Raynor peered out the window to see the hillside across the river—a bleak, seemingly deserted cluster of buildings—upon which lay a tower surrounded by high walls.
“That comsat station marks the location of the Kel-Morian strategic resources repository,” Vanderspool continued. “Down below it there is a network of tunnels and caves where stocks of rare minerals are stored. If we can capture or destroy the repository the KMs will have to shut down their factories north of the city, their military units will begin to run short of critical supplies within a matter of weeks, and we’ll be able to push the bastards off Turaxis II! So this is a very important push.”
The shattered windows offered Raynor an unobstructed view of no-man’s-land, the much-abused river, and north Polk’s Pride. Like the sky overhead, the area beyond the river was unrelievedly gray. A few buildings still stood. They looked like headstones in a sprawling graveyard. Thready columns of black smoke marked the spots where Kel-Morian soldiers were camped in the ruins, or stubborn citizens eked out a bleak existence in spite of repeated efforts to force them out.
“The repository is our target,” Vanderspool continued grimly. “But, as you can imagine, the structure is well protected. Which is why it’s still vertical in spite of more than two dozen air strikes.” At that point the officer handed his binoculars to Zander with an order to pass them around.
“You’ll notice that the comsat station is surrounded by circular blast walls and protected by dozens of computer-controlled missile turrets. More than that, all of the approaches are defended by goliaths, regular comsat sweeps, and a squad of rippers. So getting inside won’t be easy. Questions?”
“Yes, sir,” Sanchez replied. “How large a force are we going to throw at the objective?”
“You won’t be alone, of course,” Vanderspool continued. “The entire battalion plus elements from other units will take part in the attack. Sergeant Rockwell’s people are going in first… . That means the unit will probably suffer heavy casualties. But, no guts, no glory. Isn’t that right, Sergeant?”
“Yes, sir!” Rockwell said emphatically. “What’s your mission, soldiers?” he called out.
All of the rangers knew that the first people to go in stood a very high chance of getting killed, but if the marines realized that, there was no sign of it on their faces as they responded to the noncom. “To die for the Confederacy!”
That was when Raynor remembered the program Brucker had mentioned and realized something… . Judging from what Tychus had told him about Lassiter, and seeing the marines in front of him, he knew the Kel-Morian overseer was correct. Certain people were being brainwashed. What did they call it? Resocial something? Resocialized. That was it. No, neurally resocialized, and in considerable numbers, too. Was that what Raynor was supposed to be fighting for? A society in which citizens were transformed into flesh-and-blood robots?
“Sanchez, you and your platoon will advance immediately behind them. That’s why you’re here. As I said, this is not going to be easy, so that’s why I’ve brought on the best of the best.”
Raynor began to wonder. What was up with Vanderspool anyway? Was he trying to win the wars? Or make general in record time? Or was he simply determined to give the KMs a good whupping? There was no way to be sure as the tactical aspect of the briefing began. There was a lot for the platoon to learn—and only a few days in which to learn it. The clock was ticking.
It was raining. Not hard, but persistently, so that as Raynor stood at the edge of the roof of the building in which the battalion was temporarily headquartered, the lunch he had brought up from the field kitchen below was starting to get damp. But he didn’t care. Because with the exception of four lookouts, two missile turrets, and the birds who wanted to share his food, the huge expanse of roof was a place where he could be alone for a few minutes. And even feel homesick if he wanted to.
Thirty minutes earlier he had placed a call to his parents on Shiloh. But then, even as the fone rang in his parents’ house, he had broken the connection. Because up until that point in his life he had never lied to them. Not about anything important anyway. So what would he say if his mother answered? That he’d lost track of how many people he’d killed? That he and his friends had stolen government property and sold it? That the money he sent them hadn’t been won playing cards? That he didn’t trust his commanding officer? No, he couldn’t tell his mother those things. And, if he didn’t tell, he’d have to make up lies to cover up the truth. So it would be wrong either way.
“What the hell are you doing up here, jerk weed?” Tychus demanded, as a heavy hand fell on Raynor’s shoulder. “We’ve been looking all over the place for you.”
Raynor turned to see that Tychus had Kydd, Harnack, Ward, and Zander with him.
Raynor sighed. “I’m eating lunch … or trying to.”
Tychus turned his face upward, blinked as the raindrops hit his eyes, and looked down again. “It’s raining.”
“Yes,” Raynor replied irritably. “I noticed. Was there something you people wanted to see me about?”
“Yeah, there was,” Tychus said, as he selected the larger half of the damp sandwich and took a bite. He was still chewing when he spoke. “The brass held a briefing for all of the junior officers and noncoms.”
“And?”
“And the assault is gonna be a total bitch,” Tychus said, as he eyed the other half of the sandwich. “They aren’t saying how we’re gonna cross the river, that’s top secret, but it sounds like they’re setting us up for an impossible mission.” He finished the rest of the sandwich with one bite. “Rockwell’s marines are gonna get massacred within seconds, you know that. And where does that leave us? Oh yeah, we’ll be right there behind ’em.”
“There’s something going on with Rockwell’s guys, I know it …” Kydd added darkly. “I think somebody’s been messing with their heads.”
“Yeah,” Raynor said. “I think so too. Brucker kept asking me questions about it. He called it ‘neural resocialization.’ Criminals are being experimented on at some facility—something about erasing their antisocial tendencies. He thinks a lot of them are serving in our armed forces.”
“Holy shit,” Harnack put in excitedly. “Remember the whackos on the Hydrus? The ones who tried to kick the crap out of us? Then, when we ran into them the night before graduation, they were like a bunch of schoolgirls. I bet they were resocialized.”
“And then there’s Sam Lassiter,” Tychus added. “They had that lunatic locked in a steel box at MCF-R-156 before he shanked a sergeant with a fork! Then, I’m walking across Fort Howe, and there he is! Just as nice as you please … and when I asked him how he got out of the facility, he didn’t even remember being there.”
“Bingo,” Zander said grimly. “It’s all starting to make sense.”
Raynor frowned. “So, what are you saying? That they’re going to use Rockwell’s troops as cannon fodder?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Tychus replied. “Once you cut through all the weasel-worded bullshit, it’s obvious that those poor bastards’ll be walking into a meat grinder. And guess how we’re going to become the great war heroes of the Confederacy? By following those fools right into a bloodbath and donating our bodies for fish food and fertilizer.”
“It’s almost as if Vanderspool wants us to get killed,” Ward observed.
Raynor opened the bag of chips and scattered them along the rail. Then, as the birds came fluttering in, he stood back to watch them peck at the unexpected bounty. “So, what’s the solution?”