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! as a pillar of fire propelled the top of the enemy vehicle fifteen feet into the air, where it appeared to hang momentarily before crashing 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.”

Omer frowned. “I was scared, Jim… . Were you scared?”

“I was very scared. I think I crapped 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 good job.”

“Thank you, sir… . I’ll pass 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 damned many.”

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

FORT HOWE, ON THE PLANET TURAXIS II

More than a week had passed 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 dropship named 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.

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, 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 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 dropship carried eleven other passengers, 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 ship, 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 dropship 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 passed 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 assigned 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 assigned 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-pushing 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.”