Starcraft II_ Heaven's Devils Part 5

"Once on the ground you will be ordered to dea.s.s the drops.h.i.+ps on the double so that they can clear the area and make another trip. I'm told it's nighttime where you're headed, about fifty-five degrees, and raining. Good luck, and don't forget to shoot at least one of the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds for me."

A click was heard as the captain disappeared and was immediately replaced by one of the standard images that the recruits had seen at least a hundred times before on their journey. It showed a clearly dispirited young man slouched on a set of stairs that led up to a tenement. The caption read: "The Marine Corps ... you owe it to yourself."

Harnack pushed the net up away from his face and yawned. "What the h.e.l.l was that all about? Doesn't the old geezer realize that some of us are trying to sleep?"

"We're about an hour out," Raynor replied. "The dancing girls have been notified of your arrival, free beer is available in the mess hall, and you were promoted to general."

"Sounds good," Harnack replied agreeably, as he began to extricate himself from the net. "Save my place. The general needs to pee."

CHAPTER NINE.

"Combat escalated today between Confederate forces and the Kel-Morian Combine. Two new regiments of the Terran Confederacy saw their first action in the battles that cut across the plains of Turaxis II, and casualties were heavy. When asked about today's losses, Lieutenant Colonel Vanderspool of the 3rd regiment was quoted as saying, 'Although tragic, these numbers are not unusual for regiments made up of newly recruited battalions. What your figures fail to take into account is that today saw the creation of veterans. I will take ten experienced soldiers over a hundred greenhorns any day of the week.' Vanderspool refused to respond to further questions concerning today's loss of life, and our cameras were soon escorted off the base."

Max Speer, Evening Report Evening Report for UNN July 2488 for UNN July 2488 ABOARD THE TROOPs.h.i.+P HYDRUS HYDRUS TO TURAXIS II TO TURAXIS II.

It was more than two hours before the Hydrus Hydrus dropped into orbit, and the first group of recruits was ordered to leave the hold. But because Raynor and Harnack were slated for the dropped into orbit, and the first group of recruits was ordered to leave the hold. But because Raynor and Harnack were slated for the third third flight of drops.h.i.+ps, they had to endure another hour-long delay before it was their turn to go. flight of drops.h.i.+ps, they had to endure another hour-long delay before it was their turn to go.

Once the fifteen-person group was lined up with standard issue kitbags in hand, a harried sergeant took the time required to check each name off a list before shouting final instructions. "You will follow me, keep your mouths shut, and do exactly as you are told!"

So saying, the noncom turned her back on the group and took off at a jog. Raynor welcomed the chance to stretch his legs. He was keenly aware of everything around him as he followed Harnack through a maze of corridors and down a level to the point where a hatch labeled launch bay launch bay blocked further progress. blocked further progress.

There was a three-minute delay before it irised open and ozone-laced air flooded the lock. Then they were on the move again as the sergeant led them out into a large compartment that was temporarily sealed off from the vacuum beyond.

Rows of drops.h.i.+ps were waiting; judging from appearances, some of them had seen a lot of action. And given all of the different insignias on display, Raynor got the impression that the squadron had been a.s.sembled from at least half a dozen units.

Did that imply that a lot of individual commands were under strength? Raynor thought it might. The group pounded across the blast-scarred deck to a much-patched s.h.i.+p. A hand-painted image of a scantily clad, dark-haired vixen could be seen near the bow, immediately over the name: daddy's girl daddy's girl.

The forward section of the hull was convex, so as to provide some lift while operating in an atmosphere. Two extremely powerful engines were mounted where the fuselage narrowed slightly before splitting into twin booms that extended back to support vertical tail fins.

But there was no time to gawk as the noncom led her charges to the vessel and stopped next to an open belly hatch. Her right arm windmilled as she urged them inside. "Move! Move! Move!"

Once inside, the pilot was waiting to herd the pa.s.sengers into the built-in seats that lined both sides of the s.h.i.+p. They were ordered to clip their bags to the ringbolts located between their boots, strap in, "... and prepare for liftoff."

Raynor tried to think of a way to "prepare" and came up empty. That left him free to look around. Four large crates were strapped to the deck. One was clearly full of medical supplies, given all the red crosses that had been stamped on it, and another bore a label that read: shotguns shotguns, torrent torrent (20) (20).

As Raynor continued to scan his surroundings he saw that there were a lot of black-and-yellow decals on the bulkheads, all warning against a host of sins he had no plans to commit. A handwritten note from one of the previous pa.s.sengers was visible directly across from him. It read: so so what what' s s your your recruiter recruiter doing doing right right now now?

