We found the third parachutist, Captain J. D. Templeman, sitting up, nursing a damaged shoulder. He’d avoided the bullets, but injured his shoulder upon landing.
We dived into a ditch. There, Mimi assessed Templeman’s shoulder. She judged that nothing was broken, or dislocated.
“You have a lovely touch,” Templeman smiled at Mimi.
“A fresh one,” Mimi scowled, turning to face me.
“As the spring dew,” Templeman said. He reached out and pinched Mimi’s bottom. In the midst of a raging battle, he actually pinched Mimi’s bottom. She swung around and slapped him across his face.
Unperturbed, acting as though a slapped face were a common occurrence, Templeman straightened his uniform and asked, “What happened? Why wasn’t this drop zone secure?”
“We’ll assess that later,” I said. “For now, we need to get you to safety.”
