Beware the Black Battlenaut by Robert T. Jeschonek Page A

point. Four enemy Battlenauts were trapped inside the triangle, three still standing plus the one she'd just brought down.
    Freak cackled as she swung her Battlenaut toward a fresh target. These bums are no match for the Redeyes.
    That was what Freak's squad called themselves: Redeyes , because they fought without rest. Computers monitored the alertness of this experimental squad and administered countermeasures, chemical and otherwise, to keep them awake and fighting. Such sleep deprivation techniques promised to limit downtime for deployed Commonwealth troops, giving them an edge in the ongoing civil war against the Rightfuls.
    From Freak's point of view, the experiment was the biggest success of all time. She and the others had been awake for days on end, so long she'd lost count, and still they suffered no ill effects.
    If anything, Freak felt better than ever. She'd never fought more fiercely or thought more clearly in her life.
    Who knew insomnia could be so much fun?
     
    *****
     
    Lieutenant Robert "Raw" Pellucid was convinced that the chronometer in the cockpit of his Battlenaut was broken, but he didn't have time to try to fix it.
    Even as Raw pounded two enemy Battlenauts with laser fire, he stole another look at the chronometer's readout. He growled like a dog and grimaced at the blinking red numbers.
    1805. 1805. 1805.
    Seems like it was just 1805 fifteen minutes ago.
    Unless the extreme sleep deprivation was affecting his time perception, the chronometer was running ten times slower than reality. What that meant was, the chronometer was definitely running slow, because Raw was running fine, sleep dep and all. He'd been awake for what felt like forever and hadn't needed even a single shot of wake-up juice.
    His fellow Redeyes might be running on fumes, but Raw was burning rich. He was just that kind of guy. Even before the program, he'd always kept a lid on, no matter how high the heat.
    Nothing but nothing could shake the S.O.B. He was fearless, poisonous, dirty, and smart. Smart enough to wonder if someone was screwing with him.
    He went over it again as he raced his Battlenaut, guns blazing, toward his closest opponent. If the clocks are out, we don't know how long we've been fighting on Sangre. We're on the dark side of this God-forsaken moon, so we can't even count the days by sunrises and sunsets.
    His opponent's Battlenaut stood its ground and sprayed defensive fire that splashed harmlessly off Raw's armor. At the last instant, the enemy leaped out of his path.
    But why would someone want us to lose track of time? Why keep us in the field beyond the three-day limit?
    Raw growled again, low in his throat. Because they want to see how far we can go. Because they want to push the redeye tech to the limit.
    Even as he spun the Battlenaut around and threw a missile at the enemy's belly, Raw ran a little mental self-diagnostic to make sure he wasn't being paranoid.
    Nope. Don't know the meaning of the word, folks.
    He checked the chronometer again.
    1805. 1805. 1805.
    How long would the researchers leave the Redeyes on Sangre? What had to happen before they pulled the plug?
    The answer came to him with a surprising lack of surprise, as if he'd always known it on some level.
    The Redeyes had to die. Only then would Command pull the plug.
     
    *****
     
    Just as Grist was running his Battlenaut headlong toward a downed rebel, another blast of lightning flared nearby. A burst of static crackled from his comm.
    It was followed by music.
    The signal was weak, but Grist recognized the music immediately: "Tried and True," an old battle anthem from his homeworld, Tack. At the academy on Ryot, so far from home, he'd sung it to keep up his spirits. He'd sung it during many a night of drinking with fellow cadets who had also come from Tack and missed its jewel-capped mountains and fields of coppery glow-grain.
    Cadets like his best friend, Mallet Cray.
    Even as the rush of music and memories rocked him, Grist plowed his