Raynor knew the answer-or thought he did. Gunnery Sergeant Farley was probably drinking beer, sweet-talking a country girl, and looking forward to a steak dinner. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

The ramp made a prolonged whining sound as it was retracted, the airframe started to vibrate as the engines spooled up, and a barely audible Klaxon began to bleep outside. That was the signal for everyone not not dressed in s.p.a.ce armor to evacuate the flight deck. Exactly three minutes later, the outer doors opened, air was expelled into s.p.a.ce, and the first pair of drops.h.i.+ps rode it out. dressed in s.p.a.ce armor to evacuate the flight deck. Exactly three minutes later, the outer doors opened, air was expelled into s.p.a.ce, and the first pair of drops.h.i.+ps rode it out.

Then it was their turn, and Raynor felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as Daddy's Girl Daddy's Girl left the relative safety of the launch bay for the dangers that waited beyond. There weren't any windows or viewscreens to look at, so they couldn't see Turaxis II and the blacked-out land ma.s.s below. But all of them were aware of freefall, as their weightless bodies attempted to float up off their seats, and a loose stylus cartwheeled through the air. left the relative safety of the launch bay for the dangers that waited beyond. There weren't any windows or viewscreens to look at, so they couldn't see Turaxis II and the blacked-out land ma.s.s below. But all of them were aware of freefall, as their weightless bodies attempted to float up off their seats, and a loose stylus cartwheeled through the air.

The drops.h.i.+p began to shake violently as it entered the planet's upper atmosphere. Raynor felt his teeth start to chatter, opened his mouth, and saw others do likewise as everything around them rattled loudly. That was when the pilot spoke over the intercom. His voice was even and controlled. "Sorry about the vibration-but it will disappear soon.

"That's the good news... . The bad bad news is that Kel-Morians want to kill us! So a s.h.i.+tload of h.e.l.lhounds are on their way up to try to ruin our day. Fortunately our fighter jockeys will be waiting to greet them-and I'm the best drops.h.i.+p pilot in the Confederacy. See you on the ground. news is that Kel-Morians want to kill us! So a s.h.i.+tload of h.e.l.lhounds are on their way up to try to ruin our day. Fortunately our fighter jockeys will be waiting to greet them-and I'm the best drops.h.i.+p pilot in the Confederacy. See you on the ground."

There was a click as the announcement came to an end. Harnack grinned approvingly. "He's full of s.h.i.+t-but I like his style!"

Then Daddy's Girl Daddy's Girl shuddered as something hit her. And, without warning, she flipped over onto her back, corks.c.r.e.w.i.n.g toward the planet below. "We took a hit!" Omer shouted, his eyes wide with fear. "We're going to die!" shuddered as something hit her. And, without warning, she flipped over onto her back, corks.c.r.e.w.i.n.g toward the planet below. "We took a hit!" Omer shouted, his eyes wide with fear. "We're going to die!"

"Shut up, Omer," Raynor snapped, although the same possibility had crossed his mind. The other recruit looked resentful-but did as he was told.

At that point smoke began to fill the cabin and the drops.h.i.+p came out of its spin. It was still going down at a sharp angle, however, and Raynor wasn't surprised when the announcement was made. "We're going in," "We're going in," the same voice they had heard before said matter-of-factly. the same voice they had heard before said matter-of-factly. "Brace for impact." "Brace for impact."

Oh, h.e.l.l. Raynor didn't know what that meant, even so, he reflexively laced his hands behind his head and pulled his elbows in tight. The s.h.i.+p's glide path flattened out, and the bottom of the fuselage hit something hard and bounced off. Raynor's chin hit his chest and came back up again. That was followed by a very short flight, another another impact, and a series of successive jerks as impact, and a series of successive jerks as Daddy's Girl Daddy's Girl skittered across Turaxis II's surface before slamming into an outcropping of rock. Raynor was thrown to the left, as were all the others on the starboard side of the s.h.i.+p, but the three-point harnesses held them in place. As the cabin lights went off, emergency lighting came on, and an alarm began to beep plaintively. skittered across Turaxis II's surface before slamming into an outcropping of rock. Raynor was thrown to the left, as were all the others on the starboard side of the s.h.i.+p, but the three-point harnesses held them in place. As the cabin lights went off, emergency lighting came on, and an alarm began to beep plaintively.

