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Wiz Mackey and a man from second squad managed to drop rocket-propelled grenades right on top of the Heggies' machine gun position. A few seconds later, men in Accord camouflage ran forward and into the Heggie position. They only needed a few seconds to complete the work there.

But as soon as Echo got up to resume their advance, Heggies started firing all along the 13th's front—now five companies wide. Wire and slug-throwing rifles, the 12mm Schlinal machine guns, grenades, and rockets all came into action at once.

Low Gerrent and the men on either side of him were killed before they could get down. Several other men in 2nd platoon were wounded. Mort had a shoulder wound. A burst of wire had nearly ripped the sleeve off of his shirt, wire coming from so close that the net armor woven into the cloth had no effect at all. Joe felt wire ricocheting off of his visor and helmet. The bits of wire hit and rebounded too quickly for him to see them, but the visor was scratched right in front of his eyes.

Joe rolled when he hit the ground, then slid backwards to get a little cover. Everyone who could move was doing the same, getting under whatever cover he could find—and dragging those who were hurt too badly to move on their own. Joe pulled Wiz back into a shell crater. Mackey had a serious chest wound. Joe put a bandage over it and told Al that he was needed quickly. "Sucking chest wound," Joe reported.

Al was already moving toward another wounded man. Bergon was the only medic left in the platoon—second squad's medic had been one of the men killed next to Low Gerrent—and there was too much for him to do alone.

"Mort, you'd better give Al a hand," Joe said. Everyone took first aid courses in the spaceborne assault teams, but Mort had had more training, and experience, than anyone in the platoon but Al.

"Yeah, I know," Mort said. The second squad medic's pouch was being passed along the line toward him.

Al took a second to look at the man he had been crawling toward, decided that his wound could wait, and diverted toward Joe and Wiz. Al did what he could.

"We've got to get him back to Doc Eddies, and soon," Al said. "I can't even get him stabilized with that wound."

"See if there's anybody else who needs to be moved back," Joe said. "I'll line up the able bodies to guide them. On belts again." He switched channels. "Izzy, where's Doc Eddies set up? We've got at least one man that needs him fast to survive."

"All the way back at the Heggie base," Walker replied. "We're gonna have to mount a convoy. We've all been hit hard. I think half of George Company's either dead or hurt bad enough to need trauma tubes."

"I've got at least four dead, including one of my two remaining squad leaders. Damn near everybody else has at least minor injuries."

"You?" Izzy asked.

"I'm okay. Just got my visor scratched."

"Hang on a second." When he came back on the link, Walker said, "Captain says we'll pull your platoon to escort the seriously wounded back to the medtechs and surgeons. Maybe 4th platoon as well if you need help. Call me back as soon as you're ready. We're going to gather all our seriously wounded at my position. You have my marker on your visor?"

Joe checked the overlay on his visor display. "I see you. About sixty meters from me."

"Captain and I are in a nice deep crater. Looks like three or four shells must have hit all at once. Room here for a full platoon."

"We'll start as soon as we've got the wounded in shape to travel," Joe promised. "I hope it's not too long."

The sun was just starting to show its upper rim over the eastern horizon... out over the peaceful ocean.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

At four separate points just south of the captured Schlinal base, there was movement where there should have been none. In gullies and under overhangs, what appeared to be sections of rock slid silently out of position as camouflaged doors opened. The more than fourteen hundred Schlinal troops who had been "trapped" underground had had plenty of time to reorganize. Their leaders had been in constant communication with the other Schlinal units that had been stationed at what the Accord called Site Charley and with the new arrivals.

Four exits, four columns of Schlinal infantry. Scouts dispatched before sunrise had reported that there were no Freebies around any of the exits. The rest of the troops hurried out into the morning twilight. Each company, each platoon, had its assignment. The ranking Schlinal officer on Tamkailo, one of the new arrivals, had decided that speed of execution was the primary need now. Once the men from under the base were spotted, much of the advantage would be lost.

