Intrepid

Volunteers now ran ahead of the Marines, moving among the lumps on the ground, throwing bodies over on their backs. Finding here and there one that still had strength to raise its hands. Struggling to get ''I surrender'' out past parched lips.

One of the farmers went down from a shot to the leg, but it didn't come from those in the orchard. No. Bullets were flying from the running battle line.

''Down, down, get down,'' Kris shouted as she raced up to the battle-raped orchard. ''Your targets are up the valley. You've got to stop them from getting into the hill.''

The Marines took to ground, in some cases rolling in front of them the dead armored bodies of the previous occupants of this bit of earth. Looking more than a bit dismayed, the farmers also took their places, prone behind what protection they could find. Quickly, the sound of deliberate rifle fire filled the air.

Five, six hundred meters up the valley, men in white smocks began to fall.

Above the mangled tree that now marked the observation post, two carts rolled down the hill in front of several armored and unarmored men. Kris took them under fire.

The range was long. With the afternoon, a breeze grew. It wafted up the valley in fits and bursts that made aimed fire far too inaccurate for Kris's need of the moment. Still, she carefully aimed her shots and hit some, missed too many.

From the observation port, an armored head ducked out, saw this danger, and crawled forward. That Marine dropped one, then another, then a third of those huddling behind the carts, which rolled ever closer.

A grenade flew over one cart to drop onto the flat in front of the port. The Marine grabbed for it. The grenade blew as he touched it.

Kris had to stop the attack. She could only guess at what was in the carts … and all her guesses came up horrible. She aimed for the auto tires of the carts. She hit … they went flat … but now gravity was on the enemy's side.

Tires flat or no, they kept on moving.

A Marine rolled from the observation post. On her back, she fired so fast it sounded like slow automatic.

Up the hill, troopers in white and armor went down, but an arm came up in one of the wagons, hurling a satchel.

For a moment it looked like the satchel would fly too far.

Then it hit the battered tree stump and bounced back.

The Marine made a grab for it.

The explosion was blinding. Kris felt the blood drain from her face, but she could not lie there holding her breath while she waited for the smoke and dirt to clear. There were still targets, some up the hill, where the carts were only half-shrouded by smoke, others downhill, where white coats, now screaming the charge, lurched toward the smoke.

Kris selected a target. Fired. Selected a new target. Fired. Beside her, Marines and volunteers did the same.

''I'm empty,'' came in a voice Kris ignored. The second or third time, she knew a commander was called for, not the shooter she'd become.

She glanced around. Several Marines sourly glared at their silent M-6s.

Kris reached for the bandoleer she'd swung around her neck before they left the Wasp. She tossed it to the empty Marine closest to her. Kris hadn't been doing a riflemen's job as much as they had.

As Kris turned back to pick out another target, Marines tore into clips of killing darts, cartridges of propellant. In a moment, the fire from the bedraggled orchard again was hellish.

The smoke had cleared from the observation port. Now a huge hole gaped.

Three white coats stormed the mouth of the cave.

Only to be blown backward by shots from within.

Kris yelled. All around her at the mouth of the valley, there rose a yell.

And fire. Fire that made hell seem calm.

White coats fell in windrows within ten, twenty, thirty meters of that smoking gash in the earth. Still, let one get close to it, stand in the mouth of it, and a shot from inside drove him down.

Down and back and bleeding.

A Marine still lived, and that Marine defended that hole in the ground like the mouth of hell.

In the fields along the hills and valley, more white-coated men went to earth. Men dropped into the cut grass of the fields and looked for leadership. Brave men looked to the dead around them, ahead of them … and put their faces to the dirt.

The assault had stalled.

White-coated men put their rifles down in the dirt before them and fired no more.

The assault had failed.

Around Kris, rifles fell silent. Above Kris, Gunny's voice could be heard calling, ''Check fire. Check fire. Save it until we need it.''

The valley grew quiet. Over the ridge, rifle fire was still sporadic, but here, a bird could be heard calling.

Her rifle before her at the ready, Kris drew a breath. She'd lived. She was still alive.

And Cortez's army had been stopped.

The battle wasn't over. It could still be lost. But for now, Kris was alive, and Cortez was stopped.

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