It had occurred to him that military technology was restricted by more than the limits of science. Culture and history entered in-what your philosophies allowed, especially religious philosophies; to what degree creative imagination and innovation were given play; who you'd fought, and when, and under what circumstances.

If there's a technological mismatch down there, he thought, I hope it's in our favor. He especially hoped the aliens didn't have nuclear weapons. He was reasonably sure Admiral Apraxin didn't. That even the Commonwealth didn't.

The Ground War Begins

"We'll let them come to us, and show us what they've got." That's what General Pak was supposed to have said, or words to that effect.

1st Battalion had moved into position in the middle of the night, and the Jerries, with their trenching tools, had dug like badgers. (What Jerries knew as "badgers" weighed upwards of forty pounds and dug out any whelping dens they found, whatever lived there.) In the forest edge, the top two feet of soil was thick with tree roots that had to be cut first, but once through that, Esau and Jael had really made the dirt fly. Made a foxhole to be proud of! Eight feet long and six deep, with the required firing step. Then he'd built a little roof over one end-sections of young trees, overlaid with bark he'd stripped from a large tree, covering it all with dirt from the hole. At the other end were three dirt steps they could use to get out in a hurry. He'd driven long stakes into the bottom, to keep the steps from breaking down.

Now they stood on the firing step, waiting. Behind him, wilderness stretched all the way to the Ice Sea. He'd seen it on a monitor, while riding down in the shuttle; a view he'd never imagined when he'd lived on this world. In front of him was a broad field, way bigger than any he'd seen before on New Jerusalem. Green with some crop he didn't recognize-something the Wyzhnyny had brought with them. About knee-high just now.

The Wyzhnyny didn't farm the way his people had, who needed lots of woods for each farm. In the older settled districts the rule was at least one acre of woods for every three or four acres of field and pasture, depending on fertility. Enough to grow back, each year, all the wood you cut that year. Trees needed for building-logs, and for splitting out planks, roof shakes, and everything else needed. But especially for firewood, to take you through the long winters-a pile the size of the house. And logs and poles for fence rails. His dad had said about 8,000 rails for forty acres, plus replacements.

Esau didn't doubt the number. He'd sawed and chopped and split enough just in his own few years. But the Wyzhnyny had cleared away the farm woodlots. Didn't need them, apparently. Seemed they liked open ground best.

Ordinarily, Esau preferred to meet trouble at least halfway, but it was a mile or so across to the next good cover. It was hilly over there-maybe sinkhole country-not suited for farming. They'd been told it was where the Wyzhnyny would attack from. He sure as heck wouldn't want to cross a half mile of open ground with people shooting at him.

What he and his folks were waiting for was a whole new level of trouble. And a chance to learn what they were up against before they went charging into something. Even after Pastor Luneburger's World, where they'd trained and trained, supposedly doing everything they'd do here. Done it by day and by night, in heat and in cold, hungry, wet, and sleepless.

But two main things were different: on Luneburger's they hadn't killed anyone, and nobody'd tried to kill them.

Excepting Moses Wheeler, who'd murdered poor Spieler-shot him from behind-and the miserable dog turds back on Terra that'd sabotaged batches of stuff. Grenade detonators, power slugs… and parasails, particularly Isaiah Vernon's. "Sabotage." It'd been a new word to Esau. Sergeant Hawkins said it was supposed to be done with now. Things got inspected in the making, the packing, and the shipping, and the "saboteurs"-the people to blame-got caught and put in jail.

Now the getting ready was over. Somewhere off across that field was a whole army of Wyzhnyny, wanting to kill all the human beings they could. Including himself. They'd already disappeared the seventy percent of the human beings that chose to stay. They'd included just about all the older folks, and most of the younger with families of children.

And not satisfied with killing everyone, they'd knocked down and burnt every building, their foundation stones cracked and scattered. Or so the army said.

When he'd been a child, Speaker Motley had taught them the Testaments. And one thing he'd stressed was that the Lord God claimed all vengeance for himself alone. Which doesn't leave much for us, Esau told himself. But it seemed to him the Lord wouldn't hold it against him for feeling satisfaction whenever his blaster cut down a Wyzhnyny. And he intended to cut down a lot of them.

Standing beside her husband, Jael Wesley thought not of killing but of dying. Not morbidly or fearfully though. In his Contemplations on the Testaments, Elder Hofer had described Heaven as a place of perfect justice and grace and love. In the lowest realm of Heaven-what some called Purgatory-angels helped the newly dead confront the wrongs they'd done, and those done to them. Helped them learn to truly forgive, themselves as well as others, with complete responsibility and love, till they became angels themselves. Then they moved higher, learning from more experienced angels of the splendors of Heaven's higher realms, growing in godliness, readying themselves to join the archangels.

She'd never been able to envision what it would be like, but it seemed fitting, and she had no doubt it was true. Some did doubt. She'd had it in strictest confidence from a girlhood friend who'd doubted. Miriam had stayed behind during the evacuation, and was almost surely long-since murdered. Doubt had been a burden to Miriam, but Jael was sure her friend was in Heaven. Knew it without question. Miriam had always treated people with love, except sometimes her wretched brother, who bedemoned her whenever the notion took him. He'd be dead now too, unless he left in one of the evacuation ships.

It'll be interesting to die, Jael thought. But she was in no hurry. A person was born to live their life as best they could. Live it through, and die when it came time. She smiled. Her time was not yet. She and Esau were supposed to have children, bring them up in love, send them on their way with joy, and see her grandchildren through their childhood. Being a man, Esau had the advantage there. On New Jerusalem, pregnancy and childbirth taxed a woman sorely, and not many lived to see their grandchildren grow up. She would though; loving and spoiling them. She felt sure of it.

Isaiah Vernon waited in the forest shade. The day was warm, and the breeze that rustled the leaves overhead didn't visit down among the trunks. Sitting in the shade meant his cooling system didn't have to work hard.

They'd arrived near the end of the season known as "greening," when the new growth was burgeoning, and thunder showers were most frequent. We're lucky the weather was good when the marine squadrons were doing their work, he told himself. The rumor was, today would be the day the Wyzhnyny would attack. Then he'd learn what war was really like, and whether they-organics, bots, the army-were as good as they needed to be.

Probably more than anyone in the division, it seemed to him, he had a perspective on being killed. Been tested, proved, and come through cleanly, to be reprieved almost after the fact.