Wombat Prime by Kelly Grayson

Author:Kelly Grayson [Grayson, Kelly]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MEDIC Training Solutions, LLC
Published: 2024-04-18T00:00:00+00:00

Gnad came to with a ringing in his ears and an overwhelming wave of nausea. He rolled onto his side, vomited and shook his head to clear it. His mind rebooted itself slowly, one sense at a time. First came vision, and he saw no more shapes moving about. He could see muzzle flashes and tracer rounds. Hearing came next, and he could hear the reports of carbines and the chatter of Squad Four’s automatic weapon. There was yelling, but it was hard to make it out through the roaring in his ears. Cognition came last, and Lieutenant Brian Lee Gnad had trouble discerning what all those things meant, but he was certain that it was supremely important that he figure it out. He rose to his knees and looked around dully.

All the muzzle flashes are from our positions; nobody’s firing back. It’s over.

“Cease fire,” he croaked, but nothing happened. He said it louder and still got nothing.

It occurred to him then that he should use his radio, and he activated his throat mic and repeated as calmly as he could manage, “Cease fire.” That got results, and the command rippled through the platoon as his squad leaders repeated it. Everyone stopped firing.

Gnad looked down at his body armor and saw the fabric rent in several places, and blood on his left thigh. His radio earpiece dangled by its cord, and he fumbled it back into place.

“Lieutenant, you okay?” He heard immediately and recognized the urgent voice of Pat Patterson, his platoon sergeant.

“I’m okay,” he radioed back, even though he felt anything but. “All squads, status?”

“Squad Four, clear.”

“Squad Two, clear.”

“Squad Three, Patterson here. We’re all here, Boss.”

Gnad waited several moments, then keyed his throat mic again. “Squad Two, check in.” When he got no reply, he repeated it. “Squad Two, check in!”

His answer was a single shot from his left flank, and a few seconds later, a ripple of thunderous explosions a few hundred meters away. Two seconds later, Duke called in, “Second Squad, we’re clear.”

Gnad explosively let out the breath he had been holding. “Rally on the flat south of the road,” he ordered, and began picking his way down the slope. In the quiet after the firefight, he could hear a peculiar gurgling sound ten meters away. He decided to risk a light, and his torch illuminated one of the men he had shot earlier. The enemy trooper was black, but not an aboriginal. He lay on his back, and his breath rattled in his chest. Blood trickled from the corners of his mouth, and a hole in his chest made an ugly sucking sound. His eyes rolled wildly, unfocused as his chest heaved. While Gnad was considering what to do with him, the man’s breathing slowed, his eyes became hooded and empty, and his features went slack.

I did that, Gnad thought and was flooded with remorse, but was rebutted by a nastier, more pragmatic part of him. The bloody wanker was making war on your country, and he’d have killed you if he could have.

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