The remains of the Da’al soldier’s exoskeleton was little more than a mass of tangled metal, the broken figure at the centre all but indistinguishable from his surroundings. Her eyes fell upon on the energy weapon he’d been using which now rested on the ground. She briefly entertained the idea of taking it with her but she had no way of securing it and, besides, she was too tired to think about it now.

  With a weary last sweep of the area, she set off in the direction of their next rallying point.

  *

  “How good are you with that thing?” Nash wanted to know.

  The pair of them were sprinting up the bank and away from the frozen lake.

  Webster considered the semi-automatic rifle he was carrying. “Good enough. Why?”

  “If I could arrange a couple of pop-ups you think you could take them out?”

  “If you can set them up and I’ll try not to disappoint you.”

  A burst of heavy machine gun fire from somewhere over on their left made both men flinch and they covered the next stretch of ground with their heads down. The little tufts of vegetation which had proliferated lower down disappeared as they moved up the slope.

  The ridge they were heading for was just up ahead and Webster quickly assessed the terrain searching for viable cover. The sky had started to lighten making the transition from night to day. There were two earth mounds directly in front of them and he headed for the one that was furthest away, throwing himself fully behind it as soon as he was able.

  He took a moment to gather his breath before checking on his partner.

  Ever since their chat the previous night, Nash had made it clear that he wasn’t going to let Webster out of his sight. So, when Markham had asked for someone to take up a position higher up the bank in order to prevent the Da’al from flanking them Webster had been only too happy to volunteer. But, if he thought that this would guarantee him some ‘me’ time, he would have to think again. Nash had insisted on coming along with him and his presence was already starting to wear thin.

  The fact that Markham had been reduced to using his commanding officer in this capacity spoke volumes about the perilous state of their defences. The Marines had lost eight men the previous day when the Da’al had managed to launch their equivalent of a targeting drone. It had taken thirty minutes to knock the thing out of the air and in that time it had moved back and forth over their camp, taking out troopers with near impunity.

  Webster had never seen anything like it and, judging by his response, neither had Markham. Webster had seen him immediately after someone managed to bring it down with a ground-to-air missile and the man had looked utterly shell shocked.

  Although no one had spoken about it afterwards, it was clear that everyone was thinking the same thing: what if they’ve got another one of those things?

  So far, that hadn’t proven to be the case but it meant that you monitored the flight of any birds overhead very carefully indeed.

  After a couple of short, sharp breaths, Webster assumed his firing position, the cold from the ground already starting to make its presence felt. Nash was lying in a broad depression five metres away to his left, looking totally relaxed in this environment.

  “Can you see our friends just up ahead?”

  Even over the radio, Nash’s voice registered as barely a whisper.

  “I can just about make them out.”

  Webster hoped he was looking in the right place. Twin depressions just up ahead. He still wasn’t used to feeling this exposed. Anywhere else in the system, they’d have had satellites assisting them on patrols like this but he supposed that’s what happened when you surrendered orbital superiority to your enemy.

  The laser designator fitted to his rifle informed him that the target was twenty-four point six metres away.

  “Judging by the heat signature, I’d say there’s three of them but don’t be surprised if there’s more.”

  This had proven to be a big bone of contention as far as their opponent was concerned: gauging their strength. Since all their equipment was geared up for human opponents it was hardly surprising that the readings had a tendency to be inaccurate. But what they hadn’t anticipated was the sense of paranoia this engendered around the camp. It seemed as if no matter how many of them you took down there were always more waiting to replace them.

  “Okay, I’m set,” Webster worked his elbows into the packed snow. “What’s the plan?”

  “Oldest plan in the Jacobs. We wait ‘em out.”

  *

  Forty minutes later and Webster’s previous dislike of Nash had disappeared, having refashioned itself into a deep-seated hatred of the man.

  Not that Nash had said or done anything to warrant this. He had stayed resolutely silent since their last communication, but Webster couldn’t help holding him responsible for the abject misery of their current situation. While his gear was more than capable of keeping out the wet, it was a different matter when it came to the cold. It had somehow managed to seep up through his legs, turning his feet into two leaden lumps. All he could think about was getting back to camp and warming himself in front of one of those heaters.

  He had long since forgotten about the threat posed by the Da’al. All he wanted to do was curse the cold, curse the wind and curse Nash.

  The only parts of his body not to give into the cold were his hands. He’d had the foreknowledge to bring a pair of heated mittens. They were a luxury but an essential one. If he lost the feeling in his hands he was unlikely to be any use to anyone.

  He broke off to flex his fingers, the simple act of doing so proving surprisingly painful.

  The sound of Nash’s voice made him jump.

  “How long do you think we can keep this up?” he said.

  “I don’t know. Ten, fifteen minutes tops.”

  This prompted a laugh. “No, not this , I mean all of this. Keeping the Da’al away from that ship. We’re not going to be able to hold them off for much longer.”

  “You’d best ask Markham. That’s his area of expertise.”

