The northern approaches to the NRA's heartland-thickly wooded valleys cut sheer into the limestone karst plateau-were kilometers long and protected by intricate networks of antipersonnel lasers and antiarmor missile launchers, backed up by quick-reaction units, all shielded from the threat of Hammer fuel-air bombs and kinetics by meters of impenetrable limestone. The Hammers hated them so much that they had given up using them to attack the NRA's front door; their last attempt had left dead planetary defense soldiers scattered across the valley floors, bodies piled in heaps amid the smoking carcasses of light armor, their attack condemned to failure, trapped in slab-walled valleys, unable to escape.
Not that the NRA units securing the area were willing to take any chances that the Hammers had given up for good. When remote movement sensors flashed warning of incoming foot traffic, they stood to, troopers fanning out to take up their positions in the maze of tunnels that opened out onto the valley. Slowly, the sensors tracked the new arrivals until finally two figures emerged out of the gloom, their every step testament to utter fatigue, their rifles held in both hands over their heads. The young lieutenant in command of Yankee-34 allowed himself to relax; they were displaying the correct pass code of the day.
"Advance!" a voice called, and the two figures made their way into the cave mouth. The lieutenant watched while his troopers confirmed their identities before shaking them down for contraband.
"Two Feds, sir," his sergeant said, waving the pair through. "Trooper Helfort, 120th NRA, and Lieutenant Helfort. Both clear."
"Bring them in."
"Sir."
"Welcome back," the lieutenant said, trying not to let his shock show. He had seen his fair share of battlefield survivors, but these were in terrible shape: faces wide-eyed and hollow-cheeked with fatigue, postcombat stress, and hunger, chromaflage capes and combat overalls ripped, every square centimeter of exposed skin filthy with layers of ground-in dirt, hair lank with sweat. "Stand everyone down, Sergeant. I think we need to get you to the company aid station."
"Thanks," the man said, his voice hoarse, "but what I want is a wash. The wife"-he hooked a thumb at the woman-"says I smell."
The lieutenant had to laugh after hearing someone in that shape cracking jokes. "I have news for both of you," he said.
"You both stink something terrible, but we'll just have to put up with that. First we'll get you the ten-dollar medical, followed by something to eat before we send you to talk to the debriefers. You can grab a shower and new kit once they've finished. Okay?"
"That'd be good. Food ran out days ago; I never want to see another qolqass root as long as I live. There was plenty of it, but you'd think the geneers could have made the bloody stuff taste better. I'm Michael Helfort, by the way, and this sad-assed specimen is Mrs. Helfort, though since she became a grunt, I think she prefers Trooper Helfort."
"Dickwad!" the woman said softly.
The lieutenant grinned. "Karl Karlovic," he said, shaking hands with Anna and Michael. "Glad you made it back. Come on, follow me. The aid station's this way."
"Sounds good to me," Anna said. "My arm's badly in need of a new dressing."
Overwhelmed by grinding tiredness, Michael struggled to stay awake while Karlovic grabbed bowls of green gruel and steaming mugs of coffee.
"Get into it, guys," he said, slapping the food down.
Michael and Anna piled in. With every mouthful of what Karlovic assured him was beef chili, Michael's energy returned and his spirits rose. Five minutes later, he had been transformed into a new man. "Shit," he said, pushing his tray away. "That is one hell of a lot better than the field rations we haven't been eating."
"Never imagined I'd say this," Anna mumbled past a mouthful of gruel, "but this stuff, whatever it is, is the best damn food I've ever tasted, and the coffee's good, too."
"Pleased you like it," Karlovic said with a wry smile. "Personally, I hate the bloody stuff."
A companionable silence followed while they finished their coffee and Michael went for refills. "What's the story?" he said, sitting down and then straightening out a painfully stiff left leg. "How was the pullback from Perdan?"
Karlovic grimaced. "Not too bad, not too good. We had more casualties during the withdrawal than we suffered capturing Perdan. Those fucking landers and their fuel-air bombs. Kraa! Those bastards don't mind trashing their own planet." He shook his head despairingly. "They used bunker busters on the 98th and the 34th. Nukes, for Kraa's sake; they used nukes," he said with another shake of the head. "Unbelievable. Anyway, casualties weren't as bad as the planners had expected, so I guess that's the good news."
