And then there was Aguila. He clenched his first, thumped it angrily on the armrest, and let every vile curse word he knew roll through his head. What the hell had possessed him? He should have told her to suck vacuum and stayed with his marines. Called her bluff. Dared her to tromp out from this insane squalor of a town and relieve him.

Chad Grunnel would have backed him, spoken on his behalf if it ever got back to The Corporation. And that was a big if, given that a Board Appointed Inspector General was coming planet-side hot on Creamer’s ass.

But at the last instant—despite the worried looks from his marines—he’d turned and trotted back into the shuttle.

He’d spent too many years in the Corps following orders. Even orders that made no sense. If he’d learned anything, it was that obedience was safety. Following orders without objection had taken him right up the chain of command. Until it had landed him on this peach of an assignment.

Never, ever, had a civilian questioned his judgment.

Now, he’d already suffered two reprimands from this woman. The implication that he was incapable of making a hot insertion was bad enough. To be relieved of command because he’d chosen a safer landing spot? That was absolutely unconscionable!

He ground his teeth as the shuttle maneuvered over the high wall of shipping crates, found a space on the heat-baked red soil, and settled.

Dust blew out from the thrusters. Dust? The frigging landing field wasn’t even paved?

“We’re here, sir,” Schulyer told him. “Spooling down. I’ll drop the ramp for you as soon as it’s safe and dust off as soon as you’re clear of the thrust, sir.”

Yeah, right. His ride was leaving. Stranding him here in this shit-hovel of a town.

Creamer leaped to his feet, helmet swinging where it was clipped to his equipment belt. On the way off the command deck, he pulled his rifle from the rack and ducked through the hatch to stalk across the hold. Even as he did, the ramp began to drop; daylight appeared around the seams as it fell.

Creamer considered clamping on his helmet, not just as protection from the stink of burned fuel and dust, but to face Aguila. Let her get the full effect of what it meant to stare a real marine in the face.

Instead, he clumped down into the bright sunlight and squinted against the dust. There, that was the gate. A huge thing, it swung open to let a giant hauler roll through, red dust swirling around the lumbering vehicle’s tires.