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faced and defeated a fifteen or twenty thousand man division of the twentieth century. You could have defeated Napoleon at Waterloo without assistance. You could have stemmed the tide of Ghengis Khan's Golden Horde. Caesar's Legions would have shattered against you.
    Alexander's army would have died at your feet. This single battalion could have taken Troy in an hour or two. I am awed by the power you represent." He had to stop to clear the lump that grew in his throat.
    "And this is only half the strength of 34th FIST! Marines, I salute you." He sharply raised his right hand in salute.
    " 'Tal-lion, present-arms! " Sergeant Major Parant bellowed.
    As one, the men and officers arrayed before him returned Van Winkle's salute.
    The commander was almost overcome with emotion. He got control of himself, swallowed the lump that welled up again, and filled his chest with air. "Company commanders," he shouted, "take your companies!" He turned about and left the reviewing stand from the steps in its rear. His staff followed.
    Across the parade ground, company commanders about-faced and cried out orders. Each of their companies turned its facing from ranks to columns, and on command the companies stepped out, marching sharply to the cadence called by their commanders.
    When Captain Conorado dismissed Company L back at the company area, PFC Godenov approached Sergeant Ratliff.
    "Co—Sergeant Ratliff?" Getting used to all the new ranks in the platoon would take some doing.
    "What Commander Van Winkle said at the end...is all that really true about Marines?"
    "Mostly," Ratliff replied. He didn't give the answer his full attention. His mind was too full of the promotion he'd just received. "The commander exaggerated a bit. Marines haven't always been the first ones in. There have been major wars that Marines almost didn't get into at all. But yeah, Marines are the point, we're usually the first." It sunk in then, who asked the question, and Ratliff took Godenov by the shoulder and looked into the younger Marine's eyes. "Izzy," he said seriously, "we are the best, and we know it. So do most other people. Anybody who doesn't know it and thinks they can beat us usually winds up sorry they met us. Now get into the barracks and change into your garrison utilities."
    "Right, Sergeant Ratliff. Thanks."
    When Ratliff let go of his shoulder, Godenov raced to the barracks. He didn't even notice that he wasn't bothered by being called "Izzy." All his life he'd been tormented by the questioning play on his name, "Is he good enough?" Usually, no matter what he did, other people answered, "No." But on Wanderjahr he had demonstrated that he was good enough. On Diamunde he confirmed that demonstration. Now he was coming to understand and believe that the proper answer to the question
    "Izzy Godenov" was an unequivocal "Yes."

CHAPTER 4
    Cameron stared disconsolately into the small fire. Things had not been going well for him, not at all, since the group's arrival on Society 437 six months ago. Opposite the fire, snuggled against the cave wall, Minerva stirred in her sleep. Her blond hair, once so beautiful, was matted and dirty, as shaggy as the men's. She stank too. They all did. None of them had spent much time on personal hygiene for months.
    But she was the only one of the surviving pirates Cameron could trust.
    The cave they were hiding in extended for uncounted kilometers under the mountains. They only used the first hundred meters or so of the tunnel system that led into the caverns, but they had explored extensively behind the entrance and were satisfied that the place might provide refuge if... Cameron didn't want to think about "what if." He was sure their puny defensive measures would amount to nothing if those things did come after them in there. But he'd been careful not to share his thoughts with the others, for fear the tenuous grip he had on them would snap.
    He stirred the embers of the dying fire and it flared up brightly. The fernlike