Rodrigo is evasive the entire way back to camp. Bellara hangs back. I want to comfort her, to tell her we all make little mistakes, but I am too concerned with whatever Rodrigo is holding near his chest.

We interrupt the commander and Aleta, and within moments the whole platoon assembles. We sit on empty supply crates and rocks, or crouch in the dust, Rodrigo, Aleta, Bellara, the commander, and me in the middle.

“I have news,” Rodrigo repeats to the commander. His face is stretched in a clever smile, his eyes alight. Rodrigo is one of those loveable fools who lives on the edge between life and death, and I can tell that flying in and out of Bava and being shot at has given him new energy.

Giado chews on the stub end of a cigar that is more mush than paper and tobacco. “Food,” he says bluntly.

Rodrigo opens his mouth, looks around at the gathered faces, then leans into the commander. Only those of us closest can hear him. “I brought back ammunition and gas,” he says. “Condoms and some newspapers.”

“No food?” Giado asks, clearly stricken.

“Two tins of biscuits. Headquarters is straining. It’s all they could part with.”

The commander visibly struggles to keep his temper in check. “They could spare us bullets and condoms, but no food?” he says in a low voice.

Rodrigo’s smile has disappeared. Aleta gets up from her seat to hover, as if ready to swoop in and keep Giado from attacking our pilot. We all know that Rodrigo is simply the bearer of bad news, but the commander has gotten more bad news than any of us these last few weeks, and is clearly at the end of his rope.

Rodrigo hurries on. “There is good news, though. They’ve given us intel on the enemy.”

“Who cares,” the commander asks, “if we are all too weak to attack them?”

I reach over and put a hand on Giado’s shoulder. He does not look at me, but slumps in his camp chair, tired and angry. “What’s the intel?” I ask.

Rodrigo speaks up so that the rest of the crew can hear him. “We’ve got a target. The enemy has plans for a new air base closer to Bava.”

“That doesn’t sound like good news,” I say.

Rodrigo holds up a finger. “Maybe not for Bava, but it is for us.” He scoots his makeshift seat back and draws in the dust, though only Aleta and I are able to crane our heads to see. “Here is Bava.” He indicates a rock. “Here is the enemy’s current air base.” He draws a line in the sand. “And here is the new one. They’ve already sent their engineers ahead and have an operational runway cleared. They will begin moving supplies tomorrow at dawn, and the first three cargo planes will be nothing but food.”