Her words trailed away as the bomb truck reappeared, booming down the Highway 16 ramp at high speed, the silent electric motors pushing each of its twelve huge wheels at maximum acceleration. Following the truck came a blue Victory sedan, presumably the car that belonged to Team 499.

  At Hong's wild audacity a frenzied admiration sang through Sula's heart. The group leader was attempting to repair the flaws in his plan with sheer courage.

  Sula's nerves gave a leap as the truck hit the Naxid police roadblock and flung the vehicle aside like a man waving off an insect. A piece of the police car, curved yellow metal, flew high into the air and hit the pavement with a clang that Sula could hear even through the window. A Naxid lay sprawled where his own car had hit him. Another danced aside with surprising speed and then was clawing on the pavement for the rifle that had fallen off his shoulder.

  The truck disappeared under the bridge with a series of distant booming noises as its tires vaulted expansion joints in the pavement. The Victory followed. The Naxid grabbed his rifle and raised it to his shoulder, then seemed to dissolve in a shower of sparks.

  Each of Group Blanche's rifles held a box magazine with four hundred and one rounds of caseless ammunition, all of which could be discharged in something less than three seconds. It looked as if the Naxid had just absorbed about half a magazine.

  Then the weapon was turned on the police car, and the vehicle leaped and juddered and sparked, then sagged on its suspension as a baleful white mist rose from its punctured frame.

  A few seconds later the Victory sedan reappeared, driving in reverse up the ramp at full speed. The Naxid procession continued to roll by, and seemed not to have noticed the fight or to be slow in reacting to it.

  “All teams, stand by.” Hong's voice, ringing with fine triumph, came over Sula's headset. “Prepare to detonate on my order.”

  Sula turned to her team. “Flat!” she said. “Now!”

  Rather than dropping on her belly Sula squatted with her back to the outside wall, taking comfort in its solidity.

  The explosion seemed to come in several rapid stages, first a great crack that made the glassware in the Gueis' sideboard rattle, then a huge boom that Sula felt pass through her like a wave, stirring each soft organ in passing, and lastly a massive crash that felt like a kick in the spine, a bass thunder that seemed to lift the apartment building off its foundations, then drop it down again with a bone-stirring impact.

  Her head happened to be turned to the left, to the gable window, and she actually saw it bow inward like a bubble about to pop; but the window material was tough, and to Sula's surprise it rebounded back into the frame.

  Oh well. Now they'd have to shoot it out.

  She sprang to her feet as debris rattled against the side of the building. The bridge had gone up beautifully, leaving behind vast hole surrounded by a tangle of writhing girders and rebar. Above the destruction a tower of dust and smoke flickered in the dawn light. Debris was still falling onto the roadway. A sinister lick of flame rose lazily from the dark pit below.

  It was difficult to tell how much damage had actually been done to the Naxids. Their convoy was widely spaced, and probably no more than one or two vehicles had actually been on the bridge when it was destroyed. If they'd ever been there, there was no sign of them now. One bus lay on the far side of the bridge more or less where the explosion had caught it, intact but capsized, its windows broken and sightless. The rest of the convoy had come to a stop. Naxids boiled off the vehicles like a swarm of dark insects.

  “All teams, open fire!” Hong's sunny, encouraging voice sang in her ears. “Fire, fire, fire!”

  Sula looked at her team as if through a light fog: there seemed to be a lot of suspended particles in the air. Spence was pressed flat on the floor, hands over her helmet, and Macnamara was sitting up with a stunned expression on his face.

  “Up!” Sula urged, her blood suddenly alight. “Get firing!”

  Fire one magazine from each weapon, she thought, then get the hell out. Even given surprise and superior position, the thirty-odd members of Group Blanche couldn't expect to hold out for long against the hundreds of Naxids in the street below.

  At that instant all the windows facing the Axtattle Parkway burst inward, the material that had resisted the explosion now shattering before a torrent of Naxid fire. Sula flung herself to the floor as window shards rattled off her body armor and a sleet of laths and plaster came down from the ceiling. Over her head the machine gun spun on its tripod as rounds hit the long barrel. Macnamara rose to his feet and reached up to take control of the weapon, but Sula shouted “Get down!” and Macnamara, his expression startled, joined her on the floor.

  “Set the gun to automatic and get out!” Sula said. Through her hard body armor she felt sharp impacts on the floor as bullets came through the windows of the floor below and drove through that story's ceiling to hit the floor on which she was lying. Holes appeared in the carpet, with little bits of pad and fluff flying up. The building shook as, somewhere, a grenade went off.

  The rain of laths and plaster did not cease. Sula scurried to the door, moving in a kind of four-legged crouch, opened the door, and half-rolled into the corridor beyond. Spence was right behind her.

  Sula glanced back through the door. Macnamara still knelt behind the machine gun, madly punching the pad that controlled it. His shoulders and helmet were white with the plaster coming down. “Come on,” Sula urged him, and then her heart gave a despairing leap as he threw both arms out and fell back as a bullet took him full in the chest. Sula gave a cry and half-launched herself back into the apartment, and then she saw the scar on Macnamara's body armor, and saw that his hands were moving. She realized his body armor had repelled the attack.

