Starcraft II_ Heaven's Devils Part 9

Eventually, after crossing a wooden bridge, Raynor called a halt. It was well past noon, he figured they were at least halfway to their destination, and the riverbank would make a good place to eat and rest. There were the usual complaints when he insisted on sentries, especially from Harnack, who was dispatched to keep an eye on their western flank.

Having opened his box of rations, and stashed various components in his pockets to snack on later, Raynor ate his cold entree while he walked around. That was something he'd seen Red Murphy do back in boot camp. It was a way not only to make himself available to the troops, but to see who had their boots off in order to deal with blisters, and warn groups of marines that "one grenade would kill them all."

A few minutes later Raynor found himself next to the highway where one of the sentries was posted. Outside of the intermittent rumblings rumblings to the south, it was so quiet that he could talk to the other private without raising his voice. It took a minute for the significance of that to sink in. The reason there wasn't any noise was that all of the traffic had stopped! In fact, when questioned, the sentry reported that it had been at least fifteen minutes since a vehicle had crossed the bridge. to the south, it was so quiet that he could talk to the other private without raising his voice. It took a minute for the significance of that to sink in. The reason there wasn't any noise was that all of the traffic had stopped! In fact, when questioned, the sentry reported that it had been at least fifteen minutes since a vehicle had crossed the bridge.

Raynor felt a cold fist grab his stomach. The fact that there wasn't any traffic meant that the highway had been cut off! Probably to the south, where the sounds of battle could be heard. Meanwhile, back behind the column somewhere, the MPs were probably blocking southbound traffic to prevent it from running into Kel-Morian forces farther on down the road. But how far? Beyond Firebase Zulu? Or north of it? With all these unknowns, Raynor feared he might lead the column into a meat grinder.

He could order them to stay put, of course, or turn back, and no one would blame him given the fact that he wasn't a real noncom. But he could practically hear his father saying, "Doin' nothin' ain't an option, Son... . It's always always better to be wrong instead of worthless." And that piece of advice was very much in tune with his own instinct, which was to follow the orders he'd been given and reach Firebase Zulu. better to be wrong instead of worthless." And that piece of advice was very much in tune with his own instinct, which was to follow the orders he'd been given and reach Firebase Zulu.

Raynor felt a renewed sense of urgency, and immediately cut the break short. They were going to have to double-time it down the road. All of them were in good shape, so the run was easy at first as they jogged down the empty highway, ready to take cover at a moment's notice. And there was a scary moment when the sound of engines was heard and two drops.h.i.+ps pa.s.sed over, clearly headed for the battle that took place to the south.

As Raynor ran, the comm unit signal cleared and gradually he was able to hear a series of terse but understandable conversations between someone called Zulu-Six and a variety of other people. Was Zulu-Six Firebase Zulu's commanding officer? Yes, that made sense, and from what Raynor could make out, things weren't going well. In fact, a.s.suming he understood the situation correctly, two gangs of Kel-Morians had split off from a larger force and were threatening to overrun the outpost.

Raynor thought about Corporal Hawkes and the marines who had been fortunate enough to ride in a truck, and wondered what they were doing at the moment. Fighting their first battle, probably-a.s.suming they were still alive. War had been entirely theoretical up until that point-situations and tactics that had been described to him at boot camp-but suddenly it was very real.

Raynor didn't have a map, but didn't need one at that point, because as the column rounded a curve and pa.s.sed between high banks, they could see the firebase atop a low-lying hill. A half-dozen armored personnel carriers were positioned along the bottom edge of the slope, and the weapons mounted on each vehicle were firing up at the bunkers that fronted Firebase Zulu.

While of a similar size, each vehicle was different, having been pieced together from whatever the KM armorers could lay their hands on at the moment. So some were equipped with reactive armor salvaged from Confederate personnel carriers, while others were protected by sheets of metal that had been welded to their flanks and angled to deflect bullets. They were positioned to protect a siege tank, which was firing uphill and blowing huge chunks out of the revetments above.

Lower down, the dome-shaped bunkers intended to prevent infantry from charging up the slope were on fire, and two SCVs could be seen trying to extinguish the flames. But others were intact and putting out a heavy volume of fire. They would be critical if the men and women of Firebase Zulu were going to hold on.

Meanwhile, troops wearing a wild a.s.sortment of refurbished CMC armor were battling their way up the hill as fire lashed back and forth. One of the KM soldiers was equipped with a sculpted helmet he had picked up somewhere, armor plates that were bound together with a variety of leather straps, and a bandolier of ammo pouches.

