"Nyet!" the Russian said, puffing himself out. "He is commanding officer of our military guard, not common criminal!"

The Sword guard looked at him, weighing his options. He could order his men to stand the truck down, but the damn thing was going full steam ahead, and they'd have to raise their weapons against it to do so. On the other hand, this was the third such dispute he'd had with the Russians since coming on shift tonight to suddenly find they'd crashed his party, and both times before they had bristled but ultimately yielded to his authority. Assholes that they were, he had to bear in mind they were acting on orders from higher-ranking assholes--and allowing a minor confrontation to trigger an out-and-out donny-brook would only complicate his job if something serious requiring their cooperation cropped up. Maybe it would be best to radio ahead, have the brass tussle it out, let these guys save a little face.

He turned away from the Russian and flicked on his communications headset.

Inside the truck, Kuhl had already turned on his own trunked radio and ordered his strike team to mobilize.

On receipt of Kuhl's command, the small army he had gathered in the foothills southeast of the Cosmodrome burst into hurried activity, emerging from behind artificial boulders, foliage, stone panels, and other blinds, peeling the camouflage netting off their vehicles, moving from the pockets of concealment where they had patiently hidden while going about their preparations. Often over the past week, and again earlier that night, advance scouts handpicked by Kuhl had reported back with descriptions of the launch center's eastern perimeter defenses, indicating they would be unable to withstand a direct, concentrated, lightning-fast strike. Resistance would become more intense once VKS and American reinforcements were called up from other areas of the center, but the attackers did not have to worry about penetrating it too deeply. Their objectives were limited: move in, put on a good show, move out.

They did not suspect that, in the interests of putting on the best, most convincing show possible, the scouts, under orders from Kuhl himself, had lied to them.

"Sir, we've got something from SkyManta." The young op who had come pounding at Ricci's trailer door was flushed and breathless. "Looks like this is it."

Ricci stared at him from inside the entrance, coffee cup in hand.

"What's it picked up?"

"Fifteen, maybe twenty jeeps, the controllers say the IR video's clear as day. They're heading in convoy toward the east side of the compound."

The launchpad area, Ricci thought. He hadn't wished himself luck a moment too soon.

"How close are they?"

"Two, maybe three miles, sir. There's a whole network of gullies along that way. Caves in the hills, scrub ... it's possible they could have been hiding there for a while...."

"Let's worry about the present." Ricci took a breath. "Those remote gun platforms that were brought in, what are they called?"

"The TRAP T-2s."

Ricci nodded.