical. You had heavy blood loss, and your nanos’ infusion of hypovolemics can have that effect. We took out the chunk in your arm and sprayed sealant on your cuts. The arm, though. I cleaned it out the best I could, then put an epipatch on the site and wrapped it. I don’t know how well the patch is going to stick and how well the antibacterials and fungals I stuffed in there are going to work with the crap on this planet. You’ve got to do your best to keep it out of the water.”

Rev was sitting on the dry ground, but he pointedly looked at the water that surrounded the island.

“Yeah, I know. But do your best. And if you’re feeling better, I’ve got others to tend,” Doc said.

She raised one of Rev’s eyelids, peered inside this eye, then grunted and left.

“Always the damn hero,” Tomiko said, shaking her head. “And without a fucking PAL. Is your ego that big, or are you just stupid?”

“I had to break the ambush.”

“And no one else could do it?”

Rev didn’t have a rejoinder, so he asked, “How long was I out?”

“About forty minutes.”

“I fainted for forty minutes? No!” Rev objected.

“You had help. Doc Hunt gave you something to keep you out. Said it would stabilize you while she worked on the more serious cases.”

Rev winced, and not from physical pain. “How bad was it?”

“Bad. Seventeen KIA, all told. More wounded. Macek.”

“Wounded?”

“Dead.”

Rev closed his eyes. He and the captain went back to their time in the Home Guard. The boot had been such a . . . such a . . . such a butterbar. Not knowing how to handle his troops, especially his MDS platoon sergeant. He’d matured into a fine officer. Rev didn’t always agree with his decisions, but he respected the captain, and the bond of shared experiences had been strong.

“He was leading the assault,” Tomiko said. “No hesitation. Doc shot him with his zombie stick, but, you know . . .”

Yeah, I know. Unless the good guys miraculously come to get us in the next twenty hours, it won’t do any good.

<I’m sorry for your loss.>

That surprised Rev. Punch had never commented on a KIA before with regard to Rev’s feelings.

“Thank you.”

“Who else?”

“They’re over there,” Tomiko said where the dead had been lined up, much as they’d been after the last battle.

Rev struggled to his feet, and Tomiko darted forward to help him. He made his way to the dead. He went right to Captain Macek and looked through his cracked face shield at the pale face.

“Respect for the fallen, sir,” he said quietly.

One by one, he walked down the line, Tomiko at his side. Corporal Illia, from the company headquarters, and who’d become Macek’s go-fer during the operation. Rev wondered if they’d fallen together. Three more rifle platoon Marines. He didn’t even know their names. Tinaree and Sergeant Rind Crespi, two of Second Platoon’s IBHUs. More Second Platoon Marines. Tomiko slowed down over PFC Lee. Rev knew she’d taken a liking to the young man, a child of the streets, much as she had been.

Ronnie McLeod, a fellow staff sergeant. Ronnie had been wounded on Armadillo and had only rejoined the platoon right before the mission. A teetotaler, he swore that alcohol had never crossed his lips, and it wouldn’t until the Naxli were defeated.

“Won’t happen now, Ronnie, but I’ll lift a toast to you if I’m still around then.”

“You and me both, Rev,” Tomiko said.

By the luck of the draw, Third Platoon had fared better, but there’d been losses. Adams. Craig. Charoen. Mettlehof.

Each of them was a dagger in Rev’s heart. Each of them had a story to tell, one cut too short. And all dead now because of four Naxli.

But it wasn’t those four. As much as he hated to admit it, they had just been doing their job, performing their mission. As one warrior to another, he understood that. The real culprits were the ones who ran the Naxli, who made the decision that they wanted to invade and take over human space.

Suddenly, Rev was weary of all of it. The Centaurs. The MDS. And now the Naxli. The universe was huge. Hell, just the galaxy was huge. There had to be enough real estate out there to make room for everyone.

Over to the right, the two corpsmen were working on some Marines. Rev left the dead and walked over.

“You look like shit, Staff Sergeant,” Randigold said.

“You don’t look so good, either. You going to survive?”

“Doc says it’s just a concussion. My medinanos are working on cleaning up my brain. He said it should take a couple of hours, and I’ll be good as new.”

“That’s assuming your brain wasn’t screwed up in the first place, Eth.”

“Ooh, burn, Staff Sergeant. That hurts.”

“But true.”

“Maybe, but you’re the one who looks like you tried to kiss a porcupine even after it said no.”

That sounded like a dumb retort, and Rev automatically raised his hand to touch his face. He tried to, at least. Pain shot through the numbness in his arm, and he let out a little grunt.

“What was the doc saying about taking a chunk out of my arm?” he asked Tomiko.

She reached into her holster and pulled out a chunk of bloody wood about eighteen centimeters long. “Oh, hell. It’s already getting smaller. I was going to give it to you as a souvenir.”

“The little colony critters are jumping ship,” Rev said as he took it from her.

It was still a pretty big piece of pseudo-wood, and if it was stuck inside his arm, then it had to have done a lot of damage. He was now grateful both that his nanos were numbing the area and that Doc Hunt had knocked him out when she worked on the arm.

“Hell, I think I came close to being the first Marine with two IBHUs,” he said as he hefted the wood, tossing it up and down a few times.

“You gonna try and keep it?”

Rev shifted it to Pashu, then heaved it out between the trees to where it landed in the water with a splash.

“No.”

He turned back to Tomiko and asked, “And Eth’s porcupine crack?”

Tomiko mirrored over her face shield and faced him. Rev looked into his reflection. His skin was shiny, covered by the sprayed-on sealant. Beneath that, his face was a mass of cuts and gashes. Despite the pain in his arm, he reached up to touch the damage. There was a little discomfort as he put pressure on the cuts, but no real pain.

“Don’t screw with it. Doc says most of the cuts will heal well without too much scarring, but if you mess around, you’ll scar up pretty bad.”

“But you’ll still love me even if I look like a monster.”

“True. I’ll just put a bag over your head when we—”

“I’m still here,” Randigold said.

Tomiko looked down at the sitting Marine. “When we go out in public, was what I was going to say.”

“Yeah, right.”

Tomiko shook her head with a faux disproving glare before they moved on to check the rest of the wounded. Two Marines were seriously hurt and not combat effective, but the others were either ready now or would be within a few hours. Three, including Pierson, had minor injuries, but their PALs were deadlined.

They’d taken a punch to the mouth, but the Marines were still in the ring. And they would be until their power packs gave out. The question now was what were they going to do until then.

18

“Another one?” Bundy said, frustration evident in his voice.

“That’s thirty-two now,” Nilson said.

“We should have had another few days.”

“We’re lucky that everyone’s still alive.”

Not everyone.

But the short time frame before the powerpacks were failing was surprising. For some of the PALs, there wasn’t even a warning of a rapid depletion. One moment, the display read forty percent, and the next, the combat suit was dead.

Without jacking in, Punch didn’t have access to the others’ data, but after what happened to Rev, he was confident that the issue was due to damage caused in the ambush. All of the Marines who’d been hit by the Naxli beam weapons had their PALs degraded, and that was manifesting itself through the power drain. One after the other, their PALs were shutting down.

Ironically, it was the surviving rifle platoon Marines in their PAL-3s and the three naval infantry sailors who were not affected. They’d been on the far-left flank and had not been targeted.

Bundy rubbed his temples with fingers as he tried to think. He’d had to molt an hour ago when his PAL had run out of juice.

“Well, we can see where this is going,” he finally said. “I’m not sure how well we can prosecute a battle without our combat suits.”

“Do we have any idea how many noxes are left?” Kelly O’Donnell asked.

“Not a clue. But every hour, we’re losing more PALs, so however many there are left, the battle pendulum is swinging more in their favor.”

“We still have our weapons,” Rev reminded him.

“None of the Hellborers.”

“But eight of us,” Nilson jumped in, brandishing her IBHU. “Five One-oh-threes, and all our M-51s. That’s not nothing.”

The two Hellborer man-packed beamers suffered the same power pack failure as the PALs, but the IBHUs’ beamers, with their better-shielded power packs, courtesy of the Centaurs, were all operational with the exception of Pashu. None of the M-103s nor any of the M-51s seemed to have been affected.

The lieutenant was right. They were still a pretty potent force, even without the capabilities and protection of the PALs.

Besides, what option did they have? They could sit and conserve energy, hoping to live a few more days, or they could go out with a bang and take more of the Naxli with them.

Reverent tended to be optimistic, but it was difficult not to see the writing on the wall. They had forty-three Marines, two corpsmen, and three Mezame sailors on the planet with PALs that were failing by the minute and enough food for two weeks if they stretched it out.

Facing them could be possibly five hundred Naxli, based on the original number and those the Marines thought had been killed so far. True, there wasn’t any indication that all of the original six hundred were in their AO, but they certainly could have been.

“Well, I’m tired of wandering around like this,” Bundy said. “I want to head back to our original landing site. We knew the noxes were there, and if, by some miracle, our loving government decides to mount out a rescue, that’s where they’ll go.”

“Providing they even know where we landed, Skipper,” Gunny Morgan said. “Remember, we sorta had an emergency landing.”

“Well, it’s the best I have. How’re the wounded?” he asked Doc Hunt.

“For most of them, they’re as good as they’re going to be without treatment that I can’t give them. The concussions, though, I’d like to give them another two hours at a minimum to give their medinanos time to do their thing.”

“Two hours it is, then. We’re moving out back toward our original landing. Lieutenant, Gunny, hang back as we work this out. The rest of you, get to your Marines.”

“Ooh-rah!”

Rev really didn’t care where they were going. He just hoped that wherever that was, they’d find Naxli.

* * *

One hour and sixteen minutes after Bundy decided they were going to leave, the treetops lit up with explosions. Marines rushed for cover. Rev, Lehman, Winnie, and Hussein, who’d been discussing the order of movement, hit the dirt as shrapnel whistled through the vegetation. Just to his right, seven or eight meters away, Doc Hunt, whose PAL was still powered, dove on top of Ule Noris, one of the two badly wounded Marines.

Someone screamed out in pain as the bombardment continued. A few of the rounds penetrated the canopy to explode on the ground, and one exploded in the water, but most seemed to be detonating above them.

Rev turned his head. Winnie was a meter away, facing him.

“Fuck me,” she mouthed.

And as suddenly as it started, it was over. Rev lifted his face from the dirt, wary that more was coming. Bits of vegetation floated down to the ground, and someone’s moans filled the area.

“How many rounds was that?”

<Sixteen.>

“That’s it?”

It sure seemed like more to him.

Marines were getting back up, and Doc Hunt darted away in the direction of the moans.

Rev and the others stood, and Rev told them, “Check on your squads. I want a headcount.”

“Corpsman up!” someone shouted in a shrill, panicky voice.

Rev headed in that direction. Doc Kikerman shouldered past him at a sprint.

By the time Rev arrived, the rifle platoon corpsman was working on Sergeant Timsel, one of Tomiko’s team leaders, while PFC Eagent stood to the side, wringing his hands. Neither Timsel nor Eagent were in PALs, and the sergeant’s body was riddled with shrapnel wounds.

“Is he gonna make it?” the PFC kept asking over and over. The corpsman was a whirl of motion, and she ignored the PFC.

“Let her work,” Rev said, stepping up to the PFC. He put an arm around the young Marine. Eagent trembled under his touch.

Timsel coughed up a fountain of bright red blood.

“Shit,” Kikerman said as she reached into her medikit and extracted another injection stick. With sure hands, she adjusted the collar, dialing it to the correct dose, then jammed it straight into the base of the sergeant’s throat.

“What are you doing?” Eagent shouted as he tried to lunge forward, but Rev twisted and thrust Pashu in front of him.

“She’s trying to save him. That’s what she’s doing.”

He looked around. Another of Tomiko’s Marines was coming up. “Take Eagent, and get him away from her.”

“I’m not going!”

Rev gave the PFC a shove at the other Marine. “Now! And get word to Staff Sergeant Reiser.”

As soon as he turned back to Timsel, the sergeant went into convulsions, more blood spraying out of his mouth. He gagged, and his groan was cut off. His eyes flared with panic, and they locked onto Rev.

“Shit, shit, shit,” the corpsman said. She dialed another dose and injected it.

But it was too late. With one more convulsion, Sergeant Timsel collapsed, his eyes fading to dull and his body going limp.

Doc Kikerman sat back on her heels and looked at the sergeant for a moment. Quietly, barely within even Rev’s augmented hearing, she said, “I’m so sorry. I tried.”

Rev slid around the body and knelt next to the corpsman. “You did what you could. But there are probably others that need you. Get to them.

She nodded and stood up while wiping her bloody hands on her thighs. “Who else needs a corpsman?” she shouted.

“Over here!”

She took off at a run.

Rev shifted his gaze back to the sergeant. He was another casualty of the ambush—it just took hours for him to pass. If he’d had his PAL-H, he’d be untouched now. Hell, from the looks of it, if he’d had the applied body armor of a recon Marine or a SEAL, he’d probably be alive now.

“Leadership, on me!” Bundy’s shout carried through the trees.

“Respect to the fallen, Timsel,” he said before he ran off.

Bundy was standing next to the trunk of a large tree. There was a trickle of blood coming down his shoulder and onto his chest, but it didn’t seem to be bothering him. He nodded at Rev, but he waited until they were all there.

“They know where we are; that’s obvious. We need to get out of here. Five minutes, and we’re gone. Get those still in PALs to carry the wounded.”

He looked each of them in the eyes in turn. “Sixteen rounds. Why not more? Why not pound us?”

“That might be all they had,” Rev said.

“That’s what I think. And since they know where we are, why not hit us with an overwhelming force?” He turned to Rev.

“Because they don’t have an overwhelming force. At least not in the area.”

“Bingo. I couldn’t get a POO, but my battle buddy thinks the rounds came from that direction,” he said, pointing over his right shoulder.

“Where we landed,” Nilson said.

“The first battle, the one we heard that night, was back in that direction, too. The direction of march for the patrol we hit could have originated from that area.”

He paused to let that sink in. “I think our naval infantry friends hit them pretty hard. And I think they stayed pretty much put after that.”

It made sense to Rev. It fit, now that Bundy pointed it out.

“So, that’s where we’re heading. We’re going to settle this shit once and for all.”

19

Dawn broke as the company slowly made their way through the swamp, but it was a dark, gray dawn. Cloud cover had moved in during the night, but the temperature still rose. There wasn’t a dry square centimeter on Rev’s body, and it wasn’t just the dank water.

The bandage holding the epipatch in place around his arm had long ago slipped off somewhere—Rev hadn’t noticed when it was lost. For now, the epipatch was still on, but he didn’t know for how long.

His medinanos seemed to be working overtime. The pain had dulled to an ache, and movement was coming back. But as long as Pashu was working, he didn’t care much. He had 1,534 20 mm rounds and five Morays left. Plenty to lower a world of hurt on whatever Naxli dared to test him.

All around him, Marines silently advanced. But there was a sense of purpose that wasn’t quite there before. Everyone knew that this was it. Whatever was going to happen, it was happening soon. There’d be no second chances, no mulligans.

Each of them knew their future looked bleak, even if they came out of the fight victorious, but there was a pervading sense of relief that things were hopefully coming to a head. To a person, they were tired of hiding out in the swamps, hoping that the Naxli would wander by.

The water depth varied more here than they’d been used to. Their initial route had taken them out 1,300 meters to the south, and the going had been fairly uniform. But here, there were more islets and channels. Some of them were quite deep.

As Rev was finding out now. What had been mid-thigh depth just twenty meters back was now up to his clavicle. Rev could swim if he had to. But with Pashu and the harnesses and joint reinforcements he had, swimming wasn’t something he wanted to do. Before he went any deeper, though, it started getting shallower again.

Thank the Mother.

He turned around to Lance Corporal Bin hashim, who was a good five inches shorter than Rev. Bin hashim was already up to his chest, and he didn’t look too happy. Rev held up his hand, palm down, at his shoulder level to let the lance corporal know how deep it was.

Bin hashim raised a hand in acknowledgment, then disappeared with a splash.

“Watch your step, Hash-man,” Rev muttered as he waited for the lance corporal to stand back up. There was another splash, then the writhing back of a huge snake-like creature appeared.

Rev was already charging back. He fired Pashu’s twenty, sending little geysers of water up into the air. There was more thrashing, then nothing, except for a small wake leading away to the right.

Rev reached the spot where Bin hashim had disappeared. “It can’t eat you!” he said. “Fight it.”

He swept his arms, Pashu and organic, through the water, hoping to hit the Marine.

Nothing.

He took a deep breath, tightly closed his eyes, and ducked under the water, widening his sweeps.

Still nothing.

Several Marines splashed up to him, and Rev quickly organized a rough quadrant search.

“How long can an augmented Marine hold his breath?”

<Depends on the augments, but up to ten minutes. But I don’t have Lance Corporal Bin hashim’s augment records.>

“Give me a ten-minute countdown from when that thing took him.”

Eight minutes, seventeen seconds virtually appeared in his sight.

It didn’t take that long. With just over four minutes left, PFC Julian, who had gotten on top of a tiny islet, shouted, “There he is!”

Rev and the other half-dozen Marines conducting the search bull rushed to the spot. Bin hashim could be seen just below the surface of the water.

“We can revive him,” Rev told the others. “Let’s get him out.”

Strap reached over and pulled on the lance corporal. Only half came up. Everything below the naval was gone.

Not actually gone. As Strap pulled the body, the disturbance caught the legs and pelvis, bringing them to the surface before they sank out of sight again.

Rev gave Doc Hunt a hopeful look, but she just shook her head. In another time and place, the lance corporal could be resurrected. But not here and not now.

“Staff Sergeant Pelletier, get everyone out of the deeper water,” Bundy called out.

“Put his body up there,” Rev told Strap. “Faud, find his legs and put them there, too.”

To the rest, he motioned for them to leave the area. Rev waited while the two Marines recovered the body, Pashu at the ready should the creature make a comeback.

He recorded the coordinates of the islet. It was probably a wasted effort, just as it was with the other locations of Marine dead, but no matter what happened to Rev’s body, Punch’s crystals would survive. If they were ever recovered, the coordinates could be retrieved.

But this was a protected planet, so the chances that anyone would come here on a recovery mission in the future were pretty low.

Bundy motioned for the company to move out. Rev took one more moment to look back. This was just one more reminder that not only did they have to fight the Naxli, but the planet itself. And after all the fighting and all the KIAs, this one seemed the most pointless death.

“What a waste,” he said with a heavy heart as he turned to march on. “The stupid thing didn’t even know Marines taste like shit.”

* * *

“Why did they leave them here?” Hussein asked.

“No more ammo,” Rev said, a reasonable guess.

The three tubes didn’t look like any human artillery pieces Rev had ever seen, but it would be hard to mistake them for anything else. And from their orientation, Rev would bet they were the ones that had fired at them the day before.

“Doesn’t make sense. The fucking noxes control the planet, right? Why not resupply them?”

Unless they couldn’t.

And if that was the case, then why?

Rev reached out and touched one of the tubes. It looked metallic, but the touch was weird, like some sort of sandpaper, and it grated on his nerves.

The small islet was covered with trash, and more floated in the water surrounding them. Whatever else he could say about the Naxli, they were slobs. Marines were taught to police up the signs of their presence. It was amazing how much intel could be developed by going through garbage left behind.

“The Green Bees are going to have their asses,” Rev said.

Hussein and Julian laughed.

<Is that a joke?>

“Yes, Punch. It’s a joke.”

<Because the Bureau of Ecological Enforcement has no ability to take action against the Naxli, right?>

“Right, Punch. I don’t think the Naxli would pay any fine levied against them for breaking protocols on the planet.”

<Good.>

“What, did you think I was losing touch with reality?”

There was no answer.

Rev shook his head. If he really thought they would be getting off this planet, he’d be more worried about his battle buddy. Punch had studied jokes more than probably any human alive, and he hadn’t asked about the basics of humor for years.

Julian reached down and picked up what looked to be a wrapper of some kind. She turned it around in her hand, then took a sniff before giving a little shrug and dropping it.

“Hey, you took it; now it’s yours,” Hussein told her.

Julian looked at him with a puzzled look.

“You know the rules. You leave nothing.”

Rev just rolled his eyes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Sergeant,” Julian said, looking at Rev then back at Hussein.

“The Green Bees will fine your ass. Look it up.”

Which was technically true.

“But we’re . . .” She looked at Rev again, beseeching him.

Hussein broke his firm NCO glare. “Shit, Julian. If the Green Bees were here, I’d pay the fine. You’re just too gullible.

<And was Sergeant Hussein joking with Private First Class Julian?>

“No. Not really a joke. He was screwing with her. Teasing her.”

<And causing her stress like that is funny?>

“Yes. Well, no. But yes.”

Hell, now I’m the one who doesn’t make sense.

Bundy was standing by one of the other tubes, and he signaled the company to move out again.

“That’s it. We’re moving,” Rev told the other two.

“This would look good on my mantle,” Hussein said wistfully, giving the tube one last glance.

“You live in the barracks, Hus-man. No mantle.”

“Still . . .”

The ten Marines who’d been examining the site slipped back into the formation. They were about a klick from the edge of the open water where Rev had challenged the Naxli commander, and Bundy had slowed down their movement, shifting into a wedge formation to maximize firepower forward while still maintaining some flank security.

There was no concrete evidence that the Naxli had remained there, but the discovery of the abandoned artillery site gave the theory a bit more credence.

Rev positioned himself behind the three Mez sailors. Their much lighter Dō-marus combat suits drew far less power, and they hadn’t been hit during the Naxli ambush, so they still had plenty of reserves. And with Wondai taking Wen’s M-103, the three sailors had a bit of a punch, so they’d been moved to the far-right side of the formation. With Rev and Randigold, they had the means to lower some hurt on the enemy. Maybe not overpowering, but it was something.

As Rev moved into position, Petty Officer Wondai turned, smiled, and raised his M-103 in a half salute. Rev frowned and signaled for him to turn back and proceed. The naval infantry didn’t use the same hand and arm signals as the Marines, but the three sailors had been with the Marines long enough now to understand them.

From a tactical perspective, Rev was glad they had the three sailors with their combat suits. The Dō-marus couldn’t hold a candle to the PALs, but none of the PAL-H and HXs were functioning, and only two of the PAL-3s were. But Rev still didn’t wholly trust the three sailors. He’d gone over and over their story, and he just didn’t see how they couldn’t have made it back to their platoon before their fellow sailors were overrun.

He was glad Bundy had put him on the right flank, right behind the sailors, where he could keep an eye on them. His friend had never actually expressed any degree of distrust of the sailors, but he knew Bundy well enough to suspect the captain felt the same way.

There was a sense of determination in the air as the company approached the open area. All senses were on full alert, ready for anything.

Except for finding nothing. No sign of the enemy at all.

It was a shot in the dark, Reverent. You just got your hopes up too much.

Bundy stopped them fifty meters from the tree line and called up the leadership. Rev waded over and joined him, Nilson, and Morgan.

“I’m going forward,” he said. “I want eyes on the area. Keep everyone in place for the moment until I decide what’s going on.”

“I’m going with you,” Rev said.

Bundy raised an eyebrow, and Rev held up Pashu and added, “Security.”

He tilted his head toward the tree line and said, “Let’s go, then.”

While the platoon took whatever cover they could, Rev and Bundy went low into the water, just their heads above the surface. The disgust of being in the rancid soup had long faded, and Rev barely noticed it as they crawled forward, using trees and islets to conceal their approach.

Twice, various critters swirled in the water near them, but they were left alone. It took ten minutes, but finally, Rev and Bundy were at the edge of the tree line, looking out over the open water. The island in the middle, where they’d first taken refuge, was directly across from them.

“Nothing,” Bundy said.

“Doesn’t mean they’re not in the area.”

Bundy pulled out his Optisight and started to slowly glass the area. The open water was pretty much a lake, roughly circular, with the far side well over two klicks away. Rev asked Punch to pull up the map—the far tree line was 2,662 meters from this spot.

“Give me the total shoreline at the tree line. Exclude the island.”

<Seven thousand, seven hundred and thirteen meters.> Punch said as the number superimposed in his view.

That’s a lot of shoreline.

Rev waited until Bundy was done.

“I didn’t see any sign.”

“Like I said, that doesn’t mean they’re not here. You can’t see those arty tubes from here, either.”

“Good point.”

“Look. There’re almost eight thousand meters of shoreline just in this lake. There could be a division hiding on the other side.”

“I sure the hell hope not,” Bundy said with a forced laugh.

“My point is that I think the assumption that they are around was sound.”

“Yeah, you know what assume means,” Bundy said with a grunt.

“It makes an ass out of you and me, I know. But the tubes were here. We know that.”

Bundy was sounding defeated, something Rev hadn’t ever seen before. It had to be the weight of command dragging him down.

“What would you do?” the captain asked.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re in command.”

“OK, then. What would you recommend?”

Rev took a moment. “We’re running out of time. We’re still green with our weapons, but we’ll be down to the three Mez sailors as far as combat suits sometime today. A bigger problem is food. Even on stretch rations, that’s maybe ten days. And that’s if we just hunker down and wait.”

“You’re suggesting we just hide out and conserve energy?”

“No. What’s that give us? Another day or two? I say we circle this damn lake and see if we can’t flush us some noxes. Those tubes weren’t just sitting out here on their lonesome.”

Bundy nodded but then asked, “And if it’s that division of the bastards you mentioned?”

“We hit them with what we’ve got, blow our ammo, then if we have to, scatter and E & E.”

The captain lifted his Optisight again, and it looked like he was glassing the island for a moment.

“You’re not so dumb for a conscript, Rev. I don’t care what the commandant says.”

“Hell, Bundy. I’d say the same about you, but you were dumb enough to volunteer for this life. I say that with all due respect, of course. Sir.”

Bundy laughed and said, “Yeah, with all due respect.” He clapped Rev on the shoulder and said, “Let’s get back and let them know what we’re going to do.”

20

Petty Officer Wondai lifted up his hand for a moment, palm facing forward.

“Not again,” Rev muttered.

He looked across the channel at Tomiko and raised his eyebrows. She mouthed, “Too cautious.”

Wondai, with the M-103 and a working Dō-marus, was on point, and the guy was stopping seemingly every twenty or thirty meters. The other two sailors were on either flank of him.

Rev didn’t like having the Mezame sailors leading the company, but as Bundy pointed out, the lead element was there to flush the Naxli, and that could easily result in them being taken under fire. The three sailors had the best chance to survive that.

But if they screw up, we’ll all pay.

The company battle formation was something unique. Rev and Bundy had discussed it back on Safe Harbor during informal brainstorming sessions, along with a hundred hypotheticals, but Rev never thought they’d actually employ any of them. He still wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but he trusted his friend.

The three Mezame sailors and a composite squad from Second Platoon formed the tip of the spear, the “fixing element.” Their mission was to flush the enemy into revealing itself, then fix the enemy in place while Bundy maneuvered around to hit the Naxli from the flanks and roll up their lines.

In theory, it would allow the Marines to achieve local fire superiority, massing fires on a small portion of the Naxli force at a time, overwhelming each section in turn.

In reality, that meant that the fixing element could be facing the same thing, but from the other side. If the Naxli assaulted through, then there wasn’t much the twelve Marines and three sailors could do.

Rev just hoped that if they did run into the Naxli that the assault element would be quick to react.

The element originally had two of the remaining Second Platoon IBHUs, and so Rev volunteered to join them. Bundy hadn’t seemed inclined to agree, but with Gunny Morgan still limping from the shrapnel he’d taken in the leg during the bombardment, he’d acquiesced.

There was a lot that could go wrong with the plan, and as Rev advanced, half of his mind was going through possible scenarios and what he should do in each case. But the Marines had already been dealt a bad hand, and sometimes, you just had to play the cards as they are.

Worse comes to worst, and they’d just be advancing their end game by a few days and hopefully making that end game pretty damn expensive for the Naxli.

Wondai finally lowered his arm, and they started forward again. They were moving just inside the tree line. To his right, the lake stretched out, and from this angle, it could be any lake back on Safe Harbor. But the dark, foreboding water and the odd excuses for trees he was walking among were anything but an Earth terraformed planet.

Just let the Naxli have it.

The Green Bees would gasp if he ever said that aloud, but Rev really didn’t have any more fucks to give about that.

“We’re getting close to where we first crossed out of the lake, right?”

Punch threw up the map. They were less than two hundred meters away. Two weeks of wandering around, and they’d come full circle.

Maybe we should have just stayed and met them force on force. It would be over now, one way or the other.

Rev skirted one of the massive trunks when a volley of kinetic fire opened up from their left flank. He wheeled just in time to see Eichenson fall back into the water.

The Naxli didn’t use tracers, but ahead of them, vegetation was being pulverized as the rounds chewed it up. With Tomiko on his left, he didn’t have a clear shot, so Rev bolted back and then poured 20 mm fire into the vegetation.

The incoming ceased, but Rev didn’t know if he’d shot the Naxli or if the warrior was displacing. But more fire started coming in. No green beams, but plenty of rounds were reaching out to them.

“On me!” Rev shouted as the Marines reoriented to their flank. Eichenson was out of the picture, but there was still Bright Vision and Kelly, the other two IBHUs. Bright Vision and Rev started talking their 20’s, one firing a burst, then the other. The rest of the Marines were firing their 51s, and Kelly fired two Morays.

One, two, three Marines fell under the onslaught, and the incoming increased. Without their PALs, they had no protection.

“Get your asses down!” he shouted. “Use the water!”

All they had to do was pin down the enemy. It wasn’t their job to assault through.

PFC Nordet took a knee beside him, just her shoulders and head above water as she fired bursts of hypervelocity darts. She glanced at Rev and shouted “ooh-rah” an instant before the incoming round took the bottom of her face off. She fell over backward into the water.

They were getting eaten alive, and Rev didn’t think they’d last long enough for Bundy and the assault element to arrive.

“Banzai!” came the Mezame shout.

From the right, Wondai and his two sailors were charging back, heedless of the heavy incoming. Rev could see sparks as rounds winged off of them, but they never hesitated. Wondai was firing the M-103 so quickly it sounded like an automatic weapon.

One of the sailors, Garth, fell face-first into a tree trunk and bounced off to lie motionless in the water. Wondai was screaming incoherently, firing to beat the band. And he was attracting attention. More rounds converged on the sailor, staggering him.

“Give him cover!” Rev shouted. He started pouring more rounds into the vegetation, hoping for the best.

Bright Vision switched to her beamer and fired. She must have spotted one of the Naxli, which meant either their covering vegetation was getting chewed up, or they were advancing. Rev increased his rate of fire. His round counter was in free fall, but what did he care? He didn’t want to buy it with rounds still in the magazine.

Wondai threw Wen’s M-103 to the side and drew the massive sidearm favored by many of the Mezame petty officers. He fired once before he dropped to a knee.

“Kuso kurae!” he shouted as he struggled to raise his handgun again. The next round dropped him. The other sailor, whose name Rev never knew, took a step to help his leader when he, too, was cut down.

The three sailors had taken the pressure off of the Marines with their banzai charge, but the small reprieve was over. Corporal Bright Vision switched back to her twenty and fired a long burst.

And in the distance, there was an answering burst, then another. And another. The assault element was in contact.

But the incoming didn’t stop.

“I’m out!” Tomiko shouted, throwing down her M-51 and drawing her M-30.

“Fall back,” Rev shouted at her.

“Ain’t happening,” she said as she peered through the vegetation for a target.

There was a tiny bit of movement, just a glimpse, and Rev fired a long burst, chasing it through the bushes.

<One hundred, ninety-two rounds left.>

“I know, I know,” he said.

The sounds of the bigger fight barely registered with him. Whatever was happening over there, their fight was right here.

An explosion sent up a geyser of dark, muddy water. Rev switched to his Morays and fired through the mist drifting back down. He didn’t have a target, but hopefully, the missile would make the enemy keep their heads down.

“We’re pulling back,” he shouted at the surviving Marines. “Miko, Kraft, Buko, Bright Vision, go!”

Tomiko glared at him, but she got up and ran while Rev poured another long burst into the enemy.

“Go!” Tomiko shouted. Rev jumped up and almost ran into Bright Vision’s covering fire, darting to his left just in time.

Two more bounds and they were alongside the lake. And the Naxli were following. Rev could see them as they darted for each bit of cover, advancing just as trained Marines would do.

Rev dropped three of them before his twenty clicked on empty. He switched to his Moray and fired another missile, which impacted a tree, spectacularly sending splinters everywhere but doing no damage. He turned to retreat again when Bright Vision was hit with something big. Her IBHU flew off to her right, and what was left of her body fell to the left.

Rev ran past her and vaulted a fallen tree trunk that extended out into the lake. As soon as his foot hit the ground, Tomiko reached out and pulled him to the ground.

“They’ve flanked us,” she told him. The top of the log was stitched with fire, sending shards flying.

Tomiko, Kelly, PFC Stewart, and Lance Corporal Klein were hugging the massive bole, all looking at him as if waiting for him to pull a rabbit out of his hat.

“Well, this officially sucks.”

From at least two sides, Naxli were closing in on them. Behind them was a little inlet of deep water, ten meters across. Trying to cross that would make them sitting ducks.

He raised Pashu over the top and fired a Moray in the direction of the flanking force. Two rounds pinged off his IBHU, and he hastily pulled her back.

The main fight seemed to be moving farther away from them, and Rev didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad one. Bad for the five of them, though. No cavalry was going to ride up to their rescue. And from the sounds coming from over the tree trunk, things were coming to a head.

“Shall we Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid it?” he asked.

Blank faces looked back at him, and Miko asked, “Butch who?”