Michael flicked a glance at Anna. "The Fed marines, how did they go?"
"Your guys? The marines with the 120th?"
"Yeah."
"Well, all things considered, they were damn lucky. They were holed up north of here along the Kendozo River together with the 88th, the 142nd, and stragglers from Kraa knows how many other regiments. ENCOMM sent word to them. Plan was for them to sit tight and wait for a diversionary attack on Daleel before moving. The idea was to keep the marine landers busy while they made a run for it. Don't know how, but the Hammers located them. Their plan was simple. Establish a perimeter to contain our guys, surprise them with the landers, carpet bomb the valley with fuel-air bombs, wipe everyone out. Anyone who tried to make a run for it wouldn't get past the containment line."
"Bastards," Michael whispered. "What then?"
"One of the Hammer units went off half-cocked, before the units responsible for the containment lines were established. The 120th's colonel worked out what was about to happen, and they managed to break out and get clear of the valley before the landers turned up. The other bit of good luck was that the Hammer's forward air controllers were not on the ball, so the Hammers wasted a great deal of ordnance blowing the crap out of an empty valley, trashing Kraa knows how many hectares of rock and scrub."
Anna's mouth hung open in disbelief for a moment. "They didn't pick the breakout?" she said. "How? Since when have the Hammers been blind? How could they not see three whole regiments on the move? That's a lot of people."
"I'm sure they did, but don't forget this. After what's happened over the past few months, the average PGDF officer is scared shitless. He knows what happens if he gets things wrong: up against a wall and bang! Initiative is no longer a military virtue; hell, no. Initiative is a life-threatening liability. So who can blame the PGDF's officers for sticking to the plan? Who can blame them for doing what they've been ordered to do until someone senior orders otherwise? And that's what happened. By the time fresh orders came, it was too late."
"Damn good thing, too."
"Yeah, it was. Anyway, then the Daleel operation kicked off, the landers were pulled off task, and most of our lot made it back. Bloody lucky, though."
Michael looked at Anna, a look of pure elation. "It worked, Anna," he said. "It damn well worked."
"So it seems," she said with a huge grin.
"What worked?" Karlovic said, obviously baffled.
"Sorry, Karl, private joke," Michael said.
"Oh, I see," Karlovic replied. Clearly, he did not, and much as Michael wanted to tell him, common sense told him to keep his mouth shut. If ENCOMM wanted to tell the world what happened at the Kendozo River, fine. If they did not, that was fine also.
"What about our heavy landers?" Anna said.
"Made it back okay so far as I know," Karlovic said.
"That's good. Any idea what happened to the rest of my crew?"
"No, sorry," Karlovic said with a shake of the head. "You'll need to check with ENCOMM."
"We'll do that."
One of Karlovic's troopers entered the canteen. "Lieutenant, the transport's here," she said.
"Thanks, Enjada," Karlovic said. "You guys ready?"
Anna and Michael nodded, and five minutes later they were on their way to the sector debriefing center. Two minutes after that, both were asleep, a rough tunnel floor and the cargobot's inadequate suspension no match for overwhelming exhaustion.
Every muscle in his body protesting, Michael climbed down out of the cargobot. Anna followed, wincing as her wounded arm caught for a moment.
"Still sore?" Michael asked.
"Yup."
Michael bit his lip while they walked down the narrow access tunnel leading to the small complex of caves that housed the Fed's administrative center. The NRA medics had said Anna's arm was well on the way to recovery notwithstanding the abuse it had suffered during their flight from Perdan. Anna refused to take the painkillers they prescribed, of course. "It'll be a long time before I trust Hammer medicines" had been her first and last words on the subject. Taking careful note of the set of her mouth, Michael had changed the subject, even though he knew Hammer painkillers were both effective and safe.
The tunnel opened out into a small lobby where Captain Adrissa waited for them. "Welcome back," she said. "I was beginning to wonder if we'd ever see you again."