Armor by John Steakley

painful for the cargo. The unconscious were worse, since suits were programmed to spread eagle when a warrior lost consciousness in order to keep the spine erect and avoid complicating possible fractures. This posture with arms and legs outstretched wide, made for a cumbersome package. Passing these people along, already a tricky piece of work, was further complicated by their potential delicacy.
    Like dolls, thought Felix, as he watched the hurried loading. Mannequins, or cookies. That was it: cookies. Giant gingerbread men.
    The Colonel, he noticed, had stopped on the lower section of the landing. He was busily directing the loading, or attempting to. His blue and white striped arms, symbols of his rank, made exaggerated gestures to punctuate his instructions. No one seemed to be paying any attention to his orders, or even acknowledging his presence. Felix turned away, wearied by the sight.
    “I’m sorry, Felix,” repeated Forest. “He shouldn’t have ordered you. He should have waited for you to volunteer.” He looked at her, looked away, said nothing still. Forest persisted. “It’s not that he’s got anything against you personally, Felix.”
    “He said that,” Felix answered at last.
    “It’s just that you’re a scout, with a scout’s ability to maneuver.”
    “He said that,” Felix replied.
    “Felix,” said Forest with some emotion, “try to look at it from his point of view. We’ve got all these casualties to worry about, and you’re damned good at this, you’ve got to admit and….’
    “He said that, too. He said it all.”
    “Oh,” replied Forest hesitantly. “Well, I can see how you must feel about it. He was wrong. He should have waited for you to step forward. He was wrong.”
    “No,” said Felix in a tired voice, “he was right. I wouldn’t have volunteered. ‘ ‘ He turned then, and faced her squarely, closely, so that their faces were dimly visible to one another. For several seconds, warrior faced warrior, pragmatist faced fatalist, silently, eloquently.
    “Yes,” said Forest at last, averting her eyes as she spoke, “he was right.” She turned away and started up the hill behind the last of the casualty bearers. “Come on. I’ll explain the procedure.” Felix followed.
    At the halfway mark of the gorge, a broad, smooth faced chunk of tightly packed sand formed a two tiered landing of sorts. Forest stepped from the gorge onto the first, lower, section and stopped. Six warriors, evidently the actual volunteers, stood in a row, waiting. Felix eyed them curiously.
    “This is our station,” Forest began. “I figure they can only get to us in two ways. From the gorge directly, or by using that ledge there. “ She pointed to an outcropping of sand which ran the lower length of the landing. “We’ll try to hold them here first. If we can’t, then we move up there to where they’re loading. We only have one route to defend from there.”
    One of the warriors stepped forward. “Why not just start up there?” he asked in a high-pitched tenor.
    Forest shrugged. “The CO wants us to try to stop them here, before they even get close to the helpless.”
    “Figures,” muttered another, deeper voice
    “Okay,” said Forest calmly. “If it gets to be too much, we’ll move in a hurry. Just remember to keep the escape route open. Don’t let anything get behind you.”
    “Don’t worry,” said a third voice.
    “Maybe we won’t even have to worry about it,” offered the tenor hopefully. “It’s still pretty dark and it looks to me like they’re moving ‘em pretty fast.”
    “Hey, yeah,” said someone else. “We might get lucky at that. Look at ‘em up there.”
    “No,” said Felix coldly. “Not up. Look down.”
    All turned to look in response to his statement. Below, the ants were steaming toward them from the edge of the maze.
    “Okay,” said Forest hurriedly. “You three get with Felix over there on the right side. Cover the ledge. And you three stay with me. We’ll take the gorge. Get moving.”
    Felix stepped over into position. He stood