"Oh?" the man called Bengt responded as he shoved the gun into her ribs and fired.

Jennifer Lenfen was surprised so many of the pa.s.sengers showed up for her tour of the Cambria Cambria . All five of the grim men who'd boarded at Siluria were there, as well as Jamison Franks and several of his staff, including James Palmita, who never took his eyes off her. None of the others seemed to notice or care, so it was with a sense of relief that she went to stand beside Lew Conorado when he finally showed up. . All five of the grim men who'd boarded at Siluria were there, as well as Jamison Franks and several of his staff, including James Palmita, who never took his eyes off her. None of the others seemed to notice or care, so it was with a sense of relief that she went to stand beside Lew Conorado when he finally showed up.

"Gentlemen," she began, "welcome to the bridge of the starship Cambria Cambria . I am going to introduce you to the crew on duty up here and explain how the bridge of a starship operates. Then we will tour the ship. Along the way you'll meet other members of our crew. Please get to know them. Every one of us is dedicated to serving you while you are a pa.s.senger on this vessel." . I am going to introduce you to the crew on duty up here and explain how the bridge of a starship operates. Then we will tour the ship. Along the way you'll meet other members of our crew. Please get to know them. Every one of us is dedicated to serving you while you are a pa.s.senger on this vessel."

"You can 'serve' me anytime, baby," Palmita muttered. The five miners seemed particularly interested as Jennifer explained the workings of the bridge. She was surprised at how intelligent their questions were and gratified by the interest they expressed when she explained her own responsibilities. She had no way to know, but one of the miners, who introduced himself as Epher Gospel, actually knew quite a bit about starship navigation, and another, Lordsday Sabbath, was, like Jennifer, a computer systems engineer.

"Miss," one of the miners said, "we had the obligatory emergency evacuation orientation when we came aboard, but would it be possible to see one of the lifecraft on our tour today?" Jennifer was caught off guard by the question. "Well, yes, sir, we can, we can, but you know, s.p.a.ceway regulations only require that pa.s.sengers be briefed on a ship's evacuation plan. The crew is responsible for the lifecraft, and it is not necessary that you even see one for us to get you inside in the most unlikely event-I a.s.sure you-that they are needed. Even if we were holed many times for whatever the cause, the Cambria Cambria has a self-sealing system that can immediately-" has a self-sealing system that can immediately-"

"Yes, miss, I understand that, but just curious. I would just like to peek inside a lifecraft." Several of his companions nodded their agreement.

"Yeah, Jenny," Palmita added with a grin, "let's you and me climb inside one of those things and make a breakaway."

Jennifer studiously ignored Palmita. The grin quickly faded from his face at the glare Conorado gave him.

"Gentlemen," she addressed the miners, "certainly we'll take a look inside one of our lifecraft. Now, are we ready to board shuttles and visit the first of the Cambria's Cambria's five cargo modules? They are all full of the ore we loaded on Siluria, over one million metric tons of it, destined for the refineries of Luna. We will conclude the tour at the propulsion plant. All told, it will take us about five hours to make the circuit." She clapped her hands eagerly. "Is everyone ready?" she asked. Conorado smiled. She was acting just like five cargo modules? They are all full of the ore we loaded on Siluria, over one million metric tons of it, destined for the refineries of Luna. We will conclude the tour at the propulsion plant. All told, it will take us about five hours to make the circuit." She clapped her hands eagerly. "Is everyone ready?" she asked. Conorado smiled. She was acting just like 94 94 an activity director on a cruise ship, inviting everyone to a game of shuffleboard.

"Lead on, Miss Lenfen, and d.a.m.ned be he who cries, 'Hold, enough!' " Jamison Franks III said with a dramatic flourish and a bow.

Palmita laughed. "I got up real early this morning, just for you, Jenny."

Colonel Ramadan unglued his eyes and looked at the time: 0315 hours! "G.o.dd.a.m.n," he muttered as he punched the comm unit. "Ramadan here."

