The lowest rank in the Vyaeh military is that of Initiate, signified by teal combat armor. Initiates are expected to prove themselves in battle virtually unprotected before advancing to the next rank. As such, their battle armor provides virtually no protection or vacuum survivability. The ceremonial halberd weapon they carry is a modern variation on a tradition Vyaeh symbol of martial prowess, and is effective as a club, delivering a powerful electric shock.

Once a Vyaeh Initiate has proved themselves in melee battle with a foe, they are granted the magenta armor of an Adept. Providing significantly more protection than Initate armor, Adept armor is also powered, allowing the warriors to put more force into each blow. Once an Adept has proven themselves with this improved protection, they may move to the next rank.

After fighting in close quarters as an Adept, Vyaeh soldiers may become Journeymen and are granted access to improved weaponry. Their halberd, while apparently identical to an Initiate’s, is actually capable of firing energy projectiles not unlike the discharge from a fission pulse. Journeymen are granted no additional protection; they simply exchange the magenta armor of an Adept for yellow.

For most Vyaeh warriors, the rank of full Warrior, signified by azure armor, is the last step toward reassignment in another arm of the military and access to better equipment. The armor they wear is comparable to that of armored troops in ballistics protection, though it still offers no vacuum capability. Their staff, like that of the Journeyman, can fire projectiles, but is configured to fire multiple shots at once, with a reduced cooldown time between shots. Once they have proven themselves as Warriors, Vyaeh are often reassigned as Assault Troopers, officer candidates, or Hunter-Killers in training.

Some Warriors so distinguish themselves in their craft that they are asked to remain Warriors rather than accept promotion. These Honored Warriors gain special titles and privileges, and serve as leaders and guides to large formations of less experienced troops. Their armor is lovingly handcrafted to serve as the ultimate protection against enemy fire, and their halberds can fire faster, further, and more accurately than most weapons on the Vyaeh arsenal.

Easy money.

An artillery shell slammed into one of the adobe buildings across the compound. The defenders within, who had been returning fire with small arms, went out as a fine mist.

Easy money. That’s what Campbell had said.

The first line of skirmishers arrived, disembarking from a BMP. Most of them were killed or wounded, but there was far less, and far less accurate, fire from the rebel positions than there had been moments ago.

Easy money. A tottering autocratic regime, enthusiastic rebels rising up all over the country. Only a few firefights and then cash and poontang from grateful locals.

A second BMP–or, rather, a Chinese-made copy bought and paid for not three weeks ago–disgorged its squad. Bull raked them with heavy machine gun fire, but these weren’t the militia they’d fought earlier. They were disciplined, organized, took cover, laid suppressing fire. Polymer helmets, gas masks, and Chinese kevlar.

Easy money.

If you check the medical records, it’s all there in plain black and sepia. From June 1 to July 1, out of the roughly 150,000 troops scheduled to take part in the offensive, nearly 5,000 were treated for hemorrhagic nosebleeds. Add to that voluminous complaints of piercing headaches (10,000 cases) hearing voices (8,000 cases), grand mal seizures (500 cases), and even a reported case of spontaneous combustion.

This despite optimistic predictions and generally high morale.

The fact is, there was a strong sense that something terrible was about to happen. And, of course, it was borne out for nearly 60,000 of those troops by the first of July.

Bernard’s infection was getting worse, and had become a gangrenous abscess. “I thought I’d gotten off lucky,” he kept saying; almost his entire battalion had been annihilated when the Vietminh took redoubt Eliane 2, and he had escaped to join Dubois in redoubt Isabelle with only a deep scratch from barbed wire.

“We all got off lucky,” was Dubois’ constant response. After watching the Vietminh overrun the last French positions around the Dien Pien Phu airstrip through their field glasses, the nearly 2,000 troops at redoubt Isabelle had attempted to break out to the west. The Viets had blocked the route east to Hanoi, and the river route from Vientiene in Laos was the only other safe haven for a thousand kilometers. The 2,000 men, their ranks swelled by stragglers from the overwhelmed redoubts to the north, were chewed to pieces as they left their fortifications.

By DuBois’ estimate, less than a hundred had made it through the enemy lines, a number whittled down over the intervening week by desertion or disease. And now, with roving patrols of Viets still hunting for them, the survivors had come to a place even stranger than the one they had fled: a vast plain strewn with enormous, empty jars.

“To this day, none know what happened,” Storyteller continued, drawing his audience in still further. “Some say it was the weapons of the old world, finally loosed form their old slumber. Others claim it was something new entirely. But all agree that on that day, and many since, the sky appeared to all the world like it had been sundered by flame.”