Raynor couldn't help but admire the man's bravery as he paused to wave his comrades forward, only to disappear in a flash of light as a shoulder-launched rocket hit him from behind. The resulting BOOM BOOM was nearly lost in the chatter of a.s.sault weapons, the steady beat of a gauss cannon, and the dull thump of mortar rounds as they cut unlucky soldiers down. Each death left a red blotch on the face of the hillside. was nearly lost in the chatter of a.s.sault weapons, the steady beat of a gauss cannon, and the dull thump of mortar rounds as they cut unlucky soldiers down. Each death left a red blotch on the face of the hillside.

"Get off the highway!" Raynor shouted, and waved his troops into the orchard off to the right. Some of the gnarled fruit trees had been shattered by artillery fire during a previous battle, but enough remained to provide cover, and Raynor went person to person until all of the marines were organized into four-man fire teams. Except for Kydd, Harnack, and Zander, that is, who were sent forward to find a path. Was that the right thing to do? Was that the right thing to do? Raynor thought so, because it was consistent with what he'd been taught. Raynor thought so, because it was consistent with what he'd been taught. "Run, think, and shoot." "Run, think, and shoot." That's what Gunnery Sergeant Red Murphy always said. But thinking was the hardest part. What if he was wrong? That's what Gunnery Sergeant Red Murphy always said. But thinking was the hardest part. What if he was wrong?

Raynor waited for a break in the comm traffic to announce himself. All transmissions on both sides were automatically scrambled and descrambled. Raynor didn't have a call sign, so he made one up. "Zulu-Two-Three to Zulu-Six. Over."

There was a long pause, followed by a burst of static, and a suspicious voice. "Zulu-who? Over." Over."

"Corporal Hawkes can vouch for me," Raynor replied. "In the meantime this is to let you know that we are half a mile north of the firebase and closing with the KM armor. We will attempt to put some of those personnel carriers out of action. That should bring at least a few of their troops back downhill. So be careful who you shoot at. Over."

This time the response was quick and precise. "This is Zulu-Six. I scan you, Two-Three ... and I like the way you think. Execute. Over."

Harnack, Kydd, and Zander had returned by then and were ready with a report. "We found a path," Harnack announced. "It leads down the gully in front of us, up along that stone wall, and in behind those outbuildings. The personnel carriers are a stone's throw beyond that point."

"Okay," Raynor agreed. "You'll lead us up there. Meanwhile, I want Kydd and Zander to head for what's left of the farmhouse and set up shop there. Ryk, see how many of the KMs climbing the hillside you can bring down, and don't worry about your six. Max will take care of that. Right, Max?"

Zander's eyes were very bright. He nodded. "Count on it."

"All right," Raynor said. "Get going."

The farmhouse was off to the right, where it sat inside what had been a rectangle of trees before some of them were destroyed during an earlier battle. The structure itself had taken a hit, and been partially burned. But half of the second story was still intact-and Kydd knew that was where Raynor wanted him to go. Because from up there his long-barreled rifle would be able to reach all the way up the hillside, to the point where the Kel-Morian guerillas had already destroyed two bunkers plus the SCVs sent out to repair them.

So time was of the essence as he ran, hunched over, behind the stone wall that ran east to west across the farm, and scrambled up the slope behind the house. He was about to pa.s.s through the back door when Zander grabbed hold of his combat harness and jerked him back.

Then, holding one finger up to his lips, the shorter man went in through the back door, E-9 rifle at the ready. Five seconds pa.s.sed, followed by two shots, which brought Kydd on the run. The kitchen was empty, but as the sniper entered the hallway beyond, he heard a low whistle, and looked up a staircase to see Zander motioning from above.

Kydd made his way up the stairs to where a Kel-Morian soldier lay dead in the middle of a debris-littered hallway. A comm unit rested inches from his fingertips. "He was an observer," Zander said evenly. "Pick your spot. I'll be down below making sure that no one sneaks up on you."

"Take the comm," Kydd suggested. "And listen in. Maybe you'll hear if they're sending people this way."

Zander nodded, scooped the comm up off the floor, and disappeared down the stairs.

Secure in the knowledge that Zander would cover him, Kydd entered a bedroom and made his way over to a shattered window. Something bit into his knee as he placed it on the floor. A bit of broken gla.s.s, most likely, but the cut could be dealt with later.

