Burl nodded grimly. “And the recordings? You'll look for them?”

  “If I can,” Hale promised. “But the prisoners and my troops come first.”

  “Thank you,” Burl said sincerely. “Thank you very much.”

  “Time to go topside,” Hale said as he took his seat in the Lynx. The driver put his foot down, the vehicle sped upslope, and Hale issued orders to Purvis. “Echo-Six to Bravo-One. The stinks are closing from the east. You'll have to land in the pit in order to load passengers. But there's only room for one bird at a time. Copy? Over.”

  “This is Bravo-One,” Purvis replied. “I copy. How many passengers? Over.”

  “About a hundred and fifty, give or take,” Hale replied. “Over.”

  “That won't leave room for all of your troops,” Purvis objected. “Over.”

  “Roger that,” Hale replied stoically. “So don't stop for a beer on your way back … We might not be here if you do. Echo-Six out.”

  The first VTOL was already in the air and in the process of lowering itself into the crater, when the two four-by-fours emerged from the pit and skidded to a stop. Hale was the first one out and immediately pointed a finger at Dentweiler. “If you want to live, keep your mouth shut and stay with me.”

  Then, turning to the drivers, he gave them fresh orders. “Head east, find those Stalkers, and take ′em down. The tanks will tackle the Goliath.”

  Both drivers nodded, and as Dentweiler's boots hit the ground they roared away. The battle began as the Chimera sent salvo after salvo of high explosives arcing down on the cluster of buildings—and the humans answered with cannon fire from the M-12 tanks and hit-and-run attacks from the speedy All-Purpose Vehicles.

  Thunder rolled as Hale and Dentweiler arrived on the east side of the big barnlike maintenance shed, and took cover in the grease pit Kawecki was using as a command bunker. Hale's first task was to get a grasp on the overall situation and assume command.

  By parking a grader over the concrete pit, one of Kawecki's men effectively put a partial roof over the bunker and Hale could hear the steady ping, ping, ping of nearly spent projectiles hitting the machine as he brought his binoculars up and began a quick left-to-right scan of the battlefield in front of him.

  The tanks were about a hundred feet apart and hull down behind piles of mine tailings. The mounds of dirt offered excellent cover as Chimeran missiles probed the area around them. Farther out, beyond the fall of mortar rounds, one of the Stalkers was out of action and on fire as three battle-scarred Lynxes harried the second machine. But killing the last Stalker wasn't going to be easy. Each time one of the four-by-fours took a run at the Chimeran tank it was necessary to deal with dozens of Hybrids before they could get in close enough.

  The fourth Lynx was little more than a burned-out carcass that lay farther out and marked the point where its battle had been fought ten minutes earlier. The vehicle's driver or gunner, it was impossible to tell which, had taken cover behind the wreck and was firing his M5A2 carbine at the oncoming Goliath.

  A futile gesture—but a brave one.

  “This is Echo-Six,” Hale said into his lip mike. “Foxtrot-Six and Seven are too close together … Six will pull back, break north, and prepare to flank the Goliath. Seven will pull back, break south, and do the same thing. Execute. Over.”

  He received two speedy acknowledgments as he turned to Kawecki. “Put all of the LAARKs toward the center of the line—but back far enough to move laterally. Once the Goliath is within range, I want them to fire, then run to a new location. They won't be able to bring the bastard down, but they can keep it busy so the tanks can get into position.”

  Kawecki nodded, said, “Yes, sir,” and hurried to put the word out.

  With that accomplished, Hale instructed a nervous-looking Dentweiler to remain in the bunker while he set out to visit the defensive positions that Kawecki had established. His guide was a Sentinel named Jenkins. “Keep a sharp eye out, sir,” the soldier advised. “We killed a whole shitload of the bastards, but we didn't get all of them, and there are plenty of places to hide around here.”

  Hale checked to make sure the Bellock was ready to go before following Jenkins up out of the relative safety of the grease pit toward the admin building to the south. Pieces of rusty machinery, freestanding utility buildings, and a pile of scrap metal offered opportunities to take cover, and the men took full advantage as they dashed from spot to spot.

