Stories from the War: Military Dystopian Thriller

by Autumn M. Birt

New Heir

  November 2061

  “You will replace him,” her father said. Danielle stared at him. “It is the only way this will work. I will make the arrangements.”

  “Of course,” she said, uncertain if she thought the words or spoke. It was why he was there after all. Why he had finally come to her after years. She was his last hope.

  Danielle watched the slim back of her father as he left, hating the air that filled his lungs. His lungs instead of her brother’s. She’d rip them out and give them to Jacque if it’d bring him back. If there was enough of him left that a new set of lungs even mattered. Danielle bent her head, crying in silent, body-wracking sobs into her hand.

  She’d hated the war since the beginning of last year when in its earliest days her half-brother Pietre had died as a common soldier. Pietre who was anything but common. Twenty-seven and handsome, he’d only just begun to imagine settling down with his girlfriend when the war came. Danielle had tried to convince him not to join. Their family was above common soldiering! They were le Marc, a name synonymous with politics in France. But no, that had not been enough for Pietre. He’d wanted to be a hero. And it had killed him.

  She blamed her father. His money and power should have been able to protect his second eldest son. But no, Count le Marc had been focused on his eldest. The rest, Pietre, her, her mother - his second wife, could disappear. She didn’t remember if he’d even come for the funeral, at least the private part. He was there for the public pictures, of course. It turned out nothing bought support and a sympathetic media like the grieving father of a soldier. Dieu, how she hated him.

  And now Jacque was gone too. The one her father had wanted to protect, had crafted from the earliest days to take over the family name and dynasty, he too was dead. Thirty-two with a young son, the first of the new le Marc generation, and a wife pregnant with the next, killed when a bomb detonated on the streets of Paris. Their car’s plate was the only thing identifiable in the mess. It had been found dented, but readable, under the rubble of a building.

  Both of her brothers gone, half brothers as her father had often pointed out as if they held the better of the halves, and now he came for her. She’d make him pay. She wasn’t sure when or how, but his time would come.

  —

  “We are here today to honor the memory of Jacque le Marc and his family, wife Megan and their son Rennault, named after his grandfather Count Renault le Marc.”

  The funeral service floated in Danielle’s vision like a television set with poor reception. It certainly couldn’t be real. Her father might not have been able to protect Jacque or Pietre from the war, but his money and wealth certainly bought a grand funeral. Especially considering it came in the middle of a war when many were dying every day. Flowers, music, and a grand black casket embossed with gold for Jacque sat at the head of the chapel. Next to it were two white ones for Megan and Rennault, Rennault’s so small as to look like one for a doll. She would have cried if there were tears left in her.

  Danielle sat through the agony of it, emotions alternating between numbness and anger. As the only living heir to the le Marc family, she sat in the front, a position not even granted to her father’s ex-wife or Danielle’s mother, his current one. She sat separated from family and friends, but next to her father’s favorite allies or worst enemies. Both offered equal condolences over the death of Jacque. The politics of it, here at her beloved brother’s funeral, sickened her.

  “Dear girl. I think she is going to faint,” the man next to her said, putting an arm around her shoulders. The world twisted white.

  Air fanned against her clammy skin revived Danielle. Groggy, she sat up only realizing as she did that she had been leaning over. She wasn’t in the cathedral. Bare limbed trees reached skyward to catch fitful clouds.

  “Are you feeling better, dear?” the brown haired man asked, his hand holding hers.

  “Yes. Thank you for your help,” Danielle answered, voice sounding like it came through a paper cup.

  “You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked, sitting next to her.

  She shook her head. “I’m ... not feeling myself. Forgive me,” she answered. Polite. She had been taught to always be polite to her daddy’s associates.

  “David, David Eldridge. I’ve known your father a very long time.”

  The name caught a spark of recognition. British. But she could have guessed that from the accent. Political, of course. Other details felt as ephemeral as if she reached to grab mist.

  “It has been a long time,” David said into her silence. “You were quite young, but have grown up into a fine young lady. How old are you now, dear?”

  “Twenty-one,” she answered, thinking again of her brother, only thirty-two and dead.

  “I wish we could have met again under better circumstances. My sympathies. Your father said how close you were to your brother.”

