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The Kashkin has held out for one day, at significant cost. As the second day dawns, resolve is tested and the limits aren't always what they seem.

This is part two of five parts. I'm posting it relatively soon after the previous one because it ends with somewhat less of a cliffhanger. That being said, I'll try to post the remaining chapters without waiting too long. Thanks for stickin' with me, folks.

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute -- as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

Aux Armes, by Rob Baird -- Ch. 2, "Aux Armes"

***

On the first day of fighting, the JMA aimed to split West Jericho in half and the OVKK aimed to seize and fortify Terr Chanat. Instead, the west turns into stalemate, while semi-independent militias launch a massive attack on the town of Shadesh. Half of the JMA's mechs have been disabled or destroyed. The OVKK views the situation as equally catastrophic: hundreds of casualties are forecast at Shadesh and supplies are already perilously low. For Jericho, however, the success of the Shadesh invasion keeps morale relatively strong. SCAFJ continues to hold out hope for a quick, decisive engagement.

***

Aux armes, citoyens! Formez vos bataillons Marchons, marchons! Qu'un sang impur Abreuve nos sillons

-- "La Marseillaise"

Northern Front HQ West of Encha, Kashkin 2/11/2537: 0500

Altalanuk felt as though she was looking at a museum-piece, a meticulous diorama of sorts. Almost perfect, almost lifelike, but bereft of some spark that turned the scene eerie and unreal. Fog, rolling in from the river south of Encha, spilled into the valley with languid aimlessness.

As it did, shrouding one by one the splintered trees and scarred earth to either side of a badly cratered road, Alta switched her viewfinder over to false-color mode. Now the trees were stark, black skeletons; the hillside a strange, pale yellow. "Nothing yet, hm?"

Colonel Genakhot shook his head. "Nothing yet."

The Ibizan's thumb flicked through the overlays until she settled on the tactical display highlighting the location of the listening posts and tripwires scattered through the shallow valley below them. Everything was quiet: it might have been an ordinary morning, save for the wreckage of nature and machine that littered the display.

She turned the viewfinder off and let Genakhot quickly summarize his preparations. The Na'hosh Line had been restored to eighty percent of its previous strength, measured purely in mines and obstacles. "In some ways it's better: we know what we're fighting. We've changed the minefield mix--added more anti-armor charges."

"I know," she said. "They ran out of them at the main depot. Colonel Ishiri was unhappy. What about the rest of your supplies, colonel?"

Colonel Genakhot nodded towards Lieutenant Colonel Adarka, handing her question over to the badger. "All our ammunition for the sentry guns is on the line already. We've pre-positioned what we can for the infantry, but... Supply Ops informed that we're running low on that, too, ma'am."

"How bad is it?"

Adarka coughed. "Yesterday cost us three-quarters of our recoilless ammunition. We're down to about eight shots per platoon, and supply said there's only two hundred rounds left."

And those would be needed for any operations on the eastern front. Altalanuk made a note of the situation and kept going. "And for the tanks?"

"Deceptively good," Colonel Genakhot said.

"Deceptively?"

"Yes, ma'am." Lieutenant Colonel Marel had been given command of the planned attack on Terr Chanat--which had yet to begin. "Most of our Type 450s haven't seen action. They still have their loadout from yesterday. We'll go through that fast, when it comes time."

"Beyond that, are you ready?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She left them to finish whatever they still could before the human army began its inevitable, overwhelming attack. Genakhot's caution, she thought, served him and the line well. Not that the Ibizan believed good judgment alone would keep them safe, but as she headed back to the headquarters complex it was at least a load off her mind.

The general briefing, anyway, was guaranteed to make up the difference and unsettle her nerves again. Colonel Ishiri joined in person, and listened with the stoicism Alta shared as Major Kalasos updated them on the subject they were all dreading. "Listening outposts indicate sporadic fighting in the outskirts of Shadesh. We can't raise the garrison, but that's probably jamming at work."

How many of them were left? Ten? Fifteen? Altalanuk sighed. "Colonel, the Na'shun Line. How is it?"

"Solid," the leopard answered. "But untested. Gethana is in charge of the defenses on the Na'shun Line itself--all of the First Battalion, plus Shanik and Kossik Company of the Fifth Battalion as the reserve, at Kir Kodaw. There's been no sign of movement."

"And Aless Ha'kin?"

"Supply Ops confirms the last six Type 450s will be off the transport at 1000, and we'll be in position by 1230."

Altalanuk brought the operational map up on the table to refresh everyone's memory. The new battalion was organized as an armored unit: three Type 450 companies and a mechanized infantry company, though they were running low on armored Tarvos hoverdynes in anything close to fighting condition.

Ishiri intended to use his infantry to attack from the north, wait for the humans to meet the new threat, then slam into their flank using every tank at his disposal. With only light armor and nothing heavy enough to defeat Type 450s in quantity, Ishiri and Altalanuk both figured it wouldn't take much to break the JMA's advance.

"Keep me posted. And keep me informed about what's going on in Shadesh when you know more. If you know more." She stepped back, looking around the table to address the others, not just Ishiri. "A Hashida operation last night was successful in extracting some of the wounded, including Lieutenant Colonel Sanuk. She's unconscious at the hospital in Chadagh, along with about twenty others. Based on what the Hashida said, we probably shouldn't expect many more survivors."

"Yassuja," she heard someone mutter under their breath.

"Indeed. And we have something else to contend with. The Hashida passed us their surveillance data. It accords with everything else we've seen. Their weapons are light, and their tactics are... well. Let's say_enthusiastic_."

"They're using grenades and rockets," Major Kalasos said, to elaborate. "Hitting any building that offers resistance with overwhelming firepower until it's rubble. That's effective, but it's allowed us to outflank and destroy a number of armored cars while they're distracted."

"They're attacking with improvised equipment. M4s, GM Kalaharis with civilian-spec heavy plasma repeaters, two-ton 606 hoverdynes with Denel grenade launchers... nothing military-grade. No walkers, no command trucks, and no artillery to speak of."

Colonel Ishiri came to the same conclusion as she had aloud. "This is entirely the work of their militia?"

"Our recon images aren't perfect, but we see vehicles with visual or EM telltales we've linked to the Native Protection League, the Houston Militia, and the Rangers. That doesn't account for everything we're aware of," Kalasos clarified. "And there are several other groups that exist on paper but neither we nor the Hashida have engaged. We don't know much about them."

"Nothing from their central authority," Alta reiterated. "What does that tell you?"

"They... what's the human phrase?" Ishiri closed his eyes thoughtfully. "They were hung to dry out. The JMA abandoned them to us."

"Concur," a captain said--one of the intelligence specialists in Kalasos's group. "If this was a diversionary attack, the JMA only needed them to keep us busy while their main body hit us at Encha. They might even have just asked for volunteers."

"Anyone disagree?"

Major Kalasos raised her paw. "I do, ma'am. I've been thinking since yesterday about the engagement at Encha. Anybody should've known that it needed to be a combined arms operation. Instead, we had a free hand with their Jackals until the dismounts showed up. If they'd had infantry from the start, we would've been in trouble."

"And, major?"

"We assumed a major attack at Encha, with an armored spearhead to open the way for their mechanized infantry to move at speed through the Kurghen Corsini and along the north-south axis. In the end, we did see their mechanized troops: in close, limited quarters where they wound up dismounting anyway."

"You think the JMA threw their infantry in because the auxiliaries were elsewhere?"

"Yes, ma'am. I think they went rogue. That explains the delay in the attack on Encha, and why the JMA hasn't lent any support to that front. Not even recon flights, ma'am--it's been completely silent, so far as we can tell."

Major Kalasos had a good intuition, and a knack for being able to knit together reasonable conclusions from chaotic data. There were good reasons for Altalanuk to believe the mutt's theory--if nothing else, the various human paramilitaries had always been more provocative than the organized force commanded by the Jericho Military Authority.

But that realization led to a different conclusion; a different possibility. "Or," the Ibizan suggested, "it was their plan all along. The JMA sicced their militias on Shadesh specifically because they were going to behave outrageously. If they bait us into reacting, they steal our attention from the fighting on the Na'hosh."

"If that's true, what's the worst-case scenario, ma'am?" Ishiri asked. "We wind up with our forces dispersed across the Dun Valley, and maybe the hills beyond it. We can manage that, at least: we stick to the plan."

"And will your men? After they see what's been done to Shadesh?"

"I think so. You don't agree, ma'am?"

She looked at him, and failed to muster the conviction for an answer.

***

Supreme Command, Alliance Forces Jericho Ford City, Yucatec Jericho 2/11/2537: 0630

Elodie Mott cut a strudel in half, and then carefully sectioned it further into bite-sized morsels. "You can summarize briefly, I hope," she told Max--he'd been quiet since the suits started to filter in. He didn't answer, and she turned to meet their guests. "I appreciate that everyone has come in so early."

"I have a call at 7:30," one of them answered. "I'm really just here for the coffee."

"And the pastry," Elodie added. "Please. It's from--"

"Mark's? The one on Philadelphia Street?"

"No. Alte Tor, at the corner of 6th and Winter."

"Oh, yeah, I heard Cody say good things about the--"

"Cody_Bryce_?" a different voice cut in. "You know--"

Max shut as much of it out as he could. He was on his third cup of coffee; soon enough he'd be switching to stronger chemicals. His most recent dispatch from Colonel Singer was fifteen minutes old; they were waiting for the last of the infantry to connect to the tactical network and had run into some sort of technical difficulties.

On a private side channel, Singer explained that Colonel Avery's software was out of date: they'd apparently pocketed the money allocated for the upgrade fee. They had the right to do so--anything that cost money and didn't affect readiness was fair game--and the difficulty in syncing everything up was more of a bug than anything else.

Still frustrating. At last the icons for the infantry squads stopped flashing and turned a steady, reassuring green; Singer signaled his official readiness a minute later. Max stood, drumming his fingers on the table to wind down, slowly, a conversation on the best European restaurants in Ford City.

When it finally stopped, he straightened to the most overly formal posture he could summon. "Ms. Mott has asked for a brief summary. Today is not the day we win." He waited: he'd got their attention. "By the afternoon, we'll know if it's possible to achieve victory within a reasonable timeframe."

"What do you mean, 'if'?" The question came from the man who apparently knew Cody Bryce, whoever the fuck that was. "Our account manager said we were only required to commit for a week of operations."

"I know. Everyone said that. I'm telling you that we'll know today if that's possible. You can take that message back to your accountants."

"Where's Scott?"

"Dr. Walburn is busy," Elodie interjected, the tone of her voice suggesting she was doing her best to smooth something over. "OBO is informed--I brief Dr. Walburn directly. Don't worry. Max, you can get started."

He pressed the 'send' button on a two-word message--Saladin: proceed--and waited for the acknowledgment from Singer. "Done."

"Thank you." Elodie cleared her throat. "May I have a word in private, Mr. Kastner?"

He pushed his chair back and followed her into the small room he'd been using when he needed to be left alone. "What do you want?"

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Making sure that you and you employers know_exactly_ what is going on. Making sure it's all on the record, so there's no disagreement over what happened later, when you're trying to nail me to the wall for the benefit of your quarterly reports."

She scowled. "You're still responsible for this, Max."

"I know. I've known for months, Ms. Mott. The paper trail amply demonstrates what I requested for this operation, and what I got. You were copied on all of that correspondence. Hell, it wouldn't surprise me if your yearly bonus was riding on this."

Elodie's glare deepened; she had the bared teeth of a trapped animal. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Is it? Fuck me. Is_that_ why we set the deadline before the end of the year?"

"Not officially."

"But?"

Max felt that he could almost see the battle playing out behind her expression. She dropped the scowl and took a deep breath. "OBO and the Joint Finance Committee built revenue from seizing western Jericho into the revenue forecast for the next fiscal year. Dr. Walburn knows the investors would be a lot less jittery if we were already redeveloping it by January."

"Bet they're jittery now, huh?"

"I don't find that very funny."

"Did I say it was?" Her scowl threatened to return; Max let it provoke him. "Do you know what happens when a Jackal's reactor fails? The safety equipment is supposed to shut it down completely. Sometimes it doesn't. If you're lucky, the reactor coolant floods the crew cabin--it's a few hundred degrees. Pretty quick. If you're unlucky, it's just the hard stuff. No heat."

"'Hard stuff'?"

"Radiation poisoning. It's fatal within the day and, well... if we're talking about jitters, the nice thing is you're usually too delirious to notice the seizures. They say you_know_ immediately, though. You can taste it."

"Why are you telling me?"

"Because, since none of you suits seem to have picked up on it, this is a goddamned war. There's people_dying_ out there, Elodie. They've got a lot more to lose than a fucking stock portfolio."

"I didn't... mean to... I didn't mean to downplay the consequences. I understand them. Dr. Walburn knew when he proposed annexing the territory. It would cost. We knew. We know."

"I doubt that, given the degree of rank incompetence."

"Can you do this or not, Mr. Kastner?"