  They hadn't gone more than a few hundred feet, and were crouched behind a storage tank, when Auger fire slashed through the cylinder, missing Hale by a hair.

  Jenkins returned fire from his Auger as Hale circled the tank, searching for the stinks which had to be on the other side. There were two Steelheads, both of whom swiveled toward him as he fired the Bellock. They staggered as a fusillade of explosive rounds went off around them and Jenkins attacked from behind.

  Both went down hard, weapons skidding on concrete.

  Hale was running low on ammo by that time, and he was on his way over to exchange the Bellock for an Auger Mark II when he saw another weapon lying on the ground a few feet away. The MP-47 Pulse Cannon must have been taken from a dead Sentinel, and Hale was pissed off as he picked the weapon up and followed Jenkins over to the admin building. The structure had taken multiple hits by then, and the south end was in flames as the soldiers in an office to the north end continued to fire a captured machine gun into the open area beyond. A wave of stinks went down as the heavy slugs swept them off their feet.

  Hale made himself known to the sergeant in charge before turning his binoculars toward the battlefield where the second Stalker was burning brightly, and the surviving Lynx was on the run as the Goliath hurled missile after missile at it. The two-hundred-foot-tall battle mech was armed with Gatling-style guns, plus multiple missile launchers, and it was close enough for Hale to feel the earth tremble each time one of its feet hit the ground.

  Then the newly repositioned tanks came up on the Chimeran machine from the north and south. They forced the colossus to swivel back and forth and divide its fire between two targets. Explosions could be seen and heard as the humans poured round after round into the construct, which still kept on coming.

  Most of the captured mortars had been silenced by then, but the LAARK-equipped Sentinels were hard at work, and Hale could see flashes of light as their rockets struck the monster's superstructure and articulated legs.

  It wasn't going to be enough, however. That became clear as the Goliath stepped over the command bunker and brought an enormous clawlike foot down on top of the maintenance building beyond. It went straight through the roof, and most of the structure collapsed. Then the battle mech took another gigantic step and fired at the Party Girl as she rose from the crater beyond.

  Purvis had given himself the job of flying the last bird out, and he swore as a missile flew past the canopy, exploding against the west side of the pit wall.

  Then with engines screaming, he made the switch to level flight and felt the VTOL lurch sickeningly as something hit her.

  But she was tough, and the Goliath was already turning away as the Party Girl skimmed the ground.

  Hale reached the admin building with Jenkins in tow. They dashed inside and metal rang under their combat boots as they raced up a set of interior stairs to what remained of the flat roof. The fire was still burning a hundred feet away, but the wind was blowing north to south, so they could see in spite of the billowing smoke.

  There were two ways to bring a Goliath down. One was simply to batter it to pieces—which was a long and dangerous process. The other was to fire some sort of explosive down the exhaust ports located to the rear of the mech's superstructure. And as they arrived at the west side of the roof, and the Goliath began to turn back toward the east, that was Hale's intention. The MP-47 Pulse Cannon was on his shoulder by then, and he could see the glowing exhaust ports, but not for long as the colossus continued to turn.

  Quickly, knowing that more of his men were going to die if he missed, Hale fired. There was only enough time to get two shots off, but both hit their marks and exploded within the mech. That wasn't enough to kill the beast, but the Goliath was still taking fire from the man-portable rocket launchers, and one of its leg actuators was damaged. The combination forced it to pause, so that as the rim gave way under its enormous weight, it fell over backward. There was the equivalent of an earthquake as the construct disappeared from sight and landed in the crater. Then, heart in his throat, Hale ran for the stairs.

  Once on the ground he summoned the remaining Lynx, which carried him toward the pit. He knew the Goliath was still operational because he could hear the insistent whine of its powerful servos and the clatter of metal on rocks. So he fully expected to see the machine's lethal superstructure rear up at any moment.

  But as the Lynx skidded to a stop at the edge of the pit, it was another sight that met his eyes. The Goliath was lying on its back and legs flailing as it struggled to right itself. That left its belly exposed, and Hale smiled grimly as he got out of the four-by-four and brought the Pulse Cannon to bear. The weapon jerked repeatedly as Hale fired his remaining rounds. All of them hit the target.

