Damon ran his crew through the basics: the semi-circle formation of the gate departure, and re-entrance. Then the footsteps, the staggered set and point relay, one team in front of the other. It was the standard tactic for movement in creeper-controlled territory. In a five-man crew three would march forward five paces, set their pikes, (the flanking men directing forward the middleman facing behind). Once they were set, they called out and the other pair would move five paces forward passing through the left and right lane of the center man then moving five paces forward taking the right flank man with them as they moved past. Then the procedure was repeated over and over until they got to where they needed to go. They were like the boots of a giant trudging forward on a narrow line. Variations could be made, instead of setting pikes for defense from larger creepers, they could spin their pikes hammer side over saber side to defend or attack smaller species.

They practiced attacks, defense, and then double speed attacks. He didn't run any fancy or elaborate maneuvers at first just the basics over and over, each man rotating into position just as he should. These were the dregs of the company but as far as Damon was concerned, they were the best he'd ever worked with. They were elite and that made him feel better about the mission. Maybe he hadn't been chosen because he was disposable, maybe the powers that be actually wanted this to work. He moved on past the standards and called out more elaborate maneuvers, like guarding a downed man, carrying the wounded and single file rapid advances. They worked on traps setting one man as bait, the others closing in double quick on Damon's mark.

The meadow around the fenced base was peaceful, a contrast to what it had been like when he came running in with Samuelson surrounded by minglers. He scanned the brush carefully but couldn't find any sign of creeper movement. That didn't mean it was quiet though. He could hear crashing in the distance, the sound of something dying. He set the men in battle ring his pike placed towards base, the others pointing to the north, east, and west.

He watched the other crews working through their forms and maneuvers. He was pleased with what he saw. Samuelson led his crew well and Blain had his men running evasion tactics in triple time. The movements were precise and efficient, these men could have been dancers if they hadn't decided to be trained killers.

Damon whistled low and sharp; the other crews mirrored his men in battle ring. He kept them in place long enough for them to wonder if he knew the command to break. When he finally gave it, he made sure his voice was loud and full of gravel.

He put the company into footstep formation, eight men forward then the other eight running through the line and setting their pikes: four forward, two back, two to the side. There were a few miss steps as the men found their new positions, but soon they were working fast and setting their pikes quick and firm. They worked to change direction, to the right, to the left, in reverse. Damon got them moving at double speed and was satisfied. He was so engrossed with the maneuvers he almost didn't notice the silence that had settled in the jungle. They hadn't had a chance to practice battle defense or battle attacks, he had just set the company into battle ring when the minglers attacked.

They came out of the jungle in a wave assault. Damon had never seen so many, there were about fifty coming at them from the jungle on the right flank. Fifty coming from the left, the base was behind, that was troubling. It seemed they wanted him to try to retreat, not that he had much choice. He didn't order a retreat though; he trusted that his company could perform a forward attack and a simultaneous rear defense without ever having practiced it and to do it while being overwhelmed by an enemy.

He gave the order loud and firm. Eight men forward, four men behind, two men on the flanks, everyone spinning their pike sabers. When the men were set, he ordered an assault toward the jungle triple speed. Then the two waves collapsed upon them. The minglers pressed them tight, their tail blades striking out and meeting the sabers of the front line. The tails were hard and sharp but were no match for the alloy of the empire, which cut right through them. The minglers had no protective carapace over their tiny heads and the men struck them down fast. The minglers had evolved for speed and intelligence they relied on their cunning and to always be on the attack. Which is why in battle school, the first principle of mingler tactics was to always be assaulting them. A mingler battle of this size was rare; Damon hoped the tactic held up.

Damon ran past his first line and rapidly decapitated two minglers to his right then took out one on his left. He'd broke through their line and was staring at nothing but open ground and jungle. He turned and widened the gap then gave the order for a left flank sweep. He shifted and set himself as the anchor striking to his left and right in a maddened frenzy. One by one men linked up to his right. When the line was formed, he gave the order and closed the gate. The man on the end ran forward while the rest did the same holding their line. Damon pivoted and struck piling up corpses. The gate turned holding its form pushing the minglers back toward the base. There was a wild cascade of chirping from the minglers and then they dispersed in three directions reaching the cover of the jungle faster than Damon thought possible.

He drew everyone into marching formation, then gave orders to return to base counting the mangled dying minglers that lay all around, thirty six dead. His men formed up around the gate and one by one they entered with Damon closing it after the last man, setting the bars and the mesh. The scions fire was activated.

He called out for a roll call, inspecting each man. Fifteen needed stitches; three needed surgery, 2 men with broken ribs, one man stabbed with a mingler tail right through. All in all it was just another day in the jungle, nothing fatal. He sent five men out to retrieve mingler livers. With a triple dose most men would be healed by morning.

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The sun was beginning to set and Damon called Samuelson into his tent. The man came in with his jaw clenched.

Damon gave the man a long hard look. "The sun is beginning to set, this would be a good time to go out and get those snipes. How many men do we need?"

