Fireteam Delta by J. Halpin (ebook reader that looks like a book txt) 📕

“honor” to anything you said would go over well in almost any situation. So far, that had proven true.

The councilman excused himself a few moments later, bowing to his son as he left.

Summers stifled a groan. The entire day had been spent in meetings of one kind or another, mostly with important officials wanting to extend their thanks. That was fine, even appreciated. Especially when a few had brought some absolutely ridiculous gifts. Liquor, weapons, and in one case, a marriage proposal that Nowak couldn’t turn down fast enough. That was only the bulk of their meetings. The rest was spent talking to the men that had given them their vows.

Most of them had good reasons for handing over their “lives.” As they had suspected, many had no prospects to feed their families, with their villages most likely pillaged and their homes gone. Pat had, thankfully, promised that the city would take care of their families for both their service, and as a thanks to their group. He half-suspected Pat had arranged things this way for just that reason.

They’d learned that Pat may have lost his birthright if he didn’t thank them formally. He was only third in line for whatever constituted nobility here, but something about the ruling class’s honor dictated a reward of some kind. Given what Summers had learned from Synel and a few of the other merchants, that could have been done with lands. Pat was basically going above and beyond.

And that was why his father was so dead set on keeping them in the city.

As for Orvar and the twins, they had nobody. Summers assumed this was the closest thing to purpose they’d found—a sentiment that was not uncommon in the army.

Summers glanced at the men behind him. They stood at attention, or probably what they thought was attention. More likely, they were imitating the stoic posture of the castle’s guards.

“You want to sit down?” Summers gestured to the plush seats surrounding them.

They each glanced at him, confused.

“Please.”

They hesitated, before Pat and the twins took a seat beside Summers and Nowak. Cortez looked askance at Orvar, who went out of his way to sit beside her. She was cleaning the same M4 she’d taken off a dead guard in the fight, and Summers worried for one brief second that they’d have to hide a body.

Orvar made no move to talk to Cortez, or interrupt her, so she left the kid alone.

“Fucking privates,” Cortez muttered.

Summers did not expect it would stay that way.

“Well, let’s see who else we got.” Summers stood, heading for the door.

As he got there, he saw some of Cortez’s squad, each with a heavy wooden box on their shoulders. One of them had their old duffel bag full of grenades, and as he stood there, waiting, he continued to shift the bag on his shoulder, trying to keep it steady.

Summers watched the man for a long, awkward moment.

“I have good news and bad news.”

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As it turned out, the city had been more than generous in returning their guns. Nearly forty M4s were arranged in boxes around them, along with an equal amount of sidearms, and even a few shotguns. They had no explosives left, except for the small cache of grenades. It was little more than half of what they’d set out with. Even so, Summers suspected that the councilman had pulled some strings. He might have been thankful, or he might have wanted to ensure his son’s safety as only a small armory could.

Either way, they were back in business. As for ammo, that was more of a problem. Like they’d expected, the city was hurting after their only means of making ammunition literally went up in smoke. They’d still supplied around ten thousand rounds, however. That would have been great if it was only the three of them, but for their undersized platoon, it wasn’t nearly enough for the trip south.

“Think you could make a reload station, like Rhodes was doing?” Nowak looked to Cortez.

“Maybe. I mean, the elves know how to make black powder, apparently. Not as good as what we use nowadays, but it’ll get the job done.” Cortez worked the action on her rifle, locking it back. “Real problem is, I don’t expect they’re going to be so keen on doing it after what we did, and if we decide to leave, I don’t know that we want to bring that on a boat. Not with locals who might not know what it is.”

“That’s a good point,” Nowak consented. “Honestly, though, this is more than I was expecting.”

Cortez sighed before looking around the room. Their “guards” had left them to talk after the last of the day’s meetings had ended. Now, they were alone.

“I know you two wanted to wait and see, but we need to decide if we’re going to head to Nevada or not.” Cortez looked at Nowak. “Going to guess you haven’t changed your mind?”

Nowak nodded. “I got a family, and—”

“I get it.” Cortez looked at Summers.

He thought for a long moment before speaking.

“Look, even if I can’t remember anyone, I still want to see them. Or at least get the chance to. Pretty sure I’ll just end up as a guinee pig for the army, but I’ve been changing without even trying.” Summers gestured to his ears. “This isn’t going to stop if I just ignore it. That leaves two options: find the army, or . . .” Summers trailed off.

He’d spent the better part of last week cleaning up the carnage of the “adversary,” or “hamr,” or whatever the hell it was called, and he’d come to a single conclusion. Somehow, his body was hosting a parasite not unlike what they’d killed. And drinking the fog had only made it stronger, along with the urges that came with it. For