Valentine began massaging Winslow's quadriceps and calves. He tried to stretch one leg, but she moaned and cried something unintelligible into the dirt.
Insects chirped and buzzed all around in the night air.
"Just leave me, Val. When it wears off, I'll jog and catch up."
"Can't do it, Winslow."
He heard the three Wolves of the rear guard approach. It was now or never.
"Up, Winslow. If you can't walk, you can hobble. I'll help you. That's an... order." He reached out a hand, grabbed hers, and tried to pull her up. "But I'm not gonna carry you; you've got to move along as best you can."
The Wolves, rifles out of sheaths, looked at Valentine with raised eyebrows. They thought the situation humorous: a cramp-stricken recruit and would-be noncom trying to get her up by issuing orders with a voice that kept cracking.
"What's going on?" asked Finner, who was in the rear guard. "You two picked a helluva time to hold hands in the moonlight."
"She wants us to leave her," he explained.
"No, she doesn't," one of the Wolves demurred.
"Okay, Winslow," Valentine said, drawing his gun. "I've given you an order." The word still sounds odd, he thought. "And you're not obeying it. I'm not leaving you to get found and... made to talk about us or where we're going." Do people really talk like this? "So I guess I'll have to shoot you." He worked the gun's action and chambered a bullet.
"Val, you've got to be joking."
He looked at Finner, who shrugged.
Laboriously, she got to all fours. "See, Finner, I can barely crawl!"
Valentine's bullet struck the dirt a foot to the left of her ear, sending pebbles flying up into her face.
She ran and he followed, leaving the three Wolves chuckling in the darkness.
Samuels met them at the rear of the column. "Christ, Sarge, he tried to kill me," Winslow said, telling her end of the story. The sergeant planted a boot in her scrawny behind.
"Keep up next time, Winslow. Valentine," he barked, fist and palm crashing together.
The two men waited while the file drew away. "Don't ever use your gun, except as a last resort on the enemy. Not out of consideration to that non-hacker, but 'cause the Grogs can hear like bats. You get me?"
"Sorry, Sergeant. Only thing I could think of to get her moving. Her legs were cramped up, she said."
"Next time, kick 'em in the ass, and if that doesn't work, you come get me."
"I thought you said I was responsible for keeping them moving, sir."
Sergeant Samuels considered this, then fell back on old reliable. "Shut up, smart-ass. I didn't give you permission to pull a gun on anyone. Get back in line. Keep 'em moving."
Finner, drawing near with the rear guard, had a few words with the sergeant. Samuels doubled the column, returning to the front.
"Hey, Valentine," Finner said, jogging up to him. "Don't worry about it. You tried to get her on her feet, when most guys in your spot would've turned to us. Don't let the sarge BS you about the gunshot; a single shot is tough to locate unless you're next to it. Plus, that thing doesn't make all that much noise. I told the sarge that if I thought there was a problem, I wouldn't have let you do it."
"What did he say?"
"He said I shouldn't think too much, it was dangerous for a guy like me. He added a few comments about my mother, too."
A cloud, shaped like a snail with an oversize shell on its back, began to cover the rising moon.
"I think he'd take a bullet for you though, Jess."
"Damn straight."