“We’ve run out of time.”

Colonel Holme gestured towards the bay, now covered with thick patches of translucent green slime. “We’ve spent a month preparing, and now the Sonoitii have informed us their eggs have ripened enough to be used for biotransformation.”

The officers and NCOs gathered on the beach, many of them seeing for the first time what it was they’d sworn to protect. The pungent goo looked and smelled like something one might scrape from their boot, yet everyone there understood its true value; both to the dragon-like natives, and those willing to kill to possess it.

“So far we’ve been lucky,” he continued, “but now that in their minds a valuable and viable crop is waiting to be harvested, the time for ‘restrained persuasion’ is over. They have to realize by now we’ve not budging. Not without a fight.”

“So what happens now, sir?” Captain Inaba asked.

“If we had the manpower? I’d be ordering an attack before the day was out.” He shook his head. “But of course, we don’t. With the numbers heavily in their favor, our best option is to let them break their teeth against our defenses. Unfortunately, the downside is that we’re tied to our positions, unable to fall back in case we’re overrun.”

Inaba looked around at the others. “Begging the colonel’s pardon, but if we can’t attack, and staying put is suicide, where does that leave us?”

For the first time during the briefing, the colonel smiled.

“We’ve been working on a plan for some time now, something that just might give us a chance. Despite the inherent danger I’ve held off informing any of you of the plan out of security concerns, but we can’t wait any longer.”

Moving to the tripod that stood nearby, he flipped back the cover, revealing a map of their Operations Area.

“This is your official read-in to Operation Viscount,” he informed them.

“So what do you think about the colonel’s plan?” Rúna asked once they were out of earshot from the others.

“It’s ballsy, I’ll give him that,” Kai admitted, “but…”

“But what?”

The sergeant sighed. “But it has to go off without a hitch for it to work. One slip up, one mistake, and it all falls apart. You know the KISS principle, and by that smell test, I’m worried.”

“‘Keep It Simple, Stupid’,” she recited. “I was afraid of that.”

“There’s too many places where things can go wrong,” Kai said unhappily, “and all it takes is one. The problem is that the colonel’s right. We don’t have any other cards to play.”

“It’s going to take some serious subterfuge on our part to even have a prayer of pulling it off,” Rúna said quietly. “If the Legion or the Ixi get wind of what we’re up to, that’s it. Game over.”

“Well then, let’s hope nothing goes wrong,” he grinned, suddenly filled with bravado.

“Save it for the troops,” she told him, rolling her eyes, “I know better.”

Considering that the enemy had them under constant surveillance from orbit, the one thing they couldn’t do was rehearse the colonel’s plan. They discussed it, gamed it out on sand tables, went over it again and again until everyone involved could recite the details in their sleep. But as any experienced soldier will tell you, that is a far cry from actually practicing it. The Valkyries, like their Marine ancestors, had long adopted the principle of “Train like you fight”. They did everything in their power to make their training realistic, but this time it simply wasn’t possible.

How badly that omission would cost them remained to be seen.

The squad’s foray into enemy territory wasn’t the only patrol the mercenaries had conducted, not by far. Up and down the line they had organized dozens of scouting trips, gleaning valuable data and leaving behind sensors and cameras to monitor the enemy, warning them when the ball dropped. Those same sensors had warned them about the probe, giving them time to prepare. That advance knowledge had tipped the balance, allowing the Valkyries to keep their big guns in reserve for when they’d be really needed. It literally meant the difference between life and death.

On the thirty-third day after their arrival, at 0237hrs local time, every single one of them started screaming for attention.

Ten minutes later, Colonel Holme authorized the kickoff of Operation Viscount.

Phase One was a coded message sent to Fiddler’s Green. Once they’d dropped off the troops and supplies, they’d avoided the enemy vessels at all costs. But they hadn’t been idle during that time, off among the system’s asteroids, and now their engines suddenly came online, burning hard for the planet.

The other ships immediately observed this, some of which moved to intercept. Given the age and poor condition of the Terran vessel compared to theirs, it wasn’t a threat they took seriously, but just to be safe they readied weapons and prepared for battle.

Fiddler fired a brace of missiles, full spread, then altered course and raced for safety. Checking their displays, the other mercenaries stared in confusion and then burst out laughing. The Terrans had missed; none of their missiles had even come close to their warships. In fact, given their trajectories, they were far more likely to hit the Valkyries on the planet’s surface, gross incompetence on an unimaginable scale which got a few of the more seasoned veterans thinking. Killing your own people from orbit because you input the wrong coordinates? No one was that stupid.

