The Price of Valor

by Django Wexler

  “Not too bad,” Winter said. “Bobby, go and tell Captain Sevran I want a word. Cyte, would you fetch Jane?”

  “Sir!” The two lieutenants saluted and rode off in opposite directions.

  Jane arrived almost immediately, apparently having been headed to see Winter to begin with. Winter felt silly, looking down at her from horseback, so she swung herself off Edgar and acknowledged Jane’s salute with a nod.

  She found Jane’s cool green stare oddly disconcerting. They hadn’t been able to exchange more than a few words since the incident with Novus; Winter had thought she’d detected a little thawing in Jane the night before, but now she had no idea where they stood. Where we stand is as colonel and captain, on the battlefield. We can figure the rest out later.

  “We’re in position, sir,” Jane said, as though Winter couldn’t see that for herself. “What happens now?”

  “Now we wait,” Winter said.

  “Just wait?”

  “We’re where Janus wanted us. Unless the enemy does something, we stay put.” Winter glanced over her shoulder toward the center of the line, where larger columns of Vordanai blue were gathering. “My guess is, the first attack will be over that way, but with Janus, who knows? We just have to be ready.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jane saluted again. “Is that all?”

  Winter hesitated. She had the feeling Jane was looking for something from her, some gesture, but this was not the time or place, with half the army looking on. She gave a curt nod, though her stomach felt as if she’d swallowed a hot coal. Jane turned around and stalked back toward the Girls’ Own.

  Captain Sevran arrived a few moments later. He wore a fresh uniform, which looked as though it had come straight from the tailor, and carried a bronze spyglass tucked into his belt. His salute was rigidly correct.

  “Sir!”

  “Captain,” Winter said. “Well deployed.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Down in the valley, flame-colored dots were milling about in front of the town as the Deslandai made their preparations. Sevran watched them, his eyes distant.

  “Is something wrong, Captain?”

  “No, sir.” Sevran hesitated. “Just . . . twitchy. This is my first honest-to-goodness battle.”

  Winter felt a surge of sympathy. She remembered what it had been like in Khandar, having memorized the Regulations and the manual of arms, but never having faced a real enemy. Sevran, a graduate of the War College, had spent his whole life training for exactly this moment, and now it had finally come. “Twitchy” doesn’t begin to describe it.

  “Well, things seem quiet enough for now,” Winter said in what she hoped was a reassuring tone.

  “Yes, sir.” He pointed at the farmhouse. “Should we consider occupying that? It would make for a nice strongpoint.”

  “Not yet,” Winter said. “We may not even be headed in that direction. Wait for the enemy to make a move. We’ll see them coming in plenty of time—”

  “Sir,” Cyte broke in. “Something’s wrong.”

  Winter and Sevran turned to follow her pointing finger. The artillery battery on their right had crossed the crest of the hill, but showed no signs of stopping. Winter squinted, trying to guess what they were up to.

  “Hell,” Sevran said. “Someone’s got their position wrong. If they go too far, they’re going to get bitten off.”

  Winter nodded. There were several squadrons of cavalry visible down behind the Deslandai line, and a battery of guns with no infantry support would be easy prey for horsemen.

  “Bobby!” she shouted. When she appeared, Winter pointed to the wayward battery. “Ride over to that battery and tell the commander he’s headed straight for the enemy. He needs to come back up to the crest of the ridge.”

  “Yessir!” Bobby saluted and dashed to find her horse. Sevran had his spyglass out, studying the Deslandai at the edge of the town.

  “They’re doing something,” he commented. “There’s more confusion than I’d expect if they were going to just dig in and wait. They’d have had everything prepared by now.”

  Winter watched Bobby mount up, then turned back to the town. As she did, there was a flash from a barricaded street and a billow of smoke, followed by a shower of dirt as the cannonball plowed into the hillside a hundred yards short of the advancing Vordanai line and well to her left. Then, belatedly, the distant boom of the shot echoed through valley.