  Danielle nodded, the motion dislodging warm tears. David stayed with her, escorting her to the graveside. He was a solid presence next to her, speaking the correct phrases when necessary to keep people away from her. Danielle didn’t need to say anything. Across the graveside, her father watched her and David warily.

  After, David escorted her to her father’s car. With a tender smile, he abandoned her, Danielle’s father joining a few minutes later. It was a silent ride back to her father’s house. All Danielle wanted was to shut the door to her new bedroom and never come out.

  —

  “Get up,” Renault demanded, throwing the covers back from Danielle’s bed.

  She clutched at them, squirming like a frightened girl. Her father grabbed her foot and dragged her from the tangled mess of bedding and pillows. She hit the floor on her rump.

  “You are not a child! Act your age, Danielle. You are my daughter and you will behave as such.”

  Her father stood over her, hands on hips. It had been a futile attempt to defy him, refusing to leave her bed for dinner, breakfast, or a shower. He’d let her be for a day, probably too busy to bother with her small rebellion. But now he’d come.

  She’d already crossed him. There wasn’t much more to lose.

  Danielle sat up and reached for the blankets. Pulling them over her head, she wrapped herself in the downy folds, twisting out of grabbing hands. The thick fabric padded smacks and befuddled ripping fingers. Tangled as one, she and the bedding were yanked upright and pushed forward.

  Stumbling against a door jamb, Danielle was too disoriented to direct her journey. The blankets impeded her now, blinding her vision and encumbering her movements. Every time she pulled away from the ruthless guidance, she stumbled against a piece of furniture or a door. A table crashed. A final push forward sent her careening into a cold wall. Colder water spouted onto her, soaking the bedding. She screamed and cried as she fought with the sodden mess. No hands held her down or helped. Fumbling, she at least managed to bump the water to warm.

  Finally free of the last of the sheets, Danielle met her father’s gaze where he stood at the door to the bathroom.

  “Be presentable and downstairs in half an hour.”

  There was no “or else.” There was no choice.

  Danielle rested her head against the shower wall, tears joining the falling water. After a minute, she reached for the soap.

  The next two days were completely unlike any she had imagined on the few occasions she’d pondered capturing her father’s attention and joining the family enterprise of politics. She’d thought of fine suits, stylish grooming, rehearsing speeches. She thought she’d have to run for election and win.

  “We are at war,” her father told her flatly.

  “So they are just going to hand me a seat on the new EU Parliament?” she scoffed.

  “Yes.”

  Danielle had been joking. She thought he was as well. But under his steady stare, she realized he wasn’t.

  “How? I don’t understand. We are a democracy and ...”

  “Have you not bee
n paying attention to anything that has occurred the last two years?” Renault snapped.

  Her cheeks pricked with heat. “Of course, we are at war with the FLF.”

  “And?”

  “Formed a single governing body for the EU after the simultaneous attack and destruction of each country’s government. The surviving parliamentary members from each country were formed into a single emergency government.”

  “Well, at least you know that much. How many members? What happens if one is killed?”

  “I ... I don’t know. There’d be an election, I suppose.”

  “Really? When? Have you heard of any elections being scheduled?” Renault asked. He spoke to her like she were five and incredibly dull witted. Tears smarted her eyes as she struggled to think.

  “No. But the radio and telly have been intermittent. I haven’t managed to go online in over a month and even then most of the websites were down.”

  “That is because we are at war,” Renault repeated. “The FLF is attacking the power grid. News stations have been targeted and are mostly pirated stations now, half of which are run by the FLF. Large servers were one of the first things destroyed ... in the US. Lets not discuss the situation in Europe. The internet is nearly collapsed, dear. Please spend some time paying attention to the reality outside of the house for a bit.”

  He left her then. Which was a relief. Feeling like a fool was not something she relished, especially when her father was correct. She didn’t have a clue to what was happening other than the war had killed her brothers.

  The need to prove she was worth something to her father lured her out of her grief. Mind shaking off its fog, she pondered who she could ask for information as she stared out her bedroom window at quiet streets. Few people scurried between buildings, keeping to the shadows as though the war were in Paris already. Well, it was in a way. That was where her brother had died. She wondered for the first time where the front lines were. Wasn’t that what they called the line of fighting between sides?

