order and formed us into a circular defensive perimeter—fat lot of good that would do, but it felt right—while Lieutenant Donaldson radioed Captain Jones that we'd had a real incident, somebody trying to steal weapons, and that shots had been fired. The L-T was also bright enough to call for another platoon—an armed one—to search the area for other terrorist patrols.
"How many down, Sergeant?" I heard him call.
"Two enemy dead; one of our boys down."
Donaldson relayed that and requested an ambulance. Wally was yelling for the medic to shag his butt. Crater swore nonstop, propped against a tree, his pants covered with blood. Wally held a compress against the wound. The medic pushed Wally out of the way and took over.
"Crater," I called shakily, "you okay?"
"Yeah, dammit, I took one across the back of my effin' thigh—ahhhh!" The medic had ripped his pants open. "Keep that asshole away from me or I'll kill the son-of—ahhhh—" He yelled again as the medic did something else to his leg.
"Clam it, Barnes!" Brown barked. "Watch the goddamn perimeter!" He then turned his wrath on Monroe, who'd left his position.
Chuck stood over Johnson and clutched his useless M-16. Chuck made a good show of watching the perimeter. He was also effectively holding Johnson down. That worthless dildo lay shivering in the snow, looking utterly wretched. No one had to ask Crater who the "asshole" was.
The ambulance showed up seconds before three jeeploads of MPs skidded to a halt. It would have been hard to decide which we were happier to see. The ambulance meant help for Crater; but the MPs had bullets.
They landed spitting orders.
"Get these men out of here."
"Anyone touch that evidence?"
"Search everyone—I don't want any goddamned souvenirs walking off this site!"
"Who was directly involved in this?"
The latter question was from the MP Captain in charge of the investigation. Lieutenant Donaldson had the two ranking MPs in tow, moving purposefully toward Sergeant Brown. The MPs