Intrepid

As she caught a thermal crossing the last mountain range, she spotted her lake and put the LAC into a gentle curve for its inviting blue waters. She set the craft down in a shower of spray, then held it nose high as it skimmed over the water, sending cooling waves off the wings and hull and dissipating the heat over a big chunk of the lake. It had been frustrating to be on the losing end of this game of hide-and-seek. Now, she was a player, and her life depended on giving as little away about her whereabouts as the others had given her.

Kris's LAC slowed, so she headed it for the beach. This lake had a sandy edge leading to a wide grass-covered vale. A couple of meters from the shoreline, the LAC ground to a halt.

Kris popped the canopy and sat while the senior tech got out, tested the water and the air, then did a heat scan on the LAC. She shook her head. ''Even the top side is a full five degrees warmer than the ambient, Lieutenant.''

The LAC was a one-way ride; still Kris would have liked to keep it around. She stepped out, and Sergeant Bruce and a tall woman Marine towed the craft out to chest-high water. Then Bruce slit open one side panel and tipped the craft until it sank.

The tech did a second scan. ''This water is a bit warmer than the rest of the lake, but the river it empties into is only a few klicks thataway. With luck, anyone who notices the difference will put it down to sun warming the shallows here.''

By now, the second LAC was drifting up to the beach twenty meters from them. The sergeant in charge of that one took in the situation and immediately began sinking his. The lighter with its large cargo container was a bigger problem.

That one was still hot as it approached the beach. Sergeant Bruce shot a line to it when it went dead in the water a couple of hundred meters short. Some Marines came hand over hand along the line, while others attached their own lines to the main one while collecting on the tail of the lighter.

With that weight aft, the nose rose, the tail sank, water poured into the container, and the whole shebang sank. Five minutes later, all the Marines were ashore and accounted for … though some looked muddy and waterlogged.

Gunny pulled up the rear with a small team vanishing all evidence of their passing. Kris put the Marines in single file, posted a pair of mine hunters ahead of her, and led off at a jog for the latest burn north of the Fronour place. The speed heated them up, but their battle suits were intended to make that go away. Heat, whether from the machinery or the human inside, collected in a central reservoir, where it powered up dissipation units called ''hoppers'' by the troops and something else, which no one recalled, by the suits' manufacturers.

The idea was for the hoppers to spread the heat over a wide area when they were jettisoned. However, with her Marines in single file to avoid leaving a lot of footsteps, dropping hoppers would more than likely leave a heat arrow pointing right at Kris.

''Hold your hoppers for when we walk through the fire area,'' Kris ordered. ''Pass it down the line.''

What a battle she was headed into. Orders passed by voice. A map with nothing on it. Did these folks have horses? Was she going to end up riding one into battle?

No. Goats were what they used for terraforming. No way was she or a Marine under her command going to ride a goat.

Assuming she could find Andy's people. They had to be around here somewhere. Probably close to their farmstead. Not too close. Not too far either. But how to spot them?

Behind Kris, Sergeant Bruce ordered his tech to check the air, then suggested that Kris might want to put them on local consumables. ''Don't know when we'll need the air we brought.''

Kris passed the order down the line.

And kept right on gnawing at her main problem. How to make contact with people who didn't much care to say, ''Howdy.''

They had gone to ground. But even moles needed air. Air was the one weakness of any subterranean existence.

But before Kris could say, ''Hi,'' to anyone, she had to survive the next pass from Thorpe's ship.

This battle was being played out like an old chess game. Kris had made her move. Now she'd better find a place to shelter up and wait out Thorpe's move.

The line of march took them along the side of the still-burning field. ''Fire hoppers to the left,'' Kris ordered, reducing her heat signature. Ahead was a field dotted with goats. A couple of evil-looking rams wandered over to inspect these invaders of their domain.

''Are they dangerous?'' Sergeant Bruce asked Kris. The wrong person. She called for Andy.

''They can be pests,'' he assured them, kicking one that got too close. That one retreated, joining the others a comfortable distance out to crop grass and eye the Marines.

''I think I've found the only thing that smells worse than a Marine after a week in the field,'' Bruce concluded.

''They spend all year in the field,'' Andy said, in defense of his farm stock. If only a very minimal defense.