The Rraey wasted no time toward their primary goal for the invasion. After all the colonists had been killed, the Rraey transported down platforms to begin strip-mining Coral's islands. The Rraey had previously tried to negotiate with the Colonial government to mine the islands; corallike reefs had been extensive on the Rraey homeworld until a combination of industrial pollution and commercial mining had destroyed them. The Colonial government refused permission for mining, both because of Coral's colonists' wishes to keep the planet whole, and because the Rraey's anthropophagous tendencies were well known. No one wanted the Rraey overflying the colonies, looking for unsuspecting humans to turn into jerky.

The Colonial government's failing was in not recognizing what a priority the Rraey had made coral mining—beyond its commerce, there was a religious aspect involved that Colonial diplomats grossly misinterpreted—or the lengths that the Rraey were willing to go to undertake the operation. The Rraey and the Colonial government had mixed it up a few times; relations were never good (how comfortable can you really be with a race that sees you as a nutritious part of a complete breakfast). By and large, however, they kept to their knitting and we to ours. It was only now, as the last of the Rraey's native coral reefs choked toward extinction, that the extent of their desire for Coral's resources came to slug us in the face. Coral was theirs, and we'd have to hit them harder than they had hit us to get it back.

"It's pretty fucking grim," Lieutenant Keyes was telling the squad leaders, "and it's going to be grimmer by the time we get there."

We were in the platoon ready room, cups of coffee growing cold as we accessed page upon page of atrocity reports and surveillance information from the Coral system. What skip drones weren't blasted from the sky by the Rraey reported back a continuing stream of inbound Rraey ships, both for battle and for hauling coral. In less than two days after the Coral Massacre, almost a thousand Rraey ships hovered in the space above the planet, waiting to begin their predation in earnest.

"Here's what we know," Keyes said, and popped up a graphic of the Coral system in our BrainPals. "We estimate that the largest portion of Rraey ship activity in the Coral system is commercial and industrial; from what we know of their ship design, about a quarter of the ships, three hundred or so, have military-grade offensive and defensive capabilities, and many of those are troop transports, with minimal shielding and firepower. But the ones that are battleship class are both larger and tougher than our equivalent ships. We also estimate up to one hundred thousand Rraey forces on the surface, and they've begun to entrench for invasion.

"They're expecting us to fight for Coral, but our best intelligence suggests they expect us to launch an attack in four to six days—the amount of time it will take us to maneuver enough of our big ships into skip position. They know CDF prefers to make overwhelming displays of force, and that is going to take us some time."

"So when are we going to attack?" Alan asked.

"About eleven hours from now," Keyes said. We all shifted uncomfortably in our chairs.

"How can that work, sir?" Ron Jensen asked. "The only ships we'll have available are those that are already at skip distance, or those that will be in the next few hours. How many of those can there be?"

"Sixty-two, counting the Modesto," Keyes said, and our Brain-Pals downloaded the list of available ships. I briefly noted the presence of the Hampton Roads in the list; that was the ship to which Harry and Jesse were posted. "Six more ships are increasing speed to reach skip distance, but we can't count on them to be there when we strike."

"Christ, Keyes," said Ed McGuire. "That's five to one on the ships, and two to one on ground forces, assuming we can land them all. I think I like our tradition of overwhelming force better."

"By the time we have enough big ships in line to slug it out, they'll be ready for us," Keyes said. "We're better off sending in a smaller force while they're unprepared and doing as much damage as possible right now. There will be a larger force in four days: two hundred ships, packing heat. If we do our job right, they'll have short work of whatever remains of the Rraey forces."

Ed snorted. "Not that we'll be around to appreciate it."

Keyes smiled tightly. "Such lack of faith. Look, people, I know this isn't a happy hike on the moon. But we're not going to be stupid about this. We're not going to slug it out toe to toe. We're going to come in with targeted goals. We're going to hit troop transports on the way in to keep them from bringing in additional ground troops. We're going to land troops to disrupt mining operations before they get going and make it hard for the Rraey to target us without hitting their own troops and equipment. We'll hit commercial and industrial craft as opportunities present themselves, and we'll attempt to draw the big guns out of Coral orbit, so when our reinforcements arrive, we'll be in front and behind them."

"I'd like to go back to the part about the ground troops," Alan said. "We're landing troops and then our ships are going to try to draw Rraey ships away? Does that mean for us ground troops what I think it does?"

Keyes nodded. "We'll be cut off for at least three or four days."

"Swell," Jensen said.

"It's war, you jackasses," Keyes snapped. "I'm sorry it's not terribly convenient or comfortable for you."

"What happens if the plan doesn't work and our ships are shot out of the sky?" I asked.

"Well, then I suppose we're fucked, Perry," Keyes said. "But let's not go in with that assumption. We're professionals, we have a job to do. This is what we're trained for. The plan has risks, but they're not stupid risks, and if it works, we'll have the planet back and have done serious damage to the Rraey. Let's all go on the assumption we're going to make a difference, what do you say? It's a nutty idea but it just might work. And if you get behind it, the chances of it working are that much better. All right?"

More shifting in chairs. We weren't entirely convinced, but there was little to be done. We were going in whether we liked it or not.

"Those six ships that might make it to the party," Jensen said, "who are they?"

Keyes took a second to access the information. "The Little Rock, the Mobile, the Waco, the Muncie, the Burlington and the Sparrowhawk," he said.

"The Sparrowhawk?" Jensen said. "No shit."

"What about the Sparrowhawk?" I asked. The name was unusual; battalion-strength spaceships were traditionally named after midsize cities.

"Ghost Brigades, Perry," Jensen said. "CDF Special Forces. Industrial-strength motherfuckers."

"I've never heard of them before," I said. Actually I thought I had, at some point, but the when and where escaped me.

"The CDF saves them for special occasions," Jensen said. "They don't play nice with others. It'd be nice to have them there when we got onto the planet, though. Save us the trouble of dying."

"It'd be nice, but it's probably not going to happen," Keyes said. "This is our show, boys and girls. For better or worse."

The Modesto skipped into Coral orbital space ten hours later and in its first few seconds of arrival was struck by six missiles fired at close range by a Rraey battle cruiser. The Modesto's aft starboard engine array shattered, sending the ship wildly tumbling ass over head. My squad and Alan's were packed into a transport shuttle when the missiles hit; the force of the blast's sudden inertial shift slammed several of our soldiers into the sides of the transport. In the shuttle bay, loose equipment and material were flung across the bay, striking one of the other transports but missing ours. The shuttles, locked down by electromagnets, thankfully stayed put.