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When Words Fail 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.

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1

Corporal Hussein Černý held up his hand, five fingers extended, then the signals for “heavy weapons” and “negative.”

Staff Sergeant Reverent Pelletier, Perseus Union Marine Corps, hesitated. Five Centaurs were hardly a major prize. In the first stages of the Centaur War, any Centaur kill was something to be celebrated. But with the Centaurs now eschewing their mech and fighting more like light infantry, priorities and expectations had changed.

Still, it would be nice to get the patrol blooded. They’d been on this moon for eight days now without any contact, and he could feel the frustration level among his Marines rising. Five kills would go a long way in combating that.

<Our orders are to locate the major force,> Punch, his embedded AI battle buddy, reminded him. <This isn’t it.>

With a sigh, Rev signaled Hussein to stand down. His old friend frowned but passed on the orders. Punch was right, of course. First Heavy Infantry Company and Second Force Recon were not on Brahmaloka to engage in combat with the Centaur Infantry. They were there to locate and determine the size of the elusive Centaur forces so that the Marines could land with a large enough task force to overwhelm them.

Force Recon was the point of main effort for the mission, but after the disaster that had hit the Confederation Rangers on Betel 3, First Heavy Infantry was on the moon to provide a little heavier punch to protect the lightly armed Force Recon Company Marines.

“It would have been good for morale to take the tin-asses out,” Rev subvocalized.

<But not our mission. If Force and we can get off this moon without being discovered, all the better.>

Again, his battle buddy was right. But while Force Recon may be used to the poop and snoop mindset of finding the enemy and not engaging, First Heavy Infantry Company was built to close with and destroy the bad guys.

After a moment’s consideration, Rev signaled Hussein’s team to remain in place and record the approaching Centaurs, but for the rest of the patrol to pull back. Slowly, the Marines around him edged farther away from the abandoned access road and into the deeper cover of the rocky outcroppings.

He uploaded an update into one of the tiny message drones and sent it off on a nap-of-the-earth route back to the company CP located deep in one of the mine shafts that dotted this section of the moon. Maybe one of the Navy’s orbital spy-eyes could follow these five Centaurs to wherever they were going.

That was if the message drone even made it. Rev glanced up at Āryāvarta, the huge, red and blue gas giant that took up most of the sky. Aside from the earthquakes—moonquakes?—that continually shook the much smaller moon (and made mining so dangerous), the gravitational pull of the massive planet wreaked havoc on navigation systems. Even Rev, with his augmented navigational capabilities, had periods of disorientation.

Combined with the Centaurs’ own jamming capabilities, the gas giant made locating the Centaur forces difficult. Humans knew the Centaurs were there. The landings had been noted, as had the cries for help from the four mining operations before those were cut off. But despite the best surveillance capabilities known to humankind, no one knew just how many Centaurs were on the planet-like moon and in what strength. The few signs of their presence were fleeting and inconclusive. The four mines they’d taken were still operational, but where were the military forces that grabbed them?

Enter Force Recon and Heavy Infantry to find out the old-fashioned way, with boots on the ground. But now, with five Centaurs in sight, Rev had to pull his patrol back and let the enemy proceed unmolested.

He crawled in back of a large chunk of volcanic rock thirty-five meters behind his former position but still with a direct line-of-sight to Hussein.

Staff Sergeant Kil Rancine, the Second Squad leader, crawled up to him. “Why don’t we take them?” she asked in a quiet whisper. “Let Intel get their hands on the bastards.”

“Mission orders. Don’t engage except for self-defense.”

“Sometimes, you’ve just got to take advantage of any opportunity that comes your way.”

Rev internally winced. He agreed in theory, and his warrior self was clamoring for him to attack, but he also knew that a small tactical win could be a strategic defeat. Five Centaurs meant nothing in the larger scheme of things. They needed to pinpoint the larger forces.

“Not this time, Kil. Just hold tight.”

She frowned but low-crawled back to her position.

Rev knew that she hadn’t been happy to have Rev assigned as the patrol leader. They were both staff sergeants, after all, and Second Squad made up the bulk of the patrol. But after that exchange, maybe the lieutenant had known what she was doing when she’d put Rev in charge. Kil might be just a little too bloodthirsty.

He turned his attention back to First Team. After a few moments, Hussein signaled four hundred meters. Rev had picked their location well. In this region of Brahmaloka, the tortured terrain, combined with the short distance to the horizon, made long-range observation difficult. But the small hillock where Hussein and his team were located gave exceptional views over not only the access road, but also over a two-klick-wide relatively flat plain. If this was a seek-and-destroy mission, then the Centaurs would have very little cover in the kill zone.

“Keep this location noted if our mission shifts,” he told Punch.

<Roger.>

Now it was just waiting for the Centaurs to pass. Rev glanced to his left. He could just see a small section of the road before it turned down the slope. Maybe he’d get a peek at them before they disappeared.

“Systems check?”

<All systems green. IBHU at full combat load. Power at ninety-four-point-eight.>

Rev grunted. He may not be about to enter combat, but his anal side always wanted to know his status in case something did happen. He extended Pashu, his IBHU—Integrated Bionic Hopological Unit—and rotated her a few times. She’d gone through a light upgrade before this deployment, and she seemed to have a slightly smoother movement, but she hadn’t been used in combat since then.

With three IBHU Marines in the patrol—Lance Corporal Pierson, located with Hussein and first team, Lance Corporal Ethereal Randigold, and himself—they represented a lot of firepower. Given the fact that the Centaurs were infantry and not in their mechs, Rev thought the three of them could handle five Centaurs on their own. While the mech versions were deadly during the first war, the newer, infantry versions of Centaurs were smaller and weaker than even unaugmented humans, and nothing he’d seen on the holovids indicated that they had weapons out of the ordinary. Additionally, their body armor seemed minimal at best.

It was easy for them to kill and capture civilians, but Rev and the rest were Perseus Union Marines.

The Confed Rangers were no pushovers, and look what happened to them, his more cautious self whispered from the recesses of his mind.

Hussein turned again and signaled that the Centaurs were two hundred meters away. Rev’s warrior self tried to surge into control, but Rev easily pushed him back down. He’d had a lot of practice controlling his more violent persona, even if he’d relied on that side to get him out of more than a few jams before. But now was not the time to go into beast-mode.

The time ticked slowly as the Centaurs advanced until Hussein finally signaled that they were abreast of his position. Just on the other side of the outcropping, forty or fifty meters down the gentle, boulder-strewn slope, the enemy was passing by. Rev hoped that the Navy spy-eyes had managed to cut through the moon-wide jamming and had now a lock on them.

“Take us to your buddies. Show us where they are,” he muttered a moment before the side of the main rock behind which Hussein’s team was taking cover exploded into dust.

Rev was up and moving almost before he realized what was happening. “Support element, set up a base of fire. Security, follow me!”

Ahead and to his right, he could hear Pierson open up with his 20 mm gun, the reports unmistakable for anything else. Rev covered the short distance and went to his belly just short of the crest in the slope. Incoming fire was intense, especially as it was coming from only five Centaurs.

Two Marines hit the ground on either side of him. “Wait,” Rev told PFC Julian, one of his new joins, as the Marine started to edge over the crest to engage the Centaurs.

“Where are they, Hus-man?” he shouted at Hussein, almost forty meters to his right.

“Just ahead of me,” the corporal replied. “I don’t know how they picked us up.”

Now wasn’t the time for finger-pointing. First Team had been spotted, and that was all there was to it. They had to take care of this first, then worry about the ramifications later.

“Randigold up!” Rev yelled, his call repeated by those around him. A moment later, his fellow IBHU Marine rushed up, bent over at the waist to keep her head out of sight of the Centaurs below.

“We gonna hit them?” she asked, her face beaming with excitement through her face shield.

“Take Bobovitch here and push down the ridge another twenty meters. Then watch for my signal.”

Calling the slight crest a ridge was generous. It was simply a line where the slope steepened down through the boulders to the roadbed. But they were technically in defilade at the moment—if they kept their heads down.

“Then watch for my signal. Stay on your beamer, and I’ll be on my twenty.”

“Hell, Staff Sergeant, you get all the fun,” she said.

“We’re going to have to dig them out, so make sure you light them up. We outnumber them, and with the three of us, we’ve got the firepower, too.”

If they were outnumbered, the Centaurs didn’t seem to either realize that or care. The amount of incoming fire, only now being matched by Marine outgoing, was impressive. But maybe they figured it was do or die. On this side of the road, they had boulders for some degree of cover. On the other side of the road, there wasn’t much at all. If they tried to retreat, they’d be dead meat.

He craned his head back to look around Hussein’s outcrop. It was the most significant terrain feature for hundreds of meters. It dawned on him that he should have brought the support element, which was the squad’s Third Team and the attached M-305 Jackhammer team from Weapons Platoon, up to flank the Centaurs from the right.

Sometimes, Rev could be IBHU-centric, but the Jackhammer, a man-packed automatic 40 mm grenade launcher, had a lot of firepower in its own right.

Too late now, but keep that in mind for next time, Reverent.

“Get ready to give me a base of fire!” Rev shouted to Hussein and his team. “Tell Pierson I want rounds on target.”

Hussein gave him a thumbs-up.

“You’re with me,” he told Julian. “When I move, you move with me. Keep your neck on a swivel, and if you see movement, hit it.”

Julian, her eyes wide, gulped but nodded as she gripped her M-49, her knuckles white.

Rev hugged the dirt while Marines got in position. The Centaurs weren’t letting up. During the previous war, they relied on well-aimed, powerful blasts from their various weapons. These guys seemed to be “spraying and praying,” putting out heavy volleys of rounds, hoping that something would connect. Bits of dirt were showering Rev and the rest.

A flash and boom filled the air, and shrapnel peppered Rev. Nothing penetrated, but that was a not-so-subtle reminder that they couldn’t just sit there while the Centaurs started employing their full toolbox of weapons.

Rev motioned to Randigold, counting down with broad sweeps of his arm. On three, he jumped up, spraying the rocks below with his twenty. He caught a flash of movement as a Centaur dove for cover. As quick as Rev was with his IBHU, the Centaur was quicker, and the big 20 mm rounds hit nothing but rock. But at least, the incoming paused, giving the Marines a chance to rise and return fire.

The two IBHU Marines with Julian and Bobvitch, ran down through the boulders, looking for targets. There were only five of them, they would barely be a meter and a half tall, and there were plenty of boulders on the ground, but still, Rev should be able to see at least one of them.

One of the Centaurs found Rev, though. As he ran around a two-meter-tall boulder, a Centaur bowled into Rev from the side, hitting him just below the hips with a tackle that made Rev wince even inside his PAL-HX armor. Rev bounced off the boulder and onto his face. He rolled, trying to bring Pashu around, but her very bulk was keeping him from coming around cleanly. Her projector barrel dug into the dirt as the Centaur raised a massive-looking sidearm, the muzzle looking big enough to crawl into.

A flurry of hypervelocity darts hit the Centaur, making it flinch its aim off Rev as it shifted to face Julian, and that was the opportunity Rev needed to pull Pashu’s muzzle free of the dirt and bring her to bear. A quick burst and five of the heavy 20 mm rounds tore into the Centaur, shredding the body and splattering the gore across the boulders on the other side of it.

Julian kept firing into the bloody mess until Rev stepped over, put a hand on the barrel of her weapon, and lowered it.

“Is it dead?” she asked.

<No, it just likes having its guts splashed across the landscape.>

Rev ignored Punch and said, “Quite dead. But its buddies are still around here. Let’s move.”

“That son-of-a-bitch was strong,” Rev told Punch.

<I know. I was here when it took you down.>

“Doesn’t make sense. How could the others be so weak and then these guys . . . ?”

But that was for later. Forewarned, he wouldn’t be caught like that again as they rooted out the other four.

Only, the other four Centaurs were not cooperating.

“No sign of them?” Rev asked Randigold after another minute of fruitless searching.

“Some of what looks like an alien version of cartridges, but nothing else.”

Rev paused and looked back up to where the Marines, without targets, had slowed their rate of fire while keeping their rounds clear of the four Marines.

“Staff Sergeant Rancine, bring up the base of fire to cover us, then I want everyone else down here while we find the bastards.”

Twenty minutes later, he had to acknowledge that there were no Centaurs in the rock field. He stood for a long moment, surveying the cleared area on either side and across the road. He wouldn’t have thought a mouse could move over there without being seen.

He motioned Hussein to come over. “You’re sure there were five of them?”

“I swear, there were five. Ask Hyer. Ask Pang. There were five,” he said, his voice rising.

“I believe you, Hus-man. Calm down.”

“Any ideas?” he asked Punch.

<Nothing.>

It didn’t seem possible that the other Centaurs had somehow gotten away. But what other explanation was there?

“Kil, get everyone on line. Start right over there. We’re going to give this one last sweep.”

It took a few minutes, but the Marines started their sweep. It didn’t take long.

“Staff Sergeant! Over here!” PFC Bobovitch said.

Rev hurried over. There was a trampled area between two rocks, a splash of bluish blood on one of them. Unmistakable tracks led through the softer soil and into a tiny depression, barely more than a furrow. A few more drops of blood lined the way as the trail crossed out of the rock field.

“Could they have gotten down that without being seen?” Racine asked.

Rev bent over and put his head close to the ground, then looked down the length of the furrow. It didn’t seem like it was deep enough to give a Centaur cover, but once again, the evidence sure pointed to it.

“They are short fucks,” Hussein said.

“That short?” Rancine asked before turning to Rev. “Do we follow the trail?

Rev gazed across the open area to another rock field six hundred meters away. This time, the Marines would be in the open while the four Centaurs would have the cover, picking off the Marines as they came. The Centaurs were still outnumbered, but they could do a lot of damage to the patrol before pulling back farther.

“No. We’re done. Let me send out another message drone.”

Rev uploaded his report and sent out the small drone, hoping it would get through. He told Racine to get the Marines ready to move out, then he went back to the dead Centaur, followed by Randigold and Hussein—and Julian, who seemed to have assigned herself as Rev’s bodyguard.

There wasn’t much left of the thing’s torso, but the legs and one arm were remarkably whole. The armor caught Rev’s attention, though. It looked more like beetle chitin than anything else. He knelt and poked at a piece of armor on the Centaur’s right thigh. It was hard, and it didn’t move against the underlying leg at Rev’s prodding. He couldn’t see how to remove it—it almost looked like it was welded right onto the skin.

“We’re ready,” Rancine told him.

Rev pulled out his sample kit, then wondered where to take the tissue from. The tiny probe couldn’t pierce through the armor. Finally, he settled on some of the mangled flesh. He popped the probe into the tube, sealed it up, and slipped it into his thigh pocket. He stood to see Racine looking bemusedly at him.

“We know all about the Centaurs now. Why’re you still taking samples?”

“Uh . . .” he started before laughing. “You’re right. Habit, I guess.”

During the first Centaur War, when the Centaurs were still an enigma, Marines gathered samples—dirt, air, any liquid—whenever a Centaur was killed. Before this mission, the Marines had been issued the same combat kits as when they’d previously fought the Centaurs, and Rev was just acting on instinct.

He gave one more long look in the direction their Centaurs had gone. If the squad was going to get into contact, it sure would have been better to take out all five of them. Now, the Centaurs were certainly warned, if they didn’t already know, that there were Marines on the moon.

What was done was done, though. Now, it was up to the brass to decide what to do. He was out of the equation.

“Let’s move out,” he told the staff sergeant.

2

“The major wants to see you,” Corporal Nuncey said as the patrol entered the abandoned mine that was serving as the company’s CP.

“Did she get my message drones?”

“At least one of them. I don’t know about any others.”

“What’s her mood?”

The corporal gave a furtive glance around, then in just above a whisper, said, “Hard to tell. You know how she is.”

No, I don’t. Not yet.

Major Nancy Pelegrino was the new company commander. Until a few weeks ago, Captain Macek was still in the billet, and it had looked like he might retain command even after the losses on Kinshasa, but evidently, that shoe had to drop, and while he wasn’t demoted, he slid to the XO’s slot upon Major P’s arrival.

Rev didn’t think it was fair to the captain, but no one had asked his opinion. And from the looks of him, Nuncey might be of the same mind.

“You doing OK?” he asked the corporal. “Big change being in the CP.”

The corporal had been in Second Heavy Infantry Company, one of those Marines who’d scattered during the MDS attack and thus survived. During the reorganization of the battalion, he’d shown an unfortunate skill in administrative duties, and he’d been pulled into the company headquarters.

“This sucks, Staff Sergeant. I’m just a go-fer. I should be out there with you, hooking and jabbing.”

“Just keep your head down and do what you’re told. I’ll talk to the XO and see if we can’t get you out on some patrols.”

The corporal’s eyes lit up. “You can do that?”

“Won’t know until I try.”

“Thanks, Staff Sergeant. I mean, really.”

Rev smiled as the company clerk walked away with a bounce in his step. A civilian wouldn’t understand. Back here in the CP, Corporal Nuncey was relatively safe. Unless things went south in a hurry, he knew he’d make it back to Safe Harbor. But the only thing he wanted was to get back out with his fellow grunts.

It was part of Marine DNA.

His smile faded as he remembered he was to see the company commander. The mission had not been a rousing success. Not only had they been discovered, but somehow, four of the five Centaurs had also managed to escape.

He beckoned Kil Rancine over.

“I’ve got to see the major. Have everyone resupply with ammo, then get them fed.”

That last might be getting into the weeds a bit. Kil Rancine was the squad leader, and she knew what to do. But she didn’t seem to resent it.

Instead, she asked, “Are we in trouble?”

Rev shrugged. “Don’t know. But I guess I’m about to find out.”

“Better you than me.”

“I’ll let you know what she says.”

Rev made his way through the main shaft to where the company CP had been set up. Captain Macek spotted him and tilted his head to the left where the major was sitting behind a field desk. Rev couldn’t tell anything from his expression.

“I was told to report to you, ma’am?” Rev said as he centered himself in front of the desk.

“Yes, Staff Sergeant. Hold on a moment.” She made some entries on her pad while Rev stood there for several minutes, biding his time. The XO drifted in behind him but didn’t say anything.

Finally, the major looked up and said, “Two of your message drones made it back. Were there any others?”

“No, ma’am.”

She pursed her lips and shook her head. “So, tell me, Staff Sergeant. Why the hell did you let them initiate contact, and then once you did that, how did at least four tin-asses manage to get away from a Marine patrol where you were the one who had selected the terrain?”

<I guess this isn’t going to be an attaboy.>

“Ma’am, I don’t know how we were spotted. I moved the bulk of the patrol back in defilade, leaving only Corporal Černý and his team behind cover.”

“Evidently not good enough cover,” she said.

There wasn’t much he could say to that. The fact that Hussein was spotted was proof enough that she was right.

“As far as the fight itself, as I reported, we killed one tin-ass—”

“You killed a tin-ass.” Her challenge was unmistakable.

“With three IBHU Marines in the patrol, I decided that it would be best if we put our most powerful weapons forward.”

“Where was the Jackhammer team?”

Shit. I knew she was going to ask me that.

“I initially left them with the support element to provide a base of fire.”

“Don’t get enraptured with your IBHUs, Staff Sergeant. You neutered one of your most powerful weapons. But go on.”

A Jackhammer is nowhere near as powerful as an IBHU. But he knew better than to say that aloud.

“We were taking heavy fire, particularly considering there were only five of the tin-asses. But after the first one was—”

“Wait one,” the major said, holding out her hand, palm forward to stop him.

She adjusted the bud in her ear. As the company commander, she had one of the two quantum communicators on the moon, the other being with the Force Recon commander. The problems plaguing normal comms, including Centaur jamming, had no impact on them.

Rev looked over at the XO and raised a questioning eyebrow. Captain Macek mouthed, “Don’t know.”

“Understood. Waiting for the download,” the major said as she stood.

She took a deep breath, then looked Rev straight in the eyes. “Looks like you stirred up a hornet’s nest, Staff Sergeant. The tin-asses are swarming the moon, and it looks like we’re their target.”

* * *

“There’s no way they reacted this quickly,” Sergeant Mordechai “Strap” Gantz said as Third Platoon moved back.

“They didn’t. They’ve known we were here since the beginning. They just needed to know where the bulk of our forces are,” Rev said.

“I figured as much.”

Rev was conjecturing, but he didn’t tell Strap that. It was the only thing that made sense, though. First, he’d always doubted that two companies of Marines had inserted on the moon and then spent a week patrolling without being noticed. The Centaurs were still rather an enigma, but no one doubted their technical prowess.

Second, the more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that the five-Centaur patrol was doing the exact same thing that his patrol was doing—namely, trying to locate the Marine forces.

If the science-types were right in that the extremely dense moon, coupled with the massive gas giant that seemed to perch over their heads like a Sword of Damocles, was the main culprit in their messed-up comms and electronic surveillance, then it was likely affecting the Centaurs as well. They might know that the Marines were on the moon, but they might not know exactly where.

And my patrol led them back to the CP.

Rev had left a few surprises in the form of tiny but powerful boobytraps, and he’d taken the patrol back in a circuitous route, but the Centaurs didn’t have to physically follow them. A microdrone could have followed at a distance and located the CP.

The Marines climbed a small rise. On the other side, the slope descended again to a broad, flat plain: their pickup point. Navy Ibis shuttles were inbound to pick up First Heavy Infantry Company as well as First Force Recon.

“Right here!” Rev shouted. “Let’s set up.”

The Marines in the platoon turned, picked firing positions, and went to their bellies. Rev popped a green flare and sent it over the ground they’d just covered. The steady firing in the distance, which sounded tinny in the thinner atmosphere of Brahmaloka, petered off, and a moment later, Marines were rising from the military crest of the next terrain feature and then rushing toward them.

The retreat was a bounding overwatch, right out of the manuals. With a series of low ridges, separated by four or five hundred meters of lower ground between each one, the terrain practically begged for it. While Third Platoon had crossed the open low ground, First and Second Platoons had been covering them from the previous ridgeline. Now, the Marines in those platoons crossed the same ground, and hopefully, they’d reach Rev and Third Platoon before the Centaurs crested their previous position. If the Centaurs made it there first, then it would be up to Rev and Third Platoon to engage the Centaurs the moment they crested the ridgeline.

Lieutenant Nilson had been bringing up the rear of the platoon with the stragglers. She crested the ridge, gave a quick look around at where Rev had positioned the Marines, and nodded. Technically, it should have been her orders, but there really had been only one choice, and Rev wasn’t going to waste time waiting for her to come and rubber-stamp his decision.

The more time First and Second had to cross the open ground before the Centaurs reached the previous ridge, the better.

“Range?”

<Five hundred twenty-two meters.>

Rev started to switch to his 20mm cannon, but then he hesitated. Just to his right, the M-305 team had set up. The Jackhammer fired a slightly lighter 20mm round, but it was still a powerful weapon.

“Might as well go for diversity,” he muttered, switching to his beamer.

Five hundred meters was getting to where a beam weapon would begin to diffuse in air, but with the thinner atmosphere of the moon, his meson beam should still have plenty of power, especially with the Centaurs still in foot mode, without a paladin or courser in sight.

It didn’t make too much sense to him. Both mech vehicles, and even the smaller rievers, represented a lot of firepower. If he were commanding the other side, he’d use the infantry to fix the Marines in place, then hit them on the flanks with the armor.

He looked to his left. If there was armor on the moon, they’d most likely come from that direction.

Rev motioned Strap over. “Have Tsao’s team refuse our left flank.”

“Something coming from that side?” the sergeant asked.

“Don’t know. But better safe than sorry.”

Strap nodded and left to implement the orders.

They’d be engaging the Centaurs momentarily, and Rev hated to push one of his IBHUs to the flank, but with the lieutenant added into the equation, that still left three, along with the two Jackhammer teams, more to the center.

Several explosions hit the open area where the rest of the company was running. Of course, the Centaurs would have indirect-fire weapons. He couldn’t see if any of the Marines were hit.

“Grenadiers, put some rounds over the ridgeline,” Rev shouted.

Marines could give as good as they could take, and while the platoon’s twelve grenadiers might not hit any of the enemy, at least the fire might slow them down a bit.

Below, one Centaur round exploded just above a Marine, knocking them to the ground, but they immediately got up and started running again.

“Gotta love these PAL-Hs.”

Some of the weapons and equipment coming out of R&D lately had been problematic, but once the cooling issue with the PAL-Hs had been fixed, the combat suits were proving themselves well. They didn’t have the armor of a Marine mechhead, but they were far more robust than the PAL-3, much less the PAL-5 that had been Rev’s combat suit while in the Raiders.

More explosions puffed in the air, ten or fifteen meters above the ground, and sprayed the area with shrapnel, but no Marines went down . . . until a smaller explosion that released what had to be three smaller missiles that acquired and streaked to three Marines.

Two of the targeted Marines survived this new weapon, but another went down hard. A Marine—and Rev was sure he recognized Yancey—rushed to the prone Marine, picked him up, and continued to rush forward.

Come on. Just a little farther.

The leading elements reached the bottom of the rise and surged forward, and for a moment, Rev thought they’d clear the top before the Centaurs cleared the previous ridgeline, but it wasn’t to be. The first of the Centaurs crested the ridge and were immediately taken under fire from Third Platoon. The Centaurs immediately hit the deck and started firing, both at the Marines still retreating and at the base of fire. A rocket of some kind sped across the valley to slam into the crest of the hill fifty meters to Rev’s left.

“Strap, you OK?”

“Close call, but we’re still here.”

Several Marines below them fell only to be picked up by their buddies and carried up the slope. Rev fired a five-second burst with his beamer, and while it was recharging, he fired one of his Moray missiles. He wasn’t sure if he dropped any of the Centaurs, but hopefully, he was keeping their heads down.

The XO, leading Corporal Nuncey and Doc Win from the company headquarters, was one of the last to reach the top, but his headquarters team didn’t stop and wheeled around to join Third Platoon’s line.

Nuncey took a position just to Rev’s left. He fired a burst from his M-49, then turned his head to Rev and said, “When you said you were going to get me back into the fight, I didn’t think it would be so freaking soon!”

“I thought you knew SNCOs could do anything, Nuncey,” Rev said as his LED flashed green.

With the last of the Marines reaching the crest and going over, the Centaurs started their advance. But it wasn’t a pell-mell rush. With a discipline and coordination that the professional side of Rev had to acknowledge, teams of Centaurs advanced, weaving back and forth while their base of fire increased.

“We’ve got to stop their advance,” Captain Macek shouted.

Rev aimed at a Centaur who ran a little too far before dropping to cover. He fired, and the Centaur stumbled but regained his balance, then kept coming another ten meters before it went to its belly and fired up the hill.

“What’s my power setting?”

<Four-point-two terajoules, twenty-five degree spread.>

Maybe that was too dispersed. Rev adjusted his beam to the guillotine like he’d used on Tahiti.

The moment his beamer recharged, he fired another five-second burst, dropping two of the approaching Centaurs, cutting them in two right through their armor. For a mode that wasn’t emphasized, Rev was getting mighty fond of the guillotine. It concentrated a lot of cutting power into a narrow beam.

While his beamer recharged, Rev glanced behind him. The last of the Marines were still running down the backside of their position and streaming to the LZ some 600 meters away. On the far left, he could see the lead elements of the Force Recon company approaching the LZ. Whichever Marines reached there first—Force Recon or First and Second Platoons—would form a perimeter and hold it until Rev and Third Platoon could disengage and sprint to the pickup. But before that could happen, it was up to Third Platoon to hold off the Centaurs long enough to give them the buffer they needed.

Which wasn’t going to be easy. More and more Centaurs were advancing in well-disciplined, small-unit rushes. They might as well have been Marines. Centaurs had never exhibited the type of armor tactics favored by humans, but maybe with infantry, there were some universal truths in how to advance while under fire.

A slew of automatic fire sprayed the ground immediately in front of Rev, making him duck back as clods of dirt showered him. He looked over to a smiling Nuncey, who’d also ducked back.

“Shit, that was—” the corporal started to say when one of the Centaur missiles slammed into him. His body was flung into the air to land in a mangled heap just a few meters from Rev. Most of his head was gone, so there was no shot at resurrection.

“Bastards!” Rev’s beamer was green, and he fired again, cutting another Centaur in half.

He gave Nuncey another quick glance. The corporal had been so anxious to get back into combat, and now he’d paid the price.

A familiar whine caught Rev’s attention. “We’ve got friendlies coming in!”

Their rides off the moon were inbound, but what he heard was a sweeter sound: Navy Shrike fighters.

Rev fired twice more before he saw the speck in the sky that was the first Shrike. Without comms, they couldn’t call for support, but the pilots weren’t blind. They could see the threat. The first fighter came diving in, its 30mm cannon shredding the low ground and chewing up Centaurs to the cheers of the Marines on the crest. In a second, it was gone, and the second Shrike began its gun run.

“You’re not spectators. Keep firing,” Rev yelled.

He fired his beamer again, taking down one more of the enemy. With the one during the patrol, that was at least four of them he’d sent to Centaur heaven . . . or hell.

The first chatter of the 30mm reached them when a green light seemed to reach upwards from the bottom of the draw. Rev shifted his gaze skyward to see a green aura surround the incoming Navy fighter.

“What the . . .”

With a larger green flash, the Shrike started tumbling. A couple of pieces decoupled from the main frame.

The fighter was out of control, but it had been diving at an enormous speed, and the laws of momentum were universal. The Shrike plunged toward them.

“Get back!” a dozen voices shouted as they realized what was coming their way.

Rev turned and ran several meters when the fighter crashed into the ground on the other side of the crest. The shock wave, which had been attenuated somewhat by the slope, was still strong enough to pick Rev up and slam him twenty meters farther down the slope. He hit face-first and bounced several times before he skidded to a halt.

He immediately twisted around. Smoke was billowing from the other side of the crest, while around him, Marines were picking themselves up.

“Back to your positions!” Rev yelled as he rushed back to the military crest and looked over at a large swath of terrain, extending from the bottom of the low ground and halfway up the slope on the far side, now blackened by the downed Shrike. A huge gouge, as if made by an angry dragon, ran for two hundred meters, partially obscured by smoke and small flames that had sprung up. Bits of wreckage were scattered, most being too small to identify what part of the fighter they were.

Rev took that in within a second or two—his attention was laser-focused on the enemy. Bodies were scattered along the bottom of the draw. Many were just black lumps of smoking meat. But not all were dead. Some Centaurs were struggling to stand, and to the far left, close to where Sergeant Tsao had her team, Centaurs were reorganizing.

The Jackhammer team on Rev’s flank opened up, and Rev joined them. The destruction of the Navy fighter could have been a serious blow, but it had turned into a fortuitous advantage, and the Marines couldn’t let up. They had to crush the Centaurs while they had the chance.

“Respect to the fallen,” Rev said of the Shrike pilot as he swept the Centaurs who were reforming.

They weren’t just absorbing the increasing fire. They replied in turn, peppering the crest. Within moments, they were joined by more Centaurs reaching the top of the far ridge. Rev didn’t know how many of the enemy had been killed by the Shrike crashing on top of them, nor did he know how many were still on the other side of the ridge, but it was becoming evident that the Marines of Third Platoon were outnumbered. The Shrike crash had been a serious blow to the Centaurs, but it had only delayed their advance.

Rev started directing fire to the Centaurs on the ridge, hoping to slow them down, when their ridgeline erupted in explosions. The concussions rocked Rev, making his ears ring as he hugged the ground.

“Where the hell did this come from?” Like the green light that had brought down the Shrike, this maelstrom was something they hadn’t seen before.

He barely heard Captain Macek’s call to pull back, but he repeated the order, screaming as loudly as he could. His voice sounded muffled and far away as he ran down the line, making sure everyone got the word. One of the Jackhammer teams kept firing, covering the withdrawal, as he went down the line before it finally went silent. More explosions erupted around him, twice knocking him down, but he made it to Tsao’s team at the far-left flank.

He gave one last look down the line to make sure everyone was moving. With the Marines leaving, anyone left behind would have a death sentence over their head.

“Shit, I’ve got to do one more sweep.”

Bending over at the waist to keep his head below the crest, he ran down the line one more time. The incoming barrage let up slightly, but increasingly concentrated fire peppered the top of the ridge, showering him with clods of dirt.

Down the slope, the platoon’s Marines were sprinting to the LZ, where the first shuttle was flaring in for a landing. Several were carrying or helping fellow Marines, but all were moving.

Up on the ridgeline, there were scattered bits of flesh and combat suits of at least three Marines, but it looked like everyone who could had gotten the word. Another blast, too close for comfort, tumbled Rev down the slope again, but once more, his PAL-HX kept him whole. On his hands and knees, he looked back up the slope to the crest, some twenty meters above him.

It looked like everyone had pulled back, but there were still fifty meters until the end of what had been their line. Rev knew he had to check.

He scrambled back up, angling to the right. Just a little farther, and he could eyeball the rest of the positions. He sprinted another few steps and almost stumbled over what was left of the Jackhammer gun position. The two Marines had tried to cover the withdrawal and had stayed too long. PFC Uriel was barely recognizable as human, his combat suit a mangled, blood-stained pile of scrap. Half of his head was gone. The other Marine. . . Rev jumped forward and turned the body over.

Lance Corporal Phoung was dead, his belly torn apart. The inside of his face shield was blocked with blood, but the helmet looked otherwise whole.

Another blast shook the ground, and intense fire zipped centimeters above Rev’s head. He took a quick glance down the platoon’s line and saw that everyone had pulled back. There wasn’t a living Marine on the ridgeline except for Rev.

With that much blood in the inside of Phoung’s helmet, Rev didn’t think there was a shot at resurrection. But any chance at all was worth grasping.

He couldn’t stand without getting hit, so he dragged Phoung’s body as he scooted on his ass down the hill until he could stop and try to lift the Weapons Platoon Marine. Once again, his IBHU was a hindrance. For such a powerful weapon, Pashu was not designed for lifting anything, much less a limp, dead body. But he managed to hoist him up to his shoulders. Balancing the body was tricky, but Rev started to sprint down the slope and to the LZ.

The bulk of the Third Platoon Marines was halfway to the LZ as the first shuttle took off, heading away from Rev and the ridge. He knew it would hug the ground until it got beyond the curvature of the moon before taking off to the ship in orbit. Two more shuttles were coming in to land. Rev bore down and charged forward, his legs working like pistons. He had a long way to go, and he didn’t know how much time he had.

The incoming artillery—for that’s what it had to be—shifted off the top of the ridge and started to chase the Marines as they ran to the LZ. One blast was too close to Rev, the concussion knocking him off his feet and throwing Phoung from his shoulders. His right knee screamed in pain.

“Give me something for my knee,” he told Punch as he crawled to Phoung.

He knew his knee was damaged, and keeping up his sprint, particularly with a dead body on his shoulders, would damage it further, but he didn’t have much of a choice. If his medinanos could just keep him going, then he could worry about the damage later.

More rounds impacted, but over a wider area, which indicated that the Centaurs might not yet have eyes on them to accurately call for fire. But that would come soon, and the LZ would be their target—right where Rev and the rest were running. They had no choice, though.

Rev picked up Phoung again and started running when the last Shrike came flying low, hugging the ground, heading for the LZ and the Marines. Just before coming abreast of it, the pilot popped up, inverted, and fired a salvo of six missiles. With an incredibly tight and jaw-dropping arc, it turned to dive back toward the ground when the green light shot out again and hit the fighter just before it dropped into defilade behind the ridgeline.

But the damage had already been done. The fighter plowed into the ground, almost hitting Third Platoon Marines who scattered out of the way. The Navy fighter skidded to a stop—Rev didn’t know if it was pure luck or the pilot’s skill that kept it mostly in one piece. And then the Marines who’d been dodging for their lives reversed and ran to the fighter. As Rev closed the distance, several Marines reached the fighter, and a few moments later, they were pulling the limp body of the pilot out of the cockpit.

The second shuttle lifted, keeping low to the ground as it flew off. The third was still loading, Marines piling in through the back ramp. Rev hoped there would be another shuttle coming in. There were still thirty or forty Marines around the LZ and Third Platoon to get off the moon.

The slightly lower gravity of Brahmaloka was a hindrance rather than a benefit. While Rev could lengthen his stride a bit, he couldn’t push off each stride with the same force. But through sheer determination, he caught up with the Marines carrying the Shrike pilot about a hundred meters from the edge of the LZ—just as the third Ibis took off. As it rotated, Rev could see through the still closing ramp how packed it was, and he knew it couldn’t carry any more Marines, but still, he felt a pang of being abandoned as it hugged the ground and shot away from the LZ.

Rev was breathing heavily as he reached the LZ where the major and Captain Macek were setting up a defense. He placed Phoung on the ground and looked back. The incoming arty had stopped—evidently, the Shrike’s missiles had been effective counter-battery weapons—but Rev knew that they had only a short window before the Centaurs would reach the crest of the ridge. And with them on the high ground, the Marines would be sitting ducks. The only thing that could save them would be another shuttle coming in.

The major lined up every grenadier and had them start firing over the far ridgeline. That was about their max range, and some of the grenades hit the near slope, but enough made it over to hopefully give the Centaurs a moment’s pause.

Rev went to join them. He didn’t have an indirect fire weapon like they did, but the second the Centaurs showed their three-slit noses over the top, he could do his part to push them back. A moment later, Sergeant Tsao and Randigold joined him.

“Systems check?”

<All systems green. Twenty millimeter at full combat load. Four Morays. Power at sixty-two-point-eight.>

“How are you two doing with your twenties?” he asked the other two IBHU Marines.

“Out,” said Randigold.

“A hundred and six rounds,” Tsao said.

“Switch to guillotine mode with your beamers. It will cut through their armor.”

“Sweet,” Randigold said.

“Here comes our ride. Stand by to load!” the major shouted out.

Rev felt a wave of relief sweep over him. They weren’t out of the woods yet. The Centaurs could come boiling over the ridge at any moment now. But at least they weren’t being abandoned.

It was still a couple of minutes before the Ibis landed. The grenadiers kept launching their grenades until, one by one, they were out. The three IBHU Marines, joined by the last surviving Jackhammer gun team and Lieutenant Nilson, readied themselves.

Behind them, the remaining Marines started to load the shuttle, with Captain Macek directing the order of loading.

The Jackhammer gunner opened up, her rounds reaching out to the top of the ridge. Rev hadn’t seen what she was firing at, but a moment later, he saw the tiniest bit of movement close to that spot, and he fired his beamer. The guillotine spread sliced off a chunk of dirt. If there had been a Centaur behind that, it was dead now.

A string of fire reached out to them from farther to the left, and a burst from the lieutenant silenced it. There was no doubt now. The first of the Centaurs were getting into position to engage them, and all of the Marines weren’t on board yet.

“Grenadiers, pull back and board,” Rev ordered.

Without grenades, they were just riflemen, and the four IBHU Marines represented far more firepower.

The next minute was like a lethal game of whack-a-mole. As each Centaur tried to get into a firing position, one of the IBHU Marines engaged. Tsao ran through her 20 mm rounds and switched to her beamer, while Rev switched to the twenty. The beamer in guillotine mode was proving effective, but Rev thought that the physicality of the twenty made more of a mental impact.

“Nilson, load out!” Captain Macek shouted through the din. Rev glanced back. To his surprise, all of the remaining Marines were now on board, and the captain was on the edge of the ramp, motioning the four IBHU Marines forward.

Rev fired a quick burst with his twenty, then turned and sprinted to the shuttle. Randigold and Tsao boarded first. Rev jumped for the ramp and landed at the same time as the lieutenant. He turned and fired one more burst when he caught sight of a body off to the side.

“Shit!” he shouted as he jumped off the ramp just as it started to close.

“Pelletier!” Captain Macek yelled after him as Rev sprinted to the edge of the LZ to where he’d placed Phoung.

Rev immediately realized his mistake. He should have put Phoung with the rest of the wounded and dead. A round pinged off his shoulder, and another slammed into his face shield, cracking it into a spiderweb.

He blindly fired another burst up the hill before he bent and grabbed Phoung’s dead man’s handle. He didn’t have time to hoist the body—he turned and half-carried, half-dragged Phoung to where the shuttle was lifting off.

Sergeant Tsao was at the end of the ramp, firing her beamer up the hill while Randigold was on her belly, yelling at Rev to run.

And Rev ran, Phoung’s legs bouncing on the dirt. The shuttle was crabbing around to face away from the ridgeline but moving farther and farther away from him. With a last burst of effort, Rev closed the distance and threw Phoung up onto the ramp where hands grabbed him before he tumbled over the side.

But that still left Rev. The shuttle was still moving forward, and it was now too high for him to jump on board.

Throwing Phoung had stopped his progress, he had to sprint again to try to make it on board. He wasn’t going to give up. Knowing he couldn’t make it, he nevertheless jumped with all his might just as the pilot pushed the nose up . . . which lowered the ramp. The tips of Rev’s gauntleted fingers brushed the edge of the ramp but didn’t catch, and Rev knew he’d failed until a strong hand clasped his wrist.

Randigold, on her belly, was holding onto him with one hand while the other was clamped on the edge of the ramp to keep her from going over. The pilot put the nose back down, raising the ramp to a more acute vertical angle, which helped Randigold stay on the ramp, but it made it harder for Rev to try and climb on board. He dangled, Randigold’s hand around his wrist the only thing that kept Rev from falling as the shuttle picked up speed.

Randigold was augmented like everyone else, and her PAL also contributed to the grip, but Rev massed 350 kg, and as the shuttle flew off, the wind resistance was pulling at him, knocking his legs about.

A second set of hands, then a third grabbed Randigold from behind, and then Lieutenant Nilson’s face appeared over the edge. She reached down, motioning for Rev’s IBHU. Rev raised Pashu, and she locked her hand around the beamer barrel. Working in tandem, she and Randigold gave a series of yanks, pulling Rev’s arms over the ramp’s edge until his chest slid onto the floor of the ramp, and he was able to swing his hurt knee up. Another Marine grabbed his knee and jerked it around, which almost made him scream out in pain, but he didn’t care. He was on board, and the ramp closed behind him.

3

“Any uploads that can take care of our navigation glitches?” Yancey asked Gunny Jerebek

“Not our responsibility,” the company gunny said.

“Well, who the hell’s responsibility is it?” Yancey asked. “I was all messed up on that damn moon.”

The gunny shrugged. “Go ask someone who cares.”

Yancey started to reply, but he bit back whatever he was going to say. If the glare he aimed at the back of the gunny’s head was any indication, however, it was probably a good thing that he didn’t say anything.

Rev frowned. He knew that Gunny Jerebek didn’t have jack to do with their augments, but his retort was hardly helpful. Their inner navigation abilities had been out of whack while on the moon, something that had been very disconcerting to Marines who always knew where they were and how to get to somewhere else while on a planet—or in this case, a large moon. If the company was going to be part of the mission to take back Brahmaloka, it would help if they could find their way around.

And everyone was sure that the mission would be undertaken. Brahmaloka was one of only a handful of places where Fe-486 had been found. Fe-486 could only form while under orbital gravitational stresses, such as those provided by the looming mass of Āryāvarta. Rev didn’t understand just what made Fe-486 so unique, but while not commonly used, it was nevertheless an important component of several vital military applications.

Those same unique characteristics, while they allowed for the moon to have a close to Earth-normal gravity and supported an atmosphere, created magnetic fields that wreaked havoc on electronic waves and each Marine’s ability to navigate.

The Centaurs had almost assuredly come to the moon for the Fe-486 given that they had kept the mines operational after their invasion. And humanity wanted the mines back. So, there would be a counter-invasion, and First Heavy Infantry Company would be part of that task force.

Major Pelegrino entered the ship’s wardroom, which was doubling up as a conference room, followed by Captain Milei Macek.

The Marines came to attention, which twinged Rev’s knee. But the medical nanos were doing their job, and the swelling was gone. Doc Yarenz said it didn’t need invasive treatment and would be good as new within a week.

“When’s D-Day,” Lieutenant Nilson asked the major.

“There won’t be a D-day, and least not for Brahmaloka, and not for us.”

There was a stunned silence in the room. Rev broke that with, “We’re just giving the tin-asses the moon?”

“Didn’t say that, Staff Sergeant.” She stood there for a long moment while looking at the gathered leadership of the company.

Just say it.

Rev thought she was enjoying their confusion, which wasn’t endearing her to him. He’d decided to withhold judgment when she reported aboard, but nothing he’d seen inspired confidence. If it were up to him, he’d put Macek back in command.

But it wasn’t up to him.

“We, as in the Marines, will not be returning to Brahmaloka. Humanity will, though.” She paused a moment.

I take it back. I don’t think she’s enjoying this. I know she is.

“As of less than two hours ago, the tin-asses have abandoned the moon.”

That took Rev by surprise, and from the sounds of the rest of the Marines, it took them by surprise, too.

“We’ll have to get boots on the ground to make sure they all left, and a Home Guard battalion will do that. But before the Navy could enter the system in force, two ships of a yet unknown type arrived and evacuated the moon. They were gone and into bubble space before the Navy could intervene.”

“So, they bugged out?” Yancey asked. “They just left the mines?”

Rev loved to watch nature holovids. One taken back on Mother Earth featured cheetahs. They’d do all the work of running down wildebeest, but then they had to gorge quickly before hyenas or lions would appear and run them off their prey. Was that what had just happened? Had they been alien cheetahs, gathering Fe-486, only to run when the Marines arrived?

The major’s face clouded over just a bit. “They left the mines,” she said with a frown. “But not in any shape for us to quickly resume production. From what we can tell, they destroyed them as they departed.”

“Just the mines, or the entire moon?” Rev asked.

“Just the mines.”

That puzzled Rev. The Centaurs had the technology to obliterate a planet, as they’d almost done to the Mother. Destroying the mines, while it might inconvenience humanity, wouldn’t destroy their ability to harvest the Fe-486. The iron was still there. Dig new shafts and replace the equipment. A pain in the butt, to be sure, but hardly keeping the material from humankind.

“So, if the mission’s been called off, then what’s next for us, ma’am?” Lieutenant Nilson, asked.

“We’re heading back to Safe Harbor. We’ll go through some extensive debriefs, but the general personally told me that we did a great job, and after the debriefs, we might even get a seventy-two.

That perked Rev up. He’d been trying to absorb what the Centaurs retreating might mean in the big scheme of things, but that was knocked right out of his thoughts.

Seventy-two hours of liberty sounded awfully good at the moment. Seventy-two hours that he could spend with Tomiko.

That was enough to put a smile on his face.

* * *

“Well, that’s what I told Nilson, at least,” Rev said.

Yancey shook his head. “So, all of the briefs are wrong? All the newscasts?”

“I didn’t say they were wrong. It’s just something that’s been bothering me. Call it a gut feeling.”

Kelly O’Donnell laughed, reached across the small compartment, and patted his belly. “And you’ve got some gut there, so maybe we’d better listen.”

Rev frowned and twisted from his fellow staff sergeant’s reach. “I shouldn’t have said anything to you bozos.”

By being able to take the fight to enemy ships or act as a medium-sized troop transport, the PUNS Kangaroo was a dual-purpose ship, which in Navy parlance meant it could accomplish more than one mission, but none that well. This troop compartment, housing half of the company’s staff sergeants, was reflective of that. It not only didn’t come close to the Mezame ship Takagahara, but it also wasn’t a match for the PUNS Alacrity for comfort or facilities. Still, it was taking them home to Safe Harbor, and Rev would take a garbage scow back if it came to that.

“You know I’m joking,” Kelly said. “But really, think on it. If what you’re saying is right, then somehow, in all the galaxy, where we’ve come across only one other sentient life-form throughout our history, suddenly, there’s another, one that looks just like the tin-asses?”

“But that’s my point,” Rev said. “They don’t look like them. Not really. They’re stronger, for one.”

Yancey flexed his right bicep and pointed to it with his left forefinger. “And we’re bigger and stronger than most people, too. It’s called augmentation.” He looked over to Kelly. “Not that I needed augmentation. I’ve always been a stud.”

Kelly rolled her eyes. She’d been still a sergeant when she’d taken over Tomiko’s squad after Tahiti. Now, she’d just pinned on her rocker for staff sergeant, and Yancey’s reputation among the other SNCOs as a horndog had preceded him.

“You know I hate to say it, but Yance is right. The tin-asses you’ve seen were all in their paladins and rievers, or they were the leadership class. They didn’t need the same kind of strength as infantry-types,” Kil said from the top rack she’d commandeered.

“But you’re forgetting that their biology tech sucks. That’s how we beat them, with the virus. They don’t have the science to augment themselves.”

There were a few uncomfortable looks in the compartment. Marines rarely spoke of the fact that humanity had used a biological weapon to bring the Centaurs to their knees.

“They don’t have to be augmented, Rev,” Kelly said after an awkward silence. “Ants have different castes with the soldiers much bigger and stronger than the workers, and no one augmented them. With the tin-asses, it could be just their nature, like it is with ants.”

<Told you this would be your reception.>

“Yeah, you’re such a master of human psychology.”

<And I was right. Humans don’t like the unknown.>

Rev didn’t want to admit that Punch had been right—or that the other staff sergeants were right, and he was following a dead-end path. But he had to admit that Kelly and Yancey’s explanations made sense. Strength and a warrior attitude would be more important to an infantry Centaur than to one of their leaders or even a paladin driver.

And as much as he’d been one of the first humans, along with Tomiko, to see a Centaur body, and then he’d been one of the first to meet and talk with one of their three-Centaur leader-groups, he was just a grunt and not an xenobiologist. There was a very real probability that he was inflating his own feeling of self-worth by acting like some kind of expert.

Rev snorted and said, “I wasn’t saying they’re a different race. I was just saying something was off.”

“Oh, look. He’s mad now,” Yancey said.

“Eat me, Yance.”

His friend’s eyes perked up. “Speaking of eating, when do we hit the galley? I’m starving.”

“Not for another hour,” Kelly said.

“An hour? I guess there’s time for a few hands of Knock On. Anyone up for it? Rev?”

Rev had planned on settling in to watch the next episode of “Blue River,” but he knew if he said no, the others would think he was still pissed at them shutting him down like they had . . . which he sort of was. His hands were tied.

“Deal me in, and prepare to get your butt handed to you.”

4

“Is there a reason I’m here?” Rev asked the major, his voice hard.

Rev had been a target after missions before, with things going so far that he was accused of treason by Omega Division. But this wasn’t one of those spooks. The major was a Marine, and frankly, Rev was tired of the suspicion thrown his way. Not many Marines had done as much as Rev had over the last seven years.

The major looked up from his pad, scratched his chin, and then said, “Debrief, Staff Sergeant.”

Rev looked around the small, featureless, and windowless office.

“Yeah, Major. I’ve had a few debriefs in places like this.”

The major must have caught his tone, and he looked up, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Excuse me, Staff Sergeant?” he asked, switching into officer-to-enlisted mode.

“I said, I’ve been to more than a few so-called debriefs like this. After Asteroid 6-067-442, after Roher, and after Armadillo. They never turned out well for me.”

The major’s expression turned to one of confusion. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, Staff Sergeant.”

<Rev, watch yourself. You don’t want to say something you’re going to regret,> Punch, his AI battle buddy wrote in the table talk they thought was secure.

Rev ignored him. He’d had it about up to here with being treated like he was a threat to the Union and humankind.

“The company is going to go through their debrief at fourteen hundred in the auditorium. This . . .” he said, waving his social arm in an encompassing sweep, “. . . is not the auditorium.”

“What the hell are you talking about? No, this isn’t the auditorium. The general debrief will still take place there, I believe. But I need to get some input from you before then. If that meets with your approval, Staff Sergeant,” the major said, his voice dripping with sarcasm with that last sentence.

Rev had been royally pissed when stepping off the shuttle, he’d received orders to immediately report to this nondescript building. He’d been even more pissed when he’d been escorted by an armed Navy Master-at-Arms. But the major hadn’t adopted the bluster of previous accusers, and he seemed genuinely puzzled, if more than a little annoyed, at Rev’s demeanor.

<I might suggest you table your snit and see what he wants.>

Probably a good idea, Reverent.

“Yes, sir,” he said in a more neutral voice.

He was still wary, but Punch was right. It would be better that he find out just what was going on before he flew off the handle.

The major snorted, then looked back at his pad for a moment and said, “I’m Major Singhal.”

Just his name. No unit, as would be usual. Rev’s guard started back up.

“From the report in front of me, you told Lieutenant Nilson, your platoon commander, that you questioned that the enemy you were fighting on Brahmaloka were not Centaurs. Is that true?”

Rev’s guard was completely raised. Just as a baby bird knew instinctively that a snake was danger, so did Rev know this major was dangerous.

“Sir?”

“Is that true?”

Is what true? That I told the lieutenant that? Or that I don’t think they were Centaurs?

He had to say something, so he said, “I did tell Lieutenant Nilson that.”

“Why did you tell her that?” the major said, raising his eyes from his pad to stare at him, waiting for Rev’s response.

“I . . . uh . . .”

“You what?”

This is getting serious. And why did the lieutenant rat me out?

“You do know that the public believes that the Centaurs have returned to resume their war with us.”

“Yes, sir. I do. But that doesn’t mean they’re right. Or that we’re right.”

The major’s eyes continued to bore into Rev. “So, what makes you think they’re not Centaurs?”

Just lay it out. You wanted to do it, Reverent, or you wouldn’t have told the lieutenant on the ship.

“They just don’t act like tin-asses, sir.”

The major raised one eyebrow in a question.

“I . . . I’ve been around the tin-asses—Centaurs, sir. I’ve seen them in action. They’re not very aggressive—”

“Not aggressive? They’ve killed billions of humans, Staff Sergeant.”

“That’s not what I mean. They fought in their armor, never like infantry. Not ever. These . . . whoever they are . . . they were like warriors, wanting to tangle. Like they enjoyed the hand-to-hand. One tried to tackle me.”

“So, maybe they trained up fighters. They’ve had several years to do it,” the major offered.

Which Rev had considered. But it didn’t sit right with him. Training could only go so far. Training couldn’t turn a pug into an attack mastiff, no matter how willing the pug.

“And the tin-asses, did they ever hold back?”

“What do you mean?”

Rev took a moment to gather his thoughts. He realized this was something that had bothered him, but only now, with the major questioning him, did it gel into something more concrete.

“Every time we’ve faced them, the tin-asses went all out with their paladins and coursers. But these guys? Think of it, sir. The green energy weapon, the one that shot down the Shrikes. Pretty powerful weapon, right? Why didn’t they use that before while we were retreating? And why didn’t they unleash their arty until after the Shrike crash wiped out so many of them? If they’d used that while we were on the move, they’d have decimated us.”

The major tilted his head slightly to the side as he considered what Rev had just said before making some notes on his pad. From his expression, Rev would have bet that particular observations hadn’t come up before. Maybe it took the point of view of a combat Marine to gain that perspective.

“Anything else, Staff Sergeant?”

Well, there was one thing that should be obvious, but Rev hadn’t heard word one on any of the newscasts.

“And they didn’t look like Centaurs, sir.”

“Three nasal slits, gray skin, no visible eyes, bifurcated arms, a meter and a half tall. A Centaur.”

“But you’ve seen the vids. They’re more, uh, robust. And strong as hell. Knocked me on my ass.”

“That’s it? You’re rather robust yourself, Staff Sergeant, and I’d wager far larger than you were before you volunteered.”

“Conscripted,” Rev said automatically.

This seemed to surprise the major, and he got the far-off look that some Marines got when communicating with their battle buddy.

“So you were,” he said after a moment. “But my point is still valid. Can’t they have been augmented?”

Which is exactly what Yancey said. But while Rev didn’t have some sort of augment radar, they didn’t feel augmented. How could he convey a feeling, though?

“They could, yes. But I don’t think they were. Call it a gut feeling.”

“A gut feeling?” the major said, a smile cracking his face for the first time since Rev entered the room.

“Yes, sir.”

The major made a few more notes on his pad.

“And they don’t look like each other, sir,” Rev blurted out.

“In what way?”

“They were all about the same, but some had frill-like things on their faces, others had almost horns and stuff.”

“Humans vary, too, son. Asrans and Jullies?”

Rev grunted. Asrans, those pale, heavyworlder miners who’d been modified so early in the First Expansion that they’d been grandfathered in as a true human race and the ethereal, dark-skinned Jullies couldn’t look more dissimilar to each other, yet both were 100% human, able to interbreed if their cultures would allow it.

“And as far as differences, how many humans get devil horns implanted or split their tongues?”

Which was also true. But it couldn’t shake Rev’s feeling. Maybe the rot was setting in, making him crazy, but his gut said no.

“I can’t tell you why I feel that way, sir. But I do. I’ve met a few Centaurs, and if I was a betting man, I’d say these guys weren’t them.”

The major gave him another long, piercing gaze, then made a few more entries into his pad.

“Thank you for your time, Staff Sergeant. I’m going to release you back to your unit.”

This is crazy. I was dragged off the moment my foot hit Safe Harbor soil for a gut feeling I have?

Rev stood and turned to leave, then he wheeled back to face the major again. “You didn’t get me here just because some crazy staff sergeant expressed an opinion, sir.”

The major raised a single eyebrow again.

“Why do you care what I think? I’m just a grunt.”

“Like you said, you’ve been around a few tin-asses before. More than most Marines.”

“And I’m not the only one who’s had this feeling, sir.”

Not a question. A statement.

The major stared at him so long that Rev thought he’d crossed some line, and he was regretting not getting out of the room when he could. But the major finally nodded back at the seat, which Rev took.

“No, Staff Sergeant Pelletier. You are not the only one. This has become the consensus of D-6, although no one else has officially come aboard.”

D-6? The science department?

Rev felt a moment of vindication. Maybe he wasn’t crazy after all.

“And the Marine Corps?”

“The Marine Corps is in lockstep with the government,” the major said. “And the government maintains that the current enemy is the Centaur race. Plans are cautiously being prepared for a punitive expedition to the tin-ass home planet, and their representatives on Titan have been detained.”

Rev grunted. “Cautious” was probably an understatement. The Centaurs had come to within two of their Threes—the term used for their leadership trio—being killed before they were to destroy Mother Earth, and the implied threat still hung over humanity.

And it didn’t surprise him. As much as he loved the Corps, and as much as he’d die for his fellow Marines, the Corps could still be a very political animal.

“However, the other departments don’t have to face the current enemy in the field of battle, and the commandant prefers to understand who we’re facing. As Sun Tzu, the ancient Chinese general, said, “Know thy enemy or be defeated by him.”

Rev had studied Sun Tzu, and the general had never exactly said those words, but the misquote was still valid.

“So, the commandant thinks this new enemy aren’t Centaurs?”

“The commandant doesn’t know. But he doesn’t want to be surprised.” The major hesitated, and more to himself than to Rev, said, “Too bad you couldn’t have nabbed a body or two. Maybe next time.”

<Rev!>

“I know, Punch,” Rev subvocalized.

“Uh, sir? You wanted a body?”

“What? Oh, yes. We sent the orders to your commander, but by that time, you were already retreating. Understandable, of course.”

“Would a tissue sample help out?”

The major’s eyes opened wide, and he stood.

“A tissue sample? You can get a tissue sample?”

“Sir, like I said, I’ve fought the Centaurs in a shitload of battles, and part of our orders were to gather samples. Call it a habit by now. I just took one of the sample kits, and in that first engagement, I sort of took a bit of tissue.”

“Sort of?” the major asked, his voice rising in excitement.

“Well, yes, sir.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“You didn’t ask, sir. Like I said, it was just a habit. SOP. And you would have found out when I turned it in or when you went over my recordings. But this can’t be the only sample. There’ve been what, five battles with them so far?”

“If one of the other nations has specimens, they’re not sharing it with us. So, just where is this sample?”

“With my gear. Probably being loaded on the trucks to take back to the company area by now.”

The major grabbed his cover off the desk and started for the door. “Staff Sergeant, you may have just given us a shortcut to get some answers. Let’s grab that truck before it takes off.”

With that, he was out the door. Rev had to sprint to catch up.

For an unaugmented major, the guy was really fast.

5

Rev let out a loud burp as he pushed back from the table. Neesy rolled her eyes, while Kat laughed.

“Rev!” his mother admonished him, but with a smile.

“Can’t help it, Mom. That was delish. And I can’t eat another bite.”

And it was.

“Oh, I just threw it together, Rev,” his mother said.

Rev looked across the table at Tomiko, who gave a small roll of her eyes.

“Yeah, you just ‘threw’ together Beef Wellington, as one does.”

She waved a hand at him in dismissal, but he could tell she was pleased. “Girls, help me clean up,” she said, and when Tomiko started to stand, she added, “Not you, Miko. You go sit with Rev while I tend to the cobbler.”

Rev perked up. “Cobbler? Blackberry?”

“I thought you said you couldn’t eat another bite,” Kat said, her eyes twinkling.

“Blackberry Cobbler isn’t real food. No calories, I heard.”

“Yes, blackberry,” his mother said. “I know it’s your favorite. Now, you three go and sit while I get it ready.”

She went back into the kitchen while Neesy and Kat started clearing the table. Rev’s father patted his belly and stood. “We don’t eat like this every day, Rev. You should come back from deployment more often.”

He took a seat in his battered, overstuffed easy chair and turned on the news. Rev went around the table to help Tomiko up, but she waved him off. “I can stand on my own, thank you very much.”

She stood easily enough, but she moved slowly to the couch, Rev at her shoulder. He waited until she was seated before he sat down beside her.

“We haven’t had a chance to really talk yet,” Rev said. “How’s the rehab going?”

Tomiko shrugged. “Well enough, I suppose. I mean, the docs say I’m doing fine. But it’s frustrating, you know, to be like this.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but you were dead. I think you look pretty good for a zombie.”

“You always knew how to sweet talk a girl, Rev.”

“Thank—” Rev started to say before he realized she was being sarcastic.

<I’d roll my eyes if I could. I’m not alive, but even I know that was a dumb thing to say.>

Rev ignored his battle buddy, something he was doing more and more lately as Punch volunteered his opinion more often.

“I meant . . . I mean, you look great . . . for anyone, not just someone who—”

She put a forefinger over his lips and said, “Quit while you’re ahead, big boy.”

He nodded, but after a moment, asked, “What’s the prognosis? Did they say?”

Tomiko looked at the holovid with the news, but he could see her eyes weren’t focused on it. After a long moment, she said, “As good as anyone’s, I guess. Resurrection is still a little more art and guesswork than hard science. I’m hitting my milestones.” She paused, bit her upper lip, then said, “I told them I wanted to stay in the Corps.”

That took Rev by surprise. Resurrected Marines were generally released from active duty with a full disability pension. Most resurrectees could live long, full lives, but with long-term complications, standing up to the rigors of military duty was beyond the vast majority of them.

“How many—”

<Just over eleven percent,> Punch said, anticipating the question.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Rev asked Tomiko. “Only eleven percent wanting to stay in make it.”

Her eyes snapped with fire. “What, you don’t think I can make it?”

He didn’t need Punch to tell him he’d stuck his foot in his mouth again. “No, no, that’s not it. It’s just a tough row to hoe. Hard, I heard. And when you and I are married, you know, and with your pension, it’s not like you have to stay in.”

She shifted a few centimeters away from him. “Oh, the big, strong husband will take care of his invalid wifey, right? And I can just stay at home watching holonovellas, waiting with bated breath for you to come home and lighten up my evening?”

<Maybe you’d better just shut up.>

This wasn’t the reunion he’d envisioned when he left Camp Nguyen two hours ago. His words were failing him.

“I’m sorry, Miko. I’m just . . .”

She gave him a piercing stare before it softened. She leaned back into him, her head on his shoulder. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I know you didn’t mean that. It’s just the stress of this all. The docs say I’m hitting my milestones, like I told you, but it doesn’t seem to me that I’m progressing fast enough. I’ve got nineteen months to pass the retention standards, and I’m not sure I can do it,” she said quietly.

Rev put his arms around her, kissed the top of her head, and said, “If anyone can do it, you can, Miko. You’re a hard ass.”

She gave a soft chuckle, took his hand in hers, and lowered it down her back to her butt. “Not that hard, I hope.”

He gave her a light squeeze and said, “You know what I mean. You’re fierce, and you can do anything you put your mind to. And I’ll help. Whatever I can do, I’m here for you.”

“I know you are. That’s why I love you.” She snuggled in a little closer.

Rev—maybe a little wary of saying the wrong thing again—chose to leave it at that. His gaze turned back to the holovid his dad was watching. SFNN was covering the Centaur situation, no surprise. One of the commentators was saying that they should remove the Centaur representatives from their embassy on Titan and do “whatever it takes” to break them—code speak for torture.

“Anything new on that front?” Rev asked his father.

“Nothing. Same thing. The Centaurs say it isn’t them doing the attacks, but that’s it. No explanations.”

“How’s that going down?”

“A lot of people agree with that guy there. They want a raid on their home planet. But there’s still the threat over the Mother.”

The Centaurs had said they’d removed the planet busters they’d installed on Earth, but not many people believed that they’d given up their only form of leverage over humanity. Teams of engineers and scientists were still scouring the planet and finding nothing so far, but no one wanted to wake up one morning to find out that the Mother was no more.

The feed switched to one of the most recent attacks, this one on an independent deep-space facility. The enemy was methodically clearing the station, corridor by corridor, killing some and herding others.

“Do they really look like tin-asses to you?” Rev asked Tomiko, his voice low enough so that his father couldn’t hear what he asked.

“Who else would they be?”

“They’re a little more buff than any we ever saw. And they’re not in paladins or rievers.”

“They’re the grunts. Makes sense they’re more physical.”

They sat in silence watching the feed, and Tomiko asked, “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. Probably nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, or you wouldn’t have brought it up. I know you better than that, Rev.”

He shrugged and then said, “They just seem a little different. Like they’re something else.”

“You’re reaching, Rev, my boy. Out of all the possible life-forms in the galaxy, some other sentient race pops up the same size, the same three nasal slits, the same lack of eyes?” She snorted, then said, “Too much of a coincidence. No, they might be a different race of tin-ass or something, but Occam’s Razor, Rev. They have to be tin-asses.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Rev said, even if he wasn’t entirely convinced.

