to agree on was that, if they were going to be restrained from internecine murder, then killing peace enforcers was the second-best option. Especially since the peace enforcers were actually only there to keep things quiet enough for oil corporations hired by a corrupt government-in-exile to search for and exploit the island oil reserves that had become increasingly rare and valuable as the twenty-first century wore on.
It had been an ugly op, running patrols through heavy vegetation, scanning constantly for booby traps, worrying about when the next bomb would go off in the latrines. It didn't help that the island, like every other hot spot, was overloaded with ancient but still deadly firearms left over from the last century's Cold War. Stark and the other soldiers were used to encountering that state of affairs, but that didn't make it any nicer to deal with. "I thought the old M-16 had all these problems with jamming and stuff," Stark grumbled to Vic.
"Yeah," she agreed. "So?"
"So how come so many M-16s are still working good enough to throw lead at us?"
"Simple, Ethan," Reynolds said with a laugh. "We sold all the good ones to other countries. Probably made a lot of money. By the way, how's your ammo quota holding up?"
"Lousy."
Technically, the country benefiting from the peace enforcement ops was supposed to be paying for the soldiers, but that assumed the country either had a functioning government or that most of the available money wasn't being dumped into untraceable bank accounts. Since there wasn't enough funding to support much ammunition expenditure, the requirement usually got wished away. "It's a peace operation, not a war," one of the American officers lectured sternly. "You don't need excess ammunition. It will only encourage unduly aggressive actions."
Stark glowered at the ground. Lectures seemed to be as inevitable a part of war as bullets and beans. This one, derisively labeled Peace 101, covered the very important Rules of Engagement. Stark liked knowing the circumstances under which he could legally shoot back at allegedly pacified natives armed with heavy weapons and hostile attitudes. "If you are fired upon," they were ordered, "it is probably an attempt to provoke some military action that would discredit our mission. Therefore, you are not—repeat, not—to return fire unless and until actual damage has been inflicted."
It took a moment to digest all that. Then Stark raised one hand, his face stubborn. "So you're telling us that if the indigs shoot at us and miss, we can't return fire. We gotta wait until they hit us."
"That is correct."
"So, what if we're dead at that point? Are we allowed to, you know, bleed on them? Or are we supposed to die in a way that doesn't bother anybody?"
"You are completely missing the point," the officer declared with every evidence of exasperation. "You will not die, Sergeant. This is a peace enforcement mission."
A soldier in First Squad had raised her hand at that point. "If it's so peaceful, why do they need us here at all?"
Captain Disrali, their Company Commander of the moment, stood long enough to face his company, his expression put-upon. "There will be no more questions. Or comments. From anyone. Just listen to the damn briefing." He sat down again, back to the troops.
Stark leaned toward Reynolds. "Guess he won't be leading any patrols in person," he whispered.
"He wouldn't know how," Reynolds sniffed. "He's only here for his war-hero tour so he can pin on a Bronze Star he didn't earn and get promoted to Major."
"Just so long as he stays out of our way. We got enough problems with this op without adding obstacles."
Vic nodded. "Speaking of obstacles, did you notice the inhibits they've placed on our weapons?"
"Yeah. They'll only fire one clip per week. Not a round of ammo more. As if."
"Bullets cost bucks, Ethan."
"So do bandages and body bags. Anyway, the corporations pulling oil out of this rotting heap of dung they call an island are
It had been an ugly op, running patrols through heavy vegetation, scanning constantly for booby traps, worrying about when the next bomb would go off in the latrines. It didn't help that the island, like every other hot spot, was overloaded with ancient but still deadly firearms left over from the last century's Cold War. Stark and the other soldiers were used to encountering that state of affairs, but that didn't make it any nicer to deal with. "I thought the old M-16 had all these problems with jamming and stuff," Stark grumbled to Vic.
"Yeah," she agreed. "So?"
"So how come so many M-16s are still working good enough to throw lead at us?"
"Simple, Ethan," Reynolds said with a laugh. "We sold all the good ones to other countries. Probably made a lot of money. By the way, how's your ammo quota holding up?"
"Lousy."
Technically, the country benefiting from the peace enforcement ops was supposed to be paying for the soldiers, but that assumed the country either had a functioning government or that most of the available money wasn't being dumped into untraceable bank accounts. Since there wasn't enough funding to support much ammunition expenditure, the requirement usually got wished away. "It's a peace operation, not a war," one of the American officers lectured sternly. "You don't need excess ammunition. It will only encourage unduly aggressive actions."
Stark glowered at the ground. Lectures seemed to be as inevitable a part of war as bullets and beans. This one, derisively labeled Peace 101, covered the very important Rules of Engagement. Stark liked knowing the circumstances under which he could legally shoot back at allegedly pacified natives armed with heavy weapons and hostile attitudes. "If you are fired upon," they were ordered, "it is probably an attempt to provoke some military action that would discredit our mission. Therefore, you are not—repeat, not—to return fire unless and until actual damage has been inflicted."
It took a moment to digest all that. Then Stark raised one hand, his face stubborn. "So you're telling us that if the indigs shoot at us and miss, we can't return fire. We gotta wait until they hit us."
"That is correct."
"So, what if we're dead at that point? Are we allowed to, you know, bleed on them? Or are we supposed to die in a way that doesn't bother anybody?"
"You are completely missing the point," the officer declared with every evidence of exasperation. "You will not die, Sergeant. This is a peace enforcement mission."
A soldier in First Squad had raised her hand at that point. "If it's so peaceful, why do they need us here at all?"
Captain Disrali, their Company Commander of the moment, stood long enough to face his company, his expression put-upon. "There will be no more questions. Or comments. From anyone. Just listen to the damn briefing." He sat down again, back to the troops.
Stark leaned toward Reynolds. "Guess he won't be leading any patrols in person," he whispered.
"He wouldn't know how," Reynolds sniffed. "He's only here for his war-hero tour so he can pin on a Bronze Star he didn't earn and get promoted to Major."
"Just so long as he stays out of our way. We got enough problems with this op without adding obstacles."
Vic nodded. "Speaking of obstacles, did you notice the inhibits they've placed on our weapons?"
"Yeah. They'll only fire one clip per week. Not a round of ammo more. As if."
"Bullets cost bucks, Ethan."
"So do bandages and body bags. Anyway, the corporations pulling oil out of this rotting heap of dung they call an island are
Similar Books
Delusional Love (2nd Edition)
Sage Young
League of Strays
L. B. Schulman
Wicked End
Bella Jeanisse
Firebrand
P. K. Eden
Angel Mine
Sherryl Woods
Duncan
Teresa Gabelman
No Good to Cry
Andrew Lanh
Devils Kiss
Zoe Archer
Songs From the Stars
Norman Spinrad