Every day, floaters flew off north to the bot shop and the hospital, and he'd asked Captain Zenawi for a half day off. But the captain reminded him that after someone got bottled, they spent a few days in a kind of sleep. For what they called "neurological detraumatization," that helped them heal.

Remembering had started silent tears. Bottled. He hoped it wasn't too bad. She could have been in the loving arms of God, if it hadn't been for him.

Now, courtesy of night vision, their APFs were visible among the trees, and his attention returned to real time. Above the forest roof there was probably a little twilight left, but down where they were it was dark night. The armored floaters were lined up in two ranks along a sizeable creek. From there they could lift through the slender break it made in the forest roof.

Major Chou was already there from Division, overseeing. He'd land afterward with E Company, to lead the demolitions follow-through.

They broke ranks to pick up their gear, which had been hauled there by AG cargo sleds. They wouldn't be jumping from high enough to require thermal coveralls. Gloves and winter underwear would do. They simply buckled on their chutes, snapped on their gear, checked each other out, then boarded their floaters and belted themselves onto their seats. Then the APFs rose carefully through the trees and into the young night sky.

Sergeant Isaiah Vernon sat on another APF, on a short hop east. As part of Pak's tactical reserve, all six bot platoons were going out together as a combat team-132 warbots plus 12 salvage bots and a command staff of four.

Their mission commander was Major Einer Arslanian Singh. The story was, Arslanian had been taking airborne training on Masada, got caught in a squall, and came down in a rock pile, tearing up his knees. Afterward, back on Terra, he'd specialized in bot tactics, even though there were no bots. That was before anyone had heard of the Wyzhnyny.

Then had come the message from Tagus, and suddenly bots were dearer than diamonds. But at that time, having lost one's legs wasn't enough to qualify. Then Arslanian had another accident. Except the rumor was he'd set it up-had sacrificed his eyesight in order to be bottled. Isaiah didn't know if the story was true or not, but Arslanian ended up a major, commanding the 1st Jerrie bot contingent. He'd planned and led two different platoon actions. Now he'd lead a long company.

Isaiah, whose nature it was to like and accept people, was happy to have the major in command. Because this would be the most dangerous mission they'd been on. They'd be set down in the midst of a Wyzhnyny operations headquarters, if they got that far.

The evening breeze was cool and clean, but Major Patrick Feliks Phayakapong's T-shirt was wet with sweat. They'd traveled buttoned up for a while, because after they'd left the forest they'd been shadowed by Wyzhnyny floaters. Whether scouts or fighters he didn't know; Moses wasn't up to such distinctions. Then word came that a flight of Indi fighters were on the way, and he'd opened his turret hatch to watch. He didn't see much; most of it was out of his view. The Indi flight commander radioed that they'd shot down two of three, and the third had fled. The major appreciated that someone was looking out for him.

Meanwhile he was running low on time. His orders had been updated, and his HUD showed a Moses-eye view of the Wyzhnyny force he was supposed to attack. Four batteries of howitzers-forty-eight guns in all-escorted by a company of tanks. Apparently they planned to set up a fire base to shell the Jerrie regiment manning the eastern forest defenses.

But the tanks had changed direction, apparently to attack his own battered force.

Eight additional batteries and another tank company were headed farther west on a different road, apparently to set up another fire base or bases. Probably to shell Headquarters Base.

According to Moses, the Wyzhnyny no longer had scouts up, or out on the ground for that matter. Hard to believe, but if true, then neither enemy force knew what he was doing in real time. "Well crap," the major muttered, "it's now or forget about it." He keyed his mike and ordered twelve tanks, two groups of six, to diverge from his line of advance. Each group was to hit the Wyz tank force from the flank. To maximize surprise, he'd tell them when to fire, unless of course the Wyz fired first.

Then, if it looked doable, he'd take the rest of his force through or around the Wyz tanks, and attack the east base howitzers. It looked like the best move he had available.

Calling Division command, he told them what he planned. "Fine. Do it," Pak said. "And, Pat, you need to know I've got airborne raiders scheduled to take out the central fire base. That's why I let the Wyzhnyny scouts shadow you as long as I did. It fixed their attention on you.

"The jumpers will be in mortal jeopardy if the tanks from the east base show up there. So the more hell you raise, the better chance the airborne will have. They've got a very tough and dangerous job. Like yours."

The first salvo of 5.6-inch shells-forty-eight of them-was fired while the APFs were en route. To Arjin Hawkins it sounded like a distant thunderstorm. And the guns continued in unison, which struck him as peculiar.

If we'd gotten off half an hour sooner, he thought, we might have prevented it. But there hadn't been time, and at any rate, a half hour earlier it hadn't been dark enough.

For weeks the Burger engineers had worked their butts off day and night, building the base, abatises, and breastworks-and the backup base. Now they were working furiously, without Jerrie help, to move the more sensitive Headquarters Base installations there.

The flight was short, even though they bypassed the fire base and jumped six miles to the south-a subterfuge to avoid Wyzhnyny suspicions. Now the troopers of Airborne A temp were planing back northward beneath their parasails. Even with night vision, Hawkins couldn't see most of his people. But they had their HUDs.

The salvos paled the darkness with great flashes of light, and as Hawkins planed nearer, the booming became less like thunder. It just sounded like artillery. His central HUD showed the fire base. Its layout seemed idiotic, though obviously the Wyzhnyny didn't think so. The HUD was too small for detail, but Lonesome Moses had provided the essentials during the briefing, and Hawkins had imprinted them mentally. Six ranks of howitzers, eight in a rank, formed a compact square. Their spacing provided aisles, adequate for firing safety, and for howitzers to jockey in and out if necessary. Grav sleds would no doubt use the aisles to distribute ammo from the two massive caissons on the south edge. The border of dotlike icons along the east, south and west sides indicated squad APCs: twelve on the east and west, and eight on the south, where the center of the rank was occupied by the caissons and a heavy, armor-recovery vehicle. About twenty yards off each corner were two flakwagons, eight in all.

If a wolf pack were available, that compactness would make a marvelous target, but an airborne attack would have to suffice. His platoon's primary job was to take out the flakwagons at the two south corners, and the APCs along the south side. Dreiser's Platoon would take out the west-side APCs, along with the two northwest flakwagons. Castro's would handle the east side. Hussain's was the reserve, ready to defend the landers when they came in with Division's demolitions company.

The overall mission was etched clearly in Hawkins' mind. But if even two or three flakwagons escaped destruction, or most of the APCs survived, there'd be serious problems in carrying it out. Especially since it wasn't enough just to disrupt the barrage for the time being. The howitzers, or most of them, had to be destroyed. Which meant Demolitions' floaters needed to land safely.