Neither were the Valkyries. The missiles detonated in low orbit, blanketing the region with jammers, chaff, low-grade radioactive materials, and reflectors, while on the ground dozens of emitters suddenly went active, blinding every enemy vessel that ranged anywhere near the battle zone.

The enemy’s response was immediate. If the Terrans were working that hard to keep their actions hidden, then obviously they were up to something they wouldn’t like. The leaders of the mercenary camps screamed and threatened their troops to move even faster, to reach the enemy before they readied their surprise.

The Valkyries were moving as well, racing through the night to their new positions. Finding their way in the dark was no mean feat, not with the planet’s GPS system suddenly turned to hash by Fiddler’s drop. Night vision helped, but ankles were still twisted, legs broken, and in three separate cases troops stumbling about fell to their deaths. They gave those unable to keep up what supplies and medical attention they could spare… and then left them behind.

It was a race, and victory would go to the side that got there first.

The sensors left behind during their patrols served two functions: as both early warning and locator beacons. Once they’d alerted high command about the attack, they then guided the Valkyries into their new positions. They immediately put shovels and picks to work as they dug in, scratching out a precious few centimeters while piling what loose rock they could scavenge around their new foxholes.

Compared to the trench works they’d just vacated, they were a joke.

“Faster. Faster,” Rúna urged, swinging her own pick high above her head as she hammered away at the rock. The entire squad moved at a fever’s pitch, knowing full well what was coming, but time was not in their favor.

Looking over at Alpha’s position, she spotted Tawfiq and Rivka setting up the gun. The bantam-sized assistant looked haggard; she still hadn’t fully recovered from her injury, and the forced march had taken a toll. They’d split up her gear as much as they dared, but each of them were already lugging kits overstuffed with ammo and supplies. Tawfiq had half-carried her up the hillside along with the gun, never once complaining, but he’d paid a heavy price for his efforts. Doc looked them both over and did what he could, which wasn’t much. They needed downtime and rest, and both were in short supply.

Yendrick scrambled back over the lip of the rise, grinning and giving her a thumb’s up. “Got the goodies all in place,” he told her, handing over a nondescript box. “Our new friends are in for a big surprise.”

Tucking it carefully away, she nodded her thanks. “Excellent work,” she told him, as he picked up his shovel and went back to digging alongside Arthur, when a call came in from Becca. Tapping her helmet radio, she answered, “Go.”

“They’re starting up the hill,” the scout reported from her forward position. “I figure they’ll hit us in about twenty mikes, plus or minus.” There was a brief pause, and then, “You want me to light a few up? Might slow ‘em down some,” she offered.

“Negative, get back here ASAP,” Rúna told her. “Orders are to wait.”

“Copy, on my way,” she answered, before clicking off. The corporal immediately switched frequencies.

“Becca says twenty,” she reported to Kai.

“Sounds about right,” he answered. If she looked to her left, she could see him digging in as well. He paused for a moment as their eyes met, before the two of them glanced up and down the line.

“It’s not enough,” she whispered.

“It has to be,” he answered, “cause it’s all we got.” He took a deep breath. “Look, if anything happens…”

“No,” she snapped, clamping down hard on her emotions, loud enough to draw Yendrick’s attention. “We are not doing this, Kai. Not here. Not now. We’ll get through this somehow. I don’t know how, but we will get through this. You and me.” Desperate to make him believe it, she almost convinced herself.

“Sure we will,” he said affably, but she could hear the deception in his voice.

“Don’t you die on me, goddamn it,” Rúna snarled, fighting back hot tears, “don’t you dare die on me.”

“Right back at you,” he said softly. There was another long pause. “I gotta go,” he told her. “They’ll be here soon.”

“Me too,” she said hoarsely. “We’ll split a bottle when this is all over. One-one-Bravo, out,” falling back on procedure and logging off before the words overwhelmed her. In frustration, she began attacking the promontory with her pick, swinging away like a woman possessed, but as the adrenaline surge passed, she panted for air. Setting her pick aside, she grabbed her canteen and took a swig of the lukewarm water, swishing it around in her mouth to loosen the dust, when a three-note tone warbled in her headset.