Samuelson shook his head. "I couldn't possibly; I could barely rise from the infirmary to heed your summons. To man a troop into the jungle would be impossible."

"We need to begin training with the Angel Wings tomorrow. You said you couldn't do it unless you had larval snipes to bind you. "

"Yes sir, but it will be some time before I am healed."

"You're taking your quid?"

"Yes, but the wound is grievous."

"Is your injury worse than Huellers?"

"No of course not, he got struck through."

"Hueller is still carrying out his duties. He's sprinkling ash on the latrines as we speak."

"Hueller is hopped up on pit. I prefer to abstain."

"Fine, I'll go myself I'll take Farnsworth."

"Farnsworth is wounded. He's a pilot. He can't cover you out there."

Damon held up his right arm where a mingler's tail had sliced through his leather vambrace. He had thirty-two stitches. "We are all fucked up Samuelson, this isn't a picnic."

Samuelson shook his head. "If I'd been able to bring my snipes yesterday, we wouldn't be in this predicament."

Damon closed his eyes and tried to channel his anger before it overwhelmed him. "Leave." He said.

"I'm sorry sir?"

"Your dismissed, leave, before I change my mind."

Samuelson saluted and turned marching from the room at half speed.

Damon called for Schroeder who was acting as his adjutant. "Get me Farnsworth; tell him to be in his battle armor."

Damon carried the rope and grappling hook over his shoulder. He was taking point, no use making Farnsworth do more than was necessary. The sun was long gone and the sky was full of flying creepers ready to bring meat home to their broods.

Damon got to the edge of the meadow, he looked to Farnsworth. Farnsworth pointed at a tall thick blood tree to their right. Damon hurled the hook to the highest branch just below where the tangle of limbs got dense. Farnsworth climbed the rope. Damon stood with his back to the tree scanning the sky for threats, the day creepers had all gone to their crypts, now the world belonged to the flyers.

Three hemp bags were lowered down; Farnsworth repelled after them and threw the bags over his right shoulder holding their cinched ends in both hands. They stood at the edge of the jungle and eyed the distance to the base, three hundred paces. Damon looked up at the sky, the moon was behind the clouds, he thought of the guard carried off in the dark. He looked over at Farnsworth, blood was seeping from the bandage on the side of his head, the snipes were wriggling in their bags calling out their heinous cries for succor which sounded more like demands for vengeance.

"You ready son?"

Farnsworth nodded his head. Damon released the extension on the pike and turned the saber side out. "Go."

Farnsworth nodded his head, then took off at a dead sprint with the three bags knocking about on his bent back.

Damon followed his extended saber ready to slice up any shadow that fell from the sky. The dark was heavy and oppressive, the snipes were quiet. The pounding footsteps in the wet grass seemed to be the only sound. They were betting their lives like rats in a mad dash for their hole. Farnsworth reached the gate. Damon turned his back and held the pike to the sky ready to feel the hit of a talon strike, but there was nothing. The gate opened and they stepped through without the slightest problem, not even a mosquito bite.

Farnsworth took the snipes to Samuelson's quarters. Damon walked down the little avenue between the rows of tents. Halfway along the lane he maneuvered around the tall center pole and then to the end of the lane where the fence rose up, a thin veil keeping the jungle at bay. The hemp canopy above him was pulled tight and met the fence just over his head, standing in the meadow with the thin line of wire between him and chaos gave him the sense of standing at the edge of the world. There was no privacy here the creepers could see them through the mesh, the only real security was the scions fire. It was strung all the way up to the top of the tent pole and then back down the other side, every hand span had an intersection of wire pulsing with death. How it all worked he could only guess. He walked the perimeter of the tent and came to the quarters of the beings entrusted with the scions dark secret. They had two large tents set up separate from everyone else, one to hold all the workings, the other held the operators.

There were six vestal virgins stationed here. He watched three of them standing by their gauges, making their inspections, all dressed in the tight heavy white fabric of the scions order. They were all very pretty. He wasn't especially fond of pretty women. He preferred an ugly woman. He found there was something dangerous about them. He was especially fond of women who had scars, there was beauty in obstacles overcome. He figured all people had the same wants and needs but different means of getting at them. His way had always worked well. He knew that wasn't an accident, Taller than most people, stronger than most people, he used what he had to get by, sometimes even to get what he wanted. That made him have a prejudice against pretty women, they might use their bodies to get what they wanted, just as he had.

The bell for chow chimed and broke his misogynic revelry. The flap of the scion's tent flipped open, and a tall well-built woman stepped out and stared him down her blue eyes piercing him. They were the eyes of an enemy. She was the scion's guardian. Her message was clear. He wasn't welcome here. He gave her a nod then went down the avenue to the long mess table set on cut stumps. He filled his plate and went into his tent to eat with Samuelson and Blain, but his adjutant told him his officers had already eaten and retired for the evening. So, he ate alone, smoked some cannabis and read an ancient book by John Steinbeck.