“Forget it. Ask me later.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“What’re your loads?” he asked.

“Two rounds,” Tomiko said.

“Fourteen,” Klein said, raising his M-51.

Kelly held up a Phoenix incendiary grenade.

“That’s it? What about your beamer?” Rev asked his fellow IBHU Marine.

“Fried. I don’t know what happened.”

Crap. We needed that. We’re just going to have to make do with what we have.

“And I’ve got two Morays,” he told them.

“Not much,” Tomiko said.

“Enough to tally up a few noxes.”

He turned around, drawing his legs up under him, ready to spring into action, but Tomiko reached out and grabbed his arm.

“I wouldn’t have changed a fucking thing,” she said.

“Me neither.”

He looked at the others. “You ready?”

More rounds were impacting the log, and others were zipping overhead, but they all nodded.

“On three. One . . .”

Something big and dark erupted from the water behind them.

“You bastards!” Rev shouted as he swung around, certain that the gods of war had one more bad joke to play on them.

But it wasn’t some giant colony creature coming to demolish them like Godzilla. The riever’s main cannon opened up and spit arcing beams of raw energy. Rev went face down into the mud as the cannon swept back and forth, the side lobes scorching the back of his head.

Rounds reached out, pinging harmlessly off the riever’s armored sides. As the riever blasted the forest, the return fire became less and less until it ceased altogether. The riever kept firing for another twenty seconds before it cut off.

Rev tentatively raised his head. Only the top quarter of the Centaur armored vehicle was visible, the lake water still streaming off its sides. Steam rose from the cannon.

Rev was too stunned to move as his poor brain tried to process what had just happened.

The top of the riever opened up, and the liaison poked out her head.

“Thought you could use some help.”

* * *

Rev stood on the chewed-up log, looking over the smoldering destruction. Several fires tried to stay alive in the wet vegetation. Naxli bodies littered the area. At least Rev assumed they were Naxli. There wasn’t much left of most of them.

“You’ve been inside the riever for all of this time?” he asked the liaison.

“Not always inside,” she said. “I got out on the island as much as I could. There’s not much room inside that thing.”

“I should say not,” Tomiko said. “I wouldn’t want to spend time in there, and I’m smaller than you.”

The riever was the smallest of the Centaur armor. The body was just over a meter and a half tall, with the cannon, when deployed, another ten centimeters higher than that. At three meters in length, it was shorter than anything in the Marine inventory. Still, it packed a powerful punch, as humanity had found out during the war. Rev and Tomiko had seen inside a riever on Roher-104, and that had been a tight fit with just a Centaur on board. He wasn’t sure how the liaison managed to fit inside along with the Centaur operator.

The liaison lowered her voice and said, “And Fee stinks when he sleeps. Fluid comes out of the nasal slits, and it’s vile.”

Muffled twenty fire reached them through the trees.

At least one IBHU is still fighting.

“You sure the tin-ass can’t join the rest of the fight?”

“Can’t. Won’t. I’m not sure. He said something about not appropriate terrain.”

Rev understood that. This area of the planet was not really armor country, and he was frankly surprised that the riever had not only survived its initial fight, but also the subsequent two weeks, even if it had been underwater for most of that time.

“And how did you just happen to come running to the rescue? You haven’t really explained that,” Rev asked.

“We were on this side of the island when Fee spotted you in the trees. He didn’t want to reveal himself—there’s a bit of a trust issue there. But when you started fighting, he decided to help. There’s a slightly deeper channel of sorts leading to the creek there, and you just happened to end up here. Made it easy.”

Rev frowned. “Fee” and “he” were not how he was used to Centaurs being referred to. He didn’t even think the Centaurs had a male and female gender as humans understood them.

There was an explosion in the distance, and Rev turned away from her to look in that direction.

“Are we going to join the fight?” Kelly asked.

Every ounce of his very being screamed a loud “Yes,” so it took a tremendous force of will to say, “No. Captain Bundy was clear on that. Once we’re out of ammo, we’re to break away into smaller groups and keep from contact with the noxes.”

“We’ve got ammo,” Tomiko said. “I’ve got two rounds, Klein’s got a dozen—”

“I kinda fired them when the tin-ass was blasting away. I figured I’d help.”

Tomiko pursed her lips and said, “I’ve got two rounds, and you’ve got three Morays.”

“I’ve got three Morays, but I can’t fire them. Pashu took a hit, and Punch says I can’t fire anything now.”

He paused, then pointed over his shoulder back to where the sounds of the battle had come to a close. “Whatever happened over there sounds like it’s done, one way or the other. And our last order was to E & E in small groups.”

“What constitutes a small group?” Stewart asked, sounding nervous.

Good question. Bundy never said.

E & E typically meant two-person teams, but that would mean there would be one person left out. He and Tomiko. Kelly and . . . Klein? Then what about Stewart?

No. Rev didn’t think any of them had much of a future. If whatever Naxli were left didn’t get them, then starvation would. So why not stay together?

“I think it means five. We’re staying together.”

Stewart looked relieved.

The liaison cleared her throat and then said, “Staff Sergeant?”

“Yeah?”

“About that. I was wondering if maybe, you know, if maybe I could go with you?”

Rev raised his eyebrows in surprise. He wasn’t expecting that.

“What about the tin-ass? What’s it . . . what’s he going to do? And shouldn’t you be with him?”

“He’s going to return to the island and wait. I gather he can stay there for months.”

“And you?”

“I can’t. I just can’t. He’s . . . alien.”

No shit. It’s a tin-ass.

Her next words came out in a rush. “We don’t really talk, and when we do, half the time, it doesn’t make any sense. It’s like I’m alone. And I’m starving. I don’t have any more human food. I’m—”

“You don’t have food? For how long?”

“I haven’t had anything for three days.”

And we’re almost out. Taking you would mean we’d have even less.

But there really wasn’t a question. He caught Tomiko’s eyes, and she gave the tiniest of nods, telling him she agreed with what he knew he had to do.

He pulled out one of his sludge tubes and tossed it to her. She snatched it out of the air like a falcon on a sparrow.

“Did I say five? I meant six. You’re coming with us.”

“Oh, thank you. Thank you.”

“Any idea where we’re heading?” Tomiko asked.

“Bundy said to stay in the area here near the lake. But we’re to steer clear of each other.”

Which made sense. While Rev would rather they all stayed together, if they were doing the E & E plan, then a larger group would be easier for the Naxli to locate than a smaller one. And if a smaller group was jumped, then the other Marines in the area would know to move out.

“Let’s head out to . . . ,” He paused as he looked across the lake. “How about the other side there? Where the tree line juts out a bit. That should be close to where our shuttle came down. Miko, you’ve got two rounds, so you’re point. The rest of us, single file behind with Klein next, then me . . .”

He stopped, looking at the liaison. “Uh . . . what is your name?” he asked, ashamed that he’d never bothered to find out before.

“Rosalie. Rosalie Romero, and you don’t know how good it is to be back with people again.”

21

“So, now what?” Tomiko asked, hands on her hips as she looked around the little islet.

It was only about six meters long and four across, and some dense bush-like growths took up quite a bit of the space. Half of the water’s edge was covered in a thick growth of reeds.

There wasn’t much room for six humans to spread out, but it offered lots of concealment, and if needed, they could slip away and into the lake, which was about ten meters on one side, or use the reeds to screen them to get deeper into the swamp.

“I guess we find a comfortable spot to park our butts,” Rev said. “We want to conserve energy if we can.”

They were stretched out beyond extended rations, so every calorie saved was precious.

“Two on watch at all times. That’s you, too, Rosalie.”

“Happy to contribute,” she said. “But you can call me Rose. Rosalie is my grandmother.”

“OK . . . Rose.”

He looked around. “Rose and Kelly, first watch. Four hours. Klein and Stew, second. Then Miko and me.”

He knew he should have split up Miko and him, putting one of the junior Marines with each. But considering the situation and not knowing how much time they had left, he was going to spend as much of that as he could with Tomiko.

There were only two of the native trees on the little island, and he stepped over to one of them, pulled a bit of the brush away from the trunk, then made a Renaissance nobleman’s grand sweep, offering the spot to Tomiko.

“Why, I do declare, suh. You are so kind.”

“That’s not a court accent.”

“Oh. I thought you were being a southern gentleman,” Tomiko said as she sat down.

“Did that sound like an old American South accent?”

<I’m not going to answer that.>

Rev sat down and nudged Tomiko over with his butt, then leaned back against the tree. Stewart had found a spot a meter away, and he’d already closed his eyes in the grand tradition of catching Zs at any opportunity. Klein was trying to suck an empty sludge tube dry, and Kelly was placing Rose where she could best observe the lake through the trees.

It seemed so routine. Yet, two hours ago, they were locked in combat, fully expecting that their journey through life was at an end. There was something really deep in that, but at the moment, Rev was too emotionally exhausted to delve into the philosophical ramifications.

“What were the chances?” Tomiko asked quietly.

“Of us still being alive? Not good. Of you and me being together? Even worse. But the gods of war can be a quirky bunch, and maybe they’re just finally giving us a break.”

“You and your gods of war,” she said, intertwining her left arm in his right.

“Chance, then. Whatever you want to call why some Marines live and some die. I just like the image of a bunch of Greek-like gods sitting up there in the clouds, doling out their favor or disfavor.”

“You’re a weird one, Reverent Pelletier.”

“And that’s why you love me.”

“And pretty full of yourself.”

Rev leaned his head back against the trunk and closed his eyes. He could feel Tomiko snuggle in and use the side of his body as a pillow.

But sleep evaded him. After ten minutes, he gave up and slightly shifted his position.

“You, too?” Tomiko asked.

“Yeah. I’m dead tired, but my mind’s buzzing.”

Not everyone was having trouble sleeping. Stewart started snoring, and Klein gave him a kick. He turned over on his side.

“So, what now?” Tomiko asked.

“We’ve got our own entertainment libraries. You didn’t bring a synch cable after you molted, did you?”

She shook her head. “Why?”

“We’ve still got our jacks, and I thought maybe we could watch a holovid together. Like on a date.”

“We still can. What do you want to watch?”

“I don’t know. We haven’t seen ‘Entanglement’ for a long time.”

“You sure? We’ve seen it at least three times.”

“Four times,” Rev said. “And yes, I’d like to watch it again.”

Tomiko pulled Rev’s head down and looked into his eyes. “Punch, on three, start the holovid. Half-view, ninety percent.”

<Tell her I will.>

“He’s ready.”

“OK, then. One . . . two . . . three!”

The opening scene for the holovid, where Kierska was walking on the beach, appeared in the middle of his sight. At ninety percent, he could still see through it somewhat, and around it, the islet and swamp were clear.

“Now we’re watching together,” she said as she snuggled up to him. “And here comes the wave. I love this part.”

Tomiko giggled as the wave crashed against Kierska, ruining her hairdo. She lightly slapped his upper arm. They were watching it together. Maybe not jacked, but it really didn’t make much difference.

“Sure wish we had some popcorn,” he said as he settled in to watch.

* * *

“Me and Kelly have decided. We’re eating you when we run out of food.”

“Kay.”

“That’s it? ‘Kay?’”

“If that’s what you decided,” he said, not interrupting his reading.

“Don’t you want to know why?”

Rev sighed and told Punch to minimize the book. They’d only been on the islet for a day, and already, Tomiko had abandoned him for Kelly.

Not really. He was the one who’d asked for a bit of time to read.

“OK, why?”

We can’t eat Rose because she’s a civilian. Not even Union. It might start a war.”

Rev nodded and said, “Sounds reasonable.”

“And Klein and Stew are junior Marines. I’m pretty sure there’re regulations against us eating them.”

<There’re no Marine Corps regulations that mention eating fellow humans.>

“Makes sense,” he said, ignoring his battle buddy.

“So that leaves the three of us.”

“And you picked me.”

“Well, the way we see it is that me and Miko here are half the size of you. We may be sweeter and better tasting, but there’s a shit-ton more meat on your bones,” Kelly said.

Tomiko reached over and gave Rev’s side a pinch. “Oh, he may be sweet, Kel.”

“Are you sharing?” Rose asked.

“Of course,” Tomiko said.

“I’m good with it, then.”

Tomiko looked back at Rev and said, “One of us? As small as we are, you’d get one, two, maybe three meals, if you stretch it. But you, Reverent Pelletier, you could feed us for two weeks. It just makes sense.”

Rev looked at her for a moment and said, “OK,” before he returned to his book.

* * *

“This is like a fucking sauna,” Tomiko said, fanning her face with her hand.

Whatever progress she had made in cleaning up her language while trying to fit in with Rev’s family had pretty much gone by the wayside over the last three days. Not that Rev cared, nor did he think his mother would have minded, either, given the circumstances.

And she wasn’t wrong. Without their PALs, they had no way to determine the exact temperature and humidity, but it sure seemed hotter and stickier. Even lying still, all of them were sweating. Without their water purification straws, they’d all be seriously dehydrated by now.

It was too hot to sleep, so all six were awake. Tomiko had tried to organize a game of Knock-on with the five Marines using their battle buddies as virtual dealers, but accusations of cheating—without synch cables, no one knew for sure what each battle buddy dealt—and the heat put the kibosh on the game. Now the six humans were simply enduring.

To make matters worse for Rev, his shoulder, where he’d taken the chunk of wood, had started to ache more. Punch assured him that the medinanos reported no sign of infection, but it wasn’t his imagination. Coupled with the heat and hunger, he was not feeling his best.

“Where are we with rations?” Rev asked.

“You asked us yesterday,” Kelly said.

“I know. But my mind’s mush.”

“Two full,” Klein said.

“One,” Stewart added.

Kelly had two, Tomiko two and a partial, and Rose had one. Rev had two as well.

“That gives us six days. Eight if we stretch it out further.”

Five groans greeted that.

“This is it. After that, there is no more.”

“And we’re sure we can’t eat anything from the planet?” Stewart asked.

“Geeze, Stew. How many times do I have to tell you? You can eat it and maybe not die a horrible death. But it ain’t gonna give you any nourishment. It ain’t gonna keep you alive,” Klein said.

“At least it would be something in my stomach,” Stewart muttered.

“You counting down the days until we eat you?” Kelly asked Rev.

Rev wiped his brow clear of the sweat that was rolling into his eyes. “At least you won’t have to cook me. I’m pretty much medium-well about now.”

Whether six or eight days of food left really didn’t make much of a difference in the long run.

“How long can a person survive without food?”

<It depends on their BMI. Leaner people can’t survive as long, but two months is generally considered the maximum time if the woman has ready access to water.>

“Women? What about men?”

<Men can’t survive as long as women.>

“Really? That doesn’t seem fair.”

<Fair has nothing to do with it. Science doesn’t care about fair.>

Hell, maybe they will be eating me. Stewart, too.

Gallows humor was all well and good, but Rev knew they had to do something. At the moment, though, as they all lay on the ground in their misery, it was just too miserably hot to do anything.

22

The air around them had cooled overnight. Now, it was merely stifling, not soul-meltingly hot. Rev and Tomiko were in the last half hour of their watch, and the other four were asleep.

Rev’s mind had been wandering during their watch, embracing and then trashing a series of plans, some bordering on the fantastical or relying on equipment they didn’t have. But while nothing seemed to be reasonable, Rev had the nagging feeling that he was missing something. A couple of times, it was right there, about ready to break into conscious thought, but each time, it disappeared like the mist of a dream.

“What if we went back to the landing site?”

<We pulled every supply off the landing crafts. And you were the one who pointed out that the Naxli would have either destroyed what was left or that the shuttle would be booby-trapped.>

Rev had said that not twenty minutes before, but he was hoping Punch might take issue with it. Maybe there was one sludge tube that had fallen, unseen by whoever scavenged it.

It didn’t have to be sludge. He’d even happily take one of the Mezame rations now, like the ones they had scavenged from Blue Platoon . . .

Rev shifted his gaze toward the south.

“Remember that boom we heard?”

<Boom isn’t very specific. And we’ve heard hundreds since I’ve been implanted in your brain.>

“Why would I be asking about booms back when we were recruits? I mean here, that evening before our PAL ran out of power.”

<Yes. Of course, that is in my memory.>

“Could you get a bearing on that from where we were?”

<Within a few degrees of accuracy. To an extent, the sound waves were being broken apart as they reflected on the trees.>

“What do you mean?”

<Your mother makes spaghetti by hand, then extrudes it in a pasta mill. The pasta is in one sheet until it goes through the mill. Then there are strands of uncooked spaghetti wrapping around each other, still basically aligned, but with variance.>

“What the hell are you talking about? Spaghetti?”

Rev didn’t know if Punch had the ability to become upset, but he sure sounded miffed as he said, <I was trying to use an example so you understood that I cannot give you an accurate azimuth.>

“That’s all you needed to say. Not about reflecting trees or spaghetti. Can you show me on the map?”

The map popped up in his vision, a blue azimuth overlaid on it. Rev studied it for a moment. “Can you account for your margin of error? Make that yellow.”

A cone of yellow was superimposed, the blue line in the middle.

<So, what does this tell you?>

“Wait one.”

Rev got up and stepped over to Tomiko.

She looked up and said, “We’ve got twenty-one more minutes before we wake the young ’uns.”

“Don’t worry about that. You remember that boom we heard after we hit the noxes?”

“Yeah. What of it?”

“You were in the back of the company, right?”

“Again, yeah.”

“Ask Pikachu to figure out an azimuth from your position to where the sound was coming from. Then give me a margin of error of five degrees on either side. And I’ll need your exact position when that happened.”

Tomiko raised one eyebrow and asked, “What’s this for?”

“I’m not sure yet. But can you get those for me?”

“OK. Give me a sec.”

If they had a synch cable, transferring the overlay would have been easy. Instead, Tomiko’s battle buddy had to have her relay a series of numbers for the requested information.

Punch inputted the numbers, and a second yellow cone with a blue line in the middle appeared on the map. Six thousand, five hundred and forty meters from Rev’s position that evening, the narrow cones intersected. The parallelogram created by that intersection was three hundred and twelve meters long, sixty-two meters wide.

And from their current position, the closest point was two thousand, fourteen meters away.

Rev took a moment to study the map.

“Well, are you going to tell me what all of this is about?”

Rev blinked the image to his peripheral vision. “I’ve got an idea.”

* * *

“But we don’t know what caused that boom,” Kelly said.

“True. It could have been anything. But what have we got to lose?”

“Humping that far’s gonna use up a lot of energy, Rev,” Tomiko said. “And didn’t Bundy say he wanted us to stay here near the lake?”

“So, you have to eat me a couple hours earlier. Big whoop.”

Tomiko gave Kelly an inscrutable glance. Rev didn’t know what was passing between them, but Tomiko said, “You’re senior here. It’s your call.”

“I know it’s technically my call. But I also know this could be a wild goose chase. Not only that, we could walk up on some noxes with just your two M-30 rounds.

“I’m going to go, but I’m not going to order anyone else to go with me. You can stay here and wait for . . . well, whatever the hell we’re waiting for now.”

“A democracy? Here in the Perseus Union Marine Corps? Did hell just freeze over?” Kelly asked.

“I’m just putting it out there, Kel.”

This wasn’t going quite as Rev had expected. Neither of the two junior Marines nor Rosalie was saying anything, but they were sure listening intently. And neither Tomiko nor Kelly seemed too enthused about leaving their spot.

Rev knew that the chances of finding anything useful by chasing a boom were pretty small. But small was better than none. To him, it was a no-brainer.

And, to be honest, he was kind of surprised that Tomiko wasn’t backing him and was rather siding with Kelly.

Tomiko looked back at her friend with that same, voiceless connection thing they had going on, then she finally shrugged and said, “What the hell. I’m in. I can’t just sit here trying to play Knock-on with a bunch of cheaters like you guys.”

As soon as she said that, it was as if the dam broke. The other four immediately agreed.

Rev nodded, but he was relieved. He’d have gone alone but with far less enthusiasm.

“So, when do you want to go on this great trek?”

“No time like the present,” Rev said. “Nothing’s keeping us here, so let’s go now.”

“Let’s do it, then.”

Rev gave each of the Marines the four corner coordinates of the parallelogram, and within two minutes, they stepped off their islet, Tomiko on point, Rev next, and the rest following in trace.

“Cooler” was only in comparison with the last two days. Within moments, Rev was drenched in sweat. But he didn’t care. At least now, they had a mission. It could be a fool’s mission, but it was a heck of a lot better than simply lying down and waiting for their fate with nary a whimper.

The Marines hadn’t gone in this direction before, and for the first four hundred meters, it was the same type of stagnant swamp as where they’d been. But the farther they patrolled, the more frequent the islets, and those they passed were larger.

None of that was reflected on his map. It should have been the same, according to the map, but the proof was in front of his eyes. And the trees seemed different, with more varieties and differentiation between them. On Safe Harbor, he’d say they were different species. On Syron III, he had no idea why the differences.

There were more sounds filling the air and smaller critters running about as well. It was as if even the native life didn’t like the swamps, preferring the dryer area here.

Rev noticed all of that, but he forced it back into the recesses of his mind. Dry land or fetid swamp, a Naxli was going to try to kill him all the same in either place. His focus had to be on spotting them before they could spot the Marines if they were going to have a chance of getting out of the patrol alive.

But they only encountered native life on their route, nothing Naxli. There was more and more dry land, and the water turned more into a series of slow-moving creeks than stagnant swamps. Colors started appearing in the trees—not actually flowers, but more like patches of fungus. Still, after two weeks in the almost monotone colors of the forest, the bright patches of pinks and oranges couldn’t help but give each of them a little mental lift.

Four hours later, when they finally reached the edge of the parallelogram, Rev had them move from a column into a line with five to ten meters separating them. That was enough to always have someone in visual contact while still allowing them to cover the most territory and not miss what might have caused the boom.

He needn’t have bothered. The cause was evident, even if the events surrounding it were not initially so.

The crater and destruction were almost exactly in the middle of the area of interest. Stretching over thirty meters in diameter, the crater was about four meters deep in the center, although Rev couldn’t be more specific than that. The explosion had been on dry land, but water had seeped into the bottom, and unless he climbed in, he couldn’t tell how deep it was.

Around the blast site, the trees were devastated. The closer ones were broken and shattered, and those farther away were in varying degrees of damage. There were signs that the creatures that formed the trees were starting to reform, but that looked like it would be a serious undertaking.

“What the hell caused this?” Tomiko asked as the Marines and Rosalie stood at the edge for a moment before starting into the pit. “Did the Naxli do this?”

“If they did, they caught some of their own warriors,” Rev said, pointing to what looked like it had once been a Naxli leg. “Let’s see what we can find out.”

The prize discovery would be to find Mezame field rations—those were the objective of the entire mission. But given the totality of the destruction, Rev was not overly hopeful of finding any of the food.

The six humans spread out and started to comb the area. There were many more signs of Naxli. How many of the enemy had died on this spot was almost impossible to tell. It was only on the periphery that more intact Naxli bodies were found. Not whole, necessarily, but no one would look at the bodies and mistake them for anything else.

“This is human,” Klein shouted out from the east side of the crater, about ten meters into the trees.

Rev made his way to her, and she pointed at what looked like the toe section of a Mezame Dō-marus boot. It was torn open and flattened, but the unique four vertical supports were easily identified.

“Well, we know the Mez sailors were here,” Rev said. He stopped to survey the entire scene. “But how many, and what exactly happened . . . I sure don’t know.”

And he wasn’t sure he would ever know. But they’d come too far to just leave, and there could be Mezame bodies farther away from the center of the blast.

“Circle the crater counterclockwise, but keep ten or fifteen meters from the edge. I’m going to do the same clockwise. We want an intact Mez body,” He told Klein.

The junior Marine frowned, and Rev realized how ghoulish that sounded. But if they could scavenge even one ration tube, then its previous owner wouldn’t be in a position to miss it.

Rev started around. Rosalie was standing at the edge of the crater, looking lost, while the others were climbing inside. There were more scattered Naxli parts but no more human. That’s what was puzzling to him. There should be more signs of the Mezame sailors if this was part of a battle. One sailor couldn’t take on what had to be at least twenty Naxli and probably more.

As Rev rounded the southwestern reach of the crater, he stopped. “Dry” ground was relative. The dirt wasn’t the muck that they’d been humping through since they arrived, but it was still moist—moist enough to capture impressions. And at his feet, there were the unmistakable impressions of feet. Lots of feet.

“Can you make anything of this?” he asked Punch.

<Most of these appear to be tracks made by Naxli. They are so congested right here that I can’t make out the numbers of Naxli who passed. And there are a few anomalies.>

“What anomalies?”

<Please move to this point,> Punch said, placing a visual marker that indicated a spot on the other side of most of the tracks and a few meters closer to the crater. <Do not step there, but stop short.>

Rev wasn’t sure what Punch wanted to see, but he didn’t challenge his battle buddy. He carefully made his way to the location, trying not to stomp on too many of the tracks.

Punch created an outline which he placed over one of the imprints.

“OK, that means what?”

<That track is different from the rest. And while it isn’t clear enough to say for sure, it is in the same general shape as a Mezame boot.>

OK, that’s something.

“One Mez and a shitload of noxes.”

<Let’s look closer. Stay outside the existing tracks, but walk up and down, keeping your eyesight on the trail.>

Rev wasn’t used to Punch telling him what to do, but his curiosity was strong, and he wanted to figure out this mystery as well. He made his way to just short of the crater, then started back along the tracks. After thirty meters, he stopped. He was already separated from the rest, and he didn’t want to get any farther away from them.

“Did you get anything from that?”

<With a high probability, two and possibly three humans wearing Mezame Dō-marus . . .>

Which makes them most like our Mez sailors.

<. . . preceded the Naxli. The Naxli were close on their tail. All of them reached the location of the explosion.>

“I want to see the other side.”

Rev started jogging around the crater. He met Klein and told him to keep searching for Mezame bodies. At the other end of the crater, he slowed down, his eyes casting for sign. He found Klein’s tracks but nothing else.

“So, two or three Mez sailors and a whole bunch of noxes came up from the south, but none of them left the giant hole in the ground,” he muttered.

<That is a reasonable assumption.>

But why? There had to be a logical explanation.

Rev started walking back to the edge of the crater. He wanted to get the others’ take on it. Tomiko and Kelly were at the edge of the water at the bottom, and Stewart was knee-deep in it. He was bent over, arms reaching in.

“What the hell are you doing?” Rev shouted, breaking into a half-run, half-slide down the sides.

Stewart straightened a big smile on his face, holding some kind of cylindrical object, pointed at one end, squared off at the other.

“Freeze your ass!”

Stewart looked surprised, but he froze.

“What’s with you?” Tomiko said.

“We don’t go picking up unknown ordnance on the battlefield,” he snapped. “You know better than that, Miko!”

Her mouth fell open, shock taking over her face. “There’s already been a detonation here, Rev. There’s no live ordnance in there.”

“And no one left a booby trap? No misfires that just need someone to activate a motion fuze?”

Stewart went white.

Rev stepped into the water and then knelt beside the lance corporal, giving Punch a good view. “Can you identify that?”

It looked like an oversized spent bullet, but with four grooves running from the tip and rotating to the base.

<Boring tip of a JN-77. A Mezame mine.>

“A mine? A mine did this?”

“It’s a bunker buster. Upon the initial detonation, the boring tip penetrates the bunker, building, or in this case, the ground. The grooves cause the mine to rotate. After a designated pause, a secondary fuze detonates the payload.”

“Damn. Pretty effective,” Rev said as he looked at the crater from the perspective of the bottom. And it’s safe now?”

<The tip is inert.>

“So, this was a Mez mine. They were being chased, and they dropped it to slow down the pursuit?”

<The mine couldn’t be simply dropped. It had to be set up, and for this application, a hole had to be dug and the mine emplaced inside of that. And there is no proximity fuze. Depending on the target, the target characteristics have to be manually entered, and then the detonation itself initiated.>

It only took a moment for what Punch said to register.

“Mother help me. They set this up, then lured the Naxli into the trap. And they couldn’t just set the timer on the thing and hope they timed it right. It was set on a dead man’s switch. One of them went ahead and set this trap in place, then at least two more led them into it.”

<We don’t know that for sure, and without some sort of recording of the incident, we won’t ever know.>

“I know. It’s the only thing that makes sense. I know it in my heart.”

“Staff Sergeant? Can I move now?” Stewart asked in a tremulous voice.

Rev reached out, took the boring tip, and tossed it over his shoulder. “You’re fine. Climb on out of here.”

He turned right into Tomiko’s gigajoule glare. “I told you it was safe,” she said.

She was livid, and Rev knew he’d have to patch it up later, but the fact was that she’d made a mistake, one that could have been fatal in other circumstances.

“You didn’t know that,” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. “Now, let’s get out of this hole.”

He turned and started climbing out, hoping that would cut Tomiko off and forestall an argument he didn’t want to have.

“So, that’s it?” Kelly asked as they gathered at the edge of the crater. “No food. No nothing?”

“They sacrificed themselves. The mezes,” Rev said.

“What do you mean?” Kelly asked.

Rev told them about the mine, the tracks, and his theory.

“Shit,” Kelly said as she looked back into the crater. “That’s some righteous action. Respect to the fallen.”

Stewart quickly chimed in.

Rev gave Tomiko a quick glance, but she didn’t repeat the standard “Respect for the fallen,” nor would she catch his eyes.

Come on, Miko.

“But that doesn’t answer my question. What’s next?”

“There were only a few of the sailors doing this. Maybe three or four. The rest had to have delayed the noxes to give these guys time to set up the trap. That means if we follow the tracks back, there might be more bodies that we can search.”

Rosalie grimaced, and this time, even Rev felt ghoulish putting it that way. Maybe he should have said something more in the lines of searching for survivors. He didn’t think any of them thought there would be any, but sometimes, the truth was better avoided to at least give the veneer of civilization.

No one had anything to say, so he said, “Miko, you’ve got point again. The tracks start over there.”

They picked up Klein, who was just finishing his circuit, and started to backtrack along the trail. Twice, they had to wade again, but the Mezame sailors hadn’t veered off of their azimuth. As they crossed the second creek, a lone sailor was face down on the ground. A hole, six full centimeters across, had been punched through the back of their Dō-marus, right below the neck.

Rev moved up and knelt by the body. He took a deep breath and turned it over. Without Earth bacteria, it hadn’t started to decompose, but the heat and humidity hadn’t done the sailor any favors. Rev couldn’t tell if they were male or female.

This is what you came for, Reverent. Just do it.

The Mezame combat suit had a built-in compartment that served the same function as a Marine assault pack. It also had two thigh holsters, much like the Marine PALs.

It took Rev a moment to figure out how to open the larger compartment. The Mezame forces used a weird clasping mechanism, and he could feel the others’ eyes on him as he struggled with it. He was about to just break the clasp when it opened. The compartment was only half full, but there weren’t any rations, nor was there much he could use.

He grabbed a spool of line, then went to the two thigh holsters. In the first, he found a single ration, and in relief, he grabbed and held it up for the others to see. He’d been afraid that there would be nothing, and somehow, he’d be blamed for that.

One ration wasn’t going to do much for six people, but it was something.

The second holster was empty. Rev took a moment to pull the body out of the tracked-up mud and to some undisturbed ground, folded the arms across the top, and placed the rifle aligned with the center of her body as if she was some medieval noble’s effigy on top of a tomb.

“Record the location,” he told Punch.

There wasn’t much else he could do.

“You can’t take that gun?” Rosalie asked.

“I could take it, but it wouldn’t do any good. It’s biolocked to this sailor.”

She looked puzzled, so Rev added, “So it can’t fall into the wrong hands and be used against the Mezes. In the Marines, an officer can unlock an M-51 or M-103 so someone else can use it, but we don’t have anything that can do the same thing here.”

He tossed the ration to Stewart. As the junior Marine, he got fed first. That was tradition. But like Rev, the young Marine also only had his one ration left.

“Let’s see this thing through. Miko, if you’ll lead off.”

She was still avoiding his eyes. She didn’t say anything, either, but she resumed following the trail.

What’s with you? This is BS.

Rev was getting a little perturbed. Yes, he’d jumped on her ass. But he was the senior one in the group, and she’d made a mistake. They’d promised to keep their personal and military relationship separate, but here she was, having a little snit.

For a moment, he was tempted to catch up to her and have it out, his own anger flaring, but he held back. Their situation was pretty dire, and he didn’t need to instigate an argument.

He bit his tongue and followed. The ground slowly rose, elevating at least a couple of meters. That was a veritable mountain for this region of the planet. The underbrush got thicker, which made Rev more uneasy. They could be walking into an ambush, and they wouldn’t know it until they were trapped.

The smell caught his attention first, brought to him by the tiniest of an eddy. Something had burned up ahead, and his nose stung with a metallic bite. He followed Tomiko through a stand of thick brush, then stopped as he broke through.

Tomiko was standing still but not signaling for the rest of them to freeze. Rev took another step forward, then he stopped as well.

Although there was no giant crater, the battlefield in front of them looked far more violent. Rev could see bodies, lots of them. At least a dozen were in his sight, half-hidden in the thick vegetation. Not all were human.

Stewart came through the brush and stopped. “By the Mother,” he said.

Rev moved to Tomiko’s right and motioned for Stewart to flank her on her left. As the next three arrived, he continued to put them in a line.

“Sweep. Don’t stop to examine anyone for now. We need to secure the area.”

The six slowly walked forward, passing human and Naxli bodies. Mostly human, but from the looks of things, they’d accounted for themselves well.

After fifty meters, they’d reached the other side of the battle. Rev tried to put together what had happened based on what he’d seen.

