Excerpt: Another Shade of Pale

[original beginning, which has been expanded]
"We've got incoming!" The corporal's voice over Ralf's cybercomm was lagged and somewhat garbled by the transfer through the haloset he wore, and he responded a nanosec too late, was only halfway to the ground when the shockwave hit, then the whoomph! of a large explosion sent chunks of debris and dirt to rain about him in the potholed roadway where he'd been taking point. Pings of seemingly random small arms fire had been glancing off the buildings, echoing down the canyon space between them. Now, apparently, they'd found the seriously armed insurgents. Or been found. Given the artillery, he wasn't sure this wasn't a big ol' trap. Vehicle bombs, deadman traps, random snipers, those he'd heard about. But not organized military with genuine weapons. No one mentioned any missing ordinance in any of the briefings, either. So where in Hel had that shell come from?

Clutching his head to protect his halo, Ralf paused for the largest chunks to land then scrambled knees-and-elbows to the lee of a scrub-lined wall--what once was someone's front garden, now cratered by the shelling that had wracked the insurgent-occupied neighborhood. Now he was grateful for the cover and the concealment, wallowing low enough in scrubby grasses he figured his armor would blend him in invisibly while he scoped the situation.

"You alright?" from Private Lassanog, her voice a slim whisper from where she lay prone and scanning for unfriendlies around the other end of the wall.

"Fine. Just stupid." He didn't bother to mention it was the data lag of the new halo rig. It wasn't properly adjusted yet or there was something screwy in the interface. Because excuses weren't acceptable. No ranger made excuses, even a conscript who would rather be fifteen parsecs distant from this hellhole planet.

"How's Tank?"

She pointed two fingers at the façade of a building slightly ahead and across the acned road. Tank--Private Chaterjee--was just visible, his chameleon battle armor breaking up his outline so he might, to a casual glance, appear as more rubble landed against the gray building. Ralf didn't see him in the heads-up display, or Lassanog either he noticed. Another damn thing gone wrong with his rig. He wasn't sure he could trust it now for its purpose; but he hadn't any choice. He was the squad sniper and had to take out the rocket launcher.

"Bein," came the call over the static-filled rig. "You find a target yet?" The sergeant sounded impatient with his newbie sniper.