Fireteam Delta

by J. F. Halpin

  “Is that like a job here? Or a title?” Nowak asked.

  “Both? Some very important.”

  “You sure you want to go to this, Sarge? I mean, she might just be feeling out the competition.” Summers had dealt with more than enough overly competitive assholes in the military to know that they were usually more trouble than they were worth.

  “I didn’t get that vibe from her. Besides, like you said, she wanted what was left of that creature bad enough to pay through the nose. What’s that tell you?”

  “You said it was a scarecrow for smaller creatures. So, she doesn’t want to deal with those?”

  “Exactly, and why would she want to meet with you if she already has what she wanted. She didn’t buy any of our other crap. I had to load that off on about fifteen other traders. So, what do we have that she still wants?”

  Summers hesitated. “She knows we can take down shit like that monster.”

  “Yup. She’s after protection.”

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  Nowak had managed to rouse Adams before they headed out. Cortez and Logan had taken shift watching the wagon—including the small fortune they’d amassed. Its security was therefore considered more important than whatever tea party Synel had planned.

  Their meeting point was a fairly large restaurant at the center of the city. Summers could see people heading in and out through the large double doors. He caught a few guards loitering by the building, staring at them. That had happened a few times now. He knew they’d made an impression with the monster they’d brought in, so he shouldn’t be surprised. But their eyes didn’t hold admiration, or even fear. It was something else . . .

  “We good?” Nowak asked. He received a few nods in response.

  “All right, then. Summers, you do the talking.”

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  The inside of the building was lavish, at least to elvish standards. Furs on the walls insulated the room against the cold, and the bone-tiled floor gave it an air of elegance. Summers guessed that this would be their equivalent of a four- or five-star restaurant, judging by the difference in craftsmanship alone.

  Ms. Synel was seated in the back at a large table with two other beautiful elven women. She saw Summers and his friends enter and immediately stood to greet them. Summers almost put on a fake smile, but managed to catch himself in time. He wasn’t the type of guy who could charm a woman like her on his best day. Luckily, Synel wanted something else from them.

  They’d spoken beforehand on the possibility of joining her caravan. It was tempting, if only for the extra sets of eyes looking out for danger. What they needed to learn was if Synel was someone they could trust. Ultimately, they had no stake in this meeting, other than a lost opportunity. If Summers were to screw up, they’d probably just offend her. It wouldn’t be the first time he pissed off someone important, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

  Asle exchanged pleasantries for them; the language barrier made small talk too much trouble to bother with. Summers took a seat directly across from Ms. Synel, while the two elvish women beside her took up spots beside Adams and Nowak, respectively.

  The two elven women measured their partners with a calculating look. Summers wasn’t surprised Synel was trying to leverage them with sex appeal. What pissed him off was that Adams was falling for it. The kid was clearly struggling not to smile as the elvish woman to his right moved closer, laying a hand on top of his shoulder and saying something in a low voice.

  “Hands on the table, Adams.”

  “I’m not doing nothing.”

  “That’s right, you’re not.”

  Summers watched as Adams gently placed both hands in front of him. They weren’t taking any chances.

  Thankfully, Synel got to the heart of the matter quickly.

  “She’s asking about the fight with the monster. About preparations. She wants to know how many of us there were.” Asle looked to Summers.

  “You mean, how many it took to bring it down?”

  “No, how many we lost.”

  “None. I’m not about to start tacking on fake casualties to make the story seem more believable.” Summers looked to Nowak. “That good with you, Sarge?”

  Nowak nodded.

  Summers knew that this was probably strange, given the size and strength of the creature, but he didn’t really care if the merchant believed him.

  He saw Synel’s eyebrows raise a fraction of an inch as Asle spoke. She replied in kind, but this time, the girl didn’t translate. She simply kept speaking with Synel.

  “Asle?”

  “Sorry. Trying to explain.”

  “Explain what?”

  “I’m not a slave.”

  This time, it was Summers’ turn to be surprised.

  “No, you are not.” Summers noted the relieved look in Asle’s eyes. Apparently, she wasn’t so sure about that herself. Summers turned his attention to Synel. The woman must have picked up on his mood because she quickly said something to Asle in response.

  “Exact translations, Asle, please.”

  “She’s apologizing.” Asle glanced over. “She meant no offense. She wanted to address the rumors around us. That’s what she’s saying.”

  “What?”

  Apparently, there was an assumption made by those who saw them bring in the beast’s remains about something called the “flood” strategy.

  It was the idea that, no matter how large or powerful a creature was, you could bring it down by throwing enough human—or elf—misery at it. Hunters who aimed for particularly dangerous prey would buy up slaves in bulk—usually the very young, or very old—hand them a spear, and then overwhelm the creature with sheer numbers. It wasn’t a well-liked strategy, and even the stoic elves looked down on hunters that employed it.

  What it was, however, was effective. And hunters could sell the carcasses of dangerous monsters for a small fortune, either to traders like Synel, who could resell the pieces to crafters, or to wealthy individuals who would display the trophies as their own. The gains of a successful hunt almost always outweighed the cost of the slaves you’d lost.