"I don't know. We've lost a lot of materiel, and that circus down in the Dun Gap didn't help. We won't_lose_--I can keep them out of our territory. But if you ask me whether I'm optimistic about giving you your bonus..."

"What_would_ help?"

"Money. Spare parts, more equipment, more ammunition."

"I can do that, within reason. The items you were talking about, the rockets and the transports and so on..."

"Will come too late to make a difference now, to be honest, but we'll need them."

"Anything else?"

"This?" He jerked his thumb to the door, and the conference room on the other side. "It needs to stop. I'll brief you and whoever you want directly, but I'm going to the front line now. Fuck your coffee. I can't command from a boardroom."

***

Northern Front HQ West of Encha, Kashkin 2/11/2537: 1030

Colonel Genakhot's ears flicked, and he allowed himself a moment to glance at the local map. The last incoming round had landed only a hundred meters away. Not near anything important--presuming there was nobody out in the open--but as the mechs got closer...

And they_were_ getting closer. He had an unacknowledged message from Lieutenant Colonel Adarka; his northernmost company was obliged to abandon their defensive positions at the furthest end of the Na'hosh Line.

What to do about it?

All of two understrength infantry companies comprised Genakhot's reserve. Like everyone else, they were critically low on ammunition and short on armored transport. But that had to do: he couldn't permit the others to be outflanked. Particularly not since the second line of defense-works was all but unmanned--they didn't have the manpower to spare.

"Can you get me the general?" he asked, without taking his eyes off the map.

"Wait one." While he waited, he processed Lieutenant Colonel Kit Starras's answer to his order to stabilize the line before a gap could open.Acknowledged. Outcome risky given resources. We'll do what we can.

They were_all_ doing that, though. Kit Starras was a good soldier; he understood the stakes just like the Border Collie did. Jericho's light armor needed to be checked before they could bring their Jackals into play against the remaining defenders.

"Command's on the line, sir. General Altalanuk is busy."

Genakhot grumbled to himself and swung the headset down to his muzzle. "Satar, this is Golot actual. Our situation is critical. Arkan is out of recoilless rounds and we're being engaged across the entire front."

"Golot, understood. What's Shutan's status?"

"I've ordered Kossik Company to the northernmost part of the line before it can be breached. Shanik Company is still in reserve."

Whoever the woman back at headquarters was, she was silent for four or five seconds; another rocket landed, closer than the one before it. "Golot, what are your intentions?"

"If they cross Kasha Na'hosh, I'll commit the reserve we have left and put Chizukh on alert to fall back. We can probably hold at Chijun Na'hosh long enough for the battalion to get down here."

"Confirm: the first line of defense is vulnerable and you may need to withdraw to the second on your own initiative. You're not expecting to wait for orders before falling back?"

"No. I'll give you as much notice as I can--that's all I can promise."

"Understood, Golot."

And they signed off. But no sooner had Genakhot begun to consider how best to triage the collapsing defense than he heard someone pounding on the hatch of the command vehicle. The crewman closest to it cocked his head, narrowing his eyes at the screen linked to their external camera. "I don't recognize them, sir."

"Well, they were crazy enough to expose themselves to the shrapnel, weren't they? Let them in, sergeant."

He pulled the hatch open; on the other side was a pale-skinned human with a Soviet uniform and captain's bars on his jacket. "Colonel Genakhot?"

"Yes."

The man spoke Rukhat, though his accent was almost incomprehensible, even with the hatch closed and the percussive din of the battle slightly muted. "Major Aliyev asked for an update, sir. Most of your soldiers at our position were directed forward."

Right. Aliyev was 'advising' Kit Starras on a shipment of new equipment from the Orion Soviet. "Tell him things are... rough. We're in heavy fighting, and it'll only get worse. I need Colonel Starras's men on the line. You should pull back to the headquarters in Corsini, in case we're overrun here."

"Is that likely, sir?"

"Depends. We're out of heavy weapons to counter their light vehicles. Either the mortars start doing their job or we wind up vulnerable to the cannons on the mechs when they get close enough. We'll see."

"Sir," the Soviet captain nodded, and made his way back and out the hatch.

The mortars_weren't_ doing their job. They were compelled to displace after nearly every shot, lest Jericho counterbattery fire find them--and even that hadn't been enough for two hapless mortar crews.

Kasha Na'hosh, the primary line, was going to collapse--Genakhot knew it. Saving the Na'hosh meant giving up any hope of capturing Terr Chanat. At least he could admit that and start planning for the consequences.

***

"Contact, two vehicles, eleven o'clock, medium range. Correction, three vehicles." As soon as the C&S specialist tagged them, the new contacts showed up bright and clear in Lieutenant Hirani's helmet. Sergeant Adakja was good at his job--Hirani already knew what they were and where they were headed: right for them.

All three were trouble. Her computer identified them as HAN Pucaras, fast armored transports with a smaller version of the railgun used by the Denel walkers. Firing high-explosive rounds, probably, or flechettes. "Kelto, Hunza: take 'em out."

"With what? We have one round left!"

"Target the leader, then," the tigress growled.

A Pucara's armor was more than enough to protect the vehicle against the light weapons the rest of her platoon carried, but even at range their recoilless rifles did the trick. The round impacted just forward of the engine, but the stricken hoverdyne's momentum carried it forward another twenty meters before it dug into the earth and flipped over onto its side.

"Cover!" she shouted, instinctively.

The APC's mates exacted swift vengeance. Hirani heard the close impacts; felt the shower of dirt and rock against the armor plate on her back. Two shots in quick succession, then a third. Then three more--and a brief, sharp yelp that said one of them had found something.

Three? Hirani poked her head out. Another Pucara had appeared to replace the one they'd downed. She ducked back down and switched her radio on--bypassing the C&S specialist, who was busy trying to track the incoming vehicles. "This is Kossik 2-6. I need immediate fire support."

"Kossik 2, this is Shutan. There's nothing available. Talash is repositioning, ETA ten minutes. Over."

"Shutan, we don't_have_ ten minutes. I'm taking fire from armored units and we're out of things to hit back with. We need to--" Another barrage ripped fresh, deep holes like clawmarks dragged through the earth. "I need support or we have to displace. Over."

Hirani knew that retreating would be murderous, too--for even a brief stretch in the open they'd be massacred by the APCs. She wasn't surprised when the order came back to stay put. They could die in place just as easily.

And they would. The tigress gritted her teeth. "Hold your fire! Wait for them to get close--aim for the ground under them. Ready grenades."

Her carbine had three such grenades primed in a launcher slung under the weapon's barrel. As a starbase systems analyst--Processor SA54, before anyone thought to call her 'Hirani'--she'd been trained to internalize complex models and predict the most likely outcome.

SA54 acknowledges delay for shipment of component USR-WP9. Postponing Reactor C maintenance by six cycles increases the odds of premature failure to one in four million. Risk acceptable. A scream lingered in the roar of an explosion to her right. Eighty-two percent odds Corporal Ezin has been fatally injured.

The APCs were under two thousand meters now, coming fast.Ten percent odds they kill me before I can get a single shot off. With sufficient time for accurate aiming, ninety-five percent odds I'm dead before I fire all three. Decreasing aiming time by half improves survivability of SA54 to--

She heard the rolling thunder of new explosions, and it took a moment--her brain was still thinking of her as Processor SA54--to pinpoint the sound as coming from in front of her, and to identify it as unexpected. Hirani raised her head up to take a look, and blinked in surprise.

It seemed to the tigress as though all three of the Pucaras had simply crumpled, punished by a vengeful, hidden god. Smoking, trailing sparks, the APCs crashed hard to the ground and came to a motionless, shuddering stop.

There were no visible smoke trails, but her visor showed three tracks arcing across the deep blue morning sky--lingering turbulence from passing rockets. She followed them from the wreckage back behind the line, where they ended at a moving shape identified for the moment as 'EM/???'. "Adakja, what's going on?"

The sergeant shook his head. "Sorting. They're not ours. They're... recognition AI has them as spaceborne IFVs--GAZ T-600s. Model BMK-94-2, eight of them. Maybe nine--there's a lot of interference."

Her radio hissed. "Kossik, this is Shutan. New vehicles to your east are a company of auxiliaries, callsign Sokol, times fifteen IFVs with anti-armor rockets. Do you still have targets?"

"Kossik 2-6 actual. Negative, not anymore." She switched back to the platoon net. "Sergeant, who the hell are they?"

Sergeant Adakja just shook his head again, eyes wide and astonished. "Does it matter?"

***

Kashkin Self-Defense Forces headquarters complex Corsini, Kashkin 2/11/2537: 1100

President Kodja had been requesting an update since he'd first learned of renewed fighting, several hours earlier. And as head of the civilian government, it was certainly his right to stay informed--but Altalanuk didn't know what to tell him.

"We're still not able to raise Shadesh, ma'am."

"Try again." She knew it was hopeless--the last message, an hour and a half old, said the garrison was standing by to be overrun. Regular attempts to re-establish contact every fifteen minutes had failed. If there was anyone left, they were completely cut off.

And probably there wasn't anyone left to be answering in the first place.

"Ma'am. New picture."

"What do we have?"

Major Kalasos took control of the map, fiddling with her computer to transfer the updated information. "The freighter_Den Pobedy_ departed thirty minutes ago. They were kind enough to give us updated imagery, and their sensors are a lot better than ours. We're still processing some of it, but... one step at a time."

Kalasos zoomed in on the eastern front; even from above Shadesh lay in obvious ruins. Smoke and dust billowed from shattered buildings and wreckage scattered across a wide swath of the settlement. "Can you tell us anything about what's going on?"

"Based on signals, it looks like the attackers have stood down. It seems safe to assume that they're no longer actively fighting. Nothing on any of the freighter's sensors matches any friendly transmitters."

"And this cluster here?" Altalanuk pointed to a group of signals--the vehicles of the human militia, assembled in an open area to the town's west. "Getting ready to attack?"

"Probably. It's hard to tell from this snapshot, and Colonel Ishiri hasn't reported anything from the eastern patrols or the listening posts. There's about sixty trucks there, and another group of eighteen a kilometer to the southeast."

"They could be at the Na'shun Line in half an hour, if they wanted."

"Agreed. A few more are still in town. I'd say they're patrolling, but there's nothing from their targeting scanners. Looting seems more plausible. We'll collate this and send it to Eastern Front HQ in the next few minutes."

"Alright. What else?"

The mixed-breed waved her paw, resetting the map, and focused their attention on the Na'hosh Line, instead. "Context. This group of signals is a company or so of Rooijakkals--right around Encha. We're cross-referencing the EM telltales, but it looks like these are the ones that are now engaging Lieutenant Colonel Adarka's tanks."

"All of them? This is it, then," Alta said. There was nothing else in the sector that showed up as a Rooijakkals, only the group Kalasos had highlighted. "This is what they have."

Kalasos nodded. "There are still other contacts that look like mechs--a platoon here, a platoon there. Maybe forty in all: Marleyville, Ford City, Konstanija... some of the corporate complexes. But no other massed formations."

"Then we need to move. Hail Golot--I want to speak to Colonel Genakhot directly, if possible." Fortunately he answered immediately. "What's your situation, colonel?"

"We're holding, ma'am. It's intense, but we're holding. We've kept them from breaching the line, so far, and the IFVs have done far more than their share. Once we lose those..." He trailed off; she saw his ear twitch with what must've been the sound of a close impact. "A few hours. Maybe. Ammunition is extremely low."

"A few hours, though?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Orbital recon says they've committed their armor reserve at Encha. The intelligence group's consensus is that what you're fighting now is it."

Colonel Genakhot gave a short, thoughtful nod. "Marel is in position, general. We're ready to begin. But if they hit the Na'hosh Line hard enough, they could break through. The possibility needs to be considered."

She stared at the strategic overview, turning one scenario after another over in her head.An armored breakthrough in the eastern hills--what could stop them before Davis? What if they drive right for the Northern Front HQ and the rear area? What if they try to get to Ikashta?

There weren't_that_ many places that made tactical sense, not with what her enemy could field. Jackals wouldn't be able to summit the hills between Encha and Ikashta. Infantry could--piecemeal--but they'd trip the listening posts. She'd have at least twenty minutes of warning, and maybe more.

"Fourth Battalion," she decided. "We'll free them up. Ishiri can do without the reinforcements. So can Davis, and my headquarters. If you want the Fourth at Na'hosh, just say the word. I'll let Tagar know he's reporting to you."

"Understood, ma'am."

Alta's eyes slid over the map again, narrowing. "The artillery, too. Give me an hour and you can have every mortar section currently tasked to Ostoja. I'm leaving the final decision up to you, colonel. But if you think you can get it done, we're all counting on you."

***

Forward Base Leighton West of ETaN Complex, Yucatec Jericho 2/11/2537: 1250

"They're trying to take Carabi Hill."

"Why?"

Max hoped his glare carried clearly through the hololink. "I don't know. If I understood how they worked, this would be a lot easier. We'll stop them, but the situation is becoming serious here. I'll tell you more when I_know_ more. Out."

