pass, good for any shuttle up to the fleet," Wiz Mackey said with a sour laugh.
The squad's three new men just sat and listened. None of them felt confident enough around the veterans yet to get into that sort of discussion without an obvious invitation. It didn't matter that all of the new men had already seen combat with the squad, that they were no longer "raw" rookies. In a fight, each of them was paired with one of the veterans, but when they weren't in a fight, they were—mostly—on their own.
"You did the right thing, Bergon," Lieutenant Keye said from his position at the front splat gun. "The Bear gives you any grief, I'll take care of it."
"Thank you, sir."
Al looked at the time line on his visor, then looked at Baerclau again. Al hadn't checked the exact time when he slapped on the sleep patch, but it couldn't be good for more than another five minutes. Of course, there was nothing that said that Baerclau had to wake up precisely when the medication expired. He had been tired enough to sleep longer than that without help.
Just then the Heyer took a particularly hard jounce and Bergon grinned through gritted teeth. If the Bear could sleep through this ride, he could sleep through anything.
A soft groan did escape Joe's lips, though his eyes didn't open right away. Another two minutes passed before that happened. His gaze was vacant, uncomprehending, not as it would have been if he were waking normally. Joe was a veteran mudder. On campaign, he came awake instantly alert if there were the slightest possibility of enemy activity anywhere near.
After a time, Joe blinked—once slowly and then, after a short pause, several times in quick succession.
"What?" he managed. But his throat was dry. His voice cracked. Al put a canteen to the Bear's lips.
"We're back under way," Al explained while Joe took a short sip of water.
Joe took a deep breath and closed his eyes again for a moment while his mind tried to close the gap between his last memories and the present.
"How long?" he asked finally.
"Four hours, right on the button," Al said. "The bone chips are out of your shoulder, the wounds are almost healed, and you're fit for duty again."
Joe moved his left arm, experimentally at first, then with more vigor. There was no pain or restriction. Then he turned his head to look.
"Sure tore hell out of my fatigues." There was more, but now, with his head clearing, there was little chance that he would complain about being zapped for four hours. That had been the injury speaking.
"Don't sweat it," Ezra said. "I'll slap a weaver patch over it and you'll look good as new in an hour."
Lieutenant Keye turned and pointed at his helmet. Joe put his on to hear what the lieutenant had to say.
"You really feeling fit?"
Joe took time to think it over before he answered. "Yes, sir, especially with the nap. Anyone else have a chance to sleep?"
"Only what little they could get in here."
"Little is right," Joe said. "We're not going to be much good in a fight if the men don't get some downtime first."
"Can't be helped. We're trying to avoid another fight. After dark, we might get a couple of hours."
"What's the situation now, sir?"
"We've got that second river crossing coming up soon. That's likely to be our most vulnerable time until we get near where we're going. Recon's already at the river and beyond. Last word I had was that there's no sign of Heggies."
"We didn't get much advance word the last time," Joe commented. "The Heggies were almost on top of us before we knew they were there."
"I think we're getting better dope now. Nobody wants a repeat of this morning."
Joe turned on the bench and opened one of the firing ports in the side wall. It was still raining outside, heavily. The sky was almost dark enough for dusk. Joe checked the time, saw that there were still another four hours before sunset, and shook his head. Then he looked at Al again.
"Maybe you should have hit everybody with sleep patches. That way,
The squad's three new men just sat and listened. None of them felt confident enough around the veterans yet to get into that sort of discussion without an obvious invitation. It didn't matter that all of the new men had already seen combat with the squad, that they were no longer "raw" rookies. In a fight, each of them was paired with one of the veterans, but when they weren't in a fight, they were—mostly—on their own.
"You did the right thing, Bergon," Lieutenant Keye said from his position at the front splat gun. "The Bear gives you any grief, I'll take care of it."
"Thank you, sir."
Al looked at the time line on his visor, then looked at Baerclau again. Al hadn't checked the exact time when he slapped on the sleep patch, but it couldn't be good for more than another five minutes. Of course, there was nothing that said that Baerclau had to wake up precisely when the medication expired. He had been tired enough to sleep longer than that without help.
Just then the Heyer took a particularly hard jounce and Bergon grinned through gritted teeth. If the Bear could sleep through this ride, he could sleep through anything.
A soft groan did escape Joe's lips, though his eyes didn't open right away. Another two minutes passed before that happened. His gaze was vacant, uncomprehending, not as it would have been if he were waking normally. Joe was a veteran mudder. On campaign, he came awake instantly alert if there were the slightest possibility of enemy activity anywhere near.
After a time, Joe blinked—once slowly and then, after a short pause, several times in quick succession.
"What?" he managed. But his throat was dry. His voice cracked. Al put a canteen to the Bear's lips.
"We're back under way," Al explained while Joe took a short sip of water.
Joe took a deep breath and closed his eyes again for a moment while his mind tried to close the gap between his last memories and the present.
"How long?" he asked finally.
"Four hours, right on the button," Al said. "The bone chips are out of your shoulder, the wounds are almost healed, and you're fit for duty again."
Joe moved his left arm, experimentally at first, then with more vigor. There was no pain or restriction. Then he turned his head to look.
"Sure tore hell out of my fatigues." There was more, but now, with his head clearing, there was little chance that he would complain about being zapped for four hours. That had been the injury speaking.
"Don't sweat it," Ezra said. "I'll slap a weaver patch over it and you'll look good as new in an hour."
Lieutenant Keye turned and pointed at his helmet. Joe put his on to hear what the lieutenant had to say.
"You really feeling fit?"
Joe took time to think it over before he answered. "Yes, sir, especially with the nap. Anyone else have a chance to sleep?"
"Only what little they could get in here."
"Little is right," Joe said. "We're not going to be much good in a fight if the men don't get some downtime first."
"Can't be helped. We're trying to avoid another fight. After dark, we might get a couple of hours."
"What's the situation now, sir?"
"We've got that second river crossing coming up soon. That's likely to be our most vulnerable time until we get near where we're going. Recon's already at the river and beyond. Last word I had was that there's no sign of Heggies."
"We didn't get much advance word the last time," Joe commented. "The Heggies were almost on top of us before we knew they were there."
"I think we're getting better dope now. Nobody wants a repeat of this morning."
Joe turned on the bench and opened one of the firing ports in the side wall. It was still raining outside, heavily. The sky was almost dark enough for dusk. Joe checked the time, saw that there were still another four hours before sunset, and shook his head. Then he looked at Al again.
"Maybe you should have hit everybody with sleep patches. That way,
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