For want of food Give us mud For want of rest Give us rain For want of joy Give us sand For want of ammo Give us rust
Send the seahorse Vanguard of the people (repeat 3x) Sacrifice the seahorse To sate Mars”
The last part was repeated thrice, slowly rising until the last time trailing off like a whisper. She also thought some kind of homemade instrument accom - panied the dirge, like a woeful homemade balalaika of the poorest quality with maybe two strings to mournfully pluck by an unskilled hand. Mildred knew one of the units at the atoll had been the so-called “Seahorse” Brigade and made the connection. From what she saw in the briefing materi- als she managed to find, they were some low quality “ash and trash” MOBO unit which they put together from people unfit for proper combat, sometimes with previous injuries or illnesses but still able to do basic service. Apparently, that brigade contained one battalion with 40% stomach ailments -- now how you could lead that lot into battle she would never understand. An ekrano - plan crewman remarked derisively they were little more than “tummy tigers” which made her smirk back then, part of the black humor of which she was accustomed. She also noticed they claimed to have found some kind of arche - ological site, but of course that could be just them trying to impress higher HQ with some fancy rumors and such in hopes of a reward. She had learned later that the atoll had strange weather purposefully, due to an ongoing drone mission that seeded the clouds above with small
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