A Winter's Mercy, page 19
“Textbook.” Ptrangus shrugged, like he murdered armed men in silence every day. “Pulled the old help a confused, lost Rae boy, would you? routine to get close and Scraper came at them from behind.”
Wish goggled, fascinated that his easy charm could’ve stopped these men from getting off even a single shot. But the Rawboy accent was disarming, despite what she knew of these men, and in his black kit he didn’t immediately resemble a soldier. Not a Stanish one, anyway. She came closer, checking the bodies, all three having bled profusely but from only a couple of stab wounds. As she met Scraper’s dark eyes, Ptrangus said, in a stage whisper, “You know, whatever doubts I have about you Stains, she’s worth having around.”
Wish gave him a scolding look, not sure Scraper appreciated his humour, if anyone did. She checked over her shoulder. Lugger, Crag and one of Jonus’s men had come with her, and she said, “Can you guys shift these bodies to the side? Ptrangus and Scraper, keep on ahead. We should almost be at the path now.” She checked the lifeless young men again. The one with his throat cut had lush blonde hair, looking especially young and more confused than pained. Like Quickness. Why. His uniform was clean besides the blood and mud from this scuffle. No creases – had it ever seen battle?
Wish cleared her throat, and, for something more to say, said, “Really good work, guys.”
Good.
That was one word for it.
The path to Serenity Overlook was encased in doming vines like a hallway, letting sunlight through while also providing complete privacy, so Wish could lead her platoon without much care for being seen. When they reached the overlook itself, she found it similarly sheltered by trees, with hedges cropped low along the cliff edge, parted for a quaint bench. Wish crawled up to the edge on her belly, instructing Dalliance and Gaussica to creep to the hedge on the other side of the bench. Captain Crash joined her with Lieutenant Jonus, neither invited, to survey the view below. She was quite sure there had never been quite so picturesque a spot as this. The world was created for this view: a sweeping, beautiful lake, lined with rocky ridges and trees, dusted white with frost. To the left, sunk in a pretty inlet, sat a gingerbread town straight out of a fairy tale, with painted walls, tiled peaks and turrets. She could have reached out and grabbed a piece to eat, if she was lying next to anyone other than Crash. He was too serious for fantasy, and immediately set to scribbling notes in a tiny pad, offering Jonus occasional whispers as they checked their maps and tools.
But once Wish got over the beautiful view, she recognised the threat within quaint Sober Sound, and appreciated for the first time how serious this mission was. She whispered, “There’s a whole invasion force down there.”
Crash said, “Key targets are the main thoroughfare and those two big buildings by the lake’s edge. We’ll keep a barrage going, ten minutes on, fifteen off, thereabouts, until they’re gone. We’ll await your flare to confirm that. Withdraw immediately when it’s done.”
Wish was barely listening as she was drawn to the sight of a big Relight tree in the town square, then the ugly tank next to it. Scores of men in green coats were milling about there, and lounging at the lake’s edge, dipping their toes in the icy water and laughing. A platoon was drilling in tight lines, marching. A group of important uniformed men were talking with important suited locals. Their exchange made her notice others out of uniform. Colourful coats and hats, fishermen’s garbs, dresses. White and blue frills, flirty smiles from civilian women.
“The town’s still occupied,” Wish said.
“Huh?” Crash’s grunt had a little uncertainty to it.
“There’s civilians. Look, between the bloody green-coats, there are lots of civilians. There’s –” She swept her scope back and forth, every angle now picking out more civilian clothing. Pretty young ladies, pipe-smoking older men, older women knitting on balconies – children. A group of children playfully running from a boy swinging a stick. Men gathered around a ladder trying to hoist a Relight garland. “The town’s full. It hasn’t been evacuated.”
She looked to Crash. He stared intently through his binoculars, motionless.
“Wasn’t the town supposed to be evacuated?” Wish said, a ball of panic stirring in her gut. She looked over Crash’s shoulder to Dalliance, prone on the other side of the bench, rifle propped through the hedge base. He returned a concerned expression. Even Gaussica, crouched with a small telescope in hand, was frowning. Wish raised her eyebrows, inviting some input here. Why was no one saying anything?
“Unders mentioned some locals had stayed,” Jonus said, at last.
“That’s not some!” Wish exclaimed, shocked at his callous response, but equally at herself now, because Unders had said that. And Bluefern had mentioned the town had kept functioning after the war started – had they all assumed the civilians had left when the military came in, or not cared? She’d never stopped to think about it. It had never registered with her that this wasn’t just an attack on a strategic enemy location – they intended to wipe out a whole town. Because why would they bomb a town if the civilians were still there? She said, “There’s too many. We can’t shell civilians.”
“We’re not,” Crash said. Thank Bly, a rational response. But he went on, slowly, “We’re shelling a Drail military outpost. Any civilians who chose to stay there did so willingly.”
“The fuck? They couldn’t have known we were planning on bombing them to hell!”
“With the town in no man’s land?” Crash lowered his binoculars. His voice was unemotional. “They invited the Drail in.”
“We can’t bomb that town,” Wish said, that ball of panic swelling into her chest, filling her. “They’re still civilians. They might have had no choice. There has to be another way. We can shell the lake when it freezes.”
