Leave Me Behind

Dark clouds shroud the sky. Not a drop of moonlight leaks through the mundane wall of gray. The aircraft hums and rattles as another round of wind berates the metal siding.

Everyone’s been silent for the majority of the nine-hour flight. Our gear has been checked twice and Eren has gone over the plan at least four more times while we sit, anxious and buzzing.

Bradshaw has a glum expression, as if he’s already mourning the loss of comrades today. But he seems to be the only one who’s deep in thought about it. Harrison has a manic smile and his knee bounces repeatedly. Jefferson and Pete look wired with adrenaline, studying their maps and cleaning their guns twice over. Ian strikes me as calm and not too concerned about anything. Air power gets to hang back with the sniper, but he doesn’t know we’ll be in the throes of things yet.

“Be ready to drop in three minutes. We’re in Labrador, soldiers,” the pilot calls out in our headgear. Eren motions his hands for us to unstrap and get ready to jump.

God, I hate this part.

We line up at the drop bay and grab hold of the handles that swing above us as the door opens. Cold, wet air rushes at us. I knew it was stormy, but I didn’t think it was a complete downpour. The scent of rain and wet soil fills the space around us with a chill. The roar of the engine drowns out all other sounds.

Shit. This much rain isn’t a good sign. Visibility will be low. But at least it might give us some cover. If what Eren said is true and we’re anticipating an ambush, we’ll need it. My shoulders tense as I pull the mask matching Bradshaw’s over my face. It’s a half skull, black-matte face shield. I take a deep breath and try not to let it bother me that one of the men standing before me is a traitor.

Bradshaw’s hand plants firmly on my shoulder and I turn slightly to look up at his hardened gaze. His mask is a mirror of mine, with dark face paint around his eyes. He doesn’t let anything show through them, but the weight of his hand conveys his wordless stare.

It’ll be okay.

“Drop, drop, drop!” Eren shouts and, like mechanisms of war, we move like death, thoughtless and only as weapons. Jefferson, Harrison, Pete, then Ian. I pull down my goggles and walk straight off the edge and hold my breath like I always do as the butterflies swarm inside my stomach. They fade quickly and I’m able to regain my focus.

We don’t fall for long before we deploy our parachutes. The rain instantly affects the descension. It’s so fucking dark out here, it’s hard to tell where the tree line starts and where the small clearing we’re aiming for is. We’re going in blind and trusting Jefferson to guide us down.

Rain crashes against the parachutes loudly and blurs my goggles. Fuck. Come on. I can make out the shape of trees just as a gust of wind blows. The air catches in my parachute and thrusts me back. My teeth clench as I prepare to collide into a tree or fall to my death.

“Bunny!” Bradshaw’s voice is loud and booming, competing with the storm that wails around us.

I don’t have time to say anything before branches slap against my forearms and head. I’m waiting to be impaled by a broken branch but, luckily, I continue to fall through. My body jerks up as my parachute catches on the branches above. When I open my eyes, the ground is a few inches away from my dangling body.

A relieved breath escapes me and I don’t waste time unclicking my deployment bag. My shoulders are sore and so are my ribs, but nothing else seems to be injured. I immediately click on my night vision and scan the area.

The top of Bradshaw’s helmet glints, slick with rain. I head toward him. He’s in complete stealth mode. The way his broad body moves so lethally sends chills up my spine. I say in a low voice through the headset, “Bones, coming up behind you.”

He turns and squats beside me when I reach his side. I can barely make out his eyes beneath his goggles as he looks me up and down thoroughly. “You okay?” he asks quietly. I give him a sharp nod.

Ian comes in through the headset. “Bones, Bunny, ten o’clock.” Our heads snap in that direction and, even with night vision, it’s hard to make out his camouflaged figure.

We move like liquid through the underbrush. I try to orient myself, but I can’t figure out where we are geographically. The wind has brought the pine trees to life, their rattling raucous and distracting. I studied that map until my eyes bled, but with the storm and crash landing it’s useless to guess where we are exactly while under the canopy of trees.

Bones mutters with an empty tone, “Where are the others?”

Ian shakes his head as the pounding of the rain thrums against the leaves above. The plan has already unraveled so much. But, as with any mission, we’re to get back on track immediately if we get separated.

“Wasp, Jobs, and Badger are probably fine. Let’s find the clearing and get to the vantage point to watch their backs as planned,” I say sternly. Ian notices my uniform and mask are the same as Bradshaw’s and it gives him pause. He stares at me and only moves when Bradshaw nudges him and jerks his head.

It takes about five minutes until we get our bearings and find the clearing. The field is empty and a certain death sentence for anyone who walks out there right now. The rain has thickened and visibility is so low that I doubt I’d be able to make a clean shot.

“Wasp, come in,” Ian mutters as we lower into a thick bush.

Silence.

“Badger, where are you?” Ian tries Pete.

No response. I shift on my feet uneasily and look at Bradshaw. His breaths are hard but that’s all I can make out in the dark.

“Jobs… Jobs, come in.” Ian’s voice is laced with despair.

The worst-case scenario is playing out in my mind. Was the enemy waiting for them once they landed? Were they killed quickly? Taken as hostages? My throat dries with dread at the thought. I shut my eyes and try to refocus.

My headset crackles. “Colt? This is Jobs. What is your location? Over.” The voice sounds too low to be Jefferson’s. A warning signal goes off in my head, screaming that something is wrong.

Ian opens his mouth to reply.

I set my hand over his lips and he stills, eyes flicking to me with apprehension. Slowly, I shake my head.

