"The Confederation's landed reinforcements, boss, lots of 'em."

"Good! Good! Rosco, war is good for business. Uniforms don't mean nuttin' to us, right?"

"Right!"

"Money does," Lugs nodded. "Soldiers got money. And what do soldiers do when they ain't fightin'?"

"f.u.c.k?"

Lugs grimaced and shook his head. "Well, besides that, during that, after that! Geez, Rosco, git yer mind outta the gutter for a minute!"

"Geez, boss, I was only thinkin', we should diversify, go into the flesh business."

"They smoke, lunkhead! They smoke thule, they smoke tobacco, they smoke grospalm leaves if they can't get nuttin' else. We are in the business of supplying people with that sumpthin' else, which is our s.h.i.+t, our good smokes." A long string of saliva trailed from his cigar as he removed it from his mouth. He wiped the spit off his lips with the back of one large hand and then wiped his hand on his trousers. "Howsomever, Rosco, you are thinkin'. The flesh business, I like that, I been thinkin' the same thing. Smokes 'n s.e.x, we get 'em at both ends. But later. Now tomorrow. I want them all alive, as much as possible. The men, send 'em back to Cuylerville under guard. The plantin' season's comin' up. But that young woman and her husband," he shook a ma.s.sive, hairy forefinger at Rosco, "keep 'em up here. That girl is more than a ditzy c.u.n.t. I think we kin use her."

"But do we need her husband, boss?"

Lugs emitted an exasperated sigh. "Yes, we do, if for no other reason than to keep her 'n ol' Timor Caloon happy 'n growin' his thule. Rosco, you know me! I only kill people when there's profit in it. Now git yer a.s.s out there 'n organize a little reception party for our visitors."

Lugs's real name was Luigi Flannigan. He got the nickname "Lugs" from the bottom leaves of the thule plant, an old term for them adopted from the tobacco growers. The sobriquet was appropriate to Flannigan because he always maintained a low business profile. He also maintained a very good intelligence system and good relations with authority, especially law enforcement, such as it was on Ravenette. In Bibbsville, he was was the law. the law.

Timor and his party spent a very uncomfortable night parked in some scrub on the outskirts of Bibbsville. As they perched huddled inside the car, Charlette asked Timor what his plan was for the morning. "I was gonna git in with Clabber, pretend to be there on business, just drive in peaceable like, kill Lugs, 'n leave same way we come in. But since you went 'n killed old Bud," he grinned, "well, we're here now. When it gits light we'll take a gander at the factory. Take us five minutes to git our act together. Then we go in. We'll have surprise on our side. Now, let's raise the boys up and take a look at things."

In the predawn they lay p.r.o.ne behind some native shrubs covering the top of a small hillock observing the vast system of curing barns, warehouses, and offices spread out below them.

"The day s.h.i.+ft will be arriving in a little while," Timor whispered. "We'll join the crowd, kill the guards, drive in through the main gate, hit the headquarters building. Lugs has an apartment in the HQ. We'll kill him if we can find him, kill as many of them as we can."

"Father, won't they follow us when we try to leave?" Charlette asked.

"We ain't leavin'. Not directly, anyway. Either we git ol' Lugs 'n take the head off this animal, or we take as many of them with us as we kin. Charlette, child, I took you along with us for a reason. That reason was to get you and Donnie out of Cuylerville and out of harm's way. I knew if I tole you beforehand you'd never agree. Lissen. All these boys here," he gestured at the other men spread out on the ground beside them, "they know we're out for blood today 'n we're gonna git it. But we ain't livin' like this no more, understand? We don't care if we don't make it outta there."

"But-?"

Timor rolled over and took a fat envelope out of his s.h.i.+rt. "Inside here is enough money to set you 'n Donnie up wherever in this world you want to go, wherever you want to go someplace else, for that matter." He thrust the envelope into Charlette's hands. "Now gimme yer rifle, you too, Donnie. Then you two git on yer feet and walk over to town, it ain't far and n.o.body'll see you. You get tickets on the first flier outta here. If things go well, I'll send for ya. If not, you git a new life together. Ma agreed to all this, Donnie, 'n if I don't make it she kin take care of herself. When things quiet down, you kin send for her, where you wind up.

