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The Rifleman - Bk1 - Ch.57
🕑 Added 2024-07-23 08:10:01 +0000 UTCChapter Fifty-Seven
Welcome to the Jungle
Wesley marveled at the changes a few upgrades could make.
To say that the troops had been surprised by the creation of a literal pile of upgrade cubes would be like saying a starving man was surprised by the offer of a three-course dinner. They were more than amazed at the smiling Joy handing them out to the surviving troops. They were ecstatic.
Nothing could wash away the horrors they had seen at this little out-of-the-way garrison, of course, but knowing they would not only be leaving and returning to the city but doing so with upgraded gear certainly helped to boost flagging spirits.
Flagging? Who was Wesley kidding?
They were crushed, but they were moving.
“Ladies and Gents?” Wesley called, not entirely sure what he intended to say, “We are going to be heading out in a few minutes, and I know you all must be feeling pretty damn nervous.” There were more than a few nods in the crowd, with others seeming too proud to own up to it. “Well, even if you aren’t, I fucking am.” Wes gave his best self-deprecating smile and really hoped this didn’t end up being a mistake, “I’d love to promise you the worst was over, but I’ll leave that to the politicians.” A couple of small smiles, okay, that was a start. “We’re grunts, you and us. We go where shit needs to get done, and then we do it. It isn’t pretty, it isn’t noble, and it sure as fuck isn’t easy. They don’t build statues of us, and we don’t get the big bucks. No, we are the grunts. The footsoldiers in a war we never asked to fight.” Anger burned in their eyes now, which was something. “So fucking what? I wear the badge of a grunt with pride! I am a rifleman! I go where shit needs to be done! Every man and woman before me is my family. The shit out there will come for us, no matter what. I say fuck it! Let’s go get the bastards before they get us!” A few savage grins were breaking out among the crowd. “They want our blood? They want our Essence? Fine! Let’s make ‘em bleed for every drop! Let’s show them what it means to fuck with the grunts!”
They laughed, cheered, and a few even whooped. It was enough, at least for now. There was life in their eyes again—not much, and mostly anger and resentment—but it was enough.
“Get your shit together, and let’s go get some fucking pies!” Wesley yelled, and the crowd dispersed.
“Get some fucking pies?” Malia smirked at him.
“Hey, you’ve got to fight for something,” Wesley grinned as he slung his rifle over his shoulder and into the custom-made slot on the backpack. “I can think of worse things to fight for.”
“So can I,” Malia admitted. “But I still can’t believe that worked.”
“Sincerity matters more than the words,” Wesley admitted. “They got royally shafted being sent out here, and they know it. I just said it out loud for them, got that anger to the surface.”
“True enough,” Malia bumped his shoulder, “Who knew you were such a motivator?”
“Hah!” Wesley barked a short laugh, “Getting people moving is easy; keeping them going is the tough part.”
The last part of the packing went quickly. Other than the Rambling Rangers, there were only twelve people. That meant they would leave a fair amount behind, but Wesley was beyond caring. Sure, they could pack some of the extra tents and things into the safe room, but they would need as much space in there as possible in case they needed it during the crossing, which was likely.
So, they just left it there. If Earnshaw and the others wanted it back, they were welcome to send someone to get it after all this shit was over.
Malia led the way into the jungle, with none of them knowing how large it was. She had a pair of shield bearers on either side of her, with everyone else lined up behind in pairs. Wesley and the two other remaining archers flanked the column, while Wes had his two sims moving ahead of the column, silently scouting for anything that might attack.
It was their best defense; even a few seconds warning could mean all the difference in the case of ambush.
After all, that was the weakness of a column formation. Wesley hated that he knew this, mainly because Todd had led the ‘training.’ Even more because, as much as he hated to admit it, the sanctimonious asshole had actually been a really good teacher.
Column formations were almost as old as the concept of the military itself and had a lot going for them. For a start, they minimized the number of people on the front line, which meant a smaller target to be seen by enemies or shot at. That was a crucial factor in more modern times, but in the older times, they used the columns for two very different reasons. A column could move much faster over rugged terrain for a start. Speed was vital in moving forces into position, and it was simply quicker in a column than all spread out. In combat, the column formation could punch a hole in weakened enemy lines, allowing a breach to be created that could then be widened, often leading to a route.
Great formation, right?
Actually, not exactly. See, the column has a massive, gaping weakness. The flanks. Some troops, especially those with long weapons like pikemen or those with rigid formations, could simply not turn to face an enemy quickly. That meant that the side of the formation was their weakest point, and the column formation was almost all sides.
This was why most clever commanders would never use it where an attack was likely.
This was great if you had the time or were somewhere safe to wait for a better option. Wesley and the others simply didn’t, so they sacrificed safety for speed.
It was a gamble, but one that would hopefully pay off.
After all, the jungle couldn’t be that big, right?
