Shadows of War by Larry Bond

He took a lighter from his pocket and lit the cigarette.
    Jing Yo waved the truck onto the road. It climbed up over the drainage ditch at the side, across the shoulder, and onto the macadam. The driver turned the wheel so hard as the tires reached the pavement that the truck tipped. For a moment it hung in midair, suspended. Then it flipped onto its side.
    Jing Yo sprang into motion, running forward. Wu, throwing the cigarette from his mouth, was right behind.
    Fearing the truck would burst into flames, Jing Yo jumped onto the frame and grabbed at the door handle. He pulled the door up on its hinges; Sergeant Wu grabbed it and held it open behind him. Jing Yo threw his hand against the roof and leaned inside, reaching to kill the engine. He got it off, then curled his head back, looking for the buckle on the driver’s seat belt so he could unhook it. But the man hadn’t been wearing the belt. The accident had thrown him across Private Ai Gua, who was wedged against the opposite window. Jing Yo turned himself around, draping his legs over the windshield, then reached down into the cab. He could smell gasoline.
    â€œTake my hand,” he told the driver. “Hurry—before the truck catches fire. The explosives will blow us all up.”
    The driver was in shock and didn’t react
    â€œCome,” Jing Yo told him, leaning in farther. He grabbed the driver by the back of his shirt and raised him straight out, snatching him like an apple from the bottom of a barrel. He pushed him over to Wu, then reached back in for Ai Gua. The commando, still dazed, apparently didn’t remember that he had his seat belt on and flailed against it.
    â€œThe belt, Private,” said Jing Yo, reaching for the buckle. He unlocked it, and helped Ai Gua climb up over him, getting several bruises
in the process. Then he pulled himself out of the truck and jumped down. Ai Gua was already staggering up the embankment to the road.
    â€œYou idiot! Months of preparation, ruined by your carelessness!” Sergeant Wu had pulled the driver away from the truck and begun berating him in the middle of the road. “You are an imbecile. I should shoot you right here.”
    â€œI don’t disagree with your assessment of his intelligence,” Jing Yo told the sergeant. “But this is not the time to share it. And your solution is not useful.”
    â€œHe is an ass.”
    â€œVery truly. We have to get these trucks past quickly.”
    â€œThe explosives!” said Sergeant Wu. “Shit.”
    He left the driver and ran to the trucks stopped behind the one that had crashed, waving at the men who’d gotten out to see what was going on.
    â€œGet back in your trucks!” yelled the sergeant. “Get going! Go, come on. Get on the highway! Quickly.”
    The charges, rigged to make the vehicle look as if it had been destroyed in a firefight, were not yet connected to their detonators, and it was obvious to Jing Yo that they were safe—otherwise they would already have gone off. But he let Wu go.
    â€œAre you all right?” he asked Ai Gua.
    â€œYes.”
    The commando, a blank look on his face, held up his right wrist. Jing Yo took hold of the hand gently. Fixing his eyes on Ai Gua’s face, he began to squeeze the wrist, twisting slightly as he increased the pressure. Within a second or two, the private winced, though he did not call out.
    A sprain, most likely. Not worth going back to Beijing for—especially since the injury would result in his being removed from the commando corps.
    The second truck slipped past the rear wheels of the one that had flipped, the driver gingerly finding the road.
    â€œTry not to use it,” Jing Yo told Ai Gua. “Go with the driver. Make sure he wears a seat belt.”
    The private went to the truck without saying anything else.
    They stopped the last truck to use it to right the crashed vehicle. Sergeant Wu rigged a chain to the rear axle, then