Three hundred men were sent north, back into the base. It was clear that aside from the artillery and various maintenance support units, there were virtually no troops protecting the base and its thousands of tonnes of munitions and other supplies. The Schlinal force desperately needed what was in those warehouses.

The rest of the Schlinal troops made their way south in their separate columns to attack the Freebies from behind. They would attempt to drive a wedge into the lines constraining both of their concentrations along the sides of the peninsula, attacking at the same time that the smaller detachment started to destroy the Accord artillery.

—|—

The seriously wounded were guided north, supported by their antigrav belts. Visible bleeding had been stopped. Broken bones had been immobilized as far as possible. Intravenous drips had been started on those who needed that level of maintenance. The twelve men of Joe's platoon who were still able to move on their own guided all of the more seriously wounded men from the company. Each man, including Joe, was responsible for two men moving on their belts. It was certainly easier than carrying the men, but it was still work, pushing mass forward, guiding the "packages" and making certain that they didn't get away.

Echo's 2nd platoon handled the wounded. Fourth platoon went along as armed escort. It was two kilometers from where the men had been wounded to the warehouse where the 13th's field hospital had been set up, slightly uphill most of the way.

"Just hang in there, Wiz," Joe Baerclau whispered. He had his helmet visor up so he wouldn't transmit, but he had been talking to the unconscious Mackey almost the entire distance, trying to keep him alive by willpower and words. It was clear even to Joe that Wiz was hanging on by only the most slender of threads.

"Another five minutes and we'll have you in a tube," Joe continued. The group had stayed close to the shore to this point, on ground that was relatively even. Now it was time to take a 45-degree turn to the left. Dieter Franzo, 4th platoon sergeant, was standing off to the side, marking the turn. He had a fire team with him, their guns covering the flank, looking inland.

Joe looked toward those men, then back to see how far behind him the column of men with wounded went. When he looked forward again, Dieter was down on his knees and waving frantically.

"Get those people moving,
double time
!" Franzo shouted over the company noncoms' channel. "Heggies, hundreds of 'em." He pointed west and south, then switched channels to report the movement to Captain Keye.

Joe got his platoon moving north at the nearest thing to a run they could manage with each able-bodied man guiding two limp casualties.

It was impossible to make the turn to the left now. Dieter and his men had gone flat, their guns trained on the Heggies they could see, about 150 meters away, too far for wire. Unless they were spotted, 4th platoon would hold their fire. A fight would endanger the wounded. Even if they weren't hit again, any delay in getting the most seriously hurt men to the medtechs and surgeons might be fatal.

Joe kept looking back over his shoulder. He didn't even have the small comfort of being able to point a rifle in the direction of the threat. He needed both hands to guide the two wounded men. His rifle was slung over his shoulder.

"I see at least a full company, headed straight south," Dieter whispered over the noncoms' link.

"You let the captain know yet?" Joe had to drag in a deep lungful of air. He was pressing too hard to talk and move at the same time with any comfort.

"I told him. Must be the Heggies we sealed up in the tunnels."

"Yeah," Joe said after a short hesitation. His thoughts hadn't yet traveled to the question of where these Heggies might have come from. "They
did
have bolt holes we didn't find."

"Didn't look too hard," Dieter said. "We just forgot about them."

Just after that, 2nd platoon moved behind a ridge that was high enough to hide them from the Heggies who were moving in the other direction. Dieter and his men moved down as well.

Now we're safe,
Joe thought. The sudden feeling of relief was so great that he almost tripped over his own feet.

—|—

Dem Nimz would have liked to check every one of the welded doors himself, personally. They bothered him. The Heggies could have blown them by now, he thought. One door or all of them. It wouldn't take much in the way of explosives to knock down one of these doors. Bust out firing. Basic drill.

These Heggies haven't just lain down and played dead, he reminded himself. Maybe some of the Heggies at the other two bases had, but these guys had fought, even when they were retreating into the tunnels. They didn't mutiny. They didn't surrender. They retreated, but they kept fighting.