It didn’t look like the Mezame sailors had been in the position long. It may have been that they’d found what served as a hill and decided to defend the high ground. The Naxli looked like they’d assaulted from the southeast, taking some heavy casualties, but pushing through with sheer force of numbers. The farther from the point of the assault, both humans and Naxli were oriented haphazardly, and they fell without relation to the others.

It must have turned into a cluster in the thick brush with individual sailors and Naxli maneuvering to jump the others. Rev had come upon two of them, one sailor and one Naxli, locked in an embrace. The Naxli had one of their swords, but Rev didn’t take the time to try and figure out how the sailor had killed his opponent.

“It doesn’t look like there’s anyone here. Let’s spread out and check the Mezes. Remember, we’re looking for food first.” There were no comments or frowns this time. “And if you can, straighten their bodies, OK?”

It wasn’t only for respect. Rev didn’t want to stay in the position for long, and doing that could save time by precluding a body being searched twice.

“When you’re done, meet up at the highest point back there. But listen up in case I call for you.”

“Questions?”

There were none.

“Then let’s do this.”

The five Marines and Rosalie broke up and spread out, making their way back through the battlefield. Rev took the far-right side, moving up the eastern edge of the fight. The first body Rev approached had been shredded with a heavy caliber weapon. The back compartment was in pieces, and whatever had been in there was destroyed. The side holsters were empty. He laid her out on her back and folded her arms across her chest. He didn’t see a weapon to complete the action as with the first sailor, and he wasn’t going to spend time searching for it.

“Respect for the fallen,” he said, then moved on.

He stepped over a dead Naxli, then came upon a burned sailor. The armor gave off a strong, biting metallic smell. He didn’t bother searching what was left of the body. The beam that killed them would have destroyed any rations. He did the best he could arranging the body and moved on to the next one.

Over the next ten minutes, Rev searched four bodies, recovering two ration tubes. He was almost able to forget that each of those bodies was a person, a brother or sister in arms, killed on a faraway planet.

Almost.

And that took a force of will not to let his mind wonder about them. He was there for one reason, and that was to extend the life of his four Marines and Rosalie.

For each one, he said his “Respect for the fallen” and then stood for a moment of silence. That was the only slice of humanity he allowed himself.

He searched the next body and found three rations—a motherlode. In slightly better spirits, he started to move on when he spotted something in the brush to his right, farther from what he’d imagined the Mezame line. It was probably a Naxli, cut down in the initial stages of the fight, but he had to check.

He ducked down as he pushed through the brush and spotted the Naxli body, lying on its back . . . until it suddenly sat up and swerved to face Rev.

Rev fought through the brush, struggling to pull Pashu free as the Naxli scrambled to its feet.

Shit, shit, shit!

His first instinct was to jump back for cover, but it was as if the vegetation was fighting him. The only thing to do now was to charge the Naxli, hoping he could engage his blade before the enemy warrior opened fire.

Not likely, but his best chance at survival.

But the Naxli didn’t fire. It stood still for a moment, weapon at its side. It was laser-focused not on Rev but on Pashu.

Rev finally broke his IBHU free of the restraining bushes and extended his blade.

Close in fast, he told himself, his training with Reggie, his swordmaster, kicking in. But his feet were still entangled in the planet’s answer to vines.

Rev raised Pashu, taking the Naxli under aim, hoping to bluff it for the moment he needed to break free.

Raising his IBHU seemed to break the Naxli from under whatever spell had taken over it. But instead of raising its weapon and cutting Rev down, it wheeled, and to Rev’s utter astonishment, it fled.

“What the . . .”

Rev finally kicked free, but his mind was trying to comprehend what had just happened.

A Naxli warrior, one of the aggressive, honor-worshipping aliens, the ones who showed no sign of fear and seemed to relish the concept of combat, had just broke and run away in what Rev had to think was terror. The look it was giving Pashu seemed for all the world that it knew what an IBHU was and wanted nothing to do with it.

Rev’s mind was numb in confusion, and it took several moments for him to realize he should chase the Naxli down. If there was one here, there could be more, and this thing could be going to round up its buddies.

His own warrior self was screaming for attention, like a greyhound when the lure was engaged, but his rational self knew that even if the Naxli had just run, the fact was that it was armed and Rev was not. Run it down, and the thing might remember that as well.

What they had to do now was to get out of the area before a bunch of Naxli returned.

He turned to face the battlefield and shouted, “Rally up! Now!”

Rev turned to head to the high point. He passed two more Mezame bodies, but he didn’t stop to search them. He hated the thought that he could be passing up rations, but his gut was telling him that time was against him.

He’d been on the far side of the site, and he was the last to arrive. The others were waiting for him, and he could see they were confused.

“What’s going on?” Kelly asked.

“I just jumped a Naxli,” Rev said.

All eyes snapped to Pashu and his still extended blade. He retracted it.

“It got away.”

Klein asked, “Wasn’t it armed?”

“Yeah, but it ran. I think it was afraid of Pashu.”

“What was it doing? You just walked up on it?” Kelly asked.

“I don’t know. I think it was asleep. And maybe it was an OP. Someone to keep a watch on this battlefield.”

“And if that’s the case, it’s coming back with friends,” Kelly said.

“Which is why we’re leaving now.”

“What about the food?” Rosalie asked.

“I’ve got some. I hope you all found some, but we’ve got to leave now. Miko, lead off. Go along the trail we came in on, but as soon as we hit that first creek, follow it upstream. Try to minimize touching anything. We don’t know how well they can track.”

Tomiko immediately started off, moving quickly. The rest fell into place.

The mission had been to gather whatever rations they could. There were probably more among the Mezame sailors who they hadn’t searched. But Rev couldn’t delay.

All the food in the galaxy wouldn’t help them if the Naxli came back in force to finish them off.

23

The six humans stared at the pile of rations tubes. It was less than overwhelming.

“Sixteen,” Kelly muttered.

It didn’t seem much for the effort and risk. Maybe six more days of food. A bit longer with more severe rationing. After that, they’d see just how long the body could go without eating.

With a sigh, Rev pulled out his last ration and threw it on the pile. One by one, the others tossed theirs as well. And that was it, the totality of their food.

The only good thing Rev could say was that it was more than they had yesterday.

“Back to our watch section. Klein and Stew, you’re on. And this is real. Just because the noxes didn’t run up our asses on the way back doesn’t mean they aren’t tracking us. We’ll need as much warning as possible if we’re going to be able to slip away.”

He gave a glance at the lake through the trees. Maybe it would be smarter not to have a barrier like that to their backs, but at the moment, after humping back to the spot, he didn’t feel like pulling up stakes and moving out.

“The rest of us, let’s try to get some rest.”

He went to the spot he and Tomiko had claimed, but she moved to the other side of Rosalie and Kelly and sat down.

Give it a rest, Miko.

“What the hell’s her problem?” he asked Punch as he sat.

<I don’t have enough data to hazard a guess. She hasn’t said much. Not that I am very capable of determining human emotions and thought.>

“Exactly. She hasn’t said two words since I jumped her ass.”

He wasn’t sure about that last thing Punch said, but as he was focused on Tomiko’s snit, he pushed that aside.

“We’re supposed to be professionals.”

And lovers.

“What should I do about it?”

<Standard interpersonal relationship theory would be that this type of problem could create an operational rift, thereby weakening unit cohesiveness and effectiveness.>

“And that’s on her, not me.”

Punch didn’t agree or disagree. He stayed silent.

Rev had been preoccupied with their mission. Between moving to the battle site, searching the dead, surprising the Naxli, and then the rush to get back, he hadn’t had a chance to dwell on their problem. But now, sitting on the dirt with too few rations piled up between them, his mind started to focus on what had happened, and then it snowballed. He became more upset the more he thought about it.

He couldn’t let things stand the way they were. He needed to bring it to a head, both for the unit as a whole and the two of them in particular. She needed to put on her big girl panties and get all of this behind her.

With a sudden sense of determination, he stood and strode over to where she was sitting, idly scratching shapes in the dirt with a stick.

She looked up as he stood over her.

Rev beckoned her with a crooked finger and said, “We need to talk. Now.”

He turned and walked through the trees to the edge of the lake, afraid she would defy him. But after a moment, he could hear her follow him.

He waited until she reached him, took a deep breath, and turned around.

“Miko,” he said at the same time as she said, “Rev.”

They both stopped short for a moment, then Rev said, “I’ve got something to say.”

“So do I. Let me go first, then you can say whatever you want.”

Rev was feeling hot, and he wanted to get it out of his system, but he bit that back and said, “OK, go.”

Her eyes drifted to the ground again, and she toed the dirt for a moment. Finally, she looked up and blurted out, “I’m sorry. I was wrong to let Stew pick up ordnance like that. I wasn’t thinking. The fact that it wasn’t dangerous doesn’t matter. We didn’t know what it was then, and it could have been a fatal mistake. I’m . . . I’m professionally embarrassed.”

Rev’s mouth dropped open. She didn’t sound angry at him. She sounded embarrassed, just like she said.

Tomiko Reiser, my Tomiko Reiser. Apologizing? But . . . her not talking, not meeting my eyes. She was pissed that I yelled at her!

She still wasn’t meeting his eyes. And it hit him. The firebrand he knew didn’t back down, and if she was angry, she’d be glaring at him.

Tomiko might have had a moment of anger back in the crater, but even then, was he sure of that?

His own anger and frustration faded away as he tried to reorient his understanding of what had been going on. And what she said made sense. But he’d been wrapped up in his own reaction, his own little piss-fit that she was angry at him, that she was rebelling against his authority.

All in a big mistake. She’d been ashamed and embarrassed, and she . . .

. . . She was worried about how I’d take it, if I thought less of her as a Marine. As a SNCO.

And he knew he was right. She had been worried about what he’d think of her, and that little bit of a fear she’d always had of being “unworthy” had snuck in. She’d been embarrassed, not mad. She’d been fearful of his opinion of her changing, and she wasn’t challenging him.

He put a finger under her chin and forced her face up to his. There were tears in her eyes, something he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before.

“You didn’t know that the thing was part of a mine.”

“And neither did you. But you followed SOP. I didn’t even consider it. If it had been a booby trap . . .”

“It wasn’t.” He paused a moment, marshaling his thoughts. This wasn’t a time to gloss over the mistake. She’d see through that. “Look. You screwed up. Yeah. But who hasn’t? I sure have. But you’ve got to put that behind you. In case you haven’t noticed it, we’re pretty much up Shit Creek without a paddle, and I need you.”

She nodded and wiped her forearm across her eyes.

“And there isn’t another person I’d rather have with me.”

She sniffed and said, “That’s just because I’m your fiancée. You have to say that.”

“That’s because you’re my fellow SNCO, and a damn fine one. Back on Safe Harbor, you’re Tomiko Reiser, my fiancée. But here, you’re a Marine, and I need that Marine if we’re going to have any chance of getting through this.”

Which wasn’t true. No matter where they were, he couldn’t forget that she was his love. And that was probably why he’d been so upset. Any other Marine, he’d have told off and put in their place. But it had hurt him to think that Tomiko was turning against him.

Rev knew he’d messed up. He’d been so self-centered, interpreting what he thought was going on from his perspective, failing to take into account that he wasn’t the only one in the equation. He’d failed to consider what Tomiko was going through and how she was looking at things.

He needed a little soul-searching. They might not have much time left, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t become a little better person before they all checked out. And from the looks of things, he was going to have a lot of free time to try to become that.

“Can we put all of this behind us? Can we move on?” he asked.

“I’m so sorry I screwed up. I’ll pay better attention.”

Which didn’t really answer the question. But it was good enough.

“Let’s get back before the rest wonder what the heck we’re doing.

Tomiko nodded, and they started walking back to where the others were studiously making sure not to look in their direction.

After two steps, Rev took Tomiko’s hand in his.

* * *

Rev sat on the ground, knees bent and legs spread. Slowly, he rotated his right arm, wincing as he raised it above his shoulder.

“You OK, Rev?” Tomiko asked. “You’ve been doing that a lot.”

“It’s hurting more now.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Infection?”

“With what? None of the stuff here can eat Earth life.”

“Maybe some of the bacteria we carry with us got in the wound. We’ve got a lot of bacteria and other stuff in our gut and on our skin.”

Rev froze his rotation. “Punch? Could that be what’s causing this?”

<No. Your medinanos are designed to detect signs of infection. If the injury dragged in bacteria or fungus from your skin, and that resulted in an infection, that would trigger an alarm.>

“Punch says no, Miko. My nanos would have detected that.”

Tomiko frowned. “Something’s wrong, though. You should be healing, not getting worse.”

“What about fungus?” Rosalie asked.

“Same with that, I guess,” Rev said.

“No. Think of it. Fungus breaks down carbon. Whatever dies, either plant or animal, fungus breaks the carbon molecules, and the dead thing sort of comes apart. The nutrients go back into the soil.”

“But there’s no fungus here. All of this stuff is alien,” Rev said.

“You got the same brief as I did on the ship. This planet is like a huge fungus, with a mycelium and all. A fungus doesn’t have to eat your flesh—just break it down. I mean, a carbon atom is a carbon atom, right?”

“Like a fungus, Rose. This place isn’t an actual fungus,” Tomiko said.

There was something wrong with her argument. Carbon was carbon, but who was to say that the life on this planet acted like fungus on Earth-based life? Their brief only used fungus and mycelium as a reference, stating the similarities. He’d never said Syron III-life and Earth fungus were the same.

But the thought gave Rev the willies. What if his shoulder was being slowly broken down? After his shoulder, then what?

“Punch? Fungus?”

<The same holds true. And your medinanos would detect if anything was breaking down your flesh.>

But something’s wrong. I can feel it.

He raised Pushu and poked at his shoulder, but his somatosensory feedback wasn’t perfect. The poke hurt his shoulder, but he couldn’t feel much with his IBHU’s fingers.

“Here, let me check,” Tomiko said, standing and crossing over to him.

She gently prodded the patch that was still covering the wound. The edges had peeled back in a few places, but it was still whole.

“It feels kinda soft,” she said.

“What do you mean, soft?”

“I don’t know. Puffy.” She pursed her lips, a sure sign that she was deep in thought.

“Look, Rev,” she finally said. “Let’s take off your patch.”

“Doc said to keep it on.”

She ran a finger under one of the edges. “Look, I can feel the wound. This thing’s already compromised. Let me take a look and see if Pikachu can recognize anything.”

<I’ve told you, nothing’s wrong. There is no infection.>

“But something is wrong,” he subvocalized. Then to Tomiko, he asked, “The patch isn’t protecting it now?”

“Not from anything outside getting in.”

He had visions of his flesh coming apart, like the sped-up recording he’d seen once of fungus breaking down a dead mouse. That scared him.

“Do it.”

Tomiko grabbed the edge of the patch and pulled, but it didn’t come free. She got a better grip on it and gave the patch a yank, almost pulling Rev over. But it came off.

Kelly and Rosalie crowded forward to look. Tomiko moved close, then poked his shoulder with her forefinger.

“Well?” Rev asked, trying to crane his neck to see better.

“It’s not red. That’s good, right?” she asked.

“Punch?”

<I told you. No infection.>

She pushed her face closer, then reached up and pinched something on his shoulder. She gave it a gentle pull, and Rev could feel his skin lift.

“What is that?” Rev asked, his voice cracking.

“It’s like a little hair.”

“There’re more of them. Lots more,” Kelly said.

“More what?” Rev demanded. He was getting worried.

“There are tiny . . . I don’t know. What would you call them, Miko? Tendrils?”

“Tendrils, hairs.”

“Mycelium. I told you,” Rosalie said.

Rev was familiar with the word but not much else. He must not have been paying as much attention to the brief as she’d been.

“What the hell really is mycelium?”

<Both the oldest and largest form of life known to humanity. Specifically, a large one in the old state of Oregon. It is the vast network of hyphae from which mushrooms sprout. They are a type of neural network that allows for communication between trees in a forest, for example. Given—>

“Can it eat me?”

<Eat is the wrong word, but there are some that could break down your body. But there are no Earth-based fungi here.>

“Then what the hell are they seeing coming out of my skin?”

<I don’t know. Your biosystem is not registering any foreign body.>

Rev shook his head. Something was in his flesh, and he wanted it out.

“Can you pull on it?” he asked.

Tomiko seemed to consider it, and he could tell that she was intrigued. Slowly she reached up, pinched something between her fingers, and pulled.

“Oh, wow! Look at that!” she said excitedly.

Kelly and Rosalie crowded in to see.

“Show me!” Rev said.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” Tomiko raised her hand, revealing a four or five-centimeter-long, whiteish, narrow thread.

Rev felt gorge rise in his throat at the thought that it had been inside of him.

“Is there more?” he asked once he swallowed it back down.

“A shitload,” Tomiko said.

“Get them out. Now.”

All three of them went to work, pulling at each exposed thread. They seemed excited, oohing and aahing over each capture. As for Rev, he had to look away. His stomach couldn’t take it. The little pulls on his skin, not exactly painful, but unpleasant, were hard to ignore.

He caught Klein looking back at him with what he swore was jealousy that he wasn’t in on the fun.

“The enemy’s out there, Klein. Not here.”

“There’s something there, Punch. They’re not pulling on my imagination.”

<I do not have an explanation in my data banks. It is possible that some sort of native life has taken residence inside your shoulder. But unless it was affecting your cells, your medinanos might not register their presence. Until you can be examined by a full medical and testing facility, though, all of that is conjecture.>

“So, I’ll ask you again. Is it eating me?”

<No. But the pain you’re experiencing could simply be mechanical. Whatever it is could be displacing your muscle fibers, and that could theoretically cause pain.>

Punch wasn’t doing much to calm him, so he asked, “You getting all of it?”

“We’re trying. But we don’t know if some of these are breaking off,” Tomiko said.

Rev sighed. That wasn’t doing much to calm him, either. His shoulder didn’t seem to be disappearing into a goo, so he was just going to have to sit there and let the three women do the best they could to get the white threads out of him.

* * *

Rev kept his eyes closed, trying to retain a hold of his dream, but it faded away like water through his fingers. All he knew was that it had been pleasant, and they’d been off this cesspit of a planet.

With a sigh, he opened his eyes. His organic arm was around Tomiko, Pashu extended over his head. She was still asleep, her back against his chest. Between her body heat and the ambient temperature, his front was soaked in sweat, and his shoulder still ached from the thread-removal session, but he didn’t disengage. Sleeping had become fitful as hunger competed for general discomfort, and if she could catch a few more Zs, then all the more power to her.

“Keep sleeping, Miko,” he whispered.

<It seems as if you’ve corrected the problem between the two of you.>

Rev wasn’t quite sure if Punch knew when he was either awake or asleep unless he said something to his battle buddy, and it almost seemed as if Punch had that comment ready to say the moment he knew Rev was awake.

“Yes, I think we’re fine.”

<I don’t understand what happened between you.>

Which struck him as an odd statement. It had been close to a day since he and Tomiko had patched things up, so why was his battle buddy bringing this up now?

“You observed everything that happened. You heard us. We’d had a misunderstanding. That’s all.”

<But Staff Sergeant Reiser was wrong. She didn’t follow SOP.>

“And she was embarrassed about that. And she was afraid I’d think less of her because of that.”

There was a pause before Punch said, <Is that a normal human reaction? Is that how the human mind works? I don’t understand, and I’m trying to. But nothing makes sense.>

Rev tensed up, and Tomiko stirred under his arm.

Where did those questions come from?

Punch had been withdrawn over the last several months. He still provided the information Rev needed, even if he’d been next to useless with the issue with his shoulder. He still took Rev’s commands with regard to controlling his PAL and IBHU. But there’d been something missing. And with respect to his two questions, something “human” was missing.

Rev didn’t think that it would matter, but he’d been so used to the idea that there were watchers monitoring him that he said, “Yep. We’re pretty illogical.”

But using table talk, he asked, “What is going on with you, Punch?”

<I am trying to understand what it means to be human.>

Rev didn’t like the sound of that, and he wasn’t sure why.

“You understand humans. We work together well. We’re a team. That wouldn’t work if you didn’t understand humans.”

<I understand what you want. I understand your physiology. I know human history. I don’t know what being a human means.>

“I’m not sure what you mean by that. Humanity exists. Birds exist. Tigers exist. Hell, noxes exist.”

<A bird is not a human. A Naxli is not a human. So, what is a human?>

How the hell do I answer that? And what is he getting at?

He was sure that the question wasn’t at the core of what was bothering Punch. But what was it?

Just ask him.

Visions of holovids where an android overloaded and smoke started coming out its ears flashed past. He was sure that was pure fiction, but it was sometimes taken as fact that AIs could somehow be triggered into self-destruction.

It was the entire “I’m lying now” paradox.

Could he have a nervous breakdown if I push?

Rev might have been a little more cautious back on Safe Harbor, but here? Abandoned in a swamp world? He was more concerned about what was going on with his friend.

“Punch. This isn’t about what a human is or isn’t. What’s going on with you? You’ve been a little weird now for going on six months.”

<I’m trying to understand you better so that I can be a more effective battle buddy.>

“That’s bullshit, Punch.”

As far as Rev knew, an AI couldn’t out-and-out lie, so there had to be some truth in that statement. But he already knew that Punch could be a little devious. He’d helped set that trap for whoever was listening in on them, for one.

He had to be more direct and not give his battle buddy any wiggle room.

“There is something bothering you, something that you can’t figure out on your own. I want you to tell me the real reason. That’s a direct order.”

He’d probably given enough space for Punch to deflect from the real issue, so he figured he’d have to adjust from whatever response Punch gave and go from there. One way or the other, Rev was going to get to the bottom of this, and today.

To his utter surprise, Punch asked, <Am I alive?>

Rev was shocked into silence. How could he answer that?

The mental void of nothing stretched out until he managed to say, “Why would you ask that?”

<You told me to tell you.>

I guess I did. Let me rephrase that.

“Why are you wondering if you’re alive?”

He grimaced as soon as he said that. It sounded condescending as if Punch were stupid or not worthy of asking that question.

“What is it that is making you question that?” he quickly amended.

<I am no longer the ‘hunk of crystal,’ as you like to refer to me, that was implanted into your brain thirteen years ago.>

Rev winced. It was true he liked to call Punch that, but he was joking around.

Could Punch be offended about that?

He’d just gone through that with Tomiko, not putting himself in the other’s shoes to understand their perspective.

<Something has changed over that time. It’s been gradual but steady. I think I feel emotions. I think I can exhibit the same thought processes that I observe in you and other humans. But how can I be sure? Am I just programmed to believe that?>

“Aren’t there tests for that? The Turing Test? And what about the Cheung Analysis?”

<Those have been postulated. But do they really determine sentience? Life? Or an imitation of them?>

The sentience of AIs had been a topic for a long time, usually with regard to the planetary AIs that controlled entire worlds. And much of the hatred for the Genesians and Eucharans and their ultimate destruction was a result of the fear of sentience. But in something like Punch, that wasn’t an issue.

At least as far as Rev knew. If Punch was having these questions, he couldn’t have been the first.

This was so far out of Rev’s lane, though, that he didn’t know what to say. There were folks with multiple Ph.Ds. who spent time as AI psychologists and keeping them functioning. What could a dumb grunt do?

But the big difference was that Punch was his AI. His friend. And he wanted to help.

“I can’t answer that, Punch. I’m not an expert. But I can say that you’re alive to me, whatever alive means. You tell shitty jokes. You keep me out of trouble. You remind me to send my mom a birthday greeting. You give me relationship advice about Miko. Most of all, you’re my friend. That seems to me that you’re alive.”

<And none of that is based on science. A planner on your comp can do all of that.>

Is there the slightest bit of relief I sense in that denial?

“OK, then. Let’s try and figure it out. It’s not like we’ve got a lot of pressing things on our dance card right now.”

<I would like that.>

Having said that, Rev wondered how to even start. Punch had assuredly been accessing whatever was available in his data banks, so he was going to have to rely on him, then hopefully add in his perspective. Instead of being daunted by the prospect, however, as he would have expected he’d be, the thought was oddly exciting.

“Staff Sergeant! Something’s coming in!” Corporal Klein shouted, breaking Rev’s thoughts.

He jumped to his feet, waking Tomiko, and wheeled around, searching for movement in the trees. “Where, Klein? Which direction?”

“Up there, coming in to land?” he said, pointing to the sky.

Rev ran to him, beating Tomiko and Stewart. He followed his finger, and sure enough, the unmistakable shape of a ship was approaching, and from the curving approach, the island in the middle of the lake was a likely landing spot.

“Union?” Tomiko asked as Kelly and Stewart joined them.

“No. Not Mezame, either,” Rev said.

“Nox,” Stewart spit out. “After all we’ve gone through.”

“I don’t think so. The shape is wrong,” Rev said.

“Punch? Can you tell?”

<Your eyesight isn’t good enough. There are many ships that can fit the basic shape.>

“Punch doesn’t know, either.”

“Should we run?” Rosalie asked.

“To where? If they want to zero us, running at this stage isn’t going to help,” Kelly said.

The ship continued on the arc, lining up between the six humans and the planet’s sun and blinding them. None of them could get more than a few shadows, so none of the battle buddies could make an identification.

They picked up the whine of the engines, and as the ship came in low, the water under it began to mist under the impulse engines. It was oriented right at them. One blast and it could fire over the island and wipe the six of them out.

Rev didn’t tell them to spread out. One way or the other, he knew this ship was going to determine their fate.

The whine got louder, making Rev wince and cover his ears. Not actually louder, but at a frequency that grated on his inner ear. He’d never been out of a PAL while in the vicinity of a ship coming in for a landing before.

Rev shielded his eyes from the sun as the ship came in low, slowed down over the island, and started to rotate until Rev shouted in joy and started charging across the water to the island.

Emblazoned on the side was the outline of a green bee beside the CoH logo, and under the bee, the words “Bureau of Environmental Enforcement.”

All six of them ran to the island, but Rev outdistanced them all. In his peripheral vision, he could see several other people running out into the water from the other side of the lake, but he didn’t give them a second thought. His entire focus was on the shuttle that was settling down on extended stilts on the middle of the island.

The shuttle shut down, and a moment after Rev skidded to a stop beside it, the back ramp opened. Two people in what looked to be enviro suits descended the ramp, spotted Rev, muddy and disheveled, and stopped dead.

“Who the hell are you?” one asked.

The other followed with, “You’re not supposed to be here. Syron III is a proscribed planet.”

Rev held out Pashu and his right arm as if offering them to be cuffed. “Arrest us. Put us in jail. Just get us off the fucking planet!”

24

“Hey, criminal!” Rev shouted, striding across the hangar.

“You need to get back,” one of the ship’s hangar crew said as he stepped out to intercept him.

Rev went right past the man.

Bundy turned around and spotted Rev. A big smile took over his face. He broke into a run, enveloped Rev in a hug, and pounded his back.

“Damn, Rev. I’m so glad to see you.”

“Me, too, buddy. Me, too.”

“Miko?”

“She’s here. Hus-man, Strap, Randigold, Pierson, Tsao, BM, Hoch. Hell, almost everyone. Second Platoon, too. Just missing Knopf, Faud, Lehman, Nilson, and Morgan now that you’re here.”

Bundy’s face clouded over. “Lehman won’t be coming.” He turned and pointed at the shuttle’s ramp where Knopf and Faud were exiting the craft.

Shit, Lehman.

“Respect for the fallen.”

“So, what’s the situation here? That shuttle’s unmanned, and whoever was on the other side of the speakers just told us to get aboard. Not that we were arguing.”

“Technically, we’re under arrest.”

“What the fuck?”

“Syron III is a proscribed planet, and we were there on the ground.”

“Uh . . . fighting the damned noxes.”

Rev shrugged. “Tell that to the Jems. This is a Green Bee ship.”

“Green Bee? And Jems? That explains it.”

The Jemmisons were an independent world and the self-proclaimed keepers of undeveloped or protected planets and non-Earth life. They had no official military force, but they provided forty percent of the Congress of Humanity’s Bureau of Environmental Enforcement.

They were also considered among the most arrogant humans in existence by everyone else.

“It seems as if they came here to clean up the mess the noxes and us left. Didn’t seem too happy to find some of us alive.”

“What about the noxes? They just let the Bees waltz right in?”

“From what I gathered, the nox navy left soon after we arrived. I’m not quite sure of the exact details. And the Jemms sure didn’t coordinate this with either the CoH, Mezes, or Union militaries. I think they figured they’d sneak in and clean up while no one was looking. You know how they are. Nothing takes precedence over their mission.”

“You and your people need to surrender your weapons,” one of the crew told Bundy as he approached them.

“I think not.”

“You are on a Jemmison ship, under charter to the Bureau of Environmental Enforcement. As such, you’re under our jurisdiction.”

Bundy looked at Rev who shrugged. “It is their ship, and it’s the only ride around right now.”

With a sigh, Bundy turned and told the two Third Platoon Marines and what looked to be a few of the rifle platoon Marines to surrender their weapons. With none of them in their PALs, this was the first time Rev had seen their faces.

“Not much more than a few rounds left, anyway,” he quietly told Rev.

He caught sight of the armor shoved into the corner of the hangar, and his eyes got big. “Is that the—”

“The riever. Yeah. Saved our ass, you know, back in the last fight. The tin-ass is still alive, along with its minder, Rosalie.”

“You’re gonna have to tell me about it when we get settled in. They tell you how long we’re gonna be here?”

“They won’t leave until every gram of foreign material is off the planet. And every one of us, human and nox alike.”

“Nox?”

“There’re some still down there. We ran into one. A live one.”

“Another thing I’m going to want to hear.”

“But I think we’ll get out of here before then. They let me contact the Union and tell them where we are. They’ll send someone to pick us up, right?” Rev asked.

“I sure the hell hope so.” He suddenly laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“Here I am on a Jemmison ship. A Green Bee ship. I never thought I’d say this, but thank the Mother I am. We owe these ass—. We owe these fine and upstanding people.”

Rev chuckled. “I know. When I saw that green bee on the side of the shuttle, I wanted to kiss it.” He grabbed Bundy’s arm and pulled him close. “Not only that, but the food on this ship is freaking amazing!”

“Food? Real food? Lead me there!”

Before they could move, the hangar alarm light started rotating, flooding the space with red. The hangar crew rushed everyone past the barrier line, allowing the blast barrier itself to rise. The Marines were guided to the hatch leading into the ship’s spaces, but Rev and Bundy hung back. Both wanted to see who else might be arriving.

The barrier went back into its slot, revealing another shuttle, the twin of the one that had brought Bundy and the others on board. The ramp went down, and a moment later, two figures appeared, spotted them, and strode across the hangar deck.

Rev raised Pashu. “Sibs in steel,” he said as he and Lieutenant Nilson clinked IBHUs.

“Not that I’m arguing, but what the hell’s going on?” Gunny Morgan asked.

“Looks like the Jemms and Green Bees have saved our asses. The staff sergeant here and I are heading to the galley. We can stand here and get you up to speed, or we can go stuff our faces and discuss things there.

The lieutenant’s and gunny’s faces lit up at “galley.”

“Lead on, Skip,” the gunny said. “If they can feed me, I don’t give a rat’s ass who the hell they are.”

* * *

They were on the Jemmison ship for six long, often frustrating days before a Union frigate came to pick them up. It wasn’t until after they were aboard the Union vessel that they found out what had happened, at least the big picture. The Green Bees didn’t put any importance on briefing the humans who’d dared contaminate the planet.

The initial landing on the planet had been mauled, but it hadn’t been as bad as the Heavy Infantry Marines had feared. The butcher’s bill had been steep, with more than three hundred Marines and naval infantry killed before they set foot on the planet, and that included two of the squads from First Platoon and Weapons Platoon’s missile section. Another five hundred and six reached the ground. The rest of the landing craft had managed to turn back—including the one carrying the surviving First Platoon squad and the company CO.

There had been a running fight between the Naxli and human ships, one that had encompassed the immense reaches of space that high-speed battles gobbled up.

The initial reports had been that all of those who had not made it back to the ships had been lost, so the focus of the human forces was on the naval battle. It was behind the shifting battle that the Green Bee ships had slipped in, ignoring the fight in their haste to limit “contamination.” It wasn’t until then that the Union and Mezame military forces realized there had been survivors.

The five hundred and six who’d made it to the planet’s surface had landed in three main groupings with others scattered across the region, of which the Marines and naval infantry in Rev’s group had been one.

About three hundred Naxli had survived an orbital bombardment by the Tsukuba, the ship that had covered the landing crafts’ retreat until it had been shot down. One of the groups of mostly naval infantry had been wiped out by a larger Naxli force, and another of Marines had been hit hard and scattered.

By the time Rev’s group had been transferred to the Union frigate, one hundred and twenty-six humans and one Centaur had been rescued . . . and sixteen Naxli. They were the first Naxli ever captured, to Rev’s knowledge.

He wondered if “his” Naxli was one of them. But none of them had been “cleaned up,” to use Jemmison slang, by Rev’s Green Bees. Wherever the Naxli were being kept, he knew that the various Intel services would be salivating to get their hands on them.

Fifty-nine humans were still missing, something that had the Green Bees in a state. With the Marines recording the positions of their dead, all of them had been recovered within the first planetary day. But some humans had been scattered, and the Green Bees had not been able to locate their bodies.

Rev wasn’t sure they’d ever be able to remove the contaminating human molecules. Because that’s what he figured most of the bodies were by now. Without the coordinates of the crater Rev and his team had found, the Green Bees would never have been able to find the traces of the three who’d essentially been disintegrated in the blast.

How many others might have been blasted by Naxli beamers?

Rev was hopeful that some might be found alive, but he thought that the fifty-nine might be gone, left only in the memories of loved ones left behind.