  Turning away from the window, she saw a flash of red, blue, and white on a fluttering bit of cloth. A shirt of one of the few pedestrians wore had the imprint of the UK flag. Then Danielle knew whom she could call. Her father would hate it.

  She found Eldridge’s number by sneaking into her father’s study. It was easy enough to find. She knew where her father kept his important things. But reaching David was less so. The phone crackled with static the first time she tried to call. The next time it was dead. Once it rang, but no one picked up. Finally, after two days, a voice answered. It was David Eldridge.

  “What is it dear,” he answered once she explained who she was, and that she had a few questions.

  Cheeks burning enough that she was grateful that a video chat wasn’t possible, Danielle asked the questions her father had refused to answer.

  “You understand he and I are part of ... let’s call it the core of the new government.”

  “It was an emergency Ministry, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. Ministry Operations Targeting Holistic Emergency Response, MOTHER, they’ve called it. We’ve helped hold Europe together since the first attacks.”

  David painted a picture of her father she didn’t want to know. It sounded heroic, saving the country from government-less chaos. But she knew the truth. It was her brothers who had fought, and died, in the war.

  “But there is a Parliament now. How do we elect representatives?”

  “We don’t. How could we hold elections with the fighting breaking across borders and chaos erupting in cities without warning? This is an active war, here on home soil. If we held an election, the polling stations would be the next target.”

  “But we won in Voltzcrag.”

  “One battle. Yes. It shifted the fighting and for once we have a frontline. But there is FLF in every country. There is fighting in every city as we try to purge ourselves of them.”

  “So how? How do we have a government?”

  “We’ve gone back to a few old traditions: inheritance. If a member is killed, his seat goes to a family member. If there are no more family members, the choice of an adequate replacement is made by one of the Secretaries in MOTHER. We rotate the responsibility.”

  “And my father has the next choice,” Danielle said, understanding at last.

  “No. I do. I will choose you. When it is Count le Marc’s turn. He will choose my son.”

  —

  Danielle had to confess how she learned the information. She’d hoped that hearing she had been speaking with David Eldridge would anger her father. Instead, his lip twitched a smile.

  “Good, I am glad you are growing acquainted. He will be your official mentor once selected.”

  “When will that be?” Danielle asked, regretting her ‘election’ would come with the death of someone as much as she looked forward to a time when she would no longer be ruled and watched over by her father.

  “The way the fighting is going? Soon.”

  It turned out she already had been. A senator from Switzerland had been killed along with all immediate family the week before. No cousin, aunt, or uncle stepped forward within the short space allowed. The responsibility of nominating a new member fell to David Eldridge. As agreed, he chose Danielle. He hand-delivered the paperwork.

  “My son will be chosen next,” David said to Renault. A haze of sweat on his forehead gave the impression that David very much wanted the paperwork in his hand to contain a different name than Danielle le Marc.

  “As promised. He is still fighting?” Renault asked, tugging the official documents from David.

  “Yes,” David answered, voice roughened so that he had to clear his throat. “I cannot convince him to come home.”

  Danielle understood the worry in David’s eyes at that moment. She leaned forward, ready to speak. A cold glance from her father pushed her back into her chair.

  “The next choice falls on Prime Minister Diamante and then me. It will not be long, not ...”

  The three of them stiffened, avoiding eye contact. Of course, if the fighting were bad enough to need two new parliamentary members because all other family were dead, it did not bode well for David’s son either.

  “How long has he been fighting ... your son? I’m sorry, I don’t remember his name.”

  “Derrick. Three years now, he re-enlisted as soon as the war started. Left behind a UK parliamentary seat to fight after not even holding it a year,” David answered with a shake of his head.

  “He is the Earl of Kesmere Estate. Inherited the title from your brother-in-law, did he not?” Renault added. David didn’t answer other than with a stiff nod. “The next meeting of Parliament is in three days. We’ll introduce you then and get you acquainted with your new duties,” Renault said to Danielle.

  Danielle couldn’t wait. Her freedom waited three days away. Warnings about potential bombings did not worry her. Her brothers risked death. She would as well. Fears for the safety of the senators kept the meeting locations secret and moved frequently.

