Fireteam Delta Page 21

  Another stone hit the wall, followed almost immediately by a second that caused the brickwork near Summers’ head to bulge.

  After the first attack, the enemy had only sent men past the tree line to probe their defenses. The trebuchets, however, were massed in front of the gate. And they were, by far, the biggest threat to the city.

  “What about the refugees?” Nowak asked.

  Rhodes whistled to Nisha. The woman stood, talking to Logan and a group of runners. They’d been directing the supply line, making sure the men on the walls didn’t run out of supplies or food.

  At Rhodes’s gesture, she broke things off and headed in their direction.

  “We’ll make sure they do as they’re told.”

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  The gate slammed shut behind Summers. He held his gun at the ready, scanning the forest. Every so often, an elf would weave between the trees, firing an arrow at the wall to harass its defenders.

  Nisha yelled something he couldn’t grasp, but slowly, the refugees began to part.

  “Move!” Rhodes snapped. “If they get in our way, you shoot them.” Rhodes looked to Summers and Nowak. The two didn’t answer.

  They pushed forward through the crowd. Summers ignored the thin, hungry faces watching them. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be a problem for much longer.

  “Summers, you and yours are point. Nowak, you’re watching my back.” Rhodes spoke with as much authority he could muster.

  Summers took the lead as the group started jogging forward.

  There was a dull white shine above the forest canopy, which Summers could only assume was their target. It disappeared as they cleared the tree line, the light from the fading day dim.

  “Two o’clock,” Nowak called out.

  Summers turned to see ten men with spears sprinting toward them. Orvar fired first. The spearmen were dead half a second later.

  Summers reloaded as they pressed forward, tossing the spent magazine and aiming for the trees ahead. He heard shouting, and the sound of another rock being loosed on the walls. Then, he stopped.

  “Keep moving!” Rhodes called from behind.

  “Wait.” Summers held up a hand.

  He hadn’t been able to pinpoint it, but there were dozens of scents around them. Too strong to be residual, which meant . . .

  Summers looked up to find tens of elves crouched in the branches of the trees. Some had bows; most had spears, swords, and shields.

  “Above us—”

  Summers reacted half a second too late. The elf above him dropped, spear angled toward Summers. A burst of fire resounded from behind him, and Summers dodged back, just as the elf that been about to skewer him slammed into the ground, dead.

  Summers turned to see Rhodes’s smoking gun aimed above his head.

  Summers didn’t have the time to process the fact that Rhodes might have just saved his ass, as the rest of the elves reacted, dropping from the trees in droves. All hell broke loose. They’d managed to avoid being caught in the middle of the ambush, but there were too many for fifteen men to handle easily.

  “Shit!” Summers rolled to his side as an elf stabbed a spear in his direction. He fired center mass, tearing through the spearman’s leather armor and dropping him in an instant.

  He turned. The elf in front of him raised a shield just as Summers’ round pierced through it, dropping him. Aim, fire, repeat. He took out five more before something in the distance caught his attention. The same long-haired horses Summers had seen earlier charged toward them at a terrifying speed.

  “We have more coming!” Summers didn’t wait for a response as he kneeled, then shot a grenade into the mass of cavalry nearly on top of them. He saw bodies thrown to the ground from the explosion, the horses panicking at the sound. Most of the riders fled, scattering through the forest as fast as their mounts would carry them.

  Summers reloaded his rifle and turned. They’d lost two of Rhodes’s men, and one of Nowak’s. One of the twins had a spear wound in his leg, but it didn’t look to be slowing him down.

  “Stay on target!” Rhodes ordered. “Summers, take those goddamn things out while the rest of us cover.”

  Summers didn’t argue. He didn’t have the time, and like it or not, this was something they needed to get done.

  He signaled his squad, breaking into a slow run.

  “On me!”

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  The trebuchets were massive. There were three of them, each constructed of ivory-white bone and wood. Summers only had a moment to register the sight before the elves manning the machines caught sight of Summers’ group. They bolted.

  “Ignore them. Focus on the target!” Summers punctuated his order by firing a grenade into the furthest machine. The explosion shattered the main arm, and the entire thing collapsed in on itself.

  His people followed suit, and soon, all that was left of the machines was nothing more than shards of bone and burning debris. The others breathed heavily, clearly tired.

  The sound of gunfire only intensified as they finished, and Summers hefted his rifle, gesturing back to where they’d come from.

  “Move!” Summers took off without looking back.

  Only Orvar managed to keep up. The others weren’t used to combat, let alone the situation they found themselves in. Still, they managed to snap out of their daze after a moment.

  <<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

  Summers returned to see Rhodes on the ground, a spear sticking out of his shoulder. Nisha was beneath him, screaming something to the men around her. Riders rode in wide circles, throwing short spears at the group and retreating into the trees before they could return fire.

  “Shit.”

  Summers didn’t waste time. He unloaded his weapon on the riders, killing several and downing the horses of the few that had begun to charge.

  “Get to the gate. We’ll cover you!” Summers fired again as more elves appeared from the trees. He was getting low on ammo, but he had enough to see them through this.