"Charlette, we Caloons ain't as dumb as we look 'n act most of the time. Inside that envelope is information on a bank account I set up a while back in Donnie's name. That account ain't here, not on Ravenette. It's in Fargo, back Earth," he grinned. "You two kin live well on that money. Now off with you."

"No," Donnie said.

Timor slapped his son's face so hard it brought tears to his eyes. He grabbed him by the hair and hissed, "Boy, you do what I tell you! That girl's got my grandchild inside her 'n there's no way I'm gonna let that child come to harm. If we fail here, there's no way I'm gonna let you raise that kid back in that s.h.i.+thole Cuylerville. Now you git yer a.s.ses on into town. Charlette, you're a soldier. You obey orders. I'm orderin' the two of you to leave us here. Go. Right now. We'll wait until you're well on yer way before we attack."

The airline ticket office was not yet open when the pair reached town. Worse, a big, hand-lettered sign in the window announced, "Due to wartime necessity, Bibbsville airport closed to civilian traffic until further notice."

"Geez, there goes Plan A."

"Now what?" Charlette asked.

"Plan B, which I just thought of: There's a town about three hundred kilometers down the coast. We'll git us a landcar at a Kertz rental later this morning 'n drive out there. We kin catch the Figaro Figaro there when she comes for a port call. After this morning it'll be too hot for us to stick around here. But right now it's too early. Let's eat." there when she comes for a port call. After this morning it'll be too hot for us to stick around here. But right now it's too early. Let's eat."

Their rental broke down ten kilometers outside town and nothing Donnie could do would get it to start up again.

"What's that place over there?" Charlette asked.

Donnie raised up from the engine compartment. "It's a militia base, I think."

"Maybe they can help with the car."

Donnie considered, then closed the engine compartment. They were parked off the road, under a grove of trees in the early morning shade. A path led from the grove toward the camp. "Worth a try," he said, wiping his hands on his trousers.

A military policeman, grinning unabashedly as he sized up Charlette, directed the pair to the camp motor pool where a hara.s.sed motor transport officer, Tamle, judging by his nametape, asked them what they wanted then said, "No way! We're leavin' this mornin' for Ashburtonville! The seat of the war!" He sized up the pair. "Why don't you two go over 'n see the recruiting sergeant? We could use a couple more people. We're way under TO and E strength as it is."

Charlette knew what that meant. She was suddenly struck by an idea. Outside she stopped Donnie. "If Daddy doesn't make it, hasn't made it, this place is excellent cover for us. You know that guy and his henchmen will come after us, no matter what, 'n we left a trail a blind man could follow. Let's enlist, Donnie!"

"But they's goin' off to war, honeybun! We could get really f.u.c.ked up in a war, darling!"

"Naw, Donnie, this is a militia unit. n.o.body ever trusts them in the front lines. We can desert anytime. I'm gettin' real good at that," she grimaced. "What do you say?"

All around them soldiers rushed about, loading vehicles; others stood in formation, undergoing last-minute inspections. Sergeants shouted, officers pouted, to Donnie it looked like everyone was enjoying himself. "Well-"

The recruiting sergeant was just cleaning out his desk when the two entered his office. "You want to enlist?" he asked, goggle-eyed. "All right! Sure! Here, fill out the personal data on these papers. Are you two related or something?"

"We're married," Charlette answered proudly.

"Well, I'll be d.a.m.ned! Husband and wife. That's good, that's good. Neither of you will be messing around with the single troopers then. You got yer marriage certificate on you?" Donnie dug inside a cargo pocket and produced the elaborate certificate Clabber had given him. "What do you do for a living?" he asked Donnie.

"Uh, I, uh was a courier over in Ashburtonville-"

"Can you drive?"

"Yessir!"

"It's 'sergeant,' not 'sir,' I'm no officer, I work for a living. Okay, then put down under Occupation, 'driver.' How about you, miss?"

Charlette did not know what motivated her to respond, "I could make a pretty good spy."

"We don't need any of them just now. Kin you cook?"

"Yes, Sergeant!"

