Grulle and Red Cap paused. The Southie turned to look at the new light.
There will never be a better chance.
Gole leveled his pistol at Red Cap—and froze.
Red Cap was female. The little Southie was a woman.
21
She can’t be.
She really was. Tachba women only had a few years before they turned into child factories—that was the nature of their Pollution. The men had their carelessness, the women had endless cares. But for those first years of womanhood, they moved with matchless grace and beauty. They spoke with charming confidence and wisdom beyond their years. Even the Haphan Overlords weren’t immune, if certain stories from history could be believed.
Red Cap was definitively female. The wide-set eyes, the full lips. Her jacket, bulging over her chest, now painfully obvious. A woman, a woman from the South, fighting as a soldier. In all his life—in all the training, the war stories, the whispered rumors—not a single word had ever included a woman.
Gole’s hand froze first, and his pistol stopped moving. Then his whole body locked down like a stop order. It went against his very nature, against the built-in Pollution, to point a weapon at her.
Honestly, I must be hallucinating, Gole thought. Surely the Southies felt the same as in the North: that women are too few, too valuable, too high function compared to men, to spend in battle. When they weren’t running households or outsmarting hordes of children, they were producing impulsive, violent new soldiers for the war.
Yet there she was. In the shifting light from the chrysanthemum flare, he studied her.
She was much smaller than him…if he laid his palms on her sharp cheek-bones, his hands would fully frame her face. Then, if he slid his hands around her head, his fingers brushing the brown hair tucked under her odd little cap, he would turn her face up to his. He would trace her narrow arched eyebrows with his thumbs. That smear of grime on her forehead—he would wipe it away, and she would blush at his attention. Those eyes, visibly green-brown even from ten yards away, would fasten on his. Beneath her small upturned nose, her full lips would part…
And then…well, if he felt her breath on his chin, it would be over, wouldn’t it? Whatever part of him hadn’t already melted from the blow-torch of her eyes would catch fire and collapse to the ground.
I’m losing it. Gole clenched his eyes and struggled for calm. What’s wrong with me?
In his household, there had been a girl or two on the cusp of maturity, girls from other families. Prior to his induction into the army, he’d been mostly indifferent. Something had changed since then. Gole certainly wasn’t indifferent now.
He also knew there was more than just him in his mind. The Pollution wanted more children for the war. The Pollution always wanted something. Of all the times for him to agree with the Pollution.
With his eyes closed, it was easier for Gole to structure his thoughts. He pulled in the fragmentary clues and details since he’d arrived on the eternal front. The ones his mind had shied away from because they seemed to undercut what he’d expected the war to be.
Was it just this woman, a lone anomaly among the millions of Tachba on each side of the trenches? Had she alone created the sea change in this sector of the front, explaining the high attrition rate and the need for replacements in every unit? Did she explain the irritability of the officers who knew something—but not what—was changing their predictable trench war? Was it just her, or were there more?
With Red Cap, the enemy’s clever new tactics suddenly made sense. The traps were about patience, about deferred reward. Difficult for Tachba men, trivial for women. Even worse, if one pretty girl could knock Gole over from ten yards away like some kind of puberty bomb, what would hundreds or thousands of them do to the eternal front?
The North would be in real trouble, wouldn’t it?
Perhaps I shouldn’t be squeezing my eyes shut with the enemy right in front of me, Gole thought. Because she was the enemy. Gole promised himself he would think clearly, and opened his eyes to the woman.
She was staring right at him.
He almost flinched, a movement she’d certainly see. After an anxious moment, Gole’s eyes adjusted further and he saw she was staring past his position. She was watching the line of false tape which had led Gole to his brother.
Perhaps she’d seen something behind him, some movement? Maybe the shifting light from the chrysanthemum flare had cast a shadow that caught her attention. She hadn’t picked Gole’s face out of the jumble of sliding shadows, yet. He could delay taking action a few moments longer.
Red Cap turned back to Grulle. She leaned close and whispered something into his ear, and then patted his shoulder. Envy pricked at Gole, but then faded as she collected her rifle and her satchel, looping them over her shoulders.
She was leaving and he was out of time. He had to kill her.
22
“Is that what I think it is?”
Gole started at the soft voice by his shoulder and sank back into cover. Beside him was none other than Colonel Luscetian, the Haphan commander of the 51st Ville Emsa Fusiliers.
Forget how odd it was to see the colonel outside his regular environment, even though he had traded his pristine uniform for the dark green coat of a line soldier. This slow, weak Haphan officer had somehow crept up in the middle of a quiet battlefield without diverting a high-strung Tachba’s attention. Gole had been precisely that absorbed by the woman—and that was the scale of the problem she represented.
“I’ve never heard of anything like this,” Luscetian murmured.
More soundless movement in Gole’s peripheral vision: Corphy. The lieutenant glanced over the ridge of dirt, absorbed the scene with Grulle and Red Cap, and lowered himself back down. Behind Corphy was Malley, sporting deeply bruised forehead. He winked at Gole.
