They're probably worried about that themselves, Esau thought.

"The team had three grapple throwers," the blasterman said, looking at Esau for the first time, a quick glance. "There should be another one out there among the bodies. With a climbing seat," he added suggestively.

Esau squinted, then decided, and ran back to the tower in a crouch. Among the bodies, he saw what he needed: a satchel charge with shoulder straps, and a sort of drum with handles. On top of the drum lay something resembling a grenade launcher. A three-hooked grapple was seated in it, and from a slot below the muzzle, rope led to a hole in the top of the drum. Beside it lay a harness, with a little seat, and an attachment. He knew how it worked; 2nd Platoon had been introduced to them, though they hadn't tried them out.

The heaviest fighting was near the center of the woods now, as if the demolitions teams had finished their work or been killed. No one seemed to be shooting at him for the moment, but that couldn't last. And there was more gunfire than blaster fire now-a bad sign. He dismissed it; he still had work to do. The satchel charge had a detonator in place, with a short length of fuse taped on the side, and an igniter. Taking off his combat pack, he removed a phosphorus grenade and hooked it on his harness next to his remaining fragmentation grenades. Finally he lay his blaster by his pack and slipped his arms through the straps on the satchel charge.

Picking up the grapple gun, he handed it to Jael. "Bring this," he said. Then he carried the drum to the edge of the slab, took the grapple gun from Jael, and eyed the platform atop the tower. "Well," he muttered, "here goes nothing." Raising the gun, he pulled the trigger. The recoil almost separated his shoulder, and the blast hurt his right ear like a knife thrust. The grapple flew upward while the launch shank flew free. Rope sped from the drum; the grapple struck the turret, then clattered to the platform.

Jerking on the rope, he felt no resistance. The grapple popped from the platform and caught on the pipe atop the bulwark.

He turned to Jael. "This is an order," he said, pointing. "Go back there and shoot at any movement on top that's not me. I don't want some sonofabitch unhooking this, or shooting down at me. Then, if our folks start getting pushed out of the woods, I want you with them. I'll get out all right."

She nodded soberly and ran toward the trees. As she did, Esau saw the blasterman in the fallen tree fire another burst at the top of the tower. The clatter of the third grapple had stirred them up overhead.

Carrying the now-depleted drum, he went to where the seat lay, and attached the ratchet to the rope. Then he buckled himself into the harnesslike seat, located himself beneath the grapple, and after a deep breath began to climb hand over hand, the ratchet securing every gain. He got the rhythm of it at once, climbing as rapidly as his short arms allowed. Thinking that if an energy pulse hit the satchel charge on his back, there'd be nothing left of him for a Wyzhnyny to eat.

Just below the platform he paused, removed a fragmentation grenade, pulled the safety clip, thumbed the plunger, then lobbed the grenade over the railing. It roared. With quick strong movements he reached the railing and bellied over it, releasing his seat harness almost before hitting the platform. A Wyzhnyny body lay there. Rising to a crouch, he moved to his right, came to the open gunport, and removed the phosphorous grenade from his harness. As he activated it, he realized the gunport shield was sliding shut, but he had only one phosphorous grenade, so he tossed it anyway. If it had struck the shield, he'd have died horribly.

Ignoring the screams from inside, he scuttled to the door, shrugged out of the satchel charge, then tried the latch. Unlocked! Bullets smacked the turret near him. He depressed the igniter, stepped behind the edge of the armorsteel door, and opened it. Someone inside fired blindly, bullets spanging on the bulwark behind him. He slung the thirty-pound charge in by a shoulder strap, slammed the door and fled in a crouch, around the curve of the turret to the grapple and over the railing, not bothering with the seat. He started down hand over hand. I should have thrown a fragmentation grenade in ahead of the charge, he thought. Someone in there's still alive and fighting. If he brings the charge out and throws it over the railing, I'm a goner.

He heard the roar, and knew he'd pulled it off, but had no time to exult. Still thirty feet up, a burst of blaster fire passed too near. He slid-would have let go and free-fallen if it weren't for the concrete slab beneath him. Almost at the bottom, he gripped the rope hard again, braking, felt searing pain in his palms, and hit the slab hard enough his knees buckled, aware that another burst of blaster fire had missed him as he'd dropped. He sprinted for the trees.

"Here!" Jael almost screamed it as she stepped into sight, and he veered toward her. "Folks are pulling back!" He realized he'd heard that on his helmet comm, and ignored it. Together they ran, Jael leading. Not northward toward where the company had landed, but westward, toward the curving river. Northward would take them into a no-man's-land.

Ensign Kemau Zenawi Singh arrived in a staggering run, carrying a man who weighed more than he did. Wyzhnyny weapons racketed behind him. Crossing the break of the bulldozed bank, Zenawi hit the sandy slope on his butt, sliding feetfirst. Company medics were working on wounded. He rolled the body off his shoulder. "It's Captain Mulvaney!" he gasped, then lay back heaving for breath. "Somebody get Lieutenant Bremer!"

He'd passed Bremer and hadn't noticed. Now the lieutenant appeared beside him. "What? Captain Mulvaney?"

"Yessir. Hit by a bullet. It exited through his face, his mouth. We were heading back here and suddenly he went down. I think he was hit again, while I was carrying him."

"Blessed Gopal!"

"You're in charge now, sir."

Bremer turned to look at Mulvaney, but a kneeling medic was in the way. "Sir," the medic said without looking back, "the captain is dead. Bullet through the brain."

Bremer sounded unbelieving. "Don't just… " He groped for an appropriate word. "Just kneel there! Give him something!"

"I have, sir. Stasis 1. But it's too late, believe me." He rose to a crouch and started back to the wounded.

Bremer turned again to Zenawi. "Kemau," he said, "what do I do?" His eyes looked large, desperate.

"Sir, you know the situation better than I do. But I presume we have a defense perimeter covering the beach."

Bremer's head bobbed rapidly. "Yes. Of course. Of course."

"I'd hole up here on the beach and give the rest of the men time to get here. Then take to the boats and go downstream."

"Downstream? Good lord, man! Downstream is the wrong direction." Bremer sounded close to panic.

"Downstream," Zenawi repeated calmly. "It's in the plan. That's where they're supposed to pick us up. Unload on the other side, far enough away that hopefully the evacuation floaters can get in safely and land. The last I knew, the enemy still held the southwest tower."

Bremer was breathing hard now, hyperventilating. "We have men in the park here. We can't leave them. We'll simply have to charge! Clear the Wyzhnyny from the park and bring out the casualties."

Zenawi's hand gripped his wrist. "Don't order it, sir. Every man in your company will die. You'll carry the weight of it on your soul forever."

Forever was how long Bremer's stricken expression would stay with Zenawi; the XO was over the edge. "Let me take care of it for you, sir," Zenawi said, and clicked his all-personnel channel. "B Company, this is Zenawi for the company commander. Perimeter, hold fast. The rest of you retreat to the beach in an orderly manner!" He repeated it. "In three minutes we begin evacuation. In three minutes we begin evacuation. Perimeter, don't shoot anything on two legs!"