Comms are dead. A red dot is blinking on my visor like a heartbeat that won't stop. The tent to the north sits quietly. If that outpost is jamming our channel, AshFjord could be walking into a mouth and nobody will know until it's chewing on legs.
So I make a choice that might kill me.
I check my kit. Rifle with a full mag. Pistol. Combat knife taped to the boot. Three frags on my belt. Two extra mags shoved into my chest rig. Field tools. Everything cold and ready. My hands tremble a little. Keep it small. Keep it steady.
I crawl down into a shallow drift and bring the visor scope up. There are heat signatures inside the tent. Two, maybe three moving.
MarineFjord's crest, curved wings over a wave. I know that badge. I know what it means.
I rest the rifle on a lump of frozen snow and breathe out slow.
POW.
Sound hits like someone slamming a metal door in my chest. Birds blow out of the trees. The canvas tears. One of heat signature collapses inside the tent.
Heh.
Hehehe.
My laugh comes out wrong and small. I didn't expect that noise. I didn't expect the weight of a body stopping.
I pull the trigger again.
POW.
Another one drops. This one goes down like someone switched off a lamp. No light. No movement. I watch the heat signatures and keep my hands from shaking.
Hahahah.
My head spins.
The remaining man sees the torn canvas. He pops out with his rifle up and spots me.
PEW PEW PEW
His shots carve the air. Bullets steam where they hit the snow. They whistle close enough to sting my face. I fire back. The rifle answers with hard, measured breath, but his movement and the wind moves the lines. My shots go wide.
'He's moving in fast.'
Rifles are for distance. He's too close. My size is a problem. My weapon is a weight.
'Plan B, disappear.'
I drop the rifle, letting my body sink into the drift. Snow takes the outline and for a second I become nothing but cold. My visor fogs a little.
Soon after, the enemy footstep thumps are heard from above. Heat signature blurs on my HUD.
I wait.
Boots over my head. The world muffles.
I hold my breath until my lungs burn.
I leap out and empty my pistol into him. Bullets hit his leg, and arm. A few thud into his vest. He stumbles. I think I'm winning for one heartbeat.
Then steel meets skull.
The rifle butt is a hammer. My helmet goes flying. The edges of my sight burst white with pain. My teeth jolt. Snow tastes like copper in my mouth, my head rings and the world tilts.
He kneels, boots cutting into my ribs. He looks down at me like I'm a bad joke.
"A kid," he spits. "What kind of shit are those capitalist bastards doing, sending kids to wars?"
His hand clamps on my collar. He drags me through the snow, dragging skin and fabric and frozen blood. I fight. I kick. My fingers find nothing firm to hold.
"Stay down," he says. "I'll put a bullet in your head. Come along, quiet, and you don't get a hole."
He hauls me toward the tent. The two bodies I shot lay on the ground. My vision narrows to the AshFjord crawling distantly on the horizon. My chest hurts, and my hands are numb.
He drags me closer to the tent. I can't feel my legs anymore. My head is banging. The air smells like oil and blood.
He stops to adjust his grip. That's when I move. My hand slips to my belt.
That cold metal ring.
"I'm going to die here." I mutter under my breath.
He doesn't notice.
When he turns back, my thumb's already on the spoon.
The look on his face when he realizes.
Click.
BOOM.
The blast hits like God's fist. I don't remember the light, just the sound. The air leaves my body. Heat, pressure, and snow rip everything apart. My ears scream. My body hits the ground like I'm not even in it.
Then nothing.
I wake up coughing soot. Everything's spinning. My gloves are half gone. I don't know if I'm bleeding out or just shaking from adrenaline.
The tent's shredded. The MarineFjord soldier's are gone, burned or buried. I can't see right, but I crawl anyway. Fingers drag across the ground until they hit metal.
'Found it'
The Comms rig. Still humming faintly.
I pull it open, start flipping switches, trying anything. My hands move randomly. Wires. Fuses. Buttons. I jam something together.
My throat burns. I slam the console. "Come on. Come on!"
Then everything fades. I don't even feel myself fall.
---
When I wake up again, it's dark. Dead dark.
I try to move, but can't. My arms are behind me. Something tight. My legs tied down.
The air feels wrong.
A voice from the dark:
"Ryn, is it?"
Another one. Lower.
"You walked right into our net."
Their words come from everywhere. I try to look around but can't see faces, just vague shapes, a hum of machinery, maybe a drip of water.
Where am I?
'I'm in an Interrogation setup?'
I don't answer. I just breathe. Slow and heavy.
"Don't worry," the voice says. "We already cleaned you up. You're in good hands."
I pull at the restraints. Metal bites into my wrists. My body aches. But I'm alive.
Somewhere in the dark, someone chuckles.
"That grenade trick… you've got nerve, kid. Shame it's wasted on the wrong side."
My eye twitches.
"Wrong side!?" I blurt out, voice cracking against the dark. "Don't make me laugh, you commie scum—"
Click.
The floor vanishes.
I drop like a stone, air ripped from my lungs before the water swallows me whole. It's freezing. Black. My body locks up, every nerve screaming. The shock tears the air out of me in bubbles.
Then gloved grab me and haul me back up.
I explode into breath, coughing and choking, water streaming down my face. My chest heaves like it's going to tear open.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
I can't see them, but I hear boots scrape. Someone leans close.
"Would you like to repeat yourself?"
I glare toward the voice. My hair sticks to my skin. My arms ache from straining against the bindings.
"Go to hell," I rasp.
A beat of silence. Then—
Click.
The floor drops again.
Cold rush. No thought this time, just pain. My lungs clench. The water closes over my head like a lid. I thrash until they pull me back up again.
This time I don't speak. I just stare, teeth chattering, chest heaving.
Someone steps closer. The outline of a man. He crouches, his voice calm. Almost bored.
"You'll learn. Eventually."
He wipes a drop of water off my cheek with the back of his glove. The motion is slow. Deliberate.
Then he steps back.
"Reset her."
Metal creaks under me. The trapdoor hums.
Click.