moved out in a hurry. An attempt was made to clear the campsite but it

wasn't good enough. There were dozens of post holes that hadn't been

filled in and there was quite a lot of ash and charred firewood

scattered around. When Southern Mutes move camp they usually bury all

that along with the camp refuse.

There were also several long-handled wooden tools lying by the side of

the crop fields. In my experience Mutes don't throw tools away.

They're too valuable. I think someone failed to cover them up

properly." She paused, then said, 'Those crops are still being

worked."

'So they're still around,' said Moore, the Senior Field Commander.

Buck McDonnell leaned forward. 'Any idea of numbers?"

'Hard to say, sir,' said Kazan. 'A few hundred, certainly.

It was a big settlement. The cropfields are quite extensive."

'Which is an indication that the clan is a strong one,' said

Hartmann.

Kazan nodded. 'Yes, sir. Those recent intelligence reports indicated

we could run into clans able to field a thousand warriors."

Gus White nudged Steve. 'More than enough to give everybody a piece of

the action."

Kazan tapped the map with her finger. 'I have a hunch they could be

holed up in these woods." She checked off the distance with the

plotting ruler. 'Two miles ..."

'Close enough for them to run for cover when they see us coming,' said

the F.O.O. He saw Steve's frown. 'Mutes have terrific eyesight,' he

explained. 'They can pick up a Skyhawk at over five miles."

'Which means,' said Kazan, 'that they're off and running before you get

anywhere near them."

'So how do we catch 'em?" asked Gus.

'With great difficulty,' said the F.O.O.

'You've got to draw them out,' growled Buck McDonnell.

'You've got to lay ground bait. A downed Skyhawk. A patrol that looks

like it's lost its way. You sucker them out into the open, get round

the back of 'em so they can't run, then you hit 'em hard."

'We may be in luck with this batch,' said Kazan. 'It's too late in the

year to start in with new planting. A few firebombs should bring 'em

out into the open."

The F.O.O. nodded in agreement. 'Right." He turned expectantly to

Hartmann.

The wagon master looked carefully at the map and weighed up the options

open to him. He didn't take long to reach a decision. 'We'll begin a

search and destroy operation in the area of Rock River tomorrow morning

- starting with a napalm strike on those cropfields and the forest."

He turned to Baxter, the Flight Operations Officer. 'The attack on

both targets will be made simultaneously using all nine aircraft."

Baxter stiffened to attention. 'With your permission, sir ' 'Yes?"

said Hartmann.

'I'd like to fiy one of the reserve aircraft and take part in the

attack."

Hartmann eyed Jodi Kazan and saw there was no conflict.

'Very well. Five aircraft under Section Leader Kazan will make the

attack on the cropfields. You will lead the others against the

forest."

Baxter, the F.O.O saluted. 'Thank you, sir."

'Sonofabitch! This is it!" crowed Gus. He pummelled Steve's arm.

Buck McDonnell, the Trail-Boss straightened up from the table and

slapped Gus hard across the face. The force of the blow snapped his

head sideways and rocked him on his heels. Recovering, he leapt to

attention, his swelling lips drained of colour. Steve braced himself

at the ready.

McDonnell poked the polished gold top of h