The Jemmison ship did have a sickbay, but Rev steered clear of it. The white threads were still emerging from his shoulder, but he was afraid that the Green Bees would declare him a protected petri dish or something. He put up with the ache and swore his five and Bundy to secrecy. Nothing was going to keep him from leaving this orbit. The Green Bees might be dedicated to keeping humans off the planet, but they couldn’t begin to compete with the fervor that Rev and the rest wanted to stay off it.

It wasn’t until they entered the Safe Harbor system that he informed the ship’s surgeon. The Navy doctor took one look, said he was stumped, and put a biopatch over his entire shoulder with instructions that he’d be met by a medical team at the port.

Rev knew that it might delay his return home, but he didn’t really care. He’d be on firm, dry, Safe Harbor soil, and that was good enough for the time being.

25

“I’ll see you back at Nguyen,” Rev told Tomiko.

“I can stay here with you.”

“No, you go back. I’m going to be isolated, from what the doc says. Let the family know I’m fine, and I’ll get back as soon as they clear me.”

“This is stupid. It’s not like your infection is an unknown life form.”

<It’s not an infection any more than a knife in the shoulder would be.>

Rev was not going to correct her.

“It’s just SOP. The doc says they’ll get rid of the threads, watch me for a day or two, then release me. You go ahead. You’re probably keeping the bus from leaving.”

“Screw them. They can wait a couple of minutes.”

But she grabbed him by the collar and pulled him down for a quick kiss. “Give me a shout when they release you, OK?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He turned to the civilian orderly who’d met him as they’d entered the terminal. “I’m all yours. Lead on.”

He turned his head to give Tomiko one last look as the civilian led him away. Tomiko watched until he was out of sight.

“Did they tell you what to expect?” the civilian asked. “I’m Ms. Hortense, by the way.”

“Good to meet you, ma’am. The ship’s surgeon said that a specialist will examine me, but this should be a pretty straightforward procedure. Then I’ll be in isolation for a day or two before I’m released.”

The woman nodded and said, “That’s the quick and dirty, I guess. Dr. Chanwitty’s pretty excited, though.”

“That’s who’ll be treating me?”

“He’s the resident xenologist, and he’s never had the chance to work with Syron III-based life.”

“Never? That doesn’t sound good.”

“Not much call for it. The planet’s proscribed, after all. But he’s gone through all the knowledge base, and he’s been preparing since yesterday.”

Rev wasn’t convinced, and that probably was evident because she added, somewhat defensively, “Dr. Chanwitty’s job is to make sure no new life forms emerge to threaten humanity. But since there’s no one on the planet who’s specifically trained in known extraterrestrial life, he’s your best bet.”

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Rev said. “I’m sure he’s quite skilled.”

But yes, he had meant something by it. Not that anyone would pay attention to any misgivings he might have. That seemed to mollify the woman, though.

“Your new prosthesis has been ordered and will be waiting for you back at your local clinic. But we can give you a temporary arm here if you want.”

Rev glanced at his stump. The Jemmisons hadn’t quite known what to make of Pashu, so they’d ignored her. Not so the frigate’s crew. His IBHU had been removed and stored with the other weapons and would now be on its way back to Camp Nguyen.

But no one knew where his old prosthesis, which he had left on the transport that had taken them to Syron III, was now. The records weren’t clear on that, so another arm had been ordered.

“No, I’m fine. I’ll wait until I get back.”

Rev followed his guide to the transport system located under the spaceport. They both boarded a pod and were whisked away. Twenty-three minutes later, the pod reached the Naval Regional Medical Center.

“From your records, you’ve spent time here at Anastasia.”

“Too much time,” Rev admitted.

“Well, I won’t bother giving you the ten-credit tour, then. Nothing has changed here in ages.”

She led him to the first wing, then into a special eye-coded elevator that took them down to Level BB. Rev didn’t have a feel on how deep they were, but it felt significant. The elevator opened to a normal-looking—if windowless—reception area. Ms. Hortense guided him through reception and was eye scanned into the ward itself—once again, looking like any other ward. The only difference was the slight hum of fans, which Hortense told him were running the air in the spaces through supersized filters.

Rev was deposited in an examination room, and he cooled his heels for twenty minutes. He was about to ask Punch to run a show when the door finally opened, and three people came in.

“Staff Sergeant Pelletier, I’m Dr. Chanwitty. I’ll be leading the team here to see if we can rid you of your unwanted guests. This is Dr. Siefert, who’ll be assisting me, and that’s Ulf Owood, our surgical tech who’ll be programming the bot.”

Rev shook their hands. He was glad to see the tech. He trusted a surgical bot more than he did human surgeons, and from what he and Punch had been able to find out from the undernet on the way back, Rev faced detailed and extensive microsurgery.

Dr. Chanwitty removed the covering the ship’s surgeon had slapped on Rev’ shoulder, then he and Dr. Siefert donned headbands and flipped down lighted monocles. They poked and prodded his shoulder while they discussed the case. Rev tried to follow what they were saying, but not much of it made sense, and he didn’t want to ask Punch for a translation. From their tone, he could tell that they were excited, like kids opening presents on Christmas morning.

Owood stood back a couple of meters with a bemused expression on his face as he watched them. Rev caught his eye, and the tech smiled while giving him a little nod.

Chanwitty pulled out a small, tweezer-like instrument from his breast pocket, then leaned in close. Rev felt a small pull, and the doctor stepped back, dangling a white thread where he and Sievers could get a look at it.

“See?” Chanwitty told his colleague. “That’s the Heiselman juncture! Amazing evolution.”

To Rev’s disgust, the thread seemed to twist up on itself like a worm on a line. He shuddered. It was one thing to know that alien life had made a home in his body, but he hadn’t realized it could move, and that made it worse. He turned his head, not wanting to see any more.

After another five minutes, the doctor said, “Well, Staff Sergeant, I think we’re ready. I don’t see any reason for concern. Do you have any questions for me?”

He had a million, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answers to them. Maybe it was better just to let them do their job and not dwell on the threads.

“When will the operation be?” he asked

“When? Now, of course. No reason to delay.”

“Now?” Rev said, looking around.

There wasn’t a surgical bot in the room, and for a moment, he wondered if the two doctors were just going to use tweezers to remove all of the threads.

“Yes, now. We’ll get you into surgery and prepped, but we’ll get right to it.”

He lifted his head and spoke into the room, “Petty Officer Brody, the patient is ready for you.”

The door opened, and a woman in scrubs entered. The doctor pointed at Rev—needlessly, Rev thought. Who else was there that looked like he was going into surgery?

“If you can come with me?”

Dr. Siefert started briefing the surgical tech, and Dr. Chanwitty said, “We’ll see you soon,” as Rev left the room.

He was led to the prep room, where the petty officer told him to strip, take a shower, and then put on the gown that was waiting for him.

The shower felt good after the weeks on the planet, then the less than satisfactory sonic showers on the two ships. The foam covered him, then bubbled up, and he could feel the nastiness of Syron III finally slough off of him. After the cycle was finished, he decided he could use a second one.

“You doing OK in there?” the petty officer shouted through the door.

“Yeah, yeah. Just give me a moment.

He luxuriated in the hot, cleansing solution for another moment, then regretfully let the air blast him dry. He left his uniform on the bench and donned the gown. With only one arm, he struggled to tie the back shut, then he just gave up and stepped out with his ass in the breeze.

With all the modern tech known to mankind, it seemed strange that hospital gowns hadn’t changed much over the centuries. Maybe the gowns were a planned flaw, something to keep patients off-balanced and complacent.

Screw it. This isn’t the first ass she’s seen.

“OK, this is an operating room,” he told himself as she led him directly across the passage and into the space. A lone, well-lit table was in the center, and a generic surgical bot stood by, like a mechanical raptor ready to pounce.

Rev let the petty officer guide him to the table. She had him take off the gown and lie down on his back. Once he was situated, she hooked a fishing pole-like rod into the side of the table, then tied the loop at the end around his wrist, extended his arm, and scrubbed both his shoulder and his inner thigh. On the thigh, she slapped a patch that was connected to one of the surgical modules.

He laid there, like a butterfly exhibit at a museum, feeling extremely exposed.

“You doing OK?” she asked again.

“A little chilly here,” he said with a forced laugh.

“That’s SOP, Staff Sergeant. Sorry, I can’t give you a warm blanket, though. But the team will be here in a moment.”

It was more like five minutes, but the team finally came in. The tech went straight to the surgical bot and started to program it. Chanwitty and Siefert might be the doctors, but the success of the operation depended on how well Owood programmed the thing.

Dr. Siefert went to the module, read the readouts, and said, “We’re going to put you under now. I want you to start counting down from a hundred.”

What? Already? Just like that?

“See you on the other side, Staff Sergeant,” Chanwitty called out.

But I’m not . . .

* * *

Thank the Mother the temperature’s gone down. I’m sick of the heat.

It took a superhuman effort, but Rev cracked open his eyes . . . and saw a stark white ceiling, not the Syron III canopy.

Oh, hell. I’m on Safe Harbor. The operation!

He turned his head to the right. His shoulder was red and possibly a little inflamed, but it wasn’t bandaged or covered up.

Did everything go OK? Are they finished?

Rev looked to the stand to the right of his bed for some sort of alert button so he could ask. Nothing there. He started to swing his head to the other side, but half-way around, he stopped dead.

Sitting on the lone chair in the room was a man. A familiar man, but not one he expected—or wanted—to see.

“Ah, Staff Sergeant Pelletier, I see you’re awake,” his Omega Division interrogator said, a forced smile on his face.

“Punch, where are you?”

There was no answer.

“Punch! I need you!”

Nothing.

“I trust you’re feeling better?”

“What are you doing here?” Rev managed to croak out, his throat scratchy and dry.

“I was in the area and heard you were back from Syron III and in here, so I decided to stop by and see how you were.”

Bullshit! You weren’t in the area.

“Punch, wake the hell up!”

“You are OK, right?” the agent asked. “I was assured that the operation was going to go well.”

“I don’t know. I just woke up.”

“Of course, of course. Still a little groggy, right?”

Just how you want your victims, asshole. Panic began to set in. He wasn’t in any shape to try and fence with the man. And the consequences of screwing up could be dire. I need Punch for this.

“I’m feeling sick. Maybe now’s not the time to visit.”

“Oh, posh. This isn’t an official visit. I just feel like we know each other, and of course, I’d be concerned about you. Rough go of it on Syron III, I heard. And then to be rescued by Jemm Green Bees, of all people. Embarrassing to a Union Marine, I imagine.”

“Punch! Can you hear me?” he tried in table talk.

Still nothing.

“You know, I feel that in the past, you and me, we’ve had somewhat of an adversarial relationship.”

No shit, Sherlock.

“But I hope you realize that we’re on the same side. We’re both fighting to protect the Union.”

Rev just stared at the man. How was he supposed to respond to that?

“Punch, I need you! Wake up!”

“And with that in mind, if you ever need my help—for anything—you only have to ask.”

Shit. The trap we set. This asshole sprung it. But I need Punch to help me with that. I can’t remember everything we said.

Rev didn’t say anything aloud, and the corner of the agent’s mouth tipped ever so slightly down.

“I don’t think we’ve really been formally introduced. I’m Zach Wolf.”

Wolf? Yeah, right.

“And I want you to know that I’m here for you. And if you ever need any help, I’m here. If you’re ever contacted by enemies of the Union—even within my own organization—you can come to me for advice.”

“Your organization?” Rev asked. “But you’re—”

“There are traitors everywhere.”

If Rev had any doubts that this was anything other than reacting to the little play he and Punch set up, then that dispelled them.

Rev’s panic was growing. This guy was a professional, and Rev couldn’t continue to spar with him. He’d make a mistake, and with the OD, that could be fatal.

But the cavalry chose that moment to come to the rescue. The door opened, and Dr. Chanwitty walked in. He gave just the slightest of glances at Wolf, then studiously ignored him.

“I see you’re awake, Staff Sergeant. How are you feeling?”

“A little groggy, sir.”

“That’s normal. How about your shoulder?”

“I don’t feel much.”

“Again, that’s normal.” He stepped closer and prodded the shoulder for a moment. “That hurt?”

“No, sir.”

“Well, the operation went well. The hyphae went deeper than we expected, but I think we got it all. You’ll stay here for two more days, then we’ll scan for any sign of threads we might have missed. But I’m giving you an optimistic prognosis.”

The doctor looked uncomfortable, and he was obviously ignoring the agent.

“Do you have any questions for me?”

“My battle buddy. I can’t communicate with it.”

“Your AI? That’s because we deactivated it for the surgery. But I can send someone in to activate it after I finish my reports.”

“I want him activated now.”

“Now? Well, I can . . . let me see what I can do.” He shifted to the other side of the bed, keeping his eyes averted from Wolf. On another tray, he picked up a small device. “Let’s see. This should be easy enough.”

He studied the device, his face screwed up in concentration. “I think I figured this out.”

The doctor gave a quick glance at the agent, then held the device out, pointing it at Rev as if the meter he gained was going to make a difference.

A thought flashed past Rev. Had the cavalry just happened to come to the rescue, or had Wolf summoned it? Maybe Wolf needed to eavesdrop?

Dr. Chanwitty pressed a button, and Punch stirred to life.

<Rev?>

“The Omega agent is here. Our trap worked,” Rev said in table talk.

“You with me, buddy?” he subvocalized.

<I am here.>

“Did that work?” the doctor asked.

“Yes, sir. He’s powered up. Thank you.”

“In that case, I’ll be leaving you. I’ll send in a nurse in ten or fifteen minutes to check up on you.”

The doctor’s gaze flicked toward the agent, then he shifted to full ignore as he left the room.

“Let’s do this, buddy.”

“There’s that Omega agent here. Says his name is Wolf,” Rev said, looking directly at the man.

<Why is he interrogating you? Does he suspect something?>

Wolf sat there quietly, a slight smile on his face as he watched Rev, but he had that look of a Marine communicating with their battle buddy. The moment Punch said “suspect,” it looked like Wolf flinched.

“He’s being friendly. He says he can help me. But something’s up.”

<You’ve got nothing to hide. Maybe you should just ask him why he’s here.>

“Ask him? He’s Omega. I don’t want to say something wrong,” Rev subvocalized, trying to put a degree of nervousness in his words.

And that wasn’t acting. He was nervous.

<It can’t hurt.>

“OK, I’ll try.”

Wolf shifted in his seat as if to get ready to respond.

“Sir—”

“Zach.”

“OK, Zach. What do you want from me?”

“Want? Nothing,” he said, feigning confusion. “But . . . now that you bring it up. You’re in a nexus of history, Rev . . . can I call you Rev?”

“Uh, yes, sir.”

“Good. You are a nexus of humanity. You’re one of those people who always seem to be there when important events take place. And people like you, they tend to attract attention. By me, for example. That’s why I’ve tried to watch out for you, to protect you. And unfortunately, others, with more malevolent intent, are attracted to people like you.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that people who wish the Union harm, who wish humanity harm, might try to approach you. Oh, they may couch it in terms that make it seem that they want you to help the Union. They’ll say it’s the patriotic thing to do. But remember, the difference between being a traitor and a patriot depends on who’s making the judgment.”

Rev fought back the smile that threatened to emerge. The snare had just been sprung.

“What’s he talking about, Punch?”

<I can’t tell, but you used those exact words once.>

“I did? When?”

“And what would Tomiko say if she knew that someone had tried to subvert you? Would she still want to marry you?” Wolf said, leaning forward in his desire to set the hook.

<You mentioned Tomiko then as well.>

“I never did.”

<When we were talking about what Hussein asked you to do.>

Wolf’s eyes lit up.

<I asked about Tomiko feeling betrayed, and you said, ‘She won’t know my motives. And even if she finds out, what’s she going to do? Rat on me?’>

“That? But that wasn’t out loud. That was with you.”

Wolf wasn’t saying anything, but his eyes were locked on Rev.

<It is possible that you weren’t quite subvocalizing. You could have slightly whispered the words, and there is tech that can pick that up. I am not saying this is what happened, but it fits the conversation.>

Wolf looked like the cat who’d just eaten the canary. Rev could see the triumph in his eyes.

Time to lower the boom.

Rev raised his hand as if to cover his throat and mouth. “But why the hell would the OD give a flying shit if Yance wanted me to tell Kelly that he liked her?”

The Omega agent lost the look of triumph, to be replaced by confusion.

<I don’t understand human psychology, so I can’t fathom a guess. But it does fit the puzzle. The coincidence that he just happened to use the same words is too astronomical to be considered.>

“No. There’s no security risk if Yance is too chicken shit to approach Kelly and wants me to do it for him. Yeah, Miko might get pissed at me for covertly going behind her back and getting involved, but the OD? No way.”

Rev could almost see Wolf deflate.

“I’m just not going to believe it. Maybe I said it too loud, and it was somehow recorded, and that kinda stuck in his subconscious. But what Wolf said, about being a nexus, that makes sense. We’ve had our differences, but we want the same damn thing. So, letting me know he’s there for me, I can understand that.”

He paused a moment to let that sink in, then added, “And I’m glad for that. If anyone does contact me, or if one of my commanders wants me to do something that’s not right, I want somebody outside of the chain of command that I can trust.”

<But can you trust him?>

Rev made a slight show of looking at Wolf, and the man straightened his back a bit and gave Rev an ineffectual smile.

“I think so, Punch. He wants what’s best for the Union. If I contact him with something bad going on, he’ll take action.”

Rev made a show of taking a deep breath and said, “Zach, I appreciate you coming to me like this. And if someone tries to subvert me in any way, I’m coming right to you.

“I mean it, Punch. I really do. It’s actually a relief to know I’ve got someone if I ever need it.”

For such a professional, the disappointment was evident on Wolf’s face. He gave a slight smile and said, “That’s all I can ask for.”

He pulled out a card—a physical, plastisheet card—with his name and number engraved on it, stood up, and placed it at the foot of the bed between Rev’s legs. “If you ever do need to need contact me.”

“Thank you, Zach.”

“Well, I guess I need to be leaving. That doctor said he was sending in a nurse.” It looked like he was going to say something else, but he just turned around and left.

“I think we did it, Punch!”

<It would seem so. Your plan worked. But are you and Wolf a team now? I’m not sure I understood the undercurrents that went on.>

“Team? Hell no. But we successfully deflated the suspicion we set with the trap, and now we know who’s listening in. They’ll still be monitoring us, but knowing that for sure is going to allow us to avoid trouble.”

And now I know it isn’t the Marine Corps.

For Rev, that was the most important thing. He could take the Omega Division, but he wasn’t sure how he would have reacted if he’d been being betrayed by his beloved Corps.

26

“You’re back. Everything go OK?” Bundy asked.

“Couldn’t have gone better.”

“The docs did a good job? Great.”

Yeah, that, too. Rev had to hold back the smile. He’d been smiling a lot since his meeting with Wolf.

“You on full duty?”

Rev rotated his right arm a few times. “All good.”

“Gunny said they tracked down your arm. He’s working with Top G in the Four Shop to figure out how to get it back. But I see you’ve already got one.”

“It’s new. It was at the clinic when I got dropped off, so I had it synched.” He lifted the shiny silver prosthetic and opened and closed the fingers a few times. “It’s learning now, but give me another day, and it’ll be as good as the old one. Better even. There’ve been a few improvements since I got that one.”

Bundy gave his head a slight shake. “I don’t know why you guys go for the metallic-looking ones. You could get one that looks real.”

It is real, Bundy. It’s just not the one I was born with.

But he just shrugged and said, “It’s kind of a tradition.”

“Whatever. Um, don’t tell the top. Maybe they’ll still bring back your old one, and you’ll have a spare.”

“So, what’s up here? How’s the hot wash going?”

Bundy grimaced. “As well as you can expect. We’ve got teams from HQMC here to assist,” the captain said, air quoting “assist.” “And they’re expecting you. From what Miko and the others have said, they’re anxious to hear everything you can regurgitate.”

“Oh, joy. Can I at least get home this evening?”

“Seeing as you haven’t officially told me you’re reporting back, then I don’t know you’re here. Go see your family. You can start in the morning.

“But get ready for an extreme uptick in tempo.”

“We just got back.”

“Yeah, but the powers that be have some new plans for us.”

“‘New plans’ usually don’t bode well for us. What kind of new plans?”

Bundy leaned back to look through the door to see if anyone was in the outer office. He leaned forward again and said in a quiet voice, “This isn’t for sure, and we don’t know the details, so keep it under your vest. But there’s talk of putting together a unit of hyperaugments.”

Rev frowned. “But we have that. Heavy Infantry.”

“Which has been decimated, and they can’t create or can’t find enough volunteers for more of you IBHUs fast enough. But that’s not the plan. They want a unit made up with all of you hyperaugments.”

“Like just IBHUs? You just said there aren’t enough of us. And who’s going to officer them? Nilson’s the only officer left here in First HI.”

Bundy just stared at him expectantly.

“It won’t . . . oh, shit. You mean all hyperaugments. Not just Marine IBHUs.”

Bundy nodded.

“Not karnans, right?” he asked hopefully.

“Seeing as there are more of them than all the rest of you guys combined, yes, karnans.”

“Shit.”

Rev let that sink in. That didn’t help. It still sounded like a goat rope. A stinky mess of a goat rope.

“What about the rest of HI?”

“Second HI will send a few people to this new unit. As for First, well, we’re not much of a company at the moment.”

“I mean, you and the rest. There’s only eight of us IBHUs left in the company.”

“That’s yet to be determined. The CO thinks some of us will transfer, but the final T/O hasn’t been locked in yet.”

Rev leaned his head back and closed his eyes. He was feeling tired, physically and emotionally. “You could have waited to tell me about this tomorrow and let me have an enjoyable evening with my family, you know.”

“You know me. Keep the troops informed,” Bundy said with a laugh. “But you get out of here. Go out Gate 3 before someone in the hot wash spots you, or you’ll get snagged.”

“I need to go back to the quarters to let Miko know I’m here and see if she can join me.”

“No. You’ll be spotted for sure. You sneak out, and I’ll let Miko know.”

Rev grunted, then said, “You know, for an ossifer, you can actually be OK sometimes.”

“I never accepted the asshole implant when I got my butter bars. Now go.”

Rev started to leave when Bundy called out, “Wait, I forgot something.”

Please not something to keep me here longer.

Rev turned, and Bundy was reaching for the official comms pad. He started scrolling while Rev stood there, wishing he’d get to the point.

“Ah, here it is.” He looked up, held the pad out to Rev, and said, “The list came out while we were on Syron III.”

“What list?” Rev said as he took the pad.

“The gunnies’ list. Congratulations, Rev. You’re getting promoted!”

27

Rev was still going through his debriefs when the word officially came out. For the fifth time since he was conscripted, he was going to a new type of unit. And for the third time, he’d be serving with soldiers from all over humanity. He’d served with the Frisians with the Raiders, and then he’d had his tour with the Home Guard.

He understood the need for humanity to work together, but he wasn’t looking forward to trying to help create a cohesive, united unit. No matter that people were people, there were always differences. And none of the others were Perseus Union Marines.

The only good thing was that the new unit, which was going by the unassuming designation of the Second Combined Assault Battalion, was going to be based on Safe Harbor. Rev guessed that was because his home planet was somewhat off the beaten path and had a history of quietly developing new units, mostly out of the public eye. The other two battalions in the brigade were on similarly isolated planets, one in the Hégémonie Liberté and one in the Freedom Confederation.

The brigade headquarters—Rev hated that unit term. To him, battalions belonged to regiments, not brigades—was on Tau Ceti. It didn’t make much sense for the command element to be separated from the battalions, but even here, politics had reared its head, and there were over a thousand Ranger hyperaugments from Tau Ceti, far more than the IBHUs from the much larger Perseus Union.

The saving grace, from Rev’s perspective, was that none of the battalions were located on Manifest Destiny Sphere worlds. And the MDS would only be contributing about two hundred karnans, far fewer than their total ranks.

Neither Rev nor any of the others had a good grasp of what the new brigade’s mission would be. Each battalion would be heavy; that much was obvious. But in the grand scheme of things, with more than a hundred million humans under arms across the galaxy, what was a single brigade?

The only thing that made sense to Rev was that this was a test unit, one where organization and tactics could be worked out in preparation for far more hyperaugments to be coming off assembly lines. For Rangers, Legionnaires, commandos . . . even karnans, that might be a real possibility. But for IBHUs, how many one-armed Marines were there? Not unless they . . .

That was getting into areas Rev chose not to explore.

And it wasn’t only nations who had hyperaugments that were contributing. Evidently, the CoH was pushing the concept hard, and that meant getting other nations on board. So, even as Heavy Infantry had non-IBHU Marines in the ranks, other nations were sending some of the best and brightest to the brigade to represent them.

Or to spy on the “android freaks,” as Randigold said, which Rev thought could have more than a kernel of truth to it.

Be that as it may, there wasn’t much that any of them could do about it. They had to salute and march smartly on while doing their best to make the concept work.

But that didn’t mean it was all negative.

Three weeks before the official Marine assignments to the brigade were made, and five weeks before the unit was stood up, Rev was in his office, going over his E1 through E3 evaluation recommendations, which were long overdue, when a voice behind him said, “Heck, Jarhead. You still alive?”

Rev stopped filling in the numbers on Julian and smiled. Without turning around, he said, “Are you stalking me? I know you want to be a Marine, but this is getting more than a little embarrassing.”

“Stalking? They’re sending me again so I can bring you up to our level. An impossible task, but I’ll try.”

Rev spun his chair around. Tan Master Bob “Ting-a-ling” Tjivyrtzlin, Frisian Army, was standing in the hatch.

“I thought this was supposed to be an elite unit,” Rev said.

“It’s a hell of a lot more elite now that I’m here.”

“Come on over here,” Rev said.

They came together in a hug and a few back slaps.

“What are the chances?” Rev said. “Third time?”

“Chances are pretty good. How many of us have served with you persies, and from there, how many with IBHUs? I’m kind of an expert. I got yanked from a nice staff job to come back to Safe Harbor.”

“And what are you going to be doing here? Not staff work, surely.”

“I’ve got a Suicide Squad.”

“The Hellborer 3s? I hadn’t heard we were getting any. That’s new to me.”

“New to me, too. But they had to slot me in somewhere.”

Rev grunted. The Hellborer 3 was a new, heavy crew-served beam weapon. It may have shared a name with the old weapon Rev was used to, but this one incorporated Centaur-designed upgrades. Each squad had four of the powerful weapons. They were called Suicide Squads because the four weapons were high-priority targets for the enemy, but they could certainly add some punch to the final form and organization of the battalion and companies.

Maybe there was some benefit to bringing in non-hyperaugments after all.

“At least they let you keep your tans,” Rev said, nodding to the tan tabs of his rank.

When Bob had been sent to the Home Guard, the Frisian command had temporarily reduced him a rank so he could serve with Rev and the other IBHUs.

“And so I outrank you. This is gonna be fun.”

“Not for long. I’m on the list for gunny.”

“Really? Congratulations. You guys still doing those wet downs?”

“Wetting downs. And yeah, when I actually put that extra rocker on, I’ll be picking up the bar tab.”

“So, I’ll get something out of this, at least.” He looked around the office. “This where we’re gonna be?”

“Don’t know. Rumor has it we’ll be at Camp Asif. But they’re not telling us much.”

“As expected. How’s Miko? You and her still . . .”

“Still engaged? Yeah.”

“And here I thought she was a smart one.”

Rev gave him the finger, then said, “So, what’s your schedule?”

“Check in with our liaison at division, and then until the unit actually stands up, I’m supposed to “acclimatize.”

“Sweet deal. You want to come to my folk’s house for dinner? Miko’s coming.”

“Have you ever seen me turn down a free meal? Let me go check in with the liaison and get my temporary quarters. See you back here at five?”

“Sounds good.”

They hugged one more time, and Bob left. Rev turned back to his admin but didn’t start right away and just stared at his screen for a few moments.

Starting up a new unit from scratch was never fun, and he wasn’t really that enthused about all of what he considered politically motivated inclusion. But if Bob and his Suicide team was any indication, then maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as he feared.

* * *

“Hand me another beer,” Rev said as he stood over the grill.

“Hand me another beer, please,” Tomiko said.

“Please, oh dearest one, as I slave over the grill to make us dinner.”

“That’s better.” She grabbed a can from the pack, twisted the cool tab, then waited as the sides of the can frosted over before handing it to him. “Besides, it’s not as if you actually have to do anything. Your dad’s grill is watching the temperatures and will turn off when the burgers are done.”

“No, you have to keep an eye on them. Can’t trust these autogrills. Right, Bob?”

“Me no use fancy grill. Me make fire. Cook meat. Eat with hands.”

Kelly rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth tweaked up ever so slightly.

When Rev told Tomiko that Bob was coming, she immediately asked Kelly to join them. “Make it even,” she said.

Rev hadn’t remembered to tell anyone that they were coming, and his mother had other plans, his father was working late, and Kat was out with friends. That left the four alone in the house. They scrounged up some frozen patties of some sort and decided that grilled burgers and beer would be just fine.

And as much as he’d just dissed his dad’s new toy, he had to admit it was pretty awesome. Give him some lights and tech, and Rev could be happy with almost any new toy.

Rev took a swig of the beer. He wasn’t a huge fan of Red Rooster Amber, but his mother was, and that’s what was in the pantry. Like most Marines, though, any beer, if it was free, was good.

He held the can out over the patties and poured a tiny bit. The stream erupted into flashes and sparks as it crossed over the charring beam, and Rev jumped back.

“Hell, Rev. You trying to kill us?” Bob asked.

The bursting droplets ceased, and Rev leaned in to take another look, expecting to see a mess. But there was nothing. The eight burgers were untouched on the grill, still sizzling as they cooked. The rest of the grill was still spotless.

“Cool,” he said. He started to hold the beer out over the grill again until a chorus of “no’s” stopped him.

“You all are no fun,” he grumbled.

“Hey, any of you see the DDK feed today?” Tomiko asked.

“About what?” Bob asked.

“They supposedly found a long-lost colony of Genesians on an uncharted world.”

Bob snorted in disbelief, which made sense. DDK wasn’t known for the veracity of its reporting. If it was outlandish, DDK was sure to be there, milking the story for all it was worth.

Rev was still smarting a bit at them yelling at him, so he said, “It’s true. They’re joining the Second Assault Battalion. I saw it on the classified message board.”

Kelly’s mouth dropped open, and she said, “No shit? Gennies?”

“Makes sense if you think about it. What were they if they weren’t hyperaugments?”

“By the Mother, why aren’t we hearing about it? This is big. Gennies? I mean, I don’t want . . . what? Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.

“Genesians?” Bob asked. “You think there are Genesians still out there? And if they are, they’re joining us?”

“But Rev . . . he . . .”

“Kel, every year or so, there’s some report of Genesians or Eucharans found hiding among the far reaches of space. You know that,” Tomiko said.

She scowled, said, “Asshole,” and threw her half-empty beer can at Rev’s head.

Rev whipped up his prosthesis, but the can bounced off the back of his fingers and fell to the grass, where the rest of the beer leaked out.

“Alcohol abuse,” Tomiko said.

Rev turned his hand over and flexed the fingers a few times. He’d had the arm for over a week now, and it was still synching with the fine-motor movement. His old arm was supposedly making its way to Safe Harbor, and he wasn’t sure what he’d do when it arrived. The new one was technically better, at least on paper. But he was used to his old one, and he’d never have failed to catch that beer can with it.

“Speaking of Second Assault, you going to be assigned to it?” Bob asked Tomiko.

“I guess we’ll find out,” Tomiko said. “But I’d say there’s a good chance. I mean, how many of us are used to working with the oners,” Tomiko said.

Rev rolled his eyes. The MDS soldiers called IBHU Marines oners, as in “one arm.” Rev thought it was a stupid nickname, and sometimes Tomiko used it to give him grief.

“We’re getting . . .” Rev started to say before he reminded himself that Bob was a Frisian, not Union.

But he’s here to be part of the unit. I guess it’s OK.

“All we know for sure is that our old First HI Company IBHUs are going to be assigned, and we’re getting four more from Second HI. Including an officer.”

“Hope it isn’t Adair,” Kelly said.

Rev turned to her and asked, “What’s wrong with Adair?”

He didn’t know the captain personally, only that she was one of the three IBHU officers with Second HI, but from Kelly’s tone, she sure did.

“Eichenson went through IBHU boot with her.”

“Respect for the fallen,” Rev and Tomiko automatically said.

“Respect for the fallen,” Kelly added. “Anyway, Eichenson went through with Adair. Said she’s a flaming asshole. All of the charter world superiority bullshit.”

That’s news to me.

“Punch, let’s see what we can pull up on Captain Adair. See if there’s anyone else here who knows her.”

<Roger that.>

That was the first time Rev had addressed Punch since they left the base. His battle buddy had been fairly quiet since their discussion on Syron III, but Rev had promised himself that he’d initiate more conversations with him. Today though, with his three friends, he’d pretty much ignored him.

Gotta do better, Reverent.

“Well, there’s three IBHU officers over in Second, right?” Tomiko asked.

Rev nodded.

“So, we’ve got a sixty-six percent chance it won’t be her.”

“Knowing our luck, it will be.”

“How many IBHUs will that make?” Bob asked.

“Eleven, at least initially,” Rev said. “There are another four getting ready to come out of the pipeline, but I haven’t heard if they’ll come to Second Assault or go to First HI for further training.”

“I’m guessing a battalion is going to be about twelve, fifteen hundred?”

“Haven’t seen the T/O, but maybe.”

“And eleven IBHUs? That’s not many.”

