Changing of the Guard
By: Mel

A high-pitched shriek announced the incoming shell moments before a tree, not ten yards away, blew into matchsticks. Once the rain of dirt, splinters, and tree limbs stopped, Saunders released his grip on his helmet and dared to peer over the pile of stone and rubble he'd taken shelter behind. He was right on the edge of what had been a beautiful town park, before the war. But, then, lots of things had been beautiful before the war.

The soldier who'd taken shelter with him suddenly shifted to his feet and took off in a crouching run before Saunders could grab him. And that was another fly in the ointment. A new medic. It was hard enough getting the guys used to a new squad mate. More so when the new guy was the medic.

Not that he'd particularly liked Doc Walton. The guy had had no personality or a sense of humor. Wasn't even a very good medic. But he'd been their medic. Breaking in a new guy wasn't easy, and this one didn't seem to talk much. Though, to be fair, what few words the new medic did say seemed to carry a lot of weight.

Shifted down to take cover once more at the whistling of another round of incoming, Saunders spared a glance at the medic. He was wrapping a bandage around Kirby's arm, but it didn't appear to be serious. The two took shelter in a doorway and both ducked at the pounding shells. The look of concentration didn't leave the medic's face.

The shelling of the village seemed to last an eternity, but eventually the rain of artillery ended. When his ears had quit ringing, Saunders climbed to his feet and stretched a kink out of his back. He did a quick headcount of the soldiers emerging from their various shelters and smiled. All accounted for. A couple of minor wounds, it seemed, but nothing serious.

Kirby, of course, was complaining so much that you'd have thought his arm was practically severed. When the new medic wandered over, Saunders raised an eyebrow.

“Everyone's okay, Sarge. How ‘bout you?”

Saunders nodded that he was fine and tried to remember the medic's name. The guy had been with them two days, and the sergeant couldn't remember his name. James? John? William? “What about Kirby?”

The medic rolled his eyes and slapped at his jacket to beat loose some of the collected dust and dirt. “He'll live. Long as he keeps it clean, which I aim to see that he does, it'll heal up just fine. Don't let him goldbrick with it.”

Well, well. Maybe this one would fit in just fine. He'd certainly read Kirby right in such a short time. Not that Kirby was a terribly difficult book to read. Saunders met the medic's steady gaze and liked what he saw there.

“You'll do, Doc. You'll do.”