Somehow I keep it under control, though. "What were we supposed to do?" I ask, as coolly as I know how. "There was no tail on us. We set out the watchers, and I had Katrina jacked into the surveillance system. There was no sign of trouble." I shrug. "Then suddenly we’re dealing with two Lone Star FRT squads. Eight of us against ... what? ... twenty of them?" Twenty-four, actually, according to Lone Star SOP, but not a smart thing to mention. "They’ve got armor and heavy weapons, we’ve got fragging popguns." The anger’s building, so I bite back on it again. "The way I see it, we’re lucky we made it out with even three crates and the Bulldog."