"It was just small stuff at first... food mostly... then auto parts... then..."

"Weapons." Bolan-finished the halting sentence for him.

"Yeah," the private said, uselessly.

Bolan stood up, his gun still aimed at the kid's chest. "So what happened to you? Lose your guts and decided to fink out on your buddies? They weren't cutting you in for enough of the take? What's your story, kid?"

PFC Cottonwood looked up.

His voice was clear for the first time, his eyes even.

"I know this might be hard for you to believe, sir. Especially now. At first I was in it for the money.... You know the horror stories about how hard it is to live over here on what we're paid. Especially if you're married, like I was planning on doing this summer... so the money looked good in the beginning. But then I didn't like it anymore. I didn't. Like I said, you, probably won't believe me, but so what."

Bolan glared at the soldier who was fast becoming defiant as he unburdened himself of his confession. He thight make a good soldier yet.

"Your report said the meeting with the Zwilling Horde was set for tonight."

"Yes, sir." PFC Cottonwood looked at his watch. "They're supposed to show up here in another three hours, at 04.30."

"Aren't you guys a little early for the meet?"

Cottonwood nodded. "The sarge had never met these people face-up before, so he was a little anxious." The young soldier shivered involuntarily amid the unscheduled wreckage that surrounded him. "Besides, the sarge didn't trust us out of his sight. He was afraid Billy would go off and get drunk or laid and not show up."

"Come on, guy," Bolan said, waving him to his feet.

"Where to, sir?"

"In less than three hours, killers in the butcher class, some of the most bestial in modem history, true man-eaters are going to be coming through that door.