Starfist - Kingdom's Swords Part 6

"Yessir, that's affirmative," Captain Boonstra reported to Commander van Winkle. "I saw it myself, they flashed into vapor when they were hit."

"You actually saw bodies. .h.i.t and flare up?" Boonstra hesitated for a moment. "Nossir, not exactly. I saw the flashes, but I never actually saw one of the enemy."

"So you don't know positively that the-" van Winkle hesitated. Who were they really up against? Was it the Skinks Company L's third platoon had encountered on Society 437? What were they doing here?

Why did they attack without apparent cause? "-the people you fought were vaporized. The flashes could have been magnesium flares and they dragged off all their dead and wounded." Van Winkle didn't doubt for an instant that the Marines of M Company inflicted casualties on the foe they fought. 74 74 "That's right, sir." But Boonstra was convinced that the flashes he'd seen were made by the enemy, whoever they were, vaporizing when they were hit.

"All right. The battalion is continuing into the swamp."

"Aye aye, sir."

"Dragons are on their way to take your casualties out. Catch up with us as soon as they do. And this time make d.a.m.n sure your rear point is watching the rear. I don't want any more surprises like that one." In a single afternoon one of his companies was reduced to little more than half strength. In all his years as a Marine, van Winkle had rarely seen a company hit that hard in so short a time.

Four Dragons, almost enough to carry an entire company, arrived. The dead Marines were stacked in one, and the wounded were divided among the other three, where corpsmen kept them stabilized on the way out of the swamp. The remainder of M Company watched the Dragons leave, then hurried to catch up with the rest of the battalion. This time, six alert Marines kept watch on their rear. Halfway to the swamp's edge, with no threat warning, two of the Dragons ferrying casualties to safety erupted.

It wasn't done officially, but word of M Company's firefight and the flashes from the enemy positions quickly filtered through the battalion.

"Skinks," Schultz said on the squad circuit when he heard. n.o.body objected; everyone in third platoon was convinced. Those beings were fanatical fighters with horrible weapons, who attacked for no known reason and never attempted communication. Most Marines of Company L, however, knew firsthand about one alien sentience, a culture whose existence was kept secret. But that sentience's culture, which they'd come across on Avionia, was birdlike, primitive, a thousand years behind human development. It was no threat, and unlikely to ever become one. But the Marines of third platoon had encountered a different sentience, one that did attack with neither warning nor reason. The Skinks. And they knew in their bones that they were up against that menace again.

When a wave radiates out from a point and hits something, it reverberates back to everywhere it's already been, but it somehow changes character on the bounce. So it was now. Company L's third platoon took the telling of M Company's firefight and changed it into a fight with Skinks. "Skinks" radiated back through the battalion. And turned to fear.

Kilo Company's rearmost Marines were hyperalert, the last two men in each platoon walking backward to cover their trail-they weren't going to be surprised like M Company. Not to be outdone, the Marines on Kilo Company's left flank were equally alert; they knew that if it was possible, they'd hit an enemy unit from the flank. So, uncharacteristically, it was Kilo Company's pointmen who were least alert. The points were slow to recognize as threats the relatively faint, man-sized heat signals their infra shields picked up. 75 75 By the time one of them remembered that the Skinks were supposed to have a lower body temperature than humans, they were within range.

Again the swamp echoed with the screams of Marines whose flesh was being eaten away. Again steam billowed and rose from mud and wet foliage struck by the plasma bolts of the Marines' blasters. Once more the darkness of the swamp was lit by brilliant flashes when plasma bolts struck home. When it stopped, the Marines found no bodies to show they'd had an impact on the enemy. Eight Marines from Kilo Company were down, dead, or hideously wounded.

"Hold where you are," Brigadier Sturgeon ordered Commander van Winkle. He had to evacuate the casualties without losing more Dragons, and he couldn't commit hoppers for the mission. Not with whoever was in the swamp-he wasn't yet ready to say they were Skinks-able to kill his aircraft without warning. What made the situation worse was that the string-of-pearls satellites weren't providing the information Sturgeon needed to direct his FIST. The swamp's canopy was dense enough to block the string-of-pearls infrared scanning. It picked up his Marines, vaguely, but didn't show who they were fighting. This was another datum in favor of Skinks being present; on the ground they showed up faintly in infrared. Sturgeon was, effectively, operating blind. That blindness was costing Marine lives. It was time to use his heavy weapons. But where do you shoot when your target can be hidden anywhere in a large area?

