grumbled.
“It’s their army rations,” Brogan said. “They probably hate it as much as we hate our MREs.”
Meals ready to eat had been the bane of the combat soldier’s life since forever.
“I’d give my right arm for an MRE right about now,” Wilton said.
“Just eat your greens or you can’t have pudding,” Brogan said.
Chisnall laughed and looked around. “Somebody go wake Hunter. Tell him he can’t sleep all day and all night too.”
“LT!” There was something in Price’s voice.
Chisnall’s primary weapon was in his hands before he even had time to think. He was on his feet, scanning the horizon.
“Over here,” Price said, her voice coming in gulps between short breaths. She had peeled back a corner of Hunter’s camo sheet.
Specialist Stephen Huntington was dead.
His face was contorted and red, as if he had been fighting for breath. There was froth around his mouth and a dribble of vomit down his cheek. His eyes were fixed, wide and staring.
“Drop the camo,” Chisnall said. “Move back slowly.” He was conscious of the others crowding around. “Get back, all of you.”
“What the—” Wilton started.
“Brogan, if he can’t be quiet, shut him up for me,” Chisnall said.
He extended the long snout of his weapon and lifted the sheet, flicking it up and away down the rock. Hunter was still in his sleeping bag, but his body was not relaxed. It was distorted in hideous contortions, his arms and legs locked at strange angles beneath the inflated padding of the sleeping bag that was pulled tight around his neck.
Chisnall took a step closer and used his weapon to loosen the top of the sleeping bag. There was a sudden chafing noise, like two pieces of fabric rubbing together. He lifted it higher and an olive-green snake with black checkered scales appeared at the mouth of the bag, raising its head as if to attack before slithering quickly over the rocks and down toward the river.
The hard man of the refugee camps had been no match for a creature of the Australian desert.
“Damn! Inland taipan,” Brogan said. “Deadliest snake in the world.”
“Unlucky dude,” Wilton said.
“You think?” Price said.
“From now on, everybody check your sleeping bags before you crawl into them,” Brogan said. “We don’t want anyone else to get unlucky.”
There was a murmur of agreement from the others.
Unlucky was right, Chisnall thought. But not for the reason that they thought. Seven of the deadliest snakes in the world live in Australia. But this was too much of a coincidence, especially after the sabotaged half-pipe. And the inland taipan might be the deadliest snake in the world, but it was also one of the shyest. It did not attack unless threatened, and the chances of one crawling into Hunter’s sleeping bag were slim. And why hadn’t Hunter cried out? A taipan’s bite was deadly, but death was not instantaneous. The only reason Chisnall could think of was that Hunter had already been unconscious when he had been bitten.
But why? Had Hunter seen or heard something? Had he interrupted the traitor in another act? If so, what was it?
“Bury him,” he said. “And his gear. Except for the laser comm. Brogan, you take that. And eat your breakfast. We are Oscar Mike in twenty.”
Brogan extracted the laser comm unit from Hunter’s backpack while the rest of them prepared a hole in the sand. Chisnall recorded the GPS coordinates of the grave. That was standard practice behind enemy lines, in case there was ever an opportunity in the future to recover the body.
“LT.” It was Brogan.
“What is it?” Chisnall asked.
“The laser comm, it’s nonfunctional.”
“Let me have a look,” Chisnall said.
He knelt down beside her and examined the unit. It powered up okay, but when he pressed the test switch, the diagnostic lights glowed red instead of green. He shook it a couple of times in case there was just something loose inside it, but the unit refused to
“It’s their army rations,” Brogan said. “They probably hate it as much as we hate our MREs.”
Meals ready to eat had been the bane of the combat soldier’s life since forever.
“I’d give my right arm for an MRE right about now,” Wilton said.
“Just eat your greens or you can’t have pudding,” Brogan said.
Chisnall laughed and looked around. “Somebody go wake Hunter. Tell him he can’t sleep all day and all night too.”
“LT!” There was something in Price’s voice.
Chisnall’s primary weapon was in his hands before he even had time to think. He was on his feet, scanning the horizon.
“Over here,” Price said, her voice coming in gulps between short breaths. She had peeled back a corner of Hunter’s camo sheet.
Specialist Stephen Huntington was dead.
His face was contorted and red, as if he had been fighting for breath. There was froth around his mouth and a dribble of vomit down his cheek. His eyes were fixed, wide and staring.
“Drop the camo,” Chisnall said. “Move back slowly.” He was conscious of the others crowding around. “Get back, all of you.”
“What the—” Wilton started.
“Brogan, if he can’t be quiet, shut him up for me,” Chisnall said.
He extended the long snout of his weapon and lifted the sheet, flicking it up and away down the rock. Hunter was still in his sleeping bag, but his body was not relaxed. It was distorted in hideous contortions, his arms and legs locked at strange angles beneath the inflated padding of the sleeping bag that was pulled tight around his neck.
Chisnall took a step closer and used his weapon to loosen the top of the sleeping bag. There was a sudden chafing noise, like two pieces of fabric rubbing together. He lifted it higher and an olive-green snake with black checkered scales appeared at the mouth of the bag, raising its head as if to attack before slithering quickly over the rocks and down toward the river.
The hard man of the refugee camps had been no match for a creature of the Australian desert.
“Damn! Inland taipan,” Brogan said. “Deadliest snake in the world.”
“Unlucky dude,” Wilton said.
“You think?” Price said.
“From now on, everybody check your sleeping bags before you crawl into them,” Brogan said. “We don’t want anyone else to get unlucky.”
There was a murmur of agreement from the others.
Unlucky was right, Chisnall thought. But not for the reason that they thought. Seven of the deadliest snakes in the world live in Australia. But this was too much of a coincidence, especially after the sabotaged half-pipe. And the inland taipan might be the deadliest snake in the world, but it was also one of the shyest. It did not attack unless threatened, and the chances of one crawling into Hunter’s sleeping bag were slim. And why hadn’t Hunter cried out? A taipan’s bite was deadly, but death was not instantaneous. The only reason Chisnall could think of was that Hunter had already been unconscious when he had been bitten.
But why? Had Hunter seen or heard something? Had he interrupted the traitor in another act? If so, what was it?
“Bury him,” he said. “And his gear. Except for the laser comm. Brogan, you take that. And eat your breakfast. We are Oscar Mike in twenty.”
Brogan extracted the laser comm unit from Hunter’s backpack while the rest of them prepared a hole in the sand. Chisnall recorded the GPS coordinates of the grave. That was standard practice behind enemy lines, in case there was ever an opportunity in the future to recover the body.
“LT.” It was Brogan.
“What is it?” Chisnall asked.
“The laser comm, it’s nonfunctional.”
“Let me have a look,” Chisnall said.
He knelt down beside her and examined the unit. It powered up okay, but when he pressed the test switch, the diagnostic lights glowed red instead of green. He shook it a couple of times in case there was just something loose inside it, but the unit refused to
Similar Books
