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It took a couple of minutes before Dacik could see any new activity as a result of his order, but it came. Kane and Foss had been probing the Heggie line for an hour. Each had identified possible weak spots and had moved men into position to exploit them. The 5th and 8th hit those spots now, hard. The tempo of the battle increased all along the line. The Heggies who found themselves trapped between two Accord forces tried to fight their way clear. For most of them, that meant moving toward the nearest coast, either east or west, then heading north again.

The Schlinal commanders needed several minutes to even begin to restrain the exodus. But they did. There was no uncontrolled flight, no rout. Units withdrew in order, still fighting.

Dacik turned to look at his staff. He was grinning beneath his visor. "Let's get moving, gentlemen," he said. "The battle seems to be moving away from us."

—|—

Dem Nimz was finally getting low on ammunition for his test rifle. There had been no chance to get a new supply before this latest assignment. Down to his last three magazines, Dem held back, except for an occasional single shot when there was a clear target. The rifle continued to be wickedly effective. He loved it. But for now he made do with grenades as much as possible.

"We're doing something right," Fredo told him on a radio link. Fredo sounded uncharacteristically excited. "They're moving away from us as if they thought we're a full regiment."

"That's what they're supposed to think," Dem reminded him. "Just keep your heads down so they can't get a better count."

Dem grinned in the privacy of his helmet. Fredo was normally dour, even for a reccer, and his wound, a useless arm, had turned him almost mute. Until now. But Dem had noticed the same phenomenon that Fredo had. The Heggies were avoiding the reccers like a plague, even though they had been content to sit and face the remnants of four full regiments. It wasn't logical, but that was not unusual in the fog of battle. Perception was always more important than reality.

"Keep your heads down," Dem told the men with him. "We've stirred the pot enough. All we want to do now is keep them moving." He didn't let his enthusiasm carry him away. They were still just a handful of men in the middle of perhaps a hundred times as many of the enemy. A Schlinal platoon might stumble over one of the reccer patrols and wipe it out in seconds. Keeping down was a very smart choice.

Ten minutes later, Dem spotted the first Accord battle helmets coming up from the south. He needed a moment to get through to them over the radio—patched through Colonel Stossen's headquarters links, through a similar link at the 8th's HQ, and to the men coming up the peninsula. It was safer to accept the delay than risk getting shot by mistake.

"Charley Company, 8th," a corporal said when he and Dem finally came face-to-face. "Fourth platoon, what's left of it." There were eight men with the corporal.

Dem identified himself and his unit. "I know what you mean," he added. "I've lost about eighty percent of my reccers."

"Colonel says we're to escort you lads back to your mates," the corporal said.

There was no humor in Dem's laugh. "Most times, I'd take exception to that. Not tonight. I've got my other patrols moving this way. They'll be here in a couple of minutes."

"Way I hear it, won't be much more than that before the Heggies drop another regiment or two on us from space," the corporal said, after telling his men to be on the watch for more reccers coming in.

"Helluva way to make a living, ain't it?" Dem said.

"This is living?"

—|—

"Where the hell are all the Heggies?" Wiz asked over the squad channel.

"They'll get to us soon enough," Sauv said. "Just stay alert."

But the first troops Echo Company of the 13th saw coming up from the south were Accord soldiers, their own reccers and a company from the 8th SAT.

"What the hell happened out there?" Baerclau asked Nimz when the reccers separated themselves from the 8th.

Dem shook his head. "I'm not sure. I
think
the Heggies just split and gave us the corridor down the middle of the peninsula. They broke to either side when we spooked 'em from behind. There's still a lot of 'em out there."

—|—

"Where are they? How many of them are left?" Van Stossen shot the questions at his intelligence officer. The 8th and 5th were moving down the center of the peninsula now, meeting only scattered resistance as they drew cordons around the two Schlinal concentrations.