  The three of them left before dawn, driving through darkness in her father’s car. Beyond the horizon, lights flashed. Muffled explosions peppered the quiet. She had seen fighting before and heard explosions throughout Paris. But this was the first time the war felt vast. It ate the continent, even UK and Ireland. No solid front line, Danielle thought. Internal chaos was eating them alive like cancer.

  When they arrived in the early afternoon, Danielle’s ideas of what the new EU Parliament would be were shattered. She expected marble halls, men in suits, and women dressed in smart fashions. There would be a building with graceful columns and people discoursing on wide steps. They would be making decisions that mattered.

  Instead, it appeared more like an army camp using an empty warehouse as a headquarters.

  “We’re meeting here?” she asked, dismayed.

  “I preferred the old French estate,” her father replied, his voice holding the same disdain as hers.

/>   “I’ll see what I can find out about lodging,” David said, walking away.

  Danielle was given a field cot. Not a room. Just a field cot. It was set in a row of dozens spaced barely six feet apart located in a different section of the warehouse, one designated for women. She stood staring at it as a middle-aged woman dropped her bags at the foot of the cot next to Danielle before settling onto the stretched fabric.

  “They aren’t that bad this time. Don’t worry, dear. It really isn’t so horrid.”

  “But ... this is no better than an army barracks!” Danielle insisted, refusing to sit.

  “Oh, you are very new then. This is much better than the army barracks. I don’t think they get a foot between cots. And the soldiers tend not to worry about showers, the men or the women. We’ve got a luxurious five feet at least between each other!”

  Her name was Myrna. She took Danielle around to bathrooms, kitchen, and meeting hall, latching onto Danielle when she spoke her last name of le Marc. Apparently war didn’t change all things in politics.

  Danielle didn’t see her father or David Eldridge the remainder of the day. It left her feeling abandoned amidst the influx of people. That night she barely slept. The room was stifling with no air flow. Sounds of people around her, shifting, coughing, and snoring grated her awake. She could have cried for her home. The home she’d been so desperate to leave. It made no sense, and she hated her emotions for playing such infantile games with her.

  In the sleep deprived numbness of morning, she rose before the others to have whatever private time she could in the community style bathroom to prepare for the day. One night of discomfort would not deter her from escaping her father’s control. Her name granted leniencies and access. She could use that unlike yesterday when she’d wished she had given a fake last name. Today, she would be a le Marc. But not her father’s daughter.

  A rat’s maze of chairs filled the main warehouse. Parliamentary members slowly filled the room, buzzing the air with talk of the war and how to deal with the ephemeral lines of battle. Danielle tried to absorb it.

  “The unified armed forces need more weapons,” a man two rows down argued.

  “Yes. But from where? Most of the world is hedging their bets on who will win. They won’t aid us for fear the FLF will take down their governments like they did in Central America,” Myrna answered, speaking from where she’d sat next to Danielle.

  “Canada and Australia are still our allies!” someone argued.

  Myrna flicked her fingers at the talk, turning back to Danielle with a frown. “It’s odd. We should have commenced by now. They are never late.”

  “How do they usually start?” Danielle asked, scanning the empty podium in the front of the room. In the shadows, a few men spoke briefly before one paced away. She didn’t recognize anyone, but the brisk walk dried her mouth. Something was wrong.

  “Prime Minister Diamante usually speaks and then we are updated on the war. After that, the roster of actions needing vote is given. We spend as much time as we can risk together going over those.”

  “How long do you usually meet?”

  “A week was the longest, but recently they’ve kept it under three days. The FLF wants the rest of us dead a little too much to risk the time,” Myrna said the words with a laugh, as if she were a rebel stirring trouble. Danielle wondered if she’d lost anyone to the war yet.

  “MOTHER gives the update?”

  “Oh goodness. No. They were dissolved a year ago, dear. They only had authority until we were formed.”

  Danielle stared at Myrna, too confused to speak. Her father and Eldridge hadn’t spoken like MOTHER was dissolved. They had acted like they were in control.

  “I—”

  Danielle was interrupted by a gavel pounding on the wood of the podium.