  “Fuck that!” she called to him. “Clear out!”

  With some effort Macnamara rolled himself to a seated position and with fixed determination reached for the pad again. Sula backed out of the door as the Guei family came scurrying out on hands and knees. Blood poured from Mr. Guei's left eye socket-he'd lost the eye to a bullet, or maybe to a splinter. His wife shrieked out one hysterical wail after another, and it was the daughter who cradled the infant as she carried him into the hallway's relative safety, her face fixed with the same single-minded determination that she had displayed when engaged in her video game.

  The unexpected sound of a woman's voice shouting into Sula's ear caused her to give an involuntary jump.

  “Four-nine-one, this is Two-one-one. Naxid fire's too heavy. We're pulling out.” Action Team 211 was the other team in this building, the one that had entered first and guided Sula's team to the Guei apartment.

  Sula's head spun as she tried to remember communications protocols. “Comm: to Two-one-one. This is Four-nine-one. Acknowledge. We're pulling out, too. Comm: send.”

  Macnamara at last got the machine gun programmed. It tracked automatically on its mount as it found a target, depressed its barrel, fired, and promptly blew up-the barrel had been knocked out of alignment by enemy bullets, and the first round fired by Team 491 did nothing but destroy the gun that fired it.

  Macnamara stared in disbelief at the ruined weapon, then reached for his rifle. “Enough!” Sula shrieked. “Get back here!”

  Macnamara thought about it for a moment, then scuttled backward like an ungainly insect till he gained the doorway. Sula rose to a crouch, helped Macnamara rise, then said, “To the stair! Go!”

  Spence was already on her way, limping. Sula saw that she was leaving bloody footprints in the hall. She shoved Macnamara after Spence, then followed.

  Bullets still found their way into the hall, but the danger was much less than that in the front rooms. Spence reached the emergency stair, hurled open the door, and disappeared into the stairwell. Macnamara followed. Sula entered the stair last, after casting a glance back at the Gueis, the bleeding father in the arms of his screaming wife, the daughter looking after the baby with her air of intense concentration, as if trying to will away the whole situation. Try not to hate us, Sula thought at them mentally, and then hurled herself down the stair.

  There was a snapping sound overhead, and soft rain began to fall from the building's sprinkler system.

  “Fucking brilliant,” Sula breathed. “Absolutely fucking brilliant.” No matter how many times Group Blanche had been over the plan, no one had suggested that the first Naxid reaction to the bombing would be to randomly pump a million rounds of suppressive fire into every nearby building.

  At least the stair was on the far side of the building from Axtattle Parkway, and no bullets penetrated the stairwell. As Sula's boots clattered on the risers, she realized that she should let her superior know that Team 491 was running like hell, and then it took her a moment to sort out radio protocol.

  “Comm: to Blanche,” she said, trying to keep her tone even. “Naxid fire is too hot. Team Four-nine-one is pulling out. Comm: send.”

  The response came within seconds, crisp over the sound of sprinkler water pattering on her helmet. “Four-nine-one, permission to withdraw granted.”

  I don't remember asking permission, Sula thought. The thump of a grenade echoed through the building. Sula could smell smoke despite the gush of the sprinklers.

  A chunk of plaster banged off Sula's helmet, and she brushed wet plaster dust off her shoulder. Her team was making good time despite the water that was now beginning to spill down the stairs in little waterfalls.

  The lobby was full of bewildered civilians, many partly dressed or in their night clothes. Some were wounded. The sound of wailing children echoed off the tile walls, and people sloshed in water in bare feet or slippers. There was no sign of Team 211.

  “All of you clear out!” Sula shouted. She waved an arm to indicate direction. “Head back two or three streets and wait for the all-clear. If you're hurt, you can call for help there.”

  “What's going on?” someone demanded.

  “It's the war!” shouted an angry bass voice. “The damn war!”

  “But isn't the war over?” asked the first.

  “Get moving!” Sula shouted. “Move back before you get caught in the crossfire!” You idiots, she added to herself.

  She turned to her team. “Ardelion, how badly are you hurt?” Using Spence's code name.

  Spence looked down at the boot that left red trails in the water. “I'm not sure. I think it's minor, but it hurts like a bitch.”

  “Do you need to be carried?”

  Spence shook her head. “I can keep my feet. I just hope I don't have to run.”

  “All right, then. You and Starling pull your hoods over your heads. Rifles completely under the capes. Brush that crap off your shoulders. Move with these people till you get to the car.”

  She tucked her rifle under her arm, barrel downward, knocked as much plaster dust off her shoulders as she could, and pulled the hood over her helmet. A pinch sealed the hood in front, over her faceplate, but her faceplate displayed the image transmitted by the hood sensors so that she had a perfectly workable picture of where she was going.

  Macnamara in the lead, the team moved with the civilians till they got outside. Suddenly the sounds of firing were much louder, and echoed off the buildings. Vertigo eddied in Sula's skull at the slight distortion in her vision, and the stuffy air inside her suit sent warning signs of claustrophobia tingling up her nerves. She had to marvel at how well the camouflage capes worked-she couldn't see anything of Spence or Macnamara except their boots and the wet footprints they left on the pavement.