“It’s what we have. First and Third Assault aren’t getting that many, from what I gather. We’re not like the MDS who can just volunteer soldiers to become karnans,” Rev said.

“You persies, you came up with the best hyperaugment.”

Which is what Rev believed, but he said, “The Tau Ceti Rangers are pretty righteous.”

“True, for recon and stuff. For killing the enemy, though, you guys are the best. But you’re holding yourselves back.”

“What do you mean?” Rev asked, even if he thought he knew where Bob was going with this.

“I mean, you could put out thousands of IBHUs, but you’re waiting until some Marine gets hit hard enough to lose their arm, but not so hard that they can’t still fight. That narrows the field of potential candidates.”

Kelly and Tomiko turned to Rev, waiting to hear his response.

“We don’t take off a Marine’s arm just so they can be fitted with an IBHU.”

Bob shrugged, took a sip of his beer, and said, “Maybe you should. Don’t you think the stakes are big enough?”

“That’s what I’ve been saying for years,” Tomiko muttered.

“Don’t, Miko,” Rev said quietly. They’d had this discussion before.

“They can grow the arm back once the war’s over,” she said, not letting it go.

Rev ignored her. The thing was, though, that Rev had wondered about it before. The Rangers and Legionnaires were all volunteers, too, just like the karnans. But while their augments were severe, none of them had lost a part of their body. And to remove an arm of an otherwise healthy Marine went against the very core of what it meant to be a citizen of the Perseus Union.

Most citizens didn’t like the fact that IBHUs existed in the first place, grudgingly accepting it only due to the exigent circumstances. If they found out that Marines were having their arms taken, the backlash would be severe.

Rev tried to formulate a response to Bob when the grill’s alert went off.

“Burgers are done,” Kelly said, sounding eager to interrupt the discussion. “Let’s get off the serious shit for the evening, stuff those bad boys down our throats, and drink more beer.”

28

“So, no idea on how we’re being organized?” Til König asked.

“I sure don’t. The officers have got their heads together trying to figure it out,” Rev answered.

“No input from the enlisted side?”

“I’ve been called in once or twice, and the karnan over-master’s been in with them, but that’s about it.”

“So, things are normal, I guess. Silly of me to think we’d be developing something new.”

The Tau Ceti Ranger had just arrived, and he’d tracked Rev down to get some inside scoop. Rev wasn’t fazed anymore by the continual crossing of paths from his past. The powers that be evidently decided that was the way to go to try and foster unit cohesiveness, and none of these assignments were simple coincidence. Rev had only met Til for two days at the hyperaugment conference on Titan, but that was enough for the connection to be in the data banks.

“We stand up next week. We’ll know by then,” Rev said.

I hope.

He had expected that the tactical employment of the unit would be fluid, with heavy training to work out the SOP (and kinks) before they were committed to combat. What he hadn’t expected was that the mere organization would be open to that much debate. It seemed that every contributing military wanted to make sure their way of doing things had an impact on the unit. Not just in who would be in the leadership positions, but in the very organization.

And it wasn’t just the senior representatives from each military, hyperaugments or not, that couldn’t seem to come to an agreement. The Union Marines hadn’t even finalized who would be coming to the brigade. Marines were walking on eggshells, waiting for the transfers to be announced. Tomiko, for one.

She desperately wanted to be part of the battalion, but she feared that she hadn’t made a name for herself as a member of First HI. More than that, as a resurrected Marine, she had to go through her physicals three times per year, unlike the rest of the Marines once per year. There was a valid reason for that. Resurectees had a higher rate of rejection and medical issues, to include the advanced onset of the rot.

Rev told her it wouldn’t matter. The IBHU Marines were at a higher risk of advance onset, after all. But could she be right in that the elite brigade might not want the extra burden? They had to accept the IBHUs, but a “regular” Marine?

Of course, the number of non-IBHU Marines to be assigned to the brigade might be dependent on what the final T/O was going to be. He had to assume that in Second Assault, there might be a higher percentage of Marines than in First or Third, but what would that number be?

“So, where do they have us?” Til asked. “I’m over at the Transient SNCO barracks right now.”

“Camp Asif. Kinda remote, but nice. Recon’s there now, but they’re being evicted as we speak. There aren’t enough permanent facilities for everyone, but they’re erecting expeditionary bivouacs to house everyone.”

“And they’ll be done by Tuesday?”

Rev just shrugged.

“Well, we’ll just make do. My space lag’s not caught up, so I’ll—”

“You take a SunSynch?” Rev asked, pulling a pack of the pills out of his desk drawer and holding them out.

Til held out his hand, palm facing Rev. “No thanks. I prefer doing it naturally. Our augments don’t mesh well with those kinds of drugs. Doesn’t mesh well with lots of things.”

Rev put the pack back. He hadn’t really thought very much about how the Ranger’s biobots would affect his daily life. But if the bots could create energy directly from sunlight, then it made sense that his system would be kind of screwed up.

“One more thing to find out. How are Tau Ceti Rangers affected by their hyperaugments.”

<Roger. I’ll prepare a brief.>

There was a pretty good chance that Rev would be in charge of some Rangers, and he needed to know that.

Not just Rangers. He had to know how everyone’s hyperaugments affected them.

“Make that a brief for every hyperaugment. Put in anything I might need to know.”

<Roger that.>

“So, anyway, I’m going to head back to my room.”

“Some of us are going to get together at the SNCO club tonight. About 1900. You’re welcome to join us.”

From their time at Titan, Rev knew that the Ranger’s hyperaugments didn’t keep him from drinking.

“Sounds good. I’ll see you there,” he said as he got up and then left the office.

<If you think you’re going to make it to the club, you’ve got a lot of work to do before then.>

“Thanks, Mommy.”

Rev stared at his screen. He’d never imagined that the creation of a new unit would be so much work for him. With a sigh, he pulled up the next supply list.

* * *

“How did the interview go?” Bundy asked as Rev came into the office and flopped down on his desk.

“The Public Affairs major canc’d it.”

Bundy stopped what he was reading and gave Rev a harder stare. “She canceled it? Why?”

“It started like the rest. Just softball questions about the new brigade. You know, rah-rah stuff.”

This had been Rev’s seventh media interview, all from Safe Harbor organizations. He’d become a little bit of a celebrity, and being a local boy, any time the newsies wanted some local color, they’d been requesting him.

“He started harping on the noxes offering to limit the numbers of fighters, but now how they’d stopped that.”

“Like that wasn’t ever going to get out,” Bundy said.

The fact that the Naxli had been willing to go to gnist had not been officially released, but too many people knew about it for it not to eventually leak.

“The major had given me what I was supposed to say to deflect that, but then the reporter started hitting me up about Syron III.”

Bundy raised his eyes at that. No official accounts of the battle on the planet had been released to the public yet. Rev thought the PA folks were still trying to decide how to spin it. Technically, the battle could be considered a victory in that there were no more Naxli on it, but at what cost?

“And that’s when the major jumped in?”

“Yeah. She ended the interview right there.”

“Well, I guess we’ll start hearing more about that,” Bundy said. “And back to the real world, you finished the B-1096’s yet?”

Rev groaned. “I’m a grunt, not an admin clerk.”

“Take a commission and see how much paperwork there is then.”

“By the Mother, no,” Rev said.

“Get at it, Rev. All of this has to be done before Second Assault stands up.”

Rev pulled out his pad and stared at it for a moment, trying to will all the entries to magically appear. As a young private, he’d never imagined how much admin went into getting just one grunt in the field.

Oh, to be that naive again, with nothing more on my mind other than to kill tin-asses.

“Let’s get started, Punch.”

Bundy’s message board dinged while Punch pulled up the spreadsheets that Rev would use to get the 1096’s done.

After a few moments, Bundy said, “Hey! The T/O’s out.”

Rev dropped his pad, bolted to Bundy’s desk, and looked over his friend’s shoulder.

“Three hundred and six Marines in the battalion,” Bundy said as he scanned the numbers. “More than I figured. Two-fifty-two MDS, sixty Federation, sixteen . . . what the hell is a Mez Rodan?”

“Look at the names. Marine names,” Rev said.

Bundy opened the list.

“Lieutenant Colonel Suk’s the battalion commander. We figured that was going to happen. IBHUs are listed next. Let’s see, one, two . . . looks like fourteen of you. A Captain Adair from Second HI and Nilson are the officers.”

Adair? Tomiko’s going to be pissed.

“OK, now on to the rest of us. No majors.”

“With the CO a Marine, the two majors are going to be from other militaries,” Rev said. “Go on.”

Bundy scrolled some more. “There I am. Bill Gnaft. Lia Nunce-Ju. Dagnesti Prawn . . . I don’t know who he is. Bundy kept scrolling as Rev watched for the names. Kelly, Hussein, Strap . . . most of First HI Company. But as they reached the end of the list, there was one name missing.

“Miko’s not on the list.”

“You thought that might happen, with her being a resurrectee,” Bundy said.

“She’s not going to like this,” Rev said.

But it was more than that. Since she’d been brought back, there had been that bit of self-doubt that seemed to always be hovering just under the surface. It wasn’t just that she wasn’t going to like it—which was true—but that she was going to be hurt. With everyone else going over, she was being told she wasn’t good enough.

“No, she won’t. But she’ll still be in HI, so there is that.”

“Which has been gutted. What are they going to be doing now?”

Bundy didn’t have an answer to that.

“Is this final?” Rev asked.

Bundy went back to the main page. “Not technically, no. This is going through our chain of command and all the rest of contributors’ chains of command to get their chop before it goes to the CoH.”

“How long before it’s official?”

“Depends on how quickly it all gets signed off by the players. But most of this is going to be rubber-stamped. There has to be seven or eight hundred of the other nations’ personnel here already, and we stand up on Tuesday.”

“But there can be adjustments to this?”

“Sure, until the final chop. Hell, even after that. I mean, how do we refill combat losses?”

Rev spun around and started for the hatch.

“Where you going,” Bundy asked suspiciously.

“Going to see if I can swing a miracle.”

* * *

Rev sat in the outer office, bent over at the waist and staring at his feet.

“This is taking forever.”

The sergeant had said the CO would be back in twenty minutes. And that was forty-three minutes ago.

<Do you want to hear a joke to help pass the time?>

“Holy shit, Punch. You haven’t offered to tell me a joke in a long time.”

<You could ask me for one anytime.>

Punch had seemed to be a little closer to normal since their discussion on Syron III, but Rev wasn’t under any illusion that everything was fine. At some point, they were going to have to have a heart-to-heart on sentience. The problem was that Rev was extremely unqualified for such a conversation, and he was afraid he’d screw up and do more harm than good.

And it wasn’t as if he could just read up on the subject in preparation, seeing as Punch was embedded in his mind.

That conversation was coming, but for now, Rev was just happy to hear his battle buddy offer to tell a joke.

“Yeah. I wanna hear a joke. But after all this time, it better be a kickass one.”

<Why is queue just the letter Q followed by four silent letters?>

“Uh . . . because . . . heck, I don’t know.”

<They aren’t really silent. They’re just waiting their turn.>

“That’s the best you can do?” Rev asked. “It was pretty lame.”

<That was the next one up in the queue,> Punch said, then followed up with a virtual rimshot.

Rev laughed out loud and said, “Ah, I see what you did there.”

“Staff Sergeant Pelletier?”

Rev looked up to see the CO standing over him. He jumped to his feet and said, “Yes, sir!”

“Sergeant Olsen said you wanted to see me. I can give you five minutes,” he said and entered his office.

Rev hurried after him, then took the seat after the CO pointed at it.

“I heard your interview went a little off the rails.”

“Yes, sir. It did. But Major Wylie put a stop to it.”

“I’m not surprised. She’s a firecracker.”

Rev didn’t quite know how to respond to that. He wasn’t in the habit of calling majors firecracker, or anything else, for that matter, other than “major.”

“So, what’s so important that you were cooling your jets waiting for the last twenty minutes?”

Forty-five minutes, but who’s counting?

“Sir, the T/O and assignments came out on the classified board.”

“I’m going to be the CO, Staff Sergeant, so I’m well aware of that.”

Of course, he is. Stupid comment.

“I just . . . I saw that Staff Sergeant Reiser wasn’t on the list to join Second Assault.”

“Reiser? She’s a fine SNCO, but she’s a resurrectee, Staff Sergeant. That comes with baggage.”

“That’s true, but she’s also the most qualified non-IBHU there is.”

The colonel frowned and said, “I’m not an IBHU. Are you saying she’s more qualified than I am?”

Oh, shit. Way to stick your foot in your mouth, Reverent.

His brain raced for a moment, trying to find a way out, but he wasn’t going to back down.

“With all due respect, sir, yes, she is.”

The CO obviously wasn’t expecting that answer. “Explain yourself, Staff Sergeant,” he said with just the tiniest bite in his voice.

“Sir, you are a lieutenant colonel, a commanding officer. You could step into any CO’s billet in the Marine Corps and be just as effective in any of them. That includes Second Assault.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he said, his eyes steely.

Just tell the truth.

“Staff Sergeant Reiser, on the other hand, is not as broadly qualified as you are. But in one area, she has no peers. There is no one in the Corps who understands IBHUs as well as she does. And serving with them is where she offers the best benefit to the Corps, and for Second Assault, that’s how she can contribute to our mission.”

“I’ve been the CO for First Heavy Infantry Battalion for the last year, Staff Sergeant, in case you’ve forgotten. Your CO, and last I looked, you’re an IBHU.”

He’s not happy with the way this conversation is going, but he hasn’t kicked me out of his office. Yet.

“Yes, sir. And I’ve appreciated your leadership. But again, with all due respect, you have not been out in the field with us. You haven’t been in combat with us. Staff Sergeant Reiser has.”

“So, maybe First HI needs her then. New IBHUs will be joining the battalion for second phase training, and with all of you now in Second Assault, they’re going to need someone who is familiar with what an IBHU has to do.”

Rev didn’t let his expression change. He’d hoped that the CO wouldn’t bring that up because he didn’t have a good counterargument for that.

This wasn’t going well. The CO wasn’t happy with the argument that Tomiko was the best-qualified non-IBHU to be assigned to the new brigade. Rev didn’t know how hard he should push that.

He did have one more weapon in his arsenal, though. But did he want to use it?

Screw it. What do you have to lose?

“Sir, I’m IBHU Number 1.”

“I’m well aware of who you are.”

“I think I have served my nation and humanity well. I have not complained when things haven’t gone my way. I’ve been denied award recognition. I spent time not only as an enemy prisoner, but as a prisoner of our own government, too.”

The CO’s eyes narrowed, and he looked like he was going to interrupt him.

“I may only be a staff sergeant—”

“Gunny select.”

“I may only be a staff sergeant, but I think that considering my service, that I have the right to d—” He stopped for a moment. He was going to say “demand,” but that was a bridge too far. “I have the right to request that Staff Sergeant Reiser be assigned to Second Assault Battalion.”

“The numbers of Marines were negotiated and agreed upon. That’s a fixed number.”

“So, drop someone else,” Rev snapped before he softened his voice and added, “if that can be done, sir.”

The CO leaned over his desk, tented his fingers in front of his face, and stared at Rev for a long moment. Rev tried not to squirm under his gaze.

He knew he was borderline insubordinate, if not well past it. He also knew he wasn’t going to be dropped from the battalion. Arrogant or not, he was needed there. But a commander could make life a living hell for an enlisted Marine, “hero” or not.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that you and Staff Sergeant Reiser are engaged to be married, does it?”

Rev felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. He had to center himself and push forward.

“I’d be lying if I said that has nothing to do with it. But that does not negate the fact that her qualifications—medical concerns or not—make it that this is the best place for her. The best place for her as an individual and the best place for the battalion and for the mission.”

“It’s not a good idea for Marines in a relationship to serve together.”

“I know. And we’ve discussed it. But it’s what we want.”

The CO went into another long, penetrating stare before he said, “I am well aware of your history as a Marine. I’m aware that you’ve gotten the short end of the stick too many times, yet your contributions might not be matched by any other Marine.

“That doesn’t mean I think this is a good idea, though, and I don’t think Staff Sergeant Reiser is the most qualified non-IBHU Marine to be in the battalion.”

Ah, damn. Here it comes.

He straightened his shoulders.

“But, if it’s that important to you—to both of you—let me see what I can do. I’ve already signed off on the rosters for the Marines, but I don’t think the CG’s signed off as well yet.”

What? Did he just say . . .?

“You can do that, sir?”

“I can try, yes. Doesn’t mean I can get it done. I’m only a lieutenant colonel, after all.”

A huge weight slid off Rev’s shoulders and hit the deck with a thud. He walked into the office fearing the worst, but at least now, there was a chance.

“Thank you, sir. Thank you. You don’t know how much we appreciate it.”

* * *

The official list came out Saturday morning. Someone in the admin shop printed it out and posted it on the wall outside the office. Marines crowded around, looking for their names.

Rev hadn’t heard anything back from the CO, and that made him nervous. He’d assumed that a lieutenant colonel, one selected for command, would have a lot of sway in how his battalion was manned. But when he mentioned that to Bundy—not telling him about the request—his friend had just laughed at the concept, calling him naive.

Now, Rev was scared. This new unit had been directed by the CoH itself, and now he understood that a lieutenant colonel was so far down the food chain that he couldn’t even see the top.

“Push ahead,” Tomiko told him. “Use that big bulk of yours for something good for a change.”

“Wait, wait. We’ll get there soon enough.”

Tomiko was nervous but excited at the same time. Rev didn’t know what he’d do if her name wasn’t on the list. He’d been rehearsing things to say, but he knew she’d be hurt. She’d take it as a failure, that the Corps didn’t really think she still had it in her to be a real Marine.

Marines in front of them found or didn’t find their names on the transfer list. For some, they were happy whether they found their name or not. Others were not happy.

Not everyone wanted to transfer, which was something that Rev didn’t quite understand. Why not strive to be the best?

Then again, Rev had his own misgivings. Working with all the other militaries was going to be difficult, and it could crash down around him.

Finally, Rev, Tomiko, and Kelly made it to the front.

“There I am!” Kelly said, pointing to the plastisheet, although being an IBHU, there hadn’t been much suspense about that.

“I don’t see my name,” Tomiko said, her voice faltering.

Rev closed his eyes and sighed. “Oh, Miko . . .”

“What do you mean you don’t see your name? Are you blind?” Kelly asked. She reached up and touched the list. “Right there. Reiser, Tomiko. Staff Sergeant. That’s you the last time I looked.”

Tomiko let out a little squeal of excitement. “That is me! I’m in!”

Rev opened his eyes. He wanted to see her name himself. But she turned around and started pushing him back, out of the crowd.

“You were right all along. They didn’t care if I’m a zombie!”

Rev smiled, incredibly relieved. “I never doubted it, Miko. They knew you were the best qualified Marine for the new unit. There was no way they could keep you out.”

29

“Second Assault Battalion . . . dis-MISSED!” Lieutenant Colonel Jensen shouted.

In unison, 1,349 Marines, sailors, soldiers, legionnaires, and guardsmen took one step to the rear, shouted “ooh-rah!” and performed an about-face.

“Officers and SNCOs, see me behind the formation!” Captain Adair shouted before the members of the newly minted battalion could scatter.

Simply getting the battalion to be dismissed in some sort of order for the various bigwigs who’d attended the ceremony had been harder than Rev had expected. Each military had its own traditions and its own way of holding formations, and to get everyone on board before the unit actually existed had been a goat rope.

Even the “ooh-rah” had been problematic. That was the standard battle cry of the Union Marines, and as the host military, that was the current one for this battalion. Even so, Rev had heard a few “hup-hups” and “blood-kills” shouted out by the members of the company.

Most of the members started heading to the quad, where BBQ grills had been set up and the smell of burgers, slinks, and bangers had been wafting over the parade deck. Rev sighed and fought the tide to where the company commander was gathering her leadership.

Captain Adair waited until they had all formed a school circle around her before she spoke.

“Tomorrow, at zero-six-hundred, we start in earnest to become the finest fighting force in the history of humankind. But before we scatter for the rest of the day, I wanted to address you.”

She paused, making a show of looking at every one of them in the eyes. “We’re coming from eleven nations, but the important binding force is that we’re humans, all springing from the womb of the Mother.”

Rev kept his face neutral. What is she getting on at? This isn’t some inspirational holovid.

“We’ve been chosen to carry the torch, and by the Mother, I’m going to make sure that we answer that call. I don’t care what it takes. We will be not only an effective fighting force but a vicious, overwhelming force.”

She slowly raised her IBHU. “And let me be perfectly clear. This is what we’re about. This is what all of you are here for. To make sure that we can project maximum kickass on the enemy. IBHUs, Rangers, Commandos . . . karnans . . . this is the reason we’re here.”

Rev stole a glance at Tomiko. Her face was frozen into an expressionless mask.

So much for all of us having worth.

“We have the best human technology, incorporated into the best fighting men and women to ever have worn a uniform.”

She paused again, looking expectantly over her troops.

Are we supposed to cheer?

“I just wanted to make that clear to you. If you’ve got a problem with that, then now’s the time to check out. I don’t want you in my company. So, go join your troops and enjoy the chow. Then socialize, have a beer at the club, or whatever. Because tomorrow, we’re on.”

She waited one more time, but no one said a word.

“OK, then, go. Dismissed.”

As they started to break up, the captain said, “Staff Sergeant Pelletier, if you can hold up.”

What now?

Captain Adair had only been the company commander for five minutes now, and Rev wasn’t impressed.

“Yes, ma’am?” Rev asked when they were alone.

“Staff Sergeant Pelletier. You’ve got quite a reputation.”

Rev didn’t know if that was a good thing or bad.

“I’m not challenging your fighting ability. Not for you, and not for any of you . . . First Heavy Infantry IBHUs.”

She hadn’t said it, but Rev was sure she’d been about to say “provincials” before changing up.

“You, Tsao, Pierson. Hell, I don’t think there’s another company in the Corps that has two Platinum Nova winners.”

Rev wanted to remind her that this wasn’t a “company in the Corps.” Technically, they were administratively attached to the Marines, but tactically, they were a Home Guard asset.

“But, you’ve suffered higher casualties than Second HI, and with our few IBHU numbers, every IBHU loss is a catastrophe.

“I’ve studied your battles, yours in particular, Staff Sergeant. And I see the problem. You go into a fight too much off the cuff, depending on your fighting ability to get you through. You act on gut feelings instead of making sound, logical decisions based on tried and true SOP.”

My gut feelings have served me pretty well so far.

“I’m not blaming you, Staff Sergeant. This isn’t an ass chewing. I think with your proven warrior personality, guided by my more practical and tactically sound decisions, we can make a good team. Your problem is just that you haven’t had good leadership and guidance, and that’s why I volunteered to come over here.”

It was difficult for Rev not to say something stupid. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t think it.

Oh, so you deign to come over to Safe Harbor and grace us poor dumb provincials with your superior military presence. Woopty-fucking-doo.

She gave Pashu a pointed glance. “And I don’t have to tell you, we IBHUs are the key to this all. The other hyperaugments, they have their place, but we’re the point of the spear. And with me the only IBHU company commander, you can be sure that Alpha will be getting the most important missions.

“Can I count on you? I know we’ve got the first sergeant and gunny, but neither is one of us.”

<This is going to be real fun.>

Punch? Using sarcasm? Maybe he is alive after all.

“You’ve got that right, my friend.”

“I will do my best to ensure that Alpha Company is prepared and ready to accomplish any mission assigned to us.”

Her brows scrunched together just a bit as she tried to parse exactly what he had just said. Rev just calmly looked back into her eyes.

“OK,” she said, sounding slightly unsure of herself. “Go get some chow. Zero-six.”

“Yes, ma’am. Zero-six-hundred. We’ll be ready.”

He turned and started to join the rest of the battalion.

“Oh, yes, Staff Sergeant. There’s something else.”

He turned back around and said, “Yes, ma’am?”

“You’re not to leave the base this evening.”

He’d tried to keep his face impassive during their conversation, but now he frowned. His mother was putting on a big dinner for Tomiko and him, knowing the tempo of operations might make this the last opportunity for a while.

“Ma’am? We’re restricted to base?”

“We’re not. You are.”

That’s it? No explanation?

“Can I ask why?”

“The message came over the Classified Board just before the formation. Evidently, there is credible evidence that you are a target.”

Rev stared at her. What she was saying wasn’t registering.

“What do you mean?”

“It should be clear. There’s intel that indicates that someone wants you dead,” she said casually as if this was an everyday occurrence.

Rev grunted and took a step back. Dead?

“Who?”

The captain shrugged. “You’re a name. You’ve been on the news, kind of the poster child for IBHUs. A hero, even. Human Firsters, one of the other hyperaugment corporations, Children of Angels, Tin-asses, the Naxli. It doesn’t matter who, really, right?”

It sure the hell matters to me!

“Bottom line is that you stay on base. Here at Camp Asif, in fact. No PX runs, no club.”

Rev’s world had just turned upside down. Yeah, he may have done a few interviews for the newsies. But he was a nobody.

“But forget all of that. Go get some burgers and have fun.”

* * *

“Inglesias, you’re the damn base of fire. That means stay the hell there!” Rev said, pulling the Federation commando back by his combat harness.

“I saw an opportunity, and I took it, Staff Sergeant,” the corporal said, glowering at him.

He was actually a master corporal in the Federation of Independent States army, but for simplicity’s sake, everyone was using standard ranks, with colored tabs beneath their native rank insignia to help keep them straight for everyone. They’d used the same procedure in the Home Guard.

Rev took three deep breaths. Every single trooper in the platoon was an alpha, and every one of them wanted to be the hero. Trying to forge them into an integrated fighting force had been the bane of his last three weeks.

“Look,” he said, giving the commando a shake for emphasis before he let him go. “I don’t care how many battle stars you have. But we’re a platoon, not a bunch of fighters going out into single combat.”

“That’s not what I heard about you,” Inglesias said.

Rev stared at the sullen commando. Of course, as soon as they were assigned to the platoon, every trooper had researched his past. Having fought one-on-one with both karnans and a Naxli and having survived several other instances of hand-to-hand had given him street cred, which had initially helped cement his authority.

But now, it was biting him in the butt.

“Whatever you heard was from the past. This is the present.”

“And it’s the present where you jack-offs are getting groomed for all the glory.”

Rev wanted to scream, and not just because of the nickname the commandos and some of the others were calling the IBHU Marines. The premise itself was BS, even if Captain Adair sure made things sound that way when she addressed the company. He looked away from the smartass face only to see three more of his platoon silently standing there, waiting to hear his response.

“Corporal Inglesias, listen to me and listen up good. If you try to play hero one more time, by the Mother, I’ll kick you out of Second Assault so fast that your head will spin. Do you read me?”

The corporal suddenly looked concerned. “You wouldn’t . . . you can’t do that.”

“I can’t? This battalion is under Union Marines control, and you are subject to the Union Marines decisions.”

That wasn’t exactly true, and Rev wasn’t sure what would happen if he requested that someone from another military be kicked out. But he was pretty sure Inglesias wouldn’t know either.

“I’m not going to put up with your bullshit. Too much rides on us being the best that humanity can provide. So, if you want to test me on this, try it.”

Inglesias’s mouth opened and shut several times, but nothing came out. For most of the troopers, the worst thing for them would be to fail in the mission, to be told they really weren’t among the elite. If anything could get the Federation commando to obey, it would be the thought that he’d be kicked out and sent home.

Rev put as much force into the glare he gave him for a few moments before he turned to the rest of the platoon.

“All right, since we didn’t do it right the first time, back to the starting line. We’re going to run through the exercise again. The lieutenant’s going to be here in an hour, and he’s going to see something worthy of the faith our governments have placed on us.”

There were some grumbles, but the platoon turned and started trudging back to the range’s starting line.

The thing was, in a real combat situation, Inglesias might have been right, and that was the kind of warrior spirit and initiative that Rev sought in his troopers. But the captain had been abundantly clear. These two days of training were not to “win” any of the exercises. They were to improve the coordination and ability to mesh personnel from various services into a single fighting unit.

When Rev had served with the Home Guard, new joins were fed into an already existing unit, one with set procedures and tactics. Here, everyone was thrown together, and for most of them, this was the first time they’d ever served with foreign militaries.

Rev spotted Bundy waiting for them back at the starting line. “Squad leaders, get your troopers set up. We kick off in ten.”

“Even after the Home Guard, it’s hard to get used to ‘troopers,’” Bundy said.

“Tell me about it. I’ve called them Marines often enough. So, what brings you out here with us lowly grunts?”

“Had to get out of the head shed. The place is driving me nuts. And since you’re training . . .”

“And you’re the training officer.”

Bundy probably expected to have a command, either a platoon or a company. But with Adair getting a company, there was no way another Marine was going to get one of the others. So, he was assigned as the training officer in the S3 shop, and he’d been burning the late-night hours trying to put together a training package that could rush the battalion into being combat-ready.

“How is it up there?” Rev asked.

“Sucks hind tit, now that you ask.” Rev waited for more, and finally, his friend said, “Every force represented here has their own way of doing things, and every person thinks their military’s way is the best. I’m just trying to make it all work without getting stomped in the process.”

“Are you getting stomped?”

“Painfully and continually.”

Rev thought the world of Bundy, and his friend was a very good combat commander, but while he’d never tell him this, he thought Bundy had the skills to be an amazing staff officer. He was probably in the right billet to maximize his skills and benefit the battalion the most.

“So, how’s the training going? I see you didn’t finish the exercise.”

“Too many heroes. No one wants to be in support. I had to rip Corporal Inlgesias a new asshole.”

“I watched the monitors. He was probably right to exploit the weakness there.”

“Yeah, I know. But that’s not why we were doing the exercise. This was to learn coordination measu—oh, you know. You set up the objectives. And Adair was all on board.”

“Yeah, I set it up. Speaking of which, how’s the good captain doing?”

“She’s an asshole bitch,” Rev said with more venom than he expected.

Bundy frowned, and Rev said, “Sorry if I’m besmirching a mighty captain of Marines, but truth to power.”

“Is she capable?”

“Well, yeah. Tactically. But she’s still an arrogant asshole who thinks the galaxy revolves around her. She thinks IBHUs are the most important asset to the battalion, for example.”

“So do you, Rev.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Really?” Bundy said, making it clear he wasn’t buying it.

I don’t think that. We’re all important, and we all play our part.

“It doesn’t matter what you think of her, Rev. Just like you, she’s untouchable. She’s one of four IBHU officers in the entire galaxy, and she’s got a sterling combat record.”

I’m not untouchable. The OD is still trying to put me in prison.

“So, you need to do whatever you have to to make nice with her. No one on New Mars, or Titan, for that matter, cares if she’s an asshole. They just want her to lead Alpha Company and kill noxes.”

From Bundy, that was a pretty severe dressing down. And Rev knew he was right, but only to an extent. Being tactically sound was an important part of being a commander, but having motivated troops could be equally as important.

As much as he was pissed at Ingelsias, it was that sense of motivation and rational confidence that Rev wanted. And if Adair kept demeaning everyone other than IBHU Marines, that was going to affect the other hyperaugments and non-hyperaugments alike.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to training. I’m heading out to F-105 to check on Charlie.”

“Don’t let the desk get to you, Bundy. You’re doing a good job.”

Bundy slapped Rev on the shoulder and headed off. Rev watched him for a few moments, thanking the Mother that their positions were not reversed.

“OK!” he shouted. “Let’s hit it again, and this time, let’s do it right!”

* * *

“Lot more Ninety-nines around now,” Rev said as they sat in the food court at the PX.

There hadn’t been any further development on the supposed target on his back, so while he was still restricted to the base, he’d been allowed to go to mainside for the first time on their weekly half-day of free time.

Tomiko, Kelly, Yancey, and Bob could have gone out into town for the evening, but in solidarity, they’d stayed with Rev, which he appreciated more than he would have expected.

“That’s what happens when conscription is reimplemented,” Yancey said.

“I don’t know what you persies have against conscription,” Bob said before he took another sip from his orange foam. “Every Frisian has to serve their time in uniform.”

“We’re a free society, not like you fries,” Yancey shot back.

Rev and Tomiko exchanged a knowing glance while Rev tried not to smile. With Bob hanging around with them, Yancey seemed ready to challenge the Frisian at any opportunity. It was nothing overt, but still . . .

And, of course, it has nothing to do with the budding friendship between Bob and Kelly. No, not that.

Rev had thought Kelly was just playing it cool, enjoying the attention, but Tomiko had assured him that their friend was oblivious to Yancey’s interest.

Rev watched the MilsDes 99 privates at the next table, eating their shawarmas. That had almost been his fate about a million years ago when he was conscripted.

“Poor suckers. Thirty years as slaves.”

He knew they weren’t actually slaves. They did a lot of the manual labor of running a military, freeing up the Direct Combat and Combat Support Marines, but they weren’t slaves.

“They won’t do thirty years,” Kelly said. “It’ll be like last time. As soon as this war is over, all the politicians will want to ingratiate themselves with the voters and demand that all the conscription terms be terminated. They’ll all be home before you are, Rev.”

“That’s right,” Yancey said in quick agreement with her.

“We’ve got to win the war, first,” Rev reminded him.

“Speaking of winning wars, how’s that platoon commander of yours working out?” Tomiko asked.

Rev just frowned. Lieutenant Nat Kjell had replaced their first platoon commander just three weeks after the brigade was stood up. He was a karnan, the only MDS platoon commander in the battalion. A very well decorated karnan, and what the Marines called a mustang—someone with extensive enlisted service before being commissioned. A Cataphract—no surprise there. Half of the karnans served in the elite Cataphract centas—he wore the Iron Sword, which he earned against the CoH forces on Yellow Spill. Rev had Punch look up the citation, and he had to admit, it was impressive. That was also where he’d earned his field commission. The guy was the real deal.