  “I have very grave news,” her father said, addressing the members of Parliament. “The Prime Minister was attacked enroute. We believe he is deceased, but that hasn’t been confirmed. The FLF has issued a statement in combination with a new series of widespread attacks. They say they had once hoped to utilize Europe for its resources, proven agriculture, and industry, but our resistance has destroyed their goodwill. They will make a second example of us. In light of this, I must ask that you please depart. We will send information and a new arrangement to meet as soon as possible.”

  Danielle turned to ask Myrna what she thought her father did if MOTHER was disbanded, but the woman was gone. Most of the people filling the warehouse were on their feet, moving quickly to exits as if the building were about to explode. Not knowing where her father was, the car, or Eldridge, Danielle sighed and kept her seat.

  The podium was empty when the crowd dispersed enough for Danielle to have a view. She waited. A soldier trotting through the warehouse paused when she caught sight of Danielle.

  “Danielle le Marc?” she asked. “I’ve been looking ... there has been an emergency meeting. Your father asked me to find you and make certain you were ready to leave.”

  “There really was an emergency then?” Danielle asked, embarrassed she hadn’t believed her father when the soldier gave her a double take.

  “From what we’ve learned so far, the Prime Minister was caught up in a series of attacks meant to weaken our forces. Captain Prescot is organizing the troops and we are responding, but only MOTHER has open communication lines to all the forces. There has been a lot of casualties and what is happening still isn’t clear.”

  The soldier’s words were as succinct as her pace, each clipped and fired off as she hurried Danielle across the room and along a hallway. She left Danielle in front of a closed door, leaving in such a rush that Danielle didn’t get an opportunity to thank her and only realized afterwards she’d never gotten the soldier’s name.

  Confronted by a closed door and an empty hallway with no chairs, Danielle knocked. It opened. A woman of about forty peered at Danielle in consternation.

  “My daughter,” Count le Marc said. He did not introduce her as a new member of Parliament as if the only information of importance was her lineage. Danielle sighed.

  The woman moved away, leaving the door open and Danielle still on the other side, uncertain of what to do.

  “In. Close the door,” her father snapped, nodding to a corner.

  Annoyance at him faded as she absorbed the activity in the room. Four soldiers relayed quiet information to the seven members of MOTHER. Four men, her father and Mr. Eldridge among them, and three women discussed the information while standing over a table holding a map. No, it wasn’t holding a map. It wasn’t a table either. Danielle stared at the flat screen, watching a soldier pan the landscape image northward. She hadn’t seen a functioning computer in a month. She’d never watched such a large video display table. When the mountains stretched upwards into a 3D topo relief, her mouth gaped.

  “Captain Prescot says we’ve been pushed back into the valley here,” the soldier said, sweeping a finger over the table. The valley highlighted.

  “How bad are the casualties,” a woman asked. “Can we mount an offense?”

  “They are holding, but how long they can is uncertain.”

  “Find out,” le Marc snapped. The soldier turned away.

  Minutes streamed by with more reports. MOTHER redirected troops, David spending time in conference with a woman via a video chat line. A serious and efficient attitude contrasted with shoulder length light red hair and bright blue eyes. Whoever the woman was, she was not afraid to argue with Eldridge, swaying him twice to change decisions made by MOTHER while speaking to sources on her end. The battle lines changed, two pushing forward, three falling back.

  “We have confirmation that Prime Minister Diamante was killed. They’ve found his body.”

  One of the men swore.

  “Well, that is going to complicate things. It took over a year to get agreement to nominate him to the bloody position,” one of the women said.

  Her father waved it away as if it were
too small a bother. That was how Danielle knew he wanted the position. Prime Minster of Europe, the first of their family to hold such a title. Yes. That was what he wanted. But he wasn’t the only one. Glances danced around the table. Seven of the most powerful people in Europe stood discussing strategy to save a continent they each wanted to rule. Danielle wondered what the room would be like if there wasn’t a war bringing them into agreement.

  “You are the Secretary of Defense, Eldridge. You should be making these decisions!” the man who had sworn at the announcement of the Prime Minister’s death shouted. The room froze for a second.

  “I’m not at headquarters and in direct contact with our field marshals, am I? We haven’t had this much movement at one time in months,” David replied, rubbing his fingers across his eyelids with the last.

  “I can handle things from here,” the redheaded woman on the vid feed said.

  David cracked an eyelid open, glance vying between angry and hesitant. “Where are the closest troops to ...”

