Caleb sat in the back of Transport 7. The metal bench vibrated against his boots. The truck hit a pothole, rattling the armor plates stacked in the cabin. Assault Squad Three did not speak.
Jaxson checked the battery on his plasma rifle. He glared at the steel floor, hating the assignment.
Rina sat across from Caleb, her kinetic rifle resting across her knees as she studied him.
The truck frame shook. Cold air blew through the canvas flaps. Caleb closed his eyes. The chalky protein block sat like lead in his stomach. The thing under his sternum burned through the calories fast to keep him from freezing. He focused on the engine noise to block the dull throb in his shoulder.
"The containment strategy," Rina said over the engine rumble. "Freezing the ground."
Caleb opened his eyes. "Ice limits traction. It won't backpedal onto a slick surface when it needs leverage to carry that armor."
"We dictate the footing," Rina confirmed, testing his logic.
