I’d heard on the radio that the Kristang left security of the space elevator in Ecuador to the USA. I laughed. “Bet they’re happy about that.” No red-blooded US Marine wanted to be stuck on guard duty, while the Army went off into space to avenge the attack on our planet.

“Fuckin-A, man. They offered me big bucks for this patch.” Jesse fingered the blue UNEF patch on his right sleeve, the logo of the United Nations Expeditionary Force, which is what they were calling us now. National patches, in our case the US flag, went on the left sleeve. “Like money means anything now.” Jesse frowned and looked down at his clothes. “At least those Marines have real uniforms on. I got this at a surplus store in Arkansas.” His pants fit, while his top looked to be three sizes too big.

My own ‘uniform’ was mismatched, the pants were from the Maine National Guard, while the top, which had been issued to me on the train to Miami, was in an old camo pattern, and looked like it had been in storage since the Iraq war, the first one. Or maybe the Spanish-American War. It still smelled faintly of mothballs. “Maybe the Army will issue us new unis here.”

“Don’t count on it.” A familiar voice barked at us. We turned to see Lt. Amos Gonzalez, who had been a platoon leader in the 10th. Not our platoon, but a familiar face. Jesse and I snapped to attention and saluted. “At ease, men. Bishop and Colter, right?” His face broke into a grin. “It’s good to see the two of you. Glad you made it to the party.”

“Good to see you, too, LT." Jesse said. "Do you know how many of us are here?”

He shook his head, eyes down, as he kicked the dirt with his boot. “Communications are still spotty. We’re putting people to work as they straggle in.”

Jesse frowned at Gonzalez avoiding the question. “Hey, LT, all I’ve seen here so far is us, guys from the Belching Buzzards," he meant the 101st Airborne Screaming Eagles, "the 3rd Infantry, and Marines. We’re not bringing any armor or cavalry?”

Lt. Gonzalez shot him a scornful look. “Colter, you really want to be in a tank, fighting against an enemy that can shoot down from orbit?” He didn’t wait for Cornpone's answer.  "That's a quick ticket to a long dirt nap. The Kristang said they needed infantry, so that’s what we’re sending. The armor and aviation boys are going to sit this one out.”

“Pardon me, sir, but what the hell good is infantry going to do against the Ruhar?” I asked. “I don’t even have a weapon.”