15:28 <tom> Bob: "Janissary janissary janissary janissary janissaryjanissaryjanissary." 15:29 <tom> It'd help if it snowed. 15:29 <tom> He wouldn't need much. Just a light dusting to cover the spider's web of cabling laid out across the grass around the farmhouse and hide the firing positions under the bumps and divots in the snow. 15:29 <tom> And besides, what better conditions to fight Reptilians? Advantage mammals. 15:29 <tom> "I don't know if God's listening but I know you are, you meme-loving fuck." 15:30 <tom> It's not like it'd be any more miserable than the constant freezing rain. This fucking country. 15:32 <tom> "I was gonna ask you, what does God even want from us? I guess the answer's in." He finishes his beer and discards the empty can into the foxhole. 15:32 <tom> Bob crouches in the ankle-deep water in the trench and fiddles with his rangefinder. It's been raining all night. Doesn't matter. There's still work to do. 15:33 <tom> Infrared reflector flags line the property in hundred-meter increments from the firing position. Just count the number of flags between you and the target, that's your range-in right there. Simple. 15:33 <tom> More digging. The emplacement needs just a bit more square footage if it's gonna field a support weapon. 15:33 <tom> He flits back and forth from the truck, lugging the heavy metal tube and its accessories up the pasture and planting it firmly in the muddy floor of the trench. 15:34 <tom> FUCK, man. It's not even December yet. 15:34 <tom> What the fuck am I gonna do? 15:34 <tom> 3...What the fuck can I do? 15:34 <tom> ...What the fuck can I do? 15:35 <tom> He reaches into the satchel and produces an oblong metal object- a propane tank? There are fins welded sloppily to the base. He slots it into the tube with a slap. 15:35 <tom> "Pay attention or this'll be you next year." 15:35 <tom> ... 15:36 <tom> "TARGET! GUNNER, HEAT!" The commander's face never leaves the periscope. Bill's already moving to haul the huge shell into the loading tray. 15:36 <tom> "UP!" He thumps PFC Nguyen on the shoulder. Nguyen swings the turret around with a flick of his wrists on the controls. 15:36 <tom> The commander guides the PFC's crosshairs onto the target: "LEFTLEFTLEFTLEFT!" The shell disappears into the breech with a clack of interlocking metal lugs. 15:37 <tom> "ON!" Nguyen squeezes the trigger, and Bill's vision shakes with the pressure wave rattling his eyeballs in their sockets. 15:37 <tom> "AGAINAGAINAGAIN," The commander screams, panic snarling his words in his throat. "DEPRESS TEN DEGREES! EIGHTY YARDS!" The spent casing tumbles out the breech and rolls around the floor of the crew compartment. "SHOOT!" 15:38 <tom> "UP!" Bill roars, slamming the shell into the loader with all his might. 15:38 <tom> "KILL! HIM! NOW! TWENTY YARDS!!" 15:38 <tom> "LAST HEAT!" Bob shouts over the din. Something strikes the hull of the tank from outside, rocking the entire sixty-ton monster on its treads. 15:40 <tom> The driver throws the tracks into reverse as they desperately try to put distance between them and the target. 15:40 <tom> Metal flakes ping around the compartment, slicing into Nguyen's thigh inches from Bill's face. The gunner doesn't even flinch as he depresses the trigger on the cannon. 15:40 <tom> The explosion is very close, shaking the remaining tank shells in their cradle. Dust settles over the inside of the cabin. 15:40 <tom> "TARget Cease fire!" The commander gasps, slumping back in the seat. "We got 'em." 15:40 <tom> Nobody talks for a while. Nguyen is breathing hard and grasping his leg up in the gunner's cupola seat. Bill wipes his forehead and it comes back bloody. 15:41 <tom> Only now he feels the the sting, intensifying, spreading up the side of his hand where the loader came within a microsecond and a millimeter of ripping off half his fingers, and instead merely peeled off a flap of skin running from his wrist up the side of his pinky. 15:42 <tom> "Guh," Bob's leg jerks him awake, sloshing the dark water in the fighting hole, confused. 15:42 <tom> Oh, right. 15:42 <tom> "God damn it." 15:43 <tom> Empty beer cans float in a little constellation around the drunk soldier's legs. The rainwater has pooled up and around him, numbing and cold. 15:44 <tom> It really woulda been better if she just tried to rip his face off. 15:45 <tom> Oh, get a fucking grip, asshole. 15:45 <tom> Bob climbs out the foxhole and paces the perimeter to warm up. The rest of the fighting positions are on higher terrain, and he's satisfied to find his is the only one flooded by the rain. 15:45 <tom> "What the fuck am I supposed to doooooo-" 15:46 <tom> He throws a plastic tarp over the mortar to keep the rain out. It should be fine out here until Friday... it should be. The odds of a child finding it seem low. 15:46 <tom> Low but not zero. 15:46 <tom> It's fine. It's all fuckin' fine. 15:47 <tom> You should text her, bro. Tell her it's cool, everyone's.... cooool. 15:47 <tom> It takes a herculean effort by the entire rest of Bob's higher mental processes to defeat his lizard brain on this one. 15:48 <tom> What the fuck do you think would happen, asshole? 15:48 <tom> What the FUCK would you say to Mari? 15:48 <tom> Bob finishes his walk and slides back into the foxhole with his entrenching tool, scooping out muddy water with each shovelful of gravel. 15:48 <tom> Let's review. Bob slumps over in the muddy hole and fumbles with a cigarette. 15:49 <tom> How many people have you *actually* helped since you got here? 15:49 <tom> Well, you took a woman's phone and made her think she was being kidnapped. That's a win for sure. 15:50 <tom> Almost got Willie killed like.. twice? At least? And that last time you just really wanted to talk to Agatha. Let's be real. Let's be fuckin' honest. 15:50 <tom> And you almost killed her, too. Real smooth, man. I'm sure she'll wanna be friends after you set her on fire. 15:50 <tom> "Pro shit." 15:50 <tom> The cigarette goes to ash before he's ready to stop, so he goes for another, then another. 15:50 <tom> "Why am I even mad? This is what I wanted." 15:50 <tom> "Right?" 15:51 <tom> Then why's it suck so bad... 15:51 <tom> I gotta do something... 15:51 <tom> Oh yeah, like what? Something that makes things a hundred times worse, like every other time? Bob glances up at the black sky. 15:51 <tom> "C'mon you smug prick, smite me already. Save me the trouble." 15:52 <tom> "I don't even know if the Seveneaves people are alive or dead. I got all their names..." 15:52 <tom> Nothing happens. 15:52 <tom> This time it genuinely does take everything he's got not to curl up into a ball right there in the foxhole.