"Sir, Ensign Joannides, staff duty officer, naval district HQ. Sorry to wake you up, but top priority message from New Oslo, a relay from the emba.s.sy. You'll need your visuals." Ramadan punched a b.u.t.ton and the ensign's image appeared on his screen. "Who's it from, Ensign?" Ensign Joannides hesitated a moment. "Well, it's the chief of the New Oslo police department, sir. Looks like one of your dependents has been, er, kidnapped."

"Put him on."

The image of a middle-aged man appeared on the tiny screen beside Ramadan's bed. "Agder Vest, here, Colonel, chief of the New Oslo police department. I apologize for waking you at dis hour, sir." Vest's prematurely gray hair was closely cropped, as was the moustache that graced his upper lip. He had the face of a man who had spent much time out of doors, and a chin that jutted forward, projecting the image of a man familiar with the exercise of authority.

"What's up, Chief?"

"May I show you a picture one of my men took just a few hours ago?" A picture of a woman, blurry at first but quickly resolving into the unmistakable image of Marta Conorado, filled the screen.

"That is Marta Conorado, the wife of one of my company commanders. Is she all right?" Ramadan asked.

"As far as ve know right now, yes, Colonel. But I have the unfortunate duty to report to you, sir, dat she has evidently been kidnapped. Iss eder her husband or family available?"

"Her husband's on deployment right now, Chief, and their kids are also in the service. What can I do to help?"

"Can you come to New Oslo, den?"

"I'll be there as quickly as a flight can be arranged. Chief, I have to talk to the navy now."

"Ve vill be waiting. I vill gif you a full briefing when you get here. But for right now, a man committed a murder here and took Mrs. Conorado as his hostage. Ve vill get her back, Colonel, and thank you." The face of Ensign Joannides immediately replaced Chief Vest's image. "Ensign, patch me through to the admiral."

95 Joannides hesitated. "Right now, sir?" he asked. So typical of the squids, Ramadan thought: wake up a Marine anytime, but the navy bra.s.s needed its sleep. "Yes, Ensign, right G.o.dd.a.m.ned now. Oh, Ensign, one more thing. Find out which medical clinic Mrs. Conorado used. I'll need both her health and dental records."

Whatever Bengt had shot into Marta, it was not fatal. She slumped in her seat, totally paralyzed and half comatose. She was aware of the movements of the landcar as it sped along, and she could hear her captors talking, but the words made no sense to her. Gradually, feeling began to creep back into her extremities, and at the same time her head began to clear. From the way the car bounced and jerked, they had to be traveling over an unimproved road, but she could not sit upright and look out the window because her hands and feet were securely tied. She began to cough spasmodically.

"Ah, the Marine wife is back with us!" Bengt exclaimed. "You are very lucky, madam, that I did not fire the wrong chamber into you back there. Otherwise-poof! No more hostage!"

"Wh-Where are we?" Marta managed to croak.

"Well, we are far, far from New Oslo, and thanks to my dear Kiruna, we have successfully eluded the police. We are taking you to a safe place, from which we will make a successful escape to a hideaway in the southern hemisphere. You will not accompany us, unfortunately."

"Kill her now and get it over with," Kiruna said from the driver's module. She turned and looked at Marta. Her skin was very white and she had strikingly blue eyes. Her closely cropped hair was so pale it looked white in the dim light-night was coming on-and it framed a sharp face with high cheekbones and a small mouth.

"Not yet, my dear. We may still need this beautiful lady." Bengt stroked Marta's hair. That brought a snarl from the driver. Bengt quickly removed his hand. Marta calculated. It had been a good two hours before sunset when she left the restaurant. She had checked her watch. They'd been driving at a rapid pace, and at a hundred kilometers an hour average speed, that would put them some distance from the city. But what direction? She tried to call up in her memory a map of the surrounding terrain. Her ears popped. North! They had to have driven north, which would put them deep into the Thorvald Mountains! Some of the peaks were over three thousand meters high, she recalled, and except for a few resort villages, the range was largely uninhabited. The slopes of the mountains were also heavily forested. The pair must have some kind of aircraft hidden away somewhere they were going to use to escape. At last the car came to a stop. Bengt got out and with one arm pulled Marta bodily outside. It was snowing and it was cold. As he dragged her out of the car, her expensive new coat snagged on something and ripped. Her head banged against the door frame and then she was lying in snow half a meter deep. Bengt began dragging her still-bound body through the snow. Marta realized she wasn't dressed to escape in such weather. Cold snow packed itself between her neck and the collar of her coat as Bengt dragged her along. He dragged her up some steps, they paused, a door opened, and he threw her inside an unheated room. Bengt slammed the door behind them and began fiddling with the unit's power console.