  She wasn’t listening. The redhead turned away, half her face off the screen. She stiffened, one blue eye glancing toward the camera. Toward David. That was when he stopped talking.

  “What is it?” David asked, voice gruff.

  “The 51st battalion was overrun. There are many casualties. Your son is currently missing,” she said.

  David’s face faded to grey before flushing red. “Find him. Dammit, Ms. Prescot, find him. I’m coming back to base and I want to know where he is when I get there.” David turned, finding himself facing Renault. “I’m taking your bloody car.”

  “Sir, the offensive?” one soldier asked.

  “To hell with it. We are losing anyway. Figure it out.” David stormed from the room.

  —

  “Head wound, broken arm, leg is a bit mangled, but he should keep it. The stomach wound is the worst though. Swords, nasty business. But he’ll live. He’s lucky,” the home nurse said to Danielle.

  Danielle peered through the door at the bandaged man sleeping in the guest room of her father’s maisonette. David sat with his head in his hands, staring at the floor. He hadn’t moved since they’d settled his son in that morning. Now the afternoon light slanted across Derrick’s bed as he lay comatose. She wondered if he dreamt he still fought the FLF.

  That question was only the first, and one of the least, that she pondered. She’d normally turn to David, but would not dare bother him now. David had shown up that morning with Renault’s ‘borrowed’ car and a makeshift ambulance behind. The recent attacks made the road to the coast too dangerous, not to mention a boat crossing and journey through another war torn countryside, for David to take his son home to England. Letting them stay was Renault’s only option. Anything less would be uncivilized treatment, even if David was as much a competitor as an ally.

  With David indisposed, Danielle was left with one person to ask questions of. She approached her father’s study, poised in fresh clothes that offset her blonde hair and matched her grey eyes. Her father liked it when she looked refined. She wanted him in a pleasant mood.

  “Come in,” he said in response to her knock. His eyes were red from lack of sleep, but there wasn’t a wrinkle on his shirt. Such was her father.

  “How is the fighting going?” Danielle asked, sitting on the edge of the chair across from his paper strewn desk.

  “You could check the outlets,” Renault began, taking a lecturing tone.

  “The reports? Such as the newspapers? Shall I go out and fetch one?” They stared at each other a moment. Danielle remembered she wasn’t trying to rile him. “There is no internet, father. We only have power as you saw fit to buy generators ages ago and I think you are tapped into the solar array down the street. I could ask someone to go and find me a paper, but it really isn’t worth risking someone’s life when I know you know exactly what is happening.”

  He sat back, regarding her with mild amusement. “Very well. You are correct. I do know. It isn’t good. We’ve gone from sporadic encampments of FLF that had been hiding amid cities to open conflict ... everywhere. The entire countryside is a morass of chaos.”

  “We are losing,” Danielle said, accepting the inevitable.

  Her father frowned. “No. Not yet. This is the thick of it, the peak. I don’t know which side will gain the upper hand ... and keep it. A few days ... if we are still alive then, but we should know where we stand in a few days.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” Danielle asked, meaning it and surprised to find she did. Maybe there was something of her brother’s or the le Marc blood in her.

  “Well, I can show you how to use a gun in case they storm the house.”

  “From what the nurse said, they are using swords now.”

  Her father laughed. Danielle stared at him, wondering if she’d ever heard him laugh before. He’d certainly never done so at something she had said. It was an amazing feeling.

  Emboldened, Danielle edged for more news. “How did they manage to find David’s son?”

  “Quite a few died trying to get him out from what I heard. But Ms. Prescot did as David asked and threw our resources into saving Derrick and what remained of his battalion. The redirection probably didn’t help our current situation, but ... may not have hurt it either.”

  Renault appeared receptive, lounging back in his chair with his gaze resting lightly on her. “You know, a woman I met at the Assembly, she said MOTHER had been disbanded.”

  Renault’s gaze focused as he stiffened, Danielle kept her face unconcerned. He relaxed. She released her breath. “And what do you think?”

  “I would say that MOTHER runs the war,” she answered.

  “We run the country. But do not say that to anyone else.”

  “Is that why you put me in Parliament? I’m your spy?”

  “Partially yes.”

  “What is the other part? Spread word of your suitability for the next Prime Minister?”