There was a moment of stunned silence as the pa.s.sengers caught up with the fact that they were still alive. That realization was followed by the crackle of flames and a series of loud moans from a recruit named Santhay. Raynor waited for someone to tell him what to do. The recruits were panicking as they checked on one another, and Omer's voice wailed above the din, "What should we do? Somebody in charge, please tell us what to do!" Silence. Silence.

Suddenly the odor of smoke invaded Raynor's nostrils. Oh, no. Oh, no. Desperate to find help, he whipped his head toward the c.o.c.kpit and felt a jolt of pain in his neck. Wincing, he fumbled with his harness. Desperate to find help, he whipped his head toward the c.o.c.kpit and felt a jolt of pain in his neck. Wincing, he fumbled with his harness. The pilot's gotta be dead or injured, and there's a G.o.dd.a.m.n fire. The pilot's gotta be dead or injured, and there's a G.o.dd.a.m.n fire. The emergency lights flickered and Santhay began to make dreadful keening noises. The emergency lights flickered and Santhay began to make dreadful keening noises. I gotta do something. I gotta do something.

Decision made, Raynor finally released his harness and stood. "Omer ... the belly hatch is blocked. Open the side exits and count heads as people bail out.

"Harnack ... check the c.o.c.kpit. If the pilot is alive, pull him out of there!

"Chang ... open those cargo modules. Some weapons might come in handy. I'll go aft and see how many people are injured."

Then Raynor made his way in. People were using emergency fire extinguishers by then, but the air was still thick with smoke and he was coughing. What he found at the back end of the s.h.i.+p wasn't pretty. It looked as though the entire tail section had been shot off, holing the belly and leaving the s.h.i.+p rudderless. Maybe the pilot was was the best. The fact that most of the pa.s.sengers were still alive was either a testament to his skill, or nothing less than a miracle. the best. The fact that most of the pa.s.sengers were still alive was either a testament to his skill, or nothing less than a miracle.

There had been two casualties however, which included the decapitated pilot, whom Harnack was dragging from the c.o.c.kpit. His torso was drenched in blood, but the needle-gun was safe in its holster, so Raynor bent over to retrieve it. His stomach felt queasy, but he managed to ignore that as he stuck the pistol into the waistband of his pants.

"Come on!" Harnack yelled. "This thing could blow!"

With help from another recruit, Raynor carried Santhay forward and out through an emergency exit on the port side. Rain was falling, with the exception of a spill of light from inside the s.h.i.+p. Harnack was waiting on the ground. "When the swabbies decided to call these things drops.h.i.+ps, they weren't kidding!"

"Come on, let's put some distance between ourselves and the s.h.i.+p," Raynor said.

Two of the recruits gently hoisted an unconscious Santhay onto their shoulders, and the group slogged through puddles of dank mud into the darkness. Seconds later, a m.u.f.fled thump was heard behind them as the fire found the drops.h.i.+p's fuel supply, and the entire vessel exploded into flames. A series of popping noises resounded as ammo cooked off inside the hull, followed by a couple of muted blasts, and a sharp bang as an overheated air tank blew, firing chunks of shrapnel in every direction.

Fortunately they were a safe distance from the s.h.i.+p by then. Raynor raised his voice so they could hear him over the roar of the flames. "Let's find some shelter. Then we'll hole up and wait for help."

"Who died and put you in charge?" one of the recruits demanded.

"The pilot did," Raynor replied grimly. "But if you have a better plan, let's hear it."

After a few seconds of silence, Raynor nodded. "All right then. Do any of you have medical training? No? Well, Santhay needs some sort of stretcher, and then we need to clear the area. That fire is like a beacon. It could bring a s.h.i.+tload of KMs down on us."

It took a good fifteen minutes to improvise a sling-style stretcher for Santhay, distribute half a dozen shotguns, and move out. An emergency lantern Raynor had salvaged from the s.h.i.+p sent a blob of white light skipping up ahead as he led them down into a gully, through a swiftly flowing stream, and up onto the opposite bank. He knew there was a chance he was leading them into enemy hands, and if that was the case, the lantern would surely expose them-but he had no other choice. The area was pitch-black.

The group was on flat ground at that point, which, judging from the piece of rusting equipment they pa.s.sed, had been farmland prior to the wars. What they needed was cover and a place to hide until the sun rose, when they could better determine where they were. So when the circle of light slid across the side of what might have been a barn, Raynor had reason to hope. Now we just have to find the cellar, Now we just have to find the cellar, he thought, relieved. he thought, relieved.