It required no effort to reconstruct what had happened back in the trench. Corphy had found Malley unconscious and Gole missing. After that, one more report to the Haphan colonel about Gole’s latest misjudgment. Then, for some reason, the colonel had assembled a squad of the 51st to make a sortie out of the trench. With the false tape to follow, it had been no effort to track Gole down.
“See, lieutenant?” Luscetian whispered to Corphy. “It wasn’t so hard to find the Naremsa brothers after all. They’re always up to something interesting, wherever they are.”
Corphy glowered at Gole. “Which I believe it is time to start shooting.”
The Haphan glanced at Red Cap. “That seems unlikely to me. Which of you is willing shoot a woman?”
Corphy shook his head.
Malley said, “It won’t happen, sir. Shooting down a proper lady? So she’s killed a few of us. Harmless fun.”
“I know I’ll miss the shot if I take it.” The colonel turned to Corphy. “What do you suggest, lieutenant?”
Corphy searched his mind. “We watch and learn.”
“Maybe your squeaker has one of his brilliant ideas?”
For this, the lieutenant had a ready answer. “Which I think we’ve had enough of his brilliant ideas.”
The colonel finally turned to Gole. “Speak.”
“Stop using tape for soldiers to follow between the trenches,” Gole said. “I can’t imagine a worse idea now that the South knows about tape.”
“Agreed,” the colonel said. “But what about the—the little Southie?”
“For her…” Gole sighed. He couldn’t put it off any longer. “Someone who doesn’t know she’s female.”
“Precisely,” Luscetian said. “Corphy, who is watching our six? Get them up here.”
The word was passed with hand sign, and soon a new soldier crawled up. He looked even younger and greener than Gole, but at least he had a rifle, and it was clear of dirt and ready for use.
The colonel pointed at Red Cap. She was squirming up the slope and would be gone from sight in only a few seconds. “Emperor’s service, soldier. Shoot me that man in the red cap.”
&nbs
p; The boot rose to one knee and smoothly brought his rifle to his shoulder.
A deafening crack. Red Cap arched backwards. Another shot, and the figure spun to the ground next to Grulle, not moving.
“That will draw some attention,” the colonel said. “Naremsa, go collect your brother before the snipers start up.”
“Yes, sir.” Gole moved to obey, then hesitated. “I, uh…”
“Let me guess,” Corphy said, “you’re missing a vital piece of equipment?”
Malley tsked and passed him a trench knife.
“You have three ticks of the clock, soldier,” the colonel told him.
Still tied to the ground, Grulle watched Gole’s approach with calm, alert interest. “Gunfire. Little friend-meh goan’ shot.”
The woman with the Red Cap lay next to Grulle, three feet away, not moving. Gole glanced at her, then looked again.
She was alive.
Her body was contorted and her limbs were askew, but she was blinking. Her breath stirred the powdery dirt under her cheek.
Gole couldn’t see where the bullets had struck her, and there wasn’t much blood. Perhaps she wanted to play dead so they’d stop shooting. Up close, however, she was obviously alive. So: she was too wounded to feign death, but perhaps not too wounded to survive.
“Turns out she’s a girl,” Grulle added.
With four quick movements, Gole cut his brother finally free. Grulle sat up and rotated his wrists. “Which it hurts getting my fingers back! Not the feet-meh. Wait… yes. Feet-meh hurting too.”
“Hush, Grulle,” he said. “There may be more of them around.”
He turned back to Red Cap. She watched him with penetrating eyes. The chrysanthemum flare had sputtered out minutes ago and it was again too dark to see the green in them.
“For your kindness to my brother,” Gole whispered, “I’ll treat you like you’re dead.”
She didn’t answer.
“I’m sorry about this next part,” Gole added.
And he was. For anyone watching, Gole had to make a show of searching Red Cap’s body. She still didn’t react, except to release a sigh of dismay as he knelt over her. Tears ran in tracks down her muddy face, but that was pain and not fear. Blood finally started to show through her coat. Its slow arrival was itself a positive sign.
He turned self-conscious as he unbuttoned her coat, and then several of the buttons of the odd, unmilitary linen blouse beneath. There she is, then. His first nearly naked woman of child-bearing age.
“Throughfer under your ribs on your left,” he reported tightly. “Get some pressure on it. It’s bleeding but not mortal in itself.”
“Yeah,” she said. She gasped as he tipped her over.
“A crease over your spine near your ass. No blood. Can you move your legs?”
“Feeling is coming back to them,” she said.
“Mine too,” Grulle put in.
Because he’d be asked about it, Gole rifled her coat. A metal pen, a tiny notebook, and a pair of occlusors for measuring artillery trajectories—these went into his pocket as found battlefield intelligence. Another item, a stiff paper card, puzzled him. It wasn’t writing and it wasn’t a map, but one side had a swirl of black lines jumbled together. Some of the lines were feathered, as if to make shading.
“A picture of my papa,” Red Cap said softly.
“This? It’s a mess.”
A low, throaty laugh, followed by a catch of pain. “La-meh, I know it is. Drew it himself, so me-remembering him.”
Gole shoved it back into her coat. “When you can move again, go back to your trench for help. I can’t do more for you. I probably wouldn’t if I could.”