  Renault’s eyes were more blue than grey and right now they held ice. “You will do as I tell you to do. You are not to speak to anyone else of MOTHER or what you saw in that room. You are not to speak of what you learn about the fighting and the war. And yes, if I tell you to sing praises for something, you will score an aria!”

  Under his stare where he perched half risen from his chair, Danielle caved. She could not fight him. Not alone. Tears stung her eyes.

  “Yes, father.”

  A knock broke the long moment of their silence. David pushed open the door at Renault’s invitation.

  “How is your son?” Renault asked, calm voice holding concern. Real concern. Of course her father would intimately feel for a threatened son.

  “Resting. I ... thank you. Thank you for letting us stay.”

  “You are lucky to have made it this far,” Renault replied.

  “I know. I should contact Arinna. The fighting ... they need guidance. Her husband leads our armed forces. Did you know that, dear?” David asked her.

  “Captain Prescot’s wife is your aid? Why do they call him Captain? Shouldn’t he be a general?”

  “War is confusing. He shouldn’t even be here. They should have both been back in America when it fell,” Renault said, tone ambivalent.

  “American? I had thought ... Canadian,” she said, blushing.

  “No. American. Were American, I suppose. She doesn’t take the risks she should. Too afraid for her husband,” David muttered. Renault raised an eyebrow. Danielle read the irony in the look even if David did not. “I should go back to Derrick.”

  “I’ll go,” Danielle blurted. Quickly, she added, “You haven’t eaten. Please, I’ll watch over him for a bit. You need to rest.”

  Danielle kept her hurried exit measured, relieved to escape her father’s calculating stare.

  —

  Derrick lay unconscious for the next four days. Twitches and occasional words indicated his coma wasn’t deep and that there was reason to hope. Danielle found her
self by his side whenever she was awake. It wasn’t like she had duties despite now being a member of Parliament. And it was the one place her father would not bother her.

  Outside, the war’s fury inched toward favoring the EU. But it was difficult to confirm. Her father called it guerrilla warfare, though David said it was worse than that. It was something new, local terrorism on a massive and continuing scale. They didn’t know how to strategize, not yet. David spent his time split between talking to Europe’s forces and his son’s bedside. The house felt as tense and uncertain as the war.

  And then Derrick regained consciousness.

  Rejuvenated by relief, David launched himself into the war effort. In his absence, Danielle spent time with Derrick, confessing her problems with her father and the loss of her brothers. He clung to her words instead of the pain of his wounds as she helped change bandages. At least her childish problems served a purpose.

  “No one will tell me how the fighting is going,” Derrick said to Danielle one afternoon after his father had hurried to duties kept behind closed doors.

  “I think they don’t want to worry you,” Danielle replied.

  “No. They don’t want me to be interested. As if not telling me will keep me from going back.”

  She stared at him. “You want to go back and fight? But ...” Her gaze fell to his bandaged waist and leg.

  “I’ll heal. They need soldiers. I’ve seen people fight with worse.” He glanced away when he said that, as if not looking at her would hide the fate of those who fought on.

  “I’ll go and see what I can find out.”

  “You think they’ll tell you?” he asked. Danielle blushed, embarrassed by how much she’d confessed to him.

  “I can always listen at the door,” she replied.

  When she padded quietly to her father’s study, what she heard wasn’t about the war. It was David and Renault strategizing. The idea frightened her more than the explosions she heard beyond the window glass.

  “We have to end the war to be war heroes,” David said.

  “Well if we don’t win the war, we also won’t have to worry about who is Prime Minister,” Renault replied. “The power cannot go to Miralda or Ilse.”

  The silence was as thick as the heavy door. “You are serious about this?” David finally answered.

  “You don’t agree? This plan will save your son.”

  “For the price of the Prime Minister’s seat?”

  “You or I. Who it is will be chosen by fate and how the end of the war plays out ...”

  Danielle moved away, surprised to find one thought in her mind. “Or me,” she whispered as she paced the floor of her room. She had a parliamentary seat, one meant to be used to help her father. But if she helped David instead? She trusted David. He would protect her. She trusted his family, Danielle realized. Derrick would have a parliamentary seat too. He could help her. If he didn’t go back to the fighting.

