Fireteam Delta

by J. F. Halpin

  Nisha moved toward the kids, saying something, and after a moment, the two started off down the street. Summers could barely make out the words “not safe.”

  Logan studied the woman. “So, potential casualties are worth the risk? Just like the refugees you have outside?”

  He sounded skeptical.

  Nisha just watched as the kids ran off into the distance. “Yes.”

  “See, I don’t think you believe that.”

  “No, I don’t. But that’s not important.” Nisha met Logan’s eyes.

  “What is, then? I can read people pretty well, and I don’t think you’re comfortable with”—Logan gestured around them—“all this. You’re not stupid, and Rhodes depends on you. Why don’t you speak up?”

  “You have some concept of honor where you’re from, correct?”

  “What does honor have to do with it?”

  “To the others, it is about survival—for their city, for their families. As for me, if you have a debt, you repay that debt,” Nisha replied, turning back to the group. “Now, about your assignments . . .”

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  Summers had been assigned training duty, along with Nowak and Cortez, while Logan had been given the job of recruiting, along with Nisha. That had come as a surprise to Summers, as he figured they’d need as many instructors as possible. Nisha told him simply that the recruits would not see Logan as a potential combatant, regardless of his skills. Apparently, missing a leg came with somewhat of a stigma.

  And so, they found themselves walking toward the inner walls of the city through the market, ready to meet the men they’d be teaching how to shoot in the short time they had before all hell broke loose.

  “All you have to do is punch him, I’m telling you,” Cortez spoke low.

  Summers had shown everyone the strange, alien strength he’d apparently acquired. And after a few hours of testing, they’d concluded that he was, in Cortez’s words, “absolute bullshit.” Between the newfound power, and his difficulty doing anything even remotely delicate, Nowak speculated that somehow the fog had made his body more akin to that of a primate. Strong, dense muscle, that couldn’t do jack for shit with fine motor control.

  Because of that, Cortez had been suggesting popping Rhodes in the head and seeing if it—for lack of a better term—exploded.

  “Again, let’s pretend that’s the backup plan,” Summers replied.

  Killing the man the entire city seemed obsessed with didn’t seem like a solid long-term survival plan to Summers—or anyone else, for that matter. But it was nice to have an ace in the hole, just in case.

  Eventually, their path took them around a corner and face-to-face with two giant, hulking skulls strapped to a wagon, pelts of their owners’ hides laid neatly in a pile beside them.

  Summers recognized both the head of the alpha lizard and the strange black beast that had attacked them. They were the two creatures Summers’ group had sold to Synel, and the woman herself stood at the front of the wagons, directing guards through the gate of the inner wall.

  She glanced up as Summers’ group approached, and to his surprise, he saw the corner of her mouth twitch upward before her placid expression returned.

  Did she just smile?

  “I’m glad you’re safe.” Synel raised her head, looking to their group. “What happened, and what can I do?” Synel looked at Summers expectantly.

  Summers almost smiled himself, but managed to catch it just in time.

  “Nothing, for now.”

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  Summers managed to explain everything that had happened to them, how Asle had been taken, and the deal they’d struck with Rhodes. By the time he’d finished, Synel had agreed that there really wasn’t much she could do for them.

  “So, what’s all this for?” Summers indicated the guards wheeling the trophies toward the castle.

  “Gifts . . . for the council.” Synel gave an almost imperceptible sneer at that last word. Summers was getting better at spotting those subtle cues.

  “That . . . seems like a lot.”

  Synel had bought the bodies of the creatures off them for what amounted to a small fortune. The fact that she was giving them away was a surprise. He watched as she gestured to the bodies.

  “It is a warning. That we are”—Synel switched to a surprisingly clear English—“not to be fucked.”

  Summers struggled not to smile again. “I think you mean not to be fucked with.”

  Synel inclined her head to him before speaking slowly in her own tongue so Summers could follow. “They assume to control my caravan, to control you. It is important they know who they are trying to control.”

  Summers assumed that meant she hadn’t found a way out of the city yet. Between the refugees and the coming army on the roads, it would be difficult, if not outright impossible to leave by road. By sea was another story, but as they’d learned, the council controled any ships that came or went. And by the looks of it, every ship in harbor was being retrofitted for war.

  Still, Synel’s subtle threat was more of a plan than they’d managed so far.

  Another wagon came to a stop beside Synel, open crates showing stacks of small jars. He recognized the bottled fog Synel had been transporting from the last city.

  “Jesus.” Summers looked at the sheer amount of the drug Synel was bringing in. “Uh, another gift?”

  “A sale. But for you . . .” Synel corrected. She turned back to the cart and handed each of them a bottle. “Yes, a gift.”

  “Isn’t this expensive?” Summers glanced at Nowak.

  Nowak nodded. “As hell.”

  Summers moved to hand the jar back, but Synel lowered his hand.

  “Please.” She pushed the bottle back into his arms. He could see the slight wrinkle on her forehead; she was worried.

  That was a surprise to Summers, but he accepted the jar. What he was going to do with it was another question. Given the fact that he was somehow marinating in the stuff, God only knew what a fresh dose might do.