Colonel Singer had joined Max in the prefabricated shed Kastner set up as a command post. Bob had been listening in; he shook his head. "Stop them how?"

"Charlie Company is still in the fight, aren't they?"

Singer's eyes flicked from Max to something on the inside of his visor. "Eighteen Jackal 33s, yes, but..."

"You're counting on them to overrun the NHA defenses in the east, I know," Max said. "We have to shelve that for now. Once we stop them from cutting Carabi Hill off, we can look at reallocating forces."

"We run the risk of losing the initiative."

Max laughed before he could stop himself--a bitter, caustic laugh. "It's_lost_, Bob."

By all indications the NHA were attacking in strength: two or three armored companies had crossed the border just north of Carabi Hill. They weren't attacking the hill directly--instead they seemed to be circling around it, towards the east.

But his information was limited because the patrols he had in the north had been swept aside and every report that came in was more dire than the last. Singer agreed to pull back from the attack on the NHA defensive line, and while he went to construct more detailed orders Max took stock of what they had left.

There wasn't much at Carabi Hill. A year ago, the Jericho Military Authority stationed an artillery battery and an air-defense company there, to protect the approach to McKeever Spaceport and keep the animals in line. Then CODA repossessed their artillery, and the strategic value of the hill lessened...

The garrison unit was an 'infantry' company in name only. They came from a security battalion--he'd equipped them with nothing more powerful than riot gear and scout cars. And why not? He hadn't seen a threat to Carabi Hill as credible: the western and northern approaches were heavily mined and covered by overlapping automated defenses, the eastern road was in friendly territory, and the south...

To the south, an active battle now raged and Max was more certain with every passing minute that he would lose it.And then what?

He thought of Luna's assessment: that the only way to defeat the moreaus was to destroy them, utterly--and that they were every bit of aware of that as he was.What would you do in their shoes?

Consolidate my gains and move into our territory. Capture Carabi Hill and start shelling Stonewater and the corporate complexes until we give them up. Clear every building between Marleyville and the border crossing.

But.

There was no way they could do that. Every assessment of the NHA military said they had to be running low on materiel: on mortars, on spare parts, on light-weapon ammunition and mines and probably water and rations, for that matter. Every tread-job his enemy had was in the field--maybe a dozen or two more, scattered, like his were. But that was it.

When he ordered Singer to dig in east of the hill, Bob's answer was a rather disappointing 'clarify objective.' Max took thirty minutes to draft a more detailed proposal for the defense--keeping the NHA forces from linking up with one another and putting the whole hill under siege seemed like the best option.

And that, he thought, could certainly be done. Once the animals had run themselves out of soldiers and rockets, he'd be ready for a counterattack. On purely strategic terms, it seemed workable. Not that he had the freedom to think in_purely strategic terms_; when his work was done he called Elodie Mott to explain the new reality. Even as a hologram she looked poised.

"Remember when I said we'd know by the afternoon if victory was achievable?"

Elodie frowned. "Is it?"

"Yes. We can pull this out of the fire. But I need you to make some things happen. Do you care about the strategy, or do you just want to know consequences?"

"Tell me the strategy," she said. She set aside a computer she'd been working on and folded her hands on what must've been the conference room table. "In simple words, general."

"The attack across the border is over for now. I'll hold what I have with our reserve. I need time to reassemble the armored units. In a week, we can get the spares out of the depot and online and we'll be in better shape. Right now, they're just being thrown away."

"A week," the woman murmured. "Max, that was never the plan."

"A lot of things weren't 'the plan.' We still have advantages over the NHAs. For one, we outnumber them. We can wait them out. I'm going to bleed them dry at Carabi Hill, on the border--use them up. They don't have staying power, just... dedication."

"I can get the Business Council to give you more time, if that's all it takes."

"Our other advantage is defense-in-depth. That's where you come in, Ms. Mott. I need the border towns cleared. The Ericsson complex, Marleyville, Westwood... all of them."

"What?"

"They're vulnerable. They're already within range of NHA artillery, and that won't get better while I'm stabilizing the lines. Tell the Business Council the truth, Elodie: the enemy's army is critically damaged, but that doesn't mean they're harmless. And I can't move freely if I need to worry about civilian casualties. Get them out."

"But we_own_ those towns, Max."

"It's not a question of real estate, Ms. Mott. The moreaus--the NHA terrorists--have local numerical superiority. They_might_ try to break out, and if they do that, they might succeed. I don't think they'll get far. Even still, as bad as you think evacuating the border would be, imagine what a humanitarian disaster would look like on your year-end review."

Considering her disheartened expression, he wondered if she wasn't_literally_ imagining it. But, in the end, she sighed. "This looked a lot simpler last week."

***

Kashkin Self-Defense Forces headquarters complex Corsini, Kashkin 2/11/2537: 1330

The strategic map had devolved into utter chaos--Altalanuk barely understood it, and even that understanding was confined to broad strokes. Lieutenant Colonel Marel's counterattack had fallen short of its objective; the fennec was up against heavy resistance north of the hill, and Genakhot lacked the strength to link up with him.

They weren't winning, to be sure. Neither had they been turned back, though, and the Na'hosh Line was no longer under attack. The JMA's walkers had expended their rockets, too: while the OVKK's mortars still had shells, they could fire them with impunity and not risk any counterfire.

The Ibizan doubted it was doing much good, given the point-defense cannons on the Jackals and her lack of spotters, but even harassment was better than nothing. She took a teakettle off its hotplate and poured herself a cup. Major Kalasos's group had prepared a situation update for her review, and she made a few edits while the beverage cooled, highlighting what she felt comfortable with President Kodja knowing and what she felt he was best kept in the dark about.

2.11.2537 update 27 from OVKK HQ. Topline summary: situation generally stable with few changes from update 26, significant changes expected between 1330 and 1500. OVKK remains in good fighting condition and I anticipate no additional incursions. Detailed summary follows.

INFORM--

North: Operation NALTAKAG underway as of 1215. 2nd, 3rd, and 6th battalion actively engaged. Na'hosh Line no longer threatened. Davis and Ikashta are not considered as threatened as of 1300. East: No contact. Na'shun Line stable. 1st, 7th battalion ready for counterattack to begin imminently. Misc: Cargo ship "Grozny" landed 1300 ahead of schedule

DO NOT INFORM--

Naltakag behind schedule, will update forecast by 1500. Northern Front reports insufficient anti-materiel weapons to counter a major attack before 1900. 4th, 5th battalions are combat ineffective and have been withdrawn to AHK until further notice. Will update forecast by 1600.

DISCRETION--

As of 1300: 134 KIA, 146 MIA, 290 WIA. All Shadesh MIAs likely to be reclassified as KIA when town recovered. 7 civilian casualties (3 fatalities) reported in Ikashta. 6 VRSO casualties (0 fatalities) incurred at Na'hosh. Davis reserve units have been moved to support Northern Front.

Alta put a paw on the computer, adding her biometric signature, and transmitted it to Colonel Sol for the benefit of the civilian government. President Kodja needed to know that she was on the attack; he did not need to know just how precarious the situation really was. Sol Solte was smart enough to read between the lines she painted--and, if it came to it, to cover for her when Kodja asked.

With the bureaucratic tasks attended to, the Ibizan took a sip of her tea and focused on the newest, most pressing topic. The eastern front needed to be stabilized, and retaking Shadesh was more than a point of pride--it controlled the only bridge over the Little Falls River.

Her advisors had been working to give her what she needed to make a decision; Major Kalasos looked up and gave a slight nod when she saw the general approaching. "Ma'am."

"Major. Thanks for the briefing. What's the threat picture?"

"The picture is current as of 1345. Drone and long-range passive, plus direct observation."

"Direct?" Colonel Ishiri interrupted.

Kalasos nodded. "Yes, sir. Two patrols from Zhadan's battalion, along with third-party intel where it can be corroborated. Hostiles are currently moving west on the main road from Shadesh towards Kir Kodaw. We count approximately one hundred vehicles--technicals and scout hoverdynes. There's no indication of supporting assets and no sign they're moving north or south of the road."

"Nothing on the coast?"

"No, sir. Our consensus is that they can't move freely off-road in the mountains, and they don't expect resistance after reducing Shadesh. They... well, general, have you reviewed my conjecture in appendix A?"

Major Kalasos believed the human militias were acting on their own, without orders--taking revenge for the slights visited upon them by the Hashida over the past few months. The details were all in an appendix she'd been compiling alongside the most relevant strategic information. Alta nodded her understanding, though she still didn't know if she agreed fully with the mutt.

"We have some more supporting evidence for the activity being directed by the civilians militias, rather than the JMA. They appear to be looting and then destroying individual buildings and farms they come across. It may be limiting their speed."

"For what it's worth, Colonel Ishiri, we can't confirm that." The Ibizan didn't want him getting the wrong impression--that he needed to move quickly to prevent a sack of the farmlands in the Kodaw Valley, or to avenge the destruction that had already been wrought. "So keep the pillaging rumors to yourself."

"Understood."

"Based on our information, the lead units will encounter the Na'shun Line between 1500 and 1530. They didn't do much last night--our consensus is they're rested and probably well-supplied. Picture closes."

Altalanuk waited to see if Ishiri had any questions; the leopard stayed motionless. "Your orders stand, colonel. Engage as quickly as possible, hit them decisively, and turn them back to the river. Secure Shadesh, mop up, and prevent them from recrossing."

"And the support, ma'am?"

"I wish I had better news for you, colonel. By the time we get anything together out of what's left in the north, you'll already be in contact. You need to move fast. But pass requests for CASEVAC and resupply directly through to ops--don't wait for my approval."

"Alright. We're on it."

He signed off, and Alta looked around the table. "Anything else?"

"If you have a moment, general, yes. There are two civilians requesting to speak with you.Inana Khalizai and inana Darwin."

"Together?"

"No, ma'am."

"Khalizai first. Major--drag me out here if anything changes," she ordered Kalasos, poured another cup of tea to accompany her existing one, and padded over to one of the side rooms. Khalizai joined her a minute later. "You know, you don't need permission to visit me, Kha'zai."

"I also know that you're busy," the husky countered.

"You wouldn't be here if it wasn't important. Sit, old friend. How bad is it?"

Khalizai took a sip of tea first. "'Bad' is a matter of degree, Talla."

"So it is. How bad is our degree?"

His ears twitched, and briefly lowered. "It could be worse. Stockpiles of basic supplies are holding out, and we still have beds free. The synthesizers are the weak link. We need real blood to make up the difference until we get more equipment--I organized a drive this morning in Chadagh, but..."

"Tell Shenkiy he can save the Kashkin if his department comes through. He'll be happy to help."

"I figured, but I didn't want to go around you. I'll talk to him immediately. More worryingly..." Khalizai's claws clicked on the edge of the cup. "The trauma units aren't equipped to handle burns, not the ones they're seeing--not the ones when a 450 or a troop transport gets hit. Dr. Sarakasi told me they're losing more than half of the serious cases."

"Is it expertise or supplies?"

"Both, and it will only worsen. The medics will be out of saline solution within the next two days, and antibiotics not much longer past that. Dr. Sarakasi's opinion is that they need to begin considering this when they're triaging the wounded."

"Letting them die, you mean?" The Ibizan shut her eyes tightly. "Yassuja, Kha'zai. We can't ask them for so much and then abandon them like that. We're abandoning too many citizens already. Can you find more suppliers?"

"At exorbitant costs."

Her ears flattened; she shook her head. "Tell Shenkiy that, too. Make sure President Kodja knows. We... we can afford payment; we can't afford to give up on our citizens. We need better options."

Khalizai said that he would do everything in his power, and left. For a few minutes she had nothing but the empty room to consider their position. The loss of Shadesh. Sanuk Kara, or what was left of her, motionless in a hospital bed. The scores of others with her.

The ones yet to come, pulled from the field only to be told there was nothing to be done for them. That at best they might earn a quick, merciful exit.I wonder if Sarakasi suggested that, too? Maybe he said the medics might just as well save the anesthetics and jump right to shooting them.

She steeled herself when the door opened again. "Greetings, Darwin. Please take a seat."

"General," the Border Collie answered, nodding politely. "Thank you for seeing me."

"I owe you, anyway."

"Owe me, General Altalanuk?"

"For your rescue operation in Shadesh. I've been told that some of the Hashida stayed behind to fight, even knowing the consequences. We haven't yet retaken the town, and I don't know their fate, but I suppose we're both... we can both be honest with ourselves."

"Yes. That's what I'm here to talk to you about."

Alta wasn't sure what he was about to ask for: she had nothing to give him. The OVKK was perilously short on ammunition, to say nothing of lending materiel to the paramilitaries. They had few vehicles to spare, and almost no medicine. "What do you need?"

"You_will_ retake Shadesh. What then?"

"Take and hold the bridge on the Little Falls. Depending on the situation, we might have to destroy it. With luck, we'll know by nightfall."

