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of the snarling Hybrids—who fought as if possessed—but due to the fact that something even more dangerous was prowling the battlefield. Somethingso stealthy that two of his Sentinels had been decapitated without anyone seeing what had killed them.
    Sergeant Kawecki had made the gruesome discoveries. But rather than broadcast the news to the entire team, he'd made it his business to tell Hale face-to-face, mikes off. Based on the evidence, it appeared as though a Chameleon was stalking the Sentinels.
    And that was bad news indeed. Hale glanced around involuntarily.
    Chameleons were ugly brutes with heads set low between their massive shoulders, and long claw-tipped arms. That was bad enough, but what made the creatures worse were the high-tech field generators they wore on their backs. Machines capable of rendering the Chameleons invisible. This capability was dangerous in and of itself, and it had a profound psychological impact as well. Because soldiers who worried about what might be standing immediately behind them had a tendency to fire at shadows.
    So as Kawecki went about keeping the level of outgoing fire up, Hale readied the Rossmore and followed a set of large footprints that led away from the blood-splattered boulder where Laraby had been decapitated. Even though the Chameleon could make itself invisible, it still had mass, and couldn't hide its tracks.
    The trail led downhill, past the point where Laraby's head had come to rest, toward the shuttle. It would have been nice to have a couple of Sentinels with him, but they were needed on the hillside, which left Hale to track the Chameleon alone.
    He felt something heavy land in the bottom of his stomach as he rounded the shuttle's badly crushed bow, and spotted the body that lay on top of a blood-splattered wing. Bullets
pinged
off the ship's hull as he climbed up onto the flat surface and knelt next to Unver. Judgingfrom appearances, the private had been standing with his back to the hatch, sucking the aerosolized serum commonly referred to as I-Gas through his mouth piece, when the Chameleon ripped his abdomen open. At least a yard of purplish intestine had spilled out through the wicked gash, yet judging from the vapor that issued from his nostrils, the Sentinel was still alive.
    Hale switched his radio from the team freq to the command channel.
    “Alvarez! I'm on the shuttle. Unver is down by the main hatch. Send two men to bring him out, and alert the medic. Tell them to keep their eyes peeled … We have a Chameleon on the loose.”
    Nash was on his knees with his back to the main hatch when he heard what sounded like a scraping footstep. “Unver? Come here … There's something I want to show you.”
    After a couple of seconds without a response, Nash swiveled toward the hatch, wondering if he had imagined the footfall. The sounds of fighting were coming closer—so close that the Chimeran projectiles sounded like hail as they rattled against the hull. He had been distracted up until then, fascinated by the object in the box, and oblivious to the situation around him.
    Now the hairs on the back of his neck rose and a bad smell invaded his nostrils.
    There
had
been a footstep, he was certain of it. So where was Unver?
    He realized that his earpiece had come loose, and he hurried to fumble it back into place. That was when he heard Hale.
    “Captain Nash? Can you hear me? If so, listen carefully … I have reason to believe that a Chameleon is on board the ship. Put your back to something solid, keepyour weapon ready, and slide along the bulkhead toward the hatch. I'll be there to cover you. Please confirm.”
    Nash attempted to reply, but produced a croak instead. So he swallowed, cleared his throat, and managed a “Roger, that.” Then he came to his feet.
    By that time he was aware of a shallow rasping noise that seemed to originate from a few feet away, though it was impossible to pinpoint the exact source. Was it the sound of breathing? Or just his