“You’re damn right you should have,” Bill said looking down at the familiar, loathed, tusked face. “You’re dying, Deathwish, you’ve bought it.”
“I know,” Deathwish said, and coughed. His eyes were closed.
“Wrap this line in a circle,” Bill shouted. “I want the medic up here.” The chain of prisoners curved around, and they watched as the medic examined the casualties.
“A bandage on the looie’s arm takes care of him,” he said. “Just superficial burns. But the big guy with the fangs has bought it.”
“Can you keep him alive?” Bill asked.
“For awhile, no telling how long.”
“Keep him alive.” Bill looked around at the circle of prisoners. “Any way to get those neck irons off?” he asked.
“Not without the keys,” a burly infantry sergeant answered, “and the lizards never brought them. We’ll have to wear them until we get back. How come you risked your neck saving us?” he asked suspiciously.
“Who wanted to save you?” Bill sneered. “I was hungry and I figured that must be food you were carrying.”
“Yeah, it is,” the sergeant said, looking relieved. “I can understand now why you took the chance.”
Bill broke open a can of rations and stuffed his face.
V
The dead man was cut from his position in the line, and the two men, one in front and one in back of the wounded Deathwish, wanted to do the same with him. Bill reasoned with them, explained the only human thing to do was to carry their buddy, and they agreed with him when he threatened to burn their legs off if they didn’t. While the chained men were eating, Bill cut two flexible poles and made a stretcher by slipping three donated uniform jackets over them. He gave the captured rifles to the burly sergeant and the most likely looking combat veterans, keeping one for himself.
“Any chance of getting back?” Bill asked the sergeant, who was carefully wiping the moisture from his gun.
“Maybe. We can backtrack the way we come, easy enough to follow the trail after everyone dragged through. Keep an eye peeled for Venians, get them before they can spread the word about us. When we get in earshot of the fighting we try and find a quiet area-then break through. A fifty-fifty chance.”
“Those are better odds for all-of us than they were about an hour ago.”
“You’re telling me, But they get worse the longer we hang around here.”
“Let’s get moving.”
Following the track was even easier than Bill had thought, and by early afternoon they heard the first signs of firing, a dim rumble in the distance. The only Venian they had seen had been instantly killed. Bill halted the march.
“Eat as much as you want, then dump the food,” he said.
“Pass that on. We’ll be moving fast soon.” He went to see how Deathwish was getting on.
“Badly-” Deathwish gasped, his face white as -paper. “This is it, Bill … I know it … I’ve terrorized my last recruit … stood on my last pay line … had my last shortarm … so long-Bill … you’re a good buddy … taking care of me like this …”
“Glad you think so, Deathwish, and maybe you’d like to do me a favor.” He dug in the dying man’s pockets until he found his noncom’s notebook, then opened it and scrawled on one of the blank pages. “How would you like to sign this, just for old time’s sake-Deathwish?”
The big jaw lay slack, the evil red eyes open and staring.
“The dirty bowb’s gone and died on me,” Bill said disgustedly. After pondering for a moment he dribbled some ink from the pen onto the ball of Deathwish’s thumb and pressed it to the paper to make a print.
“Medic!” he shouted, and the line of men curled around so the medic could come back. “How does he look to you?”
“Dead as a herring,” the corpsman said after his professional examination.
“Just before he died he left me his tusks in. his will, written right down here, see? These are real vat-grown tusks and cost a lot. Can they be transplanted?”
“Sure, as long as you get them cut out and deep froze inside the next twelve hours.”