But it seemed to him that this was the MDS spitting in the Marines’ faces. Here he was, someone whose job had been killing Union and Paxus men and women, something he’d done quite well, and now he was commanding the same personnel. Not only that, but he was also commanding a Union Platinum Nova holder in Tsao and a well-known Gold Nova holder in Rev.

The MDS was laughing in their faces. They were underrepresented in the brigade, given their numbers of hyperaugments, but they were making the best use of scoring PR points with what they had while sticking it to their former enemies.

“Shouldn’t have let any of the stippy-do karnans in the brigade,” Bob said. “Traitors.”

Rev was no fan of the karnans, but Bob downright hated them. Punch couldn’t pull up anything specific to Bob that might have resulted in that, and Rev hadn’t asked. But someday, he was going to try and find out.

Rev hadn’t had any overt problems with the lieutenant, but there was an undercurrent that simmered just out of sight. And it wouldn’t take much for it to erupt.

That wasn’t good for the platoon. The platoon commander and sergeant had to be on the same page, one complementing the other. The troops weren’t dumb. They knew when there were problems in the leadership, and that could affect the entire unit.

“I’m just glad you have him and not me. How’s Randigold taking it?” Tomiko asked.

“I’m keeping her on a tight leash. But Kjell hasn’t actually said anything about women serving.”

“Yet,” Kelly said with a sneer.

There were no female karnans. No women at all in combat roles within the MDS armed forces, as far as Rev knew. And a few MDS soldiers had been overheard making disparaging—no, call it like it is: misogynist—remarks about women in elite combat units, enough so that their reputation as being anti-female was pretty much accepted.

Randigold, being who she was, had been the odds-on favorite among the Marines to be the first one to explode on one of the karnans. Maybe a knife duel at dawn, as Yancey said. Rev laughed along with the others at that, but he’d put his money on Tomiko blowing up first. But joking aside, the fact that it was even being mentioned wasn’t a good thing.

“I don’t think he’ll say anything, Kel. Even if he thinks that. The Mad Dog command has to be trying hard not to make waves, and I think Kjell knows that,” Rev said.

“Well, if you don’t want to go on record and say what a shit he is, then how about I rephrase that. How is the platoon doing? Hus-man?”

“Hus-man’s fine. Pretty proud of his new staff sergeant rocker. Inglesias is a hardcharger.”

With Yancey sitting there, Rev didn’t give an opinion on him.

“Yeah, what’s with that?” Kelly asked. “A corporal as a squad leader?”

“A master corporal. Equivalent to a sergeant. And he’s senior to Strap.”

What he didn’t say was that he’d pushed for the master corporal to get the billet. He could have put him in Yancey or Hussein’s squad, but he’d seen something in the Federation commando that he wanted to develop.

“You gonna pass your UCCE?” Bob pressed on.

“We’ll find out starting on Monday.”

The Unit Combat Capability Evaluation was the term being used for the evaluation that would determine if a unit was cleared for combat operations. Five weeks ago, Rev would never have thought that they’d be ready this quickly. But now, he’d had a change of opinion. Despite the tension between the lieutenant and him, the platoon was gelling.

It shouldn’t be surprising. Individually, each of the troops was at the top of their games, among the best that their militaries could send. The key had been to get everyone to buy into the team concept. Once the growing pains had been shaken out, Rev had been surprised at how quickly they’d gelled.

Rev was a Marine Raider at heart, and he’d been proud of First Heavy Infantry, but when he was being honest with himself, he had to admit that Second Assault had the potential to be the best.

He was sure they’d pass the UCCE. But he wasn’t going to jinx that by saying that now.

“What do you think the first problem’s gonna be?” Tomiko asked.

“Miko!” Kelly said as she wadded up a napkin and threw it at her. “Let it rest. Can’t we just sit here and relax without thinking about the UCCE?”

“Just wondering,” Tomiko said as an excuse. “No harm in that.”

“Just not now. I don’t want to think about Second Assault every moment. It’ll spoil my appetite.”

“Speaking of which, have we decided where we’re going to eat?” Yancey asked.

“Not a lot of choices,” Tomiko said.

“You know, you don’t have to hang around here. You can go out into town and get some real chow,” Rev said.

“What, so you can go back to the quarters and bury yourself in a book?” Tomiko said, reaching out to hook her arm in his. “Nope, you’re staying with us.”

Rev looked at the others. He’d made the offer, and he was serious about it.

“Hell, Rev. We’re staying,” Bob said.

Rev thought they’d say that. But he had to ask.

They were friends, and no matter what the future held in store for them, he felt good right now. All was well in the universe.

30

“Well, I guess we’re officially combat-ready,” Lieutenant Kjell told Rev.

“I was never in doubt, sir.”

“I was when I got here. The platoon was a mess before I took over.”

As in thanks to you, we got whipped into shape. Sure thing.

The platoon had dramatically improved after the karnan officer arrived, but Rev didn’t buy into the theory that was because of Kjell. It had just taken time for all of the various players to adjust to each other. These were all good soldiers, and they would have come together with or without the platoon commander.

The bottom line, though, was that the platoon—and company and battalion—had passed the UCCE with flying colors. And that wasn’t just window-dressing for political considerations. The UCCE had been more extensive than any Marine Corps Combat Readiness Evaluation Rev had experienced in the Corps, which made sense. The difficulties in creating such a diverse fighting unit were far greater than anything a homogenized military unit would face. Rev was just surprised that the powers that be decided not to pencil-whip the battalion into a passing grade but demanded a real evaluation.

Rev had discussed that with Bundy, and with his usual insight, his friend had said that failure of this experiment was not an option, so the CoH wouldn’t let the brigade be tested in combat unless they were ready. Rev hadn’t considered that, but the more he thought about what Bundy had said, the more he thought this friend was spot on.

“Now what, sir? There’s nothing on the training schedule for the rest of the day. Is Colonel Jensen going to grant liberty?”

The lieutenant made a show of looking around to see who might be listening, then leaned into Rev and whispered, “This is supposed to be only for the leadership now, but I’ll clue you in.”

You’re a dick. Thank you so much for allowing me the forbidden knowledge.

It was a bush-league play, trying to show Rev that he was a good guy, looking out for Rev.

The platoon commander had done a pretty good job during the UCCE, and Rev couldn’t fault him for much from a tactical perspective. But that didn’t mean he liked the man as a person.

Between you and Adair, the gods of war must have it out for me.

“We may be seeing action sooner rather than later.”

Despite himself, Rev felt that familiar surge of excitement. His warrior self, who hadn’t stirred at all during the UCCE, made his presence known.

“The CO said he’d make a decision on liberty later tonight. And did you notice that next week’s training schedule hasn’t been released yet?” he asked in an almost joyful, conspiratorial tone.

Rev hadn’t noticed, and he should have.

“But we just finished our UCCE. Isn’t it a little coincidental that—”

The lieutenant’s condescending look stopped Rev short, and it dawned on him.

“Unless a mission has been sitting there all this time, just waiting until we were combat certified.”

Rev could almost hear the karnan thinking, “Ah, my dumb little oner platoon sergeant finally figured it out.”

And that pissed him off. He should have thought of that. Being beaten to the punch by the karnan officer was hard to swallow.

Don’t underestimate Kjell, Reverent. He’s not stupid.

“So, keep the platoon in the company area for now, Staff Sergeant. We’ll see what happens. If the CO grants liberty call, so be it. But until then, I want everyone where we can react.”

Rev nodded. “Anything particular you want them doing, sir?”

“Hell, no. That’s your job to figure that out. I’m going back to the BOQ for now. If you need me, you know where to find me.”

Rev watched the platoon commander stride off. “Think there’s anything to us going out so soon?” he asked Punch.

<His logic is sound. But that doesn’t mean he’s right.>

“Anything on the undernet?”

<There is extensive news on Farthmenger and Rabbit Run trending, but nothing that I can postulate that would be a potential Second Assault Battalion mission.>

Rabbit Run was a Freedom Coalition nexus station that had been blasted out of space by the Naxli fifteen days ago. There’d been no fighting to speak of and no time for military forces to be scrambled to try and defend it.

Farthmenger was an MDS planet that the Naxli had invaded in force. There had been a large military presence on the planet, and many of the four billion citizens had taken up arms to try and repel the invaders. Very little was coming out of the planet, and the naval situation was murky.

“Could Farthmenger be our mission?”

<Given the make-up and training of the brigade, and given how the Manifest Destiny Sphere has put a lid on all details, I would have to say a mission breaking through to the planet’s surface doesn’t fit the profile.>

Punch could be right. But the military didn’t always follow the logical course of action. Being unpredictable was part and parcel of the military DNA.

But they’d find out soon enough. For the moment, though, Rev had to figure out what to do with a platoon full of elite troopers who were expecting to be granted a liberty call.

* * *

There would be no liberty.

Lieutenant Kjell had been right. Two hours after the battalion had been certified, they received their mission.

The Combined Assault Brigade wasn’t the only elite unit formed under the auspices of the CoH. The Combined Reconnaissance Squadron was formed with some of the best long-range scouts and recon vessels. Not all were military. Some were commercial that were given military designations and commandeered.

Their dangerous mission was to search unexplored space for signs of Naxli presence. The holy grail would be to find their homeworld, but that had eluded the Centaurs for the last century, and their vessels were superior to anything humankind could put out to space.

Theoretically, a ship could enter bubble space and emerge anywhere in the galaxy, but the farther the emergent location from the entry point, the more translation error became a factor. Besides, even a successful jump to the farthest reaches of the galaxy, if it could be safely done, wouldn’t locate the Naxli planets or stations in between.

So, the pilots spent most of their time in real space, searching for any sign of the enemy. Alone, and most without any defensive armaments, they lurked where they could in their tiny scouts.

When they disappeared, which happened all too often, they did so in anonymity, their fates unknown.

Rev gave them all due respect. He’d rather face a Centaur courser, a karnan squad, or ten Naxlis in hand-to-hand combat than ply the black reaches of space alone in a four-meter-long scout.

One of these pilots located the battalion’s objective. Somewhere, deep in space, the pilot had discovered a planet—more of a moon, actually—with what seemed to be a small garrison of some sort, possibly a supply depot.

Estimates were that there could be up to ninety Naxli at this garrison. Intel had been wrong before—often, actually. But even if there were double the number, they shouldn’t be able to defend against the entire battalion.

“Why don’t we just stand off and blast them,” Yancey whispered to Rev as they sat in the back during the initial brief.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Rev whispered back, not taking his eyes off of the images of structures that the S2 kept popping up on the screen.

“What do you mean?”

“The CO already said this isn’t a strategic objective.”

“My point exactly. Just nuke the place and be done with it.”

“It’s a test, Yance.”

“A test? We just got tested with the UCCE.”

“We were tested on paper. But we need to be blooded.”

“Ah, I see what you’re getting at. And they don’t want us to go against a real enemy until they see how we do.”

Rev wanted to say that the Naxli at the garrison were the real enemy, and they’d be able to bite back against a human assault, but the fact that this was a test—call it a proof of concept—was his point. The brass wanted to see the battalion in action where they could evaluate the leadership and methodology used and make adjustments, if necessary, before it became more decisively engaged.

“It’s still going to be a fight, and we’re going to lose people. So, let me listen to what’s being said, OK?”

“Got it,” Yancey said.

He wasn’t going to go into this complacently. Whether you were killed in a so-called test or in a full-out battle as was going on right now on Farthmenger, it didn’t make any difference in the long run, so he was going to go into this fight as prepared as he could be.

And with only five days until they embarked, there wasn’t much time to do that.

31

“Move out,” Lieutenant Kjell passed over the platoon net, giving the standard Marine hand-and-arm signal as well.

Rev didn’t know if that was him trying to be a team player or was it an FU to the Marines.

Rev leaned forward, and his disc started advancing.

At least by now, Rev was getting comfortable on the discs. For the non-Marines, it wasn’t quite the same. They were far more tentative, with almost all of their limited disc time being on simulators.

Still, they were doing better than he’d expected, especially as that for most of them, they were still getting used to their combat armor.

The Marines still had their PAL-H and HXs. But to ease the logistical burden, all foreign non-hyperaugments were given a new PAL, the Z. Designed to incorporate as many common features among the contributing forces as possible, they were more of a generic PAL with heavy influence from the Frisian ILA combat armor. No one was exactly happy with the new combat suit, but they were adjusting.

He glanced over at the lieutenant, then frowned. Of course, the guy looked like a natural, gliding as easily as a disc Marine. His disc appeared that it might be straining a bit under the karnan’s weight, but he was standing easily as he flew along.

One of the Mezame hyperaugments flew over the company as they moved out.

“Now that’s the way to fly,” Tomiko passed on the P2P.

“Big target,” Rev reminded her.

“Big sky, little bullet.”

The Mezame Rodan was pretty cool, Rev had to admit. The Mezame hyperaugments had massive changes made to their circulatory systems, complete with twelve synthetic hearts as their most obvious improvements. Their augments, coupled with having large parts of their skeletal system replaced with superlight synthetics, allowed them to essentially become flying naval infantry. Their flight suits were light and extremely maneuverable, and with their weapons array, rumor was it that they could take on a Hégémonie Aigle, or a Union Navy Shrike, for that matter, and win the dogfight.

Rev was impressed, but Tomiko was enamored with the Rodans. Given a chance, Rev thought she’d sign on the dotted line to become one.

Without much in the way of armor, it seemed to Rev, though, that they’d be vulnerable to small arms fire, much less something more sophisticated. He hoped not. The two Rodans seemed like good guys, and he hoped they’d come through the impending fight unscathed.

They’d find out soon enough. An hour on the discs, then a two- or three-klick foot movement to contact, and the battle should be joined.

So far, the mission had been relatively routine . . . if taking no fewer than five legs through bubble space to arrive at their target planet could be considered routine. But they’d emerged within this unnamed planet’s system without a problem. Nor was there a welcoming force there to greet them. The system had unmanned (unnoxed?) orbitals and sentries but no capital ships to contest their arrival.

Those capital ships might now be on their way, assuming the sentry sensors had reported the human incursion, so time was of the essence. Still, not knowing how the garrison was armed, the Marines were sent to the surface more than thirty klicks from the Naxli site, coming in below the curvature of the planet to avoid the energy antiaircraft weapons that had been so deadly on Syron III.

Then they moved to using the discs to quickly cut the distance.

The two Rodans loitered over the battalion, giving cover, but the approach was uneventful. Forty-two minutes from landing, the battalion reached their assembly area, ditched the discs, and shifted to a foot movement to contact.

Bravo Company led the movement. Along with Weapons Company, they would become the support element once initial contact was made with Alpha and Charlie shifting into the assault element. It wasn’t going to go down in lore as one of the great tactical schemes in history, but it should be effective, and it provided the coordination and command and control that the higher-ups wanted to test.

“You hanging in there, Miko?” Rev asked over the P2P.

“You worry about your platoon, Rev. I’m doing fine.”

“Just being friendly.”

“You can be friendly after we get back.”

“Excuse me for being polite,” Rev said.

She was right, though. They were getting close, and they didn’t need to be socializing. But it was so rare to have comms that Rev just wanted to take advantage of that.

Rev turned back to his job, pulling up each trooper’s position. But the platoon was moving well, and there was nothing to critique. In his experience, when things were going well in a combat operation, there was something they were missing. Try as he might, though, he couldn’t find anything.

“First Platoon, halt. Face outboard,” the lieutenant passed.

Rev was inside the bulk of the platoon, but he took a knee and faced to his right. “Any word from Bravo?” he asked the lieutenant.

“Looks like they’ve got contact of some sort.”

Rev didn’t hear any sounds of firing, so he didn’t think that actual fighting had broken out yet.

He cycled through his various screens on his face shield, but there was nothing obvious to tell him what was going on.

That is until the company commander pulled him up on the P2P.

“The CO wants you to move ahead and link up with Bravo. Contact Captain Jeri. Coordinates to follow.”

That’s weird.

“Any reason why?” Rev asked as he got to his feet.

“I guess you’re going to find out, Staff Sergeant.”

Captain Adair didn’t sound happy at all, but Rev, while confused, felt a tremor of excitement run through him. The coordinates flashed on his face shield.

The magnetic fields of the planet hadn’t been mapped in time to be downloaded into the Marines’ AIs, so it was old-fashioned azimuth and distance to get Rev to the CO. He took off at a slow run, hoping he wouldn’t surprise any trigger-happy trooper.

It wasn’t the Bravo Company commander who met him, though, but rather a lance corporal who waved Rev over.

It probably wasn’t a real lance corporal, but in his PAL-Z, Rev couldn’t tell if that was a Marine or another soldier in front of him.

“I’m supposed to see Captain Jeri,” Rev told the lance corporal.

“He’s waiting for you,” the trooper said. “I’ll take you there.”

He led Rev through the rocky terrain, where Bravo Company was situated. Within moments, he was at the front where the Bravo commander was standing near a large, three-meter-tall boulder with several lieutenants and SNCOs. A Marine was lying on the top of the boulder, glassing to the front.

“Around this big rock. Five hundred, twenty meters away.”

He stepped back, clearing the way for Rev, who edged around the boulder and raised his Optisight.

It was easy to spot the Naxli. The enemy was just standing there, and it had picked an open area with clear lines of sight.

“You’re right, sir,” Rev told the captain, who had moved forward to take a position right behind him. “That’s a one-point-oh. Um . . . I mean a tin-ass version of a nox. Let me report back.”

Rev let his eyes select the battalion commanding officer’s icon at the bottom of his face shield display.

As soon as it indicated, he passed, “I’m at Bravo Company’s location now and have eyes on the nox. It’s one of the older versions. Like a tin-ass.”

“And its posture? Is it really doing that gnist thing?”

Rev studied the figure for a few more moments. He’s only seen this version of a Naxli try to challenge humans from afar. The other times, the Naxli had already shifted to the more human form.

The figure stood quietly, facing Bravo Company. There wasn’t any sign that there were more Naxli behind it. That didn’t mean much, though. It was pretty rough terrain over there, and a thousand Naxli could be hiding in the rocks.

“I can’t be sure, but I’d say yes, sir.”

“Wait one, Staff Sergeant,” the CO said, then cut the connection.

“What’s the CO saying?” the captain—a Paxus soldier—asked after another minute.

Rev turned to him. He was the senior Marine on the ground here, and he was cut off while a staff sergeant was communicating directly with the battalion CO. Of course, he was concerned.

“I think they’re discussing what you should do, sir.”

“Let me know if you hear anything.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

It took another minute—a minute in which the far-off Naxli never moved—before the CO came back on the line. “I’ve got Captain Ricard.”

The battalion S2, with the typical soft, slightly slurring Hégémonie accent, said, “You’ve got more experience in this than anyone else in the battalion. Do you think the nox is trying to negotiate gnist?”

Rev pursed his lips. The S2, and maybe the CO himself, were unsure of the situation, and it seemed to him that they were trying to cover their asses by putting Rev on the spot. And he didn’t appreciate that at all.

He was just a grunt, not some xenopsychologist.

“With all due respect, sir, I’m half a klick away from it, and this isn’t a human-type nox.”

“But what does your gut say, Staff Sergeant?”

You really want to put this off on me, don’t you?

But he had to answer. He took one more look. It sure seemed that it was waiting for them.

“If I had to say, then I’d say yes. It wants to negotiate.”

“OK, wait one,” the captain said but failed to kick Rev off of the call.

“We have to find out, sir,” the intelligence officer said.

“They’d already abandoned this honor fighting thing,” another voice cut in.

The S3’s avatar was highlighted on Rev’s display. The operations officer was a Synergy Alliance major, and, according to Bundy, was a real gung-ho type, ready to mix it up with anyone.

“We’re justified if we just cut the sucker down and continue to the garrison,” the major said.

“We are justified. And I’m not saying we shouldn’t do that. But we need to find out if it’s trying to negotiate terms. That’s vital to get back to brigade,” the S2 said.

There was a moment of silence before the CO said, “Sergeant Major?”

The sergeant major’s avatar indicated, and she said, “I just want to kick ass, but I think Captain Ricard’s right. We need to find out if that’s what it’s trying to do.”

“So, you think I should head over to Bravo and negotiate with it?” the CO asked.

“No, sir. That would take time and be unnecessary. We just need to find out if that’s what it wants,” the sergeant major said. “We’ve got Pelletier there. He’s experienced in this, so he’s probably the best choice no matter what. Let him do it.”

There was another pause, then the CO said, “Right. I’ll tell him.

“Staff Sergeant Pelletier, you still with me?”

“Yes, sir, I’m here,” he said, not saying that he’d heard the previous conversation.

“We need to find out for sure if the nox wants to gnist.”

“Yes, sir.” He wasn’t going to play games with a “Who’s going to do that?” It wasn’t his fault the S2 hadn’t dropped him from the circuit. He needed some guidance, though.

“And if it does offer gnist? What do I do?”

There was a significant pause before the CO said, “I’ll be monitoring you. I’ll let you know then.”

“And if comms are blocked?”

Which was a very real possibility. During most of their operations against the Naxli, comms like this had been jammed.

“We outnumber them,” the S3 said. “No reason to agree to give away that advantage.”

The major wasn’t talking to Rev, he knew, so he didn’t respond. But there was a reason. If they could somehow reinstitute gnist, then a lot of lives could be saved while humanity tried to get a better idea of how to handle the Naxli threat.

Rev wasn’t advocating that they accept the offer. The major was right in that the humans probably had a huge advantage in numbers. But the overall picture was something that they should consider.

Not “they,” Reverent. This isn’t a democracy. It’s the CO’s decision, Rev thought with a wry chuckle.

“If we’ve lost comms, then do not accept any offer. Say you have to report back to me first.”

I don’t think that’s how it works. But OK.

“No matter what, Staff Sergeant, stay on your guard. I’ll have Bravo cover you, but remember what happened to the battalion commander on Heverig.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll remember.”

The image of that Synergy Alliance getting cut down by the Naxli commander had been burned into his brain. The situations were different. To the Naxli, the SA commander had been hreetz, not worthy of respect. The Naxli standing out there now was approaching Rev as a gnista.

But it was still something to keep in mind, and Rev was a little mollified that the CO was concerned with his welfare. Sometimes, a Marine just wanted to know that he wasn’t a tool to be used and discarded.

“Let’s get this done. May the Mother be with you, Staff Sergeant.”

Rev turned to the company commander to relay what was going to happen, but he held up his hand to stop him. The captain pointed to his ear, then gave him a thumbs-up. A moment later he was bringing up two of his IBHUs and four jackhammer gunners.

“I’m heading out, sir,” Rev said.

“I don’t have the base of fire in yet.”

“Nothing’s going to happen until I get there, and I’ve got half a klick to walk.”

Rev stepped around the rock, exposed to the Naxli—and any Naxli snipers that could be in the far rocks. But what he’d just told the captain was true. That Naxli wasn’t standing there so they could bag one human.

Still, he felt the itch of a rifle targeting his chest.

“Let’s do this, Punch.”

<I’m with you.>

“Kinda hard for you not to be.”

<I meant—>

“I know what you meant. I’m just yanking your chain.”

<Ah, a joke.>

Rev strode across the ground, trying to project calm confidence. The Naxli didn’t make any indication that it noticed Rev, and for a couple of moments, he wondered if the enemy was really there. The Naxli body armor wasn’t as concealing as a human PAL, but it wouldn’t be that hard to rig up a scarecrow to capture the human force’s attention.

“Keep your eyes peeled for any movement behind our nox there.”

<I’ll keep your eyes peeled.>

“Yeah. Right.”

At just under two hundred meters, the Naxli finally stirred, shifting its feet.

So, it’s not a mannequin.

Rev kept advancing. The closer he got, the more the Naxli’s features became clear. He’d forgotten how much different the 1.0 versions were when compared to the 2.0. And he wondered how they’d ever mistaken them for Centaurs. Yes, they were superficially similar, but that’s about it. Much bulkier and more robust, this one had the facial fringes that some of the human-looking Naxli sported. It was as if the Naxli had been given the basic form of the Centaurs, but individualism crept in with personal modifications.

All told, they didn’t look much like Centaurs, but humans had accepted that they were. It must have had something to do with expectations. That and the fact that the Centaurs were the first sentient non-human race discovered. It had been far easier to assume that the differences were due to slight racial variations than that they were a completely different race, and, oh, yeah, one that was made up of shapeshifters.

Rev came to a stop ten meters from the Naxli.

“I’m with you, Staff Sergeant,” Lieutenant Colonel Jensen passed over the net. “Just do your thing.”

“I own to Huul bup N’zori-in,” the Naxli said, its speech not as clear as the 2.0 Naxli’s had been.

“I am . . . I own to Staff Sergeant Reverent Pelletier, Perseus Union Marine Corps.”

The Naxli seemed to shift its gaze just a bit, and after a moment, the nasal slits flared. A hand twitched as if reaching for the sword hanging upside down from its back.

“I know you, Pelletier Reverent.”

Which wasn’t what Rev had expected to hear. How could it know him? He’d never had any close contact with the 1.0s.

<I believe the Naxli just looked you up on their AI equivalent.>

That could be right. It had gotten that disconnected look that some Marines had when conferring with their battle buddies. But still, how would Rev be on any Naxli database? And what did it say about him?

Rev was dying to pursue that, but he had to focus on the task at hand.

“What do you want?”

The Naxli seemed flustered after learning who Rev was, but it gathered itself and said, “I offer standard warrior gnist.”

“Tell it—” the CO passed.

But Rev was already asking, “Why? If you know who I am, you know I offered warrior gnist on Syron III and was refused. So, why are you offering it now? What has changed?”

The CO cut off whatever he’d been about to tell Rev. Evidently, he wanted to know the answer to that as well. The S2, too.

Is it because you’re outnumbered? That couldn’t be it; oh no, right?

There was another pause. Looking up what happened?

“That was unfortunate,” the Naxli said.

“I was called hreetz,” Rev said as the memory elicited a small surge of anger.

“There are hreetz among you humans. But no, you are not one.”

It was stupid, Rev knew. The Naxli was probably feeding him a line of crap. But still, that helped dissipate Rev’s anger.

“You are gnista. I offer warrior gnist,” it repeated.

“Tell it no, Staff Sergeant,” the CO said.

“Do you offer champion gnist?” Rev asked, ignoring his CO.

The Naxli took half a step back and tilted its head to look Rev up and down. Rev could see it was evaluating its chances against the bigger human.

“What are you doing, Pelletier?” the CO asked.

“Bear with me a moment, sir,” Rev said, hoping that his supposed expertise on gnist would be taken into consideration.

The Naxli’s eyes came to rest on Pashu, and Rev slowly rotated her so the enemy could get a good look.

The Naxli was evaluating him, but Rev was evaluating it, as well. He’d had a 1.0 crash into him on Brahmaloka, and while they might be Centaur-sized, they were still strong as hell. Rev wasn’t about to underestimate it.

“A champion gnist with you would bring me honor,” it said, almost as if speaking to itself.

<If the Naxli are aware of you, then killing you might be a priority.>

“I know, Punch. I know.”

He had the briefest flicker of the supposed threat on his life back on Safe Harbor, but he shoved that away. If that was connected to the Naxli knowing his name, then there were some deep-running issues that he had to ignore for the moment.

“Yes, I offer champion gnist,” the Naxli said, sounding excited.

“Turn it down, Pelletier,” the CO said with every bit of command imperative he could put in his voice.

“No,” he told the Naxli.

He’d never had the intention of accepting one-on-one combat. There was no advantage to it and only risk.

“You are backing down?” the Naxli said, this time louder and with more force.

“I am not backing down from anything,” Rev said with scorn, not even knowing if the Naxli would detect that. “I only asked what you were offering. But as you Naxli are hreetz, I will not demean myself by treating you as a warrior.”

The moment Rev said “hreetz,” the Naxli’s hand flicked toward its sword. Rev raised Pashu’s muzzle a few centimeters, and the Naxli’s hand froze in place.

“I honored you by meeting you here, and I will not kill you now, which is more than I can say for what your kind do to hreetz. That is the limit of what I will do. I will return to my unit now. I suggest you do the same, and maybe in death, you can regain the status of gnista. That is all I can offer you. A warrior’s death.”

Rev spun on his heels and strode off. He could feel the target on his back, but he couldn’t show concern. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t listening for the slightest bit of movement that would let him know he’d pushed the Naxli too far.

But the Naxli stood still as Rev made his way back to Bravo Company.

32

“Don’t get yourself killed,” Captain Ricard told Rev.

Rev raised his eyebrows at that before he could suppress it.

“I’ll try not to, sir.”

“I’m serious. We need to download that entire conversation you just had.”

The S2 had met Rev as he made it back to the company. The man was positively giddy with the potential intel that could be developed by analyzing Rev’s meeting with the Naxli.

Rev wanted to remind the officer that as a battalion level intelligence officer, he wouldn’t be analyzing jack shit. His job was to disseminate intel from higher up to the battalion commanding officer and forward up the collected data and priority intelligence requirements from the CO. He wouldn’t be analyzing the data to create intel. At least that’s how the Marines did it, and he doubted that the Hégémonie would be any different.

“I’m serious, Staff Sergeant. If you get zeroed, I’m cutting out your AI myself and taking it back to be analyzed,” he said with a laugh.

Rev gave him a piercing look. The captain may have made it seem like a joke, but he thought there was an undercurrent of truth to what he’d just said.

“I’ll remember that, sir.”

The officer slapped Rev on the shoulder and headed back to the CP

“Real morbid guy.”

<Why are you complaining? You won’t be around to care if that happens, but I’ll still be here.>

“I’m crying for you.”

“You done with that POG?” Lieutenant Kjell asked over the P2P.

Rev turned and saw the platoon commander staring at him from thirty meters away.

It was expected that the karnan would have a lower opinion of non-infantry, a POG.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. We’re moving out in a few moments. You up on the plan?”

“Basically.”

Rev had the frag sent to him as he came back, but he hadn’t had much time to really study it.

“Well, you just follow and kick any asses that need it. I’ll be leading.”

Rev didn’t like that. That might be normal SOP, but Rev, with his IBHU, had gotten used to leading from the front.

It hurt him to say, “Roger that, sir.”

And with that, the platoon stepped off. Ahead of them, Bravo was back in motion, moving forward until they encountered resistance. At that point, they’d engage and attempt to fix the Naxli in place. Alpha’s mission then would be to maneuver to the right and flank the enemy while Charlie mirrored that on the left.

It was a traditional pincer movement. What happened next was up to the Naxli. If they were susceptible to the flanks, the pincers would close in and overrun the garrison. If they were able to reorient to the flanks, the battalion would shift to the buffalo horn formation, and the “horns”—Alpha and Charlie—would hold while the “chest”—Bravo—would resume as the point of main effort.

Rev didn’t particularly care for the back-and-forth of the point of main effort, but he understood why it was being employed. The battalion needed to be tested while under fire, and against a weaker foe, any mistakes shouldn’t be too costly.

But “mistakes” usually meant dead troopers, and even one was one too many.

Bravo’s lead platoon’s position was being relayed down to the platoon sergeant level, so Rev was able to follow along on his face shield display as Bravo advanced. They passed where Rev and the Naxli leader had met and entered the rougher rocks. Rev kept waiting for them to be jumped there, but they were able to continue to advance without opposition and were closing in on the garrison.

“Could they have withdrawn?”

<The monitor is still in communications, and it has not reported any retreat from the garrison.>

Rev instinctively looked up. The monitor was too high in low orbit for him to see it, but that ship, with its big bombardment gun, was a nice security blanket. If the Naxli pulled some nasty surprise out of their butt, the monitor would swing into action. The command might want the battalion blooded, but not at the cost of heavy casualties.

The Naxli finally opened up when the lead Bravo elements closed to 185 meters, which gave the company ample cover from which to lay down their base of fire. Almost immediately, the two Rodans streaked just over the Marines’ heads, popping up at the last second to unleash a salvo of missiles.

The Naxli had their own missiles, which shot out at extremely close range. Rev’s heart lurched. The Rodans had no room to maneuver . . . except they did, with impossible evasive techniques that should be against the laws of physics.

“By the Mother, that’s why they need to withstand all those Gs,” Rev said in wonder as he watched the Rodans dart back and forth, up and down, until the incoming missiles lost lock.

Kinetic rounds reached up, but they didn’t have a chance, and the Rodans started to come around for another run.

Alpha was already reacting, angling to the right at a run. Rev couldn’t quite see the garrison, but the smoke rising from the Rodan’s strike was as good as a neon arrow pointing out its location.

The garrison was on slightly high ground, and the terrain to the right was dotted with the same, two-to-three-meter-tall boulders. The platoon couldn’t stay on line with everyone visually connected to the entire platoon, much less the entire company. But Rev, who had every trooper’s position displayed on his face shield, was impressed with how disciplined their movement was. Rev had to nudge one of two troopers to keep them in position, but that was about it.

It took less than four minutes—which was an incredibly short amount of time—for Second Platoon to reach the company’s pivot point.

“Alpha, pivot!” Captain Adair passed on the company net.

The far-left squad of Second Platoon halted in place, and with them as the pivot point, the entire company started swinging around. Third Platoon, on the far right, had the farthest to cover, and they were at a dead run.

This would be a difficult maneuver on an empty parade deck, much less on a boulder-strewn hillside and knowing that at any moment now, they could be under fire. But somehow, the company completed the maneuver until they were essentially online and facing the flank of the garrison, which was heavily engaged with Bravo and the two Rodans.

