Mal remembered when they had first met. It had been right after the Independent’s victory at Stadler River. He had been wandering through the trenches finally letting himself feel the battle when he had heard low chuckles. Gun ready, he had followed the sound.

There, in a dark corner, lit only by Nifong’s triple moons, were three men, the smallest backed into a trench wall. Light reflected off of the smallest’s eyes and he realized that it was Mina, the private everyone called “Big Mouth”.

“You’re just going to let a dieing man die?” wheedled one of the drunks. “I almost died today.” It was Sargent Nessel and his man Delmont.

Delmont snickered and wiped some of the 50-proof spittle off his lips. “We should be celebratin’.” he said, reaching forward to trace Mina’s cheek with the spit on his hand. “’S bad luck not to celebrate.”

The ratchet of a gun made both men flinch and spin around, combat training flushing away the effects of sake. Mal belatedly realized that he had no idea what he was going to do now that he had distracted them.

A shadow moved behind them.

“Urk.” Said Nessel.

“Uhnk.” Said Delmont. They collapsed into an awkward heap of hairy fat.

“Mina.” Said the shadow softly, gripping the private’s shoulders tentatively. “Are you here?”

Mal took a step forward.

BLAM!

And was really glad that it had only been a small step. The shot left a small crater where his left foot would have been.

“Is she okay?” he asked, trying to pretend that he hadn’t almost lost his ankle.

The shadow moved in front of Mina, effectively blocking her from view, the gun trained on him.

Licking his lips, Mal stepped out of the shadows into the moons’ light. “I was going to stop them.” He said cavalierly. “I had it all worked out.”

The shadow stood, pulling Mina up with a firm grip on her upper arm. The private stood with the listless grace of a puppet. They sidled sideways away from him, but he knew that he was standing in the only escape route. The wis