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

“Okay, but—”

“How ’bout you shut the hell up and stop feeling sorry for yourself?” Nowak said. Summers looked to see he had a smile on his face. “You want to make it up to us, help everyone get home safely, all right?”

Summers considered his sergeant for a long second.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Good.”

Summers let out a breath, then tensed at the sound of someone approaching. It occurred to him that he no longer heard snoring below them.

“Please, for the love of all that is holy,” Cortez said from below, “shut the fuck up before I do something I’m probably not going to regret.”

They were silent after that.

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Summers stifled a yawn as they packed up camp. Their first day “roughing it” in the wilderness wasn’t terrible, but there was definitely something unsettling about the alien forest they found themselves in. It had taken him most of the night to place it, but he eventually realized what it was.

It was quiet. Too quiet. Normal forests are sources of constant noise. He hadn’t seen anything but a few rodents and some flying creatures all night. He’d hesitate to have called them birds, maybe more like dragonflies. Whatever they were, they didn’t make any noise.

Which is what made the gunfire that broke the silence even more jarring.

“Weapons!” Nowak called up. Summers let the tent he’d been carrying clatter to the ground as he went for his M4. He swiveled on the source of the fire and saw Adams holding his gun to the woods behind them.

“Wolves!” Adams shouted.

Something resembling a howl came from the woods in front of them. It was picked up by half a dozen others just like it.

“Left!” Nowak yelled.

“Got it!” Cortez answered, picking off something that looked like a wolf, minus the fur. It had been trying to circle around camp to get in their blind spot.

Summers saw three more directly in front of them. He quickly picked off all three. Or he thought he did.

He’d put half a clip into the three of them, but somehow, the damn things were still moving. Or rather, crawling toward him. That stopped when he put a round into two of their three heads. The third had to wait while he reloaded.

It looked like a furless dog, with a leathery red hide that covered its entire body. Even as it bled out, it was still doing everything in its power to kill him, still crawling forward on one good leg as Summers chambered his next round. He watched the angry, blood-shot eyes staring up at him.

He ended it as quickly as he could, looking up for more targets. There were none.

“We clear?” Summers shouted.

Nowak had jumped onto the Humvee, which Summers belatedly realized was probably a smart plan. Dogs weren’t really known for their climbing skills. He took a second to scan the area around them. “Think so.” After a beat he made his over to Adams. The private was sweating bullets, looking down at the dead wolf-thing in front of him. Nowak gently placed his hand on the private’s shoulder.

“What is it, Sarge?” Adams said, half-surprised to see the man standing there.

“You shot first. What was it doing?”

“It just came straight at me. I looked up, and it was already charging,” Adams said. Summers had only just noticed that Adams’ wolf was practically on top of their camp. He must have been seconds away from Adams himself.

“From now on, we’ll have one person keep watch at all times, even when we’re awake. We got sloppy. I don’t want to make that mistake again.”

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They had settled into a comfortable routine by the end of their second day on the road: wake up, drive for eight hours, set camp—and shoot anything that looked at them funny along the way. They hadn’t seen any native life besides a few more of those strange wolves, some burrowing creatures, and some birds that had flown high overhead. Even those were few and far between. It was almost as if the forest was abandoned.

Summers was busying himself setting up a tent. He glanced up as he saw Asle trying to feed Logan. They’d started rationing his pain meds, so he’d been talking for most of the day. Cursing, mostly, and in his more lucid moments, directing it at Summers’ driving. Bumpy roads probably weren’t a pleasant experience given his condition. Logan groaned a bit louder.

“How you doing over there, sleeping beauty?” Summers called over.

“Fuck you,” Logan responded.

Summers nailed the tent in, then headed over to check on the man. Asle looked up as he entered the standing tent they called the infirmary. “I’m serious. How is it?”

“I’m fine.” Logan said.

Summers redirected his attention to the young girl at his side. “Asle, how is he?”

“Breathe hard,” Asle said. Summers nodded in response and started to change out the man’s empty IV bag.

“Is it just your leg, or you feeling lightheaded?” Summers asked.

“Just the pain. I’m fine,” Logan said through gritted teeth.

“I can give you something now, but I think you’re gonna want to wait until nightfall, or our supply isn’t going to last.” The truth was that Summers couldn’t really do anything but keep the guy comfortable. Nowak was in charge of bandages, and Asle was helping with the less . . . glamorous parts of medical care. The extent of Summers’ medical knowledge was “don’t rub dirt in it” and “the blood belongs on the inside.”

“Save it,” Logan responded.

“Suit yourself.”

“Summers. It’s Summers, right?” Logan asked. “Be straight with me, please. What are my odds here?”

Summers considered that. His leg had been cleaned and tied off, his stitches were holding, and he wasn’t showing any signs of a fever.

“About the same as the rest of us. So, you’re probably screwed. But you’re