least some covering fire for the infantry through most of the valley. Only the last six kilometers would be out of range for all of the big guns. The support vans for Havocs and Wasps were deployed, away from the valley. The remaining recon platoons moved up onto the slopes on either side. Fox and George companies took up defensive positions at the end of the valley. They would stay put while the rest went in, rear guard.
Echo Company had the point.
"I don't like it," Mort Jaiffer said as 2nd platoon started along the lower slope. First platoon was a hundred meters ahead of them. On the other side of the valley, Bravo Company started out just minutes after Echo.
"What don't you like?" Joe asked. It was poor sound discipline, but the Bear was too tired to be strict. Twenty minutes before, he had been wakened from his second too-short nap of the night. Usually, Joe was quick to come fully alert. If there had been guns firing, or some obvious threat, he would have this time too, but with only another march ahead, and no enemy anywhere near (as far as he knew), his mind remained sluggish.
"Like cattle being steered into the chute at a slaughterhouse," Jaiffer said, a thoroughly cryptic comment, the sort of thing the others expected from their professor. There were few Accord worlds where such things as slaughterhouses might still be found.
"You ever see a cow pack an Armanoc?" Joe asked. "Don't bother answering. And let's forget the chatter." He was finally beginning to wake up fully.
Within 2nd platoon, first squad had the point. Joe followed them. First Sergeant Walker was somewhere ahead, with 1st platoon. Lieutenant Keye was farther back in the column, somewhere near the middle of Echo.
Joe had taken a long look at this valley on his mapboard. He didn't much like it either, but no one had asked him to. It could be a narrow killing zone, with the 13th on the wrong end of it. There was nothing Joe could do about that but wish: I hope they don't know we're here. There had been no reports of the Heyers being hit. That, Joe thought, might be the only way—except blind luck—that the Heggies would learn about the deception. If they don't know we're here, if they don't see us, it wouldn't matter if we all had bull's-eyes painted on our butts, he reasoned.
The pace that 1st platoon set would have been trying for such tired men even on the flat. On a 20-degree side slope, it required concentration just to keep from falling behind, or falling. There were no recognizable paths, just rocks and moss and overhanging branches. At least there was little real underbrush. In the rocky soil of the slope, trees managed to hog most of the soil and nutrients. They permitted little competition.
"Ez, make sure you don't lose sight of 1st platoon," Joe warned after twenty minutes.
"Just at the edge," Ezra replied. "We don't want to get too close to them either. They might pick up the pace."
In and out, Joe thought. Just let us get in and out in one piece. That was about as close as he came to prayer. He wasn't overly religious, though he did not dis believe in a God. As long as he was a soldier, in a war, he would not rule out any possibility of help. Even divine.
It's gone too easy so far, he worried. For us. If the platoon had been rushing from one firefight to the next, dodging enemies right on their heels the whole time, he wouldn't have had time for such thoughts. In a way, he would have been more comfortable avoiding them. A long march gave him too much time. Think or fall asleep on your feet. The latter was unthinkable, so the former had to be endured.
Memories came. Joe remembered playing soldiers as a child on Bancroft. As often as not, his gun had been a tree limb scavenged from the woods near his home. There was little in the way of a toy industry on Bancroft. Back then, at least, he qualified with a smile. And his war games had often been anachronistic by thousands of years. Mankind might have spread far from Earth, but he
Echo Company had the point.
"I don't like it," Mort Jaiffer said as 2nd platoon started along the lower slope. First platoon was a hundred meters ahead of them. On the other side of the valley, Bravo Company started out just minutes after Echo.
"What don't you like?" Joe asked. It was poor sound discipline, but the Bear was too tired to be strict. Twenty minutes before, he had been wakened from his second too-short nap of the night. Usually, Joe was quick to come fully alert. If there had been guns firing, or some obvious threat, he would have this time too, but with only another march ahead, and no enemy anywhere near (as far as he knew), his mind remained sluggish.
"Like cattle being steered into the chute at a slaughterhouse," Jaiffer said, a thoroughly cryptic comment, the sort of thing the others expected from their professor. There were few Accord worlds where such things as slaughterhouses might still be found.
"You ever see a cow pack an Armanoc?" Joe asked. "Don't bother answering. And let's forget the chatter." He was finally beginning to wake up fully.
Within 2nd platoon, first squad had the point. Joe followed them. First Sergeant Walker was somewhere ahead, with 1st platoon. Lieutenant Keye was farther back in the column, somewhere near the middle of Echo.
Joe had taken a long look at this valley on his mapboard. He didn't much like it either, but no one had asked him to. It could be a narrow killing zone, with the 13th on the wrong end of it. There was nothing Joe could do about that but wish: I hope they don't know we're here. There had been no reports of the Heyers being hit. That, Joe thought, might be the only way—except blind luck—that the Heggies would learn about the deception. If they don't know we're here, if they don't see us, it wouldn't matter if we all had bull's-eyes painted on our butts, he reasoned.
The pace that 1st platoon set would have been trying for such tired men even on the flat. On a 20-degree side slope, it required concentration just to keep from falling behind, or falling. There were no recognizable paths, just rocks and moss and overhanging branches. At least there was little real underbrush. In the rocky soil of the slope, trees managed to hog most of the soil and nutrients. They permitted little competition.
"Ez, make sure you don't lose sight of 1st platoon," Joe warned after twenty minutes.
"Just at the edge," Ezra replied. "We don't want to get too close to them either. They might pick up the pace."
In and out, Joe thought. Just let us get in and out in one piece. That was about as close as he came to prayer. He wasn't overly religious, though he did not dis believe in a God. As long as he was a soldier, in a war, he would not rule out any possibility of help. Even divine.
It's gone too easy so far, he worried. For us. If the platoon had been rushing from one firefight to the next, dodging enemies right on their heels the whole time, he wouldn't have had time for such thoughts. In a way, he would have been more comfortable avoiding them. A long march gave him too much time. Think or fall asleep on your feet. The latter was unthinkable, so the former had to be endured.
Memories came. Joe remembered playing soldiers as a child on Bancroft. As often as not, his gun had been a tree limb scavenged from the woods near his home. There was little in the way of a toy industry on Bancroft. Back then, at least, he qualified with a smile. And his war games had often been anachronistic by thousands of years. Mankind might have spread far from Earth, but he
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