From the time they started downstream, noise discipline was absolute. The buoys had been ordered to give special attention to the Mickle's and its vicinity, but you couldn't know for sure. There was Wyzhnyny livestock here and there, and probably Wyzhnyny herdsmen, indistinguishable by buoy imagery.

Esau's advice was heeded: They stayed mostly near the riverbank, and on the curves, favored the outside. Once Captain Mulvaney's HUD showed a Wyzhnyny floater pass over, more or less in line with the river where they were, but it didn't react.

They moved rather briskly, without seeing or hearing anything threatening. The major moon-"Elder Hofer's Lamp"-rose at about 2330 hours, so during the last hour of their river trip, the visibility was better than earlier. That increased the tension level, but not drastically except during one interval when there was no woods along the east bank, and direct moonlight reached the water.

For several minutes, Captain Mulvaney had been paying more attention to his HUD than to the river. The icon of his sole scout was nearing the tank park. "Almost there, men," he murmured. "Easy now. Quietly. Quietly." He rounded a bend. Ahead lay a straightaway about a hundred and fifty yards long. "It's just before the next bend," he whispered. Then added, "Kill your HUDs." The lines on the HUDs were hair-thin, but even so, they were a needless risk now.

This was far the most dangerous stage of the operation yet. Mulvaney felt a focus and acuity of senses greater than anything he'd experienced before in his thirty-three years.

As squad leader, Esau rode in the bow of his boat, watching the riverbanks, the woods, and the boats ahead, his senses as focused and acute as his captain's. The inside of the last bend had been on their left, the side they wanted, and they could have run right up on the mudbank there. It would have made for easier unloading. But then they'd have had to approach through the woods, and riding the current was quieter.

He'd glimpsed one of the flak towers, its platform and cab-turret actually-not much above the treetops. He ignored it; he had more immediate things to pay attention to. On the straightaway he saw no good place to land. The east bank was a natural levee about five feet high, about the highest he'd seen. And abrupt; almost impossible to pull the boats up. This hadn't been apparent in the images from the buoys. They'd either have to leave men behind to hold the boats, or struggle them up onto the levee, making a certain amount of noise. Or let them float on unoccupied, which would leave the company stranded.

But it didn't come to that. Just before the next curve, the high bank had been dozed-sloped and smoothed for easy access to the water. As boat by boat they reached the bend, the bow man slipped into the water close to shore, water waist to chest deep, and guided his boat to the sloped-down bank. Their gear on their backs, shoulders, and harness, the rest also slipped over the side, and transferred demolitions and other gear to shore. Then quickly but quietly they raised the boats from the water, carried them ashore, and very quietly stacked them four high. As soon as a squad had landed their boat, they moved up the bank, weapons in hand, and formed a defense line at the brow while others landed behind them.

Captain Mulvaney had been the first. Wet to the hips, he crawled to the top of the bank, and with night vision examined the Wyzhnyny encampment. From time to time he raised his visor and used his night binoculars to pick up details. Trees obscured the view, but he saw enough to put the scene together.

The buoys had given him the basic layout, subject to uncertainties. There were definitely no tanks on the side toward the river. They were lined up along the other three sides, well spaced, forming a box several acres in size. Inside the box lay almost everything else-mainly shedlike prefab buildings that no doubt served as battalion and company headquarters, mess halls, machine shops, and probably officers' quarters. And mounds that had to be bunkers; probably concrete, covered with earth. They couldn't be deep, Mulvaney thought, the water table couldn't be more than six feet below the surface. By each tank was a tent large enough for its crew to live in. Outside the "tank box," at least on the far side, were more tents. Probably squad tents for the battalion's infantry company or companies. Except for them and the flak towers, everything seemed to be inside the box.

The only activity Mulvaney saw was one Wyzhnyny soldier walking to what had to be a latrine. When the Wyzhnyny opened the door, subdued light shone out until it closed again. He saw no sentry, not one, though there had to be some. Even here, miles and miles from known human forces, and no indigenous population that might snoop or steal. Inwardly Mulvaney shook his head. It was hard to conceive of a military installation with no sentries out, especially at night.

Only after several minutes of careful scanning and listening did he give up on spotting the sentries. Keying one of his command switches, he whispered to his platoon leaders, confirming sectors and objectives, and giving orders.

Ensign Berg had led 2nd Platoon through the woods as quietly he could, keeping well outside the three-sided tank box. He'd sent scouts ahead and off his right flank, and they'd reported two sentries. They'd reached the edge of the woods on the east side, the side farthest from the river. Now they lay in pasture grass, facing the woods, waiting for Captain Mulvaney's command.

Not far inside the woods, but outside the tank box, two flak towers rose above the trees, marking the southeast and northeast corners. If the towers opened fire on them, the platoon's orders were to run for the woods as hard as they could, firing as they went, regardless of what awaited them there. Though hopefully the flak gunners couldn't depress their guns enough to target them. Nearby, livestock grazed, mostly "calves." Remarkably placid, they hardly reacted to the strange bipeds. The long row of squad tents-almost surely the battalion's infantry bivouac-lay just within the edge of the trees.

The platoon lay in a line, ten or fifteen feet apart. Behind it, Elder Hofer's Lamp rode the sky. Hopefully, Esau thought, if some Wyzhnyny infantryman left his tent to take a leak, and looked to the east, his eyes would lift skyward, rather than studying the pasture.

2nd Platoon had had the farthest to move, and it seemed to Esau that everyone else should already have been in position. But Berg had radioed their readiness three minutes earlier, and nothing had happened yet. When the captain was ready, he'd let them know. Then 2nd Platoon was to pour heavy fire into the tents, drawing Wyzhnyny attention for a critical half minute or so, hopefully starting an eastward reaction.

Apparently things were hung up somewhere.

Esau didn't fidget, physically or mentally. Back on Luneburger's World, he'd become good at waiting, despite his sometimes impatient disposition. Especially during the maneuvers at Camp Nafziger, he'd developed an absolute focus in ambush situations, like a tiger waiting to rush a heifer. For him, time became little more than sequence, its durations known but muted. Now his implacable gaze was on his personal sector of fire. Irrelevant thoughts did not visit his mind.

Finally Berg whispered in their helmets. "Fire on my command. Five. Four… " From somewhere in the woods came a premature burst of blaster fire. "Fire!" Berg snapped.

Each 2nd Platoon trooper began spraying long bursts through the tents in his sector of fire. The Wyzhnyny response was prompt, survivors spilling out, blasters in hand, running for the nearest sizeable tree. No foxholes or breastworks, Esau realized, offended by the lack. Danged Wyz took too much for granted.