‘You might find this a little freaky,’ Rai said as he settled the helmet over Sanjeev’s head. For an instant it was black-out, deafness as the phonobuds sought out his eardrums. ‘They’re working on this new thing, some kind of bone induction thing so they can send the pictures and sounds straight into your brain,’ he heard Rai’s voice say on the com. ‘But I don’t think we’ll get it in time. Now, just stand there and don’t shoot anything.’

The warning was still echoing in Sanjeev’s inner ear as he blinked and found himself standing outside a school compound in a village so like Ahraura that he instinctively looked for Mrs Mawji and Shree the holy red calf. Then he saw that the school was deserted, its roof gone, replaced with military camouflage sheeting. The walls were pocked with bullets down to the brickwork. Siva and Krishna with his flute had been hastily painted on the intact mud plaster, and the words, 13th Mechanised Sowar: Section Headquarters. There were men in smart, tightly belted uniforms with moustaches and bamboo lathis. Women with brass water pots and men on bicycles passed the open gate. By stretching Sanjeev found he could elevate his sensory rig to crane over the wall. A village, an Ahraura, but too poor to even avoid war. On his left a robot stood under a dusty neem tree. I must be one of those, Sanjeev thought; a General Dynamics A8330 Syce; a mean, skeletal desert-rat of a thing on two vicious clawed feet, a heavy sensory crown and two gatling arms - fully interchangeable with gas shells or slime guns for policing work, he remembered from War Mechas October 2023 edition.

Sanjeev glanced down at his own feet. Icons opened across his field of vision like blossoming flowers: location elevation temperature, ammunition load-out, the level of methane in his fuel tanks, tactical and strategic satmaps - he seemed to be in south-west Bihar - but what fascinated Sanjeev was that if he formed a mental picture of lifting his Sanjeev-foot, his Syce-claw would lift from the dust.

Go on try it it’s a quiet day you’re on sentry duty in some cow-shit Bihar village.

Forward, he willed. The bot took one step, two. Walk, Sanjeev commanded. There. The robot walked jauntily toward the gate. No one in the street of shattered houses looked twice as he stepped among them. This is great! Sanjeev thought as he strolled down the street, then, This is like a game. Doubt then: So how do I even know this war is happening? A step too far; the Syce froze a hundred metres from the Ganesh temple, turned and headed back to its sentry post. What what what what what? he yelled in his head.