The sill was high enough to provide a good rest for the long-barreled rifle, and having already chambered a .50 caliber round, all he had to do was put his eye to the scope and tilt the weapon upward. It was a moment Kydd had given a good deal of thought to in boot camp-because killing a real human being was no small thing. But when he saw the desperation of the scene before him, his doubts faded away.

A group of Kel-Morians had closed in on the last defensive bunker and one was using a flamethrower to cook the people inside. And those people were Kydd's people-even if he hadn't met them before. And the fact that he couldn't see the KMs' faces made it that much easier for the sniper to consult the data displayed on his HUD and make some final adjustments before s.h.i.+fting gears.

The crosshairs settled over the target. Time seemed to slow as Kydd's right index finger began to squeeze the trigger, then there was the moment of release as the rifle b.u.t.t kicked his shoulder, and the weapon released a bang so loud it made his ears ring. That was when the heavy slug plowed through the air, Kydd realized he had forgotten to put his earplugs in, and his right hand worked the bolt as if it was operating without input from his brain.

Then the bullet was there, striking the Kel-Morian guerilla behind the left knee, where his armor was weakest. It wasn't a lethal shot, nor was it intended to be. Kydd's FN92 ammo was designed to pierce armor, but the sniper didn't want to take unnecessary chances. His mission was to bring the enemy soldiers down and bring them down fast. The slug smashed through armor, destroyed the Kel-Morian's knee joint, and bounced off the rounded cap designed to protect him from frontal shots.

As the soldier fell, his self-sealing suit was already injecting painkillers into his bloodstream and applying a tourniquet to his lower leg. So by the time he rolled down the slope to the bottom of the hill he was out of action for good.

But Kydd wasn't thinking about the first Kel-Morian anymore. He was focused on the third third, and lost in the aim-fire-reload sequence of what he was not only doing, but doing well well. Better than he'd done in school, better than he'd done working for his father part-time, and better than he had ever hoped to do. And it felt good, very very good, as the fourth target fell and he forced himself to pause. good, as the fourth target fell and he forced himself to pause.

"Save the last round long enough to look around," Sergeant Peters had told him. "Because some b.a.s.t.a.r.d could be closing in on you you. Then, if it's safe to do so, take your final shot before loading the next magazine."

Kydd scanned, came up empty, and fired. The target wasn't wearing armor this time and his head blossomed into a b.l.o.o.d.y mist. Kydd barely noticed. A killer had been born.

It had taken the better part of fifteen long minutes for Raynor and Harnack to get all the other marines into position in and around the farm's outbuildings. Such a thing would have been impossible had the Kel-Morian overseer placed some soldiers north of his armored personnel carriers. But, having met only minimal resistance as he swept into the area at the base of the hill, and eager to take Firebase Zulu quickly, the overseer had apparently chosen to send all all his troops against the objective. his troops against the objective.

Now, as Raynor prepared to lead his fellow marines into battle, he suddenly felt short of breath, his heart racing. He was frightened-not for his own safety, but because of his lack of experience and the possibility that he might screw up. So it took an act of will to emerge from hiding, wave his troops forward, and shout: "Follow me!"

Two fire teams remained behind to provide covering fire. The rest of the marines charged across the intervening s.p.a.ce, firing as they ran. All of the Kel-Morian turret gunners were shooting uphill. That left their lightly armored backs exposed, and two died almost immediately as slugs ripped into them from behind.

Then the marines were on three of the vehicles, shooting down into the compartments below, but they lacked enough manpower to tackle the rest. The Kel-Morians turned all of their weapons on the captured personnel carriers, and Raynor saw three of the marines closest to the enemy swept away by a hail of spikes. His heart sank. Was Omer one of them?

Enraged, Raynor climbed up onto the nearest carrier and jerked a dead gunner up out of her firing position. Projectiles pinged, spanged, and rattled as they peppered the metal around him. Having dropped into the blood-splashed turret, Raynor placed both boots on the s.h.i.+ny pedals below. There was a satisfying whine as the double-barreled weapon swung around and came to bear on the enemy. The KMs saw the threat, and Raynor felt his anger turn into fear as the vehicle took hit after hit.

That was when Raynor thumbed both triggers and sent parallel streams of spikes toward the carriers that were still under KM control. The overlapping explosions merged to produce a continuous roar of sound as the devastating rounds ate their way through layers of neosteel armor to seek out the ammo bins within.

