The Jerrie's voice answered in his ear. "Yessir."

Not yessir, Ensign, just yessir, Berg observed. Terse. Good stealth discipline. Even so tiny and short range a source of electronic activity as an ultra-short-range helmet transmission on low might be picked up at 200 yards. He'd risked their security himself, with so long an order, but delivering it in person was a greater risk.

Carefully he turned his head in the young man's direction, but couldn't see him. Some evergreen brush was in the way. He'd already learned, though, that to give Lance Corporal Esau Wesley an order was to start a prompt response chain. He decided to talk to the CO about promoting Esau to full corporal. And to buck sergeant when they left Luneburger's, unless he went sour along the way. And he wouldn't, not Wesley. Not seriously.

The first thing Esau did was crawl backward over the crest of the ridge. Slowly, with short pauses. Any movement might catch the eye. Protracted movement held the attention, with greater risk of recognition. Once behind the crest he arose, ran off to his left 200 yards, then crossed it again on his belly. When well below the skyline, he moved in a low crouch. Here the ridges were somewhat less steep, and the draw between them considerably less deep. Thus the forest provided a thicker screen than at the point from which he'd left.

He understood without being told why the ensign wanted him to identify the people on the other ridge. The draw opened into a grassy glen, a sort of natural travelway. Both 2nd Platoon and the force across the draw could lay down fire on armor or anything else using it.

He didn't think the fact. It was simply there, an operating datum. Once atop the other ridge, he'd need to get close; see whether those others wore gray-blue Burger armbands on their left sleeves, or yellow-brown Jerrie armbands like his own. He didn't intend to get close enough to hear their accents. Even though they'd shown no sign of having seen 2nd Platoon, any talking they did would likely be quiet.

His advances continued smooth and intermittent, even as far up the draw as he was. He moved from cover to cover, down the slope and up the other, taking advantage of evergreen shrubs. At every pause, his eyes scanned. The "enemy" would have sentries out: human sentries-electronic sentries were "noisier."

At one pause he peered long and carefully across the draw, toward where he'd come from. Spotted the outline of a helmet against an outcrop. Some folks had trouble getting it through their heads that the camouflage pattern on your uniform wasn't enough. A little brush, strategically attached, made a lot of difference. He'd mention it when this was over.

He still couldn't see the folks on this side. Some forty yards ahead, a rocky prominence hid them from view. It was a good place for a lookout, too, lying low beside a tree, watching for someone like himself. Esau didn't move again till he was satisfied with his surveillance. He couldn't afford carelessness. With backcountry like this, there'd be skilled hunters among the Burgers.

After seconds he moved on. The wet leaves on the ground made effectively no noise, and the dry leaves rustling in the treetops helped cover the occasional wet twig breaking. When he reached the outcrop he paused again, then slipped past it on his belly. He spotted his first "enemy" thirty yards away, and stopped. He couldn't see an armband, but if he…

What caused him to look aside just then, he would never know. What he saw was something he'd only heard about, but he knew what it was, and it was looking right at him. It gathered itself, and for just a moment Esau froze mentally.

Then the lion rushed him, and Esau's paralysis transformed into action. Not to turn his blaster and fire. That would have taken too long, for he was prone, and the lion was to his right. Instead he twisted onto his back, coiling, interposing the weapon between himself and the predator, while loosing a shout at the top of his lungs. Then the 300-pound feloid was on him, and Esau jammed his blaster sideways into its mouth. He felt the front claws not as pain but as deadly threat. For a moment it tried to reach him with its jaws, but the blaster was in the way, and the young man's powerful arms held it off. Then it tried to move around him, flank him, and he pivoted on his back in desperation.

He didn't hear the popping of blasters across the ravine, firing soft pulses at the "enemy"; 2nd Platoon had misconstrued his shouts. He could only fight. Salvation came as unexpectedly as the lion. Steel fingers, numbingly powerful, penetrated the ruff, gripped the hide beneath, hauled the predator back, then swung it, slamming it hard against a tree, so quickly and overwhelmingly, the lion didn't have time to twist and fight back. Swung it again, and again, till it lay broken on the ground, hissing coarse bloody hisses at its metal assailant. The warbot set its right-arm blaster on full, and fired a single pulse, putting the lion out of its pain.

Esau stared up at the cyborg. It looked back down at him. "Hello, Esau," it said quietly. "You took us by surprise."

The "enemy" turned out to be 1st Platoon, E Company. Its ensign radioed 2nd Platoon B, and the firing stopped. Meanwhile 1st Platoon E's medic cut off Esau's torn camos, poured antibiotic on his lacerations, bandaged him, gave him an injection, and wrapped him in a casualty blanket. Then Isaiah Vernon picked up his ex-squad leader and carried him down the slope to the meadowed glen as if Esau were a child. Within ten minutes an evac floater was there, and carried the injured man to the division hospital.

2nd Platoon was told that Esau's wounds weren't serious. Jael asked Sergeant Hawkins if she could go with her husband. He'd told her no, that she was a soldier, and this was part of war.

That evening Hawkins came to her while the platoon ate. The ensign had just gotten a message from Esau: he was fine, and expected to be back in two or three days.

The estimate was Esau's, not the doctor's. He rejoined the platoon and his wife five days later, when the regiment returned to camp. That was also the day Isaiah Vernon went to 2nd Battalion headquarters and asked to see the CO. He had the permission of Sergeant Henry Okinwobu, his squad leader, an ex-marine medically discharged for cascade syndrome.

The battalion sergeant major looked up at the towering metal-and-composites human standing in front of his desk. "What's this about, Vernon?"

"Sergeant Major, it's about my old platoon. I'd like a transfer to 1st Battalion, so I can work with it. I trained with it. I even jumped with it. My best friends… "

The sergeant major cut him off with a gesture. "Just a minute, Vernon," he said, and touched a key on his desk comm. "Major, a personnel matter has just come up, something not covered by policy. You might want to consider it." He listened to something Isaiah couldn't hear. "It's Corporal Vernon of the bot squad." Again he listened. "Yessir, that's him. He went through basic and part of advanced training with 2nd Platoon, B Company, before his chute malfunctioned. The guy he rescued from the lion is one of his old buds. Vernon would like to be swapped for one of 1st Battalion's bot squad… Yes, Major, that's the key to it. We're not likely to get a replacement with his level of infantry training, but… Yessir. Thank you, sir."

He jabbed the switch and looked back up at Isaiah. "Sit down, Private. I have another call to make."

Isaiah sat. In five minutes he had an answer. It wasn't all he'd hoped for, but it might work out. Technically, a warbot platoon was assigned to a regiment as a tactical reserve, which meant the regimental CO could use it any way he wanted. But Division had ordered them divvied out to the battalions. "So if you can find someone in 1st Battalion's bot squad willing to switch," the sergeant major said, "the major will take it up with the colonel." He paused. "But if you're going to do it, do it no later than tomorrow."