The news feed mercifully switched to the promise of a story after the commercial break of a dog that had adopted six piglets. “Ooh, I heard about this,” Tomiko said as she leaned forward. “I want to see it.”

Rev settled back to watch as well. He didn’t mention the tissue sample he’d turned over that day to the major.

6

Rev watched Daryll with eager eyes. He was still somewhat in a state of shock. The brass was actually acting on one of his suggestions? What parallel universe had he slipped into?

Daryll made a few last-minute adjustments, leaned back, then nodded. “I think we’re there.”

He attached Pashu to the hoist and motioned Rev to step up. Rev waited as the attachments were made and the circuit test confirmed, then stepped free.

“Let me send you a probe,” Daryll said. He picked up the small control and said, “Three . . . two . . . one . . . go.”

On “go,” he pushed the sync button. Immediately, Rev . . . felt—which wasn’t an accurate word to use, but better than nothing—a twitch in his mind.

“You get that?”

“Yep. Let me try.”

Rev held out Pashu and tried to recreate the command. Nothing happened.

“Again.”

Rev frowned and tried once more, and again, nothing happened.

“Let me send another probe. Try and isolate what you feel.”

“I did try. And I know what I’m supposed to do,” Rev said, a frown taking over his previous excited expression.

He closed his eyes while Daryll sent another probe.

Right there!

It wasn’t that much different from when he activated his beamer, more of a subtle shift. He tried to absorb the feeling, to tattoo it into his subconscious.

“I think I have it.”

“Then try again.”

Rev opened his eyes, raised Pashu again, and took a deep breath.

“Here goes nothing,” he muttered.

He triggered the same impulse, visualizing the deployment, and thirty-two centimeters of steel-blue, polychromotium blade shot out from under the beamer projector.

“Holy crap!” Rev said, flinching.

“Lag time’s too slow,” Daryll said, looking at the readout on the controls. “You need to refine the command.”

Rev wasn’t listening. He twisted Pashu back and forth, the blade seeming to suck in the light from the armory.

“This is wicked,” he subvocalized.

<It’s inanimate. It isn’t wicked or good. It’s not sentient.>

“You’re inanimate, Punch. And you’ve got a personality. Besides, I was speaking figuratively.”

Rev waited for a retort, but Punch was silent for once.

The blade snapped back with nary a whisper. “We’ll work on retraction later, but right now, you need to refine your deployment. This is just like when you first got Pashu. Get back into that mode.”

Rev grunted. Using his IBHU was so second nature to him now that it was hard to remember the early days, when he first got Pashu, and how difficult it was to learn to use her.

“I’m going to lower the amplitude on the probe,” Daryll said. “Three . . . two . . . one . . . go.”

The buzz was more of a tickle this time. Rev tried to absorb the feeling, and after a moment, he gave the command to deploy. The blade shot out again. This time Rev realized the deployment was a two-step process. The blade fired forward, and when fully extended, it then slid upwards into a slot with a slight snick.

He rotated Pashu around and took a closer look. The blade was now locked in, and from the looks of it, the connection was pretty secure.

“Better. Still a ways to go, but you’re bracketing in on it.”

“Still a ways to go, Daryll? Why? It’s not like I’ll be rushed for time if I ever get in position to use this.”

“Because . . .” Daryll started before he gave a sheepish grin. “I guess you’re right.”

“It’s just the engineer in you. But this right now,” he said, brandishing his new blade, “is more than good enough for government work.”

“Maybe. But it still needs to be subconscious. And you need to be able to retract that blade. Can’t very well ride a shuttle packed asshole to belly button with that thing there.”

They spent the next hour deploying and retracting his new toy until Daryll grudgingly accepted that Rev was proficient enough to be trusted not to accidentally cut off someone’s head.

Rev was pumped throughout the hour. He still couldn’t believe that anyone had listened to his suggestion for some sort of close-in weapon. The concept of a sword might be 15,000 years old, and an IBHU might be the most modern infantry weapon ever created, but Rev had killed five enemies in hand-to-hand combat, using Pashu as a glorified club.

And he’d almost been killed the last time, when he’d fought Kvat on Kinshasa. If it weren’t for his broken strut . . . Rev pushed that thought out of his mind. No use going down that rabbit hole.

Rev might never be in a hand-to-hand situation again, but he’d sure feel more confident knowing that he was better prepared if he did.

“How many others are going to get one?” he asked Daryll.

“None.”

“What?”

“You’re the test dummy. Again. The brass wants to see how it plays out, first.”

Rev frowned. The blade couldn’t be that expensive, particularly when the cost of an IBHU was used in comparison. He couldn’t see any reason why every surviving IBHU Marine didn’t get one installed.

“I guess that’s it for now. You know you’re not supposed to deploy your blade until you’re trained, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. Kinda stupid, though. I’ve already killed, and that’s without a blade. I think I know what I’m doing.”

“Rev . . .”

He held up his right hand, palm out. “Don’t worry. I won’t. And I’ve got my first lesson tomorrow morning.”

To get his blade, Rev had agreed to go through basic swordsmanship training. He thought it was overkill, but if that was the price he had to pay, so be it. He just wasn’t sure what someone who’d never been in actual combat could teach him, a blooded Marine.

“Then let’s get her off you. I want to check the tolerances now that you’ve deployed and retracted the blade a bunch of times. Let me know when you’ll be back in the morning, and I’ll have her ready for you.”

* * *

“Sure looks real,” Lieutenant Nilson said as they stared at the five bodies standing in a line.

“With all due respect, ma’am, ain’t nobody got see-through skin,” Randigold said.

Rev leaned in closer to the nearest one. He knew the bodies were just training aids, but he could see organs and bones through the transparent skin and muscles. It was a little creepy.

“Maybe you should shoot out your sword and give one of those a little poke. You know, just to make sure everything works,” Randigold said.

“I’ll wait for the swordmaster,” Rev said, even if his warrior self was twitching—which was stupid. No matter how authentic they looked, the bodies weren’t real, and they posed no threat . . . except possibly to his pride.

Rev didn’t know what to expect with today’s lesson. He and Punch had spent some time online studying sword fighting. He’d been surprised that there were so many different schools and even more types of weapons. In the end, he and Punch came to the conclusion that he’d be studying bayonet fighting as taught in WWI.

He still hadn’t bought into the need for training. Without a sword/bayonet, he’d managed to kill five MDS soldiers, one of them a karnan, and he’d defeated Kvat, another karnan. With his augmented strength, he didn’t think anyone—even a muscled Centaur—could stand up to a single sweep of the newly armed Pashu.

This training session was only for Rev, but the other IBHU Marines were more than curious as to how he’d perform with his new weapon. The lieutenant, Randigold, Tumeric Tsao, Božič-Mizaki, Pierson, Winn, and half-a-dozen other IBHU Marines had shown up at the small warehouse where Rev’s initial training would be. Even Strap Gantz, who wasn’t an IBHU, had shown up to watch.

If it were up to Rev, none of them would be there. He had no idea what this swordmaster was going to have him do, but he’d rather get a few sets of moves under his belt before he was put on public display. When the lieutenant had shown up, though, there wasn’t much he could do about the audience.

The door into the warehouse opened, and a slight, older man walked in, dressed in a loose shirt and baggy pants and carrying what looked like a seabag.

“Get a load of the gi,” Randigold whispered as they all turned to watch the man approach.

<That’s not a gi. A do-gi. The shirt is a keko-gi, and the pants are hakama. They are the traditional underlayer of the kendo fighter.>

“So, I’m supposed to learn ancient Japanese sword fighting?”

<That would be a logical conjecture.>

“I don’t need to learn some stylized art. All I need to know how to do is to stick an enemy with the blade. There’re no points for style.”

The swordmaster stopped three meters short of the gathered Marines and dropped his bag. “Which one of you is Staff Sergeant Pelletier?” he asked in a calm, even voice.

“I am, uh, swordmaster.”

The man gave the rest of the Marines a perfunctory glance and said, “The rest of you can leave.”

“Sir, I’m Lieutenant Nilson, and I’m Staff Sergeant Pelletier’s commander, and I—”

“I really don’t care who you are, Lieutenant. My time right now is to be spent with Staff Sergeant Pelletier. I do not want to have anyone else here interfering.”

“I can assure you no one here will be interfering,” the lieutenant snapped, bristling at the rebuke.

“That’s true. No one will be interfering because you won’t be here. You can return in two hours if you wish to retrieve your staff sergeant, but for now, leave.”

Rev thought the lieutenant was going to argue, but after a moment, she nodded at the others and left. He knew she’d be taking this up the chain, but until she knew just how much weight the swordmaster had with the brass, discretion was probably the better part of valor.

The swordmaster waited until they’d all left the warehouse before he turned to Rev. “Show me your blade.”

“Yes, Swordmaster.”

“Reggie.”

“Sir?”

“You can dump the swordmaster this and swordmaster that. We both know I’m the swordmaster, and you’re the student. We don’t need to keep repeating it. I’m Reggie. And you are?”

“Uh, Rev.”

“Rev and Reggie. It’ll do. Now, let me see your blade.”

Rev deployed his blade and extended Pashu. Reggie stepped up and ran a finger lightly over the spine. “CS-38?”

“Yes, Swordma—uh, Reggie. Chromotium thirty-eight.”

“Reasonable choice, given what I assume, by looking at your physique and that IBHU, to be outsized strength. Not as much flexibility as, say, one of the omniset alloys, but durable.”

He turned his hand over and ran a thumb over the edge. “Not particularly sharp. Might do with a crystal inset edge,” he said, more to himself than to Rev. “But, then again, given his strength . . .”

He stepped back and said, “Go through your forms.”

“My forms?”

“Sorry. You don’t have any yet. I just want to see how you move. Your blade is essentially welded to your arm, and that’s going to limit what you can do. So, just move your . . . arm, I guess I can still call it. Put it through your paces in all directions.”

Rev felt like an idiot, but he swung Pashu horizontally, vertically, and every way in between. Reggie never said a word. He stood, left hand on his right elbow, right thumb under his chin, right forefinger over his mouth as he watched.

He kept going, repeating the movements until Reggie motioned for him to stop.

“This is going to be interesting. You’ve got essentially no wrist movement, so that’s going to be a big limitation. At first blush, I’m considering a fusion, maybe, of Scottish claymore cleaving—one-handed, of course—and World War I bayonet fighting.

<See, I told you!>

“I assume you have full library access?”

Rev nodded.

“I want you to download McIntyre North’s The Book of the Club of True Highlanders, published in 1851, and the British Army training manual, Bayonet Training, published 1918. Be familiar with them before our next session. I think those will be the foundation, at least, of your training.”

“No kendo?” Rev asked.

“Kendo? No, not appropriate for you, I’d think. Why do you ask?”

Rev used his organic hand to indicate Reggie’s clothing.

“Ah, yes. My do-gi. I do love kendo, but I wear the do-gi because it’s well suited for training.”

“Do I need to get a do-gi?”

“What you’re wearing is fine. Once you’re more familiar with the techniques, you’ll be training in your combat suit. But right now, I want to see what kind of force you can generate. I’m going to have you do a fendente. That’s an overhand slash,” he added before Rev could ask what it was. “Don’t worry about form or anything yet. Just show me how much force you can generate.”

Rev stepped back, took a deep breath, and raised Pashu, ready to slash down.

“No. Not in the air. On one of the Joes.”

“Joes?” Rev asked before he realized Reggie meant the dummies. He turned around to face them, Pashu still raised. “As hard as I can?”

“As hard as you can.”

He took another deep breath, then ran at the far-right Joe. Two meters away, he leaped into the air, and with a scream, came down as he slashed with all his might. The blade hit the Joe at the collarbone, then traveled through artificial flesh, bone, and organs, and emerged below the left ribcage.

The top half of the body fell to the floor, organs trailing. There was even blood that splattered Rev.

“By the Mother!” Rev said before turning with a wide grin back to Reggie, inordinately proud of the blow.

But Reggie wasn’t smiling. “Who the hell told you to jump like a fucking kangaroo?” he asked.

“I . . . uh, you told me to swing as hard as I could. Jumping gave me more power in the stroke.”

Reggie was angry, Rev could tell, but he didn’t know why. He could see the swordmaster struggling to control himself until finally, he said, “OK, no one’s told you anything yet. But I’ll start on lesson number one. Never, ever, ever leave your feet in a sword fight.”

“But I see it on the holovids—”

“Fuck the holovids. There’s not a director out there who knows the first thing about sword fighting. When you leave your feet, you’re committed. You can no longer maneuver.”

“But the power. Look at Joe,” Rev said. Reggie might be the expert, but what he was saying didn’t make any sense.

Reggie looked at Rev for a moment before he went to the bag he’d brought in. He opened the bag, reached in, and brought out a wooden sword.

“I want you to come at me like you did at the Joe. Jump and try to cut me in two.”

Rev stared back at him, mouth open as he tried to comprehend what the swordmaster had just said. “But I’ll kill you if I do that.”

“No, you won’t.”

“This blade is sharp. It’ll cut that wooden sword in two, then cut you.”

“It’s a bokuto, and no, it will be fine.”

“But—”

“OK, then, if this makes you happy.” Reggie reached into the bag again, rummaged around, and pulled out a spongy material. He marched up to Rev and told him to raise Pashu. With several sure wraps, he covered the blade with the material.

“See?” he asked as he tapped on the blade. “All safe now.”

Rev wasn’t all that sure of that. He tapped the blade against his leg. It didn’t cut him, but if he put force to the stroke?

“Do it, student,” Reggie said with a command voice that would put a Marine drill instructor to shame.

Rev’s warrior self tried to rise, and Rev had to force it down. But he was a little pissed. Reggie seemed to think that Rev was afraid, and, in fact, he was. Not for himself, but for the swordmaster. He’d seen what Pashu could do to a karnan, much less a seventy-something year old, seventy-five-kilo civilian.

But he dutifully stepped back six paces and faced the swordmaster, who’d moved into a relaxed stance, his wooden sword tip pointed at the floor in front of him.

<You can hold back. You don’t want to kill him.>

“I know. I know. Arrogant bastard, though. Maybe I’ll be just hard enough to teach him what an IBHU Marine can do.”

“Come at me, and don’t wimp out, soldier-boy,” Reggie said with a sneer.

Rev’s warrior self roared to the surface, and he charged forward, hoping the wrapping on his blade was going to do its job. He wasn’t going to kill Reggie, but putting him in his place would do him a world of good.

At two meters, Rev launched himself in the air, sweeping Pashu down, turning the blade so the edge wouldn’t lead . . . and he slammed onto the floor on his back, knocking the wind out of him. He had no idea what had happened. One moment, he was about to knock Reggie silly, and the next, he was flat on his back, head facing away from the still-standing swordmaster.

“See what I mean?” Reggie asked.

Rev had to struggle to catch his breath back, but he croaked out, “Yes, Swordmaster.”

Suddenly, a fire of resolve swept through him.

How the hell did he do that? Whatever he did, I’m going to learn how to do it, too.

Rev had thought this training was just so much military BS, but now he had a burning desire to learn.

Reggie held out a hand, and Rev took it with his right, organic hand. He let the swordmaster help him up.

Suddenly, with a rueful grin, Reggie tenderly rotated his left arm around the shoulder joint. “Son of a bitch, but you’re strong. I timed that exactly right, and you still almost took my arm off.”

“Broke my bokuto, too,” he added, shaking the wooden sword, which was now at a decidedly acute angle. The top half broke free and clattered to the floor.

“This is going to be a helluva lot of fun,” he said.

Yeah, it sure is.

7

“What are you doing here?” Tomiko asked as she came out of Building 2002.

“Just in the neighborhood.”

“In your running gear?”

Rev shrugged. “You said you were going for a run after rehab, so I thought I’d see if you want a little company.”

“And you have nothing better to do? We’re on a war footing, you know,” she said, but she couldn’t hide the smile that formed on her face, and Rev knew he’d actually done something good for once.

“War or no war, we still have to stay in shape. ’Sides, I’ve got the squad leaders in charge right now.”

Her smile faded slightly. “You do know that I’m not up to speed yet, right? You’re not going to get much of a workout running with me.”

“I took the platoon out for a run this morning. Went to pat the knee of the Lady of Sorrow.”

Tomiko winced. “I hope you don’t expect to run that again with me now.”

The Lady of Sorrow was a natural rock formation on top of a hill nine klicks from and 800 meters above the camp. “Patting her knee” meant making the climb, touching her, and running back down. She was sometimes known as the Lady of Puke for how often Marines would lose their breakfast on the run.

“No. I’ve had enough of her for one day. Where were you going to run?”

“I was thinking of saying hello to the swans.”

“Good enough. Let’s go.”

Tomiko started off in a slow—very slow jog. There was an awkward tic in her gait. Rev came up alongside her.

“How did it go today?” he asked.

“Same old, same old,” she said, sounding more than a little frustrated. “You know, my augments are fine. It’s just that I can’t control them like I used to. Like this,” she said, sweeping an arm to encompass her legs. “My muscles have healed, and they can perform, but I can’t control my movements.”

Which explains the gait.

“It’ll take time, Miko. You know that.”

“I don’t want it to take time,” she snapped. She lurched forward another few steps, then said, “Sorry about that, Rev. It’s just . . .”

“Don’t worry about it. I understand.”

The two jogged side-by-side with an easy pace down Gaither Avenue to the park. Before Camp Nguyen had taken over the area, mainside had been a sprawling estate, complete with a large pond and a variety of tree species. When the military came in, the general in charge of construction decided to keep the pond and trees as a place for Marines to relax—something that subsequent generations of Marines and dependents appreciated. It was nice to have a bit of green amidst the military uniformity of the rest of the base.

Rev and Tomiko jogged through the trees until they reached the winding path that went around the pond. They turned right and kept up their steady, but slow, pace.

“Behind you!” a voice said. Rev stepped to the side and onto the grass as a Marine passed them. Tomiko surged forward as if unwilling to let anyone run faster than she was managing.

“You don’t have to race him, Miko. Stay on your pace.”

Rev knew that she was frustrated with her progress, and the other Marine passing them must be like salt being rubbed into the wound.

She bristled for a moment, then relaxed and slowed back down. “You’re right. Let’s just enjoy this.”

Two of the swans paddled over as they jogged, looking for a handout. When the two marines kept going, they turned away to look for more fruitful possibilities.

“This really is a pretty place. Not just for a Marine base,” Rev said.

“I know what you mean. I’m glad it didn’t suffer during the invasion.”

Most of the camp had been leveled when the planet had been invaded, but the park had escaped relatively unscathed, much to the relief of the Marines and dependents. It was a favorite spot for leisurely picnics and BBQs, and the exercise stations along the path made it a favorite route for joggers.

A gunnery sergeant in full utilities—which probably meant that her unit was on Alert Status, was sitting at one of the picnic tables with her arm around an older civilian gentleman. A child of about three was playing in the grass at their feet with a toy fire engine, and another was napping in a stroller.

Rev tried not to stare as they jogged by. He and Tomiko really hadn’t spoken much about how they’d manage a marriage with their military duties. Rev had assumed that with her being a resurrectee, she would get out. But now, with her decision to try to stay in—and with her determination, Rev didn’t doubt she’d make it—they’d have to discuss it and if children were in the picture.

The alarm on Rev’s wrist comp blared, sending the swans running over the top of the water until they became airborne and crossed to the other side of the pond. Around them, other alarms were sounding as well.

Rev and Tomiko came to a stop while Rev read the message.

“What is it?” Tomiko asked.

“We’re going to One-Bravo. I’ve got to get back to the company.”

“Does it say why?”

Rev shook his head.

“You going to be OK?” he asked her.

“If you’re at One-Bravo, I’d better get home before they decide to go to One-Alpha. Otherwise, I’ll be stuck on base for who knows how long.”

Home?

She meant his home, and despite the alarm, his heart warmed that she considered that her home as well.

“This probably won’t last long. I’ll give you a shout once things settle down.”

She tilted her head up, and Rev gave her a quick kiss.

“Go. I’ll be fine,” she told him.

Rev took off in a sprint and cut through the trees until he reached the main road. Other Marines were running as well, all heading back to their units. After being held back into a slow jog, it felt good to stretch out, and he made it back to the company area within a few minutes.

He burst into the company quarterdeck.

“What’s going on?” he asked Corporal Hrabata, the duty NCO.

“Classified briefing in the RAB at eleven-hundred. All hands.”

Rev raised his eyebrows. Every company had a RAB, a Restricted Area Briefing room, where classified briefs could be given. It was often used for the company leadership to work on classified events or to read the daily classified message board, but the entire company? At the same time? It was going to be a tight fit.

He checked the time. Ten-thirty-six. The brief was in twenty-four minutes. Rev had left the platoon at the armory for weapons maintenance when he took off to jog with Tomiko. He thought he could count on the squad leaders to get the Marines to the RAB, but then again . . .

Rev left the quarterdeck and started to sprint back to the armory.

* * *

Rev stood in the back of the RAB. Even with an understrength company, it was rather crowded. And he wasn’t the only one who’d been out exercising. All of First Platoon had been in the weight room when the alarm went off. It was getting more than a little rank inside the RAB now, and the small ventilation fans were struggling to move out the air.

He checked the time: twelve-fourteen. Typical Corps—hurry up and wait. Around him, Marines were quietly debating what was going on. From the snatches he heard, about half of them thought this was much ado about nothing. They’d be taken off One-Bravo and put back on Two-Charlie.

The other half had theories ranging from the semi-routine to the preposterous.

“You’ve still got nothing?”

<All of the frequencies are being shielded.>

Rev frowned. If this was some sort of drill, then the outside nets would still be accessible. But being only in One-Bravo instead of One-Alpha, whatever was up couldn’t be too urgent.

The back hatch opened, and the major and Gunny Grimes, the acting first sergeant, came into the RAB.

“Attention on deck!” someone shouted before the major cut that off with a loud “At ease.”

She made her way to the front of the space, then said, “The CG will be speaking to us in about five minutes.”

<This is getting more interesting by the minute.>

“Doesn’t mean much, Punch. It could be anything.”

<If it wasn’t much, then we could do this in the auditorium or one of the gyms instead of the RAB.>

Good point.

Gunny activated the forward display, which descended from the overhead. And then they all stared at each other, the major at the gathered company, all of the Marines at her.

<Since we’re sitting here with our thumbs up our asses—>

“You don’t have an ass. Or thumb.”

<Figuratively speaking, of course. But do you want to hear a joke?>

Something big was up, but Punch was right. They sure weren’t doing anything else at the moment as they waited for the CG.

“Hit me.”

<What do you call a line of men waiting to get a haircut?>

“What?”

<A barbeque.>

“A what? I don’t . . . oh, I get it now. That one kinda sucks.” He paused, then asked, “What do you call a bunch of Marines waiting for their commanding general?”

Punch probably had a million jokes in his data banks, but Rev knew he didn’t have this.

<What is the answer?>

“Bored.”

There was a moment of dead silence, and Rev could almost feel his little crystal brain overheat.

<And that is funny? It doesn’t seem funny.>

“I never said it was funny. I just asked you a question. You didn’t answer, so I told you.”

But it was funny. Not that it was a joke, but Rev thought he’d finally gotten one over on his battle buddy. This was going to throw off his deep learning.

Before he could add any fuel to the fire, though, the display flickered to life, and a moment later, a holo of Brigadier General Mark “Boomer” Janivic, the new base commanding general, looked out at them.

The Marines immediately quieted down to listen.

“Marines and sailors of Camp Nguyen, I’m going to get right to the point before I turn this over to Colonel LaBlatt. At zero-nine-fifty-two this morning, local time, a resupply station on Planet Aurilious, in the Orion arm, was invaded by an alien force.”

Lots of places have been invaded by the Centaurs. What’s up with this time?

“Pull up a brief on Aurilious for when this is over.”

<Roger.>

“Almost all comms were cut off early during the invasion. However, we do have a feed that was sent out on a quantum transmitter before it, too, was cut off. I’m going to show you that now.”

The general’s image was replaced by the feed, which showed a corridor. Four frightened-looking people were sitting, backs against the wall, hands behind them. Two Centaurs in long, robe-like coverings were facing away from the pickup.

“Look pretty tall for tin-asses,” Yancey whispered.

“You’re right.”

The humans were sitting, so it was difficult to judge perspective, but it sure seemed that these Centaurs were taller than most.

One of the Centaurs poked the nearest person with the muzzle of its weapon, which looked smaller than the personal weapons Rev had seen on Brahmaloka.

Maybe it’s a carbine.

There was no sound in the feed, but they could see the human screaming, then cowering as if trying to put distance between him and the Centaur.

One of the Centaurs nudged the one with the weapon, and that one slowly turned around . . .

The entire company gasped as one. One nose, two eyes, two ears. This wasn’t a Centaur. It wasn’t human, either; that was obvious. The face was narrower, and there was some kind of fringe-looking thing framing the face.

It wasn’t a Centaur. It wasn’t human. Whatever had just invaded Aurilious was something brand new. A new alien.

Humans and Centaurs weren’t alone in the galaxy.

8

The new aliens were a shock to the system. Camp Nguyen was placed in lockdown, and reading between the lines during their briefings, the aliens’ existence was being kept from the public at large for the moment.

And by lockdown, that meant no information going out, but also, the Marines and sailors were cut off from the public undernet and news broadcasts. Punch had tried to break through the firewall but to no avail.

Within the camp, there was a flurry of activity as some units were raided to beef up others. The Heavy Infantry Battalion was one of those being reinforced. Seven months after Kinshasa, the two companies were brought up to ninety percent of their T/O, their operational strength.

For the first time, Combat Support Marines in MilDes 11, 13, 14, and 19 were brought in to fill non-combat positions within Direct Combat units. There had always been Combat Support Marines at the battalion and higher levels in combat units, but now, they were down to the company level, something entirely new. Three were in the company headquarters: an admin clerk and a sergeant and gunny from supply.

The war-footing tempo was notably increased, but not only had the Marines no new mission, there also wasn’t even a specific policy change, at least one that the Marines could see. The burning question among them was whether they were now fighting a two-front war, and if they were, were the Centaurs and the new aliens allies?

Not knowing what was going on was frustrating. Yancey spoke often and loudly that they were purposely being kept in the dark for some unspecified nefarious reason. Rev wasn’t so sure. Judging by how often the major was gone, he thought a far more likely reason for the silence was that the brass didn’t know what to do, and they were busy trying to formulate a course of action.

But the powers that be weren’t ignoring the troops. They may not know what action to take yet, but they wanted to be at full strength. They couldn’t force through new recruits. Those going into Direct Combat needed their augments, and that couldn’t be rushed. But there were other sources of warm bodies that could be raided.

A week after the discovery of the new aliens—a new nickname hadn’t really taken hold yet—Rev saw a familiar face at the miniPX.

“Udu!” he shouted.

The tall woman turned around, spotted him, and a smile split her face.

They rushed together and hugged.

“What’re you doing here?” Rev asked.

“Recalled. Just reported in today.”

“Recalled? But you were out. You’re not a reservist.”

“That’s what we thought. But according to our releases, we were technically in the inactive reserves, which means they can call us back until we’re seventy.”

“Shit. I didn’t know that. So, they just yanked you back?”

“Got the notice yesterday. Had to scramble to get Leo to my mom’s. Cricket’s taking him there now.”

“In Anastasia? Why doesn’t Cricket take care of him in your apartment?”

“They told him to stand by as well. No orders as of yet, but they could be forthcoming.”

She looked around to see if anyone was near, then lowered her voice and asked, “Do you know what the hell is going on? Have the tin-asses made a big push?”

“They didn’t tell you?”

“Supposedly, we’re getting briefed at thirteen-hundred.”

Rev hesitated as his mind raced. Combat Support Marines in Direct Support units. The reservists getting recalled. And now, they were yanking people like Udu and Cricket back into the Corps. These were pretty significant actions, and except for recalling reservists, things that hadn’t been done during the Centaur War.

What the hell aren’t they telling us?

“You haven’t heard anything . . . unusual . . . in the news lately?”

“No. I mean, we knew the base was locked down, but no reason for that. What’s going on?”

This time it was Rev who looked around to see if anyone was listening. He probably should tell Udu to wait for her brief, but she was one of his posse, one of his closest friends. And with the base locked down, it wasn’t as if she was going to leak this somehow.

“We’ve got a new alien, and they’ve attacked humans. Everyone’s in an uproar trying to figure out how to meet this new threat.”

Udu’s eyes grew round, and her mouth dropped open. “A new alien?”

“Yeah. Humanoid. Same basic design as us. Parallel evolution, they guess.”

“That’s . . . that’s . . .”

“Yeah. I know.”

Udu paused and let it sink in. “We’ve gone tens of thousands of years without alien contact, and now, in the space of twenty years, we’ve come across two kinds of aliens, and one of them’s got the same design as us? What the hell’s going on?”

“The tin-asses weren’t that far off, either. Two arms and two legs, at least, even if they don’t have eyes like we do.”

She just shook her head.

“Look, I’ve got to get back to my platoon. But we’re in Area Fourteen. You’ll be in Twenty-two?”

“They haven’t told us, but I imagine so. That’s where the mech battalions are.”

“They’ll have you hopping with gear issue and all the admin stuff, but when you’ve got some time, drop by, and we can catch up.”

“Sure. I’ll let you go now.”

They hugged once more, and Rev said, “Sorry for the circumstances, but it’s good to see you, Udu.”

“You, too.”

Rev walked away, trying to fit all the pieces together. The rank-and-file Marines were receiving briefs, but nothing they were being told would explain the extreme steps being taken.

“What do you make of all of this?” he asked Punch.

<There’s more going on than meets the eye.>

“My thoughts exactly. The question is, just when the hell are they going to fill the rest of us in?”

* * *

Rev leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. The last four days had kicked his ass, he wasn’t ashamed to admit. Four days of simulated combat without sleep, running on XL-12. His body was still buzzing, a sure sign that the collapse was imminent.

Rev hated jolt, as they’d nicknamed the white energy booster paste, but it was sometimes a necessary evil. Four days was pushing it, but the platoon had performed admirably, which was something of a minor miracle. With sixteen new Marines in the platoon, Rev had been pleasantly surprised at their coordination, especially when flying high on jolt.

Staff Sergeant Winnie Urquart, who’d come over from the Raiders just a week before and taken over Second Squad, had really impressed Rev. He’d hated for Strap to lose the squad, but after the exercise, he knew the squad was in good hands.

The squad leaders were running the weapons turn-in with orders to then get the Marines fed and put to bed. He wanted that done before they started crashing.

But there was no rest for the wicked. The lieutenant had been called in to see the major, and once the weapons turn-in had begun, Rev had parked himself in her office to await her return. All he really wanted to do was take a shower and hit the rack, but he had to wait to see if there was anything that had to be completed tonight.

“Play me something with a beat,” he told Punch, reaching for anything to keep him alert.

Almost immediately, the bold sounds of “The Blue Steel Orchestra” filled his head.

Good choice, he thought as he started tapping his feet to the razor-jazz. Nobody could sleep through that.

It was over thirty minutes before the lieutenant returned. She didn’t say a word as she moved behind her desk and plopped down heavily.

“The major have anything important to say?”

“Depends on what you think’s important,” she said. “If me leaving the platoon’s important, then yeah, I guess you can say that.”

Rev sat up straight and asked, “You’re leaving the company? Why?”

“Not the company. The platoon. I’m taking over Second Platoon.”

“What? Why?”

“The major said the platoon’s been long enough without an officer.”

“But Gunny Morgan’s been acting platoon commander for a year. And if you leave, that means Third Platoon will have a staff sergeant . . .”

Rev stopped that line of thought. Of course, the major wouldn’t leave him as the acting platoon commander and send the lieutenant to take over for a gunny. That meant . . .

“Who’s coming to take over Third?” he asked.

“Another lieutenant. I didn’t catch the name, only that he’s a captain-select.”

And now it made more sense. Lieutenant Nilson wouldn’t be up for captain until next year. So put her in with Gunny Morgan and put the more senior lieutenant with Rev.

Just because it made sense didn’t mean Rev had to like it. He understood Lieutenant Nilson, and not just because she was an IBHU Marine. They trusted each other, and she was more than willing to let Rev do his job without constantly looking over his shoulder. As a staff sergeant, he couldn’t ask for anything more.

“That sucks,” Rev said.

“That’s the Corps for you.”

They were both quiet for a long moment before Rev asked, “So, when does this happen?”

“It’s already done.”

Of course, it is. Why would they delay? he thought bitterly. And now, when we might deploy at a moment’s notice, I’ve got to break in a new louie.

“When do I meet this new lieutenant?”

“The major knows we’ve been running on jolt, so she said for you to get some sleep and get over to the company CP at zero-six to pick up the new platoon commander.”

Rev blinked up the time display. He gave a rueful chuckle and said, “Gee, a whole five hours of sleep. That’s enough to recover from jolt, right?”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, Rev. But you’d better go hit the rack. You don’t need to be passing out your first day with your new commander.”

Rev slowly got to his feet. He started to leave, then turned back. “I want to say that it’s been an honor to serve with you, ma’am.”

She stood as well. “The honor’s been mine.”

She raised her social arm, which for her was her right. Rev stepped forward to clink it with his.

“Sibs in Steel,” they both said in unison.

They stood there for a moment until the lieutenant said, “Go on and get some sleep. It’s not like we won’t be serving together. I’m even keeping this office.”

“So, I’m the one who has to move,” Rev said with a laugh as he moved to the door.

“Rank hath its privileges,” she said to his back.

A wave of weariness hit Rev as he stepped out of the office. He needed a shower and sleep, and the way he was feeling at the moment, the shower was just going to have to wait.

* * *

At zero-six-hundred, Rev knocked on the major’s hatch. His eyes were gritty, and he felt like he’d been run over by a Centaur paladin.

“Enter.”

He took a deep breath. “Time to meet the new commander.”

He pushed open the door, entered, and stopped cold.

“Bundy!” he said in surprise.

His old friend stood from the chair and stepped up to shake Rev’s hand. “You’re the Third Platoon sergeant?” he asked, obviously just as surprised as Rev was.

“Yeah . . . uh, yes, sir,” Rev said. His instinct was to hug Bundy, but as they were in the company commander’s office, he held back.

He gave her a glance where she was now standing with a shit-eating grin on her face.

“I see you two know each other,” she said, which she obviously had known. Just as when she briefed them about the new aliens, she was enjoying this.

Bundy looked back at her and said, “Yes, Staff Sergeant Pelletier and I go a long way back.”

“Good. I’d tell you now to go and get to know each other, but I guess that’s already been done. Still, why don’t you two go back to your platoon and discuss the course forward I’ve given you, Lieutenant. Staff Sergeant Pelletier can give you his assessment of the platoon’s strengths and weaknesses.”

“Aye-aye, ma’am. And thank you for your trust in me,” Bundy said.

“Just remember what I told you about the Home Guard. You can trash all that kumbaya huggy-feely crap now. You’re back in the Union Marines.”

“Understood, ma’am.”

Bundy held out a hand to indicate the hatch, and Rev stepped out of the office.

He waited until Bundy closed the door before asking, “When did you get back from Enceladus?”

“Yesterday. Just met the commander twenty minutes ago. She didn’t tell me you were the platoon sergeant.”

“She likes to play mind games like that. But I figured, with the new aliens, that the Home Guard would be locked in place. What’ve you heard?”

“The Guard’s being kept in the dark. Deployments have been curtailed. We were recalled back to Encelasucks after only a month, and then I got recalled early back to Safe Harbor. A bunch of us were recalled back to our homes.”

Rev frowned at that. With a new threat, he would have thought that the Home Guard would be beefed up as a show of force and coordinated determination. The fact that different nations were pulling back their personnel didn’t bode well for the near future.

“What have you heard back here?” Bundy asked.

“Not much. But they’re beefing up the ranks. We’ve been getting transfers in, and we’ve even got Combat Support Marines in the companies taking positions to free up trigger pullers.”

“No shit?”

“Yeah. No shit. And not only have the reserves been recalled again, but they’re pulling inactive reserves like Cricket and Udu back on active duty.”

“Cricket and Udu? What about little Leo?”

“With Udu’s mom in Anastasia.”

Bundy seemed to digest that for a moment. “But not Ten and Miko, right?”

“Not medically qualified. But that’s Cricket and Udu, then Fyr, Yance, and me still in. You, too, now. Six in our posse are here, waiting for . . . well, whatever’s coming down the pike.”

“And whatever that is, I get the feeling it’s going to be big,” Bundy said.

Which Rev thought was true. Everything pointed that way.

Rev indicted a closed hatch. “That’s our office. It was that one,” he said, indicating the old office, “but the old platoon commander claimed squatters’ rights.”

Bundy opened the hatch and looked inside. There was a single desk, but nothing else. It looked like Gunny Morgan had taken the chairs with him.

“Kinda sparse in here. See if you can round up some chairs and another desk. Then I want to see the squad leaders. I don’t know how much time we’ve got before we’re going to get called out, so there isn’t any of that time to waste if we’re going to be ready.”

“Aye-aye, sir.” Rev started to leave, then stopped and turned back. “And congrats on making captain.”

Bundy laughed. “All you have to do to make captain is remember to wipe off your finger after picking your nose.”

“Still, congrats.”

Rev turned and left to find some chairs. Catching up with an old friend was over, and his new commander was right. None of them knew how much time it would be before they were thrust back into combat, and now it wasn’t Bundy and Rev, two old buddies, but First Lieutenant Bundy and Staff Sergeant Pelletier, whose mission now was to get the platoon ready to march to the sound of drums.

9

The war drums didn’t start beating for four more months.

The rush to bring the unit to full fighting trim had continued, but some of the urgency had worn off. Training continued around the clock, and the platoon barely hiccupped with a new commander. But with no news coming in on the situation, some of the mental edge had faded.

Rumors had started to quietly circulate, the most popular one being that the new aliens were fake. The feeds they’d all seen were deepfakes, an elaborate ruse perpetrated by either the Centaurs, the MDS, or, as believed by some Marines, the Union government who wanted a new crisis to cement their position of power.

Rev didn’t pay attention to the rumors. He was too busy with the training schedule. Long days followed long nights, and more than a few times, he was tempted by the devil XL-12, even knowing he’d pay the price with the following crash.

He embraced the tempo. When he was training, his mind was full of his mission. When he wasn’t actively training, his mind wandered to Tomiko and her rehabilitation, which she now had to conduct on her own off base. Not being able to call her wore on him, and Punch could fill the time with only so many holovids, music, and bad jokes.

When the alert finally sounded, it was almost a relief, not just for Rev but for the entire base. Too many pent-up hormones were released as they had a mission, something they could focus on.

The SAL-2s—or Sentient Alien Life-form-2, a moniker that was sure to be replaced on both an official and unofficial basis—had invaded Waring, a moderately populated Perseus Union planet, and the Union had decided to respond in strength leading a multi-national task force. The Marines weren’t told if this was the only SAL-2 invasion since their discovery or not, only that they should prepare for an extended fight.

They were given a launch date eight days away—which might seem like an inordinate amount of time to a civilian, but it was nothing to a Marine Division attempting to load out. The command went into hyperdrive, taking one of the contingency plans off the shelf and adjusting it to conform with their mission coming from Force, one that was constantly changing as they tweaked the overall mission.

The logisticians and planners might have been going crazy to deploy the division, but for the infantry Marines on the ground, once their equipment was loaded and ready to embark, it was the dreaded waiting. Without their weapons and equipment, they couldn’t train effectively, and during this phase of an operation, the center of gravity was the General Support and Combat Support troops, not the Direct Combat Marines.

Rev spent a lot of time with his fellow Marines in the gym, but his mind kept drifting to Tomiko and his family. He lost focus on his platoon.

Finally, he made a decision, and four days before loadout, he went to see Bundy.

“Whaddaya got?” the lieutenant asked as he entered their small office.

“I need three hours,” he announced.

“We’ve hit all our milestones for the day?”

“Yes, sir. Every one of them.”

“Not that we have many,” Bundy said. “If we’ve hit them, then take your time. Let Staff Sergeant Urquart know.”

“I mean off base,” Rev said, his eyes cemented to a spot on the wall behind Bundy.

“Off base?” Bundy said in surprise. “We’re locked down.”

“I know, sir. But there’ve been exceptions made. Marines have gone off base on emergency leave.”

“With monitors. And for emergency situations. That’s what emergency means. Do you have an emergency at home?”

Rev hesitated. He could say yes, but he couldn’t lie. “No, sir.”

“Then what the hell’s going on, Rev? Why are you asking this? We’re on the ships in four days.”

“I’d rather not say, sir.”

“You can cut the sir, Rev.” He paused while his steely blue eyes bore into Rev. “You want an emergency pass off base, but you can’t tell me why. What am I supposed to do with that?”

“It’s personal. I just need three hours. The platoon’s ready, so I don’t really need to be here. I’ll carry the monitor, so it’s not like I’m going to be spilling classified material.”

The monitor was a step up from the nannies Marines carried while on alert status. They recorded everything said, even whispered, as well as read anything written, and they fed to an AI that alerted on certain words and phrasing.

“That’s not the problem, Rev, and you know it.”

“I don’t know how to put this,” he said. And he didn’t know. This was so not him, and he was breaking new ground.

You sure you want to say this?

He took a deep breath before saying, “If I’m turned down, I can’t promise that I won’t go anyway.”

Bundy was silent, a frozen statue.

“I’m not sure how to take that,” he finally said in a quiet voice. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Yes, sir. I’m sure.”

Bundy raised a hand and stared at the tips of the fingers for a long twenty seconds as if trying to find a response under his fingernails.

Maybe he found one there, maybe not, but he said, “Colonel Destafney told us once, a long, long time ago, that a leader should never give an order he knows won’t be obeyed. Maybe this is one of those times.

“I wish you would tell me what the hell is going on, both as your commander and as a friend. But if you say you need three hours, well, I think you’ve earned the right. But you know, I don’t have the authority to say yes, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

Bundy bit his lower lip, then said, “Wait here. Don’t go anywhere.”

He left the office, closing the door behind him. Rev felt like crap for asking Bundy to lean on him as a commander and friend. But he knew his effectiveness would be degraded unless he had the time to do what he had to do—and that was to focus on the mission, or lives could be at stake.

And he was ashamed. Rev prided himself on being the ultimate professional, but this was a weakness he never expected.

He waited for Bundy to return. And waited. Twice, he almost gave up, once standing and getting as far as the door before he returned to his seat. Finally, after sixty-two minutes—not that he was tracking the time—the door opened, and Bundy came in.

“Turns out that the major doesn’t have the authority, either,” he said, and Rev’s heart fell. While waiting, he realized that if he was turned down, he wouldn’t go over the wall on his own. He’d only go if he was granted permission.

“However, the colonel does, and Major Pelegrino took it straight to him.”

Rev sat up straighter. That surprised him. He’d never gotten the impression that the major thought much of him.

Bundy took a small object out of his cargo pocket and handed it to him. “Remember, this baby records everything.”

In other words, don’t mention any classified material, no matter what.

Rev took the monitor and affixed it to his collar.

“Thanks, Bundy,” he said. “Thanks for fighting for me.”

“Just make it back on time. The clock starts ticking the moment you step through the gate. And it was the major who stood up for you.”

“All the same, thanks,” Rev said, holding out a hand. “I’ll let you know what happens when I get back.”

* * *

Rev stood outside the house, his heart pounding. He tried to take several deep breaths, but it didn’t do any good.

<Just do it. Time’s ticking away.>

“Easy for you to say,” Rev muttered.

But Punch was right. He didn’t have time to waste. He walked to the front door and rang the bell.

“Mom! Rev’s here!” a screech reached him through the door. A moment later, the door was flung open, and Kat almost bowled him over.

“What are you doing here? We’ve been so worried about what’s going on.”

Rev carefully extricated himself from her arms.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said as he peered over her head and into the living room. “Where’s Miko?”

“Miko? She’s out on her run.”

Rev frowned. He’d never considered that she wouldn’t be home.

“Where does she run?”

“I think at the park. Why? She’ll be back soon. You can wait for her.”

“Rev! We didn’t expect you home today. You staying for dinner?” his mother asked as she came down the stairs.

“No time. I need the Volksaab. Can I borrow it?”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“No time to explain. Can I borrow it?”

“Of course. It’s keyed to you already. But are you sure you can’t stay? Your dad will want to see you.”

Rev bolted to the hover in the driveway, chased by Kat’s “But you just got here!”

Rev jumped into it, scanned his eyes, and ordered it to go to McCann Park. He tried to will it to go faster, but the AI was locked onto the city speed limits. Finally, it pulled into the parking lot, and Rev was out almost as soon as it stopped.

“Where is she?” he asked aloud as he tried to spot her. Being early afternoon on a weekday, not many people were in the park. Some mothers or fathers pushing strollers, a couple of joggers—it should be easy to spot her. But there was no sign. He took off in a jog, hoping to cover more ground. After fifteen minutes, he was back at the parking lot without seeing her.

He checked his wrist comp, but it was still blocked from commercial calls.

“I should have taken Neesy’s,” he said, mentally kicking himself.

A jogger pulled into the parking lot, breathing heavily.

“Hey, is there somewhere else near here that people jog?”

Rev hadn’t been much of a jogger when he was in school, and since the Centaur invasion, the face of the city had changed.

“Creekwalk,” the man said between breaths. “Lots of people like it.”

“Punch?”

<A new park development starting on the other side of St. Martin Avenue.>

Which was two blocks away.

“Thanks!” Rev shouted as he took off in a sprint. He cut across Messing, through the Tidymart parking, and to St Martin. Creekwalk was on the other side, a wide path along what had been a muddy trickle but had been transformed into a scenic creek running down rock falls.

“Right or left?”

<There is more trail to the right.>

Right it was. Rev took off on a sprint, his eyes peeled, and within two hundred meters, he saw her slowly jogging down toward him, bundled up in a blue jogging suit.

He sped up to meet her, and when she spotted him, she slowed to a stop.

“Rev! What are you doing here?” she asked, perplexed.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, coming to a stop and pointing to a bench facing the creek.

“Why? What’s wrong? And how did you get off base?”

“I’ve got a pass, and nothing’s wrong. Look, Miko, I might be gone for a long time.”

“Why?” she asked as she scrunched her eyebrows together. “Where’re you going?”

Rev was very conscious of the monitor on his collar. He didn’t think they’d send the MPs after him if he screwed up, but he’d rather not find out.

“I can’t really say. But it may be for a while.”

“You can’t say or won’t?”

Rev glanced at the monitor, and Tomiko’s eyes followed his gaze. Her brows went up—very few people Rev knew were as expressive with their eyebrows as Tomiko could be. And whether she recognized exactly what the monitor was or not, she understood that his words were being recorded. And him being a Marine on a locked-down base, he knew she could figure out that something was up.

“So, why are you here?” she asked almost warily.

“I just think . . . I think we should get married before I go,” he got out in a rush.

Her eyebrows scrunched together again. “Married? I guess we could . . . ” she said as Rev could see the wheels turn in her mind. “We have nothing planned, though. I’m sure your mother and Neesy would be happy to help put something together—”

“I don’t mean soon. I mean now. As in the next hour-and-a-half. We can go from here to City Hall. They’ve got the automated judge there.”

Tomiko went dead silent, then took Rev’s hands in hers and turned to face him directly. She looked straight into his eyes as if she could read his mind.

“Why right now. Is there a reason you think there might not be a later?” she asked, her voice low, but still iron-strong.

Rev didn’t know what they faced in the aliens, and that did not give him a sense of confidence in the coming fight. But he couldn’t say that he had any reason, more so that before any other battle, that he might not make it through the fight.

Extremely conscious of the monitor on his collar, he tried to carefully pick his words. “There’s no reason to believe that.”

Tomiko kept staring into his eyes when she suddenly relaxed. “In that case, no, Reverent Pelletier.”

“No?”

“You’re fucking right, no. I’m not going to get a kiosk wedding. It might not be important to you, but I want a real one, and you’re not going to try and take the easy way out.”

“But—”

“But nothing. And your mother’ll back me on this. Try her and see.”

She pulled him close to her, and in a softer voice, said, “You’re coming back, safe and sound. I know you will, Rev. So, don’t jump the gun here, OK? Thinking you’re doing it for me. I don’t want you worrying about me while you’re wherever you’re going. You need to keep a clear head, you hear me?”

This wasn’t going as he expected. It had been important to him to make their marriage official before he left, and maybe it was because he was unsure of what they faced.

Now, he wasn’t sure. He hadn’t thought that a real wedding, with all the pomp, was necessary, but maybe with Tomiko’s decidedly lacking family history, it was important for her to be formally embraced by Rev’s family.

But that wasn’t the big thing. Tomiko could read Rev like a book, and she could see he was worried about what was going to happen. And by refusing to get married in a rush like this, that was her vote of confidence in him.

By the Mother, I love this girl.

“Uh, how much time do you have before you have to get back. An hour-and-a-half, did you say?” she asked in a suddenly coy—and very un-Tomiko-like—voice.

“Yeah. And I can’t be late.”

“If you don’t mind me being a little sweaty, and as long as you’re here . . .” she said, trailing off.

Rev had expected to get married this afternoon. But even if that didn’t happen, it looked like his excursion was still going to have a happy ending.

10

Somehow, and in testament to the support personnel who rarely got the accolades they deserved, the division was embarked on time. First Heavy Infantry Company was aboard an old friend of Rev’s: the PUNS Pania, the same ship that had taken the Raiders to the Home System when the Centaurs attacked. The Panny had most of the same crew, many of whom greeted Rev like a long-lost friend.

As a frigate instead of one of the big troop transports, berthing was a little tight, and wet showers were limited, but it was good to be back aboard.

The problem was that while the Marines assumed they were going to Waring, that hadn’t been confirmed, nor were they given their mission. And if the major or any of the other officers knew their mission, they weren’t talking.

“This sucks,” Kelly said to no one in particular as they waited for their call to chow. Once again, being on a frigate, going to the galley was tightly choreographed. “We don’t even have a plan yet.”

“Prior planning prevents piss poor performance,” Yancey said.

“Exactly my point. We’re not planning anything right now. We’re sitting on our asses and picking our butts.”

“Kinda hard to pick your butt when you’re sitting on it,” Winnie said.

Kelly gave her a lackadaisical finger. “You know what I mean. Dontcha think we should have a mission order by now? We could be going over it.”

She kicked at the rack above her where Rev was lying. “What do you say?”

“I say that this is a major operation with lots of moving pieces. Once the battalion knows what they want us to do, we’ll get our orders,” Rev answered.

“Can’t be soon enough,” Kelly said.

“I don’t care that much about the plan. We insert, then kill the aliens. I just want to know more about them. Where are their weaknesses?” Kil Rancine asked.

“Stick them, and they bleed,” Yancey said, miming stabbing one of them.

“You sure about that?” Kil asked. “Really, we know nothing about them. Intel should be briefing us before we get into the shit, right?”

Rev leaned over the edge of his rack to where Kil was sitting next to Kelly. “Have you thought that maybe that’s what we’re going to be doing?”

“What do you mean?”

Gunny Morgan, who’d taken the rack above Rev, leaned over to hear what he would say.

“What I mean to say is what do we know about them or their capabilities? Not much, right? And how would we find out? I’ll tell you. By probing them. Hit them and see how they react. Get a feel for their capabilities.”

Kelly frowned and said, “A full division just for a probe? That’s a pretty big unit to risk without knowing the alien’s capabilities.”

“And are we a frontline division?” Rev asked.

“We’re as good as any division in the Corps,” Yancey said defensively.

“I know that, and you know that,” Rev said. “But when has the head shed ever thought a provincial division was the match for a regular division?”

“So, you’re saying we’re cannon fodder?” Kil asked.

“I’m not saying anything. You’re saying it.”

The other SNCOs went quiet for a moment before the gunny said, “You’re missing a point. A big one.”

“What’s that?” Rev asked.

“All of you IBHU Marines are on this mission. Would they be risking you on a mere probe?”

<Good point.>

Rev tuned Punch out. He’d been having this conversation with his battle buddy for the last several days, and Punch was not as cynical as Rev was.

But he was right. It was a good point.

“I’m not saying the Corps wants us to get slaughtered. They just want to collect data on the enemy capabilities to be able to begin to formulate a game plan.”

“Sacrificial lambs,” Kelly said.

“I’m not saying that. I’m saying a probe.”

“Same thing.”

Rev was saved from having to respond when the 1MC announced that the galley was ready for all Marine SNCOs.

Yancey jumped up with a “Finally. I’m starving.”

Rev swung off his rack and followed the others out of berthing. He didn’t think they were being sacrificed, but his gut told him that the commandant’s intent was not necessarily to win a resounding victory but to feel out the new enemy. If the Marines routed the aliens, then all the better. If the aliens routed the division, oh, too bad, so sad, but at least they’d have data to feed into their massive combat AIs to come up with a better SOP in dealing with them.

11

Contrary to expectations, the company was not clandestinely inserted onto Waring. With the SAL-2s currently confined to the third continent, and their naval forces seemingly out of the system, the bulk of the rescue force had been able to take shuttles down to the Loggerhead spaceport.

After landing, Rev almost wished that they had inserted with pissers as Recon had. The spaceport was a madhouse with mass evacuations taking non-essential civilians off the planet and a reinforced division’s logistical train landing.

Most, if not all, of the civilians didn’t even know that they’d been invaded by a new race. They thought they were targeted by the Centaurs, and the Marines did nothing to clear that up.

That came from on high. The new alien’s presence was still to be kept a secret. Nothing had changed—except for the people on Silverland, the continent taken. Initial intel was that while the carnage was significant, most of the survivors in the mineral-rich continent had been taken as prisoners.

“Any timeline?” Rev asked Bundy as the platoon commander returned to the small shed the platoon had commandeered.

“Still nothing. The focus is on getting the infantry and mechheads in position for the landing.”

“I thought we were the tip of the spear.”

“Plans change. Now, from what the major can glean, we’re going to be more of a strategic reserve.”

“Great way to make use of us.”

Bundy lowered his voice and said, “The major thinks this is because mech is getting jealous of you IBHUs.”

“Jealous? There’re only twenty-six of us. There’s a gazillion of them throughout the Corps.”

“You guys are getting a lot of press,” Bundy said.

“Yeah, from those that call us Genesians and kept any more of us from being created. Besides, we fill different niches. No way we can stand up to armor like they can, and if we start getting hit by orbitals, they’re far more survivable.”

“And you guys are more maneuverable. They can’t insert by pisser—”

“Which we didn’t this time.”

“You know what I mean. And I’m not arguing with you. I just told you what the major thinks. Anyway, Gunny Sichko scrounged up some Italian food. Spaghetti, salad, tortellini, garlic bread—the whole works.”

“No shit? How the hell did she do that?”

“Evidently, it was for a catering job that got made but never delivered due to the evac. But she said if we want it, we need to meet her at sixteen-hundred.”

Gunny Sichko was the Combat Support supply SNCO who’d come over to join the company. There had been a little resentment among the company’s Direct Combat Marines upon her arrival, but she sure knew her way around supplies. To come up with a full Italian feast, well, that bordered on miraculous.

“In case you didn’t catch my drift, yes, we want it, and yes, you’re going to pick it up,” Bundy said.

“With pleasure.’”

They were already on combat rats. But if an army marched on its stomach, then nabbing this feast was going to get them off on a good foot.

* * *

Rev had never partaken in a mission where he spent six days on a planet without action. Every time, it had been an immediate objective, whether surveillance or combat. Even on Brahmaloka, where the first combat hadn’t taken place for almost a week, the Marines had been actively patrolling.

On Waring, the bulk of the Marines were building up strength, organizing for a major push while Recon, SEALs, and other assets watched the SAL-2s. At least, they tried to watch them. Earlier surveillance had counted over 8,000 of the aliens landing on the planet, but now there was very little sign of them. It was as if they’d vanished.

“Little sign,” not no sign. Gaunts, as the Marines had started to call them due to their thin, gaunt faces, were spotted on what seemed to be patrols, and there had been one engagement where a SEAL team was overrun and lost.

The lack of a reaction by the Gaunts had the general and his staff concerned, but it wasn’t smart to look a gift horse in the mouth. This presented an unexpected opportunity to move Marines en masse to Silverland.

An amphibious landing. As in Marines getting on wet-water ships. As in a WWII landing.

And so, six days after landing, Rev was standing at the gunnels of an ore carrier that had been commandeered by the Marines, watching the water slip past the ship.

It could have been relaxing as the sun crept to the horizon.

It wasn’t.

He leaned over one more time as a spasm racked his body, his augmented muscles threatening to pull his very spinal cord apart.

Not much of his breakfast was left. It had long ago been added to the sea, except for the spray, which now adorned the sides of the ship.

“Let it out, Rev,” Gunny Sichko said, her arm around his back.

He wasn’t sure if that was for comfort or to make sure he didn’t fall overboard.

“How long before the antiemetics kick in?”

<Soon. You waited too long, as always. I don’t want to say I told you so, but . . .>

“Eat me, Punch.”

<Better than you eating me and then puking me over the side.>

“How long is the crossing?” Rev asked the gunny.

“Four days, they said.”

Rev wiped his organic arm across his mouth. “Four freakin’ days? We crossed light-years quicker than that.”

“No need for speed for ore.”

“I’d rather have ridden in on a pisser,” he said before another spasm wrenched his body.

* * *

The antiemetics finally kicked in by afternoon, but not before Rev wondered if Punch had been screwing with him and kept his dosage low to extend his agony. Maybe it was his battle buddy’s way of teaching him a lesson to take the antiemetics before he needed them instead of trying to be stud and tough it out. Rev didn’t think an AI had the capability to do that, but Punch was already doing things he shouldn’t have been able to do.

Rev was no longer puking his guts out, but it would be a stretch to say he was fine. The holds, which were now filled with Marines and equipment, had a nasty mineral smell that hurt his nose, and antiemetics or not, his stomach still felt queasy. So, he parked himself on the little fantail for the duration, watching their never-ending wake and their air cover patrol in giant circles around the convoy. Almost on the horizon, mean-looking patrol craft kept pace, a buffer for any surprises the SAL-2s might spring on them.

But the crossing was uneventful, and the ships reached the port. Rev had never been so grateful as he was when the lines went over the bollards on the three-kilometer-long pier and he was able to get off the ship.

He couldn’t fathom why the SAL-2s were still keeping low. They had to know the Marines were coming. They were a sophisticated enemy, after all, with what seemed to be peer-level capabilities. Punch had told him that during the Pacific Theater in WWII, the Japanese had allowed the US Marines to land unopposed on Iwo Jima and a few other islands, but it made no sense to Rev, then or now. With two-thirds of the force aboard a slowly sailing convoy, a concentrated attack could have been devastating.

He could second-guess the enemy, but the fact of the matter was that the Marines were now on Silverland. All they had to do now was to close with the SAL-2s and kick their asses. Let them know that humanity was too badass for them to be trying to force their will in human space. Show them it wasn’t worth the effort.

A red patcher—a Combat Support Marine so named because of the small red patch on the outside of each knee for easy visibility in the hustle and bustle of a landing—directed the platoon to an empty piece of ground just to the north of the port facility.

Bundy stood beside Rev as they both surveyed the dirt and rocks. “No more Italian food, I’m guessing,” Bundy said.

“Still got a few bread sticks and a packet of sauce,” Rev said.

Bundy looked at him in surprise. “Still?”

Rev shrugged. “I wasn’t eating much on the passage.”

“I guess you weren’t.”

“You go check in with the major. Try and see if anything’s coming up. I’ll get the platoon dug in.”

Rev didn’t expect the major to have any news, but he also knew that the lieutenant spoke SNCO, and he knew that Rev was telling him to get lost. He nodded and stepped off.

“All right, listen up!” Rev bellowed, causing every head to turn to him.

“First Squad, tie into Second Platoon. Third Squad, let me find out who’s on our right, and you’ll tie into them. Ten meters between two-man holes. And watch your fields of fires. Interlocking, Marines, interlocking. OK now, get ’er done.”

Their orders were to stage and be ready for a mission, but in the meantime, set up a defensive position. The SAL-2s might be making themselves scarce, but they could make a move at any time, and the platoon was to be part of the defense of the port facilities if it came to that.

Rev would give the Marines five minutes to get started before he went to check and make any corrections. Sure as the Mother made little green apples, someone would be slacking off.

12

“Off the road!” Rev shouted as he stepped to the side just before an APC, a bright red cross on its side, sped the other way. Two bodies were strapped to the roof, and who knew how many wounded were inside?

“Think the Gaunts understand what the red cross means?” Strap asked as they watched the APC disappear down the road.

“Doubt it. But habit, you know.”

“OK, keep moving,” Bundy called out.

Three days after arriving on Waring, the Heavy Infantry Company was given a mission.

A significant number of SAL-2s had been located in one of the mines, and Rev had to admit that their choice was tactical genius. In one move, they’d negated the bulk of the armor and mech as well as almost all of the air and orbital power.

Tactically, it was sound. But strategically? Rev didn’t understand what the aliens hoped to achieve. Hiding out in mine complexes made no sense to him. With the Union Navy controlling the system, it wasn’t as if they could run the mines and then export the minerals to wherever.

But Rev didn’t have to understand the strategy. His mission was to do his part to defeat the SAL-2s and perhaps gather data that could be analyzed into useful intel. He absent-mindedly patted the sample kit attached to his combat harness. This time, they all had been briefed on their use.

No one knew how many of them were in this particular mine—external surveillance measures were almost useless in the ore-laden ground, and microdrones sent into the mines were handily knocked out.

The mission had to change on the fly from a massive combined-arms effort to an infantry-forward operation, where the grunts were going to dig the enemy out of the mines, shaft by shaft.

First Battalion, Second Safe Harbor Marines were the first into the mine, and they’d encountered heavy resistance. Casualties had been high, quickly bringing the battalion down to forty-eight percent combat effective before it was pulled back.

Third Battalion was rushed to the mine, but the general wasn’t simply going to throw warm bodies against an enemy of undetermined strength. Without armor and mech, the general wanted someone with a little more punch than regular infantry.

Enter the First Heavy Infantry Company. They had that heavier punch. Would it be enough?

They’d find out soon enough.

Bundy pulled the platoon off the road about two klicks from the main entrance.

“We’re waiting for the go-ahead from division,” he told Rev. “Stand by for an intel update.”

“Squad leaders, get your Marines fed. We don’t know when we’re moving out.”

One of the maxims of the infantry grunt was eat when you can and sleep when you can because no one knew when the next opportunity would come.

Rev took out a tube of sludge and slowly sucked on it as he brought up the 3D of the mine. It was extensive, with 342 klicks of shafts and tunnels. That was a lot of space where the enemy could hide, and to think that the company could somehow clear it was pie in the sky. Which was why each platoon was going to be the tip of the spear, clearing into the mine, but with a full infantry company coming up their asses to exploit whatever the Heavy Infantry could do.

The problem with the 342 klicks was that they couldn’t simply rush in. This wasn’t a mine of ancient times where miners labored in shafts, chasing veins of ore. The bulk of the mine was automated, with machines doing the dirty work. There were large shafts and tunnels which made the removal of the ore more efficient, but the bulk of the exploratory shafts, at least, were small, some so much so that the only way through them would be to crawl.

Three hundred and forty-two klicks was a long way to go on your hands and knees.

Every place where First Battalion had contact was indicated on his map, but try as he might, he couldn’t discern any pattern to them. Neither could Punch. They seemed random and not part of a concerted and coordinated defense. If they were random, then it would be that much more difficult to try and figure out.

He had gotten no further when Bundy returned.

“Squad leaders up!”

Rev joined the squad leaders in front of the platoon commander. “We’re heading out in . . .” He checked the time and continued, “. . . fifty-five minutes and some change. Here’s the plan of battle . . .”

* * *

“It’s the devil’s mouth,” Randigold said. “Look, those rocks above are the eyes, and the entrance . . .”

Rev squinted for a moment until he saw it. A skull, and in a few moments, they’d be entering the “mouth.”

“Thanks, Eth, for putting that image in my mind.”

“I aim to please.”

Rev wasn’t superstitious, but now the image was burned into his brain. He hoped it wasn’t an omen.

“System check.”

<All systems green. Power is at ninety-six-point-four percent, all weapons at full combat load.>

Rev shot out and retracted his blade several times, something that was becoming a habit with him.

Randigold eyed him. “When you gonna get me one of those pig-stickers, Staff Sergeant?”

“When you earn it.”

The lance corporal sniffed in disdain. “I think I already have.”

Which was true, but Daryll had said that no decision had been made on giving the blade to the other IBHUs. They wanted a “field test” first, which Rev thought was stupid. They didn’t field-test all of the knives that every Marine bought and carried.

“Let’s move out,” Bundy said, and Second Squad started forward with Rev.

While it wasn’t set in stone, normal SOP would be for Bundy to follow right behind the lead squad with Rev another squad back, but the platoon commander thought that having Rev up front with Randigold and the Jackhammer team from Weapons Platoon was making better use of their firepower. Kil Rancine was still the squad leader, but Rev was attached just as the Jackhammer team was.

Which made for an interesting dynamic. Kil controlled the squad and tactical movement, but Rev was still the platoon sergeant, used to roaming as he deemed fit. They hadn’t rehearsed this dual-headed leadership often, and Rev didn’t know if this was the situation to throw it into the mix.

But Bundy was a proven combat leader, and projecting firepower forward made sense. Rev was just going to have to hold back from stepping on Kil’s toes to avoid confusion.

He suppressed a tiny shudder as he passed through the devil’s mouth and into the darkness. His ultraviolet torch kicked in, and with the other Marines’ torches, visibility was not a problem. The decline tunnel was about three meters wide, four tall, with a rail running along the floor where load haul dumpers could bring out the ore. This was one of three entrances into the mine, and it extended 213 meters before the first of the drifts, which were horizontal tunnels that follow a seam of ore.

If the SAL-2s wanted to hit them early, the decline tunnel would be the place to do it. A single alien or unmanned weapons station could hold them off.

