Winterhome

by Blaze Ward

  A steel-blue tunic covered the chest, with sleeves down to the wrists covered with a fine embroidery in red thread on the left arm and bottom left side of the front. The shirt itself came down to mid-thigh, but had been cut on the sides almost to the top of the hip, so it rode more like a tabard than anything else. A short standing collar was done in white, with a red cord as a top and bottom.

  Over the tunic, the woman wore a diamond-quilted jacket in a white verging onto gray. The same red cord was worked around all edging, but the top was below the shirt’s collar, the sleeves were shorter than a t-shirt, and the front closed up with seven red buttons.

  Over the heart, this figure had a small shield logo on blue, with what looked like a stylized tree in gray, probably indicating membership in some clan, back on Skuodas.

  Around her hips, she wore a simple belt in brown leather with chrome studs and buckles. A thin-bladed sword hung on each side.

  Jessica did laugh at that point. She could just imagine the smile of pure joy that came over Vibol’s face when he first spied the traditional image of a Skuodas bride from one of that planet’s ancient, warrior clans.

  The model’s brown hair was pulled back in a loose tail that came to her waist, with semi-ragged bangs framing the face. Jessica’s hair was only to her shoulders today, but she immediately decided that she wasn’t cutting it again for a long time so she could get it just right. Hers was coming in mostly gray now, but that would just accentuate the look.

  The makeup, however, would be the best part. A finger-wide, blood-red line came up each jaw to the edge of the cheekbones, and then swooped in to cover the eyes in a shape rather like a raccoon’s, before heading straight up in two thin lines at the inner edge of her eye sockets to points just below her hairline, with a single, third stripe drawn with a pencil between them. The rest of the face was pale, including the lips, leaving only the woman’s dark, plucked eyebrows to provide any color.

  Primitive and barbaric, perhaps, but amazingly powerful. Skuodas women had obviously been warriors beside their men, rather than demure, Imperial matrons safely kept home and away from all the excitement. Especially as she looked closer and realized that the lines on the jaw would keep going down her neck to disappear below her collar, like thin blood vessels brought to the surface. She wondered how much of her nude body would be covered over with more designs.

  Probably, the whole was part of some ancient fertility ritual, but Jessica was only willing to take the verisimilitude to a certain point before she stopped. However, Torsten would still insist on tracing every line with amazing patience, even if neither of them were young enough to consider having children at this point in their lives. Plus, her having offspring would put the throne of Corynthe in doubt, at a time when she dearly wanted David to be the only possible successor.

  She smiled at the thought and returned to the letter, breathing perhaps a little heavier than she had before.

  As a reminder you probably don’t need, a traditional wedding on Skuodas requires that each participants bring two or more Wardens to testify to their good-character. They will dress similarly to ourselves, although somewhat less elaborate in parts. Vibol insists to me that Ladies Casey and Moirrey will be in attendance. I do not know if there are others you feel would be appropriate to accompany you, from that era before you entered my life.

  I have also identified candidates to stand as my Wardens, but both men are currently physically remote from me, so will need to be approached carefully at a future date when the conversation can remain in strictest privacy, if either has qualms about standing with me publicly.

  The eventual venue also remains to be identified and I cannot hazard a guess as to which would bring you the most joy. Skuodas, of course, would be a most appropriate setting, but this may be a wedding of such a scale that my homeworld would not be the right location.

  By the same measure, Ladaux should be given consideration. St. Legier would also happily host such an event, given our connections to the seat of Empire. And it may be appropriate to return to Petron, dragging the social elites of both Empire and Republic to so-called neutral ground, where Uly Larionov can buttonhole them into trade discussions without the opportunity on their part to escape the man.

  She giggled at the thought of Casey and her future Chief of Deputies, or Tad Horvat, ceding home-field advantage to Uly, her own Comptroller of the Court. Better still, Lincolnshire would have sent official representatives under great pains to behave, with so many of the rich and powerful of the galaxy handy and already probably willing to cut deals.

  Trust an econometricist to see the uses of a wedding a tool to increase trade between formerly-isolated or hostile nations. Worse, he fully intended to teach a generation of pirates how to get rich faster with a pen than a warship.

  Still, their wedding would probably be the third or fourth biggest social and political event in her lifetime, depending on if they could defeat the Lord of Winter, or just drive him back. Casey’s eventual wedding would top it. The Peace between Aquitaine and Fribourg. Not much else.

  Running off and eloping was a conversation covered in previous letters, probably just to tweak the censors on Torsten’s part. As preferable as it might sound, some days.

  Casey would never forgive her, at the very least.

  And did she want others as Wardens? It was a serious job, to stand before the entire nation and vouch for someone. To be held personally accountable in the event something went wrong. Torsten had told her some of the ancient legends of his homeworld, the blood feuds running deep and ugly for centuries as a result of such a confidence betrayed.

  Jessica had never had friends in that sense of the word. She had been identified by the public exams when she was twelve and slotted into naval preparatory schools, and then the Academy itself, and finally the Navy. There had been other options at every step, but none that she wanted more than to be sitting right here, in this chair, in command.

