Tully pushed back his helmet and winced.
Everything hurt.
Not from any enemy bullet or explosion, but from the animal, the horse he'd ridden nearly all day yesterday. Moffitt, Troy, and Hitch had ridden as well - part of their disguise against reconnaissance planes - but no one seemed to be experiencing his level of discomfort.
Gingerly, he sat up, working his upper body up from the blanket spread over the sand he'd curled up in overnight. He missed the leathery comfort of the jeeps. Wincing with every movement, he looked around him. Everyone looked normal, not even close to being in as much pain as he was.
Hitch was brewing coffee, eyes squinting against the rising sun.
Moffitt was going through his usual morning exercises - stretching his arms and back and jogging around in the sand, his boots sending up puffs of dust.
Tully limped over to the fire.
"What happened to you?" Troy asked, glancing up at him. So did Hitch.
Tully pointed a thumb back behind him.
"The horses?" Troy said.
"I thought Kentucky was the horse capitol of the world," Hitch said, and handed Tully a tin mug of coffee.
Tully sat down beside Troy, lowering himself carefully into a sitting position to minimize the after-effects of yesterday's wild ride. "I ran moonshine," he said shortly. He wasn't in the mood for conversation. "Not horses." He took a swallow of the coffee and appreciated the way its heat spread through him, relaxing stiff joints and muscles.
In a few moments, he'd drained the last dregs from the cup, and placed it beside Troy. "Thanks," he said to Hitch and then left the fire's side to join Moffitt. Sure, it'd be painful, but if he let himself stiffen up anymore, the coming night would be unbearable. As it was, nothing would be exactly comfortable for a long time.