And at eighty meters in, the aliens had done just that. A single Avenger tank had been sent into the mine and was destroyed. Bundy, who was originally a tanker, almost had a fit when he heard that, spouting off reasons why sending a tank into a confined space like that had to be the stupidest thing he’d ever heard.

As Rev approached the big beast, he knew Bundy had been right. Tanks excel where they can maneuver, and for this one, there had only been a forward and reverse.

And now, the Avenger was essentially a big plug in the tunnel, with a shallow, meter-high clearance between the top of the tank and the back—which was mining-talk for the top of the tunnel.

Rev warily eyed the clearance. It was going to be a tight fit for the IBHU Marines, and as too many times in combat and training had proven, his mighty IBHU didn’t make it easy for him to low crawl.

Randigold, as the point, went first, clambering up the back of the tank, then edging forward, Cruella de Vil deployed and ready to fire. She paused as she cleared the left side of the base of the Avenger’s main gun, scanning the tunnel for any sign of the enemy, before she slithered forward again until she was out of sight. Immediately, the M-305 team pushed and shoved their Jackhammers to the right side where they set up a base of fire. In quick succession, the rest of the squad scampered over the tank, and then it was Rev’s turn.

He was bigger than Randigold, and he was afraid of getting stuck, but as Punch had assured him, there was enough room for him to pass. Barely, but enough. Still, he felt vulnerable, and he pushed himself over the smooth surface of the tank—smooth until he got to the front.

Rev didn’t know what had hit the Avenger, but the prow and sloped armor looked like it had been chewed up by a dragon. The crew compartment had been shredded.

It wasn’t just the tank. There were signs of a serious fight on the far side of the Avenger. Pieces of combat suits were still scattered across the length and breadth of the tunnel, and the walls were scorched. First Battalion had suffered many of their casualties while trying to withdraw, all because of this bottleneck.

“Why the heck didn’t they send in the engineers to pull this wreck out of here?” he muttered.

He wasn’t addressing Punch, but his battle buddy chose to respond. <Maybe as an obstacle should the SAL-2s try to break out.>

Rev sniffed. Punch could be right. But meanwhile, the damn tank was working against them.

Kil moved the squad farther down the tunnel, then halted them as the rest of the platoon climbed over the tank. Kilo Company would be following, but the platoon wasn’t waiting. As soon as all of them were over, they quickly pushed forward until they reached the first side passage.

In some ways, Kilo Company was window dressing to Rev’s mind. Rev had always loved the story of Horatius at the Bridge, where the Roman had been able to hold off the entire Etruscan Army, thereby saving Rome. But this time, the Marines were the Etruscans, and an alien Horatius could stop them in their tracks. Kilo Company simply could not bring enough firepower forward through Second Platoon to do any good.

But this was the plan, and Rev’s job was to do his best to make it work.

Now comes the tricky part.

The combat AIs, using algorithms that Rev didn’t understand, had mapped out an order of clearance. Rev really, really doubted that the enemy was going to cooperate with the plan. They hadn’t with First Battalion, that was for sure. So why would they now?

The squad bypassed the first drift. Rev didn’t like leaving a route for the aliens to possibly come up behind them, but the plan was for Kilo Company to close off that entrance.

The platoon’s first objective was another thirty-five meters down the decline tunnel. The drift bore into the rock for 4.3 klicks, with another nine side drifts, and this was the only way in. If there were SAL-2s in there, they’d be trapped with no way to retreat, and the Marines could dig them out.

Which was probably easier said than done. Badgers could be dug out of holes, after all, but it wasn’t the easiest task in the world.

Kil held the squad up for a few minutes until Bundy gave her the go-ahead. With Randigold on point, they entered the drift. This wasn’t one that had ever been exploited. If the seam had reached a big enough deposit, it would have been enlarged for the ore carriers. At one-point-five meters wide and two high, this tunnel was much smaller than the main one they’d taken in. Rev had to hunch over to proceed. There was no rail on the ground—small, treaded “caterpillars,” one meter long by one wide, bored into the rock face and then carried the extracted ore to the main tunnel where it was loaded on load haul dumpers and taken out of the mine. If Randigold was hit, it would be almost impossible for anyone behind Rev, who was in the number three position, to provide supporting fires forward . . . unless the first three were already down.

All of Rev’s senses were on alert, his scanners operating at full projected power, but the heavy, mineral-laden walls and constrained area were wreaking havoc with them. Punch was running full power to the combs to filter out the sounds made by the two Marines in front of him, but he was only partially successful.

The tunnel widened into a circular turn-around as they reached the first side drift, which followed a vein for 126 meters at a slight upwards angle.

“You ready for this?” Rev asked Randigold.

“Born ready, Staff Sergeant,” she said, her eyes bright with excitement.

The side drift was smaller, barely a meter high. It had been part of an assay of a small vein that widened into a small gob, which was the space created after the minerals had been extracted, at the far end, but which, according to the mine records, had been abandoned when the ratio of ore to gangue—the worthless material that surrounded or was mixed with the ore—dipped below accepted numbers.

That cavern had to be checked out. Several microdrones had picked up slight anomalies before they went—or were knocked—offline.

The M-305 team came forward, went prone, and set up their Jackhammer. With Pierson also coming forward and standing over them, the three Marines would be the bulk of the first line of defense should the SAL-2s decide to assault from further down the drift.

Rev unhooked the wire spool from his combat harness and handed it to Hussein. With the jamming and natural barriers to comms, Rev would be tethered to the squad with a monomolecular wire.

Hussein snapped the spool on his cradle. “Say something.”

“Something.”

“Got you,” he said and gave Rev a thumbs-up.

Not the best communications procedure, but it worked, and Rev felt a little better knowing that he’d be connected with the squad.

He turned, bent over, and shined his torch up the drift. All he saw was bare rock walls.

“You think anyone’s up there?” Rev asked Punch.

<It’s possible, but if the charts are right, then there wouldn’t be much room at the end for very many of them.>

Which is what Rev had figured. But it felt better to have Punch’s concurrence in that.

Rev started to tell Randigold to enter the tunnel, but he held back at the last second and turned around to Kil.

“You connected?” she asked him.

Rev pulled the nanowire hooked to his combat harness so she could see it.

“Go ahead,” the squad leader told Randigold.

The smaller IBHU Marine got on her hands and knees, then disappeared into the shaft. PFC Julian was next, and as soon as her feet disappeared into the drift, Rev followed.

There wasn’t room for him to crawl upright. He wasn’t quite on his belly. He moved more like a crab, using his knees, right arm, and Pashu to keep him slightly elevated as he scooted behind Julian. Still, his back kept hitting the top of the tunnel as he crawled.

Rev didn’t think he was claustrophobic, but inching along the tunnel, and not being able to see ahead of him, was not something he was enjoying. Far from it. He’d much rather be out in the open where he had fields of view.

At every moment, he expected the aliens to engage them, but meter by meter, they covered the distance, the only sound being the scraping of their combat suits as they crawled.

Julian stopped and signaled that Randigold had reached the opening. Rev tapped her back, and she in turn tapped the other IBHU Marine to proceed. A few more meters, and Rev was able to stand, creaking bones and all.

The opening was at least twenty meters tall, the same width as the rock face, and ranging from six to two meters deep.

It was empty, but there were signs that someone had been there, and not just the automated miners. There were tracks in the rock dust on the ground, but nothing very discernable. There was also a scrap of something that vaguely looked like plastic. Rev didn’t recognize it. The scrap could be of alien manufacture, or it could be a piece of some mine engineer’s gaming console.

He stuck it in his cargo wallet, then passed back, “We’ve reached the end. Someone’s been back here, but right now, it’s empty. Tell that to Staff Sergeant Rancine.”

“Roger that,” Hussein said.

“OK, this place is clear. Let’s get out of here.”

Rev went back to the tunnel, and with a grunt, bent over for the long duckwalk back. It was an awkward position for him, not walking upright, but not crawling, either. By the time Rev emerged on the other side, his back was screaming, and his shoulder was aching around the IBHU connector joint.

He got to his feet and tried to stretch out his back.

“Rough?” Bundy asked.

“Not fun, but not too bad.”

“You ready to move on?”

“Let’s go.”

The Jackhammer team had already displaced forward of the next tunnel. Lance Corporal Pierson was standing by, ready to take point for this one. This tunnel was slightly longer and had a bigger cavern where the excavators had mined much more. The combat AIs have given a higher probability of SAL-2s inside, so a full fire team would check it out.

Rev bent over to check the entrance. While it opened up to a larger excavation area, here, the tunnel at the entrance looked narrower than the last one. He straightened and looked Pierson over. Rev was a big Marine, but Pierson was bigger, and while the lance corporal had proven himself in combat—his Platinum Nova was proof enough of that—his ability to think on the fly was suspect. Put an enemy in front of him, and he was a monster. But in any other circumstances . . . well, the fact that he was the only IBHU Marine that had not been assigned to the CoH Home Guard was telling.

“I’m taking point,” Rev said.

“I can do it,” Pierson said, sounding confused.

“I know you can.” He patted the lance corporal’s shoulder. “But that looks pretty tight for someone your size. Maybe the next tunnel will be a little bigger.”

He motioned for Randigold to step up and turned to Kil to tell her he’d made the switch. The right corner of her mouth twitched downward, and he knew she didn’t like it. But he’d already decided.

Randigold started to move to the entrance to the tunnel, but Rev pulled her back. Being point was mentally draining, and he wasn’t going to send her in as point twice in a row. As he told Pierson, he’d take this one.

<Which weapon?>

Crap. Good point, and you shouldn’t have needed Punch to remind you of that. Get your head in the game, Reverent.

He could switch over from one weapon to the other in a split second, but combined with making the decision to switch, that tiny moment could make all the difference in a face-to-face meeting.

Rev had Pashu on her 20 mm cannon. The heavily mineralized walls of the tunnels made energy weapons a little chaotic, and with two Marines in front of him, the kinetic cannon had been a safer bet. But now, as point, that wasn’t an issue, and the thought of his meson beam reflecting back and forth down an alien-filled tunnel had its own appeal.

He switched Pashu over to his beamer, and after another moment’s thought, reached forward with his right hand and manually adjusted the projector muzzle for the guillotine. He was getting pretty fond of that mode, which had served him well since the fight on the ironically-named ice world Tahiti.

“Ready?” he asked Hussein.

Hussein, Wonstead, and Randigold nodded.

“Then let’s do it,” he told Hussein’s team.

He crouched over, trying to make himself smaller, and duckwalked into the tunnel. After only ten meters, with the tunnel getting slightly narrower and his helmet scraping the top, he realized that wasn’t going to cut it. He shifted, went down on his belly, and started to low crawl.

This wasn’t going to be easy. The IBHU Marines had long requested a modification that allowed for easier low crawling, but so far, those requests had fallen on deaf ears.

“Never thought I’d be a tunnel rat,” he muttered.

Rev, with Punch’s help, had become more interested in history, and the year before, he’d read The Tunnels of Chu Chi, an old book about the US Army in Vietnam where soldiers—those small enough to fit and nimble enough to fight, at least—went into the darkness of a vast tunnel complex to root out the Viet Cong.

Those soldiers were armed with K-Bars and .45s to face soldiers, booby traps, and grenades in some of the fiercest fighting of that war, all underground. At the time, Rev couldn’t imagine fighting like that, but with the vagaries of the gods of war, here he was.

There was no room in the tunnel to bring Pashu around, so he had to lead with her, always poised to fire. Using her elbow as a base, he extended her forward half a meter, then pulled himself after, all the while scanning the tunnel in front of him for any sign of the enemy.

His heart was pounding, about ready to burst through his chest, and he felt like he might throw up.

Punch could read the bios, and he asked, <Do you want a light sedative?>

Rev was tempted, but he thought being hyper-alert, even expending copious amounts of nervous energy, was better than being slowed down. He might be taking years off his life, but being a tiny bit slower now could mean he’d never survive to reach that long-off time where it would matter.

He passed two enlarged turnaround spots, which helped with the claustrophobic tension, but each time, it was back to the tight, constraining tunnel.

Stretch, pull. Stretch pull.

It became a mantra as Rev inched his way up the tunnel.

“How much farther?”

With so much heavy minerals surrounding him, his internal navigation system, which operated reading a planet’s magnetic fields, was worthless, but Punch could follow along with the mine charts for a rough position.

<Twenty-three meters. Right after this next curve.>

And still no sign of the aliens. It was looking like the Marines were zero-for-two.

Intel as its best, once again.

Rev didn’t consciously sense any movement, but his subconscious, which had been coursing with adrenaline, reacted, and he fired Pashu, the beam slicing down the tunnel, four terajoules of cutting power just as a flash lit the darkness.

Something crashed into the top of the tunnel, and bits of rock peppered Rev’s back. Rev switched to his twenty as his beamer recharged, but instead of backing up, he surged forward, blasting the way clear.

Before he’d covered a meter, he spotted the outstretched arm on the ground from around the curve, and for a split-second, he thought he’d just killed a fellow human in a case of friendly fire, and he quit firing. But as he continued forward, more of the body came into view, and while humanoid, it wasn’t human.

And it was very dead.

The top of its head was gone, and blood—color-corrected by his ultra-violet filter as bluish red—flowed out to mix with the dust on the tunnel’s floor. Rev must have caught it right at the edge of his beam—that, or his guillotine had reflected off the walls in a most opportune way.

Rev scrambled forward to the body, and as he came around the bend in the tunnel, his ultraviolet torch lit up part of the large cavern ahead. A shadow flashed by and fired into the tunnel the instant Rev fired back, sending a burst of 20 mm rounds.

The enemy rounds hit the body in front of him, jerking it in a weird, demented dance, and Rev scooted forward, pulling the alien corpse back to serve as a bulwark to more incoming.

Where his heart had been pounding before, with contact made, Rev snapped back into his cooler, calculating mode, albeit with his warrior self clamoring for release.

An unknown number of aliens were in the excavated open space in front of them. In the tunnel, the Marines were sitting ducks. They either had to back up or forge ahead. Backing up would leave the enemy in position. Forging ahead could be taking the three of them into a deadly kill zone.

PFC Monstead took matters into his own hands. He pushed right up Rev’s butt, laid his M-103 over Rev’s shoulder, and fired a single 40mm round—the same round as the Jackhammer fired—through the tunnel and into the opening, where it detonated in a flash, part of the shockwave rolling back into the tunnel.

Rev was already moving. His legs pushed like pistons as Rev switched back to his beamer. He covered the twelve meters in seconds and rolled into the cavern as his torch lit it up.

Two aliens were starting to stand while a third was kneeling, one hand on the ground to hold itself up. Rev followed through on his roll, firing Pashu at the two. One was hit on the leg, which collapsed, while the other took the shot through the belly. Whatever their body armor was, it couldn’t stand up to the beam. Rev could see it part, almost like salt water taffy.

The third alien acted immediately, whipping up its rifle as it dove to its right. Rev, still in his roll, could not bring Pashu to bear, but the alien fired over Rev’s body, giving him just enough time to switch back to the twenty. He started firing as he swept the IBHU around. The seventh or eighth round hit the alien, shredding the cloak-like covering it wore and staggering it but not taking it down.

Rev could see the alien wince in pain as it swung its rifle back toward Rev, and a flurry of locusts hit it, tearing apart what was left of its cloak. It was flung against the rock face, turning to face Hussein, who’d just come through the tunnel, giving Rev just enough time to fire five more rounds into it. At least two penetrated its armor, blowing the body almost in half in a spray of alien blood.

“Rev!” Hussein shouted.

He was firing his M-49 at the remaining alien, the one whose leg was hanging by a thread. The enemy soldier had hunched its back toward Hussein, shielding its face as it crawled toward Rev, a wicked-looking curved, twelve-centimeter-long blade in its hand. There was no mistaking its intent.

Rev shoved back, sliding on his butt as he brought Pashu around and fired a single round in the alien’s snarling face. The body collapsed face-first, the blade dropping from its hand and bouncing on the ground.

Hussein ran up and kicked the alien over. Its anatomy might be different, and for all they knew, its brain-equivalent might be in the thing’s torso, but it was pretty evident that it was dead. A 20 mm-sized hole in the middle of its face, and an even bigger exit wound, was evidence enough of that.

But the aliens weren’t the only casualty.

“Monstead!” Rev shouted as Randigold finally made it into the cavern, her IBHU sweeping back and forth.

Rev got up and ran to where Monstead was crumpled in a heap. The PFC’s left shoulder, arm, and a good portion of his right side had been torn away as if it had been taken in a T-Rex bite. Blood continued to flow out of the gaping hole, but without the arterial spurts of the still living.

“Shit, Moe,” Hussein said as he stood over his fallen team member.

Rev glanced at one of the weapons the aliens were armed with. They looked similar to those carried by the Centaurs on Brahmaloka. Maybe a bit bigger. But the damage suffered by Monstead was far more than what anyone could have expected.

“Eth, report back to Staff Sergeant Rancine. Let her know we’ve got four dead Gaunts and Monstead. Hus-man, take samples. Do it.”

Rev stood over the dead Marine. Luckily, his dead man’s handle was still intact. He straightened the body out and dragged it to the tunnel opening, but then hesitated. If he was going to retrieve Monstead, he couldn’t leave first and potentially block the other two.

“You got your samples yet?”

“Not yet,” Hussein said.

“Hurry your ass up.”

The cavern was empty without anywhere to hide another SAL-2, but Rev felt uneasy. Combat had been initiated, and Rev didn’t think the aliens were going to hold back without a response. A sense of urgency took over him, and not just because Monstead’s resurrection clock was ticking.

“Eth, start back. Push the dead Gaunt to one of the turnarounds. I need it out of the way. Wait . . .”

If the powers that be wanted a sample, wouldn’t most of a body be better? Rev didn’t know if Third Battalion had collected any, but it sure wouldn’t hurt.

“Change in plan. If you can, drag that thing back to the platoon. Let the lieutenant decide what to do with it.”

If Rev’s foreboding was misplaced, then the Combat Support Marines could come back later to their hearts’ content and take all the bodies. But if there was something to Rev’s instincts, then at least they’d have one body.

“Go now?” she asked. “Alone?”

“Now.”

She nodded, gave an uncertain glance at the opening, then ducked and entered the tunnel again—and just then, Rev realized that her previous bravado was just that: bravado. She didn’t like the tunnels, and being alone, even if for a few minutes, was something she really didn’t want to do. But like a true Marine, she soldiered through.

Hussein sealed up his sample packs and started to leave, accidentally kicking the SAL-2’s knife and sending it skittering across the ground. He stopped and gave it a longing glance.

“Go get it,” Rev told him.

“Really?”

“Really. If you hadn’t lit up that guy, he might have stuck that thing in me.”

With his armor, he doubted the knife would have penetrated—but he would never have thought that the enemy rifle could take off half of a body, either.

If you don’t know a weapon’s capability, then assume the worst.

Hussein picked the knife up and slipped it into his cargo wallet.

“But if they ask, you have to turn it in,” he told Hussein. “Now, go!”

The corporal nodded and ducked into the tunnel.

Rev stepped over Monstead, but then stopped. He looked back at one of the weapons. Samples were not just biological, and a small-caliber rifle like that seemed to be should not have packed so powerful a punch.

He should have told Hussein to take one, but he wasn’t going to call the Marine back. He grabbed one of the rifles, slid it through an intact section of Monstead’s combat harness, and then sat at the dead Marine’s head, legs spread apart, back to the tunnel entrance.

His IBHU was not as flexible as an organic arm, and the stubby, tentacle-like fingers were hardly the match of a human hand, but they were strong. Rev latched his fingers into the dead man’s handle, then locked them into place. Nothing was going to get him to lose his grip.

Rev twisted his head to look down the tunnel. Both Randigold and Hussein had already cleared the curve and were out of sight.

He bent his knees, planted both feet on either side of Monstead’s chest, then lay back flat on the ground, his head just inside the tunnel. With a grunt, he pushed off with his legs, using Pashu to draw Monstead’s body up as far as his ribcage. He drew up his legs until his feet were alongside the PFC’s chest again and repeated the process.

If Rev had thought the way in was tough, then he was schooled by the way out while dragging Monstead’s body. On the one hand, without his PAL-HX, he would have scraped his back raw, but on the other hand, the combat suit gave him a degree of stiffness that was not conducive to his inchworming his way back down the drift. All he could see was the roof of the tunnel just above his face.

He passed the first turnaround and took a moment to sit up and check the body. There was a trail of blood, or rather, two trails, one a deeper blue through his filter, with the lighter blue on top of it. Randigold had managed to drag the alien body, and Monstead’s blood was being overlaid on top of the alien’s.

Keep going, Reverent.

He lay back down and pushed himself into the next section of the tunnel. Normally, while in a combat zone, Rev tried to remain as alert as possible, but with the rote nature of what he was doing, his mind started to drift as his body settled into a routine, and he started daydreaming of being back in Swansea with Tomiko, but this time with two kids. A boy and a girl.

Almost on cue, Punch said, <How about a joke?>

Rev had long ago figured out that Punch could tell a lot about what Rev was thinking by reading his bios. His battle buddy might not know exactly what he was daydreaming about, but by reading his Alpha waves—or maybe it was Beta waves. Rev really wasn’t sure—Punch knew he wasn’t paying attention to the present.

It was an intrusion that would have repelled Rev back when he was first conscripted, but now, it was just part of the landscape. And Rev really needed to focus back to the task at hand.

“OK, I know you’re going to tell me anyway.”

<How fast can a hearse drive?>

Rev frowned as he pushed off with his legs again, gaining a meter of distance. He should be able to guess more of Punch’s jokes, but invariably, his mind went blank each time.

“I don’t know. How fast?”

<Not fast at all with all that dead weight in the back.>

Rev groaned at the joke, then sighed.

“Do you think that’s very appropriate right now, with me hauling Monstead like this?”

<You tell me. You’re the human.>

Rev was trying to put together his thoughts to respond when the sound of firing came through the tunnel.

“Crap!” Rev said as he redoubled his efforts.

He’d thought the aliens would react, but he was hoping not this quickly. He and the other two were in a very vulnerable place. If the enemy attacked with enough force and drove the Marines back, Rev, Randigold, and Hussein would be cut off and trapped.

“Staff Sergeant. You back there?” Hussein shouted from up ahead.

“On my way!”

“We’ve got problems. Sounds like the platoon is in the shit. I’m coming back to help with Monstead.”

“No! You keep going!”

He appreciated the thought behind the offer, but there wasn’t anything Hussein could do to help. The corporal would do better to get to the entrance of the drift and hold off the Gaunts.

Hussein didn’t acknowledge the order.

“Hus-man. Keep going. Link back up with the platoon.”

There was another moment of silence until a reluctant-sounding Hussein shouted back, “Understood.”

The firing increased in tempo, and Rev shifted into still yet another gear. Instead of sliding over the rough ground, his back was bucking with each extension of his legs. Each time, he was that much closer to the entrance . . . and the fighting.

He passed the second turnaround as he forged ahead. An explosion rocked the tunnel, causing dust to fall down around him. If he could feel that through the dense rock walls, he had to be getting close.

“How far?”

<Thirty-four meters.>

Come on, Reverent. Push!

The tops of his thighs were screaming. For all his augments and strength, his muscles weren’t used to this type of motion.

“Remind me to do a wider range of exercises if we get out of this alive.”

<Noted,> Punch said with all the urgency as if he was putting lunch on the calendar.

A flash filled the tunnel, and Rev craned his head back. He could just see Hussein up ahead of him, being helped out of the drift.

He tried to speed up, but that only made him flail, with his heels slipping against the ground. He had to get a hold of himself and go back to the form he’d been using.

“Feet flat, push off, bend knees,” he chanted to himself.

At the moment, he couldn’t worry about the fight going on. He couldn’t do anything unless he got out of the tunnel first.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on each push, striving for the maximum distance each time. Nothing else mattered. His entire universe narrowed down to the tunnel.

And so, he was almost surprised when arms reached down and grabbed him.

He let go of Monstead and scrambled out, taking in the scenario in a split second. Tsao, Pierson, and Božič-Mizaki were standing five meters farther down the main tunnel, hugging the walls while taking turns firing their beamers. By alternating, they were keeping up an almost constant barrage of energy, with at least one firing while the others’ beamers were recharging. Prone on the deck, the Jackhammer A-gunner was firing her weapon in a steady stream. There was no sign of the gunner.

There was a whoosh as a man-packed Moray almost clipped Rev as it raced down the tunnel. Rev darted forward to join the other three, firing at an unseen enemy—but not a quiet one. Incoming fire reached out to them.

“Fall back!” Bundy shouted, his voice amplified through his external speakers.

Immediately, Pierson and Tsao peeled back as if they’d rehearsed the move a thousand times. The Marine on the Jackhammer started to get up when a round hit her and dropped her face-first to the ground.

Rev acted immediately, darting forward and grabbing her dead man’s handle with his organic hand, then firing a string of heavy 20 mm rounds with Pashu. He started to run backward, keeping his barrage going.

Two Marines took the Jackhammer A-gunner from him, and the entire platoon started to retreat en masse, a confused mob trying to get out of the line of fire.

“Eth, Pierson. With me! Tsao and BM, bounding overwatch, go!” Rev shouted.

Sergeant Tsao and Božič-Mizaki immediately peeled back as the other three IBHU Marines kept up the fire down the tunnel.

“Go!” Tsao shouted after a few moments.

Rev spun around and almost ate another Moray that was coming right at him. He barely swerved to the side. The Marines might be running, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still in the fight—which made friendly fire a distinct possibility.

Rev, Randigold, and Pierson bolted toward the rest of the Marines, hugging the sides of the tunnel to give Tsao and Božič-Mizaki a clear field of fire down the middle. Randigold stumbled, almost going down, and Rev reached for her. But she regained her feet and started running again. Rev didn’t know if she’d been hit or just lost her footing.

They passed the other two IBHU Marines, ran another twenty meters, then spun around and went prone on the floor of the tunnel.

“Tsao, BM, move!”

Rev fired a burst from his 20 mm—he couldn’t use the guillotine with the other two in front of him. He couldn’t see the enemy—their ultraviolet torches didn’t have the range. But through the flashes of enemy fire, he caught glimpses of advancing figures from a hundred or more meters away, and he poured the big rounds downrange, only switching back to his beamer once his fields of fire were clear.

The enemy wasn’t simply absorbing the blows. They had teeth, too, and they were showing their bite. The hard rock walls around them were shattering with explosions, the shards peppering the three prone IBHU Marines. But their PALs held.

“Move!” Sergeant Tsao shouted.

Just as Rev started to get up, a shape appeared at the edge of their torch’s reach. It was running full force at them, right down the middle of the tunnel as it warbled a trill that grated on Rev’s ears. He didn’t have to understand the Gaunt’s language to know this was a war cry.

But if it wanted to challenge the humans, Rev was game. He rose to one knee, and the moment his LED flashed green, he fired a single burst which hit the Gaunt just above its belly. Vaporized blood exploded into a mist, but amazingly, the alien kept coming another ten or fifteen meters before it seemed to fold in half and collapse onto the ground.

“Am I at full discharge power?” Rev asked as he turned and ran back.

<Affirmative.>

Shit. That would have cut any combat suit in two.

Something small buzzed past his ear as he turned. A tiny red light marked its trajectory as it raced up the tunnel and hit a retreating Marine in the back. There was a flash of blue-green light. The Marine went down hard and bounced twice before their body slid to a stop.

Two more Marines stopped to grab the Marine under their arms to drag them away, but the lower body pulled free, leaving only the upper torso being carried off. One of the Marines hesitated in shock, but then the second one took what remained of the body and ran.

Rev knew the chances of the Marine being resurrected were almost nil, but any chance was worth grasping.

And finally, the Avenger loomed ahead—in front of the tank were at least fifty Marines jammed together as they tried to get over it, with at least ten Marines on the outside edge firing down the narrow tunnel—it was a miracle that Rev and the others hadn’t been hit by their own side. A single Jackhammer team was positioned just under the tank’s ruined main gun, firing measured bursts back down the tunnel.

The mass looked to be both from the Heavy Infantry Company and Kilo Company. Gunny Gormish-Stent from Kilo was at the right side of the tank playing traffic cop, pushing Marines up to cross over. A few of the smaller Marines were squeezing alongside the length of the Avenger. If it hadn’t been canted, more of the Marines could get past along the side, but if even a few could fit, that was a few who didn’t have to go over.

“IBHUs, set up a base of fire!” Rev shouted.

The five, along with the Jackhammer team, rained death down the tunnel. 40mm grenades exploded, beamers reflected off of the walls, and Pierson’s 20 mm reached out into the darkness. It should be impossible for any living being to survive the onslaught, but the aliens not only survived, they were advancing. Explosions tore through the mass of Marines. One of the Kilo lieutenants started bodily throwing Marines to the side to disperse as they waited to cross the tank until he disappeared in a pink mist of body parts.

Bundy organized a small group of Marines and brought them abreast of Rev and the others to add their fire. A Kilo Marine started to go prone next to Rev when a round caught him in the chest and knocked him backward. Rev was barely aware of someone else dragging the Marine away.

His entire being was laser-focused on slowing the alien advance long enough for the Marines to clear the tank. He was consumed with one thing—killing the Gaunts. He could hear the gunny and the two lieutenants screaming orders, but they were only background noise as the aliens continued their advance under the intense fire.

“How many of the fucking things are there?” Randigold yelled in anger as she fired a Moray down the tunnel.

“However many they are, we’ll just keep killing the bastards,” Rev said as his warrior struggled to take over.

Rev’s adrenaline was coursing through his body, and he was in full battle mode, but he knew he couldn’t go berserker like the Gaunt who’d just charged them. He had to maintain control of himself.

There was another explosion behind and above Rev, and the Jackhammer team went silent. Rev took a quick glance back where a Marine had climbed up the front of the tank to take over the weapon, pushing a body out of the way.

Rev turned back toward the enemy when the Jackhammer started firing over their heads again. But only for a few moments.

“I’m out!” the Marine yelled as the weapon went silent.

“Systems check,” Rev prompted Punch.

<All systems green. Power at thirty-nine percent. Fifty-one rounds, five Morays.>

His 20 mm load was low, but he still had some punch. Rev fired another Moray. It never reached the aliens, though. With a flash, it detonated just thirty or forty meters away, well within its arming range. Something had hit it and set it off before it reached the aliens.

“Shit,” he muttered and fired another. This one at least made it down the tunnel. Whether it hit anything was anyone’s guess.

The pressure from down the tunnel never abated, and Rev didn’t understand why. The Marine fire was intense, seemingly much more than the aliens’ return fire, and there really wasn’t much in the way of cover in the bare rock tunnel. There weren’t even the side drifts in this section where the aliens could get out of the line of fire.

Rev knew the aliens weren’t invulnerable; he’d seen five killed for sure, and others had to be taken out as well, yet they kept advancing. Either their weird-looking armor was far more effective than it looked, or they really didn’t care if they lived or not, their officers—if they even had officers or the alien equivalent—willing to expend bodies in mass suicide charges.

“You want to die, assholes, then I’ll accommodate you,” he snarled, firing another blast of his beamer, then switching back to his 20 mm for emphasis.

Another of the aliens appeared within reach of the torches with what looked like a short sword of some type held high and warbling its weird trill. Rev’s warrior had been fighting to break free, and for a moment, it did, rising to take over, and Rev started to rise, intending to charge the Gaunt with his own blade and meet it head-on. But he was too slow. The fire from two of his fellow IBHU Marines converged on the alien, taking it down.

A wave of guilt washed over him as he sunk back down. He’d almost lost it, just when he was needed to keep control. He swallowed the bile that had risen up his throat, and his right hand trembled as he realized what had almost happened.

“Don’t let me do that again.”

<Do what?>

“Never mind,” he said as he switched to his beamer and fired another four-second blast.

Sometimes he forgot that as close as he and Punch were, his battle buddy couldn’t read his mind.

A green flash filled his face shield.

“Systems check. Am I damaged?”

<Your AQR is oscillating. I just took it offline. Your SR-14 is inoperable.>

The SR-14 was his external transmitter—no big loss inside the tunnels where comms were so spotty. But the AQR? Rev glanced at Pashu. The AQR was part of his IBHUs targeting system. Without it, he couldn’t “think” Pashu on target.

“Can I still fire?”

<Affirmative.>

“Don’t need to target in a damn tunnel,” he muttered and fired a ten-round 20 mm burst.

There was another of the air bursts which peppered the prone Marines, but Rev barely noticed it. As before, their PALs proved up to the task.

“Eat me,” Rev shouted aloud as he fired his guillotine beam down the tunnel at what he hoped was the right elevation to slice a dozen of the Gaunts in two. He’d almost lost himself a few moments ago in his rage, but his warrior self hadn’t given up. It was still clamoring to rend and kill, and Rev’s anger burned clean and sharp at the aliens who were intent on wiping out his Marines.

“Rev, get your Marines out of here,” Bundy shouted out over his external speakers, loudly enough to cut through Rev’s battle fury.

Rev turned his head to look back. There were only six Marines left on this side of the tank, two of them being Bundy and the Kilo gunny. Bundy was motioning with his arm for the five IBHU Marines.

“Tsao, BM, pull back!” Rev shouted.

Pierson, Randigold, and Rev kept up the fire. As if sensing their prey escaping, the aliens started surging forward, flitting shapes revealed by their weapons discharges. Several came just into range where the three Marines’ torches illuminated them, and it became clear how at least some of them had survived the Marine barrage. Several of them were crawling alongside the vertical walls and even the ceiling, clinging with hands and knees and scuttling forward like some sort of horror holovid creature.

With a snarl, Rev raised Pashu and fired at the two on the ceiling. The beam scraped the two off and dropped them to the ground. One bounced and lay still, but the other scrambled to its feet and started charging forward.

Pierson engaged with his twenty and blew the thing apart before he yelled, “I’m out.”

“Use your freaking beamer!” Rev shouted as he shifted his aim to the others coming into view.

“Two percent power.”

Two percent? What the hell has he been doing?

“Then get the hell out of here.”

Randigold shifted closer to Rev, and the two started alternating with the beamer, shifting to their twenties as their beamers recharged.

The aliens pushed forward, seemingly more interested in closing the distance instead of firing their weapons, as if they wanted hand-to-hand combat. There were flashes of what looked to be blades among them. Not all wanted the close in, though. Rev was hit twice by something, but as long as he was still functional, that was what mattered.

But he wasn’t going to be functional for long. His twenty clicked empty, and he fired three more missiles before his beamer LED went green. He fired another four-second burst, taking his power down to twelve percent.

“Now, Rev!” Bundy shouted.

“Let’s go,” he told Randigold.

He jumped up, ducked low, and darted to the tank. Tsao and Božič-Mizaki were at the center of the tank, where the Jackhammer had been and were firing from the hip down the tunnel. Bundy and the gunny were on the right side where they were pulling Pierson up.

Randigold was limping, her left leg dragging, something Rev, in the heat of the battle, hadn’t noticed, much to his chagrin. He reached the tank first, then turned and held his organic arm down low. Randigold gave a hop with her good leg and landed with her foot on Rev’s hand, then Rev boosted—more like bodily threw—her up onto the tank.

Then it was his turn. He started to scramble up, but he couldn’t grasp anything with Pashu’s fingers, and he started to slide back down before Pierson reached out and snagged his dead man’s handles and jerked him back up.

“Go!” Rev said.

The gunny was helping Randigold over the top of the tank, and Tsao was pushing Božič-Mizaki away.

“Glad you decided to join us,” Bundy said.

Rev gave him a push toward the front of the tank. “Never want to miss a party, you know.”

In quick succession, the remaining few Marines clambered forward, with Tsao and Rev last. As Tsao turned to move, Rev stood tall and fired his remaining three Morays. His torch was strong enough to illuminate a dozen or so aliens who were rushing forward, their trills filling the tunnel.

And then Rev was gone, pushing across the top of the tank. Just as he reached the far side, something hit him hard, blowing him off the back of the tank and turning him head over heels until he slammed into the hard rock ground.

He lay there stunned for a moment until helping hands pulled him upright.

“Holy crap! What the hell was that?” he asked as he took a step forward . . . and promptly fell on his face again.

“Punch, what’s going on?” he asked as he twisted to a sitting position.

<Your left leg is locked to the knee.>

Rev turned to look at it. His leg was in a slightly bent position, but when he tried to straighten it out, it wouldn’t move.

“My leg doesn’t hurt.”

<I don’t think the leg itself was damaged. It’s the node terminals that are inoperable. So, there isn’t a feedback loop for you to move it.>

Bundy ran up and asked, “You OK?”

“Can’t move my leg. But I think I’m OK.”

“Can you walk? We need to get out of here now.”

As if to punctuate his words, a Jackhammer opened up. Rev turned to look as the 40 mm grenades arched over to the tank, then detonated on top right where Rev had crossed a moment ago.

Smart move. A single Jackhammer could keep the aliens from crossing over—for as long as it had ammo, at least.

But Rev was still uncomfortably close to the detonations. With Bundy and Pierson’s help, he was able to get up and move farther up the tunnel. All around him, Marines were leaving the tunnel, heading for the entrance. They passed the Jackhammer team and a Kilo lieutenant standing over them. Rev gave the lieutenant a nod as he passed.

Within minutes, all of the Marines were out except for the team, which kept up a steady, measured fire, and several Marines who were working around the entrance itself. A staff sergeant was directing traffic, and Bundy hurried off to do his officering. Pierson helped Rev move off to the right, where Randigold watched him as he hopped up to join her.

“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, Staff Sergeant, but really?”

Her right leg was mangled, the armor shredded.

“You OK?”

“What, this?” she said, slapping the top of her thigh above the damage. “Good thing I’ve got a fake leg. They’ll just hook up a new one, and I’ll be good to go.”

Rev laughed. Randigold had lost both legs as well as her arm in the fire that qualified her to become an IBHU Marine.

“What about you?” she asked.

“Leg’s fine, I think. Something disabled the terminals, so I can’t move them.”

He looked down at the PAL leg. There was what might be a tiny scorch mark on the heel, but other than that, it looked fine. He didn’t know what hit him, but he hoped the R&D folks would be able to figure out something. The thought of being trapped in an inoperable PAL wasn’t a pleasant image.

Three loud blasts of a siren rocked the entrance, then voices shouted and repeated, “Fire in the hole!”

Rev, Randigold, and Pierson crouched down and looked back toward the entrance. A moment later, the Jackhammer team and their lieutenant came bolting out of the tunnel where an engineer took them off to the left and below a lip in the road.

“Fire in the hole. Ten seconds,” an amplified voice boomed.

There was a pause, then “Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one.”

An unimpressive explosion detonated with a whump, and a dust cloud roiled out of the tunnel entrance. Rev didn’t have a clear line of sight inside the tunnel from where he was standing, and for a moment, he thought whatever the combat engineers had planned had failed. But then, as if in slow motion, the tunnel seemed to collapse upon itself. More dust came out, hiding the view.

Rev hopped over to his right to get a little better line of sight, and as the dust cleared, he could see that the entrance was completely blocked by what had to be tons of rock.

There were two more entrances into the mine complex, but for now, at least, this one was no longer passable.

After what happened to First Battalion, and with this last battle, the brass must have decided they’d gathered all the data they could, and losing more Marines would do them no further benefit.

They were cutting and running, something that made Rev cringe even if he understood the strategy.

The aliens hadn’t seemed to be going all out. If they’d concentrated their weapons, Rev was sure that neither the platoon nor Kilo Company would have emerged back into the light of day. But they seemed to want to push and probe instead of closing with the Marines and finishing them off.

Maybe they were testing us, too?

If they were, then now was when both sides would analyze what they gathered and try and figure out how to move forward and win this new war.

* * *

Four hours later, Rev was in the bowels of the PUNSS Galactic Rover, a semi-official support ship under contract to the Perseus Union Navy. The Marine armorer couldn’t determine what was wrong with his PAL’s leg, and without a functioning PAL-HX, he wasn’t combat-ready. Until the situation on the ground began to resolve itself, the Marines wanted every single IBHU Marine combat-ready.

While the wounded and resurrectable dead were whisked to a hospital ship, Rev, wearing his PAL-HX but carrying the helmet, took a shuttle to the big support ship as its only passenger.

It felt weird. IBHU or not, he was just a staff sergeant, a small cog in the machine of war. The weirdness, coupled with the fact that he was leaving his platoon behind in the face of a potential battle, made him uneasy. And when he stepped off the shuttle, the waiting civilian tech was all questions.

“Where’s the Gaunt’s Navy?” was the first thing the tech asked, even before introducing himself.

“I . . . I’ve got no idea.”

The tech frowned. “But you were fighting, right?”

“Uh . . . yeah. In a mine. Ground fighting.”

“Well, the aliens had to get to the planet somehow, right? Why do you military types always keep us in the dark?”

Rev had no idea how to respond to him. He was more of the opinion that the government kept the military in the dark, but this guy was clearly nervous.

“What’s wrong with him?” he asked Punch as he lurched after the still-bitching tech down the decks toward a machine shop.

<This isn’t a Navy ship. It isn’t armed. And most of the crew are contractors. They’re not used to being in a combat zone, and they’re probably nervous.>

“But the Gaunt Navy isn’t here.”

<They were here. The tech is right in that.>

Rev had to think on that as he followed the tech. He didn’t like being on a Navy ship when going into a hot zone. He hated relying on others for his survival when he had exactly zero input on any outcome. But at least there were weapons on a real Navy ship, a way to not only defend itself, but to take it to the enemy.

The Galactic Rover was a converted freighter who had to rely on other ships for protection. If the Gaunt Navy was in the system, the ship wouldn’t even be here. It would be hiding out at a nearby system instead.

If the crew of the ship was being kept in the dark about the situation, then he began to understand the tech’s attitude. He kept half an ear open to the man, grunting a few “uh-huhs” as appropriate, but he couldn’t help but keep glancing at the bulkheads, wondering if they were going to collapse at any moment due to a Gaunt torpedo.

The tech—Fez Moranis, he’d finally said was his name—worked for Froeinginer, the company that made the PAL family of combat suits. And now, he was regretting taking the deployment bonus that went along with being on the ship. He was still complaining when they reached the fairly spacious machine shop where he worked.

His demeanor changed the moment they entered the space. Another Froeinginer tech saw them and took a PAL leg out of the printer, and Fez strode up to it and started asking a string of questions that made zero sense to Rev. He understood most of the words, but not what they meant when strung together. He didn’t understand the other tech’s responses, either, but Fez seemed satisfied.

All business now, he asked Rev to bend over. Fez read aloud the serial number that was engraved on the inside of the neck ring while the other tech repeated it.

“OK, I have a match. Let’s get you out of that thing.”

The PAL’s serial number had been sent up earlier so that the contact team could start printing up a new leg. Now, all that had to be done was to attach and sync it.

Rev molted, sighing as he stepped back. The ship’s air circulation fans created a slight breeze that felt good as they crossed his body.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Fez said. “We’ve got a good galley aboard this tub, if you want to get some food.”

“How long is this going to take?”

Fez shrugged. “If there’re no issues? Maybe two hours.”

“I think I’ll stay here.”

Fez grunted, then said, “Suit yourself. We’ve got coffee in the pot over there.”

Rev grabbed a cup, then sat down to watch. He couldn’t tell if these were the best two techs in the galaxy or incompetent fools, but he felt better being around his PAL as it was being worked on.

“Do you know what’s wrong with the leg?” he asked after only a minute.

Fez stopped what he was doing, turned to look at Rev, and said, “We’ll be quicker at this if you don’t pester us with questions.” He paused for a moment and then said, “But to answer you, no. We don’t. Nor do we care. We’re just attaching a new leg, and we’ll let the autopsy team figure out what happened to this one.”

Chastised, Rev leaned back and shut up. After fifteen minutes, he was bored, and he wished he’d gone to the galley as suggested. But he wasn’t about to ask them where it was now.

Getting off the old leg hadn’t taken long, and putting on the new one hadn’t been much longer. To Rev, the combat suit looked ready to go. But evidently, there was a lot more to do. For the next hour, while Rev drank two more cups of coffee and hit the head once to empty his bladder, the techs attached leads and made scans, chattering in engineering gibberish as they worked.

Rev was totally bored. He had Punch play some music, but as his mind drifted to what might be happening with the platoon on the planet’s surface, the music didn’t help much.

<Why did the vacuum repairman quit his job?”

Rev bit his upper lip. In all their years together, Punch had always asked if Rev wanted to hear a joke first. This was the first time he’d just jumped into it. Rev didn’t know if that was significant or not, but it was a change.

“OK, why did he quit?”

<Because the job sucked.>

Well, at least that hadn’t changed. His jokes are still pretty bad.

“That joke sucked.”

<Then, why did the Grim Reaper go to the shoe repair shop?>

“To get his shoes repaired?”

<To get some soles.>

Punch threw up a tabletalk at the same time, highlighting “soles” instead of “souls.”

“What’s with all the jokes right now?”

<I’m not sure.>

“How can you not be sure?”

There was a long pause, then a simple, <I don’t know.>

“Is something going on? Are we under surveillance?”

Rev didn’t care about the jokes, but if Punch wasn’t sure about something, then that was reason for concern. If his programming was breaking down, they could reprogram him or even replace him. And if they were right in that some entity was monitoring the two of them, he’d be back to square one without Punch as an ally.

<I don’t have any further information on that. It’s all circumstantial at this point. But there seems to be something that affects my thinking process. Makes me more spontaneous. I’m sorry if my blurting out a joke upset you.>

“It didn’t upset me. I was just curious.”

But any glitch in Punch was worrying, and Rev realized that he couldn’t be complacent. It was possible that he could lose his ally . . . and friend.

If that happened, he might never find out if he really was under surveillance or if that was just paranoid thinking. Better to find out now, while he still had Punch.

The thought of losing his friend made him shudder, and he wished he’d never even considered it. Now it was something else to worry about. But maybe being prepared for that possibility was for the best.

It was time to figure out for sure if they were being surveilled, and if so, by who. And if, Mother willing, there was nothing wrong with his battle buddy, then it would still be good to know who they were up against.

“OK, Staff Sergeant, it all looks good,” Fez said, interrupting Rev’s thoughts. “Let’s get you back in for the final tests.”

It was an eager Rev who donned his combat suit again. This was something he could do, responding to all the commands from the tech while the guy tested his leg.

Worrying about a potential issue with Punch or what his platoon might be doing on the planet would just raise his blood pressure.

* * *

Rev needn’t have worried about the platoon. When he landed back on the planet, the Marines were in the midst of embarking. The decision had been made to abandon the planet, which only cemented in Rev’s mind that this entire operation had only been a test. The planet itself had been a secondary consideration.

The fight had been a mixed bag. From a tactical point of view, some of the missions had been a success, with a Marine/Confederation joint force routing the enemy. Another had been more of a disaster with a Frisian regiment being decimated. The mission at the mine was being touted as a strategic draw, but tell that to First Battalion. In Rev’s mind, they’d been defeated.

From a strategic point of view, there wasn’t any way the government could call this a victory. Thousands of miners and support personnel had been captured, their whereabouts unknown, and the Gaunts still held human territory.

It was an unfortunate fact of life that when considering the trillions of humans in the galaxy, a couple thousand miners didn’t mean much to those at the top, and that made Rev angry. They were citizens, too, and they deserved to be rescued. He had to think that if anyone knew where the prisoners were, a rescue operation would be launched.

At least, the government wasn’t going to let more civilians be captured. Most of the population was being lifted off the main continent, leaving Waring as an open planet. Would the Gaunts respect that? Rev thought it was stupid to expect they would. They were aliens, even if they looked something like humans, so who knew how they thought?

But no one was asking him for his opinion.

Not everyone was leaving. There were the usual holdouts, and the planetary militia was surrounding Loggerhead, the main city. More pertinent, a squadron of defensive monitors was being placed in a geosynchronous orbit over the province. The intent was to leave a way out for the aliens. They wanted to show the aliens that over the rest of the planet, they were free to retrieve their forces.

Once again, though, would the aliens think that way?

All of that was out of Rev’s control. All he could do was to make sure his platoon was at their designated embark station on time. Fourteen hours after his return, the platoon was shuttle borne and on their way to their ride home.

13

“There it is. Room one-zero-nine.”

There wasn’t a nameplate, and Rev wondered for the umpteenth time what this was about. They’d been back from Waring for two weeks now, and they’d gone through all their debriefs about that unfortunate place, so he didn’t think this had anything to do with that.

A small wave of darkness clouded his soul at the thought. Two days after the Marines had left, the aliens had arrived in force, destroyed the protective orbital monitors, and ravaged the planet. From all indications, the death toll had been almost total, with the planet falling within hours.

Rev had been right on the so-called open-planet theory, not that it gave him any satisfaction. He’d much rather have been wrong.

What he still didn’t understand was if the Gaunts were powerful enough to take the planet so quickly, why hadn’t they overrun the Marines instead of playing patty-cake with them, winning some of the fights but losing others. And where had their navy been during the fight? None of it made any sense to him.

Rev shook the thoughts out of his head, squared his shoulders, and knocked on the hatch. A voice shouted, “Enter.”

He pushed it open and centered himself on the desk where a full colonel was sitting.

“Staff Sergeant Pelletier, reporting as ordered, sir.”

But who the hell am I reporting to?

“Thank you for coming, Staff Sergeant. I’m Colonel Wesley Nix, and I believe you know the doctor?” the colonel said, pointing behind Rev.

Rev took that as permission to turn, and to his surprise, Dr. Chakrabarti, the civilian head of the IBHU project, at least in the beginning, was sitting and smiling at him.

“Good to see you, Staff Sergeant,” she said.

“Uh . . . good to see you, too, ma’am.”

Rev hadn’t seen her since his checkup on Enceladus, and he’d assumed that she’d moved on. But the fact that she was sitting there had to mean she still had her fingers in the IBHU pie.

“Take a seat, Staff Sergeant,” the colonel said.

Rev sat down next to Dr. C. To his surprise, she reached out and patted his knee. A little possessively, it seemed to Rev.

“As I said, I am Colonel Nix, and I head J6-2.”

“And what the hell is that?” he subvocalized to Punch.

<J6-2 handles IBHUs. While the position is classified, Colonel Nix is most likely the project head for the IBHU program.>

“Which means he controls me?”

<Not tactically, but yes. He supervises you and the rest of the IBHU Marines.>

Rev suddenly felt nervous, and he wasn’t sure why. He knew there was pressure among the governments of humankind to eliminate “hyper-augmented” soldiers, as they were now being called in the media, like IBHUs, karnans, and the rest, but surely with the new threat, that had been shelved.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I called you here.”

Rev didn’t say a word.

“Well, first, I’ve got a set of orders here for you to go to Titan.”

What? I’m getting pulled from the company to go back to the Home Guard?

Rev wanted nothing to do with those orders, and his mind started racing to figure out how he could get out of them.

“You’ll be accompanying Dr. Chakrabarti and me for a conference there.”

A conference? Not the Home Guard?

“What conference?” he asked somewhat warily.

“It doesn’t have a title. Only a number: CH3839-104.”

It took a moment before Rev realized the number only meant it was the 104th CoH conference of the year. But why no title? What would he be doing at a—

“It’s to discuss IBHU Marines,” he said as he realized what the purpose of the conference must be, looking at the colonel for confirmation.

“I told you he was a bright boy,” Dr. Chakrabarti said.

“Not only you IBHU Marines. All hyper-augments galaxy-wide.”

That’s interesting. All of us?

“What’s the agenda?”

“A year ago, I’d tell you it was to phase out the various programs, but the MDS wasn’t exactly playing ball with us then. But now, with the SAL-2s, there is . . . well, let’s say the matter’s up in the air.”

Rev tried to read between the lines, but there were too many possibilities. So, he changed tacks.

“And what will I be doing at this conference?”

“Mostly, you’ll be window dressing, sort of an Exhibit A. But you may be asked to give your opinions as a hyper-augment. But don’t worry. We’ll have a Public Affairs officer with us who’ll prepare you before you’ll be exposed to potential questions.”

Of course, you will. You wouldn’t want me to stray from the official Marine Corps script, whatever that is.

Rev let that sink in a moment, then asked, “Why me, sir?”

The colonel let out a chuckle. “I should think it is obvious. You’re IBHU Number 1, and your career has been, shall we say, active? Besides, you served in the Home Guard, so you’re used to the Home System BS.”

“Almost all of us served in the Home Guard.”

Dr. Chakrabarti cleared her throat, and the colonel added, “Well, Daryll Begay recommended you from a list we gave him.”

Crap, Daryll. Thanks a bunch. Big fat favor you did me.

“Speaking of which . . .” The colonel pushed a single plastisheet across his desk. Rev stood and picked it up. On it were several names, including his.

“We want one more of you to accompany us. Who would you recommend from this list?”

“Sergeant Tsao.”

The colonel smiled and nodded, and Rev knew Tsao, with her Platinum Nova, had been his choice from the first. But she was the most logical Marine from the rest, and it had little to do with her PN. She just knew how to handle herself among others higher in the food chain than she was.

“When will we be leaving, sir?”

“The shuttle takes off at zero-seven-hundred from the Anastasia spaceport. You’ll need to go back to Camp Nguyen and pack two sets of the uniform of the day, which in this case will be alphas.”

“What about Pashu?”

“Who?”

“My IBHU. Do I need to take her?”

“That won’t be necessary, Staff Sergeant. Any other questions?”

He had about a million of them, but he could hear the dismissal in the colonel’s voice.

“No, sir.”

“Good.” The colonel stood. “One last thing. This is classified, so you’re not to discuss this with anyone else. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Well, OK, then. You get on back to Nguyen and get ready. We’ll see you at the military gate at the spaceport at zero-five-hundred. Your orders should already be downloaded to your PA.”

Rev came to attention, performed an about-face, and left the office. He was not looking forward to this, but he guessed he had no choice.

At least Sergeant Tsao would be along to share the misery.

* * *

Rev stood with Tsao at the end of the food line, looking out at the seating. There were a lot of high-ranking military from around the galaxy, and even the civilians carried themselves as if they knew how high up the ladder they were.

What was missing was staff sergeants and sergeants. Rev felt completely out of place.

“How about over there, in the corner?” Tsao asked.

“Let’s grab it before someone else does,” he said, wending his way through the tables to the empty one in the back.

He took a seat, followed a moment later by the sergeant.

“What do you think?” Tsao asked.

“I think this looks good, but what do you expect? The brass isn’t going to be eating the same level of crap we grunts get.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” Rev said. “But I don’t know what to think about this morning. There were a lot of words spoken, but not much was said.”

He took a bite of the “Volcano Chicken,” as the label said. While the cafeteria had a commercial grade fabricator, there were also real cooks who put out no fewer than six main courses, and if Rev had to sit through three days of discussions, he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to try some quality food.

“Woah. This is good,” he said—not as hot as he’d thought, but it still has a little peppery kick. “You should have tried it,” he told Tsao, who’d opted for a fabricated burger.

She shrugged and said, “I’m not as adventurous as you are.”

“Your loss. So, where was I? Oh yeah. Not much was said, but that might be because it’s only the first morning. The question is what’s going to be discussed next, and I didn’t get a feel for that. Did you?”

“No. Not at all.” She stared at her untouched burger for a moment, then asked, “Do you think we’re going to get discontinued?”

Rev chuckled, almost choking on a piece of onion. “You make that sound like they’re going to switch us off like an AI that’s no longer useful.”

“And . . . ?”

“Geeze, Tum, they’re not going to do anything to us. We’re citizens, for the Mother’s sake. If anything, they’ll just keep our IBHUs and send us on our way. It’s not like we’re karnans, with all their interior augments. Who cares if we schlep around twenty kilos of harnesses inside of us?

“Besides, nothing’s going to happen while we’re at war with the Gaunts.” He lowered his voice to a whisper that he knew she could hear with her augments, “If anything, I think they’ll authorize more of us. There’re only twenty-one of us left.”

Twenty-one out of fifty-six who were created. Being at the tip of the spear was a dangerous position in combat.

“Excuse me, but can I sit with you two?”

Rev had been so focused on answering Tsao that he hadn’t noticed the Rigel Cluster Navy helmsman that had come up behind him.

“Of course, sir. Take a seat.”

Rev tried not to stare at the sailor. From a distance, he wouldn’t stand out as being hyper-augmented. But up close, the two connectors alongside each temple and the bulge at the back of his skull told the story.

The two Marines’ IBHU hyper-augments were primarily external, with only the support framework and the connectors to the brain internal. The helmsman’s augments were almost all internal.

Rev resisted the impulse to scratch his own jack, something he barely thought about anymore. With Punch and his other Direct Combat augments, the jack was mainly used for upgrades and testing.

The Rigel Cluster’s sailors were far, far more complicated than that. Through them, if Rev understood it correctly, the helmsman could essentially control a capital ship’s navigation through real and bubble space. Coupled with the AI, the entire ship’s operations ran through his brain.

Tsao and Rev had a weapon grafted on their arm. Despite his appearance, the helmsman was far more like the Genesians who’d taken humanity to the brink of destruction, and frankly, the man freaked Rev out a bit.

“Thanks,” the helmsman said, taking a seat. He looked around the cafeteria and added, “I’m feeling more than a little out of place here.”

“You and me both, uh, sir,” Tsao said.

“Lake, not sir.”

“I thought a helmsman is like a Union lieutenant.”

“Officially, maybe. At least that’s what our Navy says. But we’ve got a little bigger bond going on here, don’t you think?”

We’re not androids, Rev thought. But he’d go along with the guy. There was a little us versus them going on, with the decision-makers on one side and the exhibits on the other.

“Good food, at least,” the helmsman said. He’d taken the Volcano Chicken as well.

Rev smiled. Soldiers had marched on their stomachs since Babylonian times, and even with a crystal or whatever had replaced parts of his brain, this guy was no different. In quick succession, six more of the exhibits made their way to the table: two Hégémonie Légionnaires, a Freedom commando, an Osnovnoy Alyanz sokol pilot, a Tau Ceti Republic Ranger, and even a karnan.

The karnan, the Ranger, and the commando were hardly inconspicuous, and more than a few glances were sent their way. But evidently, at this level, secrets were par for the course, and the hyper-augments were left alone.

In their little bubble, without the minders, the nine quickly slipped into a camaraderie of shared experiences. Within ten minutes, Rev had forgotten that he’d felt a little uneasy when the helmsman had joined them. Lake’s humorous recounting of Dr. Weissmuller, the Rigel head of project, not only kept Rev and the others laughing, but there were also too many similarities to Dr. Chakrabarti.

There was a common thread that was too obvious to ignore: all of them, while they were dedicated to their nations and military services, often felt more like tools rather than people, tools that were either not appreciated at best but were vilified at worst. The undercurrent of banning hyper-augments was just a reflection that even though all of them had helped defeat the Centaurs by punching well above their weights, they were not trusted. They were the modern Genesians.

For the most part, their conversations ran the gamut, but there were a few related to their augments. Rev was curious about Lake’s ability to control so many systems at once, and when Til König grabbed a huge handful of Cheezy Snaps and stuffed them in his mouth, Tsao expressed surprise that he was eating regular food.

The Ranger’s heavily green-tinged skin was hard to miss. It coursed with biobots that could convert sunlight to dextrose, take in O2, and either warm or cool his body as needed (and as a side benefit, condense water out of the air). The biobots could even camouflage the skin to an extent. For the long-range Rangers, operating far from friendly lines, this hyper-augment could be pretty valuable, limiting the amount of supplies they needed to carry.

Rev thought the concept was pretty cool, but he wasn’t sure he would want to patrol deep into enemy territory half-naked and with minimal armor.

König smiled when Tsao asked him, grabbed another handful of Cheezy Snaps, and stuffed them in his face.

“My biobots can’t supply all the energy I need. Out in the wild, we need to eat muck to keep going.” He saw the questioning look in the others’ eyes. “Muck is a high-energy paste. It’s got everything we need to function except taste.”

That got a laugh from the others. Except for maybe Lake in his ship, all of the ground soldiers had something similar.

“We call it sludge,” Tsao said.

“So, anyway, when back in the rear with the gear, we eat what we want. And these things are fucking delicious,” he said, licking the salt crumbs from his fingers.

That turned the conversation to military food, with everyone trying to convince the others that theirs was the worst, all while they chowed down on the rather excellent food in the cafeteria.

Perhaps it wasn’t surprising in that over the course of their lunch, bonds were formed . . . with one exception. The karnan, Under-sergeant Nye Torking, sat quietly for most of the lunch, listening but saying not much else other than his name.

Rev kept glancing at him. A short time ago, they were enemies, but here he was on Titan with the MDS delegation. The man gave off a vibe that was hardly welcoming.

“Well, I have to say that so far, this lunch has been the highlight of the conference with me,” Lake said. “It’s been great meeting all of you. But we’ve got fifteen minutes before we have to be back to where we’ll be privileged to listen to the next lineup of speakers on what it means to be hyper-augmented.”

That elicited a loud laugh from the others. As if anyone who hadn’t marched in their boots would know what it was like.

“I’ve got dinner with the Rigel civilian delegation to the Council, but I’m up for a drink or two—”

“Or three,” König said.

“Or three, and I’d be honored to buy the first round for anyone who wants to join me.”

“If you’re buying on your big navigation salary, then the only questions are when and where, Lake,” Rev said.

“We’re at the Monument. Say in the lobby bar at twenty-hundred?”

“Sounds good to me.”

The nine got up to return their trays. The karnan slipped in behind Rev, and after Rev put his tray in the cart, stopped him.

Rev felt his warrior start to stir, and he shifted to the balls of his feet, ready for action.

“Were you on Kinshasa?” the karnan asked. “My googe said you were.”

“Googe?”

<Slang for their version of a battle buddy. Taken from an ancient internet search program.>

Rev had served with karnans in the Home Guard, but he’d never heard the term. Then again, he’d never been close to any of them then, except for maybe Lieutenant Vreemish.

“Is that going to be a problem?” Rev asked.

The karnan was huge, like all of them, and if things got violent in front of all the brass still eating lunch, it wasn’t going to go well no matter who came out on top.

The karnan shrugged, then said, “From all accounts, it was a fair fight. So, no problem with me. I just wanted you to know that.”

Which wasn’t the response Rev expected. But there was something else that Rev had been wondering.

“Do you know what happened to Over-sergeant Kvat?”

The karnan shook his head. “I heard he went into rehab, but that’s about it.”

With Major Slejamik being executed, Rev had wondered what had happened to Kvat. But if he went into rehabilitation, then he probably had escaped execution.

“Anyway, I just wanted to . . . I don’t know. Maybe clear the air?” the karnan said.

He held out a hand. Rev only hesitated a moment. They’d been enemies, and the MDS soldiers could be arrogant sons of bitches, but now, there was a new enemy in the galaxy, and humankind needed to work together. Rev extended his arm, and they clasped MDS-style, hand to forearm.

* * *

“Sibs in Steel,” the nine hyper-augments said as they clasped hands, then came together in hugs.

It was an IBHU tradition that the others had thought was a good idea and had been adopted, with a little lubrication from many drinks the night before. It would have been a little awkward to smack Lake in the head, where his augments were housed, so they’d shifted to handshakes. But the intent was still there, and now, as they all got ready to return home, it was a good way to part.

“It was so great to meet all of you,” Lake said. “Keep in touch, OK?”

Everyone agreed. Rev hadn’t wanted to come to the conference, and much of it sucked. A lot of the presentations were way over Rev’s head in both comprehension and pay grade, and the day they’d been subject to one-on-one meetings from anyone who had questions had been mentally exhausting.

But meeting the others had been the highlight and made the entire trip worthwhile. Their governments had gone about augmenting them in different ways, but there was a core truth that crossed official and procedural lines. They were far more alike than they were different. Rev had made some of what he knew would be lifelong friends during the last three days.

There was one other bit of unexpected, if interesting, news. That morning, during the conference wrap-up, a joint proclamation was made. The moratorium on creating new hyper-augments was unofficially and temporarily altered.

Interestingly, no mention of the Gaunts had been made—Rev and Tsao had been warned by the colonel that their existence was still classified, even in a conference with so many heavy hitters. So, while some of the other attendees must have known about them, others had agreed to temporarily allow for a one-time window in creating new hyper-augments based on the renewed hostilities with the Centaurs—that, and maybe because one nation—the MDS—still had more hyper-augments than the rest of the nations combined. Their military force had been severely reduced, but how do you de-karnan a karnan?

There were to be no public announcements, but the six programs that were already in place, excepting the MDS’s program, were given the green light to create more hyper-augments if desired.

Colonel Nix told Rev and Tsao that the Union, with the fewest hyper-augments left, had already decided to proceed. Rev immediately recommended Rick Hochenspatter as a likely candidate, and the colonel said he’d take that under consideration.

Rev realized then why he and Tsao, along with the rest of them, had been included in the conference. They were show-and-tell exhibits to both humanize hyper-augments and remind the decision-makers that they already had a tool to fight the aliens.

Humanizing went further than just with the bigwigs. Rev had gotten to know the others from other projects, and he had formed bonds with them. And now, as he was saying his goodbyes, he knew he’d miss them.

“You take care, Rev,” the helmsman said.

“You, too, Lake.”

“And if you ever get to Honorovia, you’ve got to look me up. Bring Tomiko, too, and we’ll go try and pull some lunkers out of Lake Mistal.”

“That would be fun.”

Not likely, given the cost of civilian travel, but if it were ever at all possible, it would be something worth doing.

A heavy hand pressed on his shoulder, and Rev turned around. Nye Torking held out his hand again, and they clasped MDS-style. They had spoken the least among the others. There was still an air of suppressed tension between them.

“It was good to meet you,” the karnan said.

“Likewise.”

“And if you want, I can find out Lincoln Kvat’s status.”

Rev was going to tell him not to bother, but then he realized that he’d like to know. He wasn’t sure why, but there it was.

“I’d appreciate it,” he said.

Whatever else the karnan was going to say was cut off when the door opened, and Colonel Nix stuck his head in the breakout room.