Within minutes the remaining Raptors began using Jericho missiles to clear a path to the infantry battalion's location for Dragons to evacuate the M Company casualties. Simultaneously, the six guns of the FIST's artillery battery commenced what was once called "hara.s.sment and interdiction" fire to the front and sides of the infantry battalion. Cla.s.sic H&I dropped rounds onto routes known or suspected to be used by the enemy to disrupt movement. But there were no known routes through the Swamp of Perdition, and the enemy was known to pop up anywhere. The battery used scatter munitions-rounds that burst open above the target and scattered large numbers of smaller munitions that exploded just above the ground. Later, when the infantry moved out again, the battery would drop delayed action scatter munitions behind the battalion. Those would explode at random intervals after dropping to the ground, or into the water, or when their built-in motion detectors picked up movement by a man-sized body within the killing radius.

n.o.body had any idea of the range of the undetectable weapons that had killed two Raptors and three Dragons, but they hoped they were line of sight. The Raptors stayed behind a row of hills and locked their Jerichos into the string-of-pearls guidance system and fired them into the swamp. Jerichos weren't tactical nukes, but except for the lack of radiation, there wasn't much difference in effect. They were named that because they "brought the walls down." They cleared a half-kilometer-wide swath of swamp of all vegetation and animate life. The barrage stopped only a few hundred meters from the infantry position. The Dragons waited for the temperature in the cleared area to drop to the boiling point of water before they went in. The traumatically dried ground crumbled and crackled under their fans and flew wide in chunks. This time the Dragons carrying the casualties made it back out. Sturgeon ordered the battalion to continue its advance. The artillery battery dropped scatter munitions a safe distance to the front and sides of the infantry.

Corporal Doyle was as frightened as he'd ever been in his life. Check that, he'd never been so scared before. Not even when he'd been one of the eight Marines who had to face hordes of fierce warriors on 76 76 Elneal. That time, nothing seemed to matter because he knew deep inside that he was dead anyway. Besides, he could see the hordes of Siad warriors. Here, though... Here he couldn't see anyone. Here, a Skink-they really were Skinks, weren't they?-could be right next to him and he wouldn't know it until the thing popped up and killed him. M Company had been hit from behind. Doyle knew that. He knew that Kilo Company was. .h.i.t from the front. He saw a pattern developing-the next attack would happen on Company L's right flank. He was on the right flank! That meant the next contact would be on him! And he couldn't and wouldn't see the Skinks until they fired!

Corporal Kerr saw the same pattern. Though he thought the pattern was more happenstance than deliberate, he also expected the next contact to come on the right flank. He was concerned, but not unduly so. His first combat after returning from rehab was against the Skinks on Waygone. He remembered very clearly how the acid from their weapons ate through flesh and bone. But was that more terrible than the plasma bolts fired by the Marines' blasters? Only in kind, not in degree. And their weapons, at least the ones they'd used on Waygone, were short-range-he peered into the swamp-not that the shortness of range mattered much here. The Skinks had been relatively easy to kill-if a blaster hit anywhere on one of them, it went "poof," vaporizing it in a flash of light. As fierce and fanatical fighters as the Skinks were, they weren't hard to beat. The other two companies got hurt as badly as they did because they were surprised by Skinks who were willing to die in their attacks. Third platoon, Kerr was convinced, was more aware of what they were up against and less likely to be taken by surprise. But what had Kerr concerned was that the Skinks seemed able to sense where the Marines were. He didn't think they saw in the infrared the way the Avionians did, nor did he think their eyes gathered light more efficiently. No, he didn't think it was a visual sense that allowed them to detect the Marines. Neither did he think they used a form of echo-location: they weren't that precise in knowing the Marines' location. The Skinks must have some sort of sixth sense... Kerr shivered.

