Chương 108: 42.Wounded 42-1

My original plan had been to take Team 144 south and pretend we'd never seen that distress flare. In theory, that was the correct answer. In practice, the Evaporation Forest had never been fond of letting people stick to correct answers. It preferred bonus questions—no points awarded, get it wrong and you die first. We'd pushed south for barely eight minutes when Harvey raised his hand.

"Stop." I dropped immediately, yanking Jess's pack down with me so her punchable head wouldn't pop up over the charred branches. The slope ahead had been half-scalped by the Purgation Gale, blackened roots jutting from the ground like rows of ribs. Below that lay a shallow basin of scorched mud, fresh tracks pressed into the surface. More than one team's worth. I brought the scope to my eye. The flare's origin point was closer than we'd estimated.

The incident site itself was ringed by charred scrub and half-collapsed buttress roots, obscuring the center, but the perimeter was already busy—not the heroic kind of busy. The disgusting kind. On the left high ground, one team prone—three people, holding fire, just watching. Down on the lower right, another team was working their way in slowly. Not moving like rescuers. Moving like scavengers.

Further out, two lone figures were shifting through the debris—probably people who'd broken from their original squads and were now freelancing. Jess pressed up beside me, voice low: "Well. Vulture buffet."

"Correction," I said, eyes on the terrain.

"Vultures at least wait for things to finish dying. This crowd's more proactive." Maki added quietly from behind: "No Academy recovery team visible on the perimeter." The back of my neck tightened. Not visible didn't mean absent. Could mean they hadn't arrived yet. Could mean they had and were positioned elsewhere. The Academy's favorite game was letting us make the scene ugly enough first, then strolling in to log the results. Harvey pressed lower, scratching a rough diagram in the mud with his finger.

"Incident point in the basin. Burnt root high ground north, west side half-collapsed, southeast mud zone. At least three teams watching. First one down becomes the target."

"And it's not just people watching," I said, studying the mud basin's edge.

"Post-Gale half-cooked ground is prime hiding territory. Lucky enough, you get watched by classmates while stepping into a thermal pocket. Very educational death." Jess showed her teeth.

"Federation loves a comprehensive exam." I ignored her and kept scanning. It didn't take long to spot the flare team's traces. A flattened section of tent fabric. An overturned filter bucket. Two scattered supply bags. There'd been a short-term camp there, abandoned in a rush—not an orderly withdrawal, but the kind where someone gets dragged away while coughing blood. Slightly left, a figure was propped against a section of burnt timber. I narrowed my eyes. Not a corpse.

Still moving—barely, like every breath required negotiating with her own lungs. Large scorch marks across the chest armor, right leg not extending properly, a half-snapped positioning flag stuck in the ground beside her. Jess saw it too, voice dropping: "One didn't make it out." Maki followed immediately: "Not necessarily abandoned. Could be designated to wait for recovery."

"Could be bait," Harvey said. Right. That sounded most like this place. I lowered the scope slightly, not rushing to speak. I ran it through first. Direct intervention? Stupid. Complete avoidance? Not necessarily smart either. Because the incident perimeter wasn't just someone needs help anymore. It was becoming a new observation node. People would come to scavenge, to time Academy response, to see which team was broken enough to be worth approaching or finishing.

Walk away entirely and you're tearing up a page of free intelligence. But go down there, and one wrong step turns Team 144 from observers into the next course. I licked my cracked lip and spoke.

"Frost 01 orders. We skirt the perimeter—we don't enter the core. I want to see what these teams are planning." You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. Jess tilted her head.

"So, partial engagement?"

"So, don't rush to volunteer as casualties," I said.

"Frost 03, you're with me on the left high ground—watch the team above. Frost 02, hold center, track the right-side team's approach. Frost 04, watch the casualty and log viable retreat routes. Anyone moves to engage, report first. No freelancing."

"Copy," Harvey said first.

"Understood," Maki followed. Jess gave a low laugh.

"Frost 01, you sound exactly like the kind of squad leader who sends people to die, then complains about their technique."

"Then don't give me material to work with." We split and worked along the outer burnt timber line, maintaining distance. The worst thing about rainforest after a Purgation Gale wasn't limited visibility—it was seeing too clearly. Less cover, more sightlines, everyone's intentions outlined sharp. Jess and I climbed to the left burnt-root ridge as the team above crept forward. Three people—two male, one female, Team 121 armbands. Movement wasn't terrible; at least they weren't making obvious noise.

The problem was their eyes kept drifting toward the casualty. Not the way you look at someone you want to help. The way you look at something you're calculating. Jess murmured in my ear: "I hate that expression."

"I hate Federation lunches too," I said.

"Doesn't mean I throw up on the spot." The right-lower team started moving. Harvey's transmission cut in immediately.

"Frost 02 reporting. Two-person element, lower right, accelerating approach. Target is scattered supplies, not the casualty." Maki followed: "Casualty has empty flare gun holster. No primary weapon visible. Drag marks in surrounding soil—at least two people were removed." I kept my eyes on the figure against the burnt timber, feeling that familiar heat building in my chest. This was Forest School's most disgusting aspect. When real danger hit, everyone became very civilized.

