but I don't know what it is."
Carter slammed one of her tools to the floor. "Great. Now I'm not only going to have a lot of officers staring over my shoulder while I fight, I'm also going to have about a hundred million civs waiting to see me get hurt."
"Don't mess up those tools or you'll get hurt right now," Stark snapped. "Look, you know what a battlefield is like. Every soldier's got their own vid feed going back to headquarters. So there's no way any civs can be vulturing every one of us on their vid at the same time. Most likely, you'll never personally make the vid. Happy?"
"Not me, Sergeant," Desoto cracked. "I want to be a vid star!" Everybody laughed this time.
"Good luck," Stark wished his Corporal. "The rest of you, get back to work troubleshooting your battle armor. There's no sense getting worked up right now over something we can't do anything about." Silence broken only by the clink and buzz of equipment reigned for a few minutes.
"Sarge?" Murphy looked up from his maintenance work, mouth set in the determined fashion that meant he'd been thinking.
"Yeah, Murph."
"I heard an ugly rumor, Sarge."
Gomez barked a short laugh. "I hope it ain't as ugly as you, Murph."
"No. I mean, yeah. Hey, just knock it off."
Stark sighed heavily. "Okay, Murphy, what's this rumor?"
"I heard," Murphy declared pretentiously, glancing around the room to see how his words were received, "that they've run out of spares for the suits."
"Really?" Chen teased, hoisting a replacement rebreather cartridge in one hand. The genetically tailored living cells inside were amazingly efficient at converting carbon dioxide back into oxygen as long as you fed them current, but those cells also had a nasty tendency to die if any other organic matter contaminated them. "Then where are we getting these parts from, Murph?"
"I heard they're cannibalizing suits from outfits that are off the line. That's what I heard."
Mendoza eyed Stark warily. "Is that true, Sergeant?"
Stark shrugged. "What if it is?"
"It means we don't have a reserve," Mendoza noted. "If we need reinforcements, there won't be any."
Everyone watched Stark, trying to gauge his reaction to Murphy's and Mendoza's statements. He took a deep breath, choosing the right words. "I heard the same thing. So what? If you apes get in a firefight, who's the only person you can absolutely count on to look out for you? Yourself. After that, you can count on the other guys in this Squad. Don't forget that, and don't go into battle depending on someone else to save your ass because you're never sure that someone else will be there when you need 'em."
About half the Squad nodded back, reassured by the words, but the others still looked doubtful. "Sarge," Murphy noted, "sometimes everything goes to hell and you need help. It's kinda scary to know help can't come."
Help can't come. Stark fought down a shiver at the words, savagely tamping down memories he didn't care to confront. A vision of grass flecked with red specks of blood momentarily came between his eyes and the soldiers watching him. "Sometimes . . ." Stark began, then choked off the words while his Squad looked puzzled.
"Okay," Stark declared in a harsher tone than he'd intended, drawing some more puzzled looks. "I could minimize all this, and make you all feel good. Or I can lay it out as bad as it is and make sure you apes are ready for the worst. Guess what I'm going to do?" Stark strode over to the vid panel on one wall, triggering it and calling up a sector map with American unit positions overlaid. "The situation sucks. See this? It's everything we hold right now. Mendoza, you're so smart, what d'you see?"
Mendoza gulped, obviously uncomfortable at the attention, then studied the picture intently. "Our forces are highly dispersed, Sergeant."
"Very good. Now put that in terms Murphy can understand."
"Yes, Sergeant." Mendoza raised a finger, pointing around the display. "Our units are spread out, a squad here, a
Carter slammed one of her tools to the floor. "Great. Now I'm not only going to have a lot of officers staring over my shoulder while I fight, I'm also going to have about a hundred million civs waiting to see me get hurt."
"Don't mess up those tools or you'll get hurt right now," Stark snapped. "Look, you know what a battlefield is like. Every soldier's got their own vid feed going back to headquarters. So there's no way any civs can be vulturing every one of us on their vid at the same time. Most likely, you'll never personally make the vid. Happy?"
"Not me, Sergeant," Desoto cracked. "I want to be a vid star!" Everybody laughed this time.
"Good luck," Stark wished his Corporal. "The rest of you, get back to work troubleshooting your battle armor. There's no sense getting worked up right now over something we can't do anything about." Silence broken only by the clink and buzz of equipment reigned for a few minutes.
"Sarge?" Murphy looked up from his maintenance work, mouth set in the determined fashion that meant he'd been thinking.
"Yeah, Murph."
"I heard an ugly rumor, Sarge."
Gomez barked a short laugh. "I hope it ain't as ugly as you, Murph."
"No. I mean, yeah. Hey, just knock it off."
Stark sighed heavily. "Okay, Murphy, what's this rumor?"
"I heard," Murphy declared pretentiously, glancing around the room to see how his words were received, "that they've run out of spares for the suits."
"Really?" Chen teased, hoisting a replacement rebreather cartridge in one hand. The genetically tailored living cells inside were amazingly efficient at converting carbon dioxide back into oxygen as long as you fed them current, but those cells also had a nasty tendency to die if any other organic matter contaminated them. "Then where are we getting these parts from, Murph?"
"I heard they're cannibalizing suits from outfits that are off the line. That's what I heard."
Mendoza eyed Stark warily. "Is that true, Sergeant?"
Stark shrugged. "What if it is?"
"It means we don't have a reserve," Mendoza noted. "If we need reinforcements, there won't be any."
Everyone watched Stark, trying to gauge his reaction to Murphy's and Mendoza's statements. He took a deep breath, choosing the right words. "I heard the same thing. So what? If you apes get in a firefight, who's the only person you can absolutely count on to look out for you? Yourself. After that, you can count on the other guys in this Squad. Don't forget that, and don't go into battle depending on someone else to save your ass because you're never sure that someone else will be there when you need 'em."
About half the Squad nodded back, reassured by the words, but the others still looked doubtful. "Sarge," Murphy noted, "sometimes everything goes to hell and you need help. It's kinda scary to know help can't come."
Help can't come. Stark fought down a shiver at the words, savagely tamping down memories he didn't care to confront. A vision of grass flecked with red specks of blood momentarily came between his eyes and the soldiers watching him. "Sometimes . . ." Stark began, then choked off the words while his Squad looked puzzled.
"Okay," Stark declared in a harsher tone than he'd intended, drawing some more puzzled looks. "I could minimize all this, and make you all feel good. Or I can lay it out as bad as it is and make sure you apes are ready for the worst. Guess what I'm going to do?" Stark strode over to the vid panel on one wall, triggering it and calling up a sector map with American unit positions overlaid. "The situation sucks. See this? It's everything we hold right now. Mendoza, you're so smart, what d'you see?"
Mendoza gulped, obviously uncomfortable at the attention, then studied the picture intently. "Our forces are highly dispersed, Sergeant."
"Very good. Now put that in terms Murphy can understand."
"Yes, Sergeant." Mendoza raised a finger, pointing around the display. "Our units are spread out, a squad here, a
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