It was full light by the time he approached Solon's Residence across the bulldozed hilltop. A bulldozer was at work, digging pits into the ground in front of the house beyond the turnaround. Post stood in front of the entrance, giving orders. A truck pulled up and a team of men hurried to take the crates out and manhandle them inside. With the bed emptied, the pickup turned around and drove back down the road to the station.
Post looked up as Valentine approached.
"The hill is secure, sir. Ella, Daltry and Pollock have their companies north, east and southeast. We've got observers watching the river. Styachowski is holding the station until we get the rest up here, unless they come in force. This is a choice piece of ground. I can see why Solon picked it. Great view."
"Where are the wounded?"
Post pointed to one of the building shells. "Lower level of that one, sir. The doctors are getting set up in there. There was already a little dispensary for the construction workers, and they're expanding it. They could use some trained nurses. Dr. Brough's already bitching."
"I know of one. Get Narcisse in there as soon as you can."
"She's with the wounded at the station," Post said, shrugging his shoulders the way some men do at a heavy rain that can't be helped. "Nothing serious, but you know her. If someone's in pain-"
"I'm glad you had the sense not to stop her. Let's get the prisoners organized, Colonel Kessey-she's got an eyepatch, easy to spot-said she had some doctors."
"I saw her come over the hill," Post said. "She's talking to the men placing the guns now."
"Every company has Quickwood spears, right?"
"Having them is one thing. Getting them to use them is another."
"We've got today, at least. They won't hit us with Reapers until dark. Carry on, Will. Lieutenant Nail's been badly wounded by shrapnel. Hit in the back."
"Damn. You know, I don't think anyone's been killed yet? On our side, anyway. Who ever heard of that?"
"Maybe our luck's finally turned," Valentine said.
* * * *
To the extent that there were still MDs, Major Brough deserved her title. She was a field surgeon with ten years experience in the Guards, and had seen everything metal could do to the human body.
"I'm not hopeful, sir," Dr. Brough said, when Valentine asked her about Nail. "Tore open his back. One kidney's gone, the other's probably damaged enough so it might as well be gone, too. His back's broken, and there's massive nerve damage. I'm surprised he was even coherent when they brought him in."
"He's a Bear. They're tough."
"I'm a surgeon. Lifeweaver mysticism isn't my field."
Valentine absorbed the news. Dialysis machines had gone the way of the dodo, as far as he knew. Nail was dead, it was just a question of how long.
"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."