Zen pointed skyward. "He went that way."
Her face whitened as she caught his meaning. "I'll make sure."
She moved forward and inspected the fallen man, felt for a pulse, and felt again, then got to her feet. As she returned, her back seemed to have acquired a new sag.
An officer shouted from the truck, his voice gravel rough from tension. In response, a stretcher-bearing detail moved forward. They inspected the body of the fallen man, then lifted it and tossed it to the side of the trail. One clipped a dog tag from it, then ran a counter over it. He grunted to his companion, who tied a red tag on the dead man's wrist.
"Up that way, boys, you can find some more," Zen called to them, jerking his thumb up the slope.
"We're not a burial detail," was the answer.
The soldiers in the line shuffled forward.
"Hey! It's gone!" Zen said suddenly.
"What's gone?"
"I'm back," Zen said.