The rain had stopped, leaving the camp soaked and sour. Tents sagged, fires hissed. The soldier was knee deep in inventory, counting bullets by hand, when I staggered in from patrol and collapsed onto an ammo crate.

“Door,” I rasped.

You bolted up and dragged the tent flap shut. My hands were shaking now, blood soaking through the side of the uniform.

“Knife caught me,” I said. “Dig it out.”