The Lotus Eaters

Jaquelina de Coco, La Palma Province, Balboa, Terra Nova

Under the noonday sun, in three hovercraft, half of Pritkin's refueling platoon, plus an MP platoon for security, prepared to land and set up their fuel point by the town's dirt-improved-with-perforated-steel-planking airstrip. They, like all the men of the task force, wore Federated States Army issue battle dress, or close copies thereto, and aramid fiber helmets.

Centurion Ricardo Cruz, returned, with his platoon, for a brief break from jungle patrols, watched the unloading and set up with considerable interest. In fact, he was interested enough to stop writing his letter home, and given how he felt about his wife, Cara, that was very interested indeed.

Odd, Cruz thought. Those are clearly our hovercraft. Just as clearly the uniforms, weapons, and accoutrements are not ours. And those troops? They're way too white. And . . . ah, there's one I recognize from my last trip through Fort Cameron. They're Volgans . . . and they look interestingly serious. But why dressed up like Federated States troops?

Castillo, the machine gunner, seated on the grass nearby, was watching even as Cruz was. "What the hell is all that, Centurion?" the gunner asked.

"None of our business, I suspect," Cruz answered. He pointed, "And neither are those half dozen jet fighters winging in from the east."