96 As Marta lay there, sensation and full consciousness gradually returned and she began taking stock of her surroundings. The room was bare except for a few chairs and closets or storage compartments built into its walls. The floor was of wood and the walls were paneled in wood, giving the room a rustic look. Marta a.s.sumed it was a hunting lodge of some sort. The door banged open, allowing a swirl of ice cold air into the cabin. Kiruna stomped in, cursing.

"Is the car well-hidden?"

Kiruna only snorted. "You should have left the power on," she told Bengt as she took off her parka.

"I told you, I wanted the place to look deserted while we were away. It'll only take a few minutes to warm it up."

"The snow is falling very hard now and there is a wind. Our tracks are almost covered, and with the car in the shed, it will be impossible for anyone to spot us."

"Good," Bengt replied. He took off his parka and threw it into one of the chairs. He opened a closet, and a small wet bar emerged from its recesses. "Let us refresh ourselves," he said. Marta was able to follow most of their conversation. Bengt and Kiruna toasted one another and then embraced and kissed long and pa.s.sionately. Kiruna glanced at Marta over Bengt's shoulder. "Kill her now," she said, nodding at Marta.

"Not quite yet, my dear. We may still need her."

"Well," Marta replied from where she lay on the floor, "since you're going to kill me anyway, would you mind telling me what it is you did? And how about at least untying my legs and letting me sit up instead of keeping me on the floor like this?" Bengt shrugged, untangled himself from Kiruna's embrace and bent over Marta. "There was this businessman, a baron of the fishing industries, who someone wanted out of the way. Kiruna and I take care of such matters." He produced a knife and cut the bonds about her feet, lifted her up and set her into a chair. "It was just your very bad luck you were in the wrong place and that my target was not alone, as he was supposed to be."

Marta's hands had been tied in front of her. She braced herself on the arms of her chair, tensed her abdomen and kicked Bengt in the groin. He staggered back with an "Ooof!" then stepped in quickly between her legs and, holding her still bound arms with one hand, jabbed the blade of the knife into her left nostril and sliced it open. He stepped back quickly, breathing hard. "I like a feisty woman," he said in English. Marta was too stunned to resist further as Bengt retied her feet. "You are too good to waste," Bengt said in English, "so before you die, I am going to put you to good use. And, Mrs. Marine, give me any more trouble and you will die most slowly, I promise."

"What did you say? What did you say?" Kiruna shouted.

"I told her that tomorrow we will kill her," Bengt lied. Blood dribbled down across Marta's mouth and dripped from her chin. Despite the burning pain and humiliation, she realized Kiruna could not understand English and that Bengt didn't want her to know what he had just said. Even in her pain and desperation, Marta Conorado realized that fact might 97 97 somehow be used to her advantage.

