Summoning America

Chapter 200: Arrival

Author's Note:
I will be taking a two-week break from Summoning America, now that I've reached the 200 chapter mark. I think Wattpad has a 200 chapter limit, so I've made Summoning America 2 to continue posting. Just click on my profile and you should be able to find it. I've made an announcement on Discord but I'll post it here as well.

To start, it's a big thank you to my Patrons.

I've got a new Tier coming out sometime in September or October, where I'll be releasing chapters for my new book before the book itself is released on royalroad. Tier 3 patrons and higher will get this benefit integrated.

I'm also planning a free upgrade for Tier 4 Patrons, specifically when it comes to Manifest Fantasy. Starting sometime next month, you'll be able to read 2 chapters (4 weeks) ahead on MF. I'll create another announcement when this is ready.

– –

"Shift your arse, Mercer. Time to scarper, 'fore his mates start looking."

Ashcroft shoved the handset to Mercer, watching the lad fumble the radio into his pack. Pivoting on his heel, he brought his M4 to bear on the fallen GVE officer. The poor bastard's eyes stared up, beginning to glass over but still blinking, moving ever so slightly. A dark pool spread beneath him, staining the floor.

Ashcroft's hand went to the combat dagger at his belt. Bugger all, why'd the bastard have to walk in? Could've been in and out, clean as you please. But no, now it's blade work. He knelt beside the body, knee squelching in cooling blood. He grimaced at the feel of it. Never mind that; he needed to focus.

Left hand over the mouth - force of habit, that. Knife reversed, angled just so. There's the spot, base of the skull. Quick and quiet, like they'd drilled a hundred times. Slide in. Slight resistance, then nothing. Hold. One, two, three. Out.

Job done. He wiped the blade on the dark uniform. The iron stench of blood filled his nostrils. He put the knife away. Right. Time to scarper.

The morning air hit him like a slap, crisp and sharp after the stuffy comms room. Ashcroft blinked in the grey light. It was hard to believe that they'd been in that building for no more than a few minutes.

He scanned the compound, taking it all in. Skeletal buildings to the left – abandoned construction projects that the Valkies were just now taking over. Risky cover, that. To the right, piles of supplies and equipment scattered about like a giant's toy box. Vehicles dotted the space between. Good cover, those, if he didn't mind the risk of some clever bugger starting one up while he was hiding behind it.

A flash lit up the sky to the east, followed by a boom that rattled Ashcroft's teeth. Must be more of Beaumont's work. Shouts cut through the air, yammering on about losing a Wilder. Ashcroft smiled. He had no clue how the bastard managed to do that, but it was absolutely fucking brilliant. Give Beaumont a few firecrackers and a match, he'd bring down the whole bloody empire – starting with their heavy tanks.

More shouts followed, a right cacophony of panic. Boots on gravel, orders being barked. Sounded like what, three squads? Four? How many more of the bastards were out there? They'd counted three squads on patrol earlier, but now it was looking like their estimates were off by a proper margin. Must be at least eight in total, including those that had already gone to investigate the blasts.

He waited for them to pass. They'd be converging on Beaumont's distraction now, no doubt. But for how long? Five minutes? Ten, if the gods were feeling generous? Not nearly long enough, that was certain. And when they twigged it was a diversion... well, best not to dwell on that. Enough problems at hand without borrowing more.

Finally, the voices and footsteps receded. He tapped Mercer's shoulder twice. Best put some distance between them and that cooling corpse before some clever sod thought to check the comms building.