  “I don’t think the sergeant’s thinking is all that clear at the moment.”

  “Yeah,” Webster thought back to what had happened the previous day. “You might have a point there.”

  “So, what’s it to be? You are the guy in charge, after all.”

  “We could always hole up inside the ship,” Webster said. “We could make a stand from there, I suppose.”

  Nash sneaked a look at him over his shoulder. “Probably not such a great idea, though: detonating those explosives with all of us still trapped inside.”

  “No, I suppose not,” Webster didn’t care. He just wanted to get this over and done with so that they could get back into the warm. “What are you thinking? We blow the explosives as a distraction? Make a run for it?”

  “Normally, yes, but then we do have Miss Marsh to consider.”

  Webster cocked his head to one side as though he’d misheard.

  “Kate Marsh? The xenobiologist woman?”

  “That’s the one. I take it that Captain Faulkner saw fit to keep you fully briefed before his unfortunate demise?”

  Webster detected movement around the enemy position.

  “On most things, yes. But he had a tendency to keep some matters close to his chest.”

  Nash dropped his head a little as he mulled this over.

  “And I take it that with the loss of the Mantis, the normal smooth handover might not have gone as well as we might have hoped.”

  Webster could feel himself growing defensive. “That’s true. I accessed as much information from the cloud as I could but large sections were redacted.”

  “No doubt,” Nash had unclipped a long black tube from his backpack and was examining it. “This is sensitive stuff. I doubt even Kekkonen knows the whole story.”

  Somebody was firing at them. Didn’t sound like conventional rounds but Webster was happy to assume that they would do the job if he was foolish enough to get in their way.

  “And, are you intending telling me any of this?”

  “That all depends. You think you can keep us both alive for the next few minutes?”

  Nash was on his knees, grinding the tube into the snow. When he was happy with his work he activated a switch which saw black metal spikes shooting out into the frozen ground. Across the way, Webster saw one of the Da’al troops moving. He squeezed off a shot, but only managed to clip the thing’s carapace.

  “Good work,” Nash said. “Keep it up.”

  He took three mini-mortars from his jacket and popped the first one into the neck of the tube.

  As he did so, a series of shots raked the air, forcing him to duck down.

  There was a loud pop as the gases were vented out the sides and the mortar fired, coming down five metres short of its target. In response, one of the Da’al stood upright to get a better shot, prompting Webster to fire. The Da’al rocked over backwards and didn’t get back up.

  Nash launched the next two mortars in quick succession, the second one over-shooting the target while the third dropped straight into their midst. There was a muffled explosion followed by a puff of steam. Seconds later, a shower of segmented bodyparts rained down.

  One of the soldiers, having lost two of his arms, stumbled out of the fox hole only for Webster to take him down with a precisely targeted, three round burst.

  “Pretty good,” Nash was up on one knee, checking his rifle.

  “You okay to do that?” Webster indicated. “Could be more of them. Think we should go check?”

  “You can if you like. I’ll stay here.”

  Webster considered it and then decided against. “You going to tell me your little story now?”

  “About Miss Marsh being the president’s daughter? I don’t know. Does your security clearance go that high?”

  Webster’s mouth dropped open and he stared back at their camp half expecting her to be waving at him from one of the tents.

  He said, “The president’s daughter? What the hell’s she doing here?”

  “Trying to get away from her old man, I expect. She was listed on the crew manifest under an assumed name. The Emilia Baxter I was asking about earlier. But I’ve studied her photos. It’s her alright.”

  “But why would she change her name a second time? What would be the point?”

  “Because she knew her father would send someone. Someone like me. When the camp was destroyed it was a perfect opportunity for her to disappear permanently.”

  Nash started down the bank and Webster followed, still keeping his head down.

  “And we’re supposed to do what exactly?”

  “Get her home in one piece. Priority Alpha Prime.”

  “And how do we do that when we can’t even get off the planet.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Nash cocked his head over in the direction of the alien shuttles. “We could always improvise.”

  *

  “I’m not happy about this,” Markham was saying. “Not happy at all.”

  The other three men standing in the loose circle - Webster, Nash and Kekkonen - simply nodded their heads. Webster had been the one who’d warned the other two that they’d have to work hard to convince the sergeant of the efficacy of their plan. If they pushed him too hard there was every likelihood that he would say ‘no’ and that would be the end of it.

  They’d left the other members of their team back in their dug outs. They’d have known that something was up but would have had no idea what it was the leaders were planning. It would come as quite a shock when they did find out but Nash had insisted on absolute secrecy. He didn’t want anyone getting wind of what it was that they were planning until it was too late to do anything about it.

  As leaders went, Nash wasn’t a big proponent of the free flow of information.

  While there would be no issue with the Marines, Webster was more concerned about the reaction of the scientists. They weren’t military personnel and, as such, could make things very difficult if they decided not to comply.

  “As soon as we start splitting up,” Markham continued, “we start compromising ourselves. I feel it’s imperative that we stick together.”

