The morning exercises were uneventful they simulated harnessing and de-harnessing from the absent angel wings. On jungle missions they didn't have the security of scions fire, so they would eat cold biscuits and sleep in battle circle, the men taking shifts, just long enough to close their eyes. He ran the men through their sleeping cycles, the procedure for gathering water, for setting up the wounded, for digging the latrine in the center, right beside the wounded. Nothing was too trivial to be practiced over and over again. He studied the men evaluating their weaknesses and strengths. They were an outstanding team but all teams had their flaws. Shroeder was in Blain's crew he wasn't the biggest man or the strongest, but the others looked to him when they were confused. Damon noted that.

Samuelson's crew had the biggest and fiercest of the fighters. They worked well together despite Samuelson's halfhearted commands. Damon could see that it was the big Mickelson that was the one pushing the crew. His presence seemed to demand notice. He was just as big as Damon but six or seven years younger. Damon was a little disappointed that the man had character and intelligence. From the long scar over his eye he could see the man also had some experience. Mickelson was a little faster, probably a little stronger, if he came gunning for him, Damon would have a hard time putting the pup in his place.

Damon's crew were made up of the pilots, which was a mistake, a consequence of allowing his lieutenants to choose the men. It would have made more sense for Samuelson to have the pilots; he was in command of the Angel Wings. It also would have been smart for Damon to take command of the meatheads but there was an unseen benefit to having things work the way they did. Now Damon had the two pilots right beside him where he could keep them alive. Faber and Stanton were good men, excellent soldiers, Faber was a little smarter than Stanton, but Stanton made up for it with bluster. The other men in his crew, Frasier and Galadriel were solid. Frasier was like a bull and if you wronged him he'd roll right over you. Galadriel was bigger than Frasier, and probably a genius. He knew every plant and bug they came across. Damon had run across a few highly intelligent soldiers, but they were usually just educated enough to be dangerous. Galadriel was different, his father was a scholar, and the kid had graduated from the Elthenium. He could have been an officer but decided to enlist in the royal guards as a private to piss of his father. The last man in the crew was Farnsworth, and he was dead. He didn't blame himself for Farnsworth's demise, but if any more of this company was lost to the murderer he wouldn't have a choice.

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They took their lunch in the compound. He thought about keeping the men in the meadow in battle circle, maybe that would be best, probably he should make them stay out all night long, going through the forms, but they had a secure base and the strain of the jungle was going to wear his men down to the nub. If they came out of this they were all going to be broken down and half mad. It would take months to recover. There was no reason to speed up their destruction. Damon ate his salty steak and cold potatoes, then snuck off to the scion's order. He didn't make it to their quarters; he was challenged right away by the tall scion's guardian. She sure didn't look the type to be making field reports and to be charting engineering diagrams. She looked like she was a trained assassin and not hiding it very well. Schroeder had told him her name; it was Ingrid, that's all they had on her.

"You're not permitted here, captain."

"We haven't been introduced. Blain, neglected that duty."

"Is there some problem you need to report?"

Damon thought about the question for a long time. "I've got no complaints."

"I'm flattered."

Damon reached out his hand. "I just wanted to let you know we appreciate all you do."

She looked at him askance but then took his hand. He placed his note firmly into her palm. It was sloppy as hell and he'd be kicked out of battle school if an EIS instructor had seen how clumsy he was making the pass, but she took his note and was kind enough to put it away without making a show.

He gave her a hard look and then turned and walked back across the avenue to the chow table where, he helped himself to another side of salted beef.