The Price of Valor (15 page)

Winter had expected trouble from sur Gothin's people, given their performance in that first abortive drill, but so far she'd been pleasantly surprised. The soldiers were apparently willing to overlook their prejudices, at least when food was involved. They milled around in eager groups, waiting for the chickens to finish roasting, mixing with the women from the Girls' Own. Unlike the Leatherbacks, who shared a common origin either at Mrs. Wilmore's or from the Docks, the newer recruits were a mixed bag, drawn from almost every walk of life. Some of them had distinctly upper-class accents and bearings, like Cyte, while others spoke with the broad dialect of Newtown or the twang of the country. Sur Gothin himself gamely made the rounds, introducing himself to the women and joking about the day's handball matches.

The other officers sat in a circle around a fire. Lieutenant Malloy was a small, dark-haired young woman with the soft accent of the Transpale and the fair skin of someone not used to working outdoors. She'd lost a bit of that during the march, but no one would be mistaking her for a sunbaked Leatherback any time soon. Her attitude, shared with Cyte and many of the other recruits, was a quiet determination to do her best and overcome any obstacles the world might throw in her way. Winter supposed that was the kind of woman who was attracted to the idea of joining up with the only female battalion in the army. She'd won her position by the good opinion of her peers—the Girls' Own had held elections, early on, to fill out its slate of lieutenants and sergeants.

Lieutenant Novus, on the other hand, was an entirely different sort of officer. His uniform, though dusty and sweat-stained from days on the road, was still obviously well tailored and embroidered with more gold thread than the regulations strictly called for, and the sword that hung at his belt had a chased silver scabbard and gold filigree around the hilt. The stripe on his shoulder was plain
white, not silver, a distinction Winter had learned to appreciate: only an officer who was a graduate of the War College, like Marcus d'Ivoire, was entitled to wear the silver. Novus had purchased his commission, or more likely inherited it as part of the family fortune.

The similarity to her first lieutenant, d'Vries, was striking, as though there were a printing press somewhere in Vordan City that stamped out these handsome, preening sons of privilege. Winter was doing her best to keep an open mind, although given how d'Vries had ended up, this was not easy. But Novus had stayed with the army, when many noble or wealthy officers had fled, which had to say
something
about his character. He was currently not helping his cause, however, by maintaining a stiff formality and refusing to participate in the conversation.

Winter tried again, as Bobby removed a trio of chickens from the fire and set to work carving. Their fire was in the middle of the feast, and she was very aware that her conversation would be the object of everyone's attention, if not now, then later on when the soldiers whispered about it in their tents.

They'd already exhausted the subjects of the weather, the march, and the pleasant smell of the chicken. Every time Winter tried to get a topic going, it ran into Lieutenant Novus like a tennis ball hitting the net, as he turned his grim stare on each of them in turn. Now, as Bobby served the chickens and even the lieutenant was briefly distracted by the prospect of food, she took a deep breath and tried again.

“Lieutenant Malloy,” she said. “I don't believe I've heard the story of how you joined us. If you're willing to share it, of course.”

“Not much t' tell, sir,” Malloy said, not meeting Winter's eye. She had an awed expression, as though she were dining with a live saint, which made Winter distinctly uncomfortable. “I'm from Appes, on the Fal. Family's in wool. Papa sent me an' two of my older brothers to Vordan City, t' finish up a contract with a new buyer. When the king died, we heard the roads weren't safe, so we stayed put until it all blew over. My brothers were more worried about what this would do t' prices than about watching out for me, so I was out on the th' streets when the Vendre fell. I watched th' Colonials march out to fight Orlanko, and I saw you leading the Girls' Own in the parade afterward.”

Her eyes got a strange shine, a glow that seemed entirely independent of the firelight. She wasn't looking at Winter, but past her, into the night sky. Novus, who'd been delicately nibbling his chicken, stopped to fix Malloy with a glare, but she didn't notice.

