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Things weren’t going well, exactly.
Hunter cursed under his breath as a grenade went off a few dozen meters away. The energy of the blast made his head pound and his eyes sting; his ears rang. He shook it off. His squad needed him, and he needed to get to a better vantage point, figure out where they’d gone wrong. This was only their third mission. This had to go right. He needed it to go right. He’d stepped up to lead, and he wouldn’t let them down.
He pinged his comms, hoping the thick jungle vegetation wouldn’t interfere. He’d taken this path for the stealth it afforded, but it was slow going, even with his tracking abilities. “Havoc Four, I need eyes on the valley.”
“Copy that,” said Crosshair. “We’ve got eighty clankers bearing down on us in a standard formation, but I can’t get --”
The comms crackled, spitting out static. Hunter swore again. He tried the others, pinging Tech and Wrecker, hoping they’d made it to the positions he’d dictated with Plan Twelve, but the vegetation was so thick he couldn’t pinpoint them. He needed to get out of this dense tangle of massive ferns and palms and vines and circle back around. He took a moment, breathing deep and closing his eyes, then dropped to the ground and rested his thinly-gloved hand on the soil. It hummed with the vibration of the clankers marching half a valley away, helping to readjust his mental positioning system. If the clankers were here, and Crosshair’s position was there, he needed to --
"Ouch!” he hissed. He opened his eyes, jerking his hand back, only to see a slender orange-and-black-tailed creature slithering away into the underbrush. “Karking --” He’d been so focused on the battleground up ahead he’d ignored the faint shiver in the topsoil that would have warned him of the creature. He rubbed his hand, trying to ignore the way the bite wound pulsed and throbbed. He’d deal with it once they cleaned up here.
He broke out of the dense jungle heading north by northwest, where the land opened up into scattered stands of trees and rolling, rocky hills heading down into the valley. He approached stealthily, keeping cover behind stands of thick green and violet trees and low hillocks roiling with mosses in a dozen different colors. His hand felt tense and tight in his glove, straining against the fabric, throbbing in time with the beat of his heart. Not a big deal. I’ll grab my medikit once I meet up with Tech and Wrecker.
He licked his lips. He tasted buzzing.
He dropped to a sudden crouch, disquieted. The buzzing sensation wasn’t external, the way that electricity in the air could make his tongue feel like it sparked. This was something else. His stomach clenched with a sinking feeling.
Damn creature must have been venomous.
He pulled his backpack off quickly, intending to go for his medikit, but the sound of blaster fire half a klick away made him sling the backpack back on. His comm crackled.
“Could really use you right about now, Sarge --” Wrecker’s voice came, tinny and half the pitch it normally was. Wrecker only called him Sarge when things were looking serious.
“Change of plans, lads. Plan Eighteen,” Hunter called, hoping the transmission went through. Faint crackles of assent came from Tech, Wrecker and Crosshair, and Hunter pulled out his blasters, charging through a gap in the hillocks and down the slope into the mouth of the valley. As he’d guessed, the clankers were now in sight. He shook off the sensation of his arm falling asleep, and dove into the fray.
This was it, the last stand of the clankers, and he knew he and the boys had them. It might have been dicey for a bit there, but after coordinating with Tech and Wrecker for deployment of some truly spectacular field charges, set off by Crosshair at the rear vanguard, the clankers were on the run.
There was a rustle behind him. Before the droids could raise their weapons, Hunter whirled to face them, raising his left pistol and firing off four quick shots. The two droids collapsed into the loam, still smoking. Got ‘em -- but it would have been easier if he could have held his right pistol, too. His head swam, and he kept flexing his hand, trying to move fingers that felt fat and fuzzy. He took cover behind a large boulder, catching sight of Tech and Wrecker further down the battlefield. One last sweep and they’d be done; he’d be able to check out his hand, his brothers none the wiser.
Except --
“Havoc One,” Crosshair drawled over his comms.
“Little busy right now.”
“You’re not moving right. Are you injured?”
He scowled. Curse Crosshair and his enhanced vision. His brother was probably two klicks away on the far ridge, but that had never stopped his vision before, especially with the aid of his scope.
“It’s nothing,” he said defensively. “You’re imagining it.” He shook out his hand, hissing at the new burning sensation prickling up his arm. It rolled up his muscles in seething waves, and his gauntlet felt like it was cutting into his arm. He loosened its attachments, hissing, bracing himself against the boulder. He shivered with a sudden chill, despite the warm temperature and the sweat slicking his hair down inside his helmet. Tough it out, you’ll be fine --
“You’re a bad liar. I’m changing to Plan Fifteen, and then I’m getting down there.” There was something he didn’t recognize in Crosshair’s voice. Was it fear?
Hunter shook his head. Plan Fifteen was a good bet, sure, a great use of Crosshair’s sniping skills, but --
Black dots showered the edges of his vision, closing in. He staggered, sliding down against the boulder to crumple on the ground, the black dots swarming. He was so cold.
“Sergeant down !” Crosshair shouted over the comms. It was the last thing Hunter heard before everything went dark.
He came back to himself slowly, fighting back a wave of nausea. Where was he? He smelled laser burns and ozone, the sharp scent of junked clankers, the heady scents of drowsing blossoms and chlorophyll and rich earth. And more familiar scents, too, scents he’d grown up with: Tech, Crosshair, Wrecker.
