bullets. A Russian private, the ranking man alive in the station,
surrendered the survivors to the Belderkans. 
His mother hung the Global Medal above the television set.
"He must have been brave," she said. "We had a fine son."
"He was our only son," her husband said. "What did he volunteer
for? Couldn't somebody else have done it?"
His wife started to cry. Awkwardly, he embraced her. He wondered
what his son had wanted that he couldn't get at home.
THE ENDThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Speed counted most here.

Gunfire shook the hill. The Belderkans couldn't see them but they knew what was going on and they fired systematically into the smoke.

Bullets ploughed the ground beside him. He raised his head and found the dim silhouette of the tank. He tried not to think about bullets ploughing through his flesh.

A bullet slammed into his hip. He fell on his back, screaming. "Sarge. Sarge."

"I'm hit, too," Rashid said. "Don't stop if you can move."

Listen to him. What's he got, a sprained ankle?

But he didn't feel any pain. He closed his eyes and threw himself onto his stomach. And nearly fainted from pain. He screamed and quivered. The pain stopped. He stretched out his hands, gripping the wine bottles, and inched forward. Pain stabbed him from stomach to knee.

"I can't move, Sarge."

"Read, you've got to. I think you're the only—"

"What?"

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