Patient is a 72 year old Mantid Warrior who collapsed in public. Patient states they were overcome with trauma induced panic memories that were instigated when he misheard the wind howling down an alley and mistook it for Terran hunting cries.

Patient was given mood stabilization empathic sensory therapy on site and released with a referral to emotional therapy. - Mantid Prime EMT log, 45 PG

Which way is she? We'll go kill her ass. - Unknown Trooper speaking to green Mantid, 3rd Year Occupation of TerraSol, First Mantid-Human War.

Your needs are superseded by my whims. - Mantid Overqueen

The firebase was, to put it in the words of the Telkan who had been stationed there the longest, in complete shit shape.

Vak.tel spent the first two days running around trying to fix defects that the Lieutenant Gretilk or Gunny Brektop discovered.

Without fail, there was a reason for the defects.

Long range scanners having their phased microwave rangers offline? To prevent incoming enemy missiles from using it to home in more accurately. Gate IFF readers offline? To prevent enemy warbois from jumping into the security systems. Spider Mine Fab Unit offline? Air gapped to prevent enemy EW systems from seizing control of it. Nanoforges offline? To prevent further damage from electronic warfare.

The whole place was locked down at a level of EMCON that Vak.tel had never even heard of. Even datalinks weren't allowed to be in External I/O mode. Cables were physically removed or had a minimum 2 meter gap in the cabling. The majority of the electrical systems had been torn out or had bypasses, breakers, or were just shut off with EW traps put in gaps.

Fuel not stored properly in an open air area? Stored in a makeshift underground bunker with cooling. Enemy action?

Nope, it got so hot it would boil away the fuel.

Vak.tel was rapidly moving through the stages of enlisted grief.

First, he tried being in denial that things could be this screwed up.

But it was just problem after problem, all with good reason that the Lieutenant had to admit had a basis in reality despite the fact that it directly impeded the firebase's effectiveness.

But the rocket and artillery attacks every few hours made it obvious why there wasn't a good reason to have any emissions that might help with targeting.

Then he tried the tried and true anger.

But there wasn't anything to be angry at.

Deserts were hot by nature. The sun was hot by nature. He didn't even see the enemy, so it was hard to stay angry at something you never even saw and knew nothing about. Even trying to stay angry at the stupid exercise didn't work when he was laying in the shade in 142 degrees Freedom panting and wishing he was dead.

He tried bargaining, but everyone else was trying to pawn off their duties just like he was. There were no loading frames, the most was the strength assist exoskeletal rigs, but the batteries on those went dead in under an hour.

So there would be work gangs of ten to fifteen Telkan just dragging a heavy cable across the camp to bury it after a lucky rocket blew a crater to the cable, got through the protective layers, and the nanites gobbled the superconductor up.

And, of course, someone did the locking ring wrong and the nanites hiding in the ever present sand ate that cable too.

Meaning they had to do it again.

Then came depression, which was the favorite stage of practically everyone on the firebase.

Even the Lieutenant and the Gunny seemed to slump as they moved from shade patch to shade patch.

Three days in Vak.tel was laying in the shade on top of a camouflage netting bag, panting, trying to stay cool when a thicker shadow crossed him. He looked up and saw Sergeant Kringik looking down at him.

"Got a radio squeal. Patrol from Delta Company, 19th Battalion, is under heavy attack. The Lieutenant wants to go out and see if they need help," Sergeant Kringik said. "You're on detail."

Vak.tel just grunted, getting up. He headed toward the morgue.

Inside, Field Sergeant Impton was listening to the Lieutenant, grinning that grin he always wore.

"The armor is rated for two thousand degrees Kelvin. It's not going to overheat just walking through the desert in six hundred Kelvin heat," the Lieutenant was saying.

"Microfines, nanites, microbot, and just plain sand and dust clog heat exchangers, heat sinks, armor overheat," Impton said. "Heat not problem."

The Lieutenant gave a long suffering sigh, slumping slightly. "What's the problem."

"Is desert. Desert is problem," Impton said. He shook his head. "Patrol went out in power armor. Now dead."

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"We don't know that," the LT said. "Their radio message was cut off."

"Patrol dead," Impton insisted.

Lieutenant Gretlik sighed. "Fine. How should we go out?"

"Hard plate. Chemical percussion ammunition. Use fun truck. Take radio on receive only. Limited power sources, no emissions," Impton said. He puffed out his chest slightly. "Here two years, sir. Still alive."

The Lieutenant nodded, looking personally aggrieved. "Fine."

The armorer obviously already knew the outcome of the argument, the weapons already pulled off the racks. Vak.tel accepted his. A standard variable munition 'magac' rifle set for chemical cartridges, a light machinegun set for the same. He gathered up the weapons, took his night vision, accepted his counter-signs module, and then moved outside.

Apparently Chernobog had shielded nanoforge systems, so Vak.tel found himself standing in front of the massive full conversion chassis, accepting ammunition from one of the nameless Telkan who didn't wear nametags or talk much. He got his ammunition and started putting it in the proper pouches before he moved away.

Back to the Lieutenant.

"No hover vehicles?" the LT asked.

Impton shook his head. "Too loud."

"Graviton?"

"Attract roaming mines and lurking missiles."

"Anti-grav?"

"Same."

"So, wheeled?"

Impton nodded. "Chemical engine, wheeled. Minimum electronics," the Field Sergeant smiled. "You'll like."

Impton moved over. "Chernobog, get the fun truck! The technical!"

The camo netting shifted and the massive hand of the full conversion chassis appeared, holding a six wheeled truck in one hand. It swooped it over the quad a few times, making 'mrrrr.... vroooom' noises, then set it down. The arm disappeared back under the camo netting.

