Thus the short, stocky commo tech carried a huge load of retransmitters. And had to continually ensure that they were in communication with the rear.

Mueller rolled out his poncho liner and covered it with the ghillie blanket. Crawling under the combination he held up two fingers indicating he wanted second watch.

Mosovich nodded, pointed to Nichols and held up one finger then four fingers to Sister Mary. They would sleep most of the day and head down to the river near dusk. By the next morning he intended to be looking at Clarkesville.

Nichols dragged the ghillie blanket up to cover himself and his rifle then set up on a convenient rock. The march had been a bastard; the hills were pretty steep and the undergrowth was thick as hell. But he had a secret he was not about to share. The secret was that a bad day hiking up and down hills was better than a good day in the Ten Thousand. All in all he would rather be here than Rochester.

CHAPTER 2

Rochester, NY, United States, Sol III

0755 EDT Saturday September 12, 2009 ad

God of our fathers, known of old, Lord of our far-flung battle-line, Beneath whose awful Hand we hold DoGeorgia over palm and pine — Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget — lest we forget! — Rudyard Kipling “Recessional” (1897)

Mike O’Neal looked down at the smoke shrouded valley where Rochester, New York, used to be. The embattled city was now flatter than any hurricane could have made it; the humans were adept at fighting in rubble whereas the horselike Posleen found it nearly impossible. But that didn’t mean it was a human city anymore. Just that two different species of vermin battled over it.