"All right," the ensign said, "squad leaders send your squads."

"4th Squad," Timmins said, "1st Team over."

Esau got quickly to his feet, blaster in one hand, and bellied over the chest-high fence. He hadn't hit the ground before firing came from the woods ahead, the staccato popping and thumping of blasters and slammers, loud in the aggregate, each kicking out soft pulses at several per second. None had hit him; even soft pulses had an impact, and except for their helmets, they weren't wearing armor on this patrol. He took up a squat-firing position-the vegetation was too tall for firing prone-and began to shoot back. Near him on his right, Jael, the squad's grenadier, was launching a series of dummy phosphorous grenades, the butt of her launcher on the ground, braced against a foot. Behind him he could hear obscenities as 2nd Team struggled to pull the fence apart.

Ensign Berg ordered the platoon to move forward by squads. Adding, "Keep low!" Crouching, Esau sprang forward, ran six strides, then dove for the ground, taking the impact on the butt of his blaster. Rolled sideways, then returned to the squat position to lay fire on the defenders. To his right, Timmins yelped-hit, Esau supposed. The red warning light on his HUD, his heads-up display, told him he needed to change his blaster's power slug. He did. Then Timmins shouted "1st Team go!" and Esau was on his feet again; he ran another six strides and hit the ground. This time he remembered to squeeze off a burst while running.

Their cycle of rush, give covering fire, and rush again was repeated several times, and still he hadn't felt the impact of a blaster pulse. He wondered how many had. Surely if this was hard fire, some of them would be lying bloody behind him.

They were almost to the forest when warbots attacked, the weapons attached to their forearms pumping bursts of energy pulses. From their seven-foot height, they could easily target the trainees in the vegetation. Esau felt soft pulses slap him in chest and thigh. Without thinking, he fired a burst at the nearest bot, at the primary sensorium on the head, then dove, wrapping thick-muscled arms around its ankles. The bot crashed down, and he scrambled over it, grabbing at the head, going for the sensors. But stronger arms than his wrapped around him. "Gotcha," said a voice. Instead of giving up, Esau struggled.

Then cadre whistles shrilled; the exercise was over. The arms that pinioned him relaxed, and the warbot got up, rolling Esau off. For a moment he lay stunned, not from any blow, but by what he considered an unfair trick. Warbots! No one had said anything to them about the Wyzhnyny having warbots!

The platoon leaders were taken back to the regimental area by floater, to evaluate the exercise. The trainees marched back, led by their platoon sergeants. They marched "at ease" (no talking), left to their own thoughts, double-timing once they reached the road.

It was a lecture shed they went to, and did fifty pushups before going inside. 1st Platoon was also there; it had been their adversary in the game. The two platoons sat on opposite sides of the center aisle. Four bots were also there, sitting farther to the rear. It was Captain Mulvaney who reviewed the exercise with them.

"All right, men," he said, "at ease." He looked them over. "Who here got hit, by any kind of weapon? I'm talking about before the warbots attacked."

Esau looked around. On 2nd Platoon's side of the aisle, nine hands raised. Considering all the shooting, he was surprised there weren't more. 1st Platoon had only four, but it had been dug in.

Mulvaney questioned everyone who'd raised their hand. Of the thirteen organics who'd raised theirs, eight would very probably have died.

"And who was hit during the warbot charge? Keep them up so I can count you."

Esau didn't try to count them. All four bots had been hit. They'd charged into the middle of it, been big targets and drawn lots of fire. "Seventeen," the CO said, "plus the bots. Okay, take them down. Your ensigns and Division's umpires all agree: 2nd Platoon, you carried out your approach and attack very professionally. 1st Platoon, you dug in effectively in the limited time you had, and fought a good defense."

He looked toward the bots. "Corporal Sciacca, where were you hit?"

"In the head, sir, by a blaster. A hard pulse would have ruined one of my ocular sensors. I also took hits on my chest and left leg, but even if they'd been hard pulses, neither one would have done damage."

"Thank you." Mulvaney paused, turning his gaze entirely on 2nd Platoon. "What did you think of the warbots?"

Esau's hand shot up. "Esau," the captain said.

"Sir, it wasn't fair to use warbots against us like that. No one told us the enemy had any. We didn't have a chance."

"War is seldom fair," Mulvaney answered, "and surprises are part of it. So far as we know, the Wyzhnyny don't have warbots, but they'll have something dangerous we don't expect. When fighting an enemy we know so little about, we can expect more surprises than usual, mostly unpleasant. This evening you got some notion of what it can be like.

"Some of you responded very well, incidentally."

Mulvaney turned his attention to 1st Platoon. "1st Platoon, Division's umpires estimate you took twenty casualties from phosphorous burns. You've seen demonstrations of what that can mean, so you can be grateful this was an exercise, with dummy grenades."

He paused, scanning both platoons. "The reason we didn't have you feign death when hit was, we didn't want you to forego the complete action. In combat, of course, when you're hit, you're hit. When you're burned, you're burned." Another pause. "History tells us that many soldiers go through numerous actions without being wounded, but there are also actions where casualties are very heavy. The best chance you have of coming through, of winning and surviving, is by working as a team." Again he paused. "Let's hear you say it: `We work as a team!'"

"We work as a team!" they answered.

"Say it like you mean it!"

This time they shouted: "WE WORK AS A TEAM!"

Mulvaney grinned. "Good. I got that. And there are other things: We keep the enemy under heavy fire. Say it!"

"We maintain contact with the enemy."

"We are aggressive."

"All right! You will learn more about all these things over the weeks to come, including when and where they don't apply. You will practice till doing the right thing is as natural as breathing. And when you first go into battle, you'll be as good as you can get, short of actual combat experience." He paused, raised his voice. "You want to know what surprise really is? Surprise… " He slowed, his voice softening, becoming confidential. "Surprised is what the Wyzhnyny will be the first time they tangle with you. They're going to wish they'd stayed wherever they came from."

He hadn't anticipated the cheers he got. Inwardly it shook him. He'd have given his life to cancel this war and send his trainees home, but it wasn't an option. For anyone. The Wyzhnyny had come, and there was nothing that would cause them to leave, short of defeat. And there was no reason to expect even defeat to drive them away. If they had to be hunted down and wiped out on each world they'd occupied, this would be a truly hellish war.