The Cambria's Cambria's cargo holds were a fascinating place, cavernous even when filled to capacity. The cargo bulkheads loomed over the tourists, who filed gingerly along the narrow companionways between them, dwarfed and awed by their size and the knowledge that thousands of tons of raw ore sat poised behind the thin steel bulkheads. From inside the compartments came an occasional rumble as tons of ore shifted position in the artificial gravity, adding a deep ba.s.s to the constant creaks and pop and ping as the metal adjusted to changes in the ship's att.i.tude and temperature. The cargo holds were a fascinating place, cavernous even when filled to capacity. The cargo bulkheads loomed over the tourists, who filed gingerly along the narrow companionways between them, dwarfed and awed by their size and the knowledge that thousands of tons of raw ore sat poised behind the thin steel bulkheads. From inside the compartments came an occasional rumble as tons of ore shifted position in the artificial gravity, adding a deep ba.s.s to the constant creaks and pop and ping as the metal adjusted to changes in the ship's att.i.tude and temperature. The Cambria's Cambria's gyroscopic and ventilating systems worked quite well, but no system yet devised could possibly maintain a uniform temperature throughout such a vast expanse as the ship's cargo holds. The tourists all wore water-repellent gear to protect them from the constant drizzle and the occasional actual rainfall that formed from condensation up high near the "roofs" of the bays. "The environment is a lot drier in the propulsion unit aft," Jennifer told her guests, "so please bear with the weather until we get there. Over here," she turned to one of the miners, "is one of our lifecraft. Would you like to look inside?" Conorado and one of the miners followed Jennifer inside. She was explaining the operation of the unit to them when someone outside asked a question. "Excuse me, I'll be right back," she said. There were thirteen lifecraft onboard the gyroscopic and ventilating systems worked quite well, but no system yet devised could possibly maintain a uniform temperature throughout such a vast expanse as the ship's cargo holds. The tourists all wore water-repellent gear to protect them from the constant drizzle and the occasional actual rainfall that formed from condensation up high near the "roofs" of the bays. "The environment is a lot drier in the propulsion unit aft," Jennifer told her guests, "so please bear with the weather until we get there. Over here," she turned to one of the miners, "is one of our lifecraft. Would you like to look inside?" Conorado and one of the miners followed Jennifer inside. She was explaining the operation of the unit to them when someone outside asked a question. "Excuse me, I'll be right back," she said. There were thirteen lifecraft onboard the Cambria Cambria . Each had a capacity of ten people. That provided emergency escape vehicles for the ship's crew, a full load of pa.s.sengers, plus two additional craft for insurance against breakdowns and damage to any of the other craft. While none of the craft had Beams.p.a.ce capability, each could support its pa.s.sengers for months and each was equipped with several hypers.p.a.ce drones that could be dispatched to report its location to rescuers or other ships under way. The immutable law of the s.p.a.ceways, as on the high seas of Earth in the days of maritime navigation, was that any ship learning another was in distress had to go to its aid. As Conorado admired the interior of the lifecraft, he did not notice the miner placing a small, b.u.t.tonlike object on the pilot's console. . Each had a capacity of ten people. That provided emergency escape vehicles for the ship's crew, a full load of pa.s.sengers, plus two additional craft for insurance against breakdowns and damage to any of the other craft. While none of the craft had Beams.p.a.ce capability, each could support its pa.s.sengers for months and each was equipped with several hypers.p.a.ce drones that could be dispatched to report its location to rescuers or other ships under way. The immutable law of the s.p.a.ceways, as on the high seas of Earth in the days of maritime navigation, was that any ship learning another was in distress had to go to its aid. As Conorado admired the interior of the lifecraft, he did not notice the miner placing a small, b.u.t.tonlike object on the pilot's console.

"Hope we never have to use these," Conorado said to the miner. The miner smiled. "I am sure we won't," he said. Within the hour the small object, which contained a highly corrosive substance, would completely and quietly destroy the craft's controls. He carried enough of the devices to cripple the remaining twelve vehicles. By the time the tour was over there would be no escape from the doomed starship.

Suddenly, from somewhere outside, there came the sound of raised and angry voices. Conorado glanced at the miner, who shrugged. Then he recognized Jennifer's voice, although he couldn't make out what she was saying. She cried out in pain. Conorado flung himself through the lifecraft's portal into the companionway. In the dim light he could not see any of the other pa.s.sengers.

"Conflict! There is human conflict in the ship!" Minerva bellowed. "There is conflict in sector..." Conorado did not pay any attention to the rest of the warning. He ran toward the noise of scuffling and heavy breathing coming from an inspection station just down the companionway, in the forward direction of the ship. Inside the recess, Palmita, one hand caressing Jennifer's b.u.t.tocks, had her against the bulkhead and was pressing his lips tightly against her cheek. Conorado hit him on the side of his head with the full force of his fist.

