Free The Price of Peace by Mike Moscoe Page A

the buzzing insects unnoticed . .. until angry welts splotched exposed faces, arms, and legs.
    "Damn death march," Jagowski muttered.
    Ruth eyed the sun, which was finally dropping low in the sky. "Night's gonna be as cold as the day was hot. Better collect some dry wood for fires." People who could hardly hobble were soon clutching two or three sticks.
    The boss called a halt as they entered a small clearing under a stand of tall, spreading oaks. "Take the rest of the night off," he announced. "You stay to that half of the clearing. I get this half." His half was marked by the remains of a fire; their half wasn't. Scattered over the clearing were trash, buzzing insects, and proof that no care had been taken about sanitation. Pa would never leave a camp like this. "What do we do?" Ruth asked in the same breath Jagowski did. The marine officer rubbed the bridge of his nose. As he opened his mouth, Clem interrupted.
    "I bet you're hungry," got everyone's attention. Clem's mouth moved as he counted the hungry faces gathering around him. Then he pawed in the pack of the mule he'd been leading and came up with, by Ruth's quick count, exactly half the ration boxes they needed. Clem pitched them out like one might toss dry bones to hungry dogs. Then the thug produced an extra ration. "Any of you girlies want to make friendly with me tonight, I got some extra grub for you." His gap-toothed grin made Ruth want to knock a few more teeth out. She turned to the marine.
    He was eyeing the four burly types who had kept up with the boss; toughs who probably wanted Clem's job. That thug had made sure a good chunk of the rations landed near them. The biggest had grabbed three boxes, smirked, and turned away. The marine shook his head, his lips getting thin. "Hate to get the boss's attention again today," he muttered, then stepped forward.
    "We got to share our food rations." The lieutenant's voice came out low, but rock-hard in command. Several folks around Ruth started pairing up, though none in actual possession of food boxes seemed overly committed at the moment. The four kept walking away. "Excuse me, gents, but I need those rations you're carrying," the marine repeated.
    The one with three turned, a vicious grin on his face. "I'm hungry. When I'm hungry, I eat." "Lots of folks are hungry."
    "Tin soldier, you seem to have mistaken me for someone who gives a shit." The tough enjoyed the laugh that remark brought from his associates. Behind Ruth, Clem bayed like a donkey. The marine eyed the boss. He'd spread his bedroll; his interest centered on the mattress as it filled with air. The goings-on around him apparently were no concern of his. Trouble stepped toward the tough. "I want those rations."
    "Come and get ' em ." The twisted smile was evil, delighted.
    The marine took another step forward, but didn't go into a fighting stance. The thug couldn't pass that up. Dropping his ration boxes, he charged Trouble, arms flailing.
    The officer ducked, sidestepped, and sent the big guy on his way with a push. The thug went down, sliding to a halt, his nose buried in some particularly messy residue from previous campers. He came up bellowing, blood bubbling from his nose. "You shouldn't have done that, pretty boy. I'm gonna sleep real warm tonight in your red coat. You're gonna be cold and dead."
    "Come get it." Again, the marine just stood there.
    This time the tough was slower in his approach. Lumbering up to the marine, he kept his arms wide, a big, nasty bear, ready to hug his prey to death.
    Trouble waited, then went in with two fast punches. The big fellow stumbled back, shook his body to rid himself of the shock. Then, roaring in outrage, he charged again.
    Trouble faked right, then evaded wide to the left, side-kicking the fellow's knee as he went by. The man screamed, "My leg, my leg," as he went down. But not for long, as his skull came up hard against a tree.
    "That's gonna cost you extra." The boss was relaxing on his bed, a warm meal