Aiden snapped a smart salute when Arvid came out of the makeshift depot, rising from where he’d been crouched, working on his rifle. “Sarge! Food and medical supplies are accounted for!” He shouldered his rifle, then continued. “If we pace our rationing, our food supplies should last another three months. Medical supplies are, well...” The blond private’s voice trailed off, and he sighed. “We’re horribly undersupplied medically. I mean, if we don’t get shot, we should have enough to last about the same time.” He shook his head, rolling his eyes. “What am I saying? This is a war zone- of course people are going to get shot.”