Raynor's entire body was shaking in reaction to the adrenaline pumping through it. He was shouting words he couldn't understand and wondering if the moment would ever end. Then came an earthshaking CRUMP! CRUMP! as a pillar of fire propelled the top of the enemy vehicle fifteen feet into the air, where it appeared to hang momentarily before cras.h.i.+ng down. as a pillar of fire propelled the top of the enemy vehicle fifteen feet into the air, where it appeared to hang momentarily before cras.h.i.+ng down.

Raynor sensed movement to his right, swiveled his weapons in that direction, and was preparing to open fire on a new target when a much-amplified voice was heard. "This is Zulu-Six... . Hold your fire! The battle is over."

It took a moment to process the officer's words, but once he did, Raynor pushed himself up and out of the turret. He looked around at the scene. The few remaining Kel-Morian soldiers were being disarmed and taken into Confed custody.

Raynor took a deep breath as he looked down at his hands. They were smeared with blood. He wiped them on his pants but the red stuff wouldn't come off.

Then, as Raynor surveyed the scene around him, he was overwhelmed with guilt. Both the area around the vehicles and the hillside above it were strewn with dead bodies. An empty feeling flooded the pit of his stomach, and Raynor was forced to reswallow a portion of his lunch. He took a quick look around, fearful that someone had spotted his weakness, and was glad to see that his friends were busy with other things as he jumped to the ground and ran to the point where he thought he'd seen Omer go down.

The ground around Omer was covered with blood. Plastiscab battle dressings covered one side of his chest, and the lower part of the soldier's left arm was missing. One of the firebase's medics was working on him, and Raynor could tell that the painkillers had kicked in, because Omer smiled dreamily as he looked up. "One battle ... that's all I was good for. Now they're probably gonna send me home."

"Maybe not ... I'm sure they can patch you right up." Raynor smiled. "Your parents will be proud," Raynor said, as he knelt next to his friend. "Real proud." proud."

Omer frowned. "I was scared, Jim... . Were you scared?"

"I was very scared. I think I c.r.a.pped my pants."

Omer managed a laugh. "I'll tell your parents about everything."

"Tell them about boot camp," Raynor responded. "But not about this."

"No," Omer replied soberly. "I won't tell them about this."

As Omer was carried away, Raynor heard the whine of servos and the thump of heavy feet. He turned to face a suit of battle-scarred armor. There was a soft hiss as the visor opened and a man peered at Raynor. He had blue eyes, and deep creases bracketed both sides of his mouth. "I'm Captain Senko-otherwise known as Zulu-Six. Are you Zulu-Two-Three by any chance?"

Raynor nodded.

"I thought so... . You and your team did a good job. A real real good job." good job."

"Thank you, sir... . I'll pa.s.s that along." The officer turned to leave. "Sir?" Raynor broke in. "How many people did we lose? Or is it too early to say?"

Senko placed an enormous hand on Raynor's shoulder. It felt heavy. "The same as always, son ... we lost too d.a.m.ned many."

And that, Raynor discovered over the next few hours, was absolutely true.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

"Any member of the armed services caught removing military a.s.sets from a government installation without sanction will be tried as an enemy agent and subject to the death penalty."

From section 14:76.2 of the Confederate Uniform Code of Military Justice Confederate Uniform Code of Military Justice FORT HOWE, ON THE PLANET TURAXIS II.

More than a week had pa.s.sed since Tychus had been released from Military Correctional Facility-R-156 and ordered back to duty. It had been a tough three months, but that was behind him now as a drops.h.i.+p named Fat Girl Fat Girl skimmed over what had been the city of Whitford, and Tychus took the opportunity to eyeball the ruins through an open side door. The slipstream blasted his face and forced him to retreat. But not before he caught a glimpse of devastated buildings, cratered streets, and burned-out vehicles all laid out on a tidy grid. skimmed over what had been the city of Whitford, and Tychus took the opportunity to eyeball the ruins through an open side door. The slipstream blasted his face and forced him to retreat. But not before he caught a glimpse of devastated buildings, cratered streets, and burned-out vehicles all laid out on a tidy grid.

Whitford had been overrun by what the press liked to refer to as "the breakout." Although Tychus thought it was more like a break-in break-in, since the Kel-Morians had been able to fight their way through Hobber's Gap and lay waste to an area between Burr's Crossing to the south and an outpost called Firebase Zulu up north.