"And the valley?" Alta narrowed her eyes at the Border Collie, but Darwin didn't flinch. "The Hashida are in an awkward position, general. You've told us to remain quiet, inactive... while we see our homes destroyed, our friends murdered..."

"You haven't exactly been 'inactive,' either. I'm not criticizing you for it, but I suppose you're telling me that this hasn't satisfied your followers?"

"One of our cohorts has been assembling in Tanin Kodaw, on the southeastern border. They can see the valley on the other side, general. The_deghja_ and the farms we abandoned to the humans. They cry out to us, general. Like Shadesh."

"I don't have the resources to help you. If we--" Her radio buzzed; Major Kalasos's name was on the screen. "Can you wait here a moment, Darwin?"

She left him in the conference room and found Major Kalasos outside, leaning over the strategic map with her head canted sharply. "Ma'am. Contacts from east of the Na'shun Line. Colonel Ishiri reports that Ulak Company, First Battalion has engaged about a dozen enemy vehicles."

The company had been approaching from the north, making their way down from the hills. They were still six kilometers to the east of the defensive line, and as far as Alta could tell none of Ishiri's other units had encountered the enemy. "Is that their main body?"

"We don't know, ma'am. The tactical picture is thirty minutes old. I'm piecing together acoustics and EM echoes right now. Our scouts don't have anything in the south."

"What about the Hashida?"

Kalasos looked behind Altalanuk to the closed conference room door. "Not from them, either. Most of the irregulars are on the other side of the hills."

"General, Ostoja is on the line," the comms specialist announced. "Ulak Company is taking heavy fire. Ostoja intends to advance from the Na'shun Line to relieve them."

"Tell Ishiri I want him to use the motor infantry only. We don't know the disposition of their main force yet--he needs to be careful."

"Yes, ma'am."

Altalanuk had left her tea in the room with Darwin; the Border Collie looked at her expectantly when she reentered. "A little longer,inana. We might be in contact with enemy militia from Shadesh."

"My first cohort, remember? They're waiting. Two hundred men."

"A little longer," she repeated, and closed the door again. Her tea was starting to go cold; in the minute it took her to recharge the cup Colonel Ishiri had begun his advance, and five minutes after that Major Kalasos reported his sensors were registering radio signals from at least four dozen human scout cars.

"Four disabled. Five. They're..."

"They turned to engage Ulak Company," Alta realized. "All of them. They must've thought it was the most significant threat. Tell Ishiri he can..." She trailed off, putting everything together in her head. Three more scout cars had been marked 'disabled' or 'destroyed'--their enemy was proving slow to reorient itself to the new advance on its flank.

"Ma'am? He can what?"

"Get me a direct line to Colonel Ishiri." Urgency turned the Ibizan's order into a curt, harsh bark. "Major, are these_all_ the roads in the area? What about the maintenance road for the repeater on Terr Kosh?"

"Uh, it's... these are just the primary roads. I can give you the full network, if you want?"

"Do it." The map updated; a few seconds after that, Colonel Ishiri's hologram joined them at the table. "Colonel. How are your tanks?"

"In good order. The enemy's position is weak, general; we should attack."

"We should. But not the 450s. Get to the bridge, colonel."

"Ma'am?"

"Order your tanks to circle around Tanin Kodaw and head north to the Little Falls Bridge. We're going to cut them off before they can escape."

"I..."

"Get it done."

***

Type 450 "Khalitsa", U Company, 8th Bn (Reserve) North of Tanin Kodaw, Kashkin 2/11/2537: 1500

Sergeant Chukhal saw a perfect tableaux through his scope. Just left of the targeting reticule, smoke rose from what remained of Shadesh. At the edge of the screen, a cluster of icons flashed with the last of the fighting between Shadesh and Kir Kodaw.

And in his sights, the fleeing human scout cars racing to the safety of the metal girders that made up the bridge over the Little Falls River. Chukhal's paw gripped the control column for his 450's turret. Waiting. He put the crosshairs over one of the scout cars and held the targeting button in halfway. The firing computer started doing the work of computing a solution, tracking the hoverdyne despite its erratic swerving.

"Fire at will."

Chukhal's thumb clicked the targeting button in all the way; the turret swung with silky, clockwork smoothness and a little box highlighting the scout car flashed a steady green. He pulled the trigger without a second thought;

The rocket kicked in three-tenths of a second after the round had left the barrel--by then, it was already half a kilometer downrange. A decent percentage of fuel was still aboard two seconds and six kilometers later when it slammed into the engine compartment of what, in the end, was little more than a hastily converted utility truck.

Whatever armor the militia had plated the hoverdyne with put up only perfunctory resistance to a projectile packing twenty times the kinetic energy of the truck itself--it punched straight through, and the physics problem ended dramatically. That was what Chukhal saw: the rear of the vehicle crumpling at the shock, and a spray of sparks and shattered, molten metal.

"Good hit, one point--" Before the systems operator finished, the hoverdyne's battery went up, and the whole machine disintegrated, overloading Chukhal's imaging sensor. "One-one," he corrected.

All told seven seconds had elapsed since the commander gave the order to fire, and Chukhal still had twenty-three rounds left. He was on to the next immediately, guiding the crosshairs onto the careening shape of their foe. Whatever use they'd been in leveling Shadesh, now the human equipment was helpless, hopelessly outmatched.

The shot took it neatly through the center of the car, dropping its glowing, stricken body to the ground where it skidded to an ungainly halt. Four of its occupants escaped, their armor having protected them from the worst of the shock. The last, its driver, was halfway out of the wreckage when it burst into flames.

Chukhal couldn't hear any of it, not the sound of the inferno or the conversation that followed. But he saw one of the humans look back, halting for a moment. Watching. The silhouette of the trapped driver vanished in the growing intensity of the fire--and their companion turned away and ran.

***

Colonel Ishiri's nose wasn't as sensitive as some of the other moreaus, particularly not the country-dwelling dogs who'd abandoned the habit of using anesthetics or taking up smoking to deaden their senses. Even still...

Shadesh was gone, and it didn't matter if the buildings remained. The air reeked of ozone and ash, of burnt fur and flesh and blood. The leopard didn't know where to start. If anything it reminded him, not of battle, but of a starship crash early in his career in the Colonial Defense Authority.

The light transport, overworked from innumerable campaigns, lost an engine on takeoff and pitched into the ground with its remaining thruster still at full power. His supply company, largely moreaus and therefore suitable for menial labor, was assigned responsibility for cleaning up the debris. Most of the pieces of men and machinery had been smaller than his hand.

That had been an accident, though. What he now saw was deliberate. In sixteen hours the human militias had stripped almost everything they could from the town. The shops were smashed; the vehicles commandeered to aid in their escape. Some of the destruction was little more than petty vandalism: all the ears had been shot off the statues in the city park, and the flower garden had been flattened by some sort of heavy machinery.

This is why General Altalanuk told me to hurry, he thought. I could've been faster. I could've done more--if I'd known... if I'd thought it was going to be like this...

Three-quarters of the human militiamen had managed to make it back across the bridge before Ishiri's tanks cut them off. The rest had been encircled and destroyed--one way or another. Many had abandoned their vehicles to flee on foot, taking their chances at swimming across the cold, mountain-fed river rather than waiting to be annihilated.

Even that was a better choice than some others had faced.

"The new count is fifty-six, sir," the voice of one of his aides told him.

"Almost rounds up to sixty," the leopard answered; the aide looked momentarily puzzled. Rukhat numbers were in base-eight; Ishiri still thought in decimal arithmetic. "Forget it. Their status?"

"Most of them are severely injured. Their life signs were faint enough to escape detection. Burns and smoke inhalation. I..." The aide was a young lieutenant, looking as aghast as Ishiri had policing the transport crash. "Sir..."

"Out with it."

The lieutenant flattened his ears. "A few are conscious. One said we should investigate the parking lot at the water works. We found some... some busses there. Six, in total. Parked--burnt in place."

Ishiri caught the truth of the matter from his aide's shudder. "How many inside them?"

"We don't know yet, sir. The casualty section is busy. I have a..." He choked the word off and held up a data chip. "A partial list of names, from the survivor, but... it's not possible to validate them. She was with the Hashida, part of the last stand... according to her, seventy of the wounded and the civilians were taken away to the water works, but... but..."

Colonel Ishiri took the chip from him. "We'll look into it. Focus on getting transport for the wounded--we can still help them. Were there any traps? Any mines?"

"No, sir. I think they left too quickly."

"Make sure the search teams know to keep looking for survivors, then. Time is of the essence. Don't worry about the ones who did this... not right now."

That was easier said than done. When the aide left, Ishiri composed himself as best he could. Closing his eyes didn't work, for the smell only grew worse. Instead he stared at the sky until he could script out what would need to be said, then activated his communicator. "Satar, this is Ostoja actual. Message. Over."

General Altalanuk answered. "Satar here. You have an update, colonel?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Go ahead."

"Shadesh is ours. The destruction is extensive, and we've only recovered fifty-six survivors so far. All of them require medical attention."

"It's yours," she promised. "The militia?"

"Defeated. I've taken the bridge. Several hundred militiamen escaped before we could intercept them, but we count forty vehicles destroyed and another twenty-five abandoned by their crews. Our losses were slight. Eight dead, fifteen wounded; five APCs destroyed or temporarily out of action."

"The bridge is ours?"

"Yes. I've already begun checking it for demolition charges. So far, we've turned up nothing. We hold the far side with a company of infantry, but there's also no sign of the militia... they must've fallen back all the way to the Dun."

The radio link went quiet; he heard only the tail end of the Ibizan hound's thoughtful sigh. "New orders. Secure positions on the valley side of the bridge and make it as defensible as possible. I'll direct one of the scout platoons to your area and we'll try to get some updated intel. Hold in place until you hear more, and let me know if the militia appears to be counterattacking."

"Should I prepare to destroy the bridge, also?"

"No. Save the explosives. And we might want to keep going."

"You're suggesting we press our advance, ma'am?"

"We'll consider it. Focus on securing the town for now, though, colonel."

He ordered listening posts and sentry guns deployed on the other side of the bridge, and spent half an hour there himself, looking for the best places to make a stand against the militia. When he returned to town, one of the reserve captains informed him that another three survivors had been found; they did not expect others.

"There's more, sir. We captured about twenty-five humans in east Shadesh. They were trying to flee--we disabled the first vehicle, and the second collided with it."

Ishiri's tail lashed. "Captured?"

"Yes, sir."

"You're certain? I'm a bit surprised, is all. They know we have no means of taking prisoners and, well... after what happened here in Shadesh, I would've expected different behavior. But they surrendered?"

The captain tilted her head. Her muzzle opened and closed twice without speaking. "No, sir. They fought to the last man. I thought I'd made that clear."

"We're all tired, captain; I understand. Police the bodies." She acknowledged his order, then started to say something else; a light glinted in her eyes. "Captain?"

"An unrelated topic, sir. I was thinking about our... supply issues. We're rather short on bullets."

"Will that be a problem?"

She licked her muzzle; her tongue lingered on sharp canine teeth. "No, sir. It will not."

***

Northern Front HQ West of Encha, Kashkin 2/11/2537: 1700

The front lines hadn't shifted in two hours, and Colonel Genakhot was beginning to worry. The Border Collie was no longer conducting a mobile operation, and the more things settled down the more the odds stacked against them.

Some number of human mechanized walkers had taken up defensive positions in the Shunza, a valley that broke the eastern slope of Terr Chanat. As long as they held it, Lieutenant Colonel Marel was unable to link up with the rest of the OVKK, and their opponents could keep Terr Chanat supplied and reinforced.

Lieutenant Colonel Kit Starras had joined Marel's offensive with what remained of the 6th Battalion. Genakhot was, at that moment, reviewing a new dispatch from the mixed-breed: they'd stopped a nascent human counterattack from threatening the main northern thrust.

This was good, but now it meant that Kit had also stopped moving.

Genakhot gritted his teeth and spun his map of the battle around a few times, hoping that a different perspective might make him more optimistic. It did not. Nor did asking Kit for a more detailed summary of his situation: he was trapped, lacking the men and equipment to force a breakthrough and unable to disengage without leaving the whole operation vulnerable.

The time had come for Genakhot's own update, back to OVKK's headquarters. General Altalanuk wanted to speak to him directly. He wasn't surprised by that, and he wasn't surprised that she shared his opinion. "We're running out of time."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Keeping the JMA pinned down isn't good enough. You're wasting ammunition."

"Yes, ma'am." Their stocks had been badly depleted; resupply wasn't coming fast enough. "So are the humans."

"They have more of it. What do you want to do?"

"Avoid getting sucked in," the Border Collie began. "We're playing into their hands."

"Agreed. I think we have one more chance to attack before nightfall. Make the most of it, colonel. Satar out."

She wasn't_ordering_ him to attack, Genakhot knew. She trusted him to decide whether it would be productive or whether they'd just be wasting more lives for no gain. He pulled Kit Starras and Lieutenant Colonel Marel, commanding the main attack, into a conference.

"Latest intel says the JMA is holding Shunza Coulee with a reinforced Jackal company. That's all. How do we get them out?"