  Danielle hurried out of her bedroom, but slowed before she reached Derrick’s room. She still hadn’t figured out what to say when she opened his door.

  “What’s happened?” Derrick said, struggling upright.

  She sat in the chair next to his bed. “I ... No. It isn’t the fighting. That isn’t what is wrong.” Derrick studied her face as she paused. “From what I have heard the fighting is still a mess. Communications are sporadic and the reports contradict.”

  “Or the fighting changes so quickly the information is old by the time Command hears it,” he said, glancing away. He spoke with the battle weariness of someone who had seen the unsteady flow firsthand. “What is it then?”

  “My father,” Danielle answered, voice wavering. “I don’t know what will happen when you and your father leave. I don’t want to be alone here with him.”

  Derrick took her hand but before he could reply, the door opened.

  “Good. You are both here. We have something to discuss with you,” David said, entering with Renault behind.

  Derrick continued to hold her hand, which kept Danielle from finding an excuse to leave. “What is it? And how is the fighting?”

  “It has shifted in our favor. I will get you reports if you don’t believe me. Captain Prescot and his Lieutenant that you’ve gone on so much about – Jared Vries? They are making headway. Lines are forming. The FLF will not win Europe,” David said.

  “You make it sound so easy,” Derrick retorted.

  “I know it is not,” David said slowly, emphasizing each word as his gaze paused on his son’s injuries. Derrick looked toward the window, expression hard.

  “Why do you want to speak to both of us?” Danielle asked as the silence grew.

  “We have a proposal for you,” Renault answered smoothly.

  “What is it?” Derrick said, bristling. Danielle squeezed his hand, nervous of Derrick’s anger. He needed to hear whatever plan her father and his had hatched. They wanted him to leave the war as much as she did. The three of them working together were sure to sway Derrick. Somehow.

  “We can assume the fighting will have impacted the EU Parliament. We’ve had reports of missing members. Seats will need to be filled. It is my turn to choose the next position with no family left to inherit. I intend to choose you,” Renault said to Derrick.

  “Me? You want me to leave the war to play politics? When we aren’t even sure if we’ll win?”

  “You were elected to the UK Parliament prior to the war, I’ll remind you. I had thought you’d seen the importance of politics,” David said.

  “Importance? Yes. When we were at peace! Now, we are barely surviving. Communications are too slow. You think you can direct everything from the old NATO headquarters utilizing the best technology while soldiers in the field are using swords!”

  “If you have so many ideas on how the war is fought, join Parliament and do them. Stop trying to work through Byran,” David replied. No words to respond found their way to Derrick’s lips.

  “I still don’t see what this has to do with me,” Danielle said.

  Her father cleared his throat, gaze sweeping David before falling on her. “We are two of the strongest families in Europe. Our unity can help guide this country not only out of war,” Renault said with a nod toward Derrick, “but also through the rebuilding that must come after.”

  “Unity?” Derrick asked slowly.

  “We’d like you both to agree to a betrothal to demonstrate that the times of divisions of countries and individual politics are behind us,” David answered.

  The room settled into silence for the space of a breath.

  “Yes,” Danielle answered.

  “What?” Derrick snapped, questioning her as much as their fathers. Trembling with the unexpected hope of an escape, she silently pleaded for Derrick to at least not say no.

  Renault appeared as surprised as Derrick at Danielle’s quick answer. “It makes sense,” Danielle said, turning to Derrick. “It is a political match, true. And might seem premature as the outcome of the war is still tenuous. But they are right. Together, we can help guide the way forward. And now you can change what is wrong with the war. I’m already in Parliament. I’ll support anything you say is needed.”

  Derrick stared at her. She knew him well enough from the last week that she could see he was tired, his wounds listing him to the left in the bed. He didn’t have the energy to fight, not the three of them. And he was as well bred as she. There was no polite way to refuse.

  “You accept this?” he asked. His sincere navy blue eyes cut through the charade being foisted on him.

  Danielle buried selfish needs and squeezed his hand. “Yes. This is an opportunity for us ... for Europe.”

  He studied her a moment longer. Derrick dropped her hand as he turned to his father. “Fine. I will go along with what you ask as well.”

  Danielle was happy enough that she could ignore the bitterness in his answer.