Antov’s crutches made a thumping sound as he moved in closer. “I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it,” he said. “Unfortunately, I don’t see any alternative to a direct assault up the west side of the ridge. The first half mile won’t be too bad. But then you’ll come to a very steep section here. The bugs know that’s the most likely route, of course, so they’ll be firing down on you from prepared positions.”

Santana eyed the nearly vertical slope, knew the quads wouldn’t be able to negotiate it, and felt a growing emptiness in the pit of his stomach. “And then?”

“Then you’ll be on this flat area,” Antov said, pointing a blunt finger. “As you can see from the model, that’s where the Ramanthians placed their support structure. Two-thirds of it is located underground. So you’ll have to force your way in and clear it. Then you’ll be able to access the lowest level and a corridor that leads to an elevator. That will take you up into the STS battery itself.

“Meanwhile,” Antov continued, “I suggest you send part of your force up along the ridge to create a diversion and pull most of the defenders in that direction. That should do the trick.”

The last was said so casually that Antov could have been describing a walk in a park rather than a hellish assault that was certain to claim hundreds of lives even if successful. For one brief moment, Santana wondered if Antov’s wound was real. But Kobbi swore by the man, and there was no denying his record in the Marine Corps.

No, the injury was real. And consistent with the man’s personality. Just as he had been willing to enter a thicket of brush looking for a wounded tusker-Antov would think nothing of attacking Headstone with little more than a swagger stick.

Santana was about to ask a follow-up question when Captain Kimbo charged into the room. “Sir! A Ramanthian submarine surfaced in the middle of the bay. It’s firing on the TACBASE.”