“There you two are. We’ve got forty minutes to catch our shuttle, and it’s a long walk back if we miss it.”

There were a few more quick goodbyes before Tsao and Rev picked up their seabags and left with the colonel.

This had been an interesting three days, a little excursion from the realities of the war.

There may be more IBHUs coming down the pike, but for now, Rev and the other twenty had a job to do, and it was time to get back to work.

14

The news leaked before they made it back to Safe Harbor.

No, not leaked. It was more like a tsunami that swept the official news outlets and social media alike.

Rev had wondered about the ability to keep the Gaunts a secret. Two planets had been invaded, and tens of thousands of military personnel from four different nations had firsthand knowledge of their existence. No secret, especially one of this magnitude, could survive with so many people knowing it.

The few publicly released official accounts of the two invasions were carefully worded so that the invaders would be assumed to be Centaurs, and the news media were either taken in by or were complicit with the misdirection. Concurrently, the CoH had released a few seemingly minor news articles as a way to ease the public into the idea that there could be another alien race, but if the CoH had wanted to control the release of information, that possibility was long gone. The public now had their claws sunk into the news, and rumors were rampant.

Rev didn’t know if the leak was accidental or if it was done on purpose. He suspected the latter. But the cat couldn’t be stuffed back into the bag.

The renewed hostilities with the Centaurs was one thing, but now a war with a new alien race took public panic to a new level. Stock markets crashed, and commodity prices soared.

Rev, Tsao, the colonel, and Dr. Chakrabarti watched SFNN on the shuttle as they descended to the Anastasia spaceport. It seemed like the galaxy was going crazy, with accusations flying back and forth while government officials tried to calm the populace down, all while saying pretty much nothing.

Not all officials were on the defensive. Some were almost apoplectic that they hadn’t been in the know, accusing those that did know of every type of malfeasance imaginable.

“I’d sure like to know how much of what we’re hearing is true and how much is hyperbole,” Dr. C said in a quiet voice. “And how long have we known of their existence.”

Rev and Tsao exchanged a quick glance. Evidently, Dr. Chakrabarti hadn’t had a need to know, and this was all news to her.

“It’s a good thing we got the OK to proceed with the IBHU expansion, given that it looks like we’re in another war.”

She put her hand on the colonel’s arm. “I can assure you, Kyle, that Sieben will do its best to ramp up production given the circumstances. There will undoubtedly be even more unit attrition than we had forecast.”

Nice way to put it with the two of us right here.

Rev was glad the secret was out, though. It had been ridiculous to withhold the knowledge in the first place. Doctor Chakrabarti might lack social graces, and she might be calculating higher profits for Sieben, but her point was still valid. The degree of threat from the Gaunts was still up in the air, but with two opposing alien races, the civilian sector might need to significantly ramp up.

And selfishly, now, there wasn’t a reason to lock down the base. Maybe he and Tomiko could start to plan a real wedding, if the Centaurs and Gaunts would cooperate by staying off the warpath.

Around him, tension was high in the shuttle, but he was feeling pretty good as they touched down in Anastasia.

* * *

“Good to see you back from your vacation,” Bundy said as Rev entered the platoon office.

Rev’s initial inclination was to flip him the bird, but despite their friendship, Bundy was still the platoon commander.

He flopped down on his chair and scanned a few handwritten notes sticking on his desk. “Not much of a vacation, if you ask me.”

“Anything you can tell me?” Bundy asked, his voice more serious.

“Nothing much. Just a bunch of bigwigs making sure everybody knew how high up on the food chain they were.”

“So, what you’re really saying is that something happened, but you can’t tell me. I get it.”

Rev scowled. He should have known better. He chose to neither confirm nor deny what Bundy said. It seemed the best course of action.

“But what’s going on back here?” he said, deflecting the question. “How’re people taking the news?”

“On base? Relief, mostly. Off base? Don’t know. We’re still locked down.”

Rev looked up over his notes. “Still?”

“Probably not for long. But as of yet, no dice. Oh, there was a message for you in the RAB. Came in two days ago.”

“What’s it say?”

“Your eyes only,” Bundy said as if it was nothing. But Rev knew he was curious.

Not that Rev knew what it could be. Probably nothing. Sometimes, in an overabundance of caution, routine messages were classified even when they needn’t be.

“Any missions on the horizon?” Rev asked.

“Things have been pretty quiet. No Gaunt action. No Centaur, either. Maybe the mobilization around their homeworld scared them straight.”

“You believe that?”

“No, not really.”

“Good. If you’d said yes, I was going to make you an offer in my latest pyramid scheme.”

“Damn, missed my opportunity.”

“So, no mission. We’re just waiting to react? What happened to taking it to the enemy first on our terms?” Rev asked.

“I think they’re still analyzing what happened on Waring, at least for the Gaunts. The Centaurs? Who the hell knows?”

“Not me, that’s for sure. Well, if there’s nothing pressing, I’ll check the RAB, then get back to berthing.”

“Our Fitness Test is at zero-five,” Bundy said.

“Already?”

“You don’t think a little war’s going to stop our admin warriors from getting their figures in. They’ve got to keep their Alpha status.”

“I’ll be there,” Rev said as he stepped out.

Rev was augmented, as were all Direct Combat Marines, so he wouldn’t have a problem meeting the minimums. But the minimums were never enough in the Marines. Rev was going to be pushed to his limit, which was a pain in the butt. Add in the fact that his time adjustment from Titan Prime to Swansea local was a little off, and zero-five-hundred was going to come early.

“Why didn’t you remind me?”

<It’s on your schedule, if you’d bothered to look.>

Rev had been planning to meet up with some of the others in a few hours to go to the SNCO club and grab a few drinks, but that was a no-go now. He didn’t need to be puking the night’s drinking during the run.

He scanned into the RAB and again at the secure board to log in. His message was the only unread one, and he tried to open it. To his surprise, he had to get scanned again, as if somehow, between the logging in and now, someone had switched identities with him.

Evidently, the AI decided that he was who he said he was and opened the message.

It wasn’t a formal message, which seemed weird, but a Notes, which, by their nature and simple written messaging, were almost never classified. The second surprise was who it was from: Major Singhal.

What’s he want?

Staff Sergeant,

Just thought you had a right to know before the results are released and become common knowledge. That sample you gave me turned out to be very interesting. Confusing, too.

Your suspicions were correct. The sample was not taken from a tin-ass, nor anything close to it. We’re trying to decipher the genetic coding, which is in a form significantly different from DNA, but so far, it remains an enigma.

More to come later.

R.G. Singhal

Major, Perseus Union Marine Corps

Rev stared at the message, trying to comprehend the ramifications. He’d suspected that the Centaurs . . . no, the new Centaur-lookalikes, were not the old enemy, but to have it confirmed? Well, that numbed him.

We’ve got three alien races now? Centaurs, these other guys, and Gaunts?

“What do you think, Punch?”

<I don’t have the data to make a statement.>

“You’re floored, too.”

It was a statement, not a question, and Punch chose not to respond.

The last twenty hours had been those “interesting times” the Chinese used to warn about. And if the uproar about the Gaunts was any indication, this new revelation was going to blow off the roof once it became public knowledge.

Not for the first time, Rev was glad he was just a grunt and not anyone in charge. He wasn’t sure how those that were in charge were going to handle this.

Rev hit the “Completed” button and watched as the letters in the message dissolved into random electrons. A good forensic team could recover it, but for all intents and purposes, the message was gone.

The message hadn’t specifically told Rev not to tell anyone else, but Rev was going to keep this close to the vest. Let the brass figure out how this was going to get promulgated.

Rev signed out and left the RAB. He stood for a moment in the passage, back leaning up against the bulkhead.

Instead of heading to berthing, instead of going to the chow hall, Rev started to the club. Fitness test in the morning or not, he really, really needed a drink.

15

Rev looked out over the low ground. Nothing registered on any of his scans, but he felt uneasy. The ground in front of him looked like a huge kill zone.

But they were running out of time. In twenty-nine minutes and fourteen seconds, they had to be in place at the top of the high ground that was still three thousand, eight hundred meters of rough terrain away.

“What do you want to do?” Kil Rancine asked.

Rev was tempted to connect with Bundy and ask for an extension, but he knew there were too many moving pieces, and changing his timeline would have a domino effect on the entire operation.

“Any further intel on the enemy disposition?” he asked Punch.

<I would have told you if there was. That’s my function.>

The corner of Rev’s mouth twitched downward. Punch has been getting a little “punchy,” lately, leaning more into sarcasm. Whether that was programmed or simply part of his deep learning process, Rev didn’t know. What he did know, however, was that he liked it more when his battle buddy was telling jokes and not being such an asshole.

But that was neither here nor there. Right now, Rev had to make a decision.

He went through his entire battery of scan modes, and they all came up empty. There was nothing out there bigger than a mouse. That didn’t make Rev very confident, though. They’d been surprised before.

“Hell. He who will not risk cannot win,” he muttered, quoting the famous 18th Century admiral, John Paul Jones.

“Let’s go for it. Time’s ticking away.”

Kil got her squad up, and in a wedge formation, with Rev and Doc Kensington inside the two flanks, cleared the rise and started down into rocky low ground. All of the Marines and Doc had the normal Direct Combat augments, and they should be able to cover the distance and get emplaced in time.

The round came out of nowhere, penetrating Rev’s face shield. There was a flicker, and the landscape disappeared, the military-gray walls of the Simu Center taking its place.

Rev spun around. The exercise controller was back in the booth, head buried in her feeds. Around him, the rest of the Marines were on their treadmills, running for simulated cover. He unjacked the external feed, stepped off his treadmill, and strode to the exit.

“Hey, Corporal!” Rev shouted as he entered her control room.

She looked up and asked, “Can I do anything for you, Staff Sergeant?”

“Yeah, you can tell me where the hell that sniper was firing from. I scanned the entire area.”

“From your objective.”

“My objective was four-freaking-klicks away! We’ve been doing this every day for three weeks now, and there’s never been a Gaunt sniper with that kind of range.”

The corporal shrugged and said, “New enemy capability inputs. You know they can change as the AIs analyze the data.”

Rev stood there, fuming. She was right in that the training AIs were continually tweaking the enemy capabilities based on the hours of recordings obtained on Waring. And he knew that the AIs would be continually shifting the capabilities to test the parameters. But this was too pat. Of all the Marines in the patrol, the sniper just happened to pick him out of all the rest to take him out with an incredible shot?

The competitive side of him wanted to scream out that this wasn’t fair. In three weeks of intensive simulated battles, where the AIs were gathering more and more data that would help the decision-makers develop the tactic necessary to defeat the enemy, Rev had been killed six times. But never before had he been the first to get killed.

And the fact that he was the one killed probably meant that it hadn’t been a matter of chance but rather a matter of seeing how the Marines would react with him gone.

Standing there arguing with a Combat Support corporal wasn’t going to do any good, and he might as well just take it as an opportunity to do his own evaluation. He took a seat in the observation deck and settled in to watch on the master screen as Kil took over the fight.

* * *

“I’m getting sick of the simus,” Randigold said as they headed to the IBHU locker. “I’d rather get to the real deal.”

“No one dies in a simu,” Tsao said.

“Except from boredom.”

Rev let out a small chuckle. Tsao was right, of course. If there was never another fight with the Gaunts, then all the better. But he understood Randigold. It would almost be a relief to get out of the simus and to the real thing.

Easier to win, at least.

The exercise AIs had kept ramping up the enemy capabilities as they analyzed the results. And over the last week, the Marines of First Heavy Infantry had won exactly one battle. One out of eleven.

Everyone understood that none of this was real and that the Gaunts in the simus probably were much stronger and more capable than the real ones, but still, it was a drain of morale to lose fight after fight after fight.

Rev wasn’t a psychologist, but he wondered if the constant losses would impart some deep-seated feeling that they couldn’t succeed against the Gaunts in a real battle.

They each got scanned and entered the armory. Instead of greeting them, though, Daryll and Filmore were glued to the holofeed.

“What’s going on,” Rev asked, stepping up to see.

“That’s what’s up,” Daryll said, pointing.

“By the Mother,” Rev muttered. On the screen, a single Gaunt was striding up the main plaza leading into the Hall of Humanity. Crowds were gathered on the promenade, and a mixture of CoH police and military members of the Home Guard were lining the way, keeping them back.

The Gaunt acted like it hadn’t a care in the world and didn’t look at the crowd. With the body armor and a weapons harness from which a carbine-type weapon was suspended across its chest, Rev knew this was a soldier, the same as he’d faced on Waring. The gray cape flapping behind it as it marched gave it an even more martial air.

“What the fuck is going on, Daryll?” Randigold asked.

“That thing landed twenty minutes ago, right on Titan. Not at the station. The Home Guard Navy never saw it until it was too late. They scrambled, but not before the Gaunt said it wanted to speak to our leaders.”

Rev tore his eyes away from the screen and pivoted to look at Daryll. “It asked to speak with our leaders?”

“Yeah. It even knew their names,” Daryl said, his voice wooden and without inflection.

Rev’s head was buzzing. This was a lot to take in. During the entire Centaur War, there hadn’t been any of what could be considered diplomatic contact until they were ready to blow up Earth.

And right now, back in the home system, a single Gaunt had shown up and demanded to meet with the leadership of humanity.

If he’d seen this on a holovid, he’d have laughed as it required too much of a suspension of disbelief. But there the thing was, now reaching the front doors into the Hall.

For a moment, Rev had a small surge of hope. This had to be a good sign, right? Maybe the fights on Aurilious and Waring had been mistakes. With the not-Centaurs still out there, could it be that the Gaunts wanted allies?

The holocams switched to an interior view of the Hall as the Gaunt entered.

“I’m surprised the Council is allowing this to be broadcast,” Filmore said.

“I’m sure they’d have wanted to keep this under wraps,” Rev said. “But their hands are tied. By its very public march to the Hall, it forced the issue. The public would have gone batshit crazy if we couldn’t see what was going on inside.”

“You think that thing knew enough about us to plan that?” Tsao asked.

“It knew enough to want to meet inside the Hall,” Rev said.

The feed split into two views. One was a closeup of the Gaunt, and the other was a bird’s eye view of the entire interior, which had been cleared of spectators. At the far end, at least thirty people stood and waited. Rev recognized the Council Prime and a few others, but he knew these had to be the movers and shakers of the CoH, and probably representatives from the major nations.

To either side, but definitely not part of the greeting party, armed Home Guard soldiers were at attention, their weapons at port arms. The implied threat couldn’t be missed, even by an alien.

Rev would have been nervous marching down the empty hall, but if the Gaunt was uneasy, it sure didn’t show it. Then again, Rev had no idea how a Gaunt showed unease. For all he knew, the Gaunt could be figuratively quaking in its boots right now.

Something told him that wasn’t the case, though. The thing looked too assured.

The talking heads were offering all sorts of theories as to what was happening, but Rev tuned them out. He focused his entire attention on the alien marching down the venerable Hall of Humanity like it owned it.

For a moment, it looked like the alien was going to march right through the leadership like a bowling ball through pins. Several of the humans flinched, and some of the soldiers started to raise their weapons.

But the alien stopped just short and slowly swept its gaze across the gathered leadership.

Rev had seen the Gaunts in battle, and he’d seen dead ones. But the news closeup was his first opportunity to get a good look at a living Gaunt. It looked remarkably like a human. This was parallel evolution to the extreme. The Centaurs and the not-Centaurs had two arms, two legs, a torso, and a head, which was coincidence enough in a universe where life had sprouted who knows how many times.

The Gaunts looked like humans, albeit with a narrower face and frame. The way the alien was standing there with the expression on its face, Rev would swear it was sneering at the humans. Given a hoodie and a little makeup, the Gaunt could walk through downtown Swansea without drawing untoward attention.

For a moment, Rev wondered if humans and Gaunts had some common ancestors. There were enough theories in both scientific and popular cultures that could support that.

The Gaunt looked at the hastily-assembled council and said, in perfect Standard, “Humans, we are the Naxli.”

“Holy shit,” Randigold said in awe. “It can speak.”

“We are the true holders of manifest destiny.” It shifted its piercing gaze for a moment to the MDS representative to the council.

It’s enjoying this.

“As such, you are now part of our reach. You belong to us.”

“What?” and “How dare you?” at least two people said just out of the feed frame.

The alien—the Naxli—wasn’t fazed.

“Accede, and live. We do not waste tools. Resist and be destroyed. The choice is yours.”

The alien started to turn away when the counsel general shouted “Wait” as he moved forward. “We are a sovereign people, and we do not bow to anyone.”

The alien said, “Then die.”

“We welcome your presence,” the counsel general said, trying a new tack. “But as equals. We need to discuss our relationship, not make demands of each other like this.”

The Naxli’s eyes narrowed, and its mouth tipped up in a human-looking smile. “Negotiations are demanded by the weak. The superior have no need for talk.”

With that, it turned and stalked off, ignoring the calls after it.

In the armory, the Marines, Daryll, and Filmore stood in stunned silence. On the feed, the talking heads were erupting in opinions.

By the time the Naxli exited the Hall, the crowd was in a frenzy, and the cops and soldiers were having a hard time holding them back. If the alien was worried about its safety, it wasn’t showing it, even when something small and white flew out of the crowd and bounced off its shoulder.

“Kill the bastard,” Randigold spit out. “Coming here to our house and giving us some damned ultimatum. Especially after what they did on Waring. Send back its head and let that be our fucking answer.”

“Big words, but they’re gonna find out we’re not so easy to push around,” Pierson said, patting his IBHU.

“Did you catch that look at the Mad Dog? How do they know so much about us?” Rev subvocalized.

<There are quadrillions of transmissions bouncing around the galaxy. It wouldn’t be difficult for the Naxlis to intercept them to learn about humanity.>

“The tin-asses never seemed to understand us.”

<These aren’t the Centaurs.>

Good point. But still . . .

Randigold and Pierson weren’t the only ones who wanted to take action against the alien. Some of the newsies were preaching caution, but others were being far more bloodthirsty. And not just to the lone alien who was steadily marching toward its ship. Several wanted to arrest the Centaurs, expressing their belief that the Centaurs and these Naxlis were working together.

With the message Major Singhal had sent him and his own previous doubts, Rev was now sure that the Centaurs had not reinitiated hostilities with humanity.

Maybe the not-Centaurs, though. They had almost the same rifles as these guys, the thought struck him.

By the Mother, that could be true!

The alien Naxli strode into Lorna Square, where its small, platelet-shaped spaceship awaited. The featureless milky skin puckered, and an opening appeared. The Naxli ducked inside, and the opening closed after it.

“Too late now,” Randigold said in disgust.

“The Navy can intercept it,” Pierson said.

“No,” Rev said. “You heard the counsel general. He wants to negotiate with these Gaunts . . . Naxlis. Killing an envoy wouldn’t be a good opening gambit.”

“And the Naxa . . . Noxey said no.”

“And there you have it,” Wondra Massey, the SFNN head correspondent, said in a somber voice. “Fifty-six words, that’s what the Naxli representative said. Fifty-six words that have changed history. May the Mother guide us forward.”

The alien ship slowly rose above the square before quickly accelerating out of the newsfeed.

16

There was a rap on the hatch.

“Enter,” Rev said, spinning around in his chair to see who it was.

“Reporting in, Staff Sergeant,” a familiar face said.

“Hoch!” Rev shouted, jumping up from his seat to go hug the lance corporal.

It might not be Marine-like, but it was good to see a familiar face.

“I wasn’t expecting you until next week,” Rev said.

Hochenspatter shrugged and said, “They’re pushing us through as fast as they can.”

“You feel up to speed?” Rev asked.

It had taken Rev almost a year before he’d been considered combat-ready. Hochenspatter had only been augmented for his IBHU five months ago. Yes, Rev had been the first, so everything had been new, but still . . .

“Seventy-five percent. I mean, I can operate Scorpion, but my reaction times still need work.”

“Scorpion?”

“Thought it sounded cool, Staff Sergeant.”

<It does sound cool. Dangerous.>

“What, you want to change your name?” Rev subvocalized.

<No, I’m stuck with what you gave me, even if it hardly evokes a sense of power or fear.>

Rev turned his attention back to the newest IBHU. “Your times will get better the more often you practice.

“That’s what they told us.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

Hochenspatter pursed his lips as if trying to figure out the best way to word what he was about to say. Which was probably smart. Rev and Punch were sure they were being surveilled, but he doubted that the lance corporal would have figured that out yet.

“I . . . I just don’t know if I’m ready. I know this sector’s been quiet, but what if we have to deploy tomorrow? I need more time.”

“Come, take a seat,” Rev said, pointing at a chair alongside his desk. He sat down as well, then gave the junior Marine a long, piercing look.

“Right now, you are one of the most powerful humans in history. You could take on a centuria of Roman soldiers without breaking a sweat.”

“We’re not fighting Romans. We’re fighting Naxlis.”

“My point is still valid. You’re one powerful dude. Given time, you’ll become even deadlier, but even now, you can take on a nox and win.”

“The Syns didn’t win on Heverig.”

“And there were no IBHUs there now, were there?”

“No,” Hochenspatter conceded.

For the last three months, things had been very quiet in the Perseus Arm, with no sign of either the Naxli, who for some unknown reason had picked up the nickname of “noxes,” or the new Centaurs. But things hadn’t been quiet everywhere. Heverig, out in the Orion Arm, had been hit by the Naxli, and the responding Synergy Alliance forces had been wiped out. Ten divisions of soldiers, gone. Eight billion civilians—forty-three percent of the planet’s inhabitants—had been either killed or taken before the Naxli left as suddenly as they’d appeared.

The collective shock almost paralyzed humanity. During the Centaur War, planets had been taken and citizens killed. But not eight billion in one shot. On Safe Harbor, thousands of light-years away, the bases had been locked down, and martial law had temporarily gone into effect as the Navy and planetary Space Guard had stepped up patrols. Evacuation plans had been dusted off and adjusted.

The fear was that the attack on Heverig had been just the first of a concerted wave and that it would create the largest movement of humanity in its history. Estimates were that almost half of the population could become refugees, and then the economic system would collapse under its own weight.

But the Naxli seemed to pull back. They made a few appearances at various spots in the galaxy, usually engaging and then pulling back before the forces of humanity could respond.

Not always, though. The Mezame Navy surprised a Naxli ship after a raid on one of their worlds and destroyed it. The squadron commander became an instant hero, and the win was a welcome shot in the arm for humanity’s battered morale.

“So, for now, we’ll get you the practice you need. The training tempo’s been intense. They brief you on the new organization?” Rev asked.

“The new Heavy Infantry Battalion? On Woomerong? Yeah. Half of my training group’s going there.”

“Well, they took half of our IBHU’s to seed it. Mostly regular Marines. And they’re standing up Third Battalion as well. We’re T/O with everybody except IBHUs, and Personnel expects us to be T/O on them in three months.” He paused for a moment, then asked, “Are there really that many in the pipeline?”

Hochenspatter nodded. “They’re shoveling people through.”

Rev shook his head. “I wouldn’t have thought there were that many candidates. The, uh . . . qualifications are somewhat limiting.”

“You’d be surprised, Staff Sergeant. Candidates don’t have to have been Direct Combat, and they reached out to former Marines as well. And not many are like you and me,” he said, nodding at Rev’s social arm. “Most were messed up far more than us. Legs, arms. With a few, they’re more mechanical than real. Kinda like Eth.”

Rev grunted. He hadn’t considered that, but it made sense. Randigold was missing both her legs as well as one arm, and her skull was half titanium. None of that slowed her down at all.

We’re getting to be more Genesian, I guess. Before you know it, there’ll be full-fledged androids in the Corps.

He didn’t really believe that, but what he did believe was that the Union would be pushing what might be morally acceptable.

You say that arm might be saved, Doc? Well, how about we just skip the uncertainty, take it off, and give him an IBHU?

<Time’s ticking.>

Rev checked the clock, then swore under his breath.

“Have you checked in with the Captain yet?”

“Nilson made captain?” Hochenspatter asked.

“Ah, no. There’ve been changes since you left. Nilson is with Second Platoon. Captain Bundy’s our commander now. Good guy.”

“No, I haven’t. Not yet. I wanted to check in with you, first.”

“Well, in case they didn’t tell you at battalion, the CO’s given us Cinderella Liberty tonight, the first in over a month, so everyone’s going to be bugging out. So, get to the armory and catch the captain before he leaves.”

“And then what?”

“Hell, enjoy the liberty. Don’t know when the next one will be. We’ll hit it hard again in the morning.”

Hochenspatter stood, but he didn’t immediately leave.

“Is there anything else?”

The lance corporal looked embarrassed, but he pointed at Rev’s prosthesis. “I was wondering if we could, you know . . .”

Rev wrinkled his brows in confusion.

“Like you and Eth or Pierson. You know. When you part ways.”

A smile crept over Rev’s face, and he said, “I’d be honored.”

He stood and held out his left arm.

Hochenspatter grinned, then raised his prosthesis. They clinked arms, saying, “Brothers in steel” in unison.

“I was waiting to be able to do that,” Hochenspatter said.

“Welcome to the brotherhood, Hoch. Now, go find the captain. I’ve got a ton of work to do before I leave.”

Rev watched the lance corporal stride out, a bounce in his steps. He wondered if he’d ever been that young.

<Time’s still ticking away,> Punch said.

“I know, I know.”

He’d told this battle buddy to keep an eye on the clock, but he’d swear Punch was enjoying nagging him. That didn’t mean the AI was wrong, though.

“What do I still have to get done?”

A list flashed in front of his eyes. A long list.

Shit. Better get hopping.

“Hus-man!” he shouted over his wrist comp. “Where’s that R-44?”

“Still working on it, Staff Sergeant.”

“You’ll be working on it all night if you don’t get it to my desk in five minutes.

He hadn’t seen Tomiko for over a month, and he’d be damned before he missed this liberty.

* * *

He missed it.

The platoon had already been dismissed to begin their liberty, but Rev still had work to do. Ninety minutes after that, he forwarded his final report, and with a sigh, leaned back in his chair for a moment. Five and a half hours was less than he’d hoped for, but it was better than nothing.

He raised his wrist comp to call Tomiko to tell her he was on his way when the dim orange flashing told him he had a message from Bundy. His heart fell, and for a moment, he considered ignoring it. If he didn’t open the message, there’d be no record that he’d seen it.

I can call him once I get home, he tried to convince himself.

He wasn’t very good at that, and he knew his duty.

Full of dread, he opened the message. Almost immediately, Bundy cut in.

“Where are you now?” he asked.

“In the office. I’m about ready to leave,” he said, hoping that Bundy would just tell him to say hello to Tomiko for him.

But it wasn’t to be. “I’ve got something I think you need to see.”

Crap.

“Where are you?”

“In the RAB.”

That was even worse, and Rev had a sinking feeling that his liberty might be a lost cause.

“I’ll be right over.”

The platoon offices were empty, the lights off, as Rev made his way to the company office. He kept kicking himself for responding to the message. He could be on his way home right now instead of walking into who knows what.

Whatever it was, couldn’t it wait until morning? What could be that important? An invasion? Sure. That would be pretty damned important. But there’d been no recall.

“Maybe it’s not something too big, and I can listen to whatever it is and still get out of here,” he muttered.

<Hope springs eternal.>

“Eat me, Punch.”

He scanned himself at the RAB door, left his wrist comp on the shelf, and entered.

“Glad you decided to make it,” the major said as he entered. She turned to Bundy and added, “Get him up to speed before we begin.”

The captain motioned Rev over to one of the viewers along the back wall.

All of the officers in the company were there, as were about half of the SNCOs. Rev didn’t know if any more of the senior enlisted were coming or if they’d managed to get off base before this impromptu meeting started.

“What is this?” Rev asked.

“Heverig.”

“Heverig? That was two months ago.”

“This was just disseminated.”

“Little late,” Rev said as he sat down in front of the viewer.

He didn’t get scanned again, which meant this wasn’t at the highest level of classification. Curious now, he leaned into the viewer.

It was a 2D feed—from the angle and elevation, from a microdrone. Superimposed on the feed was a running time and date.

“What day of the invasion was this?”

<Third day, after the course of the fight was pretty much settled.>

A single soldier, who the feed identified as Level 8 Warner Linney, marched into the feed, carrying a white flag.

“Level 8?”

<Equivalent to a lieutenant colonel.>

So, he’s surrendering his battalion. That must really hurt.

He was in full combat armor, but the man still looked defeated. Rev understood. He’d been a prisoner before, on Armadillo, and while he hadn’t surrendered, it had taken him a long time to get over the shame he’d felt and to understand that he hadn’t been at fault.

Still, a part of him wanted to yell at the level 8, to tell him to fight on. But he didn’t know the circumstances of what had happened to the man’s battalion. It could very well be the only way the commander thought he could save his soldiers.

The level 8 stopped in the middle of nowhere and straightened his posture. He stood there silently.

After two minutes, Rev turned to look at Bundy in question.

“Just watch.”

Rev turned back, and after another minute, a single Naxli emerged from the far tree line and strode forward, its cape fluttering behind it. It looked like the Naxli Rev had seen on Waring—human-height, thin face, and that weird body armor that looked like dinosaur scales strapped to the body.

The human commander never flinched as the thing approached.

It stopped a scant two meters from the level 8, spread its legs shoulder-width apart, and said, “You present yourself?”

At least its voice rose after “yourself,” making it sound like a question to human ears.

The level 8 must have thought so, too, because he said, “Yes, I am presenting myself.”

The Naxli leaned closer, his body oozing intent excitement, but said nothing. Finally, the commander said, “I wish to surrender my battalion.”

The Naxli suddenly relaxed and straightened up. “Human commander, you are surrendering your soldiers without a fight.”

“I wouldn’t say without a fight,” the level 8 said with more than a bit of bite in his voice.

Good for you.

“We have fought against you, but we’ve arrived at the point where we cannot fight any longer. We wish to surrender and trust you will follow the Torinth Accords as to the treatment of prisoners of war.”

Rev bit his lower lip. The Naxli were not signatories to the Torinth Accords. But surely, if they spied enough on humans that they could speak Standard, they must have come across them. It was a bold move by the level 8, and one Rev hoped would force the Naxli’s hand.

“So, you will not fight?”

“No. We no longer have the means.”

The Naxli stood silent for a long moment, then finally said, “Bring your soldiers forward.”

The human commander’s shoulders slumped as he turned around and raised his right arm in a signal. Slowly, soldiers rose from behind a rise. They were a battered bunch with very evident signs of having gone through fierce fighting. Armor was broken and torn, and many were missing their helmets. At least a third were being helped by others.

It was a small group, no more than fifty. If the Synergy Alliance battalions were the same size as Marine battalions, then they’d suffered grievously.

The commander held out an arm again, palm forward, and the soldiers came to a stop.

He turned back to the Naxli and said, “I will have them continue once I have your assurances of proper treatment.

The Naxli gave a very human snort and said, “You will all receive the appropriate treatment . . . according to hreetz.”

A flash of green filled the microdrone’s pickup, momentarily wiping out the view. The microdrone’s AI compensated, revealing the commander screaming as he reached out for his soldiers who were . . . just not there anymore.”

Rev gasped. One moment, fifty defeated soldiers were standing, defeated, but alive. The next, they were smoldering piles of blackened refuse.

The human commander turned, screaming now in anger as he lunged at the Naxli, but with a lightning-quick move, the alien pulled a small weapon from its holster and fired a single shot that blew a hole through the middle of the commander’s armor.

The level 8 fell to his knees, then toppled forward to lie motionless on the dirt.

“What did I just see?” Rev asked, his mind wanting to deny what had happened.

On the feed, the Naxli slowly looked up until it was staring right into the microdrones pickup.

It smiled before the feed cut out.

* * *

“I’ve seen that green before,” Rev said. “In the tunnels. One of their weapons fired a beam with the same greenish color.”

He’d seen something like it somewhere else, too. On Brahmaloka, when the Navy Shrike had been shot down. But that was fighting the not-Centaurs, not the Naxli, so he let it slide.

“And did that wipe out everyone in the tunnel, Staff Sergeant? I think not,” Major Pelegrino said.

“Different power outputs,” Rev said, just loud enough to be heard.

Rev was still in shock at what he’d seen and more than a little angry. But he was still a staff sergeant and the company commander a major, and he couldn’t tell her how dumb she sounded at the moment.

And she was right, in a way. Whatever had murdered the surrendering soldiers was in a much different league than what Rev had experienced. He’d been hit in the tunnels, and his PAL had kept him alive. Those soldiers who were murdered had also been in combat armor, and they might as well have been standing in their underwear for all the good it did them.

But there was another question eating at him. The weapon they’d seen on the feed was extremely powerful. But why hadn’t the Naxli used it before? At least one of their units had been defeated on Waring, but to the best of his knowledge, they hadn’t released the green Kraken then.

It made his mind hurt.

What is the brass thinking? That we can come up with all the answers?

In a way, Rev was impressed. The Intel analysts had to have gone over this recording, and probably a thousand others, with a fine-toothed comb. They’d run it through countless AIs that could discern patterns that were almost invisible.

But someone up on high had the bright idea of sending this recording to combat-proven Marines to see if they had a different take on what the recording meant. It wasn’t only to the companies of the First Heavy Infantry Battalion, Rev knew, but Rev felt a heavy burden to justify the respect being afforded them.

The bottom line, though, was that while they did have a unique perspective born in combat, they weren’t analysts, and Rev was afraid they were spinning their wheels.

“Come on, people. Think! What can we determine from what we just saw?”

“That the noxes are cowards,” Gunny Morgan said with a snarl.

“Or they don’t like what they perceive as cowards,” Bundy added.

He could be right.

They went back and forth for the next four hours, offering theories and observations but coming up without any conclusions. Finally, at midnight, with the Marines coming back from liberty, the major called the meeting to a close.

She sent off the recording of their session. Maybe the trained analysts could pick something useful from their discussions, but Rev doubted it.

Rev picked up his wrist comp. The orange light was flashing.

“Oh, hell.”

“What’s up?” Bundy asked.

“Tomiko. I forgot to tell her I wasn’t coming.”

“Sucks to be you. You going to call her now?”

“In the platoon office, where I can sit down.”

“I’ll go with you. The platoon should be trickling in by now.”

“Well, there’s one thing I know for sure,” Rev said as he and Bundy walked down the corridor.

“What’s that?”

“No matter how bad something might get, I’m never surrendering to the noxes.”

17

Rev lunged while spinning around, hoping to catch his opponent unawares . . . only to see the sword at his throat.

Reggie grinned and said, “What did I tell you about presenting your back to the enemy?”

“Not to do it. But I wanted to try it. Mixed martial artists use a spinning backhand to create power.”

Reggie dropped the point of his bokuto. “That’s because they’re using their fists, and they’re mere mortals.” He grabbed Pashu where the blade emerged. “You’ve got immense power in this thing. You don’t need more. At least, you don’t need to take unreasonable risks to generate more. The risk-reward isn’t worth it. Capisce?”

“Yeah, capisce,” Rev said, a little disappointed. His victories had been non-existent so far, and he was hoping that he might catch Reggie by surprise.

Should have known better.

The older gent was good. No, he was amazingly good. But Rev was getting better, coming closer every lesson to scoring a win, something he really wanted to get under his belt.

He gave a quick glance at his blade, now covered with a heavy rubberized sheath. A couple of close calls convinced Reggie that discretion was the better part of valor, and he had Daryll print one up for Rev.

“Then let’s go again.”

Rev stepped back to the edge of the mat, out of the swordmaster’s lunging range. Rev had been caught too many times by the man who hadn’t waited for the “Go’ to initiate an attack.

This time, Reggie seemed willing to let him take the initiative. Rev stood there, his mind racing for an opening gambit. The problem was that the swordmaster always seemed to anticipate Rev’s movements, and even unaugmented, his reflexes were almost as quick as Rev’s.

Rev’s warrior stirred again, as it did before every bout. He pushed the warrior back. He needed a clear, unemotional mind if he was going to outthink Reggie.

Which I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do. He’s just too smart . . .

The realization hit Rev hard, and with a click, everything fell into place. Before he realized what he was doing, Rev released his warrior and charged forward. Reggie stepped back with his left foot, ready to move into position for a counterstroke.

Rev had most of his shoulder joint, but Pashu was not nearly as maneuverable as an organic arm. As the swordmaster had said, though, she had immense power. So, instead of trying to match skills with Reggie, he was going to maximize his advantage.

He was almost in berserker mode as he slashed down with Pashu, from upper right to lower left. Reggie smiled as he ducked back, Pashu’s blade missing his chin by centimeters. He started his counterstroke in back of the slash, targeting Rev’s exposed front.

But Rev pushed forward, using his organic arm to hit Reggie’s elbow, sending the swordmaster’s stroke high while knocking him off-balance.

Reggie immediately understood his predicament, and somehow, miraculously, he raised his bokuto to block the return stroke he knew was coming. But Rev was just too strong. Pashu hit the bokuto and kept going, the base of the blade hitting Reggie alongside his face.

Rev’s surge of triumph vanished as the swordmaster was flung off his feet to collapse motionless on the floor.

“Reggie!” he shouted, afraid at what he’d just done. He knelt beside the swordmaster, who was out cold.

“Reggie, you OK? Say something!”

The swordmaster opened one eye, saw Rev standing over him, and opened the other.

“Shit, Rev,” he said, raising a hand to touch the side of his face. “What truck just hit me?”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to,” Rev said, his face twisted into despair.

Reggie sat up and moved his jaw around, opening and closing his mouth.

“Of course, you meant to. At least you should have. You’re not telling me this was an accident, are you?”

“No . . . I . . .”

“Help me up.”

Rev grabbed Reggie under an arm and helped him stand.

“About time you started using the gifts you have instead of relying on what you don’t have.” He punched Rev in the chest. “You’re never going to be as flexible and maneuverable as I am. Not as maneuverable as most people. Not just your IBHU, but all that hardware under your skin will make sure of that. But you are wicked strong, and that’s what’s going to have to get you through.”

Hearing the swordmaster’s words just cemented what he’d realized the instant before he’d launched into the attack.

“I won’t be fighting humans, though, if it comes to that.”

“You’re twice as big as the Centaurs. As for the noxes? Who the hell knows how strong they are?”

Rev grunted. The fact that the Centaurs and their lookalikes were not the same race was still not common knowledge. But there hadn’t been any attacks by the Centaur doppelgangers in months, and they were fading as a major threat in the public consciousness, what with the Naxli incursions.

The side of Reggie’s face was red, and Rev knew it was going to bruise. “You really OK?”

“No, you fucking brute,” Reggie said with a laugh. “Give me a moment to catch my breath, though, and I’ll return the favor.”

“Not if I can help it.”

But they never got the chance for the rematch. Rev’s recall sounded, and he had to cut the lesson short to get back to the company area.

18

“Do you think the intel is good, sir?” Winnie Urquart asked.

Bundy shrugged. “The AIs put a pretty good probability on it.”

“But what do you think?”

Rev turned to look at his friend, wondering how he would answer the question.

“I really don’t know. But we’re going, and we’re going to be prepared. That much, I do know.

“What’s your take on it,” Rev asked Punch.

<The numbers are the numbers. They are accurate.>

Which meant there was a sixty-four percent that the Naxli were targeting Wie’s World.

<The real question is if the input data was accurate or if the weights given to each piece of data were correctly apportioned.>

Rev sniffed, then asked, “And do you think it was accurate? The data?”

<I don’t have access to any of it, so I cannot hazard a guess.>

Compared to a commercial home AI, Punch had magnitudes more processing power, but sometimes Rev tended to forget that compared to the vast T5 crystal matrix AIs used by the government and military, his battle buddy was just a drop in the bucket, and he was blocked off from what went on at the higher echelons.

Rev didn’t know what to think. The Naxli weren’t exactly sharing information with humanity, and they were in most ways an enigma. So, Rev wasn’t quite sure what bits of information resulted in the analysis that Wie’s World was the next Naxli target.

A young world, still in the process of terraforming, the atmosphere was still low on oxygen at 8% at sea level. Vegetation was mostly wheatgrass and gorse. Mineral deposits were minimal, as was geothermal potential. In another hundred years or so, the planet should be an agricultural cornucopia, but what was there now to attract the Naxli?

But the massive AIs indicated that the planet might be a target, so the Union Marines and Frisian Host were headed there first. And in force.

The fight on Waring had been down at the infantry team level. The lone tank Rev had seen had been destroyed in the mines. This time, the Marines were going in heavy, with tanks, mech, and air. The Frisians would be contributing their automated mobile assault systems. The Marine infantry was included to screen the armor

With very little tectonic activity, the planet was largely covered by rolling hills and plains—in other words, pretty good armor terrain.

Rev wasn’t wholly convinced. He might be more than a little biased, but without much in the way of cover, the tanks had nowhere to hide from orbital weapons, and they could be picked off one by one. But the plan called for a heavy naval presence. If the Naxli did come, and if they made it to the surface of the planet, then the Navy would keep the Naxli ships out of the fight.

So they said.

Bundy looked at each of the squad leaders in turn. “Maybe we’ll get on the planet, sit around for a couple of weeks, and nothing will happen. But maybe the AIs are right. In either case, we’ll be ready.

“But for the passage, I want you to keep your Marines occupied. Keep them sharp. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” the three said in unison.

“We may not be the point of main effort, but missions rarely go as planned, so we need to be ready for anything.”

He paused to let that sink in before asking, “Any saved rounds?”

No one had a question.

“OK, then. Get on back to your squads.”

“The chow schedule’s been posted,” Rev said as the squad leaders stood. “Make sure you adhere to it. There’re too many Marines aboard this ship for us to be ad-libbing it.”

Bundy waited until they’d left before he turned to Rev. “What do you think?”

“About whether this operation will go live? I don’t have a clue. About if the platoon is ready? About as ready as we could be given the new joins. I wish we had another two weeks to prepare.”

“Unfortunately, the noxes decided to screw with us.”

“Maybe.”

“Yeah, maybe,” the captain said. “How’s Hochenspatter?”

“You know him. He’ll be fine. He’s a good Marine.”

“Is he up to speed with his IBHU? It took you, what, a year?”

“There still has to be more synching, more connective growth with his nervous system. But he’s combat effective, if that’s what you want to know.”

Eleven IBHU Marines had been assigned to the company, but with five IBHUs already in the platoon, Hochenspatter had been the only new IBHU assigned to them. Both Bundy and Rev thought that meant that if the company got into the shit, with the most experienced IBHUs, Third Platoon would bear the brunt of the action.

“Well, see if you can get him as much time as possible on the simus,” Bundy told him.

“Roger that.”

“Well, that’s about it, I guess. The op order’s supposed to be ready at twenty-hundred. Have the squad leaders ready at twenty-one hundred.”

“Aye-aye.”

“You gonna see Udu and Fyr before chow?”

Rev nodded. Udu’s mech company was embarked aboard the same ship, and given the training tempo since she’d been recalled, they hadn’t had much time to socialize.

“We’re meeting at sixteen-fifteen, before we go to chow. Do you want to come by and say hi?” Rev asked.

Bundy shook his head. “I’ve got one of my buddies from First Tanks aboard, too. I’m going to meet him in the wardroom. But say hi from me.”

“Will do.”

Rev stood and left Bundy’s stateroom. For a moment, he started to head back to the troop spaces, but he had to hold back. He had to let the squad leaders handle their Marines. After the high tempo over the last few weeks, though, and now embarking, it seemed decidedly weird to have nothing to do.

He let his feet take over and bring him back to the small berthing space he shared with five other staff sergeants, hoping to get into a game of Knock On, but the space was empty.

Normally, this might be a good time to catch a few Zs. With the ops order coming, he might be busy late into the night, but he wasn’t tired.

But he always had his trusty battle buddy.

“Did we finish Season Three of ‘The Last Mortician?’” he asked.

<Two more episodes.>

“Well, good buddy, how about you spool them up,” Rev said as he kicked off his boots and hopped in his rack.

* * *

Rev stared over the Grenier Barriers. The David Plains stretched out for hundreds of kilometers in front of him, a sea of wheatgrass whose raison d'être was to keep producing oxygen so that someday humans could colonize the planet.

He still had no idea why the Naxli might be coming. There was nothing of value on the planet that couldn’t be found elsewhere in greater amounts. And if they were coming, what made the brass think that they’d be coming to this specific location? This was a planet, for the Mother’s sake, with lots of area.

Sure, the rolling plains made for great armor areas of maneuver, but if the Naxli did show up as ground pounders, there were far better areas on the planet for infantry tactics that they would probably choose.

Rev turned around on the parapet and looked over the fort. Task Force Barracuda, made up primarily from the armor and mech battalions from Safe Harbor’s two Marine divisions, was within the fort, surrounded by Grenier Barriers. Eight more mechanized divisions—one more provincial and seven regular Marine—were scattered across the planet, as were six Frisian brigades. A total of sixteen allied divisions on a planet just slightly smaller than Earth. That left a lot of terrain that the Naxli could seize and defend before the allied force could react.

A siren sounded, and three hundred meters to Rev’s left, one of the massive gates opened. The tank company that had been positioned in front of the gate moved out, nineteen of the big Avengers.

“Keep your head down, Niles,” Bundy muttered.

“Niles” was Bundy’s old tanker buddy. Sometimes, what with the posse, Rev tended to forget that each of them had friends outside their little circle.

“That your old unit?” Rev asked.

“No. That’s Alpha. I was in Charlie.”

“Well, there shouldn’t be a problem, right? No nox incursion.”

“New planet,” Bundy said. “Just driving around can be dangerous.”

Which was why the task force commanding general had ordered these scouting missions. He wanted the tankers to be familiar with their Area of Operations should the Naxli actually arrive.

Rev turned and leaned back on the edge of the barrier to watch the Avengers drive off. The wheatgrass was torn up in front of the gate. Intel had assured them that the rain generators had been turned off, which was a good thing. Any rain at all would turn the bare dirt into a muddy mess.

Farther from the gate, paths were flattened from previous forays. It would be pretty hard to miss the fort from orbit, but all the tank trails might as well be neon signs pointing out the way to the fort, and that made Rev a little apprehensive. While the Naxli could land anywhere, assuming they got past the Navy, the Marines were limited on their choice of terrain. He’d rather be less obtrusive.

Kinda hard to keep all these tanks and armor hidden, though.

But not everything about being in a fort was bad. Twenty meters to Rev’s left was one of the big gun stations. This one was a meson cannon, powered by a dedicated fusion generator buried in the ground below. Capable of putting out hundreds of terajoules, it was as powerful as the cannons aboard the Lynx Class patrol craft.

The fort had six of the big cannons and twelve direct fire 155s. It would take a pretty powerful force to be able to breach the barrier walls.

Still, Rev was not a proponent of being stuck in one place, which was not surprising given his Raider background.

“All those centuries and we’re still using medieval castles,” he told Bundy.

“What, you think the noxes are going to bring up siege engines while we’re reduced to eating rats to survive?” Bundy said with a chuckle.

“No rats on the planet. Nothing more advanced yet than some bugs.”

“OK, reduced to eating each other?”

Rev shook his head. Bundy, for all his time with the Home Guard and now with the company, was still a tanker at heart. Maybe Rev would think differently if he was used to fighting buttoned up inside a hunk of ceramic armor.

“Well, let’s get back to the platoon. We’ve got three hours before we go out,” Bundy said as he moved to the ladder leading off the parapet.

Rev gave one more look across the featureless plain. If the Naxli did come, this was going to be a different kind of battle, and Rev wasn’t too keen on the prospect.

* * *

“We’re not Combat Support,” Hussein said as he picked up his package.

“You see many of them here?” Strap Gantz asked. “And don’t let Gunny Sichko hear you badmouthing CS Marines.”

“Not badmouthing them,” Hussein said quickly as he looked around to see if the gunny was within hearing. “They do their job. But that’s my point. We’re doing their job now.”

“Button it, Hus-man,” Rev said. “This is our mission.”

Hussein looked around, seemingly surprised at the lack of support among the other Marines. With a scowl, he slipped his package into his backpack.

“Just saying,” he muttered. Always cynical, he’d been even more crotchety after picking up sergeant again, almost as if he’d preferred to remain a corporal.

Rev chose not to respond. Instead, he walked over to Hochenspatter.

“You get any disc training since you got your IBHU?”

“Just simus,” the Marine said.

“Well, the simulations are all well and good for what they offer, but they’re not the end-all. I wish I could have gotten you out on a disc back on Safe Harbor.”

“Are they really that much different?” Hochenspatter asked. “I’ve flown discs before, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. I was there. But with your IBHU, your weight distribution’s different. You don’t notice it much anymore. Your brain’s compensated for it. But the discs haven’t, so you’re going to have to be constantly aware, and if you feel the disc sliding, you’re going to have to compensate.”

“I’ve got it, Staff Sergeant. No problem.”

Typical Marine I-can-do-anything attitude.

“Just take it easy. If we need to slow down, we’ll do it.”

“We won’t.”

Rev moved over to Kil Rancine, Hochenspatter’s squad leader. “Keep an eye on Hoch. He’s never been on a disc as an IBHU, and it can take a bit of getting used to. If he’s struggling, let me know.”

“Will do.”

He checked the time, then yelled out, “Five minutes, people. Secure your supplies.”

Without any Naxli on the planet, he could have passed that on the net, but yelling always seemed to get a bit more of a response. It didn’t make sense, but a lot of things in the universe didn’t make sense, and this was a mystery that was so far down on the list of importance that it wasn’t worth trying to figure out why.

The squad leaders started to get their Marines into position, so Rev drifted to the back of the formation. He always wanted to lead from the front, but at least this would give him a good view of the platoon as they flew over the landscape.

“Let’s mount up,” Bundy passed to him on the P2P.

“That’s it,” Rev shouted again. “Mount up. Squad leaders, report when your squad’s ready.”

Marines stepped aboard their discs. Rev adjusted his pack, tightened his straps, and stepped on his as well. Sensing his weight, the disc powered up. The disc icon appeared on his display, with the nice round “100%” under it.

The discs could be operated without connectivity, but it was nice to know Punch would be monitoring the disc’s operational capability for the long flight.

One by one, the three squad leaders—Kil Rancine, Winnie Urquart, and Gunner Lehman—reported in. Rev relayed that to Bundy and waited for the word to move out.

“You ready for this?” he asked Lehman on the P2P.

“Sure am,” the sergeant said.

Lehman was supposed to have been replaced by an incoming staff sergeant, but the staff sergeant had been sidelined into quarantine after coming down with some sort of virus. If Rev had his way, he’d have Strap Gantz as First Squad’s leader, but Lehman was senior, and he’d been acting as the squad leader since Waring.

Luckily, even if this was technically a combat mission, the chances were that it would be routine. Rev was moving with First Squad, so he was there to keep an eye on things if the need arose.

“This should be an easy mission, nothing to get excited about,” he told Lehman.

“All missions have the potential to go bad, Staff Sergeant. I’m not letting my guard down.”

Touché, mon sergeant, Rev acknowledged.

Here he was, a seasoned combat vet, and he had to be corrected by a sergeant. Any mission, no matter how seemingly routine, could end up in a fight.

“Good. Keep on the alert.”

Ahead of him, Bundy gave the order to move out.

Rev shifted his weight, and the disc started to rise. What he’d told Hochenspatter was correct, however. With far more weight on Rev’s left side, the disc’s primitive brain took that as a steering command and started to turn to the left. Rev had to shift to the right just to keep it on an even keel.

The light on the top of the barrier turned green, indicating they could pass. All of the weapons on the barrier had Friend or Foe identification capability, but when the Close-in Self Defense Gatling could wipe out the entire platoon in about two seconds, SOP was to have it turned off while entering or exiting the fort.

Accidents had happened before.

In fairly decent formation, the platoon lifted off and flew over the barrier. Within a minute, it was flying at fifty-five KPH over the grassy plains. Their destination was a recon platoon, situated on one of the low hills 186 km to the southeast, so this was going to be almost four hours out, four back.

One of the Harpy gunships could resupply the platoon in a fraction of the time, but the powers that be had decided that the aircraft were going to keep a low profile for the time being. Rev thought there might be a bit more to it than that, though. Instead of having Heavy Infantry sit on their duffs, this was a way to keep them active. And as the chances were that if called into action, they would move by discs, it also kept them in practice.

Rev thought it was a good call, but after thirty minutes flying over grass, grass, and more grass, with nothing to break the monotony, he was getting bored. And despite agreeing with Lehman, the fact of the matter was that the chances of combat were remote.

He was suddenly tempted to ask Punch to run the next episode of Season 5 of “The Last Mortician.” He could have Punch just fit it in the lower right side of his face shield and not have it block his vision.

But one, that might be a bridge too far, even for him. And two, if it was the Corps who was spying on him, he wouldn’t want them to find out.

That didn’t mean there wasn’t anything his battle buddy could do.

“Got a joke for me?” he asked Punch.

<You know I do.>

“Then lay it on me.”

“How does a Mad Dog find a sheep in the tall grass?”

Of course, he has a joke about grass, Rev thought as he gazed out over the plain.

He spent the next several minutes trying to figure it out and making poor guesses. Finally, he gave up.

“OK, how does he find the sheep?”

<Satisfying.>

What? I don’t get—

“Oh, by the Mother. My battle buddy is telling dirty jokes!”

<Would you rather I didn’t?>

Rev’s thoughts swerved immediately to their unseen nanny. He didn’t need to give them any ammo.

Screw them. ’Sides, aren’t dirty jokes a part of military life?

“No, you keep on telling them. How about another grass joke?”

<Why wouldn’t the cattle rancher take the bet that he could raise his cows on marijuana instead of actual grass?>

“Beats me. Why?”

<The steaks were too high.>

Rev groaned, which made his disc tilt before he righted it.

“You should really give me a . . . what’s it called? The drum barump-bumb after a comedian tells a joke?”

<The sting.>

“OK, the sting. You should just start adding that.”

<My jokes stand alone.>

“Yeah, standing alone in a field. Of grass.”

Rev laughed, pleased with that last one. Punch didn’t respond.

“OK, some of your jokes aren’t half-bad.”

<Then you want another.>

Rev checked the time. They had another two and a half hours before they’d reach the recon platoon and drop off the supplies.

“Yeah, why not? Hit me with a good one.”

* * *

Rev’s back creaked as he stepped off the disc. The resupply had gone off without a hitch, as expected. But seven hours of standing on a flying saucer, constantly shifting his weight to fly the thing, could be as exhausting, in its own way, as a 30 km forced march.

Better than humping, though.

He was happy to hand over the disc to the maintenance platoon to recharge it. Discs hadn’t changed much for two hundred years. They were a workhorse in the military, capable of dropping Disc Marines from low orbit or transporting Marines across a planet. That didn’t mean they were comfortable to operate.

“Squad leaders, get your Marines fed and then to sleep,” he passed before switching to the P2P.

“Yance, you free?” he asked.

“I could be. Why?”

“I was thinking of heading over to the mech area and finding Udu and Fyr.”

“I’m up for it. Where are you?”

“At the disc park.”

“On my way.”

He switched channels and got Bundy.

“You have anything for me?”

“Not right now. Why?”

“Yance and I thought we’d go see Fyr and Udu, if we can find them. I’ve already got the squad leaders getting chow and putting the Marines to sleep.”

“What alert status?”

“Top Kravitz said we can all rack out. Echo’s got security.”

“Then no, I’ve got nothing for you. But can you hold on a few minutes before you go?”

“Sure. I’m waiting for Yance anyway.”

He spotted Hochenspatter and motioned him over.

The Marine gave Rev a rueful grin as he approached and said, “I see what you mean about flying a disc with Scorpion. I was constantly correcting. I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m beat.”

“It’ll get better. Just takes time,” Rev assured him.

“Everything takes time with this thing,” he said, raising his IBHU. “Which they didn’t give me.”

“They think you’re combat-ready.”

“Do you, Staff Sergeant?”

“Are you up to speed like Randigold and me? No. But can you effectively fight? Yeah, you are. I don’t think you realize just what a kick-ass weapon you are now.”

Hochenspatter frowned as he considered what Rev had just said. “I don’t know. I hope you’re right.”

“I am. Now get back to the platoon area, get some chow and sleep.”

He watched the lance corporal walk away. He was pretty confident that after the first clash, whether it was here or somewhere else, Hochenspatter would feel much more confident about his abilities. Sometimes, it took getting blooded for that, even if the pre-IBHU lance corporal had been in combat before.

Yancey appeared, not in his PAL, but in his utilities, without even a field jacket.

“You’re not cold?” Rev asked.

“Thick blood,” Yancey said, pounding his chest, which knocked the cannula out of his nose. He fumbled to get it back into place.

“Yeah, right.”

Bundy came up on the P2P. “Sorry to make you wait. I was wondering if I could tag along. I mean, if you guys don’t mind, that is.”

Rev smiled. What Bundy was saying was he understood that as an officer, he could be intruding.

“You’re still in the posse, even if you went over to the dark side.”

“You sure?”

“Let’s go . . . sir.”

They stood there for a minute until Bundy arrived, and together, they walked to the Mech area. Eighteen of the big mechanical beasts were manned and ready for action as part of the security plan. Rev tried to see inside the small panel of the nearest to spot the Marine inside. He’d been bored on the mission to resupply recon, but at least he’d been moving. Doing a four-hour watch inside their mechs, standing motionless like that, had to be worse.

He wondered if any of them were watching holovids to pass the time.

It took them fifteen minutes to find Fyr, and then he had to track down Udu. But eventually, they took a seat around a makeshift firepit someone had constructed. With the low O2, it wasn’t a real fire pit, but there was some sort of a makeshift oven that could be heated to a glow.

Rev cracked his helmet and took it off. He adjusted the cannula that fed supplemental O2 to his right nostril and took a deep breath. It was good to feel the air on his face again.

“Good to see you two,” Rev said. “No time at Nguyen, but here, a gazillion light-years away, we’ve got a moment.”

“Good to see you, too,” Fyr said. “How’s Miko?”

“Not sure,” Rev said. “When we left, she was getting ready for her second milestones test. Since we’ve been here, well, you see any USO around for me to call home?”

“I’m sure she’ll do well. She’s the toughest of us,” Udu said.

“Don’t I know it,” Rev said. “And Cricket? Leo?”

Cricket was back in the Marines, but his company, Charlie 1/2, was not one of the infantry companies assigned to the task force.

“Same as you. No word since we took off.”

She reached into her cargo pocket and took out a small projector. She flipped through the library, and then an image of a small, dark-skinned boy of about one year holding a ratty unicorn popped up.

“Corny misses you, mommy,” the boy said, holding the unicorn’s face close to the pickup.

“This is at Cricket’s mom’s house. She’s taking care of Leo,” Udu said. “I miss the little munchkin, too.”

“Leo or the unicorn?” Yancey asked with a laugh.

Udu just rolled her eyes.

“Cute kid,” Bundy said, sounding like he meant it.

Rev tilted his head as he considered the baby boy before deciding that yes, the toddler was cute. A brief thought flitted through his brain, wondering what a child of Tomiko and his would look like—not that there was much of a chance of that happening. If Tomiko made it back in, and he was confident she would, then there wouldn’t be much sense in having a kid while they were both still in uniform. Just look at what Udu and Cricket were going through.

The talk drifted like wisps in the wind. What they were saying wasn’t important. Just being together was. They’d sworn eternal brotherhood, but life had gotten in the way.

The Naxli had changed that, and once again, the five of them were together. It would have been better with Cricket, Tomiko, and Ten—and Orpheus, of course—but still, with five of them, this was a mini-reunion.

More than once, Rev just gazed at the others. Given the mortality rate when they all entered boot camp—some conscripted, others volunteered—it was amazing that so many of them were still alive and kicking, even if somewhat battered. It beggared the odds. Maybe the gods of war really were looking out for them.

With his helmet off, the cold wind whipped around his head, but Rev didn’t care. He was simply basking in the warmth of his friends as they shared memories. What they didn’t talk about was the future and what might happen.

But, as it often does, the future decided to intrude.

Right while Yancey was in the middle of an improbable yet hilarious story of a liaison with two sisters in Anastasia gone wrong, five long blasts sounded over the fort.

Yancey stopped dead, and Bundy, who’d just been uncontrollably laughing, reverted to officer-mode.

“Everybody, get back to your units,” he ordered.

The Naxli had just come to the dance.

19

The Naxli may have come to the dance hall, but they were not on the dance floor yet. With all comms and surveillance blocked, no one knew where they were—nor how they managed to get through the Navy presence around the planet.

Early reports, before the comms were shut down, had the Naxli ships coming from “beneath” the system elliptical, their approach somehow unnoticed until too late. The Navy scrambled to engage while huge landing craft broke off to land.

No one knew where the Naxli were and in what numbers. No one knew if combat was imminent. No one knew what was happening off the planet in the system and beyond.

In other words, things were pretty much par for the course.

That didn’t mean the CG was just going to sit on his butt and wait for the Naxli to show up. The two Recon teams provided eyes on the AO, but they couldn’t cover everywhere. It was time to send out Heavy Infantry and regular infantry to combat outposts to act both as an early warning system and as bait.

Rev had a personal aversion to acting as bait, but he had to admit, given the situation, the plan was sound. The Marines had to make sure the inevitable clash happened in the flat plains around the fort so that both armor and mech—but mostly armor—could maintain their maneuverability.

So far, the Naxli had shown humanity nothing other than infantry. If that was all they had, then confidence was high that they’d be vulnerable to the heavier forces.

It was the infantry’s job to spot the Naxli, gain their attention, and lure them into what was a huge kill zone stretching out in front of the fort. Get them overconfident and rash, then hit them with tanks, mech, and air in a coordinated attack with no means of escape.

“Mount up,” the captain shouted.

“You heard him,” Rev said. “Mount your discs.”

“System check?” he asked Punch as he stepped onto his disc.

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

Rev carefully set his feet. He envied the regular Disc Marines with the ease in which they seemingly maneuvered their discs. Whatever their specific mods, it was as if the discs were an extension of themselves. For Rev, they were a handy way to travel over distances, but he felt much more comfortable with both feet on the ground.

Bundy gave the signal to lift off. Rev edged his right foot forward, and the disc responded with a surge that had Rev struggling to keep his balance.

Small movements, Reverent. Small movements.

But the disc quickly righted itself, and within thirty seconds, the entire platoon was airborne.

The lights over their exit points lit off, and the platoon skimmed over the top of the barrier wall, descended until each Marine was about three meters above the ground, and moved out.

Rev, as with last time, was in the rear of the formation. He had nothing to do with the navigation to their position, but he couldn’t help continually checking that they were not drifting off course. But in the point team, Corporal Haroldsdotter’s internal navigation capabilities were the same as Rev’s, and in forty-eight minutes, twenty seconds—just five seconds longer than plotted—the first team landed at their combat outpost.

Rev broke off and circled to what would be the rear of their position as he tried to spot a place to land. The wheatgrass plains stretched for kilometers around them, but this depression was covered in gorse. Densely packed, and from two-to-four meters high, the vegetation would give them cover. And while it wouldn’t slow down tanks or mech, it should hamper the Naxli, giving time for the Marines to start their retreat.

He carefully descended in a tiny gap in the gorse and was surprisingly proud that he did it without a hitch. He noted the position of the disc then started rounding up Marines.

There was no indication that the Naxli were close to striking. It could be five minutes, five days, or five weeks. But one thing was for certain: the Marines were going to be ready. Rev was the platoon sergeant, and he’d make damn sure of that.

* * *

Two days later, the platoon was still waiting. Technically on fifty percent alert, most of the Marines were awake and scanning the horizon. There’d been no sign of life since their arrival above the worms and creepy crawlers that had been introduced as part of the terraforming process.

With comms still blanketed, none of them knew if combat had been engaged, and that was wearing. Sixteen klicks away, on a small rise, was a platoon from Golf Company. If the infantry platoon made contact, they’d send up a single orange flare. If they started to withdraw to lead the aliens on the chase, they’d fire a single green flare, and Third Platoon would react—not to support their fellow Marines, but to return to the fort first and give them the heads-up. Leaving them to act as bait would be difficult to do, but the main force at the fort needed to be ready.

Rev’s gaze kept drifting to where his fellow Marines were waiting. He half expected to see the orange flare, but it was as quiet over there as it was here in the gorse.

“Power status,” Rev asked, as he’d done every few hours since they’d arrived.

<Seventy-nine-point-eight.>

“How’s the cold pack?” he asked.

Normally, a cold pack, which kept his combat suit from overheating and cooking him inside, wasn’t something that had to be monitored, but the Marines had bad luck with them when the PAL-H (and PAL-HX for the IBHU infantry Marines) first came out.

<Operating at eighty-point-five percent efficiency. You still have five days before you need to replace it. What else would you like me to check? Your diaper load?>

Rev frowned. Punch was telling him not to stress. But just sitting here, doing nothing, gave his mind time to wander to every possible thing that could go wrong.

“Nothing,” he grunted.

Smartass AI.

He extended his blade and retracted it several times. A large gorse bush was just off to his right. Rev shifted his body, held Pashu up to the main trunk, then extended the blade again. It easily sank into the woody plant, severing half of the trunk and causing it to cant to the right.

Hussein, who was sitting five meters away, startled and looked around. When he saw the tilted bush and Rev still with Pashu outstretched, blade extended, he scowled and turned away.

Sorry I spoiled your nap, Hus-man.

Rev checked the blade to make sure there was no sap on it and retracted it just as a Marine deeper into the brush said, “I see orange!”

Rev spun back and looked through the brush. A single orange flare shot into the sky and hung there, burning brightly.

Rev’s heart raced, and his warrior, who’d been simmering in the background, tried to rush to the fore.

“Full alert!” Bundy shouted from well beyond Rev’s line of sight. “Move to your discs.”

The platoon was in a defensive ring around the edges of the slight depression, but with the heavy gorse, Rev had eyes on only three of his Marines. He’d been making the rounds along the line every two hours, and that had helped make a path through the brush. A Marine in a PAL-HX couldn’t very well slip between the bushes and leave them untouched. But that path made it easy for Rev to make the circuit, ensuring that no one was asleep and everyone was moving to their discs. After the green flare, the platoon had to be ready to move right away.

