Great. The entire reason I’m camped out here in this gods-forsaken estuary is that I’m supposed to get close enough to the bridge to blow up one of the five supports. The plan is to trap the caravan of wagons in the middle. We’re outnumbered, and if our spies are found out, they’ll be dead before they can kill their captors and escape.
This is a do-or-die mission. I’ll make or break my reputation for leadership today. Or die. The latter is more likely, to be perfectly honest.
The buzz of dirt bikes in the distance makes me tilt my head, trying to figure out the direction. Lorcan would know. I bet Tovian would, too.
But neither of them are here. When we spoke a few days ago, Saskaya said he was still breathing, but apart from that, there’s been no improvement in his condition. All we can do is wait.
“10-20, this is Blue team.” Luza.
“I can actually hear you.”
“Good. I seem to be getting decent signal,” she said, her voice tinny. “The wagons are coming up the road. You should be able to hear the bikes from your position.”
“I can.”
“Good. I’m going to start moving to Column Two.”
I clipped my device back into my pocket, used a rock to hop onto my horse’s back, and nudged her into the briny water. The mare didn’t like it, and I can’t blame her. At least we don’t have leeches here. Reading about that historic method of medical treatment made me extra glad that if I had to be born in a relative backwater of a country, at least we believed in evidence-based medicine.
Then, there was no time to think about leeches, because we were making our way through the silty water toward Column Four, our target. If we don’t make it in time, there are twenty fighters hidden in the rushes on the other side of the bridge waiting to ambush the wagon train. They’re our backup, but we only have a couple of guns and not much ammunition, compared to the pirates’ seemingly endless supply of machine guns and bullets. Don’t ask me what kind. That’s Cata’s business—or was. Now that she’s dead, Saskaya and Lorcan are our resident arms experts.
They’re not here, leaving me, and I know shit all about guns. You pull the trigger. They go bang. It’s harder to hit a target than you’d think. That’s about it.
If Luza and her crew don’t succeed at cutting off reinforcements that will come running, guns blazing, at the first sign of trouble, all of us will be killed today. Without surprise on our side, my plan won’t work and many lives will be lost. I cannot risk being seen.
This wasn’t meant to be my role, but since the invasion it’s been all hands on deck. I took the riskiest task because at the end of the day, this is my plan. I’ll take out the fourth column or die trying.
My chestnut mare and I trudge through the muck using the tall grasses for cover. I don’t ride, choosing to conserve her strength for after the attack, when I’ll need it most.
To get away.
Flies bite my flesh. I grit my teeth and slap them away. The horse flicks her tail in a never-ending attempt to swat them away. Whirring of insects bended with the sound of engines in the distance.
“Red team, your move.”
I lead my animal deeper into the marsh. At times, I cling to her mane and swim beside her, using her as a shield. If the waterproof bags secured to her withers leak, this mission is doomed. Explosives can’t get wet.
We thread our way around islets of mud and grass. The bridge loom overhead. So close.
“Red team, are you in position?”
“Need a few more minutes.”
I’m soaked and muddy from the shoulders down, regretting that I’ve worn boots instead of going barefoot. The pillar is straight ahead.
This is the dangerous part.
We’re close enough to the bridge that anyone could glance down and see me and my horse in the reeds. I slog forward, wincing at the squish and suck of the riverbed trying to hold me back.
Tense minutes pass. Utterly exposed, I trudge on. A loud pop—it could have been a gun, or a backfiring engine—causes me to dive beneath the water.
Fuck. The walkie-talkie.
I pop up to the surface and slip it out of my pocket, depressing the button. Nothing.
Shit. That makes things a thousand times harder.
I can’t let them down. I drop the horse’s reins. She didn’t like where I’d left her, but I promised it wouldn’t be long. I climb up the rocky pile, soaking wet, dragging the bags of explosives with me. I clamber onto the rusted metal ladder used for inspections. It holds. Thank Reila.
