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All content copyright Veritas( [email protected] ), 2004. Any resemblance to other persons or situations, real or fictional, is purely coincidental. Those offended by anthropomorphic, male, homosexual sex need not read on. Blah, blah, blah.

Squad Training

A lurch, a thump. "Learn to drive!" someone yelled over the com circuit.

Valan Korman glanced at one corner of his helmet's display, toggling his transmitter. "Stay put, strap in, and we won't bounce around," he snapped back, feeding more power to one of the fans to compensate for the shift in weight. "Now shut up and let me fly this thing." And off.

The skunk kept his eyes on the canyon walls and tried not to be conscious of the officer strapped in the co-pilot's seat. Valan had chosen a risky, difficult flight plan and was still only a cadet; but anything less, he figured, wouldn't be realistic.

The Kestrel troop transport rocketed down the narrow fault. Valan forced himself to be calm. He'd done this dozens of times in the simulator, without fault. But this wasn't a simulator run. Twenty SLASH marines had put their lives in his hands.

He reminded himself that he was here because he was good. His officer training had been handed over to the marines, the finest soldiers in the Star Lane Authority. He could do this.

A drop in throttle, a turn of the nose. He gunned the side jets, and the Kestrel soared around a tight bend.

"Coming up on LZ in thirty," he warned, glancing down at the scanner. Nothing - but the same shielding effect he counted to hide and protect the transport also hindered its scanners. "Expect it hot." Any opposing force would know they were coming - just not exactly from where. The branching, twisting canyon would carry echoes all around.

There it was - and a blip on his scope; something big, something metal. "Time to crash the party, Marines. Drop in ten!"

The Kestrel rose up from the canyon and streaked over the sun-baked mesa. There - an armoured personnel carrier, and a group of marines clustered some distance away from it, scanning all around with weapons at the ready. They started to turn, but Valan was already working. His eye flicked over to the carrier, then the group of red-armoured marines; his thumb pressed the missile trigger twice in succession. The missiles screamed away from their pods, leaving azure trails, and the chin gun started spinning, bolts of blue energy skidding across the sand. They only struck one opposing soldier, sending him flat; but the fire forced the rest to keep their heads down.

Then the missiles hit. Valan's sensors read the APC as out of commission; most of the soldiers, too, were down. As the Kestrel coasted over, he spun it around, keying the hatch warning to the marines in back.

Twenty meters.

Valan glanced at the rear cameras to see the enemies scattering, desperately trying to regroup.

Ten meters.

He pressed another key. There was a heavy thump as the rear hatch opened, air rushing into the troop compartment. The jets roared, throwing up sand as the skids descended.

Five meters, three... The ramp dropped just as the skids buried themselves in sand. Marines poured down the ramp, fanning out. Valan killed the engines and unbuckled his restraints, whirling out of his seat and grabbing the ladder by the back of the cockpit. He scrambled up in seconds, setting his feet on the platforms and opening the top hatch. The top gun came to life as he took hold of the grips, keeping his head low, spinning around.

It was over in seconds. Covering fire from Valan's turret kept the enemy marines from showing their heads, and that meant they couldn't move quickly enough to respond. Valan's squad mopped up in short order and signalled the all-clear.

Not one blue body lay on the ground.

The officer in the cockpit shifted. "Victory for Blue Team," the wolf declared, "good job. All right, Marines, this is where we'll be doing the rest of our drills for the week. Everybody unload the transport."

One by one, the "dead" marines picked themselves up and started toward the Kestrel, joining Blue Team in unloading its gear. The training officer got out of his seat and went into the back section to supervise. Meanwhile, Valan saw another red-armoured figure - this one in the heavier power armour of an officer - clamber out of the APC.

Valan keyed the turret off and swung out of the hatch, feet and hands seeking out holds as he half-climbed, half-slid down the side of the transport. A few twitches of his eye and the helmet visor slid open, letting in a blast of desert heat just as his feet struck the sand. The other cadet moved over to meet him, his visor also open, revealing a familiar blunt, whiskered snout.