She nodded. “The war and all.”
“I don’t know how quickly women heal; it’s never come up. If you were a male, this would already be sorted.”
“La,” she whispered. “The story of my life.”
Gole hesitated. “Tell me. Are there many more like you on the front? More women?”
As he expected, she didn’t answer the question. She did give him something else. “’Ere the sun is-climbing, Northie, the snipers then will-come. A holiday festival of snipers, la. Ye must be safe, and go.”
“Thank you,” Gole said.
“Kindness spurs kindness.”
They heard a soft whistle, far away. Colonel Luscetian’s patrol had moved out, and was making good time by the sound of it.
Gole shook himself out of the strange moment. “Grulle, we’re leaving.”
“Bye, pretty girl.” Grulle darted away without a backward glance.
Gole saw the expression on her face. “There’s more he can’t say. He’ll think of it later and want to tell you.”
“You-telling him back for me.”
Gole nodded. When he turned to leave, she added, “Wait! Button me up at least.”
Gole closed her blouse, fumbling the buttons under her excruciatingly close and unwavering gaze. He tried to think of something impressive to say about his missing fingers and gave up.
When she was covered, he still wanted to do nothing but stare at her. He closed her jacket for good measure. He told himself he was only being kind, not drawing out the moment.
“I think,” Gole said, “you could have worked these buttons faster than me.”
Something shifted in her expression. He couldn’t be sure through the grime, but she might have been smirking at his discomfort.
She said, and he would never forget her voice: “I liked your way better.”
23
Gole crawled mechanically through the dirt, arm over arm, following the patrol. Thanks to the false tape and the fresh prints on the ground he had little chance of getting lost. And lucky for that, because his mind was still with Red Cap. Her pout when Grulle left…and her teasing when she said those last words…were girls magical?
Gole also remembered the colonel’s eyes. They had not dwelt on Red Cap, either before or after she’d been gunned down. The colonel had been memorizing the area, noting landmarks. The Haphans would return as soon as possible, this time without their servitor Tachba, to collect her body. It was the only plausible next step. The Haphans would want physical evidence of this major change from the South. Even as only a corpse, she was too important to the empire and the war to leave on the field.
Gole hesitated. Will she live? Will she be able to move in time? He didn’t want to ruin the whole war, but he did want her to survive. He wanted her to remember him, maybe.
“A little cleverness would serve now,” Malley said from beneath him. “This is becoming a habit with you.”
Gole looked down. He had, yet again, crawled on top of somebody. He shifted to the side, and found himself back with the patrol.
“Head down, idiot,” Corphy snapped from behind him. “Can’t you hear the snipers? Your skull don’t matter none, but you’ll draw their eyes to the colonel.”
Gole glanced the other way and saw that the Haphan was still with them. Now that he listened for it, Gole could also hear the remote pip-growl of Southie sniper rifles. Their reports were numerous and persistent, nearly the only sound on the battlefield at the moment. If Red Cap had managed to spring her Grulle-baited trap on a northern patrol, the ensuing confusion and casualties would have turned it into a monumental loss for the North.
“Soldier,” Colonel Luscetian said to Malley, “check our path home and confirm the way is clear.”
Malley nodded and clambered out of sight. Gole was alone with his lieutenant and the colonel.
Corphy said, “Which we should move too. The sun is in the air and we’re in the open. La, it was a bad idea to wait for the squeaker. No criticism intended.”
When the colonel didn’t immediately answer, Gole and Corphy turned to him.
“Tell me, lieutenant,” the colonel said quietly. “Do you still believe Gole deserves his summary execution?”
Corphy barely glanced at Gole. “By this point, sir, I’d say he deserves two of them.”
The lieutenant shook his head. “He only promises to break more rules. Haphan rules, if I may point out. Your rules. This scrag thinks he’s clever, but he’s a danger to himself and others. I only wish we could have our Summaries at the front, as a message for every new squeaker who stands up and thinks he’s special.”
“Well, there it is.” The colonel met Gole’s eyes, his expression opaque. “The war is changing and the rules must change with it. As it turns out, lieutenant, we Haphans can conduct a summary at the front.”
Before either Gole or Corphy could react, the Haphan climbed to his knees. He rose into the open air, the sunlight slanting across his grim face. Colonel Luscetian was fully exposed from the waist up.
“Sir!” Corphy lurched upright to drag him back down. “The snipers!”
Luscetian snapped a salute at his lieutenant.
Corphy’s hand raised reflexively to return the salute, but paused halfway up. Realization unfurled across his face—then his neck exploded. A sniper round through the top of his spine. He fell sideways, his head spinning on a single remaining tendon.
Luscetian dropped back into cover at the same time, untouched. He hugged the ground as if it was home, blinking in the dirt with his face half buried. He stared at Corphy’s head, with its eyes that turned his direction and then slowly closed.
Gole’s heart thudded in his ear. When he found his voice, he said, “You’re alive and well, sir.”
“So I seem,” the colonel said. He wrested his gaze away from Corphy. “I seem to be unmarked.”
Lines of Thunder: The First Days on the Front (Lines of Thunder Universe) Page 10