  Synel bowed before leaving the group to find their stations, and their waiting recruits.

  “You know your girl’s got an angle, right?” Cortez side-eyed Summers.

  “Everyone’s got an angle,” Summers agreed. “But I can’t complain about the results.”

  Summers watched as every head in the courtyard turned to the two wagons adorned with the skulls of monsters as large as they were. Something told him their reputation would be getting around, and that was never a bad thing.

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  Asle flattened the long black servant’s dress Nisha had provided for her. She was thankful for it. The loose pants she’d worn on the road, along with the tunic, did their job, but they would hardly pass inside the castle. This was far less conspicuous.

  She had spent most of the day cleaning, and the servants had been surprisingly welcoming. The castle, as a whole, was huge. And even with a full team of servants, she didn’t find herself lacking work.

  All in all, it wasn’t as bad as she’d expected. She missed her friends, but that was something she could deal with.

  Then Rhodes had sent for her. She’d expected as much, but where he wanted to meet was worrying her. Servants had told her, briefly, about the many-faced horror she’d seen coming in. They’d spoken of the same feeling of absolute terror she’d experienced seeing it for the first time. And they’d told her to avoid it, at any cost.

  Rhodes had called her to that same courtyard.

  She didn’t waste time wringing her hands over the inevitable. Instead, she moved quickly. She’d promised the others she’d be safe, and she doubted she’d be able to do that if she angered Rhodes.

  As she arrived, she found Rhodes screaming at an elf who was kneeling down, gun in his hand.

  “About fucking time.” Rhodes shot a look in Asle’s direction. “You tell this son of a bitch he shoots, or I take his hand off.”

&nb
sp; Asle hesitated, surprised more than anything. The man in front of her had his gun aimed forward. There was nothing that could serve as a target nearby, just the hulking monstrosity itself.

  She paused, following the barrel of the gun up to the base of the tar-black creature in front of her.

  She didn’t dare look at it directly.

  The man must have felt exactly what she had, because he couldn’t do much more than stare at the gun in his hands. She told him to shoot, but after a long moment, he stayed frozen in place.

  Rhodes just watched the man with a look of open disgust.

  “What did you tell him?” Rhodes asked.

  “To shoot.”

  “No . . . tell him exactly as I told you. He shoots, or I will remove his hand,” Rhodes explained, slowly.

  Alse did as she was told. The man tensed, but after another brief pause, he got up the courage to look at the creature in front of them.

  Bang!

  Asle saw black blood run into the dirt of the courtyard.

  “About fucking time.” Rhodes studied the elf at his side. His eyes had returned to the ground. “Tell him he can go.”

  As she spoke, the man took no time before he bowed to Rhodes and left.

  “Christ’s sake.” Rhodes just watched the man leave.

  Asle kept her eyes on the shadow of the creature, expecting it to move at any moment.

  “It’s dead,” Rhodes explained. “It’s not going anywhere.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I killed it.” Rhodes looked up at the creature.

  Asle realized he was looking directly at it, and it didn’t seem to bother him at all.

  “I swear, I’m doing you people a favor.” Rhodes turned to look at Asle. He must have seen something on her face, because he continued. “You think I like torturing these bastards? You know how many men I’ve lost because they didn’t have the balls to pull the trigger when they needed to?”

  Rhodes began walking to the exit. “I’m getting them ready for the real enemy. Our one, true adversary.” Rhodes smiled. “But don’t you worry your pretty little head over that. We got business elsewhere.”

  “Where?”

  Rhodes smiled. “We’re going to do your friend Summers a favor.”

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  Bang!

  Summers watched as the shot slammed into a stone wall, nearly three feet from the target his recruit was aiming at. The man, whose name had been something so long and incomprehensible to Summers he’d subsequently been nicknamed “Pat,” held the rifle as if it could jump free of his grip and kill him at any moment.

  The fact it could didn’t help Summers in breaking the bad habit.

  Thankfully, translating wasn’t as much of a problem as he thought it was going to be. Nowak and Cortez had been paired with soldiers who had at least some understanding of English through their exposure to Rhodes; between that, and what they’d gleaned from the books they’d gotten on the road, he was confident they’d manage. Summers, though, had been given the bare recruits that Rhodes either found in the refugees or in the city itself.

  And what they had in absolute, unfiltered enthusiasm, they made up for with an equal amount of cluelessness. Summers had spent most of the day ensuring nobody killed themselves.

  He pulled Pat’s elbow in. Apparently, he was connected politically in a way that Summers couldn’t understand, so he was trying to be nice.

  “Again, don’t flinch.”

  “Sorry, sir. Thank you, sir.” Pat spoke quickly, but Summers had heard him repeat the phrase so often that at this point, it wasn’t hard to translate.

  Seeing the absolute panic in the kid’s eyes, Summers thought for a moment. “The gun”—he indicated the M4 in the kid’s hands—“can sense weakness. Show it you’re strong.”

  The boy inclined his head to Summers.

  He’d found that treating the weapons in the most mystical fashion he could yielded the best results.

  Most of the other recruits watched intently as the boy fired again, this time at least grazing the target. Summers then corrected the position of Pat’s finger. The recruits each looked as though he was speaking some kind of gospel.

