Chapter Thirty-SixPatrick materialised from a cloud of stinking gunsmoke and pulled both of us down to ground level. Muscles stood out in his neck and shoulders and arm; he’d ripped off his shirtsleeve, and I wondered if he’d attempted to help a wounded man.
‘What are you two doing?’ he hissed.
‘There are two howitzers out there,’ I said. ‘Which means there are men trained to fire them. So we aim for them—no one else.’
‘Right!’ he said, sounding sure despite the wriggling fear behind his eyes. ‘Can you shoot?’
‘You forget, metal likes me.’
‘Very well.’ He crouched, ready to run to a better position. At the last moment he stopped and clasped our hands. ‘Don’t either of you get hurt. I couldn’t bear it.’
‘And you,’ I said.
‘I’m sorry I was such a rusty guts,’ he said to me, ‘about you
