“No problem with that, we’ll just carry the body back with us.” He stared hard at the two stretcher bearers and fingered his gun, and they had no complaints. “Get that lieutenant up here.”
“Chaplain,” Bill said, holding out the sheet from the notebook, “I would like an officer’s signature on this. Just before he died this trooper here dictated his will, but was too weak to sign it, so he put his thumbprint on it. Now you write below it that you saw him thumbprint it and it is all affirm and legal-like, then sign your name.”
“But-I couldn’t do that, my son. I did not see the deceased print the will and Glmmpf …”
He said Glmmpf because Bill had poked the barrel of the atomic pistol into his mouth and was rotating it, his finger quivering on the trigger.
“Shoot,” the infantry sergeant said, and three of the men who could see what was going on were clapping. Bill slowly withdrew the pistol.
“I shall be happy to help,” the chaplain said, grabbing for the pen.
Bill read the document, grunted in satisfaction, then went over and squatted down next to the medic. “You from the hospital?” he asked.
“You can say that again, and if I ever get back into the hospital I ain’t never going out of it again. It was just my luck to be out picking up combat casualties when the raid hit.”
“I hear that they aren’t shipping any wounded out. Just putting them back into shape and sending them back into the line.”
“You heard right. This is going to be a hard war to live through.”
“But some of them must be wounded too badly to send back into action,” Bill insisted.
“The miracles of modern medicine,” the medic said indistinctly as he worried a cake of dehydrated luncheon meat. “Either you die or you’re back in the line in a couple of weeks.”
“Maybe a guy gets his arm blown off?”
“They got an icebox full of old arms. Sew a new one on and bango, right back into the line.”
“What about a foot?” Bill asked, worried.
“That’s right-I forgot! They got a foot shortage. So many guys lying around without feet that they’re running out of bed space. They were just starting to ship some of them offplanet when I left.”
“You got any pain pills?” Bill asked, changing the subject. The medic dug out a white bottle.
“Three of these and you’d laugh while they sawed your head off.”
“Give me three.”
“If you ever see a guy around what has his foot shot off, you better quick tie something around his leg just over the knee, tight, to cut the blood off.”
“Thanks buddy.”
“No skin off my nose.”
“Let’s get moving,” the infantry sergeant said. “The quicker we move the better our chances.”
Occasional flares from atomic rifles burned through the foliage overhead, and the thud-thud of heavy weapons shook the mud under their feet. They worked along parallel with the firing until it had died down, then stopped. Bill, the only one not chained in the line, crawled ahead to reconnoiter. The enemy lines seemed to be lightly held and he found a spot that looked the best for a breakthrough. Then, before he returned, he dug the heavy cord from his pocket that he had taken from one of the ration boxes. He tied a tourniquet above his right knee and twisted it tight with a stick, then swallowed the three pills. He stayed behind some heavy shrubs when he called to the others.
“Straight ahead, then sharp right before that clump of frees. Let’s go-and FAST!”
Bill led the way until the first men could see the lines ahead. Then he called out “What’s that?” and ran into the heavy foliage. “Chingers!” he shouted, and sat down with his back to a tree.
He took careful aim with his pistol and blew his right foot off.
“Get moving fast!” he shouted, and heard the crash of the frightened men through the undergrowth. He threw the pistol away, fired at random into the trees a few times, then dragged to his feet. The atomic rifle made a good enough crutch to hobble along on, and he did not have far to go. Two troopers, they must have been new to combat or they would have known better, left the shelter to help him inside.