"I knew we'd have to fear your aim, Valan," said the otter with a grin, "but I thought it'd be from farther away with a rifle!"

"What, and let your missile jockeys play merry hell with my team?" Valan laughed. "You taught me yourself, Meron - never sit still!"

Meron's grin got a little wider. "I guess I did. Hold on a second, Valan, I've got to do a little debriefing here before we leave the grunts to play in the sand." He clapped Valan's armoured shoulder and stumped over to the ramp.

The soldiers were in good spirits; one of them - Valan recognised the one who'd taunted his flying earlier - gave him a thumbs-up as he went back for another crate. Seeing it all get taken out and set up into a miniature camp, Valan was half-surprised that the Kestrel had even managed to get off the ground. But a good deal of it, he realised, was also coming from the APC; each vehicle had only been half-full of people, and the rest had been gear.

At length, the two officers came back down the ramp. Valan came to attention, snapping a salute; Meron didn't normally care about such things, but was technically his superior. And the wolf, one of Captain Gerik's aides, would care.

"Well done, Cadet," the lieutenant said, returning the salute. "The mesa was calculated as offering a defensive advantage, a high-ground with only one ground approach, but you used the terrain to good effect - and exceeded the performance specs of your vehicle in doing so, I might add." He frowned. "A risky approach - but undeniably effective. Additionally, the squad likes you - and that, Cadet, cannot be underestimated. Good work."

"Thank you, Sir." The reply was automatic, but Valan meant it; Gerik's lieutenants were not exactly liberal with their praise.

The wolf nodded. "I will mention your ingenuity in my report. Sub-lieutenant Darr, please accompany the cadet back to base in the Kestrel for full debriefing; the troops and I will return with the Armadillo when our exercises are done."

Meron saluted; "Sir." So did Valan. On that dismissal, they both filed up the ramp.

Valan keyed it shut, glancing around to make sure there wasn't any loose gear and all the emergency supplies were still in place. After that, they both settled in the cockpit, the skunk getting back into the pilot's seat while the otter took up the abandoned co-pilot's station. A few taps and the upper hatch slid shut, its turret spinning to the straight-forward position that it normally rested in for flight.

"I think the Captain will like this one," Meron said, grinning. "I'd have to check the records, but I don't think a cadet has conducted such a massacre for years. Soon as my gunner heard the noise in the canyon I figured something was up, but I wasn't expecting to be staring right down the wrong end of your missile tubes!"

Valan laughed, checking the cameras to make sure nobody was too close to the transport, then igniting the engines. The Kestrel lifted up, much more responsive now without its burden; he gave the wings a waggle, and started back for base. It was a long trip, and he settled in to take his time about it. "I've seen what happens when people put you in charge of missiles and heavy ordnance," he said. "I wanted as little time on the wrong end of that as possible, and that meant coming in close."

"I'll say. My scanners thought there were five or six of you. I was looking the wrong way when you came up - didn't even get a shot off before you killed me."

"Like you don't get plenty off in the barracks," Valan teased. "Sleeping in the bunk above yours, I'll never need another porn vid in my life." He eased the Kestrel around a towering rock spire and out over open desert.

Meron sniggered. "Yeah, no kidding, I've smelled you jerking off enough times. Couple of my buddies have said it's almost like fucking both of us at once."

"I'm sure I could show them the difference," Valan drawled, trying to mask his sudden discomfort. "So... what's next on the training agenda?" It wasn't that he was jealous, really - but he did find the otter quite attractive, really.

"Well - " Meron abruptly stopped talking as something beeped on the console. "That, I'd say."

Valan glanced at it. Just an advisory; the engine heat was rising. Not yet dangerous, but something to keep an eye on. "Great." He keyed on the transmitter, scanned through a few frequencies, and said, "Blue-Sigma Two to traffic control, we are inbound but experiencing minor engine trouble. Will advise."

"Copy that, Blue-Sigma Two," came the reply. "Be careful out there."

"No shit," Valan growled once he'd shut off the transmitter. The heat was still rising - wait, now it had levelled off, and was fluctuating just short of red-line. He scanned the other readouts. Magnetic containment seemed a little off...

