mind to more relevant things, with
the soldier’s knack for mourning the dead one minute and focusing on duty the
next. “You need help packing up that thing?”
“Nah, let the newb handle it.” The light auto-cannon really
wasn’t all that large, just a bit unwieldy. Still, I had a twinge of sympathy
for Quincy. It wasn’t that long ago I was the newb.
I climbed down carefully from the perch I’d occupied for the
last twenty hours. Keep your head down, I thought. Although the fighting was
in a lull, the sporadic sniper fire had never stopped. What a stupid way to
get killed, losing focus on your way to the rear to rest. I took one last look
out over the field, thinking the worst of it was over. I was wrong.
Chapter 8
2252 AD
McCraw’s Ridge
Central Sector – “The Cauldron”
Day Two – Afternoon
Delta Trianguli I
We pulled back about five klicks, just behind the next
ridge. We were well within range of enemy mortars and other ordnance, and we
wanted some cover. On a more hospitable world we might have popped our helmets
and actually eaten some solid food, but that wasn’t an option on a planet like
Tombstone. So I enjoyed the epicurean delight of another shot of high-energy
intravenous nutritional formula, kindly served by my suit’s AI. It wasn’t
exactly a stick-to-your-ribs meal, but you could definitely feel the increased
energy level.
Sleep was another issue. We’d been going for about 40 hours,
the last 24 under combat conditions. I was tired. You could go for several
days on stims injected through the armor’s medical maintenance system, but
there was no substitute for actual rest…plus, the less you relied on the stims,
the longer you could go on them before getting really strung out. The armor is
more comfortable than anyone who hasn’t worn it would think, but it wasn’t
built for taking a nap. The most comfortable position was sitting on the
ground leaning against something. I staked out a fairly choice spot against a
good-sized rock outcropping and closed my eyes. I fell asleep in a few
minutes.
When I’d first gotten to Tombstone, a well-trained but
completely untried Marine, I found it very difficult to relax at all. Even in
base when we sat around, waiting days, even weeks before getting the orders to
suit up, I was nervous as a cat, expecting the alarm to sound any minute and
scared to death about going outside, going into battle. There are certain
clichés about soldiers, and I have found that many of them are true. One of
these is the fact that we can sleep anywhere, and it wasn’t long before I’d
joined that club. I was still scared to death whenever we fought; I still am
to this day, though I have since learned to more or less ignore it. But even
back then, if the shooting stopped for a few minutes, I could take a nap.
We’re good scroungers too, another military stereotype that
turns out to be true. Despite living in the most hostile environment
imaginable, cut off from virtually everything except official supply routes,
there was actually a fairly active black market in the firebase. I never
understood how the most active participants got some of the items that did.
Later I came to realize that the officer didn’t just look the other way – they
actually helped things along a little behind the scenes. All of our officers
start as privates, and they knew very well that a posting on a place like
Tombstone was a cheerless enough existence. As long as nothing degraded combat
readiness, it was helpful to boost morale any way possible.
I’d gotten maybe 45 minutes’ sleep when I woke up to a
jarring on my leg. My visor automatically went transparent and I could see
Harden standing above me, kicking my leg. It was a gesture best performed by
veterans; a little too much power behind the kick and the force amplification
system in his suit could have damaged my armor. It was best done to a
the soldier’s knack for mourning the dead one minute and focusing on duty the
next. “You need help packing up that thing?”
“Nah, let the newb handle it.” The light auto-cannon really
wasn’t all that large, just a bit unwieldy. Still, I had a twinge of sympathy
for Quincy. It wasn’t that long ago I was the newb.
I climbed down carefully from the perch I’d occupied for the
last twenty hours. Keep your head down, I thought. Although the fighting was
in a lull, the sporadic sniper fire had never stopped. What a stupid way to
get killed, losing focus on your way to the rear to rest. I took one last look
out over the field, thinking the worst of it was over. I was wrong.
Chapter 8
2252 AD
McCraw’s Ridge
Central Sector – “The Cauldron”
Day Two – Afternoon
Delta Trianguli I
We pulled back about five klicks, just behind the next
ridge. We were well within range of enemy mortars and other ordnance, and we
wanted some cover. On a more hospitable world we might have popped our helmets
and actually eaten some solid food, but that wasn’t an option on a planet like
Tombstone. So I enjoyed the epicurean delight of another shot of high-energy
intravenous nutritional formula, kindly served by my suit’s AI. It wasn’t
exactly a stick-to-your-ribs meal, but you could definitely feel the increased
energy level.
Sleep was another issue. We’d been going for about 40 hours,
the last 24 under combat conditions. I was tired. You could go for several
days on stims injected through the armor’s medical maintenance system, but
there was no substitute for actual rest…plus, the less you relied on the stims,
the longer you could go on them before getting really strung out. The armor is
more comfortable than anyone who hasn’t worn it would think, but it wasn’t
built for taking a nap. The most comfortable position was sitting on the
ground leaning against something. I staked out a fairly choice spot against a
good-sized rock outcropping and closed my eyes. I fell asleep in a few
minutes.
When I’d first gotten to Tombstone, a well-trained but
completely untried Marine, I found it very difficult to relax at all. Even in
base when we sat around, waiting days, even weeks before getting the orders to
suit up, I was nervous as a cat, expecting the alarm to sound any minute and
scared to death about going outside, going into battle. There are certain
clichés about soldiers, and I have found that many of them are true. One of
these is the fact that we can sleep anywhere, and it wasn’t long before I’d
joined that club. I was still scared to death whenever we fought; I still am
to this day, though I have since learned to more or less ignore it. But even
back then, if the shooting stopped for a few minutes, I could take a nap.
We’re good scroungers too, another military stereotype that
turns out to be true. Despite living in the most hostile environment
imaginable, cut off from virtually everything except official supply routes,
there was actually a fairly active black market in the firebase. I never
understood how the most active participants got some of the items that did.
Later I came to realize that the officer didn’t just look the other way – they
actually helped things along a little behind the scenes. All of our officers
start as privates, and they knew very well that a posting on a place like
Tombstone was a cheerless enough existence. As long as nothing degraded combat
readiness, it was helpful to boost morale any way possible.
I’d gotten maybe 45 minutes’ sleep when I woke up to a
jarring on my leg. My visor automatically went transparent and I could see
Harden standing above me, kicking my leg. It was a gesture best performed by
veterans; a little too much power behind the kick and the force amplification
system in his suit could have damaged my armor. It was best done to a
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