It didn't take long for the men to begin to chafe under the constant
strain of moving through treacherous and unfamiliar territory. And the
first signs of chafing made themselves apparent beneath their armor.
Even the best designed armor cannot be built to be worn for an unlimited
length of time, and, at first, the men could see no reason for the
order. They soon found out.
One evening, after camp had been made, one young officer decided that he
had spent his last night sleeping in full armor. It was bad enough to
have to march in it, but sleeping in it was too much. He took it off and
stretched, enjoying the freedom from the heavy steel. His tent was a
long way from the center of camp, where a small fire flickered, and the
soft light from the planet's single moon filtered only dimly through the
jungle foliage overhead. He didn't think anyone would see him from the
commander's tent.
The commander's orders had been direct and to the point: "You will wear
your armor at all times; you will march in it, you will eat in it, you
will sleep in it. During such times as it is necessary to remove a part
of it, the man doing so will make sure that he is surrounded by at least
two of his companions in full armor. There will be no exceptions to this
rule!"
The lieutenant had decided to make himself an exception.
He turned to step into his tent when a voice came out of the nearby
darkness.
"Hadn't you better get your steel plates back on before the commander
sees you?"
The young officer turned quickly to see who had spoken. It was another
of the junior officers.
"Mind your own business," snapped the lieutenant.