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prisoner told the truth, though given the need to limit how much any soldier knew, it was possible other groups worked nearby and the man simply didn't know.
    With a fairly important bone broken, there was no way Kell could fight. He might have managed to fire a rifle with a little tinkering, but his lack of finesse with guns made the idea worthless. Instead, he spent the night of the final attack hobbling carefully around the bus carrying the wounded. Kell wasn't in terrible shape compared to some of them, so he helped by providing food and water when asked for, helping change bandages, and keeping the injured fighters company.
    As he moved among them, the sound of gunfire, distant and muffled, intruded. The thunder of nearby war caused the faint sense of satisfaction, brought on by helping the wounded, to evaporate. It wasn't so much a sense of futility or sadness at the fighting, but more a combination of anger and worry. People he cared about and respected were out there right now, using the best tools at their disposal to fight a ruthless enemy.
    Kell carefully removed a bandage, letting his body fall into the familiar routine while his mind gnawed on the problem exactly as Kate predicted. There weren't many avenues that hadn't already been discounted, obviously. Though most of New Haven's citizens did not have military training, they had plenty of practical experience in critical—even life-saving—problem solving. Kell had heard dozens of discarded ideas, many creative and original, just from the people in this battle group.
    Explosives were of limited use, given the need to recover as much of the stolen goods as possible. Anything involving fire was out for the same reason. So it went with heavy weaponry and any other notion involving a use of broad, overwhelming force. They were left with observation and adaptation of man-to-man tactics for each group. There had to be something simple and easy they were all missing, something that would minimize risk but that no one had seen.
    That was always how it went, right? The obvious solution stared you in the face until you finally wised up and focused on the small picture right in front of you.
    Kell finished changing the bandage and trundled back to the station where the supplies were kept. He tossed the used bandages in a plastic container and poured a little bleach on them, sloshing the pan around before putting it aside.
    The work wasn't hard, even with his arm in a sling. His hand worked fine, and more important, so did his brain. The trick was to work within the limitations, using the injured side for fine manipulation and the other for the heavy lifting. It was all about using what you had to get the job done.
    As he lifted another dressing kit and turned to move on to the next patient, Kell stopped. An idea burst into his brain fully formed, a simple but devastatingly effective plan. It contained elements already deemed too risky by the people in charge, but Kell's version sidestepped most of the objections he could think of.
    Kate was right, as always. He had just needed the right circumstances to get his brain working on the problem. The right perspective.
    He tossed the kit back on the supply kiosk and carefully climbed out of the bus. Fortunately, whoever decided it would make an excellent caravan for the wounded had recognized the need to easily move in and out of the thing, and had added folding steps to the back. Even so, his entire shoulder buzzed with pain as he dropped the final eighteen inches from the last step.
    The vehicles were spread in a wide semicircle several hundred yards from the enemy camp. The terrain here, sixty miles from the second camp they had attacked, was all hills and trees, more than enough cover for getting close to the action without being seen.
    The command tent sprouted from the back of a military vehicle, one of two in their possession. The heavy canvas draped over a locking frame welded to the back of the truck, which could be