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exploding sixty meters north of Bravo Company. Each subsequent volley landed another twenty meters out. The suspended plasma explosives erupted with devastating force, felling trees to a radius of fifteen meters and scorching the ground even farther away.
    "Get moving, Lieutenant," Stossen ordered. "Nothing's going to stand up to that."
    "Yes, sir," Jacobi replied, stunned by the din and by the visual impact of the barrage. Jacobi's men were well within the area where the first blasts had hit before they noticed that the bombardment had stopped. Dozens of small fires remained burning. Had the trees and grass been drier, the explosions would have set off a wildfire of considerable proportions.
    —|—
    Joe Baerclau closed his eyes, just for a moment, after the start of the artillery barrage. Neither the guns nor their targets were particularly close, but the Havocs made a terrific din even at a distance. There was the explosion of propellent and the high-pitched whine of shells being hurtled from the guns, followed by the broader sound of the exploding round.
    I'll never get used to that racket, Joe thought, not for the first time. Back at base, when the 13th's howitzer battalion was on the firing range, the noise could be that intense. He took a deep breath, then opened his eyes in surprise.
    "Cinnamon toast?" The words came out so softly that he could scarcely hear them himself. There was certainly no toast around. Even if there was fresh bread available, there were no cooking fires to brown it; and Joe had never come across cinnamon in the army. Joe rubbed a hand in the mossy ground cover near his face and the smell grew stronger... and gradually less familiar. But the first scent had triggered childhood memories of waking in the morning to that aroma, and hurrying out to the kitchen to get his toast while it was still hot. He almost never thought about his childhood anymore, not even in his dreams. When his memories did travel back that far, it was more like viewing someone else's past than his own. His years of military service, and most especially the combat he had seen, had drawn a wall between his notion of self and memories of how he had gotten to the present. Five years in uniform might as easily have been five decades. His life before the army seemed that far in the past. That was what made this so surprising.
    "Something's sure getting the hell pasted out of it," Kam whispered next to Joe. Baerclau turned to look at him.
    "Just as long as it's not us on the receiving line." Joe was uncertain how Goff would turn out. Joe had taken both new men into his fire team so that he would have an easier time keeping track of them. Al Bergon seemed absolutely steady. He took his secondary duties as squad medic seriously without neglecting his primary function as a rifleman. But Goff... Joe just could not make up his mind.
    "Yeah." Kam laughed nervously. "Yeah."
    "Just take it easy." Joe shifted around, trying to get comfortable. "We're here to draw attention."
    "Those guns will sure do that," Kam said.
    Joe took a moment to scan the field of grass in front of their positions again, looking for any indication—visual or electronic—that Hegemony soldiers might be moving in for an attack on this section of the perimeter. There was a gentle breeze moving from left to right, bending the tops of the grass in an easy rhythm. Anyone crawling through that grass ought to disturb that rhythm, Joe told himself. There were no electronic signatures out there, but he was far from convinced that the instruments in his helmet would definitely pick up anything. They were supposed to, but in Joe's experience, they worked only slightly more than half of the time, even in training exercises. The electronics the Schlinal soldiers used in their helmets were shielded almost as well as those that the Accord used.
    "Sarge, how bad will it get?"
    Joe lifted his visor this time. He wanted Goff to see his face. "There's no way to know that up front,