The 13th's recon detachment was still operating as four squads. Dem had taken his squad through three of the warehouses. He had inspected the welds on doors leading into the tunnel system. He had prowled around looking for additional entrances, concealed hatches perhaps, without finding any. He had even rigged up listening gear to try to hear any activity behind the welded doors. That too had yielded nothing, no sounds of people at all.

"They sure as hell haven't all asphyxiated themselves," he mumbled after listening at the second of the doors. "Even if the tunnel system was sealed with no oxygen getting in, they haven't been down there long enough for that." That was, of course, a wild guess. He had no idea how many people had gone down into the tunnels or how extensive the system might be. After checking one more warehouse, he was ready to give up on the welded doors.

"Let's get back out on the streets," he said.

The lanes between the buildings were far from empty. There were Havocs parked just about anywhere that gave them an opening for their fire missions. The support vans for Havocs and Wasps were parked wherever they could find room, mostly in the northern half of the base. The crews had set up sentry positions linked by radio. Nervous mechanics patrolled, peering around corners and into buildings. The support crews weren't used to being left on their own. Generally, they remained in the center of defensive positions, with plenty of mudders to keep the enemy away from them. The first continuous and then intermittent firing of the 205mm howitzers reminded everyone that there was still fighting going on, no matter how peaceful it seemed within the base.

Despite his habitual distrust of radio communications, Dem spent a lot of time on the radio, in almost constant contact with the other reccer patrols. And even though he was normally more comfortable operating at night, in the dark, this was one day when Dem was relieved to see the sun moving above the horizon.

It was Heggies who might be hiding this time, he thought. The light was their enemy as well. Accord night-vision systems might provide nearly 70 percent of full daylight visibility, but he wanted that extra 30 percent.

Shortly after sunrise, Dem led his patrol to the east side of the base. "They're bringing in wounded. We'll meet them and escort them in."

Then he called to make contact. Joe Baerclau was on the other end.

"There are Heggies moving south from the base," Joe reported. "Company or more. The colonel's already been alerted."

"Where, exactly?" Dem asked.

Joe told him. "They must be the ones we sealed up," he added.

Dem hurried his patrol out to meet the column of wounded, and hurried the group along to the field hospital.

Although the hospital had been set up in one of the largest warehouses, it was already crowded. At sunrise, there were more than three hundred patients being treated or waiting for treatment. Most of the medical staff had been working without a break for most of the night, on top of several days of extremely long hours. The surgeons had performed more invasive operations than any of them could recall ever performing in a year. And the medtechs were having difficulty freeing up trauma tubes for new casualties. As soon as one patient was removed—often thirty minutes or more before he should have been—there was another casualty to be slid into place.

Two medtechs were pulled away from other work to do triage for the casualties that Joe Baerclau and his men brought in. The wounded were marked for surgery or trauma tubes. Tubes and operating tables had to be freed up. Several of the wounded, including Wiz, had to be placed on life-support systems to keep them going until a surgeon could get to them.

As soon as the wounded had been turned over, Dem took Joe aside.

"There had to be more than a company of Heggies locked up under here. More likely a couple of battalions."

"That's what I thought," Joe said. "Maybe 4th platoon just saw the tail end of the column. Not our problem now."

"Maybe." Nimz frowned.

"You think some of them might be closer?" Joe asked.

"I'm sure as hell going to find out. What kind of orders you have?"

"Just to get the wounded here."

"Nobody told you to drag ass back to the line afterward?" Dem asked.

Joe shook his head.

"Unless you get different orders, I'd suggest you keep your men here, around the hospital, for a while. I'll get my guys back looking outside."

Joe nodded slowly. "Sounds good to me. I'll talk to Dieter. Between the two of us we don't have one good platoon, but we'll do what we can." He would talk to Dieter
and
to Captain Keye. Joe had been a soldier too long to take it on himself to originate new orders, even at the suggestion of a reccer.