In Every Clime and Place by Patrick LeClerc Read Free Book Online Page A

pile and fumbled the pressure dressing out of my cargo pocket. His right arm was torn badly, tattered streamers of flesh and bloody utility shirt hanging.
    “Hang on, Marine!” I shouted at him. “I got ya! Corpsman!”
    I yanked out my combat knife and cut the uniform shirt away at the shoulder. I tried to press the tattered muscle of the arm back where it belonged.
    “Oh, Jesus,” he moaned.
    “Quit your bitchin’, it’s just a scratch,” I lied. I pressed the bandage against the ragged wound. “Hold this with your other hand. Corpsman! Today, for Christ’s sake!”
    O’Rourke was able to hold the dressing on while I wrapped the tails of the bandage around and tied them securely over the wound.
    “Need a hand, corp?” Johnson was at my side.
    “I got him. Use that TAR. Kill some of those fuckers!”
    Doc Roy crawled up to us.
    “Take him!”
    “I got him, Mick,” the Navy medic said calmly. She looked at his face, then the wound, checking his pulse.
    Despite the rounds whipping by and striking chips from the rubble around us, she was all business. “He looks stable, he’s got a good strong pulse. I’ll get him some blood going. Squeeze my hand, Marine.”
    “How bad am I, Doc?” O’Rourke grunted as he gripped her hand.
    “As bad as they come, but the arm’s alright,” she said. “Bone’s not broken, and the nerves and blood supply are intact. You’ll be opening beer bottles and playing with yourself in a week.”
    Wow. Guess she knew Terry better than I thought.
    She looked back to me, taking care to look me in the eye and speak firmly. “You’re all set, Mick. I got it from here.”
    I must’ve been hovering. Guess she knew me pretty well, too.
    “OK. Thanks, Doc.” I scuttled away, leaving my best friend in her care, vowing to kill me the fuckers who did it.
    I peered around the rubble pile. Johnson, Nolan and Sabatini were firing at the enemy, keeping them pretty well suppressed. I saw one enemy pop up, fire a burst at Johnson, then drop back behind cover. Lying on the rubble, I sighted in on the spot he had occupied. I tried to steady my rapid breathing and keep as low as possible, resting my finger on the trigger. Just come up again, you bastard. The stones bit into my legs and elbow. My body armor protected my chest.
    A second later my patience was rewarded. The enemy soldier’s head and shoulders came into view. I snapped off three rounds. He jerked back and fell out of sight. Through my scope, I could make out the splash of blood he left on the rocks in front of him.
    “Collins!” McCray’s voice boomed in my helmet. “What’s the situation?”
    If we had the same equipment as the Army, I could have sent a digital image from the scope of my weapon directly to the sergeant through his communication link. Marines, however, get the cool toys last, so I had to describe the situation verbally.
    “O’Rourke’s wounded. We got an estimated half-dozen hostiles in a second story apartment. One heavy weapon, gunner hit. They haven’t replaced him. They’re about fifty meters away and three meters above us. We can assault up the rubble to their position.”
    “What do you need?”
    “I’ll put a smoke round on their position. Light ’em up. Johnson will suppress with the TAR, you guys help him. Sabatini and I will assault.”
    “It’s your call. Just say when.”
    I was the only NCO to see what was going on, so it was my decision, comforting as that was. As a team leader, I had a smoke round on top of the mag for my 20mm, to mark enemy positions and direct fire. I aimed and launched it at the wall behind the enemy.
    The enemy occupied the second floor of a ruined building. A heap of rubble sloped down from their position. The front wall ended about a meter above their deck, giving them a nice firing parapet. The wall behind them was intact, so I bounced the smoke grenade off it.
    As the smoke rose, Chan’s team opened up on the enemy. They dropped out of sight as dust rose