  “Open the gate!” Nisha yelled, half carrying Rhodes as they ran.

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  Summers broke from the tree line just as the gates rumbled open. Rhodes and his men were too busy firing at the literal army on their heels to worry about the refugees that had begun pouring inside. A few of the guards put up a token fight, but they were stretched thin, and the sheer amount of people fleeing for the safety of the walls overwhelmed them in an instant.

  When it came down to it, Rhodes wasn’t trained for this kind of warfare, and they knew that with the right push, he’d make a mistake. The refugees would be ground between the gates and the enemy if they did nothing, so they’d planned to find some excuse to open them. Scouting, an assault—no matter what they chose, with the men the city had at their disposal focused on defending the walls, the rest would be a forgone conclusion.

  He just wished it hadn’t been this messy.

  Summers fired at a few men training arrows on Nowak’s group. His gun ran dry as the last man fell. He reached into his vest and realized he was down to his final magazine. He bit back his irritation. He’d been picking his shots, which meant the others were likely worse off than he was.

  “Move!”

  As they got closer, the gates began to shut, despite the mass of refugees still pressing in against them.

  Then automatic fire cut through the crowd.

  “Shit!”

  Summers fell prone just as the gates began to close in their faces. About a hundred refugees must have been between them and the walls, and they were all still rushing for the gate in front of them.

  It only took Summers a moment to realize why they’d started to shut the gates. Hoofbeats pounded the ground nearby, and he turned to see nearly fifty horses charging directly at him.

  He had one grenade left. He fired it into the head of the charging horse only a dozen feet away from him.

  Boom!

 
The blast washed over him in an instant. He fired until his gun was empty, watching as men dropped from their downed mounts. His men did the same, but the enemy had committed to the charge. The only way they’d survive was to take the gate.

  A single elf broke toward Summers, their eyes colored blood-red. Tired as he was, Summers could still recognize the effects of the fog at a glance. He thrust a spear at Summers’ chest, screaming with a bare, animalistic rage.

  Summers gripped the barrel of his rifle and slammed the stock into the side of the man’s head.

  He skittered across the ground in the next instant, his head crushed.

  Elves were pouring from the trees, more making it through the massed fire coming from the walls than Summers would have expected. It was a killing field, but there were too many to truly slow them down.

  As Summers’ mind raced for a solution, the corpse at his feet twitched, and the spear in its hands thrust upward.

  “What—?” Summers had no time to react as he felt the tip of a spear sink into his side.

  Orvar turned and fired the last of his magazine into the body at Summers’ feet. It fell, now truly still.

  Summers pulled the spear loose, watching as hot blood spilled onto the snow below him.

  The sound of gunfire above only intensified. The gate was still open. He could see the gates themselves struggle with the bodies in their path.

  But what worried him the most was that there was no pain.

  Summers looked to the headless corpse in front of him and felt at the glass bottle tied to his own belt.

  Orvar clubbed a man in the head with the butt of his rifle. Two more thrust spears in his direction. The others weren’t fairing any better. They’d be overrun in just a few seconds. The refugees behind him screamed, clawing their way over their dead, only to be cut down by more gunfire.

  Summers opened the bottle and put it to his lips. He felt the cool liquid drain into his mouth before tossing the rest to the ground.

  His breathing calmed. His heart was racing now, pumping hard in his ears. He stood.

  The dull hunger he’d dealt with previously intensified, slamming into him like a physical force. But he refused to lose control. He focused on that like a mantra.

  Summers took a step forward, then another. Then he was in deep, dark water.

  The battlefield seemed to disappear, and all that stood in front of him was a black, tar-like being. It was covered in melted rock, watching him with a thousand dead eyes.

  Another step, and a spear was inches from his head.

  But he was already in motion, allowing the spear to pass by, his arm reaching out to the face of the elf in front of him. He felt the snap of the man’s neck as his hand slammed into the man’s head. Summers sat there, regarding it for a moment before he tossed the body at a group of others.

  Three more men yelled something as they charged forward. Summers grabbed the dead man’s spear and slammed it into the chest of the elf in front of him. Pat was beside him then, warding off the others as Summers broke the spear on the second man’s head.

  The third ran.

  Summers looked at Pat. There was terror in the man’s eyes, but he made no move to attack.

  He could wait.

  It could have been minutes, hours—Summers couldn’t really tell how long he fought. Most of the men were running now. He saw them fall as those on the walls cut them down. But he still felt the blood running down his leg, distantly, and he realized he couldn’t do this for long. His heart was pumping faster, and no matter how strong he was, he’d still bleed out if he didn’t get help.

  So, he just needed more blood.

  He rushed to the man in front of him. The man raised his shield to ward Summers off. Summers grabbed it, and then froze.

  He could see his face in the shield’s reflection. His eyes, his mouth—they were dark, inky pools of black staring out. Summers sat there for a moment, staring into his own eyes.

  Then the man’s head exploded.

  Summers watched as his body fell to the ground. He could hear someone yelling in the distance. A woman?

  His heart was still racing.

  The men around him fled for the trees, none looking back. He turned to the gate. Someone with a gun was rushing outside.

  Right.

  He still needed blood.

