Fireteam Delta

by J. F. Halpin

  “Can I take a walk?” Asle looked up at Cortez on the wagon.

  “Sure, just don’t go too far. And be back before sundown.”

  “Can I have a gun?”

  “What’d Sarge say?”

  “Said he’d think about it.”

  Cortez seemed to ponder that for a moment before tossing down a KA-BAR knife. It was about the size of Asle’s forearm.

  “Consider it a compromise, okay? Yell if you run into trouble.”

  Asle nodded as she picked up the knife. She liked Ms. Cortez.

  After about twenty minutes, Asle had made it a good distance from camp. It was stupid how the others were worrying. She was fast, and smart. If something chased her, she would outrun it, and they would kill it. If they were soldiers, they would kill them. It was that simple.

  Because they were strong.

  Because Asle knew the truth.

  Asle had prayed to every god she could invoke, every night she could. And they were the answer.

  Asle had prayed for her freedom, and they had given it to her.

  She’d prayed for vengeance. They had witnessed it, and they had protected her from it.

  They had given her back a life that she could be proud of.

  She wouldn’t allow anything to take that away ever again. Not soldiers, not monsters, not even the gods.

  As Asle looked up, she saw a figure in the distance. Then another. And another.

  Were those . . . people?

  Asle turned back to the camp.

  “I have run into trouble!”

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  Summers sat watching a group of elves being interrogated by a few of the caravan’s guards. There were four total, a family as near as Summers could tell.

  Asle had alerted them, and they had let someone else deal with the problem.

  And it was a problem. Summers had no idea what these people had been through, but they weren’t having a good time of it. They were dirty, they were tired, and from the lack of any kind of equipment, they hadn’t left prepared.

  “They ran from their home. From war,” Asle explained.

  “Refugees, then?”

  Asle shrugged.

  “That’s bad news, right? If these people are running from wherever we’re heading to . . .” Cortez looked to Nowak.

  “Could be. The locals will know more about the landscape than we will. Honestly, we should wait until Summers can get Synel’s opinion on this.”

  The woman in question was standing on the sidelines. Every now and then, a guard would approach her and say something. As the last guard approached, she moved to the group and spoke.

  “She says she has no room for them.” Asle spoke low.

  The kids looked to be on the verge of tears, even if they were doing their best to hide it.

  “What do you mean, no room?” Nowak was looking from Synel to the refugees. “The caravan’s huge.”

  “She said no one’s willing to share food, and they have a long journey still ahead. She does sound like she’s actually sorry.”

  “No one wants to risk taking them in if we have to skip the city,” Summers concluded. “Like you were saying, there’s nowhere else to resupply.”

  “She hasn’t asked us.”

  “That’s because we’re mighty warriors, and all that jazz,” Cortez countered. “Probably doesn’t want to offend us.”

  “Christ . . .” Nowak muttered. “All right, group vote.” Nowak raised a hand. “All in favor of not letting kids starve, hand in the air.”

  “You know this is compromising your authority as our leader, right?” Summers put up a hand.

  “This has gone way beyond my pay grade, and I am beyond giving a fuck.” Nowak glanced around.

  It was unanimous.

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  The kids were around Asle’s age, a boy and a girl. Asle spoke with them off to the side, away from their parents.

  “What are you asking them?” Summers watched the girl, curious.

  “What town they’re from. How many soldiers. If their parents are bad people,” Asle answered. “Parents probably lie. Kids don’t, usually. Or they’re bad at it.”

  Well, she wasn’t wrong.

  “Girl’s name is Erne. Boy is Beorn.” Asle pointed to the two in front of her.

  Synel stood off to the side, closer to Summers than he suspected was appropriate.

  What they said lined up with what they’d learned from their parents so far. Soldiers had arrived, their leader speaking some foreign language. They raided their town. Most of the villagers were killed when they put up a resistance, and their family had managed to escape in the confusion. The good news was that the town was a few days behind them at this point. If they kept up a good pace, whatever force had hit the village would likely be long gone by the time the caravan got there.

  Synel spoke to Asle once more, then bowed.

  “She agreed to help watch them. As long as we feed them.” Asle sounded almost happy about the negotiation. To be fair, the security risk was something they were worried about. Feeding was one thing, but even just watching the wagon stretched them thin.

  Summers gave Synel a slight bow before she spoke again.

  “Thank you.” Synel spoke with a slight accent.

  That took Summers by surprise. He’d only taught the woman the phrase a day earlier. She bowed, then moved to the refugees, looking to get them settled.

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  The next morning, Summers and the others sat huddled around the wagon. Summers was busy trying to spread jalapeno cheese over a biscuit as hard as glass.

  They’d had to ration their generous supply of food with the four extra mouths they’d acquired, so they’d dipped into a few of the MREs they had stored away from the Humvee. They weren't good, but they were calories.

  “Asle says they have family in the city. We get them there, they’re not our problem anymore.” Summers spoke as he ate.

