The Hero lota-5

by John Ringo

  “I see,” Tirdal said. “It couldn’t be that you’re afraid of the dark?”

  Dagger laughed and it sounded forced. “What would make you think that?”

  Tirdal scanned back on his sensor log and played the amplified sound in question, with the bellowing noises of nearer animals cacophonous over it. “That’s not your scream of panic, Dagger? Or was it a stubbed toe?”

  “You filthy little motherf—” Dagger spewed a stream of profanity for over a minute.

  When he slowed for breath, Tirdal said, “Dagger, that was neither creative nor clever, though I’m sure it was heartfelt. Also, most of those suggestions are impossible for humans, much less Darhel. They do tell me much about your personal tastes though. But since you have nothing to say that’s productive, we should end this conversation. Unless you’d like my company in the dark?”

  The profanity resumed, louder and even more hysterical. It appeared that Dagger very much wanted company in the dark, but would never say so.

  “Very well, Dagger,” Tirdal said after he wound down once again. “I’m closing this channel. And perhaps I should come and put you out of your misery now. Look for me in the shadows,” he added in a lugubrious voice picked from a human “vampire” movie. He wouldn’t attack, of course. But if Dagger thought so, it would be… amusing.

  Tirdal brought his attention back to putting distance between them. Perhaps Dagger would curl up in a faint until daylight. Though despite his phobias and moral cowardice, the man was, in fact, brave in many ways, “bravery” being defined as continuing despite one’s fears. If only he’d understood that, he would have turned out a much better human being. Instead, he had apparently spent his life trying to compensate. Such a waste of potential.

  There was movement ahead, and he froze. He eased down into a squat and slipped over behind a tangle of bush. He hefted the punch gun, hoping he wouldn’t have to use it. He summoned Jem, ready to lock the tal down if a kill were necessary. Cautiously, he let his Sense feel ahead.

  His vision had a slightly greater frequency range than that of humans, so he didn’t really need his night vision gear most of the time. He brought it up now, because whatever was there was just beyond the range of acuity. A glance let him relax. Browsers. The disturbance ahead was large herbivores in a clearing chittering faintly as they snipped off the local woody grass that was not unlike bamboo or felda. Still, he should avoid them.

  Or should he? The herd was large and a detour might bring him to predators stalking them. They hadn’t shown any real interest in the team as they’d crossed the veldt, he remembered from the insertion four days ago. Was it only four days? So he might as well go through, cautiously, and trust their noise and form to give Dagger even more fits.

  Drawing his Sense in to only a few tens of meters, he stood and walked slowly, weapon raised so as to create a distraction if need be, and approached the creatures.

  The crashing, crunching sounds of stalks being pruned and chewed were rather impressive, he thought. These creatures were easily the size of large horses or even buffalo on Earth. No animal from growth-poor Darhel could compare. They towered over him, noting his passage with brief waves and twitches of antennae, but took no further notice. He was not food, nor predator, and so didn’t enter into their world. He kept his distance just the same, lest he spook them. They actually had improved his progress by shearing the ground smooth in this area, and he was through rather quickly.

  He reentered the woods proper and it became thick, dark and oppressive once again. Humidity was greater, condensing into a fog in the dropping temperatures, and seemed to close in around him. His pace slowed and he had to meander and detour often. The terrain had changed, and this appeared to be what he’d heard called “second growth.” It was tangled and dense, with quick-growing soft trees, weeds and vines knotted through them and wrapping around the taller trees dispersed through the mess. He thought about hacking his way, discarded the idea because of the obvious signs it would leave, and settled for crawling under and through, pacing around and occasionally scrambling over. There were thorny plants here, too, and some took vengeance for his intrusion in the form of cuts and scratches. He sighed. Those would be beacons to Ferret’s sensors, but the alternative was to take a long detour. Ferret needn’t worry about leaving traces, Dagger and Tirdal must. It was still a stalemate that had to be broken.

  Taking a device from his gear, he planted it at the base of a fern analog. It might not be needed, but he wasn’t going to use it anywhere else, and if all else failed it was a little mass removed from his gear. He’d been lucky to have it, but now it was time to get rid of it. He programmed the mechanism, hoisted the box back to his shoulder and kept walking.