“I went back t' my brothers an' told 'em I was joining the army,” she went
on. “They called me crazy and laughed at me. Then they said Papa would disown me, and Benji told me to stop being silly an' tried to grab me, so I popped him one on the nose. Got blood all over his new shirt. Then they shouted at me, said I'd end up as a whore an' it'd be no business of theirs if I did, an' I said it was no business of theirs anyway. An' probably some other things I shouldn't have. Then I grabbed my stuff and left.”

Winter was trying to think of what to say to that when Novus saved her the trouble, tossing his plate with its barely touched chicken into the fire. He got to his feet, a thunderous scowl on his face, and turned his back on the company without a word. As he stalked away, Winter got up to follow, gesturing at Bobby to keep the conversation alive. Bobby stuttered a bit, foiled by the sudden silence, but Captain Sevran came to the rescue with a question about the morning's handball match, and everyone piled back into the talk with relief.

Winter found Novus standing by a vacant tent on the edge of camp, staring out toward the line of lights that were the torchbearing sentries. On either side, tents stretched away, neat lines fading into the darkness. The camp was alive with conversation, the crackle of fires, and the soft sounds of horses and oxen settling down for the night. Winter hesitated, not sure what to say, and was considering leaving the man alone when he rounded on her.

“How do you do it?” he said.

“Excuse me?” Winter said, a bit startled.

“Sit there and listen to that . . . that
absurdity
.”

“I'm not sure I understand,” Winter said. “You have some problem with Lieutenant Malloy's story?”

“I find the sight of Lieutenant Malloy offensive, sir,” Novus spit. “It's fucking unnatural and makes me want to vomit. It's like someone put a wedding dress on a sow, or gloves on a horse. It's absurd. Except you're sending her into battle, so it's like taking that horse and trying to make him box, or marrying the sow, taking her home, and fucking her. This so-called ‘battalion' is a sick joke.”

Now that he was going, the floodgates were well and truly open. Winter's hackles rose, but she tried to keep the anger from her face.

“You heard her story,” Novus said. “Every one of your ‘Girls' Own' has a story like that. Some father or brother or uncle that they've turned on, in defiance of the laws of God and man, to run off and play at soldiers. And I have to stand here and watch as
my
battalion, which I chose to stand with when the war came, is perverted by this . . . this
ridiculous
farce. If I had my way, I'd tell the lot of them they could go home, if their families will still take them, or stay here and be
whores. At least then they'd be good for something.” He sneered. “They seem well on their way to that already.”

He ran out of breath, and stood there for a moment, panting.

“Is that all?” Winter said, keeping her voice mild with an effort.

“You're the one I don't understand, sir,” Novus said. “These
volunteers
don't know anything about war. But you're a man, and you were a
real
soldier, in Khandar. How can you lead these girls out there knowing what'll happen to them? They'll be overrun the first time they meet the enemy, and those of them that don't eat cold steel will spend the rest of the war sucking Hamveltai cock at knifepoint.” He eyed her dubiously. “Are you just too afraid of the general to speak up, is that it? If you had any balls at all, you'd resign rather than lead this freak show.”

Winter wanted to laughed and cry all at once. She swallowed hard. “Very well. Your point is taken, Lieutenant. And what do you suggest I do with you now?”

“I'll tell you exactly what you're going to do,” Novus said. “Nothing. Because you know as well as I do that I'm right, and every man in the Royals agrees with me. Captain Sevran's a coward, but if you lay a finger on me, the whole damned battalion will be on my side. We'll see what your
girls
are worth then.”

For just a moment, Winter was back in Khandar, with Sergeant Davis looming over her with his great scarred fists raised. Her breath caught, but when she blinked, the image was gone. Novus was no Davis, had none of the sergeant's strength or brutality. Looking at him now, she could see he was
scared
, talking big because he knew he'd backed himself into a corner.

“Thank you for being frank with me, Lieutenant,” Winter said. “I'll consider what you've said. You're dismissed.”

Fear turned to triumph in Novus' eyes. “Oh yes.
Consider
it.” He shook his head. “You
are
a fucking coward, aren't you? I can see that now. I should have known it all along. Go ahead, then. Lead us to disaster. Once your girls get slaughtered, we'll be there to pick up the pieces.”

He turned on his heel and stalked away. Winter sucked in a long breath and blew it out again.