  “Seems like it’s good for the kid.” Cortez gestured to Asle, who was leading the other two children around the camp, showing them one thing or another.

  Summers grabbed his rifle. With the news of an army at their back, he figured it was worth lugging it around if it meant being prepared. Even if he was “off duty.”

  “Speaking of, we should probably get them fed.” Summers stood and started toward the kids.

  As he got close, the girl—Erne—looked up at him, and froze.

  There was a look of sheer terror on her face so plain that Summers stopped in his tracks.

  “What . . . ?” The boy grabbed his sister and tried to run, only being stopped when Asle grabbed his arm. She was muttering something as the boy screamed at her.

  It was clear Asle was trying to calm the two as they stared up at Summers in sheer panic. He held his hands up in a placating gesture, and it was only then he realized they weren’t looking at him.

  They were looking at his rifle. It was hanging from his side, and their eyes kept darting to it.

  Nobody Summers had met in this world had recognized their rifles for what they were, and yet these kids were terrified at the sight of his.

  “Asle, I think we need to ask some more questions.”

  Chapter 16: Mended Bridges

  “Fourteen men?” Nowak watched the family of refugees in front of him. They still looked terrified, but after some gentle prodding from Asle, they’d managed to keep them from bolting entirely—mostly for the promise of food. They were halfway to starving just yesterday, after all.

  “That’s a squad,” Summers pointed out.

  The family had mentioned that at least one soldier they’d encountered was a foreigner. What they had failed to say was that he was an American. Or at least, that they’d heard English. From the few words the family remembered, there was no doubt they were dealing with someone from their own world.

  “Asle, tell them they’re safe with us.” Nowak turned to Sum
mers. “What’s a good angle on this?”

  Summers looked to Asle. “Tell them to keep all this to themselves. We don’t want rumors spreading about us. If they have a problem with it, we’ll leave them here to fend for themselves.”

  Nowak held up a hand to stop Asle. “That’s kind of harsh, isn’t it?”

  “Not like I’m planning on following through. But last thing we need is to take sides.” Summers gestured to the wagon. “Besides, we’re just merchants, remember? If they think that’s true, what do you suppose they’re going to tell people?”

  “They might assume we were the ones selling those people guns. If we weren’t outright spies,” Nowak concluded.

  “Right.”

  Nowak thought. “And what if they call your bluff?”

  “I doubt the other traders would be able to do much to us. If they were going to warn anyone, it’d be in the city. And if that’s a target for whoever these people are . . . we won’t be there for long.”

  “What about resupply?”

  “I think we can use Synel as an intermediary, assuming we get the chance.”

  Asle took Nowak’s silence as permission to continue. The two children showed no response as she spoke, though Summers could tell the entire family was still on edge.

  The father—a man by the name of Eirik—nodded solemnly. He bowed as he spoke.

  “He swore an oath to not speak of it. That’s good. It’s . . .” Asle struggled to think of the word. “It’s an honor thing.”

  “Good.” Summers nodded. “We done here, Sarge?”

  Nowak seemed to consider the family, then Asle.

  “Yeah. Asle, thank them for me. They can go.”

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  “I mean, this is good news, right? We might have found a quick way home.” Cortez leaned against a tree.

  They’d decided that with the news they weren’t alone in this part of the world, they needed to figure out their new direction.

  Bang!

  “Could be, or we could be walking into something way over our pay grade,” Summers responded. “I mean, these guys wiped out an entire village of mud farmers. That doesn’t sound like something the army would be interested in—especially if their power base is in Nevada.”

  Bang!

  Summers turned to see Asle. She knelt down on one knee and fired at another bottle as he watched. It shattered instantly. As far as target practice was concerned, she was going three for three.

  “Asle, take five, would ya?”

  Asle nodded before handing Summers the gun. She’d gotten a lot better with it, a lot faster than Summers would have expected. Even Nowak looked impressed by her progress. Of course, given what he’d seen of elf culture, everyone knew how to fight in one form or another. She’d probably gleaned at least a few tricks from watching them all these weeks.

  “They spoke English,” Nowak pointed out.

  “Some of them spoke English,” Summers corrected. “For all we know, the guys with guns were deserters. Or helping whatever this ‘gray army’ is.”

  “You learn anything else about them from your girl?” Cortez asked.

  “Foreign nation, had a lot of fights with . . . uh, Asle, what are these folk called?”

  “Nordli Stam,” Asle responded promptly. “Um, Northern tribes.”

  “Right. So, they fight a lot with these Northmen. But mostly, their places are on the coast. Far as I can tell, all the way down to Northern California.”

  “Then we’re going to be running into them eventually,” Logan ventured.

  “That’s right.”

  Nowak considered all of that before he spoke. “My suggestion is we head to the city, get some intel on who these people are, and then decide where we go from there. I’d like to contact whoever it is that’s out there, but I want to make sure we’re playing this safe.”

  “And we’re sure we trust that family not to talk?” Cortez asked.

  “No, but given our reputation in the caravan right now, I don’t think it matters. Worst case, we give them some food and leave them behind.”