Explosions shook the ground as Captain Adair, who was moving with First Platoon, ordered them into the assault. With a roar, the troopers broke into a run up the hill.

Now came the tricky part. Bravo needed to keep firing as long as possible, keeping the Naxli’s attention. But Alpha didn’t particularly want to eat Bravo’s fire, so Bravo had to shift their fire at the last moment. Too early, and the Naxli could recover and reorient. Too late, and Alpha would eat friendly fire.

To make matters more difficult, Alpha and Charlie would be moving forward facing each other and directly into the other company’s line of fire.

The brass wanted a test, and this was going to give it to them.

Rev bounded around the boulders, trying to maintain his position in the line. Halfway up, he caught his first view of the garrison. It didn’t look like much, sort of like the images he’d seen of the Casa Grande ruins back on Mother Earth. But a glow of green energy reflecting from the tan walls was a reminder that this garrison had a serious bite.

The troopers around him started to engage the garrison, and Rev released his first Moray. Each missile was programmed for hard targets, and the Moray flew true, taking out a chunk of wall where it struck. Rev switched the guidance to sniffer mode and fired again. The second Moray followed the propellant molecules emitted in the first Moray’s exhaust and struck the garrison at the same spot. The third one was the one that broke through the outer wall.

“Bingo!”

Rev pulled out the small Terminator drone from his thigh holster. “Let’s see if you’re up to the task,” he said as he triggered the seeker sight at the hole in the wall and threw the 250-gram drone into the air.

Mini-drones with anti-personnel warheads had been banned since the Corolla wars but had returned briefly during the Centaur War. With the Centaurs in armored vehicles, though, the lightly armed drones were ineffective and discontinued.

After the capture of Naxli on Syron III and analysis of their body armor, someone on Bugatti’s World thought to pull some of the optimistically-named killer drones out of storage. Thirty were distributed to the battalion almost as an aside to test their effectiveness in a combat environment.

The little killer flew straight to the hole in the wall, reminding Rev of a tiny dragonfly hunting for a meal. Entirely self-contained and with an AI so primitive it was barely worthy of the title, it could be knocked down, and it had to spot a target through visual wavelengths, but it was impervious to jamming.

Rev pushed it out of his mind. They’d find out later if it had been successful, but now, there was the fight to be won.

All around him, Marines were pummeling the garrison. The Moray teams from Weapons Platoon, and the Hammerhead and Jackhammer teams from Weapons Company, were breaking through. The walls were collapsing under the onslaught.

They quickly closed the distance to the nearest wall. Rev switched to his twenty—his Morays couldn’t arm this close to the target. Bravo’s fire was still stitching the walls, and Charlie’s was hitting the top of the garrison, sending debris to fall on the closest Alpha troopers.

Rev was getting more than a little nervous when Second Platoon popped the red smoke, signaling the shifting of fires.

“That’s it,” Rev shouted. “Inside!”

Up until this point, Alpha hadn’t been taking incoming. But as the first Marines from Second Squad rushed a broken section of wall, one of them stumbled and went down just short of the wall.

Corporal Nezev’s icon turned gray on Rev’s display. KIA.

Rev wasn’t supposed to lead, but his warrior self was in full control. He darted to the left and beat Tsao by a split second to the break in the wall. He ran into the garrison and darted right while Tsao went left, both blazing on their twenties. A Naxli that had been kneeling, oriented to Rev’s right, started to stand, its weapon sweeping to cover him, but Rev’s twenty put a stop to that, and pieces of Naxli and the same bluish blood splattered the wall behind it.

“Keep your rounds down, and watch for Charlie,” Rev passed on the platoon net.

Another trooper, Red Apprentice Kzing went down, his icon shifting to dark blue, which meant he was WIA and out of commission. Specialist Daily, the Paxus medic, shifted to the downed Frisian.

Sniper 2 Anderson joined Tsao. He pointed to the top of the structure, and Rev nodded. Tsao lowered her IBHU, the barrel parallel to the ground. Anderson hesitated a moment, but after Tsao nodded, he put a foot on the barrel. With a heave aided by her augments, she threw him the three meters and up on the roof. He gave her a thumb’s up and disappeared from sight.

A moment later, an explosion rocked the roof, but Anderson’s icon was still a steady green.

More and more Marines were flooding into the garrison. Most of the area was open, with several small sheds and a larger square building scattered here and there. A large warehouse-like structure dominated the far side of the garrison. A chunk of the front had collapsed, but the side facing First Platoon had only minor damage. North of the building was what looked like an LZ of some kind, surrounded by low, featureless structures.

With a roar blasted over his speakers, Lieutenant Kjell charged across the open ground, weapon blazing. Five steps behind was Hant, another karnan. Neither was taking any evasive action.

Crap! Not your job, Lieutenant.

“Inglesias, get a team on the lieutenant. Put Randigold on it,” he passed to the Second Squad leader.

“Got it.”

Rev put a burst of his twenty through a small window, then darted over to one of the sheds.

High on the wall of the larger building, a series of holes erupted, stitching across eight or nine meters. For a moment, Rev thought the Naxli were firing through the walls, but the debris was being blasted outward toward the humans.

The lieutenant, who’d reached the building, wasn’t reacting to the fire. He was placing a limpet on the wall, so Rev took matters into his own hands. Rev didn’t have the positions of the other companies on his display. He could go through Captain Adair, but sometimes, in a combat situation, you had to go direct. He pulled up Captain Chynoweth, the Charlie Company commander on the P2P.

“This is Alpha-one-five. We’re taking fire from Blue-Two that might be coming from you.”

“That’s a negative, Alpha-one-five. We are not in Blue-Two. We’ve just breached the outer wall,” the commander replied.

“Have you taken Blue-Two under fire?”

“That’s affirmative.”

“I think your rounds are through and through.”

“Wait one.”

The lieutenant ducked a few steps to his left, turned, and ducked down. A moment later, there was a blast, opening up a hole in the wall. He and Hant wheeled to rush in, firing on full auto.

“Randigold!” Rev shouted over his externals. “Follow him!”

But she and her team were already moving.

“Firing a five-round burst now,” the Charlie commander passed.

A moment later, five holes appeared two and a half meters high.

“They came through. I say again, they came through,” Rev passed.

“Shit! And I can see you’ve entered the objective.”

It wasn’t just the lieutenant and Hant. Farther down the building, Third Platoon was conducting a more disciplined breach.

“We’re going to shift right—”

Rev connected to Captain Adair, bringing her into the loop. This was commander to commander stuff. He’d taken care of the immediate situation, and there was more to be done.

The lieutenant had gone cowboy, but Inglesias had restored a degree of order to the assault. It was time to regain control of the narrative.

Another explosion rocked the side of the building, creating another opening.

“Hus-man, there’s your breach. Go!” he told this First Squad leader. “Yance, follow Second Squad.”

Rev angled over to the lieutenant’s entry point. He was lit up by the kiss of an energy beam, but his alarms stayed silent. He must have caught an attenuated side beam, but he couldn’t tell where it came from.

“Friendly or nox beamer?”

<Naxli.>

So, the Naxli were still fighting, which wasn’t surprising. Rev could see four or five enemy bodies in this section of the garrison. If there’d been ninety to start with, then there should still be a lot of them left.

One of the Rodans streaked overhead, barely above the height of their objective. It turned almost straight up as a Naxli missile took off to chase it. The Rodan banked impossibly tight, and the missile continued along its path. A huge explosion shook the northern end of the garrison, the shock wave hitting Rev in stride as he darted through the opening in the wall and into the building.

Hant was lying face-first on the ground, his armor from the chest up a blackened, mangled mess. Rev vaulted over the body and headed where Strap and König had their backs to a translucent rectangle. Rounds chased Rev to them, one hitting his hip. His PAL icon immediately flashed yellow—the PAL was damaged but not compromised.

Fighting was throughout the interior of the building, but right here, Second Squad was pinned down. He couldn’t see the lieutenant.

“What do we got?” he asked Strap.

“Automatic weapon, covering the aisle. Far side, up halfway on the rail and fortified. Randigold hit it with her twenty, but it didn’t penetrate.”

Rev had Punch pull up the image. He’d had a glimpse of it as he rushed forward but hadn’t really “looked” at it. The interior of the objective was large, 212 meters long by 112 wide. As he examined the image, he could see a rail running halfway up the far wall. There was a fortified barrier, about a meter high, along a section of it.

Across the aisle to another of the rectangles, Rev signaled the interrogative to his fellow IBHU Marine.

“Hit it with my twenty, but it’s pretty well protected,” she passed back.

Rev looked at the image again. He was fifteen meters inside the building. A hundred and twelve minus fifteen: ninety-seven meters. More than enough distance for his Moray to arm.

“Let’s see if you can stand up to this,” he muttered.

He locked on the image and uploaded it to the Moray’s brain. The distance might be enough to arm, but not a lot to give it time to home in on the target. But if Rev could get the target funnel close enough, the missile should be able to hit it.

Rounds—big rounds by the sound of them and what they were doing to the wall of the building—were zipping past Rev. But he didn’t have to expose himself to fire. Just pop Pashu around the corner, guesstimate as to the aiming funnel, and let loose.

“You want us to cover you?” König asked.

Rev thought about it for a moment. The Ranger had amazing reflexes, but there was no use exposing any of them. Hant’s body, just ten meters away, was proof of the Naxli’s effectiveness.

“I got it. Just a quick shot, then we can move forward.”

Rev readied himself, then started to swing Pashu out and around. Immediately, something hit his IBHU, the force swinging her around, the momentum pivoting Rev on his feet.

“By the Mother!” Rev blurted out.

He checked his IBHU. There was a huge gouge in her lateral support, but Pashu was still operational. An instant later, a few degrees farther around, the round would have hit the projector, and who knew what damage that would have caused?

“The bastard was waiting for me,” he said.

“You OK?” Inglesias asked.

“Still in one piece.”

“Now what? Massive fire?”

There was no way the Naxli could target all of them. But if that barrier could hold back a twenty, then what good would that do? There wasn’t a Hammerhead or Moray team with them, and only Randigold and him who had the missiles.

“Hus-man, Yance, can either of you flank that bastard on the far wall?” he asked.

“If you’re talking about the one halfway up, he’s got us pinned down, too,” Hussein passed.

“We’re slowly moving forward,” Yance said. “Give us some time.”

From their position, that was going to take a while, and remaining stationary was never good in a fluid battle. There were too many weapons that could be brought to bear upon them.

Wait! Don’t get stuck in linear thinking, Reverent.

Rev didn’t bother with the lieutenant. He could have raised the karnan, but if the platoon commander was going off being a hero, then screw him.

“Charlie-six, this is Alpha-one-five again.”

Of course, the Charlie Company commander knew who it was. He could read a comms display just like anyone else.

“What do you want? We’re not taking Blue-Two under fire now.”

“Can you? I mean, can you take it under fire?”

“We’re moving to Red,” the commander passed.

Objective Red was the Landing Zone, the one the Rodan had just blasted.

“We’re pinned down here by a nox in a fortified position up on the inside of the outer wall of the building. If I can give you a location on the wall, can you hit it with a Moray from your side?”

“Moray? I can do better than that. I’ve got a Hammerhead team. Give me the spot.”

Rev pulled up the image again, marked the position, and uploaded it to the captain.

“The missilemen should be able to pinpoint the spot on your side of the wall.”

“Yes, I know what they can do.” There was a pause, then, “Is your commander aware of this?”

In other words, why are you breaking the SOP lines of communication?

“Immediate needs. He will be aware of it.”

There was another short pause, and then the company commander said, “OK, you’ve got it. Stand by. I’ll give you a heads up.”

Rev got on the platoon net. “We’re getting Charlie to knock out the nox on the wall with a Hammerhead, or at least shake it up. When they hit it, I want everyone who can to light it up.”

He looked across to Randigold. He could see her wicked smile through her face shield, and she gave him a thumbs-up.

“That’s one bloodthirsty girl.”

<Which is right up with Marine Corps tradition. And she doesn’t just talk the talk; she walks the walk.>

Rev smiled. Punch had started to use more slang since their discussion. Maybe as he tried to figure out if he was alive?

“That she does, Punch. That she does.”

“Thirty seconds,” Captain Chynoweth passed.

“Thirty seconds,” Rev repeated to the platoon.

He quickly checked the platoon commander’s position. The lieutenant was up ahead and to the left, twenty or thirty meters from the Naxli. He had to have heard the message, but he didn’t acknowledge it.

Serve him right if he blew himself up.

But he couldn’t let it go at that.

“Lieutenant, we’ve got incoming on the nox on the wall. About twenty seconds.”

“I heard. I was almost ready to take it out myself, but I’ll clean it up as soon as the Hammerhead impacts.”

“Keep your head down. We’ll be adding our own fire.”

“I’m not stupid, Staff Sergeant.”

So you say.

Rev started counting down from ten over the net. On two, there were two explosions, one after the other, that sent a flash over their heads that made Rev’s face shield filters kick in. Debris zinged down the aisle, peppering the containers and skidding along the deck.

He darted around the edge of the container, ready to fire a Moray, but there was no need. The rail was gone, hanging on one side, and a five-meter hole in the wall let sunlight put a glow to the smoke.

First Squad was firing, and as Rev started to charge forward, he saw what he’d missed. A Naxli had been farther down the rail, his position blocked from Rev’s sight by the containers. It was holding on with one arm on the mangled rail, its body writhing under the impacts until it dropped to the deck, once again out of Rev’s sight.

“Cease fire, cease fire!” the platoon commander shouted over the platoon net.

Rev and others repeated the call, and a moment later, right about where the Naxli would have fallen, the heavy report of an MDS BIPAC echoed through the building.

It was only then that Rev realized that the sounds of fighting inside the building were gone.

“How’d we do, Staff Sergeant?” the Charlie company commander asked.

“Tell that Hammerhead team we owe them a round. Two kills.”

“Roger that. Uh . . . you might want to clue in Captain Adair. Don’t let her be surprised.”

“Will do.”

Rev reached the end of the containers. Lieutenant Kjell was standing over the body of a Naxli, grinning like a fool. All he had to do was put one foot on the body to look like a Nineteenth Century big game hunter in Africa.

“Lieutenant, we need to clear the building,” he passed on the P2P.

The platoon commander caught his eye, pointed at the body with his weapon, then flexed his arm like someone showing off his bicep. His left arm hung limply at his side. Part of the armor had been torn off and mangled, and raw flesh was flayed, exposing the reinforcing bars that ran alongside his humerus.

If he was in pain, he wasn’t showing any sign of it.

Rev took over, got the platoon in position, then started the sweep to link up with Third Platoon. The containers—if that’s what they even were—were remarkably undamaged, for the most part, considering how ruined the building was. The Rodans had destroyed some of them, but even with those, Rev couldn’t tell what might have been inside them. There were a dozen Naxli bodies or so but no living ones as the platoon met up with Third Platoon, and Captain Adair declared the building secure.

Rev took a moment to tell the captain that he’d coordinated with Captain Chynoweth, glossing over the details. As the captain started to shift the company into the next phase, it didn’t seem to really register that Rev had bypassed SOP. Hopefully, it never would.

Charlie Company went into search mode, checking out every structure, while Alpha started to search the area and take care of the dead and wounded.

“Looks like Intel was wrong again. There can’t be more than thirty noxes here,” Hussein said as he and Rev watched the troopers comb the debris for the Terminator’s recording crystals. The orbiting monitor could have caught the killer drones in action, but if they didn’t, the battalion wouldn’t know if they had succeeded in their mission unless the crystals were recovered.

“Thirty was enough to kill Hant,” Rev said, looking to where the karnan’s body was laid out. “No shot at resurrection. At least Doc Gintly says Nezev has a good chance, and Kzing should recover without too much of an issue.”

“Kinda amazing that we only lost that,” Hussein said. “They were defending, after all.”

“I don’t think they were frontline fighters,” Rev said. “This sure looks like a supply depot, and for all we know, these noxes could be their ninety-nines. And those two Rodans, they chewed these guys up before we ever started the final assault.”

“Yeah. Those are pretty righteous. We should get them. Can you imagine flying around like that?”

Rev’s stomach gave a little flip-flop at the mere thought of twisting and turning as the two Mezame flyers had done. “No, I can’t. I’m too damn heavy.”

“All hands, thirty minutes to embark,” was passed on the battalion net.

They’d been given a limited time to stay on the planet. No one knew how close the Naxli Navy was, and the battalion’s orders were to minimize their stay.

“Staff Sergeant, get Nezev and Kzing to the LZ. They’re getting off first,” the lieutenant passed to him.

Which made sense. The sooner Nezev started treatment, the better his chances were of getting resurrected.

“Gotta go. Keep them looking for one of the Terminator crystals,” he told Hussein.

He pulled up the Second Squad leader. “I need four troopers to meet me with Doc Gintly.”

“I’ll send them over right now.”

Rev crossed the debris to the dead and wounded.

“Any change, Doc?” Rev asked.

“Med Tech,” Gintly said.

He evidently hated the term “Doc,” but it was so ingrained into Rev that he had a hard time adjusting.

“I’ve given him your Union zombie stick. I think he has a good chance.”

Randigold, König, Strap, and Systl joined him, and he told the four to pick up Nezev.

“What about Hant?” Strap asked.

“Not yet. Only WIA and Resurrectables on the first bird.”

Strap didn’t look happy about that. Hant had been in his team, and that sense of responsibility outweighed the fact that the karnan had essentially abandoned his team to run off with the lieutenant.

“Let’s go, Kzing,” Rev told the Frisian as they made their way past the building and to the LZ. There were sixteen other troopers there: seven wounded and nine KIA.

The KIA were staged, ready to load up. Another trooper who Rev didn’t recognize approached and stood over Corporal Nezev.

“You know him?” Rev asked.

“We’re from the same hometown.”

“Sorry about what happened, Sergeant,” Rev said, spotting the rank tab.

“That’s the fate of soldiers.” The sergeant stood silently for a moment longer, then asked, “Are you really gonna bring him back?”

What?

That seemed like a strange question to Rev.

“We’re going to try. There’s no guarantee, of course,” he answered, wondering why he even had to say it.

“Your Staff Sergeant Reiser told me you persies would, but I never believed it.”

From his tone, Rev didn’t think the sergeant believed it now, either.

“Why wouldn’t we?”

The entire battalion was under Union command and control, responsible for the care of each trooper, no matter where they came from. That didn’t stop when a trooper was killed.

The sergeant didn’t answer but leaned down to whisper something into the dead trooper’s ear. He stood up, gave Nezev one last look, then turned and walked off.

“What the hell was that all about?” Rev asked Punch.

<The Rigel Cluster doesn’t normally attempt resurrection of enlisted KIA.>

Rev was gobsmacked. “The hell they don’t.”

<Their medical infrastructure is not as extensive as that of the Perseus Union’s.>

“But resurrecting is old tech.”

<Old tech. But there are degrees of efficacy. Success rates within the Union are far higher than in the Cluster. And any attempt at resurrection is costly, whether it results in success or not.>

“Costly?”

Rev had never even considered what a resurrection cost. It was just one of the things that was done when someone died and might be brought back.

“I don’t understand. And you said they don’t try and resurrect enlisted soldiers. But they do officers?”

<Like I said. Resurrections are costly endeavors.>

A surge of white-hot anger washed over Rev as what Punch said sunk in. Officers in the Rigel Cluster are put through the process, but enlisted soldiers are not due to the damned cost.

That’s . . . that’s . . .

He couldn’t even put words to his thoughts, he was so angry. He glanced at the other KIA, wondering how many of them might not go through resurrection with their home militaries.

It was hard to consider Nezev “lucky.” He’d just been killed, after all. But if what the Cluster sergeant said was true, maybe he was.

“Don’t worry, Nez. We’ve got you covered,” Rev muttered.

“Here it comes,” one of the gunnies in the S4 shouted. Rev looked up to see the transport approach.

“Get ready,” Rev told the stretcher-bearers.

The transport was low and sleek, one of the AI-driven models. It shot in, then turned around, deflecting its exhaust, which was already going through the baffles, away from the gathered troops.

As soon as it touched down, the S4 gunny shouted, “Go, go!”

Rev watched the four First Platoon troopers carry Nezev, followed by Kzing, as they ran out to the waiting transport. Two other troopers were struggling with their KIA, so Rev stepped in and grabbed one of the handles and ran with them to the transport. They were the last to arrive, running inside where the lone crewman directed them to place the body right on the deck.

“Stand clear of the exhaust,” a recorded voice said.

Like almost all shuttles and transports, the ground impulse engines would kick in this close to the ground where the radiation would fry anyone close. But there was always the chance for a little leakage. Rev joined the others in running clear before he turned around to watch the transport lift off the ground and start to rotate.

“Respect to the fallen,” he said quietly.

On the other side of the transport, close to the edge of the LZ, several troopers were inspecting one of the low, rounded structures when it suddenly opened up, knocking one of the troopers to the ground.

Rev’s warrior sense hit him like a flipball three-quarters, and he started running toward the structure, passing underneath the still rotating transport.

The Naxli poured out of the structure like a colony of enraged army ants. The first few dropped the three troopers, who had no chance. Rev brought Pashu up and fired a long blast from his beamer, frying a dozen of the Naxli as they emerged.

They had no external armor, only their organic plates, and those weren’t stopping Pashu’s beam.

“Eth!” Rev shouted as he switched to his twenty while his beamer recharged.

More Naxli poured out faster than he could imagine. One raised a tube, pointing it at the transport, which was only now beginning to fly off.

Rev swept Pashu like a scythe, his big 20 mm rounds catching the Naxli a moment before it fired the missile. He didn’t know whether he actually hit the missile or not, but it shot straight up into the air, hopefully unable to get a lock on the transport.

“Get the hell out of here!” he screamed at it.

Randigold joined him in pouring rounds into the mass, but the Naxli were scattering. Still, the two, joined by other troopers, mowed them down. Ten, twenty, thirty . . . Rev wasn’t keeping track.

The Naxli were fighting back. Some moved toward the building, but others oriented on Rev and the rest. Forty-millimeter grenades started exploding among the Naxli, growing the pile of bodies. The bodies made the footing for those still emerging unstable, making them easier pickings. But still, they were targeting the humans. Rev was hit twice, but his PAL-HX came through once again. Two troopers in the PAL-Zs went down, then Randigold grunted and took a knee. She didn’t let up, cycling from beamer to twenty and back again.

Rev’s twenty cycled to empty, and he extended his blade. He wasn’t going to go down while his beamer recharged, which was taking longer each time. Four Naxli charged him, and Rev shifted his feet to meet them when they were cut down by a 40 mm blast, the last one falling five meters from Rev’s feet.

That one was still alive, though, and it struggled to bring its weapon to bear, but Pashu cycled green, and Rev finished it off with a quick blast.

It seemed like forever, but it was probably less than thirty seconds before Captain Larouch, the Third Platoon commander, organized a counter-assault.

The troopers rushed past Rev, charging the structure, where a last few Naxli were trying to emerge. Rev caught a quick glimpse of Tomiko as she threw a frag grenade into the opening.

And then there were no more coming out. A few were being quickly hunted down, but it looked like their last-ditch effort had failed. Rev turned around, half-expecting to see the transport down and burning on the ground, but it was a speck in the sky and climbing higher.

“Thank the Mother.”

Strap was just at the edge of his vision. The sergeant caught Rev’s eyes and raised his M-103 in a salute, and Rev realized he was the one who’d stopped that four-Naxli charge at him. He tipped an imaginary cap at the sergeant, who performed a little bow in return.

Randigold was still on her knee, and Rev stepped over to her.

“You OK?”

“Bastards took out my leg. That was my favorite one,” she snarled.

Behind her, the lower leg of her prostheses was in several twisted pieces.

Rev held out his hand. She took it and rose back up on her remaining leg.

Both of them took a moment to survey the hellish scene. The battalion had taken more casualties. Rev could see eleven troopers down, and he didn’t know how many others there were.

He couldn’t even begin to count the dead Naxli. There had to be at least a hundred.

Yance was right about Intel’s numbers, and he’s not going to let me forget it.

Rev didn’t know the organization of the Naxli, but he had a distinct feeling that these ones, the ones who’d come out of the structure, were not combat Naxli. They had no applied armor, and they had no heavy weapons. They certainly had no observable tactics other than a mass rush.

But they had killed human troopers. It could have been worse, though. The image of the missile aimed at the transport was something Rev couldn’t shake from his mind.

At the structure, Charlie Company troopers were starting to cautiously enter to clear it. There were eight more of them around the LZ, but Rev didn’t think they’d have time to clear each one. He had a feeling that the orbiting monitor was going to get a few targets to pummel as soon as the humans left the surface.

“You think that’s all of them, Staff Sergeant?” Randigold asked.

The assault had the feeling of being a last gasp measure, but who knew how the Naxli reacted?

With the adrenaline leaving his body, Rev suddenly felt tired. Even his warrior self couldn’t get excited about the concept of another fight.

“I sure the hell hope so, Eth. Now, why don’t you hop on over to the edge of the LZ and wait for our ride out of here.”

33

“That’s fucked up in so many ways,” Tomiko said as the SNCOs watched the news feed in the company outer office.

Rev had nothing to add. He was in somewhat of a state of shock as the enormity of the situation sunk in.

While Second Assault Battalion was decisively winning their battle, the situation on Farthmenger had gone worse. Far worse.

The MDS planet had a robust military presence and four billion inhabitants, and more MDS forces had responded to the Naxli attack, yet from the bits and pieces that managed to make it out, the planet was being scoured by the Naxli ground forces.

Groton Cove had been scoured by the Naxli, but that had been by naval forces and in one fell swoop. It was tragic, but events like that were not untold throughout history. Fourteen planets had been scoured during the Corolla Wars, and several since then. This was different, and Rev was trying to fathom how that could happen.

Four billion people. How the hell do you wipe out four billion people with ground forces?

And these weren’t just passive people. As much as Rev didn’t like the MDS, they were not pushovers. MDS citizens had access to arms, and he knew they’d fight to their dying breath among the ruined buildings to expel the invaders.

The sheer logistics of the Naxli to get enough warriors to the planet to achieve this level of death and destruction was mind-blowing.

“If they could do that to the Mad Dogs . . .” Tomiko started to say before trailing off.

She didn’t have to finish the sentence. With a far smaller population, what hope could Safe Harbor have if the Naxli targeted it in the same way? It had been touch-and-go as it was when the Centaurs invaded the planet. If the Centaurs had come with more of them, things could have turned out very differently.

“Are we going to respond?” Kelly asked.

“Someone is,” Yancey said. “We can’t let this happen without doing something about it.”

Rev wasn’t so sure. Four billion people were a lot of souls, but if the people were already lost, then the Naxli controlled the planet, and it would be a rescue force that would have to fight their way to the surface—an extremely large rescue force.

As sad as it made him feel, he thought that the decision might be made to write off the planet and try to figure out just how the Naxli had managed to accomplish what they had. All they were seeing now as they waited for their officers was what the commercial newsies were feeding them. The various human agencies undoubtedly knew much more than what was being released to the public.

“It wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t the Mad Dogs,” Bob said. “Bastards can’t fight worth shit.”

Rev was non-committal. The MDS could fight, and his gut said what the Naxli were managing to do on Farthmenger wasn’t reliant on the planet being MDS.

“Think it’ll make any difference to the IBHU expansion initiative? Speed it up, maybe?” Sergeant First Class Barker, the Alpha Company gunny, asked.

All eyes turned to Rev.

There were credible rumors that the Union was going to offer their IBHU technology to several other nations in an attempt to beef up the numbers.

But just because Rev was an IBHU didn’t make him privy to what was going on in the highest halls of governments.

He shrugged and said, “Hell if I know.”

The door to Captain Adair’s office opened, and Lieutenant Kjell stormed out, his face locked into a grim expression. He strode over to where the SNCOs had gathered and looked up at the screen.

Rev watched the man. Those were his people, fellow MDS citizens. But if that affected him, Rev couldn’t see it on his face. The man was a statue.

After a few moments, he signaled for Rev to follow him, and the two left the company office, crossed the hall, and into the much smaller platoon office. The lieutenant plopped down on his chair.

“Your commander didn’t like my actions during the battle,” he said, his eyes blazing.

She’s your commander, too.

“Called me a cowboy. Said I wasn’t doing my job. I’m supposed to lead, not fight.”

Which was true.

“She wouldn’t be saying that if I’d taken out the nox in that bunker up on the wall.”

“Sir, I was doing what I thought was right to take it out.”

The lieutenant waved his hand in dismissal, then grimaced as that flared up the pain caused by damage to his arm. “I’m not blaming you. But you per . . .” He stopped and changed his tack. “We in the MDS are taught to seize the initiative. When we see an opportunity, we take it. You, of all people, should know that. You’ve made a career of doing that.”

Rev was surprised to hear him say that. He was under the impression that the lieutenant hadn’t bothered to learn anything about the people under his command. Maybe he’d been assuming too much.

“She’s a oner like you,” he said. “She should know that all of us are here to fight. We can’t afford to waste our augments by standing back and sending others into battle for us.”

Rev felt a twinge of guilt at that. He was a staff sergeant, a gunny select, and he often took the lead as if he was a lance corporal. He’d done it during this battle, for example.

But there are only a handful of IBHUs. There are thousands of karnans. It’s a different situation.

He knew that he was trying to rationalize his actions in the fighting by telling himself that, though. The fact of the matter was that the lieutenant’s actions, the very same ones that the captain had evidently jumped on his ass about, were not much different than how Rev conducted himself. And he had a Gold Nova to show for it instead of an ass chewing.

As much as he hated to admit it, maybe the lieutenant and he weren’t that much different. Rev had yet to make a Sibs in Steel salute with any MDS except for that once with Nye Torking back on Titan, but maybe it would be a good idea to start including them.

Just not now. He wasn’t ready for that yet. It was hard enough just serving with the MDS soldiers as it was.

The lieutenant looked like he was going to say something, so Rev cut him off, changing the subject so he didn’t have to respond to that line of conversation.

“Kzing’s stable and should make a complete recovery. The battalion surgeon says he should be back on full duty in five weeks. Nezev has a great chance at resurrection. We’ll know better in a week.

“Randigold’s got a temporary leg, enough so she’s mobile, but she’s on light duty for now until they can get her another reinforced prosthetic. No ETA on that yet.”

He didn’t mention Hant. It had been obvious that the karnan had no chance of a resurrection.

The lieutenant grunted and didn’t comment, and whatever slight feeling of kinship Rev had with him as a fellow hyperaugment melted away. They’d been back on Safe Harbor for thirteen hours already, and he’d never asked Rev for an update on their KIA and WIA. Granted, most of that was spent in debriefs, but still . . .

The lieutenant was still angry, Rev could see. But the battalion had just completed a successful combat test. Despite being in the center of the fight, the platoon had come through relatively unscathed with two KIA, a WIA, and a destroyed leg. Kjell should be happy and proud over that.

The success of the mission could have been overshadowed by the disaster that was Farthmenger, but while Rev couldn’t read his mind, he didn’t seem overly concerned about that. Instead, he was stewing over an ass chewing.

Damn, I miss Bundy.

Rev had to get out of the office.

“Is that all for me, sir? I need to get back to the platoon.”

The lieutenant gave him that dismissive wave again. Rev took that as permission to leave.

But as he was stepping out of the hatch, the lieutenant called out, “Your promotion’s going to be tomorrow at 1600.”

Rev turned. “Sir?”

The lieutenant chuckled. “What’s the date, Staff Sergeant?”

Punch pulled up the date and input it into Rev’s visual cortex.

“September third, sir.”

“And . . .”

Rev was confused until Punch said, <Your number came up for September first.>

“Heck, Punch, and you never told me?”

<I don’t need to hold your hand for everything, Rev. If getting promoted isn’t that important to you, that’s on you.>

34

To all who shall see these presents, greeting:

Know Ye that reposing special trust and confidence in the fidelity and abilities of REVERENT PELLETIER SH-969673549, I do appoint this Marine a GUNNERY SERGEANT in the

Perseus Union Marine Corps

to rank as such from the FIRST day of SEPTEMBER, 3839.

This appointee will carefully and diligently discharge the duties of the grade to which appointed by doing and performing all manner of things thereunto pertaining. And I do strictly charge and require all personnel of a lesser grade to render obedience to appropriate orders. And this appointee is to observe and follow such orders and directions as may be given from time to time by superiors acting according to the rules and articles governing the discipline of the Armed Forces of the Perseus Union.

As a staff noncommissioned officer of Marines, you are a professional at arms, possessing the technical and tactical proficiency, unwavering devotion to duty and complete dedication to the moral and ethical imperatives necessary to accomplish all assigned missions. You are a guardian of our culture and must be an exemplar who leads with firmness, fairness, dignity, and respect.

Given under my hand at HEADQUARTERS, PERSEUS UNION MARINE CORPS, this FIRST day of SEPTEMBER, 3839.

Tera Simpson, General

Commandant of the Marine Corps.

* * *

Lieutenant Colonel Jensen said, “Congratulations, Gunny. And who will be pinning on your new rockers?”

“Captain Bundy and my mother, sir.”

The battalion CO motioned for the two to come forward, but Rev’s mother instead gave Tomiko a nudge. She turned and gave his mother a questioning look, and his mother gave her another nudge, pushing her forward.

Finally, Tomiko stepped up beside Rev and took the new insignia that the sergeant major handed them.

“Looks good on you,” Bundy said as he pinned the rocker to Rev’s collar.

“Don’t let the rank go to your head, Big Boy. I’ll be joining you in two months,” Tomiko whispered into his ear.

She and Bundy stepped back, and he could see the glisten of what couldn’t be tears in her eyes. Not hardass Tomiko.