The truck was missing the roof, there was a gun mount on the frame, the panels were all dented and the windows missing. It was painted a tan color and looked like it belonged in a junkyard.

Vak.tel felt like groaning.

"That piece of shit?" Cipdek asked.

"Is good truck," Impton said. He pointed at Vak.tel. "You get in middle, stand up in hole, put gun on mount."

Vak.tel groaned but followed the instructions. Impton gave him an additional armored 'apron' to wear.

He was dripping in sweat.

"Aren't you worried the electrical and computer systems and magnetic induction engines will attract enemy fire?" the LT asked as the rest of the patrol climbed into the truck.

"No computer, electrical copper wire. Engine is petroleum," Impton said.

"Steam powered? Burn the petroleum for heat to make steam to drive pistons?" the Lieutenant asked. "Steam engines are cool."

"Nope. Petroleum explosions drive cylinders. Fun truck," Impton said. He started the vehicle and it roared to life, belching smoke out the back.

The next half hour was one of absolute bone jarring misery for Vak.tel. Every bump went straight to his spine and neck. The sun just hammered down on him and the tinted goggles that he was wearing didn't seem to help.

At one point they passed a sign reading "NEW VAY-GRAZ" with an arrow pointing back the way they came.

"Should be right around that corner," the LT called out.

Impton slowed down, which somehow made the ride worse for Vak.tel.

"Let's move up on foot,' The LT said as they rounded the corner.

The vehicle slowed and stopped.

Impton was out first and Vak.tel took a minute to remove the apron.

"Is bad road," Impton said.

"Why?" the LT asked.

Impton pointed. "Look."

Vak.tel suddenly realized what he'd been seeing but his brain hadn't been registering.

Burnt out vehicles. Tanks, APCs, shattered strikers, trucks, light mobility vehicles. Most were unfamiliar, but there was obviously two types of designs.

"All right, spread out, eyes open," the LT said.

The dirt and grit made skritching noises underfoot as the squad moved forward. Vak.tel nervously checked to make sure the LMG was loaded, wrapping the sling around one forearm.

Around the corner, the dead patrol was obvious. The armor was scattered around, shattered and broken. Puddles of coolant, explosion marks, and shards of armor were all over the road. There were two vehicles, not burning, but twisted junk, in the middle of scorch marks where the electric induction engines had caught ifre and the battery had burned. On either side of the road were strange green plants. Thick bodied with round thick limbs that jutted out from the trunk at a 45 degree angle and then straight up. The plants were covered with white fuzz, flowers, and what looked like spines.

Impton held up a hand for everyone to stop.

"What's wrong, Sergeant?" the LT asked.

"Could be Saggy-Sorrow Man out there," he said, pointing at the green plants. "Be careful. Look just like plant."

"All right," the LT said. "You heard the Sergeant, eyes open."

Vak.tel looked over the surroundings as the LT waved everyone to either side of the road and to spread out.

"No, no, stay away from sides. Saggy-Man grab," Impton said.

The LT waved everyone back to the center.

"Sir," Lance Corporal Erlmet said, pointing at the sand.

Vak.tel saw a body, mostly buried, only the muzzle, one hand, and one knee out of the dirt. The muzzle was frozen in an eternal scream.

The body looked like a dried out mummy that had been there for years.

"What is..." the LT said, starting to move toward the body.

"No. Saggy-Man out there. Saggy-Man push body in dirt, suck out juices," Impton said. He suddenly held up his hand. "Stop."

"What?" the LT asked.

"Back. Slowly," Impton said.

"What about the patrol? We need to at least check for wounded," the LT said.

"Pop-wasps," Impton said. He held up his rifle. "See?"

Vak.tel zoomed in with his retinal link.

It was a flying insect, armored, with a large abdomen. It had iridescent wings, a black body with yellow stripes, large eyes. It was also taking little bites out of the handgrip of Impton's weapon.

"Back up," Impton said. "Do not kill. Death scent will bring more," he held his weapon out.

Vak.tel followed Private Jeerlimt as they moved backwards.

A wasp landed on his goggles, moving around slowly. It combed its antenna then flew off.

"What is so dangerous about the pop-wasps, Sergeant?" the LT asked, his voice hushed.

"Butt is shape charge. Battlesteel cone. Blow two centimeter wide hole in battlesteel, pockmark warsteel. One, twenty, no danger," he pointed out in the desert at one of the plants. "See weird woven metal egg?"

Vak.tel looked. It looked like a paper-mache egg made from metal with a hole in the bottom.

It was also roughly the size of a small Telkan.

"Thousands. Swarm. Pop pop pop," Impton said. "Destroy armor, break it up," he waved his rifle and two took off. "Chew up armor, make nests, armor for bodies. Nasty."

"Why not just rocket it. A little HIT should do it," Someone suggested.

Impton pointed out six more nests, all separated by at least a hundred meters. "All will swarm. Pop pop pop. No more patrol."

"Oh," their voice was quiet.

"Greeeat," Vak.tel said.

His brain moved to the last stage of enlisted grief.

"Fuck it," he said.

The patrol trudged back to the vehicle, climbing in. Impton got it moving and the desert slid by as Vak.tel looked around for anything that might need shot that wouldn't just make shit worse.

Once they got back and the weapons turned in, Vak.tel went back over to his spot in the shade with a cold fizzystim, leaning back on the empty camo-net bag.

"Good patrol, no?" Impton asked, walking by.

"Came back alive. Good patrol," Vak.tel agreed.

Impton's laughter echoed across the camp.

Vak.tel smiled back.