  A battery of big twelve-pounders just at the crest of the ridge answered, flashes rippling across the ranked guns like fire racing up a fuse. With the advantage of height, they outranged their Deslandai counterparts, and the solid shot arced over the head of the advancing troops to plow into the streets of Gaafen. One hit the roof of a house and crashed through without slowing, blasting neat shingles in every direction. Another skipped merrily off the cobblestones, raising sparks with every bounce as it bowled down the street and eventually smashed into the side of a house.

  “We could sit here all day and blast them out,” Sevran said. More Deslandai artillery was opening fire, but it was still falling short. “Janus has them ranged in nicely.”

  Winter shook her head. “The guns are too inaccurate at that range. It’s easy enough to hit the town, but it’s not the town that shoots back. Prying men out from behind barricades is much harder. This is just a little brisk warm-up.”

  Sevran shot her a glance that she had trouble reading at first. It was respect, she realized after a moment. For all that he’d been to War College to learn his trade, Winter was the one who’d already smelled the powder. She’d marched in a firing line as muskets and canister tore great gaps in it, and led a company in a screaming bayonet charge that swept the enemy from the field. Someday I’ll stop dreaming about it, too.

  “Sir!” Bobby, returning at a full gallop. Winter had to look farther down the slope to find the artillery battery, which hadn’t slowed its advance. “Sir! They wouldn’t listen!”

  “Saints and martyrs,” Winter swore. “Can’t they see what they’re riding into?”

  “No, sir.” Bobby reined up in a shower of dirt and pebbles. “There’s a fold in the ground. It’s hard to see from here. The captain in charge thinks the ridge he was supposed to stop on is still ahead of him.”

  “Did you get his name?” Sevran said.

  “Captain Altoff, sir!”

  Sevran rolled his eyes.

  “You know him?” Winter said.

  “A bit. He’s a stiff-necked old dinosaur. Too proud by half. I’m not surprised he wouldn’t listen to a volunteer lieutenant.”

  “Let me see that.” Winter held out her hand for the spyglass, and Sevran handed it over. She swept it down until she found the Deslandai line, the yellow-orange uniforms jumping into sharp relief. They were definitely forming up for something, battalions arranging themselves in columns, with cavalry lining up behind them. As of yet, they hadn’t seen Altoff’s battery, but once it came into view the horsemen would be on it before it had time to withdraw.

  Winter swore again. “Balls of the Beast. I’m going over there. If he won’t listen to a lieutenant, he’ll damned well listen to a colonel. Cyte, with me. Bobby, tell Jane what’s happening. Sevran, you’ve got command here until I get back. Where’s my damned horse?”

  * * *

  “Sir,” Captain Altoff said, “I protest. I was ordered to plant my battery on the ridge!”

  Sweat was pouring down his face and soaking into his collar as he mopped at it ineffectually with a handkerchief. Altoff was a portly man who gave the impression he was gradually being blown up from within, like a paper balloon. This was particularly visible because his uniform had evidently been tailored in his younger and slimmer days. Now the buttons were straining with his girth, and the collar dug so tight into his neck that the veins stood out like a relief map.

  “Yes,” Winter said, pointing over her shoulder. “That
ridge, there, where my regiment can support you.”

  “I won’t have the range to hit anything from there!”

  “If there’s any shooting to be done, they’ll come to us.”

  Altoff frowned. “I’ll not have it said I kept my men out of a fight.”

  “If anyone blames you, I’ll take responsibility. Will you please just get this battery turned around before we’re knee-deep in enemy cavalry?”

  The captain looked unhappy, but he jerked a nod at a nearby lieutenant, who started shouting at the drivers. Each gun was attached by its trail to its caisson, a cart that held spare ammunition and supplies, so that its muzzle pointed backward and down. Teams of four horses pulled the carts, with some of the gunners riding while others walked alongside. Getting them turned around was a laborious process that involved leading the teams by hand, and Winter watched and fretted while the men worked, expecting to see orange jackets coming over the fold at any moment. She breathed a sigh of relief when they were straightened out and headed in the right direction.

