McCoy rolled his eyes at his captain. This person, he used the term generously as the man was in fucking bad shape, was of some importance, otherwise why not just schlep him out of the jungle to where McCoy could treat him on the boat, or the beach? Why make him march through his disease-infested jungle when he didn't have to?

Was the captain mad at him for something?

Kneeling next to the sun-burned husk of a person, he felt for a pulse. Thready, but there. "You got any pain?" he asked brusquely.