  And because Asle was most assuredly not their own, the people who saw them had assumed she was the only survivor.

  “What the fuck kind of fucked-up shit is that?” Summers asked. He raised a hand. “Don’t translate that, Asle.” Summers covered his face with his hand.

  “Ms. Synel is asking what we did to beat it. She’s being really complimentary now, especially to you.” Asle looked up at the woman, just to make sure she didn’t understand her. “What do you want to say?”

  They’d talked about this, and with Asle’s advice, they’d only come to one solution.

  “It’s none of her concern.”

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  Synel sat watching the strange traders, as the young girl across from her answered her question simply.

  “My friends won’t disclose their secrets so easily, you understand.”

  Synel caught the glint in Asle’s eyes. The child was far too assured for her age. The very fact that she’d nearly sabotaged the meeting before it had even begun bothered Synel to no end. And she damn well knew it.

  For the past two days, she and her men had been inspecting the corpse of the monster; it had to be prepared for their journey. However, her more skilled craftsmen had noted the severity of the damage to the creature’s body. It was as though it had been burned from the head down and then stabbed a thousand times. Experts with more than thirty years of hunting in these woods had claimed that it was magic. Others thought it had taken more than a hundred men to inflict such wounds.

  It was both frightening and fascinating. There were no signs of arrows, or even spearheads. All they found were strange, metallic shards in its flesh. Whatever the strangers had done, however they had killed the creature, she had no doubts that they held power.

  The young girl spoke with her friends, then turned to her once again
.

  “It’s getting late. Perhaps we can hurry this along?”

  Synel bit back her irritation at the child’s barb. These travelers were the answer to her prayers. They could be her only chance.

  She would never have made this trip if she’d known it was the rajin’s breeding season. As it was, she’d expected to lose a third of her men, even with the travelers’ trophy.

  But if she could attract powerful warriors to her side, then she may be able to save lives as well as line her coin purse. She had no doubt the others would risk the road without her were she to hesitate. The war in the south ensured they’d make a profit regardless of their losses. But that wouldn’t do for her reputation.

  She needed this to work. It had to work.

  “Perhaps we should eat before we get to business, if it pleases you and your companions, Ms. Asle.”

  She inclined her head to the young girl and noticed Asle almost breaking into a smile. That was the thing with the young, so eager to be treated like adults. She watched as the girl sat back and spoke to her friends.

  “Yes, that sounds lovely.”

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  Their meeting concluded without any issue. They’d already decided on the answer they were going to give, which was a solid maybe.

  The woman clearly knew there was something off about the remains of the creature they’d sold, so they wanted to play up that mystery. If they traveled with the caravan, they’d eventually have to show their hand. It was a risk-and-reward scenario. They’d have safety in numbers, but they’d have to chance the curious elves and possible theft. Given the kinds of monsters they’d seen on the road thus far, it might be worth that risk.

  Regardless, their best chance at being left alone was to frame themselves as otherworldly, magical even. That started with cultivating Synel’s curiosity. No matter what they chose, they needed time to bring it up with the rest of the group. Which was made easier by the gift Ms. Synel had graciously left them with.

  “I say we do it. Like right fucking now.” Cortez practically purred while cradling a bottle in one hand.

  They’d been delivered a crate of “berry” liquor. That was the translation Asle had given them, but by the taste, it resembled more of a hard cider that could double as paint thinner. Maybe it was the weeks of travel, but Summers was feeling slightly buzzed after just one swig.

  “You said this caravan deals with that fog we ran into?” Logan was eyeing the bottles himself.

  “This whole city does, more or less,” Nowak answered. “It’s apparently their number one export. More so since the elves are fighting . . . someone or another. Asle couldn’t really understand the details, and neither could I.”

  “Doesn’t that make her a weapons dealer, more or less?”

  “Probably best if you don’t look at it like you would someone from our world,” Summers started. “Besides, it doesn’t matter much what she’s like as a person. She’s not the one we have to worry about. It’s the other guards, or people who think they can rob us in our sleep.”

  “Hvor gar det?” Adams said, looking at Asle.

  “Hvourd gar det,” Asle corrected.

  “The hell are you doing?” Summers looked over at the pair.

  “Learning elvish.”

  “Nos,” Asle corrected again.

  “Sure, whatever.”

  Asle sighed. “He wanted to know how to say, ‘how are you doing?’ In case he saw the pretty girl again.”

  Adams flushed, but didn’t deny Asle’s assessment.

  “Well, she’s Synel’s friend, right? We might.”

  “Every goddamn time,” Summers muttered.

  Nowak covered his face with his hand.

  “Look, Synel was planning on heading out in the morning. We’ll vote then. Summers, Adams—sorry, but I think you guys are gonna have to pull double shifts on guard duty. Think you can last the night?”

  Summers sighed. The prospect of having a day off was making the caravan a more and more attractive offer.

  “Sure thing, Sarge.”

