Specialist Renata stretches out on the sand while the platoon stops for a rest. He's managed to get Big Tom re-united with its tripod, but the bullet damage makes the machine gun tilt a little drunkenly to one side. He regards it sadly, and Nico balefully, by turns. He's not completely stupid. Big Tom is the squad's heaviest ordnance, unless someone has an artillery piece hidden up his, um, nose. Only their enemies benefit if Big Tom is silenced.
There's been no ambush yet, though, and he has his eye on Nico for the day. And more importantly, he might have a little trouble with higher math, but he can count as well as anyone, and if there's one rule in this man's army, it's that you don't stick your neck out where your commanding officer is concerned. Or the man about to be your commanding officer. Same thing.
He swivels the machine gun a little bit on its pivot. It makes a sad sort of metal-on-metal whining sound, but it moves. He'd like to hear Big Tom talk again, just to be sure, but there's nothing to shoot at. He glares unhappily at the trees cacti, and takes lazy aim at the nearest one.
Bang, he says. Bang, bang, bang.
In his slow way, he considers the decision they had come to this morning. He can't say he much likes it. Seems as likely to get them all killed, with or without insurgents, as not. And he knows who he would want to have on his side, if he were the insurgent leader, to best destroy the squad from within. If he had it his way, he'd march the bunch of them -- the ones he didn't like, anyway -- off into the desert right now with no food or water, knock 'em on the head a bit, and leave for the extraction point with everyone else. Easy peasy. But that's not his decision, either. And to be honest, he's not that bright.
The thoughts churn inside. He's not ready to speak.
Bang.
}
)
