They were facing a nightmare, and he knew it was a good thing none of them realized the full extent of what was coming. Even the lieutenant. Hargraves respected Plunkett, and he liked him too. But he wondered if the officer had what it would take to hold his command together.

“We’re loaded up, Sarge. At least, these things ain’t gonna hold nothing more.” Joe Thoms stood in front of the lead transport, staring right at Hargraves.

“All right, Private. You know what to do.” Hargraves had already given the orders. The village was to be destroyed. All of it. Completely.

Lieutenant Plunkett had given the civilians a choice. Retreat with the Marines, move into the hills and caves and join the resistance. Or stay and surrender when the enemy landed. But either way, he had declared, the buildings of the village had to go. He wasn’t about to leave warm quarters behind for an invader to use, and that meant the civilians were screwed. They’d split into two roughly equal groups, one of them lining up to follow the Marines, and the other staying behind, ready to give themselves up.

Hargraves knew the group staying behind were as likely to be shot on sight as anything else, but he held his tongue. His own people were better off without them. The civilians they already had were going to be enough of an impediment, and a drain on the limited food supplies as well.

Hargraves watched as his people moved around the village, preparing the explosives. The civilians stood in the center of what passed for the village’s ‘street,’ watching morosely as the Marines worked to destroy their homes, their workplaces. He sympathized, to a point. But he knew Plunkett was right. Anything they left behind for the enemy only worked against whatever miserable chances they had of getting through this alive.

“Sergeant?”

Hargraves turned around. It was one of the civilians, a manager of some kind by the looks of his clothing.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t have any choice. We gotta destroy all this so the enemy don’t…”

“I understand that, Sergeant. But the tritium tanks…”

“The what?”

“The tank farm with all the tritium. We’ve got a hundred megaliters of refined tritium sitting in those tanks.” The civilian paused. “Fuel, Sergeant. Spaceship fuel. If an enemy is attacking Santis, that is why. They want the tritium. And the production facilities.”

Hargraves held up a hand. “Wait,” he said, grabbing the com unit clipped to the outside of his parka. He fumbled with it for a few seconds, before he sighed hard and pulled the bulky glove off his hand.

“Lieutenant, I’ve got…” He turned toward the civilian.

“Avery, Sergeant. Darren Avery. I’m the senior engineer.”

“I’ve got one of the civilians here. Darren Avery. He’s the top engineer. He says we gotta do somethin’ about the tritium, sir.”