CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Harassment and Interdiction Fire

The Tundra Cat whined over the top of the soft summer mud at top speed. I knelt next to Don, who lay on his back. The vehicle’s constant movement caused him to groan, with each small bounce or course correction. I prepared another syringe with ten milligrams of morphine, which I administered into the exposed hollow of his undamaged shoulder. I aspirated to make sure I had not entered a vein before I put light pressure on the plunger. I then refilled and reused the same syringe on Dutch. I flashed him a look of encouragement before tossing the syringe over the side. Only one was left in my bag, and not much more than one shot remained in the bottle. I hoped that I would not need it for myself.

Don’s wound was as superficial as Dutch’s. Both had been turned to the rear, to watch the action behind us, at the instant they were hit. They had not ducked beneath the thick aluminum edge of our Tundra Cat’s top. Aluminum, even more than a quarter inch thick, is not normally very effective as armor against small arms fire. But the rounds, which had been fired at us, had been at the very end of their trajectories. As with the final combined effort of the guards, during which many rounds impacted on the side and back of the vehicle, none penetrated the cabin. We had been extraordinarily fortunate, but luck was a fickle entity.