The Assault by Brian Falkner Read Free Book Online Page A

his position carefully—against the cliff face, in a small V-shaped ridge slightly away from the others.
    The rock was hard, but they each had a self-inflating sleeping bag. After eating, Chisnall lay facedown on top of his. He tried lying on his back, but a wash of fiery pain quickly changed his mind. Facedown was a little more comfortable and he could easily have slept, but didn’t. He didn’t even bother taking off his body armor. He lay down as if sleeping but kept his eye to one of the pinholes. If anyone approached with murder on their mind, he would be ready.
    The day began. The heat rose. Even under the thermal camo sheet, it became uncomfortably hot. Chisnall sipped water to keep hydrated and tried to stretch the pain out of his back and legs. He kept one hand on his sidearm, just in case.
    He scanned the riverbed in both directions. To the northeast was the squatting bulk of Mount Morris. Anywhere else in the world, it would have been called a hill rather than a mountain, but in this flat world, it towered over its surroundings.
    When Chisnall was eleven, he had gone to summer camp. They had hiked high into the mountains, to a clearing with log cabins. The camp helpers were mostly older teens. There had been tree climbing, mudslides, and ziplines, but thebest thing about it was the feeling of being away from adult supervision most of the time.
    It felt like an exciting adventure.
    At the beginning, this mission had had the same kind of feeling. The six of them, out on their own. No adults to tell them what to do. But the tampering with his half-pipe had changed all that. This was no longer an adventure. It was no longer fun. It had turned deadly serious. He would have given anything to be back at that camp.

4. HUNTER
    THROUGH THE PINHOLE IN HIS CAMO SHEET, CHISNALL saw that Price had pulled a prizzem (a kind of miniature Bzadian football) out of her pack and was tossing it up in the air. She tossed it to Wilton, who caught it deftly and flicked it on to Brogan. Hunter moved closer, sat beside them, and joined in the game.
    The four of them tossed the ball back and forth aimlessly for a few minutes. They looked tired, but it was hard to go to sleep when the day was just beginning.
    “What’s the LT like, Brogan?” Price asked in a quiet voice. “You know him better than any of us.”
    She clearly didn’t think her voice would carry that far, or she thought Chisnall was already asleep. But he had unusually good hearing and was wide-awake.
    “What do you mean by that?” Brogan asked.
    Price shrugged. “Didn’t mean anything. Just asking a question.”
    Brogan glanced over toward Chisnall before replying. “He’s a good sort. He’s all right.”
    “How’d he get the medal?” Wilton asked, stretching to catch a high ball from Price.
    Under the camo sheet, Chisnall’s hand instinctively reached toward his left breast pocket. The medal was not there, of course. It was in his locker back at base. The medal earned him a lot of respect among the other soldiers, but its presence reminded him of something he’d rather forget. Two years before, during the Ice Wars, he had been attached as an observer to a forward command post. When the Bzadians made a big push, he had found himself behind enemy lines. What had happened next had earned him the Distinguished Service Medal and nightmares that didn’t seem to fade with time.
    “I don’t know,” Brogan said. She was lying, but only Chisnall knew that.
    “You should be honored to be serving under a genuine war hero,” Hunter said.
    “He doesn’t look like a hero,” Wilton said.
    “What does a hero look like, Wilton?” Hunter asked.
    “Not like the LT, that’s for sure,” said Wilton.
    “That’s what makes him so dangerous,” Brogan said. “If he was ten feet tall and bulletproof, everyone would treat him that way. But he just looks ordinary.”
    “Harmless,” Price agreed.
    “By the time you figure out that he’s really the meanest, deadliest