He groaned, trying to reach up to rub his eyes. But his arm failed to respond; a wave of tingling, burning pain pulsed through his limb, and he bit his lip hard, tasting blood. Electric sparks flared and vibrated under his skin. “What the… what happened…”
He blinked slowly, and the world began to come back into focus. He gazed up at the sky, a blue-green horizon marred by gray and brown clouds of smoke hanging in the air. His brothers swam into view, still in their helmets, fresh from the battlefield.
“Something bit you, didn’t it?” Tech asked, peering over him with his visor lifted, the skin around his goggles paler than usual. “I’m assuming it was some form of crotalid-like creature, given that it appears to have injected you with a neurotoxin. Surely you must have noticed. You should have told us!’ His eyes narrowed.
“I knew something was wrong,” Crosshair said sharply. “What were you thinking? If you’d gone down where I couldn’t see you --”
“Is it bad?” Hunter said, ignoring them.
“Oh, yeah. You should see your hand,” Wrecker said, shaking his head. “Looks horrible. ”
Crosshair nudged Wrecker. “Quiet. He’ll figure that out soon enough.”
“But it does look awful --”
“True, but --”
“Arguing about it won’t help,” Tech said sternly. “We need to evacuate him. We’ve got to get back to the ship and the rest of our supplies.” He put a hand on Hunter’s shoulder. “But yes. It is fairly bad.”
Hunter groaned. “Wanted to -- complete the mission.” He swallowed. He lifted his head with a great effort, turning to look for signs of continued battle. “The clankers --”
“Blew ‘em up,” Wrecker said, his voice warm enough that Hunter could hear the grin under his helmet. “Got the all clear. Now we just gotta get out of here.”
“Luckily, our kits carry customizable antivenin, effective against most types of toxins. Which you should have known, and could have given yourself,” said Tech testily. He sighed. “I think this last dose is finally taking effect, but now I’ve used up all of our field stocks of antivenin, and you’ll need more before we get back to Kamino. At least you might be able to walk now. Your vitals are much better.”
Crosshair knelt down, holding out a hand to Hunter’s good side. Hunter reached out and took it, holding on tightly as Crosshair hoisted him back to his feet. He wavered for a moment, the world spinning, but things settled back into a normal view quickly. His head still felt muzzy and strange, but he was feeling more alert. He raised his bad hand --
“Oh hell,” he muttered between clenched teeth. Wrecker hadn’t been kidding. HIs hand, now missing its glove and gauntlet, was roughly three times its normal size, and his normally brown skin had turned a sick, mottled purplish-reddish color that looked poisonous itself. The bite wound oozed blood in a slow, nasty trickle. Pain was replaced intermittently by numbness, prickles, or sharp pulses, all of it unpleasant. His stomach turned, but he swallowed, managing to avoid vomiting.
“Told you it was horrible,” said Wrecker, putting an arm over his shoulders. “Here. Lean on me. We got your kit, don’t worry about it.” He tucked Hunter’s helmet under his other arm.
Hunter shuffled along beside Wrecker, leaning heavily on his brother Crosshair walked behind them holding the line, while Tech scouted ahead, leading them back to the ship. The sounds of the jungle, birds calling, insects buzzing, leaves rustling, mixed with Hunter’s grunts and puffs of breath, his footsteps scuffing against the loam-covered soil, the footfalls of his brothers.
“You really shoulda said somethin’,” Wrecker said after a few minutes. “There was time. Tech and I coulda gone back for you. Those clankers wouldn’t’ve got the best of us.”
“I wanted to have things under control,” Hunter muttered. “A good leader doesn’t get taken out by a little snake.”
“A good leader relies on his team,” Tech said from up ahead. He paused, turning around to join them. “If you were attempting to prove your invulnerability, you may have noticed that you have failed. We trust you, Hunter. But you must trust us too.”
His ears burned. Yeah. He’d screwed up.
“You’re right. I should’ve said something,” he admitted. “Crosshair figured it out, and I tried to tell him it was nothing. I was too focused on getting back to the battle. But this could have compromised the mission.”
Wrecker groaned, tossing his head, probably rolling his eyes under his helmet. “Yeah, yeah, the mission, but you coulda got taken out. That’s what we’re cross about!”
Hunter chuckled. “Aw, you big softy.”
“Watch who you’re callin’ soft,” Wrecker warned, squeezing Hunter in a hug that compressed his ribs and made him cough. Hunter weakly shoved back against his brother, and Wrecker guffawed, releasing the pressure. “Told ya.”
Crosshair closed the distance between them, stopping beside Hunter. “So the next time you’re bitten by a deadly jungle viper, you’ll let somebody know?” asked Crosshair, tilting his head and crossing his arms over his chest.
Hunter managed a weak smile. “Promise. Should’ve known you’d have my back.”
“Tch. Of course,” Crosshair said. He reached out and clasped Hunter’s shoulder briefly.
“We do this together, Hunter,” said Tech, nodding. “Always.” He turned back around, continuing onward.
They kept on to the ship, Hunter starting to pick up the pace slightly as the antivenin continued to work. The swelling was going down in his hand, and his head was feeling clearer than ever. Their trainers had told him many things about how to lead, but some things he was starting to realize he’d only learn through experience. Well, he was getting it now. A good leader communicated. A good leader kept his squad apprised of changing conditions.
And a good squad never left a man behind.
He leaned against Wrecker, still a little dizzy, but he was feeling better already.