Lance Corporal Schultz tamped down all thought of who the Skinks were, the hideousness of their weapons, and how they could know where chameleoned Marines were. If he had thought of those things, he would have had to remember how badly the Skinks had shaken him on Waygone. Not that he'd been aware of it at the time; then he'd been too busy fighting and staying alive. He hadn't known how badly the Skinks frightened him until Company L was on its way to the quarantined world called Avionia and they were briefed on their mission. When he learned they were on their way to protect aliens from humans, his reaction had almost gotten him into serious trouble with Gunny Ba.s.s and Top Myer. At that time, he thought all aliens were evil and had to be exterminated. Actual contact with the birdlike sentience on Avionia convinced him otherwise. Or so he thought. Now they were facing Skinks again, and he knew he was up against a fearsome opponent. Schultz concentrated his awareness on the fact that there were beings in that swamp who wanted him abruptly and violently dead, and if he wanted to remain alive, he had to find and kill them first.

"RIGHT!" The voice that shouted the warning over the platoon circuit was almost drowned out by the crack-sizzle of blaster fire that accompanied it.

"Echelon right!" Corporal Kerr shouted. His fire team, still on the point, had continued responsibility for 77 77 the front even when they faced the danger on their right flank. He dove into the mud under a bush a couple of meters away and swept his blaster from side to side, looking for a target along its barrel as it moved. As he looked he spared a quick glance at his HUD to make sure Doyle was moving to the right of where he'd been. The HUD display showed Doyle taking position almost as sharply as Schultz. Now the three of them were at an angle and could shoot to both the platoon's front and side without having to shoot over each other.

To his right, Kerr heard the cracks of blasters and could see steam rise from blaster strikes on foliage and mud. He thought he saw the fading afterimage of the flash made by a hit Skink.

"Second squad, volley fire, ten meters!" Sergeant Bladon ordered. Kerr pointed his blaster at a bushy shadow ten meters away, where someone could be hiding, and fired a bolt at it. Steam rose, but there was no answering flash from the bush. He shifted his aim to the left and fired again. He saw a bolt from Doyle's blaster strike a couple of meters away from his aiming point. Keep it up, Doyle, he thought, you're doing fine.

"Second squad, up five," Bladon ordered. Kerr shifted his aim five meters deeper into the swamp in the disciplined fire pattern the Marines used when they couldn't see what to shoot at.

"Second squad, heads up," Staff Sergeant Hyakowa's voice came over the comm. "Guns are joining you."

"Kerr, I see you," Corporal Stevenson said. "Got you, Chan." The a.s.sault squad's second team dropped into place between the two fire teams.

"Where do you want it?" Sergeant Kelly, the a.s.sault squad leader, asked.

"Join my volley," Bladon replied. "Second squad, up five." The bolts from second squad's ten blasters fired deeper into the swamp, but were almost lost to view in the flash-flash-flash of the stream of bolts from the two a.s.sault guns as they st.i.tched bolts along the squad's entire front and beyond. There were no answering flares.

"Up five," Bladon ordered.

Twice more they lengthened the range of their volleys without seeing or hearing any indication of a hit foe.

"Cease fire!" came Gunny Ba.s.s's command. "Third platoon, cease fire. Report."

"Doyle!" Kerr said.

"H-Here."

"Are you all right?"

"I-I think so."

"How's your batteries?"

78 "I'm-I'm all right."

"Schultz!"

"Okay. Enough ammo."

"Second fire team, no casualties. Batteries all right."

"Roger, Kerr." The other two fire teams also reported no casualties and sufficient battery power remaining.

"Effect?" Bladon asked.

Kerr hadn't seen sign of damage inflicted on the enemy from his position. Neither had Corporal Chan.

"MacIlargie saw one and shot it before it opened fire," Corporal Linsman reported.

"Hold your position," Ba.s.s ordered. "First squad's coming through for a sweep." A moment later first squad came through second squad's line and advanced into the still-steaming killing zone. When they pa.s.sed through the steam it blocked them from view, though they maintained constant comm. In fifteen minutes they were back, after finding nothing more than the scorch mark from the Skink MacIlargie had killed.

