“Wait a minute. Who got them back?”
“It was sergeant … Chocolate Harry, I mean.”
“Harry! I should have known.” Phule grimaced. “Listen, Mother. Pass the word: I want Harry pulled in fast! The opposition’s looking for him. I don’t care if it means sending out a team to escort him in, we’ve got to-“
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Captain,” Mother broke in. “He’s already in. We’ve got him up in your suite. He’s hurt, but he won’t let us call a doctor. You’d better get back here pronto.”
The supply sergeant was stretched out on the suite’s sofa attended by Beeker and a small group of hovering Legionnaires when Phule arrived back at his room. He was stripped to the waist, and even from the doorway the commander could see the massive purple bruise that showed even against his dark skin, stretching from armpit to hip and across a large part of his rib cage.
“Hello, C.H.,” he said. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Hey, Cap’n,” came the weak response. “How’s it goin’?”
The sergeant shifted his huge form, and Phule realized with a start that he was trying to rise.
“Just stay where you are,” he said, moving quickly to Harry’s side. “Well, I hear you’ve been busy tonight.”
“You heard that, huh?” C.H. grinned, sinking back into his pillows. “Busier’n I expected, that’s for sure. Man, that dude was fast! If I hadn’t gotten his kneecap with my first shot, he would have cleaned my clock. Even as it was, he got me a good lick before I put him to sleep.”
He gestured vaguely at his bruise with the opposite hand.