Kit Starras was frank, and his answer came instantly. "I can't, sir. We're taking too much fire to even approach. It's suicide."

Lieutenant Colonel Marel disagreed. He offered his alternative with just as little hesitation. "I've identified a potential opening. The rockfield in the western Shunza provides cover for the Jackals to lock down the northern road, but I don't think their visibility to the_west_ is very good."

"If that terrain is challenging for walkers, it's almost impassable for the Type 450s," Genakhot pointed out. "You think the APCs are up for it?"

"I do, sir."

Marel stood out to Genakhot as an enigma. He hadn't been born in the Kashkin; nor was the fennec a veteran of the Defense Committee in its more active past. Despite that, he was dedicated to the point of zealotry. There were plenty of little tells--like his conspicuous use of the Rukhat_Ha'shunza Ovrakhich_ where native speakers Kit Starras and Genakhot both simply said 'Shunza Coulee.'

Sometimes Genakhot thought the fennec had something to prove; sometimes he was overeager. Identifying those times was the colonel's job. In this case, cautiously, he ordered Marel to prepare for an assault. Kit Starras would stand by to prevent any human infantry from reinforcing the beleaguered mechs.

And maybe the zeal would pay off.

***

An hour later, Marel was painfully aware that he was running up against the clock. Genakhot expected the fennec's infantry to have already dislodged the Jackals from their defensive positions in the Shunza.

And they had not.

"We're making progress," he insisted. "We're reducing the positions engaging us. Another twenty minutes."

"Confirm you said two-zero minutes?"

Marel growled before keying the mic. "Affirmative, two-zero."

"Wait out."

Their reconnaissance hadn't come across the static defenses, which must've been newly installed. They were light weapons only--automated turrets set up hastily by Terr Chanat's defenders. Little more than harassment, hardly able to damage even the improvised APCs that equipped Marel's battalion.

But, they slowed the approach down. Each of the installations had to be cleared in turn, which meant finding a way to attack them without taking fire--Genakhot didn't want to waste mortar shells on such low-value targets.

Marel understood that, and he understood that they were losing the light--sunset was fast approaching. In another twenty minutes they'd be done, though, inside the mechs minimum-engagement range and close enough to flush them from cover.

"Chizukh, this is Golot. Fall back when and as able. Reassemble the battalion and await further orders."

"Golot, Chizukh actual. We're_close_, Golot. Just a couple more emplacements."

"Negative. We can't take the risk or any additional casualties right now."

Genakhot wouldn't listen to reason, so Marel didn't even bother. The battalion's casualties amounted to two disabled APCs and seven wounded--unfortunate but sustainable, considering the reward at stake. If it were up to the fennec, he would've gone for it.

But it wasn't.

Overcautious, paranoid old-timer. Marel thought it even as he gave the order to retreat. How did he even wind up with the Northern Front? Marel was the only one of them to engage the humans in combat and emerge victorious, wasn't he? Hadn't he secured their victory at Elden Kodaw?

He wasn't one of the old guard, that was really the problem. Didn't have a history with the general to lean on. Apparently that was the only thing that actually mattered.

***

Supreme Command, Alliance Forces Jericho Ford City, Yucatec Jericho 2/11/2537: 1930

As the second day wound down, Max returned to Ford City and the JMA command building to find the conference room almost deserted. Only Elodie Mott stayed; she was busy working, her face lit by the glow of a computer. "Hello, Max." She didn't look up.

"Where'd the others go?"

Her answer was simple, direct, and political:they went home. Max knew they hadn't. They were in calls with their superiors, trying to explain what had happened--and, no doubt, most of them had lost the stomach for the alternating tedium and panic of following along with his updates.

"What about you?"

"I'm reviewing the press release they want to issue tomorrow morning."

"Do I get to resign?" He poured a cup of coffee and settled into one of the ornate, expensive chairs. Nobody was much for night fighting--the NHA lacked the technology, and Max lacked the confidence. Things would be quiet until the next morning, at least.

"Nobody is that lucky, Max. We need to figure out how to spin these delays." She dimmed the computer, setting it aside and raising her head. "Off the record, what do you think of the reports of outside support? I can't tell from the official memos whether you believe those stories about off-world fighters and guns."

"All depends on how 'off the record' I can be."

"The truth--for once. I have a bad feeling that we may wind up in this together, Max. I want to know what's really going on out there. No agenda."

"None?"

"None."

He decided to take her at her word. "My intel's shit. We were counting on CODA providing info, but you guys went and fucked that up when you told them to back off. They won't answer me... something about staying neutral until they hear from Congress."

"It was a good idea at the time." Elodie sounded unsure of herself. "Hell, when the OBO projections called for the fighting to be over in a day, it was a_great_ idea. You would've thanked us for keeping CODA off your back while you cleaned up... if things had been different."

"If. But they're not, are they? The last thing I knew, the estimate was the NHA had about a hundred 'tanks'--modified tractors, actually. I told you about them when I ordered rockets for my forces. I keep destroying them, and they keep having more. Maybe my estimate was wrong, but maybe the transports they're bringing in have something to do with it... what do you figure?"

"They're Soviet transports, aren't they?"

Without the orbital scanners denied to Max by CODA, he couldn't be sure. "Not officially. But yeah, if I was a betting man, of course. They're getting resupplied, obviously. Lots of shrewd--or unscrupulous--businessmen are willing to sell, but considering the Soviet Union recognizes the... Breakaway Republic of Doctor Moreau over there..."

Elodie laughed--not because she thought it was funny, but because of the shocking bluntness. "That was definitely an unexpected move. They don't even have settlers here."

"Maybe you could use that. An Alliance separatist group is one thing, politically--I'm not a politician, but I'm guessing, here. A foreign country fighting alongside them... what if you leaked that? It might hurry Congress along in getting them to help me."

"Leave the politics to me," she warned. "If it looks like they're rescuing us, it'll be ugly, and expensive. Nobody wants to give up their bonus for that yet, Max. Not even me, and I like you."

"No you don't."

It got the same kind of laugh as before. "Okay. But I'm stuck with you, Max. Look, off the record, I... I'm sorry about_some_ of the politics. It doesn't make me happy to carry that bitch Shaeffer Moody. I tried to help."

"How?"

Elodie had been nursing a glass that, now that Max took a closer look, was filled with ruby liquid--not exactly coffee. She drained the rest of it. "Went to our forecasting department and had them prepare a new model with your worst-case scenario... sent it to my boss, CCed OBO and Legal and BCCed the eastern REMO. You know what happened, Max? Somebody in REMO sent it to the VP Comms--I had ECPR asking for comment thirty minutes later."

"I don't even know what that means." OBO was the Office of Business Operations, consistently the loudest voice calling for the NHAs to be expelled; the rest was just so much gibberish.

"Regional Economic Management Office. REMO coordinates all the regulations and shared infrastructure... I figured they wouldn't like Moody going off-script. Jean-Paul, our SVP for External Comms and Public Relations, he wanted to go public. REMO quashed the story. I had my boss screaming at me for causing an incident with the Moody family."

"For telling the truth? Sucks, don't it?"

"I'm just saying I tried, Max. She's protected, in ways that I'm not. You sure as hell aren't, either... but didn't it work out? Didn't you say that it worked out?"

"It didn't matter, is the best way to put it. Off the record, right?" Max wouldn't have minded a bit of wine, himself, but he restrained himself when Elodie recharged her glass. "They withdrew across the Little Falls River. The last update said they were 'at the bridge.' It's a good chokepoint; it's what I wanted them to do from the beginning. They're tying up resources that I'm happy I don't have to fight in the mountains."

"See? And that's going... according to plan? We're whittling them down?"

"Yeah."

"No need to raise any alarms with OBO or Congress, then. Like I said, Max: leave the politics to me."

***

In an attempt to consolidate their gains, the human militia engages the OVKK east of Kir Kodaw. General Altalanuk exploits a brief period of confusion by ordering the Eastern Front's armor to cut off lines of retreat. It is only partially successful, and most of the militia escape, but Shadesh is retaken. The effort to capture Terr Chanat, by contrast, fares poorly. Despite committing the OVKK's best units, the area remains completely in human hands. Both sides are compelled to throw more of their forces into the fray, with increasingly little to show for it.

***

Kashkin Self-Defense Forces headquarters complex

Corsini, Kashkin

3/11/2537: 0530

Altalanuk awoke just before her alarm. She'd been dreaming of sheep--the memory pushed itself rudely into her disjointed thoughts. In her dream she was tending a small flock, in the hills around Kodajuk, and when she came to on a cot in her office the Ibizan found that the dream did not seem so far-fetched.

One of these days. The last of the tea in her flask was cold; she drank it anyway. Just a few more weeks and maybe you can see what the sunrise looks like from Khalizai's bungalow. A few more weeks, that's it.

Alta lapped a few stubborn drops from the rim of the flask and tried to rouse the other voice in her head. The future was unwritten, and any path to it was rocky and blood-soaked. What was the point of thinking about bungalows?

Because there's no point in thinking of anything else. That's the goal, Talla. Get to it.

A fresh crew was on shift in the main room of the headquarters complex, but she'd told them she intended to be awake again at 5:30 in the morning and when she stepped up to the situation board someone had a cup of tea waiting for her in seconds. "Messages?" she prompted.

"Ostoja wants to talk at 0600; the preliminary brief is in your inbox, ma'am. Nothing happened in the last six hours of any consequence, though."

She looked over the brief while her tea cooled. Colonel Ishiri's report said the eastern front was quiet; his patrols hadn't run into any signs of human activity on any of the roads from the Little Falls bridge into the Dun Gap.

Alta wasn't inclined to find this_too_ surprising. Given the valley's flat terrain, any sane commander would've pulled back to the hills on the other side of the Dun River itself, where the shorter lines of sight exposed unwary tanks to ambush.

The most up-to-date passive surveillance hinted at possible activity on the far side of the river, though it didn't say much about what the activity_was_. Major Kalasos would be asleep for a few more hours; Altalanuk debated the virtues of waking her but decided against it. The major's opinion would matter later in the day, when matters became serious; there was no point in treating her as a sounding board for idle speculation.

Colonel Ishiri arrived for the 0600 briefing in person. "I figured it would be best to discuss this with you directly," he explained.

She could smell the burnt remains of Shadesh in the leopard's fur and in his uniform; that had to be part of the reason even if he wasn't about to admit it. "Alright. You've seen the latest picture?"

"Yes, ma'am. I went forward with one of the patrols, too, and we're seeing the same thing. There's nothing between my forces and the Dun River. I expect they've reconstituted--but to be honest, general, when we fought them yesterday I didn't get the sense they have much experience on the defense."

"Conduct a limited advance, then? Until you encounter resistance and can find out more. Is that your proposal?"

Colonel Ishiri twitched his whiskers, and swiped his paw through the map to bring the Dun Valley into view. "With permission, no. I'd like to leave the dismounted infantry with Lieutenant Colonel Gethana and take direct command of the tanks and a mechanized company. We'll take the bridge crossing the Dun, I'll have Gethana garrison it, and then push up the coast to... what's this town called? Port George Moody."

"That's rather aggressive, all things considered."

"Exactly. They won't be expecting it."

"You can't sustain an assault for long, though." She tapped her claw on the edge of the map slowly, weighing the consequences of failure--and those of success. "And when they counterattack, I can't back you up. There's no sector reserve; you know that."

"They won't counterattack. The Dun bridge will be the only challenging part. That's why we'll ford the river in the south, by where Aresh used to stand. I checked with the designers, and our 450s can handle the river's depth there. If they have any defenses protecting the bridge, I can bypass them."

Knocking another chunk of the enemy militia out of the fight appealed to her, even if she was far from certain they could actually take Port George Moody. The gamble appealed to her less: Ishiri had received most of their materiel and reservists, and now he wanted to put them in a position to be sacrificed. The OVKK couldn't afford the cost in spare parts and ammunition, let alone soldiers.

But in the best scenario, their foe would need to divert resources from Terr Chanat to counter the appearance of a new threat. That opened up the human lines to new vulnerabilities. In her judgment the best Jericho troops had already seen action, and been checked or defeated. What remained was second-rate, and nothing suggested they had substantial reserves in the east--like her, they considered it the less crucial of the two fronts.

"Are you in position now?"

"Yes. My soldiers are rested, the tanks are in good repair and well-supplied. We can be on the move in minutes. If you give the order."

"Artillery? You don't have any, remember? I stole it."

"I know, ma'am. We'll be moving too fast, I hope. We can make do."

***

"I take it that you're still waiting to attack."

The projection in Darwin's helmet showed the location of a hundred and eighty of his Hashida comrades, scattered in the hills nearby. "Yes," the Border Collie answered. "Yes, we are."

"We will, too," General Altalanuk said. "In the east, along the coast, starting as soon as possible. If you have a mind to act, I won't stop you--but I think you were looking elsewhere."

