FORT HOWE, ON THE PLANET TURAXIS II

One of the planet’s moons was still arcing toward the western horizon, the lights were turned down, and Raynor was lying on his rack listening to some very retro tunes that Kydd had passed along to him when the door to the dormitory-style barracks room slammed open, and a basso voice said, “Hit the floor! It’s time for all of you ladies to dance!”

Raynor dropped his fone and sat up just in time to see Tychus Findlay stroll down the center aisle sporting a brand-new set of sergeant’s chevrons. Oh no, Raynor thought, How the hell did I step in this pile of shit?

“That’s right,” Tychus announced cheerfully, casting a wicked smile directly at Raynor. “Your worst fekkin’ nightmare just arrived! You thought basic sucked? Just wait till I’m done with you. Now get dressed.”

“I don’t believe it,” Harnack said. “Who would be crazy enough to make you a sergeant?”

“I’m glad you asked,” Tychus replied, as he made his way over to where Harnack was standing. Large though he was, Harnack found himself looking up as a huge fist got a grip on the front of his shirt and hoisted him up off the ground.

Tychus was smoking a stogie, and as their faces came level with each other, Harnack could feel the heat from the glowing red ember on the tip of his nose. Tychus exhaled and Harnack coughed. “You’re the asshole with the shotgun,” Tychus observed, as Harnack’s feet dangled uselessly in the air.

“And you’re one crazy sonofabitch,” Harnack responded insolently.

Tychus might have bounced Harnack off the wall at that point, but Raynor was there to intervene. “You made your point, Sergeant. Hank, shut the hell up! Or do you want to wind up in the infirmary?”

Harnack’s answer was forever lost as a Klaxon sounded and the loudspeaker over their heads came to sudden life. “This is Lieutenant Colonel Vanderspool… . The base is under attack! I repeat, the base is under attack! All duty personnel will report to their pre-assigned rally points. All off-duty personnel will report for duty. Again, this is Lieutenant Colonel Vanderspool… .”

Tychus put Harnack down and squinted at Raynor. “Which rally point is Echo Company supposed to report to?”

Raynor shrugged. “I don’t know. We’re in a holding company waiting to be slotted into a line unit. We’ve been reporting to a supply sergeant on a temporary basis and pulling shit details for days. We didn’t have any noncoms until now. I was the acting squad leader.”

Tychus eyed Raynor and frowned. “How long have you been a lance corporal?”

“About a week,” Harnack chimed in. “Ever since we kicked a starload of Kel-Morian ass at Firebase Zulu!”

“Well, at least you bunnies have seen some action,” Tychus allowed grudgingly. “Get your weapons, gear up, and grab all the ammo you can carry. At least some of the Kel-Morians will be wearing armor—but we don’t have time to suit up. Put on your chest protectors, and remember ladies, the zipper goes in front.”

The orders set off a mad scramble as Raynor, Harnack, Kydd, Zander, and a marine named Connor Ward rushed to get ready. The building shook from a series of explosions as Tychus slipped into his body armor. The cigar was still clenched in his teeth and some ash cascaded down over his chest protector as he fastened the straps.

“The noise you heard was a set of demolitions charges going off,” Tychus predicted. “So it’s safe to assume that the bastards are on base by now.”

“Good,” rumbled the husky, dark-skinned Ward as he settled a pack loaded with extra rockets onto his broad back. “I want to kill as many Kel-Morians as possible! It’s payback time.”

“I’m gonna light those bastards up!” Harnack proclaimed enthusiastically, as he came forward to stand next to Ward. He was wearing protective goggles plus a two-tank backpack. He held the flamethrower’s tube-shaped igniter across his torso the way a mother might cradle her baby.

Like Ward’s rocket launcher, the flamethrower was a squad weapon that would normally be assigned to someone with the proper training. But given the circumstances, and with no one to tell him no, Harnack had appropriated the weapon for himself and was clearly eager to try it out.

“So where are we going?” Zander inquired pragmatically, as he pointed the stubby barrel of his grenade launcher at the ceiling. “I say we defend the officers’ club,” he quipped dryly. “That’s where the important stuff is.”

“I think we should head for the armory,” Raynor put in, as the insistent pop, pop, pop of small arms fire was heard in the distance. “That’s what the Kel-Morians will try to destroy first.”

Tychus realized that Raynor was correct, and, not having a plan of his own, was quick to agree. “General Raynor has the right idea. Let’s go, girls, on the double!”

The six-man squad slipped out of the barracks just in time to see one of the fort’s elevated turrets fire a salvo of missiles at an unseen target and then explode as two Kel-Morian Hellhounds roared overhead. The light generated by the explosion strobed the surrounding buildings and left afterimages floating in front of Raynor’s eyes as he followed Tychus down onto the half-lit street.

Someone—it wasn’t clear who—was firing flares up into the darkening sky. They went off with a distinctive pop, and threw a ghastly green glow across everything below, as tiny retros lowered them to the ground.

A firefight was underway up ahead, and as the squad drew closer, Raynor saw that a group of lightly armed marines had taken cover behind a plascrete blast barrier as a trio of Kel-Morian rippers marched toward them. The flat black armor was hard to see, or would have been without the light from the flares, which threw long, hard shadows toward the embattled marines. Projectiles sparkled as they hit the enemy armor, and two grenades exploded harmlessly in front of the enemy grunts. They were rocked back on their heels, but recovered and kept on coming.

“Ward!” Raynor snapped as the group continued to advance on the barrier. “Can you reach them?”

“I can and I will,” the marine rumbled, stepping between a couple of marines and raising the launcher. “Watch out for my back blast.”

There was a loud whoosh, followed by a roar, as the armor-piercing round raced up the street. It scored a direct hit on the Kel-Morian who was at the center of the three-man formation. The result was a loud boom followed by a reedy cheer, as pieces of the ripper flew in every direction.

But as Ward worked to reload his single shot launcher, the enemy grunts were closing with the marines, firing as they came. Raynor saw two men fall as Harnack readied his weapon.

“Eat this!” Harnack proclaimed as he pointed the igniter over the barrier and pulled the trigger. A gout of fire shot up the street, wrapped a ripper in a fiery embrace, and set him to dancing inside a cocoon of orange-red flames.

Zander dropped a series of grenades into the conflagration, and the resulting explosion sent the Kel-Morian’s helmet and head shooting straight up, trailing fire as they went. Then there was a flash of light as the suit came apart—and shrapnel flew in every direction.

That was spectacular stuff, but not as amazing as what occurred next, when Tychus jumped the barrier and charged the remaining grunt with his weapon blazing! As the two of them collided, Tychus bowled the ripper over and landed on the Kel-Morian’s chest. It shouldn’t have been possible, but Tychus was not only bigger than most men, but amped on adrenaline as well. He brought his rifle butt down on the other soldier’s visor, swore when it didn’t shatter, and hit it again and again.