Fireteam Delta Page 20

  “It’s not my imagination. They’re getting longer, right?” Summers felt at his ears.

  They had, in fact, gotten longer. And pointier.

  “Think he’s right, they’re still growing.” Cortez held Summers by the head, tilting him toward the light.

  It had been two and a half weeks since they’d started their little training camp in the city, and since then, Summers’ ears had begun growing into their current, elf-like state. It wasn’t much, but they’d now come to the point where Summers could no longer deny there was something wrong.

  “Could be elf is an STD?” Cortez mused.

  “It’s not . . . no,” Summers replied, with more than a little annoyance.

  “Is this the fog? Because you’re literally going native on us.” Nowak looked at Summers skeptically.

  “Christ, maybe? Does anyone know about a drug that gives you pointy ears?”

  “There’s no guarantee it’s a drug,” Logan posited. “For all we know, the fog could be a bacterium, or a parasite.”

  “Fan-fucking-tastic.” Summers held his head in his hands, staring at the ground.

  “I’m serious. If whatever’s in that water is a parasite, then it has a life cycle. And that means it influences its host, eats, and reproduces. Usually, that’s not going to be pleasant for you.”

  “So, I’m going to have something burst out of my fucking chest?”

  “No, you’ll have some other health issues first. The good news is that super strength isn’t what I’d call a normal symptom.”

  Summers covered his face with a hand. He’d been racking his brain over what the fog could be, and so far, he’d come up with nothing short of magic. Given the nightmarish monsters they’d seen in this world, he didn’t doubt that there was some microscopic equivalent.

  “All right. Assuming it is, what kind of parasite do you think we’re talking about here? Is there anything like this on our world?”

  “Nothing even close that I’ve ever heard of. But you mentioned the fog made you hungry. I’d say that points toward something that wants you to eat. Or kill.” Logan pointed at Summers for emphasis.

  Summers considered that. It was true. He’d been fighting down violent urges at any minor inconvenience, but the fact he’d gotten so used to it that he’d stopped noticing probably wasn’t a good sign.

  Then something clicked.

  “It wanted me to eat . . . holy shit. Back when you first found me, the wolves—” Summers could see the others weren’t following. “Look, back then, I wanted to eat anything. Anything I could catch . . . I caught some wolves. But it was only afterward that I could smell like a bloodhound. Or like a wolf.”

  “What?” Nowak and the others were looking at him, confused.

  “What if it isn’t the fog that’s changing me, but what the fog wanted me to do? To eat?”

  “Seriously?” Cortez looked doubtful.

  “We were sharing meals the caravan made, meals with that giant, strong lizard.” Summers looked at the others. “Maybe something about the fog lets me . . . absorb things?”

  “Did you eat a fucking elf?” Cortez leaned in closer to Summers.

  “What? No.” Summers raised his hands. “That merchant from the duel, though. Asle cut my hand for that ceremony . . . thing. And his blood—” Summers flexed his arm.

  Nowak waved a hand. “We get it.”

  “Does Synel know about any of this?” Logan asked. “I mean, she deals in it.”

  “All the merchants know is that it makes you feel faster, stronger, and completely immune to pain.” Summers spoke as if he’d been over this a thousand times, mostly because he had. At first, he’d assumed Synel was hiding something, but after a while, it became clear that things like safety testing hadn’t been conceived of in this world. “And from what she was saying, nothing they’ve seen comes close to the degree of change I’ve been dealing with.”

  “With how much it costs, I doubt she’s seen anyone exposed to it for nearly as long as you have,” Nowak explained. “Nobody that lived, anyway.”

  “Right . . . but it fits. Even if it’s just the how.”

  If this was true, then Summers could do things he’d never imagined were possible . . . or he could end up as a science experiment if they ever got back. Something he’d really have to consider.

  “But we still need the why,” Logan cautioned.

  “And if you’re right, then it’s not going away. You’re still going to keep”—Nowak gestured at Summers—“changing . . .”

  That . . . hadn’t occurred to him. In fact, if Nowak was right, anything he ate, touched, or stood in the same room with long enough could potentially influence whatever was inside him.

  “Great.” Summers ran a hand through his hair. “So, besides the fact I might be a fucking vegetarian from here on out, what other good news do we have?”

  “About that . . .” Nowak looked at the group, rolling out a map of the city, and indicating the walls. “We have a problem.”

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  The group stood in a high tower that overlooked the walls of the city.

  “So, trees.”

  “Trees,” Nowak agreed. He indicated the tree line nearly five hundred meters from the walls. They’d looked further away on the map beside him. It wasn’t thick growth, but it didn’t need to be.

  Their biggest advantage was their weapons, and guns were only useful because of their speed, accuracy, and range—something that would be completely meaningless in the dark, with enemies massed behind cover, firing arrows at them.

  Had this been a normal fight, they could have fired until the forest itself had been reduced to debris. But as well equipped as they’d been for a small fireteam, they didn’t have the kind of ammo that could support a long battle with tens of shooters. Even with Rhodes’s salvaged gear, which practically dwarfed their own, added in.

  “Isn’t this something the city should have thought of?” Summers glanced down to the base of the wall.

