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“Except how not to catch the Grendel fungal . . .” Krawdaddy muttered sotto voce as he walked past and took the lead.
“Pick up the pace. Still have a half klick to go and we only have four minutes left,” Pigeon interrupted. “Vixen, stow the fake creepy shit. We know you’re just trying to make the cherry nervous. Besides, you’re not allowed that far forward on the ship. You stay away from those civvies, Vixen, or Ordo’s gonna make your life hell. Well, more than he already does.”
“Is that possible?” Jabber asked.
“Ah, but what if they can’t stay away from me?” Vixen crooned.
“Then we tell ’em about that time at Bimini Bay,” Krawdaddy replied, chuckling. “And how much you paid . . . three times. And what you walked away with. Heh. The doc sure was upset . . .”
In spite of the suit’s stay-cool design and functionality, Tavi was starting to sweat profusely. The HCS was great for fighting and maneuvering in the heat, but in humidity like Sagetnam offered . . . he was sweating in places he didn’t even know he could. None of the others seemed bothered, though, so he kept his mouth shut and continued to move through the brush, keeping a careful eye on his bag to ensure his “civilian” didn’t get a stick or something stabbed through it. He had a sinking feeling they’d be graded not only on if they made it in time, but on the condition of the bag as well.
“You good, tasawa?” Jabber asked as he sidled up beside him. “Your civvie looks chunky.”
“I’m good,” Tavi responded as he shifted the bag on his shoulder to the other side. His right shoulder was starting to ache. Once again the rifle slammed into his hip. Ignoring the jolt, he focused on the path ahead. “Just hard to balance this thing with my rifle. You think the sergeant’s going to mark us on the condition the bags’ll be when we get there?”
“Pokerro. I didn’t think about that. Pigeon, you hear that?”
“Yeah,” the team leader acknowledged. “Didn’t think about that myself. Should have. Sergeant’s sneaky that way. Team Two, quit your yakking. Tertiary concern—take care of your bags. Don’t let them get punctured or cut or anything.”
“Pigeon, at point two-five now,” Krawdaddy said from up ahead as he stopped in the middle of a small clearing within the jungle. “No sign of . . . flowers?”
“Ordo, Team Two.” The team leader shifted his bag and set it down next to a small tree stump. “At point two-five now. Civvies are unharmed but relatively unhappy about having their fat asses hauled across the jungle on the backs of magnificent legionnaires. Copy, over.”
“Ordo copies unhappy civvies. Maybe in the future, other teams will learn a valuable lesson about other ways to get someone out of their fire team at the hands of those magnificent legionnaires,” Ordo said, amusement in his tone evident over the comms. “Hold position there. Your civvies are complaining and need another potty break, over.”
“Copy potty break, over,” Pigeon said, his voice strained. Switching frequencies, his next broadcast was for the team only. “Vixen, you piece of shit. He’s using us to make an example for the other fire teams.”
“Hey! How was I supposed to know Morty would go screaming to the old man?” Vixen whined as he set his bag down next to Pigeon’s. “We never take problems directly to the LT! It’s called the chain of command for a damned reason!”
“Morty must have missed that memo when you put itchy powder in his HCS!” Pigeon snapped.
Tavi set his bag down and stretched out his back. Grateful the oddly weighted bag was off his shoulder, he began to inspect his and the others for any sign of tears or punctures. The others continued their debate—which, to Tavi’s ears at least, sounded almost rehearsed.
“He totally deserved it though!” Vixen protested.
“What about the reticulated Marsworm in his bunk?”
“Little bitch earned that one . . .”
“Filling his mattress with lard you stole from the mess deck?”
“Oh, come on. After what he did? What I did was at least funny.”
“I’ll give you that. It was pretty damn funny. The smell? Not so much. But . . . you knew the real reason he left would come back to bite us eventually,” Pigeon reminded him. He turned and looked at the bags gathered on the ground. “Tavi! How’re the civvies?”
“Looking good, Specialist. They’re not complaining at all.”
“Stow that rank shit for when we’re back on the ship, Tavi. We have drop names for a reason. Down here in the mud we use them. Get me?”
“Good lad. Vixen! Scout the surrounding area. I have a feeling we’re going to be asked to ‘assist’ the civilians in their search,” Pigeon ordered. “Fire Teams One, Three, this is Pigeon. Confirm perimeter around point two-five, copy?”
Silence was the only response. He tried a second time with the same result. Grunting in annoyance, the team leader looked around. “Shit. Sergeant’s gonna make us work a little harder today. Everyone fall back on their bag. That means you too, Vixen. Tavi? Time to show me just how good an ACS Distinguished Graduate really is. Recon out, fifty yards, expanding circle patrol. Tell me what you see. Krawdaddy, watch his civvie. Everyone else, eyes out.”
“Copy,” Tavi grunted and looked at Krawdaddy. The older legionnaire smiled at him.
“I’ll protect her with my life,” he said in a solemn tone as he gently patted the bag. Tavi snorted, trying not to laugh, and moved back into the jungle just beyond their little clearing.
In the jungle without his cumbersome bag weighing him down, Tavi finally was able to put to use his training to sweep the area, his rifle pointed down but at the ready as he moved. Surviving in Overdark had taught him to tread carefully through dark alleys to avoid blades or worse. Making it through ACS had honed his survival skills to a fine point. The shadows, the near-space between light and death, were his preferred moving grounds. With the full capabilities of the hamatic combat suit at his disposal, Tavi was a ghost as he moved around point two-five in a slow, careful circle.
Each step was measured. Only the noisy ones walked heel-toe, and noisy legionnaires were dead ones. Any dried or dead leaves he carefully avoided, sticks on the ground were stepped over. Instead of pushing low-hanging branches out of his face, he twisted under them. The birds and animals barely noticed his passing as he ranged around point two-five, looking for anything suspicious or out of place. His small, slight form was perfect for moving through thick foliage without being seen or disturbing the surroundings.
As he moved carefully through the undergrowth, he began to understand just what Jabber had meant when he called his world a beautiful but feral place. Much of the jungle of the training grounds had been imported from elsewhere during terraforming, but not all. In spite of the heat and humidity, Tavi supposed he could live on a world such as this after his time in the Legion was served.
Then he saw the trap.
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Jason Córdova 