but didn't show any sign of her uncertainty.
She looked up and down the gigantic range, at the two hundred Shaoki soldiers in prone firing position behind their blasters, and nodded as arrogantly as she knew how to the Shaoki officer.
"You may order your troops to open fire, sir."
The Shaoki keyed a throat mike.
"Make ready� take aim� fire!"
The range erupted in explosions.
A hundred meters downrange, large targets, carefully made to be almost unmissable, swayed and shook as blaster bolts impacted.
The sound crescendoed, then died to a few hesitant cracks as either the sluggish or the most precise emptied their magazines.
Jasmine had her binocs up, sweeping the targets.
If the Khelat soldiery were about twice the size of Grok, she might have been impressed.
But she showed no sign of displeasure.
There were about fifty Shaoki officers in the small amphitheater-classroom, listening to Grok.
"Now," the monster said, "remember what we learned yesterday, that all intelligence taken in is to be evaluated carefully, not on whether or not it bears with your opinions, but on its raw dependability."
The officers, all assigned to intelligence staffs of various Shaoki divisions, hung on Grok's every word.
But he didn't think he was really communicating.
"One way to evaluate an intelligence report," he went on, "is considering how accurate is the source, from someone who's provided valuable data in the past to someone known to be a liar; then how accurate the datum itself is, from personally witnessed to an unreliable rumor."
He still didn't think he was getting through, but kept on hammering.
***
Colonel, now de facto General, Mik Hore considered his battalion.
It had changed considerably.
It had doubled in size, the additional men and women Shaoki. Supposedly, they were fully trained, and were attached to Hore for positional training.
Every mercenary ammo bearer had a Shaoki partner, as did every squad leader, every platoon leader, company commander.
Each Shaoki would hopefully learn what it was like to be part of a combat battalion, then, when the hurried training was finished, would train other battalions. Like oil on water, this initial knowledge would spread throughout the Shaoki army.
Which, Hore thought sourly, would be fine.
Until the first day of combat, when everything would fall apart.
As it always did.
Goodnight listened to his own breathing's echo in the suit recycler.
He and thirty Shaoki were crouched in the dust of one of Shaoki IV's moons. They were atop a low rise. Ahead of them was a low concrete building.
He extended a com lead to the Shaoki officer beside him, who touched it to a contact.
"Now, Major," Goodnight said. "From here, we do what, having spotted that possible enemy position down there?"
"I would send a section down that draw, to verify that it is hostile."
"Not quite," Chas said. "First, you send a com section back down the hill, and, with a directional mike, report your discovery to your ship in its orbit. You can make the probable assumption that it's unfriendly, since you're reconning a Khelat world, remember?"
"Ah. Yes. I just forgot. But after I send the report, then I put forward a team, right?"
Goodnight shook his head.
Sometimes it was like pounding sand.
"Not unless you're in a hurry," he said. "It's better if you put the position under observation for a while first. Meantime, spread out your force so that you've got a complete field of fire, as well. If you then observe movement, engage the target."
"But suppose the target is civilian?"
"If you feel humanitarian," he said patiently, "send out a sacrificial lamb or two to take prisoners. But don't expect them to be grateful for your kindness."
Pounding sand�
"Now, here you are," Riss told the battery commander.
There were four multiple rocket launchers positioned in the draw between hills.
"Enemy forces advance toward you, up the draw."
Robot tracks swung into view.
The officer issued brisk orders,
She looked up and down the gigantic range, at the two hundred Shaoki soldiers in prone firing position behind their blasters, and nodded as arrogantly as she knew how to the Shaoki officer.
"You may order your troops to open fire, sir."
The Shaoki keyed a throat mike.
"Make ready� take aim� fire!"
The range erupted in explosions.
A hundred meters downrange, large targets, carefully made to be almost unmissable, swayed and shook as blaster bolts impacted.
The sound crescendoed, then died to a few hesitant cracks as either the sluggish or the most precise emptied their magazines.
Jasmine had her binocs up, sweeping the targets.
If the Khelat soldiery were about twice the size of Grok, she might have been impressed.
But she showed no sign of displeasure.
There were about fifty Shaoki officers in the small amphitheater-classroom, listening to Grok.
"Now," the monster said, "remember what we learned yesterday, that all intelligence taken in is to be evaluated carefully, not on whether or not it bears with your opinions, but on its raw dependability."
The officers, all assigned to intelligence staffs of various Shaoki divisions, hung on Grok's every word.
But he didn't think he was really communicating.
"One way to evaluate an intelligence report," he went on, "is considering how accurate is the source, from someone who's provided valuable data in the past to someone known to be a liar; then how accurate the datum itself is, from personally witnessed to an unreliable rumor."
He still didn't think he was getting through, but kept on hammering.
***
Colonel, now de facto General, Mik Hore considered his battalion.
It had changed considerably.
It had doubled in size, the additional men and women Shaoki. Supposedly, they were fully trained, and were attached to Hore for positional training.
Every mercenary ammo bearer had a Shaoki partner, as did every squad leader, every platoon leader, company commander.
Each Shaoki would hopefully learn what it was like to be part of a combat battalion, then, when the hurried training was finished, would train other battalions. Like oil on water, this initial knowledge would spread throughout the Shaoki army.
Which, Hore thought sourly, would be fine.
Until the first day of combat, when everything would fall apart.
As it always did.
Goodnight listened to his own breathing's echo in the suit recycler.
He and thirty Shaoki were crouched in the dust of one of Shaoki IV's moons. They were atop a low rise. Ahead of them was a low concrete building.
He extended a com lead to the Shaoki officer beside him, who touched it to a contact.
"Now, Major," Goodnight said. "From here, we do what, having spotted that possible enemy position down there?"
"I would send a section down that draw, to verify that it is hostile."
"Not quite," Chas said. "First, you send a com section back down the hill, and, with a directional mike, report your discovery to your ship in its orbit. You can make the probable assumption that it's unfriendly, since you're reconning a Khelat world, remember?"
"Ah. Yes. I just forgot. But after I send the report, then I put forward a team, right?"
Goodnight shook his head.
Sometimes it was like pounding sand.
"Not unless you're in a hurry," he said. "It's better if you put the position under observation for a while first. Meantime, spread out your force so that you've got a complete field of fire, as well. If you then observe movement, engage the target."
"But suppose the target is civilian?"
"If you feel humanitarian," he said patiently, "send out a sacrificial lamb or two to take prisoners. But don't expect them to be grateful for your kindness."
Pounding sand�
"Now, here you are," Riss told the battery commander.
There were four multiple rocket launchers positioned in the draw between hills.
"Enemy forces advance toward you, up the draw."
Robot tracks swung into view.
The officer issued brisk orders,
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