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arced over and started to fall. Zel and Slee turned to make another run at the enemy tanks. Twelve had already been destroyed or damaged, but only seven of them seemed to be completely out of commission.
    "Boems coming in!" a voice shouted over the radio. Zel scanned his display. The voice hadn't been any of the pilots in Blue Flight, and he didn't recognize it. It had to be one of the pilots in the high cap. "At least eight passed us."
    "Keep climbing, Zel," Slee said.
    "I don't have them, Slee," Zel replied.
    "Low, clipping trees, due north of the tank formation."
    "We're not attacking?"
    "Yellow flight has them," Slee said. "We'll go north and down, come in behind, try the Novas again if the Boems are accounted for before we catch up."
    At twelve thousand meters, Slee and Zel leveled off and moved north. They were just turning back toward the targets when there were three explosions below them, in the air, followed within seconds by two more.
    Nearly thirty seconds passed before Slee said, "Rais got it, and one of the planes from Yellow Flight." Rais was Rais Sivvens, Blue seven.
    "They get out?" Zel asked.
    There was only the slightest pause before Slee said, "No."

CHAPTER THREE
    There had not been a single word in the design specifications for the Heyer armored personnel carrier about passenger comfort, and the builders had not gone beyond the requirements. The only real advantage a Heyer provided was speed. Its thin armor might provide marginally better protection than the net armor woven into battle fatigues, but that was more than offset by the fact that an APC was a much more attractive target for enemy gunners. Still, even on broken terrain, a Heyer could make better than fifty kilometers per hour. The night's race in Heyers was mind-numbing but physically almost painful for the infantrymen of the 13th. Riding in a Heyer at speed was as draining as marching with full gear through almost impassable terrain. Sleep was virtually impossible. All anyone could do was hang on and try not to get bounced around too badly.
    It was nearly midnight before the 13th stopped for a break. That wasn't so much for the comfort of the men as to allow the hydrogen converters to process water into fuel for the engines. Running after dark, the process was less efficient than during daylight, when solar batteries could speed the conversion along.
    The 13th had dispersed after clearing the Schlinal lines. The four recon platoons were out front and on the flanks. The eight infantry companies moved in a loose diamond pattern, with the artillery and various support vehicles in the center. The distance from one flank to the other was fifteen kilometers. The distance from point to rear guard was only slightly less. Echo Company was in the rear left section of the diamond.
    "Fifteen minutes," Joe Baerclau told his men as second platoon emerged from their three Heyers. "Do what needs to be done fast." Joe knew that the fifteen minutes would almost certainly stretch to at least thirty, but he preferred to have his men ready as soon as possible.
    Most of the men started out by going through a series of stretches and bends, trying to work out the kinks that four hours of riding had given them. Ezra Frain came over to Joe and lifted his helmet visor.
    "Any idea how long this goes on?" Ezra asked.
    Joe shook his head. "I don't even know what we're doing. Head off a thousand klicks or more. Get there as fast as possible. Nobody's saying why, what we're to do when we get where we're going."
    "Just something to loosen up the Heggies around the rest of our guys?"
    Joe hesitated before he said, "I don't think so. If that was what we were supposed to do, we'd come out maybe this far then turn to move behind them, give them something close to think about."
    "Then what?" Ezra demanded. He took his helmet off and ran a hand through his hair. Even in the dark, the red seemed to stand out, almost as if it were luminescent. "I've been trying to puzzle it out since