  But she had grown isolated from all her peers as a result, competing with them to be the best, and to get the one or maybe two best slots for anything. Try as she might right now, only two came to mind as a those that might stand next to her on that day. And Imperial culture would insist that they be women, or she might approach a few men who would have fit.

  But most of them would be close at hand anyway, celebrating with her.

  Casey’s wedding will be a future topic of interest, and Vibol is, as one would expect, light-years ahead of the rest of us. I have seen the plates he has prepared, and remembered to eventually pick my jaw up off of the floor. Regardless of our location and context, we will be expected to attend, with you standing next to Casey, presumably with Moirrey and Freya, per Vibol.

  We have spoken of this, and nothing has resolved itself, as yet, so Vibol has used the excuse that Casey will need to grow into her adult figure before he begins work on her outfit, especially as he expects it to require only a few weeks of his time to complete.

  The man frightens me, when he makes pronouncements like that, and then proceeds to beat even his wildly optimistic timelines. But Seeker still refers to the man as the first Scholar of Fashion he has ever met, and I tend to believe both men.

  I will have several new outfits for you to see when we meet again, and Vibol requires Marcelle to measure you now and send numbers home, that he may finalize several outfits waiting your pleasure. And mine, but I have an extra interest in just taking them off of you and leaving them crumpled by the side of the bed, so perhaps they should be considered enticements, more than anything else, as you know how much incentive I need to find you physically attractive.

  Jessica actually felt a blush engulf her, the flush running from the tips of her ears to the center of her being. Nobody had ever craved her like Torsten, even caressing her in passing just for an excuse to touch her. Understanding that she could only devote part of her life to him, and happily, perhaps greedily accepting that.

  And the poor censors would be reading this. And bl
ushing to have to be in the same metaphorical room with this conversation. But perhaps they would also learn something about the best ways to romance and woo a woman with nothing but words, watching Torsten’s wordplay. Not that she would put it past the man, to add that extra level of subtlety to things.

  It was just another reason she loved him so much.

  With that said, I must return you to your duties. Or, knowing you, allow you time to finish any paperwork remaining tonight and climb into bed, where our dreams may perhaps entangle across the vast distances.

  I remain your partner and unindicted co-conspirator, even as I must remember my own responsibilities to be your evil conscience and drag you kicking and screaming away from your work occasionally so that some level of fun can be enjoyed.

  Until I can kiss you again,

  Torsten.

  Jessica sighed and let the paper fall into her lap, hoping that none of the tears that threatened would splash on the page and perhaps mar it, although she suspected Torsten had chosen his pen and paper, his sword and shield, with equal care to such a potential outcome. He was like that.

  Soon enough, she would destroy the beast known to the galaxy as Buran, and then she could look forward to making her own happy ending with the man, running away to the far ends of the galaxy and having no greater responsibilities than being Dowager Queen of Corynthe required.

  Every day was another nail in that monster’s coffin, as she measured him out for the grave. Around her, the hammer that would finish the job, in the form of First Expeditionary Fleet.

  Chapter LII

  Imperial Founding: 181/02/17. Fort Mejico, Osynth B’Udan

  They were still a few months out from Muster Day, the anniversary of the refounding of the unit as the 189th Legion, but Vo had decided to get everyone together for a new mustering. It was a nice enough day, late fall for Osynth B’Udan, but the rain and chill looked to hold off for another week before winter finally got organized in this hemisphere.

  Vo was up on a small hill over a rolling meadow, with space stretched out before him to show off the men. The unit before him had grown, with two new units added, however small they were, in addition to the replacement troopers for casualties suffered in service.

  Not all of those men had died, but some would be in hospitals recovering for a long time, and the business of war would go on. Others would reach a point soon where they would choose to retire from active service, or at least front-line combat, so he would start losing veterans to training units or civilian life.

  But they had struck the first blow together, and Vo wanted to remind them of that important point, as well as introduce them to the new teams that would become their brothers soon enough.

  4th Heavy Scout Ala, Saber, had added an entire fourth patrol to the Table of Organization and Equipment. Patrol Centurion Oleg Chilikov and his Winged Scout team. Valkyrie had been Moirrey’s original name for them, when she envisioned them as an Aquitaine force. But the Choosers of the Slain had all been daughters of Odin, so the team had become Einherjar instead in Imperial service. Those Men Chosen.

  More interestingly, CCLXXIII Heavy had added a 4th Squadron to its 1st Patrol, so Patrol Centurion Johan Hellyer now had a Heavy Assault Gun Team, nine big hammers under the command of Centurion Kevin Hassen.

  Vo was still convinced that he would need an air element at some point, if they could mount enough beams on a repulsorcraft small enough and fast enough to evade beams on tanks that were light-fast and line-straight. Maybe he just needed to come to grips with using a sledgehammer instead of a shiv to kill some things.

  Or let Casey and Rohm promote him to Flag General with two or three legions under his command, and field two armored fists to go with the 189th when things needed to be crushed mercilessly. Tanks and Assault Guns were easier to maneuver than infantry, since they were such compact forces. It would make the job easier.

  Some of the jobs.