98 Dazed but not down, Palmita released Jennifer and staggered into the companionway. Freed from Palmita's grasp, Jennifer slumped against the bulkhead. Conorado stepped in and braced her. "Lew," she gasped, "that-that b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" At that point Palmita danced in and drove his fist hard into Conorado's left kidney. Holding on to Jennifer, Conorado sank to his knees, wracked by pain so intense he thought he'd vomit.

"Okay, bellhop! Come on, come on, let's have it out! Right here! Right now!" Palmita danced lightly on his feet in the center of the companionway. A thin stream of blood dripped down his left cheek from the blow Conorado had given him, but it did not appear to be bothering him. He was young, he was lithe, and he was in good condition.

Conorado discovered very quickly that the man could fight. Warily, still in great pain, Conorado straightened up. Palmita whirled in and delivered several blows and kicks, one opening a cut above Conorado's right eye and the other to his midsection, which doubled him up again. Palmita danced back lightly, like a prizefighter, "Come on, come on, lover boy! Get up and get some more!"

"Conflict! Human conflict!" Minerva blared. Lewis Conorado knew three basic things about hand-to-hand: get your opponent on the ground, never let him get on your back, and fight dirty. Palmita was proving deadly, but only because Conorado had been trying to fight back by the same rules. He rushed Palmita, grabbed him around the waist, and shoved him back along the companionway. Palmita pedaled desperately to keep his balance while raining chops to the back and sides of Conorado's head, but he went down with a crash and Conorado was on top. He grabbed Palmita's hair with his right hand and smashed the back of his head on the deck plating so hard he sc.r.a.ped his own knuckles. Then he gouged the thumb of his left hand into Palmita's right eye while squeezing him as tightly with his legs as he could. Palmita flailed and screamed as Conorado's hands turned red with his blood.

"Stop this at once! Stop it! I order you, stop this!" Amba.s.sador Franks shouted. He and the rest of the tourists stood filling the companionway aft, gawking at the pair. One of the 'Finnis, a big man with a tobacco-stained yellow beard, grinned fiercely and nodded his head in approval.

"He tried to rape me," Jennifer said, stepping up to the amba.s.sador. Franks thought she meant Conorado had a.s.saulted her. "Captain! I am going to ask Captain Tuit to put you under arrest! What kind of a man-"

"No, G.o.dd.a.m.nit! It was him! It was that G.o.dd.a.m.ned Palmita, not Captain Conorado!" Jennifer shouted, pointing a rigid finger at the diplomatic officer, who now stood panting, one hand over his bloodied eye.

"Sir, I was only trying to kiss her! I thought she liked me! Then all this screaming," Palmita shouted.

"Well..."

"Excuse me." The miner who'd been with Conorado in the lifecraft stepped up. "I am Epher Benediction. The captain is right. I saw the whole thing. This man was forcing his attentions upon the young lady."

"Well..." Franks began. "Well, ahem! Miss, if you wish to make a formal complaint against Mr. Palmita-"

"Just keep the sonofab.i.t.c.h away from me the rest of this voyage," Jennifer hissed. 99 99 "Well, then, I suggest these gentlemen see to their wounds and we call the tour off for now and return to our quarters."

"Just a minute, sir," Conorado interjected, glaring at Amba.s.sador Franks. "You wanted to put me in irons when you thought I'd a.s.saulted Miss Lenfen, but now that it's your man in the dock all you want to do is call off the tour? I say what's good for me is good for him too."

"Captain, this matter is concluded," Franks answered, and turned to go. Conorado laid a restraining hand on the amba.s.sador's shoulder. "Not so quick; I have something more to say to you."

"Get your hand off of me, sir!" Franks said. Conorado pointed at Palmita with a forefinger and then he waved it under the amba.s.sador's nose.

"You're not in my chain of command, Amba.s.sador. Both of you listen to me. Carefully. If that man over there ever tries anything like this again, if he even says anything to Miss Lenfen, I will perform a radical operation on him that will not even leave enough meat for him to jerk off with. Do you understand me?