  Summers glanced at Asle, who was listening intently. He remembered how happy she’d seemed when she’d met those kids.

  “I’ll set up the targets. Thirty meters this time, all right?”

  Asle nodded in confirmation.

  Summers would have to see how things played out.

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  Asle struggled not to smile. It had been about two weeks when Nowak gave her the news. Now, she had her own power. She could help. Cortez had helped fit Asle with something called a holster that wrapped around her leg. The butt of a pistol sat there, waiting for the day that she would call on it.

  Today was not that day.

  “I brought your food.”

  Asle held a tray out to the two children sitting with their parents. Erne looked at her askance; she was trying to be polite, Asle knew. They only tolerated her now. Nothing more, nothing less. It had been that way since that first morning.

  She noticed as the boy, Beorn, glanced down at her holster. She didn’t mind. It was normal for him to be curious. He held out a hand to take the tray.

  “Thank you.”

  Asle hid her reaction as best she could. Beorn had been kinder to her than the rest of the group, even after their rocky start. She liked him, even if the feeling wasn’t mutual.

  “And how are you doing?”

  Asle turned to find Synel behind her, looking down at the refugees. The woman had an air about her that radiated confidence.

  “We’re well, mistress. Please do not concern yourself with us,” the father, Eirik, answered.

  Synel inclined her head to the family. “I’m glad, but you should know that everyone in my caravan is my concern—that includes you and your family. But I’m here to ask for a favor.”

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  The favor was busy work, Asle knew that. But still . . .

  “I found another one, I think,” Erne called over. She held a small mushroom that looked to be the right size and shape.

  “Looks right to me.” Asle nodded in satisfaction.

  The group as a whole had been tasked with finding various herbs and mushrooms for the caravan’s dinner, while their parents helped with the cooking.

  Synel didn’t need help. She was trying to get on Asle’s good side by giving the siblings a reason to talk to her.

  “What about this?” Beorn tossed a bug the size of her arm into the basket. Erne shrieked. Asle yelped, then chucked the basket—mushrooms and all—into the distance. It landed on the ground with a heavy plop.

  Beorn showed no reaction to their response, but she could tell that he was laughing. She did her best to hide the smile that was now close to breaking through.

  Despite her best efforts, Synel’s plan was working.

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  Summers fumbled with another of the flashcards Synel used, lately it was becoming harder and harder to use his fine motor control. Whether that was because he wasn’t exercising it, or his condition was getting worse, was anyone’s guess.

  “I think we should end for today,” Summers said in nearly perfect Nos. Asle still corrected him any time he tried to call it Elvish. “If that’s all right with you.”

  By the way Synel’s eyes lit up, he figured he’d gotten the pronunciation right.

  “As you wish,” Synel responded.

  She looked tired. They’d been hauling ass down the road ever since the refugees had mentioned an army nearby. The last thing the caravan wanted was to deal with soldiers, and with a group as large as theirs, a small party could easily catch up if they weren’t careful. But she still hadn’t missed a single one of Summers’ lessons.

  Synel spoke to Asle, the two talking back and forth. The cadence was so fast that Summers couldn’t quite grasp the meaning, so he waited for the girl to translate—something that was happening less and less these days.<
br />
  Asle, for her part, had really stepped up her game in these lessons. Summers was by no means a clever man. In fact, he was a dumbass grunt through and through, with maybe a touch more common sense than average. But between the private tutoring and Asle’s explanations afterward, the language lessons were really starting to show results.

  “She’s . . . she wants to be alone with you. So . . . goodbye.” Asle nodded before turning to leave.

  Summers blinked a few times as he watched her push the flap to Synel’s private tent closed.

  It took a moment before he realized what was happening. And he was pretty certain that if leaving your barely fluent friend alone with a beautiful woman could be called betrayal, this would definitely qualify.

  Summers immediately went into full-on panic mode. Synel had moved toward a chest at the back of the tent.

  “It’s getting late. I shouldn’t keep you up.”

  Synel placed a glass full of brownish liquid in front of him. It smelled vaguely fruity.

  Oh, thank God. It was liquor.

  She gave Summers a vaguely hurt look, cupping the glass in front of her in both hands.

  “It’s crass to drink alone. I’d hoped you could keep me company for a few more minutes.”

  Synel was a lithe woman, and a smart one. Probably smarter than him, as a given. If this was her big play at him, he had no doubt she’d feign offense at any excuse he’d use to get out.

  And so, Summers had no choice but to raise his glass in response.

  "I'd love to."

  Synel was smarter, but there was something that Summers figured she didn’t account for: the fact he had about sixty pounds on her. So, the solution seemed obvious.

  He’d drink her under the table.

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  Summers awoke in a daze several hours later. He looked down to see that his pants were not where he’d left them. Neither was his shirt, or his boxers.

  He was completely naked, covered in furs, and lying beside an equally bare Synel.

  Her hand was laying against his head, gently stroking his ears.

  His very human ears.

  Summers had seriously fucked up.