  Summers took one more step forward and the heartbeat pounding in his ears abruptly stopped.

  That probably wasn’t good.

  Summers felt the strength leave his body as the ground rushed up to meet him.

  Chapter 26: Trials and Tribulations

  Summers gasped for breath. He tried sit up, only to be pushed back down. Cortez kneeled over him, her hands pressed against his chest.

  Had she been giving him CPR?

  “Holy shit, you’re actually alive.” Cortez stared down at him.

  Summers only then realized he was in a tent of some kind. He looked around, trying to get his bearings.

  “Can you understand me?” Cortez watched him, concerned.

  “What . . . ? Yeah?” Summers looked to see thick, black blood pooling around his side. It looked to have been hastily bandaged.

  “Stay down,” Cortez instructed. “You were just dead for a solid ten minutes there.”

  Summers just stared at her, wide-eyed. “Are you fucking serious?”

  “Do I look like I’m joking, you creepy fuck?” Cortez swallowed, trying to hide her anxiety. “Seriously, do you even remember what happened?”

  Summers blinked. He’d been fighting, and then he was on the ground. Everything else was sort of a blur.

  He heard struggling from outside.

  “Don’t think I won’t put you down!”

  He recognized Rhodes’s voice, even from a distance.

  “Shit,” Cortez muttered, hefting her own weapon and offering him a hand. “Forget what I said. Can you get up?”

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  Summers leaned on the nearby wall to keep himself upright. They quickly found the source of the commotion.

  Rhodes stood beside Nisha and three of his men with tight grips on their guns. Nowak had blocked the entrance to the tent, along with Pat, and one of the twins.

  Rhodes himself looked like hell. He was pale, and it was clear the injury he’d taken earlier had done more than a little damage.

  Rhodes spotted Summers, pointing a finger in his direction. “You have no idea what he is.”

  “You want us gone?” Nowak answered. “Give us a fucking boat, and we’ll leave.”

  “No. Not now.” Rhodes ignored the man, trying to push past him before Pat stepped in his way.

  “He doesn’t deserve this.” Pat looked to Nisha. “Tell him I’ll have my father vouch for him. That should be enough.”

  Nisha seemed uncertain, but translated for Rhodes. “The payrst said the councilman—”

  “I don’t give a fuck what his daddy says.”

  Nisha tensed, but said nothing.

  Summers could still hear the intermittent pops from the guards on the wall. The battle hadn’t ended, despite everything. This was just a break in the action.

  Men stared down at them from the wall. Mostly at Rhodes, but a few from their own squads. Their weapons weren’t drawn, but Summers could see that changing if things went sideways.

  “You don’t want to do this.” Logan spoke from behind Rhodes. “Just let us go. You’ll never have to deal with us again.”

  “If it means putting him down, I don’t give a shit what happens afterwards.”

  Rhodes looked at Summers with open hostility.

  Summers just stared back, more puzzled than angry.

  “What the hell is this about?”

  Rhodes paused for a moment, seemingly surprised to hear Summers speak. “Name and rank.”

  “What?”

  “Give me your name. And your fucking rank.”

  “Corporal Alex Summers . . .”

  Rhodes looked at Summers,
genuinely confused.

  “We’re not letting this happen.” Nowak spoke, his weapon pointed at the guard beside Rhodes.

  Nisha put a hand on Rhodes’s shoulder, gesturing to Pat. Summers had no idea what kind of political clout the kid had, but apparently, it was enough to give the two pause.

  Rhodes considered him for a moment before looking back to Summers.

  “Tell them I want to hold this son of a bitch on trial.” He looked back toward Nisha. “That’s their law, right?”

  Nisha hesitated a moment before nodding.

  Summers barely registered what was happening before the guards began to relax. Everyone but Nowak.

  “You hear that? We’ll do it nice and fair. He’ll get his moment. So, hand it over, Sergeant.” Rhodes gestured to Nowak’s rifle. “You, too.” He pointed to Cortez.

  Summers eyed the men on the wall and the nervous glances they gave each other. For all he knew, Rhodes would tell his men to kill him the moment they let their guard down. But if it meant avoiding a bloodbath, that might be worth it. He put a hand on Nowak’s shoulder.

  “Fine. I accept.”

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  They were taken back to the castle shortly thereafter. Nisha had argued that, because both Rhodes and Summers were injured, they should be given time to “prepare.” Whether that had been for his benefit or Rhodes’s, he couldn’t tell.

  Pat had explained that Bard and Orvar were injured in the fight and being cared for as his “guests.” He’d commandeered the others in his squad to speak to his father. Summers had no idea what any of that entailed, but the kid had promised him every bit of his support and given him very little reason to doubt it. The others just stared at Summers with wide, terrified eyes. That included the men on the wall.

  And so, Summers sat with Nowak, Cortez, and Logan in the common room. Guards had been posted in the hallway outside their door in a not-so-subtle display of power, and although they’d each been armed with rifles, they still watched him with an expression Summers speculated was “barely concealed terror.”

  Whether that was a good thing or not was something they’d need to find out.

  “So, anyone want to fill me in on what just happened?” Summers looked to the others.