"We don't know anything more now than we did an hour ago about the numbers of enemy forces on the peninsula," Bal Kenneck replied. "There might be a thousand Heggies on the loose, or three times that number. Not including the ones we sealed up under their base. What I'm getting from Olsen isn't helping at all. The Heggies pulled back from their prepared line and moved to either side. They're establishing new perimeters backed up against the sea on both east and west, hard semicircles."

"Trying to hold enough ground for the shuttles to land." Stossen didn't bother making it a question.

"They have to hold at least one LZ to have any chance at all," Teu Ingels said.

"Doesn't matter where on the peninsula they set down, they'll still be in range of the Havocs," Hank Norwich said. "Not just ours, the 8th's and 5th's as well. There's not enough room to get their shuttles out of range of our guns."

"Don't forget, the Heggies still have a few Novas on the ground," Bal said. "They might not have the range of the Havocs, but they can shoot far enough to hit any spot on the peninsula from those two pockets, and the Havocs are all out on the peninsula now."

"I know," Norwich admitted. He didn't like having his "dogs" bottled up so thoroughly. "But they haven't been doing much shooting lately. They have to be getting low on ammo since we're sitting on the only source of resupply they have."

"Getting low or saving what they have for when it'll do the most good," Kenneck said. "They know that help's on the way."

"It's just about here," Dezo Parks said. He had been on the radio for the last several minutes. "The high Wasp cap has just hit the lead shuttles. They've got Boems with them. We've got less than ten minutes before any that get through reach us."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Battlefield intelligence is never 100 percent correct until after the fact, if then—except, perhaps, by accident. Observations and estimates made under the great stresses of mortal combat are remarkable if they come anywhere near the truth. The "fog of battle" is susceptible more to the laws of nonlinear dynamics—chaos—than to the logical plans laid down ahead of time. Sometimes the smallest incident, the tiniest "monkey wrench in the works" has more importance than position, strength of numbers, equipment, or leadership. A seemingly insignificant incident can snowball into overwhelming victory or crushing defeat. Of course, the "for want of a nail" syndrome has long been understood, if only vaguely.

Three Schlinal shuttles reported as destroyed by
Orion's
Bats survived, as did the troopers they were carrying. Two of those same shuttles were mistakenly reported destroyed by the Wasps of the 8th SAT. Schlinal shuttles
were
destroyed, both in space and lower, in Tamkailo's atmosphere, but not the seventeen claimed by Accord pilots. Later analysis would show that only nine shuttles were destroyed before landing. The rest, a total of twenty-one, reached the peninsula at the polar end of Tamkailo's northern continent—twenty-one shuttles carrying three thousand infantrymen and one battalion of armor. The Schlinal infantry shuttles carried considerably more men than their Accord counterparts. They were accompanied by eighteen surviving Boem S3s.

Those Boems went after Accord artillery first and infantry units only as an afterthought. The shuttles separated and came into both of the LZs that had been secured on the peninsula, moving low over the ocean through the last twenty kilometers of their run.

Not one of the shuttles was hit on the ground by Accord artillery or Vrerch rockets—until after they had all discharged their troops and equipment.

Sunrise was ninety minutes away.

—|—

Admiral Kitchener stood in the center of CIC on
Capricorn
. For a time the battle in space was suspended. The two fleets were moving away from each other now, on different orbital paths. The Bats had been recalled. On the other side, the Boem S3s had either been recalled or sent in with the landing shuttles. There were many Bats and Boems making their own orbits of Tamkailo, waiting for rendezvous on the far side.

Damage reports were still coming into CIC. Only one ship in the Accord fleet seemed to be a total—if temporary—loss, and even in that case most of the crew had managed to evacuate in shuttles and boost to the next ship in line. Even though the ship's drives had been seriously damaged, the vessel could be repaired, in time, if it could be towed back to a friendly shipyard. Three other ships had minor damage—hull punctures, some gastight compartments compromised. Repairs were already under way—and would be complete before the two fleets came within reach of each other again.

