“Clean it, I said; get on with it.”
Dante, sitting outside the dugout he shared with Fred, had just finished pulling through and maintaining the Carcano rifle. Tougher now after months of patrolling, labouring and living in the field, Dante carried the Carcano at high port as he strode across the clearing.
“Roncelli!”
A swaggering turn and Roncelli faced Dante, who clipped him on the side of the head with the butt of the rifle, knocking him down. Roncelli, shaking his head, stunned, struggled to rise, reaching for his pistol. Dante chambered a round and aimed.
“Hands off the pistol or you"re a dead man.”
Roncelli raised one hand, nursing his swollen face with the other hand.
“Go near the girl again. I"ll kill you.”
Faraway, Dante heard the click of Major Giuntoli"s prosthetic on the