His eyes were arrested by a vibration warning. Swearing, he reached over and yanked a switch, pushing the stick to one side. The Kestrel lurched, drifting slightly sideways, as one of the engines died. Valan adjusted his trim and triggered the radio. "Blue-Sigma Two to base, we have lost an engine, repeat, we have lost an engine. Containment is out of tolerance on engine one and engine two - " he glanced at the readouts - "is overheating fast." He glanced at the position readouts. Three hours to go even under full power; he gave the engine maybe five minutes before something started to melt. "We're going to have to touch down - this bird's not gonna fly on its own again until it gets hauled back to the pad."

"Pick a suitable LZ and land," said another gruff voice on the base frequency; Valan's eyes widened as he recognised Captain Gerik. "We'll send out search and retrieval crews for you. Sub-Lieutenant Darr, do you copy?"

Valan blinked, looking over; to his shock, Meron was actually smiling as he turned on his transmitter. "Yes, sir!"

"Good. He's in your hands. Carry on. Gerik out."

Valan looked all around, bringing all the cameras into play, trying to find a spot that wasn't mere shifting dunes. "You little water rat," he growled, trying to keep the engine heat down. "You planned this, didn't you?"

"Now, now," Meron said, looking around. "You've got to know how to handle a damaged craft, right? I thought, since we're already out here, it'd be perfect timing. If I'd been able to shoot at you, it might even add a little realism to that last exercise."

"Sure, make us crash right at mid-day on Serox," Valan grumbled, catching sight of a raised promontory, a cliff that spanned the horizon. Not particularly sheltered, actually, but it'd have to do - at least the dunes wouldn't be able to cover it. He veered over, wincing as the Kestrel tumbled about in the turn.

A thought struck him. Maybe the Kestrel should get buried after all. "What's the scenario, then?" he asked, trying to keep the craft level. Great, the wind was picking up.

"You're flying home empty," Meron replied, "just you and your co-pilot, in potentially hostile territory. You'll need to stick around until a rescue crew shows up. Ideally, keep the transport, but if that's not possible, it's no great loss, nothing aboard deemed sensitive."

"Right," Valan said. Sand had piled up at the base of that promontory - it'd be quite deep if he judged right. And the rock itself looked climbable.

This would take some doing even with both engines. With just one, and that being a little touchy... He bit his lip and hoped for the best.

The Kestrel gave him its best effort, but the engine had been pushed too hard. The fail-safes shut it down before it lost plasma containment, and the transport dropped the last thirty-odd feet to the sand. It hit with a sickening crunch, and Valan was sure one of the skids had given way; it bounced and slid over the sand with an ugly scraping noise, and then hit the rock sideways.

Then all was still.

"Have it your way," Valan said. "By the way the wind's blowing, this thing will probably be covered in a few hours, but it's not going to budge without a heavy lifter's help. Now give me a hand with the survival gear; we can camp on the rock, I think there's a few promising ledges in the lee of the wind."

"You're the boss," Meron said, unbuckling his restraints. "By the way, I've seen worse landings from people trying to land smoothly when everything was functional. Not bad, and quick thinking."

"Do I pass the test, professor?" Valan shot back, slinging the tent over his one shoulder and the water recycler over the other. Best not to think, at this point, about what water was recycled. Meron grabbed the pack of rations, a large tank of water in case the recycler failed, and the catch-all bag of other, smaller, but significant supplies.

They left by the top hatch; the back end had been shoved quite firmly into the sand. Their powered armour made light of their burdens, but climbing the steep rock still took a great deal of concentration, and they did so without any of their usual banter, just occasional hints on where the next handhold was.

The promontory was the edge of a fault line, a relic of Serox's distant past when the whole plate had shifted up; it was still young enough, geologically speaking, that it hadn't been worn down, and the prevailing wind was strong enough to either blow debris down the lee side of the slope, or grind it into dust at the base of the cliff. Once at the top, it was a long, relatively gentle slope down into a dry rock basin. No shifting dunes there; only rock and sun.