But what they hadn't hadn't been able to do was overrun Fort Howe. That was the home of the 3rd Battalion, 4th Marines, also known as "the Thundering Third." The battalion had not only pushed the KMs out of Whitford and back toward the mountains, it was currently following the enemy home. been able to do was overrun Fort Howe. That was the home of the 3rd Battalion, 4th Marines, also known as "the Thundering Third." The battalion had not only pushed the KMs out of Whitford and back toward the mountains, it was currently following the enemy home.

In the meantime Tychus was about to join the 3rd Battalion's holding company at Fort Howe, where, with any luck at all, he would be able to return to work on Operation Early Retirement. A much-neglected aspect of the war effort that Tychus hoped to refocus his attention on.

The transport began to slow a few minutes later, circled the base below, and lowered itself onto the main landing pad of a starport. The drops.h.i.+p carried eleven other pa.s.sengers, replacements mostly, who would soon become members of the Thundering Third. They were already pulling their belongings together as the skids touched down and a green light appeared.

When the ramp was extended, Tychus followed a couple officers and some noncoms onto the pad. Once there, he was struck by the fact that, except for one other s.h.i.+p, the area in front of the starport structure was empty! A sure sign that most of the battalion was elsewhere.

All of his original gear had been lost during the transfer from Prosser's Well to MCF-R-156. So all Tychus had to carry was his duffel bag containing some extra underwear and a Dopp kit. Tychus entered the starport to get directions to the admin building and went back outside to wait for an open-sided jitney.

The five-minute ride served to confirm his initial impression: Fort Howe had been stripped of troops in order to battle the Kel-Morians off to the east. A barracks building had lifted off the ground and was in the process of being repositioned, and the occasional squad could be seen double-timing from one location to the next. But the facility had an empty feel.

He entered the admin building and discovered that half the people who had been on the drops.h.i.+p with him were already there-and lined up in front of a single sergeant who was doggedly working to help them. So a good forty-five minutes pa.s.sed before it was Tychus's turn to belly up to the counter and surrender the chip containing his personnel file and his orders.

The clerk a.s.signed Tychus to holding company Echo, scheduled him for a medical exam, and a follow-up appointment with Fort Howe's "morale" officer. Meaning a shrink who among other things was charged with keeping track of marines fresh out of a military correctional facility.

Having completed those arrangements and a.s.signed Tychus to the barracks where Echo Company was quartered, the sergeant looked up at Tychus with strangely soulless eyes. Was it because the guy was a stylus-pus.h.i.+ng rear-echelon functionary? Or was it something else? Whatever it was came across as kind of spooky. "That should take care of it, Private... . Check the monitor in your quarters for chow times."

"How 'bout some gear?" Tychus demanded. "I lost everything I had at my last duty station. All I have is a change of underwear."

That problem lay outside the realm of the expected, so the sergeant frowned disapprovingly and tapped a series of keys. Then, having found the necessary entry on the screen in front of him, the frown disappeared. "Here we are," the clerk said apologetically. "You are are authorized to receive a full issue. I missed that, for which I sincerely apologize." authorized to receive a full issue. I missed that, for which I sincerely apologize."

Tychus's eyebrows rose. An apology apology? From a clerk? And a sergeant at that? That was downright weird. "Take this over to Supply Depot 7," the clerk said, as he pa.s.sed a chip across the counter. "Give it to the person on duty. They will take care of you."

After exiting the admin building and catching another jitney ride, Tychus got off across from a low, one-story, metal-clad supply depot with a big white supply supply depot depot 7 7 painted on the front. Heat s.h.i.+mmered as it rose from the concrete, a drops.h.i.+p roared as it pa.s.sed overhead, and a file of sweat-soaked marines jogged past. They were singing, "One, two, three, four-I love the Marine Corps." painted on the front. Heat s.h.i.+mmered as it rose from the concrete, a drops.h.i.+p roared as it pa.s.sed overhead, and a file of sweat-soaked marines jogged past. They were singing, "One, two, three, four-I love the Marine Corps."

Tychus knew it was a lie as he made his way toward the supply depot. The homely structure was protected by a defensive blast wall. Not far away, to either side of the structure, two missile turrets sat poised to defend the base against enemy aircraft.

In order to reach the front door, Tychus had to walk a zigzag course between prefab obstacles. It was five degrees cooler inside the building, and Tychus was reminded of Gunnery Sergeant Sims and the supply depot full of Kel-Morian supplies back on Raydin III. Had Sims and Calvin been able to sell off some of the war booty before the logistics team arrived? No, he thought, not without a customer!

