“He was a young man, but I recognized the look in his eyes. Eyes that have already seen more death and destruction than the owner had ever imagined possible. When he was a few feet from me he checked out my uniform, eyes momentarily pausing on my oak leaf, then came to a modified form of attention. We weren’t on a parade ground and the last thing he needed to do was stand there as rigid as the Queen’s Guard at Buckingham Palace. “What’s the situation, Sergeant?” I preempted him asking me any... questions about what I was doing there with a truck load of civilians. His eyes squinted for a brief moment but he held his questions. “Sir, we’ve got more evacuees than we have room on the trains. Word just came down that we’re pulling out at 2330 – 11:30 PM or in less than 20 minutes – and I damn well expect a riot any minute.” He looked around at the crush of frightened humanity trying to reach the trains. “Why early? I had heard midnight?” “The infected are close. Less than two miles and there’s a shitload of them. Sir.” Like every good NCO that curses in an officer’s presence he protected himself by adding ‘Sir’ to the end of his sentence. I used to be quite good at that little trick.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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