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“Because I don’t trust them not to fuck it up,” Smith scoffed and shook his head. “If any of those charges don’t detonate, they’ll just be sitting there waiting for someone to step on them wrong.”
Sazahk’s voice cracked through the radio, already halfway through a sentence. “—just destroying the jungle? Has there been ecological research into the impact of that sort of—”
“Motion.” Tar’s deep voice overrode Sazahk’s and everyone fell quiet.
Fal’ran froze and felt Smith go still beside him. He strained his ears and eyes out into the surrounding jungle, searching for whatever Tar had seen. His hand shook on the tree beside Smith’s.
Smith turned his face toward Fal’ran and reached his pinky finger over an inch to touch Fal’ran’s thumb. “Breathe.”
Fal’ran’s lungs remembered their need for oxygen, and he almost gasped in a breath, but caught himself and inhaled silently through his nose.
Smith’s lips curled into a smile. “Good.” He pointed below them with his eyes. “Two o’clock.”
Fal’ran saw a flash of movement behind a tree. A shape appeared, its outline shifting in the play of sunlight and shadow over the jungle floor. Another joined it, and another, and another, and in the span of a quiet breath, the visual information coalesced in Fal’ran’s brain.
Seven soldiers in Klah’Eel uniform, two of them humans. The five in front carried rifles and advanced on Squad M’s position. The two behind held gatlungs at the ready across their bodies.
Smith pressed his lips to the radio and breathed into it. “Hold.”
They’d pulled up all the ropes, so the only evidence of their squad’s presence in the trees was the handholds drilled into the trunks, but Fal’ran still held his breath as the soldiers below crept past. The soldiers with rifles passed below Smith and Fal’ran without pausing.
Watching them slink towards them, Fal’ran realized none of the seven wore a pack. Their only bag was a small sack slung over the shoulder of the gatlung-wielding klah’eel inching below him.
Their totem.
Squad L’s totem snuck obliviously into Fal’ran’s strike range. Fal’ran’s heart pounded, and his upper lip curled around his tusk. He flexed his hand on the rope he still held and reached for the gatlung slung over his shoulder.
Smith caught his wrist. Frustration flared in Fal’ran’s chest, and he glared at Smith. The totem was right there! They could take it. But Smith shook his head minutely, eyes on the soldiers passing below them.
Within a minute, all seven of the soldiers from Squad L passed Sazahk’s shrub and continued south.
“We could have taken it,” Fal’ran hissed when he lost sight of the enemy. “We had a chance.”
“And we’ll have another one.” Smith squeezed Fal’ran’s wrist. “Don’t be rash.”
Fal’ran wanted to ask how Smith knew they’d have another chance as perfect as that one, but he held his tongue. Smith was the one with decades of experience. If Smith told him to wait, he’d wait, but—Fal’ran flexed his hand when Smith released it—but he wasn’t sure how many times.
A round of gunshots echoed from the south, in the direction Squad L had gone, and Smith smirked. “See. They’re doing our jobs for us.”
Fal’ran ground his teeth. Exactly. Someone else was taking action, making noise, getting results. All the powerful people in those ships in the sky had their eyes on someone else, while Fal’ran hid in a fucking tree.
“Go give the totem to Bar’in,” Smith ordered as he stood.
“What?” Fal’ran shot to his feet. More shots rang out from behind him, and he peeked over his shoulder.
“It’s not a punishment, Fal’ran.” Smith rolled his eyes and took Fal’ran’s rope. He stepped close to him on the narrow branch and tipped his chin to look up at him. “You know why. Tell me.”
Fal’ran glared down at him and clenched his jaw. Smith raised a confident eyebrow at him and Fal’ran released his muscles with a curl of embarrassment. God, he was being a child. Smith wasn’t his enemy. “Because he’ll be the farthest from the action.”
“And we’re gonna be in the thick of it.” Smith clapped Fal’ran’s shoulder and passed him on the branch, his muscled body sliding across Fal’ran’s. He flashed him a roguish grin and Fal’ran’s breath caught. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you some action soon enough.”
“With you?” Fal’ran couldn’t help himself. Smith’s consistent, casual avoidance of Fal’ran’s interest made him feel like he had to remind him repeatedly that Fal’ran still wanted him. He had to make sure Smith didn’t forget or write him off as over it.
“Well, yeah, I—” Smith’s brow furrowed in confusion, before understanding dawned in his eyes and a furious blush engulfed his cheeks. “Fal’ran!” He realized his volume and blushed harder, dropping his voice. “This is not the time.”
Fal’ran smirked in the face of Smith’s scowl. “Yeah, yeah, it never is.” He jumped and caught the handhold embedded in the trunk above him, pleased at so easily and thoroughly flustering his handsome captain.
Smith had more interest in Fal’ran than he pretended, and Fal’ran knew it.
