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six-wheeler, and I am thrown forward in my harness. The vehicle tips to one side, and I quickly realize what must have happened. Three powerful shots, presumably from a sniper, have taken out the armored wheels along the vehicle's starboard side. It is thus rendered completely useless.
    Worse, it is a sitting duck. More shots pepper its port side as it skids to a halt, taking out the exposed maser emitters. Before I am reduced to utter speechlessness, I call for help.
    It's already on the way. Barely have we slowed to walking speed when another powerful impact tips the crippled six-wheeler up and onto its side. We have been struck by one of our own and rolled so the roof hatch—already opening—is protected from the sniper's position. The dented chassis of the six-wheeler that struck us will provide extra cover.
    We are moving. Frags press in around me, visors closed and armor hugging tight. I recognize my boxer as he pulls me out into the rain and into the clutches of my impromptu bodyguard. The sound of engines is loud to my ears. Rain boils to steam on contact with the stricken vehicle's underbelly. I try to make out the sniper's position, but I can see only ragged cliffs. We have been ambushed in a narrow valley with rough, rampart-like sides. Waterfalls cut deep channels down the soft stone. Slippery mud lies underfoot, making every step treacherous, but I cannot fall. The powerful mass of bodies has surrounded me like a fist, leading me to the nearest shelter.
    The sniper fires again, sending impacts thudding through the frags pressing against me. For a split-instant I fear that I too will be shot, but bodies fall away and I am left standing with the boxer still at my side, unharmed for the moment. Another six-wheeler skids between us and the sniper—who has moved, I am sure, although there was no signature flash either time. My troopers fire back, spraying the cliff face with answering rounds. The AI gunners rotate in search of a target. Stone shatters into shards that rain down in miniature avalanches. The sniper falls silent.
    A buttress protruding from the ravine wall welcomes us, and I release my grip on the boxer. I am, however, far from relieved. How could I not have seen this coming? I feel responsible for the deaths of my companions: those who have already fallen, and those who might yet die if I don't think of a way out of our predicament, fast. The sniper will already have called for reinforcements. While we are confined like rats to a wall, we are vulnerable.
    But we are not helpless. I remind myself of this as my troopers regroup. We are armed and mobile. Alice-Angeles and the others will be coming up the road after us, having laid a trap that will at least delay the sniper's allies on the ground. The invaders can't have more than a soldier or two already mobilized, otherwise we would have spotted them sooner. This one simply got lucky, that's all. If we're quick, we'll soon turn the tables.
    AI strafing slashes the far wall of the ravine, provoking no visible response. The rain continues unabated. I have to chance that the sniper is behind cover for the moment—or maybe even neutralized by a lucky shot. Snipers rely on concealment and stealth to remain alive, not armor.
    I am decided. We split into four groups scrambling along the eroded face of the ravine. One team remains behind to provide covering fire. The second makes for the nearest six-wheeler. Half of the six vehicles we brought with us have lost tires now, but they remain full of valuable equipment. One of them in particular.
    The third team heads back the way we came, intending to cross the ravine out of range of the sniper, make its way along the far side, and catch him in a pincer.
    The boxer, two others and I are heading to the highest ground we can find. I have kept just two pieces of equipment: binoculars and the dead man's switch that hasn't left my pocket since we started our journey. At the summit of the ravine, we crawl on our bellies