  He was only about a kilometer past the herd, he estimated, when Dagger screamed again. This time, he could hear it over the background white noise of the forest.

  “Ah, Dagger, I see you’ve found the herd,” he said.

  * * *

  Ferret heard the screams, too. At first, he’d thought perhaps Tirdal had scored. There had been no weapons fire, though. So, yes, Dagger was a city boy who couldn’t handle the deep dark. And he was following Tirdal again. Excellent. He wouldn’t say anything yet, but he’d save it for the right moment. He’d also have to keep a good eye out for whatever critter had scared Dagger.

  That also told him that Dagger was using a tracer. He’d gone off the track, and been able to spot Tirdal well enough to shoot at him, assuming that had been what he did in the meadow. He’d climbed a tree to shoot, so assume Tirdal had been the target. Had he climbed a tree? Ferret hadn’t seen it, but deduced it. He could be wrong. Fatigue was screwing with his mind. But hell, he had to have some basis for his conclusions, so yes, Dagger had climbed a tree to shoot and missed. Hornet rounds at a target out of direct sight?

  But he had peeled off and then come back to resume the stalk. So there was a tracer and it had to be on the box. Likely Shiva or Bell Toll had put it on there as a paranoid measure. More likely Bell Toll. So if Ferret bagged Tirdal, he could use the box as bait. If he nailed Dagger, he could track the Darhel, and use a weapon with greater range to get Tirdal. All useful.

  The bad news was that he was lagging behind. Pain and drugs, hunger and fatigue were taking a terrible toll on him. He’d have to hope for something to break the stalemate, or for one of the others to buy it and make it a simple fight. That might be too much to hope for.

  Under the other distractions, Ferret kept wondering if gangrene or other rot was setting in. The nausea was getting worse. True, he’d experienced that before, sometimes to the point of gagging on his tongue as sleep and awake fought for control, but this felt different. He hoped it was environmental, with the odd gravity and light. He feared it was his own fate catching up.

  Still, if the worst he could do was be a distraction until one or the other of those bloodsuckers killed the other, that would be a start. After that, he’d just have to see. Maybe he could get close enough for a crippling shot. If they all starved to death here, or got chewed by cockroaches, it would be hard on Ferret, but good for the human race.

  He realized he wasn’t bothered by that outcome, and that realization scared him. It was ironic. He was more disturbed by his mindset change than by his impending death.

  Taking another deep breath to relieve some of the pain in his chest, he pushed forward. The dark was his friend. Dagger was meat if he had anything to say about it.

  * * *

  “I suppose you think that was funny, Darhel?” Dagger rasped. His voice had a bite to it that indicated he was on the ragged edge of self control. He didn’t notice that himself. What he did notice was the indicators of something entering that thicket over there, and Darhel bloodstains. The cocky little bastard had now screwed up, and Dagger would kill him. Slowly, too.

  “Funny, Dagger?” came the reply. “No, I thought the bare ground would make you feel more comfortable than all those spooky trees, so I led you to it. Why, did the herd of h
armless grazers scare you?”

  Dagger shut off his transmitter, checked it to be sure, then growled quietly, teeth clenched until his jaw turned white. He had to kill something, and he had to kill something right now. There! It was a foot-sized beetle, climbing up a tree a couple of meters away. He strode over, raised his rifle, and smashed the fucking thing flat with the butt. Goo squirted out the edges, and he smashed it again. The legs thrashed and wiggled as he smashed and smashed.

  He was panting for breath, sheened with sweat and could feel his heart hammering in his chest and his pulse in his ears. But he was calm enough now to pay attention again. He looked around, partly in fear, though he denied it, and partly for intel, which he focused on.

  There was a faint heat trail left here. The little fuck couldn’t be more than a klick ahead, maybe less. Forgetting his fear, forgetting stalking discipline, Dagger rushed forward. His phobia was still there, however, and it was causing him to be overeager. Closeness to the Darhel was companionship to the unconscious part of his mind. It meant he’d be safe.

