"I was wondering where Xray-Tango got his coffee," Valentine said. "Being in the Caribbean spoiled me. I've got a taste for the stuff, now."
"I'm ready to go back," Post said. "You're probably right. I'll never find her."
"Southern Command's not dead yet. There's Styachowski to think of, too."
"Go check on her, if you like. Ahn-Kha and I'll hold the dike."
* * * *
Styachowski was asleep, her leg already in a cast, and after speaking to a nurse about her Valentine made himself comfortable. She was the only one occupying a bed in the infirmary; the real field hospital was on the other side of the river, in the old library. The nurses were keeping busy bandaging bashed fingers and wrapping sprains. A ruptured man groaned as the doctor probed his crotch.
Valentine made the mistake of putting his feet on her bed. The next thing he knew he was being kicked in the leg.
"Colonel," Styachowski said. "You're snoring."
He massaged the bridge of his nose until his eyes felt like focusing again. "Is it light out? How's the pain?"
"Better. They gave me a shot and I went out like a light. Codeine or morphine, I think. It's morning now. We're still in the dispensary, so I guess the levee held."
"The water was receding last night."
"New Columbia lives."
His stomach growled. "Aren't they going to feed you something? Wait, I'll go myself."
After retrieving bread, honey, and some kind of cooked cereal from the headquarters kitchen, he returned to Styachowski.
"You broke a leg once, sir?"
"No. It wasn't for lack of trying."
"You limp. I thought maybe-"
"An old wound. Line of duty."
Styachowski nodded. "You'll have to tell the story someday."
"When you're better."
"That'll be the day. I'm always down with something. If it's not a cold I've got a fever.
There was a long pause in the conversation while they ate. Valentine had never shared a meal in silence with a woman before. She probably needed to sleep again. "Can I get you anything before I go, Wagner?"
She shook her head, and Valentine relaxed a little, seeing her respond to her assumed name even under the influence of the painkiller. "No, thank you, sir. There is one thing though."
"What's that."
Styachowski glanced around the infirmary. "What's the policy here? Do they shoot the crippled horses, or send them ... somewhere else?"
"Don't be silly. You're not getting out of my outfit that easy. I'm not going to let anything happen to anyone in my command. Especially to someone hurt doing her duty. The battalion's not going anywhere without you."
She sank back into her pillow. "Thanks, Colonel."
"I'll see if I can get you put back in your tent. You'd be more comfortable there, I think."
"Thank you, sir. But not just for that."
Valentine arched an eyebrow; she blushed and buried her face in her mush bowl.