It didn’t take long for them to realize they were being watched. Mere minutes into the jungle, they could all feel it—a persistent feeling of being watched. Wesley and the others searched, of course. Wisp form allowed him to even search in the canopy of wide-leaved trees. Nothing at all was found, but the feeling didn’t go away.
Malia gave it an hour and, when they found nothing, kept the column moving. The feeling followed them for hours, never shifting, never leaving. The sims were in constant rotation, circling the column as fast as possible, just in case.
“This is crazy,” Malia said to Wesley, wiping her forehead as they stopped for a drink. “There is nothing out there, but still, I can feel it.”
“I know,” Wesley grumbled. “I even thought it might be the jungle itself.”
“Could be,” Malia noted. “A living ecosystem?”
“I don’t think so,” Wesley shook his head. “I checked.”
“How?” Malia asked, giving Wesley a warning look.
“I sent one of the sims off ways into the jungle and tore the shit out of a tree or two. Nothing happened, even when I had it lay down like it had gone to sleep.” Wesley explained somewhat defensively. “If it got attacked, we’d at least know.”
“Worth a try,” Malia sighed and capped her canteen. “We better keep moving.”
“It’s not like anyone is resting anyway,” Wesley agreed.
He wasn’t wrong. The ‘rest’ was a failed attempt. No one relaxed, not with that feeling of being constantly watched. Wesley felt it even now, the hairs on the back of his neck rising and the persistent, nagging feeling that if he just turned fast enough, he’d see something staring at him.
“Everyone, let’s keep moving,” Malia called.
“Uh, anyone seen Canton?” A woman called, looking around. “He went for a sh—”
“No one goes off alone!” Malia snapped. “How many times do I have to tell you that?”
“I wasn’t gonna fucking watch him take a crap!” The woman protested.
“Dolin, you didn’t have to watch; just go with him!” Rupert called over the rising complaints.
“Sir,” Dolin said sullenly.
“I’ll go look,” Wesley called loudly. “Everyone else, form a defensive circle and wait.”
Canton might as well have disappeared into the sky, which was a possibility that Wesley was not willing to discount, although he didn’t like it very much. He searched for almost an hour, with his sims helping, but found nothing.
Almost nothing.
About five minutes into the search, Wesley came across a belt buckle less than ten feet from camp. It was lying next to a small, half-dug hole in the jungle floor. Other than that? Not a single drop of blood, not a single broken leaf, twig, or scratch on a tree.
He reported back to Malia and the others, the news being received with dead eyes or angry glances at Dolin.
“Enough standing around,” Malia said after giving people a moment. “We move on.”
“He could still be out there!” Dolin protested, probably feeling guilty.
“If he is,” Malia said severely. “Hope it is quick.”
That shut everyone up, and they resumed their trek through the densely packed jungle, with Malia using her sword to carve a wide path for the others to follow.
As they walked, Wesley kept feeling his eyes drawn up, trying to peer through the thick canopy and catch sight of anything that might be up there, waiting for the next one to wander off.
Waiting to snatch another life.
They marched on, their progress slowing as the jungle got thicker and the plants tougher to cut. Three hours of broiling heat, heavy, wet air, and the constant feel of something watching.
Tempers were beginning to flare, the constant frayed nerves leading to grumbling and bitching as people bumped along in the column. Not that fourteen people really counted as a column. It was inevitable that someone would snap, so when it happened, Wesley and Malia were ready.
“Watch where you are going!” A man in the middle of the line rounded on the soldier behind him. “You kick my shins one more fucking time! One more! I’ll fucking—”
The soldier glared and punched him hard in the mouth. Blood flowed.
“Enough!” Malia roared as Wesley jogged over to intervene.
Before he could make it, the first man returned the punch, and a brawl broke out.
“FUCK!” Wesley swore and pulled people apart, slamming a knee into the stomach of one of the brawling pair and slapping the other hard on the forehead. “We don’t have enough problems?”
The two men glared at each other for a second, then nodded guiltily.
“Sorry,” The men shook hands with bad grace.
“Like taking a stroll through an oven isn’t bad enough,” Wesley grumbled, his own patience stretched to breaking point. “We need this schoolyard bullshit? I don’t need this! Malia, do you need this?”
“No, I don’t,” Malia said coldly.
“Rupert, do you need this?”
“No, I do not,” Rupert replied.
“Well, what do you say?” Wesley asked the two men. “Do you need this?”
“No, RIfleman!” They said in unison; the shared camaraderie of those being made an example of temporarily uniting them.
“Good!” Wesley turned and stalked away.
“Sir, Nicholson’s gone!” The soldier speaking was towards the back of the brawl.
“Nicholson! Sound off!” Malia yelled.
Only the constant sounds of the jungle answered.
Wesley let the others get a little ahead of them as the column moved out in double time. He wanted a good look at the area that the missing soldier was last seen in, and as soon as they were out of the way, he crouched down, searching the ground.