On balance, the Accord was the clear winner of the engagement. Two Schlinal ships were apparently damaged beyond repair. No one had escaped from the ship that had broken in two. Only a single shuttle had made it away from the other seriously damaged Schlinal ship. There was a chance—a good chance, according to CIC estimates—that there were still considerable numbers of survivors on that ship.

"We'll have to face them at least once more," Kitchener said on a link to the captains of his ships. "Unless they pull out before our orbits intersect again." That was possible. The Schlinal navy had never shown much heart for space battles. Put the men ashore and get out. For that matter, the Accord had done the same often enough. And it had always looked to land troops on worlds where the Schlinal warlords did not maintain a fleet overhead. Kitchener shrugged. "We won't know about that for at least another thirty minutes."

—|—

Afghan and Basset batteries of the 13th had pushed hard down the center of the peninsula once the way opened up. They went past the few remaining Havocs of the 5th and past about half of the 8th's contingent. Their immediate assignment was to get back to the rest of the 13th and take up positions within the Schlinal base. Their support vans moved with them. The 13th's other two Havoc batteries were taking part in the action against the eastern Heggie landing zone. As soon as they finished there, Corgi and Dingo batteries were also supposed to head north as fast as their engines could carry them.

It was only a ten-kilometer trip from where the Havocs had been when they received the orders. At full speed, it would have taken them no more than ten minutes. The trip took rather longer in practice.

"We running on one engine?" Eustace demanded, looking at Simon across the barrel of the Fat Turtle's howitzer.

"Up yours" was Kilgore's response. Simon didn't even bother to look at Eustace. "We're doing what we can. There are a half dozen Havocs in front of us. We can't climb over them.

Ponks growled deep in his throat.

"Besides, this way we're not the ones finding out if the Heggies left any mines along the way," Simon continued.

Eustace lost all interest in the conversation. He was busy trying to keep track of the piecemeal data coming in about the Heggie landings and everything else that was going on along the peninsula. In particular, he was trying to ease the nasty itch at the back of his neck that came from knowing that the enemy had Boems overhead again. A Havoc had no defense against air attack except to be somewhere else when it came. That was why the Havocs were racing for the Schlinal base at the end of the peninsula. Along the lanes separating the warehouses and other buildings they might find some cover from air attack, and they would have infantrymen around for support, men with Vrerch missiles to help keep the Boems away—or shoot them down if they did come close.

—|—

Joe Baerclau watched the Havocs and support vans roll past. The deep-throated roar of engines and the clanking of treads on rock were reassuring despite word that fresh Heggie troops had landed just a few kilometers away. The vehicles moved past the 13th's line and into the streets of the captured Schlinal base.
Moving to the defensive,
Joe thought.
Laagering up.

"Anybody know what the hell's going on?" Mort asked.

Joe turned, shaking his head. "I sure don't," he admitted. Echo Company was on a half-and-half watch, one fire team from each squad manning the line facing south, the other resting or eating—or standing around worrying. Inactivity was draining Joe. The heat, too little sleep, and all of the fight that had already taken place—it was finally getting to him. It felt almost as if that exhaustion were a real, physical presence, a blanket trying to smother him.

"I'm going over to talk to the first sergeant," Joe said after a moment. Then he lowered his visor to tell Sauv and Low the same thing.

Echo's command post was some hundred meters west. Captain Keye and First Sergeant Walker had set up behind a jumble of the wreckage of three of the large umbrella-shaped "trees." The woody pulp of the fungi would certainly stop wire, perhaps even a slug fired from short range. When Joe arrived, Keye was sleeping, snoring softly, his head back on the trunk of one of the plants. Walker was sitting several meters away, his head hanging forward.

"Izzy?" Joe said softly.

The first sergeant lifted his head slowly. He raised a hand—half in greeting, half to tell Joe to wait. Walker got to his feet in what seemed to be slow motion. Once he was up, he gestured for Joe to follow him. They went several paces farther from the CP.

"Captain's about dead on his feet," Walker explained in a whisper. Both men had their visors up. "I guess I'm not in much better shape. Captain and me, we're too old for this crap. The heat is just too much."