All up and down the line, bodies froze as they waited for orders.

Becca scurried over the rocks and dove into her position, coming up a heartbeat later. “That was too close,” she gasped as the colonel’s voice came over the radio.

“All units, this is Warlord Six,” he announced, using his official callsign, “Phase Three is a ‘Go’. Be advised, the clock is running. One-minute countdown beginning now.” At that, the number “60,” appeared in bright red on her HUD, before flickering to “59”.

“Bloody hell,” she swore, before turning to the rest of her team. “Into your foxholes now!” she shouted, her exhortations being mirrored up and down the line. Jumping into her position, she was joined moments later by Private Arthur.

“What now, corporal?” he begged her.

“Get down and stay down,” she ordered, pushing him to the bottom of the hole, “and don’t get up til I tell you to”. She watched as the number in her helmet flick to “43”, grabbing what nearby rocks she could to give their position a little more protection. Sparing herself one last look, she watched as Becca and Yendrick burrowed in, before glancing over at Alpha’s positions. Like her, Kai was making last-minute adjustments, ensuring his people were as safe as he could make them before taking cover himself.

They both froze as they spotted one another, and then Kai threw her a salute. Rúna trembled as she returned it, before grabbing her weapon and dropping on top of Arthur, protecting him with her own body. Her heart pounded in her chest as the clock seemed to slow, each second ticking over like someone mired them in mud.

Thirty seconds.

Twenty.

Ten.

Five.

... One.

She covered their heads as a flight of Havoc fighters screamed past them, releasing their payloads on top of the unprotected enemy even as the roar of outgoing artillery thundered overhead, detonating in wide swaths across the landscape. The ground beneath them rumbled and bucked as their helmets fought a losing battle to filter out the noise and smoke. Arthur screamed as the air was torn from their lungs as the explosions sucked in the oxygen, spitting back heat and shrapnel. The ridgeline protected the Valkyries from the worst of it, but there was no such shelter for the attackers before them.

A blind flash turned night into day, followed a split-second later by a bone-rattling concussion that slammed into them like a massive fist. Rúna risked a quick peek and immediately wished she hadn’t, watching the remains of one of their aircraft rain down flaming debris across the battlefield, slamming into friend and foe alike. There was nothing they could do; the whims of Fate and Chance, the trickster gods who ruled the bloody theater of War, would decide who lived and who died. Prayers and offerings would not dissuade them as they rolled their ghastly dice. The blasts went on and on and on, and now she was screaming, right alongside the young private sharing her foxhole, howling like a banshee as the universe went mad.

And then, just as suddenly as it began… it stopped.

Her ears rang like an alarm bell as she slowly lifted her head. Smoke and haze covered the landscape, while dust and ash and grit coated their bodies. Rúna coughed and spit, clearing her mouth and lungs as Arthur cautiously looked around.

“We’re not dead yet,” she gasped, flinching as a chunk of fuselage crashed to the ground just a few meters away, still smoldering. “... despite evidence to the contrary,” she continued.

“What… what…?” he struggled to get out as she picked up her weapon.

“Wait for the word,” she answered. “The colonel is still calling the shots.” It was risky, but then everything about the plan had been impetuous. If she didn’t know better, she’d have sworn it was something the old man had pulled out of his ass at the last minute, but that was just it. She did know better. Something else was going on here, and she was willing to bet her next paycheck the colonel was playing a deeper game than anyone realized.

Once again, they didn’t have to wait long.

“All units, this is Warlord Six.” her helmet radio squawked, “Phase Four is a ‘Go’. Thirty-second countdown, beginning now.” Once again, the numbers appeared, this time starting with “30”. A quick peek at the other position confirmed Becca and Yendrick had gotten the word and were preparing to move, as she gripped Arthur’s harness.

“When that number hits zero, we move forward,” she told him. “You ready?”

“No,” he whimpered, gripping his grenade launcher tightly, but as his eyes flickered towards the ridgeline, she knew he’d follow, even if she had to drag him there herself. This time the digits seemed to race by, whirring at a blinding speed as she gripped her rifle.

At zero, they moved.

The entire battalion swarmed forward, like some living organism.

Seven hundred heads appeared as one above the ridgeline.

Seven hundred Valkyries sighted in, taking aim as the enemy stared in shock.

... Seven hundred weapons opened fire.