But the emotion was short-lived as someone shouted a warning, bright lights stabbed down from the sky, and the unrestrained roar of engines was heard as two s.h.i.+ps swept in from the west. Harnack brought his shotgun up and pointed it at the nearest source of light. Raynor pushed it down again. "Don't tempt the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, Hank ... we're outgunned."

Harnack lowered the weapon as retros stabbed the ground, and both s.h.i.+ps came in for nearly simultaneous landings. But who was aboard them? Because the nearest s.h.i.+p was backlit, Raynor couldn't see the vessel's markings. A cold wind sent s.h.i.+vers through his rain-soaked body. He was scared.

But there wasn't much the recruits could do except stand there and stare as the s.h.i.+p put down, the belly hatch opened, and light spilled onto the ground as a ramp deployed. Once that process was complete, a backlit soldier in a bulky combat suit jumped to the ground and stopped fifteen feet in front of them. Bright lights projecting from the front of his armor made it impossible to see. The much-amplified voice was male. "My name's Master Sergeant Hanson... . Who's in command here?"

There was a moment of silence. Finally, when the rest of the recruits looked at him, Raynor took a pace forward. "I guess I am, sir ... recruit Jim Raynor."

A servo whined as Hanson's helmeted head swiveled incrementally and gravel crunched under his boots as his weight s.h.i.+fted. The voice was incredulous. "Recruit Raynor?" Raynor?"

"Sir, yes sir," Raynor replied. "The pilot was killed when our drops.h.i.+p crashed. We didn't know where we were, so I figured we should find a place to hole up."

Hanson was silent for a moment. "Understood. All personnel will place their weapons on the ground and board the s.h.i.+p. Wounded first."

Raynor felt an emptiness at the pit of his stomach. "No offense, sir, but which side are you on?"

"I collect my pay from the Confederacy," Hanson replied. "Welcome to Turaxis II, son... . If you like to fight, you came to the right place."

CHAPTER TEN.

"Why do they call it 'boot camp'? Because if they called it 'beat your a.s.s camp,' n.o.body would go."

Staff Sergeant Tychus Findlay, 321st Colonial Rangers Battalion, in an interview on Turaxis II July 2488 THE PLANET TURAXIS II.

The flight from the crash site to the base called Turaxis Prime took about half an hour. And having just survived a Kel-Morian attack, Raynor knew how vulnerable the s.h.i.+p was as it skimmed the gently undulating terrain below. If they were lucky, the eyes in the sky would lose the aircraft in amongst the ground clutter.

Meanwhile, there had been almost total silence since recruit Santhay had stopped breathing, and the corpsman had been unable to resuscitate him. Now Santhay's body was covered with a blanket, and made for a sobering sight as it lay strapped to the center of the deck. That could've been me, That could've been me, Raynor thought. Raynor thought. What did I get myself into? What did I get myself into?

Even Harnack was subdued as forward motion stopped, and the pilot announced their arrival and brought the drops.h.i.+p's engines up into the vertical position. The s.h.i.+p rocked gently as a side wind hit the port side and the transport dropped through the opening below. Once the aircraft was in the hangar, and two outward-bound Avengers were clear, a pair of thick blast doors rumbled closed.

Moments after the s.h.i.+p's skids touched down, two privates entered the transport and loaded Santhay's body aboard a stretcher. Raynor could tell they had done the same thing many times before. They were gone a few moments later.

At that point Master Sergeant Hanson ordered the boots to dea.s.s the s.h.i.+p, and as Raynor followed Harnack down the ramp, he got his first glimpse of Turaxis Prime. The underground hangar deck was huge huge. Large enough to house hundreds of drops.h.i.+ps, Avengers, and lesser aircraft, which were parked in orderly rows.

A few of the s.h.i.+ps were so pristine they might have been new, but most showed signs of wear. Power wrenches chattered, fusion cutters hissed, and lifters hummed as crews of hardworking technicians in s.p.a.ce construction vehicles worked to make repairs.

As a corporal ordered Raynor and his companions to follow her, a steady flow of incomprehensible announcements was coming in over loudspeakers mounted high above, a jitney loaded with dispirited looking pilots whirred past, and servos whined as a clutch of SCVs bustled along in the opposite direction. The overall impression was one of organized chaos, and Raynor felt as though he were finally seeing the real real Marine Corps, rather than the glamorized version marketed to the public. The two couldn't have been more different. Marine Corps, rather than the glamorized version marketed to the public. The two couldn't have been more different.