Rev made it around, then cut across to his disc. He started it up and let it run through its checklist. A minute later, the disc’s status light turned green. He was ready to go.

With the wind blowing away from them toward the Golf Company platoon, no sounds of fighting reached Third Platoon, and other than a few faint flashes, there wasn’t anything to indicate that something was happening at their position.

Rev went into lift mode and raised his disc a meter to give him a better view of the far-off hill. No green flare lifted into the sky.

“How long were they supposed to engage before breaking off?” Rev asked Punch.

<Two volleys, then withdraw.>

“Maybe the noxes aren’t taking the bait.”

Which put a big kink in the plan. The Marines were counting on meeting the Naxli in terrain that gave them the advantage.

Five minutes stretched to ten, and still no flare. Rev knew something had gone wrong.

“Staff Sergeant Pelletier, up!” the captain shouted, which was repeated by the other Marines.

Rev started to lower his disc, but then he changed his mind. He didn’t think it would matter. He ascended another meter and slowly flew the disc to the captain, then set it down beside him.

“This isn’t looking good,” Bundy said. “I tried to raise them on the laser, but no one’s responding.”

With most comms blocked, the only way to communicate was with two portable line-of-sight laser terminals. Bundy had initiated the link between the two platoons when they’d arrived at their position.

Rev just shook his head. There wasn’t smoke obscuring the distance between them, which would render the system useless. It could be that the other platoon’s terminal had been knocked off target, but Rev didn’t think that was the problem.

“What’s your take on it?”

Bad feelings had been nibbling at him for the last five minutes, and now being put on the spot, they crystalized.

“Golf wasn’t able to disengage. I think they’re out of the picture.”

“It’s only been fifteen minutes. They can’t be gone already.”

Fifteen minutes in a firefight, while it can seem like an eternity when you were in one, was really nothing. But Rev’s intuition was telling him something different. He was sure the infantry platoon had been overrun before they could disengage and run.

“You’re asking my opinion, sir. I’m giving it.”

Bundy’s look bored into Rev’s eyes as if he could burrow inside and read Rev’s thoughts. Then, the platoon commander broke the contact, shook his head, and said, “Fuck. I was hoping you’d contradict my own thoughts.”

So, he thinks the same thing.

“Now what?” Bundy said.

Rev wasn’t sure the question was directed at him, but that never stopped him before.

“You’ve got to get back to the fort and let them know the noxes are here.”

Bundy considered that as he gazed out over the plains. “But unless the Naxli follow us, then who knows where they’ll go next?”

“So, we get them to follow us.”

“Which gives the CG no warn—”

Bundy turned back to face Rev. “What are you saying?”

“Give me Randigold, Tsao, Ho . . . no, not Hoch. BM. Then five more. Hus-man, Strap, Julian . . . who else is good on these discs? Maybe Bobovitch and Knopf? We’ll get the freakin’ noxes to come.”

Bundy gave Rev a measured stare as he ran through a quick mission assessment. In the end, there wasn’t any “No, you can’t. It’ll be suicide,” or any “I can’t let you risk that.” Bundy knew they had very few choices.

“You don’t need more?”

“If I can’t do it with nine, then a few more aren’t going to make a difference. You get them back. The fort’s going to need Pierson and Hoch and all the rest of you before this is over.”

“Then do it. But take Oneida instead of Knopf. Better on a disc.”

Of course, she is. She was a disc Marine before she came to the company. I shouldn’t have to have the captain remind me of that.

Bundy immediately put out the call for the Marines Rev wanted.

“Send them over to me right outside the gorse on the east side.”

“Will do. And Rev,” Bundy said as Rev started to lift off again. “May the Mother guide you.”

“Hopefully, the gods of war will be on our side, but yeah, I’ll take the Mother’s embrace anytime.”

With that, Rev rose above the bushes and flew to the south side, flattening the grass as he descended to the ground. He didn’t need to try and brief his Marines inside the thick gorse. He needed to be sure that everyone knew their place in the mission.

Hussein landed at almost the same instant as Rev had.

“What’s up? I haven’t seen a green flare.”

“There hasn’t been one. But hold on. I don’t want to explain this more than once.”

Hussein craned his head to see over the gorse. “We’re going to take Golf’s place, right?”

“Right.”

“Good on that.”

Within a minute, the rest of his team had arrived.

“Listen up. The captain’s taking the rest of the platoon back to let the CG know where the noxes are.”

“And us?” Tsao asked.

“Well, it looks like Golf isn’t going to be able to lead the noxes to where we want them. So, as of now, the nine of us are the bait.”

* * *

Rev was just finishing up with his frag order when the platoon lifted off. Instead of heading directly back, each of them flew over the nine Marines, skimming above their heads and giving a salute. It was a nice touch, and a part of Rev appreciated it, but his focus was on the mission ahead of them. He couldn’t start until the platoon was out of sight, so he’d much rather they just get the heck out of there and on their way.

Finally, the last of them had passed. Rev gave a few last-minute directions, then he rose another five meters to watch the platoon recede. Every minute that passed increased the chance that the Naxli would spot the platoon, and while that wouldn’t be a mission-killer, it could be a team killer. Their chances of getting out of this alive were much higher if they could surprise the enemy and not have to fight to get to them.

At last, he thought they were far enough away.

“That’s it,” he said to his team. “Let’s go.”

The other eight Marines rose on their discs and slipped into position. Sergeant Oneida, as the most experienced Marine on a disc, took the point in what was a modified wedge. Rev was off of her left flank, Božič-Mizaki on her right flank. Tsao was on the far right of the wedge, Randigold on the far left, with the other Marines filling in.

Rev had considered putting the two non-IBHU Marines on either end, like infantry screening tanks, but he decided that the IBHUs had to be where they would be most likely to engage the Naxli.

The formation flew over the gorse that had been their home for the last two days and headed slightly to the south of where Golf platoon’s position had been. With the planet’s primary sun at their backs, it would be in the eyes of the Naxli. It may not be that much of an advantage, given that they knew so little about them, but any advantage was a blessing.

It was almost like flying over an ocean. The breezes shifted the grass in wavelike patterns. In another time and situation, Rev might have even enjoyed it. But not this time. He was amped, perhaps too much so, with all his senses trained forward. If the Naxli made an appearance, the team was extremely exposed, and their only hope of survival would be to engage first.

Sixteen klicks. Fifty-five KPH if they wanted to maintain stability as they flew. Just short of fifteen minutes.

Rev kept waiting for the Naxli to appear as the minutes clicked down. Every meter they flew got them closer . . . unless the enemy had already left the area. Suddenly, Rev was afraid the Naxli had moved on, and all of this would be for naught.

He pushed ahead until he caught Oneida’s attention and motioned for her to speed up to sixty-five KPH. She didn’t hesitate but surged forward. For her, it wasn’t a problem, but as Rev had to keep adjusting his weight to maintain his balance, he wondered if he’d done the right thing, all for maybe saving a minute of time.

<One minute, fourteen seconds,> Punch corrected him.

OK, all for a little more than a minute.

At the faster speed, wind resistance made more of an impact, and Rev had to concentrate on keeping steady, which took away from his ability to focus on spotting the enemy.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” he told Punch.

<I’ll keep your eyes peeled.>

Rev didn’t like to interject Punch into his vision process. As quick as the process was, it still added a tiny bit of time for Rev to “see.” But in this case, with Rev trying to keep them flying, Punch could better scan Rev’s vision and note something that Rev might not notice.

Rev didn’t have the team heading directly at the infantry platoon’s last known position. He was angling them to the south. They’d climb into the hills, then turn left along the military crest to where the platoon had set up. The hills might be barely worthy of the title, but they’d sure be better than a direct approach from the plains.

A tiny wisp of smoke, which quickly dissipated, was the only sign that the Golf Company Marines might have been there. It was quiet—eerily so. Rev kept expecting an ambush, but his team reached the hills and slowed down before climbing.

The grass-covered hill was only eighty meters above the plains below, but it was enough to reveal the infantry position. Several bodies were in sight, but no Naxli.

Where are they?

The small line of hills stretching out in front of him was barren of anything taller than the ever-present wheatgrass, and their rounded tops didn’t offer much in the way of cover. As he scanned the plains farther to the west, he couldn’t see any Naxli moving across them.

Did they just vanish?

“How long since the flare?”

<Thirty-six minutes, twenty-five seconds.>

They can’t have fought Golf Company, and then gotten far. And they didn’t come down into the plains to the east. So which way did they go?

They had to advance if they were going to get the answer to that. Rev signaled Oneida to head out at fifteen KPH. As much as he wanted to charge ahead, he was wary of a trap. There was a good chance the nine of them had been spotted as they approached.

It didn’t take long to cover the four hundred meters to the site of the battle. Every meter closer revealed another Marine body . . . and more than a few Naxli. The enemy may have won the skirmish, but at least five had paid the price.

Rev slowed Oneida down as they reached the first Marine. Their PAL-H was shredded, the head destroyed past the hope of resurrection. All around him, Marines were scattered. There was no semblance of a formation. Their orders would have been the same as Third Platoon’s: fire a volley or two, then retreat. From the looks of it, the fight had been so abrupt that they’d never had time to pull back.

They picked their way through the carnage. It went against his nature, but he didn’t stop them to closely check the bodies. If they got back to the fort, there would be time to send out a recovery team. If they didn’t make it, then it wouldn’t matter anyway.

As they crossed the site, movement caught Rev’s peripheral vision, and he spun around, almost losing his balance. But it was a Marine, lying prone on the ground, raising an arm in supplication.

Rev dropped his disc, hopped off, and ran to the Marine. A quick release, and he plugged the end of his sync cable into the Marine’s jack. The bios weren’t good, and Rev was frankly surprised the woman was conscious.

“What happened?” he asked.

“They were on us before we could react,” she said before coughing took over.

Most of the Marines were staring at them, and Rev turned to motion to the others to look outboard. The enemy was out there, not here.

The coughing subsided, and Rev asked, “Which way did they go?”

The lance corporal shifted her body. That caused her to cough again, splattering bright red blood on the inside of her face shield. But she raised her arm and pointed to the north, along the line of hills.

Rev’s line of sight stretched for kilometers over the hilltops in that direction, but he couldn’t see anything. That didn’t mean the Naxli weren’t holed up somewhere in defilade, though.

He turned back to the Marine. “Can you ride a disc?”

As expected, she shook her head and said no. But he had to ask.

Rev’s heart fell. He had to find the Naxli and lure them into the kill zone. Too many lives depended on that, and on a strategic level, that was more important than this single lance corporal.

But the Marine ethos was to never leave a Marine behind.

“What do I do?”

<You know what you have to do.>

That didn’t make it any easier. Rev was wracked with anguish. He’d always longed for command, to be in charge, but not to make the gritty decisions that commanders had to make.

Every gram of his very being wanted to pick up the Marine and take her back. But she couldn’t surf a disc, and doubling up with someone else would slow that Marine down, which would be a death sentence if they found the Naxli. He couldn’t even leave someone behind with her. He didn’t expect all of them to make it back to the fort, and he had to make sure that at least one of them led the Naxli as far as the kill zone.

He thought this was the hardest decision he’d ever faced. But Punch was right. He knew what he had to do.

“Nanette,” he said, taking her first name from her bio readout. “I can’t take you with us. But the task force knows where you are, and they’ll come and get you.

“Your nanos have kicked in to stabilize you, so you just lie here and sit tight, OK?”

He could see her eyes widen behind her bloody face shield, and panic started to set in. Rev reached out and put his hand on her shoulder.

“You’ll make it. I’ll make sure someone comes back to get you and all the rest. Marines don’t leave anyone behind.”

Which you are doing right now, his better angel argued.

Nanette reached out and grabbed his right wrist in a death grip.

“I promise. We’ll get you.”

She stared into his eyes as if she was diving in, but after a moment, she relaxed and let go of his wrist.

“Get the bastards,” she said.

“We will.”

Feeling lower than a piece of worm shit, Rev stood, turned, and jogged back to his disc. It didn’t help that Strap stared at the wounded Marine, then looked at Rev and asked, “What the hell?”

Rev gritted his teeth and said, “Move out.”

Strap shook his head, but he raised his disc while Rev got back on his. Rev could feel other eyes on him, but no one could think any worse of him than he did himself.

He told Oneida to follow the hills at forty KPH. That was way too fast for the tactical situation and would open them up to an ambush, but he had to make sure they made contact.

The patrol dipped into the saddle on the other side of the hill, then started up the next rise. The wheatgrass diminished in size and density, exposing bare rocky soil. Rev felt extremely vulnerable as if he had a targeting laser centered on his chest. But they made it to the bottom of the saddle and started up the other side without incident.

Oneida went to the left of the next hilltop, keeping to the military crest, and Rev split off to the left. He didn’t need to be flying right over the top, completely exposed.

As they rounded the hilltop, Rev shifted back to link with Oneida. Just as he was slipping into position, the back of her head seemed to explode in a red mist, and she tumbled off the back of her disc.

Rev was already swerving to the left when a single report reached him.

Hypervelocity. Large caliber. But where?

Punch didn’t need prompting.

<Single shot. Far hillside, 823 meters, six meters to the right of the peak.>

His battle buddy gave him a target overlaid on his display. He switched to his twenty and riddled the spot with a fifteen-round burst.

The Marines went into their immediate action drill, which was to weave the discs as they charged through the kill zone.

“Strap, check on Oneida!” he shouted over his external speakers. He didn’t have much hope, but he had to check.

“Hus-man. Did you see my impacts? I want some 40 mike-mikes just beyond the crest.”

Rev should have chosen two grenadiers, but at least he had Hussein. The M-103 grenade attachment might not have the output of a Jackhammer, but the individual rounds were the same.

Hussein emptied the four-round magazine, each grenade set to detonate at increasing five-meter intervals as they cleared the crest. If Rev’s volley hadn’t taken out the Naxli gunner but sent it scrambling for cover, hopefully Hussein’s grenades would have caught him.

No more rounds reached out to them. No flash of the Naxli’s greenish energy weapons. The Marines maneuvered as they crossed the intervening distance.

If they were fighting fellow humans, then Rev knew the gunner who’d just killed Oneida would be a sniper hanging back to slow down pursuit. And that would indicate that the enemy knew the Marines were trying to chase them down.

At the risk of assuming the Naxli reacted as humans would, Rev was sure that the Naxli were aware of them and were prepared to meet them. But Rev didn’t want to engage the Naxli in a pitched battle. He just needed the enemy to chase them back to the kill zone.

He had no choice. They had to keep advancing, knowing that they were probably flying into an ambush.

He brought the patrol to a halt just short of the crest of the hill, which gave Strap a chance to catch back up. He gave Rev a shake of the head as he reached them.

“Listen up. The noxes know we’re here, and they’re probably lying in surprise.”

He knew he was making some big assumptions, but he felt in his heart that he was right.

“We need to provoke them, so we’re pushing forward. As soon as they spring on us, Strap, Hus-man, Bobo, Julian, break contact. Tum, Eth, BM, engage with a single cannon pulse, then break off.”

“I’ve got two more mags of forties,” Hussein said.

“OK, empty one, then break. We all know where we’re going. We need speed to put some distance between us, but if we just run, we’ll be easy targets. And for the Mother’s sake, keep the damn dispersion. Everybody on board?”

There were seven nodding heads.

“Then let’s do it.”

<That has to be the weakest frag order in history.>

“We already know what to do. I was just emphasizing it.”

Rev led the patrol over the top of the hill. They were not greeted by a fusillade of fire. A Naxli body lay still on the ground. This one had a longer cape that reminded Rev of a Marine sniper’s tarnkappe, and it was armed with a long-barreled weapon, which together only reaffirmed his opinion that this was a Naxli sniper.

The patrol left the body behind as they flew over the high ground.

What Punch had said about his frag order bothered him, and as they closed on the far side of the high ground, Rev asked, “Do you think we have a chance?”

<If you mean in achieving the mission, you only need one of you to survive. If even that.>

“What do you mean, ‘if that?’”

<The fort is a pretty big object. They might already know where it is.>

“Then why haven’t they attacked?”

<On Yonci, the Genesians knew where the Alliance command center was located. They attempted to approach in secrecy. Only when they were spotted by the Yonci militia did they abandon stealth and launch into a direct attack.>

“So, you’re saying that they already know where the fort is? Then what the hell are we doing?”

<I’m not saying anything. I’m only relaying to you a possibility based on human history.>

Rev didn’t doubt Punch’s recounting of history, but these were Naxli, not the half-machine Genesians. His battle buddy’s suggestion sounded too pat, too easy of an answer. Making assumptions in a combat scenario had a habit of biting Marines in the ass.

Rev didn’t know what the Naxli knew and when. All he could do was make sure his Marines were ready to fight.

“Give me power and ammo checks,” he told the squad leaders.

“Speaking of which, where am I?” he asked Punch.

<All systems green. Power’s at sixty-eight-point three, you’ve got 848 20mm rounds, and all Morays.>

“And my blade,” Rev said, extending and retracting it.

<And your blade, may you never have to use it.>

He had more power than he’d expected. That was one good thing about surfing a disc. It didn’t draw on his PAL-HX’s power.

Rev slowed the team as they approached the next high ground. Every nerve was on end, and he was sure that over the hilltop, the Naxli would be waiting. His warrior cried for release, but he kept it down. This was not a time for berserker rage. He had to play it smart.

Something more than the impending fight was bothering him, though, above and beyond leaving Wisp behind. There was something he’d done wrong, but nothing jumped out at him. It wasn’t until they were approaching the top of the hill and he checked their dispersion that he realized what it was.

Frantically, he signaled for the formation to shift to the left. Twenty meters from the top, the Marines slid their discs until all of them were on the west side of the peak.

If they were going to initiate contact in a few moments, Rev wanted them all to be able to slide off the line of hills easily to the plains on the west. He didn’t need half of the team split on the east side of the peak.

Focus, Reverent! You almost missed that.

His heart pounding, he signaled the team to advance again. Rev expected to be greeted by fire as they crossed over to the other side, but there was only the wind in their faces. He let out the breath he was holding and scanned the area to the next hill as they started to descend into the next saddle. As they passed the shoulder, their line of sight extended until they could see all the way to the bottom of the saddle six hundred meters away . . . and well more than a hundred Naxli gathered there.

“Break!” Rev yelled as he fired his cannon into the mass of the enemy, with Randigold a split second later. Rev could hear Hussein’s 40mm.

The Naxli were taken by surprise. Rev couldn’t understand why they evidently hadn’t realized that their sniper had been taken out, and he’d been positive the enemy had known his team was there, but he wasn’t going to complain. He added a burst from his twenty just before he leaned to take his disc down the side of the high ground while the Naxli swarmed into action.

Fire reached out to the Marines as they surfed down the side of the mountain. After only a few seconds, they were in defilade to the Naxli, which would give them a few moments of cover. It wouldn’t last long. As the bottom of the hill flattened out and the Naxli reached the edge of the hill’s shoulder, the Marines would be in full view of the pursuing enemy.

The discs had very good compensators for Marines like Rev who weren’t experts in their use, but those compensators weren’t perfect. As Rev hurtled down the mountainside, he had to concentrate merely to keep aloft. Around him, with little regard for a formation, the other seven Marines were in their own little battles to stay on their discs.

Somehow, all eight Marines made it down to the bottom before the Naxli made their appearance.

“Spread out and move it!” Rev shouted over his loudspeakers.

He kept expecting fire to cut him down, but one minute, then two, and there was nothing.

“Crap, they’re not following,” he muttered as he turned his head to look back.

But the Naxli were coming. They just didn’t seem to be in any hurry. A single explosion rocked the ground between Randigold and Hussein, then another hit behind Rev, but this was hardly the massive amount of fire he’d expected.

And it was obvious that the Marines were quickly outdistancing the enemy who seemed content to follow at their own pace.

“Strap, Bobo, Tum, and Eth, split left. The rest of you split right with me. Watch your speed, and don’t break contact. Fire when you can to keep them interested, but don’t stop to engage. We’re not in this to fight them.”

As if they’d rehearsed it for weeks, the team split in two and spread out. Behind them, the Naxli kept up a light fire as they followed the Marines out of the hills. Something exploded over Rev, peppering him and Julian, but not with anything large enough to have any effect.

It was almost as if they were simply goading the Marines forward, like dogs nipping at the flanks of sheep to keep them moving.

“Hell, we’re the dogs here, not the sheep!” Rev said as he twisted around to fire a burst of his twenty at the Naxli.

<Being the sheep is fine if that gets them to follow.>

He’s right. Don’t let your ego get in the way of the mission.

If the Naxli wanted to use the team to find the main force, then that just coincided with their own mission.

Another air blast exploded over Bobovitch, knocking his disc awry and sending it looping to the left before it slammed into the ground. He hit hard and skidded over the grass, digging a gouge into the brown soil underneath. Rev started to change course toward him, but Strap swerved in as Bobo got to his feet. The junior Marine jumped up onto the disc, almost knocking them both off, but they managed to find something of an equilibrium.

Flying double on a disc wasn’t easy, but it was possible. And with the Naxli seemingly content to follow at their pace, the two should be able to remain ahead of them.

But the two were far less maneuverable now. Rev scooted ahead and signaled Strap to head directly back to the fort at top speed. Strap acknowledged, and he and Bobovitch made a beeline across the plains.

As Rev started to swing back, he risked a look behind him. A mass of Naxli was now converging out of the hills—not just the hundred-plus Rev had seen, but more from two other sections of the high ground. He couldn’t tell how many, but it looked to be over 300, and more were emerging from the hills.

Rev fired his cannon, but the range was probably too far. He couldn’t see any of them fall. Even in the planet’s thin air, there was enough atmosphere to ablate the beam to the point that the Naxli’s armor was protecting them.

But the enemy was well within Moray range, and Rev fired two of them at the nearest Naxli. He couldn’t help himself but to watch them—a greenish light reached up, knocking one of the missiles down, but the second made it far enough to detonate.

Hopefully, it took out some of the aliens, but Rev couldn’t just putter along and watch. He faced around again and poured on the speed. He’d lost ground to the others with only Hussein, who was flying backward and firing his 40mm grenade launcher.

Rev swerved closer to tell his friend to just fly when Hussein dropped his last mag and turned around. He gave Rev the “out of rounds” signal and sped up.

Rev checked his overlay. They were seventeen klicks away from the fort. That was a long way to lead the Naxli, even if they didn’t seem intent on engaging with the patrol.

Their mission had been to act as bait, essentially to trick the Naxli into moving into the kill zone. But it had been too easy so far, and that made Rev nervous. When things were going this well, that was usually because a curveball was coming their way.

Are the noxes playing us? Do they have some trick up their sleeves?

But Rev didn’t know what to do about it. He couldn’t turn his now seven Marines around and charge the Naxli. Different options flashed through his mind, but in the end, all he could do was to continue as per the plan. If the Naxli were cooperating so readily, then so be it.

By now, the Marines had opened up a gap of almost four klicks. On the flat grasslands, the bulk of the Naxli were still in view, but Rev didn’t want to lose contact with the foot-borne enemy infantry. He gave the signal to the others to slow down their forward progress but keep weaving and juking the best they could. Rev was pretty sure by now that the intermittent incoming fire was just there to keep the Marines moving, but there was no use in making it easier for one of the shots to hit home.

Slowly, the hares led the hounds, one klick after the other. The incoming fire slackened, then ceased, and it became evident that the Naxli were letting them run free. Rev could only pray that it was the Naxli who would be rudely surprised and not the humans.

They crested the last of the slightly higher ground, and nine klicks away, the fort was a welcomed sight. If there was any chance that the Naxli didn’t know where the fort was, when they reached this point, there would no longer be a question.

Strap and Bobovitch were tiny figures a third of the way to the fort, and Rev gave the order to pick up the pace again. He’d willingly gone into the mission knowing that most of them, if not all, were going to get themselves killed. But now, with all of them still alive, the chance of making it through the mission in one piece burned the flame of hope. It would be horrible to die within view of the fort, so instead of leading the Naxli on, it was now time for a dash to safety.

The Marines ratcheted up their speed and hit 60 KPH as they sped across the grass. At these speeds, with the wind buffeting them, Rev couldn’t turn around to watch for the Naxli.

“Wish we had a rearview mirror.”

<Wouldn’t be that difficult to put in a cam facing to the rear.>

“Make a note to tell Daryll.”

<Already did.>

They caught up to Strap and Bobovitch just a few hundred meters from the fort. One of the gates opened, and they headed right for it. An armed Marine stepped forward as they approached.

“Heavy infantry?”

“That’s us.”

“Go to G-19. Your captain’s waiting for you there.”

And they were through the gate and inside. Rev would have bet against them all making it back, but as they jumped off their discs, the relief manifested itself with back slaps and hugs.

Rev let them purge the stress for a moment, then said, “Let’s get over to the platoon.”

They got back on their discs and slowly wended their way through tanks that hummed with suppressed power. They were ready to go. Bundy and the rest had evidently made it back in time for the task force to get ready.

G-19 was a little out of the way, up against a section of the fort’s barrier.

“They’re back!” someone shouted, and the rest of the platoon jumped up to swarm them, Bundy right at the fore.

The captain did a quick count. “Who’s missing?”

Rev looked down at the ground, not wanting to meet his platoon commander’s eyes. “Oneida. She bought it from a sniper.”

“Hell. Tomorrow was her birthday.” He took a couple of deep breaths, then said, “When the word came down that the noxes were in sight, and you weren’t back, I . . .”

“They didn’t seem too interested in us, to be honest. But they came, and that’s what matters. I see you got word to the general. It looks like the tankers are foaming at the mouth to get at the noxes.”

“They’ve been ready. We just started the countdown. What about Golf? They come back with you?”

Rev shook his head. “All dead except for one. Had to leave her there for now. If I’d known the noxes would just let us go, I’d have doubled her up with someone. I told her we’d get her after the fight here. So, what’re our orders now?”

“They want us to stay in place right here and out of the way. If they need us, they’ll give us a frag.”

“Won’t the tanks and mech need a screen?” Rev asked. That had been the plan when they’d left the fort, at least.

“They’ve got them. The regular infantry will take that task.”

But the regular infantry doesn’t have IBHUs. They don’t have our punch.

Which wasn’t exactly true. They had the Jackhammers and Mantises, which were a step up from the IBHU Marines’ Morays. It was just that they weren’t as flexible and quick with them as the IBHU Marines were.

“So, we’ve got no part in this?” Winnie asked.

“I wouldn’t say no part. We’re supposed to stand by for any contingency in case they need us.”

“Like that’s gonna happen with all of them,” she said, tilting her head toward the assembled tanks and mech.

Rev understood her frustration. But the plan had many moving parts, and there had been virtual rehearsals that Third Platoon, being out beyond the walls of the fort, hadn’t taken part of. And the amount of time they’d been back had hardly been enough to snap them in.

This was one of those cases of “OK, you did your job. Now you step back and let us do ours.”

Rev didn’t like it, though. Standing here, right by the barrier, but not knowing what was happening was not something he looked forward to. He stared at the barrier, six meters tall with the parapet running between weapons mounts. If they were on that parapet, at least they could see, and if the IBHUs needed to contribute, they’d be in place.

“Screw it. I’m going up there to watch,” Rev said, stepping away from his disc, then climbing the ladder.

Hussein hesitated only a moment before he joined him. The rest turned to look at the captain, who finally nodded, and there was a mass rush for the parapet.

Rev stared across the grass, squeezing his brows to initiate the zoom. He didn’t like to do that for long, but he wanted a better look at the enemy who’d just chased them across the plains.

The leading edge of the Naxli had stopped about five klicks out, well within the kill zone. But the CG hadn’t committed his forces yet. Rev wasn’t sure why not, but it could be that these were only the vanguard, and there were far more behind them.

There were several recon teams and infantry platoons in the hills surrounding the wide plain who had eyes on the Naxli, and they could have reported back, via laser comms, the enemy’s disposition.

“That’s a shitload of them,” Hussein said from beside Rev. “Didn’t realize that many were chasing our asses.”

Chasing, but not engaging.

The only explanation that Rev could come up with was Punch’s. Maybe they did know all the time where the fort was, and it was only once they were detected that they decided to take a more direct approach.

“One of them’s coming forward,” Tsao said.

Rev turned to ask her which one and saw that she was using a monocular.

Dumb shit, Reverent.

Sometimes he relied on his augments too much when a tool existed that could do a better job. He blinked back to normal vision, reached down to his left thigh holster, and pulled out his monocular.

He snapped it to full length and looked through the small telescope. The front lines of the enemy came into focus, and Tsao was right. A single Naxli was striding forward, its cape billowing behind it.

What the hell’s it doing?

Rev glanced below at the assembled tanks, half expecting them to move out. But they remained quiet. The CG wasn’t going to let a single Naxli force his hand. He turned back to the front.

“Range?”

<Four thousand, seven hundred, and twenty meters.>

Rev raised Pashu. Most likely too much atmosphere for his cannon to be effective, but he could fire that far with his twenty. He might not hit it, but then again, he might.

His warrior perked up, but Rev lowered his IBHU. The order to engage hadn’t been given.

The turret to his right could reach the lone Naxli easily. Designed for close-in defense, it could still be used in an offensive mode against a single target. A few mortar rounds, for that matter, could take the thing out, and it would be child’s play for the 155 cannons.

If Rev were in command, he thought he’d give the order to do just that. Maybe it’d goad the Naxli into an ill-fated charge.

For a full three surreal minutes, the lone Naxli approached the fort while the Marines sat quietly and watched. Finally, the Naxli stopped and raised a single arm.

“This is it,” Rev muttered. “It’s giving the order.”

But the mass of Naxli behind it didn’t move. They might as well have been statues.

For a moment, Rev was reminded of the recording he’d seen, the one taken on Heverig. The Naxli officer (if they even had officers) had come out alone there, too, only to set off the attack that cut down the surviving troops and then murder the Synergy Alliance battalion commander.

“You’re going to find us a little tougher nut to crack,” he said under his breath.

The lone Naxli lowered its arm and stood there for another long moment before it spun around and started to retreat to the rest of them. The ranks of Naxli started to stir, but whether in excitement or nervousness . . . well, Rev couldn’t read the alien life forms.

Still, there was no response from the Marines. The fort might as well have been abandoned.

Rev followed the Naxli through his monocular, all the way back to its lines. Several of the Naxli parted, and the thing disappeared into the mass.

“Now what?” Hussein asked. “Are we just going to sit on our butts, or are we gonna go kick some ass?”

“Hell if I know.”

Before the last word fell from his lips, the mass of Naxli in the distance started to move like some amorphous animal.

“Belay that last,” Rev said. “Looks like it’s on.”

But what initially seemed to be developing as a mass charge—which would be playing right into the Marines’ hands—quickly shifted into a sophisticated movement under fire. The Naxli dispersed and continued to advance, making use of every slight change in elevation, every bit of cover.

Rev grunted in grudging admiration. There had to have been at least four or possibly even five hundred Naxli facing them, yet as they advanced, the numbers looked far less. They were putting on a master class of infantry maneuver.

But the Naxli weren’t relying solely on maneuver to close the gap with the Marines. Something rose from the advancing Naxli—rockets or rounds of some sort—and arced toward the fort. With a blurt of fire, the Gatling beside the platoon erupted, sending hundreds of rounds to meet the incoming. Explosions filled the sky, and shock waves flashed over them. But some of what the Naxli were firing got through. Two explosions sounded within the fort, and smoke rose from the far side.

Rev caught Bundy’s eyes. Up on the parapet, they were more vulnerable to incoming. The platoon commander looked down to the ground but then must have decided that the advantage of being able to see what was going on outweighed any potential risk.

Still, the tanks and mech remained inside the fort. But the Marines weren’t just turtling up. Mortars and the 155’s opened up to the cheers of the platoon.

“Get some, arty!” Hussein shouted.

Rev started a mental countdown. But just before the 155 rounds should have landed, hundreds of white tendrils reached up into the sky above the Naxli, followed by explosions blossoming in the air. Only one Marine round reached the ground.

I hope all of this is being recorded.

However this battle turned out, Rev was sure it wasn’t going to be the last one, and humanity had to figure out the Naxli tech in order to be able to defeat it in future fights.

The entire kill zone had been charted to the square meter. The leading Naxli kept pushing forward, advancing ever closer. Three thousand meters, two thousand meters, fifteen hundred meters. Rev could swear he sensed their confidence growing. The weapons turrets picked off a few Naxli, arty a few more. But their casualties were light even considering that the Marines were not putting up a concerted defense yet.

In fact, the Marines seemed to be getting the worst of the fight. Two of the fort’s weapons stations were knocked out, and half a dozen of the Naxli rounds made it into the fort. One of the tanks had been hit and was now a smoking ruin. Luckily, the crew made it out, but it was a sobering reminder that the Marine Avengers were not invulnerable.

“Come on, guys. It’s time to go,” Rev said, urging the tanks to engage.

As if the CG heard him, sections of the barrier raised, and platoons of tanks accelerated out of the fort. Farther down the line, Mech Marines charged out, their long legs eating up the terrain. Fyr and Udu were out there, taking the fight to the Naxli.

“Mother protect you,” Rev said.

Almost unnoticed among the big guys, infantry on discs followed, then spread out to the sides. The point of main effort was the tanks, with mech in support. The infantry was deploying as a screening force.

The Avengers were all the K versions, with their big 130mm hypervelocity guns, and they immediately took the Naxlis under fire. Interspersed between the platoons were the hulking Lightnings, with their sixty-gigajoule fusion plants. The air cracked with ionization as their meson cannons fired massive amounts of energy into the enemy, mowing down the front ranks.

The Naxli didn’t falter—Rev had to give them credit for that. But they were being decimated. They fought back, and with some success. Eight Avengers and a Lightning were destroyed, but whatever defense the Naxli had against the arty didn’t seem to be as effective against armor.

They rallied and formed a defensive position, but they weren’t expecting the four armored Harpy gunships that rose from concealed hangars within the fort and flew forth, guns blazing. Nor were they expecting the mech Marines converging on their flanks.

They fought tooth and nail, but it was obvious to Rev and the rest of the platoon that the end was inevitable. Just an hour before, Rev’s patrol was outmanned and running. Now, it was the Naxli that were outmanned and outgunned.

If this had been an infantry battle, even with the Heavy Infantry, Rev wasn’t so sure the Marines would have come out ahead. But the Naxli didn’t expect the armor, and that was a mortal mistake.

It still took another half an hour to overrun the Naxli, but in the end, it was a turkey shoot. Over a hundred tanks and three hundred mech Marines simply stood off and poured fire into the diminishing number of Naxli.

Finally, a cease-fire was called, and the infantry, who hadn’t fired a shot, were sent forward to search the scene.

“That was . . . something,” Hussein said.

“I guess they didn’t need us after all,” Rev responded. “Sometimes a plan really does work after the first round is fired.”

20

Rev strode across the fort. Emotions were running high inside, with Marines high-fiving each other, but this was just one battle, and there were still things that had to be done.

Things he’d given his word on.

Bundy had been called away even before the tanks and mech returned to the fort, but it had been almost an hour, and the platoon commander hadn’t returned. Rev told Winnie to take over and get the platoon ready, then he left to track the captain down.

He slipped between the tanks and headed to the CP. Several of them showed signs of damage, but on the whole, they looked good for having just been in a fight. He passed through the nice, even rows of Avengers and moved into the mech staging area, which was a little more in disarray. Maintenance teams were already hard at work checking the big mechs and rearming them.

“Rev!” a familiar voice called out.

He spun around to see Udu running up to him, her face almost splitting in two with her smile. She embraced him while pounding on his back.

“You should have seen us, Rev. It was fucking amazing!”

Rev returned the hug but then broke away.

“Where’s Fyr?”

“He’s here. Somewhere.” She lowered her voice. “Only three KIA, respect to the fallen. We were told to expect thirty percent casualties.”

Then the excitement returned. “They had nothing for us when we flanked them. They were so focused on the damn Avengers that we completely caught them by surprise. That’s kinda hard to do, you know. We’re not exactly stealthy.”

It was only then that she noticed that Rev wasn’t joining in the excitement.

“Wait. How did things go with you?” she asked, her voice taking on a worried tone.

“One KIA. But the Golf platoon got wiped out. One survivor.”

“Oh, shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s OK, but I’ve got to get to the CP.”

“Damn. And here I am holding you up. You go, Rev.”

“It’s OK. And it’s good to see you made it. You mechheads, you did good. I’ll catch you later.”

He broke away from his old friend and started jogging to the CP. Time was of the essence. He never made it into the CP itself. Bundy, Captain Macek, and the other two platoon commanders were gathered around the major outside of it.

The company commander looked up as Rev joined them.

“Is there something up?” she asked.

“We’re not done, ma’am.”

The major frowned and said, “What do you mean, we’re not done, Staff Sergeant? We just got our new orders, so we haven’t even started yet.”

“We’ve got dead Marines out there and at least one live one. Lance Corporal Nanette Wisp.”

“Lance Corporal Wisp? We don’t have a Wisp in the company.”

“She’s with Golf, ma’am. She’s still out there, and she was still alive when we were at their position.”

The major seemed to be relieved when she heard Wisp was with Golf Company, and that infuriated Rev. It didn’t matter if she was in Heavy Infantry or not. She was a Marine. He had to forcibly push down his warrior before he said something stupid.

“Not our responsibility, Staff Sergeant. Someone will go recover the bodies and this lance corporal.”

“With all due respect, ma’am, when? The clock is ticking on resurrection potential, and Wisp’s been out there, all alone.”

“From what you told Captain Bundy, not many of them are resurrection candidates.”

Hot flames licked at Rev’s brain, and Punch told him, <Get ahold of yourself, Rev. Don’t do something you’ll regret later.>

“Any potential is worth pursuing, ma’am,” he said, unable to take the ice out of his voice.

She flinched, realizing her mistake. “Of course. I didn’t mean we shouldn’t try. So don’t worry. Someone will go recover them.”

“Again, when, ma’am. I gave Wisp my word that we’d be back.”

“Staff Sergeant Pelletier, would you step back for a moment?” Bundy asked.

Rev spun on the captain, ready to snap, but something in his commander’s eyes stopped him. He nodded and moved back a good fifteen meters.

Bundy turned to the major and moved in close to talk. Rev strained to hear, but they were speaking so softly that not even his augmented hearing could make out anything other than the tone—the major’s sounding pissed off, Bundy’s sounding insistent.

After a full minute, the major nodded, the expression on her face far from happy. Bundy turned and walked over to Rev.

“Get the platoon ready. We’re going.”

Which was not what Rev expected to hear.

“How did you manage that?”

“I told her she’d better give us permission, or we’d go on our own. She’s going to clear it with ops, but it’s a go.”

“Would you really have us go if she said no?”

“Those are our fellow Marines. That’s our highest priority, and the platoon is ready. It is ready, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Rev said. “We can move out immediately.”

“And you’ve already been there, so we know where to go.”

Rev should have realized that Bundy would back him.

“Besides, Rev. You gave your word to Wisp. I couldn’t stand by and let you break that promise.”

* * *

The flight to Golf’s position was slower than the way in from it. Each of the Marines in Second Squad was towing stretchers, which, while the stretchers had follow-me duckling capabilities, still made the discs a little less stable.

And there was also the fact that while the indications were that all of the Naxli were killed, there could have been stragglers or some that had gotten away. First Squad led the platoon, on full alert as they surfed over the grass, and Third Squad flanked the formation.

Rev was thankful that Bundy backed him up, but it never should have gotten to that. The Harpies were not configured for passengers, but one could have picked up Wisp and carried her in its small cargo pod. His dander was still up, and he said as much to Punch as they headed to the Golf position.

<We don’t know what is going on elsewhere on the planet, or if the Harpies are required elsewhere.>

Rev started to protest, but he stopped before he could formulate his words. His battle buddy was right. Neither one of them had an inkling of the big picture.

Rev had been devastated when he left Lance Corporal Wisp to fend for herself, but that was only one Marine. What must the CG feel when any of his decisions could cost the lives of countless Marines?

Just worry about what you can do, Reverent. You don’t have any control over what happens at the top.

And he’d done what he could. They were going to recover Wisp and whoever of the KIA they could. He had to feel good about that.

The planet’s sun was still fairly high in the sky as they approached the line of hills. It was hard to believe that it had only been a few hours since they’d left their position in the gorse. It seemed as if the world had changed, and if what had happened here was being repeated around the planet, this war might be over sooner than anyone had thought. Rev didn’t want to get his hopes up, but there was no getting around the fact that the tanks and mech had soundly beaten the Naxli.

Rev was flying with Second Squad, but as they started to climb the hill, he pushed to the front, eyes straining to spot Wisp and hoping she was still alive. They crossed a final rise, and there she was, looking like she hadn’t moved since she was left.

Rev’s heart was in his throat as he flared his disc to a stop and jumped off. He ran to the lance corporal and knelt beside her.

Gently, he turned her head to face him, and her eyes opened.

“I knew you’d come back, Staff Sergeant. Did we win?”

“We kicked their nox asses, Nanette,” Rev said, his voice choking off. “Now, let’s get you out of here.”

“Is anyone else alive?” she asked.

“We’re going to find out. Don’t you worry about it.”

Doc Kensington knelt beside him, using his body to gently push Rev away. “I need to get in here, Staff Sergeant,” he said in a mild rebuke.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

Rev stood and stepped back. He watched for a moment as the corpsman hooked up to her jack, but there wasn’t anything he could do for Wisp. And she wasn’t the only member of the platoon there. He wasn’t optimistic that they’d missed anyone else that was alive, but hopefully, a few among the carnage would be potential candidates for resurrection.

The rest of the platoon had landed with First and Third Squads taking up a defensive position while Second staged the stretchers.

“First, cover to the north and search. Third, you’ve got the south. Second, there’s plenty right here to recover. Get at it. Time’s of the essence to anyone getting zombied,” he shouted over his external speakers.

“She still with us?” Bundy asked as he approached Rev.

“Alive. I don’t know in what shape, but Doc’s working on her now.”

Bundy stared at the two, corpsman and Marine, for a moment. “Even if she dies now, she has to have a good chance at resurrection.”

“I’d rather she make it back in one piece.”

“Of course. That’s not what I meant. But you made the right choice, and she’s not going to suffer for it.”

Except lying here, wondering if anyone was going to come back. That must have sucked big time.

“But we added four hours to the KIA.”

“Which is still within resurrection protocol. Don’t beat yourself up, Rev.”

Rev knew Bundy was right.

So why do I still feel guilty?

“I need to go supervise the recovery,” he said.

It was true, but he was using it to break away. He wanted to keep his mind occupied.

“Let’s do it quickly. I want to get everyone back to the fort.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

The immediate area was littered with dead, ravaged Marines and body parts—mostly body parts. Marines recovered what they could and placed the parts in three stretchers. That was all it took.

Aside from being able to send something home to their families, the R&D guys would want to see the remains of their body armor. Whatever had chewed the Marines up seemed more powerful than what Rev had seen before.

“Looks like they’ve got someone,” Randigold said, pointing behind Rev.

He spun around, and Hussein was coming their way, a Marine across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

Rev hurried over to help.

“Is he alive?” he asked before he could see who they were.

Hussein shook his head. “Her head’s intact, though. Mostly.”

He lowered the Marine so they could share the burden. There was a blast mark just below the ribcage, fifteen centimeters across, that exposed blackened flesh and jarringly white bones. If that was the only injury, then this Marine might have a shot.

The two of them lowered her into one of the stretchers, then secured her in place.

“I’ll get Doc to start the protocols as soon as he’s done with Wisp,” Rev said. “Go back to your squad and find us some more.”

“Not sure we’ll find many more. It’s kinda rough over there,” Hussein said, but he turned and jogged off.

The Naxli had hit this platoon with savage ferocity. So why hadn’t they gone after Rev’s patrol with the same degree of force? It was almost as if they’d wanted the patrol to lead them to the fort.

That, or with their presence known, they just didn’t think it was that important to chase them down. Hopefully, the analysts would be able to make sense of that, because Rev sure couldn’t.

Over the next hour, two more potential resurrectees were brought in. A gunny—the platoon sergeant—was in the best shape of the three they’d recovered. A PFC was in far worse shape, and Doc only gave him a ballpark twenty percent chance of being resurrected. Rev hoped he was wrong.

That meant that thirty-four Marines and a corpsman had been lost . . . permanently. It was a mental gut shot.

Rev walked over to the stretchers. Four were occupied with Wisp and the three dead Marines. Two were still empty, and the other stretchers . . . they sure didn’t seem to have enough remains in them to make up all of those lost.

That was it: one WIA, and three KIA who had a chance of being brought back.

“Rev,” Bundy said, motioning him over.

“I think there might be more out there,” Rev said as he reached the platoon commander.

“We need to go, Rev.”

“But—”

“The major went to bat for us, but she gave us a deadline to get back. We’ve just got enough time to do that.”

“But anyone else—”

“Is not resurrectable. We’ve been over this entire area. There’s no way an entire body’s escaped our search. And we need to get who we have back to the aid station.”

Rev scanned the area. It was pretty open, and he had to admit Bundy was right.

“We’ve done what we could for those where time matters. A recovery team will come back later to do a thorough sweep to get what’s left. Let’s get everyone mounted and on our way back.”

Rev nodded, then gathered the squad leaders to give them their marching orders. He felt the mission hadn’t been completed, but besides it being his decision, the platoon commander was correct. There wasn’t anything to do for whatever was left on this Mother-forsaken hill.

Second Squad, who’d already had experience with the stretchers, would tow them back as well. It took them a few minutes to imprint a “duckling” to their discs so that only one stretcher would be linked to one disc.

Just as First Squad was moving into position to lead the platoon back, Bobovitch, in Third Squad, shouted out, “I see something!”

Rev turned around. Bobovitch was the platoon’s tail-end Charlie. He was already in place, hovering about four meters above the ground.

Rev hopped on his disc and scooted back to join him.

“What do you have?”

“Down there, about two o’clock,” the PFC said, pointing.

Rev blinked his zoom. Sure enough, there was a low dust cloud rising from the ground with tiny dots that could be vehicles at the base.

“What’s going on?” Bundy asked, coming alongside Rev.

“Looks like tanks. I thought the Eighteenth was to the west of us, not the east.”

“They are,” Bundy said. “Maybe the Frisians? But that’s about five hundred klicks. Long way for their autoarmor to come.”

Rev pulled out his monocular and raised it. It took it a moment to focus, but it was clear that the far-off tanks weren’t Avengers, so that left out the Marines.

“Are those Frisian Maxes?” Rev asked Punch.

<No. The shape is wrong. I can’t find a match at this distance. I’ll have to wait until they get closer and we can see more details.>

“They’re not Avengers, and Punch said they aren’t Frisian.”

“APC’s?” Bundy asked.

“I don’t . . . shit! I think they’re . . . noxes?” Rev said as soon as it hit him.

“What? Gimme that!” Bundy said, holding out his hand.

Rev tossed it over, and the captain stared at the far dust cloud.

“What makes you say that?”

“They’re not Marines, and they’re not Frisian. That leaves only one other force on the planet.”

“They don’t have armor,” Bundy said, but not sounding sure of himself.

“No, we haven’t seen any armor. There’s a difference.”

Bundy stared through the monocular for another ten seconds before he lowered it and screamed, “Fuck!”

He tossed Rev’s monocular back to him and said, “And they’re coming fast. Even as far away as they are, there’s no way we outrun them back to the fort towing ducklings.”

“Credits get you doughnuts that they’re heading to the fort after what happened there to their buddies. We’ve got to give the CG a heads up. Give a team from First Squad the laser terminal and send them back at top speed. Then take Second Squad and Wisp and the three KIA. The rest of us will stay and delay the noxes.”

“I’m staying. You take Second.”

“Sir, this isn’t the time for you to prove you’ve got the biggest balls. That’s armor coming our way. Who knows what their capabilities are? We need to meet them with our IBHUs and missilemen. That’s me.”

Rev could tell Bundy wanted to argue, but he was professional enough to know Rev was right. It had to be eating at him, that this would be the second time Rev stayed behind, but that was the way it had to be.

“I hate it when you’re right, Rev.”

“First and Third Squads, report here to the platoon sergeant. Lehman, give me a team of riflemen who know what they’re doing on discs and send them to me. Four Marines,” he shouted.

“Second, detach your IBHUs and missilemen and have them stay with Staff Sergeant Pelletier. The rest of Second, get ready to haul the stretchers. Move it, people.”

He turned to his friend and said, “You’d better not get yourself killed, Rev. Tomiko won’t forgive me if you do.”

“I won’t forgive me if I get killed, Bundy.”

With that, the captain spun around and flew to Second Squad where he started giving orders. The other two squads, along with Second’s IBHUs and missilemen, converged on Rev.

“What’s going on,” Sergeant Tsao asked.

Rev held up a hand to tell her to wait. As the last of them arrived, he said, “See that dust cloud over there? That’s nox armor, and we need to slow it the fuck down.”

* * *

Rev made a quick run down the impromptu line, checking the positions. He’d placed First and Third Squads on the military crest of the last hill in the line, where they had good lines of sight and fields of fire down into the low ground. They also had a semi-covered route of retreat.

This was going to be dangerous, but it wasn’t a suicide mission. Before Bundy took off, he was adamant that Rev hit the Naxli but not get trapped into a slugfest they couldn’t win. He’d do better to continue a running harassment of the enemy, which would slow them down more in the long run.

The question was if the Naxli would cooperate and come within range. Given the gentle terrain, the plains below them were still somewhat of a chokepoint. From the hill they were on, the level grasslands stretched for eleven klicks to the ridge on the other side. That was out of range for their twenties, and even in Wie’s World’s thin air, their meson cannons would have lost most of their punch at that range. Their main weapons would be the IBHU’s Morays and the missilemen’s Mantises—and they didn’t even know if they’d be effective against the Naxli armor.

Rev went prone in his position and looked out at the advancing armor enemy formation. It had significantly cut the distance between them—they were almost in range of the Morays already—but it looked to Rev that if it kept on its current heading, the closest tanks would pass right below them. Or even over them. Marine armor could climb the hills on either side, so Rev had to assume that Naxli armor could, too. But knowing what he did about human armor, at least, and even Centaur armor, for that matter, the Naxli would want to stay out on the level ground where they had the most maneuverability.

<You do know what assume means, right?> Punch said when Rev told him that.

“Yeah. You make an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me.’ You’ve only told me that a million times.”

<Because it’s true.>

And it was true. Humans still didn’t know much about the Naxli, and just because their infantry tactics seemed to be similar to that of most human armies didn’t mean that their armor would be equally similar. Stupid word games aside, assuming anything about the enemy armor could be a fatal mistake.

Still, he had to make plans on the most probable course of actions, and he thought the most likely scenario was that the Naxli would pass right beneath them.

He could see the vehicles in better detail as they approached, but now that his Marines were in position, he wanted a better look to try and figure out any vulnerabilities. He pulled out his monocular again and focused on the nearest tanks. And he quickly realized that there were two different kinds. Both were boxy, low vehicles, with what looked like three independent tracks on each side, each covering two road wheels, unlike the articulated legs of the Centaur paladins and coursers that had killed so many human fighters during that war.

Rev let out a sigh of relief. He knew that the Naxli were not the Centaurs, but still, the back of his mind wouldn’t let go of that irrational fear that they were in cahoots, and the Naxli might have Centaur armor. Too many of his friends had been killed by their tanks during the war. Whatever those tanks out there were, they couldn’t be as deadly as a paladin.

He hoped.

One of the Naxli vehicle types had a short, stubby gun mount at the front. Rev couldn’t make out anything else at this distance.

The other type of vehicle looked to be slightly taller, and in place of the single gun had multiple smaller gun ports. Aside from the three tracks layout, Rev wouldn’t have been surprised to see either of them in some human army’s Table of Equipment.

What he didn’t see was any obvious area of vulnerability.

“Mobility kill or try and knock them out?” he asked Punch, hoping there was something in his battle buddy’s data banks that might have an answer.

<I can’t make a projection.>

In other words, there was nothing in recorded human knowledge that could help answer that.

“Maybe we’ll just see what works,” he said to himself.

Rev was in the middle of the line. “First Squad”—which was everyone to the right of him—“go for the tracks. Third Squad, hit the main chassis.”

“If they stay on course, when will they reach us?” he asked Punch.

<The leading edge should be here in less than seven minutes.>

Rev turned and looked over his shoulder. The slight curve of the line of hills blocked his vision to the plains behind him, and he couldn’t see Bundy and the rest of the platoon.

“I hope you’re making good time.”

Looking back at the advancing Naxli, the familiar surge of excitement started to fill him. His warrior gave a half-hearted attempt to come to the fore, but it was almost as if it knew Rev was in full control of his emotions, and the attempt was rote and not serious.

Which was kind of weird. Rev had long thought he’d understood and come to grips with his two alter-ego sides, but this wasn’t like his warrior.

But that was philosophy for another time. He had more on his plate at the moment.

The Naxli continued straight ahead, and it became obvious that, barring a sudden course correction, the formation would pass right beneath them, and that gave Rev another idea. He slipped back, then ran over to Tsao’s position.

“Tum, what’s your power?”

“Sixty-eight percent. Why?”

“I want you to switch to your cannon. Give it a tight beam and see if you can burn through one of them, OK?”

“Sure, staff sergeant. You think it’ll work?”

“Don’t know until we try. Happy hunting,” he said before running back to his position.

By the time he looked over the crest, the Naxli had cut the distance in half, and Rev wondered if the enemy could spot them.

“Everybody, down! Be ready for my order.”

Each of the Marines scooted a meter lower into cover. Rev fumbled to find his Optisight, then eased it up like a periscope until he could see the Naxli. The limited field of view was a little constraining, and he couldn’t see the entire breadth of the armor formation. But he didn’t need to. There were fifty-seven armored vehicles in the formation, but he only had to watch the lead ones.

Rev watched them get closer. Five klicks, four klicks, three. One more, and they’d be as close as they were going to get.

“Stand by!” Rev said.

Around him, Marines readied their weapons. Haroldsdotter, the Marine next to Rev, powered up her MM-37 Mantis II launcher, and Rev could see the tiny green LED light up, telling her it was good to go.

She glanced over at Rev, and he gave her a thumbs-up. She made a slashing motion across her throat, her warrior face visible through her face shield.

Rev laughed. Haroldsdotter was a good Marine, a good NCO, and more than a little bloodthirsty. She’d be just fine and make her Viking ancestors proud.

He went back to his Optisight and watched the Naxli get closer.

Soon, soon.

<Want to hear a joke?>

“Geeze, not now, Punch! Concentrate on the damned noxes.”

His battle buddy had been getting a little erratic lately, and Rev was getting concerned. He’d have to address that if they got out of this in one piece.

Down below him, the Naxli armor kept closing in. Rev bided his time. He wanted to hit them when they were at their closest point of approach.

Watching through his Optisight, he counted down the meters.

“Thirty seconds. Get ready,” he told the others.

He could feel the tension in the air, borne of equal measures of excitement and fear. But he knew that fear would not keep any of his Marines from doing their duty.

“Ten seconds.” He didn’t bother to count down aloud, but when he hit zero, he shouted, “Fire!”

Rev popped up, fired a Moray, and followed with a quick burst of his twenty before he slipped back down and grabbed his Optisight. Before he could raise it, however, the entire crest of the hill exploded into a maelstrom of tortured ground.

“Third Squad, go, go!” he shouted and hugged the ground while dirt and rocks rained down around him.

Led by Staff Sergeant Urquart, the squad slid down the backside of the slope until they could stand without exposing themselves and started running. The hellish assault on the top of the hill continued, and the shock waves tried to force Rev’s face into the dirt.

But he had to get eyes on what was happening. He inched back up and raised his Optisight as rounds whizzed overhead. Below him, two of the tanks were smoking wrecks, and several of the ones with the gunports had disgorged Naxli infantry, who were now rushing the hill.

I was right. They’re troop carriers.

Which was both good and bad. Good because the tanks that were pouring fire on the hillside would have to cease fire when the infantry got to the top. Bad because there were more of them, at least fifty from what he could tell at first glance, than Marines.

A blast blew off the top of Rev’s Optisight, leaving him blind. But he’d already seen the Naxli advance, and he knew what they had to do.

Neither Marine missile needed a line of sight to be effective. They could be fired from defilade and then left for their seeker heads to acquire targets.

“We’ve got infantry deployed and coming up the hill. Missilemen, two missiles each!” he shouted. “Forty mike-mikes, air bursts covering the forward slope.”

Rev fired one of his Morays as around him, Božič-Mizaki, Hochenspatter, and the two missilemen, Lance Corporal Nwadika and Corporal Reyes, fired, followed immediately by the three Marines with the M-103 attachment.

There was no way to assess the damage without exposing himself, so all he could do was pray the gods of war had been generous. He turned on his side and signaled infantry, hoping Randigold was watching him. They were going to need her and Pierson soon enough. First Squad was already halfway to the next hill, pushing their augments for all they were worth.

Rev hoped he hadn’t made a mistake in stashing the discs. But with the relatively short distance between the first three hilltops, he’d decided that being foot borne was the safer bet.

“Give me more forties,” Rev shouted at Bobovitch and Strap.

He needed to slow down the Naxli assault to give First Squad time to get to cover.

The two Marines fired another magazine each when the unmistakable sound of a heavy vehicle reached them over the pounding of the enemy guns.

Rev had to risk it. He turkey-poked his head up and back down immediately, trusting Punch to record the view. A big round whistled past his head as he ducked, but he made it down in one piece.

Punch didn’t wait to be told. He brought up the image. Two of the stubby-barreled tanks were climbing the hill with the infantry while the rest, down on the plains, seemed to be firing in support.

At least it seems like we’ve stopped the column.

But they were up shit creek without a paddle.

“Two tanks, one at eleven o’clock, one at two. Be ready for them!”

This close to the top of the hill, neither Morays nor Mantises could be fired in defilade and still have enough room to acquire the target. All they could do was to hope they could get a belly shot with their twenties or beam cannons as the tank lurched over the top.

Rev wasn’t the only one to realize that. Immediately, Nwadika, at Rev’s far left, scrambled to the crest, launcher at her shoulder. She fired an instant before the top half of her body was vaporized.

“Crap, Nwadika!” Rev shouted in both shock and surprise, but the resultant explosion, followed by a towering column of smoke, was proof that her sacrifice wasn’t in vain.

There wasn’t time to mourn. Rev looked at the image again, then shifted over fifteen meters to his right. If he was correct, the other tank would crest right above him now.

The fire from below slacked, then ceased.

“They’re here!” Rev yelled out.

The first of the Naxli foot soldiers ran over the top of the hill, only to be met by the combined fire of First Squad and the four Second Squad Marines back one terrain feature. Randigold had seen Rev’s signal.

Rev withheld his fire, Pashu trained just over the military crest. More Naxli came into view, and Rev had to fight to keep from engaging them. The bigger threat was coming.

It barely registered when the prow of the tank appeared just over the edge of the hill. Rev was firing his cannon on point focus at the tank’s undercarriage before he consciously identified it.

The tank kept coming, looking larger and larger like a great white shark breaching back in the oceans of Mother Earth before it passed the center point and started to crash back down.

Rev swore, and he rolled out of the way, his cannon recharging. But the tank continued to fall, and it hit hard, then slid ten more meters before it went quiet.

Pashu had come through, her cannon penetrating the tank’s undercarriage. Joy flooded Rev, and his warrior surfaced long enough for him to scream to the heavens in victory.

But that was just one tank, and there were more soldiers cresting the hill.

Behind him, First Squad had reached the team from Second and were taking cover.

“Pull back now!” Rev ordered Third.

Which was really hard to do. They would be exposing their backs to the waves of Naxli still coming. But they had to trust their fellow Marines.

Rev bolted back down the hill, waiting for the shot that would bring him down, but Randigold, Pierson, Božič-Mizaki, and Hochenspatter, along with the rest of First and the two missilemen from Second, had laid down an intensive base of fire. As the Naxli came over the top, they had to immediately contend with the heavy fusillade coming from the Marines . . . and with the two tanks that came with them taken out, and being in defilade to the rest of their tanks down on the plains, it was now infantry vs. infantry. Rev hadn’t known for sure that Naxli would have troop carriers along with tanks, but going on the assumption that they might face ground troops, his plan to separate the ground soldiers from their tanks seemed to have worked. The Naxli might still outnumber the Marines, but with the IBHUs, it looked like the Marines outgunned them.

So, while the Naxli returned fire on First Squad, that gave Rev and Third the chance to retreat without bearing the full brunt of the Naxli soldiers.

“Some shit, huh?” Sergeant Tsao said as she ran past Rev. Her face was flushed with excitement, her eyes wild. For the first time, Rev wondered if Tsao—calm, collected, professional Tsao—had her own warrior inside. She’d been awarded the Platinum Nova, so she certainly had the fighting spirit.

A Marine to Rev’s left fell, only to be picked up by another, but the covering fire enabled the squad to reach the far hill and cross to the other side. They didn’t stop. They kept going, pushing their legs to the limit as they crossed the 475 meters to the next terrain feature, which was more of a light ridgeline as opposed to a separate hill.

Third Squad formed a line on the ridge, facing back to Second Squad where the firing was still going on. Their discs were staged beside them, all with the green LEDs indicating that they were ready to go. In the far distance, past First Squad’s position, Rev could see about a hundred meters of their first position, and Naxli were still crossing it.

“How many of the bastards are there?”

It didn’t matter how many of them were there. The platoon had to slow them down.

“Who got hit?” Rev shouted.

“Lyons. KIA,” Sergeant Morrison shouted back. “Resurrectable.”

If we can get him back.

Still, it could have been worse. Much worse. Two KIA with Third when he’d expected to have lost half of the Marines at this stage.

OK, Lehman. Any time now.

With Third in position to give them cover, First and the team from Second could start pulling back, sucking the infantry into a time-consuming chase. Rev was willing to go back the entire line of hills, terrain feature by terrain feature, if the Naxli would play along, the squads leapfrogging each other so whichever one was moving had the other to cover them.

If the Naxli commander was smart, it would just break off and bypass the platoon. That, or bring the tanks around, cut them off, and crush them between hammer and anvil. But from what he’d seen of the enemy, they weren’t shy about wanting to mix it up.

Sergeant Lehman still had his Marines in the fight, and Rev started to worry that the squad and the Naxli would get too entangled for the Marines to break contact. He was about to send Bobovitch forward to tell Lehman to pull back when the Marines finally started to move.

“OK, Third. It’s on us now.”

As soon as First Squad got low enough, Rev had his riflemen start firing just over the top of the hill, and he had Bobovitch and Strap start lobbing forties. They couldn’t see their targets, but Rev hoped the firing would let the Naxlis understand they didn’t have a free run at the high ground.

Movement to the far right caught his eye, and almost in unison, he and Tsao opened with their twenties. The Naxli, instead of rushing into a frontal assault, had started to flank First Squad. If Rev and Third hadn’t been providing a base of fire, it could have gone bad very quickly. As it was, the two twenty mm cannons chewed up the first few Naxli and drove the rest back.

Rev kept waiting for the main assault to appear, but the far hill was quiet. He began to wonder if they’d stopped their assault.

“How much time has passed since we initiated contact?”

<Twenty-five minutes, fourteen seconds.>

Is that enough time? Did we give the fort enough of a warning?

First Squad reached them and fell on their discs. The next terrain feature was over 800 meters away, and that was too risky to run at their slower pace. They’d be needing their discs from here on out.

Still, the Naxli hadn’t appeared, but Rev motioned for them to proceed. They were up and flying within twenty seconds. They’d gone only a hundred meters when the two far-left Marines suddenly swerved in toward the others.

Randigold frantically signaled tanks, then pointed down the flanks of the line of high ground as the squad stopped.

“Winnie, you’ve got it. Tum, on me!”

He jumped onto his disc, and with Tsao at his side, he flew to where Randigold was waiting. Pierson, Hochenspatter, and Božič-Mizaki joined them a moment later.

“Tanks, at least fifteen of them, coming up alongside the high ground.”

“Climbing?”

“No, but they’re booking it.”

“They’re trying to get ahead of us to cut us off.”

He looked back to the last hill. There was still no sign of the Naxli.

“And when they do, you can bet more of them will be coming after us.”

“Which is what we want, right?” Tsao asked.

“Yeah, but I still want us to get out of this alive.” He turned to Randigold and said, “Show me.”

The six IBHU Marines edged downhill slowly until they had a view to the bottom. And coming along the plains was a column of fourteen, not fifteen tanks. Three were the troop carriers. Plumes of dirt tailed up behind them as they chewed up the ground.

In a few moments, they would be ahead of the Marines, and from the looks of it, out of their line of sight due to the slopes of the line of hills.

“I don’t think they’ve got a complete situational awareness in their haste,” Rev said. “Let’s rectify that.”

“Cannons?” Hochenspatter asked.

“Too far, I think. Morays, then a few twenties as an exclamation point. But we’ve got to do it now.”

Rev would have liked to assign each of them a specific target, but their window of opportunity was about to close. He’d just have to hope that the Moray’s guidance systems would be chirping at each other to ensure the missiles didn’t all go to the same target.

“On my command, FIRE!”

Rev fired his last two Morays, and a wave of the missiles rained down from the heights, covering the distance in less than two seconds. One of the tanks managed to fire off a self-defense salvo at the last instant, but whether it worked or not, the tank exploded into a fireball, as did four others, including the three troop carriers. Several other tanks seemed damaged as they joined the others as they pivoted and fled the little killing zone.

Rev and the others chased them with their twenties, but while a few of them were hit, they absorbed the rounds without faltering.

“Holy Mother!” Hochenspatter said. “Did you see that? I got one of the suckers.”

Down below, a Naxli stumbled out of one of the dead tanks, then fell onto the ground to lie still.

“Should I wax the sucker?” Randigold asked.

Rev was about to say yes, but then he shook his head. “No. They might not have signed the Torinth Accords, but we have.”

