One Bullet Left for the Man Who Sold My Squad

"Don't get up yet. They haven't left." Kadev didn't know where the voice came from. Maybe from his own head, maybe from some old memory of training. His mouth was full of wet dirt, bitter and mixed with the taste of blood. He spat softly and held his breath. His ears rang long and low. Behind the ringing was the sound of gunfire, echoing in broken bursts, over and over. He couldn't tell whether it was real or just what was left of the blast inside his head. Total darkness. He moved a little and felt something heavy pinning his legs. His hands groped around. Uniform cloth, cold and stiff. "Whoever you are, move," he whispered as he pushed the weight away. There was no answer. The body rolled to the side and dropped with a dull thud. Kadev crawled out of the pile of dirt and bodies. His knees were shaky. The pale light of dawn was starting to reach the bottom of the trench, enough to show what lay around him. He stopped moving. "No," he said quietly. "No..." His ten comrades lay along the length of the trench. Some were on their backs, some curled up, some still held their rifles with fingers that had gone stiff. This was all of Sickle Unit 11, and he knew every face. He knelt beside the nearest one. Brann, the unit's unofficial cook, who had still been sharing a pack of salted biscuits just yesterday afternoon. His chest had two holes, close together, almost in the same spot. Kadev checked the next body, then the next. The pattern was the same. Every wound was in the chest or the head, every one from the direction of the top of the slope. Not a single one was hit in the back or the legs. No one had even had time to run or take cover. "This isn't a firefight," he muttered. "This is an execution." In a real battle, bullets scattered wildly. Some hit the ground, some struck rocks, some missed by a mile. Here every shot had hit its mark, like target practice on a board. He remembered the night before. They had descended into Vharn Valley exactly three hours after Operation Silent Blue began, following a narrow path known only to central command. No one spoke. Everyone followed the orders on the radio. Then spotlights had blazed on from three sides of the slope. Kadev remembered the first explosion, remembered his body being thrown into the trench, and then everything went black. Passing out was the only reason he hadn't died with the rest. A faint groan broke the silence. Kadev turned at once. The sound came from the end of the trench, from a pile of bodies covered in shadow. He crawled toward it without caring about his scraped knees. "Torren?" A man was slumped against the trench wall, his face pale. Torren Valk, his friend since the first day of training, the man who used to share a bunk bed with him. His uniform was soaked black around the stomach. "Kadev," Torren said between short breaths. "You're alive. Thank god. There's one who made it." "Quiet. Don't talk too much." Kadev tore off his sleeve and pressed it against Torren's wound. The cloth was soaked through in an instant. Torren smiled faintly. "It's pointless. I know my own wound. Don't waste the cloth." "We wait until dark," Kadev cut in. "Then I carry you to the river." "Listen to me." Torren grabbed Kadev's wrist with the last of his strength. His grip was weak, but his eyes were sharp. "I don't have time to argue with you." Kadev went silent. He had never seen Torren this serious. His friend could usually still joke in the middle of a midnight run in the rain. Torren fumbled at his belt with a trembling hand and pulled out a pistol. He pushed it against Kadev's chest. The metal was wet and warm with blood. "Take it. There's only one bullet left. I used the rest earlier." He coughed, and blood ran from the corner of his lip. "One bullet, Kadev. Don't waste it." "Did you get a look at them?" "Enough of them." Torren drew a long breath that sounded like paper scraping. "The coordinates... weren't leaked." Kadev frowned. "What do you mean?" "Not leaked. Sold." The words hung in the cold air. Kadev wanted to shake his friend's shoulders and demand an explanation. But before he could open his mouth, the hair on his neck stood up. Footsteps. Many of them, and in order. Kadev held his breath. He pulled Torren lower into the bottom of the trench and pressed their bodies against the earth wall. From the top of the slope came the sound of boots stepping on gravel. The enemy troops were sweeping the valley again. Kadev gripped the pistol, his finger kept away from the trigger. One bullet against a dozen men. The math was simple. So was the result. Then something happened that he had never experienced before. His ears vibrated. Not the ringing from before, but a faint trembling rising from deep inside, like a tiny string being plucked behind his eardrum. The footsteps that had been faint suddenly became clear, one by one. Some were heavy and uneven, maybe a limp. Some were light and quick, maybe the youngest of them. He could even hear their whispers from up on the slope, as if they were speaking right inside his head. "Left side's clear. Check the lower trench." "No need. Nobody survived down there." "The order is to count everyone. Don't let anyone slip away." Kadev froze. He didn't know what was happening to his ears, and there was no time to find out. The voices were real. A moment later two enemy soldiers appeared at the edge of the trench, right above his head. He pressed Torren's face against his chest so his friend's breathing wouldn't be heard. His other hand clamped over his own mouth. His heart was pounding hard. One of the soldiers shone a flashlight down. The beam swept across the bodies in the trench, passed over Brann's face, passed over someone's legs, then stopped on the pile of dirt where Kadev had been buried. One second. Two seconds. "Empty," the soldier finally said. "Just corpses. Come on, we still have the eastern sector." The flashlight beam moved away. The footsteps faded and vanished behind the slope. Kadev waited a long time before he dared to let out his breath. He looked down. Torren's body in his arms felt very light. "Torren," he whispered. "They're gone." Torren's eyes were half open, staring at the pale sky above the trench. His lips moved, his voice barely coming out. Kadev put his ear to his mouth. "One name," Torren whispered. "Memorize it. Don't trust anyone who... wears that rank." "Who?" "Colonel... Maren Hast." After that there was no more breath. Torren's chest stopped rising and falling, and his grip on Kadev's wrist loosened, then dropped to the ground. Kadev didn't move for a long time. He didn't cry. He just sat holding his friend's body while the dawn light rose and made the faces of those who would never speak again clearer. At last he laid Torren down, straightened his collar, and closed his eyes. He murmured something only he could hear. Then he stood up. His legs were unsteady, but he forced himself to walk. One by one he checked his comrades. There was no pulse on any of them. From Brann's pocket he took a name tag, and from the others he took small things he could carry. If he didn't, no one would. He tucked Torren's pistol into his waistband. One bullet. It felt heavier than its size. From far off came the sound of running water. The river at the bottom of the valley, which had still been rushing last night, was now frozen at its edges as the temperature dropped toward dawn. It was the only way out that wasn't guarded. The enemy was sweeping the slopes and the land routes, not the icy water. He climbed out of the trench with scraped hands. Above, the valley was silent, with thin mist hanging low among the pine trees. He walked hunched over, following the shadows of the rocks, keeping his boots from making any noise. Now and then the trembling in his ears came again, telling him there were enemy footsteps on the right, then shifting to the left. He used it without really understanding it. When the trembling rose, he stopped. When it fell, he moved. The river water stabbed all the way to his bones. He stepped in up to his knees, then his waist, and held his breath as the cold crept up to his chest. Thin ice cracked around his body. The current dragged him slowly away from the valley. The trench shrank behind him and vanished around a bend. Kadev did not look back again. His teeth chattered. His numb hand kept hold of the pistol at his waist, making sure it was still there. One bullet. One name. He repeated that name over and over in his head. Maren Hast. The colonel who had once shaken his hand when he graduated from training and said Sickle Unit was the pride of Redmont. Kadev climbed onto the bank where the river widened, then leaned against a large boulder, gasping. The sun was just rising on the horizon, its light falling on the mist rising off the water. He looked up at that sky and whispered, more to himself than anyone. "If you sold us, Hast, I'll be the one to collect." From behind the boulder, right behind him, a twig snapped. Then a strange, cold man's voice said quietly, "Told you, didn't I? There's still one who's breathing."