He was looking, indeed, on Morris Camp, a human mining settlement spread across the valley floor. The mines themselves ran through the valley walls, though they'd been quiet all morning and Darwin thought the miners had fled to the safety of the town. "Yes," he repeated. "We are. Morris. We intend to attack and clear the camp, and the mines it supports."

"I'll inform the sector commander to be on the lookout for fire to the east, but we won't move that way--so if you see anything coming, it's not us."

"Thanks for the warning."

Maybe, Darwin thought, she even meant it when she told them 'good luck.' The Hashida were in the business of making their own. Leave it for the OVKK to wrap themselves in the cloak of conventional, respectable operations.

He worked the rifle's stand into the ground until it was stable enough for his purposes and turned the sight on. At once, the magnified image filled his helmet. Like most of the Hashida's arms, the rifle was old, but according to its targeting software there were two hundred people in the town.

Many of them didn't move--asleep, considering the time of day and the way their thermal signatures placed them low to the ground. Half a dozen manned each of two hastily assembled guard posts facing the road that ran through the valley.

Someone tapped the Border Collie's shoulder. "Listen," they whispered. A message prompted Darwin to accept an incoming audio stream. He heard static, scratchy noises. "Acoustic surveillance."

Then, over the rustling hiss of interference, he detected voices. Human voices--English. "Think he was serious? Could be just... you know, a coward, right?" "No, man." "Well, he for sure signed up 'cause of the bonus." "Yeah, but... you saw him, man. He said the Rangers are_gone_."

Darwin looked over; the dog next to him was the surveillance expert for the mission. "Western guard post," they explained. "Picking it up from the laser mics."

"--that really mean they think_we_'ll fight here?" "Guess we got to."

He turned the audio off and spoke to the cohort's two subcommanders. "Ready?" Both confirmed it. "The guard positions first. Then the commlink. Then the power generator. On my orders." The Border Collie waited half a minute for any disagreement. His voice was calm: "Open fire."

Five rockets struck the western post; four more hit the east. They vanished in the hail of ensuing shrapnel, and the dish for the town's radio was gone before his eyes could focus to pick it out. A brief, sun-bright flare tore through Morris as the town's reactor surrendered to another barrage faster than the safeties designed to lock it down.

None of the Hashida cared that their primary targets had been destroyed: the second salvo of rockets pummeled the remaining buildings indiscriminately. His rifle tagged something moving as_PRESUMED HOSTILE_; Darwin watched a Morrisite scramble into the cover of an abandoned machine gun emplacement. The gun turned towards the valley walls--then three rockets reduced the whole thing to scattered debris, rendering 'cover' a useless concept even before a dozen grenades thumped into the newly formed crater.

"Taking fire," someone called on the radio. Darwin had honestly no idea where his troops were taking fire_from_. No sooner had any of the town's defenders found a weapon than ten or twenty Hashida savaged them.

And, as though in defiance of the report, the closest Hashida platoon charged. Darwin hadn't ordered them to; he wondered if he could even have stopped them. The outskirts of the settlement came into range of their grenade launchers, and Morris collapsed building by building as if struck by a slow-moving tsunami.

An unsteady, scrambling trickle of humans--everyone remaining--spilled from the buildings and onto the road, moving away from the assault. "Let them go," Darwin growled into the radio. More tumbled--he saw a rocket strike just ahead of one unfortunate soul, tearing road and refugee alike to pieces. "Don't shoot the damned runners. Stop firing!"

In the end, they did; it only took a minute for the order to filter down, and in that minute Morris lost another eight buildings. The echoes died away, replaced by the sputtering of fire and the crack of glass shattering in the heat--and intermittently, the fitful groans and shrieks of those who hadn't been able to flee.

The harsh snap of a gunshot had already ended more than a few of those cries when Darwin made his way into the town and was able to impress on the first Hashida to reach it that an order to 'cease fire' meant what it sounded like.

"Sir," the squad leader growled, unhappily. "Very well. If you say so."

"I do. How many humans are there?"

"Fifteen still alive."

"Can they be moved?"

A shrug answered him. "As cargo? Yes."

One of the humans turned out to be merely stunned--badly disoriented, but she nodded when Darwin shoved her into the driver's seat of a truck and told her to head back to friendly lines with the rest of the injured humans.

He saw no point in euthanizing them; it took time, which they couldn't really spare, and satisfied only the cause of revenge. Darwin had long ago abandoned the quaint idea that moreaus were above vengeance--but the Hashida couldn't spare the ammunition, either.

"As planned," he ordered his subcommanders. "Be quick, efficient, and thorough. Every building, every vehicle, every fencepost--gone."

***

Davis, Kashkin 3/11/2537: 0800

The walls of Kodja's apartment felt strangely alien. Though he'd seen them thousands of times, the retriever found it hard to believe he was back in his own living room. He did what he could to explain the sensation to their foreign minister, who was meeting him for breakfast during his brief escape from the capitol building.

"How do you think I felt?" Halinchi offered a gentle, weary smile. "I haven't spent more than eight hours at a time in my own place for over a year. I made the mistake of looking in my pantry, even after I smelled it..."

"True. I never envied you, you know, with all that travel..."

As foreign minister--and thereby their_de facto_ ambassador--Halinchi more or less lived on the starship that had served as neutral diplomatic ground. "I can't get too comfortable," the badger replied. "Depending on how things go with our new allies."

"How_is_ it going?" Kodja paused, catching himself. "I've been a terrible host. Water?"

"Please." He fetched two glasses from the kitchen, returning to find that she'd taken a seat at the living room table. He joined her at the opposite side, waiting. "In broad strokes, Mr. President, it's going well."

"General Altalanuk tells me the military aid has proven to be invaluable."

"There will be costs."

"Levin should be here in a few minutes--we can ask him, but I'm sure..."

But Halinchi only shook her head. "No, not that sort. The sight of our kind manning Soviet equipment is a valuable propaganda tool for some of their internal factions. Those that have been calling for greater foreign involvement, and those that have been advocating for the uplifted internally. My contacts say that recognizing our declaration of independence has been quite popular in many quarters."

"I suppose it will make reconciling with the Alliance more difficult, though?"

She took a sip of her water, and eyes flickered. "I find it curious, you know? How different it tastes. I'd gotten so used to the recycled water aboard ship... and it's just_water_, after all--isn't it?"

"Minerals, I guess."

"I guess." And she put the glass aside. "The Jericho press is already spreading rumors that we have foreign allies. Rumors that the Orion Soviet is fighting alongside us--naturally, the civilian government has seen fit to amplify those rumors. Naturally, they're not asking you for comment... yet. Is it true?"

Kodja hadn't even though to ask: Alta's messages were cryptic and her deputy, Sol Solte, wasn't always forthcoming. In any case, the retriever had been focusing on what he saw as more pressing topics. "It didn't come up. The military briefings are mostly about the immediate course of the fighting, and... the cost. Again, not the sort Levin can help with."

Halinchi was mulling something; her attention left him, gaze drifting to the window at his back and the clouds that broke the outline of a brightening sky. "I still have a few lines of communication open with our old masters. They haven't been much for talking, so please, understand that this is all conjecture..."

"Of course."

"If we hold out, their media will push the line that it's only because we've turned into an Orion puppet. It's a dangerous argument, for them, and for us. If the sector ecclesia believes them, they might call for intervention--open fighting between the VSRO and the Yucatan Alliance. The more it looks possible, the greater the pressure will be for the Soviets to minimize their support... they may like us, but not enough to risk war."

"I see how it's bad for us, in that case--but for them?"

"They're as good as conceding they_need_ intervention. Here..."

She unwrapped the computer from her wrist and set it down on the table, fiddling with the device until an English-language newscast came into view. It was an interview between an offscreen reporter and a well-dressed businessman, outside some office in what Kodja presumed to be the Jericho capital.

It's not a surprise, I think, the man said. It made for a good story, but the truth is, these squatters have never really amounted to much. Look, we beat their terrorist cells on two fronts in under six hours--you expected worse? They're animals.

You'd call the police operation a success so far, then?

The man chuckled.I have a plane full of real-estate analysts waiting to touch down in Davis so we can figure out how to redevelop it. We'll see you this evening.

"That was from two days ago, just after they began their operations. The man is Dr. Scott Walburn, deputy of business operations for the JBC. His department is the largest source of funding for their military--the most aggressive in pushing for the Kashkin to be destroyed. This morning his office released a brief statement."

We have always maintained that addressing the illegal occupation of West Jericho would be a difficult, complex process. Unfortunately, foreign assistance to certain criminal elements has added fuel to a raging fire. We are addressing this new development directly through all appropriate channels. In the meantime, our timelines are flexible, accurate, and on-track.

"Quite a change," Kodja said.

"Yes. 'Appropriate channels' will likely include the Colonial Defense Authority. Consider a hypothetical scenario, Mr. President. Tomorrow, the Gemini sector ecclesia presents me with an offer: hostilities cease, the JBC disarms, we agree to reintegrate with the promise of autonomy, and we repudiate the Orion Soviet--or else CODA starts bombarding us. Can you accept that?"

"Politically? I doubt it."

"So do I. That hasn't happened so far, at least, but the more it_looks_ like the Alliance is being directly challenged by the Soviets, the more they'll have to act."

"How did the Free State manage it?"

"Cynicism."

Dogmatic separatists had used the Black Hills Free State over and over again as a precedent for the Kashkin's secession. From what Kodja knew, they'd fought off a mining company with claims to the land, proclaimed their independence from the Alliance, and... well, that had been that, so far as he knew. "Cynicism?"

"Mine," she amended. "Novy Chernaya is remote--settled early and bypassed just as quickly. Most of it's unaligned, and the Free State is still clearly in the Yucatec sphere of influence even if they have Orion advisors. Their government is also human, and their land claim is stronger than ours ever was. Also, the Alliance... I don't pretend to understand, you know? Their species is odd."

"But you understand them better than I do. I never lived with people, Halinchi."

"True. Dade, Darby, and Kitchen, the mining company involved, is big and wealthy. They have their own mercenaries, and they pay off the Starlight Faction to leave them alone. I have the impression that, as far as the Alliance is concerned, DDK is unreliable, and seeing their nose bloodied was worth losing the taxes from a minor colony."

"That_is_ cynical."

"Perhaps it's what you get from living with them," she suggested, and laughed.

At that moment the apartment bell rang; Kodja stood as the door swung open. It was Levin and Nuri: his wife had gone to pick Levin up from his house and to purchase breakfast at any restaurant that was still doing business.

"Filled pancakes," the marten explained, holding up a bag of them. She set it down on the table, licked her husband's nose, and padded off to the kitchen for more glasses.

Levin nodded his greetings to Kodja and Halinchi, joining the badger at the table. "Good to see you again, minister.Inana Kodja, have you heard the news from the east?"

The retriever furrowed his brow and retook his seat. "No. Trouble?"

"The Hashida stormed a town called Morris an hour ago. Their leader described it as the start of 'balancing the scales after Shadesh.' Morris is a mining settlement, on the far side of the Dun River--well beyond our borders."

Halinchi shifted uncomfortably. "How many dead?"

"No official word. Rumors on local channels say three hundred."

"That's not possible. The whole town is only a third of that, I think. But..." She snapped her computer back about her wrist and closed her left eye, searching for information that her human-implanted augments shot directly into the right one. "There's a general evacuation order for all settlements south of Silver City. It comes directly from the JBC. They must be worried--the order's misspelled."

"And you? Are you worried?" Kodja asked.

"Not right now--I'm blind. I should go, Mr. President. I'll have a memo from the Observatory to you within the hour."

"Of course. Thank you for coming." He shook the badger's paw and she gathered her things quickly, letting the door click heavily shut behind her. Kodja switched from English back to Rukhat. "Yassuja. Levvich! Three hundred dead?"

"Alta let them off the leash, old friend. What did we think would happen?"

"Maybe it's not true, if Halinchi says there aren't even that many..."

"Refugees... policemen sent to guard them... I hope it's an exaggeration, too, brother. Either way, the Hashida say the town and the mines will be--have been--demolished. They lost people in Shadesh. They're angry."

"We're all angry," Kodja said; it didn't excuse the violence Levin hinted at.

Nuri came back from the kitchen with four glasses of kvass carefully balanced in her paws. "Where did Halinchi go?"

"She had to leave. An emergency."

Nuri sighed and set all four glasses down. "Too many of those. Was it about what we heard in the car, Levin? The attack on the towns? Must've been... I hope she can fix it. I hope it's something that can be fixed."

"So do I," Kodja admitted, softly.

"None of it will be fixable on an empty stomach, though. You're not eating, love?"

"I realized something in this morning's briefing. They had..." Kodja looked at the bag of pancakes; steam curled from it, and the smell turned his stomach--no matter that he hadn't eaten since the night before. He had to look away. "They sent a list of names. Hundreds. Hundreds of names. I only recognized three."

"The dead?" Levin asked.

He nodded. "And injured. Hadush Sarhanja was killed at Encha. Zolan and Ninakost Gul in Shadesh. Do you remember Sarhanich, comrade? He had that honey stall in the riverwalk market."

