“Oh yeah, he was here,” said the Army surgeon, a man known to be more connected to a bottle than to his profession. He stood in long-john underwear and soiled vest, barefooted, pouring out a large tin cup of coffee for himself from a battered metal pot. Cole noted how the man’s hand shook as he brought the cup carefully to his cracked lips and sipped steaming coffee into his mouth.
“Was?” Sterling exchanged a quick look with his friend. “How long ago did he leave?”
“Can’t say precisely.” The surgeon smacked his lips and moved across to his cluttered desk. The two scouts were standing in an unkempt, disorganised surgery, which stank of something unsavoury. Cole guessed it might be a mix of urine and vomit. He certainly hoped it wasn’t what the surgeon used to clean up the mess after his o
