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The
man
’
s
leg
was
pinned
beneath
the
overturned
vehicle
.
He
was
well
-
muscled
,
and
an
old
film
camera
hung
from
a
neck
which
was
much
thicker
than
my
own
.
It
was
Murdoch
,
the
journalist
who
’
d
been
snapping
pictures
at
Rita
’
s
side
during
PT
.
Rita
kneeled
and
examined
his
leg
.
"
I
thought
you
tried
to
stay
out
of
battle
.
"
"
It
was
a
good
shot
,
Sergeant
Major
.
A
Pulitzer
for
sure
,
if
I
’
d
managed
to
take
it
.
Didn
’
t
count
on
the
explosion
,
though
.
"
Soot
and
grime
fouled
the
corners
of
his
mouth
.
"
I
don
’
t
know
whether
that
makes
you
lucky
or
unlucky
"
"
Meeting
a
goddess
in
Hell
must
mean
I
still
have
some
luck
,
"
he
said
.
"
This
armor
plate
is
dug
into
your
leg
pretty
deep
.
It
’
ll
take
too
long
to
get
you
out
.
"
"
What
are
my
options
?
"
"
You
can
stay
here
shooting
pictures
until
the
Mimics
crush
you
to
death
,
or
I
can
cut
off
your
leg
and
carry
you
to
the
infirmary
.
Take
your
pick
.
"
"
Rita
,
wait
!
"
"
You
have
one
minute
to
think
it
over
.
The
Mimics
are
coming
.
"
She
rose
her
axe
,
not
really
interested
in
offering
him
the
full
sixty
seconds
.