That thought made Tychus feel better as he crossed a s.p.a.cious waiting area to the counter that separated him from long rows of storage racks beyond. Two-person teams could be seen in the back, pulling items off of shelves and scanning them.

A lance corporal was positioned under a sign that read new new issue issue, and nodded as Tychus approached. "Morning ... what can I do for you?"

"All my gear was lost in transit from one duty station to another," Tychus explained. "They told me to report here to receive a new issue. Here's my A-chip."

The lance corporal looked young and had probably been in the marines for a year or so, given his rank. He pa.s.sed the chip by a scanner, eyed the results, and nodded agreeably. "Yup, you're authorized for a new issue, all right ... but we're in the middle of an inventory at the moment. Come back at 1400 hours and we'll fix you up."

Tychus frowned, put both fists on the counter, and leaned forward. "I have a better idea... . Why don't you, you, or one of your supply weenies, draw my gear right now? Because I don't feel like coming back at 1400 hours-or any other time for that matter! or one of your supply weenies, draw my gear right now? Because I don't feel like coming back at 1400 hours-or any other time for that matter! Do you scan me? Do you scan me?"

"Oh, I scan you all right," Lance Corporal Jim Raynor replied calmly. "Only trouble is that you have me confused with someone who gives a c.r.a.p. Private. Private."

Tychus was momentarily stunned as the other man mirrored his posture, eyes narrowed, looking straight at him. When confronted with his overwhelming size, most people took two involuntary steps backward. But this marine hadn't flinched, and showed no signs of backing off. Having put himself on a limb, Tychus had no choice but to reach both hands across the counter and grab a generous handful of the other man's s.h.i.+rt. He gave it a twist for emphasis. Tychus scowled as the marine's eyes drifted toward his tattooed knuckles. "That's right, boy. P-A-I-N, something you're about to become very familiar with," Tychus growled. "Now, maybe I wasn't clear... . Get my stuff, and bring it here, or I will rip your fekkin' head off and p.i.s.s in the hole! Get my stuff, and bring it here, or I will rip your fekkin' head off and p.i.s.s in the hole!"

That was when Tychus felt something hard jab the back of his skull, heard the familiar click-clack click-clack sound, and knew someone was holding a shotgun to his head. "That's one possibility," a third voice drawled, "or I could blow sound, and knew someone was holding a shotgun to his head. "That's one possibility," a third voice drawled, "or I could blow your your head off and check to see if there's anything inside. My guess is no." head off and check to see if there's anything inside. My guess is no."

Tychus was still holding a fistful of s.h.i.+rt as the lance corporal smiled slowly. "I would listen to Private Harnack if I were you," the marine said reasonably. "He shot three Kel-Morians last week-so he might be suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. Of course, it's hard to tell where Hank's concerned."

Tychus was furious, but, determined not to let his emotions show, he released his grip. Then, having s.n.a.t.c.hed the A-chip back, he turned to go. The red-haired marine, with his supercilious smile still firmly in place, stood well out of reach. A rectangle of bright sunlight beckoned-and Tychus made for it. A skirmish had been lost-but the battle was far from over.

THE RAFFIN BROTHERS MINE NEAR FORT HOWE ON THE PLANET TURAXIS II.

The Kel-Morian rippers had been living deep underground for six days. The main chamber was lit with emergency lanterns, and strings of lights crisscrossed the area above. Power was supplied by a generator that had been liberated from the Confeds and brought down into the mine.

Dozens of matte black powered combat suits lined the walls. Soldiers sat in small groups talking, gambling, or fine-tuning various pieces of equipment. They wore every sc.r.a.p of clothing they had, because despite the meager heat emanating from a few jury-rigged heaters, it was cold in the mine.

Foreman Oleg Benson didn't know very much about the mine, and didn't need to know anything more than the fact that it had been abandoned at some point, and was deep enough to hide in. He sat off by himself, as befitted a Kel-Morian foreman, sucking on an unlit pipe and wondering how much longer he and his men would be required to wait. One day? Two? Certainly no more than that, because he and his troops were running short of food.

But if his superior's plan was successful, Benson and his rippers would play a pivotal role in one of the most daring raids of the war. Because the mine was only a few miles east of Fort Howe, which, having been stripped of troops, was ripe for the plucking. And in more ways than one.

Because once Benson and his grunts overran the base and secured a landing zone for an airborne a.s.sault team flown in from the east, there would be ample opportunity to loot the base. An activity Overseer Scaggs not only approved of, but insisted upon!