Skip to content 
The lieutenant blinked, surprised by the question. “A medic,” he admitted. “And…water.”
Eli looked over his shoulder. “Ray, tell the others—water and medics first.”
Ray nodded, already moving.
The lieutenant swallowed, then said quietly, “They told us you were…a rear unit.”
Eli’s expression didn’t change. “They tell a lot of things.”
The lieutenant looked away, shame flickering across his face, then squared his shoulders. “Noted.”
He climbed down and walked off, barking orders.
Leon leaned up from below. “You see that?” he whispered. “Man shook your hand like it didn’t cost him a dime.”
Eli watched the lieutenant go. “Costs more than a dime,” he said softly.
Cal’s voice came, tired but satisfied. “So what now? We go back to the mud and pretend this didn’t happen?”
Eli didn’t answer right away, because footsteps were approaching.
Captain Whitaker appeared, mud on his boots, eyes wide like he’d been holding his breath for hours.
He looked at the wreckage, the bodies being carried, the smoking enemy vehicles. Then he looked at Eli.
“You held,” Whitaker said, as if he’d been expecting them to disappear.
Eli met his gaze. “Yes, sir.”
Whitaker swallowed. “The General’s coming.”
Leon’s grin returned, sharp as a blade. “Patton himself?”
Whitaker nodded. “He was…nearby. He wants a report.”
Cal muttered, “He wants a look.”
Eli climbed out of the hatch and dropped to the ground. His legs wobbled for half a second, then steadied.
“Alright,” Eli said. “Let’s give him one.”
Patton arrived like the war had sent him as a messenger.
He rode in a jeep, polished helmet, ivory-handled pistols, eyes that seemed to take inventory of everything they touched. He stepped out and walked the junction, boots crunching on gravel, face tight with thought.
Men straightened as he passed, as if pulled by invisible strings. He had that effect—command like a weather front.
When he reached the line of the Midnight Eight, he paused.