Turncoat: Turncoat Trilogy Book 1

Chapter 24.2

I pressed myself behind a boulder on the creek bed, listening intently to what I could hear around me. Gunfire to my left, so that might be Nick, or it could be Vicki. I sat there for a moment, regaining my breath for I second and started limping for a tree wide enough to hide behind.

I wrapped my fingers around the shrapnel shard sticking out of my side and gave it a tug. A hiss slid from my lips and I released it. Just get far enough away without being killed, or bleeding out, and then head for Creston. I would need a mechanic for my leg or I would have to do it myself, and a doctor. The thoughts started piling up in my head of what I had to do, that I nearly missed the trip wire. Carefully stepping over it, I continued to walk along.

I paused behind a tree, looking down to see the red smear on my shirt had extended, nearly reaching my hip. I put my free hand over the wound and pressed down, hoping to stop some of the blood flow before moving on. These wounds were so going to get infected.

I paused once more and looked around, the forest had fallen mostly silent. It was an ominous silence. I stopped in place, listen for some sound, any sound. It was like the whole world was holding it's breath to see what would happen next.

"Sergeant Jameson, I am so disappointed to see that my initial suspicions of you were correct," Captain Becker's voice rang out from behind me.

I turned back, bringing my pistol up. Becker stood a few feet away, his normally crisp uniform covered in dirt and mud.

"What initial suspicions?" I asked.

"That you were lying to me when we first met," he said. "It's actually quite sad, I wanted to have you transferred out of that god forsaken equipment depot and stationed somewhere where your talents with a computer could be put to use. I do think your transfer was handled exceptionally well."

"Are we going to stand here and have a conversation about my pitiful work life?" I asked. "Because I do have places to go."

"Oh yes, fleeing to the front lines," Becker said. "Running to those Alliance bigots. Did I see a brand on your back?"

I reached behind me, surprised to find my shirt ripped and torn. "Brand? No brand," I said hastily.

"See, there you go again lying to me. See I had a conversation with those Loyalists you ran into a month ago and did you know they record their...interrogation sessions," Becker said. "See, I thought that was a bad thing at first, but then, then I learned that it's actually a good thing. Especially when the person being interrogated starts muttering in a different language."

"Another language?" I asked.

"Ah yes, you were muttering under your breath a few times when half conscious, most of it was gibberish and then I realized that it was gibberish because it wasn't a language I understood, but one I recognized from several years of being stationed in a holding camp in the east. Now, I did peg you for one of them, a Tzi. Just something about how you acted, it was too artificial."

"What are you gonna do? Send me to a camp?" I asked. "Rip out my bionics and leave me to die?"

"No, you see, stripping you of your bionics and killing you just doesn't seem justified," Becker said. "I mean, you are committing treason and I hated having to come rescue you from your pathetic former commanding officer that couldn't even rig a proper suit malfunction."

"Then what?"

"Well, we obviously can't let you near any computers, elsewise, who knows what you'd do," Becker said. He started walking towards me and I hobbled back. "So, I think just killing you here, nice and slowly would suffice. Don't gum up the works somewhere else. Just leave you here to rot and let the animals feed on your corpse."

He slipped his jacket off and tossed it aside. I tightened my grip on my pistol. "Don't come any closer," I said.

"Or else what?" he asked. "Haven't you heard of the twenty three foot rule?"

"Twenty three foot rule?" I asked.

"Yes, inside twenty three feet, your pistol is useless," he said.

"Why?"

Becker took two steps and slammed his palm into my wrist, sending my aim awry and the shot wide.