Tombstone by Jay Allan Page B

was not to bunch up.  It makes it too easy
to pick us off in groups, and if the enemy decided to go nuclear, they could
take out a whole force with one or two warheads. 
    I was a newb, so the sergeant positioned me between the team
leader and an experienced private.  There were only three raw recruits in the
platoon, so it was pretty easy for the lieutenant to make sure we were looked
after.  Years later, when I got my own lieutenant’s bars, we were in the middle
of the Third Frontier War and getting our asses handed to us.  My first platoon
command had 36 recruits out of 50 total strength, and there’s no doubt in my
mind we suffered heavier losses because of that.
    The terrain was surreal, jagged exposed rock as far as the
eye could see.  Nothing could live on Tombstone, at least not beyond some
exotic and highly dangerous bacteria.  As far as the eye could see there was
nothing but sulfur-crusted rock and bubbling pools of fluorosulfuric acid,
heated to the boiling point by subterranean lava flows.  The atmosphere was
hazy, with dense green clouds of corrosive gas floating close to the ground.
    We were moving up toward a long ridge where we could get a
good look at the low, rocky plain below.  Normally, we’d be able to detect any
enemy within 50 klicks, but between the radiation, the unstable atmosphere, and
the almost constant magnetic storms, our scanners were unreliable.  The two
sides had been fighting here a long time, and both had figured how to calibrate
their ECM to maximize the cover offered by the planet’s unique
characteristics.  The captain wanted us to scout the old fashioned way, so we
were heading for the high ground with the best visibility.
    You could say we were scouting, but it was really a search
and destroy mission.  We were out here to find any enemy troops who had come
into our sector and wipe them out.  That was the reality of the fighting on
Tombstone, lots of scattered actions aimed at taking out as many of the enemy
as possible.  The war – excuse me, “situation” – was almost purely
attritional.  Neither side had enough strength to win conventionally or the
willingness to risk massive escalation, so the idea was to break down the other
side’s will to fight, primarily by inflicting losses.  Only an idiot could have
embraced that kind of strategy…precisely the kind of idiot that ran the
governments of both powers.
    I didn’t think too much about why we were there, at least
not back then.  I’d gotten my blood up for the landing, and I was scared to
death on the way down, but once we’d made it to the ground the tension
subsided.  We marched right to the firebase and we’d spent the last week sealed
in, my biggest concern the inadequate number of showers and the consequent
fallout on the livability of the place.  We were bored stiff, and we played
cards or hung out in the media center to pass the time.
    Now I was out in the shit, armored up and tramping through
the alien landscape looking for enemies.  Enemies I was supposed to kill. 
Enemies who would try to kill me.  That adrenalin that had faded after the
landing was back.  I was edgy and tense, imagining someone hiding behind every
rock we passed, just waiting to take a shot.  I had to force myself to focus on
my training and what I was supposed to do.  I knew my best chance to stay alive
– and help my comrades do the same – was to do as I had been taught.
    Tension can be good in a combat situation; it keeps you
focused and attentive.  But it can also be dangerous.  If you step too
aggressively in powered armor you may find yourself jumping three or four
meters in the air, offering some enemy sniper a juicy target.  Move forward too
quickly and you end up out of position and ahead of your team…alone and
exposed.  The suit does so much of the work, it you aren’t paying attention you
can lose track of how far or fast you’ve been walking.
    We were moving forward slowly, carefully.  The