  The result was a massive explosion with a pressure wave strong enough to knock Hale off his feet and send a fireball hundreds of feet up into the air. Flaming debris fell for what seemed like minutes, but was actually seconds, and kicked up gouts of mud-stained snow all around the bottom of the mine. “Nice one, sir,” the vehicle's gunner said admiringly as he staggered to his feet. “That'll teach the bastards!”

  It was tempting to take a moment to savor his victory but, as Hale was coming to understand, the price of command was endless responsibility. So he was already thinking about what to do next as Kawecki arrived, followed by a dozen battle-weary Sentinels. It was good to see the platoon sergeant, but something important was missing from the picture. “Where's Dentweiler?” Hale demanded.

  “He ran,” Kawecki answered grimly. “There we were, firing up at the Goliath as it stepped over us, and the bastard ran. I couldn't chase him without leaving my men. Sorry, sir.”

  “You made the right choice. Where did he go? Did anyone see him?”

  “Yes, sir,” one of the men answered. “I saw him run into that building over there.”

  Hale followed a pointing finger to what had originally been the smelter. Except that the Chimera had converted the structure into what the Intel people assumed was a Processing Center.

  “Okay,” Hale replied, turning to Kawecki. “I'll take six men over for a look-see. Meanwhile, I want you to pull everyone back to the LZ, establish a perimeter, and rig the surviving vehicles for a lift-out. And stay sharp … By the time the VTOLs come back for us, there may be another wave of stinks to cope with.”

  Kawecki nodded. “Yes, sir. Danby, you and your men accompany the lieutenant. The rest of you follow me.”

  Hale traded the empty Pulse Cannon for a shotgun, and led the squad toward the long narrow Processing Center. He was struck by the fact that the building was intact. As if the Chimera had intentionally avoided firing on it for some reason. And as he stepped in through the truck-sized door he knew why. The place stank to high heaven. A sure sign that a significant number of Chimera were in residence. “Keep your eyes peeled,” he warned. “And let me know if you see anything that looks human.”

  It was gloomy inside the building, and almost entirely silent—except for the sound of breathing. Not by one entity, but by many.

  The beam projected by Hale's Rossmore caressed the grimy walls and the feces-smeared floor. Then came an ear-splitting screech as a dog-sized Spinner darted out to attack one of the men. It was immediately put down with a volley of gunfire, but continued to snap its jaws futilely until Danby put three rounds into its brain.

  “There's bound to be more of them,” Hale warned as the group approached a wall and the opening at the center of it. “Put those Augers to work. Let's find them before they find us.”

  Two men carrying Augers came forward. By sweeping their weapons back and forth, they could detect whatever Chimera were up ahead, and they could shoot through walls if necessary. “Bingo!” one of the soldiers said, as his sight lit up.

  “Roger that!” the other exclaimed. “There's at least three or four of them! They look like stinks!”

  “Take ′em out,” Hale ordered brusquely, and the Sentinels obeyed. A cacophony of screeching sounds could be heard as the Auger rounds phased through the steel wall and struck their hidden targets. And because the Spinners couldn't fire back, they were systematically slaughtered.

  Finally, when all the Chimera were dead, Hale led the squad through the opening and into the chamber of horrors beyond. It appeared that at least six Spinners had been lying in wait for the humans, and all were dead.

  Farther back, standing in rows like a crop waiting to be harvested, were dozens of man-sized cocoons. Each pod incorporated a small vent which allowed the creature within to take in oxygen and vent carbon dioxide. And that was where the rhythmic breathing sounds were coming from. “Check ′em out,” Hale ordered. “We're looking for Dentweiler and Secretary of War Walker.”

  “Yes, sir,” Danby responded. “But we don't have to open those pods, do we?”

  “I'm sorry,” Hale answered sympathetically, “but the answer is yes. And we don't have a lot of time, so let's get to it.”