The mass of bootprints and divots from the brawl made it impossible to tell, but he was almost sure there was another half-dug-out hole, which was weird. There was effectively no chance the man was digging a temporary latrine right then. Which meant the other hole was probably not a latrine either…
Wesley carefully pulled at the loose dirt, finding nothing suspicious, just more dirt.
Shaking his head, Wesley hurried after the others. He didn’t want to be out of position for too long, just in case it added another name to the list of missing.
Missing… Wes forced himself to be honest.
They were dead.
“What the fuck is going on in this jungle?” Malia muttered to Wesley as they kept an eye on the troops. It was almost four hours since they had lost Nicholson, and this was the first time they had dared to stop.
“I want to get a look above that canopy,” Wesley said, eyes scanning the thick canopy above. “I just have a bad feeling about this.”
“You think something up there is taking them?” Malia asked. “Without us noticing?”
“It seems impossible,” Wesley agreed, “But what if they have some sort of camouflage, something that makes them almost impossible to see, or maybe they are just above the damn trees, and we can’t see them.”
“Go,” Malia said, “Find out, and if there is something up there, kill it or get back here to let us know, okay?”
“On it,” Wesley shifted straight into wisp form, running and leaping for the nearest tree.
He didn’t stop moving, leaping between branches and pulling himself up as fast as he could. Whatever this thing was, Wes knew it had to be fast. If he gave it time, it would just disappear.
He burst out of the top of the canopy and into the evening light… and there it was.
A clear, cloudless, completely empty sky.
“Fuck!” Wesley swore loudly, eyes scanning the canopy from above, looking for a sign of movement, a slightly off-color area of the canopy. Anything really.
Nothing.
Then, the shout of alarm from below.
/////////////////
Wesley dropped straight down, rolling as he landed and dropping the wisp form.
“What happened?” Wesley asked a pale and shaking Malia.
“Joy!” Malia wailed. “She was right there, in the middle of everyone.”
“Everyone get back!” Wesley yelled, sending everyone scrambling away.
There, right in the center, was a small, half-dug hole.
Ice seemed to flow into Wesley’s veins at the sight, and he moved without thought, drawing his shovel and leaping to the spot in a single move.
The blade hit the dirt, and Wesley chose a pit.
A gaping chasm opened beneath his feet, the pit having dug through the crust and into the edge of a massive cavern.
He saw Joy hanging from the edge of the pit, being dragged deeper into the earth by what looked like a strange fleshy root.
“Look out!” Malia warned as her sword elongated. She left a silver arc through the air, severing the root that was trying to drag Joy into the ground.
“I have her!” Rupert, of all people, leaped into the pit and grabbed Joy around the waist, held up by a one-handed grip on the handle from his needle-thin rapier. He had slid it into the earthen wall like a hot knife into butter, but it was somehow able to support the weight of both man and squirrel-kin.
As for Wesley, he shifted to wisp form and kicked off the wall of the pit, slowly bouncing his way back toward the top, which seemed to be slowly closing.
“What kind of bloody nightmare was that?” Malia asked as she helped to pull him out of the rapidly closing pit.
“I didn’t see,” Wesley nodded over his shoulder. “But I think getting off the ground would be a great idea.”
His words were proven true a second later when a scream came from the cluster of shocked soldiers.
“CLIMB!” Rupert roared, and everyone scrambled for the nearest tree.
Wesley saw someone; he had forgotten the man’s name if he ever knew it, dragged under the ground in a sudden flash of movement, and heard another go before they were all perched in the trees.
“Sound off, who’s missing?” Malia called, standing on a thick branch.
“Cohen, Devlin, and Williams are gone,” Rupert called grimly. “Anyone else?”
Everyone else called out, and Wesley took a moment to try and process what the fuck had just happened.
“Joy?” Malia called. “Are you okay?”
“No!” Joy called back. “That thing just grabbed me! I couldn’t move or anything!”
“It paralyzed you?” Malia asked.
“Yes!” Joy called back, “I want to get out of this jungle now, please!”
A sentiment shared wholeheartedly by the rest of the column. The only question was how the hell to manage that when they couldn’t even touch the damn ground.
Wesley, Malia, Joy, and Rupert could probably manage to move from tree to tree, but he wasn’t so sure about the others. Some of them had classes dedicated to making it difficult to move easily, like the shield bearers. They weren’t precisely focused on agile and accurate leaps from one tree to another.
“Ideas?” Malia called, hopefully.
Silence reigned until a shaky voice called out.
“My tree, it’s moving!”
Wesley and the others looked over, and a heavy silence fell over the group as they saw one of the trees beginning to slowly sink into the ground.
A second later, the rest of the trees began to sink as well.
“Fuuuuuck,” Wesley added. “Looks like we are gonna have to go down there and kill it.”