The pair hiked downhill for an hour until they located a suitable basin, a concavity in the slope. It was nearly flat, and somewhat sheltered from the wind, it had accumulated a little bit of sandy soil.

They set up the tent, staking the top right against the hill and scattering sand over top for camouflage. It was big enough to sleep eight; the pair of them could easily fit all their gear into it.

"What's your plan from here?" Meron asked.

"We've got to keep energy signatures to a minimum," Valan replied. "The radio's important, we need to keep it on, but keep radio silence until someone's in range. Presumably there'll be people looking for us that we don't want to find us, right?"

Meron shrugged. "I don't know what exactly the Captain's doing with this, but at least according to what I had drawn up, this is supposed to be threatened territory, but not actually hostile."

"Still. We've already done what we can to keep the tent looking like a natural formation, and we can't do much about our own heat; but heat's not a very reliable sensor out here, even at night. However, no need to make it more of a beacon than necessary." He stood up straight and flipped through the control menus projected onto his monocle, shutting off his armour. The monocle retracted, and then the whole suit became a very heavy shell surrounding him, nothing more. "Help me out of this."

They got out of their armour and the padded clothing beneath it. Meron changed into loose, sand-coloured fatigues; Valan did the same, but unlike the otter, buttoned the shirt all the way up.

Meron gave him an odd look. "Won't that get hot? I'm already baking."

"Then let's get under cover. My fur's a good insulator, and that works both ways, but it's black; I don't need it soaking up heat by being exposed."

"Point," Meron replied, and they slipped inside the tent.

Inside it was dark, only a tiny bit of sunlight working its way into the mouth of the tent. An opening at the top of the roof's slope made for a natural chimney, and while it wasn't exactly cold, it was at least more tolerable than the open sun.

And so they sat, lying very still and panting slightly. It would use water faster, Valan knew, but they had to get cool somehow. "Might as well sleep shifts during the day," he said. "That's when we can't really afford to do much anyway.

"You sleep first," Meron said before Valan could go on. "You've had a long day, and you've done some good work. I'll keep watch and mind the radio."

Valan started to protest, but then realised that he didn't exactly mind a chance to nap. Depending on how long it took to be found, they might be very bored over the next few days; he might as well catch up on his rest. "All right."

The heat was soporific; he'd barely loosened his shirt and closed his eyes when he felt fatigue steal over him. His dreams were vivid, confused, and vanished from his head within moments of the time Meron woke him up.

"Sunset," the otter said. "Looks really nice, too - come and see." He flashed a somewhat apologetic smile.

Well, all things considered, there could be worse ways to spend a training exercise. Valan slipped out of the tent, letting his shirt stay open; the sun was no longer punishing. In fact, looking west, he had to agree quite totally with Meron's assessment.

It wasn't very often that he'd had a chance to enjoy a sunset, these past four years, and never one on Serox. It was brilliant and full of colour like none he'd ever seen.

Meron sat down beside him, offering a ration bar that Valan gladly bit into. "Did you ever see a sunset like this back home?" the otter breathed. "It's amazing."

Valan laughed. "I'm from Kirloff, remember? We were lucky to see sunset at all without snow getting in the way."

Meron smiled a little. "Where did you first see a real sunset, then?"

Valan thought back. "Right off the boat at Segunda, I'd say. We'd just touched down, still waiting to get sorted out, and I happened to be at the edge of the platform as the sun went down over the ocean." He sighed, shaking his head, smiling at the fond memory. "Made me think I'd made the right choice."

The otter nodded, curling his thick tail around and kneading it a little. "I'm from Jarin," he said. "We never lacked for sunsets over the ocean - it's all archipelagoes and water. But as much as I hate the sand here, I have to admit it makes for great sunsets."

And so they talked. First sunsets, first flights, first loves... The intimacy in Meron's tale of his encounter with a female schoolmate made Valan shiver; it sounded like they'd been so very close... When Valan, for his part, revealed that he'd been a star performer in a coming-of-age festival, having more partners that night than many people did in their lives, Meron's eyes tried to escape his face.

