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contact."
    The faces staring back appeared grim.  Some showed worry; others showed fear.  Now was not the time to pull punches or provide his leaders with anything less than the full truth of their circumstances.
    "Any questions?"   
    A hand shot up from the back. 
    "Captain Meeker?"  Meeker was a fighter pilot and the leader of Flight Bravo.
    "General, do we know what type of forces we'll be facing when we land?" 
    "Good question.  I wish I had a good answer," Grant said.  "The reality is that we don't know much about the Minith forces on Waa other than their numbers and locations.  What we've seen till now—both on Earth and on Telgora—might not tell the whole story.  For example, we know the Minith have trained foot soldiers, and that they use vehicles similar to common carriers to deliver their troops to the battlefield.  We also know from Titan and Gee's experiences six year ago that they have space-born fighters capable of damaging a mothership.  We've never seen any evidence that they possess tanks, artillery, or planet-based fighters."
    "They don't have fighter carriers on the ground?"
    "I didn't say that, Captain," Grant explained.  He did not want to give his forces false hope or false information.  The reality was that he did not know what type of vehicles, weapons, or other fighting capabilities they could expect once they hit the ground.   "I said we don't have evidence that they possess that capability.  We've never seen them, and the ship's databanks don't describe any of those resources, but that does not mean they don't have them, or their equivalents.  For all we know, they have everything we have and a whole lot more."
    "Grant?"
    "Yes, Titan?" As a civilian, Titan was not required to use Grant's title.  Grant did not mind, but some of the team leaders in the room shook their heads at the unintended slight.
    "Those aren't good odds, even if the enemy doesn't have our weapons capabilities.  Do we even stand a chance?"
    There it is , Grant thought.
    Titan asked the million-dollar question—the one that everyone in the room had to be thinking about—and Grant was grateful.  Although he would have eventually broached the subject if needed, receiving a direct query from a respected fighter like Titan was best for morale.  It did not change the reality of their circumstances, but allowed him to respond naturally, without appearing to be overly worried. 
    "Of course we have a chance."  Grant offered a thin smile with the statement, and nodded for effect.  He wanted to convey as much optimism as he could without pulling punches, and carefully considered his next words. 
    He had never considered himself much of a motivational speaker—had never had to be.  His reliance on superior training and the personal motivations of those under his command had always seemed sufficient.  A high degree of self-motivation was one of the traits he required of the members of Hell's Warriors.  He did not have those luxuries now.  Although these fighters were motivated, trained, and veterans of the battles on Telgora, they would have been considered newbs by most twenty-first-century standards. 
    So, he did what any twenty-first-century warrior would do when facing a team of twenty-seventh-century soldiers.  He dipped into his playbook of worn coaching clichés and tired, movie-based motivational speeches for inspiration.
    "It's not going to be easy.  In fact, it's going to be damn-near impossible.  But if we fight hard and luck is on our side, we can win this fight," Grant began.  He delivered his message from the core of his being and, over the next several minutes, he offered his best impression of the half-time speech of a coach trying to rally his team to overcome a huge deficit in their title game. 
    His sprinkled references to "those we are fighting for on Earth" and "our duty and responsibility" and "our chance to free humanity" might have been viewed as cheesy or hollow to the cynical