Part 1 (2/2)

Once again he slumped back down into the trench, the scream of the approaching sat*strike targeters alerted by the blaster*flare was the scream of his unit as the lives blanked out.

And again he put his head in his hands and close his eyes tight to find Galaz waiting for him smiling rea.s.suringly as his face disintegrated in a splatter of blood and tissue, Svenson's eyes snapped open. He was back in his cabin on Menaxus. His uniform was still sodden, but with sweat rather than blood. Just the dream again. His jaw quivered as he choked back a sob. He would get no sleep again tonight.

Beneath the dust and sand, in a darkened room behind the main theatre excavations, a tiny red light blinked and pulsed into life.

Despite his doubts, Svenson had fallen into an uneasy, disturbed sleep. He drifted restlessly on the edge of waking, knotting the bedcovers between his clenching hands. Outside the noise of the desert night continued its soft murmur, wind sweeping dust against the prefabricated buildings, The sudden brilliant flash of light roused him instantly. He was sitting upright on the bunk before the sound of the explosion followed. Automatic calculations based on the delay between sight and sound told him the burst was about three kilometers away. The angle of the light told him it was an airburst. As the chatter of disruptor fire started, he dragged on his tunic and grabbed his sidearm. The door hummed open and Svenson stepped out into 'Here Svenson.' He turned just in time to see the Plautus Strike*One that Galaz threw him. He caught it almost by reflex, both hands at chin level, and swung it towards the front of the trench. Edessa and Mursa were already down, Tibava was nursing a bloodied thigh, squeezing the pressure points so hard that the exertion as well as the pain showed in her face.

For a moment he was still, his brain struggling to cope. Then it slipped into a well*worn mode which had been sleeping, not forgotten.

'How many of them?'

Galaz shook his head. 'Dunno. But they're about four clicks away.'

'Nearer three, I think.' They both ducked as the light burned across the killing zone and the thump of the explosion hurled mud and fragments of rock down into the trench. 'Make that two.'

Arion dropped down beside them, blinking away the residue of the last flash. 's.p.a.ce cover is due any minute. They caught the second flare. The satellite's being brought found to get a fix.'

Svenson thought for a moment. 'They must know that already, They'll see the signals to the bird.'

'They'll move position?'

Svenson nodded. 'They have to.' He looked to Galaz for confirmation.

'You're right. And while they're moving the blaster '

'They can't fire it.'

Arion had a chart of the area. It had changed considerably since the front had opened, but the basic geography was still intact. For the most part.

'There,' Galaz pointed, 'they're using that hill as the vantage point, moving forward along the ridge.'

Svenson nodded. 'And they have to move at least two clicks, at speed, to escape the sanitization.'

Arion pointed to an area to the west. 'Here?'

Galaz nodded. 'That's where I'd go.'

Svenson agreed. 'So would I. So we'll strike here.' His finger jabbed at a rocky area to the east.

Arion frowned. 'They know what we would script, so they'll go the other way,' Galaz told him. 'Get the rest of the unit. We're going out there.'

Svenson could see Galaz clawing his way over the top of the trench, using some of the sodden bodies as a ladder. Galaz reached the top and glanced across to see the rest of the unit also poised at the edge of the killing zone. Svenson smiled rea.s.suringly, then paused, puzzled. The scene was familiar, like deja*vu but different somehow. It was like watching himself in a cracked mirror. An incomplete image something askew. He gripped his disruptor a little tighter, and leapt up the last step.

Just as his feet left the ground and he swung himself up and over, he realized the role reversal. But it was too late by then his body was already swinging into the approaching bolt of disruptor fire. He landed easily on his feet, the blast catching him across the chest and the left side of his face.

Svenson fell back down into the trench the scream of the approaching sat*strike was the sound of his own voice as his face disintegrated in a splatter of blood and tissue.

Lannic was tying up her hair again, cursing as the clips refused to obey her sleepy fingers, when Larzicourt burst in. She fumbled for the clip she pad dropped in surprise. He caught his breath, pointing back at the door as if she could deduce the problem from the insistent stab of his finger.

'What the h.e.l.l's the matter?' She was annoyed. She was always annoyed before her second caffedeine.

'He's ' Larzicourt finally managed a wheezed phrase: 'He's dead.'

'Svenson?'

'You knew?'

'It seemed a fair bet. What's he done now?'

She could see Larzicourt in the cracked mirror as his mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. Then: 'He's died. I mean, really died.'

She turned back to him, hair falling over her shoulders. 'You mean he's died?' A silent nod. 'As in dead dead died?' Another nod. 'How where?' Her hand automatically strayed across the loose coverall over her right thigh, instinctively checking the small holster and the obsolete percussion pistol nestling inside. died?' Another nod. 'How where?' Her hand automatically strayed across the loose coverall over her right thigh, instinctively checking the small holster and the obsolete percussion pistol nestling inside.

'I think you'd better see.' Larzicourt swallowed, his forehead furrowing for a second as he thought about it. 'It's not pleasant.'

Svenson was identifiable from the insignia on his torn and muddy uniform. The team's medic had covered the corpse's face with a silver insulating sheet which caught in the breeze, flapping up from the head and reflecting the morning suns' light. Lannic had caught enough of the bloodied mess beneath the sheet not to want it removed.

'I'll have him put in the sick bay,' the medic offered. Lannic nodded, licking her dry lips. The medic gestured to a couple of the crew standing at the edge of the hollow. One of them was leaning on a stretcher, its end dug into the dust.

Lannic tried unsuccessfully not to watch as the body was lifted onto the stretcher and carried away. The medic shuffled his feet next to her.

'How did it happen?' The stretcher disappeared over the lip of the hollow which Svenson's cabin occupied.

The medic shook his head. 'I've no idea. It's ' he struggled for the word, and eventually settled on, 'bizarre.'

'How do you mean?'

'The mud on his uniform, the injuries...'

'Mud?' She had noticed the dried mud streaked down Svenson's body, but it had not struck her as odd. Until now. The medic gestured across the hollow. It was as dry a dust*bowl as the rest of the area. In the hot season there was no water anywhere but the tropical zone. In the wet season the constant rain turned the dust into sticky, clinging mud: impossible to wash off, all but impossible to excavate through.

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