What if this field generator worked differently? What if it didn't leap over them, but went through them instead? Or blew up? A thousand possibilities passed through his mind, each worse than the one before. Bull Strom had always said that he worried too much. “Listen, son, more than half of winning wars is just pure luck. So make decisions as best you can and then forget ’em. Chances are it's the luck of the draw anyway, so instead of worrying, you could be doing something worthwhile, like drinking or chasing women.” Stell smiled in the darkness. What was he doing out here when he could be chasing women? Trying to stay alive is real high on the list, he thought wryly. He sampled the night air, searching for the whiff of smoke from dopestick, the tang of fresh lubricant, the click of equipment, the scrape of a boot on gravel—all little things—but things that could save your life. However, the only smell was the damp night air, and the only sound was the monotonous hum of the force field.