Well, then.
She looked after the lieutenant and shook her head.
Now what?

“You'll have to get rid of him,” Cyte said as they watched the formations assemble. “I probably would have fired him on the spot. Or slugged him.”

“It's more complicated than that,” Winter said. “Being an asshole isn't against regulations.”

“Using that kind of language to a superior officer is,” Cyte said. “Besides, I think Janus has already set the precedent when he kicked out de Ferre and his friends.”

“I'm not Janus,” Winter said. She caught sight of Lieutenant Novus, on the other side of the drill field. He looked from Winter to the men and women getting into formation and back again, then shook his head and stalked away.

“Janus would back you if Novus tried to go through channels. And if he tried anything else, you'd be within your rights to have him arrested.”

“Maybe.” Winter was only half listening, scanning the crowd that had turned up to watch the morning's drill. “I need to talk to Sevran and see what he thinks.”

“Don't wait too long,” Cyte said. “If Novus gets it into his head that he can run roughshod over you, there's going to be trouble.”

“Yeah.”

Winter went stiff as she found what she was looking for. A flash of glorious red hair, in the middle of a knot of Girls' Own spectators. She tried to catch Jane's eye and failed.
But at least she's out of her tent.

“Okay,” she said to Folsom, who stood ready to repeat her commands. “Let's get started.”

“Close
up
!” Folsom's voice rang through the misty morning air like a clarion call. “Skirmish line,
forward
! Main line,
loading drill
!”

It was Lieutenant Vidolet's company on the field. He wasn't part of the noble clique around Novus, and Winter didn't think he'd deliberately sabotage the drill. His men certainly looked as though they'd been practicing, going through the manual of arms with smooth precision. He shouted, “Fire!” and a chorus of clicks answered him.

Abby's company of the Girls' Own had improved as well. Their loading was faster, and they seemed more comfortable in their two-woman teams, trading off firing as fast as they could ram home imaginary musket balls. They also seemed to be more enthusiastic about the exercise. Playful shouts went up with each shot.

“Got one!”

“Take that, you damned Elysian!”

“Bagged myself a general!”

“No, you didn't, you only knocked off his hat!”

But the next part is the real test.
Winter nodded to Folsom, who took a deep breath.

“Skirmish line,
fall back
! Main line, prepare to pass skirmishers!”

Abby's company turned at once and sprinted back toward Vidolet's, where the men halted in their loading and firing and presented their muskets in a stiff line, as though they were brandishing bayonets. The Girls' Own soldiers surged toward them, a confused mass of running, laughing women, and Winter braced herself for the collision.

It never came. The Royals turned neatly in place, opening holes in the line just wide enough to run through, and Abby's company passed through as cleanly and quickly as a pebble dropped into a cup of water. The women came out the other side of the line, whooping and hollering; Abby herself, who was waiting there, immediately began getting them to form a line of their own. In less than a minute, they were all through, and the Royals closed ranks again to present an unbroken line of muskets to the “enemy.”

“Fire!” Vidolet shouted, to another round of clicks.

The soldiers began their loading drill again, and Winter let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

“It works,” Cyte said.

“Get them to try it again,” Winter said. “Then switch companies. I want every soldier to have a chance to practice before we break camp today. If that all goes well, tomorrow we'll see if they can do it with bayonets fixed.”
Assuming we get another day to practice.
They were only fifteen miles from Gaafen, where the enemy was reported to be digging in.

“Yes, sir!” Cyte said.

“And once we make camp tonight, go and get decent food for everybody. Spend whatever we've got left.”

Cyte nodded. “Yes, sir. What about Novus?”

There had been a moment, as Novus had unleashed his tirade, that Winter felt absurdly grateful she hadn't abandoned her male disguise, as Bobby had. It wasn't a feeling she was proud of. But Novus' reaction was the one she'd always expected would follow discovery—if not the outright rape and murder that had been on Sergeant Davis' mind—and though when he'd found out Janus had not lived up to her fears, she suspected that Janus was, as usual, exceptional. If the old-fashioned royal officers or traditionalists like Colonel d'Ivoire found out, she suspected a verbal explosion like Novus' would be the least of her worries.