  Nowak smiled in response.

  As they headed off, Summers thought there might have been more guards on the wall than usual.

  Then again, it could have been his imagination.

  Chapter 11: A Long Night

  Summers checked his gun. Their watch had been much like every other night: quiet, save for the sound of Tank chewing in the corner.

  Adams was leaning on the warehouse door when his head turned toward some unseen noise.

  “Hey, Summers, you hear that?”

  Summers stopped to listen. After a moment, he could hear footsteps approaching through the snow.

  A lot of footsteps.

  “It’s too early for shift change, right?” Adams asked nervously.

  “If that’s you, then speak up!” Summers called.

  The footsteps stopped. There wasn’t any reply.

  Summers chambered a round.

  “Safety off. Watch my back.”

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  Summers stepped out into the road that led from their warehouse. He raised his gun almost instantaneously as four guards came to a stop.

  “Shit, just guards.”

  His relief didn’t last long. The elf in the lead recovered first, saying something in his own language. The group started to fan out around Summers and Adams, forming a semi-circle around them.

  “Adams, back up.”

  The two put their backs to the warehouse itself. The guards were shouting, but for all the time he’d spent with Asle, Summers still couldn’t piece it together.

  Then the first guard thrust a spear at his chest.

  “Shit!”

  Summers fell backwards, out of the reach of the thrust, just as he saw another guard to his left step forward. He angled his gun and fired a burst into the man’s armored chest.

  The man crumpled to a heap on the ground. The first guard’s eyes went wide as Summers heard more shots coming from behind. Adams had at least gotten the message. He rolled to a knee and fired into the guard’s head. As he looked beside him, he could already see the other two guards were nothing but smears against the snow.

  “Fuck!”

  Summers spun just as Adams went down, gripping an arrow in his neck.

  On the wall, a guard with a bow was readying another shot. Summers raised his gun and fired, cutting the archer down before he had the chance.

  “Adams, can you move?” Summers checked the area. They looked to be alone, but he didn’t expect that to last long.

  “Shit. Shit! Yeah.” Adams grabbed at his neck.

  “Hold still.”

  Summers snapped the arrow off near the head.

  “Get in the wagon. We need to go.”

  “What?”

  “We just killed a shitload of guards. We need to leave, now.”

  Adams managed to climb into the wagon with some help. He was bleeding badly. Summers could only hope the archer had missed the artery.

  He pulled up a towel from the back and shoved it into Adam’s hands.

  “Keep pressure on it. We’re going to get the others.”

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  Summers snapped at the reins of Tank’s bridle. Adams groaned in the back. The streets of the city were all but abandoned this early in the morning, but still the damn thing wouldn’t move faster than its usual brisk walk.

  “God damn it, move!”

  He could feel the cool anger simmering in the back of his head. What the fuck were those guards trying to do? Rob them? They’d seen Nowak and the others spending money in town. With just two of them watching the wagon, they might have looked like an easy mark. Hell, they nearly were.

  “Come the fuck on!” Summers briefly considered kicking the damn thing, but he doubted it would do them any good. He needed to calm down.

  “Summers!” Nowak called out.

  He could see the man in the distance, up the street
. Cortez, Logan, and Asle were with him.

  “We heard shots. What’s going on?” Logan looked at the wagon. “Where’s Adams?”

  “In the back. He’s hurt. I’ll explain on the way.” Summers hopped down and let Logan take the reins.

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  “I’m fine,” Adams mumbled.

  Adams was, by everyone’s estimate, not fine. His face was getting paler by the second.

  Summers checked the wound. He was losing blood at a worrying rate.

  “Sarge, I think we need to take it out. We can’t bandage him like this.” Summers moved to Adams’ side. He said something, but it was too quiet for Summers to make out over the sound of the wagon moving.

  “I’ll handle it.” Nowak looked at the wound. “He needs blood. Get the kit and hook yourself up while I work.”

  “Right.” Summers mentally kicked himself. That should have been his first move.

  He quickly found the red box that was their first aid kit and plunged an IV into his arm. He missed the vein three times before he got lucky and blood started to flood into a plastic pouch at his side. It was one they’d recycled after Logan’s injury, and then sterilized. Probably not ideal, but it was what they had to work with.

  As he waited, he saw Nowak take hold of the arrow’s broken shaft and pull in one quick, precise motion. His other hand immediately clamped down on the wound with a tight grip.

  Already, the bag was nearly half full.

  “Guys, we have visitors!” Logan called back.

  Summers poked his head outside. The north gate looked to be manned by about twelve men—eight with bows on the wall, much like the setup they’d seen when they’d first arrived. More importantly, though, there was a patrol running from the direction of the warehouses.

  “Do not fucking stop, you hear me?” Nowak called over.

  “Sarge, they ain’t going to let us through without a fight,” Cortez replied.

  “I know!” Nowak leaned over and returned Adams’ M4 to his hands.

  “Asle, tell those assholes to stand down, or we’re going through them.”

  Asle yelled something as loud as she could manage.