  Once outside the civilians dispersed, and encountered groups of other civilians. They had heard the explosion that destroyed the bridge, apparently, and come either like fools to gawk or like good citizens to help anyone injured by the blast. But the shooting and the continued explosions had made them pause, and now they just hovered in the street, uncertain, all gawkers now.

  Sula moved among them and tore open her hood. “Move back!” she called. “This is the war! We're fighting Naxids! Pull back or you could get hurt!”

  “Police!” someone shouted, and the whole crowd began surging back. Sula chanced a look over her shoulder, and saw Naxids in black-and-yellow uniforms scurrying around the corner of the building, having run from the parkway to cut off the retreat of anyone in the building.

  “Hurry!” Sula shouted, terrified that the Naxids might decide to fire into the crowd. She and her team were sprinting when they arrived at their car; Spence's wound barely slowed her down. Sula opened a rear door and flung herself sprawling across the backseat. Macnamara, the best driver, took the driver's seat, and Spence the front seat opposite.

  “Take us out slowly and as quietly as you can,” Sula said. The crowd was still falling back past them, and Sula was amazed the Naxids weren't shooting at everything that moved.

  “Comm,” Sula said, “to Team Two-one-one. Are you out of the building? The building is being surrounded by the enemy. Comm: send.”

  Her mind filled with a hopeless plan for driving back toward the building and gunning down the Naxids to break Team 211 free. She'd do her best, but it would just get them all killed.

  Two-one-one's voice, when it came, was breathless. “We're out, Four-nine-one! We're running like hell for our car!”

  Good for you, Sula thought. The Hunhao swung into the street, its four electric motors driving the wheels in silence. Sula bit her lip: if the Naxids saw them and opened fire now&she remembered the Naxid police vehicle that Hong had wrecked with just his rifle.

  “Ardelion,” she said, “how's that leg?”

  Spence was bent over examining the injury. “I can't bend over far enough in this damn armor to get a good look,” she said. “But I think the bullet went right through the calf. I'll slap an aid pack on it and we'll take a closer look at it later.”

  Sula sat up and peered out of the back window as the car pulled away. The Naxid police were concentrating on the building, fortunately, not on any onlookers. Those yellow-and-black uniforms were now being reinforced by others in viridian Fleet body armor. She could still hear gunfire rattling away, but none of these Naxids were firing.

  Suddenly there was a cry in her ears, and Sula's blood ran chill as she heard a voice crying over the rattle of gunfire. “All teams! This is Three-six-nine! We're with Team Three-one-seven! The Naxids have cut us off! We have one dead out in the street and the rest of us are wounded! We need help!”

  Hong's voice came next. “All teams, this is Blanche. Assist Three-six-nine if possible! Three-six-nine, give us your location please.”

  Sula called up a street map onto her visor display, and her heart sank as she realized the weakness of the escape plan. She had considered it an advantage that the district was cut into quarters by the intersection of two major roads-all the teams and their vehicles could escape the scene on quiet local roads while the Naxid convoy would be on Axtattle Parkway, with only limited access to the area.

  While that was all true, what Sula now realized was that the two major roads cut Action Group Blanche into four pieces, and made it virtually impossible for any of these divisions to help one another. Sula's team would have to cross both Highway 16 and Axtattle Parkway in order to get into the area where Teams 317 and 369 were pinned down, and that was going to take luck and a fair amount of maneuvering.

  “Starling!” she called to Macnamara. “Drive as fast as you can! Prepare to turn left on the second street following this intersection!”

  She put the sedan through a series of maneuvers that got it across Highway 16 at a dead run, but by the time she had worked out a route that crossed Axtattle Parkway the two beleaguered teams had ceased to call for help. Either they were all dead or in the hands of the enemy.

  By that point, however, Team 151, who had started in the building across the parkway from Sula, was in its own firefight, having been caught dragging a wounded comrade toward their escape vehicle. Team 167 tried to help them but both teams were overwhelmed before Sula could get her own car back across Highway 16 to their aid. Two members of Team 499 were caught in the open, on foot, and forced to surrender-and at that point Sula remembered that Lieutenant Captain Hong had taken 499's car and driver in order to carry out his improvised plan for demolishing the bridge.

  Everything was crumbling away. Almost half of Action Group Blanche had been killed or taken, and all in a matter of minutes. Through it all Hong's cheerful voice continued to call into Sula's ears, giving orders, trying to coordinate a response that would rescue his doomed teams.

  There was nothing Sula could do to help any of those in trouble. She tried to keep her voice calm as she told Macnamara to slow down and drive out of the area following one of the prearranged escape routes.

  Perhaps Team 491 escaped only because Team 211, who had been in Sula's building at the start, got involved in a high-speed chase with a swarm of police and drew all Naxid reinforcements away. Team 211 eventually crashed their car, and the team leader called that they would try to get away on foot. By that point they were far enough away that their radio transmissions were breaking up, and Sula, driving in another direction, heard no more from them.