And then I'll make personal inquiries into the effectiveness of his chain of command."

"Awriiight, belay all that nonsense down there," Captain Tuit broke in. "You two see to your wounds and then report to me on the bridge. You too, Lenfen, and you also, Mr. Benediction. Anybody goes to the brig on this ship, it'll be on my order, and since we haven't got a brig, I'll put all of yer a.s.ses in stasis the rest of this voyage and then when we get to Earth you can forget about kissing and learn how to walk all over again. For the rest of you, I apologize. We'll arrange to continue your tour another time." The pa.s.sengers filed on by Conorado, some patting him on the shoulder as they pa.s.sed. He and Jennifer stood there for a moment before following them.

"Captain." It was the miner who called himself Epher Benediction. He stood there extending his hand.

"You are a brave and honorable man. The Bible teaches us that courage and honor are valuable qualities. The Lord shall welcome a man like you."

"Thanks, Epher." They shook hands warmly. "But forgive me, I hope the Lord will keep me around a while longer." Conorado grinned.

"Only the Lord knows the day of our death." Epher grinned back. Under other circ.u.mstances, Conorado would have found that grin very disturbing.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

All fighting stopped a couple of hours before dawn. Brigadier Sturgeon didn't go to sleep with the coming of quiet, though; he stayed in contact with his battalion and squadron commanders and kept his F2 and F3 shops busy a.n.a.lyzing incoming data from the string-of-pearls, planning what to do next. At daybreak he had the squadron's Raptors once again clear a path through the swamp for Dragons to bring out the casualties. They made it without incident. There was a distressing number of casualties-fifty-eight dead and well over a hundred wounded; the exact number was uncertain because many wounded Marines refused to be evacuated-in addition to the two Raptors and three Dragons killed by weapons he couldn't identify. In his years as a FIST commander, he'd lost so many Marines killed or wounded on only one other deployment-the war on Diamunde-and it had taken weeks in 100 100 that war for casualties to mount so high. Equipment, tactics, and medical treatment had reached a point where Marines simply didn't suffer so many casualties anymore. Sturgeon was by then convinced that they were fighting the same kind of Skinks a platoon from Company L had encountered on Society 437. Who were the Skinks? Where did they come from? As far as General Aguilano had been able to find out, Society 437 was the only known contact with them. If the a.s.sistant Commandant of the Marine Corps couldn't ferret out other contacts, there probably hadn't been any. Why did they attack humans without at least attempting communication?

He shunted the questions aside. All they would do was raise more unanswerable questions. His infantrymen were in trouble and he had to get them out of that swamp. The string-of-pearls still couldn't find the Skinks, not a trace. The navy techs and a.n.a.lysts working on the data in orbit still had no idea what that possible anomaly might have been, where the squad sent to check it out had found nothing-and then had been cut off and almost overrun. All he had to go on were the reports from Commander van Winkle, and those didn't tell him enough to make any intelligent command decisions.

Well, he was a Marine. When in doubt, be decisive. His choices were to continue through or to pull out the same way they'd come in. The Marines wouldn't like pressing forward; that was what they were doing when they were getting hurt. But pulling back over ground they'd already covered would feel like retreat, and that could be catastrophic for morale. He might not have the information he needed to make intelligent command decisions, but deciding which way to go was easy. Press forward. That way was shorter anyway. The battalion had advanced more than halfway through the swamp during the previous day. He issued the order and had both the squadron and the battery stand by to give support.

"Saddle up, people, we're moving out." Staff Sergeant Hyakowa's voice came loud and clear into the helmet comm of every member of third platoon. "Saddle up!" There was general grumbling at the order, but none that wasn't totally routine for tired men trying to ignore the life-threatening aspect of where they were and what they were doing. None of them wanted to be there; certainly none of them wanted to get up and go into further danger. But they knew it was more dangerous to stay where they were, and the only way out was to go through more of what they'd already been through.