The battalion's advance resumed.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

Lewis Conorado could not sleep. He was thinking about Marta. Always before, their separations had left him missing her and the children terribly for the first few hours. Then, very quickly, he'd be absorbed into the myriad details of commanding his company, and thoughts of his family would sink into the recesses of his consciousness. But this time it was different, because of the anger of their parting, and because there was so little to do on board the Cambria Cambria to occupy his mind. The other pa.s.sengers, it seemed, adjusted quickly to the enforced idleness. Captain Tuit did offer each of them-at their own risk, of course-the opportunity to be placed in stasis for the entire voyage, but all declined. Only the most advanced stasis units were designed to prevent the skeletomuscular problems that sometimes developed after long periods of unconsciousness. The to occupy his mind. The other pa.s.sengers, it seemed, adjusted quickly to the enforced idleness. Captain Tuit did offer each of them-at their own risk, of course-the opportunity to be placed in stasis for the entire voyage, but all declined. Only the most advanced stasis units were designed to prevent the skeletomuscular problems that sometimes developed after long periods of unconsciousness. The Cambria's Cambria's units were the old-fashioned kind, designed to stabilize a person who'd experienced severe trauma, and only until definitive medical care was available. None of the pa.s.sengers on this voyage wanted to risk the months of physical therapy that would be required on Earth to get their atrophied muscles working again. But the units were the old-fashioned kind, designed to stabilize a person who'd experienced severe trauma, and only until definitive medical care was available. None of the pa.s.sengers on this voyage wanted to risk the months of physical therapy that would be required on Earth to get their atrophied muscles working again. But the Cambria Cambria carried a vast array of entertainment resources, from physical exercise rooms to virtual reality chambers where her pa.s.sengers could refight the Battle of Hastings or have s.e.x with anything their fertile imaginations could devise. Most, however, preferred entertaining themselves in the company of their fellow pa.s.sengers with card games, conversation, tours of the ship's unrestricted areas, and the like. carried a vast array of entertainment resources, from physical exercise rooms to virtual reality chambers where her pa.s.sengers could refight the Battle of Hastings or have s.e.x with anything their fertile imaginations could devise. Most, however, preferred entertaining themselves in the company of their fellow pa.s.sengers with card games, conversation, tours of the ship's unrestricted areas, and the like.

"The hour is now 3:57 A.M.," a tiny female voice whispered as Conorado wearily turned onto his other side. The onboard computer system, dubbed "Minerva," or "Minnie," by the crew, could sense when the compartment's occupant was awake, but as long as he was physically inside his sleep module, all it would do was softly announce the time. He had considered turning that feature off, but after years of paying very strict attention to the time of day, he realized he'd be uncomfortable not knowing what time it was. 79 79 He sighed and decided to give up. With a tired groan, Conorado swung his feet onto the floor. As soon as his legs cleared the edge of his bunk, the lights and various utilities went on. "No coffee and turn the music off," he said. The music he'd selected to start each day was "Bonnie Dundee," on the pipes and drums, as once played by the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards.

"Ship's status?" the Minerva asked.

"Not right now." Conorado had set that feature so he would not have to listen to the long recitation of the Cambria's Cambria's operational status. That was required listening for each crew member, but still, when he wanted to know about the ship-which he often did because it was his nature to want to know what was going on around him-all he had to do was ask. Captain Tuit would be on the bridge, listening to his music and drinking his coffee. Conorado and the old navy man had hit it off immediately, and during the last two weeks they'd spent much time together, reminiscing about past voyages, deployments, and the colorful people they'd known in the Confederation's service. Conorado slipped into his clothing and stepped out of his compartment. As soon as he was through the portal, everything back inside went dead, to lie silent against his return. He turned up the companionway toward the bridge, half a kilometer forward. A starship in the "night," or the time when most of her crew and pa.s.sengers would be sleeping, was a fascinating world. He walked slowly along the companionway, savoring the comforting sounds of a vast machine working perfectly. He stopped suddenly. "When do we reach Siluria, Minnie?" he asked. operational status. That was required listening for each crew member, but still, when he wanted to know about the ship-which he often did because it was his nature to want to know what was going on around him-all he had to do was ask. Captain Tuit would be on the bridge, listening to his music and drinking his coffee. Conorado and the old navy man had hit it off immediately, and during the last two weeks they'd spent much time together, reminiscing about past voyages, deployments, and the colorful people they'd known in the Confederation's service. Conorado slipped into his clothing and stepped out of his compartment. As soon as he was through the portal, everything back inside went dead, to lie silent against his return. He turned up the companionway toward the bridge, half a kilometer forward. A starship in the "night," or the time when most of her crew and pa.s.sengers would be sleeping, was a fascinating world. He walked slowly along the companionway, savoring the comforting sounds of a vast machine working perfectly. He stopped suddenly. "When do we reach Siluria, Minnie?" he asked.