"Hmmm, you got a good command voice, lady. Okay, put down 'cook' under 'occupation.' " He shouted for the medical officer in the next room. "Doc," he told the elderly physician, "physical these two, would you? Have them fill out the clinical charts first and then I'll have Captain Carhart come in and give them the oath. We got to hurry! We gotta be on the trucks by noon. Christ, I go all week without a single enlistment and now this!"

"I don't have time for tests or any of that stuff," the doctor told Charlette, "we don't have any of that sophisticated automated stuff like they do in the big recruiting centers. We're just a militia unit, part-time soldiers. You look to me like you're in pretty good health. But let me listen to your insides and thump around on you a bit." He listened to her heart and lungs and asked her brief questions about her medical history. He had her urinate into a gla.s.s which he held up to the light and examined closely. "Clear as a bell," he said, making a note on her chart. "How do you feel?"

"Great!"

"Good," he wrote something on her chart. "Yer married to that young fella that was just in here? You aren't pregnant, are you?" the doctor asked.

"Nossir! Chubby, is all! But I hope to get pregnant. Can we do that in the army?"

"Sure, long as you do it off duty. You won't have much time to do that where we're going." He scribbled something more on her clinical chart and handed it back to her. "Give this to the sergeant."

Captain Carhart was an older man, in his fifties, Charlette guessed, blond hair thinning, a huge mustache on his upper lip. The sergeant addressed him as "Tom," which Charlette, a regular soldier, thought bordered on military blasphemy, but then she reflected it was a militia unit after all, not the regular army.

"Well," Captain Carhart told them after they'd taken the oath of enlistment, "welcome to the 441st Transportation Company, Loudon Rifles, the finest regiment in at least six counties. Now at least you got a job for the duration. Jim, get them to personnel and then quartermaster. Whatever training these two need they kin get it in the field. Since they're married, have personnel put them both in the same platoon."

On the way to the Bibbsville airport, Charlette wondered what the penalty would be for desertion to the enemy. Probably death. Well, she reflected, she'd tell her court martial she was only developing sources. Anyway, whatever might happen now, she was heading in the right direction. She rested her head on Donnie's shoulder and whispered, "I wonder what happened to Daddy and the boys."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN.

So it went. The Coalition forces, with or without armor, would threaten or actually achieve a breakthrough, and a platoon, company, or even the entire FIST would be dispatched to kick them back -and hold their position once the rebels were driven away from the main defensive lines. And always, the orders were to drive the enemy away and hold hold in place. in place.

The Marines hated having to hold; failure to pursue a beaten enemy gave that enemy a chance to regroup and attack again.

Brigadier Sturgeon was unhappily glad for Commandant Aguinaldo's foresight in providing him with the Marines for a Whiskey Company. Glad because he needed needed the Whiskey Company Marines as replacements in the infantry battalion; unhappy the Whiskey Company Marines as replacements in the infantry battalion; unhappy because because he needed to replace those Marines. Some of the platoons in 34th FIST's infantry battalion suffered more than 50 percent casualties in the early actions. Granted, most of the casualties were quickly healed and returned to duty, but some of the Marines were more seriously injured, a few even killed. he needed to replace those Marines. Some of the platoons in 34th FIST's infantry battalion suffered more than 50 percent casualties in the early actions. Granted, most of the casualties were quickly healed and returned to duty, but some of the Marines were more seriously injured, a few even killed.

Brigadier Sturgeon intensely disliked having his Marines injured or killed. He truly hated hated it when he thought the reason for the injuries and deaths was poor decision-making by his superiors. it when he thought the reason for the injuries and deaths was poor decision-making by his superiors.

Moreover, he was certain that, even if his FIST hadn't been able to win the campaign had General Billie not called them back during that initial pursuit following their first action, 34th FIST could nonetheless have caused enough material and morale damage to the Coalition forces that they wouldn't have been able to maintain as much pressure on the perimeter as they did.

That was Sturgeon's frame of mind when he was summoned to yet another commanders' meeting by General Billie.

General Billie, the consummate staff officer, was enamored of meetings. And, as the consummate staff officer finally given a large command of his own, particularly loved commanders' commanders' meetings. meetings.

