"What are you thinking?" Gretta took his hand.
"Oh, for starters let's get the hell out of here. That's first priority. Second is to take Vespa, and third, of course, is to win the war." And then, we deal with whoever set us up to die!
"My Section doesn't know how to fly in battle gear without an aircar or LC," MacRuder told him dryly, arms crossed.
"Neither do the others," Sinklar stared at the map. "Fifteen klicks north of here is the Decker Lucky Mack Mine." He lifted his gaze, amused. "Prophetic?"
MacRuder frowned. "How does having a mine fifteen klicks north of us keep the First Targan Division alive?"
"We have three company cars left for staff purposes, right?"
"Yeah." Mac nodded suspiciously.
"And we inventoried another five trucks here at the co-
op for hauling grain." Sinklar dropped his chin on his chest. "Can you take the Second Section up to the mine tonight? Load them in the cars and trucks and go? Might have to fight your way through, but get up there!"
"And bring back rocks?" Mac wondered. "Planning on smelting ore and building LCs from scratch?"
Sinklar looked up mildly. "Why take that much time? Just get me every belly-dump you can commandeer out of there. I figure those huge crawlers they use ought to be able to carry three hundred men apiece. After that, all we need to do is commandeer every aircar and truck we find along the way to use for foraging and fuel acquisition."
"Sink, you'll be the salvation of this pus-rotted command yet!" Mac let out a whoop as he ran for his Section.
Sinklar had lost himself in reflection when Gretta's warm hand caressed his neck. "For a moment Sink, I was really scared."
"For a moment? Do you have any idea of the odds against us?"
"We'd do better trying to breathe vacuum, wouldn't we?"
He filled his lungs and blew air out. "I suppose so. But we won't be cut up by the Targans while we starve here." He stood. "Come on, let's go see the troops."
It had become a nightly ritual. They walked past the silent buildings guarded by the various Sections. At the perimeter, a low challenge was growled out of the night. "Advance and identify yourself!"
Sinklar and Gretta, arms locked, strolled up as the guard flashed a light into their faces. "Oh, excuse me, sir, ma'am."
"Never let the ID of a person fool you," Sinklar smiled. "You're not standing here alone, are you?"
"No, sir," the guard said soberly. "Fips and Angelina have you covered with blasters right now. They're over there in the bushes like you taught us on drill, sir."
Sinklar studied the vegetation through his IR and picked up the two flankers. He nodded and patted the soldier on the shoulder. "Excellent work. My congratulations to you and your Section. Tell Hauws I said you're to be commended for vigilance and foresight. We'll do fine with troops of your caliber."
The man straightened, his chest puffing with pride. "Thank you, sir. We'll never let you down, sir!"
"They'd do anything for you, Sink," Gretta told him as they walked away. "I never would have believed it. You've worked a miracle with the First."
"Just sense. and the only option I've got." He shrugged. "Considering the odds against us, we've only got one asset."
"And that is?"
"We have one assault Division." He hugged her close. "Two thousand men and women, armed, and, hopefully, after we get to Vespa and settle the affairs on Targa we'll be as tough and disciplined as the blood-soaked Companions themselves."
"You tried to tell me all this when we were training outside Kaspa. I thought at the time it was just to build morale." She clasped his fingers in hers. "Now the search and destroy teams make sense. I love you, Sinklar Fist."
"And you thought I was crazy when we risked Fourth Section to recover those five privates cut off on the ridge that time the Targans hit us during training," he reminded lightly.
"Getting those people back won you the entire ourth Section. They'd walk through fire for you now." She studied him through the IR visor, eyes alive with speculation. "What made you think of that?"
He stopped to smell the fresh air and enjoy the woman who leaned against him. "It's symptomatic of the age, I guess. Tybalt has built a throwaway army. Ever since the beginning of the Imperial period, one hundred and fifty years ago, armies have been trained to strike a planet, stun it into paralysis, and wreck the ability of the people to resist. Call it shock war. The enemy was impersonal and a soldier's only duty was to cower in fear until his LC grounded, jump out with his rifle, and blast anything native that moved. If he lived, he went home and relaxed until the next time."
"But that only works when you conquer worlds," Gretta said. "The Star Butcher does the same, doesn't he? Stuns planets, that is."
"Not quite. His responsibilities include finding defensive weaknesses and he exploits his reputation. The other differ-
ence is that his people stay with him. He has their loyalty. The Companions function within a strict code of honor and duty to each other." Sinklar kissed her and added, "And they have never been defeated."
"The First has."
"And I intend to see that it never happens again," Sinklar said as they continued walking down along the creek bottom. Patches of deciduous trees mixed with grassy meadows.
"Who goes there? Advance and be recognized." A man rose from a ditch, waiting, blaster ready as they walked up.
"Were I an enemy who got this close, you'd be dead." Sinklar's voice sounded like cracked ice after he'd passed recognition. The soldier's shoulders dropped meekly. "Anyone within five feet of you, trained properly, could kill you with their bare hands."
"But I… I didn't think—"
"No, you didn't," Sinklar told him hotly. "By the corrupted Gods, man! How can I keep you alive if you act like a fool? I want to see you healthy and in one piece after this. Tafft knows better. You alone out here?"
"N-no, sir. Leeka's over there." He waved an arm at the darkness.
Sinklar scanned the darkness. "Where?"
"Uh, over the hill, sir."
"And if I had just killed you," Sinklar reminded, "this whole quarter would be wide open, wouldn't it? How many in your Section and the other Sections would die from your failure at this position?"
"Sergeant First Tafft told me not to worry. That I wasn't trained to think, just to shoot, sir." The soldier shifted nervously. "Corporal Mayz thought five perimeter guards was too few for the terrain. I agreed, but the sergeant told us to—"
"Corporal Mayz has sense," Sinklar mumbled stalking off into the darkness. "This is the final straw."
They found Mayz and her Group dug in on a hilltop. "Where's Sergeant First Tafft?"
"Down there, sir. In the flat at the bottom of the hill." Mayz jumped to her feet, saluting.
"And why are you up here while the other Groups are down there?" Sinklar asked, studying the corporal.
The woman swallowed, eyes darting to Gretta, expression tense through the IR visor. "Because of your lecture on the uses of terrain, sir. If the guard should fail, we might be able to hold this high spot until the others could recover."
"I think I understand Corporal. You will accompany me." Anger smoldering, Sinklar walked through a ring of snoring soldiers and kicked Sergeant First Tafft awake.
"Who the Rotted. Mister, you're in a pus-puke pool of…" Tafft fumbled for his helmet and slipped it on. Through the IR he met Sinklar's gaze as he glared down. "Oh, sorry, sir."
"Damn it, man, you've got isolated guards out there! The whole Targan resistance could infiltrate that perimeter and you'd be dead before you found your rotted helmet!" He propped his fists on his hips. "Mayz!"
"Sir!" The corporal snapped a salute.