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For this little field trip we would travel in helicopters. No bulky transports for us, just sleek atmospheric vessels. The rotary blades on the top of the choppers made a suppressed tock-tock-tock noise as they began to spin, and we lifted into the air.

As we took off, I looked around the well-fortified city of Valhalla. Even from here I could see batteries of rocket launchers, gun emplacements, and troops …lots and lots of troops. It was late afternoon. The sky no longer looked white as paper. It had turned blue and orange as the sun slid toward the horizon. I had my armor on, but not my helmet, and the cold air stabbed imaginary needles into my cheeks.

“We’ll put up a good fight,” I said as I watched an armored column roving outside the landing-field gate.

Freeman did not respond.

The three helicopters formed a caravan, the gunship leading the way, with the two choppers remaining side by side behind it. Some of my men sat quietly, staring out the portholes, studying the landscape below. The forests ahead were cold and full of shadows.

I donned my helmet and checked the ocular controls. From here on out, I would see everything through the lenses of my visor. Marine combat armor had night-for-day lenses, heat-vision lenses, automatic tint shields that protected against blinding light, and farseeing telescopic lenses. The equipment also included sonic locators, smart tags for identifying personnel, and interLink communications gear. General-issue armor would not stop a bullet or absorb a particle beam, but the bodysuit would keep me comfortable even on a long march through the snowy woods.

Though he was not a Marine, Freeman had been fitted for armor as well. Where they found a suit that could fit him, I had no idea. His chest and shoulders had to be eighty inches around; his biceps might have been a full twenty-five inches.

“What’s the plan?” the pilot asked me over the interLink, as I settled in.

“First, we’re going to kill time until we know where to go,” I said. “It might be an hour, maybe more. You see that forest? In a little while some bright lights are going to appear out there.”

“And there’s going to be an army of aliens out there, too,” the pilot commented.

“First the lights, then the aliens. Take my word for it. The Marine Corps has experience with these things,” I said. The pilot was Navy. Navy chopper pilots tended to be a bit more skittish than Marine Corps pilots in these situations.

“So we’re looking for the light?” the pilot asked.

“I need you to drop us as close to the lights as you can, then head back for base. Our goal is to slip in unannounced; having choppers thumping overhead isn’t going to help with the mission.”

“Understood.” The pilot sounded relieved.

We had reached altitude and were now flying across an outer suburb. Below us, Valhalla was a grid of plowed streets and houses with an occasional park or school or shopping center.

“You interested in heading anyplace in particular while we wait?” the pilot asked. We were speaking on an open frequency. Every man in the platoon could hear us. So could Freeman. As a civilian advisor, he was not technically a member of the platoon.

“Freeman, got any ideas?” I asked.

Because of his huge size and icy demeanor, Freeman’s intelligence often went unnoticed. He did not stumble into situations. He considered the angles, studied whatever information he could, and had a keen eye for any advantages to be had. With Freeman, I never needed to worry about uninformed opinions blending in with the facts. Since he did not know any more than me, he simply shook his head.

“What’s it look like beyond those hills?” I asked the pilot, pointing to hills to the west.

“It looks dark; that’s how it looks,” the pilot said. I got the feeling he did not want to stray any farther from town than necessary.

“I can see that,” I said. “What is the terrain like?”

“Forest, mostly. It’s pretty dense.”

“Use your radar; see if you locate a clearing. You may need to drop us off out there,” I said.

“Yes, sir,” the pilot said.

The sun set quickly during the New Copenhagen winter. First the horizon became red and gold and orange—a molten copper sun sinking behind clouds that looked inflamed and infected. Then the sky was purple with gray clouds. As the last streaks of light slowly drained from the sky, the horizon went from indigo to black. Snow-covered trees formed a carpet below us, and mountains looked like phantom shapes in the distance.

“How far out do you want to go?” the pilot asked.

I glanced at Freeman, then said, “Ten, fifteen miles, not any farther than a half day’s hike back to town.”

The pilot headed out over the woodlands, cruising quickly while remaining no more than ten feet from the tops of the trees, a tactic called Earth mapping. The pilot kept us low enough to pass under most tracking technologies. It was a wise precaution.

It only took a couple of minutes to reach our target area. On the off chance that the aliens came late, we had fifteen hours of fuel. We circled and evaluated the terrain, and looked for places where we could set up an ambush. We looked for paths and hollows, places where we could hide should we need to retreat.

We flew for over an hour, cruising over rivers, lakes, and endless woodlands. We skimmed over hills and saw no phantom lights. The moon appeared in the sky, and the first stars began to show. In the distance, we could see the low glow of city lights generating over Valhalla.

“Maybe they aren’t coming,” Thomer said over the interLink.

That thought had occurred to me as well, but I knew better. “Maybe,” I said.

“They’re coming,” Freeman said.

“How do you know?” I asked over a discrete connection that the other men in my platoon would not hear.

“I saw their damned battle plan,” Freeman answered over that same connection.

“You mean the battle simulation they broadcast? Maybe we misunderstood it,” I said. “Maybe they changed their minds.”

A few minutes later the pilot radioed to tell me that he’d spotted the phantom light. I moved to the front of the helicopter to ask where, but didn’t bother asking the question. I could see it clearly myself.

A small dome of light had started to grow out of the forest about twenty miles from us. Its glare shone through the trees like twisted spokes, and the top of the dome rose above the trees, casting alternating waves of red, blue, and yellow into the black sky. The stars above the scene vanished, canceled out by the glare from that dome.

“We need to come in behind it,” I told the pilot.

“Which side is the front?” the pilot asked.

“Let’s come in from the west, the side facing away from town.”

“We’re on our way,” the pilot said. A moment later, however, he signaled me again. “Lieutenant, I ran a satellite sweep of the position. The trees are too thick for us to land around that light source. The closest spot I can drop you is about four miles back.”

“How about to the north?” I asked.

“About the same,” the pilot said. “The closest spot I’ve got is about three miles from their point of origin, but it’s southeast of the light. That will place you between the light and town.”

Not knowing anything about the enemy, I did not want to risk being caught in the open. All I had to go by was my briefing with Admiral Brocius and the Space Angel I had seen on the Mogat planet. If an alien like that caught us in the open, we would be as good as dead. “Got any other options?” I asked.

“No, sir.”

“Okay, get us there quickly. I have a feeling we’re going to need to dig in.”

“Yes, sir,” the pilot said.

“Listen up,” I said over an open frequency that my men would hear in both helicopters. “We’re headed in. The choppers are not here for air support. Once we reach the drop zone, we’re on our own.”

Now came the part I always hated about briefings, the pep talk. “So what’s the latest rumor around base? What have you boys heard about the enemy?” I asked.