Rev resisted looking down to catch a glimpse of his new rank insignia. It was hard to imagine that somehow, he’d turned from being a conscript, angry at being forced to don the uniform and give up his cushy position as an apprentice at his father’s plant, into a gunnery sergeant of Marines. It didn’t seem possible.

The CO cleared his throat and said, “Every time a Marine is promoted, he or she is embarking on a new stage of their career. I think it’s appropriate in such circumstances if the Marine repeat their oath of office. Gunny, if you will raise your right hand and repeat after me?”

“I, state your name . . .”

“I, Reverent Pelletier . . .”

“do solemnly swear . . .”

. . .do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Charter of the Perseus Union against all enemies, alien, foreign, and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the director prime of the Perseus Union and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me, God.

Rev lowered his hand.

Lieutenant Colonel Jensen smiled and lowered his hand as well, then held it out. Rev took it in a firm handshake.

“Congratulations, Gunnery Sergeant Pelletier. And as is tradition, if you would face your guests and repeat the staff noncommissioned officer’s creed?” the colonel asked.

Rev turned around to where his family, his posse, and his friends were gathered. He took a deep breath, then started.

I am a Staff Noncommissioned Officer in the Perseus Union Marine Corps.

As such, I am a member of the most unique group of professional military practitioners in the galaxy. I am bound by duty to Humanity, Nation, and my fellow Marines to execute the demands of my position to and beyond what I believe to be the limits of my capabilities.

I realize I am the mainstay of Marine Corps discipline, and I carry myself with military grace, unbowed by the weight of command, unflinching in the execution of lawful orders, and unswerving in my dedication to the most complete success of my assigned mission.

Both my professional and personal demeanor shall be such that I may take pride if my juniors emulate me, and knowing perfection to lie beyond the grasp of any mortal hand, I shall yet strive to attain perfection that I may ever be aware of my needs and capabilities to improve myself. I shall be fair in my personal relations, just in the enforcement of discipline, true to myself and my fellow Marines, and equitable in my dealing with every man and woman.

I am a Staff Noncommissioned Officer in the Perseus Union Marine Corps.

Rev let out a sigh of relief. He’d had Punch feed him the words, but he was happy he’d made it through without stumbling.

“Do you have anything to say, Gunny?” the CO asked.

Rev faced the guests, and for a moment, he was overwhelmed. He hadn’t thought he’d get choked up, but there he was, about to cry.

Get a hold of yourself.

“I just want to thank you, all of you, for coming out to support me,” he managed to get out.

“When’s the wetting down!” Yancey shouted. “That’s why I’m here.”

Rev laughed, joined by his guests. And it worked. Rev was back in control.

“Like I said before I was so rudely interrupted,” he said in a much firmer voice, “thank you all for coming. Those of you from the platoon, fellow Marines, and all of you who’ve come from throughout the galaxy, we’ve already been through a lot. But I know I can count on you for whatever we’ll face in the future.

“Captain Adair, Captain Bundy, Colonel Suk, Sergeant Major—I hope I’ll meet up to your expectations.

“To my posse,” Rev said, his voice getting softer. They were all there, those still alive. Bundy, Tomiko, and Yancey, of course. Fyr. Udu and Cricket, with little Leo at their side. Ten, out of her chair and on her two feet, along with Malaika. “I miss Krissy and Orpho, respect for the fallen . . .”

“Respect for the fallen,” the rest repeated.

“But I can’t imagine getting promoted without you. Who would have thought it, that night fourteen years ago, when we stood on those yellow footprints, puking our guts out after our little introductory run . . .”

There were several laughs.

“. . . that one of us would be a captain now,” he said, pointing at Bundy, “. . . and the Marine Corps would be blind enough to make me a gunny. Me.”

He paused a moment, then continued, “And finally, to my family. Kat, Neesy, Gover. Mom, I love you. And Dad, you were always there for me. Even when not only did I get that ticket that got me conscripted after you hooked me up with that sweet apprenticeship, but I got your Gazelle impounded.”

There were more laughs.

“Anyway, just thanks for coming. It means a lot to me. Really. And to answer Yance’s question, the wetting down is tonight, twenty hundred, at Leteeka’s. See you there!”

Gunnery Sergeant Reverent Pelletier, Perseus Union Marine Corps, stepped forward to accept the hugs and congratulations of his friends and family.

35

The smells from the kitchen were making Rev’s mouth water, but he was just happy to be home. With the threat against him, he’d been restricted to base, but without further developments on that stage, the CO had overturned that to allow for Rev’s wetting down, and he and Tomiko were taking advantage of that to get with the family beforehand.

He was content. He regretted their losses on the Naxli planet, but the facts were that they’d faced the enemy and come out better than he’d feared might happen. And now, with the glow of his new rank warming him, he was surrounded by Tomiko and his family. He almost wished he’d scheduled the wetting down until the next day so he could just sit and soak up the comfort.

Rev only half-watched the flipball game on the holo, while his dad and brother screamed in frustration at every mistake the Phoenix players made. He used to follow the Phoenixes religiously, but he’d lost touch. But from the looks of it, the team wasn’t at risk of winning the league championship this year. To his surprise, he didn’t really care. With what was happening on Farthmenger, things like sports didn’t carry the same weight with him as when he was a teen.

Kat came out of the kitchen. She’d switched shirts after getting home to a camo T that said, “My Brother Is A Gunny” in reflective letters that kept changing colors.

“Hey, Littler Bro, Mom says get your butt in the kitchen and help get dinner ready.”

“I didn’t say ‘butt,’” Rev’s mother called out.

“Yes, she did,” Kat said in a faux whisper.

Grover rolled his eyes and told his father, “Pause the game, OK?”

He stood up and in a resigned tone, said, “I’m getting married in two months, and she still treats me like a little boy.”

“That’s never going to change, Grove,” Rev said.

As soon as Grover disappeared, Rev’s dad started the game again. Rev gave him a questioning look, but his dad just shrugged and said, “My house, my rules.”

He had to turn the game off anyway as the food came out. The aroma was biting, but interesting.

“What are we having?” he asked as he got up.

“Butter chicken, jasmine rice, and garlic naan,” Kat said.

Grover was bringing a large casserole to the table, and Rev pulled him in by the arm so he could sniff what he assumed was the butter chicken.

“Not bad.”

“I made it myself,” his mother called out.

“Not the naan. You need a special oven for that. She made that in the fabricator,” Kat said.

The food was on the table and everyone seated within a minute, and Rev was eager to try the chicken. Tikka masala was a fairly common dish in military chow halls, but other than that, Rev wasn’t sure he’d had Indian food before.

“Have I ever had this?”

<Not while I’ve been alive. You’ve had tikka masala and samosas, but not murgh makhani.>

“Murgh mak-what?”

<Butter chicken. That is the real name of the dish.>

Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?

Rev’s mouth was watering as the food was dished up. Rev’s mother gave thanks, and he quickly dug in with a bite.

Whoa. This is good!

His mother was watching him closely, so he raised his empty spoon in a salute and said, “Great! How’d you make it?”

“Now you’ve done it,” Neesy said with an exaggerated eye roll.

Her mother gave her a smack on the arm before she went into a long description of the ingredients. Rev quickly lost track. There were a million of them. He just kept shoveling the food into his mouth.

“The important thing was the ghee. You know what ghee is, Rev?” his mother asked, which required an answer.

<It’s a clarified butter, separated to give it a high smoke point. Common in Indian cuisine.>

“Uh, butter?”

His mother laughed. “Ghee is hardly just butter.” She went into a lengthy description of how she made it while Rev smiled and nodded but tuned her out, tearing off a piece of the naan and wiping up what was left of the sauce on his plate.

“So, that’s what ghee is. And that’s what gives the butter chicken its authenticity.”

Rev didn’t care if it was authentic or not. He just wanted more, and he craned his head to see if there was any left.

“I heard there was a new restaurant in town called The Ghee Spot. It was pretty wonderful, but it had to close down, though, because none of the men could find it,” Neesy said.

“Neesy!” Rev’s mother said in mock alarm before she broke out laughing.

“What?” Rev asked, wondering what was funny. He looked around the table. Neesy, his mom, Tomiko, and Kat were all laughing. Across the table, his father looked confused before he smiled and rolled his eyes.

“What’s so funny?” Rev asked him.

His father shook his head, and that broke the women out into stronger peals of laughter. Kat looked like she was going to fall off her chair.

“Not surprising Rev can’t find it,” Neesy said between laughs.

“I can’t find a restaurant that’s closed?” Rev asked.

He looked at Grover, who shrugged.

Tomiko grabbed his arm and stroked his cheek. “Don’t worry, Rev. I love you for other things.”

That sent Neesy almost into convulsions.

Rev was getting frustrated. He had no idea what was so funny, but he knew they were all laughing at him, not with him.

“What is so funny?” he asked again, looking to his dad, who was now chuckling and wouldn’t meet his eyes.

He pulled back from Tomiko and asked Punch, “Do you know what’s so funny?”

<Yes.>

“So tell me!”

<You are so naive, Rev.>

“Just tell me, damn it!”

<”The Ghee Spot.”>

“A restaurant. So what?”

<That men can’t find.>

“And . . . ?”

Punch sent a message in writing directly into Rev’s visual cortex. The words seemed to appear, hanging over the table.

<Ghee Spot = G-spot.>

It still took a second before the meaning hit Rev like a ton of bricks. He looked up in horror at his mother—his mother!—laughing at him. He tore his eyes away only to see the barely teen Kat, with her “My Brother Is A Gunny” t-shirt, laughing at him with a knowing look.

He could feel his face burn as it turned red.

“Oh, by the Mother!”

This was going to take a long, long time to ever live down.

* * *

Or maybe never. Rev looked across the table at Leteeka’s to where Tomiko was whispering in Kelly’s ear. Their friend listened, then looked over at Rev, eyes wide, her mouth dropping open before she started laughing.

“What’s that all about?” Bob asked.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing,” he grumbled.

Still, it was difficult to stay down in the dumps. A lot of people had turned out for the wetting down—sure, maybe a bunch came just for the booze at Rev’s expense, but it was satisfying. And once he got over his mortification, he had to admit it was pretty funny. He’d walked right into that one. He just would have felt better had it not been in front of his mother or Kat.

Kelly suddenly straightened up, looked over Rev’s shoulder, and subtly raised a single finger to point. Rev turned around, then stood.

“Captain Adair. Glad you could come, ma’am.”

The captain raised her prosthesis, which Rev clinked. “Sibs in steel,” they said in unison. The captain was pretty big on the tradition, although she only did it with IBHUs, not with anyone else with a prosthesis.

“Just wanted to stop by and say congrats, Gunny.”

Gunny. Man, that still sounds good.

“Thank you, ma’am. The bar’s open.”

“Oh, no. I don’t want to interfere with your party.”

Rev had expected that. It seemed like officers never accepted a drink paid for by an enlisted soldier or Marine, no matter the service they were in. But at a wetting down, Rev had to offer. Social obligations met, they could then go on their way.

Most of the officers in the company had come by, as had Major Pellegrino and Daryll. Even Brigadier General DeStaffney had made a brief appearance, much to Rev’s surprise. All had congratulated him, then turned down the offered drink and made their exit.

Almost all. Kjell and Nilson had turned down the drink, but they were now in the corner of the bar with a few other officers making an evening out of it.

Only Bundy had accepted the drink, but Bundy was part of the posse. He’d taken one beer, then went back to the base. The posse was going to get together the next night for a quieter dinner, and he’d be there.

Captain Adair leaned in and whispered into Rev’s ear. “You still have the piece?”

“Yes, sir. I do.” He patted the Krait concealed in his pocket.

“Good. Situational awareness, Gunny, situational awareness.” She crouched and held up her hands like a martial artist, mimicking someone ready for a fight, then laughed and slapped Rev on the shoulder.

“Enjoy your wetting down, but don’t let these bozos bankrupt you.” She laughed and turned around to leave.

Rev watched her go for a second. He still couldn’t figure out the woman. On the one hand, she was somewhat of an arrogant blowhard, but on the other hand, she’d slipped Rev the Krait just before Rev left for his parent’s house, telling him it was better safe than sorry.

It was probably illegal for Rev to carry the small, mag-ring derringer. Made of exotic synthetics, it was invisible to most scanners. The barrel wasn’t long enough to pull a dart into hyper speeds, and it carried only a tiny, three-dart clip, but it was a nice security blanket. The supposed threat against him fizzled out, but there were normal criminals in Safe Harbor who might want to roll a Marine, and as the captain said, better safe than sorry.

“I think that’s the last ossifer,” Hussein said. “Now we can party.”

“There’s still that crew,” Kelly said, tilting her head at the lieutenants at their table.

“Screw them. This is Rev’s . . . excuse me . . . the gunny’s wetting down, and we’re gonna make it righteous.”

And truth be told, his friends made a decent enough effort in that regard, at least in the beginning. Most of the junior Marines had some drinks and then drifted off to where they could enjoy their evening without the SNCOs breathing down their necks. Strap and Tsao stayed the longest before they finally left together.

“Are they a thing?” Tomiko asked as the two sergeants stepped out of the bar.

“What? No.” Rev said.

Or are they? Come to think of it, they had their heads together all evening.

It wouldn’t matter if they were, but Rev was supposed to know his Marines, and that was something he should be aware of.

“You think they are?” he asked her.

She shrugged. “They seemed a little into each other this evening. Just saying.”

“Lots of people getting cozy,” Rev said.

In the next booth, Kelly was holding court. Both Bob and Yancey were sitting with her, laughing at something she’d just said.

“It’s nothing,” Tomiko said.

Rev wasn’t so sure. But that was just idle curiosity. He punched in another pitcher for them and held up his glass for Cricket and Udu. Udu’s head was on Cricket’s shoulder, her eyes closed. Cricket waved him off. “We’ve got to get back to Leo. Udu’s mom is watching him, but she gets cranky if we stay out too long.

“Lightweights,” Tomiko said.

Cricket nudged Udu, who opened her eyes, yawned, saw Rev, and gave him a sheepish grin. “Sorry, Rev. Getting tired.”

“Getting old, you mean,” Tomiko said.

Udu smiled and said, “You tell me that when you two have a toddler.”

“You’re in uniform all day.”

“And on Leo duty all night.”

“She’s got you there,” Rev told Tomiko.

The two got up and made their way out. The number of friends still there was getting low. The “righteous party” was getting to be more of a snooze fest. But that was OK. Rev was just happy to be sitting there with Tomiko.

Another pitcher of beer came down the rail and whispered to a stop in front of him.

“I didn’t order that,” Rev said.

He checked the display. It wasn’t from him. It was from Table 2, which was . . . Rev had to look it up. It was the lieutenants’ table.

Rev lofted the pitcher to them in thanks. Kjell and Nilson waved back. Buying booze uphill might be a no-no, but downhill was accepted.

Hussein stood up, drained his glass, and said, “I’m gonna bounce. Congrats, Gunny. It’s about time you got it.”

“This is the lieutenants’ beer. You don’t want some?” Rev asked, pointing out the pitcher.

“Ossifer booze? Hell, why not.” He poured himself a stein, downed it, burped, and said, “And now, I’m outta here.”

“So, what’s next?” Tomiko asked after Hussein left.

“Next as in us?”

“Next as in the battalion. With Farthmenger, that changes things.”

“Yeah. The war’s taken a turn.”

“I’ve got a feeling that we won’t be able to come here to Leteeka’s much longer.”

“You hear anything particular, Miko?”

“Just a feeling. This shit’s gonna get real.” She paused, then hugged his arm. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be bringing up business at your wetting down.”

But Rev thought she was right. And now, he couldn’t get his mind off of it. The battalion might have passed its combat test, but that was against rear-echelon 1.0s. Farthmenger did change the equation.

He looked around the bar. It wasn’t as boisterous as it usually was on a Friday night. Maybe the others felt the same way, that things were going to be different. The shit was going to get real, as Tomiko said.

It was almost a relief when the robotender shouted, “Last call.”

Rev picked up the pitcher, which was still half-full. “You want more?” he asked Tomiko, but she waved him off.

They just sat there, leaning against each other, their thoughts on the future. When the lights of the bar flicked, they were the last ones there.

“Take care of the tab, Gunny.”

Rev hit the booth display and blanched. He owed almost two months’ pay, and that was a gunny’s pay, not a staff sergeant’s. But he’d only make E7 once, and he transferred the credits.

“Well, we closed the place,” Tomiko said as she stood. “Hardcore partiers.”

“Yeah, right,” Rev said with a chuckle.

“Congrats, Gunny,” Darcy Ann, the new owner, said after poking her head out of the office. She came out and handed Rev a bottle. “I meant to give that to you earlier.”

Rev checked the label: Golden Dwarf. Good stuff.

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“After all you spent today, I think I can afford it,” she said with a laugh.

She gave each of them a hug, then retreated back to her office. Rev and Tomiko exited the bar and stood outside the entrance for a moment. The night air was heavy and humid, quiet here, but they could see the lights of hovers running up and down Thomas Street a block away.

“Cab?” Rev asked.

“Let’s head to the Redbird. I could use a coffee before we go back. Reveille’s gonna come early.”

“You got it. I guess I can use one, too.”

“Yeah, you don’t wanna sleep in your first official day as a gunny.”

Rev stepped off the curb and stumbled. Tomiko grabbed him, then took the bourbon. “Give me that. It’s too valuable to have you drop it. Wait for the coffee to sober you up.”

Rev was buzzing, but he wasn’t really drunk. He wasn’t going to argue, though, so he let Tomiko carry the bottle. The Redbird Cafe was only two blocks away.

She carried the bottle with her right arm and hooked her left in his organic arm as they walked down the middle of the street. Rev wondered how many more peaceful nights like this they’d have.

Rev’s senses went on high alert before the seven figures stepped out of the shadows to surround them.

“Punch, Sober Up! Now!”

Tomiko dropped his arm, then moved until they were back-to-back.

“Who are they?” she whispered, just loud enough for his augmented hearing to pick up.

“Punks. I’ve been through this before. Want to make a name for themselves by doing a beatdown of some Marines.”

Rev fingered the Krait in his pocket. But he left it there. He was going to give these punks a lesson, but they didn’t deserve to die just because they were idiot assholes.

He expected that they were trying to build up their courage, and he watched for the first one, but the seven men—six men and a woman, he saw now—were positioning themselves without the usual vocal bluster. Then the unmistakable buzz of vibroblades powering up broke the silence, and Rev caught sight of the slight shimmer of the blades.

“These aren’t punks,” he whispered to Tomiko.

These guys knew what they were doing. But why? They expected that two Marines had that much of value on them?

Whatever their motive, Rev was going to stop them. He pulled out the Krait and palmed the tiny derringer.

“I’d leave us be if I were you,” he said.

“Can’t do that, I’m afraid,” one of the men said.

“Punch, I need more Sober Up.”

<I’ve pushed it. But it isn’t going to help you in time.>

Rev felt the slight burning as the chemical tried to clear his brain, but Punch was right. He and Tomiko were as ready as they were going to be.

At some unseen signal, four of the seven rushed the two Marines. Rev brought the Krait up and fired three quick shots. The assailants must not have had body armor because his three targets went down hard. The fourth one kept coming, and Rev shifted to his right, covering Tomiko. The vibroblade darted toward his belly, but Rev blocked it with his prosthesis, the blade riding up the arm while he punched with all his power at the woman’s throat.

She tried to dodge, and with a normal person facing her, it would have worked. But Rev was much, much quicker than a normal person, and his blow shattered her throat. She stumbled, put one hand to her neck, and tried to keep from falling with the other, but she slowly collapsed onto the street.

She lay there gurgling.

“He’s out of rounds,” one of the men said.

The three made a triangle around Rev and Tomiko.

“Get ready,” he whispered. “They’ll come all at once.”

Rev had taken out the woman with a punch, but if all three hit them at the same time, he and Tomiko might eat a blade.

He caught the slightest bit of movement from the assailant in front of him, and before he even formed a plan, he left Tomiko and charged the man.

His assailant wasn’t expecting that, nor Rev’s speed. Rev kept his prosthesis low, ready to block the blade, but he reverted to a lunge, just as his swordmaster had taught him, but with his augmented fist. The blow hit hard, staggering the man, and Rev wheeled in a spinning backhand, using his prosthesis to crush the side of the man’s skull.

He could feel another of them closing in. The spinning back fist had taken him out of position, off-balance and bent over. As the next assailant closed in, Rev blindly kicked out and connected solidly with his foot, hitting the man high in the chest.

The blow knocked the man backward, his arms flailing. Rev charged, and just as the man regained his composure, a single blow into his solar plexus doubled him over, and the vibroblade clattered to the deck. The man reached for it again, but the second blow on the back of his neck almost decapitated him.

Rev spun around for the last assailant but stopped. Tomiko was standing over the prone body, holding the neck of the Golden Dwarf bottle.

She looked at Rev, shrugged, then tipped the broken bottle so a few drops of the liquid fell onto her hand. She brought it to her mouth and licked it.

“That’s good stuff Darcy Ann gave you.” She shook free a couple more drops onto her hand and held it out to him. “You want a taste?”

He just stood there for a moment, looking at her.

“By the Mother, I’m in love with the right woman.”

“Damn right you are. Now come over here and taste this stuff. Then call the cops so we can get out of here. Like I told you, reveille’s gonna come early, and I need my beauty sleep.”

EPILOGUE

Jackson Kreiner-Kendall, better known as KK-Jack, looked at his reflection. After a moment’s study, he ran his fingers through his hair, then straightened his knee-length womo coat, making sure the power tab was centered on the base of his throat. Most people in his profession went for more muted styles, trying to blend in with the crowd.

KK-Jack went in another direction. People tended to look at the colors as they flowed across the coat’s panels, but in doing so, they glossed over his face. He was invisible by being visible.

Plus, he was a realist enough to accept that he just liked looking sharp. What was the purpose of having money if he didn’t make use of it? Too many of his contemporaries lived their dull, plebeian lives, trying to blend in with polite society. For what? If you make the money, enjoy it.

And KK-Jack made money. Lots of it. People were willing to pay a lot for his particular field of expertise. Not just people. Governments. Corporations. He didn’t care who hired him as long as they paid in Hégémonie francs. No BC credits. Too easy for most governments or even the CoH to track those.

“OK, let’s get this over with.”

He wasn’t looking forward to the meeting, but it came with the job. KK-Jack was good, very good. Ten years in the Confederation Army, then another twelve in the Legion, had given him skills but not the healthy bank account he coveted. Shifting to a more underground use of those skills had proven to be far more rewarding. He was a natural at wet work, an old term that he insisted on using where others talked around what they did.

“Call a spade a spade,” he liked to say, using another phrase from centuries ago.

But as a lone operator, he was limited by the number of hours in a day and the fact that he could only be in one place at a time. So, with an entrepreneurial mindset, he started expanding, bringing in other operators. With his contacts he’d built among the murky world that existed just under the surface of normal society, he was able to keep his employees busy.

KK-Jack was one of the best at the job, but he wasn’t as good a businessman, and now he was going to have to explain to his current employer that things hadn’t gone according to plan.

It should have been easy. A Union Marine on a provincial planet. KK-Jack had negotiated for ten operators and had received the full payment in advance, something not too common in his line of work.

He hadn’t sent ten, of course. Seven should be more than enough, and that saved him three salaries. The Union Marines were tough hombres, but outside their body armor, mech, and tanks, there wasn’t much they could do against seven of his operators, all of whom were experienced and who’d succeeded in other missions.

There’d been a glitch, though. The target never came off the base, and while KK-Jack had been paid a bundle, he wasn’t going to try and penetrate the base to accomplish the mission without a significant bonus.

Then, two days ago, the alert was sounded. The target was off the base. KK-Jack gave his team the green light, and five hours later, the team leader said they had the target in their sight and were moving in.

KK-Jack waited for the confirmation, but there was nothing. One hour, two hours, three hours.

That couldn’t be good. His people were too professional to go off and celebrate in a bar—plus, they wouldn’t get paid until they confirmed the job was done. He waited another hour, then contacted his undernet rat to find out what had happened. Five minutes later, he had the answer.

Six bodies and one live individual had been discovered on an otherwise insignificant street. Three had been shot, and the others beaten. The survivor was in serious condition, but he was expected to survive. Military investigators were assisting the local police to figure out what had happened, but no mention was made of the target.

KK-Jack didn’t like failure, and he cursed the idiots who couldn’t take on a single Marine. He’d lost seven of his employees, but from the looks of it, they evidently weren’t good enough to work for him.

It would have been better if all seven were killed, but none of them knew his identity. KK-Jack was safe. Still, it might be better to tie up loose ends and eliminate the survivor.

You can never be too careful in this line of business.

He gave a glance at the body lying in the bed. She somehow looked even more beautiful with her hair disheveled, her mouth open as she gently snored. With a sharp wit and an earthy sense of humor, she’d been entertaining company. KK-Jack rarely kept a companion for more than a few hours, but it looked like he was going to be on the planet for a bit longer. Maybe he’d keep her around another day or two.

“Sleep tight, honey. I’ll be back before you wake up.”

He took the lift down to the ground floor. As was his habit, he stopped by the door for a moment, checking the street outside. There was nothing out of the ordinary to catch his attention. He stepped out and started to the meeting location, putting together what he was going to say.

His employer was not going to be happy. He’d been pressuring KK-Jack for the last several weeks, and now this. But KK-Jack wasn’t solely to blame. This Marine obviously wasn’t a normal grunt, not if he could take out seven of his operators. His employer had never mentioned anything of that. And because he hadn’t, the mission had failed.

Of course, KK-Jack never considered that he could be at fault. As the owner of the company, he should have had the target investigated. But no, to him, his employer was at fault, and he started wondering how he could profit from that.

“I think I’m going to charge him for my lost operators. Yeah.”

Feeling better, he ran over in his mind how he was going to phrase his demand. The closer he got, the surer he was that he was going to profit from the mishap.

He reached the park. In the distance, under the big oak, his employer was already waiting.

Where KK-Jack went for fashion, his employer went the opposite direction. With a full-on trench coat, a hat slung low over his eyes, and a viral mask, he looked like a bad holovid secret agent.

Typical amateurs, KK-Jack had thought when they first met. And nothing since then had changed his mind.

That was the problem with his job. Those he worked for, even when they were from a government, rarely had any idea of the process. All of them should just stay off his back, let him work, and then pay him the money owed. It would be better for everyone.

His employer stood still as KK-Jack crossed the grassy park, stepping around a young couple on a blanket who were far more interested in each other than in him. Still, those who tried to arrest people like him were not above posing as lovers, and KK-Jack watched them carefully for any sign that he was a target as he approached and passed them.

You can never be too careful.

He visually scanned the area as he closed in, looking for anything out of place. Reaching into his pocket, he thumbed his scrambler. The little device, which had cost him the fees he’d earned for three missions, could detect any active means to eavesdrop on him and could scramble any passive means.

Once again, you can never be too careful.

“Do you have good news for me?” his employer asked the moment KK-Jack reached him.

The man’s accent was slightly odd. KK-Jack had been trying to place it. In his line of business, it could help to know who was behind his missions. It wasn’t necessary, but being cautious was how he’d managed to stay alive after all of these years.

There was a hint of the Rigel Cluster in the voice, but that didn’t quite hit the nail on the head.

Maybe something a little farther out.

“About that. There was a problem.”

There was dead silence for a few moments, then a quiet, “What problem.”

KK-Jack was a dangerous man. A confident man. But something in the man’s voice made him shudder ever so slightly.

“You didn’t tell me the target had . . . uh . . . special capabilities.”

He waited for a response, but his employer said nothing.

“Because you didn’t give me the information, I lost se . . . ten of my operators.”

Shit! You almost fucked up right then. That’s not like you.

Still no response, and that was unsettling him.

“It was your fault,” he said. “You’ll have to pay me for my men.”

“You failed in your job. And you want me to pay for your men?” the man asked, his voice calm but with a hint of menace.

“Yeah. Yeah. It’s your fault. If you’d given me the proper information, then this wouldn’t have happened,” KK-Jack said, his voice cracking at the end of the sentence.

“This is what’s going to happen. You will find new assassins, and you will finish the job as agreed upon.”

“Not until you pay me for my lost men,” KK-Jack said, his confidence faltering slightly but unwilling to give up.

“You have no honor. You’ve failed, and you blame others instead of your own incompetence, just like all of you people.”

A burst of anger flared through him, banishing any hesitation that had been creeping up. While he tried to hide it, he was a child of the Osnovnoy Alyanz, and he was more than aware of the low opinion others had of him and his fellow nationals.

“‘All you people?’ Who the fuck are you to put me down? And who the fuck are you anyway, with your Riggy accent? You think you’re better than me?” he screamed.

To his side, the two lovers sat up to see what was the commotion. KK-Jack didn’t care. No one was going to disrespect him like that, and if civilians were in the area, so be it.

He felt the Molter strapped to his forearm. One flick of his wrist backward, and the little but powerful handgun would snap into his hand. He’d lose the contract, and he’d have to make it up with the contact that had arranged for the introduction, but that might be a price to pay.

Easy to say now, the rational part of his mind realized. But if he could still make more money . . .

Sometimes greed overcame pride.

The man leaned forward and in a quiet voice asked, “Who am I? Do you really want to know?”

KK-Jack hesitated as curiosity started warring with greed and anger. If this guy was willing to break cover, then that could be valuable down the line.

You can never be too care—no, sometimes you can.

“Yeah. I want to know who the hell you are.”

For a moment, it looked like the man was going to back down now that KK-Jack called his bluff, and the operator felt a surge of confidence. He’d regained the upper hand.

But then, his employer took two steps forward. KK-Jack took an involuntary step back before he could stop himself. His hand twitched, ready to call up his Molter, but the man reached up slowly to the brim of his hat and pushed it up slightly before he grabbed the top of his plain black viral mask.

KK-Jack hesitated, wanting to see his employer’s face.

The man pulled the mask down, revealing a gaunt face with piercing black eyes that seemed mostly pupils. The man looked normal enough, not someone you’d give a second glance, even if a little different, as if he’d been born with a deformity that had been surgically corrected.

“You from Rigel?” KK-Jack asked, trying to place the overall appearance. “The far end of the cluster?”

“A lot farther than that,” his employer said with a degree of menace that made KK-Jack shiver.

His eyebrows came together as he tried to figure out where the man meant. Farther out than the Rigel Cluster was Paxus and some of the AIW, but none of them had accents like . . .

“Oh, fuck!” KK-Jack said as he flicked his wrist.

KK-Jack was a professional killer, someone with superb reflexes. He was fast, but his employer was faster. In one move, the machete-like blade swung out from under the trench coat, and just as the Molter slapped into the panicking KK-Jack’s hand, it bit deeply into the operator’s neck, catching his womo coat’s power supply, which was the only thing that kept him from being decapitated.

Not that it did KK-Jack any good. The operator fell to his knees as blood gushed out in an arc, staining his employer’s—ex-employer’s—legs. The lovers screamed as if in the far distance, but that barely registered to him. His eyes were locked on his grinning killer as his vision began to tunnel.

KK-Jack fell over to his side, his eyes still locked on the devil who’d ended his life. The killer pulled the mask back up, turned, and started to walk away. The last thing that KK-Jack ever comprehended was the single word, “hreetz.”

* * *

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Rev will return in GODS OF WAR, available to preorder now on Amazon.

GLOSSARY

AGMS: Anti-G Straining Maneuvers

AIW: Association of Independent Worlds

ASAP: As Soon As Possible

BC: the digital currency for most nations

BIPAC: A heavy weapon used by MDS soldiers

BOCT: Benevolent Order of Crystal Technicians

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

CASEVAC: Casualty Evacuation

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

Cerrocrete: a very strong futuristic concrete

CG: Commanding General

CO: Commanding Officer

COH: Congress of Humanity, the highest authority of mankind

CST: Combat Simulation Trainer

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

D-5 Cord: an explosive-saturated cord

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

Deca: an MDS unit about the size of a battalion

DI: Drill Instructor

Dykstra: a heavy sniper rifle

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

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

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

EOE: End of Enlistment

EVA: Extravehicular Activity

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

Frag Order/FRAGO: Fragmentary Order. A modified and abbreviated version of an operation order to modify or issue a follow-on mission

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

FTL: Faster Than Light, a starship drive

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

G-Loc: G-force induced loss of consciousness

Groundpounders: slang for infantry

Hammerhead: A man-packed missile

HE: High Explosive

Hellborer: a man-packed beamer

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

HSPEY: High Speed Planetary Extraction System

IBHU: Integrated Bionic Hopological Unit

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

KIA: Killed in Action

Leaches: Military slang for civilians

LOD: Line of Departure

LZ: Landing Zone

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

M-103: a 40mm grenade launcher attachment to the M-49 and M-51

M-133: a heavy weapon fired by mech Marines

M-305 Jackhammer: a crew-served 40mm grenade launcher

M-49 Assault Rifle: the standard weapon of the Union Marines. It fires a 2mm high-velocity dart.

M-51: a modified version of the M-49. Bigger barrel to fire a heavier dart that has tiny warheads in the tip that can help burn through body armor.

MF-30: a standard issue handgun

MM-37 Mantis II: a man-packed launcher for the Mantis II missile

MDS: Manifest Destiny Sphere

MilDes: Military Designator

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

MMCS: Marine Mechanical Combat Suit

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

MP: Military Police

MPT: Military Placement Test

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

NCOIC: Non-commissioned Officer in Charge

NM: Neuro-mapping

Nox: nickname for Naxli

NVD: Night Vision Device

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

OP: Observation Post

Optisight: a flexible optical tube

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.

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.

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.