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That suit?”
    â€œFuck you, Jenkins,” Martinez said. The Venusian dollar wasn’t worth the unicard it was stored on. “You know I only bet in American notes.”
    Mason sniggered. “Unmarked, so I hear.”
    There…
    Something on the drone feeds wasn’t right.
    â€œYou see that?” I asked the Legion, broadcasting the feed to their HUDs as well.
    â€œIt wasn’t on the orbital images…” Mason said.
    The edge of the compound was a ragged, snow-bitten fence, studded with towers. One of those overlooked the landing pad: a tall, skeletal structure, with an armoured booth at the top. The sky illuminated as something up there activated, accompanied by a whip-crack every time that it fired. I magnified the image. A handful of Directorate troopers were manning the booth, firing a multi-barrelled laser weapon into the sky. I panned the drone’s position, took in the rest of the security fence. The other sentry towers were only half-completed: this was the only anti-air weapon that worked.
    â€œNo way that the flyboys will be able to pick up with that thing covering the strip,” said Jenkins. “That cannon will bring down anything approaching the landing pad.”
    â€œPlan has changed,” I declared. “We’re moving on that tower before we commence the sweep.”
    I opened the general channel. “This is Lazarus Actual; do you read me, Baker?”
    â€œAffirmative,” Baker said. His suit transponder placed his team somewhere on the ground, but it was difficult to say precisely where. “We’re pinned down. Where’s our air support?”
    â€œFucked, is where,” I said. “You saw that ship go down. Intel was wrong. They have anti-air.”
    He grunted. “Figures.”
    â€œKeep your heads down and stay alive. We’re going to solve the problem.”
    â€œCopy.”
    I keyed the channel to Hooper. “Hooper, I want you to stay on overwatch.”
    â€œSolid copy, Lazarus,” he said.
    Hooper’s Raiders were already in position. The five-man team were equipped with M-23 Long Sight plasma rifles: a proper sniper’s weapon. That was their speciality, and the team was known for it. I saw the flash of rifles from the tallest structure of the outpost; firing almost incessantly. Hooper’s team would provide covering fire to the other teams as they moved across the base.
    Finally, Sperenzo’s Vipers.
    â€œSperenzo,” I said, “run harassment. Move towards your objective and wait for a lull in the fighting.”
    â€œNot expecting that any time soon,” Sperenzo managed. “But we’ll try.”
    â€œThe Legion is going off plan. We’re taking out the guard tower so that Scorpio can provide air support. Lazarus out.”

CHAPTER TWO
RETRIBUTION UNREALISED
    We dropped from the roof and made double-time across the compound.
    Squads of soldiers materialised out of the snow: equipped with assault rifles, wearing snow-camo hard-suits. There were Directorate soldiers everywhere. Resistance was far heavier than we’d anticipated.
    I vaulted over a concrete barricade: a tank-trap that had been set up in the middle of the road. Two Directorate troopers knelt behind it, hooked to a missile launcher. One acted as spotter, the other as operator. As we ambushed their location, the soldiers fell back, abandoning the launcher and firing pistols at us. Martinez caught both with his plasma rifle, slicing their hard-suits open with precise energy pulses.
    I cursorily inspected the nearest body. The emblem of the People’s Army was printed on the soldier’s chest-plate. These were regular militia; a stock Directorate military garrison.
    â€œPerimeter is ahead,” Jenkins declared.
    A ragged black line rose out of the snow: a simple chain-link fence topped with barbed wire.
    â€œUse those snow-crawlers as cover,” I ordered. “Move on my mark.”
    We