“This is Jobs. Colt, I need the location, over,” the man repeats.

Ian jerks away from me and opens his mouth again to reply. This time I unclip his helmet with his headset attached and toss it into the bushes.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He shoves me back on my ass.

I make sure my headset is muted before snapping, “That’s not Jobs.”

Bradshaw moves beside Ian, his goggles are set on top of his helmet, and glares down at me. “Jobs, what’s the name of the book you gave me last week?”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I’ve never given you a fucking book, Bones. What the fuck are you talking about? Where you guys at? Did Bunny eat shit?” The voice belongs to Jobs this time. I stare at Bradshaw. Can he really not hear the two different voices?

Bones nods his approval and tilts his head for Ian to go collect his helmet. I hear Ian list off the coordinates for our location. The blood in my ears roars loudly and my gut tells me something awful is about to happen.

“Those were two different peo⁠—”

Bradshaw grips my arm and cuts me off. “You don’t get to put your trust in yourself over us. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re trying to fuck this mission up.” He unsheathes his combat knife and angles it to my throat. “I don’t trust you, Bunny. Pull something like that again and I’ll cut your throat myself.”

My heart pounds heavily. He’s dead serious. “You think I’m trying to derail the mission?” My voice is laden with venom. The rain pummels against our gear.

Bradshaw’s eyes narrow. “I think you’re trying to keep the squad split up, which is a dead ringer for a conspirator.”

I can’t fucking believe this. He thinks after all the bullshit I’ve gone through, that I’d be the traitor? That I’d throw away my only chance to avenge Jenkins?

“Suit yourself. I’ll watch through the scope.” I say, a mere few inches from his face, as I tear my arm out of his grip. The moment I’m free he grabs my other arm roughly.© 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

“Why? So you can blow all our brains out from afar? We stick together, you and me, remember?” His voice is low.

Footsteps are approaching and my mind starts to focus more on them than Bradshaw. He notices the shift in me and loosens his hold as he glances over to the approaching men. I take the chance and tear out of his hold. Once free, I don’t waste a second. I sprint through the rain and remain low.

Get to a secure location and then snipe anyone who’s threatening the squad, I tell myself. Giving orders as if you’re talking to comrades was something Jenkins taught me that would help in times of panic. “Let the monster in you take over.”

I slide in the mud and moss and turn so I lie flat on my stomach. The sniper rifle is already put together, but I have to load it and wipe the water from the scope.

By the time my eye is raised to the scope I can see Ian. His eyes are shifty as he looks for me, and… Jefferson. My heart misses a beat. Then Harrison comes up beside them and Pete.

I was wrong?

No. I studied them thoroughly; I know everything about their traits down to the wire. Ian was talking to someone else… Did he only pretend to radio them? Maybe he was signaling to someone else and Jobs responded to Bradshaw because he used his own headset. I continue to watch for a second before I realize Bradshaw isn’t among them. I glance up and find him standing above me with his arms crossed.

“Get. Up.” Each word is clipped with fury. He’s been talking to me differently since he returned from the infirmary, like he’s someone else entirely, or he thinks I am. He said he didn’t trust me and I saw the resolve in his gaze. He really would cut my throat if he thinks I’m a danger to the squad.

“I’m telling you, something is wrong—” My reply is cut with the sound of a bullet ringing through the trees. It rings out from across the clearing.

“Fuck, let’s go.” Bradshaw grips the collar of my jacket and lifts me up. He shoves me toward our squad and I reluctantly move in their direction.

“Where’s Sarge?” I say low enough so the sound of my voice won’t carry far.

Bradshaw shakes his head. “No clue.”

Something’s wrong with this entire mission and I can already taste blood in the air. A low buzzing stirs in the back of my mind, saying over and over: Get the fuck out of here.

I know I’ll regret this.

My leg juts out and I stop abruptly. Bradshaw’s moving too quickly to evade my leg and plummets to the ground. I fall over him a second later. His voice is a loud grumbled sound but any words are drowned out by the explosions that shake the earth around us.

He goes still and I hold my breath as a wall of smoke rolls over us and through the underbrush.

The headset fires off with rushed shouts.

“Ambush! I repeat, amb—” Jefferson’s voice gets cut short with gunfire.

“Fuck!” Pete curses through the radio, his breathing labored.

Bradshaw shoulders me off him and stands, charging blindly into the smoke toward his comrades. I grit my teeth at his inability to stay put.

I pull my knife out and grip it with the blade facing my ulnar bone. Killing in close quarters is not in my official file. It shouldn’t even be in my skill set. I prefer not to do it either; it’s messy and so much more personal.

But Jenkins made sure I knew how to slice a carotid from jaw to clavicle to ensure death beyond a doubt. He was keen on never having any ghosts come back from the grave.

My eyes close before I reopen them and slowly move through the thicket in a crouched position.

A figure forms out of the smoke and, although I can’t see his uniform or mask, I can tell by the way he moves that he’s not any of my squadmates. It almost isn’t fair, the unnoticed movements I make as I creep up on him, straightening behind him like a reaper who’s come to claim a soul.

My slash is swift and deep. He only makes a low grunt before collapsing to the ground like a sack of rocks. I move on without waiting for him to die. There’s no coming back from the opening in his flesh. A quick glance down at my gloves, coated with hot, sticky blood, makes my throat tighten.

The next throat is easier, fewer thoughts invade my hollow mind.

I’ll kill anyone who isn’t Malum.

And then I’ll kill the rat.