“Whoa there, Doc.” Ocho knelt beside the man. Saw the blood. Sayle was going to be pissed.

Another bullet winged overhead.

“Blood and rust! Make that Hoopie stop with the shooting, or I’ll ram that rifle up his ass!”

“I got it, Sarge.”

Van took off running. A second later, the gunfire stopped and then Hoopie was making his way out of the forest. His skin was all torched and scarred up from the disaster with the castoff girl and the coywolv. He came and stood over the doctor.

Ocho scowled. “LT wanted this one alive.”

Hoopie looked down at the doctor. “He don’t look too good.”

“ ’Cause you shot his ass!” Ocho waved at Pook and Stork. “Get this one back to the command.”

He turned and caught sight of movement in the trees. “Dammit, Hoopie! You got your zone controlled or not?”

It was some little civvy licebiter, watching from the jungle. “Get that civvy. See if he knows anything about the half-man.” He grabbed Hoopie as he was about to go. “And if you bring him back like the doc, I’ll put a bullet in your head, personal.”

Hoopie’s bloodshot eyes regarded Ocho with total enmity, but he saluted and headed out. Ocho wondered if the armies up north, all those big corporate war bosses, had so much trouble keeping troops in line. Hoopie would need discipline, for sure, for tagging the doc. Maybe Ocho would bust him down to half-bar again. Give his rifle to someone who at least knew who to shoot.

Ocho stared down at the doctor. The old man was gasping and blood was coming out of his mouth, staining his salt-and-pepper beard. Already his eyes were glazing over.

Pook and Stork grabbed the doctor’s shoulders and got ready to drag him, but Ocho motioned them off. “Don’t bother. He’s already dying.” Ocho sighed as he looked down at the old guy.

“What were you thinking, old man?”

Maybe there was someone he wanted to save. But that doctor girl of his hadn’t been anywhere in the area. Maybe someone else, then. Ocho scanned the village. It didn’t make sense.

The man gasped again, and more blood came out of his mouth. It looked like he’d taken a couple in the chest. Surprising that he was even breathing, but the blood and bubbles frothing his lips made Ocho think the man wouldn’t last long.

Ocho squatted down beside the dying man. “Hey,” he said. “You remember me?” The man’s hand came up. Ocho took it. “Yeah. You fixed me up.” He looked down at the man’s blood-bloomed shirt. “Sorry about that, right? None of these warboys got any discipline. Half the time, they don’t even know which way to point a gun.”