"Eight days, standard, Captain Lewis Conorado." Conorado decided to have some fun with her on the long walk to the bridge. "Are the whatsits and the thingamabobs in order, Minnie?"

"I am sorry, sir, please repeat the question. And, sir? Please call me 'Minerva.'" Conorado smiled. "What's the price of fish in Denmark, Minnie?"

"Please bear in mind this data is more than one year out of date," Minnie began immediately, "but depending on species and size, the average prices obtained on the Copenhagen market are as follows..." Minnie's voice was soft and feminine and reminded Conorado a bit of Marta. "Thank you," he said when she had finished reeling off the desired information.

"You are welcome, sir. But sir, you asked a question earlier that I was not able to answer for you. Would you please rephrase it so I may be of service to you?"

"Forget it."

"I am sorry, sir, but it is impossible for me to forget anything."

"Okay. When's the last time you got laid, Minnie?" It just popped out.

"I do not understand that question, sir," Minerva responded, a note of perplexity in her voice, "and besides, that was not the one you originally asked."

"I withdraw both questions." 80 80 "Thank you so much, sir," she replied. Conorado raised an eyebrow at the response; he thought he heard relief in the d.a.m.ned thing's voice!

Captain Tuit was not in his customary position when Conorado stepped onto the bridge. The only officer present was the systems engineer, Miss Lenfen. "Really, sir," she said as soon as Conorado walked in, "you shouldn't try to confuse Minerva like that." Conorado mentally kicked himself. He should've known someone would be monitoring the system. He was embarra.s.sed. "Well, I'm sorry, Miss Lenfen," he smiled, "but I really did want to know when we'll reach Siluria."

Lenfen's cheeks reddened. "Well, I don't mean to sound b.i.t.c.hy, Captain," her cheeks got even redder, "but you know, Minerva's my responsibility and, well, I feel, um, 'proprietary' toward her. Would you like some coffee?"

"Sure. When's Hank, er, Captain Tuit due back?" Lenfen smiled as she handed Conorado a steaming mug of coffee. "We call him Hank all the time. He's not feeling well and is resting in his stateroom."

"Well, I can't sleep. Mind if I keep you company for a while?" He had not noticed before, but even in her formless jumpsuit, Lenfen was a remarkably pretty woman. "My name is Lewis but I prefer Lew." He held out his hand.

"I'm Jennifer but everyone calls me Jenny." She took his hand. Her hand in his, Conorado was suddenly and poignantly reminded of his Marta. "Well," he said, squeezing her soft hand briefly and then letting it go, "where are you from?"

Marta Conorado decided to spend a few days in New Oslo. She had not made up her mind what to do about her marriage to Lew. The longer she remained alone in their apartment, the more confused she became. One moment she started to call the flight operations office at Mainside to book herself out on the next Earthbound vessel, but the next instant she wasn't sure she could do it. So she decided to visit New Oslo and forget about everything for a while. The Conorados were not rich by any means, but they had saved, and she could afford to luxuriate for a few days in the finest hotels and restaurants the capital city had to offer. She might even go skiing. The Family Morale and Recreation office at Mainside had regular flights to New Oslo and other places on Thorsfinni's World, so with little effort Marta was able to book herself out the following morning.

The Trondelag Arms had a nice room available when Marta checked in. She was familiar with New Oslo from when they had lived there. Of the many places the Conorados had been stationed as a family, she liked New Os...o...b..st. The climate, temperate in the summer months, was always bracing, and the 'Finnis, an industrious but fun-loving people, always made good company. Besides, the pace of life in New Oslo was invigorating, everyone intent upon the business of the day, working hard and enjoying it, but then when it came time to relax, they did so vigorously. Just the atmosphere to take her mind off her 81 81 marital troubles for a while, she thought. Since her flight arrived in the early afternoon, Marta decided to try a hot bath before dining at her favorite restaurant, the Svalbard. As she soaked she dozed. At one point she thought Lew had come into the room. She awakened with a start. She reflected wryly that she just couldn't get him out of her mind. The meal was excellent, served with the flair that made the Svalbard one of the prime dining spots in the city.