  He followed the blood and genetic trail, and could easily see the signs of passage. The Darhel not only had no idea how to sneak through the woods, he’d often picked some of the thickest crud to crawl through.

  It should have made Dagger happy, but it didn’t. This incompetent little Elf was traipsing along like a child, and had been able to avoid Dagger for two days. It was pure luck, and it was insulting. He wasn’t going to allow the bastard to think he was better than Dagger. He was going to catch him and hurt him.

  In fact, he was going to leave him here, crippled, to starve to death or be eaten by bugs. To hell with killing him. He’d do the Darhel the favor. Since it couldn’t kill him, he wouldn’t kill it. And he’d do the same for Ferret, too. One human to another. A smile crossed his face as he emerged from a tangle of vines and found clear forest floor.

  He’d taken only three steps when his suit’s systems shrieked a warning in his ears.

  He reacted from training and fear, and dropped flat. He just made it, but as he dove, he felt a vicious sting in his right calf. What the hell? He scrabbled for his pistol, never releasing his grip on his rifle, while spinning around on his back, his good leg propelling him. Wide-eyed in hysteria, pulse and respiration hammering at him, he sought the Darhel.

  Nothing. Nothing here. But there was a smell of steaming wood and a report scrolling across his screen in symbols. It had been a directional projectile mine, and it had to have been set by the Darhel. It was low on the base of that tree, and its flechette actually might have hit hard enough to cripple him if he hadn’t been so fast.

  Goddamn that Darhel! The little bastard should be dead! Dragging himself to a sitting position, he slapped a nano-bandage on the wound. It was only superficial, and if he’d got the patch on quickly enough, he should avoid most of the tautness that went with it.

  But it did prove that he was close, and that the Darhel, coward that he was, couldn’t kill him directly. He got his hyperventilation under control. He had enough oxygen; he didn’t need to breathe for a few seconds. Only when he felt the breathing reflex resume its normal demands did he speak. “Hey, Darhel,” he said. “You missed.”

  “How unfortunate, Dagger,” came the response. “I shall endeavor to learn from my mistakes.”

  “You aren’t going to live to make any more, pal,” Dagger assured him. He felt confident again, and it had nothing to do with the rising gray of dawn.

  “Well, thank you, Dagger, but with as long a life as Darhel can expect, some errors are inevitable. While superior beings, we are not perfect.”

  It was obviously a deliberate misunderstanding and a goad. He didn’t want to listen to any more of that, so he shut off the communicator.

  * * *

  Ferret heard the crack of the flechette mine, and smiled. It was a distinctive sound, and it meant Dagger and Tirdal were mixing it up. Delightful. His nerves reached out for anything dangerous as he closed on the area. His infrared and Dagger’s would see each other at about the same range, but he was following. He also sealed his suit for the time being, no matter if he cooked like a pot of bubbling spaghetti sauce. He needed every advantage he could get for right now, no matter the cost. If he could get close enough for just a glimpse of Dagger, he’d try to stir him into a firefight in predawn dark.

  It wasn’t long, though in the sweltering thickness of his closed suit it seemed like hours, before he came across the area where the mine had been emplaced. There was molecular residue and there were pheromones, and his tracker updated its records. Both Dagger and Tirdal had passed this way, and not too long ago. Dagger had thrashed around, but didn’t appear seriously injured, but there was residue that might indicate a surface wound. Tirdal, however, definitely was wounded. Blood was sufficiently present to register.

  Now might be time to talk to both of them. Ferret opened a broadcast channel and said, “So, guys, what now? Dagger’s scared beyond reason, and Tirdal is bleeding. It looks like I’ve got all the advantages here.” He kept his voice cheerful, under tight control, so as not to betray the pain he was feeling. He hoped he wasn’t letting out any hints that sensat could pick up. So far, though, he seemed to have been safe. Tirdal really did need to be close to resolve details.

  Tirdal replied first, “Well, Dagger, it appears you are fighting this alone. In fact, we all are. Two against whichever one makes the first critical mistake.”

  Dagger replied, and quickly, “That will be you, Darhel. You’re the one bleeding.”