"You never struck me as the type to put on a show," the otter laughed.

"I'm not," said Valan. "That... That was a special case. It's a very personal thing, almost - oh, I don't know how to explain it."

"Spiritual?" Meron offered. There was an odd, wistful look on his face.

Valan thought about that. The celebration was one of life, of growth, and on icy Kirloff, both of those things were very nearly miracles. They didn't generally have time for any real religion, but if living itself could be a religious experience... "I guess so," he said, then gave Meron's side a poke. "If it's any consolation, you've still got me beat - you've had a lot more time to go about it than one night!"

Meron chuckled. "I knew Kirloff had a friendly population," he said, "but I didn't know you were that friendly!"

As darkness settled and the night grew cool, they wound up settling closer together. Meron was very comfortable, and his sleek, wiry body felt very good against Valan's side. He'd always thought the otter was attractive, and long considered him intriguing; what he hadn't known was that it'd feel so nice to be beside him. True, he'd sentenced Valan to a period of time stuck in the desert; on the other hand, it was a chance to largely relax, to be alone together.

Although something about that did seem a little odd... "Meron?"

The otter looked over. "Yeah?"

"If this whole exercise was your idea - and wouldn't I just love to know what you did to the engines - why are you stuck here too?"

"C'mon," the otter drawled. "I wouldn't be able to get a good idea for how you performed in such a situation if I had to rely on another observer."

"I'm sure that convinced the Captain. But he's handling more of it that you don't know about, you said so yourself."

Silence stretched out from that remark, broken only by the soft hiss of wind over dust. Valan was about to let the matter drop when Meron said, "I wanted to be the one stuck here with you, yes. I've come to like you, and I thought you'd rather that than some stranger."

Valan couldn't help but smile. Even when he was being a conniving little bastard, Meron was sweet. "I guess you're right."

The night passed without event, though Meron was swaying in place by the time the sun started to rise. He bedded down and was asleep before Valan even managed to pull the headset on.

He might as well not have bothered. It didn't peep once throughout the morning until he woke Meron and passed it over; the otter reported a similar lack of activity in the afternoon. It was the longest period of time Valan had gone without doing something in years, and he was getting thoroughly tired of it, even if the company was nice.

Valan took over the listening duty after sunset. There wasn't so much idle conversation this time; Meron was either tired or had much on his mind. A few times, looking over at him, Valan could've sworn that the otter looked apologetic or even guilty.

Toward midnight, with the full moon high in the sky, Meron, appearing right by his ear, murmured, "Valan?"

Surprised, Valan twisted around. The guilty look was there in force. "What is it, Meron?"

The otter bit his lip. "Well, I hadn't meant to ask this until we got back to base. I mean, I don't want to give you the impression that I arranged everything just for this - "

"Tell me what 'this' is, and I'll decide whether I forgive you," Valan cut in, but kept his voice gentle and a smile on his face.

Meron nodded, swallowed, and smiled. "Would you like me as a lover, Valan?"

The skunk blinked. Had he heard that right?

He played it back in his mind. The words were unmistakable, and there was a certain playful gleam in Meron's eyes - one Valan had seen a number of times in the past, but never actually directed at him. There was promise, there, and an eager anticipation, hope.

Valan thought. He and the otter had been roommates for nearly the past standard year, since Valan had been assigned to bunk with a Marine officer already out of training, to help him get settled. Not once in that time had they ever really argued or found anything to dislike about one another; even at his most frustrating, Meron's antics always wound up being entertaining.

Besides, he was quite easy on the eyes, and certainly experienced in bed.

Meron's eyes tried to search Valan's, but evidently didn't see what they'd been hoping for; the otter's expression started to fall, and he opened his mouth, no doubt to start an apology.

Valan made up his mind and leaned over, touching a finger to Meron's snout. The otter blinked, but closed his mouth, curious - a curiosity that was evidently satisfied when Valan moved in a little closer and kissed him.

