Ed tried to stay out of the way as much as possible, but there were a lot of bodies and not a lot of room. It wasn’t the smallest house he’d overnighted in, but they’d been there all day and most of the night before, waiting for their contact. He wasn’t late, not yet, in fact they’d been a day early, but everyone was antsy just the same.
Ed had all of a month under his belt. A month since he’d joined up, not really long enough for him to do anything but get armored webgear, a weapon (used, and he didn’t want to think about what might have happened to its previous owner), a few patrols under his belt, and realize just how far in over his head he was. That he was blissfully ignorant of all things military was an understatement—he had no military or police experience, and had only fired guns a few times before the war—paintball guns.
He’d been bounced around from group to group, not really feeling welcome at all. They needed new bodies, but nobody seemed eager to take responsibility for him. Those patrols he’d been on had been terrifying at first, even though he’d learned quickly. Local guerrilla activity was near its high-water mark but somehow his squad was never where the action was. They’d had a few scares, sure, but he still hadn’t seen a soldier closer than two blocks away.
He still wasn’t sure how he’d ended up where he was, a member of the advance unit for a new offensive. They were scouting ahead for enemy positions, trying to gather intelligence on the move as best they could. The squad included the ranking officer of the operation, a curt, professional military veteran, a Captain who had no tolerance for fools. Assisting him were a Lieutenant and a Sergeant, backed up by nine trigger-pullers including, absurdly enough, him. They were one of three or six squads (Ed wasn’t sure), heading slowly but steadily south. Their target was the downtown depot, but they were also tasked with mapping out roadblocks and spotting armor.
Things had been so crazy and hectic when he’d joined up that no one had time to find out if he knew which end of a rifle the bullet came out of. Their solution was to slap a weapon into his hands which gave him the greatest margin for error. Ed had been horrified to discover he was the proud new owner of a grenade launcher. It looked like a short, fat, single shot shotgun, only the shells were bigger around than jumbo-size eggs, not that he’d seen any of those recently. He’d received all of five minutes of training on how to use it, most of that consisting of instructions on how not to blow himself or any of his teammates into hamburger. He also had a pistol on his hip, and he was even less sure of his ability hit anything with that. But… everyone seemed to have a pistol, it seemed to be a badge of honor in a war that was, at least in small part, about guns.
You would think he would’ve been used to the smell of unwashed bodies, but for some reason by now that wasn’t the case. So many nervous men, packed in together—the raw stink filled his nostrils, even though there wasn’t a whole pane of window glass left in the house. The temperature had been in the eighties all week—not too hot, but still they were having trouble finding enough water. It had been a hot summer, and all the rain traps were baked dry.
“Got movement,” one of the lookouts called softly into the house. “Looks like Jasper.”
The Captain looked up from the maps of the city he was constantly studying. He was a stout, imposing figure, with graying hair shaved to stubble and odd-looking ears that curled out at their tops. “’Bout goddamn time,” he growled.
The lookout watched the slender, furtive figure hurry up the street, keeping to the shadows as much as possible, checking over his shoulder constantly. In a previous era his worn, dirty clothes would have identified him as homeless or an addict, now he just fit right in with the rest of the wretched populace still stuck in the city. The Captain had been going to give him another two hours and if he hadn’t shown up by then they would have had to move on without whatever information he had. They’d stayed too long already.
At the news everyone inside the house breathed a little sigh of relief—at least their delay wouldn’t be for nothing. There were eyes everywhere, and every hour in hostile territory increased the chances they’d be discovered. Not that Jasper knew he was holding up seventy-plus men.
In short order he arrived at the front door, breathless, as if he’d been running. He nearly jumped through the door and darted his head about, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light. None of the men appeared happy to see him. His appearance had never inspired a lot of confidence.
“You had me wondering whether or not you’d show up,” the Captain admitted to the new arrival.
Jasper swallowed and his brows knitted together in worry. “Why?” he said quickly.
“Because you’re fucking squirrelly, dude,” the Sergeant leaning in the doorway said.
The Captain shot the NCO a look and turned to their local source. “You seem nervous, and so it makes my men nervous,” he said to Jasper. “Any reason why we should be nervous?”
Jasper blinked in the dim light of the house, then snorted. “Of course you should be nervous. You’re in Army-controlled territory. And they’ve got tanks. You’d be stupid if you weren’t nervous.” The thin man was speaking quickly, as usual, gesturing wildly with his hands.
The Captain sighed. “I meant specifically, right now. You were supposed to be finding us a safe route down. Spotting armor, patrols, roadblocks, etcetera. Your so-called inside man give you those patrol routes we were hoping for?”
“Well, see, that’s the thing,” Jasper began, hopping from one foot to the other.
The Sergeant rolled his eyes. “Here we go,” he said.
Jasper gave the man a dirty look, then turned back to the Captain. “No, see, he did. Or he will. He’s supposed to. I just haven’t had a chance to hook up with him yet. He’s been busy or something. But I’m meeting up with him tonight.” He glanced at his watch. “In two hours. He’s gonna have the info for me then.”
The Captain was not pleased to hear Jasper’s news. “Why didn’t you meet with him first? So you had that intelligence when you showed up here?”
“I tried, but I couldn’t make that happen. Besides, I didn’t know for sure if you were going to be here. Plans change. Shit happens.”
“Okay. I’ll send a man with you, for the meet, and—”
“No,” Jasper said, shaking his head forcefully. “This guy, you think I’m nervous, I’m supposed to show up alone. He sees someone with me and he’s gone.”
“I’ll have him stay out of sight.”
Jasper blew a raspberry. “Please. All the empty houses these days, he could be watching from anywhere. He’ll spot your guy, and then he’ll be gone.” He raised a hand. “You just stay here, and I’ll be back before you know it. What this guy’s gonna give you, it’ll help you get right downtown, right on top of them, before they ever know you’re there.”
Neither the Captain or the Sergeant were happy about having to wait several more hours, but there didn’t seem to be any other option. What Jasper’s source was promising was too valuable not to risk it. So the men watched him scurry away down the street, grumbling, irritated and eager to move on, but stymied.
“Sir?”
The Captain looked up. “Yes? It’s Ed, isn’t it?” While he was a new face on the teams, Ed was far from a baby-faced teenager. The man was in his mid-thirties, and did not have the vocabulary of a blue-collar laborer.