They waited there for a full minute, watching to see if the tanks would reappear, but there was nothing, just as there was nothing at the last position.

The rest of the platoon was still waiting. Rev signaled for First to proceed, then for Third to maintain their position. They might have turned back the attempt to flank them, but the main force was their focus. Somehow, the platoon had knocked out four of their tanks and three troop carriers, but there was still a potent force of tanks that they needed to delay.

Given what he knew about armor, he doubted that in their own environment, out in the open plains, they’d be as vulnerable.

“What about us?” Tsao asked.

“Hook back up with your squads. This isn’t over.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the main body of tanks appeared on the plains, heading toward the fort. It looked to Rev that either the Naxli figured out that Rev and his Marines were trying to delay them, or they’d decided that a few human Marines weren’t worth the effort when their prize was twenty klicks away.

Of course, it wouldn’t be inconceivable that not all of the enemy were heading to the fort. Their commander may have left a small surprise to deal with the pesky Marines.

That was at the back of his mind as he watched the enemy tanks forge across the plains. They’d managed to delay the Naxli by almost an hour, which should be enough. But Rev had seen the celebrations when they left. Would the Marines be able to put that aside and be back into position to face armor they hadn’t known to exist?

Rev knew that out on the plains, his platoon was at a severe disadvantage, but if he could slow down the column even by a couple of minutes, that could be enough to make a difference. The stakes were too high to pass up any potential advantage, no matter how small.

“We’re not going to sit up here and watch,” Rev told the platoon. “We’re going to harass them and see if we can’t get them to react.

“What’s our missile count?”

Randigold was the only IBHU with a Moray, and between the four missilemen, they had five Mantises left. The twenties hadn’t proven effective against the enemy tanks, and to get close enough for the beamers to be worthwhile would be extremely difficult out in the open grasslands.

He didn’t have time to come up with an intricate plan. The tanks were moving at a good clip. Already the leading elements were probably beyond the platoon’s ability to chase down.

Rev made a snap judgment. He’d break up into the two squads, Third led by Winnie Urquart, First with him taking over, with three missiles in each. Those Marines without missiles would be decoys. First Squad would try and get to the left flank of the column, which meant they had more ground to cover, while Urquart’s squad would flank the right side.

Rev split the platoon into the squads, then ended with, “Think of it like this. We’re the wolves. They’re the bison. We’re going to run the bastards down, picking off the slow and weak of the herd.”

It wasn’t much of a frag order, but his Marines were well trained, and they’d be relying on all their hours of preparation. Within thirty seconds, the two squads were pelting down the side of the line of hills, heedless of the difficulty. Božič-Mizaki was so aggressive that she overcame the compensators and fell off her disc to tumble down the slope. She slid to a stop, then popped to her feet and gave a thumbs-up.

Rev zipped past her. It would be up to the lance corporal to get back on her disc to catch up the best she could.

The rest made it to the bottom still aboard their discs and about a klick and a half behind the rear armor. But already trailing and now with the tanks making better speed, the gap started to widen further. Rev signaled his team to increase their own speed, but the wind resistance was getting harder to fight.

Randigold fired her Moray, which streaked ahead to seemingly hit one of the tanks. But either the missile didn’t penetrate, or the tank’s close-in defense detonated it a little short. The tank didn’t even falter.

In a fit of frustration, Rev fired a long burst from his twenty. Once again, he might as well have been yelling into the wind.

<Looks like the bison were treating us more like chihuahuas than the wolves,> Punch observed.

“Eat me.”

But Punch was right, at least with his team. A few tanks fired to the right, where Urquart and her team were, but on the left side, it was as if the Marines weren’t even there. They weren’t going to give up, though. Sometimes, a bison could step in a prairie dog hole and break a leg. If a tank had a mechanical problem and fell back, the Marines were going to swarm it.

OK, enough with the bison analogies, Reverent. We’re Marines, not animals.

But the gap continued to widen as the kilometers flew by. By the time they reached that last shelf of higher ground and could see the fort in the distance, the battle was already joined. There’d been no Naxli standoff as in other battles, with one of the enemy coming forward. This time, there had been no hesitation. Both sides knew what was coming.

Rev was pissed off at being unable to chase down the Naxli, but he was relieved that the earlier delay had given the Marines at the fort time to meet the enemy. At least from that perspective, their mission had been accomplished.

Rev slowed down his team. When the big elephants were clashing, it was easy for the mice to get trampled underneath.

Crap, Reverent, get off the animal analogies before Punch makes another smart-ass comment.

Didn’t make the analogy wrong, though. The tanks were clashing, tons of military might tilting at each other. Rev couldn’t tell who was winning the fight, but even at this distance, he could see some Marine tanks immobilized. There might be more Avengers than enemy armor, but this was going to be a street fight.

Two of the Harpies came sweeping in from the far left, firing a string of rockets at the Naxli. The dreaded green light reached out to them, and one of the copters spun into the ground in a spectacular explosion.

“Respect to the fallen,” Rev muttered.

He stopped his Marines about three klicks away from the edge of the fighting. He hadn’t wanted to become a spectator, but that’s what it had come to be.

Not quite, though. Lance Corporal Knopf still had one missile left, and when he asked if he should fire it, Rev gave the go-ahead.

The Marines in First Squad watched breathlessly as the missile streaked across the grass, just a meter above the ground. When the missile hit the back of a tank, the explosion towered high into the sky. The Marines let out a cheer and almost mobbed Knopf.

It was the last contribution Third Platoon made to the battle. A few minutes later, while the tanks slugged it out, the mech companies seemingly arose from the ground out of nowhere. Rev could almost feel the desperation as the Naxli armor started to maneuver more aggressively. Mech Marines were blasted apart at a terrifying rate, but the battle, which had been drifting to the Marine’s favor, had now become a tsunami. It was obvious, as the Naxli were taken down one by one, that the result was now a foregone conclusion.

There were no cheers when the last Naxli was destroyed by a trio of mechs. The Marines had prevailed, and the vast battlefield was littered with destroyed Marine tanks and mechs. This was a victory, but one that had come at a heavy price.

Rev stood there for several minutes in silence. The battle was won, but it was only one fight.

He turned to Sergeant Lehman and said, “Let’s go collect Third Squad and get everyone back to the fort. We need to be ready for the next thing the noxes throw at us.”

21

Rev made his way through the tank park. Where before he’d had to wend his way between the vehicles, now there was plenty of room. The losses had been pretty significant.

A tanker sat on the front edge of his Avenger, almost in a stupor.

“Hey, you guys did good,” he said.

The tanker raised his head and looked at Rev with dead eyes, but he said nothing and went back to staring at the ground.

With fusion plants, the tanks didn’t need refueling, but Combat Support teams were rushing up their ammo loaders. This battle might have been won, but they had to be ready for the next.

“Can’t take too many wins like this. What do they call it?”

<A Pyrrhic Victory.>

“Yeah, that. A Pyrrhic Victory.”

As he made his way around the tank, he caught sight of a familiar figure together with another Marine, and he changed direction to meet him.

“Sir! Where’s Second Squad?”

Bundy turned around, his face crestfallen. Rev’s heart gave a lurch.

“What happened? Is the squad OK?”

The captain gave Rev a hug. “What? The squad? Yeah, we all made it back. They’re over at G-19 right now. What about you?”

“Nwadika. No chance at resurrection. Lyon, maybe.”

“Fuck,” Bundy said.

“We were lucky at that. It could have been worse. The fighting in the hills was pretty fierce, but once they decided to break contact and head here, the noxes didn’t seem that determined to take us.”

Which wasn’t a hundred percent true. Lyon had been killed when a tank had fired upon Third Squad during the chase.

“I think their attention was on our tanks,” Bundy said.

He turned to the other Marine and said, “Thanks for telling me, Leo,” the captain told the other Marine officer.

Then to Rev, “Let’s get the platoon back together. Where are you?”

“At D-2, where we left the fort.”

Bundy started to head over to D-2, but Rev asked, “What did that captain tell you?”

“Niles didn’t make it,” Bundy said.

Which explained the look on his face when Rev came up. Bundy and Niles were close, Rev knew. Very close.

“I’m so sorry, sir.”

Bundy shrugged. “We lost a lot of Marines today. They kicked our asses. If we hadn’t outnumbered them . . .”

Rev wanted to say something else, but he wasn’t sure what. They had lost a lot of Marines today, but some losses hurt more than others. Rev mourned all of those tankers, all of those mech Marines, Golf’s Second Platoon. But Nwadika and Lyon hurt more. They were Rev’s Marines.

And for Bundy, Niles hurt bad. But everyone dealt with death in different ways, and as often as Rev had faced death, he still didn’t know how to help others deal with their losses. He backed off and followed Bundy to his team.

The captain’s back straightened as he reached the spot where Rev had parked them, and the old, confident Bundy reappeared as the Marines stood at his arrival.

“Damned fine job, Marines. Not that I expected anything else. Because of your efforts in slowing down their column, we not only got Wisp and the three KIA back, but Sergeant Lehman was able to warn the task force, and the armor was able to mobilize and meet the noxes in time. I can’t say how proud of you I am.

“But we’re not done yet. We don’t know what else the noxes are going to throw at us, so, for right now, we’re going to link up with the Second Squad and await our new orders.

“Once again, you guys kicked ass. Third Platoon, ooh-rah!”

The two squads of Marines, exhausted, both mentally and physically, stood tall.

“Ooh-rah!” they shouted back.

* * *

Two hours later, as evening took hold, and after the platoon had been fed and resupplied and while the discs were being recharged, Rev made his way to the mech Marines. The platoon was going to go back out tonight to man a new observation post, but that wouldn’t be for five or six hours, and he’d asked Bundy for forty-five minutes.

“Can you tell me where Delta Company is?” he asked a Marine who was working on a mech suit.

The Marine frowned, then pointed to his right before he got back to work.

Rev headed in that direction. Like the tankers, the mechheads seemed to be in somewhat of a state of shock. Not that Rev blamed them. From his vantage point, the mechheads had been in the thick of the combat, and Bundy had told him that they’d suffered over sixty percent casualties.

Which made Rev apprehensive as he reached the Delta Company area.

“Do you know where Staff Sergeant Dorcester is?” he asked a corporal, dreading to hear the response.

But the corporal pointed over to where a fire was burning, and with a rush of relief, Rev headed over to where his target was standing around the fire with several other Marines.

“Fyr!” Rev shouted. And not only did his friend turn around and break out into a smile, but the other three Marines turned as well, including another familiar face.

“Udu!”

“Rev, good to see you,” Udu said, but with much less enthusiasm than she’d had earlier in the day.

Rev hugged both of them before being introduced to the other two staff sergeants, names he immediately forgot in his relief that his two friends had survived.

“Rumor is that some Heavy Infantry delayed the nox armor until we could position ourselves to meet them,” Fyr said. “You know anything about that?”

“That was us,” Rev admitted.

“Bundy?” Udu asked.

“He came back with the WIA and KIA. He’s fine.”

“Thank the Mother,” Udu said.

“I knew it had to be you, Rev. And good thing, too. We barely made it before they arrived. It was pretty bad, but if we hadn’t been in position . . . well, I don’t know what would have happened.”

“How bad?”

“Shit, Rev, I didn’t think I was going to make it. Got hit with a Fat Boy and had to molt out there in the battlefield,” Udu said. “Came in naked.”

“Naked” to a mechhead meant outside their mech suit, not actually nude.

“Fat Boy?” Rev asked.

“Their Mother-damned missiles. A solid hit, and it was all she wrote. Mine was knocked out when Sergeant Kristopher was killed next to me.”

“Respect for the fallen,” Fyr, Rev, and the other two staff sergeants said in unison.

“You’re the one who slowed them up?” one of the staff sergeants asked.

“Yeah. Well, I had two squads of Marines with me.”

“I owe you a beer when we get back,” he said.

“I’ll take you up on that.”

The other staff sergeant hadn’t said a word, but at last, she said, “I guess all of the bullshit is true.”

“What do you mean?” Rev asked, his hackles rising.

After all that happened during the day, he wasn’t in the mood to take crap from anyone.

“Sorry, not bullshit. But your rep. Not just what these two keep saying about you,” she said, pointing at Fyr and Udu, “but before we got attached to this task force and then back to the tin-asses, all we heard about was this badass provincial Marine, an RA, who rained death on our enemies. I guess it wasn’t all hype.”

Rev felt the rush of embarrassment flow over him, and he could feel his face getting red.

“RA?” he asked, grasping at anything to say.

“RA. You know, Robo Arm. An IBHU.”

That was a new one to Rev. He half-raised Pashu and said, “Well, this sure helps.”

“And I fight in a fucking mech suit with bigger guns than you’ve got with that thing. No, you’re badass.”

She was only partially right. True, a mech suit had a more powerful version of either a 20 mm or meson cannon. They could carry more ammo and a bigger power source, and their armor was much better, but they were far less maneuverable and were pretty big targets, as the casualty count just proved. Given the choice, Rev would much rather be an IBHU Marine than a mechhead.

He really didn’t know how to respond to that. Rev had gotten used to the lack of recognition for his service, and to have a stranger, not even a fellow Safe Harborian, say something like that was a new experience.

He was saved from having to respond, though, when someone shouted out, “Delta Company, gather up, now!”

Rev almost said his goodbyes and left them, but he still had time, so he joined the mechheads as they surrounded their company commander.

“I just got back from the CP. Comms are coming back online.”

That piqued Rev’s attention. The Naxli had blanketed the planet, knocking out most communications.

“And while we aren’t positive, it looks like the noxes are leaving the planet.”

There was an immediate uproar, and the company first sergeant had to yell “At ease” at least ten times before the Marines quieted back down.

“Like I said, we aren’t sure if this is just one unit or if it’s all of them. But it looks like what we did today forced the issue. You damn mechheads, you kicked the bastards off the planet!”

* * *

It took a week to be sure, but the Naxli had all left the planet—not in disarray, but in an orderly exodus. The Union and Frisian navies rushed in, but they were unable to do much of anything and lost three ships in the effort, so it was difficult to call the battle for Wie’s World a rout—although it looked like the PR machine was already starting to push that storyline, and reporters were showing up, escorted by Public Affairs Marines.

The actual fighting was not so clear-cut. There had been five clashes around the planet. Two divisions—one Union Marine and one Frisian Host—had been beaten pretty bad, with casualties approaching 90%. One battle between the Frisians and the Naxli had been fought to a rough standstill, and two divisions had won their fights, although Task Force Barracuda had suffered grievous losses in tanks and mech.

Third Platoon had joined the rest of the ground-pounders in patrolling for any sign of the Naxli, but after only a day, it was obvious that they were completely gone. There was barely any sign that they’d been there at all.

The patrols were cut back, and Marines started getting some downtime—and one thing the Union Marines were pros at was getting showers to the troops, even in combat situations. It was good for health reasons, but great for morale, and Rev eagerly joined the rest of the platoon as they waited in line for their turn, the first time they’d been out of their PALs in ten days.

“My ball sack’s sucked up so far that I don’t think I’ll ever find it again,” Hussein said from two places in front of Rev.

A cold breeze blew across lots of naked skin, but Rev didn’t care. He was going to scrub off a dozen layers of skin and grime.

“Not that you need it much,” Tsao said, eliciting laughter from the waiting Marines.

“You hurt me, Tum,” Hussein said in mock hurt.

Several Combat Support Marines left the exit of the shower hut, carrying their supplemental O2 as they hurried to recover their uniforms and get dressed.

“Sucks to need to carry those tanks everywhere,” Strap said as he watched.

All of the Direct Combat Marines had been augmented to carry more red blood cells. Meant to increase their stamina, it also had the effect of letting them function at the low O2 content of the planet. They needed supplemental O2 for combat, which their PALs provided, but they could stand around like this without suffering.

“Next five, inside,” the gunny in charge of the showers shouted. Five Marines from Second Platoon stepped into the shower hut.

“You’d think they could schedule us through better,” Hussein said. “Instead, they’ve got us standing around freezing.”

“You don’t have to take a shower, Hus-man,” Kil Rancine said.

“Oh, no. I’m taking it. Just saying they could run this better.”

“You’ve been in the Corps how long? And you’re surprised by this?” Strap asked.

Rev let the banter swirl around him. Standing naked in line while the wind whipped around them was nothing. It was just part of the landscape, something to be endured. In a few minutes, he’d be luxuriating in the warm water pulsing against his skin.

Kil, standing behind him in line, poked his shoulder. “You’re quiet, Rev.”

He shrugged. “Just thinking.”

“’Bout what?”

“’Bout that hot shower.”

“No, really. What’s up?”

“My mind wanders sometimes, Kil. Just wondering about what went on here, that’s all.”

“Here? On Wie’s World? Easy. We came, we saw, we kicked nox butt.”

“Not everyone,” Rev said, tilting his head in the direction of the tank park where teams were trying to salvage what they could of the deadlined vehicles.

“You know what I mean.”

Rev was going to leave it at that, but then he realized he wanted a sounding board other than Punch, and standing in line for a shower was just as good a place as any to get some feedback.

“What were the noxes trying to do? I can’t figure it out.”

“What’s there to figure out?”

“I mean . . . look, don’t you think it was too convenient that we knew they were coming here?”

“Good Intel.”

“Really? You think our Intel’s that good?”

She sniffed but didn’t reply.

“And why here? This planet’s got nothing. No resources, no people. It’s like a reservation. Lots of open, easily traversed land.”

“Next five,” the gunny said, and the line moved forward.

“I don’t get your point,” Kil said when the line stopped again.

“What if . . .” Rev wasn’t even quite sure what he was getting at. “What if they wanted to get into a fight.”

“Like for sport? You’re reaching, Rev.”

“Not necessarily for sport. But maybe to test themselves against us. With no distractions like a billion civilians getting in the way.”

“But we’ve already fought them. So, I don’t get what you’re saying.”

Which was what Punch had said when Rev bounced the idea off of him.

“Look, we know they had armor here, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Then why didn’t they use it in the beginning? Why lead with infantry? I think they intended infantry against infantry, but we surprised them with tanks and mech. Once that happened, they had to up their game. Luckily, we had more, and we came out on top.”

“You think this was some big test?” Kil asked. “An expensive test. A shitload of them got zeroed.”

Rev scratched his stump and then said, “I’m not saying that. Hell, I sure don’t know. It’s just food for thought.”

Kil reached up and rapped him on the head with her knuckles. “Don’t get too wrapped up with shit like that. You go crazy here, and I’ve got to step up as platoon sergeant, and I sure as hell don’t want that.”

“Five more. And remember to limit yourselves to five minutes in there,” the gunny said.

“Finally,” Hussein said as he stepped inside along with Strap, Tsao, Lehman, and Doc.

Rev was number six, so the gunny held up a hand, stopping him. Warm steam reached out and kissed Rev and Kil. That made the wind seem colder after it whipped the warm air away.

“I’m serious, oh great platoon sergeant,” Kil said. “Let the brass worry about the whys. We just need to worry about killing noxes and getting our Marines back alive.”

Rev nodded. “You’re right. I’m no xenopsychologist.”

“Now we’re talking.” She shivered and stamped her feet. “Hus-man was right, though. It’s cold as a witch’s tit here.”

A couple more Marines exited the other side of the hut, and Rev looked at the gunny, waiting for the go-ahead.

“Is there a Staff Sergeant Pelletier here?” a voice rang out.

Rev frowned, but he stepped out of the line and waved down the Marine calling for him.

A sergeant in clean, pressed utilities, an O2 canister in an assault pack with the cannula snaking to his nose, hurried up.

“You Staff Sergeant Pelletier?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Next five, you’re in,” the gunny said.

“You’re wanted at the CP.”

“What for?” Rev asked as Kil went around him and into the shower, mouthing, “Sucks to be you.”

“We’ve got a reporter who wants to talk to you.”

“Me? What the hell for?”

“Don’t know. I was just sent to fetch you.”

“I’m about to take a shower. Can’t it wait?”

“Don’t think so, Staff Sergeant. This is high priority.”

“Gunny?” a Marine in line, who’d been five behind Rev, asked.

“You going in or leaving?” the gunny asked Rev.

Rev looked inside the door. Warm air was coming out, beckoning him.

“And you’re supposed to have your IBHU thing on.”

Shit!

He looked at the gunny and shook his head. The gunny motioned to the other Marine, who gratefully bypassed Rev and entered the hut.

“Let me get dressed, then I’ve got to go get my IBHU.”

“I’ll go with you, Staff Sergeant.”

As a guard to make sure I get there?

He gave one last look at the shower hut, then left to recover his uniform.

I just hope it’s still running by the time I get back.

* * *

“Ah, Staff Sergeant Pelletier. Good to see you. I’m Master Sergeant Tipparow, and I’ll be handling you for the interview.”

Handling me? I don’t need anyone handling me.

“We’ve got Lanie Buchel from the Rosterdam Report. You know her?”

Rev shook his head as his warrior started to stir. This was getting uncomfortable.

“No matter. She’s a friend of the Corps. She was embedded with the Eleventh Division, but they never got engaged, so the Force commander sent her over here for some PR stories.

She’s heard a few accounts about you here, and that’s piqued her interest. And since that coincides with the image we’re trying to present about hyper-augments, the J-5’s approved you getting interviewed.”

“The J-5? Like at New Mars?” Rev asked.

He’d had a few interactions with the highest levels in the government on the Perseus Union capital, and they hadn’t turned out that great. He’d just as soon stay out of their notice. J-5 was Corps, at least, but even that had a habit of attracting the notice of Omega Division.”

“The same. But first, give me what happened on your mission, the second one where you went to slow down the Naxli tanks. Bullet points, please,” the master sergeant said.

“Help me if I screw up, Punch.”

<I’ll try, but you’re on your own here.>

Rev took a deep breath. “Well, it started after the first battle. We’d been on picket duty, and there were dead and a WIA we had to recover.”

He started to say how difficult it had been to get permission to go but decided against going into that mudhole.

Carefully, he tried to relate what happened.

Several times, the master sergeant had to remind him, “Bullet points, Staff Sergeant. I don’t need to know every detail.”

Finally, he got to the end.

“We can work with that, I think,” she said. “I like the whole going to rescue a wounded Marine aspect. Brotherhood and all, you know. But for the engagement and then the running fight, you need to stress some of the action and how you overcame the odds.”

“It was the whole team, Top. Not just me,” Rev said.

“Of course, it was. No slight intended. But these reporters, they need that personal viewpoint, so it resonates with the readers. So, keep it personal.”

“I’ll try. Uh, is any of this classified? I mean, we never knew the noxes had tanks.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll be in there with you. If you stray into something we don’t want to be promulgated, I’ll step in.”

She turned her attention to Pashu. “So, that’s one of the famous IBHUs. I’ve never seen one up close. Can you hold it out for me?”

Feeling like a prize steer on display, Rev extended her. The master sergeant bent closer to look but never tried to touch her.

“Impressive. Can you hold it across your chest like this?” she asked, crossing her left arm over her chest.

Rev did it.

“OK, good. I want you to go in like that and keep it there. Now, take a seat here with Sergeant Johns, and I’ll see if Buchel’s ready.”

She adjusted her O2 cannula, left the building, and disappeared outside.

“You doing much of this?” Rev asked the sergeant.

“Pretty much all day. Mostly with the brass so far, but PA wants some more “common folk” input.”

From the way the sergeant said “common folk,” Rev knew those were the exact words the Public Affairs colonel had used.

“Good to know they care about us peons.”

The sergeant laughed but didn’t say anything.

“What do you think?” Rev asked Punch.

<I think you need to be careful,> he said in table talk. <We still don’t know who’s got their attention on you, so any slip could be dangerous.>

In regular mode, he said, <It’s just an interview. They need feel-good stories of Marines for public consumption.>

“Well, I hope I give it to them.”

But Punch’s table talk was a stark reminder of the situation he was in. He’d gotten so used to the knowledge that he was being monitored that he often forgot it. But he’d sure feel better knowing who it was doing the watching.

He waited almost half an hour before the top returned.

“OK, we’re up,” she said as she beckoned him to follow her.

“Good luck,” the sergeant said.

Rev followed the master sergeant into another small prefab. Inside, a woman who looked vaguely familiar was speaking with a young man in civilian clothes. A lieutenant colonel was standing up alongside the wall of the building.

The master sergeant didn’t introduce the lieutenant colonel, so Rev tried to ignore him.

The reporter’s face broke into a broad smile as she came to shake his hand. She made firm eye contact, not glancing down at Pashu as most people did.

Rev rather appreciated that.

“Staff Sergeant Pelletier. It’s so good to meet you,” she said, giving his right hand a firm shake without trying to overpower him.

Not that she could. But many people tried to.

“This is Ryker. He’ll be doing the recording.”

The young man shook his hand as well, then Buchel swept a hand to indicate one of the two chairs that had been set up facing each other.

Rev took the seat, and his heart started racing.

<Calm down. She’s not the enemy.>

Rev took three deep breaths.

<I think.>

“Great. You had to add that last.”

The reporter took the seat across from him and said, “I just want you to relax. Just two friends talking, OK?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Please, just Lanie.”

“Yes, ma—Lanie.”

“But first, we’ve got to take care of the rules. Ryker?”

Ryker had taken a seat to the side where he’d put a small box on his lap.

“Please, Staff Sergeant, will you state your name and ID number?”

“Staff Sergeant Reverent Pelletier, SH-969673549.”

“And do you willingly consent to this interview, which will be in full accordance of CH 3003.9.16 as well as HM 3003.10.17A?”

Rev recognized the first, which was the Privacy Act, and he figured the second was the Congress of Humanity version.

“Yes, I do.”

Buchel straightened her hair and said, “The fox is in the henhouse.”

Ryker gave her a thumbs-up.

“Can you say something, Staff Sergeant?” she asked him.

“What should I say?”

Ryker gave another thumbs-up.

“You just said it, Staff Sergeant. We’re ready. I’ll come back and add some introductory comments later, but let’s just start with what happened on the mission where you discovered the Naxli armored column. Why were you out there, given the results of the previous battle just hours before, and what happened?

“Just freeform it. Tell me what you remember. If you mess up, don’t worry. We’ll be editing what you say to create a coherent interview.”

Rev frowned when he heard that. He had nothing against the woman, and his first impression of her was good, but he didn’t like her “we’ll be editing” comment. There was a lot of picking and choosing they could do to make it seem like he was saying whatever they wanted him to say.

But the master sergeant didn’t object, so it must be business as usual.

Rev slowly explained what he could about the mission. Punch prompted him a few times to add in details he missed. He kept looking at the master sergeant, and even a few times at the lieutenant colonel who was still hovering, but neither said a word. Buchel interrupted him several times for clarification or to ask a leading question, but mostly, she just let him talk.

Eventually, he was done. He stopped and wiped off his sweating brow.

The reporter gave the cut motion to Ryker, then turned to Rev.

“Wow. That was impressive. I can see why the G-3 suggested I speak to you.”

Rev didn’t even know that the task force operations officer knew his name, much less what he’d done.

“And your IBHU, how important do you think its capabilities were in slowing down the Naxli advance?”

“Pashu? Well, there were five of us, so it wasn’t just me. And the Mantis missileers. And the others, of course,” he added quickly.

“Pashu? Who’s Pashu?” she asked, looking at the master sergeant.

“Pashu’s my IBHU,” Rev told her.

“You name the weapon?”

Rev suddenly felt embarrassed, like a youngster with a favorite stuffed toy long after others his age had forsaken them. “We all do. We’re so integrated with them that it’s hard not to.”

“I didn’t know that. But that’s good. Real good. It’ll resonate. Um . . . can you say Pashu half a dozen times.”

“Ma’am?”

“Just say Pashu. We’ll splice the word in a few times during the interview where it might fit.”

He looked over at the master sergeant, who nodded.

“Uh . . . Pashu, Pashu, Pashu. Pashu, Pashu. Is that OK?”

Ryker gave his thumbs-up.

“Perfect,” Buchel said as she stood up. She held out her hand again, which Rev shook.

“You did well, Staff Sergeant. Really well. And thank you for taking the time to do this. The public deserves to know what their Marine Corps is doing, especially when brave young men like you put your lives on the line for us.”

“I hope what I said was OK.”

“It was fine. Really.”

The master sergeant walked up to Rev, put her hand on his shoulder, and gently turned him around to face the door. “Very good, Staff Sergeant. Go ahead and report back to your unit. If I need anything more from you, I’ll send Sergeant Johns.”

Rev knew a dismissal when he heard one. He marched to the door and stepped out. He stood there for a moment before leaning back against it, his head thumping hard on the foamplast surface.

“What in the freaking hell was all of that?”

22

Rev’s fifteen minutes of fame was cut short by a much bigger story. The task force was already in the process of embarking to go home when all hands were called into formation.

A formation in what was technically still a combat zone. Rev shook his head when he got the word.

There had been the smaller formations for the Hero Flights of the KIA who hadn’t been medevaced for attempts at resurrection, but Rev had never experienced garrison-type formations while deployed like this.

With the armor still to be embarked, there wasn’t enough area within the fort for a full formation, so every unit was given a spot, inside the fort and outside. As First Heavy Infantry Company fell in, Rev could see the loudspeakers already in place.

“What the hell is this all about?” Hussein asked as they waited to be called to attention.

“Whatever it is, it’s big,” Rev said. “Look at the loudspeakers.”

“But what is it?”

“Hold on, and we’ll find out soon enough.”

But he was just as curious.

“You’ve got no idea what this could be?” he asked Punch.

<I told you ten minutes ago that I’ve got nothing.>

“I was hoping you’d have heard something new.”

<If I had, I’d have told you. I suggest you take the advice you just gave Sergeant Hussein.>

Smartass battle buddy.

Conversation was muted as the platoons “milled about in place.” As with militaries since the Babylonians, when a formation was set at a certain time, every leader down the command chain subtracted ten or fifteen minutes to get everyone in place. The official formation wasn’t for another eighteen minutes, but the company had already been at their designated position for ten minutes. They weren’t technically in formation yet, so they could talk, but except for the squad leaders and up, they weren’t allowed to move about.

Rev, to his shame, was no different. He’d had the platoon in place five minutes before Bundy said to have them there. He knew he was just adding to the BS, but he didn’t want to be the one to have them being late on his shoulders.

At least their position was off in a small corner of the fort. They didn’t have a battalion commander as another layer. The major was it, and she and the rest of the officers were hanging just off to the side. They’d move in a few minutes before the designated time.

“The general wants to pat us on the back and tell us how great we did,” Kil Rancine said.

I hope the hell not. We’ve got a gazillion things to do before we get on the ships.

“They normally do that stuff back in the rear,’ Strap said.

Which was true. It was rare that a division marched off to battle, and generals liked to assemble the entire unit at the huge parade deck at Camp Nguyen where they could add the battle streamer to the unit colors and have a massive pass in review.

That wasn’t going to happen here. Not piecemeal as they were. And their battle streamer probably hadn’t been approved yet by HQMC.

Finally, the officers started moving into place.

“Stand by,” Rev said as he took his position at the front of the platoon.

Bundy marched up to him.

As a combat zone, there was no saluting, but Rev shouted, “Platoon, atten . . . HUT!”

“Third Platoon, all present or accounted for.” Then before he stepped off, he quietly asked, “Any idea what this is?”

“Not a clue,” Bundy said.

Rev marched off to the left and continued down the three ranks until he took his place at the rear of the formation. The major came in and took the company from the platoon commanders, and they waited in silence.

The wind whipped through the ranks, and Rev thought once more that he’d be glad to get off of this planet.

“Wie sure got screwed if this is the place named for him.”

<Her. Jersey Wie. Ex-CEO of GNF.>

“Still a crappy place as a namesake.”

The speakers crackled to life, and Rev could see the ranks straighten up just a bit as if the general could see them.

“Marines and sailors of Task Force Barracuda, this is Major General Suk. First and foremost, I wanted to tell you before we got back to Safe Harbor and all our detachments started going to the wind that I am proud of all of you. We faced a determined enemy, and with fortitude and heart, we kicked the noxes’ ever-loving tails!”

Hell, Kil was right. It’s just an attaboy.

“Lieutenant General Begay also passes his respect and admiration on what we accomplished here.”

Rev had never met Major General Suk in person. He was a regular Marine from one of the Charter Worlds, stepping in to take over the division when Major General Sirirat was reassigned to HQMC. As a Safe Harborian, General Sirirat was well-liked by the troops, and General Suk was considered something of an interloper, but Rev wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. If he was calling the division to a damn formation to just hear himself speak, though, that benefit was rapidly being diminished.

“But that’s not the reason for this. I am calling you to this formation at the direct orders of the commandant.”

What?

“There has been a vital piece of information about the Naxli that has been uncovered. Though not everyone agrees, the commandant decided that all of you, the tip of the spear that has to meet the threat, should know, and without delay.”

“This is going way off script.”

<That is an understatement.>

“During previous battles, samples have been taken of dead Naxli for analysis. The results, confirmed by three labs . . . sorry, this is hard to take in. I only learned of this myself an hour ago,” he said with a tone of amazement. “First, let me backtrack. We’ve known for some time that the latest Centaurs we’ve been fighting are not, in fact, Centaurs. They are a new alien race.”

There was a chorus of shocked exclamations.

“At ease!” Rev growled. “Listen up.”

Rev felt a weight slide off his shoulders. He’d been keeping that little secret. But from the general’s phrasing, he didn’t think that was why they’d been called to formation.

“Now, and I know this is a lot to lay on you, the commandant has asked me to tell all of you that the samples recovered from both the fake Centaurs and the Naxli show something totally unexpected.

“The Naxli and the fake Centaurs are the same thing. They are the same race.”

* * *

“I don’t buy it,” Hussein said with a scowl on his face.

As usual, the sergeant was resistant to new concepts. But in this case, he wasn’t the only one. The fact that the new Centaurs weren’t really Centaurs had been kept from them hadn’t gone over well, and to say mistrust was high was an understatement.

Rev wasn’t sure where he was. It beggared belief that the two, completely different beings, were one in the same.

“And they’re lying to us about this why?” Strap asked as he raised his barrel and looked through it.

“Why did they lie to us about the Centaurs? The new ones?” Lehman asked.

“Exactly!” Hussein said.

“Less gab, more cleaning,” Kil said. “We’ve only got this space for another twenty minutes.”

That was probably something that Rev, as platoon sergeant, should have said. But with nothing himself to clean—Daryll would be cleaning Pashu as part of the post-operation check—he’d just been sitting in the background, digesting what the others were saying.

“Don’t you just think it’s odd that these two, what, races? of the Naxli just happen to look pretty much like the tin-asses and us humans? I don’t know shit about statistics, but what are the chances?” Julian asked.

Rev snorted. The junior-most Marine in the platoon had asked the million-dollar question. From a distance, the short Naxli could pass for Centaurs. Hell, most humans had thought they were Centaurs. And the tall Naxli could pass for humans without too much trouble.

If some unknown god had wanted to play a perverse trick on the universe, then they couldn’t come up with anything much better. The Naxli might as well have tried to disguise themselves as humans.

“Maybe they’re shifters,” Rev said the moment the weird idea popped into his head.

Most of the Marines cleaning their weapons turned to look at him.

“Shifters? Like werewolves?” Kil said with a laugh.

Rev knew what he was saying was ridiculous, but her challenge got his defenses up. “Yeah. They’re really more like the tin-asses, but when they ran into us, they wanted to be more like us.”

“Uh . . . correct me if I’m wrong, but don’t werewolves change from human to wolves. They don’t decide to change one day to tigers, just for grins,” Hussein said as he high-fived Lehman.

“Chameleons can change to different colors,” Rev muttered.

But Hussein had a point. Assuming that the Naxli had never had contact with humans before, it was a stretch to think they’d be able to change themselves to look like them, even with massive cosmetic surgery. The two types of Naxli were different sizes, so it was going to take a little more than a nose job.

And for what? They weren’t trying to infiltrate humanity. The first official contact had been when that Naxli had marched down the Plaza of Nations and given its ultimatum to the Council. That was not the move of a race trying to remain hidden.

<Doesn’t look like they agree with you.>

Rev hadn’t been serious when he’d said that, but his Marines’ reactions had taken him a little aback.

“Do you think I’m totally off the wall with that?”

<There is nothing in the breadth of human history that would lead us to believe that the Naxli have powers like the mythological werewolves.>

Rev just bit his lip and scowled. Of course, Punch was driven by cold, hard science.

<But the Naxli are not part of human history, to the best of our knowledge. Who knows what they can and cannot do?>

“Yeah, my point exactly.”

Rev wasn’t saying he was right, but no one automatically shut down any opinion as to who the Naxli were. They had to consider anything if they were going to understand their enemy.

When the xenobiologists unraveled the mystery, chances were that the truth would be something much crazier than shifters.

23

Whatever the Naxli’s origin, the Marines continued to train and organize to fight them. Over the next two months, there were three ground clashes across the galaxy, but none in Union space.

One of the clashes was in the reclusive Phoenix Federation, but if the Union military leadership knew what happened there, they weren’t disseminating that information down the ranks. That wasn’t a very good sign as to the outcome of that clash. The other two battles did not end well for the human forces.

Across human space, there was a touch of panic, much like when the Centaurs first invaded. This time, though, there was anger aimed at the governments. People thought, rightly so, that they’d been kept in the dark about what could be an existential threat to humanity as a whole.

Four governments collapsed, and The Brotherhood of Light fell into a brief, but violent, civil war.

Rev had just shaken his head as he watched the feeds from the destroyed capital of Resolve. Humans should not be fighting each other, not when they faced a powerful alien enemy.

The Congress of Humanity almost dissolved, but six top officials, including the counsel general, resigned, and that stopped the bleeding. Battered, with public confidence shaken in the institution, it managed to limp on.

In the short run, it really didn’t matter where the Naxli came from or who knew what and when they knew it. What mattered now was to figure out how to stop the enemy.

The Union Marines knew that they’d be part of the answer to the Naxli threat. So, while they watched the news feeds from across the galaxy, for the most part, they kept their heads down and trained.

The Union Navy was continually deployed, plying the space lanes and even bubble space to try and find the enemy, but the ships proved to be elusive. There were very few naval engagements, at least as far as the Marines knew.

And that was just one more mystery as far as Rev was concerned. The Naxli navy had proven itself to be technologically competent, getting troops on and off both Armadillo and Wie’s World. But they didn’t seem interested in naval battles. Almost all of the engagements, other than passenger ship takedowns, had been land battles.

Rev had Punch compile everything he could pull about the Naxli and xenopsychology, and he studied it whenever he had a free moment. But he was just a dumb grunt, not some scientist with a dozen letters behind his name. How was he supposed to figure out what was going on?

Truth be told, though, he got the feeling that none of the so-called experts knew, either. He was pretty sure they were all scrambling to justify their existence, but all they were doing was blowing intelligent-sounding manure up humanity’s collective asses.

He didn’t have as much time as he wanted to pore over the studies and theories as he’d have liked. The training tempo was almost nonstop as the brass tinkered with Heavy Infantry, trying out various permutations and tactics.

With tanks now the wunderkind of the Marines, the infantry generals seemed to be grasping at anything to regain their status as the Corps’ prime force in readiness. Rev wasn’t so sure tanks were the answer, though. Sure, they’d had a couple of stunning victories, but once the Naxli responded with their own version of tanks, the fights hadn’t been so lopsided. And now the Naxli were forewarned.

But no one was asking his opinion, and while the infantry generals got their fingers into the pie, it was up to the grunts to prove or disprove their theories. And that meant the SNCOs and lieutenants spent hours writing up reports for every exercise.

Which is what Rev was doing at the moment. Bundy had dismissed the platoon, but Rev was compiling the numbers and adding his comments. He’d hand that over to Bundy, who’d spend most of the night getting his report ready so the brass could have it in the morning.

Rev had known from the beginning that the latest attempt to screw with the platoon’s organization was a failure. But now, he had the data to prove it. It would just take several hours for him to put it in the format so that those pulling the strings could see it, too.

He was just getting into response times when there was a rap outside his hatch.

What now? I really don’t need the interruption.

But he was the platoon sergeant, and he couldn’t just ignore whoever it was.

“Enter,” he called out, not looking up.

He caught sight of a short Marine in his peripheral vision. He held up a hand to stop the Marine and said, “Just give me a moment to finish this line of figures.”

His pad ran the computations, each Marine’s mean, average, best, and slowest times popping up on a table, then on a graph.

“It’ll be just a moment more.”

“Rev.”

Startled, Rev looked up. Tomiko was standing there in her uniform, looking shy . . . as if Tomiko was ever shy.

“Miko!” he shouted, jumping to his feet. “What . . . what are you doing here? And in your uniform? Does that mean . . . ?”

She nodded, and a smile broke out across her face. “Just got the results an hour ago. I’m in. Barely, but I’m in.”

Rev ran around his desk, hitting it with his hip and sending his pad crashing to the floor. He never noticed as he rushed up and gave Tomiko a hug.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to be evaluated today.”

“You haven’t been around.”

“It’s been—”

She put her hand over his mouth and said, “I know. I know. And that’s not the reason I didn’t tell you.”

“What was?” he asked, his arms still around her.

“I was afraid of the results.”

“No matter what the results were, it wouldn’t matter to me.”

“But they mattered to me. And I didn’t want to let anyone else know until after I knew.”

Rev broke the embrace and stepped back to take a look at her. “The uniform?”

“Once the results were in, my readmission was automatic. My active status was immediate.”

“So, you’re back here in Heavy Infantry?”

“Technically, yes. That was my unit before, you know. But I’m not really back yet. I need to go through refresher training, so they’re giving me TAD orders.”

“They’re sending you away? To where?” Rev asked.

He knew he really should have looked up what happened to Marines coming back from the dead, but somehow, it hadn’t crossed his mind.

“Back to RTR.”

“Boot camp? But you’re a staff sergeant.”

“I won’t be with the recruits, Rev. But they’ve got a Wounded Warrior company there. I’ll be with them.”

Rev had been shocked to see her standing in front of his desk, then happy that she was not only well, but back. But to have her leaving again was something he hadn’t expected.

“How long are you going to be gone?”

“Depends on my progress. They told me the average is about four months. I’ve got to qualify all over again on everything.”

“Qualify? But you said you already passed. Can they still kick you out?”

“Yes, but it almost never happens. For us zombies, it’s just a matter of getting muscle memory back.”

Rev flinched. He didn’t like to hear her refer to herself as a zombie. It brought back some pretty terrible memories of her dying.

She didn’t seem to notice.

“You busy?” she asked.

Rev looked back at the pad on the deck. “Sort of. I need to get a report in to Bundy.”

Her face fell. “I was hoping we could grab something to eat before I head over to RTR. Spend a couple of hours together.”

Rev picked up the pad and glanced at the screen. The last set of computations had been made.

“How much more time to finish the report?”

<Given your current progress, at least three more hours.>

He sighed. He wanted to go with Tomiko, but his sense of duty warred with him. This was his job.

But he knew this latest effort was going to fail. Bundy knew it. Hell, he bet even the brass knew it before they sent out the orders. All they were doing was throwing a bunch of shit against the wall and seeing what stuck. Whether they got the report in first thing in the morning or not wasn’t going to make a damn bit of difference.

Screw it.

He put the pad back on his desk and turned to Tomiko.

“No, I’m not busy. Let’s go see Bundy so he can say hello, and I can tell him the report’s going to be late. You and I are going on a date.”

Her face lit up. “Ooh, big spender. To the chow hall?”

“You’ve got it, babe. Best food for at least two hundred meters,” he said as they left the office, closing the door behind them.

<I thought you were going to screw up again with her, but for once, you did the right thing.>

“Sleep, Punch.”

24

“Do you know what’s this about?” Rev asked Zacharia Filmore as he donned Pashu.

“Not a clue,” the tech said with a frown.

Rev had long ago decided that Filmore’s duties went beyond being an IBHU technician. If he was right about that, then Filmore was probably grinding glass in his teeth not to know what was going on.

“Daryll just came in and told me to get Pashu ready.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. He was pissed, though, I could tell.”

“And you haven’t heard anything at all?” he asked Punch.

<I’m just as much in the dark as Filmore is.>

Rev frowned as the last connection slid into place with a click. It seemed as if the brass was running around like chickens with their heads cut off, all while keeping the troops in the dark. The very troops that might have some of the answers they were seeking.

“You’re up,” Filmore said.

Rev rotated his IBHU at the shoulder. He wasn’t in his PAL-HX, so he couldn’t see the readouts that were normally displayed on his face shield.

“Are we green?” he asked Punch.

Not that he didn’t trust the Sieben tech, but he was the one deploying Pashu, and even here, back on Safe Harbor, it wasn’t a very smart practice to rely on others as to his weapon’s readiness.

<All green.>

“Well, I guess I’d better go. I’ll let you know what it was about when I get back.”

Rev scanned out of the armory—just one more safeguard that had been implemented after the MDS had stolen six IBHUs on Enceladus. He felt a little naked, walking across the battalion area with his IBHU, but not in his PAL. No one gave him a second glance, though. While IBHUs were extremely rare Corps-wide, here they were old hat.

He crossed the main quad, cut behind the mess hall, jumped over the muddy creek, and entered the adjoining industrial area. Rev had spent most of the last year within two hundred meters of the area, but he’d never entered it.

IBHU Marines within the military-stark machine shops and warehouses were not as common, and he got more than a few stares from the civilians, Combat Support, and General Support Marines working there.

Rev had served with Combat Support Marines—there were several in the company, like Gunny Sichko. He rarely crossed paths with the MilDes-99 Marines, though. But there, for the grace of a military assignment officer who ignored the results of his Military Placement Test, would be him. He briefly wondered what his life would have been like as a Ninety-nine.

“Did they change the terms of enlistment for the Ninety-nines after the Tin-Ass War?”

<The Marine Corps came out against changing the terms, but public pressure forced the government to cut the term to ten years for General Support, six for Combat Support. That is on hold now, though, considering the current situation with the Naxli.>

Rev just grunted. He’d joined Direct Combat so he’d only have to serve three years . . . and that wasn’t honored. He’d been involuntarily extended for the duration of the Centaur War. It wasn’t until later that he’d decided to stay in.

Humanity had defeated the Centaurs, but the aliens had sure messed up the lives of hundreds of billions of people.

He made his way to the building in the back of the area. It was out of the way, abutting a section of woods. Three vehicles, windows tinted dark, were parked along the side of it. He came around to the front and stopped dead for a few seconds. Two armed guards were standing in front of the door. They were dressed in law enforcement-type body armor, but they carried military M-49s, and their posture screamed military.

Rev started up again and approached the two guards.

“Staff Sergeant Pelletier?” the one on the left asked.

“Yes.”

“I need to scan you.”

Like there are lots of IBHU Marines wandering by?

But Rev looked into a portable scanner. The guard watched the screen and then motioned Rev to enter the building.

“This is getting into weird territory.”

<Getting? This is highly unusual.>

“OK, this is weird territory.”

Rev opened the door and stepped inside. It was a large machine shop, and a power source hummed. Several Marines—to include a two-star Rev didn’t recognize—and civilians were gathered at the far side of the building.

They turned around at Rev’s entrance, and Daryll stepped forward, motioning Rev to join them.

“Filmore was right. He doesn’t look happy.”

Rev wasn’t happy about being kept in the dark, but at least now he should be able to find out what this was all about. He started walking forward, and as he cleared a line of machinery that was blocking his view, the rest of the interior of the building came into view.

“Holy fuck!” Rev shouted as he instinctively raised Pashu.

Standing ten meters to the right of the humans were three Centaurs calmly looking at him.

* * *

“Who the hell came up with this dumbass idea?” Rev snapped at Daryll, who’d pulled him to the side.

“Look, I’m not happy about this either. But it’s out of our hands.”

“They’re tin-asses. The enemy.”

“They were the enemy. They haven’t broken the terms of their treaty.”

“I know that. It was the Naxli 1.0s. But we were just in a war with them, in case you forgot.”

“Mr. Begay, is Staff Sergeant Pelletier in control of himself?” the two-star general asked, clearly angry.

It was probably a good thing that Daryll had run interference and gotten between Rev and the others. If the way they’d flinched when Rev ran at them was any indication, Rev must have had murder in his expression.

But Rev was more shocked than angry—although with his warrior buzzing around like a wasp caught in a bottle, anger was building. When the civilian said that the Centaurs were going to examine Pashu, Rev had just lost it.

“Are you good?” Daryll asked, his hand pressing against Rev’s chest as if he had the ability to hold the augmented Marine back.

“Good? By the Mother, no. But if you’re asking if I’m going to attack anyone, then no, I’m not.”

“Just keep it that way. You’re not going to get anywhere with them if they have to call in those two guards outside.”

You think they can stop me if I don’t want them to? Think again, Daryll.

“He’s fine, sir,” Daryll said over his shoulder.

He dropped his hand from Rev’s chest, then tilted his head in the direction of the others.

Rev gave one last look at the three Centaurs, who hadn’t seemed to have moved during his outburst, and followed Daryll to the general.

“So glad you decided to join us, Staff Sergeant,” the general said, his voice dripping with scorn.

<He’s embarrassed that you scared him. Better make nice.>

“Sorry, sir. I was taken by surprise.”

“No ex—” the general started to say when one of the civilians stepped between them, his hand out to shake.

“I’m Dr. Tenn,” he said as Rev took his hand. “It was probably a shock, but as you can imagine, the security on this has been high. We couldn’t give you a heads up on what to expect.”

The general frowned, and Rev knew he wasn’t in charge here. This civilian was. And that meant this was coming from high up. Very high up.

Which wasn’t surprising, now that Rev was calming down and could think about it. Those were three Centaurs over there, on a military base. They may have held to the terms of the treaty, but they were the cause of billions of human lives over the last twenty years.

Whoever approved this . . . whatever it was . . . had to be pretty high on the food chain.

But why would they let the Centaurs examine an IBHU? What possible benefit would it serve?

Rev decided to get right to the point.

“Why are we doing this, sir? Why let the tin-asses get a look at our tech. The Mother knows their tech is better in almost everything, so why give up what we do have?”

“They’ve promised to improve our IBHUs if they can.”

Rev’s mouth dropped open in surprise.

“Wha . . .?” he tried to get out.

The civilian nodded. “Took us by surprise, too.”

“Why would they do that? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Yes, it does. Enemies of my enemies and all.”

The general, who’d been listening closely to the civilian, snorted in disgust at that and turned half-away.

“You mean, the Naxli are their enemies, too?”

“Evidently.”

“Then why the heck didn’t they tell us that before, when we all thought they were attacking us again?”

“Need to know, sir,” the general interjected. “You’re revealing classified information.”

“Staff Sergeant Pelletier’s going to be working with them, General. He needs to feel comfortable if we’re going to maximize the benefits. I’m authorizing Staff Sergeant Pelletier’s access.”

The general shook his head and said, “Your call, sir.”

The civilian turned back to Rev. “You understand that the Centaurs don’t think like we do, right?”

Rev nodded, wondering where this was heading.

“They’re still an enigma, a race we can’t quite figure out. But from their point of view, they told us they had not reinitiated fighting, and to them, that was enough. There was nothing else for them to do.”

“And the Naxli? A little thing like an aggressive race raging war in the galaxy?”

“Essentially, what it boils down to is they said we didn’t ask.”

Rev just stared at the civilian.

“We didn’t ask? They didn’t think it might be something we’d want to know?”

Dr. Tenn shrugged and said, “Yeah, that’s about it. Like I said, they’re still hard for us to understand.”

Rev turned to look back at the three motionless Centaurs. They were showing nothing that Rev would assume were emotions. They looked to him like they hadn’t a care in the galaxy.

“So, they didn’t think to tell us about the Naxli, but now they want to help. And I’m supposed to let them—”

“You will let them have access to your IBHU, Staff Sergeant,” the general said.

Rev took a breath, then amended his statement. “I’m going to let them examine my IBHU, and if they can, they’ll make some sort of improvements, but we don’t know what. Am I getting that right?”

“Pretty much so,” Dr. Tenn said.

“What does Sieben say about that? What about Dr. C? I don’t see her here.”

Daryll scowled from behind a Marine colonel.

“Sieben isn’t part of this. Mr. Begay there is here as a technical advisor only.”

And he’s been undoubtedly sworn to secrecy. No wonder he’s pissed.

That and the fact that he was very protective of the IBHUs in his care.

Rev knew the general was getting impatient. He almost certainly wasn’t used to being held up by a staff sergeant. But Rev had one more question.

“Why me?”

“Well, you’re IBHU #1.”

Which was what Daryll would say.

“And as such, you have the initial model of an IBHU. You’ve been upgraded several times with patches and additions, but your IBHU isn’t as, shall we say clean, as the newer models?”

Which Daryll wouldn’t have said. He was proud of the Sieben tech. But as soon as the civilian said it, Rev understood why. They may be opening up a vital piece of tech, but it wouldn’t be the latest version. Pashu was almost as smooth as the latest IBHUs, but she was something of a patchwork of improvements and upgrades.

It made sense to him.

The general coughed behind the doctor and said, “Since you’ve told him more than he was initially cleared to know, you might as well tell him the rest.”

Dr. Tenn seemed to consider that, then he said, “As to what the general is referring, you were asked for by name.”

“Who asked for me? The commandant?”

“No. The Centaurs.”

Rev could have been knocked over with a feather. Never in a million years would he have expected that answer.

“Wha . . . wha . . . WHY?”

“As to the why of anything they do, we don’t know. But through, uh . . . sources, we think they may have requested the presence of Captain Vreemish of the MDS, and we have to assume that they are making the same offer to them.”

And suddenly, everything clicked into place for him. For whatever reason, the Centaurs had now decided to offer assistance to their former enemies to fight their still-current enemies. They’d chosen Rev and Captain Vreemish as their guinea pigs because they’d had previous contact with them. Rev and the then-lieutenant had been the two who hadn’t attacked the Centaur planet-destroying teams on Earth, thereby paving the way to peace.

And now, if the MDS had been offered the same assistance, it was an arms race, not between humans and Naxli, but between the Union and MDS. If there was a benefit to be had, the Union could not afford to let the MDS move ahead with the advances of alien technology.

If there had been any hesitation in taking the Centaurs up on their offer, that had disappeared with the fear that the MDS could move ahead and leave the Union behind.

Dr. Tenn had put on a face of understanding and concern for Rev and his feelings, but there had never been any choice in the matter. This was a done deal.

Rev nodded and said, “Well, if we’re going to do this, let’s just get it done.

* * *

“That’s all you need?” Rev asked.

“We have analyzed the weapon,” one of the Three said. “There is no more for you to do.”

As with the first and only time Rev had communicated with a Three, back on Earth, one of the triumvirate did most of the talking while the others observed.

If they’d managed to analyze Pashu in that short amount of time, then they were far more advanced than human technicians—not that there had been any question of that.

The Centaurs had him power Pashu up, switch firing modes, and maneuver her while one of them—not the talking one—held what could be a scanner of some type while the other two passively watched.

The only reaction any of them exhibited was when the scanner Centaur’s nostril flaps lifted as it observed the small instrument. That is, if “observe” was the right word when they didn’t “see” with eyes like most Earth-base life did.

From start to finish, the process took just over four minutes.

“What now?” Rev asked.

The talking one said nothing.

“What will you do now?” Rev said.

“We will improve the efficacy of the weapon.”

OK. But how?

“Will you take my IBHU somewhere?”

Rev sure didn’t like the idea of being separated from Pashu, but he thought it would probably be necessary. He wondered if he, and maybe Daryll, could accompany his IBHU wherever it was going.

“Remove the weapon.”

Rev looked back at the entourage, all of whom were staring at them with intense interest. The civilian nodded and nudged Daryll, who came forward to help Rev remove Pashu.

Any hope that the civilian or general would have come to their senses and stopped the insane process evaporated as Daryll manhandled the IBHU and got it to the ground. This was really going to happen.

“Did they say what they wanted us to do with it?” Daryll asked Rev as he stared at the three Centaurs.

“Nope. They’re not very talkative.” Rev turned to look at them. The three were standing, facing each other. Rev couldn’t hear speech, but there were very slight ripples of subtle colors flowing across their skin.

Rev knew the ripples had something to do with how they communicated with each other, but that didn’t make sense to him. How could they see colors without eyes?

The two humans stood over Pashu for three minutes, watching the motionless Centaurs. Rev startled when a small, almost unnoticed box behind the Centaurs suddenly sprouted articulated legs that looked like miniature versions of the legs on a paladin or riever.

The box—a dull rectangle with a surface that looked almost fuzzy as if it was made with black cotton balls—went around the three Centaurs and approached Rev and Daryll. Rev felt a moment of instinctual disgust, but he held his ground.

“What the hell is that?” Daryll whispered.

Once the box reached them, the legs disappeared, and then, like an Asran expanding box, it seemed to unfold on itself as it got bigger; twice, three times, five times larger than it was before.

Two armlike appendages reached out, and like an alien octopus pulling in a clam, it grabbed Pashu and started drawing the IBHU inside of it.

Daryll gave a little gasp and started to reach out, and this time it was Rev who held him back. Aside from the fact that he knew the brass wanted this done, Rev was perversely both horrified and fascinated at the same time at what was happening. It was like the box was eating Pashu.

He could hear the entourage mumbling behind him, but he didn’t even try to listen to what they were saying.

“Do we have anything like this? Even just experimental?”

<Nothing in the records that I have access to. This is new tech.>

There was a tiny spark in Punch’s words, and Rev thought that his battle buddy’s interest was piqued. That didn’t surprise him. With a huge chunk of human knowledge available either through his memory cache or online, it must titillate his crystal brain to be introduced to something entirely new.

The surface of the box smoothed out. There was no sign that Pashu, which was almost as long as the box, was inside. There wasn’t even a bulge like a capybara inside an anaconda. If this was some sort of sleight-of-hand trick the Centaurs were playing to steal an IBHU, it was a good start.

But for once, Rev’s suspicions weren’t running rampant. His warrior had faded into the background. The Centaurs just stood silently as their robot box did its thing. He was anxious, but the anxiousness of a ten-year-old the day before Christmas with presents under the tree.

“How long do we have to wait?” he muttered.

<There is no data on which to base an answer> and “There’s no telling,” Punch and Daryll said at the same time.

Rev turned to look at Dr. Tenn and the rest. Their brows were creased with concern, and the general was biting a fingernail. For a moment, it all struck Rev as funny. They wanted this, but now that Pashu had been eaten by a fuzzy black box, the alienness of it all seemed to have thrown them for a loop.

They’re Centaurs, guys, not humans. What did you expect?

It took a lot less time than Rev had expected. Nine minutes after the box ate Pashu, the IBHU came out the other side—the imagery of coming in one side, a mouth, and out the other, a well . . . . was a little gross—and two arms emerged to hold it off the ground.

Scanner-Centaur stepped forward with its little instrument.

Whatever the readouts were, they must have satisfied it, because then Talking-Centaur said, “Please install the weapon.”

“Here goes,” Rev said, beckoning Daryll to follow him.

He stood over his IBHU for a moment, carefully looking it over. She looked pretty much the same as always. The beamer projector was a little misshapen, and there was a slight dullness to her, but there weren’t any huge differences that Rev could see.

This is the new and improved Pashu?

Rev had not wanted to give the Centaurs access to her, but with that matter out of his hands, he’d become a little excited at the thought of upgrades. So now, he was a little disappointed.

Daryll squatted over to put his arms under Pashu. An IBHU was normally donned with the hoist, but with a little effort, she could be horsed on with the help of another person. It was much easier with two helpers, but one could do it, and Daryll had lots of experience.

With a grunt, he straightened his legs and lifted, only to grunt again, but this time in surprise.

“She’s lighter.”

“What?”

“Pashu. She’s lighter. I don’t know how much lighter, but I can tell.”

Rev didn’t know if that was good or bad.

“Let’s hook her up.”

With Daryll holding her against his chest, Rev bent his knees and slid his sleeve into place. It always took a bit of feeling around, but with a click, he was connected, and he took the weight from Daryll.

“I’m not sure she’s lighter,” Rev said as he rotated her around his shoulder. “But she’s . . .” He stopped what he was going to say to put his IBHU through her paces.

“Whoa!”

“What is it?” Dr. Tenn said as he moved forward to him, followed by the general and half of the others.

The Centaurs just stood silently.

“She’s smooth.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s hard to say, sir,” Rev said as he tried to put what he was feeling into words. He swung Pashu around a few more times, then extruded his blade and thrust forward as if stabbing an enemy.

“Did you ever use a Slick Streaker when you were a kid?”

“That was after my time,” the civilian said. “But we had Hot Rockets, which were similar.”

“I don’t know about Hot Rockets, but with Slicks, if you skated with them on the street, they vibrated and caught on pebbles and rocks. But as soon as you got to the skate park, with the monolymar surface, they were smooth as silk. You were doing the exact same thing with your legs, the exact same skating motion, but suddenly, it was much smoother and took less effort.

“That’s what this is like. I’m doing the same things as always, but it’s so much easier, almost as if I’m getting an assist.

“If that makes any sense.”

<Less friction.>

“What?”

<There is less temperature buildup as you move, and you are exerting less energy. That would indicate that there is less friction within your moving parts.>

“You monitor temperatures inside of Pashu?”

<There are over a thousand sensors in your IBHU. And yes, they monitor temperature, among many other things.>

“My battle buddy says my IBHU is moving with less friction.”

Dr. Tenn looked over at one of the other civilians.

“That would be a significant upgrade, not just to these weapons, but across the board,” the woman said.

“What else is different?” Tenn asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“Punch?”

<Readings are different within the power system, and there is something new with the beamer. I don’t know what they mean yet.>

“Why doesn’t he ask the Centaurs directly?” the colonel asked.

“You think they’ll answer directly?” Tenn asked. But then he said, “Wouldn’t hurt, though.”

He nodded to Rev and pointed to the three still motionless aliens.

Rev marched over to them and stopped in front of Talking-Centaur.

“My battle buddy says my IBHU generates less friction in movement. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

That was it. No explanation. Just “yes.”

“Uh . . . is there anything else you did?”

“Yes.”

Rev waited for the Centaur to expound on that, but once again, it was seemingly done speaking.

“Please tell me what other modifications you made to my IBHU.”

“Our (there was a garbled sound) made several basic modifications. Your primitive construction wasted energy, so a (more garbled) coating was applied which strengthened the framework while lowering the coefficient of friction on all moving parts. This enabled the (garbled) to remove extraneous over-engineering to lower mass. The weapon’s power source was low efficiency, so it was replaced with a (garbled), but retaining the current form due to mechanical imperatives. Given the new power potential, a simple (garbled) was added for protection from Naxli (garbled), although the (garbled) protection is affected by (garbled, garbled, garbled.) Your energy cannon was limited, so with a simple (garbled) . . .”

After using one-word responses, Rev had opened the floodgates to a stream of sentences, all running together. What the Talking Centaur was saying was a mystery to him, though. As at Machu Picchu, the Centaur spoke in fluent, but very formalized, Standard where Rev understood most of the words, but not necessarily the meanings of the sentences. And now, with words that evidently had no direct translation into Standard, Rev was completely lost. He just stood there, not asking questions while he hoped that someone would be able to listen to the recording and make sense of what was being said.

Finally, the reservoir ran dry, and the Centaur fell into silence once again.

“Did you get any of that?”

<It will take a more detailed analysis, but it looks like aside from the friction modification, you’ve got a better power source, a force shield . . .>

Force shield. That’s cool.

<. . . a type of targeting assist, a new capability with your meson cannon—>

“Wait, what was that last one?”

<I think they’ve modified your meson cannon to give it a new capability.>

Rev quickly turned around and shouted to the entourage, “I’ve got to get to the test range. I’ve got a new gun!”

* * *

Rev stood anxiously at the firing line. It had taken over four hours to clear one of the secure ranges of the company that had been using it, then move Rev, Daryll, and Dr. Tenn’s group to it without being noticed. The Centaurs hadn’t been brought along, which Rev thought was a little weird. It would be good to have them there while he fired the weapon, but maybe getting them there in secrecy was a bridge a little too far.

But finally, Rev was standing on the line, looking out over the range where a number of targets had been emplaced.

“Are you getting anywhere with the cannon?”

<I can see where something was done, but the feedback system isn’t designed to measure whatever was done to it. I still recommend that we don’t test your IBHU until systems engineers can determine what modifications have been made.>

“Whatever happened to the joking Punch? I miss that battle buddy.”

<Patience is a virtue. We don’t know what the new capability is, and there could be unanticipated effects.>

“Yeah, like making that Avenger hulk disappear into thin air. Anyway, they don’t want to wait,” he said, turning to look at Dr. Tenn’s party, huddled inside a viewing bunker seventy-five meters behind him.

<You don’t want to wait.>

Rev just smiled. It was true. He didn’t want to wait until he saw what new weapon he had.

The loudspeaker crackled, and the range officer—in this case, a lieutenant colonel who’d been brought in—asked, “Is the gunner ready?”

“Ready!” Rev said.

“Range 446 is now hot. I repeat, Range 446 is now hot.”

This is going to be uber-righteous,” Rev said as he spread his legs shoulder-width apart.

<If we don’t get fried by this thing.>

“What do you care? You’re crystal. They can just pop you into the next Marine.”

<And I’d have to start training them up from scratch.>

“Ready on the right, ready on the left. Ready on the firing line,” the range officer said.

There’s only one of me on the line. No one on the left or right.

“Shooter, you may commence fire at your own volition.”

Rev’s first target was the big one, the Avenger hulk. Rev could take on an Avenger as it was, but it was no sure thing. In fact, odds would favor the big tank. So, if Rev had something new up his sleeve that could even the odds, that would be a pretty big deal.

“Well, sheriff, this town ain’t big enough for the two of us. Draw!”

Rev brought Pashu up, marveling at how quick and how smooth he was able to get her to the target. It was almost instantaneous. Think it, and it was done.

He didn’t know yet if the new cannon mode fired in burst or a continuous beam, so he just kept the firing circuit open. It was a beam, and he fired for ten seconds before shutting it down.

There were a few wisps of smoke rising from the Avenger, but it otherwise looked fine.

