67th Day of Summer, Year 9132 of the Unick Measure. Jungle between Waiauhua and Waiaulong, Sakngak

  Thread shook his head as he searched through his bag. It was nearly empty, and that meant trouble. Big trouble.

  “Furious…” he began.

  The squad leader cut him off at once.

  “I think I know what you’re about to say, and I’m not sure I’m ready to hear it.”

  “And?”

  “And?”

  “Does that mean I shouldn’t say anything?”

  Furious sighed heavily. Why did he have to become a squad leader? Why couldn’t he have stayed in the Commander’s unit? Why, that day, did he have to piss off Bonebreaker…? Come to think of it, he wasn’t the first man to receive a squad under circumstances like that. Were all squad leaders simply survivors of that motherfucker’s temper?

  “Whatever you’re thinking about, forget it. This is more urgent.”

  And how in Utari’s cunt did Thread always know what was going through his head?

  “Furious…”

  “All right. I’m listening.”

  “My bag is almost empty,” the medic said gravely.

  Yes. That was exactly what he had expected to hear and exactly what he hadn’t wanted to hear.

  “Well,” Furious said after a moment, “at least it’ll be easier to carry.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I. I’d love to tell you not to worry, but we’re not in a position where we can afford delays. If I send you to replenish supplies, chances are you won’t come back alive. If I split the squad, assuming this pathetic bunch still deserves that name, and send someone with you, we all become easier targets.”

  “You’re the pathetic one,” Lard muttered from nearby.

  “Thank you for speaking up. I was missing the voice of an expert.”

  Lard grimaced but said nothing more. Furious might look calm, but the last few days had been hard on him. Hard on all of them. The last thing they needed now was internal conflict.

  “So what about the herbs?” Thread pressed.

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  “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. There’s no good option. We go straight to the Commander. We endure until then.”

  Thread did not look reassured. Barely noticeable, he made a quick hand gesture that only Furious saw: worry.

  Furious gave a small nod. He was worried too, but what could he do?

  “What do you need most?” he asked, trying to show he was taking the problem seriously. It was the only thing he could think of.

  “Everything, honestly. I only have basic fever herbs left. I don’t even have anything for dressing new wounds.”

  “Then we need to be more careful,” Furious said reluctantly.

  They sat in silence for a while.

  Finally Thread signed again: does the Commander know?

  Furious answered the same way: reported.

  Thread did not ask whether they had received a reply. It was obvious they had not. Not the first squad to vanish without a trace, he thought bitterly. Funny how much faith they placed in one man. How strongly they believed he would always protect them. But there was only one of him, and they were replaceable. A bitter thought.

  “Bird,” Romantic said quietly.

  They froze.

  Moments later, the feathered messenger landed beside the fire. The small pack strapped to its back looked fuller than usual.

  “What’s that?” Thread asked, trying hard not to feel hope.

  “No idea,” Furious replied cautiously, approaching the bird.

  He greeted it in the usual way. No matter how many times he did it, it still felt strange. The only thing that made him feel slightly better was the knowledge that the bird itself wasn’t normal either. Nothing about it was normal. The fact that they were all relieved to see it probably meant they weren’t normal either.

  “At least we know the Commander remembers us,” Lard said.

  “The Commander never forgets anyone,” Furious replied, fully believing the words.

  He doesn’t forget. That doesn’t mean he can save us all.

  Judging by Thread’s expression, he had reached the same conclusion. Both of them knew what most likely awaited their squad. And what could they do? Nothing. Wait. And perhaps take a small comfort in the fact that Fucking Insane would go down with them.

  Furious untied the strap and removed a small box addressed to the medic.

  “Well now…” he said uncertainly.

  “What is it?” Lard asked.

  Furious ignored him. He handed the box to Thread, then checked the pack again. A few sheets of paper, but they were not addressed to him either.

  Strange.

  The bird screeched impatiently. Furious understood and fastened the strap again. The messenger flew off. Just like that.

  “No orders?” Fucking Insane asked.

  “Apparently not,” Furious said.

  Thread carefully set the box aside and read the pages addressed to him.

  When he finished, he said only:

  “We keep going.”

  The others looked at him expectantly, but he ignored them. With reverence he picked up the box again, placed it carefully on his knees, and opened it with trembling hands. He did it with such solemn focus that the others half expected blessed light to pour out of it. Nothing of the sort happened. At least not visibly.

  “What is it?” Furious asked, trying to peek inside.

  “Medicine,” Thread said, strangely moved.

  “What?”

  “Medicine. Real medicine. Ready-made.”

  “But…”

  “Prepared by a mage from the Atolls.”

  Silence fell over the camp.

  Everyone stared at the box, finally understanding the medic’s reaction. Medicine from an Atoll mage.

  “That must have cost a fortune,” Furious whispered. “What do the papers say?”

  “Instructions. How and when to use each vial. They’re all concentrates. With this…” Thread swallowed. “I could treat an entire squad.”

  Suddenly Furious burst out laughing.

  He had no idea why. Maybe it was relief washing over him all at once. Maybe the sheer surprise of it. It didn’t matter. He laughed openly, staring at the box in disbelief. The Commander remembers, he thought. And once again he understood why they believed in him so completely.