Billie was delighted by the opportunity to lord it over commanders of lesser rank, though greater command experience than he had himself-commanders who, for the most part, were their roles reversed, would treat him with all the respect due a valued-but-nonetheless second-cla.s.s citizen.

"Atten-SHUN!" Billie's aide called out to the unit commanders who were a.s.sembled in the grandly named Supreme Commander's Briefing Room. The aide, a syncophantic captain whose name Brigadier Sturgeon never bothered to remember, stood at resplendent attention in his pressed and polished Cla.s.s A uniform.

Major General Koval, the commanding general of the 27th Division, wearily rose to his feet, as did his three brigade commanders. The three brigade commanders of the 3rd followed suit. None of them came fully to attention, nor were any of them in Cla.s.s A's. Unlike Billie's pet captain, they had all just come from where their men were engaged in sporadic battle, as their uniforms and posture made clear.

Brigadier Sturgeon, in a rumpled but clean garrison utility uniform, didn't exactly snap to attention, nor was the posture he a.s.sumed strictly the called-for stance. Not that there was any specific thing a critic could point to and say, "That's not the proper position of attention." Still, there was something about the way Sturgeon stood erect, heels together, feet at a forty-five degree angle, thumbs along the seams of his trousers, stomach in, chest out, shoulders back, head and eyes straight ahead, face expressionless, that quite clearly proclaimed, "You don't deserve to have anyone stand at attention for you."

Billie's aide noticed and a thundercloud formed on his brow. But there was nothing he quite dared to say to this Marine Marine who technically outranked him by a couple of notches. who technically outranked him by a couple of notches.

The aide's thundercloud didn't last for even a second; General Billie strode into the briefing room on the heels of the call to attention and the aide stood at rigid attention. Major General Sorca mimicked Billie, a step too far back to properly be a shadow, though his movements were precisely those of his leader. Lieutenant General Cazombi brought up the rear of Billie's parade at a gait accurately called an amble. Cazombi cast a glance at the a.s.sembled commanders that was innocuous enough that the captain didn't catch it, but those who knew Cazombi well enough clearly understood it to mean that he was distinctly unhappy about the way Billie was wasting their time.

Billie was fully aware of the effect stars had on lesser personages. So the stars he wore on his collars were a tad larger than specified in army regulations, and ruthlessly polished to the highest possible degree. He stood facing his subordinate commanders, and s.h.i.+fted his shoulders in a practiced movement that reflected the room's lights from his stars into the eyes of everyone standing in front of him-he'd had the room's lights positioned to allow him to do exactly that. A quite unsubtle reminder to all of who was in command.

"Seats!" he said in an imperious tone; the lord of the manor bestowing a boon on the commoners gathered in supplication at his feet. There was a brief clatter of chairs being taken. Billie adjusted his position slightly so his collar stars could catch different lights and reflect them into the eyes of seated commanders. There's no such thing as too many reminders of who's in command.

"The Coalition rebels have made numerous a.s.saults on our lines," he announced, as though every man he was speaking to didn't know about the a.s.saults better than he did. "Our soldiers have successfully repulsed every one of them." Again, nothing n.o.body didn't know. And they all noticed that he failed to mention that there had been more than one instance where the Coalition forces had broken through the defensive lines, and were only repelled by a powerful counterattack by the Marines.

"I have received communications from the Heptagon. Our hard-line holdout will soon end. The 106th Division is due in orbit within a week, standard. At which time we will have a full corps on planet. The 106th will rotate into positions currently held by the 3rd Division. Several days later, the 85th Division will arrive and relieve the 27th Division on the line. These reliefs will allow the 3rd and 27th Divisions to rest and recuperate from their strenuous efforts in holding the line, so they will be ready to go on the offensive when the 54th and 60th Divisions arrive.

"Gentlemen, we only need to hold out for a few more days before major reinforcements begin arriving."

There were a few sounds of uncomfortable movement from the commanders; a couple of them cast quick glances at Sturgeon. They resented the fact that Billie had made no mention of the role 34th FIST had played in the defense of the Bataan redoubts.