Outside, she huddled into her furs against the penetrating cold. But she felt warm and content. She had not once thought of Lew during the meal. She started walking back up the street toward her hotel when someone seized her by the arm. Startled, she whirled to see a man, a big man, who began shoving her down the street. His grip tightened and hurt her. She opened her mouth in angry protest.

"Keep quiet and keep moving," the man said in the 'Finni dialect. During the time she had lived in New Oslo, Marta had picked up quite a bit of the language, but her first reaction to his words, which she understood perfectly, was to blurt out in English, "What the h.e.l.l...?" From behind them came shouting. "Halt! Or we will shoot!" Marta a.s.sumed it was a police officer. Pa.s.sersby slipped and slid in the snow to get out of their way, and bystanders shouted and pointed at the pair as they stumbled quickly down the sidewalk and into an alley. The man only tightened his grip and shoved her along more forcefully. She felt something cold and hard pressed into the flesh just behind her left ear. "Keep moving and keep still," the man said in unaccented English, "or I'll kill you too."

While the City of G.o.d sect modeled itself on the Puritans of the seventeenth century, they had no prejudices against the technology of the twenty-fifth century. Entirely the opposite, in fact. The memory of Cotton Mather, one of the most famous of all the American Puritans, was highly revered by the City of G.o.d. Mather, a member of the British Royal Society of his day, wrote prolifically on natural science and philosophy and was respected by his non-Puritan contemporaries for his wide-ranging knowledge and active curiosity about the things of the visible world. Subsequent generations came to despise him and Puritanism in general because of what he and they believed about the invisible world, which to Mather and his coreligionists consisted of demons, devils, familiars, and witches, all of which filled the air of New England, whispering into the ears of unsuspecting believers the joys of serving the devil. While the leaders of the City of G.o.d no longer believed in witches, they had a deep and abiding faith in such things as nuclear physics.

The bomb the Army of Zion's team on Siluria had built under the supervision of their leader, Epher Benediction, was a very simple affair but more than capable of rendering the spectacular results he wanted. It was easy to obtain the necessary components on a place like Siluria. That particular device consisted of one kilogram of Plutonium 239 encased in a one-inch-thick sphere or tamper of Uranium 238. The bomb itself was a hollow cylinder containing two elements of fissionable material. Its total weight was a bit more than ten kilograms, or less than twenty-five pounds. Upon detonation, the resulting explosion would be equivalent to thousands of tons of conventional explosive; not much by the standards of the destructive weapons of the day, in fact quite primitive, but set off in the Cambria's Cambria's propulsion unit, the explosion would light up the night sky of the entire Western Hemisphere of Old Earth. That was what propulsion unit, the explosion would light up the night sky of the entire Western Hemisphere of Old Earth. That was what 82 82 Epher Benediction and his companions wanted. The five men who were about to sacrifice their lives to destroy the SS Cambria SS Cambria boarded her without incident. They carried few bags, but those they did carry were heavy. "We are miners," one named Jesse Gospel told Miss Lenfen, "and we go where the work is, so we're used to carrying all our possessions with us." He smiled broadly through his thick black beard, and Jennifer smiled back warmly. "We have found new jobs on Earth," he concluded. Neither Jennifer nor anyone else on the boarded her without incident. They carried few bags, but those they did carry were heavy. "We are miners," one named Jesse Gospel told Miss Lenfen, "and we go where the work is, so we're used to carrying all our possessions with us." He smiled broadly through his thick black beard, and Jennifer smiled back warmly. "We have found new jobs on Earth," he concluded. Neither Jennifer nor anyone else on the Cambria Cambria over the next few days stopped to think that there were no more mining operations on Earth. over the next few days stopped to think that there were no more mining operations on Earth.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

For several more hours, the infantry Marines moving deeper into the swamp had no further contact with what nearly all of them by then believed were Skinks. Night fell. Itches that had eased or ceased resumed as new, nocturnal insectoids found their way inside the Marines' uniforms. In the middle distance, night predators stalked and cried, in triumph or frustration. Their prey shrieked death agonies when they were caught, screamed relief or indignation if they escaped. Commander van Winkle called a halt at sundown. He didn't stop his battalion's advance because his Marines would be blind-their light-gathering shields overcame most of the difficulties of night movement. He stopped because his men were tired and needed to rest. Stopping for the night didn't mean a full bivouac, with everyone in defensive positions and one man in three awake, watching while the others slept. Instead, each of the three companies would have two squads out on patrol. Half of the remaining Marines could sleep while the rest were ready to fight defensively-or go to the aid of the patrols.

