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Message: <blockquote data-quote="The Shaman" data-source="post: 2679133" data-attributes="member: 26473">Ortu takes Marcel’s outstretched hand and gives it a firm, if a bit perfunctory, squeeze. “I figured they stopped training replacements not to walk in front of machine guns,” he replies. There’s no ice in his voice this time. “Don’t get yourself killed, doc. We need you in one piece.”“Pyotr and Vidal got the one that ran from the barn,” says Nedjar, “probably the one that lit up Kat. They also got one more in the farmhands’ quarters, along with the prisoner.” The Algerian shifts slightly in his seat. “And I saw that fell in the farmhouse, Normand. You didn’t just drop that pineapple on your own feet.”“So that’s five,” he finishes.The truck bounces along past the outlying farms as twilight turns to night, and soon the GMC rolls into the outskirts of town.Portemonte looks like any of a thousand other colonial towns in Algeria, with pale brick walls and tile roofs. The streets are mostly dark and quiet as the truck rolls past. Sánchez slows as the legionnaires reach the center of town.The clinic is located just off the square that marks the heart of Portemonte, a small park with scraggly oaks shading wrought-iron benches and the monument aux morts, a small bronze statue of a poilu on a marble pedestal and a pair of marble slabs each bearing a handful of names of the town’s honored dead. Around the park a handful of businesses, bars and restaurants and coffee houses with doors wide open on the June evening, throw their light on the streets, illuminating a considerable crowd as the GMC rumbles by.A couple of dozen men with rifles in hand or slung over shoulders are assembled on the small green in the town square, antiquated leather harnesses and ammunition pouches worn over civilian clothing. A few wear helmets, some of WWII French vintage, others of American make. Groups of pieds-noirs men and women survey the scene from the narrow sidewalks around the square or cluster in the entries of a bar of coffee house. Sánchez drives through the square and around a corner where the clinic is located and brings the deuce-and-a-half to a stop.The passenger door swings open with a squeak and Kat peers up through the wooden slats at the legionnaires. “David, Silvio, come inside and give me a hand with the litters. The rest of you wait here.” Nedjar and Ortu hop down from the back of the truck first and follow the section leader up a small flight of steps and through the door of the clinic.Asmussen and Syrovy climb down from the back of the truck as well, Asmussen stretching his arms and back and Syrovy lighting up another cigarette as they wait. From up the street come voices and several figures can be seen approaching from the direction of the town square.</blockquote>

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