“All right, all right, that’s enough. Listen, I’m not any happier to see him go than you are. But the Army needs capable, proven leaders, and Sergeant Ashman here is one of the best. Besides, you’ve all been in long enough to know the only constant in the Army is change. People get moved around, shuffled around, promoted, assigned to other units, all kinds of shit. It happens. Sergeant Ashman has been an invaluable asset to Echo Company for the last two years, and his leadership and dedication to duty have been exemplary. But now his talents are needed elsewhere, and it’s time for him to move on. Stay in the Army long enough, and it’ll happen to you too. Except Holland. He’ll be stuck in First Platoon for the rest of his life.”

Another round of laughter. Holland grinned. “I love you too, sir.”

Jonas tried to scowl, but didn’t do a very good job of it. “Okay, enough jack-assing around. Sgt. Kelly, the platoon is yours for the rest of the day. I expect to see every one of you at the enlisted club at nineteen-hundred hours. First round is on me.”

That got a cheer.

*****

Hicks hung around until 2200, figuring three hours and four drinks was a sufficient celebration for Echo Company’s soon-to-be-promoted master sergeant. Before leaving, he took a moment to shake Ashman’s hand and inform him the platoon wouldn’t be the same without him. The big man accepted the compliment and leaned close so only Hicks could hear him.

“Jonas and I put in a good word for you with Captain Harlow,” he said. “You’re a hell of a soldier; one of the best I’ve ever seen.” He gave a conspiratorial wink. “Don’t expect to be a specialist for much longer.”

Hicks said his goodbyes and left.

He thought about what Ashman said as he walked along the wooded stretch of gravel between Hollow Rock and Fort McCray. His first consideration was a promotion to sergeant would put him in charge of his fire team. Up until then, Holland was the senior specialist and was officially in charge, but both he and Private Fuller deferred to Hicks’ judgment in most things. Taking the stripes would just make it official. It would also mean a significant pay raise, albeit in federal credits. Still, any raise was a good one. With the new PX being constructed at Fort McCray, he might be able to buy things he could trade in town.

His thoughts turned to a storage facility on the south side Hollow Rock, recently acquired by G&R Transport and Salvage. Within this facility was an eight-by-ten storage unit more than halfway full of salvage Hicks had accumulated through months of contract work for G&R as well as the spoils of war taken from various insurgent and marauder groups. In terms of federal credits, it was worth five times as much as a sergeant made in a year—enough to buy passage for him and Miranda to Colorado Springs. He would even have enough left over to buy one of the newly constructed revenant-proof homes in the nice part of town, away from the refugee districts.

He imagined going back to living in relative comfort and safety, not constantly worried about the next walker attack. A man with his talents would have no trouble finding work in the Springs. Government jobs were no longer the only opportunities. Merchants of all stripes bartered generously for soldiers with combat experience willing to work as caravan guards. Enough so a man only had to work three or four months a year to earn a comfortable living. It was not without its dangers, but it was no worse than the Army. And he had done pretty well in the Army.

He rounded a corner into the field surrounding Hollow Rock’s outer wall, raised a hand, and waved toward the watch captain in his tower. A cowboy hat silhouetted against the full moon told him it was Mike Stall, owner and proprietor of Delta Squad’s favorite drinking hole, Stall’s Tavern. Mike acknowledged him with a wave, climbed down the steps, and slid back the panel of the check-in window.

“Howdy Caleb,” the old cowboy said, one half of his bushy mustache tilted upward. “You’re out late tonight. What’s the occasion?”

“Celebrating with the platoon. Master Sergeant Ashman accepted a field commission today.”

“Well how about that. Next time you see old tall and baldy, do me a favor and tell him I said congratulations.”

“Will do.”

“See any walkers on the way in?”

“Nope.”

Hicks unslung his rifle and slid it under the bars across the window, then followed it with his Ka-bar combat dagger, his ammunition-laden MOLLE vest, and his Beretta M-9.

“They let you fellas carry sidearms now?” Mike asked.

Hicks nodded. “Yep. It used to be against regulation for most soldiers, but everybody was carrying them anyway, so the Army changed the regulations a few months ago. All soldiers are now permitted to carry sidearms, provided we choose one from an approved list and have it inspected by a qualified armorer.”

“Well I’ll be damned. Back in my day, you didn’t usually see infantry grunts with sidearms.”

“Evil times we live in.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

If it were up to Hicks, he would have only brought the Beretta. But Captain Harlow required any soldier traveling outside Fort McCray to carry a minimum loadout of an M-4 rifle and 120 rounds of ammunition. Normally, he would have also brought his spear, but its holster was lashed to his assault pack and he didn’t feel like lugging the extra weight all the way to town. If he ran into any trouble he couldn’t handle with the carbine and the pistol, he was probably a dead man anyway.

After checking in his weapons, he went through the required physical examination everyone entering the gate had to undergo, then dressed, retrieved his gear, and set off for Miranda’s place. He crossed paths with a few people he knew along the way and nodded to them, but made no attempt at conversation. Finally, he arrived at Miranda’s door and stood still, hesitating. He very much wanted to see her, but it was late in the evening and he was worried she might have already gone to bed. The windows were absent their usual warm yellow glow, and there were no sounds coming from inside. He had just made the decision to head back to base when he heard footsteps approach and the front door opened.

“Hey there,” Miranda said, standing in her nightclothes. Her hair was loose, tousled, and falling down her shoulders. Hicks wanted to reach out and touch it.

“Hey yourself.”

“Where’ve you been? I’d just about given up on seeing you tonight.” There was an edge in her voice when she said it, a certain strain, the slightly clipped tones of someone who is trying to appear unconcerned but not quite pulling it off.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “Ashman got a promotion. The whole platoon went out to celebrate.”

“Oh. I was starting to think that after last night…”

Hicks shook his head. “Absolutely not. You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

Miranda smiled and visibly relaxed. “In that case, come on in.”

She held the door open so he could follow her inside. Hicks hung his gear on a set of hooks by the door while she lit a pair of candles in the small living room. With the room lighted, she took a seat on the couch and curled her legs beneath her. Hicks stared at the smooth shapeliness of her legs, and wondered how much time and effort she spent shaving them with the straight razor he had bought her. Sometimes he would visit her in the evening and she would have little squares of t-shirt fabric stuck to places where she had nicked herself.

“How was your day?” Miranda asked.

Hicks shrugged. “The usual.”

“Kill any walkers? Capture any dangerous criminal types?”

“Nope. It was quiet for a change.”

She picked up a glass of water from the table beside her and sipped it. “Are you going out with Eric’s crew tomorrow?”

“Didn’t know he was going out.”

“He didn’t send a runner?”