The name tag on giant trooper’s body armor identified him as BUKOWSKI. From the shoulder-slung gun rig, she knew he was a heavy-weapon carrier. He certainly was big enough, she mused. Even with his helmet off, he still had to crouch over in the confines of the LAV.

“I tapped out my Prozac,” she said. “I’m just a little jumpy, that’s all.”

“I got some Zoloft gum, if you’d like a stick,” said Bukowski.

“Would I!”

Julia would have leapt out of her seat, if it weren’t for the webbing which held her in place. Bukowski fished a stick of gum out of a pocket and stretched across the width of the vehicle to pass it to her.

“Thank you, Specialist,” she said with real gratitude.

“Is that gum? Do you think I could have some?”

Julia recognized the voice. It was Captain Svensden, a ’temp—one of two observers traveling in the LAV. He seemed pretty cool, but his boss, Colonel Maloney, was an asshole. Svensden sat two down and across from her, but Maloney was thankfully right at the other end of the cabin, with Second Lieutenant Chen, the platoon commander.

Even in the dim red interior light the ’temps both stood out. They wore armor, like everyone else, but neither rested comfortably within it. Svensden fiddled with his straps and Velcro tabs. And among the dozen passengers, Maloney was the only other person besides Bukowski who didn’t have a powered helmet strapped on. The graphics gave him motion sickness, he said. A pool of vomit lay at his feet, and the air con was working hard to scrub the smell of it from the cabin.

Bukowski was about to toss a stick of the gum to Svensden when Julia spoke up. She didn’t have to shout. She was miked up and plugged into the tac net with the troopers.

“Better not, Captain. It’s not Wrigley’s Spearmint. It’s a drug. Probably put you to sleep, since you haven’t built up any tolerance. These guys are used to it.”

“What’s that?”

Duffy cursed at herself. It was Colonel Maloney.

“Is somebody drinking up there? Did I hear right. And is it that woman? Goddamn, that’s all we need.” Maloney tried to untangle himself from the restraining web. Chen reached an arm across the man’s chest, telling him to sit still.

“Get your grubby little fingers of me, Chinaman!” the colonel shouted.

Everybody in the LAV jumped at that. A few threw their hands up to their ears to deal with the shooting pain. Maloney’s throat mike had picked up the yell and amplified it tenfold across the audio net.

“Fucking jerk,” muttered Duffy.

“What did you say? What did that woman call me?” yelled Maloney.

A couple of marines ripped off their helmets. One reached over and unplugged the audio cabling that connected Maloney with the link.

“Shut the fuck up!” he said.