Intrepid

''Anything over there?'' Jack asked, still moving his glasses slowly up and down the tree line.

''I'm willing to bet they're there, but I ain't seen them. You'd think I'd catch sight of a white shirt in all those trees.''

''Unless someone dunked them in the first mud hole they came to,'' the private said.

Jack raised an eyebrow. Low rank didn't mean low smarts.

Turning, Jack surveyed the deployment here. About half of the sergeant's squad was strung out along the dike, keeping their heads down and rifles out of the water. Along with them were over a dozen farmers. Jack wanted these folks out of the dike caves just in case he needed fire put on someplace not covered by one of the loopholes that the couple were knocking.

Whoever ran that last assault had assumed Kris lacked the troops to cover a wide front. They wouldn't make that mistake again. Sergeant Bruce had watched some half-decent heavy infantry surface from an underwater approach march when they attacked the dugouts this morning.

Jack had a tall youngster from the farmers wade out to see how deep the water was here. It was a good kilometer before he found any kind of channel. Between here and those trees, the water was mostly knee deep. Whoever assaulted the position would come through shallow water.

Jack blinked. A moment ago there had been nothing in the tree line. Now a line of men, a few in full armor, a whole lot more in filthy shirts and pants, were wading into the water not a half klick from Jack. They moved like silent brown ghosts. The more of that muddy water they covered before they were noticed, the better off they were.

Jack dropped his binoculars and reached for his rifle.

''Oh boy.'' Sergeant Bruce grinned and stood, signaling for his troops to do likewise.

''For what they are about to receive, may they be truly grateful,'' Jack's private said as he sighted his rifle in.

''Sleepy darts or live ammo, sir?'' Bruce asked.

''Sleepy darts, but use a double dollop of propellant,'' Jack said. ''There may be no wind, but that's a long half klick.''

Selectors clicked along the line.

''Sir,'' the freckled comm runner said, sticking her cute nose through the mat. ''Your lady friend wants to talk to you.''

''This ought to tell her all she needs to know,'' Jack said, and fired the first shot of what had to be Panda's last battle.

* * *

As Kris waited for her flank commanders to come to the phone, she watched things get interesting on her front. Armored infantry pushed several two-wheeled carts ahead of them as they slowly advanced on the peach orchard some four hundred meters in front of her. And there was also movement in the trees bordering the swamp.

''Lieutenant,'' said Gunny, ''I've got a thin foam of light infantry spread along my front. No one too close to anyone, but they are coming down your ridge, mine, and one behind me.''

''Then I think we better tell them to stop,'' Kris said. ''The longer it takes them to get here under fire, the more of them ought to be laid out somewhere on the grass.''

''My opinion exactly. How's the captain's front?''

''I don't know. I'm still waiting for him to come online'' was answered by a volley of M-6s popping off sleepy darts and hunting rifles doing their thing.

''That says it all,'' Kris said. ''Shoot ‘em if you got ‘em,'' Kris shouted, both for the phone and the rifles around her.

The hill came alive with fire.

Out beyond the peach orchard, a couple of the armored infantry stumbled and fell as they took hit after hit. Still, most of them picked themselves up and ran to catch up with the carts that were now being pushed at a run. Hunting ammunition didn't do a lot against serious military-grade armor.

Kris commanded here, but she also had one of the few M-6s in her hill. She frowned to herself, deciding between just watching, like the book said a good commander did, or doing something about those folks galloping her way with bloody intent.

Kris hefted her M-6. Trotting a couple of galleries down, she found four riflemen who were holding their fire.

''No use wasting shot and powder on hide that thick at this distance,'' the elder one told her, as if she might disagree.

''You might pass that message along to the folks up and down here,'' she said, and got a smile from him. He sent two of his younger charges trotting out with that word from the Longknife, but stayed to watch as Kris unlimbered her military-issue rifle.

Kris got a good range readout, fed it into the sight, then clicked the ammo selector to seriously deadly and flipped the propellant selector to its highest setting.

''You're gonna feel that kick tomorrow,'' the old fellow said.

Reminded, Kris fitted the rifle solidly into her shoulder, then squinted into the sights. Out in the sun, a sergeant was shouting orders to those pushing a couple of carts.

Kris breathed out, timed her pulse, then gently squeezed off a round between beats.

The sergeant took the hit square in the back. He flew a good three meters before going down in a long slide that left a track of dust in the air.