  The crackle of musketry caught her attention. The cannoneers of both sides had continued their long-range argument, a distant rumble and thump that quickly became almost subliminal. This was different, sharp cracks coming from nearby. Winter turned to look, but the dip in the ground obscured most of the field from view. She could see smoke rising, though. Above that, the ranks of the Girls’ Own were visible, but the space beside them on the ridge was empty.

  “Cyte,” she said, “where the hell are the Royals?”

  Cyte turned her horse with her knees and shaded her eyes with her hands. “Don’t know, sir.”

  Shit, shit, shit. Goddamn this idiot. “Altoff!”

  “Sir?” The fat captain was climbing up onto a caisson.

  “I’m going back to my men. Get your battery to the top of the ridge and wait for orders.”

  “Yes, sir,” Altoff said, obviously put out. Winter couldn’t spare him any more of her time. She snapped Edgar’s reins, and he trotted back up the hill, Cyte trailing behind her.

  Once they’d gained enough height to get a view of the town again, Winter paused. The musketry was coming from the little farm, and she could see the pink-white flare of muzzle flashes amid growing drifts of smoke. Blue-clad figures knelt behind the fence and rushed in groups across the courtyard, making for the farmhouse. More flashes from the windows told her that the place was occupied.

  “That has to be Sevran,” she said. “So why are the Girls’ Own just standing there?”

  Cyte shook her head. “No idea, sir.”

  Winter blew out a long breath. “All right. You go find Sevran, get a report, and get back here. I’ll go get Jane and get him some support.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  If Cyte was nervous about being ordered to go where the lead was flying, she didn’t show it. She turned her horse about and headed for the farm. She’s changed, Winter thought, watching her go. She was used to thinking of the ex-student as someone who added things up and did paperwork, for all that they’d fought side by side at the Vendre. I think I’ve been selling her short.

  She shook her head and continued up the ridge. Jane was waiting in front of the Girls’ Own, with Bobby standing anxiously beside her. The lieutenants of the battalion were gathered in a loose group nearby, Folsom standing out among the women like a tree trunk in a clump of ferns.

  Winter was swinging out of the saddle before Edgar had a chance to stop, and he shifted uneasily underneath her and nearly dumped her on her face. She hit the ground in a crouch, and Bobby was at her side immediately.

  “Are you all right, sir?” she said.

  “I’m fine. What the hell is going on?”

  “Ah—” Bobby looked back at Jane.

  “Captain Sevran took it into his head to take the fight to the enemy,” Jane said. She had a smug expression, like a cat that had gotten away with some mischief. “He took the Royals down to occupy the farm.”

  “I saw,” Winter snapped. “So what are you doing here? Did he tell you to stay behind?”

  “No, sir,” Jane said. “But your instructions were to stay put. I didn’t think Captain Sevran had a good reason to—”

  Oh, saints and martyrs. “I left him in command,” Winter grated. “If he ordered you forward, you should have damned well gone forward!”

  “I don’t take orders from him,” Jane said, frowning. This was clearly not how she’d expected this conversation to go.

  “You do if I fucking well tell you to,” Winter said, her anger boiling over.

  “Winter—”

  “Don’t!”

  “Colonel Ihernglass,” Jane said. “Do you think we could speak privately?”

  “No, I don’t,” Winter said. “I think we will get this battalion down there this goddamned minute.”

  “I don’t see what your hurry is,” Jane said. “It’s just a bunch of Royals. Remember what they did to us, last time? And Novus—”

  Winter crossed the distance between them in two steps and grabbed Jane’s collar, pulling her close. Her voice was low and fierce, for Jane’s ears alone.

  “You know I love you,” she said. “And I know you’re angry at me, and you’re angry about what Novus did. I understand all that. But if you ever deliberately leave soldiers under my command in danger without a good reason, I swear by Karis and all the saints I will ship you back to Vordan. I am responsible for every one of those men down there, just as much as I am for every woman up here.”

