Chapter 17: After the River Fight

I didn't take part in the last round of close combat. Not because I was afraid of dying, but because my wounds needed to be recovered. After more than two hours swimming underwater, I'd barely felt tired in the river, but once I got on land, the fatigue hit hard. My wounds throbbed, sharp and needle-like. Besides, after the coordinated strikes we'd landed, the enemy's losses had to be heavy—and, most importantly, their morale was shattered. Ghost Squad had broken their will.

The fighting still raged in the distance, a mix of shouts, gunfire, and a lot of desperate screams. I was more than satisfied with how I'd called this fight—once again, my instincts and analysis paid off.

"There's one still in the water—watch it!" Castor yelled.

He'd spent the whole time dragging the gear raft along, so he had a better sense of what was moving in the current.

"Flares!" Buzz called.

I saw a flare streak up, bursting into light overhead—a sign of victory.

"It's not just one—it's a bunch!"

I peered about fifty yards downstream. A handful of guys in brown uniforms were fighting to swim away. Buzz, Reaper, Nox, and the European jumped into the water after them. Bolt sprinted along the bank, firing as he went, but it wasn't effective.

Castor was still in the water, dragging the gear raft—he'd switched to freestyle for speed, then tried butterfly. Watching him muscle through the current, I couldn't help but smile.

I picked up my rifle and ran to catch up.

You might ask—if the enemy's in the river, why not just shoot at them from the bank?

Here's the thing: movies and TV always show someone firing at swimmers and hitting them, but that's fiction. A pistol round in water loses all punch after three feet, a sniper bullet after six. Water's resistance is nothing like air. The faster the bullet, the faster it stops—water eats up all that kinetic energy. So unless you're a total fool, or you watch too many movies, nobody wastes ammo shooting at swimmers from shore.

For example, if I'm underwater and someone's within three feet of me, he can empty a mag at my head and I won't even flinch—I'd just stick a knife in his throat, that's it.

Bolt tossed his rifle and dived in after the fleeing enemy, stripping off his gear as he hit the water.

The river churned—now and then someone's head would surface, then vanish, then a fresh burst of red would stain the current. I didn't go in; I waited on shore, ready to gun down anyone who tried to escape onto land.

Castor powered downstream, determined to join the melee in the water.

After forty, maybe fifty seconds, things started to calm down. The river become still, flowing downstream. No idea if Anchor, who was downstream, had intercepted anyone.

Reaper was first to clamber ashore, collapsing and gulping air.

Buzz tried the bank, but it was steep—he scrabbled a few times and couldn't get up.

"Take it easy, pick your spot!" Castor called, grinning as he popped another flare.

I turned away to shield my eyes from the blast of light.

Reaper squeezed his eyes shut, muttering a curse.

Buzz finally grabbed Reaper's boot and managed to pull himself up.

"Don't touch me!" Reaper croaked.

Buzz recognized the voice and shot back, "I'm not trying to get your dirt on me," then kept clawing for a handhold.

I moved over, offered my rifle; Buzz grabbed it with a grin and made it up.

"Man, I'm dead. Thanks, bro."

Bolt pushed Nox onto the bank, then helped the European up. Finally, they all dragged Bolt out, everyone sprawled out, gasping for air, too tired to talk.

Castor floated in the river, singing, "Saw you at chow, in your muddy boots,

Your face so rough, your temper so loose,

You yelled at me like a grumpy dad,

But deep inside, I know you're sad... "

"Cut it out, man, you sound awful!" Buzz shouted.

He sat up and looked at Bolt. "Did I look like Gary Hall Jr.from Water Margin back there?"

"Gary who?" Bolt panted, catching his breath.

"You don't know Gary Hall Jr.? That's, like, my cousin's uncle's—whatever, it's basically family," Buzz said, completely unfazed by the fatigue.

Reaper sat up and called to Castor, "Pass the food."

Castor tossed out some drinks from the gear raft—we didn't just drink water; there were supplements mixed in. He chucked Reaper a protein bar.

Reaper took a swig and tossed the bar to me.

I caught it, gulped my drink, and Castor tossed me another bar.

Meanwhile, Buzz was explaining his "Relative" to Bolt. "You know why they called him boxer? His killer move was rowing a boat with no oars at all!"

"With what, then—magic?" Castor joked.

Buzz gave him a look. "Magic is for comic books, man. The real deal is—this!" He held up his arm.

Bolt blinked. "With your hand?"

Buzz grinned. "Hand like a paddle—two, three times bigger than yours or mine. Put that in the water, and you'll beat any outboard motor."

"Guess that's fast," Bolt said, chewing his protein bar.

Buzz rolled his eyes. "Hell yeah, man, it's training—and a bit of talent. If I hadn't joined the Army, I'd be rowing the river every day. Hands like fans."

Bolt looked down at his own hand, then at Buzz, and said nothing.

"Where's the spot light?" Buzz asked Castor.

"Keep talking, light for what?" Castor shot back.

"It's just not the same—turn it on."

"That's up to the Specter—can't waste it." Castor grinned, passing the buck to me.

"One more. Let's make sure Anchor sees us," I said, settling down.

Castor launched another flare. "Your turn, Buzz, tell us a story!"

Buzz winked. "Thanks, bro. You should've seen me in the water—fastest thing alive like shark. Who needs oars?"

"You going to use your hands?" Castor teased, still floating.

"Yeah, Buzz, you haven't grown your hands that big yet," Bolt added.

Buzz grinned, then stretched out his leg, looking all smug.

"With your leg?" Castor laughed.

"With your leg, Buzz?" Bolt asked, wide-eyed.

I almost wanted to shut Buzz up—he was getting carried away in front of the European, and even though the guy didn't understand much, he could tell Buzz was spinning tall tales.

Reaper had had enough.

"With what, Buzz?" Bolt asked.

"With his tongue!" Reaper snapped at Bolt, with a sneer.

"You're the only one with tongue, talkin' nonsense!" Buzz shot back, a little annoyed.

Bolt, even with his innocence, could tell Reaper wasn't joking and wisely stayed quiet.

Castor chimed in, "Reaper, you think Buzz useless? The man could row a boat across the Atlantic just by blowing on the sails!"

I laughed at that.

"He could row or blow, take your pick," Reaper added, deadpan.

Castor beamed, happy to have Reaper on his side for once.

"Man, you guys just don't get it—no sense of humor!" Buzz grumbled, trying to get up.

He promptly slipped and fell.

"What's up, Buzz?" Bolt asked.

I glanced over and saw blood running down from Buzz's pant leg.

"You're bleeding."

Bolt dropped his food and rushed over.

"Huh, didn't even notice. Ow, easy!" Buzz yelped.

"Sorry, Buzz, didn't mean to hurt you," Bolt said, patching him up.

"Someone's coming!" Nox called from farther down the bank.

I grabbed my rifle.

"It's Anchor!"

I saw Anchor, carrying a body over his shoulder, walking up from the darkness. Castor launched another flare.

"We're on a op here, and you idiots are goofing off—what's wrong with you?" Anchor dropped the body and started chewing out Buzz.

"Specter's hurt—did you forget mission protocol? You guys are veterans—how are you still so careless?"

Castor, seeing Anchor genuinely angry, shut up. Buzz realized he'd maybe gone too far and stayed quiet.

Anchor came over, looked at me, and I smiled at him. He managed a tired grin and checked my wound.

"Ya okay?"

I nodded.

Anchor's my right hand, my brother-in-arms—always looking out for me, for the squad, making sure everyone held together. His seriousness, stability, and sense of duty made him the perfect piece in the Ghost Squad puzzle.