  “It is, and they did, but according to Nisha, the refugees made the work nearly impossible.” Logan put a hand on the windowsill.

  Summers watched as guards and laborers worked to dig pits in the distance. They’d jammed wooden spikes in the ground, hoping to create a barrier between them and the enemy. Some of the refugees helped, knowing that if the barrier failed, they would be the first thing between the enemy and the wall. But most looked to be begging the guards for food.

  “You’re talking to that elf an awful lot,” Nowak observed. “Don’t suppose there’s any chance of you getting on her good side?”

  “Nisha’s a fanatic—well, not really. I think she’s given Rhodes something like an oath, and elves take those seriously, as you know.”

  “Do we know what their army is like yet?” Summers looked over the ground below. The city’s guards numbered around five hundred, with eighty of those being Rhodes and his “personal guard,” Summers and the others included.

  He didn’t know much about medieval fights—at least not beyond the idea that walls kept people from stabbing you—but from the sheer amount of people this army had displaced, he couldn’t imagine it would be anything small.

  “Archers, infantry, and some kind of cavalry,” Nowak explained. “Horses, or something close to them. From what the refugees have said, they think the army is something around five thousand strong.”

  “What the fuck? Five thousand?”

  “Yeah. This is a trade city, and not a powerful one. They’re desperate, and I think Rhodes is starting to feel it. Trust me, just getting this much out of him was a hassle. He doesn’t want to put guns in our hands.”

  “So, he’s not a complete moron,” Cortez noted.

  “Asle’s still here.” Summers spoke in a warning tone.

  “Right, but if he just so happens to get hit by one of our recruits, well, that’s just bad luck, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe,” Nowak agreed. “But we’d just be shooting oursel
ves in the foot. It’s not like the city’s going to honor his deal for him.”

  “You seriously think Rhodes will keep to his deal?”

  “No,” Nowak conceded. “But we should focus on one fight at a time. And right now, he’s our best shot at getting home safely.”

  “At least this gives us an excuse to get off the wall.” Summers gestured to the forest in the distance.

  “Think it’ll work?” Cortez questioned.

  Nowak considered the sight for a moment. “We’ll play it by ear. Stick to the plan.” Nowak took one last look at the world outside the city. “We need to get those gates open.”

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  “Commander.”

  Pat gave Summers a sloppy salute as he handed over his weapon for inspection. Summers had taught his recruits all but the barest essentials for maintenance and military etiquette, none of which had covered who to salute, or what rank he actually held.

  Which was fine, as the refugees only seemed to know the word for “that guy in charge,” something that translated to Summers as “commander.”

  And while he was almost fluent after his stay in the city—due in no small part to his forced interaction during these training sessions—he still had a long way to go before he could grasp any of the finer details.

  He was sure he sounded ridiculous to a native speaker, but he could at least hold a coherent conversation.

  “Good work.” Summers worked the action, then handed the weapon back to Pat. “Do me a favor and help the others, would ya?”

  “Of course, Commander.”

  Pat bowed deeply; it almost looked regal. Summers sensed he’d had a lot of practice doing that particular gesture.

  He glanced down at two men who looked surprisingly alike; Summers had assumed they were brothers. The two were busy cleaning their rifles. One had lifted a canteen out of his pack.

  “Bard, Viggo, either of you get that wet, I will fuck you up,” Summers shouted over to the man. His hand was holding the canteen, hovering over the partially disassembled gun.

  Slowly, his hand retreated back to his side.

  In truth, Summers had no idea which brother was which, so he’d gotten in the habit of using both their names.

  Orvar stood off in the distance. The man had treated weapon maintenance like a holy ritual, finishing quickly and moving off to do . . . something by himself. Summers couldn’t quite tell what he was trying to accomplish. Orvar moved in fast, fluid motions, swinging his weapon around like a club. He could only relate it to a kata of some kind.

  Summers had never really trained anyone back home. For Asle, it was different. She was a kid. He’d expected some measure of . . . naivety going in. But this was like herding cats.

  He let out a breath and looked out to the rest of men arrayed in front of him.

  Seeing them now, knowing what was coming . . . Summers wasn’t optimistic.

  Guns are magical, deadly things. Put into the hands of an untrained soldier facing something their logical brains thought was an impossible situation . . . they would be useless, at best, a danger to everyone around them, at worst.

  He could only pray they had more time.

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  Asle walked down the hall, carrying linens. Another of the castle’s servants walked beside her. Another girl, she was about Asle’s age, and had more than a touch of fear in her eyes.

  They’d been sent to the far end of the quarters, past the courtyard that held . . . the thing. Asle couldn’t help but glance over, checking its shadow just one more time.

  It hadn’t moved.

  She’d only overheard whispers about it, and only those from the few that would even talk of it. They’d called the tar-black thing the hamr, and Asle wasn’t sure why, but even the name seemed to terrify every single one of them.

  She realized that the girl beside her was muttering. She couldn’t quite make it out, but it sounded like . . . a prayer?

  “What are you doing?” Asle looked at the girl curiously.

  “Quiet,” the girl snapped, more than a touch of fear in her voice.