"Honey and... wood carvings?"

"His mate made those, I think." Kodja swallowed, and felt the anxious lick to his muzzle before he could stop himself. "Most of them are young. Mostly native. They were born here, Levin. None of them grew up thinking I would kill them."

The Border Collie reached across the table, running his fingers along the top of Kodja's paw. "You didn't. Don't say that you did."

"I should've known more names. What are we doing? What is it for, if not the names?"

His paw came to rest, heavy and warm. "Brother. It's for our children, and their children, and their children's children. Those are even more names that you don't know, Kodja--most of them you never will. But they'll know of Sarhanich. And of you."

"Do you really believe that?"

"I do," Nuri said.

"They shouldn't know me. I'm..." His ears pinned. "There are citizens fighting out there--dying. And I'm... what am I doing?"

"Keeping us together, love. Being strong when others can't--about things they don't know about. About things they don't even know require strength yet... maybe things_you_ don't know require it. We all have a part to play."

"Perhaps."

"Remember that I told you I was volunteering?"

Kodja flinched, but nodded. "Yes. You're still thinking about it..."

"Inana Korden said they could use someone with my skills. Organizing supplies and transports--coordinating things so the soldiers can focus on fighting. I'm good at organizing, and the schools are shut down..."

And he knew that he could not possibly win the argument with her. "You should do what you can, then. If you think it's best, I... I won't stop you."

"I do think it's best. We all do 'what we can,' love. You as much as anyone."

***

Jericho Military Authority forward HQ West of ETaN, Yucatec Jericho 3/11/2537: 1300

"--say again your last?"

"We're being overrun! There's--"

Max Kastner put the radio from his mind, focusing on the map. He'd misheard something, obviously--the call seemed to have placed its origin point somewhere just to the south of Port George Moody. That was impossible; last he knew, the militia were still holding the area south of the Dun River.

This didn't explain rumors of an attack on Morris, and NHA partisans advancing north towards Jackson, but from what he'd pieced together the partisans were just that--irregulars, terrorists with too many rockets. No staying power, no numbers, and no real equipment with which to threaten him.

One of his aides entered Max's vision. "Sir. Bravo Company, Rogett's Battalion is under fire from a large force of NHA tanks. They request orders."

"Where's the battalion commander?" Rogett's Battalion was one of two in the Native Protection League; the NPL made up half of Shaeffer Moody's militia. Radio calls coming directly from a company commander worried him.

She shook her head. "We can't raise the battalion, sir."

Max glanced at the map; she'd moved the marker for the company. Sure enough, it was all of ten kilometers southwest of Port George Moody--on the human side of the Dun. "Is this accurate, captain?"

"That was their reported position, sir. Yes."

Taking her at her word, the militia had given up twenty kilometers in perhaps two hours. Colonel Moody wasn't answering. Lieutenant Colonel Gold, commander of the other battalion in the NPL, said he was pinned down by superior numbers of hostile infantry just to the east. Gold's battalion had lost half their vehicles and was short on ammunition.

And Max began to appreciate how dramatically little he knew about what was truly going on. His own army's local presence comprised only a company from the security battalion, half in Port George Moody and half manning checkpoints along the river. The security forces offered no more information--except to say that the port's mayor was calling for an evacuation and the roads were becoming jammed.

Repositioning himself at the western front had given Max a much better understanding of the NHA's attack on Carabi Hill. For a full day that had worked just fine--it took most of his attention, anyway. The realization that something important had been neglected in the south came as an unwelcome shock.

He let Colonel Singer know he would be busy and summoned the first scout car he could find. Spaceport Noel McKeever was fairly close by, and the roads were clear. It didn't take long before he was on the flight line, searching for any sign--anything at all--that his orders to refit the JMA's flying assets had been listened to.

Seven aircraft were arranged in a nice, neat row. They'd been painted in military colors; the slate grey of latent active camouflage replaced their former commercial liveries. Only two had hardpoints; they were empty.

There was also a parked car, and a figure dozing at the wheel. The man, who was wearing a flightsuit, startled awake when Max rapped his fingers on the windowpane. "Hey! This area's off-limits. Military stuff."

"I_know_," Max hissed. "I ordered it. I'm General Kastner."

"Oh. Yeah, okay. Max, right?"

"General Kastner," he repeated. "You are?"

"Kurt Presser. Call me Kurt." He opened the car's door and stood, stretching. "What's up, boss?"

"Are you with the JMA?"

"Huh-uh. PG Aviation. I'm one of the bizjet pilots--just a contractor."

"You can fly these?"

"Some. I'm responsible for the Grackle there."

The twin-boomed Grumman Grackle was not one of the armed aircraft; its smooth, short wings didn't offer much of a place for weapons. They were low to the ground, a comfortable step up and into the fuselage of a 12-seat business craft whose brochure dwelled on the machine's speed and luxury, not military utility.

"You're inspecting or something?"

"No, I need a plane--and a pilot."

"The reactor's okay... I was on standby for PG when they shut down outbound traffic. We're not cleared for flight operations."

"I'm clearing you. Let's go."

The pilot frowned, but, confronted with the order, didn't protest beyond saying that it would take him a couple of minutes to get the Grackle online. Max set up his radio and computer in the passenger cabin while he waited, briefly reviewing a host of new messages being forwarded from headquarters.

B Co./Ro.Bn. falling back to GC471404 A Co./Go.Bn. engaged by light armor A Co./Ro.Bn. out of contact 3 Trp./Rng. supporting A/Go taking heavy fire Go.Bn. commander MIA Go.Bn. cannot break out and requires support.

"I got takeoff clearance, boss," Kurt called through the open cockpit door. "Ready?"

"Yeah. Take us straight south, over the Arkadiensee. You're not a combat pilot, are you?"

"Me? Hell, no." Kurt chuckled. "PG just offered good hazard pay for this shit. You know, there was this little guy from your company? Asked our mechanic if we could put bombs on this damn thing? PG would never go for that; I don't even know what he was thinking."

Kurt kept talking while they took off: a gentler, smoother process than Max had ever experienced in military spotters. The pilot confirmed that he was used to ferrying VIPs, and repeated once again the hazard pay his employers offered.

"Wouldn't mind the excitement, though," he mused. "Sounds pretty wild. You think I could maybe do, I dunno... transport stuff? You got a need for that? Real quick cargo drops and, like, comin' in fast and inserting some special forces or whatever?"

"Could you?"

"Might be fun, right?"

Max didn't answer. Inside the transport showed signs of its civilian past: there were still little packets of pretzels on the seat. Max tore one open, and as they gained altitude he crunched through the contents one step at a time.

The security battalion posted in Silver City needed to be fully activated. They could stabilize Port George Moody; in any case they'd be required to maintain order. Lieutenant Colonel Campbell said he was already on the move south.

His closest heavy equipment was a mechanized infantry company being trained in Barrett; they were understrength and poorly supplied, but better than nothing. Max directed them to link up with Campbell as soon as they could.

Between Campbell and the militia, Kastner figured he had about a thousand soldiers. In no case could the NHA field that many: intelligence had them with no more than two companies, plus another hundred partisans busy setting fire to Jackson's Pass.

There was no "large force" of NHA tanks; he knew that much. The company commander was misinformed, panicked, or lying. Nor did Max have any idea what could have_surrounded_ a full battalion of militia in the untroubled hills east of the lake. He could already see them--and smoke rising in dozens of little columns, their reflection pinned between the bitter early-afternoon sun and the cold waters of the Arkadiensee

The smoke traced two paths, pointing like arrows that converged on the buildings of Port George Moody. His rangefinder told him they were only five kilometers away from the town. Max gritted his teeth, preparing for the worst, and swiveled his visor into position to bring up an augmented display.

"Fuck!"

"Uh--sir?" The pilot turned around, looking at Max in shock. "Problem, sir?"

"No. Hold where you are. Keep us at altitude, though--and watch for incoming fire."

His tactical computer did its best to interpolate the reports coming in from the militia, who--heavily pressed--had finally decided to join the network used by Max's own troops. The reports were lies, too: taken at face value the militia was pinned down by three or four thousand opponents and a hundred tanks.

Filtered for positive contacts and deduplicated, the number looked closer to three_hundred_ infantry and a handful of Soviet-issue ersatz tanks. But that didn't matter: Gold's Battalion was steadily falling back, Rogett's Battalion had completely disintegrated, and Nike's Rangers seemed to have sounded a general sauve qui peut.

He only saw one pocket of actual resistance--sixty of the Houston Militia fighting what was either a rearguard action to protect Gold's Battalion or a last stand. Maybe it was both: they had no cover in the hills and long-range fire from NHA tanks picked off their lightly armored vehicles without trouble.

Half of the Type 450s broke away, speeding off to the northeast. Kastner worked his way through the radio directory, trying to find someone in command of the Houston Militia; none of them answered. In Lieutenant Colonel Gold's absence, control of the battalion passed to a confused major who insisted that the Houston Militia were out of contact.

He did not go so far as to say that they were also_not his problem_ but when Kastner pointed out the obvious flanking maneuver the major simply repeated that his soldiers were not in a position to counter the threat, being otherwise occupied with their own withdrawal.

Max paged Colonel Singer instead, and told the sergeant who answered that he needed to speak directly to the colonel. A minute went by; the NHA tanks reappeared to the Houston Militia's north.Reposition, he thought. Or shoot back--or, Jesus fucking Christ, do something_._

"Singer. That you, Max?"

"We have a situation," Kastner said--levelly as he could manage. "I'm airborne over the Arkadiensee. Port George Moody is about to come under attack."

"Shelling?"

"Direct fire. There's about two hundred NHA just south of the river. The town's exposed." Civilian vehicles streamed along the roads to the port's north--here and there the traffic was disrupted by disabled vehicles; the line of cars flowed unsteadily around them. "I need to take the Pucaras from you, Bob."

"The infantry? Avery's men are the only things letting us hold out, sir. If you--"

"I have to. Can you withdraw cleanly to... fuck, to the springs?"

"Cleanly? No. They'll have the whole approach under fire."

"Cornwall? Leighton?" Camp Leighton had been hastily established, mostly as a base of supply. But it was the closest thing Max had to prepared defenses. "Withdraw to Leighton in as good an order as you can manage--have Avery cover you. As soon as it's complete, let me know."

"Understood. It'll take an hour, maybe... maybe a little more than that. What about the hill?"

An hour. Max had to be pragmatic about the hill. Pragmatic in a way that he wouldn't be able to admit to Elodie Mott or any of the others--he didn't trust Mott to be able to smooth out what she would call the 'optics' of the matter.

The Houston Militia broke completely, escaping on foot. Max wondered if they knew where they were going--if they'd even thought that far ahead. Probably, in their panic, they had not. They'd reach the river and then... what? Swim?

In an hour he could infiltrate another company of infantry to join the garrison at Carabi Hill. As long as the outpost stayed occupied, it pinned the NHA down. The defenses were in good working order; a couple hundred soldiers and security guards could endure a lot of punishment from what the animals had on offer.

As long as the supplies held out. "Hey, Kurt."

"Boss?"

"Were you serious about those transport flights?"

***

Kashkin Self-Defense Forces headquarters complex Corsini, Kashkin 3/11/2537: 1930

Ya sarkja tal takja ralkhozkillat: some things must be done eight times. Altalanuk did not draw a conscious connection between the moreau proverb and its human equivalent. When humans said "third time's a charm," they acknowledged the failure of the previous two.

Moreaus did not. The moreau phrase took it simply as a means of praising patience, and Alta was running out of that. Nor was she in any mood to acknowledge the irony of her own name--"the eighth."

Lieutenant Colonel Marel passed a request to Colonel Genakhot to assemble men for another attack on Terr Chanat, now that the Jericho military had withdrawn deeper into human-held territory. Genakhot forwarded the request to OVKK headquarters, adding the note at the end.

She summoned both of them back to Corsini so she could go over the request face-to-face. Perhaps some subtle brilliance of the plan had been lost. Perhaps they were not simply throwing lives away.

In pre-independence planning, the Ibizan considered Terr Chanat a major threat. From that hill, one of the highest points in the area, the human military could direct artillery fire against the whole of the Kashkin, and interdict any traffic into the spaceport at Aless Ha'kin.

But neither possibility materialized, and considering their dramatic reversal at Encha the general had to accept that her planning was mistaken. If the Jericho army hadn't used Terr Chanat's defenders to support their attack on the Na'hosh Line, it was safe to assume they lacked anything capable of doing so.

"We could just as easily bypass the hill. Or ignore it, for that matter. The last four attacks cost you nineteen dead and eight tanks. For nothing."

"We did breach the outer perimeter," Marel countered.

"Which, if they're smart, they've already repaired."

"We can take it out again. And now that we don't need to worry about watching the eastern flank, I can commit fully to it."

Alta looked over from Marel to Colonel Genakhot. The Border Collie betrayed no emotion in his folded ears or his eyes, still sharp despite exhaustion creeping in at the edges. "I've stockpiled shells at Na'hosh, ma'am. We can advance carefully, reducing every new position in turn. We have plenty of time."