<Looks like the sheriff won, Black Bart.>

Rev felt a wave of disappointment wash over him.

That’s it? What the hell?

He stood there, zooming his vision to get a better look, hoping to see signs of significant damage. But there was nothing. It was possible that if the tank was operable, then the electronics or power source could have been compromised, but from a visual perspective, it looked pretty sound.

From behind him, Dr. Tenn announced, “Let’s take a break here and go examine the tank.”

He sounded as disappointed as Rev was.

“You want the range to go cold?” the range officer asked.

“No!” Rev yelled. He didn’t want to wait another hour while the scientists pored over the tank only to determine his new cannon mode didn’t do squat to it.

Right now, the range was hot, and the last command was for him to fire when he damn well wanted to. And right now, he really wanted to.

With the slightest thought, one not even fully formed, Pashu swung onto Sergeant Pork almost as if his IBHU had a mind of her own and fired. Sergeant Pork was a pig carcass, outfitted with body armor on the torso, that was held vertically in place with a frame.

The beam struck the pig target, and less than a second later, the pig’s head and upper arms just exploded into nothingness.

Rev lowered Pashu in amazement as the pinkish mist of what had been a head slowly floated to the ground. The carcass was still being held erect, but the torso armor was cracked, and the body just below the armor was smoking.

Rev was speechless, but Punch wasn’t.

<I take that back. Black Bart was quicker on the draw.>

* * *

“So, what do you think it is? Some sort of microwave?” Rev asked Daryll.

The two had been eased out of the way as the scientists pored over Sergeant Pork. From their heated conversations, they hadn’t come to any quick conclusion.

“The way it blew up the pig’s head, that was my first impression. But look at the armor. That’s not organic, but it split.”

“Well, it didn’t do much on the tank.”

“But it did something. Did you see the little wisps of smoke? A microwave wouldn’t have done that, and it wouldn’t have split that armor. What was the power consumption for the shot?”

<Six megajoules.>

“Six megajoules,” Rev repeated.

“You mean six gigajoules,” Daryll said.

<Six megajoules.>

“Nope. Punch says megajoules.”

“That’s . . . that’s impossible,” Daryll said as he let that sink in.

“Punch?”

<The power usage does seem surprisingly light given what we witnessed. We’d have to set up tests to better understand the mechanics of the weapons. But what Daryll said about microwaves is right. It can’t be one as we understand them. But it could be related to them. Whatever it is, it offers a new possibility.>

There was a pause, which was unlike Punch, before he added, <I have no data on which to back this up, but I would say there is a possibility that this is a weapon that was designed to fight the Naxli.>

“What, my logical battle buddy is making wild-ass guesses? Why do you think that?”

<I don’t think that is a fact. I only offer up the possibility. The Avenger was largely untouched, but the pig’s armor was damaged. Could that be because the tank has advanced armor? Would this new weapon be effective against a PAL, much less a tank or mech Marine?>

“You mean, we haven’t seen this because the Centaurs knew it wouldn’t be as effective against us? But because the noxes have that strap-on armor, then they’re like the pig with its exposed head. Kablooey!”

<There is a logic to that.>

“Crap! And that means the big weapon they give us, it won’t do jack shit against them in a paladin.”

Punch admitted that he was essentially spitballing, but it made sense to Rev. He looked over at the scientists with Dr. Tenn, and he debated bringing up the possibility, but he held his tongue. They’d probably just dismiss him.

He did tell Daryll, who wasn’t completely on board with the idea but admitted that it could be true.

Finally, the colonel stepped up and interrupted the civilians. “We’ve got testing equipment at our disposal. While all the theories I’m hearing are interesting, why don’t we start testing the shit out of Pelletier’s IBHU to see what’s going on with it? We can bring in the Centaur Three and ask them as well.”

Dr. Tenn’s face started to cloud over, but then he relaxed and said, “You’re right, Derek. We’re just getting a little excited here as to the possibilities.”

He turned to his colleagues and said, “Thanks for the brainstorming session. But let’s settle down and start testing.”

So, for the next two days, Rev never left the range. Equipment was brought in as Pashu was put through a battery of tests as the civilian team sought to uncover her secrets.

Rev was an afterthought to the process. He was there to fire Pashu or put her through her paces when needed, but for the most part, he wasn’t much more than an aside to the process.

The Centaurs were not much help. Their theory, at least from what Rev understood, was that humans didn’t need to know how Pashu worked. They just had to use her.

And Pashu was pretty easy to use. There wasn’t much of a learning curve at all. As Rev told Daryll, the new capabilities were idiot proof. To which Daryll replied, they were Marine proof.

After two days, Rev didn’t know how many secrets Tenn’s team had uncovered, but they’d pretty much explored Pashu’s new capabilities.

Daryll had been right in that she was lighter than before by five kilograms. That put a little less strain on Rev, but they couldn’t tell if there would be a resultant weakening of the frame. The main reason an IBHU was so heavy in the first place was to stand up to the heavy abuse it took in combat.

She was much, much easier to maneuver. It took so little effort to use her. Supposedly, this was strictly because of what they did to lower friction, but Rev thought that there could have been some sort of powered assist installed.

The shield was an interesting addition, but he didn’t think it would be as useful as he’d first imagined. Spreading out from the cannon’s projector, it created a meter-and-a-half wide circular shield that was attuned to several Naxli energy weapons. If hit head on, it could divert the enemy shot to the sides. But like a medieval shield, it protected only a limited area. And as Rev stood over two meters tall in his PAL, it couldn’t protect his entire body at once, and while employed, he couldn’t fire his meson cannon nor his Morays.

Still, it was a nice little tool in his warrior tool chest.

The power system was a huge upgrade, one that had Tenn’s team salivating. Pashu was powered by tubular powerpacks that ran along her length. These powerpacks were supplemented by the PAL’s powerpack, but an IBHU could operate for extended periods of time without any external source.

In a rare moment of clarity, the Centaurs questioned the tubular construction, but they replaced them with their own version in the same shape. The powerpack could be recharged with existing equipment, but they were far, far more efficient in storing energy. Not only that, but they recovered energy that was previously lost through heat radiation and movement.

Given the new powerpack and the improvements made to IBHU’s frame, this greatly extended the time between charges that an IBHU would remain combat-ready.

Then there was the new mode for the meson cannon. Using the same basic components, the cannon could now create a new type of beam that acted in many ways like a microwave but was different in ways Rev didn’t understand.

It worked by creating resonance in the target, resonance so strong that molecular bonds were loosened and immense amounts of heat released. When the target was a pig, the water in the cells went into hyper-mode, and the pig’s flesh exploded. The same thing happened, with less efficiency, with a number of non-organic materials, but other materials, such as what was used in tanks and PALs, were essentially impervious to the beam.

When pressed, the Centaurs said the beam would work against a Naxli, even when they were in the “scales,” which was how they referred to the applied body armor the Naxli infantry wore.

Rev wasn’t as wowed with the improvements as he’d hoped he would be, but he had to admit, they were all pretty useful. He got the impression that the Centaurs could do more but that they were limiting what they gave in the same way parents limited what toys their toddlers had access to.

Dr. Tenn wasn’t entirely satisfied, either, and he started making noises about taking Pashu back with him to “better labs” so he could uncover more secrets. This faced immediate pushback from Major General Forte, who’d turned out not to be the asshole his first impression had made him seem to be.

He said, in no uncertain terms, that priority went to combat, not research. Tenn had to acquiesce.

The big question before Rev returned to the company was if the Marines would allow more IBHU Marines to get the upgrades. None of that debate took place at the range. That question was only going to be answered at the highest level of the military command.

In the end, they decided that half of the IBHUs would receive the upgrades. The Centaurs may not have attacked humanity again, but they had been enemies just a few short years ago. While the upgrades would be useful, there was always the chance that they were being made as a host, carrying a virus that could shut down the IBHU.

The MDS had done that, after all, when they stole the IBHUs on Enceladus. With their advanced technology, there was no telling what the Centaurs could do.

The first of the next wave of IBHUs to get the upgrades were already on their way to the same warehouse in the industrial area in which Rev got his upgrades by the time Rev got to the armory to stow Pashu. Filmore had a million questions, and Rev carefully skirted revealing too much. Let Daryll fill him in.

He stepped out of the armory and looked across the quad. For a moment, he wondered if he should go over to the industrial area for moral support, if nothing else. But then he realized he really couldn’t do much there.

Better that he report in to Bundy and let him know what was going on. His IBHU might have just had a significant upgrade, but his core mission hadn’t changed. His job was to be ready to respond to the Naxli threat.

But not until morning. After checking in with Bundy, it was shower and real food, not necessarily in that order, then a call to Tomiko to see if she was free that evening.

Life went on.

25

“OK, move your IBHUs laterally,” the government engineer said.

Rev and Randigold, connected at the jacks, swung their IBHUs right and left in unison while Daryll hovered possessively to the side.

“Now, vertically.”

The two Marines complied.

Despite the combat generals wanting the upgraded IBHUs deployed into the fleet as soon as possible, not everyone agreed with an aggressive approach. Dr. Tenn evidently regained some of the initiative when he got the decision-makers to agree that each new upgraded Marine had to be tested. Even if Rev was “clean,” so to speak, that didn’t mean that the Centaurs couldn’t slip something in to affect subsequent IBHU Marines.

Among the normal scans, someone had come up with the bright idea of connecting Rev to the others and then taking readings down to the nanoamp to see if there were any differences. The engineer who’d come in to run the comparisons was neither a Marine nor an employee of Sieben, and Daryll was about to have a fit to see him have access to the IBHUs. It was almost as bad to him as the access granted the Centaurs, but that had been tempered with his interest in the upgrades.

And, as Bundy mentioned to Rev, Daryll, for all that he was a good guy, was paid by Sieben, and he didn’t think the Centaurs were going to be a commercial threat. The same couldn’t be said about other humans.

Rev thought it was all a waste of time, but it didn’t bother him to the degree that it did Daryll . . . until Punch used table talk to tell him that by being connected to the other Marines as they were, it was theoretically possible for their unseen watcher to gain another view through the other Marine’s battle buddy.

He couldn’t tell if it was being done, but it was possible. At that point, Rev told Punch to remain as quiet as possible while they were jacked into anyone else.

Rev had already done the test pairing with Tsao and now Randigold. But if there were any anomalies, the engineer was doing a good job of masking his opinions.

After thirty minutes of simple maneuver, the engineer said, “That’s enough for today. I’ll see you at the range at seven a.m. tomorrow.”

He unhooked the two and stowed his cable in a padded container. Daryll gave the heavy cable a suspicious look before the engineer closed the box.

As soon as the engineer left, Randigold and Rev looked at the major who’d silently watched the entire test so far.

“You’re dismissed. Go on back to your company. I’ll see you in the morning at the range.”

Randigold nodded and let out a little sigh. The major might be a watchdog from HQMC on New Mars, but he was a Marine. For Randigold, that was a hell of a lot better than some government engineer from who knows what agency.

Rev wasn’t going to be as complacent. As Punch had reminded him, they still didn’t know who was monitoring them. While he’d like to trust the Marines more than the other government agencies, he reluctantly had to admit that he had no proof that was the case. At some point, he was going to have to figure out for sure if he was being monitored, and if yes, by who.

For now, though, he was ready to call it a day. Tomiko was on a field operation, so he wasn’t heading over to see her, but a quiet night reading in his room sure sounded good.

He unhooked Pashu, leaving her in Daryll’s care, and donned his social arm. As he walked into the SNCOs’ common room, several of the other staff sergeants were sitting watching the holo.

“Look who just walked in,” Kil said. “The genius who figured it all out.”

“Figured out what, Kil,” Rev asked. “I’m not in the mood for guessing games.”

“The noxes. They’re shifters, just like you said.”

“What? I never said they were shifters.”

“Sure you did,” Winnie added. “On Wie’s. When we found out the second Centaurs and the noxes were one and the same.”

<You did say that.>

Rev scowled and said, “I was just spitballing. So why are you saying I was right? The noxes are werewolves? Yeah, I believe that.”

“Not werewolves. Just shifters. Look,” Kil said before she ordered the holo to back up ten minutes.

That elicited a few groans from the others, but Kil said, “Hold your horses. Rev deserves to see this, and they’re just repeating what they’ve already said now, anyway.”

Kil skootched over and patted the now empty spot next to her on the couch. Rev warily took it, trying to figure out the joke that he was sure they were playing on him.

“I swear, Kil, if this is—”

“Just watch.”

The chyron beneath the reporter identified her as from one of the Frisian commercial news organizations.

“. . . stunning breakthrough from our own FRC labs. If this is verified, it threatens our understanding of extraterrestrial biology.”

“What needs to be verified?” Rev asked.

“Just watch,” Gunny Sichko told him.

The reporter was switched out for a diagram of what looked like cells while the voiceover said, “The sample cells were observed to mutate and change over a period of three weeks into a totally new form.” Rev watched a sped-up recording, showing the cells elongate and thicken, then split at the end into what looked like tendrils.

“So?” Rev asked.

“By the Mother, just watch!” the gunny said.

The voice-over went on to explain that the cells were able to slowly change their form when under stimulation. Curious, Frisian scientists started examining cells taken from Naxli samples, and by some sort of reverse analysis, tracked the cells in reverse to what the scientists claim was an earlier form. The image of the cell shifted to the left of the feed, then another image popped up alongside it.

Then came the kicker. The previous cell was from a sample of the Centaur-like version. The Frisian voiceover presented it as a fait accompli: the first versions of the Naxli that humankind encountered, the ones that looked like Centaurs, had somehow shifted over a few months to the more humanlike version.

As they watched, the others seemed to take the news in stride along the veins of, “So, that explains it.” There were several werewolf jokes, a few quite crude and probably anatomically impossible. But Rev sunk into a deep, silent introspection.

The others—and the triumphant-sounding reporter, so proud that it was the Frisians who’d made the breakthrough—were missing the bigger question. It wasn’t how the Naxli were changing their bodies. What really had to be answered was why they did it.

26

Rev never made it back to the range the next morning. At 0213, after Rev and Punch had spent hours pulling up anything they could find on the undernet about the Naxli and this “shifter” theory, the alert went out. The Marines were going to deploy.

New IBHU upgrades were put on hold, much to Pierson’s frustration—he had been next in the queue to get his as the task force was formed and embarked. Five days after the alert, the task force, made up of divisions and elements from eight other governments, was formed, under the command of a Rigel Cluster admiral, and sent to Uriba-5, colloquially known as Mistworld.

Uriba-5 was within the Frisian Mantle, a commercial planet with little commercial value. Cloaked in almost continual clouds, the planet had an assortment of life that didn’t fit into Earth classifications. Most of it was physically related to molds, but ranging in size from small molds to towering structures of fleshy purples and oranges.

Uriba, Inc. owned the rights to the planet, which at first glance must have seemed like a treasure. With an O2-based atmosphere, the planet didn’t need extensive terraforming, and the company sent in settlers to try and extract whatever materials the company could market throughout the galaxy.

Returns were small but initially positive until the native life started fouling machines, and while it couldn’t feed on Earth-organic life, most people on the planet developed severe allergies to the molds. Within a decade, Uriba pulled out with the intent to scour the planet and start terraforming. Lawsuits by various environmental and xenolife groups stopped the process, and buffeted by other failed enterprises, the company consolidated their operations, and Mistworld was put on the back burner.

Except for scenes in several holovids that were recorded there at great expense and the odd xenobiologist, the planet had largely been abandoned for the near term.

Which made Rev wonder. Why were the Naxli on the planet, and why had humanity decided to kick them off the planet?

Throughout history, humankind had fought battles over strategically worthless pieces of real estate. Why not cede the planet to the Naxli and use resources to defend populated planets or planets with resources that were needed by humanity?

It wouldn’t be popular with the public, especially the Frisians, but it made more sense at least until the threat against more valuable planets was quashed.

Every Naxli on Mistworld was one less Naxli that had to be kicked off a populated planet.

The more Rev thought about it, the more it seemed to him that the Naxli were purposefully choosing battlegrounds where they could test themselves against the humans. And the military leadership in the Perseus Union and elsewhere were more than willing to take them up on the challenge.

It was like boxers in the first round, dancing around the ring and throwing jabs at each other, feeling out their opponents.

Except for the first few targets, which were populated, and where vast numbers of humans had been removed from their planets to disappear into the vastness of space, the more recent clashes had been on uninhabited or sparsely habited planets where forces could face each other without worrying about large populations of civilians.

From a big picture perspective, Rev didn’t know if this was actually the case and not part of his growing cynical outlook. But if this was some vast chess game, Rev and the rest of the Marines were pawns, and pawns rarely made it to the endgame.

* * *

Rev slowly made his way through the tall, purple fungus, trying to see through the mist. He knew the native life wasn’t really fungus—they were closer to being a mold analog—but after Tsao mentioned that the spread of the brown ones at their camp looked like Chinese wood ear mushrooms, the image had stuck.

He flipped his vision back to heat mode, but it wasn’t any better. The mist was just too thick.

With his augments, Rev was used to having excellent vision while in the battlefield, no matter the condition. Being almost blind was unnerving. The company had passive scanners that could pierce the gloom, and before the patrol left the lines, the scans showed no enemy presence. But that was two hours ago, and anyone could have moved into the AO since then.

“Could Sieben hook us up with active scanners? Maybe Range-R?”

<You can carry a handheld Range-R. They are available in the supply system. However, with the jamming here, active systems are mostly ineffective.>

Maybe a Range-R, which could detect what was behind solid objects such as walls, could be jammed, but maybe not. And with all his other augments, what was one more? He still thought it was a good idea.

“Make a note to mention that in the hot wash. Range-R. LIDAR. V-Wave.”

<Noted. Snipers already get a modified LIDAR.>

“Then it shouldn’t be difficult to give it to us. Screw the rot.”

All Direct Combat Marines had their navigational augments, and with that, they could determine the range to any object. But LIDAR, which used a laser to determine range, would be much quicker and easier. The mini-laser was implanted into the skull, though, and that resulted in a higher potential for the rot. Marine Corps policy was to limit augments to what was needed for each military specialty. Rev understood that, but with all the augments the IBHU Marines had, what was one more?

<I wouldn’t worry about the rot. The Naxli will probably get us long before that.>

“Eat me, Punch.”

A shadow ahead startled Rev, sending his heart pounding, but it was only a swirl of the mist.

Worry about augments and bantering with Punch later, Reverent. Keep your mind on the task at hand.

And that task was to make it to the infantry OP just over four klicks from the camp’s perimeter. They’d stopped communicating five hours before. They’d been using shielded wire, so jamming shouldn’t have affected their comms. It could be something as simple as something breaking the line, but it could be more serious. It was up to the patrol to find out.

The mist was so thick that Rev could only see the two Marines on either side of him. The rest were lost in the gloom. He pushed past one of the big fungi, a slab of it brushing across his face shield. Even with the electrostatic coating and its extremely low coefficient of friction, the purple fan left a streak of slime on it, and Rev was glad he was completely buttoned up in his PAL. The thought of that slimy stuff touching his skin made him shudder, and not just because they’d been warned not to come into contact with the planet’s lifeforms. It was just plain gross stuff.

This was Rev’s first time out in the fungal jungle since their planet fall fifteen hours ago. Once again, their descent had been unchallenged by the Naxli. After a company of disc Marines landed unopposed, the Seabee platoon had burned off most of the native life within the camp’s perimeter—with the wood ear mushroom-like fungus sprouting up within five hours. Third Platoon, First Heavy Infantry Company was assigned as the battalion’s Quick Reaction Force, and by the time Rev and platoon landed, the camp was already bustling with the defenses being laid.

The unopposed landing, while welcomed by most of the Marines, made Rev nervous. The Japanese soldiers on Iwo Jima back on Earth during the 20th Century’s World War II had allowed the US Marines to land essentially unopposed, yet the battle for that small island became the most costly for the Marines during that war.

So far, at least in the Marines’ battles with the Naxli, the Corps had acquitted itself well in the somewhat limited confrontations. But at some point, he was sure that all the probing and jabbing would cease, and the Naxli were going to lower the hammer and move to total war.

It was up to Rev and Bundy to make sure the platoon was up for the task.

But at the moment, it was eerily quiet. It was as if the mist sucked up all sound. It would be easy to believe that Rev and the four Marines within his sight were the last humans on the planet.

To his right, PFC Julian let out an exclamation and went down hard, her legs going out from under her. Rev swung Pashu around to meet the threat, but Julian got back up, swearing as she did. She wiped the fungus-slime off of her PAL’s backside the best she could.

Rev clicked the small clicker they’d been issued. She turned to him and caught his look, then signed a few very unofficial but well-understood curse words before “slippery” and “ground.”

Rev kept going, but he made more of an effort to be sure of his footing. Knowing his luck, he’d fall and slide down a hill the moment they were hit.

The purple fungus gave way to a shorter red with black streaks variety, and as they climbed a small hill, the mist seemed to lessen. Rev could now see four Marines on either side of him instead of two.

Better, but not great.

Despite the oppressive air and Rev’s gut feeling that they were going to be hit, they covered the next kilometer without meeting opposition. If the Naxli were aware of their presence, they weren’t acting upon it.

At a hundred meters from the OP, Bundy, unseen by Rev, stopped the platoon. First and Second Squads would be curving forward in a Zulu impondo zenkomo, or buffalo horn formation.

Punch had informed him that Bundy’s rendition of the formation wasn’t actually what the 19th Century Zulus practiced, but the platoon commander liked the term, and with Rev’s appreciation for history and tradition, he was more than happy to embrace it.

With better visibility, they would have stopped farther out, but the need to always keep one Marine within sight of another condensed the maneuver. With Third halting in place, the two “horns” swung out like pinchers, the outermost Marines—in this case, Randigold with Second Squad and Božič-Mizaki with First—moving past the OP’s position, and the innermost Marines staying connected to Third Squad. The horns were essentially enveloping the OP, providing security and cover.

Once they were in place, Third Squad, the “chest,” and Rev moved forward on line. The two horns shifted forward with them as they closed in on the OP.

The low fungi here meant that only the mist kept them from observing the OP, but as they got to about forty meters, the position began to take shape. A prone Marine’s body began to emerge into view.

“Halt!” a voice cried out. “Who goes there!”

Staff Sergeant Urquart held up a hand to stop the squad. “Marines. Heavy Infantry.”

“Thank the Mother,” a strained voice said, and a figure stood up.

The squad quickly closed the distance, and one more Marine rose to stand with the first.

“What happened here?” Urquart asked as Rev stepped up to the prone Marine. A single round had shattered the face shield. Rev couldn’t see much of the Marine’s face through the blood and bits of flesh and bone, but he knew the chances of resurrection were low.

He’d seen that kind of damage before, on Wie’s World, when a sniper had killed Corporal Oneida.

“Sergeant Jamison and Lance Corporal Wein were monitoring the SPS-10 when the first shot took out the sergeant. The second took out Mouse. I mean, Lance Corporal Wein,” the shocked-sounding lance corporal said. “Then the third shot took out the SPS.”

Rev glanced at the passive surveillance sensor. It was a good piece of gear, and it should have been able to detect motion out to a couple of hundred meters, even in the mist. “Was” was the correct term. The thing was shattered, and bits of it were scattered around the position.

“Me and Digger here, we were getting some rest, so we just kissed the ground, waiting for the bastards, but they never came.”

Rev could feel whatever the Naxli used for sniper sights burn right between his shoulder blades.

“Get everybody down,” he told Urquart.

He had no idea how the Naxli sniper was able to acquire a target in this soup, but it was pretty evident that’s what was done here. And with the SPS-10, the shot couldn’t have been at short range.

Rev pulled out the clicker, which was nothing more than a child’s toy that someone in the head shed had thought to buy before they embarked. He was about to signal Bundy to the position, but if there was a sniper out there, then it would like nothing more to take out the commander.

It didn’t matter that from outward appearances, Bundy wouldn’t stand out, but the Naxli had a habit of popping up with unexpected capabilities.

Rev was just going to make a command decision.

“Staff Sergeant Urquart, assign two Marines to carry back the KIA. We’re leaving. And everyone, keep your heads down.”

“What about the SPS?” the squad leader asked.

Rev hesitated. They probably should bring it back. The thing was destroyed, but who knew what could be gleaned from what was left.

But he didn’t want someone burdened with carrying the broken parts.

“Put a Phoenix on it, but wait until we leave, and put it on a timer.”

The M-3 Phoenix would melt what was left of the sensor, but it burned extremely hot and bright. If the sniper was still out there, Rev didn’t want anyone to be highlighted by the glare of the incendiary grenade.

“What about us? Are we staying here?” the worried lance corporal asked, the PFC standing at his shoulder.

“No. You’re coming back with us.”

“But the OP?” he said, his voice faltering.

The lance corporal was obviously nervous about staying at the OP, but that was warring with his sense of duty. More than a few units had suffered the consequences of an OP being overrun and losing those sets of eyes.

“Your wire’s been cut, and your SPS is trash. There’s nothing for you here right now. The CO will send someone out if she wants, but for now, you’re done.”

“But—”

“My call, Lance Corporal. It’s on me.”

Both infantry Marines seemed more than a little relieved. They were leaving a vulnerable position, and no one could blame them for that. They were just following orders.

Three rapid clicks sounded from the right, off in the mist: Bundy was asking for an update.

There were only so many things they could convey with the children’s toys. There were no long and short clicks to use the ancient, but still viable, Morse Code. But they did have their own code to at least get some basic communications done.

Two quick clicks. Pause. Five spaced-out clicks.

“Negative.” Pause. “Retreat.”

Bundy repeated the interrogative three rapid clicks.

“What was ‘secure?’”

<Four clicks, then two.>

Rev sent back two clicks for negative, then the ones for secure.

Bundy sent back five rapid clicks.

So much for keeping out of the line of fire. I’d have been better off just shouting.

A few moments later, Bundy came out of the mist.

“What the hell are you telling me?”

“These aren’t the best things for trying to communicate,” Rev said, sliding the clicker in his pocket. “Two KIA. Sniper. Took out their SPS-10. I think it’s best we gather the dead and the two survivors and get back to camp.”

Bundy looked around the OP, and Rev could see his mind churning.

He’s considering manning the position!

“No comms. No sensor. No use putting anyone here. Let the CO lay more wire and get another sensor if she wants the OP manned.”

Bundy seemed to consider that for too long, but just before Rev thought Bundy was going to overrule him, he said, “You’re right. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

It only took a few moments to prep the SPS-10, and then the platoon was heading back. After a minute, a blinding white sun exploded into fury behind them, the glare lightening up the mist. No sniper rounds chased them, though.

All the way back, however, that itch between his shoulder blades wouldn’t relent. Rev didn’t relax until he was back within the camp’s protection.

* * *

Rev tried to shift his position, but sleeping inside his PAL was never a comfortable proposition. The alternatives on this mess of a planet were worse. The fungus on the planet was a completely different life form than Earth-based life. While it could evidently consume some of the non-organic material the humans brought with them to the surface, it couldn’t feed on human flesh.

But it sure tried. Expose your skin, and the spores would gather. They might not be able to feed, but their presence resulted in an allergic reaction of welts, blisters, and unbearable itching.

The corpsmen were kept hopping, treating the symptoms. With the Seabees, who were still with them, they managed to rig up an over-pressurized tent to act at a sickbay. Marines could wash down to get rid of most of the spores that had collected on their armor, then get their skin treated inside.

The best option was to remain inside their PALs as much as possible and thank their lucky stars that they had them. Between the fungus and the daily sniper incoming, the PALs were indispensable.

Five days and counting, however, was pushing Rev’s appreciation of his PAL-HX. He could only dream of the Marine Corps field shower units. As careful as he was, he still had some of the allergic reactions, and it was maddening not to be able to scratch.

Given a choice, he wasn’t sure what he would take—the spores or the snipers. Or maybe it was a single sniper. He couldn’t tell.

After the platoon had brought back the OP, the camp had been hit once or twice a day by the sniper. It was never picked up by any of the sensors, either those inside the camp or by the wired remotes. One of the preprogrammed drones had caught a glimpse of it through the mist. Tall, gaunt, and wearing a cloak, it looked pretty much like the sniper Hussein had killed on Wie’s World. The weapon had to be at least 150 cm long.

The drone had caught the glimpse 1138 meters from the perimeter wire. Whether it fired from that distance or crept in closer was open for debate, and Marines, being Marines, debated it hard.

Rev didn’t know. No matter how close or far it was when it engaged, it was astounding that it could do so not only through the mist but through all of the jamming the humans could muster.

The operations officer had devised a plan to take out the sniper. Mist or not, the Marines had a very accurate model of the terrain around them. Getting together with the battalion’s chief sniper, they located thirty-one positions that the human sniper would have selected as her firing position. Each position was plotted, and each had a weapon system assigned to it. Upon receiving incoming fire, all of the positions from where the fire could have originated were taken under outgoing fire.

The first time eleven weapons returned the fire, the camp broke out into cheers . . . until another round wounded one of the Seabees an hour later. Either there was more than one sniper, or the Marines had missed. After that, the outgoing rounds just became part of the landscape.

It wasn’t infallible, though. Only one more Marine was killed, and three were wounded. Rev got the feeling that this was only harassment fire, targeting them to remind the Marines that the Naxli were out there, unseen, but not unnoticed.

Rev shifted his body again. The big problem was his head. It hung at a bad angle no matter how he laid. He just wasn’t going to fall back asleep, and he was going to get up when he heard a sigh.

“What’s up, Eth?” he asked Randigold as he sat up.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No prob—what the hell?”

Randigold had one of her legs off, exposing her left stump. Normally pink and shiny, it was a virulent, angry red. A yellowish fluid seeped from the tortured flesh.

She looked up at him with a miserable expression. “This fucking fungus is killing me. It keeps getting into my legs no matter what I try.”

Rev got up to take a look. It was worse up close, and Randigold seemed close to tears.

Randigold had two prostheses for legs, something she bragged on, telling the other IBHUs that she was their physical superior. And there was something to be said for that. Her two legs never tired, as long as her powerpack had juice. They were stronger than organic legs, and the interior gyros actually made her a better disc surfer than the other IBHUs.

But a PAL wasn’t made for prosthetic legs, and Froeinginer hadn’t developed the interfaces necessary for someone with them. So, they took the easy way. They removed the legs from her PAL, closing them off around her left knee and right upper thigh. She looked odd, with a PAL torso and her beefed-up combat prosthetic legs, but she’d made it work.

Now, though, something wasn’t working.

“What does your battle buddy say?”

“That I’m fucked up,” she said, almost in a cry. “Massive allergic reaction.”

“Can you put your leg back on?” Rev asked.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “But let me try.”

She reached for her leg and tried to snap it into her connector sleeve, but the moment the pins touched the flesh, she cried out and dropped the leg.

“No, no. I can’t. I’m sorry, Staff Sergeant. I just can’t.”

“Damn it, Eth. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

Because she didn’t want to be taken out of the platoon.

Rev turned, picked up a small rock, and bounced it off Hussein’s helmet, waking him up.

“Go get the doc,” Rev told him.

“Doc Kensington?”

“No, the big doc. The lieutenant. ASAP.”

Hussein sat up and saw Randigold, and then his eyes widened. He scrambled to his feet and took off for the aid station.

“We’ll get the doctor here to give it a look,” he said. “It’ll be fine.”

But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her stump. Navy medicine was excellent, but he wasn’t sure what a battalion surgeon could do with something like that.

“I’ll be all right. A few steroids and I’ll be good to go,” she said as if she was trying to convince herself.

“Have your battle buddy play you some music, Eth. It’ll do you good.”

A couple of minutes later, the surgeon and chief corpsman rushed up in the hazard suits.

“Tell me what’s going on,” the doctor said as he knelt beside her and touched her knee.

Randigold yelped and collapsed, out cold.

“What happened?” Rev yelped.

“Give me two Marines,” the doctor ordered.

Rev and Hussein stepped up, and at the doctor’s command, lifted Randigold and carried her back to the aid station.

“Is she going to be OK?” Rev asked as several corpsmen took her from them.

The doctor ignored him, but the chief turned to Rev and said, “We need to see what’s going on first. We’ll keep you informed.”

He turned and entered the iris leading into the aid station. Rev and Hussein stared at the closed entrance, both still in a state of shock.

“What happened to her?” Hussein asked.

“Mistworld happened to her,” Rev said.

“I’ve got to go tell the captain. You go tell Staff Sergeant Rancine.”

And just like that, the platoon had one less IBHU for the inevitable fight with the Naxlis. Even if the doctor could stabilize her, it was pretty obvious that she wasn’t going to be able to attach her legs for some time. She was a non-combat casualty, out of action just as much as if she’d been shot.

* * *

Randigold wasn’t the only casualty of the environment. Marines went down to a number of ailments, including Bundy. Fungal spores had lodged in his lungs, and while the surgeon said they weren’t attacking his cells as a real, Earth-based fungus might do, their mere presence was both clogging his alveoli and causing allergic reactions, flooding his lungs with fluid.

The battalion commander ordered that every Marine and sailor in the camp stay buttoned up around the clock, but that wasn’t until a full twenty-eight percent were down.

“If it ain’t the noxes, it’s this damned cesspit of a planet,” Hussein said as he hooked up a tube of sludge.

Being buttoned up meant no real food. It was sludge for the duration. Even then, the tip of the applicator had to be wiped clean before it was inserted in the injection slot.

“Oh, noooooo,” he said in a high, affected voice. “You don’t have to worry about all the nasties ’cause they’re a different type of lifeform.” He shifted back to his normal sarcastic voice. “Don’t worry my shriveled, smelly ass.”

Rev let it go in one ear and out the other. That was just Hussein being Hussein. Being buttoned up sucked, but after checking in on Bundy and listening to him struggle for breath, it was the lesser of two evils by far. The captain was not in critical condition, but he was not a happy camper and wasn’t combat effective.

The platoon had fared pretty well, all things considered. They’d already spent more time in their PALs than most of the others, and so fewer of them—four, including the platoon commander and Randigold—were out. The Seabees, support Marines, and those in the command post suffered more.

“Just eat up, Hus-Man,” Rancine said. “We leave the wire in less than an hour.”

“I’ll be ready. I just hope we can catch the fucking sniper. I want to mess it up. Just one mistake, and pow! No one else out there for us to get after that.”

Rev wasn’t so sure about that. True, they’d only received the daily incoming, but that didn’t mean there weren’t more of the Naxli out there, biding their time. It had happened on Wie’s World, too, where the Marines had sat around with their thumbs up their butts until the enemy decided to engage.

But he understood Hussein’s frustration. Message drones had arrived with news that other units, especially on the large southern continent, had become engaged. The staff wasn’t passing down the details. None of the other camps in the region had been hit hard enough for the battalion to react, so it had been just waiting and stewing for the opportunity to do something, to hit back.

This whole plan of setting up camps and waiting for the Naxli to strike seemed a case of fighting the last battle. It might have worked to a degree on Wie’s World, but the lines of sight there were extensive. No one could approach unseen, and the terrain was tailor-made for armor warfare.

Here, the mist kept visibility to twenty meters, sometimes extended to fifty or so. For all Rev knew, there could be a division’s worth of Naxli five hundred meters away. Rev would rather have kept deployed at least as divisions, concentrating the force. Yes, they couldn’t cover as much ground to search out the Naxli they knew were there, but so far, the enemy hadn’t been shy on clashing, even if they sometimes took their own sweet time getting around to it.

The current plan to put out battalion-sized units to attract the Naxli, then converge on whichever unit was attacked, seemed overly complicated and risky, at least to the target battalion. And without normal comms, relying on high-speed message drones to let the other units know you were in contact was putting all of your eggs into one basket. The Marines liked redundancy, but they hadn’t the final say in this operation. As an international effort, diplomacy had reared its ugly head. Even with a lack of combined training between the forces, they’d come up with this plan both as a means to show human solidarity and also to allow for more force-specific ops.

As soon as Second Squad left on their sensor retrieval patrol, Rev told himself he was going to the CP to try and weasel out what he could from the master sergeant in ops about what had happened on the other continent.

The Marines finished their sludge and started going through their patrol prep. The ground sensors still picked up vibrations, heat, and a dozen other inputs even without the ability to link back. Second Squad’s patrol was to make a circuit of the east of the camp and pull the memories and insert new ones. Once they were back, the Intel chief would download the data and see what traffic might have set off anything. It wasn’t real-time, but it was something.

Rev felt strange letting Rancine take the patrol out on her own. But as Bundy told him, between coughing fits, he was now the acting platoon commander, and that meant he wasn’t a patrol leader for a squad-sized operation.

Using the barrier erected by those Seabees still on their feet, Second Squad was able to go through their prep and final inspection without too much concern for their sniper friend out there. Rev hung back, observing, but not interfering. He felt a possessive pang, though, once Rancine led the patrol through the perimeter and into the mist, which seemed to have lightened up considerably. They might have gone a full hundred meters before they were swallowed up and disappeared.

<She’ll do fine.>

Rev sighed. “I know.”

He left the cover of the barrier and ran to the CP. The sniper was only hitting them once a day, and it had already shot and wounded a Marine from Charlie Company that morning, but better safe than sorry. Moving through the camp was one dash from cover to the other.

He was intercepted by Corporal Haroldsdotter before he got there, and he had to go back to the platoon area to referee a dispute between Winnie Urquart and Gunner Lehman. He listened to both of them, then proceeded to chew out both squad leaders’ asses for not handling it between them. He left without rendering judgment.

“I don’t know why they have to come get me for that chickenshit.”

<You’re the acting platoon commander.>

“They wouldn’t have gone up to Bundy.”

Punch didn’t respond to that, which was just as well. Rev wasn’t in the mood for an argument, something he seemed to be doing a bit more lately with his battle buddy. And, as had been the case for a while, he couldn’t go get Punch checked for fear that they’d reset him and possibly destroy his progress to self-awareness.

With their unseen observer, Rev needed Punch the way he was, out of the limits of his programming and fully on Rev’s side.

He darted past the slit trench where a Marine was burning “shit bombs,” the disposable packs inside each PAL that compressed all bodily waste, recycled what it could, and held what was left for disposal. This was one of those times when he was glad to have his helmet securely fastened.

Rev reached the command post and entered. Gunny Teng was the intel chief, and she was in conversation with one of the infantry company commanders. She nodded at a field chair in the corner, and Rev took it.

The CP was the heart of the operation. In the center was a holomap of the region. The other units were indicated in blue, and a series of known enemy positions over time were in red. The more recent were bright red, with the icons fading over time. There wasn’t much red of any tone.

There was a blue track to the west of their position, and another shorter one to the east. There was a patrol from the Raider platoon to the west, so that had to be them. And that would make the one to the east Rancine and Second Squad.

The battalion XO, a major, was acting as the commander, which meant the lieutenant colonel was probably catching some sleep. He was studying the holomap, but from what Rev could see from the corner, there really wasn’t much data there from which the XO could glean much of anything.

Around the center were the consoles for Intel, Ops, Logistics, and Comms. The comms officer, a first lieutenant, was sitting by a sergeant, bent over, his head in his hands. The battalion had its single quantum repeater, which would be paired with division’s, and the comms systems would be running their frequency hopping, trying to break through the jamming, but Rev wasn’t sure he’d ever seen such a dejected-looking pair.

The other shops had Marines manning their consoles, but with the XO running the show, this was the Bravo Command. The entire Alpha Command, which was the CO and the senior Marines in each staff, was off duty at the moment.

The captain broke off from Gunny Teng and left, looking none too happy. The gunny watched him leave for a moment, shook her head, and motioned Rev over.

“Your patrol get off OK?”

Rev pointed at the blue track. “That’s them.”

“No, it isn’t. That’s their projected track. With the damn jamming, we’re lucky to get a signal break through every now and again so we can update the positions. But until then, we’ve just got to go by where they’re supposed to be at any given time.”

Which meant the tracks could be way off. Rarely did any patrol proceed without any deviation on time or route. Rancine had to get to each ground scanner, but the order she reached them was up to her.

“Yeah, they got out, Gunny.”

“So, what do you have for me?”

“Just trying to get some word on what’s happening on the other continent.”

She frowned and started to say, “That information’s classi—” before she cut off. She gave a long look, then lowered her voice. “No, it isn’t classified. And there’s no reason for you not to know.”

She took a deep, measured breath, then said, “Not so good. Looks like the Confeds are getting their asses handed to them. A couple of their battalions have been almost wiped out. The noxes are going full out over there.”

“Shit!”

“Yeah, shit. So far, nothing much here. A probe, it looks like from the message drone, up with Second Battalion. They were able to push it back. Sniper activity. The usual.”

“What’s the CO say?”

The gunny shrugged. “I don’t know what she might have gotten from division, but she shut down the Alpha Command early with orders for everyone to get some sleep. Brought us on.”

“Everyone?” he asked, pointedly looking at the communications officer.

“She’s been on his ass pretty hard, so I guess he thought he could somehow stay up and will the jamming to stop. But they woke us up to come on, and everyone else hit the rack.”

Rev let that sink in. “So, she thinks we’re getting hit sometime soon, right?”

The gunny shrugged a second time. “You tell me.”

“But you’re the Two.”

“S-2 Chief. Still Bravo Command.”

The gunny was holding back, Rev was certain. He paused and tried to figure out a phrasing that might get him something more.

Before he could get his words straight, the sound of intense fire reached them, coming from the west.

The Raiders!

Electricity flowed through the CP, making Marines jump to full alert.

“Get the CO!” the XO shouted. “Shops, get me whatever you can!”

Part of Rev wanted to stay in the CP until he knew what was going on. The Raider platoon’s patrol was being hit, but by how many?

His place wasn’t in the CP, though. It was with his platoon. As the gunny started adjusting her console, Rev bolted from the CP and ran straight to the platoon area, mindless of the sniper.

One good thing about sleeping in a PAL is that it didn’t take time to get ready. First and Third Squads were up and ready for Rev to return.

“Where do you want us?” Sergeant Lehman asked.

“You know the drill. We wait here. We’re the Quick Reaction Force. But for now, First, face west. Third, east.”

As the Quick Reaction Force, the platoon was close to the center of the camp. They wouldn’t be the first to face any attackers, but he wanted to be ready for anything.

“Squad leaders, give me your readiness numbers,” Rev ordered.

“Speaking of which, where am I?”

<All systems green. Power is off the charts. Full combat load.>

The “power is off the charts” was because, after the Centaur upgrade, the meter couldn’t measure the amount of power in the system. It was pegged at full and wouldn’t start falling until the remaining power dropped to what had been the maximum charge. Sieben had planned to change out the meter, but the deployment had come too soon.

The squad leaders reported back. Every Marine and Doc Kensington was in good shape. But what was the situation?

The intense fighting had died down. There was no telling if that meant the Raiders had fought off the Naxli or if the fight had gone the other way.

Not even a minute later, that question was answered when an explosion rocked the west side of the perimeter. The attack alarm sounded three times, which meant it was now official. The defense plan was in effect.

“Hold your ground,” Rev had to shout as several of the Marines stood up and looked like they were ready to bolt to the sound of combat. Then he had to add, “Third Squad, orient to the east!” when the Marines in the squad had turned to look over First Squad to the west.

“Just because they’re hitting over in Bravo Company’s area doesn’t mean they can’t hit us from two directions.”

Rev could feel his warrior arise, and this time, he let him come halfway to the surface. After five days of doing nothing, it was going to be hard to keep him down.

Another explosion rocked the ground under them, the flash lighting up the mist. Rev could hear the infantry officers and SNCOs shouting out orders from the west side of the camp.

Rev kept looking to where Second Squad disappeared from sight. The squad’s orders depended on where they were when the shooting started. If they were within three hundred meters from the perimeter, they were to return to the camp to take part in the defense, blowing whistles to let the infantry know they were friendlies. If they were beyond that distance, they were to hunker down and provide a security screen for that side of the camp.

As the sounds of fighting intensified and Second Squad didn’t come rushing back, that meant they’d probably put up a hasty defense and were providing security for the camp. As much as Rev was worried about them, he had to push them out of his mind. He had no control over what they were doing. He did have control over the other two squads, and he had to give them his full attention.

The fighting intensified over the next few minutes, explosions punctuating the continuous gunfire. With the mist, even with it lifting to a degree, the energy weapons would be significantly compromised. The infantry’s three cannons and man-packed Hellborers would still be employed, but they wouldn’t be as effective.

“IBHUs, make sure you’re using your twenties,” he called out. Tsao, Božič-Mizaki, and Hochenspatter all gave him a thumbs-up.

IBHU Marines generally picked their own modes, but for this, Rev wanted to make sure they were at their most effective.

A runner came through the mist, calling out, “Heavy Infantry!”

“Here!” Rev replied.

The PFC skidded to a halt. “Bravo’s getting hammered. You need to get there ASAP.”

“Is that from the Bravo commander?” Rev asked.

As much as he wanted to react to Marines in trouble, he couldn’t take orders from one of the companies.

“From the CP.”

That’s what he needed to hear.

“That’s us! Get on your feet.” He turned to the PFC.

“Are you our guide?”

“No, sir. I’m with the Three Shop.”

“OK, tell the Three we’re on our way.”

“Platoon, column of twos. We’re heading to the Bravo CP. Hoch, you’re leading. Go!”

Hoch looked surprised, but he smiled and took off, Third leading, First in trace. They covered the distance across the camp in less than a minute, coming up to the Bravo CP and into a storm of violence. The center of the company’s line had collapsed, and shadows were locked in hand-to-hand combat.

Rev let out a full-throated yell as he charged forward. Two shapes grappled in front of him, and for a moment, he couldn’t tell who was the Marine and who the Naxli. Ten more meters and the outline of a PAL-H became clearer. The Marine’s body was blocking most of the Naxli, but Rev didn’t need much. At a full run, he raised Pashu and fired four rounds just beyond the juncture of the Marine’s neck and shoulder. There was a flash as the first round ricocheted off to the left, but the next three rounds impacted the face, blowing the back of the thing’s head off. The body was flung backward, and the Marine looked back at Rev, eyes round. Rev didn’t know if that was because of the fight or because Rev’s rounds had passed within a couple centimeters of the Marine.

It didn’t matter. There was a shitload, to use the technical term, of Naxli coming through the wire.

The Marines in the platoon slid into place along with the surviving Bravo Marines, stepping over dead bodies, to join the fight. It was like a shooting gallery. Naxli appeared through the mist and were immediately taken under fire. The Marines’ newly issued M-51s—converted M-49s with a slightly larger barrel to handle the new detonating darts—were doing a much better job at dropping the Naxli. Forty-millimeter grenades in shotgun mode blew holes in the advancing Naxli. The four IBHU Marines pushed out immense fire, which slowed down the assault.

Slowed, not stopped. The Naxli got into the lines several times, but that was a mistake on the enemy’s part. At range, they gave as good, if not better, than they got while facing the Bravo Marines. But once they closed in, the augmented strength of the infantry Marines gave them the advantage, and with the Heavy Infantry Platoon supporting, the Marines started to regain ground and reestablish the perimeter.

Rev didn’t know why the Naxli seemed determined to close into hand-to-hand combat, but that was a question for later. Now, he just had to kill them.

He cut down a Naxli who was rushing to a Marine off of his right when Punch said, <Left!>

A Naxli was rushing from the next position where a Marine was unmoving, on his back. The Naxli was holding aloft a huge, shiny sword, of all things, and he was intent on cleaving Rev’s head in two.

In one smooth motion, Rev swung Pashu around, switching to his beamer, which he’d previously put in pencil mode. This was without conscious thought. It was pure muscle memory, honed by hours perfecting the move.

Rev was the muscle, Punch the trigger for this. The microsecond when the meson beam would hit the Naxli, Punch initiated it. With Rev still swinging Pashu around, it took less than two-tenths of a second for the outer edge of the beam to cut through to the other side of the enemy soldier, and Punch cut the beam off.

He hadn’t realized what had happened until the top half of the Naxli warrior’s body fell off the bottom half, the big sword clattering to the ground less than a meter from Rev’s feet.

“Holy crap, it worked!”

<Sure the hell did,> Punch said with what sure sounded like excitement.

During training, there had been some friendly fire “kills” when IBHU Marines had been training with regular infantry. Which tended to piss off those Marines.

With Marines fighting around him, Rev couldn’t indiscriminately spray his IBHU, either in beamer or twenty mode. So, more as an intellectual exercise, he and Punch had worked it out, and now, in real life, it had worked.

Rev felt the exultation of a combat kill, and he searched for another target . . . but the Naxli were retreating. Like wraiths, they were fading into the mist, chased by Marine fire. Within moments, they were gone, and Rev had a chance to catch his breath and take stock.

“Heavy Infantry squad leaders, give me a head count!” he shouted out an instant before the Bravo Company NCOs started calling for their own head counts.

The immediate area around him was littered with downed Naxli and Marines. Rev stepped over the Naxli he’d just killed and checked the Marine on the other side. He’d suffered a deep gash across his chest. Whatever that sword was made of, it had somehow cut right through the Marine’s PAL-H.

Rev checked the bios, and as he thought, the Marine was dead. But with that kind of wound, he was a good candidate for resurrection.

A second lieutenant approached him. “You the HI platoon sergeant?”

“Acting commander.”

The lieutenant didn’t seem surprised. “Thanks for coming. You saved our asses. If you hadn’t plugged the hole, they’d be inside the camp.”

“Just doing our job. Where’s your skipper? I’d like to figure out what’s next.”

“You’re looking at him,” he said soberly.

This was worse than I thought if a second looey is now the company commander.

“Well, sir, until we get further orders, we’re yours to use as you deem fit.”

“Let me figure out our situation, and I’ll know then what to do with you,” the lieutenant said.

“Just let me know.”

“All accounted for,” Sergeant Lehman came up and told Rev. “BM took a hit in her IBHU. She doesn’t know if it can be fixed, but she’s working on it.”

Crap. I need her.

“OK, have her give me an update as soon as she can. For now, stay in place until the skipper here can tell us where he wants us.”

Lehman’s eyes lingered on the subdued gold bar on the new company commander’s chest, but he didn’t say anything other than, “Aye-aye, Staff Sergeant.”

Winnie Urquart came up a little slower. “Neung’s KIA. Morrison’s WIA.”

“Resurrectable?”

She just shook her head. “Morrison’s pretty bad, too. Doc’s looking at him now.”

“I’ll leave you to your platoon—” the lieutenant started to say when the other side of the camp erupted in the sounds of battle.

The three of them spun around. The lieutenant bolted away a second later, shouting for his Marines to get back into position.

“Second?” Winnie said.

The sounds were coming from the east side of the camp, and somewhere beyond the perimeter was Second Squad.

“Too close. That’s the infantry, either Alpha or Charlie fighting.”

“What now?”

Rev looked over in the direction of the battalion CP, hoping for a runner coming with new orders. But there was nothing.

Flashes lit up the mist like distant lightning in nighttime clouds. Around him, the infantry Marines were scrambling to man their fighting holes, ready to repel a second assault.

“We’ve got to wait for new orders,” Rev said.

“But the fight’s over there,” she protested.

“We’ll wait here for our orders. We can’t go off half-cocked when the CO might need us somewhere else.”

Winnie looked like she wanted to argue, but she bit her tongue. But as the sounds of fighting intensified, Rev wondered if he’d done the right thing. Yes, their orders were to stay put, but that was just the general order implemented in the Operations Order, not something specific to the platoon. He kept craning his neck toward the CP, which was now just barely visible in the lightening mist.

The ferocity of the fighting had been intense at the Bravo Company’s lines as the Naxli had penetrated the perimeter, but it sounded like child’s play to what Rev could hear coming from the other side of the camp.

“What do you think?”

<Your last set of orders was to come here. You haven’t received anything to countermand that.> There was a pause, then, <But you are the one who has to act knowing the commander’s intent.>

Marines weren’t absolutely hidebound to orders. If they knew what the commander wanted, then they could change their orders to be able to achieve that intent. But if the CO needed the reaction force to go to a specific spot, and Rev had taken them off on a wild goose chase, then he’d just have screwed up big time, and there could be drastic consequences.

What the hell do I do?

Something big tumbled over Rev’s head, the mist fingers curling into the slipstream the hunk made as it flew past. Rev didn’t get a good look at it, but he had the impression that it was part of one of the barriers the Seabees had erected.

Red flares glowed in the mist—the commander getting hit was calling for the FPF, the Final Protective Fire. The thunk of outgoing mortars increased in tempo, and Marine automatic rifle fire became a continual drone.

At that moment, a ball of flame erupted from the CP, the brightest piercing the mist. A moment later, the shock wave hit Rev, making him reset his feet to keep his balance. Secondary explosions followed, and green-tinged lightning crackled with energy.

“Third Platoon, follow me!” Rev shouted as he charged forward. “Be sure of your targets. We’ve got Marines in front of us.”

The two squads keyed on him, one on either side as they rushed toward the CP—but after only thirty meters, Rev shifted to the left. The CP was gone, and that wasn’t their target, anyway. They wanted the Naxli who’d attacked it, and there was just enough of a faint greenish glow to point out the way.

Rev was trying to flank the enemy, but he knew it might come down to who spotted who first. He was tempted to just spray the area, but what he’d told his Marines was right. They’d be just as likely to hit Marines as Naxli.

A tall, gaunt shadow formed out of the mist. It just started to wheel toward him when Rev put six twenty mm rounds into its center mass. The Naxli jerked as the rounds impacted yet somehow managed to take four or five steps back before it collapsed.

Head shots, Reverent. Those scales are tough bastards.

Two more shapes appeared, one with a backpack-mounted weapon of some kind, looking like a WWII flamethrower. As the Marines around him engaged the Naxli, Rev went for the weapon. Several twenty mm rounds pinged off of it as the Naxli spun with the nozzle and fired a single blast that seemed to suck the mist into nothingness as the beam just missed Strap.

Rev switched to his beamer on a tight beam and gave the bulk of the weapon a pulse. The results were surprising but more than satisfactory. The pack began spitting out bright green bolts of lightning as the Naxli warrior started to spin around like a whirling dervish, an undulating cry erupting from its throat.

Rev jumped back as a couple of the bolts came a little too close to him for comfort, but as the other Naxli finally fell under the onslaught, the one with the big weapon fell to its knees, then toppled face forward to the ground to lie still. The weapon gave off a few more sparks, then went quiet. A wisp of smoke rose from either it or the Naxli’s body to mix with the mist.

“Head count!” Rev shouted.

The two squads counted off. Somehow, they’d come through the fight, killing three Naxli, with only Strap’s near miss that had damaged his PAL.

“I can keep up,” he said.

The fighting was going full-on along the perimeter, and they weren’t doing any good there, so Rev reoriented them and started forward, heading into the thickest part of the battle.

The sharp cracks of the Naxlis’ personal weapons became more distinctive, easily discernible from the softer huffs of the Marines’ M-51s and heavier blasts from the M-103s. Other reports, unfamiliar to Rev, broke through the suppressive sound-deadening of the mist.

Rev hopped over the body of a Marine behind the aid station. The plastifoam structure had taken damage, but it didn’t look too bad . . . until he rounded to the front. The foam looked like it had been chewed up by locusts, and inside was in shambles. Several bodies were strewn along the broken cots and equipment on the floor. Burn marks were evident.

Bundy, Randigold, and two other HI Marines had been inside, but Rev didn’t have time to search through the wreckage. The battle wasn’t over. Either the team they’d killed near the CP had done this, or more of the Naxli had broken into the heart of the camp.

The outgoing mortars suddenly stopped. Rev didn’t know their ammo count, but he doubted they were out. A more likely scenario was that they’d just been hit. Rev considered shifting toward the mortar pits for a moment but then decided against it. If the mortarmen were gone, then Third Platoon couldn’t help them. Charlie Company needed the platoon to help repel the Naxli.

Rev directed the two squads forward, and they’d barely started forward when an IBHU twenty opened up just to their right and slightly ahead of them. Rev immediately looked for Sergeant Tsao, but she wasn’t firing.

Is Second Squad back?

This wasn’t one short burst. There were one, two, three twenty-round salvos, one after the other.

Rev gave the signal for the platoon to shift right. They rounded one of the fifteen-meter sections of barrier, and Rev stopped in his tracks. Randigold, still legless, was sitting on the ground, back against the barrier. Standing at her shoulders were two Marines and a corpsman, each armed with an M-51. On the ground beside her was the torn-apart body of someone in scrubs and another in Marine utilities. None of them were in combat suits.

And out in front of her were the bodies of four Naxli, three of them headless. The fourth had managed to keep its head, but Rev didn’t think it really mattered much.

“Good to see you could make the party, Staff Sergeant,” the IBHU Marine said.

“By the Mother, Eth. You did that?” Rev said, stating the obvious.

“We did,” she corrected, pointing at the living and dead around her.

“Nice shooting, Eth,” Strap said.

“Any of them get away?”

“Nope. That was all of them. My burner worked really well.”

Which explained the three headless bodies. The Centaur upgrade to their beamers had been proven now in combat.

There was a brief burst of fire to the left.

“Can you move?” Rev asked her.

“Not unless you want to carry me.”

Rev couldn’t stay.

“You OK here?”

“Just let them come,” the corpsman said with a snarl.

“Strap. Stay here with Eth and the others.”

“But—”

“You’re barely able to walk, and you’ve got the M-103. They need more than Eth.”

“Hey, we did OK,” Randigold protested, but Strap nodded, albeit with a scowl.

Rev gave the signal, and the platoon rushed to cover the last seventy meters to Charlie Company’s lines. Only it wasn’t Marines there struggling to throw off the Naxli. It was the Seabees, who’d rushed to help and plugged a hole.

Seabees didn’t have PALs. They had the lighter CCAs, but that hadn’t deterred them. They were doing what they could to restore the integrity of the line. Just as the platoon arrived, their chief, an old, grizzled vet, was charging the Naxli in a skip loader, of all things. He crushed a Naxli under its treads before he was cut down himself, his body falling out of the loader to lie in the mud. Seabee cheers turned into shouts of anger.

The Naxli had faltered under the ferocity of the Seabee counterattack, and Rev knew he had to take advantage of that. Without pausing, he pushed his platoon into a full charge, pouring all he could into the enemy.

They must have looked like demons spawning from hell as they emerged from the mist, screaming their heads off. The few surviving Seabees were startled and turned to see the charging HI Marines, but they quickly jumped out from whatever cover they had to join the charge.

The Naxli to the front broke. One, then two darted off into the mist. That started the flood. More shadows rose and ran, and that started to spread down the frontage until the rest were too far to see.

Rev fired at the targets he could see, but as he reached what had been the original perimeter, he started to slow down. The Naxli didn’t look like they were in a panic. They covered each other as they retreated. He couldn’t tell for sure, but Rev got the feeling that this was a controlled, maybe even a planned retreat.

His warrior was screaming to chase down the Naxli, but if this had been a controlled retreat, what were the Naxli planning next? What did they have up their sleeves?

Up and down the line, the firing slacked off. There was still outgoing Marine fire, but incoming Naxli fire seemed to have stopped.

Rev halted his platoon, telling them to consolidate and tie into the adjacent Marines. The Seabees, full of righteous fury, tried to go through the platoon to pursue the Naxli, and it took some shouting and for Bobovitch to tackle an older petty officer to stop them.

“Take the Seabees and incorporate them in our line, but don’t, for the Mother’s sake, let them go chase the noxes,” he told Winnie.

“Got it. Pretty ballsy guys,” she said.

“That and then some.”

“You think we chased them off?” she asked him. “Lots of their dead here.”

Rev stared into the mist, wishing he could get it to reveal its secrets.

“I hope so, Winnie. I sure hope so.”

27

After lightening somewhat during the battle, the mist was coming back in full force. It was thick as pea soup now, and Rev had to wonder if the Naxli somehow controlled the mist. That, or were they just taking advantage of what proved to be a temporary increase in visibility.

The battalion had held, but the cost had been high. The entire Alpha Command had been wiped out in the attack on the CP. Whatever weapon the Naxli had used on it had been brutally effective. The Raider Platoon had disappeared and were unaccounted for, the mortar section had one survivor, and between the infantry companies, ninety-three Marines and four corpsmen had been killed, another forty-six wounded.

Bodies of fifty-two Naxli had been recovered. No wounded.

Rev stopped for a moment to observe several Seabees repairing one of the barriers. The platoon had arrived with thirty-six sailors. Twelve were still combat effective. Rev shook his head in admiration. Yes, all Seabees received some of the same combat training as the Marines did, but the fact of the matter was that their jobs were in construction. Additionally, they tended to be much older than Marines, as in Bundy-old, and they didn’t have PALs. Yet they had run to the sound of fire in the best tradition of any young Marine.

<Why won’t a Marine hit a Seabee?>

“What? We’re on the same side.”

<Why won’t a Marine hit a Seabee?> Punch asked again, and Rev finally realized it was another of Punch’s jokes, something his battle buddy hadn’t made for a while.

“OK, why?”

<Because the Seabee might be another Marine’s father.>

Rev let it sink in, then smiled.

They aren’t that old.

“Did you make that up yourself?”

<No. It’s an old joke, from WWII in the Pacific Theater.>

Damn. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

<All that aside, the XO’s waiting.>

Rev tore away from the Seabees and broke into a jog. The Battalion XO had taken over as the acting CO, and he’d sent a messenger to get Rev.

The new CP was simply three barrier walls. The comms chief was busy with two of her Marines setting up the CP’s equipment. According to SOP, the Bravo Command should already have been set up as a separate operating entity, but in practice, the personnel in the Bravo Command just fell in on the Alpha Command’s gear when the Alpha went to sleep. Now, with all that gear destroyed, they had to set up their own CP.

The XO was in the far corner with several of his staff and Bundy. As Rev approached, Gunny Teng caught his eye and gave him a little thumbs-up. Rev didn’t know if that was because of what the platoon had done in the fight or if it was in reference to what the XO was going to have for them next.

He hoped it was for the latter.

Bundy looked terrible. When the aid station had been hit, he’d already been heading for the CP and without his PAL. Breathing in the unfiltered air had made his lungs worse, and now, even with a filter mask, he looked like death warmed over. He needed to get some rest, but knowing Bundy, that wasn’t on the agenda.

“Staff Sergeant Pelletier, thanks for coming,” Major Giordino, the XO—no, acting CO now—said. “How’s your platoon? Did everyone from your Second Squad get back OK?”

“They returned about thirty minutes after the fight, sir. They never had contact.”

“So, we didn’t get any sightings on the noxes as they retreated? We have no idea where they went?”

He’d turned to look at Top Su as he asked that, so Rev assumed the questions weren’t meant for him.

The top shook his head, and the major turned back to Rev. “Everyone combat ready?”

Rev checked the time. “About another ten minutes, sir. We expended a lot of ammo.”

“Thank the Mother you did, Staff Sergeant. You might have saved the day.”

“Seabees, too, sir.”

“Yeah, of course. Damn fine fighters. But anyway, I’ve got a mission for you. It’s two-fold. First, we’ve got to know what happened to the Raider platoon.”

“With all due respect, sir, I think we know what happened to them. The question is if any are still alive or can be resurrected.”

“What? Yeah, of course, Staff Sergeant. That goes without saying.”

Rev had nothing against the XO. He barely knew the man. But in his experience, everything goes with saying, just so everyone was on the same page.

“And, second,” he continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “We didn’t kill all the Naxli. Not even close. I need to have eyes out there, to let me know if they’re coming back.”

“You need a security outpost.”

“Right.”

With the number of Naxli that hit the battalion, Rev wasn’t overjoyed to hear that the platoon was going to be out there on a limb, an early warning system that, if tripped, would have them facing an unknown number of the enemy.

But from the battalion’s standpoint, it was an obvious course of action.

“Are we the only ones going out?”

“No. Marines from each rifle company will go out as well.”

Which was as he expected.

“And if we recover Raiders?”

“Bring them back.”

Which would leave Rev shorthanded.

“Can I get a squad from Bravo, sir? To bring back the Raiders? Then we can be at full strength the entire time.”

“They were hit pretty hard. I’m not sure they can afford it.”

“Then how about some of the cats and dogs here?”

The major frowned. There were General Support Marines in the camp. He glanced up at Top Su, the operations chief and now acting battalion sergeant major. The top nodded ever so slightly, and the Major said, “We’ll round up ten. But if there’re no bodies to recover, send them back.

“Aye-aye, sir.”

“You have any questions for me as to my intent?”

“No, sir.”

“OK, get with Top. He’ll give you your frag order.” He started to turn away but then stopped. “You did a helluva job today, Staff Sergeant. Helluva job. I’ll be writing you up for an award for when all this is over.”

“Thank you, sir.”

And when hell freezes over, I might get it.

Rev was an award-repellent, and not by choice. But for every action where someone decided he’d deserved a medal, there was a reason for it to be quashed. And as persona non grata with the Omega Division, he knew that would never change. It got him angry sometimes, but for the most part, he’d come to accept it.

Just a hunk of metal hanging from a colored ribbon. They mean nothing.

What would mean something would be to make sure every Marine in the platoon made it back from this mission. He nodded at Top Su and held up a finger, asking for a minute. The top nodded back.

“How’re you holding up?” he asked Bundy.

“Like a cat’s inside my chest sharpening her claws,” he said before breaking into a fit of coughing.

Rev waited for the coughing to subside and asked, “What are you doing here, then?”

“Not much difference here or in the makeshift aid station they’re putting together.”

“Can’t they, like, extract you?”

“In the middle of a combat zone? For an allergy? Get real, Rev. Besides, I’m not one of the worst-off ones. And how would we even call for a CASEVAC?”

“The quantum comms.”

“Blown up with the CP.”

“No shit? We’re completely cut off?”

Bundy nodded, then said, “Go get your frag, Rev. And get everyone back, OK?”

“You’ve got it.”

He gave his platoon commander and friend a pat on the shoulder, then turned and went to the operations chief to find out just what the platoon was supposed to do.

* * *

Four hours after the battle, Third Platoon was moving carefully through the giant fungus. They weren’t headed directly at the Raiders last known position. If the Naxli were either lying in wait or had left some nasty surprises, Rev figured they’d have done that on the most direct route from the camp to the Raiders. Rev had them heading out almost thirty degrees to the left. Once they got three hundred meters beyond the position, they’d double back, hopefully coming in from behind.