Sturgeon didn't s.h.i.+ft position; he knew Billie disliked the Marines, and hadn't expected him to give 34th FIST any credit for driving out forces that had achieved breakthroughs, and then holding their positions until fresh army units arrived to relieve them.

"The best intelligence we have," Billie went on, smiling, "indicates that the Coalition forces know that our reinforcements are due shortly, and are preparing for a defensive in depth of their own for when we commence offensive operations, so we should face little opposition before we are ready to take the battle to the enemy."

Sturgeon did did react to that statement. He reacted so strongly that he broke protocol by standing up and interrupting the Supreme Commander's speech. react to that statement. He reacted so strongly that he broke protocol by standing up and interrupting the Supreme Commander's speech.

"Sir, by your leave!" he said. Without waiting for permission to speak, he went on, "I beg to differ with the general. According to the intelligence developed by Force Recon a.s.sets operating behind Coalition lines, while they may be digging in for a defense in depth, they are also preparing a stronger a.s.sault against our lines than any they have attempted so far."

Billie curled his lip at Sturgeon. "Yes, Brigadier, Brigadier," he said, in a tone that left no doubt about how he felt about being interrupted-or how much higher ranking an army full general was over a mere Marine brigadier, "I have seen the reports from Force Recon. I don't know in which tavern those prima donnas are gathering their so-called 'intelligence,' but I a.s.sure you, I have far better intelligence than anything they can 'develop.'

"Kindly resume your seat."

Major General Koval and three of the brigade commanders looked at Sturgeon with sympathy, the other brigade commanders briefly looked at Billie with expressions of disbelief at his off-hand dismissal of the Force Recon reports. Lieutenant General Cazombi looked blank-faced at Sturgeon and almost imperceptibly shook his head. Sturgeon, who was about to say something more, caught Cazombi's signal and sat down without saying anything more.

Billie smiled at his perceived victory over the Marine. His aide pompously sneered at Sturgeon.

Sturgeon tuned out the rest of Billie's commanders' meeting. Billie had called Force Recon "prima donnas." Force Recon Marines might think they were better and more capable than other Marines, but he'd never known them to be wrong when they developed intelligence. If Force Recon said the Coalition forces were planning a combined airborne and amphibious a.s.sault by a reinforced division against the Pohick Bay flank of the defenses, he believed the a.s.sault was imminent.

In order to keep 34th FIST available to repel breakthroughs, Billie had a.s.signed it to a section of the line that he felt was least likely to come under a.s.sault-the Pohick Bay flank.

Waiting for Billie to finish his meeting, Sturgeon began planning his defense. One Marine FIST against a reinforced division, perhaps twenty-to-one odds in favor of the attackers. Well, Marines had prevailed against such odds in the past. Thirty-fourth FIST would do it again. He just didn't know how.

At length, the supercilious aide called the commanders to attention while Billie marched out of the room. He brought up the rear and trailed after his master like a puppy.

Before Sturgeon could leave to brief his staff and put them to work on battle plans that wouldn't rely on help from the army, Major General Koval stepped in front of him. The brigade commanders hovered nearby.

"Ted," Koval said in a low voice, "that Force Recon report you mentioned. The Supreme Commander didn't deign to share it with me. Could you let me have a copy?"

Sturgeon looked at him, and the brigade commanders politely waiting just out of hearing distance, but couldn't remember Koval's first name. "General," he said, "it will be my pleasure. One of your brigades is on my left flank, and they should know about it as well. There's a major a.s.sault coming, centered on my part of the line, so it will affect your division as well."

"Thanks, Ted. I'll see to it that every brigade commander who needs to know about it also gets a copy of the report." Koval turned on his heel and marched out, the brigade commanders followed him, anxious to learn why he'd spoken quietly to Sturgeon, but turned back when Sturgeon offered: "I'll give you a feed to the string-of-pearls tactical download as well."

"You know, Hammer, when I saw your back when we were chasing those bad guys down the tunnel, I thought for sure I'd be losing you for a long time." Corporal Claypoole looked at Lance Corporal Schultz with unaccustomed concern. "I was afraid of what your front looked like."