A couple minutes later the newly arrived recruits made their way onto an elevator large enough to accommodate a siege tank. The corporal, who was half Harnack's size, felt no compunction about pus.h.i.+ng, shoving, and even kicking kicking the recruits in order to form a column of twos with the shortest members at the front and the tallest in the back. The purpose of the exercise was to limit the formation's maximum speed to that of the slowest recruits while simultaneously creating a military appearance. the recruits in order to form a column of twos with the shortest members at the front and the tallest in the back. The purpose of the exercise was to limit the formation's maximum speed to that of the slowest recruits while simultaneously creating a military appearance.

The cacophony of noise coming from A Deck faded quickly as the platform descended. And it wasn't until the elevator coasted to a stop four levels below that the boots were marched out onto what they would soon come to know as the grinder. It was a vast parade ground on which they would perform endless calisthenics, learn how to march, and listen to boring speeches. The first of which was about to begin.

But before they could listen they had to reach the a.s.sembly area and do so in a military manner. That meant marching in step. "You will lead with your left left foot," the corporal announced, as the column lurched forward. "No, stupid," she said. "Your other left! My G.o.d ... what did they send us? A draft of idiots? foot," the corporal announced, as the column lurched forward. "No, stupid," she said. "Your other left! My G.o.d ... what did they send us? A draft of idiots?

"Now, try again ... your left, your left, your left, right, left. That's right... . Now you're getting the hang of it. Bring that left heel down hard hard!"

And so it went as the recruits completed the trip to the a.s.sembly area with only occasional missteps and outbursts of frustration from the corporal. Other boots, some of whom Raynor recognized as having been aboard the Hydrus Hydrus, were already present. They had been fortunate enough to land safely, after which they had been formed into training companies and fed, prior to being marched onto the grinder.

They were standing at parade rest with feet spread and hands behind their backs. Most were smart enough to keep their eyes forward, but one of the recruits couldn't resist the temptation to eyeball the incoming troops, and was soon pumping out push-ups for his impertinence.

So Raynor was careful to keep his eyes on the platform directly in front of the a.s.semblage as a neatly uniformed officer mounted a short flight of stairs and made his way to the podium. It was made out of real wood and the Marine Corps insignia was prominently displayed on the front of it. That was when a sergeant shouted, "Atten-hut!" The result was uneven to say the least and would have earned all of them a lap around the grinder had the circ.u.mstances been different.

The officer clearly prided himself on his appearance. His cap was correctly positioned on his head, his mustache was perfectly trimmed, and his pink cheeks were freshly shaven as his eyes darted from face to face. His nod was short and precise, like a bird pecking at a scattering of seed. "Good morning... . As you were."

There was a prolonged shuffling sound as the recruits went back to parade rest and the noncoms frowned disapprovingly.

"My name is Major Macaby," the officer began, "and I am in charge of basic training on Turaxis II. It's somewhat unusual to have a training facility this close to a combat zone, but these are unusual times, and we marines are adaptable. In fact, I think it's safe to say that there are certain advantages to be derived from the situation, as will become clear once you enter the final stages of boot camp.

"The purpose of your training is to prepare you to fight the Kel-Morians. And for good reason. Many of you come from planets where fuel rationing and food rationing are everyday realities. That's because the Kel-Morians are trying to take control of all the natural resources they can in a blatant attempt to replace the Confederacy's duly elected government with their own corrupt guild-dominated political system. Which, were the effort to succeed, would result in virtual slavery for us ... since none of our families and friends would be allowed to join one of the largely hereditary guilds. So there's every reason to fight, and to fight hard, lest our way of life be stolen from us."

Macaby paused at that point and allowed his eyes to roam the faces before him as if to make sure that they understood the full import of what had been said. Then, seemingly satisfied with the expressions he'd seen, the major consulted a sc.r.a.p of paper. "With that in mind you will be interested to know that the exigencies of war require us to shorten your training cycle to nine weeks from the standard twelve weeks."

A solitary clapping sound was heard, followed by a noncom's stern order, "Take that man's name!"

Macaby smiled indulgently. "Yes, I rather expected that announcement would meet with your approval! However, that being said, steps will be taken to ensure that the intensity of the basic training experience will be increased so that you will be fully prepared for combat when you join a line unit.

"So pay attention to your instructors, be ready for anything, and give it all you have. The life you save could be your own. That will be all."

A sergeant shouted, "Atten-hut!" and as Macaby left the stage, Raynor considered the implications of what had been said. Boot camp had been shortened. Did that mean the wars were going poorly? What else could could it mean? it mean?

