Under A Winter Sun Johan Dahlgren (digital e reader .txt) 📖

“They are alive.”

“And the ship?”

“Still operational under atmospheric conditions.”

I smile. “Nice landing, Braden.”

Braden stops cursing and leans back with a groan.

“I think my pelvis is broken.”

“You're just saying that to make me touch your joystick.” A pounding ache in my left thigh calls for attention. I glance down and see blood pumping feebly where my broken femur has torn through the flesh. To an ordinary human, that would be a major injury, possibly even fatal, but my skin is already growing out to cover the protruding bone. Setting that will be a bitch.

“Jeez, would you, Perez?” Braden half laughs, half groans as she breathes hard through clenched teeth. Pink spittle dribbles down her chin. If it's from internal bleeding, or if she bit her tongue in the crash, I can't tell.

“You are such a badass, Braden,” I manage through the pain. I hurt in more places than I care to count.

“No, I'm not. I have a great ass.” She tries to smile but falters halfway through and her face twists into a grimace of agony.

I give a coughing laugh. Laughing hurts. I must have broken a few ribs as well.

I unbuckle from the seat.

There's a trickle of light shining in through the bluish darkness. The Sundowner must have buried her nose deep in the ice when we came down.

“Want me to get you out, or do you want to wait until you're good to walk?” I stand up, favouring my good leg. My broken thigh dangles uselessly.

“Go see to the others.” She waves me away. “I'm fine.”

She pulls the two remaining patch cables from the seat and her head falls forward. I hope her pelvis is not the only thing she's broken.

“Call if you need me, Braden.”

“I will.” She winces and lifts her head from the controls.

I support myself with my good hand on the handholds and hobble up through the passageway to the troop bay. The ship is at an angle, with her nose down, and the climb is hell with my broken leg. Behind me, Braden curses under her breath again. She's one tough cookie.

The others are already unbuckling. Their inclined seats saved them from the worst of the impact, and there don't seem to be any major injuries. Dropships are fabulous things.

Wagner looks around, confused. “Where are we?”

“We've landed,” I inform them, in case they missed it. “Everyone OK?”

“Looks like it.” Jagr pushes out of her seat. “How is Braden?”

“A broken pelvis. Nothing a girl can't handle.”

Jagr winces. “And the ship?”

“Ask Braden. We've still got power, so it can't be all bad.”

Jagr checks me over and sees my leg. “Ouch.”

“It's only a flesh wound.” There's not much pain. “I've had worse.”

“Want help with that?”

I swallow. “Yeah.” I can't walk with a snapped femur.

“OK, sit down.” She points to her vacated seat and I drop into it. It's still warm from her body and it smells of her. Images of her naked body spring unbidden to my mind. I'm not complaining. The seat adapts to the shape of my body. The ship must have stored my measurements somewhere. Good old Sunny.

“Strap in. This will hurt. Soledad, help me out here.”

I buckle up. Soledad comes over with a sneer on her face. “What? The baby stubbed his toe?”

“Something like that,” Jagr replies. When Soledad sees the bone protruding from my flesh, she winces. Then she goes into doctor mode.

“Right.”

She pulls a knife from her belt and cuts open my combat suit to expose the wound.

“You. Goliath.” She points at Skallagrim. “Pull his foot while I align the bones. Jagr, find something to brace the leg until it heals. We have no place for a bandy-legged clown.”

Soledad locks eyes with me and Skallagrim pulls on my foot. Pain explodes up my leg, but I bite down on it, not letting so much as a gasp escape my lips. I don't want to give Soledad the satisfaction.

She stabs the knife into my leg to open the healing wound again. Then she reaches in and grabs the upper bone to set it against the lower one.

I scream.

* * *

When I open my eyes again, Soledad is tying a metal rod to the side of my thigh with pieces of torn cloth. She has already bound the wound with medi-strips from the first-aid kit.

“There, you'll be as good as new in no time.”

“Thanks.” I unbuckle and get to my feet. The leg works, and the pain is manageable.

“Now, don't get yourself killed when I've put so much work into you.”

I wince. “I'll try.”

“Here.” She throws me an anaesthetic pad and I slap it on my thigh close to the bandage. Tiny injectors pierce the fabric of the suit and the relief is instant. Oh, the wonders of modern science.

Finn is still sitting in his seat, with his forehead rested in one massive hand. He rubs his face. I haven't heard him and the other two Goliaths exchange a single word since we got back on the Sundowner. Knowing Finn, his mind is most likely full of graphic images of vengeance on his brother right now.

I hobble over to him. “Are you OK, big guy?”

He looks up from his musings. The side of his face is red and swollen. “Can't stand up.”

That gets my pulse racing. “What's wrong?” If he is seriously injured, we're screwed. He doesn't heal like us, and we need him. I need him.

He gives me one of his rare grins. “Roof is too low.” He reaches up and puts his great, callused palm against the low ceiling of the ship.

“Fuck you, Finn.” I punch his shoulder.

He laughs a short, guttural laugh and gets out of his chair. He has to stoop low to keep from banging his head. “Fuck you too.”

“Good to have you back, old buddy.”

Finn grunts. No mention of the fact I saved his life back there. We've known each other far too long to waste time on pointless things like gratitude. I make sure Finn lives because he makes sure I live.

“When you two