Combat jack

by Gavin Smith

  I snapped. Claws out. Ash and Gregor had to get in the way. The lenshead backed up, but didn’t look too frightened.

  “I’m going to fucking kill you! You stupid bastard! You nearly fucking killed us all!”

  “Calm down. Jakob, calm down!” It’s the first time I’d heard Gregor raise his voice.

  “He nearly killed Brownie!”

  “Brownie’s going to be fine.”

  I stopped struggling, and eventually Gregor and Ash let me go. I darted between them. The lenshead tried to get away, but I swung a right hook, only just retracting my blades at the last moment. It was a solid blow. The lenshead ended up on his arse on the ground.

  “Pack it in,” Gregor said quietly. The lenshead was rubbing his jaw, but he didn’t look angry.

  “Do you know what no wagon means?” I asked the lenshead, standing over him. “It means we either walk back, or ride in the back of a cramped stinking APC. If I’d wanted to do that I’d have fucking stayed in the regular fucking army, you cunt!” I yelled at him.

  I was suddenly exhausted. I realised that the tension was draining out of me as I shouted. The lenshead just looked bemused.

  “Let me make it up to you,” he said. “I’ve got a lot of good drugs with me.”

  “How’d you get here?” Gregor asked him, ignoring his offer.

  “I had a scout hover but I can’t remember where I parked it. Walked the rest of the way.”

  “What were you doing?” Ash asked.

  “There’s a competition amongst the press corps. Who can have the most extreme combat wank.”

  We all stared at him.

  “Can I kill him now?” I asked.

  “Not just yet,” Gregor answered.

  “If you don’t win, I’d like to see the winning entry. No, hold on, you know what I mean,” Ash told him.

  “You filmed yourself?” Dorcas asked.

  “Of course, how else could I prove I had a wank on a Hydra in an artillery barrage?” the Lenshead asked, his tone implying we were the stupid ones.

  “Dirty bastard,” Dorcas said, shaking his head and grinning.

  “Now?” I asked.

  There was a long pause, before Gregor answered. “No. We take him back.”

  “What? Why?” I demanded.

  “Because he’s got some good drugs, all of which we’re going to rob off him, and because it’ll annoy Rolleston.”

  I wasn’t sure why they wanted to annoy Rolleston. Competent Ruperts were not easy to find, even if he was a cold-blooded bastard.

  “What’s your name?” Gregor asked.

  “Howard Mudgie. Everyone calls me Mudge.”

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