  “You think they’d come and help us?” Jane hissed back.

  “Yes,” Winter said. “Now come on.” She raised her voice. “Follow me! At the double!”

  “At the double!” Folsom bellowed, and the other officers took up the cry. The drums thrilled, and the women in the ranks shouted their approval. The line lurched into motion, erratic in places but still moving as a body in the direction of the farm.

  Winter left Edgar behind—no sense in making myself more of a target than I have to—and scrambled to keep ahead of the advancing formation. A few moments later, Cyte reappeared, sliding off her own mount and hurrying to keep up.

  “Sir, Captain Sevran says he saw an enemy formation trying to occupy the farm in advance of an attack. He decided the best way to stop them was to get there before they did.”

  Winter grimaced, but truthfully it wasn’t a bad call. If the Deslandai really were going to launch an assault on this quarter of the field, it would be better to be behind the farm’s walls and fences. And if they get guns placed in there, we’d have a hell of a time staying on the ridge.

  “I take it things didn’t go as planned,” she said.

  “No, sir. He got to the fence line and one of the barns, but the enemy has got the main house. He’s tried two charges, but they can’t get across the courtyard.” Cyte gestured downslope. “And there’s more of them coming, sir.”

  Winter looked and saw that she was right. The columns she’d seen forming earlier were advancing, at a measured pace. At least four battalions, plus cavalry and guns. If we’re dug in here, we’ve got a chance of turning them back. She looked over the layout of the farm, rapidly considering. “Cyte, go back to Altoff. He knows you’re with me now. Tell him he’d better listen or I’ll have his hide. I need his guns down here, as quick as he can.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Jane!”

  “Sir?” Jane’s tone was acid, and it sent needles through Winter’s heart, but she ignored the feeling.

  “Pick your best rider. Have her take Edgar and go back up along the ridge. Find Janus and tell him we’re going to need help over here, sooner rather than later.”

  “Right.” A little of Jane’s anger seemed to dissolve. “Jennie! Up here!”

  Winter turned back to the farm as Jane dealt with that. The area enclosed by the fence was roughly square, with a b
arn at the two right-hand corners and the farmhouse in the far left. The yard between, where the chickens had been, was now sown with a new crop of blue-uniformed bodies. Musketry rattled from behind the scanty cover of the fence, and muzzle flashes blazed from every window of the house and around the edges of the farther barn.

  When Jane turned back to her, she was ready. “Take four companies and find Sevran. Tell him to wait ten minutes, then try the yard again. I’m going to take the other four and swing around the left, and we’ll hit them from both sides at once.”

  Jane looked dubiously as the corpse-strewn yard. “I—”

  “Don’t fucking argue,” Winter said. “You say ‘Yes, sir’ and then you damned well do it.”

  There was a dangerous light in Jane’s green eyes. “Yes, sir,” she said.

  As she turned away, Winter felt her throat go thick. Is this how I lose her? Screaming at her on some battlefield? She swallowed hard and looked away.

  * * *

  Off to the left, the Vordanai center was in action against the town itself, musketry and cannon-fire intermingled to a dull roar. Winter barely spared them a glance, and gave the Deslandai troops approaching from the direction of the town scarcely more thought. They would be a problem in a half hour; what mattered now was getting through the next few minutes.

  Bobby was at her side, and she’d taken Abby and Graff as well. They were a hundred and fifty yards from the farm, standing in the stubble of a shorn cornfield, while the other half of the Girls’ Own marched on toward where Sevran’s men were fighting.

  “On my signal,” Winter said, “we’re going to run like hell. Don’t worry about formation, and don’t stop to fire. See the apple tree, where the fence runs close to the house?” She pointed. “That’s where we’re headed. Get to the fence, as close to that tree as you can, and get some cover. Then you can fire.” She turned to Abby. “Get together twenty or so of your best, and keep them together. Fix bayonets. Once we’ve got someone keeping their heads down, we’ll go over the fence and in the side door.”