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Chapter 9. Shock and all. We sleep peaceably in our beds at night,

only because rough men stand ready to do violence on our behalf. George Orwell.

O-700 Hours, CST, 14 February.

Clark awoke and felt completely rested. Glancing at his watch, he discovered it was O-700 Hours.

That meant he had been asleep for almost five hours. It was the longest,

unbroken sleep he'd had in years, and he couldn't remember the last time he had slept all night

without being woke up by nightmares. Murdoch was sitting on a bunk across from him,

brushing his teeth. He lifted his eyebrows at Clark and set up, but didn't stop brushing.

Clark swung his legs off the bed and glanced around the room. There was a line at the door

to the bathroom. Murdoch spat into a plastic cup and then rinsed his mouth with a bottle of water.

Why do you think I'm brushing my teeth at my bed?" asked Murdoch, taking another pull from the

water bottle. It's a good thing I shoured in shave last night, said Clark. I might have to go outside

to piss, though. They would probably be faster, said Murdoch. That's one thing they can improve

about the mimics. Bigger bathrooms. But hey, I'm not complaining. At least we're not using

porta-potties and living on MREs. Meals ready to excrete, said Clark. No thanks. Same, said Murdoch.

I think they've got eggs and sausage in the chow hall. I'm going to give it a shot.

Grab me a couple of breakfast burrito, said Clark. Sure thing, boss, said Murdoch ducking out the door.

Clark started getting dressed and timidly touched his ribs where they were bruised.

They felt fine to the touch. There was no pain there at all. Holy shit, he thought. She's the real deal.

Once he had his armor back in place, he checked the loads on his weapons and put them back on.

By the time he had all of his gear in place, Murdoch came back with a plate full of eggs,

...