"Listen up, second squad," Sergeant Bladon said. The nine Marines under his command maintained their scattered positions, listening to their squad leader over the squad circuit on their helmet comms. "We've got a short one, we'll only be out there for three hours." n.o.body responded with the caveat, "If we don't run into any trouble." They understood that.

"The string-of-pearls picked up something that might be an anomaly about a klick from here," Bladon continued. "We're going to scope it out."

"Might be an anomaly" was an apt description of the difficulty the string-of-pearls had in detecting and interpreting anything under the swamp's canopy.

"Take a look." Bladon transmitted his HUD map to his squad. Each man examined it in his own display. The map didn't show much; some waterways, their route out and the different route back, a mark for the location of the "might be an anomaly," and three rally points. The map didn't show paths or animal tracks, didn't show the lesser rills, and the elevation lines were mostly incomplete. There were few landmarks they could use to navigate on. They would be totally dependent on Sergeant Bladon's UPUD, Mark III, to tell them where they were and to find their way back. n.o.body liked that-the UPUD communicated with the string-of-pearls, and they knew how much trouble SoP had seeing through the canopy. They were also aware of Gunny Ba.s.s's distrust of it, and some of them had been with him when the Mark II had failed. Besides, equipment often failed in hostile environments. And the Swamp of Perdition, with all its water and muck, was definitely a hostile environment.

When he thought they'd had enough time to study the map and its implications, Bladon asked, "Any questions?"

83 "What's the anomaly?" Doyle asked. Bladon suppressed a sigh. "We don't know, that's why it's an anomaly. The string-of-pearls saw something that n.o.body could identify. We're going to find out what it is. Any other questions?" There were none. "Let's move it out." Without a sound, Schultz rose to his feet and headed out through the company's night perimeter. Everybody knew he'd take the point.

"Me, Chan, Linsman," Bladon said, finishing the patrol route order; he followed second fire team, followed by third, with first bringing up the rear. They all used their light gatherers; the night was impenetrable without them. Vision was strange, eerie. Distance didn't dim it and there were few deep shadows under foliage; everyplace was equally dark. It affected depth perception-the changes in light intensity and quality that normally gave clues to distance were absent. The ground, what could be seen through the foliage, rippled in shallow swells like the surface of a still ocean. Line of sight was restricted by the denseness of growth; in spots it spiked to forty meters, and was often less than five. The strangeness of vision had little effect on the Marines; all but two of them had combat experience with night vision. Of those two, in Corporal Chan's fire team PFC Longfellow had used the device in Boot Camp training, but that wasn't too far in his past. The one who had trouble with it was Corporal Doyle, whose Boot Camp night-vision training was more than ten years behind him.

Schultz kept the HUD map tacked away in a corner of his vision, and without ever looking directly at it, followed the slowly moving dot that showed Sergeant Bladon's position. As long as the dot was near the line that marked their a.s.signed route, they were close enough on course. Schultz wasn't going to be fanatical about sticking to the route; there were hummocks to go around, thick tangles of growth to bypa.s.s, waterways too deep or with bottoms too soft, which needed to be circled. Like any patrol route drawn by someone who hadn't walked the ground, it had stretches that were too difficult or too hazardous. Schultz was cautious and deliberate in his advance. Mud sucked at their feet, strained to keep them in place, almost like an organism that wanted to hold them, digest them, absorb their nutrients. Prey browsed or foraged closer to a few men than to the entire battalion, predators stalked and cried closer. Water, evaporated from the streams during the day, condensed, slid down twigs and leaves and then plopped to the ground. The night seemed filled with more sounds than during the day. Or maybe the lack of daytime sights caused a subjective increase. Corporal Doyle was jumpy. All the sounds he didn't understand had him imagining monsters creeping close. Water drops plop-plopped on his helmet like Chinese water torture. His feet felt the slime of the mud through his boots. Curiously, he barely noticed the swarming insectoids that had bothered him so much during the day. He kept thinking about the anomaly. Having no idea what it was, it bothered him. Surely they had some hint. Was it a structure? Did body heat show up? A heat signature that might indicate an engine of some sort? Was it a blank spot, like the string-of-pearls being blocked? Was it possible to block the multiple sensors and scanners of a string-of-pearls? Surely they knew something!

