Hoke was the first to arrive. He and Esau shifted the Wyzhnyny body to serve as a driver's seat for Tyler. Tyler sat on it, and Esau climbed in back. Felspar had freed the Wyzhnyny gunner from his gun harness, and with a little ingenuity had adjusted it for himself.

For a moment Esau hesitated. "Felspar, do you need me?" he asked.

"Be good to have someone to set a new power drum when I need it."

"Okay. I'm your man. Airborne A, Hawkins' Platoon now owns a flakwagon on the south side. For God's sake don't hole us. If anyone knows of a live Wyzhnyny flakwagon, let us know. We'll see about taking it out."

He stepped onto the gunner's platform to see better.

"Wesley," Zenawi called, "there's one on the west side about a hundred yards out, stalled; I think her driver's hit. But the gunner's raising hell with Dreiser's Platoon, and it's got a couple of blastermen in back."

"I copy, Captain. We're on our way. Tyler, let's go. Felspar, don't fire at APCs now. I don't want to get tied up with fighting till we take out that other flakwagon."

"Wesley-" It was Zenawi. "That other flakwagon has a driver again. It's moving erratically toward the southwest corner, firing heavily."

"Copy, sir."

The reported flakwagon rounded the southwest corner and came toward them. "I see it, Esau!" Tyler shouted. Felspar said nothing. He swung his gun on target and at once fired a long burst. Like the APC, the Wyzhnyny-manned flakwagon swerved and stopped, but it still directed its fire elsewhere. Apparently its gunner didn't know they'd been hit by one of their own.

"Pull past it, Tyler. Felspar, wait till you've got a clear shot at the rear end, then pump her again."

Felspar liked this machine. It was a heavy flakwagon, like the one they'd trained on. They passed the other on the outside, at ten yards, and he fired a long burst into the rear. There was a surprisingly powerful explosion. A trasher bolt must have hit the enemy's power drum.

"Tyler," Esau said, "stop a minute. I want to make sure the sonofabitch is totally out of action." Then he slung his blaster on a thick shoulder and turned his back on the gunner. "Get me a P grenade out of my pack," he said. Leaning, Felspar got it for him. Esau hooked it on his harness, vaulted over the side, ran the twenty yards back to the other vehicle, tossed a frag grenade into the rear for insurance, heard it roar, and peered over the side. It looked like a slaughterhouse. The power drum that had blown had already been seated, and had torn the trasher's firing mechanism apart.

Esau opened the cab door then. Inside were two Wyzhnyny almost certainly dead. He tossed in the phosphorus grenade anyway, and slammed the door. He never heard the P grenade pop. Felspar, watching from the back of the captured flakwagon, saw Esau fall, and called Tyler, who called for a medic while Hoke jumped from the cab and ran to Esau.

"Steve," Hoke called, "he's breathing, but there's lots of blood running from under his helmet."

"A medic's on his way," Tyler answered. "Now get your butt back here! In back, to help Felspar. The captain wants us to knock out APCs before the floaters get here."

"Right. I'm a-coming."

Hoke wouldn't have believed the fighting was less than ten minutes old.

Throughout it all, the howitzers continued to thunder. General Pak could hardly have been more pleased, despite the explosives raining down on his base, because it meant the howitzers were not pulling out. And he very much wanted them to be there when the demolitions company arrived.

They no longer fired in synch; it was as if the chaos around their borders had spread inward. But the volume of shells they threw across the miles remained as great.

Airborne A temp had done their job despite the fight's premature beginning. When the demolitions platoons with their petards and heavy rockets disembarked from the APFs, the fire they faced was light. Briefly they lay low, while Hussain's Platoon moved in ahead of them to help finish off the Wyzhnyny infantry. The other three jumper platoons had been seriously reduced.

More than the demolitions platoons had landed. There were two medivacs, and an APF with field medics and AG sleds to bring in the wounded. Esau was one of the first loaded. He was already on his way in, wobbly and on foot. A medic sprayed his scalp to inhibit further bleeding. Aboard the medivac, he'd refused to be installed on an evac litter. Refused to be bandaged, because he wouldn't be able to get his helmet back on. Refused to be injected, and shoved an insistent medic hard enough that the man fell on his butt. Tight-lipped, the Terran medical officer in charge let Esau be. He had better things to do than coerce some stubborn Jerrie. But when they got to the hospital, he'd see him charged and disciplined.

Meanwhile Esau posted himself out of the way, just inside the ramp, watching till it was nearly full. When the last of the wounded was being brought up the ramp, the doctor in charge again insisted to Esau that he lie down. Instead he got off.

Because Ensign Hawkins hadn't been brought aboard.

He then went to the other medivac. It was loading the dead while waiting for additional wounded. No, he was told, they'd seen no Ensign Hawkins.

"Well, you got to go get him. I know where he is. I'll take you. Not over there." He gestured toward the chaos of the fire base three hundred yards west. "Over there, in our drop zone. He broke his leg."

"How do you know that?"

"He radioed and told us. And turned his hat over to me."

"You people have casualty signals, right?"

"Maybe his didn't work."

This Terran major too was getting exasperated. He needed to finish loading and get his wounded to the hospital. But at the same time… "All right." Turning he called. "Corporal Chou, go with the sergeant here and pick up an Ensign Hawkins. The sergeant will show you where. And make it quick!"

Esau could have ridden on the AG sled, but he walked instead, leading off. He wasn't wobbling now. Not striding, but trudging purposefully. Having something to do had given him new strength. He didn't know exactly where the ensign was, but he'd be somewhere in the drop zone. Ensign Hawkins, he thought, if you'll help me to find you, I'll surely appreciate it. Then he repeated his appeal, this time to God.

Three hundred yards north of the drop zone, the thunder of howitzers had stopped. With the guns themselves under serious attack, the base commander had ordered them to cease fire and evacuate. But the evacuation wasn't happening. These howitzers were not only of lighter caliber, they were less heavily armored than those the wolf packs had savaged, and Demolitions was having their way with them. The initial spacing made orderly evacuation awkward, and the first howitzers destroyed were on the edges, where they were most in the way.

Esau paid all that no heed. He was busy. He spotted Hawkins from thirty yards away, lying in thigh-deep grass. The medic couldn't imagine how he saw him. The ensign's casualty signal was indeed not working. With the pant leg cut away, his wound was obvious, but more serious, he was in shock, and unconscious. With Esau's help the medic loaded Hawkins onto the AG sled and piloted it to the medivac.

They were the last loaded, and the medivac took off hastily. Esau gave up his damaged helmet and allowed himself to be treated, then lay down willingly, and quickly slept.

He had no idea-none of them did-of what was about to happen at the fire base.