Valan hadn't bothered with his shirt tonight; Meron took full advantage of that, running his hands all over the lush, black fur of the skunk's chest and belly, groaning softly - and that before Valan even touched him. Those soft noises quickly became more urgent when Valan reached around to start kneading his shoulders.

"We really should keep listening," Valan murmured, pressing his snout against Meron's neck and nibbling there.

"Oh, yes," the otter moaned, and Valan didn't think it was actually an agreement; but then he forced himself to be lucid. "Just set it to speaker and turn the volume up."

"Hmm." Valan slid his hand down the otter's front. "But the exercise isn't done, dear otter. What if someone comes searching for us on the ground, and hears the radio? No, I think more can wait until our 'debriefing'. But for now...." He glanced down, eyeing the bulge in Meron's loose pants. "My, my. I think you need a little less tension."

Meron didn't seem to protest, moving where Valan directed, lying down in a little sand-filled hollow. Though part of him, the soldier inside him, was still paying attention to the as-yet-meaningless static of the radio, that part which actually controlled his body was fixated on his own hands as they slid the otter's fly open, reaching in, fishing out his smooth, nut-brown member. Groaning, arching up off the ground, Meron tugged at his shirt, popping buttons and letting out a sigh when it finally fell open, leaving his upper body bare to the cold wind and to Valan's stroking fingers.

Slim muscle under one hand, hard flesh clasped firmly in the other... Valan sighed as well, feeling the skin go slick right beneath his fingers. It was as though the otter's thick, straight length exuded slippery moisture from every pore.

He slid his hand up and down, one ear listening to each gasp and whimper Meron uttered. His other hand burrowed into the dense, oily fur, encountering a firm nub of flesh and giving it a squeeze.

Meron arched up, starting to cry out, then biting his lip to stifle it. He couldn't stop the whimpering, though; that kept going on as Valan stroked him, savouring the feel of his excitement, and when Meron bucked up, streamers of white cascading over his dark brown fur, inhaling the scent of his pleasure, musk and semen and the otter's own delightful aroma.

A few minutes passed while Meron's breathing slowed to normal; then the otter reached up, gingerly taking the headset from Valan's ears and fitting it around his own. He splayed a webbed hand against Valan's chest and pushed; the skunk, obliging him, lay on his back, tail sticking straight out past his feet, its long fur fanning about.

Meron's fingers proved themselves quite deft. He relieved Valan of his pants, running his hands about the skunk's thighs and groin, closing one around Valan's bare shaft and churring when it started to stiffen in response. He caressed it and petted it, swinging over to straddle Valan, his own spent shaft dangling, flaccid but still nicely plump.

A few seconds later, Meron ran a finger along Valan's length, a good six inches down, then along a sharp curve and inward. "I've always thought," he murmured, "that skunks seemed to be built for lying full-length against each other."

"Can't kneel behind and go back and forth," Valan agreed, stroking one of the otter's small ears. Letting out a sigh of bliss, he closed his eyes and said no more, simply enjoying the feel as Meron's muzzle slid over his aching glans.

The otter's lips sealed tight around Valan's shaft and didn't once let up. His powerful lungs seemed to be sucking Valan's entire body in by way of his cock, and it felt absolutely terrific. The stroking of his lips, the dancing of his tongue, it was all so very good that Valan found himself on the edge of orgasm in mere moments.

It came without warning - just a shiver through his whole body, and then sweet, sweet release swept over him, finer than he'd felt in months. It felt as though he'd pumped a litre or so of semen into Meron's hungry throat before he finally sank back to the rock.

The otter's head snapped up, the suddenness of the motion, the abrupt end to intimacy, making Valan want to scream; but he held his breath, seeing the suddenly-intent look on Meron's face. After a few moments the otter let out a curse.

"They would show up right now," he muttered.

"Our rescue party?"

"No such luck; that'd be Gold Team. This is Green - they must be hunting us, and they're close. Sounds like a small patrol, just a few people, probably on hoverbikes." Meron rolled off, doing up his pants but not bothering with a shirt, while Valan stuffed his legs and tail in their appropriate sleeves.