"And two full_Khalitsa_ companies, in addition to the infantry. I don't believe it will be a question of firepower, ma'am."

"I'm sure it won't be. Sustaining that firepower is a different matter entirely. Colonel Ishiri is under attack on the west side of the Dun River, we have unconfirmed reports of troops in the far north, and you want to use our last stockpiles for this assault. What about the day_after_ tomorrow?"

"Ma'am," Marel insisted. "With Terr Chanat, we have a clear position overlooking the whole western expanse. It brings everything from the spaceport west under threat."

"Under threat of what? We have nothing to shoot with." When neither of the pair answered, she called up the latest report on the OVKK's status.

The table looked dire enough on its own. Two of her six regular battalions were too depleted of men and equipment to keep fighting; one of them, Sanuk Kara's Fifth Battalion, existed only on paper. Sanuk Kara was unconscious at a hospital in Chadagh, anyway; her soldiers had been reassigned to replace losses in the other units.

By the numbers, four other commands and a hastily organized reserve battalion still existed. The numbers elided darker truths: in three days, ten percent of the regular OVKK was dead and there were only so many reservists she could still call up to replace them. Every counterattack pushed the tank crews harder: they were ragged, and the engineering teams supporting them hadn't slept since independence.

She'd stripped Colonel Ishiri's Eastern Front of artillery; some of the mortar sections now deployed on the Na'hosh Line had only a dozen shells apiece. The depot had run out of ammunition for the recoilless rifles, and without those the only way to counter Jericho's walkers was to lean even more heavily on the 450s.

"We have to be careful. We have to know_when_ to attack--not just how. This is our last chance for an assault like this. Come back to me in four hours with a good explanation of why it's worth it and an honest appraisal of whether you can pull it off. Otherwise, we've done what we can. That'll have to do for now."

***

Diplomatic vessel Malinche In orbit of Jericho 4/11/2537: 0600

Halinchi recognized three of the four humans in the room. One of them, General Mazzanti, commanded the CODA task force in orbit of the planet--which, according to Alta's reports, hadn't moved a finger in the previous three days of intense fighting. The second was Dr. Scott Walburn, representing the Jericho Business Council.

The third, Janet Allenby, had been the liaison from the Alliance Congress for nearly a year. Halinchi had grown to like Allenby over that time, and the human seemed to have overcome her own initial misgivings. In this she was quite unlike Dr. Walburn, who refused to shake Halinchi's paw.

The final human was a study in odd contrasts. Her suit jacket looked expensive and formal, but her close-cropped hair had been deliberately tousled to give a rebellious impression. She was young, clearly, yet Walburn introduced her as 'Colonel' Shaeffer Moody.

Moody showed no rank insignia, and wore expensive hiking shoes instead of boots like General Mazzanti, whose expression accorded Shaeffer no respect whatsoever. Halinchi had no idea what to think when they all, at last, sat down.

Janet Allenby pressed her hands together and looked around the table until the silence grew heavy. "Thank you for coming, those of you who had to travel. I'm sure we all hoped it would be under better circumstances..."

"Spare us," Walburn said.

"We have a lot to talk about. We need to discuss the future of Western Jericho. We need to discuss the deployment of private military forces here. We need to discuss shipping rights, and civilian fatalities, and many other things. But we can't do that while fighting is ongoing."

Dr. Walburn and Moody exchanged glances, saying nothing. Halinchi took the opening Allenby gave. "You're proposing a cease-fire?"

"Everyone wants the killing to stop, Ms. Halinchi. Ordinarily, bringing the Colonial Defense Authority into play would require special authorization from the sector ecclesia, but since they won't be ready for another three days I'm exercising my special privilege. General Mazzanti consents--correct?"

Mazzanti nodded. "The task force is standing by to put emphasis on whatever words you choose, ma'am."

"In simple terms: lay down arms by sunset. Both sides will do so completely. In the following orbital sweep, Mazzanti's ships will confirm that you've stood down and pulled back from the front lines."

"Which front lines?" Shaeffer wanted to know. Walburn shot her a look, as if she'd spoken out of turn.

Janet paged through notes on her computer. "There are Chartered Colonial troops surrounding a major hill to the west of the Ericsson-Tata-Novaworx Consulting complex. They'll be withdrawn to Davis or Corsini. Dr. Walburn, by your commander's admission, there are JMA patrols along Copper Creek--those will withdraw to Marleyville."

Shaeffer Moody shook her head. "What about the south? That's the important part."

"My report says that the borders are stable. The incursion into the Chartered Colony was repulsed, as was an attack on Port George Moody. The Alph and Little Falls Rivers remain--"

"No." Shaeffer cut her off curtly. "Those moreaus attacked Morris, Jackson, Slatehill and Tenmile Harbor--Slatehill just yesterday. That's totally unacceptable."

"We don't show those as being within the borders of the JBC's mandate or the Chartered Colony," Janet began, rather carefully if Halinchi judged her tone correctly. "The Alliance doesn't feel it proper to consider those at the moment. Perhaps after the cease-fire. As you know--"

"Your_job_--"

Janet raised her voice. "The 2507 Etinger Amendment postponed indefinitely the Dun question. General Mazzanti, correct me if I'm wrong, but the CODA mandate follows the Etinger lines in policing only the areas north of the Alph River."

"That's right," the general said.

"No settlements following 2507 have official sanction, including the mines."

Halinchi watched Shaeffer Moody bristle, waited until the human opened her mouth, and then spoke up. "If it helps, Ms. Allenby, I feel certain the Kashkin government can consent to withdrawing our army back across the Little Falls River."

Janet made a quick note on her computer and looked over at Shaeffer and Scott. "Well? Would that satisfy you?"

"Yes."

"Good, and if it's done by sundown we can keep the timetable. The Joint Working Group has been dissolved, but the ecclesia will vote to reauthorize it. One step at a time--four weeks will be the first deadline for the cease-fire. At the end of four weeks, the Joint Working Group is to have an outline of open topics and a memo for each discussing the options for mitigation. No_agreement_, but an understanding of where the differences lie. Agreed?"

"Meeting in neutral territory, aboard this ship?" Halinchi asked.

"Indeed. I propose, as members, myself, Ms. Halinchi for the Chartered Colony, Jason Klein for the Colonial Defense Authority, and... Sophie Young for the JBC, if that's acceptable? She has the knowledge of our previous discussions."

"Which worked so_very_ well," Scott Walburn muttered.

"Major Klein is at your disposal, ma'am."

"As am I," Halinchi added.

Janet took a few more notes. "I know you'll have to speak to Administrator Alishat Hass-Kodja, but if we can sign off on the basic details now..."

"This framework," Dr. Walburn began, gruffly--not ready to conclude the meeting. "It has the goal of integrating Western Jericho, right?"

"As part of the first session of the Joint Working Group, I'll put the possibility on the agenda. We can discuss it."

"I won't sign any proposal that leaves the question open. It's a matter of how and when, Jen, not_if_. I have to be absolutely clear on that part."

Shaeffer caught his assertiveness and took advantage of the cue. "So do I. Moreau aggression--brutality, let's be honest--against our miners makes it obvious they need to be brought under central control. Dr. Walburn's, for example."

"I'll also add the legal status of the highland mines to the agenda," Janet promised.

"You're not listening." Walburn glared at the woman, his voice brushing the 'imperious' side of 'commanding.' "The Joint Working Group's goal this time is_organizing_ the integration of Western Jericho."

"Discussing the possibility."

"It's not a discussion!"

Halinchi saw the way Janet briefly, subtly glanced over at General Mazzanti; their eyes met. The badger couldn't be sure if either was about to concede, and didn't want to take the chance. "If that's the case, I don't see a reason to participate."

"You see?" Walburn demanded. "So we keep fighting."

Allenby set her computer down sharply, the_clack_ of plastic on the table crisp as a filmmaker's clapperboard. "You don't. Miss Moody, you called for intervention. These are our terms. Congress will back me up, and if you don't like it, let me present the other option. Our nonintervention agreement holds until I go back to Gemini. General Mazzanti, please take no offense at what I'm about to say."

The general raised his hands. "I'm but a humble servant, ma'am."

"Every orbit of this task force costs one hundred and seventy-seven thousand, six hundred and forty obols. The task force makes sixteen orbits per day. If my recommendation to the ecclesia is for a termination of peacekeeping operations, they'll have Mazzanti jump before I can even finish saying_waste of time_."

"But it's--"

"And then you're on your own, Miss Moody.Really on your own. Are you ready for that?"

***

Operations in the north remain stalled. OVKK Eastern Front OC Ishiri plans and receives approval for a battalion-level assault to clear the Dun Gap. Before it begins, the Hashida raze Morris in retaliation for the destruction of Shadesh. Panic spreads amongst the human militia, which has collapsed entirely by 1300. The JMA is forced to send its infantry reserve to the east, making the abandonment of a quick offensive a fait acccompli. With heavy losses on both sides, a ceasefire is declared following only three days of intense fighting.

***

Kashkin Capitol Building Davis, Kashkin 4/11/2537: 0900

"You've told President Kodja about this?"

Halinchi laughed. "Yes. I'm not_that_ insubordinate, general. Is there a Rukhat saying about 'chain of command'?"

"No. We're not fighters, after all." The Nakath language spoke in terms of_packs_ and families; the military word al-zhen was a strict cognate of 'chain' and applied only in that context. But Altalanuk managed a thin, tense grin at the irony of what she'd said. "What can I do for you?"

"I made my recommendation from the Foreign Ministry contingent on talking to you. I have... questions. Three questions, at least."

Altalanuk nodded. "What are they?"

"How much longer could you keep fighting?"

"It depends. To hold the entire Kashkin, another three or four days. A reduced perimeter would give us another two or three weeks until the last of the ammunition ran out--we're using up every resupply ship as soon as it lands. I've always said that we can't hold out in the long term, Hallich."

"I'm not criticizing, just trying to be clear. Ammunition, then. What about soldiers? That's part of the same question, if you're keeping track."

"Our casualties have been tracking higher than I feared. But we could..." Alta considered her words carefully. "We could endure them."

"Second question. What does CODA know? What would they know from their space surveys about our strength?"

The Ibizan clicked her long tongue against the roof of her muzzle. Her intuition said the human military probably knew everything, but now that the question was posed...do they? Why was the JMA so ineffective, then?

You should've been thinking about that. But she hadn't had long enough to ponder any questions that philosophical. She called Major Kalasos in, hoping the mixed-breed might have better answers than simple speculation.

"No," Kalasos said. "Only educated guesses, ma'am."

"Guess?"

Kalasos looked to Alta; Alta nodded to give permission. "Indulge us."

"Orbital gives them troop strength, roughly. The multispectral cloak on the 450s will hide them from low-res or non-p-diffed scans. IEAS probably--let me know if I'm being too technical, Minister Halinchi?--makes up the difference, but we... ah." Her ears lowered. "We haven't been monitoring for recon flights. I_think_ we'd notice them."

"In the end? Sum it up?" Halinchi asked.

"They know how many vehicles we have, plus or minus twenty percent. I imagine they don't know about our ammunition shortages. May I speak on my own authority, general? We have no consensus report."

"Speak. I trust you, major."

It was enough to raise the mutt's ears, though not by much. "If I was an orbital monitor, based on our ammunition expenditure and the attack in the Dun Valley, I would overestimate the OVKK's stocks by a factor of at least two or three. I doubt they know how bad things are."

Altalanuk thought of something else they might have missed. "The BMKs. Would they know we weren't manning those?"

"Again: non-consensus is acceptable?"

"Yes."

"In my opinion, if they were_looking_ for evidence that the Orion Soviet had done more than advising, they could find out. The local net on the IFV radios is still using Soviet modulation. But as an orbital monitor, unless I was specifically told to look, there's nothing giving us away. They would know that we have ex-military equipment, but the BMK-94 is available on the black market, too."

Alta dismissed Major Kalasos; when she was gone, Halinchi asked her final question--the most fraught, for it lay well outside their control. "What about the Hashida? Will they respect a cease-fire?"

But considering their alternatives, the Ibizan didn't mince words. "They'll have to. They've said their piece."

"You're sure?"

"By definition," Alta said flatly. "I'll do what it takes."

Without knowing what that was; without knowing what it would be. And for once she felt the others understood. Kodja understood; his voice on the radio was strong--few could've picked up the heavy burden in his words. She was one of them.

I want to recognize two things. First, the magnitude of the accomplishment. You have defended the Kashkin against its first challenge. The galaxy has been watching, and waiting--and now they know. At Dawa, at Hana Lanja, in every station and on every planet where free moreaus live, they know what you've done. They know what's possible.

Second, the magnitude of the sacrifice. In the next days we'll come to understand it without being able to escape in the needs of the moment. We'll feel the ache of those we've lost--the voices missing from our pack. What I said first is no excuse... no means to make that blow any lighter. Nothing will. We need to own our grief.

And we need to keep going.