Intrepid

The east was starting to show color. The assault on the dugouts wouldn't be long now. If Kris was in charge of that attack, she'd try to get at least part of the way across the killing ground before good light turned matters deadly.

That was the right way to do it … and despite the miserable choices she'd given Cortez so far, he done as well as he could with them.

33

Colonel Cortez raised his hand and signaled a halt.

Officers and noncoms of the Third Company passed the halt signal along. Through the trees, Cortez watched the other two companies go to ground. He'd been half-afraid that some idiot would keep running, wanting to be first at the ditches. At least no one in his rented command was that stupid.

The colonel surveyed his target through night gear. The moon had set, taking most of the light with it. That left him studying the ditches only by starlight. But the farmers were not likely to have any night-vision gear. They'd be hurting.

Unless that Longknife girl had Marines on his front.

Cortez shook off the thought and studied his target. No one stood guard, paced rounds, did anything for security. There were not pickets or outposts anywhere in the thousand meters of flat ground between this tree line and the ditches. Unbelievable. If this was the Longknife girl's idea of security, how had she lived so long?

In the ditches there were one, maybe two heads. From the looks, they were totally devoted to snoring. The wind blew from the trenches, bringing with it a whiff of open latrines. Had they fouled their fighting positions? Cortez shook his head.

Then caught himself. Thorpe had underestimated that girl, and look where he was. Cortez would not make the same mistake.

He checked his watch, and the color of the sky just starting to brighten behind the ditches. His troops would have the shadows with them for another five minutes or so.

Best to make good use of the time.

The colonel pulled out his commlink, switched it on, and immediately switched it off.

Major Zhukov answered with two clicks. The proud Guard Fusiliers were ready.

''Captain Sawyer, advance your company at a low crawl, by platoons,'' Colonel Cortez whispered. ''Signal to First and Second Companies to do the same. Keep low and quiet.''

Cortez gave Major Zhukov a single click on his commlink. Around him, a long thin line, first platoon, First Company, advanced at a bent walk for twenty meters, then went to ground in the field. No one had cut this field, and the crop came to a standing man's waist. At a low walk, there was little to see.

Captain Sawyer signaled the second platoon to advance with him and led them twenty meters past the first platoon. When the long line of third platoon started its bound, Colonel Cortez went with them … and led them forty meters past second platoon.

So it went, about every minute, the last platoon back would rise to a low walk and bound up to and past the forward-most platoon. When Cortez wasn't moving forward with his platoon, he studied the trenches.

No movement. No action. No nothing.

They could as well be empty as far as he could see.

They were at about midfield, and Cortez was beginning to think he'd be able to get everyone up to the three hundred-meter mark before a shot was fired when things began to happen.

Somewhere in the ditches, there was an explosion. Had one of the Guard Fusiliers tossed a grenade?

For a second there was dead silence as even those around Cortez held their breath. Then some kind of a bomb with a sputtering fuse arched up out of the trenches toward the psalm singers, to explode among them.

Now there was rapid fire coming from the ditches. Cortez couldn't make out the weapon from its sound, but there was lots of it. Above him, shots whizzed through the air. Most of them high, but one man screamed as he was hit.

''Medic! Medic!'' echoed up and down the line.

To Cortez's left and right, troopers returned fire enthusiastically, if with no evidence of something to shoot at. The colonel studied the ditches for targets, but bright flashes of light caused back flares on his night gear.

It was time for third platoon to bound forward. Its platoon leader and sergeant were not shouting anything. That platoon wasn't going anywhere.

Cortez stood. ''Third platoon, follow me.'' Running low, he advanced, waving his arm to encourage others to follow. Most did. The trooper next to Cortez went down with a bullet through his jaw. The colonel made sure he ran the full forty yards before going to ground.

Once third was in firing positions and ready to give good cover fire, Cortez turned his attention to first platoon.

They weren't moving from their place in the rear.

Cortez stood up. ''First platoon. Advance. Come on, there's only a bunch of farmers up here. They can't shoot.''

Troops were up. Their lieutenant was leading them, calling for others to follow him. He got about four paces forward when he clutched at his leg and went down. But the sergeant was up, and he kept them moving under the colonel's watchful eye.