It was a sobering thought as the latecomers were integrated into the existing training companies. Both Raynor and Harnack were placed in D Company, which consisted of three platoons, with three squads to a platoon, for a total of seventy-two men and women. That was light by combat standards, since each squad was supposed to include three four-person fire teams, but there weren't enough recruits for that.

And somehow, by a process invisible to Raynor, he was named as a temporary "recruit sergeant," and placed in charge of the 1st squad, 2nd platoon. A dubious honor since he instantly became responsible for seven people in addition to himself. One of them was Harnack, who smiled wickedly and offered Raynor a one-fingered salute.

As the newly reformed companies were marched down a ramp to the dormitory-style living quarters below, Raynor was nervous. All the noncoms seemed so angry-and now Raynor was sure to be singled out because of his new position.

Each platoon had its own long rectangular room, and once racks were a.s.signed, the recruits were given permission to "fall out, grab a shower, and get some sleep." All seven hours of it, before they would be expected to get up and double-time to chow. Later, after haircuts, they were scheduled to receive personal gear, uniforms, and weapons.

But all of that was six-plus hours away, after a sonic shower and some much-needed rest. So Raynor stripped down to his skivvies and was about to head for the communal showers when three heavily armored Kel-Morian rippers emerged from a solid wall, swiveled toward the unsuspecting recruits, and opened fire.

Raynor saw the a.s.sault rifles sparkle, and felt a tingling sensation as half a dozen electric impulses accelerated through his chest, followed by a cry of consternation as they hit a person behind him. The enemy soldiers weren't real, of course, but Raynor's heart was pounding nevertheless, and there was nothing fake about the fear he felt.

That was when the spectral rippers exploded into a thousand motes of light and another phantom appeared. Though nearly transparent, he looked like a recruiting poster come to life, and there was something about his synthesized voice that reminded Raynor of Farley. "My name is Gunnery Sergeant Travis," "My name is Gunnery Sergeant Travis," the hologram announced, the hologram announced, "and I have been ordered to a.s.sist with your training. An attack like the one you just experienced took place three months ago when a Kel-Morian special operations team managed to infiltrate a base on Dylar IV. Seven marines died that night, three were wounded, and one of them is still on life support. So remember, the enemy can strike anywhere, and at any time. You are never safe." "and I have been ordered to a.s.sist with your training. An attack like the one you just experienced took place three months ago when a Kel-Morian special operations team managed to infiltrate a base on Dylar IV. Seven marines died that night, three were wounded, and one of them is still on life support. So remember, the enemy can strike anywhere, and at any time. You are never safe." And with that Travis disappeared. And with that Travis disappeared.

Ryk Kydd was in love with his Bosun FN92 sniper rifle. Or, more accurately, in love with the way he felt when he fired it. Because hitting targets that other people couldn't made him feel strong and competent. The weapon had a skeletal stock, a telescopic sight, and an extremely long barrel. And that was critical. Because the more time the bullet spent inside the metal tube, the more likely it was to hit the target. And during the last few weeks, that had become very important to him.

So as Kydd elbowed his way up onto a rise, it was with the intention of qualifying as a Marine Corps sniper while still in boot camp. Something only two people had achieved before him.

At that point Kydd had completed two earlier "crawls," and having scored simulated kills in both situations, it was time for one final test of his marksmans.h.i.+p on a specially designed indoor range. Kydd was wearing a helmet, light body armor, a standard combat harness, and protective earplugs.

"Okay," Sergeant Peters said in his ear. "Here's the scenario... . A very important general is going to appear in the enemy encampment about a thousand yards in front of and below your position. A number of other people may be present, but the general is the only one who will be wearing a beret and smoking a pipe. The mission is simple. Identify your target and kill him with one shot. Good luck, son... . I know you can do it."

Kydd heard a click, followed by the soft whisper of an artificial wind as a computer-generated panorama blossomed around him. The sky was pewter gray, the surrounding slopes were green, and the camouflaged trucks and hab-units had a mottled appearance. A sensor array could be seen rotating above one of the vehicles, two sentries stood guard, and a wisp of vapor was issuing out of the exhaust stack on the generator truck. Other than that, there wasn't much to see.

Kydd was grateful for that, because if the target had been visible right off the top, before he had time to prepare, he would have been faced with a difficult decision. Take a poorly prepared shot, knowing that it might be the only opportunity, or wait and hope the target would reappear.