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access to any portion of the massive operation plan being developed; annexes, appendices, annexes to appendices, subsections, sub-subsections, and the ever-popular attachments to any and everything. "They tried to print out one of the oplans once," Tanaka had offered. "Some general insisted on it. But headquarters ran out of paper before the print job finished."
    "Were you short on paper?" Stark had asked.
    "Heck, no. We had a lot of paper. Reams and reams. Just not enough to print out an oplan. I hear oplans used to be a little shorter, back before they went paperless. Now everybody just copies the last one onto their hard drive and adds on to it. There's probably stuff in there about fighting the Brits during the Revolution. Who'd know? Nobody can read the things anymore, and I don't think anybody tries."
    Stark shook off the memory of Tanaka, one more face and name gone from this world, and focused back on the present, gesturing toward the image of Lexington Sector floating slightly above the surface of the table. "Okay, you apes. What went right and what'd we do wrong?"
    Vic swung one finger slowly along the arc of low elevations studded with defensive symbology that marked the enemy front. "We got our forces in past there and out again. That's a big plus."
    "Yeah, but it still cost us a shuttle. We haven't got a lot of those. Gordo." Stark focused on his supply officer, Sergeant Gordasa. "Have we had any luck trying to get more on the black market?"
    Gordasa shook his head. "Too expensive, but more to the point, too tightly monitored. Nobody can figure out how to get one to us without being caught." He offered a small smile. "Now, if you'd brought back all that ammunition you blew up, I might've been able to trade that for one."
    "Sorry, Gordo. We were too busy to form a work detail." He turned to Sergeant Tran. "Speaking of that ammo, any problems with all the junk it blasted into space? Any of it gonna fall on us once its orbit decays?"
    "No," Tran stated. "It was a surface blast, so most of the debris flung upward came from the ammo itself, and that debris was fairly small stuff. A lot of it, but small. Nothing any of our surface installations can't handle. They were built to deal with small impacts."
    "Okay. Stacey." Security officer Sergeant Yurivan, leaning backward in her chair as if half-asleep, opened one eye slightly and cocked it toward Stark. "Any reaction from back home?"
    Yurivan yawned. "Nope. Of course, the powers that be ain't telling anyone about this back home. There's a lot of buzz about the explosion, because you couldn't hide the blasted thing from anyone on Earth who was looking this way, but officially its cause remains undetermined."
    Reynolds snorted. "How long does the Pentagon and the government think they can stonewall something like that?"
    "If they're being stupid, maybe they think a long time. Or long enough to deal with us first and then keep everything classified until the sun burns out, anyway." Stacey Yurivan smiled. "Oh, yeah. Got an unofficial thanks from a couple of civ contractors who you let run away from that landing field. They say they owe us. Could be nice friends to have."
    "Could be," Stark agreed. I guess that's doing well by doing right, or something like that. "Chief Wiseman, how're you doing?"
    His naval commander made a small face, then waved away the question. "I'm okay. You lose people. It happens."
    "You lost real good people," Reynolds corrected.
    "That's right," Stark agreed. "You sailors all did great, and that shuttle crew . . . well, they did above and beyond. For real. I made a promise, Chief. They'll be remembered."
    Wiseman managed a small smile. "Thanks. And if it's any consolation, I bet people'll be studying how we used those shuttles for quite a while. We wrote a new chapter on raiding."
    "Good." Stark glanced over at Sergeant Lamont, who was sitting uncharacteristically subdued. "I guess you're still unhappy about losing that tank."
    Lamont spread his