"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you," the NCO chortled. He took the cup and sipped the brew. "God, that tastes awful. I love it."

"It's bloody freezing," Corporal Kane grumped.

"How cold is it?" Julian asked, diving back into his bivy tent for his helmet.

"Twenty-three degrees," Despreaux told him with a fresh smile.

"Twenty-three?" Gronningen asked, furrowing his brow as he sniffed the cool air. "What's that in Fahrenheit?"

"Twenty-three!" Julian laughed. "Shit! I'd set my air-conditioning to twenty-three!"

"Something like seventy-three or seventy-four Fahrenheit," Despreaux said with a laugh of her own.

"This feels much colder," the big Asgardian said stoically. If he was cold, it wasn't showing. "Not cold, but a bit chilly."

"We've been out in over a forty-degree heat for the last two months," the squad leader pointed out. "That tends to adjust your perspective."

"Uh-oh," Julian said, looking around. "I wonder how the scummies are handling this?

"What's wrong with him, Doc?" Prince Roger had awoken, shivering, to find Cord seated cross-legged in the tent, still and motionless. Repeated attempts to get the six-limbed, grizzly bear-sized Mardukan shaman to wake up had resulted only in slow groans.

"He's cold, Sir." The medic shook his head. "Really cold." Warrant Dobrescu pulled the monitor back from the Mardukan and shook his head again, his expression worried. "I need to go check the mahouts. If Cord is in this bad a shape, they're going to be worse. Their cover isn't as good."

"Is he going to be okay?" the anxious prince asked.

"I don't know. I suspect that he's probably sort of hibernating, but it's possible that if they get too cold something will shut down and kill them." Dobrescu took another breath and shook his head. "I've been meaning to do a really thorough study of Mardukan body chemistry and physiology. It looks like I waited a bit too long."