"Get some specs on," Valan said, doing his best to think through the haze of afterglow and, he thought, managing not too badly. "Try to find them. I'll get my little friend warmed up and ready."

Meron raised an eyebrow. "Glad I'm not Green," he said, diving into the tent with the radio, and returning moments later with a set of smart goggles strapped on over his eyes and his carbine in hand.

Valan took a little more time, slipping his rifle out of its case and making sure it was in good order, its scope fully functional. Normally, the weapon threw a neodymium slug to punch through armour up to that of light vehicles; now, it was tuned to simulate recoil and deliver a coded laser pulse.

He emerged from the tent, propping the weapon up against his shoulder; until he knew which way to aim, setting up the bipod would be pointless. Meron kept scanning around, then paused. "Two of them," he whispered, pointing.

Valan settled his rifle onto the ground, peering through the scope. There they were, all right. He shuffled around as they travelled, conscious of Meron getting back and out of the way, but staying close enough to touch Valan's shoulder. That, according to standard SLASH drill, would be a signal for a sniper to open fire.

The two bikes slowed to a stop, their riders looking about with goggles much like those Meron himself was wearing; zoom optics, infrared scanners, light amplification, all sorts of high-tech aids to vision.

"Gold is nearby," Meron whispered. "They're telling us to keep radio silence, there are Green patrols all over." Valan lifted two fingers on the hand that wasn't on the trigger; a sniper's nod.

Tense moments passed. The scouts mounted up, then moved closer. The light-amp in Valan's scope kicked in enough for him to make out the green shine of their armour and of the bikes' plating. They stopped again, and once more looked around.

Valan found himself looking right down one set of goggles an instant before Meron laid fingers on his shoulder. Automatically, almost by reflex, Valan's trigger finger tensed, squeezed... The trigger clicked; the gun spoke, coolant jets hissing in harmony; and a flare of blue light blossomed for an instant on the scout's helmet. He keeled over instantly; the other didn't waste any time looking around, but dove for cover behind a boulder.

"Damn," Valan muttered. The Green soldier was pinned, but there was no way Valan could flush him out, either.

"He's calling for help," Meron whispered. "Gold has heard the fuss, they're moving in. It's a race, now."

A distant whine filled the air, one Valan knew quite well indeed; the plasma engines of Kestrel drop-ships in the atmosphere. More than one; both teams probably had them, but had been keeping out of sight, a careful and deadly waltz.

Gunfire from the left; Meron ducked, and Valan hunkered down as low as he could. Something splattered the rock nearby; glancing over, Valan saw splashes of fluorescent green dye. So base command knew Meron and Valan wouldn't be in armour, and had decided on something a little simpler for the exercise.

Meron rolled, lifting his own carbine and unleashing a spray of crimson light. Return fire came around the edge of the rock, and Valan shifted around, taking aim, waiting for him to peek out again.

There was no need. Meron tilted his carbine upward and triggered the grenade launcher. Seconds later, there was a thunderous boom and a flare of blue light right beside the "enemy's" hiding-place. He keeled over and was still.

"Nice," Valan hissed, panning around as best he could.

Two drop-ships and a Shrike fighter flew in, one of the Kestrel_s approaching from a different angle. Lifting up his gun and peering through the scope, Valan could see that the _Shrike and one Kestrel were brilliant gold; the other Kestrel was emerald-green.

Kestrel_s could fight each other and manage not too badly, but with the addition of the fighter, the enemy drop-ship didn't have a chance. The nimble _Shrike danced right around it, peppering it with yellow fire; after a few seconds, it waggled its wings and lifted out of the fight, conceding defeat.

As the gold Kestrel moved toward them, its back door opening, another Shrike, this one not bearing the colours of a training squad, flitted close and hovered over their campsite. Meron let out his breath. "Gerik says it's over," he said. "Gold has really trounced Green this time - anything Green could use to actually stop us escaping is out of the fight."

Valan let out a sigh of relief and powered down his rifle. "We win again," he said, and grinned over at Meron. "I just hope you spared a few rounds for me after that firefight, hmm? We've got business back at base."

"Count on it," Meron purred, grinning right back.