“I’ve met people who lived through it,” said Trixie. “Don’t think they’d even agree on that much.”

“I like Storyteller’s version better, even if it is a little embellished,” Kayla retorted.

“When Jasper left seeking the Legion, he claimed that a secondary purpose of his journey would be to learn the true story of those dark days, when so many died and so much changed,” Storyteller continued.

“What do you think happened?” Trixie cried.

Without skipping a beat, Storyteller responded. “I’m of the opinion that the world had grown hungry for the stories of old, which we still hear today. Stories of bravery, of heroism, of danger. The world wants us to tell stories like that, and to live them.”

“Who’s next on the list?”

“Nurse Rosa Archetti.” Binghamton shuffled the manuscript pages. “Looks like she’s the only lady on the list.”

“I see,” said Carruthers, stroking his chin. “And what’s she done to earn a place on the list with Luchini and Carducci and the other war criminals?”

“Says here she was in charge of the nursing staff at a POW camp in the north,” said Binghamton. “We have consistent reports from prisoners there that indict her.”

“Aw, what for? Stealing the chocolate our of their Red Cross packages?”

“Uh…no,” Binghamton said. “Seems she forcibly and systematically euthanized sick POW’s to reduce their strain on the medical corps and to leave more supplies for the war effort.”

“Shit,” Carruthers muttered. “Figures the one I poke a little fun of would be up for something like that. Let’s reel her in.”

The far northern realm of Sannikov, the only remaining bastion of civilization in our world after the great conflagration. Even in the shadow of such destruction, war rages on between two mutually hostile groups: the Daqin in the north, and the Seres in the south. Its cause long forgotten, the conflict serves only to threaten the fragile embers of civilization that still flicker.

Despite the relatively small population and land,the fighting was nevertheless fierce and seesawed back and forth with no real gains.

That is, until recently.

Soldiers of Daqin have recently been emboldened, attacking with complex strategies and new weapons never before seen, or imagined, in Sannikov. Suddenly, the war seems in danger of ending not in stalemate but in the annihilation of Seres and all its people.

“Hah,” Schroeder said. “People hear ‘air cav’ and they get to thinking about Duvall in Apocalypse Now. Ride of the Valkyries. Attacking a beach just to do a little military surfing.”

“It’s not?”

“It’s ‘air assault’ now, for one,” said Schroeder. “Not air cav. No more foofy blue hats or buglers for us. Not to mention that half the stuff they showed in the movie you couldn’t have gotten away with even in ‘Nam, and stuff you could get away with in ‘Nam will have you up against a wall these days.”

“So what is the same, then?”

“Speed. We get in quick, get out quick, and leave a lot of oily smoke on the way. That part’s never changed.”

Meediv balked at the suggestion. “We agreed upon our price earlier,” he said.

“Yes, but that was before you delivered the merchandise. You broke the first and oldest rule of the business: don’t deliver the guns and ammunition at the same time.”

Ogaden’s men had surrounded Meediv by this point, holding the assault rifles they had just been sold.

“Take this as a friendly lesson,” Ogaden said, clapping Meediv on the back. “The next time you sell weapons, you won’t make the same mistake thanks to this generous gift. Unless you’d prefer to experience the irony of being shot with your own guns, of course.”

The star Utose 621 beats down on you as you make the long trek to Boomerstown. You’ve only ever come this way in a hoverrig, which only seems to take an instant compared to the endless weary trudge you’re enduring. But both your satellite uplink and the tracks from Hawser’s dirtrover are pointing you in the same direction.

Some miles down the road you come to a crossroads. The dirtrover tracks veer to the left, toward the small mining settlement of Oreo, but strangely your satellite uplink shows Hawser as continuing straight. You pause, puzzled at the disagreement, only to notice that the smoke rising from the ruins of your home has stopped–someone must have arrived to douse the blaze in Reacher’s Hope. It might be rescuers, or even the Rangers.

As you ponder this, you see a hoverrig approaching from the direction of Oreo, headed to the Transplant Wilderness that lays to the east. It might be possible to thumb a ride, if the driver is going slow enough, and it would sure be a load off your tired legs.

If you continue to follow Hawser’s satellite uplink trail toward Boomertown, turn to page 187.

If you decide that the satellite is malfunctioning and follow the dirtrig tracks toward Oreo, turn to page 62.

If you turn back toward Reacher’s Hope in search of whoever put out the fire, turn to page 79.

If you wait at the crossroads until the hoverrig bound for the Transplant Wilderness arrives, turn to page 12.