Some of it’s metal, or, more precisely, metallicized mylar, chaff cut into strips whose exact dimensions are tailored to best frag up any typical fire-control radar. Mixed in with the mylar is the same kind of active chaff that Raven the decker-pilot had used to spoof the SAM off our hoop in the Merlin. And if that wasn’t enough, there’s a special concoction of "smoke" containing living microscopic blue-green algae cells in a water suspension. The cloud of dispersing water droplets makes it fragging difficult to see clearly, and the fact that there are living organisms in those droplets extends the effect to magical sight too. (All Argent’s idea, I happily admit. He remembered shells like this from his Desert Wars days, and asked Lynne if she could get any. An idle request, we’d both thought at the time—this stuff is hardly the kind of drek you find off-the-rack. But Lynne-slitch hadn’t blinked an ice-green eye when she agreed, and the shells were waiting for us when we arrived at the Columbia River staging area. Fascinating, and fragging scary. Maybe we should have asked for a couple of heavy panzers, or maybe a Main Battle Tank or two ...) And while I’m going through all this in my mind, the mortar tubes are delivering more of these ever-so-wiz loads, the wired-up mercs laying the weapons while adjusting for the boats’ motion between shots.