  “And normally, you’d be right,” Webster said. “But we have to put the safety of these scientists at the top of our list of priorities.”

  Webster looked at Kekkonen for verification but the big man said nothing. This wasn’t his area of expertise and he knew it.

  Markham decided to try again. “But if we start off now we’d have a good head start on them. If they chose to follow us we’d have them at a disadvantage. We could set up a few booby traps, pick them off a few at a time.”

  “Excellent ideas,” Webster said. “All of them, but you’re forgetting one thing: they still have access to those shuttles. Now they might not be able to land in the mountains but that’s not the point. You could have two, even three days start on them and they’d still be able to track you. Once they’ve determined where you’re headed they’d be able to land. Have a welcome party set up, ready to meet you.”

  “Which is why taking out the shuttles has to be our top priority,” Nash said. “With those taken care of, we’ve pretty much levelled the playing field.”

  “It does make sense,” Kekkonen said, sounding almost apologetic. “Just from a purely logistical standpoint. When we first arrived, it was the shuttles which always proved to be the limiting factor for us. No matter how much equipment you might have in orbit, you’re still going to need shuttles to help off-load it. And each ship is limited to how many shuttles they can carry. Like I said, logistics.”

  Webster nodded, having a new respect for the rangy scientist.

  “It all makes sense,” he said.

  Then Markham locked eyes with him and Webster saw the iron resolve which lay behind them.

  “No, you’re wrong. None of this makes sense. What happened in orbit? What happened yesterday? None of this makes a damn bit of sense.”

  They stood there for what seemed like several minutes but was probably no more than thirty seconds, the time punctuated by their breath crystallising in the air.

  “So what’s it to be?” Webster said tentatively. “Are we doing this thing or not?”

  Markham let out a long sigh. “I guess we’re doing it.”

  “Good man.”

  Nash patted him on the shoulder, causing Markham to tense up.

  “I’m not doing this for you, let’s get that clear from the start.”

  The two men faced off against one another, each one poised to escalate this to the next level if necessary. For the life of him, Webster couldn’t decide which one of them was most likely to come out on top. For all that Markham had been hardened by years of combat, he couldn’t say that this would automatically give him the edge over Nash. Nash was a different kind of animal completely. A man supremely confident in his own skill set, he didn’t seem to care who he went up against, he was assured of his skills. Here was someone unacquainted with the concept of failure.

  Webster took control. “Let’s not waste any more time. Sergeant, I want you to get your people ready to move out in the next half hour. We’ll also need a fire team to cover our flank and they’re going to have to be fit – when they do finally move out, they’re going to have a lot of ground to cover.”

  “Yes, sir,” Markham saluted and moved off without giving Nash a second glance.

  Webster turned to Kekkonen. “I’d appreciate it if you’d get your people ready as well. It’s going to be a tough night for everyone.”

  *

  Markham and his Marines had led the scientists up into the foothills just over two hours ago. Webster had briefed the remaining six Marines though it was basically Nash’s plan he was re-hashing. They were to spread out to form a forward perimeter line backed up by the auto-canon and the two ground-to-air emplacements. The hope was that they’d be able to keep the Da’al distracted long enough that the others might make good their escape.

  The more disturbing part of the plan, as far as Webster was concerned, was that it would be he and Nash who would be infiltrating the enemy lines via the lake’s eastern shoreline. When Nash had first floated the idea, Webster had assumed that it would be the Marines who would be entrusted with what was, after all, a simple demolition job. But Nash had been adamant. The Marines might have a wide range of combat experience but with Grimes’ untimely death, they’d lost their sole demolition expert and he didn’t trust them to pull off the mission alone. He was going to take care of this personally, and he wanted Webster along as back up.

  Webster had reluctantly agreed. He did have some history of disabling military space craft so this wasn’t totally outside his normal range of experience. Also, this plan of action seemed to him far more preferable than Nash’s earlier idea of sending the crashed ship to the bottom of the lake. Even if Webster and his party had simply evacuated the area leaving the Da’al totally in charge, there was very little they could do with the ship anyway. Kekkonen’s people had been on the ground for six months and they were still only beginning to scratch the surface of what the alien craft might have to offer.

  Nash had chosen to approach the enemy camp from the eastern side of the lake simply because the sheer size of the area meant that it would be difficult for the Da’al to fortify it properly. They had put so much energy into haranguing the humans that Nash felt that they’d not taken the time to shore up their own position. But the eastern shoreline was also the longest approach route and at night it proved to be particularly tough going.

  It turned out that their analysis of the Da’al’s defensive measures had not been entirely accurate – they’d uncovered two booby traps so far. These consisted of rudimentary tripwires designed to set off some kind of warning flare and it had been a straightforward enough task to neutralise them. Nash had dealt with the first and had then stood back as Webster disabled the second.

  But on the third occasion, they weren’t so lucky.

  Nash had realised his mistake as soon as he’d heard the crack of ice and stood frozen in place.