  “You pin all your hopes on a minor wound,” Tirdal said, “and ignore the psychological issues. No, I think Ferret and I are in much better shape in the ways that matter.”

  Ferret cut in, not wanting to be left out of this. He was not the plucky comic relief. “I may be the only one uninjured,” he put in. “Dagger appears to have taken some damage himself. I think your mine nailed him.”

  “Scratched myself on a stick,” Dagger insisted at once. “Not that it matters. I can kill both of you with one hand taped.”

  Ferret said, “I’ll take that bet, Dagger. Will you do it now?”

  For the moment, Dagger was silent.

  Tirdal said, “Dagger, the fact that you’ve had to lie about allies who appear not to support you indicates your position is precarious in your own mind. That weakness of spirit will be your undoing, regardless of any physical threats.”

  “Tell me, Tirdal,” Dagger replied now, “what is the sound of one Darhel dying? Why are we having this stupid chat? Everyone comfy now? Can we stop talking and start killing? I know I can, you two seem to be reluctant.” There was a ragged edge to his voice.

  “Trying to find a way to shut down the communications, Dagger?” Tirdal asked with a lilt in his voice. “You must remember that only the senior troop can do that. I think this exchange is useful, and would like it to continue.”

  “I’m dropping out again,” Ferret said. “I’ve got work to do. But if you kill him, Tirdal, and bury the artifact where I can find it, I promise I won’t kill you.”

  “I’m sorry, Ferret, but I can’t make a deal like that.”

  “That’s because you’re too cowardly to kill,” Dagger snarled.

  “I figured that, Tirdal. Pity I can’t let you live to enjoy that billion. Later, assholes.”

  He closed his channel for now. That had been instructive. He and Dagger were both argumentative and childish, likely due to fatigue, and the damned Darhel sounded fresh as a daisy. But Tirdal knew Dagger didn’t have Ferret as an ally. Dagger knew Ferret was in the loop. And Ferret knew they were both sellouts he’d have to kill.

  Sighing, he checked his rate of movement and stumped along faster, feeling a new pounding in his calves.

  Chapter 15

  The coming daylight was a necessary salve to Dagger’s sanity, but it wasn’t enough. Between fatigue and poor rations, he was lagging badly. Now he was wounded, too. He knew he had to catch Tirdal today, end this today, or he wasn�
��t going to be in shape to do it ever. Then there was Ferret. The little twerp was one hell of a tracker, and tough as nails to still be following. He wasn’t even in it for the money. The asshole was doing this from duty, and seemed to think it would matter.

  He reached for his canteen straw and sucked at it, but got nothing. He’d been sweating all night and had sucked it dry. He was going to have to take a break and get some real food, as well as more water. The weather wasn’t excessively warm at the moment, but he was exerting himself a lot. Hell, he had to be exhaling a quart of water a day, never mind what he was pissing away. If he’d had any idea there’d be a real fight after the grenade, he would have made sure he had some rations with him. He’d dropped his ruck because he hadn’t figured to need anything for those few seconds. He was lucky to have the rifle; he hadn’t needed it, but just never put it down if he could help it. The wisdom of that habit was obvious now. He could kick himself for not thinking of food when he grabbed supplies. But who would have thought it? He vaguely remembered a week in training regarding logistics and support tail. He’d slept through most of it, eager only for the afternoon’s shooting and running.

  It was ironic, he thought, the position he was in. The reason he always harassed people about their food choices was because he really wasn’t as hardcore as he pretended. He hated raw meat, and he hated bugs, worms and larvae. Now, he was in a position where he had to either eat them or die. He’d trained for it, hated every minute of it, took vengeance upon the world by harassing all others about it, and now had to do it himself. It served to wake him slightly, the rage did. The universe seemed to take delight in fucking him over his discovery of the box. But he’d get out of this, and it would just make the memory that much sweeter.

  Somewhere here there had to be some of those flyers or small mammals. He needed food, but would have to be a hell of a lot hungrier to eat raw bug. So mammal it was. Something with its bones on the inside. He kept an eye on the terrain for any area that might contain them, and tried not to think of all the bugs he saw. He was connecting them with food, and that brought back bad memories of that week of training.