Free Shadows of War by Larry Bond

or to.
    Wu’s service record, on the other hand, was the envy of the regiment; he had been in Malaysia, though not at the same time or place as Jing Yo.
    â€œSergeant,” said Jing Yo, nodding as he stopped.
    â€œHave a good breakfast, Lieutenant?”
    Jing Yo ignored the question, and its implied criticism of the privileges an officer was afforded. The enlisted men were issued only two meals a day—a small roll in the morning, and a bigger one at evening. Sometimes meat was added.
    â€œSo, Sergeant Fan is no longer with us?” asked Wu.
    â€œThe sergeant had difficulty following orders,” said Jing Yo.
    Wu was not a friend of Sergeant Fan’s—in fact, Jing Yo suspected he could not stand the other commando. Another man in his position might have said something flattering to Jing Yo, earning easy points at his enemy’s expense. But Wu was not like that. If anything, Jing Yo suspected his opinion of Fan had changed because of his conflict with his commander.
    â€œHave the things from the science camp been gathered?” Jing Yo asked.
    â€œThey’ve already started to bury them.”
    â€œBury them?”
    â€œCaptain Ching said Colonel Sun wanted his people to get rid of them. I sent Po and Ai Gua down to watch the donkeys and make sure they get it right.”
    â€œDid I tell you to bury them?”
    Wu pursed his lips. Shaking his head, Jing Yo started away, jogging a few steps before breaking into a run.
    Privates Po and Ai Gua were about a hundred meters away, watching as a pair of regular army soldiers dug a trench on a flat rift in the hill. They had not gotten very far; the dirt was filled with roots and stones. The items from the camp they had overrun the night before, including
the clothes the dead men had been wearing, were piled on the other side of the dirt.
    â€œHelp me with this,” he told Po and Ai Gua. “Look through the clothes. See if there’s information that will be of use.”
    The two privates went to the clothes and began rifling through them. Jing Yo looked at the soldiers who were digging the ditch.
    â€œYou’d be better off putting the dirt on that side there,” he said, pointing. “It will be easier for you to push these things in. You won’t have to climb over the rocks and soil.”
    The men looked at him as if he had just described the formula for solving binomial equations. They nodded, then went back to work.
    Jing Yo walked to the pile of equipment and began looking through it. Colonel Sun had considered salvaging the gear and selling it in Shanghai. But Jing Yo had pointed out that the equipment was bound to be traceable, and if it ever turned up on the world market—something almost sure to happen if it was sold in Shanghai—very possibly their mission would be compromised. The colonel’s face had shaded pale, and he had quickly agreed it should be buried with the rest of the remains from the camp.
    There were several boxes of instruments, most of which could be only vaguely identified. The expedition had been gathering soil and vegetation samples, and had placed a number of rain gauges near their camp. The documents on their laptop computers—none protected by passwords—indicated that they were studying changes in the climate and local plant and animal life.
    â€œHey, Lieutenant, look at this,” said Private Ai Gua, holding up a satellite phone. “It was in a pocket.”
    Jing Yo walked over and took the phone. They had found three the night before; all had already been crushed.
    â€œWhy did we miss this?” he asked.
    â€œ We didn’t miss it,” said Sergeant Wu, answering before Ai Gua could open his mouth. Jing Yo turned to him. Wu’s cigarette had been replaced by a smug look Jing Yo associated with most veteran commando noncoms, who generally felt superior to any officer they served under. “The donkeys searched the tents.”
    â€œWe