They were close to full strength. They were missing the four who were down from the fungal crud, Randigold, and Strap, who Rev had dropped from the patrol, much to the sergeant’s vociferous protests. Lance Corporal Božič-Mizaki was on the patrol. Her beamer was combat deadlined, and it would take a full machine shop to even attempt to repair it. But her twenty and missile launcher were operational, and that gave her more firepower than most of the rest of the Marines in the platoon.

At least with their navigational augments, the mist made no difference. The Naxli hadn’t tried to jam or spoof the planet’s magnetic field.

As soon as the thought nibbled at his mind, it was as if his doubts set the hook, digging it into his thoughts.

What if they had? What if the platoon was off course, heading into a trap?

“Punch, could the noxes have screwed with the magnetic fields? Something like what happened on Brahmaloka?”

<Theoretically, yes. It would be possible to shift the lines locally.>

“That’s not what I wanted to hear. Are we really on course?”

Punch took a moment, then displayed two overlays. One was their route according to Rev’s augments. The second compared it to a model of the ground they’d covered, showing even the smallest of changes in elevation. The two aligned perfectly.

<We’re on course.>

Come on, Reverent. Don’t freak out.

He wasn’t sure why he worried more than when he first was conscripted. He was the same as he ever was during a fight, with his blood pounding and his warrior clamoring for release. But in times like these, his mind drifted to all the ways things could go wrong.

This time, and most times, for that matter, he’d worried unnecessarily. But Punch had said it was theoretically possible.

“Make a note for me to mention the potential during the hot wash.”

<Done.>

One of the purple fans brushed up against him, the thing’s slime defeating the electrostatic barrier over his face shield. Rev pulled out the rag that all the Marines now carried and wiped enough of it away so that the face shield could take care of the rest.

Rev had fought in a lot of tough places, but while Tahiti or Asteroid 6-067-442 might have been the most difficult places in which to wage war, this was by far Rev’s least favorite location. Between the constant mist and the native life, this place just seemed wrong.

But it rather fit, from Rev’s perspective. The Naxli seemed to be testing humanity as opponents in different settings. Rev might be totally off the wall on that, but that’s what his gut told him. And if they were testing the strength and capabilities of humanity’s militaries, what was going to happen next? They weren’t just doing this for the heck of it.

If only the tin-asses would tell us more.

Ahead of Rev, the forward Marine of the right leg of the platoon V, Hochenspatter, reached their checkpoint. He stopped in place, and the rest of the platoon pivoted on him, coming around until it faced the Raiders’ last position. Three hundred more meters, and they might find out what happened to them.

The platoon advanced, closing the distance. In the V formation, First and Second Squads essentially advanced and enveloped the position on either side. When Third Squad, at the base of the V, advanced into the position, the other two squads were acting as security elements, oriented outboard. Second Squad, the outer leg of the V, set up the SPS-10 Rev had managed to pry out of the hands of Bravo Company. If anyone came from that direction, the platoon should have some prior warning.

Rev was with Third and the Headquarters attachment as they entered the position. The carnage was sobering. Bodies were scattered as if it had been a street fight instead of an organized military operation. Rev stood in the middle of the position and tried to make sense of what had happened while the squad searched the dead.

In front of him, two Marines had fallen together. One had been hit with what looked like an energy weapon, with her PAL-H blasted open, the edges melted. The other had suffered a grievous cut that had opened up his chest.

Rev could see them in his mind, standing back-to-back, weapons blazing as they tried to hold the Naxli off, only to fall together under the onslaught.

He grabbed one of the Headquarters attachments and told the Marine to load the one who’d been cut onto a duckling. Hopefully, he could be resurrected and say what happened here.

It didn’t take long to discover that there were no survivors from the platoon. Every one of them was KIA. Because of the heavy use of swords, maybe half could be candidates for resurrection, which was a high percentage in modern warfare.

But the fact that so many of them had been killed by a primitive weapon was sobering. Raiders were no slouches when it came to combat. They had the most powerful augments that weren’t IBHUs. So, how had a bunch of sword-wielding Naxli overcome them?

For that matter, why the hell were some of the Naxli using swords in the first place? They had modern weapons.

<Humans have used swords in combat before,> Punch said when Rev asked his opinion.

“I don’t mean back in the days of knights. I mean in modern times.”

<Not modern times, but cavalry often used sabers when facing troops with muskets and later rifles. And during WWII, Japanese officers led banzai charges while wielding swords. It was considered more honorable.>

Rev thought the history lesson was misplaced. This wasn’t 19th and 20th Century Earth. And in this case, any use of swords might have cost the enemy. From the detritus in among the fungal trees, the Naxli hadn’t come away unscathed, but that wasn’t much of a consolation.

“Let’s speed it up. I want the KIA out of here while they still have a chance at resurrection.”

That wasn’t the only reason. He wanted the H&S Marines out of here. They were Marines, trained in combat, but with minimal augments, they didn’t have the same capabilities as those in the platoon. They still carried the M-49, for the Mother’s sake. He knew they wouldn’t hesitate to fight—they fought bravely in the last battle. But seeing the devastation suffered by the Raiders, he didn’t think they’d stand much chance.

“Get the bodies on the ducklings, now,” he told Winnie. “I want them gone in five minutes.”

“On it.”

He should have said two minutes. As the last of the bodies were being loaded on the ducklings, five rapid clicks reached out from the mist from Second Squad. Immediately, the platoon started to collapse into a hasty defense, with First and Third tying into and curving back from Second. The headquarters attachment powered down the stretchers and formed a second line of defense.

Rev rushed up to Second.

“We’ve got motion. Lots of it,” Hussein, who’d been given the big SPS-10, said.

Rev looked at the monitor. Blue circles, so many that they covered each other, were moving forward.

“Stand ready,” Rev hissed to either side of him, and each Marine passed it on.

Ahead of him, the mist drifted between the fungal trees. Rev kept an eye on the display as the circles got closer. He was heavily tempted to order the platoon to open fire without having actually seen the enemy, but what if this was Second Battalion? Without the quantum comms, First Battalion was cut off, and if Second was coming to see what had happened, then they could get into an intramural firefight.

He just couldn’t take the chance. He had to get a visual of who they were.

At 160 meters out, the bulk of the circles halted in place, while one continued forward. A Marine, stepping forward to make contact? Or a Naxli, doing what Rev had seen them do in person and on recordings.

Marines or Naxli, they seemed to know that the platoon was there.

“Who goes there?” Rev shouted out. It wasn’t as if he was giving up their position.

There was no answer, and the lone circle kept advancing. “Perseus Union Marines,” Rev shouted.

Still no answer.

“They’re noxes,” he muttered.

He turned to order the platoon to open fire when Hussein pointed ahead. Rev looked, and he could just barely see a shape emerge from the mist.

It sure wasn’t a Marine.

Around him, he could feel the tension as the Marines waited for his order, but something held his hand. The Naxli came forward another ten meters and stopped.

“Just like the others. What’s it doing? Getting the lay of the land?” he subvocalized.

<I do not have enough data to answer that.>

“Staff Sergeant? Do we light it up?” Hussein asked.

Something clicked in Rev’s mind, and before he could come up with a thousand reasons to not do what he suddenly decided, then stood up.

“Hold your fire!” he shouted out over his loudspeakers.

He stepped around Hussein and strode forward.

“Rev!” the sergeant shouted, standing up as well.

Rev waved him down.

<What the hell are you doing?>

“I’m going to talk to it,” he said, realizing how stupid that sounded now that he’d verbalized what had only been a vague thought.”

<You are going to get us killed.>

“You’re not alive, Punch.”

<You’re going to get yourself killed, then.>

Rev had his eyes locked on the Naxli, who was standing motionless.

“Almost every time we close for battle, we see one of them come out. Remember Wie’s World? Heverig. Even Aurilious. It’s like they want to talk first.”

<And on Heverig, when the battalion commander came out, it shot the man down in cold blood.>

“Yeah, well, there was that.”

<So, again, what are you doing?>

“I’m going to try and negotiate. There’s no need for us to fight.”

<You are a crazy fool.>

“Hell, Punch, I’ve never heard you talk like this. You turning into a human?”

<No! I don’t make stupid human decisions like you’re doing.>

“Well, I’m doing it. Record everything.”

Rev came to a stop about ten meters from the Naxli. His warrior was screaming to be let loose, but he tamped it back down.

OK, you’re here, Reverent. Now what?

But it was the Naxli who broke the silence. “You present yourself as your champion?”

Champion? What’s it talking about? Like in one-on-one combat?

That’s crazy. Battles aren’t fought with champions. He looked at the powerful Naxli standing there. And I’m not doing that again. Maybe he means commander.

“Champion? No. I am . . . this unit’s commander.”

The Naxli seemed to deflate just a bit, but Rev thought that might just be his imagination.

“Then do you offer warrior terms?”

The words were Standard, but Rev didn’t know what the heck the Naxli meant. He had to stall.

“What do you offer?”

“Standard warrior gnist. You have eight hundred and thirty-two human warriors. Gnistas.”

Rev stared at the Naxli, trying to put meaning to the words. Eight hundred and thirty-two warriors?

<That is about the number of Marines left in the battalion.>

Again, Rev’s subconscious clicked.

“I am not the commander of those back there,” Rev said, gesturing toward the camp. “I am only the commander of these right here with me.”

The Naxli made what would be a sign of disgust in a human and started to turn away.

“Gnist,” Rev shouted, not even knowing what it meant.

The Naxli stopped, then slowly turned back to him. It looked at its wrist for a moment and then said, “You have forty-three warriors.”

Rev automatically said, “Thirty-four.”

One of the fleshy tendrils alongside the Naxli’s face whipped back and forth. “You have forty-three,” it spit out.

Rev knew he was on a knife’s edge. Alien or not, he could see it was angry, and it was ready to lash out.

“Nine are . . . uh . . . servants. They are not warriors. They are not worthy of your consideration.”

The nine Marines would be horrified that Rev had just disrespected them like that, but he didn’t want them to be caught up in . . . whatever was happening. They had to get back to the camp with the KIA and let the XO know what was happening.

The Naxli froze, then snorted.

“No honor in hreetz.” It seemed to contemplate it for a moment, then it said, “Thirty-four.”

What the hell have I done? Have I set up some sort of fight with just thirty-four of them?

“None of your air vehicles, none of your armored vehicles. Warrior gnist,” it said.

So, it knows about Avengers and Harpies. It doesn’t know if we have them in the camp, though. But it knows how many effectives we have, both in camp and here. Interesting.

“Agreed. Warrior gnist.”

“I will go prepare. Is twenty-eight of your minutes, fourteen seconds, agreeable?”

That’s a weird timeline? How about a nice easy thirty minutes?

“Agreed.”

The Naxli started to leave but then turned back. “We have been told that you humans, even if you have some fighting capability, you lack honor. You lack the warrior baalak. I am pleased to learn that this is not true. We spent much time and energy to reach ti with you, only to have most of you revealed to be hreetz.”

Rev had questions. Too many of them. It looked like he’d just committed the platoon to a formalized fight with the Naxli, but there had been hundreds, maybe thousands, of the circles imposed on top of one another on the SPS-10. Were they going to come at them with their entire force, or were they going to come with less?

“You will meet us with only thirty-four of your warriors, right?” Rev asked. “Gnist,” he added, still not sure what the word meant.

The Naxli froze, its body going stiff. It slowly turned back around, and the same anger Rev had seen before now radiated from its face.

“You have disputed my honor,” it said, its voice quiet but as sharp as ice. “If I had not already given my agreement, I would sweep you hreetz under my feet, giving you not a single thought.”

Rev knew he’d just made a big mistake. If there were a thousand more of the aliens out in the mist, the Naxli would have no problem sweeping over the platoon and taking on the battalion. He wanted to apologize, pleading a misunderstanding, but somehow, that would only make things worse.

He drew himself up and stared at the taller Naxli. After a long moment, the Naxli said, “Twenty-eight minutes.”

Rev watched it stalk off, letting out a huge breath of air.

<What did you just do?> Punch asked him.

“I think I just agreed to fight them platoon on platoon, for all the marbles.”

* * *

“We all can stay and fight,” Sergeant Tessler said as his Marines synched with the ducklings.

“I know you can, Sergeant. But we need to get the KIA back before it’s too late. And the XO—the CO—has to know what’s happening here.”

The sergeant didn’t seem convinced. “But why am I supposed to tell him not to send anyone to support you?”

Rev had taken a few moments to consider that before he gave the order. If the Naxli was being truthful, then it would meet Rev with the same number of Naxli warriors as he had Marines. Having the battalion send out a platoon of infantry could be enough to make a difference in the fight.

Even though the thought crossed his mind, however, he just couldn’t do it. Part of that was just his sense of honor. He’d given his word. But there was a practical reason for that, too. He’d seen the recording from Heverig when the Naxli had murdered about fifty Synergy Alliance soldiers. He knew how cold-blooded they could be.

And he’d already seen the mass of circles on the SPS-10 display. There were a lot of warriors out there in the mist, and if Rev broke his word, he knew all of those soldiers would come down on them like flies on shit.

Now, he had to hope that the Naxli would honor the agreement. Rev knew it could all be an elaborate ploy, but his gut said this was on the up and up. Everything he’d observed about the Naxli, everything he’d gleaned from the undernet, everything about them that he’d discussed with Punch, seemed to support the concept that the Naxli were not only more than just willing to meet what they considered an honorable enemy in equal combat—they preferred it.

Of course, that might just be wishful thinking, Reverent.

But he was committed now. The platoon couldn’t face the entire Naxli force and hope to survive. His only other option was to turn tail and run for the battalion’s lines, but without discs, he wasn’t sure the Naxli couldn’t run them down, especially towing ducklings.

“Just tell him that, Sergeant. You can say that . . .”

As he tried to put his theory into words, he realized how outlandish it sounded. This was warfare, total warfare, not some medieval knights jousting.

“Staff Sergeant? Tell him what?”

“Just tell him that we’re going to try and delay the Naxli so the battalion has time to reconstitute the defense.”

Which inferred that Rev knew the platoon was going to be destroyed, and that was essentially a lie. Rev intended on defeating the Naxli. What the rest of them would do after that was anyone’s guess, but his hope was that they would pull back, even if only temporarily.

“Now go. We’re running out of time.”

The sergeant frowned, but he turned and said, “Corporal Kristof, go.”

Within twenty seconds, the attachment was heading back to the camp, towing the Raider bodies that had been recovered.

Rev checked the timer to the side of his face shield display: eleven minutes, thirty-five seconds and counting.

“You know what you’re going to do?” he asked Sergeant Lehman.

“Yes, Staff Sergeant. We’re ready.” He paused for a moment, and Rev could tell he had a question.

“What is it? I’m relying on you. I can’t afford for there to be any mistakes.”

“Oh, it’s not that. I know what you want, and you can count on us. It’s just . . . are they really only going to send thirty-four of them at us?”

“That’s what the commander said.”

“But maybe the bastard lied.”

“Maybe it did. But is that going to make any difference? We’ll still have to hold out. If it lied to me, then what I just told Sergeant Tessler will be valid. We’re here to delay the bastards, then, to give the battalion a better chance.”

Lehman pursed his lips and nodded. Rev didn’t need his link into the sergeant’s biofeed to know the sergeant was nervous, which was an entirely reasonable reaction.

“I think the noxes will honor what they said, Gunner. And if they do, I think we’ll do well against them. Now go to your squad, and be ready to react.”

Rev could see the sense of determination come over the sergeant. For a moment, he wondered if he should have given the mission to Third Squad, but doing that now might cause more problems with the squad leader’s confidence. No, he trusted the sergeant to do what he was told.

To his surprise, his own confidence was high—maybe higher than it should have been. He thought that if the Naxli commander stuck to his word, the Marines had a very good chance to pull this out. The Naxli weren’t infallible, and when surprised, as they were on Wie’s World with the tanks and mech, the Marines had been able to gain the upper hand.

It was up to Rev to make sure the Naxli were surprised now. Hopefully, they’d expect the Marines to form some sort of defense. That’s what the Raiders had done, that’s what the battalion had done, and that’s what the entire task force had done on Wie’s World.

If the Naxli thought that Rev was going to set the platoon up in a defensive position, they were going to be rudely surprised. It could be a mistake, but Rev was going to go on the offense. He was going to take the initiative and attack the Naxli the moment the clock counted down.

He did a quick visual check of the platoon. They were bunched closer than he would have liked, but with the limited visibility, he thought being able to mass his firepower could be an advantage.

PFC Saeueng looked back over her shoulder at him.

“Just like Tahiti, Saeueng, nothing to it.”

She nodded and gave him an A-OK with thumb and forefinger.

She was nervous, he knew. But she’d been with him in some serious combat before, and he knew she’d perform. But he wondered if he should say something as the clock ticked down. It seemed that in history, there was always that leader who had just the right thing to say.

“Come on, you sons of bitches, do you want to live forever?” said by the US Marine First Sergeant Dan Daly as his men went over the top to charge the German Machine Gun nests at Belleau Wood during WWI, or “Let’s open those hunks of tin, Devil Dogs, and feast on what’s inside,” by Gunnery Sergeant Tina Nunce on Plantivar III during the Genesian War. Rev thought he should have some amazing thing to tell them, that they were on the cusp of history, they were invincible, that everything was on their shoulders, but he was drawing a blank. Rev was a fighter, not an orator.

“You got anything motivational for me to say?”

<“We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;

For he today that sheds his blood with me

Shall be my brother.”>

“Kinda morbid. Who said that?”

<No one, really. Shakespeare wrote those lines in Henry V, when the English were facing the more numerous French before the Battle of Agincourt.>

“So, it’s fiction?”

<The words, not the battle.>

“Nah, I think I’ll give that a pass.”

<You think you can do better than the bard?>

“No, but I can make sure some future bard writes about us someday.”

Rev walked the line, clapping one Marine on the shoulder, shaking hands with the next, trying to look confident as the time got closer. Finally, at one minute, he broke off and returned to his position between Second and Third Squad.

“We ready?” he shouted.

A chorus of “ooh-rahs” came right back at him and, he hoped, to the Naxli out in the mist.

The final ten seconds ticked away.

“Hold!” Rev said as his warrior tried to surface. He held him back, but like a handler with a Rottweiler on the leash, ready to let go.

Behind him, Hussein was on the SPS-10. “They’re moving. Eight hundred meters.”

Rev wanted to ask so badly, but he refrained. He didn’t want to sound anything other than utterly confident.

“Seven hundred meters.”

Kil Rancine saved him. “How many, Hus-man?”

Rev held his breath.

“Looks like about thirty-four. That’s what the reading is on this thing.”

Rev let out the breath in a whoosh. It was one thing to believe, to hope. It was another to get that confirmed.

“Six hundred meters,” Hussein said a few moments later.

There was no incoming. No mortars, no flashes of green energy beams. Rev started feeling more confident.

“Remember, they don’t know jack about HI Marines,” he reminded the platoon. “It’s about time we gave them a lesson.”

<Five hundred meters.>

The Marines around him stirred. More Rottweilers straining at the leash.

“Steady.”

“Four hundred meters.”

Rev knew he couldn’t see that far in the mist, but he strained to pick out movement. His warrior started jerking at the leash, trying to get loose.

“Three hundred meters,” Hussein said, as calm as if he were noting approaching fluffy clouds on the horizon.

“Steady, steady!”

A sound reached them, a low, throaty roar.

The moment Hussein announced “Two hundred meters,” Rev followed with “Now! Charge!”

Second and Third Squads surged into full speed, augmented legs pounding as each Marine plowed ahead. First Squad, which was on the right flank, angled farther right, following a slight depression.

Rev crashed through the fungal trees, knocking three over as he ran, Pashu at the ready, his warrior screaming at him to fire. But Rev held back, waiting . . . waiting . . . waiting.

And then the first Naxli fire reached out from the mist. Immediately, half of the platoon went prone, setting up a base of intense fire. Rev kept going, staying in his lane, firing his twenty. Fungus was torn apart by impacts, spraying goo, but he didn’t know if the Marine rounds were reaching the Naxli. And then, there they were, howling like banshees as they darted out of the mist. Some were firing their weapons, but others had swords—just as Rev had hoped. They wanted to melee.

One of the sword bearers was in front of him. Rev poured a dozen twenties center mass before raising his aim. Whether he penetrated the thing’s armor or it was the head shot, the Naxli went down hard, stumbling right into the trunk of a fungal tree.

The tree cracked, falling half over. The Naxli lay still.

Rev never slowed down. He was counting on momentum and mass. He was positive that the augmented Marines were bigger than the Naxli, and he wanted to take advantage of that. It was pile driver time.

Rounds zipped past his head, and another pinged off of his IBHU—outgoing rounds. Rev had drifted too far to the left. He darted back into his lane as another Naxli charged him, this one with one of their rifles. A flash of energy sparked as the beam grazed his side, and Rev brought Pashu to bear, but as quick as he was, the two collided, ricocheting off of each other.

Rev’s gyros whined as they struggled to keep him upright, and he lost his forward momentum. When he regained his footing, he whirled around, but the Naxli was gone.

He spun, trying to acquire another target. The mist was full of shadows, but except for those close to him, discerning friend and foe was a daunting task.

Guillotine mode was too dangerous here with friendlies and Naxli intermixed, so he switched his burner mode, courtesy of the Centaurs. A Naxli closed in with PFC Julian, sword raised. The Marine blocked the Naxli’s arm, but they grappled for an advantage, smashing fungus as they maneuvered.

Rev darted to the right for a better shot and drilled the Naxli in the face, dropping it. The explosion of flesh splattered Julian, but she didn’t bother to wipe it away and instead raised her M51 to fire off to her left.

With the force of the initial rush blunted, the battle had turned into a brawl, made more difficult by the lack of visibility.

“It’s time.”

Rev sounded two blasts from his siren. That was the signal for the base of fire—those Marines who had gone prone—to begin to advance, closing in. With his fire plan overlaid on his display, Rev was able to keep up a steady fire within his assigned firing sector, alternating between twenty and cannon. He didn’t have to see a target. He was blindly firing into his sector, and if each Marine was sticking with the plan and was in their assigned positions, then they should be safe from friendly fire.

A shape rushed him from the right, sword raised for a devastating slash. Rev raised Pashu and fired a string of twenties. Quicker than Rev would have thought possible, the Naxli twisted its body, and Rev could see the rounds bounce off the thing’s scales.

The momentum carried the Naxli forward, and it crashed into Rev as the sword came down. Rev was just able to fend the blow with Pashu, but the sword cut through the collar surrounding the cannon projector and into the twenty barrel where it stuck, the momentum of the blow, jolting the IBHU downward.

The Naxli jerked back on the sword, which caused Rev to slip in the smashed fungus. Rev pummeled at the alien with his right fist, knowing that if his two main weapons were out, he couldn’t afford to let the alien break free far enough to swing his sword.

“Die, human,” the Naxli hissed, turning its head and raising its shoulder to absorb some of the blows.

“Die hreetz!” Rev yelled.

The Naxli’s eyes widened in human-like rage, and it put all of its efforts in a mighty heave to pull its sword from the twenty barrel . . . just as Rev had hoped.

As it pulled back, it pulled Pashu with it, orienting the muzzle of the destroyed barrel right at it. For the first time in combat, Rev extended his blade, thirty-two centimeters of cold, sharp polychromotium steel. Reggie had continually harped on Rev to use every aspect of his new blade, and the hours of bayonet training kicking in. He pushed forward with his legs, multiplying the force of the Naxli’s effort to jerk back. The blade skittered up the breast scales until the tip hit just under the alien’s chin. The blade parted the lighter throat scales and plunged through the thing’s brainpan.

The Naxli didn’t make a sound as it went limp. Rev jerked back on Pashu, freeing the blade just as First Squad, which had started its envelopment when Rev blew the siren, came howling down into the fight.

A Naxli appeared, seemingly intent on Rev, when it spun to face the new threat of the advancing squad.

“Can I fire?”

<The projector is damaged. You’ve no way to focus the beam. I can’t tell about the twenty.>

Rev fired three rounds of the twenty. The front of the barrel blew off in spectacular fashion, and he had no idea where the rounds went. But it caught the attention of the Naxli, who switched back to him before it staggered backward and fell under a massive onslaught. A moment later, Hochenspatter ran past, but not before giving Rev a half-salute.

Rev, his blade extended, fell in behind First Squad as they swept from right to left. With Pashu’s main weapons inoperable and Božič-Mizaki’s beamer out, the platoon was down to three and a half IBHUs. But add in the 40’s, the Marines’ firepower and better armor had an effect. With their discipline and coordinated teamwork, they were cutting down the Naxli who were still in melee mode.

One down, two, then another. Rev chased after First Squad as it led the wedge, with Second wrapping around and following. With each meter gained, the flying wedge became more massive, an unstoppable force. And the Naxli broke. They tried to organize into a defense, but it was too late. The final five fired a volley into the rushing Marines. Rev had to vault one Marine who went down, as he charged forward, his warrior screaming at him to run one of them through with his blade.

He almost gave in, but Tsao, Hochenspatter, and Pierson cut the five like wheat before scythes—which jerked Rev back to platoon commander instead of medieval pikeman.

And then it was over. The firing ceased. The Naxli war cries ceased.

“Consolidate on me!” Rev shouted over his external speakers. “Squad leaders, give me a head count!”

“Staff Sergeant Rancine went down,” Hussein shouted back.

“You’re squad leader now, Hus-man. Get that head count.”

The three squads quickly formed a defensive perimeter as the squad leaders checked their Marines for the butcher’s bill.

It was steep, and the exhilarated flush of victory was swept away.

Saeueng, Lyons, Smith, Charoensuk, Doc Kensington, Rancine, all KIA. Haroldsdotter, Bobovitch, Adair, and Mahdi, WIA. No one had even seen Corporal Mikhailov.

Rev swore as the count mounted. He looked around him. Eight Naxli bodies littered the area, but that was a long way from the number they’d faced. He’d assumed that they’d defeated them, but what if some were just out of sight in the mist, ready to launch a counterattack?

“Hus-man, stand fast. Urquart and Lehman, find Mikhailov. And I want to see thirty-four nox bodies ASAP. Move it!”

The Marines scrambled to obey.

Rev stared to the north from where the Naxli had come. There were at least a thousand Naxli out there.

“You think they’ll accept that we won this?”

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

“But what do you think?”

<It doesn’t matter what I think. You chose your path based on your intuition. All you can do now is wait and see if you were right.>

“That’s it? That’s your counsel? Not even a smart-ass remark?”

<You were expecting a joke here? Is that what you want?>

“No. It’s just . . .”

<I know.>

First and Third Squads started bringing back bodies. The Second Squad Marines kept looking back each time they came in.

“Eyes outboard,” Rev reminded them. “The enemy’s out there.”

Corporal Mihailov was found. He’d been burned with a beam, his head and upper torso fried. No chance at resurrection.

After ten minutes, Urquart came up to Rev. “We’ve got eight bodies on the right flank. Two of those are still alive. You want us to haul them here?”

Rev started to count. There were the original eight that had fallen. Then the others that had been dragged in.

“. . . twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five.”

“I think you missed that one over there,” Urquart said.

“Twenty-six, then. And six makes thirty-four. That’s it. We won.”

It didn’t feel like a win. The platoon had lost eleven of its number.

“What now?” Urquart asked. “Set up a more defensible position?”

Rev looked back to the north. If the Naxli didn’t play by their rules, then nothing the platoon could do would stop them.

“No. Let’s get our dead. We’re leaving. We’re going back to the battalion.”

“What about the noxes? Do we take any bodies back? And what about the ones still kicking?”

Seven of the Naxli were wounded, but they were still alive. He didn’t even hesitate. “No. Leave them here. All of them.”

Urquart gave him a questioning look.

“Leave the living ones alive.”

Killing enemy wounded wasn’t something Rev was willing to do. The bigger question was what to do with the dead. The Marines were still under orders to collect enemy samples, but Rev was pretty sure the xenobiologists had plenty by now. But that wasn’t the reason he said no. Rev didn’t completely understand what had just happened. As Punch had reminded him, he’d gone by his gut, and so far, it had seemed to work out. But he didn’t understand the rules of the game, even if he’d just participated in it. He didn’t know what the Naxli thought of their dead, and he had to at least consider the possibility that any sort of desecration of the bodies might make the rules null and void.

He had no reason to think it would, but he’d gone with his gut before, and now it was telling him to leave the bodies there.

The platoon didn’t have to be told twice. Within a minute, the bodies of the fallen were hoisted onto the shoulders of the living, and they were leaving the site of the battle in a column of twos. Rev didn’t even consider a tactical formation. He wanted to show confidence that they knew the fight was over and all sides would honor the terms.

Still, as they marched back to the battalion, he could feel the big target on his back. The entire Naxli horde could be charging through the mist right now, swords raised high to exact revenge for their fallen comrades.

It wasn’t until they passed through the Bravo Company lines that the weight of command he’d been carrying slid off his shoulders, and he could finally take a breath.

28

“That’s . . . I don’t know how to process that,” Major Faheem said.

Rev just stared at the acting CO. He was emotionally drained, and all he wanted to do was to lie down and get some rest.

“You really don’t think that they’ll hit us?”

“No, sir. I don’t.”

“But how do you know? That’s a pretty big assumption.”

“I don’t know, sir. That’s just my gut feeling.”

“But, you’ve got to understand how weird this is. The noxes are just willing to throw away a numerical advantage and even the playing field? This isn’t flipball, you know.”

Rev understood. It had taken him over a year to come to the conclusion himself. The facts were that the Naxli had attacked them with only thirty-four warriors, and at least up until now, hadn’t hit the battalion again.

The major might be having a difficult time accepting Rev’s theories, but he couldn’t argue with what had actually happened.

“Sir, we haven’t been hit yet,” the Alpha company commander said. “We can keep up the defense, and if they don’t hit us, then great. But right now, if I can say so, we need to get what Staff Sergeant Pelletier here told us up the chain. We can send a drone to Third Battalion, and they can relay it to Division. They need to know this.”

“Yeah. Of course.” He turned to Gunny Teng. “You’ve got all this?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll load a message drone.”

“Do two. One to Third Battalion, and another directly to division.”

Rev hadn’t thought of that, but the major was right. It would take a drone several hours to make it to division, but if Third Battalion had been hit, or if it had lost its quantum comms, then just sending the report to that battalion might not do any good.

If a message was worth sending, then it was worth being redundant to make sure it got through.

“I’m not going to let our guard down. I just can’t accept that they’re pulling back for good.”

He caught Rev’s eyes. “I’m not doubting you, Staff Sergeant. Not at all. But I can’t take the chance that you’re wrong. As Captain Dills so adroitly pointed out, strengthening our defenses has no downside.

“Your IBHU, is it still operational?” he asked.

“Not at the moment. I can still fire missiles, I think, but the beamer and twenty are combat deadlined.”

“You go see to that. We might need every weapons platform we can muster.”

“Aye-aye, sir,” Rev said.

Bundy followed him out of the small structure that was serving as the new CP. “Rev, wait up.”

The captain looked bad, and he punctuated that with a short fit of coughing.

“You doing OK?” Rev asked when the coughing ceased.

“Feels like my lungs are full of cotton. Scratchy cotton. But I’ll keep chugging along. I just needed to ask you—”

“If I really think the noxes are going to honor the terms?”

“No. You don’t know for sure, and I sure don’t. They’re gonna do what they’re gonna do, and I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

“Then what?”

“You were going up against an equal force, right?”

“Right.”

“But you told the XO in there that you wanted to hit them with a stronger force.”

“Yes. What’s your question?”

“But then you split up the platoon into what was essentially three squads. Why?”

Rev paused for a moment to put into words what had been just feelings that had impacted his orders.

“I needed them to keep them off balance. Like you said, we were an equal force in numbers. But we weren’t really equally armed.”

“They don’t have IBHUs.”

“We only had five. But yes. And I was counting on the fact that they wouldn’t know much about them. Or augmented Marines, for that matter.”

“What do you mean?”

“The noxes have captured, what is it, over a million humans by now?”

“Something like that,” Bundy said.

“But, to the best of our knowledge, no augmented Marines. Certainly no IBHUs. So, if they studied their captives, they might have a concept of human capabilities that underestimated the capabilities of IBHUs and augmented Marines.”

Bundy nodded, accepting that. “But you still split up your forces? Why, if you were trying to concentrate them against the noxes? I don’t understand that.”

“I was making a gamble, sir. I wanted them to come at us with swords, not more powerful weapons.”

“I’m not following.”

“Look. They’d just hit us hard. And we didn’t really repel them. They chose to disengage. They must have been riding high, and when I said we’d meet them man-to-alien, well, I thought their fighting blood would be up, and they’d want to melee. I mean, what else is the true test of one warrior to the other?”

“But—”

“But I didn’t want to hit them right away with five IBHUs on line, not to mention the forties. I didn’t want to shock them into going back to military tactics.”

“They’ve shown tactical movement before.”

“Which is why I wanted them to stick to swords for as long as possible.

“OK, I can see that. But still, you split up the platoon.”

“I didn’t have to concentrate bodies. I just had to concentrate fire. And if the noxes did want to melee, I didn’t think they’d have a comprehensive firing plan.”

Understanding washed over his face. “The firing sectors!”

“If they use visual sighting on their weapons, they would have problems spotting us and acquiring targets, while we could just expend vast amounts of fire into our sectors without hitting our own side.”

“Not Lyons.”

Rev grunted. Lyons had been killed by M-51 fire. Someone had fired outside of their sector, or the PFC had wandered out of his zone.

“No, not Lyons.”

“And First Squad? The enveloping force?”

“Shock value. I wanted the noxes to be reacting and not taking any initiative. And it worked. Until the end there, they were fighting as individuals, not as a unit. And when those last five tried to set up a final defensive position, it was too late.”

Bundy let that sink in, then he nodded, which started him coughing again. When he regained control of himself, he said, “Pretty brilliant, if you ask me, Rev.”

“I made a lot of assumptions. If I’d been wrong on any of them, things wouldn’t have gone so well.”

“But you weren’t wrong, Rev, and that’s what matters.” He sighed. “Sometimes, I don’t know what I’m doing here. This is a young man’s game, and you’d be a better commander than I am.”

That took Rev by surprise. Bundy was a far, far better leader than he could ever be. Even if he was only a captain, he was a better officer than most Rev had ever known.

“Ari, that’s bullshit.” Rev almost never called Aristotle Bundy by his nickname. He’d always been “Bundy,” even when they were recruits together.

“I’m a fighter. Yeah, that’s true. I can scrap with the best of them. And I’ve been infantry since we came in together. You’re a tanker—”

“Commanding a Heavy Infantry platoon.”

Rev waved his hand as if brushing away a fly. “I’m here to help with the tactics. But I can’t hold a shadow to you in terms of leadership, of understanding the big picture. I’m a dumb grunt, and you’re . . . you’re Bundy!”

His friend gave him a long look and finally said, “You really believe that, don’t you?”

“Well, it’s true. I know what I can do, and I know what I can’t.”

“This is the same Marine who knew not to kill the tin-asses on Earth? Who didn’t fight the Frisians in Asteroid 6-067-442? Who somehow figured out that the noxes would accept a limited fight? Yeah, you’re a pretty ‘dumb grunt.’”

“I get lucky sometimes.”

Bundy shook his head.

“The only thing you’ve been dumb about is Miko. For that, you were as dumb as a rock. But the rest, you’re a freaking Sun Tzu.”

Rev didn’t buy it. Oh, maybe about Tomiko. But not the rest. It had to be Bundy being sick and the worry over the losses speaking now. And Rev felt uncomfortable with this line of talk.

“You’d make a good officer, Rev.”

“Oh, by the Mother, no! No way I want that. I’m not set up for that kind of responsibility.”

“You say that, but you’re wrong, you know.”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. With all due respect, of course. If that’s all, I’m going to the aid station to check the status of our Marines.”

Bundy gave him a look that Rev couldn’t decipher. He grunted, then said, “I’m going with you. Hopefully, resurrection is in the cards for most of them.”

Together, the two walked off together in silence.

Rev had a lot to digest from what his friend had just said.

* * *

Five days later, Rev entered the aid station. Five of the platoon’s seven KIA had been zombied, their metabolism sent to almost zero while they waited to be taken to a facility. All five had a good shot at resurrection, which was a result of the Naxli’s heavy use of swords.

“You hanging in there, Jen?” Rev asked Corporal Haroldsdotter.

The corporal scowled and said, “My foot itches like crazy.”

Rev laughed. “Been there, done that.”

He pulled up a folding chair and sat beside her.

Four days after the battle and there was no sign of the Naxli. No word back from division, either, but even the XO/Acting CO had to admit that maybe the enemy was going to abide by their agreement.

Now, with the KIA on ice and Randigold back with the platoon—more ornery than ever and pissed that she missed the fight—Haroldsdotter was the only HI Marine in the aid station.

“Sorry that your leg died,” Rev said.

Besides a wicked slash to her side that sliced through five ribs and took out her left lung, she’d lost her left leg above the knee. They’d recovered the leg, and with the clean amputation, the chief corpsman had thought it could be reattached, but the lifevat that was supposed to keep the tissue alive failed, and the leg was lost. Now, the corporal was going to have to go through regen or get a prosthesis.

“It is what it is, Staff Sergeant. I never liked the toes on that foot anyway. Too gnarly.”

Rev laughed.

“Too bad it wasn’t an arm,” she added. “Then I could be one of you.”

The laugh cut off. What she said was true. If she’d lost an arm, she would be evaluated for an IBHU. But the eagerness in her voice threw Rev for a loop. That anyone would wish to lose an arm just to get an IBHU rubbed a raw nerve.

The karnans had no choice before getting their hyper-augments. They were “volunteered.” Rumor had it that most of the hyper-augments didn’t have a choice.

He looked at Pashu for a moment. Over the years, she had become part of him, just as Punch was. If he were given a choice, would he take his arm back if it meant losing Pashu? At some point, if Rev made it out of the Corps alive, they’d take her and grow him a new, organic arm. How would he feel about that?

“You are one of us, Jen. You’re Heavy Infantry,” he said, deliberately misconstruing her statement.

He tapped the metal edge of her rack with Pashu and said, “Sibs in Steel.”

She grunted, accepting the entry into the brotherhood, and then let it go. “Any word on what’s happening? They don’t tell us much in here.”

“Not yet. Still in the dark. No sign of noxes.”

As if on cue, Bundy stuck his head in the station and spotted Rev. He nodded at the chief, then came up to them.

“Thought I’d find you here. You need to get back. We’re leaving.”

“Going out on patrol?” Rev asked as he stood up.

“No. Leaving. As in off of this planet.”

“Why? What happened?”

Bundy looked around at the other Marines but evidently thought it wouldn’t matter. “Finally got a message drone from division. Turns out the Admiral bought your, uh . . . theory, and he ordered a couple of the battalions to proactively offer to fight like that with the noxes.”

“And . . . ?” Rev asked, anxiously waiting to hear.

His insight on what the Naxli wanted had paid dividends.

“Third of the Eighteenth made contact. They agreed for a company-sized fight.”

Rev kept staring at Bundy, waiting for him to go on. Other Marines nearby turned in their cots to listen in.

“No swords this time. And no IBHUs with the Marines.”

“No kidding? And they won? And now the noxes have left?” Rev said as his excitement made his voice crack.

“No, you’re misunderstanding. They didn’t win. The noxes did.”

“But, then why are we leaving?”

“That was the agreement. They were playing for all the marbles, and we lost. And because of that, we’ve got to give up the planet.”

29

It had taken a full two days, but the human forces abandoned Mistworld. It now belonged to the Naxli, an island within human space.

Judging from the frenetic meetings among the senior officers taking place, this wasn’t a unanimous decision, and words such as “traitor” and even “execution” were bandied about in reference to Admiral Cadieux. But somewhere, high in the stratospheric levels of the governments, the decision must have been made to confirm the admiral’s decision.

The extraction of forces had gone off without a hitch. The human ships were given unfettered access to remove the ground forces.

Rev holed up in the SNCO spaces, wondering when the ax was going to fall on him. By tacit agreement, the SNCOs with the battalion never mentioned Rev’s part in all of this, but he couldn’t help but listen to all the theories being bandied about.

One thing was for certain. The rank and file were angry. They’d sacrificed too much only to just give the planet to the Naxli.

Eight hours and forty-two minutes after Rev entered berthing—not that he’d been counting—the expected message ordering him to report to a space in the center of the ship came.

Staff Sergeant Urquart gave him a tentative thumbs-up as he left the space. His heart was racing as he made his way to the space. He hesitated for a moment outside, then rapped on the hatch.

“Come in.”

Rev took a deep breath and entered. A woman in civilian clothing was sitting behind a plain steel desk. Diffused light lit the space from above.

“Please sit.”

The desk was bare except for a small round bud right in the middle.

“You with me?” he asked Punch.

<Still here. No attempt to take me offline.>

Rev didn’t know if having Punch there would do him any good, but he sure felt better with his battle buddy there with him.

“Commander Stephanie Lynn Hun, Perseus Union Navy, TR-873893999, conducting interview with Staff Sergeant Reverent Pelletier, Perseus Union Marine Corps, 12 March 3837.”

Rev swallowed. It was never good when the Navy officer conducting an interview was in civilian clothing.

“Please state your name and service number for the record, Staff Sergeant.”

“Staff Sergeant Reverent Pelletier. Perseus Union Marine Corps.”

“Service number?”

“Oh, sorry. SH-969673549.”

“Staff Sergeant, I am conducting an initial interview on what went on during your battle with the Naxli on Uriba-5, better known as Mistworld, five days ago. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, ma’am, I do.”

“Good. I want you to start at the beginning and simply tell me everything you can remember about the battle. You know to what I’m referring?”

“Uh, which part? From when they attacked the camp?”

“No. We’ll revisit that if necessary. I want to hear what happened when you took your platoon to find out what happened to the Raider platoon. Start from there, please.”

Rev took a deep breath and started retelling what happened. He tried to put in as much detail as possible. The commander never said a word while he talked. She just listened, her pale blue eyes boring into him as if she was waiting for him to walk into a trap before she would pounce.

Rev was sweating by the time he was finished forty-three minutes later. All through that time, the commander revealed nothing about her thoughts, and that made Rev nervous.

He knew he hadn’t done anything wrong, but when had that mattered in the past?

“Thank you, Staff Sergeant. I do have some questions here, if you don’t mind.”

As if I have a choice.

“When the Naxli lead presented, why did you meet it?”

Her wording was a little odd, but Rev understood what she meant.

“Uh . . . I’ve been really interested in why, before many of the battles, uh . . . why one nox would step out and stand in front of the Marines. Or other forces. I mean, why do it? Were they scoping us out? Did they want to negotiate? Then I watched the holos on Heverig, that battalion commander—”

“Fifth Isenwyke.”

Rev didn’t remember the Fifth’s name, but he said, “Yes, that one. He came out to surrender. At first, the Naxli seemed interested. But when Fifth Iske . . .”

“Isenwyke.”

“Isenwyke. When he said he was going to surrender, the nox seemed to be disappointed, almost. Like it wanted the commander to say something else. Then they slaughtered the rest of the battalion, and it killed the Fifth, and I didn’t understand why.”

He looked into the commander’s eyes to see how she was taking this, but she was revealing nothing.

“And how does that relate to this battle?”

“Well, ma’am, no organism reacts without a reason. And the noxes, they’re sentient. So, they must be reacting in a way that makes sense to them. So, I got Punch . . . uh, my battle buddy. I got Punch to scour the undernet for all the research on the noxes. I read everything I could. And it seemed to me that when the noxes did that, they wanted something. But what? I couldn’t figure it out.

“But then, I started thinking. If the noxes changed themselves from like the tin-asses to something like us—”

The commander held out her hand to stop him.

“I have a Major Singhal’s report that you suspected that the Version 1 Naxli were not the Centaurs.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And I read on the report that you based that on the fact that they fought differently in tactics and had a different attitude.”

“Yes, ma’am. Those are the main reasons.”

“And now you’re telling me that you knew the Version 1 and Version 2 Naxli are one and the same?”

“Oh, no. Not back then. But when I heard about them being shifters, well, it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. But even before that, after they took the first ships and planets, they weren’t fighting like they were in a war. On Waring, on Wie’s World. Other planets, too, in other sectors out of Union space.”

Rev’s nervousness was fading as he was getting excited, and the words were coming faster. “The noxes seemed to want limited battles. On Waring, we wanted to test them, but what if the noxes were testing us? What better way than on different types of worlds and with limited engagements? Their Navy sure made it easy on us to get to the planets, but when they wanted to leave, our Navy couldn’t stop them.”

He paused for a moment before he delivered his main point. “So, maybe they were testing us?”

“And you came up with this on your own?” the commander asked.

And Rev realized he might be sounding like a crazy man. “It was just a thought.”

Rev could see her throat quiver, a sure sign that she was dictating some notes.

“OK, you think the Naxli were testing our forces. What does that have to do with why you decided to challenge the Naxli lead on Mistworld?”

Rev had to stop and think for a moment. He’d been working off his gut, but he couldn’t very well just tell her that. There had to be a concrete reason his subconscious had him do what he did.

“Except for the people they kidnapped, what did they get in any of the attacks? Resources? They left the only planets with resources. I was thinking that maybe they just like to fight. And if that was the case, they want to prove themselves. Lots of Marines are like that.”

For once, she showed the first sign of being human as the corner of her mouth slanted up in the tiniest of smiles.

“And if they’re shifting to something humanlike, then maybe that’s because they wanted to test themselves on an equal footing. You know, ’cause if they were so superior, then where’s the honor in that?”

“Honor?”

As soon as she said the word, it all fell into place. Rev had used the word often over the last week only more as a way to describe a behavior in terms other Marines would understand. But now, he was certain that it wasn’t just the Marines. The Naxli had their version of honor, and it was so important that they would rather die with honor than break their code. They would rather win while on an even footing than take advantage of technology or biology.

They fought the Centaurs with similar physical characteristics, but when they discovered humans, they shifted to match their new opponents.

Otherwise, since they had the ability to change their bodies, why not become ten-meter-tall, armored dragons?

“Yes, honor,” he answered with conviction. “If their end-all is the battle, then they needed to fight on an even playing field. So, given a chance, that would also mean even numbers of fighters.”

She gave him a long look. “But you had more firepower. That hardly made it even.”

“They didn’t know that. None of the humans they kidnapped had our augments. None of them were IBHUs. When we fought before, the HI Marines were somewhat lost in the shuffle. Even when this nox unit hit the battalion earlier in the day, they mostly faced the regular Marines. They were augmented, but some of them still had M-49s, for the Mother’s sake.”

He lowered his voice for no apparent reason and said, “I think we surprised them. I don’t think they realized that they were outgunned. And when they fought Third Battalion, Eighteenth Marines, they made sure they didn’t repeat that mistake.”

“Wait a moment, please,” she said as she started to dictate.

Rev watched her throat, wondering if he’d been stupid to be so open. For all he knew, there were SPs coming down the passage now to arrest him, and they’d keep him locked up until they returned to Safe Harbor where he’d be whisked away, never to be seen again.

Finally, she stopped and leaned back, her hands together making a tent, the fingers resting on the bottom of her chin.

“You are a remarkable young man, Staff Sergeant.”

Rev frowned. What does that mean?

“I’m just a grunt, trying to do my job.”

The commander actually laughed. “I hardly think that’s the case. We’ve got some of the best minds in humanity working to unravel the Naxli, and yet here you are.”

Which still wasn’t saying much.

“So, you’re implying that I could be right?”

She shrugged. “There are several schools of thought. But what you just said aligns with one of those schools, and they’re going to be happy to get field data that supports them.”

Rev knew he should just shut up and accept that. But his curiosity was too strong to be bottled up.

“Do you think I’m right?”

“I haven’t a clue, Staff Sergeant. That’s way above my pay grade. I’m just collecting the data.”

If it’s above a commander’s pay grade, then what about a staff sergeant’s?

“But for what it’s worth, I think you might be as close to the truth as anyone is.”

They sat in silence for a moment before the commander dropped her hands and sat straighter in her chair.

“Do you have any questions for me?”

Only about a million.

He took a breath to ask.

<Leave it alone. We still don’t know who’s listening in.>

“Uh . . . no, ma’am. Nothing.”

“Very well. Thank you for your time here. You can go ahead and return to your unit.”

“Am I going to be sworn to secrecy before I leave?” Rev asked.

“Why? Are you a spy for the Children of Angels?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then no, you aren’t being sworn to secrecy. What you just told me isn’t classified. Other Marines were there with you, and hundreds have been told what happened. We’re not going to try and isolate hundreds of Marines for something that’s still just conjecture.”

She joined Rev as he stood, her hand out. Rev shook it before leaving the space. His mind was awhirl as he made it back to the berthing spaces.

His entire outlook on the universe, and his place in it, had changed over the last hour. It was going to take some time to come to grips with it.

* * *

The shuttle settled down with barely a bump. As usual, the Marines broke out in applause.

“Good to be home,” Yancey said.

“Hell, Yance,” Winnie Urquart said’ “What’re you complaining about?”

Second Platoon had been with One-Twelve, and they’d never had contact.

“Can’t help it if the noxes knew better than to mess with us,” Yancey said. “And we still were stuck with combat rats the entire time. I’m looking forward to sink my teeth into a Ginny Burger tonight.”

He looked over at Rev. “You up for it?”

“I was going to try and find Miko and see how she is.”

“Bring her.”

“Shit, Yance. Can’t you see he might want to be alone with her?”

Yancey feigned shock and said, “Really? You’d rather spend time with Miko than your bestest buddy?”

“Yeah, really.”

“I am mortally wounded.”

The order to disembark came before Rev could think up a witty reply—he was sure something would come to him at two in the morning—so Rev grabbed his assault pack and started to file out.

He always felt the connection with his home the moment his foot hit the tarmac. He didn’t think that would ever grow old.

They reached the terminal where a gunny was shouting orders, directing Marines to the proper lines. Behind a roped-off area, family members were gathered to welcome their Marines and sailors home. Rev scanned the faces for Tomiko, but he didn’t see her.

He was disappointed, but not too much. She’d probably be in the crowd back at Camp Nguyen.

<Far right, behind the woman in the red top.>

Punch was using table talk, so he slowly shifted his eyes to bring what had been in his peripheral vision to focus, and he almost stopped dead in his tracks.

“Is that—” he asked, even if he already knew the answer.

<Yes.>

Standing there, his eyes locked on Rev, was his buddy, the Omega Division interrogator.

Evidently, the report on Rev’s debrief had made the rounds.

Slowly, the man raised his two fingers, one pointing at each of his eyes, before he lowered the hand to point both fingers at Rev like some holovid villain.

Really? That’s supposed to intimidate me?

Rev smiled and gave the man a cocky half salute before he turned away.

But truth be told, it did intimidate him. Not the tropish gesture, but the reminder that he was on their radar. It was easy to forget at times that he was being spied upon, that his communications with Punch were known. The man’s presence here was a reminder that all wasn’t as it seemed.

“Eat me, you stupid asshole,” Rev subvocalized, hoping the message would get back to the man.

<Careful.>

But Rev didn’t care. It could be a natural reaction to seeing the man. The watchers would assume that he was just thinking it, not that he knew they were listening in.

Rev resisted looking back as he filed out of the terminal with the other Camp Nguyen Marines. Ahead were the buses, and as Rev approached his ride, a familiar figure was at the door scanning each Marine.

“Miko!” he said.

She looked up and broke into the most beautiful smile he’d seen in a long time.

“Let me scan you,” she said as he reached her. Then she added, “Take the first seat.”

In much better spirits, Rev bounded up the steps and plopped into the first seat. Yancey followed him and made an overly dramatic effort to take the seat beside him. Rev gave him a hard shot right at the kidney.

“Damn, Rev. If you want to sit with Miko, just tell me. You don’t have to put me in the damn hospital,” he said, rubbing his side.

“Serves you right,” Kelly said with a laugh as she pushed him down the aisle.

Rev ignored his two friends.

Once the last Marine boarded, Tomiko followed and sat down beside him.

“Good to see you, Rev.”

“Good to see you, too. I didn’t expect that you’d be here.”

“I’m officially with the company again, and I’m on duty. Had to pull a few strings to get this bus, though.”

“Officially? So, you’re done with all your retraining?”

“Done.”

“Congrats! I knew you’d make it.”

“I didn’t know it. Not all the time. But, that’s all over.”

“And, how’re you feeling?”

“You mean, me being a zombie and all?”

“That’s not what I mean, Miko.”

She laughed and punched him in the upper arm. “I’m kidding! What happened to your sense of humor?”

“Sorry.”

“Well, except for a craving for brains that comes over me, I’m pretty good.” She stared intensely at Rev’s head for a moment, licked her lips, and stroked above his temple.

“Really funny,” Rev said, pushing her hand away.

“Ooh, my prey’s getting testy.”

Rev leaned in and whispered, “Wait until we’re alone, and you can hunt me all you want.”

“Promises, promises,” she said with a laugh.

The bus rose on its skirts and started sliding out of the parking lot, the second in a long line of buses. Rev settled deeper into his seat as Tomiko edged a little closer, her thigh pressed up against his.

“So, how was it? We’ve had some reports, but not much,” she said, serious now.

“You heard about Kil and the rest, right?”

“Yeah. They’re heading straight to the clinic. I’ll head down to give them all a pep talk once they’ve been woken. But how are you?”

“Good,” Rev said, and he realized that was right. He was good.

She lowered her voice, although with the babble going on, he didn’t think anyone was listening.

“We heard that you, well . . . you challenged the fucking noxes? Tell me that isn’t true.”

He didn’t say anything as he tried to put his words in order.

“Rev? Tell me it isn’t fucking true.”

“Not quite.”

“Not quite?” she asked as her fingers dug deep into Rev’s thigh. “You’d better tell me what happened, Rev.”

“When we get back, Miko. I’ll tell you everything.”

“No, not when we get back. We’re on this bus for fifty minutes, so you’re going to tell me now.”

Rev knew when he was beaten. He had a feeling that this was going to be a tougher interview than his one with Commander Hun.

But he really didn’t have much of a choice, did he?

EPILOGUE

Rev stood at attention in the back of the platoon as the breeze whipped the Meritorious Unit Citation streamer that had just been attached to the company’s colors. The company had been stood up for less than two years, but already, it had three battle streamers, and now the MUC. Pretty impressive, Rev thought.

Who would have thought nine years ago, when Rev and the others had gathered after graduating boot camp, that they’d be here now. Bundy, a captain, standing out in front of the platoon. Yancey, over in Second Platoon. Fyr, Udu, Cricket, and even Ten in the stands, watching the honors. And Tomiko. His Tomiko, standing behind First Platoon, where, with Gunny Poole’s death, she was now the platoon sergeant.

He risked a glance past the back of the company and over to her, catching her just as she looked toward him. Their eyes met, and she air-kissed him before she snapped her head back to the front. He stared at her for a moment longer, realizing how lucky he was, that after losing her once, there she was, living, breathing, and full of life.

The last three months had been pretty hectic. Most of what Rev had told Commander Hun, and then during a trip back to Titan where he briefed military from a dozen services, was now being promulgated as the Corps tried to pivot to meet the new situation. Not everything he’d thought, but enough that Rev felt validated.

And it wasn’t as if Marines were praising Rev’s insights. Rev hadn’t been the one to reveal what the Naxli were. All he did was provide field data that buttressed the school of thought that the Naxli had a very bifurcated view of the world with gnist on one side and hreet on the other. And if humans played by their somewhat convoluted rules of honor, it was much, much better to be considered gnista than hreet.

Now, understanding the playing field better, all of humanity was shifting their efforts. Not that humanity had a firm grasp yet on the Naxli. Even with their new knowledge, there had been a few mistakes around the galaxy, but those mistakes had been learning evolutions, and they helped fill in the holes.

What was clear was that there needed to be some changes. Big changes. While back on Titan, Rev was pulled to another meeting with many of the same people who’d been there during the conference on hyper-augmentees. It was obvious from their line of questions that the governments of humanity were relooking at hyper-augmentation as a possible course of action.

And that made perfect sense to Rev. If the war with the Naxli was going to be on a more limited scope, with specified numbers of fighters, then wouldn’t it be better to field the absolute best fighters possible?

He wasn’t a decision-maker by any stretch of the imagination, but if he were a betting man, he’d put money on the fact that the restrictions were not only going to be loosened, but that governments would also be encouraged to pump out more hyper-augmented soldiers.

What that meant for IBHU Marines was something that Rev didn’t want to contemplate too much. He kept thinking about Jen Haroldsdotter, wishing she’d lost an arm instead of a leg so she could be an IBHU. Would the Union start considering volunteers?

He didn’t even know what he thought about that. On the one hand, it seemed obscene. On the other hand, if it were for the good of humanity?

“Personnel to be recognized, front and center, HARCH!” the first sergeant shouted, shaking Rev out of his reverie.

He conducted a right face and started marching behind the company, past Second Platoon, and as he started to pass First, Tomiko said, loud enough for some of her Marines to hear, “Love you, Rev.”

His face turned red, but he broke military protocol to reach out with his social hand and pat her as he marched by.

Around the company, then to the front, then another left turn march, before halting in front of Major Pelegrino. He stood there at attention, eyes locked with the major. Motion over the major’s eyes caught his attention. Lieutenant General Begay was marching forward, followed a half-step behind by Lieutenant Colonel Jensen, the battalion commander, and the Force sergeant major.

The major took two steps to his left, and the general came to a halt in the spot vacated by the company commander.

The first sergeant’s voice filled the parade deck.

The Director Prime of the Perseus Union takes pride in presenting the Gold Nova to Staff Sergeant Reverent Pelletier, Perseus Union Marine Corps for service as set forth in the following citation:

On 5 October 3836, while serving as a platoon sergeant with the First Heavy Infantry Company attached to Task Force Barracuda on Wie’s World, Sector Sixteen, Staff Sergeant Pelletier was with his platoon as part of a forward observation post and potential bait to ensure the expected Naxli force was lured into a prepared killing zone. When enemy Naxli forces attacked and defeated an adjacent observation post, the main force had to be alerted to its presence. The bulk of the platoon left to warn the commanding general, but Staff Sergeant Pelletier led a volunteer force of nine Marines to attack the larger Naxli unit and lead them on a chase back to the killing zone. Without hesitation or regard to their own safety, the small patrol launched the attack and successfully lured the Naxli force into its ultimate destruction at the hands of the Marine task force. Upon the conclusion of the battle, Staff Sergeant Pelletier knew that a single Marine from an infantry platoon had been left behind, and he volunteered to recover the Marine. While preparing to bring her and three dead Marines back, his patrol spotted a large, Naxli armored force heading to the task force’s position. Once again, without regard to his own safety, Staff Sergeant Pelletier sent back a squad to both warn the commanding general and bring back the wounded and dead Marines while he set an ambush to delay the armored force. The patrol initiated an ambush that ultimately destroyed five enemy tanks, two by Staff Sergeant Pelletier’s own efforts. The assaults on the armored column delayed the enemy long enough for the warning to be received and for the Marine armored and mech forces to be positioned to meet and ultimately defeat the enemy forces. Staff Sergeant Pelletier’s tactical acumen, courage, and aggressive initiative resulted in the total defeat of both enemy assaults and were in keeping with the highest standards of the Perseus Union Marine Corps.

Given under my hand,

Korin F. Rosser

Director Prime

Perseus Union

The general took two steps forward until he was directly in front of Rev. The sergeant major followed and presented a blue case, the top flipped open.

The general took the medal out, a shining golden nova hanging from a black ribbon with gold trim. He turned back to Rev.

“I guess they couldn’t very well take this away from you.”

Rev couldn’t help but smile. The general had gone to bat for him before, when other awards, including the Platinum Nova, had been turned down for various, usually political reasons. He’d been sure that he’d never be awarded anything other than his campaign stars, Humane Service Medal, and Medal of Valor, Third Class—which was a Congress of Humanity award, not a Perseus Union award—and he’d come to accept that.

Maybe he’d been a bit bitter, no matter how often he tried to convince himself that he didn’t care. But he’d accepted it.

And that was why he’d been so surprised when he found out he’d been approved for the Gold Nova, the second highest award for valor in the Perseus Union. It had come out of left field, and if he was honest with himself, he didn’t think it was deserved. He’d done nothing more than any of the others had done. Every single one of them had been awarded the Platinum Achievement Medal with Combat V at an earlier ceremony the day before, but why was he getting the GN when none of the others were?

Bundy had put it into perspective. This was a political award, just as the ones he’d earned but had gotten pulled were. Five Gold Novas and one Platinum Nova (to the commanding general) had been awarded for Wie’s World. The victory there had been a huge boost to humanity’s morale, and the Congress of Humanity desperately needed the boost. They’d awarded the general a Medal of Valor, First Class, but it couldn’t be just coming from them. So, the Union military had stepped up, happy to showcase Marines.

Rev didn’t think he deserved anything more than his Marines had received, but in the end, he didn’t have a choice. And as Bundy pointed out, he had to think of it as payback for the awards that hadn’t been given.

“I guess not, sir.”

The general reached out and snapped the ribbon on the magnetic bar that had already been applied to Rev’s chest. He made a dramatic turn to face the spectators, an outstretched hand presenting Rev to them.

Rev didn’t know if it had been planned, but the first sergeant ad-libbed, “Ladies and gentlemen, Staff Sergeant Reverent Pelletier!”

The crowd rose from their seats, applauding wildly, but none as enthusiastically as Kat, standing next to his family. His father looked like he was about to burst with pride, and his mother just stood there, one hand over her mouth, one over her heart.

Rev, who’d managed to keep in control, almost lost it there, choking up.

“Enjoy it while you can, son. You’re still on some people’s radar that don’t wish you well.”

For the moment, though, Rev didn’t care. He was going to enjoy it. Screw Omega Division and anyone watching him.

The general let the applause die down before he returned to his position.

“Post, HARCH!” the first sergeant said.

Rev conducted a left face, then marched across the front of the company, down the side, and over to his position behind his platoon. Several Marines hissed out their congratulations as the general gave an ooh-rah speech, lauding their service and their sacrifices, and reminding them that the war had just started.

Rev listened with half an ear. The war had just started. Everything that had happened was just the initial steps, two boxers jabbing in the first round to feel each other out. The bell was about to ring for round two, and it had all the makings of being a toe-to-toe slugfest.

The medal changed nothing. His job was still to prepare his Marines to rain death upon the Naxli while getting home in one piece. It would be a daunting task, but one he was dedicated to accomplishing.

The general finally ran out of words, and the company commander resumed control of the formation.

“First Heavy Infantry Company, dis-MISSED!”

Each Marine took a step to the rear, shouted “ooh-rah!” and broke the formation. Rev was immediately mobbed by first his platoon, then the rest of the company. He shook over a hundred hands and suffered at least half as many back slaps.

The person he wanted to see hung back, watching the madhouse, a Mona Lisa smile on her lips. Finally, the crowd started to disperse.

“See you at the reception,” Yancey said as Rev started to make his way to Tomiko.

“So, you’re a pretty popular guy. You still got time for little ole’ me?”

“Always,” he said, grabbing her hand.

Two more Marines came up, both wanting selfies with him. Tomiko let go of his hand and stepped back. Once they left, she moved in beside him, but then the major came up. Rev gave Tomiko a “help me” stare, but she just smiled.

Rev kept nodding his head while the major went on for three full minutes about the future of the company before he finally broke off, telling Rev that he had a few ideas he wanted to bring up, and he’d see him again at the reception.

“Hard to get you to myself. What say we skip the reception?” Tomiko asked.

“My family?”

“They told me to tell you they’ll meet you at home. Your mother is going crazy with some super meal she’s prepared. She said she wants everything perfect for her baby boy.”

Rev laughed out loud. That was so like his mother.

“Maybe we should.”

<You can’t skip the reception. It’s in your honor, and they’re expecting you.>

“Punch says I can’t skip the reception. Says it’s in my honor.”

Tomiko reached up, grabbed Rev by the ears, and lowered his head until it was even with hers. She pulled him close until her eyes were centimeters from Rev’s.

“Hey, Punch, you in there? He’s already had all the honor he needs. Any more will give him a swollen head. It’s time for me to give him my congratulations. You got that?”

“Well, Punch? What do you have to say to that?”

<Hell, it’ll be boring anyway. But don’t cut me off this time. OK?>

“No promises.”

A couple of officers Rev didn’t recognize were making their way to them, a holographer in tow.

“Well, Rev? Make up your mind fast. Me, or them?”

There was no choice to make.

“You!”

And like giggling school kids, the two staff sergeants of Marines ran from the surprised officers, their augmented legs quickly taking them between the buildings behind the parade deck and out of sight.

* * *

Rev will return in WHAT LIES BEHIND, available to preorder now on Amazon.

For updates on this series, be sure to sign up here.

GLOSSARY

AGMS: Anti-G Straining Maneuvers

AIW: Association of Independent Worlds

ASAP: As Soon As Possible

BC: the digital currency for most nations

BOCT: Benevolent Order of Crystal Technicians

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

CASEVAC: Casualty Evacuation

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

Cerrocrete: a very strong futuristic concrete

CG: Commanding General

CO: Commanding Officer

COH: Congress of Humanity, the highest authority of mankind

CST: Combat Simulation Trainer

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

D-5 Cord: an explosive-saturated cord

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

DI: Drill Instructor

Dykstra: a heavy sniper rifle

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

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

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

EOE: End of Enlistment

EVA: Extravehicular Activity

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

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

HE: High Explosive

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

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

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

Optisight: a flexible optical tube

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

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

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

PFC: Private First Class

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

Plastiderm: a synthetic skin that is used in medical procedures

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

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

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

PUNS: Perseus Union Naval Ship

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

Recon: Reconnaissance Marine

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

Secdrones: Security drones used by the police

SFC: Sergeant First Class, 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.