  What followed was one of the most disgusting tasks he had ever been required to carry out. Having slung the shotgun across his back, he removed the commando knife from its sheath, and chose a row of cocoons. By starting the cut at the top of each fleshy pod, and running the incision all the way to the floor, it was possible to pry open the cone-shaped structure. That produced a ripping sound, a sudden gush of puslike fluid that splashed his boots, and a horrible, gut-churning smell.

  But that was the least of it. Worse yet were the Chimeran pupae within, some of which looked like what they would eventually become, while others remained recognizably human. They were soft, mushy things for the most part, their glassy eyeballs staring out of faces frozen in mid-scream.

  Hale had just opened his fourth cocoon when a soldier called from the other side of the room. “I found Mr. Dentweiler, sir! And he's still alive!”

  Hale hurried over to where the soldier was standing. The light from the Sentinel's weapon was centered on the pupa's head. And while his glasses were missing, and his features were partially obscured by a filmy material, there was no mistaking Dentweiler's face. Or the fact that he was still alive, and attempting to speak.

  Hale stepped in to make a cut in the membrane that covered the official's face and rip the filmy stuff away. That was when he saw the staring eyes, the goo that had been injected into Dentweiler's open mouth, and heard a very faint voice.

  “Pleeaasse … Kill meeee.”

  The words were breathy, because Dentweiler couldn't open and close his lips, but they were understandable nevertheless.

  “What's he saying?” Danby inquired from a few feet away.

  “He wants us to kill him,” Hale replied matter-of-factly. “He's already too far gone to be saved, and he knows it.”

  “So what will we do?” the noncom wanted to know.

  “Grant his wish,” Hale said levelly, as he drew the .44 Magnum. “That's what I would want. How ′bout you?”

  Danby's throat was dry. He nodded. “Yeah, I guess I would.”

  Hale backed away. There was a loud boom as the pistol went off. But instead of passing through the cocoon, the bullet was absorbed. Then, much to his horror, he saw Dentweiler blink.

  So Hale ordered his men to stand back, triggered the bullet buried deep within the cocoon, and heard a muffled boom as what was left of the man exploded. Chunks of flesh flew, goo sprayed in every direction, and one of the Sentinels swore as a glob of pus hit him. That was when Kawecki's voice was heard over the radio. “Echo-Five to Echo-Six … We have four birds ten-out and inbound. Over.”

  “Roger that,” Hale replied. “Maintain the perimeter, but load the vehicles, and as many men as you can. We'll be there soon. Echo-Six out.

  “All right,” Hale said as he surveyed the chamber. “Walker's been here a lot longer, so he won't be as pretty as Dentweiler was, but we need to find him if we can. Let's get back to work.”

  That announcement produced a nearly unanimous groan, but the soldiers did what they were told, and it was Danby who made the gruesome discovery. “I think I found Walker, sir … But it's hard to be sure.”

  Once Hale was there, standing in front of the partially opened pod, he had to agree. Walker's features had begun to droop as the chemicals within the cocoon went to work on them, and were barely recognizable.

  “Open the cocoon and search the body,” Hale ordered. “And there's no need to be gentle … He's dead, and we're short on time.”

  Opening the pod wasn't a pretty process, and once the body was exposed, Private Quinn had to search it. His features contorted as he ran his hands up and down the slimy corpse, felt a bump, and announced his find. “I have something, sir … Hold on while I cut it out.”

  Two minutes later Hale was holding a package wrapped in layers of carefully sealed oilcloth. “It was under his belt, sir,” Quinn explained. “In the small of his back.”

  “Good work, Private,” Hale replied. “When we get back to the base, I'm going to buy you and your squad a round of beers. Now let's pull everyone out of the room, and throw every air-fuel grenade we have in here … I wish we could do more but there isn't enough time.”

  The entire Processing Center was on fire by the time Hale and troops arrived at the LZ, where one VTOL had already departed, and the rest were loading.

  “There's a whole shitload of stinks on their way down from the north,” Kawecki announced. “The pilots saw ′em on the way in. Plus some of our jets are playing tag with two Chimeran fighters at fifteen thousand feet. They're outgunned though, so we need to haul ass.”