  First Ala passed in review, leading the others. Nobody was dressed in formal uniforms today. Vo had wanted more of a picnic air, with many of the men riding atop their vehicles rather than inside, as long as they were careful, before turning the men loose to slack off in barracks and relax without any inspections or accountability for three days. Soon enough they would be heading back out, once Jessica found him the next place to destroy.

  But for today, they needed a chance to recover from the battle.

  Second and Third followed, cruising in line.

  Fourth came by as a huge mob without any apparent cohesion, until you spotted the group of bikes riding at the exact center, protected on all sides by their new mates.

  Similarly, Fifth passed with those nine big tanks right behind the commander, leading the way for the rest with their heavy glacis fronts and turtle-breaking particle cannon.

  Sixth came last. It was the most disorderly, representing the transport and artillery sections. Big guns in support and mechanics keeping the vehicles running. Field kitchens trained to a level that Melina Arcidiacono considered minimally acceptable standards.

  Vo glanced right and left at the team immediately around him as the last mobile hospital skiff passed. Cutlass, the ten vehicles that were his personal guard and expert strike element. The oldest, and cagiest of his veterans, plus the single youngest trooper under arms. Give her another year with these men, though, and she might be among the most dangerous, as well.

  Vo didn’t have any rousing speeches to give today. Just a simple wave to these men and woman, surrounding him. Most of the vehicles completed their pass and drove to the laagers where they would park today, camping once rough here before driving into barracks tomorrow for showers and time off.

  Three skiffs detached themselves from the front of the line and drove over close to his. Alan Katche, Omar LeCoat, Dylan Moroder, Pyotr Martin, and Alistair Bleushan, his five combat commanders, got out to join him and Hermann Gerstenburger, their vehicles departing with the rest of the men.

  Vo led the men into a nearby tent, back on the reverse slope, and settled them inside around a field table, light and portable, but sturdy enough.

  Reese Borel was here, with Iakov Street, Hans Danville, and Victoria Ames invited to attend as well, just because Vo felt like it. All had shown their mettle in the previous encounter and could add useful thoughts as he continued to reinvent this thing called Imperial Land Forces.

  Vo waited for the stewards to deliver coffee to everyone and depart.

  “The raid on Severnaya Zemlya was not an unmitigated failure,” he said darkly, watching faces bristle in response. “It was not, however, our finest hour. The forces I was with on Thuringwell would have torn us apart. Not decisively, but definitively. This is not good enough. We are only in the middle of the pack, as far as Aquitaine Legions are ranked. We need to be in the top five.”

  Nods. They had studied an analysis he had commissioned by Reese Borel and his command team.

  Part of any good army was the willingness to talk about what failed, identify why, and alter training procedures to invent new ways to fuck up.

  Pyotr looked like he wanted to have the first go. This had been their first time on the ground since the raid, and it was different than meeting on somebody else’s starship to talk about warmaking.

  Vo nodded at the man.

  “I want to work more closely with CCLXXIII Heavy and Alistair’s new team,” the Scout Commander began. “We’re going to need to work out the best way to lead another walker like that into a trap with honey, rather than vinegar. We trained closely with the other three, because everybody there moved at the same speed. This was a gap in our preparedness that I should not have allowed.”

  And that was the mark of a good team. I should not have allowed. Not blaming the tanks for not being there when the scouts needed them. No, him not understanding how the tanks moved slower and more deliberately, and the need for everyone to factor that into planning.

  “Alistair?” Vo asked.

  Alistair Bleushan was al
most a faded caricature of a man. Light skin, light hair, light eyes. He occasionally appeared washed out, much of the time, but that was the lack of sunlight, because he was almost always inside his lead tank maneuvering, rather than sitting in the sun somewhere with a bottle of wine calling orders over the radio. He was also a small man physically. Not much larger than Jessica, in terms of height or bulk, but that made him fit better inside the armored shell.

  For Vo, riding in a tank was always a cramped and painful experience.

  “Have we considered breaking Fourth down entirely?” the tank commander asked. “Parcel them out to each of the other patrols as point men? Their job is to find the bad guys for everyone else to fix them. Why not have them all on point at the same time, flying out to every direction, with a full patrol just behind any vehicle, over the hill.”

  “What would you do with the winged lunatics?” Alan asked.

  “Put them all the way up front, ahead of everyone else?” Alistair shrugged. “That much mobility is an alien concept to me.”

  “Free agents, Pyotr?” Alan asked. “Send your Fourth Patrol off on their own, since almost nobody can keep up with them? Have them rake from any exposed flank, bringing in the rest of the Scouts if that’s what’s needed? Or just have them call down whatever unit happens to be closest? There are no cowards or barracks lawyers here.”

  Vo had a vision of a Hunnish force leading Roman cataphracti. Light skirmishers that didn’t bother even engaging an enemy force, except to ambush them, while letting the big men on heavy horses charge in and do the stomping. It went against everything Imperial Doctrine For Land Forces had ever believed. And it went well outside Aquitaine’s comfort zone as well.

  “Pyotr, would it work?” Vo asked. “Put all your men as the front line, maybe with the new team on one or both flanks when we move? And the columns behind them, moving rather like a naval force with corvettes and cruisers?”