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lines"—he indicated those as well—"we'd be in better shape. Warning at least, maybe time to get out. It might be smart to leave the APCs out beyond that valley too. They'd be more trouble than they're worth in that narrow track."
    "Bal?"
    "Since we have to do this regardless, I agree," Kenneck said. "Those measures do minimize our exposure, especially if we do have Wasp support, but it's still going to be hairy."
    "Dezo, you have anything to add?"
    Parks shook his head slowly. "I agree about leaving the Heyers outside the valley. As far outside as practical."
    The laugh the others gave was subdued and showed little humor.
    —|—
    The 13th took one more long break during the night, then, two hours before dawn, they stopped again. The formation was spread out even more than it had been on the march, with units taking advantage of whatever cover the terrain offered—more to hide vehicles than themselves.
    It wasn't much. The broad plain between the eastern seaboard and the mountains was mostly flat. Areas of forest were interspersed with prairie. The 13th had reached an area where the long prairie grasses predominated. The stands of trees were mostly small, and widely separated. Heat tarps were spread over all of the vehicles. The combination of camouflage and trees did offer some protection. The men were set to digging holes for themselves.
    "I hope they don't hit us too soon, Lieutenant," Joe Baerclau said. "We're all so zapped that it wouldn't take much to roll right over us."
    "I know," Keye said. He stifled a yawn. The two men had their foxholes about eight meters apart. Iz Walker, Echo's first sergeant, had his hole thirty meters the other side of the lieutenant, far enough away that a single hit, even from a bomb or 135mm shell, would be unlikely to take out both of them. "Best I can say is that there's no indication of Heggies anywhere close. We're already better than four hundred klicks beyond the lines."
    "Coupla Boems could knock the stuffin's out of us," Joe said.
    "If they see us. Just make sure that they can't. Get everybody tucked in good, ponchos over the holes. The works." This was the rainy season. Ponchos had been issued. While not as effective as thermal tarps, they would help minimize a man's infrared signature.
    "Aye, sir. I'll make the rounds myself." Joe already had his own hole dug. The soil was somewhat sandy and loose.
    "Let the squad leaders handle it," Keye said. "That's what they're there for."
    "Yes, sir." Joe changed channels and passed the word on.
    "Half and half on watch," he added. "One fire team sleeps while the other's on alert. Hour at a time to start. If it looks like we're going to stay put all day, we'll extend that later."
    What am I forgetting? Joe asked himself. That was a common question for him on campaign, more as the days and nights dragged on and he got further behind on sleep. It was too easy to forget, and forgetting was as lethal an enemy as any Heggie.
    A yawn forced its way out. For just an instant, Joe raised his visor so he could rub at his eyes. They burned from lack of sleep and too many stimtabs. It would be so easy to let them slide shut and sleep...
    Joe shook his head violently. Not for an hour. He had to take the first watch. Then he would turn the platoon over to one of the squad leaders for the next hour. The price of being a leader, he thought, lowering his visor into position again. He forced himself to do a slow, detailed scan of the countryside beyond his foxhole—for the present, "the front." He scanned close, then farther out with each additional pass, out to the abbreviated horizon that his foxhole gave him. There was nothing visible moving out there. Nor were there any obvious heat signatures showing up in infrared.
    This is crazy, Joe thought. Then, fearing that he might be sliding toward sleep again, he busied himself with little chores. He checked to make sure that his carbine had a full spool of wire in the chamber and a fully charged power