Because the system had already normalized the cruelty. Someone else's misfortune didn't require action—just observation, scavenging what they couldn't carry before extraction, and pretending you were being practical. Perfect. Advanced education. Then the casualty moved. Not rolling over. Raising a hand. Barely—like every bone had filed a formal objection. She waved once toward the left high ground, probably asking for water or extraction from the heat. Team 121's lead looked down once. Didn't move.

The right-lower pair didn't bother looking. One was already rifling through supply bags. The other crouched to strip the filter bucket. Jess's breathing changed.

"I'm going down to take their hands off." I grabbed her wrist.

"You go down now, you give everyone a shared target." She ground her teeth, eyes vicious enough to bite, but didn't pull free. Good. I wasn't having a virtue attack either. I just saw further ahead than she did. This scene needed someone to make the first shot everyone else's problem—not ours. I watched both teams below, thinking fast. No direct engagement. But leaving the casualty as a landmark while everyone closed in wasn't viable either. Drag this out and it only gets uglier.

When Academy recovery arrives, if Team 144's still prone nearby, we're in the record too.

"Frost 01 decision," I said quietly.

"Limited intervention." Harvey immediately: "Method."

"We don't go down, don't show faces, don't contact the casualty," I said, watching the basin.

"Frost 02, fake a thermal pocket collapse on your right—drive those scavengers back. Frost 04, when they're distracted, throw water and hemostatic patches to the casualty's left-rear. Enough to sustain her, not enough for attachment. Frost 03—" Jess was already smiling, thin and sharp.

"I know. Make the left high ground think there's another team watching."

"Exactly," I said.

"Make it feel like more than one set of eyes. Nobody scavenges in peace."

"Genuinely sinister plan," Jess murmured.

"Thanks. I work at it." Three seconds later, Team 144 moved simultaneously. Harvey went first. He drove his tool handle hard under a half-cooked mud layer on the right, then pulled back. The Gale-baked surface—cold above, live below—collapsed with a heavy thud. Heat vented upward with scorched stench. The two scavengers jumped clear, nearly tumbling into the adjacent pit.

"Shit—thermal pocket!" One cursed loud enough to carry. Simultaneously, Maki threw a small package in a fast arc. It skipped off burnt timber and stopped beside the casualty—small but visible. Half a processed water pouch, two hemostatic patches, one electrolyte strip. Nothing more. Enough to survive, not enough to mistake us for charity. Jess was worse. No rock throwing. No big noise. Just tapped her blade back against burnt log interior three times, shifted, tapped twice more.

Rhythm deliberately suggesting another team repositioning. Team 121 on the left ridge went tight immediately—all three dropping flat, scanning the wrong direction entirely. Perfect. Suspicion was the cheapest, most effective poison. The casualty heard the movement, froze, then spotted the package by her hand. Moving slowly, she reached out and pulled it in. No looking up for the source. No calling out. Brain still functional. I gave her a silent point.

Not from affection—anyone who knew not to spotlight themselves at a time like this was marginally less annoying. The right-side scavengers, spooked by the thermal collapse, didn't dare push back toward center. One actually looked up and cursed at the left high ground, assuming they were responsible. Team 121 was already tense, convinced another team was flanking, and the whole atmosphere curdled. The messier it got, the better for us.

I waited five seconds, confirmed nobody had traced the actual interference points, then gave the order.

"Frost 01 orders. Full disengage. Pull south-southwest—no recovery, no traces."

"Copy," Harvey moved first. Maki took one last look at the casualty's position: "Copy." Jess slid down the burnt root beside me, wearing that thin cold smile—not quite satisfied, but marginally better.

"So did we intervene or not?"

"We committed the least idiotic version of minding someone else's business," I said, pocketing the scope and erasing my mud prints.

"We didn't play heroes, didn't scavenge, didn't tie ourselves to the incident. We gave exactly enough that Frost 01 through 04 can still survive to curse the Academy tomorrow." Jess snorted.

"Cold-blooded."

"Wrong," I said.

"That's rationed humanity. Military academy discount edition." Harvey added from ahead, cold and efficient: "Enough. More would've been asking for trouble." Maki followed in that tone that made you want to smother her: "Furthermore, this approach ensures perimeter teams remain mutually suspicious. Short-term, nobody will feel secure enough to hold the site. For the casualty, this is more beneficial than direct intervention." I glanced sideways at her. Right. Again. Infuriating.

"Log it, Frost 04," I said.

"Day six, incident perimeter observation: First, post-flare response from nearby teams was not rescue—observation, scavenging, positioning. Second, sufficient perimeter pressure makes people better at checking each other than insects are. Third—" I paused, stepping over a split, blackened root.

"Third, don't expect clean outcomes from incident sites. They only grow more incidents." Maki murmured: "Logged." By the time we cleared the basin, the flare trail had mostly dissipated—just a faint white scar against the dirty grey sky, like a stain that wouldn't wash clean.