Excerpt from official report. Confidential.

 

"...Company C had been ordered to secure the overrun area and establish communications and watch posts. Green Platoon was assigned the damaged fortifications between Hills 147 and 183. We deployed in loose skirmish order and proceeded to scan for live munitions and/or enemy personnel. At 0210 hours..."

 

* * *

 

Sure, Gunny; I'll tell you all about it. No big deal. How it happened was, I'd been hand-scanning that burned-out fort, and almost walked my troop into ambush. Half a mile behind the lines; never expected a thing. Lucky we weren't all killed.

 

The fort's brick and burnt timber, the back wall nothing but a big pile of rubble I'd just climbed on to get a better view. Picture this: Ahead of me on the left is the gate, wide open; to the right the walkway had fallen and been shoved up almost against the wall. I almost missed it: the glint of reflected firelight off what I could swear was the white of someone's eye. I thought to myself, Anyone with eyes that wide must be terrified. And then, What's wrong with me? I should be scared as hell. No time to be afraid, I guess. I still don't know.

 

Anyway, I figured there must have been three or four of them in ambush, and here's me, sidearm in its holster and both hands full of scanner, top of the pile, no cover, and backlit by a big blazing fire -- the perfect target. I'd have given anything for combat armor; but no, armor's for soldiers. Officers get shiny shoes and funny hats. I didn't know why I was still alive except maybe they were waiting for more people to walk into the trap.

 

The idea just came to me. I cleared my throat and tried to sound confident.

 

"We're low on white cloth right now, and you couldn't see it in this light anyway. So let's just pretend I've got a white flag here, shall we?" With my right hand I waved off Griggs; just had to hope he saw me and could figure out what I was doing. I stepped forward and tried not to piss myself.

 

"Surely you're aware by now just how far behind the lines you are." I was trying for just a hint of that nasal upper-class arrogance. "You've nowhere to run, and can't very well stay where you are. Best put down your guns, step out, and surrender. I'll guarantee you're well-treated, and I promise to exchange each of you the minute the battle's over. Can't ask for better than that, eh?"

 

"And if we don't?" Young voice, possibly female, definitely terrified.

 

"If you don't... Well, I suppose you can still shoot me -- but then, I'm the only man for half a mile in any direction that doesn't want you dead."

 

That started them arguing; I did my best to look bored. I remember, I shifted the scanner to my left hand and scratched my jaw, then the back of my scalp. Finally I took off my cap and started tapping it impatiently on the side of my leg. I think that's what finally did it: looking like it was just barely holding my interest. It's funny; inside, I was trying to crawl out of my skin.

 

"All right; we're coming out."

 

Four of them moved forward, single file, hands high. Filthy devils, covered in that greasy black ash, but in the firelight I could tell they were only kids. Ya know, if that's all they have left to send against us, we'll be done in a week.

 

"Right; that's the way. Smart move. Sergeant," I called, "Take the prisoners into custody. Find them a hot meal and a place to bed down."

 

Griggs came forward -- You know how big an armor suit looks, but he moves so lightly you can almost forget. He stepped up between me and the wall, so those four had to go around past him to climb the pile of bricks I was standing on. One tripped -- well, hands over his head, you got to expect it -- so I reached out to help.

 

Turns out there was a fifth still back there. He screams out "NOOOO!" and empties his magazine at Griggs; sparks flying, ricochets everywhere. Sarge didn't even twitch, just fired once and it was over. The other four didn't even have time to react, which was just as well; by then, all that was left of number five was smoke and ash.

 

One of his friends told me later he was only fourteen. Poor kid. Poor dumb... stupid kid... Excuse me.

 

* * *

 

"...without further incident and established a communications watchpost on the battlements. Initial questioning revealed that the prisoners were part of a patrol that had gotten lost. They were armed with primitive slugthrowers, useless against our power armor. However, one had a plasma grenade that could have wiped out the entire troop; advise caution in future encounters. We turned them over to the provost with my written recommendation for a fast exchange and moved on to Hill 183.

 

My own wound was trifling, likely caused by a flying chip of rock. I tied it up after the prisoners were settled and returned to duty..."

 

Lt. Congino has since received battlefield promotion and is eligible for a wound medal; Command is recommending him for the Combat Star with Oak Leaves for this action. Staff Sgt. Griggs received a commendation but is not being recommended for additional decoration.