"We're continuing through the swamp," Hyakowa said. "Same order of movement as yesterday." Shouted objections greeted that announcement. Continuing through the swamp meant going through more of what they'd already gone through.

"Secure that, people," Hyakowa snapped. "Forward is the short way. Back is farther. Do you want to get out of this swamp or not?"

The objections quieted. They wanted to get out, they just didn't want to walk it. But there was no other way.

Schultz flexed his left arm, willing the traumatized tissue to loosen up. He ignored the pain as adhesions 101 101 broke and blood tried to seep past the artificial skin that covered the wound. He took his position, sniffed the air, listened to the sounds, got himself ready to give far worse than the Skinks could give back. Doyle looked around fearfully, terrified of continuing the march through the swamp. Kerr scuttled over to make sure Schultz was all right. On his return he checked Doyle to make sure he had everything he was supposed to and his blaster was loaded and functional. Then the signal came to move out. Kerr was glad he'd been so busy with his men that he didn't have the time to worry about how he was doing himself. The action the night before, when the squad was cut off, left him with a stronger feeling of mortality than he'd had since his first contact after he returned from convalescence. He'd gotten over it quickly enough that time; this time it was gnawing at him.

Word had finally spread through the insectoid world that the ma.s.sive herd migrating through its territory wasn't an ambulatory banquet, so few of the Marines were bitten or stung, and most of their itching was residual from the previous day and night. Even the walking came a little easier. The land sloped gently, almost imperceptably, up toward the mountains from which its water flowed. The muck underfoot became less clingy, firmer, gave their boots better traction. Water moved less sluggishly, less often lay in sheets on the ground, and stream beds were better defined. Vegetation was hung in fewer lank sheets and tangles, sight lines were lengthened. They were heading through more swamp, but it wasn't as depressing as it had been; spirits rose. Especially when they didn't have any contact for the first several hours. But all things end. Especially the good ones. The battalion was almost at the far side of the swamp. The leftmost platoon of Kilo Company had already broken into an arm of open land that poked into the swamp. With firmer ground in which to dig their roots, trees grew taller. Gra.s.ses hopscotched under them to grow in scattered clumps where sunlight managed to filter to the ground. It was as dark as ever under the trees, but colors began to appear where light did come through. The air was freshening from its swampy rankness. Schultz froze. He could never afterward remember what made him freeze, he simply knew a threat was nearby. While he was still deciding if immediate action was necessary, Doyle, who sensed the nearness of the end of the swamp and wasn't paying attention to Schultz, blundered into him. The two fell, and that saved Schultz's life. As he hit the ground, Schultz very clearly heard the sharp crack of something supersonic pa.s.s through the s.p.a.ce he'd just occupied.

"Thanks," he rumbled in surprise and rolled away. In the instant, he thought Doyle saw whatever was coming and deliberately tackled him to save his life. Doyle also heard the crack but didn't understand what it meant. He wanted to raise his head and look around, but when his infra showed Schultz hugging the ground, he realized raising his head might be a good way to lose it. He scrambled for cover.

"Right!" Kerr shouted, and dove to the ground. Behind him the rest of second squad hit the mud and faced their right, firing blindly into the swamp. No greenish streams of viscous fluid shot at the Marines. Supersonic cracks shot overhead, faster and faster, until in seconds they crescendoed in a skull-splitting whine. Leaves and branches, sliced through by whatever was being shot at them, cascaded down. Trees toppled in front of them, their trunks cut through.

102 "Where are they?" someone shouted.

"There!" someone shouted back. Sergeant Bladon couldn't see where the h.e.l.lish fire came from, nor did his UPUD show anything. He did the only thing he could. "Volley fire, thirty!" he shouted. "Fire!" On the platoon command circuit he heard Gunny Ba.s.s order the gun squad to move into position to help second squad. Ba.s.s ordered first squad to move back and swing to what was now second squad's right side. The eight blasters of second squad put out a ragged line of plasma bolts that struck the mud thirty meters distant.

