Fireteam Delta J. Halpin (top 10 books of all time TXT) 📖

make sure she was adapting to whatever situation they put her in.

“You’re not, uh . . . analyzing all of us, are you?”

“It doesn’t work like that.” Logan laughed. “But if you did want to talk . . .”

“Nope. No offense, but whatever is inside my head was put into a dark corner for a reason. It does not need to see the light of day, thank you.”

“All right. Just an offer.” Logan held up his hands in mock surrender.

“Get ready,” Nowak called, and Summers looked up to see the wagon in the distance. He lost his smile, moving up to stand beside Nowak.

“Right hand up, palm facing toward you. That’s apparently a wave,” Nowak said.

“How will we know if they’re friendly?” Summers looked at the quickly approaching wagon. It was being pulled by something that looked like a cow who’d eaten nothing but a mixture of steel-cut oats and anabolic steroids from the moment it was born. It was jacked.

“If they wave back, that’s basically permission to approach. If they come at us with their spears, that’s typically their way of saying ‘I don’t like you.’”

“Noted.” Summers double-checked his weapon as they continued down the road.

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Nowak smiled as he “waved” to the group. They halted for a moment before waving back.

“Don’t bother with the shit-eating grin. Watch their shoulders, not their faces.” Summers had spent enough time with Asle to know that, whether it was cultural or just some genetic difference, her people weren’t big on facial cues. Based on the placid looks on the guards’ faces, they were much the same.

“What the hell am I supposed to do with my face then?” Nowak asked.

“Just copy the kid.” Summers nodded to Asle, who was looking a little tense now that he was paying attention.

They walked toward the wagon and Summers noted the relaxed posture of the guards. Some even looked curious. That seemed off to him. Hell, the few times he’d interacted with locals in his world, even the sight of a few soldiers was enough to put them on edge.

As they approached, one of the men stepped forward. He was wearing something that resembled scaled leather armor around his chest, with leather belts securing metal plates to his arms and legs. His helmet was a long, straight gray iron that covered well below his jaw. The man himself was stockier than Summers would have expected. He yelled something that may as well have been Chinese, but it had an enthusiastic tone to it.

“He asked what business we have,” Asle said.

Nowak considered for a moment.

“Tell him we’re travelers from far away. We saw them and were hoping to trade for some supplies if they can spare them.”

Asle said something in her own language. Summers looked around at the men in front of them. There was something off about the group. Their armor was in excellent shape, but it looked haphazard on a few of them. And it wasn’t uniform. Hell, one guy was wearing two different sets of leather greaves. There was something else, too. Something he couldn’t quite place . . .

“He wants to know what you have.” Asle gestured to their packs. They’d been over this and had settled on selling some of the random crap they’d found in the town. They had of course washed it of the fog’s residue first.

“Clothes, metal instruments, and a few small blades,” Nowak provided.

Asle nodded and relayed the message. As the man replied, Asle tensed.

“He asked if I’m for sale.” Asle stepped a little closer to Logan. The spearman gave a look to the others beside him.

“Tell him no. And if he asks something like that again, let him know we’re going to have a problem.” Nowak was now holding his gun a little closer.

Asle spoke again, and it clicked in Summers’ head that he was smelling blood. It was old, but it didn’t smell like the wolves. It smelled more like Asle. He’d have to parse the implications of being able to do that later. For now, he took a second look at the people in front of him, at the mismatched clothes, the blood . . .

“Sarge, I think these guys are criminals. Bandits, or whatever this world’s equivalent is,” Summers said quietly.

Nowak nodded. “All right. Fucking wonderful.”

“What do you want to do?” Summers flicked his rifle’s safety off.

“Nothing. They haven’t done shit to us, no reason to start shooting,” Nowak answered.

He was right. Summers was still too eager to get into a fight. He could feel a little of the giddiness from the fog creeping back as his adrenaline spiked. He’d have to watch that.

“Asle, ask them how far it is to the city. Once they answer, let them know we’ll be on our way.”

“We’re heading the same way, Sarge. We leave, we’re going to lead them straight to the Humvee,” Summers reminded him.

“Shit. All right, just—”Before Nowak could get the words out, the man in front lunged with his spear aimed directly at Nowak’s chest. Summers didn’t think, he acted. It was as if his entire body was a loaded spring, waiting for this exact moment. He fired one quick burst into the man’s chest before his arm could fully extend, allowing Nowak to get back in time to avoid being skewered. Summers snatched the head of the spear up with his free hand, pulling the man’s soon-to-be corpse forward and blocking the second thrust from the bandit behind him. Nowak put that guy down the very next instant.

As he looked up, Summers noted that the others around the wagon hadn’t moved. They just stood there, staring as if in shock. Oh. Right. They didn’t know what guns were. They might have thought his group was unarmed. Well, their mistake.

Two of the bandits snapped out of their fugue and