And he couldn't see anything! Well, he could see, but the light was so strange. It was like walking through a mist with lights coming into it everywhere from so many directions that there was no real point of origin; everything looked exactly the same. Not exactly the same-he could distinguish shapes and some colors-but nothing cast shadows, and he couldn't tell where anything was. He had to look at this tree and then past it to that bush and back and at both at the same time to figure out which was closer, 84 84 which was farther. And then how far away were they and how far from each other? What was going to happen if they got in a firefight and Sergeant Bladon ordered volley fire? How was he supposed to guess how far ten meters was, or twenty or thirty, to put his plasma bolts on line with the others?

Every cry of a night hunter and screech of captured prey made him jump. Small muscles began to twitch involuntarily and his breath came ever more shallow. If he'd thought it through a little further, Corporal Doyle would have realized that all he had to do with volley fire was aim at a point along the line everyone else was firing on. And if he could see who he was shooting at, he wouldn't have to worry about range because the blaster was a line-of-sight weapon over normal infantry ranges-simply point and shoot and don't worry about making sight adjustments. Besides, as odd as the light might be, he really could see, even better than he could with the unaided eye in the light of swampy day.

They made good time, though the going was difficult. Schultz had to make sure every hollow, every depression he couldn't see into at a distance, was untenanted. He needed to see the back side of every object behind which an enemy could lie in ambush. He had to watch that his footing was firm, that neither he nor the Marines following would slip in loose muck or trod in quicksand. He had to avoid walking on drifted leaves and twigs that might conceal a sinkhole or make unwanted noise. Before entering the water of a rill or stream, he had to a.s.sure himself that n.o.body was opposite, waiting for the Marines to expose themselves. And he couldn't walk through the tangles and sheets of foliage that dangled and dripped from the trees. Somehow, he always found a way that didn't require a path to be hacked or broken. The HUD showed they were less than fifty meters from the anomaly when Sergeant Bladon called a halt. They were a little more than an hour into the patrol. He spoke softly into his helmet comm.

"Rat, take over. Hammer, you and me take a closer look."

"Aye aye," Corporal Linsman replied, then began his own soft commands to establish a hasty defensive position.

Schultz didn't reply, he simply waited for Bladon to reach him before advancing in a low crouch. The two were crawling by the time they reached their destination. Bladon looked around, checked his HUD, checked the UPUD, looked around again.

"See anything?" he asked.

Schultz grunted softly. He didn't see anything out of what pa.s.sed for ordinary in the swamp. After they watched for a few minutes longer, Bladon called in a report. "According to the UPUD, we're at the anomaly. Nothing's here."

"Any marks on the ground to indicate anybody's been there recently?" asked Lieutenant Humphrey, who took the report himself.

"Negative. Looks like n.o.body's ever been here."

"Set an ambush for half an hour, then come back in."

"Roger," Bladon replied. Then to Schultz, "Let's go." He began to rise to a crouch to head back, stopped when he realized Schultz hadn't moved. "What do you have?" 85 85 Schultz didn't reply. Using his infra, Bladon saw Schultz's head slowly rotate, looking around. Bladon sank back to his knees, one hand on the mud, the other holding his blaster parallel to the ground. He slid his infra into place and scanned his surroundings. No heat signatures showed. He listened and realized it was several minutes since he'd last heard the cries of hunting or hunted animals. He glanced at the UPUD, but it didn't show any movement. Abruptly, Schultz stood and raised all his shields. He breathed deeply, let the air fill his nostrils, roll across his tongue. He slowly twisted around until he was facing back the way they'd come.

"Skinks," he said, and headed back at a fast walk, gloved hand on his blaster's firing lever. Bladon didn't ask any questions. If Schultz said there were Skinks behind them, in the direction of the rest of the squad, he wasn't going to doubt him no matter what the UPUD said-Schultz was more likely to be right.