"Volley fire, up ten!" Bladon ordered as soon as he saw his squad's fire was on line. The bolts from the squad's eight blasters. .h.i.t foliage and ground deeper in the swamp. The two guns added their rapid fire. A curtain of steam rose from the frying mud.

"Up ten!" Bladon ordered. The squad's fire, even with the guns added to it, seemed to have no effect on the enemy's rate of fire.

"Third platoon, volley fire, sixty!" Ba.s.s shouted over the all-hands circuit. First squad was on line by them and added fire from its blasters. Kerr couldn't see sixty meters through the steam rising from the overheated mud. He guessed where it was and fired a bolt. He shifted aim to his right and fired again, shifted left and fired. Again and again he shifted, trying to draw a stippled line in the mud sixty meters away. What the h.e.l.l kind of weapons were they using? He'd never seen or even heard of weapons like this.

"Third platoon, up ten!" Ba.s.s commanded. They fired deeper. Felled trees smoldered, tongues of flame flickering up from them from repeated blaster hits. Trees crackled and popped from the abruptly heated fluids in their trunks and some split. The crashes of felled trees in the killing zone between the Marines and their ambushers became more frequent. Trees toppled behind them. The ground shook. Things. .h.i.t the mud in front of them, behind them, between them, pulverized the ground where they hit, exploded flesh and bone when they found their targets. A tremendous crash came from first squad's area. Someone screamed briefly.

"Who was that?" Ba.s.s demanded. The volume of blaster fire increased as first platoon arrived on third platoon's left flank with one section from the a.s.sault platoon. A moment later second platoon and the other a.s.sault section reached their right flank and joined in.

"Company L! Volley fire, seventy!" Lieutenant Humphrey ordered on the company all-hands circuit. Where the h.e.l.l are they? he wondered. Sightlines were thirty meters, rarely more than fifty. Volley fire at seventy meters over flat land should have been killing just about everything up to double that distance, yet everything his company was throwing out had no effect on the enemy's fire. There was no way anyone could be in that range and be able to put out directed fire. He heard the fire from his company slowly slacken and saw holes open in the coverage.

103 Two minutes into the firefight, Surveillance Radar a.n.a.lyst Third Cla.s.s Auperson on the Grandar Bay Grandar Bay shouted, "Chief, take a look. You're not going to believe this." shouted, "Chief, take a look. You're not going to believe this."

"What'cha got, Auperson," Chief Nome asked as he leaned over Auperson's shoulder to look at his displays. He blinked.

"You're right, I don't believe that." Without turning his head he called, "Sir! Over here. Are those jarheads down there in trouble?"

Lieutenant (jg) McPherson, the string-of-pearls watch officer, raised a "wait one" finger; he was talking on his headset. He joined Nome and Auperson as he wrapped up the conversation. "The Marines are screaming for data. What do you have?" Nome pointed. McPherson looked at the display. "Hot d.a.m.n, that's it!" He got back onto his headset and reported. "Those coordinates the Marines are at-there's a swath of swamp being torn apart between them and an area eight hundred meters to their east northeast. Looks like mad bulldozers at work." He rattled off the coordinates of the northeastern edge of the area, then said, "Aye aye, sir, I'll keep on top of it." Fascinated, he kept his eyes glued to the display. He couldn't imagine what kind of weapon would wreak the destruction he was watching.

"That's the report, sir, but it's not possible," said Lieutenant Quaticatl when Brigadier Sturgeon looked up after reading the string-of-pearls report.

"Possible or not, it's all we've got," Sturgeon replied. "Three!"

"Sir?" Commander Usner replied. He had also just finished reading the report.

"Work with air. Box those coordinates. I want the heaviest hit possible there, and I want it now."

"Aye aye, sir." Usner got on the open comm link to the squadron's operations officer and fed him the information. "The brigadier wants it five minutes ago," he finished. He nodded, satisfied with the response of the squadron's S3.

"Sir," he reported to his commander, "half of the Raptors are orbiting within range now and will fire with Jerichos as soon as they're pointed in the right direction. The other half are fueled, loaded, and launching. They'll be on station in five minutes."