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"So he's still conscious?"
"I gave him a shot. I expected him to drop right off, but the morphine just relaxed him. He's in some kind of wide awake shock, low blood pressure, fast heart rate, eyes a little dilated. Lots of perspiration."
"Mind if I have a word?"
"Go ahead. Sir, I have a request."
"Shoot, Doc. Anything for Nail."
"No, it's not that. I understand there's some kind of housing up here. If they've got a cookhouse, could you look for a refrigerator or a freezer? Without somewhere to store blood and plasma, wounded turn to corpses a lot easier. Your men have been stockpiling food and bullets. If it's going to be a fight, I'm going to need to do the same with blood. Some kind of donation schedule would help."
"Any coolers we find go to you."
"Thank you."
"If you need anything else, ask myself, Post or Styachowski. You'll get priority. But I hope you're very bored down here."
"Save the cheerful hero stuff for the troops. Years of amputations have made me a cynic."
Valentine walked over to Nail, who was resting on a folding cot. Nail's gear had been placed beneath the cot. Valentine picked up a tube he couldn't identify. It looked a little like a metallic zither. A wastebucket with a blood-soaked dressing lay next to it, and the coppery odor brought back memories of the headquarters cellar. He didn't want to think about that for a while.
"They have you comfortable, Nail?"
"Yesss, sssir," Nail slurred. "Damn sorry I'm out of commission for a while."
Valentine lifted the canteen lying beside the bed.
"Water?"
"Yes, thank you, sir." He sipped. "I could use a meal. Been running around since the meeting."
"I'll see about it." Valentine wobbled the tube in his hand, like a baton.
"You like that, sir? You can have it. Brass came up with the idea."
"What's it do?"
"Gimme." Nail took it from him, aimed at the ceiling, and pushed a button. A dart flew out and buried itself there. Dr. Brough gave him a dirty look. Nail stifled a snicker like a schoolboy caught shooting spitballs.
"There's a real serious spring inside. The winder's on the top, and you turn it clockwise to ready it. There's a safety at the front you need to flick off... To fire it you just push the button. I've got some Quickwood darts for it in my bag. I won't be needing it for a while. I hate being fucked-up and useless!" He pounded an unoffending blanket.
Nail wasn't speaking like someone with a shot of morphine inside him. Valentine had heard that Bears were hard to settle down after a fight.
"Lieutenant, I need your help. We might have some Reapers in our laps tonight. Do you think it would be better to space your Bears out with the companies to steady them, or should I keep them back here, and commit them when I know where the attack's coming from?"
Nail thought it over. "They're used to working as a team, sir. Keep them back. Chances are the Reapers will just try to claw through your guys to get to the rear where they can do more serious damage. My team'll clobber 'em."
"Thanks, Nail."
"Just give me a few days, sir. A week, then I'll be back. Rain can run the team until then. If... if... I don't, give him my bars. He's earned 'em."
"Nail, now that you've got some downtime, you want to write some letters? You have family, a girl?"
"I'm a Bear sir. My only family's rooting through that supply dump out front looking for chow. If they find something to eat, have 'em remember me in here, laid out and hungry."
Bear appetites were notoriously hard to sate. Valentine had seen them chew bark from the trees on the march through the Ouachitas after leaving Martinez. "I'll see that you aren't forgotten. It's a promise."
Valentine, exchanging a look with through, wondered how it's a promise would look on Nail's tombstone.
