"Stockwell's hired guns are about five miles from here. Truck broke down."
"Oh, yeah?" He repositioned his hands. Too damn slippery.
"Yeah, I didn't believe it, either. Mercenaries." He spit. "How's he doin?"
"I think the bleeding's slowed. Hand me another strip."
"Ain't no more, Hannibal."
Worse than he thought. "Any sign those other guys have picked up our trail, Murdock?"
"Nothing so far, Colonel. All's quiet." Murdock slid down from the knoll. "We going to bug out?"
"Call for help, BA?"
"Radio's shot, man. Just barely got through to them guys."
"Murdock, how's your arm?"
"Sore, but I'm okay."
"BA?"
"I can do it."
"I'm okay, too, Johnny."
"I figured that, since you and I are the only ones that didn't get shot." Hannibal stopped; wasn't Frankie's fault. "BA, take point. Murdock, the rear. Frankie, help me with Face, but watch the bone there. Okay, let's move out. Quietly."