  “It’s dead,” Asle persisted. She’d been up close to it. There was nothing but rope holding the thing upright. It couldn’t be alive.

  The girl looked at her with eyes that were suddenly pleading.

  Asle kept her mouth shut until they were well away from the courtyard. She’d finished her work diligently before the girl spoke again.

  “Gods don’t die. They only sleep.”

  “It’s not a god,” Asle rebuked the girl. “It’s a dead thing.”

  Asle dusted off her hands and moved on to her next chore.

  “Ms. Asle,” a familiar voice called out from behind her.

  Asle turned to find Synel in the hallway, a small crowd of traders behind her.

  Synel gave Asle a slight bow. “It’s good to see that you are well.”

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  Summers looked down from the wall to the forest outside. For the last week, they’d taken to marksmanship training on the actual walls they’d be defending. That had been Cortez’s suggestion, and it was a good one, if only to familiarize the recruits with the place in which they’d be fighting.

  He saw Nowak wave from his station on the other side of the gate. Cortez and her squad were stationed in the gatehouse itself, making the most obvious target for the siege the most well-defended one.

  Most of the refugees had realized that fact by the trenches and pits that peppered the way. So naturally, they’d massed their own defenses in front of the gate itself.

  Summers caught movement from the tree line, and he saw a few of his recruits glance in its direction.

  He held up a hand. “Hold fire. They might be civilians.”

  Summers stepped forward to see a group of elves coming from the tree line. They were riding something that resembled a shaggy horse, and were riding adjacent to the walls.

  Scouts?

  “Take them out.”

  Summers nearly winced as the cascade of gunfire washed over him.

  The first shot saw the rider fall from his mount, scattering the others. They weren’t fast enough, as the next volley resounded. Most of the riders fell.

  One, however, wasn’t heading back to the tree line. He was heading to a small group of refugees in the distance.

  He was trying to use them as cover.

  “Shit. Cease fire. Cease fire. Pat, gun, now.”

  Pat looked up at Summers before handing him his rifle. Summers took aim, carefully, and fired.

  The man fell, and the refugees in the distance gaped as the riderless horse came to a stop in front of them.

  Summers looked through the scope of the rifle. The rest of the men were either dead or about to be mobbed by about ten refugees apiece.

  He handed the gun back to the man beside him.

  It looked like the war was starting.

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  “Thank you, but I don’t want to leave.” Asle sat beside Synel in an empty bedroom. The woman had somehow bought her way through the inner walls of the city. Now, she was offering to spirit Asle out once the conflict began.

  From the muttering around the castle, that would probably be soon.

  Synel sighed, thinking over her words. “Asle, I don’t think Rhodes will keep his deal with your friends. He’s only interested in his own success. Men like that are not people you can make deals with.”

  “I know.”

  “Then let me help you.” Synel looked down her.

  “Why?” Asle looked at the woman. “Why are you doing this for me?”

  Synel considered that. “Because you’re a smart girl, and I’d hate to see that go to waste. I’d hate even more to see you killed because I convinced you and your friends to come here.”

  That took her by surprise. Maybe she’d misjudged the woman.

  “Thank you. Again.” Asle gave the woman a slight bow
. “But I can’t leave them behind.” Asle stood. “I told them I’d stay, so that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “Fine. But if you need anything while I’m here, just ask. I don’t have many strings to pull, but I can at least provide some measure of protection.”

  “You don’t need to worry. I’m not the one in trouble.” Asle had to repress a smile. “He is.”

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  “Look at you, solving problems for me!” Rhodes strode up to the wall Summers sat atop.

  “Rhodes, we need to get down there.” Summers was taking cover behind a parapet, trying to eye the forest in front of them. It was getting dark, and soon it would be nearly impossible to see. For most people, anyway. Summers had the advantage of whatever weird shit was happening with his body.

  So, he could see what was being assembled nearly four hundred meters away.

  “And why’s that?”

  As if on cue, a loud thwap resounded through the forest, and a cluster of rocks impacted against the wall. Summers winced, knowing that there were people on the ground below that wall. He just hoped they’d gotten clear.

  “Because I think they have a trebuchet.”

  Chapter 25: Contact

  Summers felt the familiar weight of the rifle in his hands.

  It felt comfortable.

  “We should be going in force,” Summers suggested. “Nobody on the wall can cover for us if we’re in the way.”

  “They have spears. We have guns,” Rhodes countered. “Once we hit the tree line, we’re a grenade away from solving our little problem.”

  It wasn’t a surprise to Summers that Rhodes decided to take the matter into his own hands. After all, their guns were likely the only reason the city even stood a chance. If they died out there—or worse, if their weapons fell into the hands of an elf who had the brains to use them—it could spell the end of Rhodes’s little kingdom.

  They’d each taken four men from their squads, so fifteen, including Rhodes himself, were now heading toward the gate.

  Summers had decided to bring Pat, Orvar, and the twins. The four looked rightfully terrified, even as Rhodes regarded them. There was no bowing anymore. Likely, they’d realized that the man who had been their savior was throwing them into a fight they weren’t ready for.