The icy mud seeped into my uniform as I lay prone, my eyes scanning the glowing forest for any sign of the Saucers. I tried not to think about the mosquitos that had laid their eggs in the slop, or whatever passed for mosquitos on Tartaros. I signaled for the squad to move forward. I could see Sergeant Rossi out of the corner of my eye. The tendons bulged on the back of his ruddy neck, as if he was some sort of doll woven from rope. He low-crawled through the gunked-up leaves, his legs ...