  Through all of this, Summers had begun to see Rhodes’s angle in recruiting refugees rather than actual, trained soldiers for these “squads.” Guards would have a place in the city, families, and connections with the higher-ups. The refugees, however, would answer and have loyalty only to the man who got them and their families to safety. That is to say, to Rhodes. He’d have a loyal army, outfitted with superior weapons and, if Summers and his friends were successful, superior training.

  The report of another shot caught Summers’ attention, and he saw the most promising of his recruits taking aim.

  His name was Orvar, one of the many recruits from nearby towns. The target he’d sighted rustled slightly at the impact of the shot. It wasn’t a bull’s-eye, but the fact the kid could hit something in the same zip code as it put him at the head of the entire class.

  “Good work.” Summers patted Orvar on the shoulder. He bowed deeply in response.

  At least there was some hope for the group.

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  By the time practice had finished, Summers was mentally exhausted, and more than a little annoyed.

  Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rhodes approaching. Turning, he found Asle and a guard with him, along with another man.

  That man was bound with rope.

  “How’s the first day of school going?” Rhodes smiled broadly at Summers and his recruits. Almost all of them had bowed to Rhodes as he approached.

  “I’m making progress.” Summers looked at the bound man. It took him only a moment to realize it was the merchant whose head he had nearly caved in trying to help Synel. “Not that it’s my business, but is there any particular reason you’ve got a merchant tied up?”

  “Good, you know who he is.” Rhodes nodded. “This man has been causing problems. He’s been trying to take you to court. Now, I can’t have that, seeing as you work for me, so I’m taking care of two problems at once.”

  Rhodes gestured, and the guard began leading the bound merchant to the targets at the far wall.

  “Pick your best shooter. I got a new target for him.” Rhodes looked at the recruits in front of him.

  Summers froze.

  “You want me to use him as target practice . . . ?”

  “I want them going into the fight knowing the sight of blood,” Rhodes confirmed.

  “And how does a trial prevent me from doing my job?” Summers met Rhodes’s eyes.

  Rhodes whistled, and the guard stopped, heading back toward the group. “Am I to understand that you do not want to shoot the man trying to kill you?”

  “Kill me?” Summers thought for a moment before he looked down at Asle. “Asle, what the hell is a trial?”

  “An honor duel, the same we saw at the caravan.” Asle looked at the bound merchant. “He claims you insulted him.”

  “For fuck’s sake. And if I win, that puts an end to this?”

  Asle nodded, almost solemnly.

  “Fine.” Summers looked to Rhodes. He wasn’t about to execute a man for being on the ass end of an ass-kicking.

  Rhodes just smiled. “You sure? I’m saving you heartache here, but if you want the trial, then by all means . . .” Rhodes said something to the guard, and the merchant’s binds were cut. A moment later, there was a spear in his hands.

  A guard from the wall was called down, and Summers was given his spear. In a moment, his recruits had assembled into a ring around the two.

  Summers somehow thought that there would be more to this . . .

  The merchant in front of him had a mad look in his eye, watching Summers with such naked desperation that it was almost worrying.

  He barely had time to register a guard shouting something before the merchant sprang forward, the tip of his spear pointed
at Summers’ chest.

  A part of him felt like an idiot for assuming the man might be grateful.

  He dodged to the side just in time to bring the blunt end of his spear down on the man’s back. He’d put enough force into the blow to crack bone. By the audible crunch he’d heard, there was a good chance he’d accomplished just that.

  The merchant fell, writhing in pain. It had only been a few seconds since the “trial” began.

  “There.” Summers looked down at the whimpering man below him. “Trial done. Now, can I get back to work?”

  Rhodes just gestured at the man. “Ain’t done til he’s dead.” Rhodes held his hands up before Summers could say anything. “Not my rules, for once. Ask them.” He gestured to the elves around him.

  Each watched Summers intently. Even Asle was waiting, silent. After a moment, she nodded.

  He knew he’d be fighting alongside them. He knew that. There wasn’t a moment he believed he could stand by while they used refugees as a shield.

  Summers twisted the shaft of his spear, then planted it in the left side of the man’s back.

  The man groaned, then stopped breathing. At least he’d saved him from a longer, messier end.

  Asle was beside him a moment later, taking the spear in her hand, pressing the bloodied edge to his.

  She looked up at him expectantly. “Ceremony.”

  Right. The blood.

  “Get on with it.”

  The tip of the spear cut a shallow line on his hand. He felt it only for an instant before the pain subsided.

  “Seems like it’s always the hard way with you.” Rhodes clapped Summers on the back. “Now, if you would, I’d like to continue our little training exercise.”

  He gestured to the guard, who hefted the merchant up, dragging him, once again, to the far wall.

  “Are you serious?” Summers looked at Rhodes, incredulous.

  Rhodes arched an eyebrow. “I don’t think I made myself clear. This is an order.”

  Summers watched as the merchant was propped, then tied to the wooden planks they were using as targets.

  It seemed no matter what he did, Rhodes got his way.

  For now, anyway.

  “Orvar, you’re up.”

  Chapter 24: Beyond the Walls