Fireteam Delta by J. Halpin (popular novels .TXT) 📗

“And are you willing to take responsibility for your man? Is your team?” The colonel turned to Nowak.

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered without hesitation.

She considered the two a moment longer before gesturing to a nearby vehicle. Asle thought it was called an “APC.”

“Like I said, we’ll get into the details once we’re safe. For now, we need to get the prisoner secured. And seeing as your team is still combat effective, I’m leaving the guard detail in your hands.” She hesitated as she looked at Asle. Asle noticed the faintest flicker of sadness on her face, but it was gone just as quickly. “Load up.”

Nowak nodded in thanks.

Asle watched as she shouted for her men, gesturing to the medic that was beside Summers now. Nowak walked to the group, explaining the situation.

After a moment, Asle’s attention turned to those handling the thin man. Somehow, the group had decided bundling him in several sleeping bags was a suitable way to restrain him. It had clearly worked, but that didn’t make it any less odd.

This was not the same army Asle remembered leaving.

In any case, it seemed they were going to have a guest for the trip. That was fine. But she still had something else she needed to do now that everyone’s attention was elsewhere. Even if she really, really wasn’t looking forward to it.

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“I have no idea where the fuck I’m going,” Cortez said simply.

Summers had noted that their vehicle was in the lead, despite the group having no idea where the supposed base was.

“They gave us a map,” Nowak countered.

“Don’t think that’s the point, Sarge.” Summers looked back, a movement that hurt far more than it should have.

Behind them was a small cadre of the most heavily armed Humvees Summers had ever seen. Whatever custom-made, overpriced crap the army had mounted to these things was one-part intimidation, one-part compensation. They weren’t turrets; they were cannons. And they were all pointed directly at their back.

Asle and Synel sat beside Summers. He looked at the other vehicles with a pit in his stomach. “Did we do something to piss them off?”

“No,” Asle answered, a little faster than she probably should have.

“They don’t trust us. It’s natural,” Nowak interjected. “Look, we’ve been through some shit. I think they have, too. Just keep it together until we sort things out.”

Summers took one more look at the Humvees. He had no doubt they’d packaged his group with their “prisoner” so they could keep an eye on all of them. And possibly so they could take care of all their problems at once, if the need arose. Considering the size of the cannons, he could guess what would happen if they thought something was wrong.

“Why the fuck are we doing this?” Cortez asked. “If they can’t get us home . . .”

“We always knew this was a long shot,” Nowak replied. The tension in his voice was clear. Out of their entire group, he was probably the one who’d wanted to get home the most. Having finally gotten to the finish line, only to be told that chance was gone, had not gone over well.

“I know.” Cortez softened her voice. “I’m just saying, what’s keeping us from taking off?”

“Besides the guns . . . ?”

“We can help.” Summers gestured to the Humvees. “I pulled this thing out of my brain. If there are more like me out there, then we might be able to help them figure out a real fix. And they can help us. We still don’t know what’s really going on back home. Or how they got us here. This is the only way I see us getting answers.”

“Plus, they’re our people,” Nowak insisted.

“Maybe . . .” Cortez glanced in the rearview as another turn came up. “I just don’t like the idea that our own people have a gun on us.”

“We’ll sort it out . . .”

Summers took a moment to look around. Their group was tired. He was tired. Cortez was barely able to keep her eyes on the road as they drove. From what he could tell, they’d only gotten a few hours of rest before they’d been forced into what was essentially a loaded march.

“How’s the passenger?” Cortez looked at the thoroughly restrained thin man at the back. “We should be able to see something soon, and I don’t want that shit in him wearing off.”

The thin man lay at the back of the APC, absolutely still as the vehicle rolled along. Nowak poked him a few times with the barrel of his rifle, not lightly.

“He’s fine,” Nowak declared. “Hasn’t moved a muscle.”

According to the medics they’d spoken with, the man had been pumped up with enough anesthetic to kill an elephant. And it was on a constant drip to his neck.

Then Summers noticed something interesting.

“Why do I smell rotten meat?”

It didn’t escape him that Asle immediately tensed.

“Asle?”

“It’s me.” Asle slowly lifted her head, looking up at Summers. She pulled a small bag from behind her, a bag filled with meat. A lot of it.

What Summers could only assume was dragon meat.

It then occurred to Summers why she would have something like that, much less hide it.

“Tell me you didn’t eat it.”

“Not yet. I wanted to, I just . . . couldn’t yet.” Asle actually looked a little ashamed as she spoke. Even so, Summers couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief.

“Why would you think eating this was a good idea? Whatever it did to you, we might not have been able to fix it. Do you remember what happened to me?” Summers pointed to his head. “I grew horns.”

“I liked the horns.”

“Not the point!” Summers turned to Synel. “Tell her.”

“It’s not a terrible idea . . .” Synel