Chapter TwoSergeant Katrina Melman suddenly remembered the feeling of flying.
There had been the high whistle of an incoming mortar round. She and Tomas—who she always teased about abandoning his poor H somewhere along the way, cruelly leaving it to wander the world on its own—had dropped flat in the vineyard and offered up a quick prayer for the round to land somewhere else.
It had partially worked. Rather than a direct hit, the force of the blast had merely thrown her aside, slamming her into a line of grape vines. The burnt sulfur smell of exploded TNT overwhelmed the sweet grapes and rich soil.
Pain was starting to report in. Abused muscles, the nasty gash on her hand, but nothing felt broken.
“I think I’m okay.”
Tomas shushed her again. Again she had to concentrate on his lips to
