Free Plague War by Jeff Carlson Page A

weight on his shoulders from riding him sideways down the hill. It would be easy to turn an ankle, especially with his legs and body encumbered in gear.
    Up on the Continental Divide, above thirteen thousand feet, even a sunny May afternoon was icy and brisk—and the nights were lethal. Weapons jammed in the cold. Dental work and glasses and rings could burn. Like all of the troops in his command, Hernandez dressed thickly, wearing more layers than ‚t well inside his olive drab jacket. They would rather be uncomfortable than dead. But it made them clumsy.
    “Gaaaah—” A man screamed behind him, and Hernandez heard a clang of metal. His pulse jumped, yet he caught himself, hefting his canvas sling away from his back before he let go of his rock. The forty-pound boulder crashed down as Hernandez stepped away from it, looking for his trooper.
    Private Kotowych was on his knees against the wall of the gorge, squeezing his arm. Hernandez saw a dark splatter on the ground and a crowbar that had instantly congealed with blood and skin. “Hey!” he yelled at Powers and Tunis, who’d also hurried over. There were only eight of them in the gorge and Hernandez glanced at Powers.
    “You’re my runner,” Hernandez said. “Go tell the doc. But go slow. We don’t need to pick you up, too, understand?”
    “Yes, sir,” Powers said.
    “The fucking bar went through my hand,” Kotowych groaned.
    Susan Tunis lifted her own pry bar like a club. “You can’t make us keep working like this,” Tunis said. Her breath came in short, heavy gasps and the steel bar rocked in time with her body.
    Kneeling beside Kotowych, Hernandez gazed up at her without moving. “Why don’t you help me,” he said.
    “We should be using explosives instead of digging like this!” Tunis said.
    Hernandez looked past her for support, but he barely knew any of these soldiers and none of his noncoms were present. His T/O was a mess. His table of organization was devoid of company-level of‚cers—he had only himself, three sergeants, and a corporal—and he wanted to make at least six ‚eld promotions if he could identify the right people.
    He couldn’t ignore the insubordination. He stood away from Kotowych and held Tunis’s eyes. “Get your head straight, Marine,” he said.
    Her face was white with tension.
    “Help me.” Hernandez was careful not to make it an order. If she said no, he would have to enforce it. So he tried to divert her. He shrugged out of his jacket and swiftly removed one of his shirts. Kotowych had nearly stopped bleeding as glassy red ice formed outside his ‚st, but it was still important to apply pressure. If they didn’t, he might continue to hemorrhage inside his arm.
    Hernandez put his jacket back on before he felt for breaks in Kotowych’s ‚ngers and wrist. There were none, but the hand was a disaster. Hernandez used his knife to cut his shirt into three strips. He folded one into a square and forced the bandage into Kotowych’s palm, then wrapped the other two as tightly as he could.
    “That’ll have to do,” he said. “Can you walk? Let’s get you down the mountain.”
    “Yes, sir,” Kotowych said, gritting his teeth.
    Tunis echoed the word suddenly. “Sir,” she said. “I’m sorry, sir. It was. We.”
    “You were upset,” Hernandez said, giving her an out. Tunis nodded. He let her ‚dget under his gaze for another instant, then looked away from her and called, “The rest of you get back to work. But for God’s sake, pay attention to what you’re doing.”
    The men hesitated. Hernandez almost snapped at them, but he hid his frustration—and he realized he didn’t want to leave Tunis with them. She was trouble.
    “Take his other side,” he said.
    Supporting Kotowych, Hernandez and Tunis worked their way from the gorge into a bleak, moss-softened rock ‚eld. Nothing grew taller than the coarse grass and a few tiny †owers. Mostly there was only the spotty brown carpet of moss among pale