“With Haven compromised and their latest patrol not coming back?” Crash countered. “We’re on borrowed time, Captain. It has to happen now. You said it, that’s an invasion force – if they realise we’re here, they’ll push through the woods before we can mount a proper defence.”
“There’s a hundred innocent people. Women and children.”
Crash took another look. His mouth formed a grim line. “I don’t like it. I agree, it’s regrettable. But it’s what we have to do.”
“Indiscriminately killing anyone in our way? There are women and children,” Wish repeated firmly. How quickly he seemed to have forgotten his concerns for defending her gender.
Crash eyed her again. Unapologetic, but not hostile. Just empty, dispassionate, to tell her yes. That is what it meant to run an artillery outfit. She checked the others’ faces again and found no solace in Dalliance’s unhappy expression, deferring to her. Gaussica didn’t appear to be listening, eye on his telescope, and Jonus was looking ahead, blankly obedient.
“You guys got nothing to say?” she snapped.
“I support whatever you decide, boss,” Dalliance murmured quickly, ready for that. Damn Graveguard, the thought came to Wish, as his miserable pep talk came to mind. No one wanted to take responsibility.
“I see him,” Gaussica said.
“What?” Wish demanded.
“Terrifold.” The Azirian pointed, as if that would help. “Towards the centre. The tall man in a crimson coat.”
Though reluctant to drop this argument, Wish checked through her rifle scope, running over dozens of relaxing soldiers. There it was, a crimson coat, on a stiffly self-assured man striding between the ranks, skin lined from age and seriousness. She didn’t ask how Gaussica recognised him – she could’ve guessed herself that he was a mage. He gestured at some soldiers, gave orders, then turned off between the buildings, out of sight. Their target clearly wasn’t worried about being seen. None of them were, these clueless soldiers enjoying their fairy-tale town. The jovial civilians were equally oblivious.
“Could you hit him from here?” Crash asked.
“Easily,” Wish answered without thinking. Then she shook her head. “No, we have to stop and rethink this.”
“You’d prefer to get closer?” Crash said.
“That’s not what I mean! You can’t be okay with this. That’s an entire town of people.”
“It’s a threat to our entire front line,” the captain replied. “We need to disable this outpost or risk a breach that our army cannot handle. The order has been made, Captain, and I see no reason that Command would accept for not following through.”
Wish was locked with disbelief. No reason. There were hundreds of reasons down there. People’s lives. But Command had disregarded many thousands of innocent lives spread along the front line, hadn’t they? She heard Havik’s voice whispering of times it had been done before. Names she knew only as tragedies, sneered at her by a goblin: Havik’s hometown of Kopice. Hartland. Purnjay. And Wick. The city of Wick she had inadvertently helped decimate herself. How many civilians were caught up in that?
In her hesitation, Crash sat back. Getting serious. He was here to keep her in line with his natural grimace and ingrained disapproval of her presence. But his voice remained flat as he said, “If you think it’s unsafe to remain here, you can withdraw your platoon. Wash your hands of it.” He glanced aside. “Mr Gaussica, if you would remain?”
“It’s busy down there,” Gaussica said. “I could get in and out without a problem.”
“In ninety minutes?”
The Azirian nodded and Crash turned back to Wish.
“It would be beneficial if you could confirm that those buildings and the thoroughfares are destroyed, so we can withdraw with confidence that it’s done. Likewise, if the mage survives and we can’t break through, we’d need to withdraw quickly. But if you don’t believe this is a secure position for your men . . . I’m sure Lieutenant Jonus can keep watch.”
The suggestion, a blatant lie as it was, wasn’t said to goad her, but offered as a way out. She could have nothing to do with this, if she only said the word. He would get his wish and at least protect the Stanish women from the horrors they might see. Never mind what the Lomian women would endure. Those people would still die. Somehow his reasonableness was even worse than hostility. If he was prepared to fight her, it would be easier to resist. She said, “Or I could stop you. Call the whole thing off.”
“You can withdraw your platoon, that’s all,” Crash clarified. Not blinking. “Do any more than that and you’ll be committing treason.”
Wish didn’t blink either. They understood each other. She had taken things into her own hands multiple times in the past, when she disagreed with Captain Brade, but that was only when her own platoon was at stake. When the difference was pulling a trigger or not. Major Bluefern was in charge here and had orders from Command. If she wanted to stop this, it would mean breaking rank against him, and there would be no coming back.
“It is regrettable,” Crash said, again, with the slightest crack of emotion, “but this has to happen. Put your feelings aside, Captain, and you will see it.”
Wish glanced at the pretty town packed with its pretty people and soldiers in repose, unready for the violence that might soon come. She wanted to tell him she would not put her feelings aside, with no intention of stopping feeling, or caring, but a little part of her already warned this wasn’t new. This wasn’t different to gunning down hundreds on Green Rise or exploding a chunk of Wick. Her actions had cost countless lives in the tribes and priories of the Saints Mire. But they never looked quite so innocent as here. Her targets had never looked quite so much like somewhere she might think of as peaceful. Where she might live. She swallowed as she saw the locals finish successfully hanging their garland, clapping and cheering at an achievement so mundane it made her heart ache.
“It’s almost Relight,” she whispered.
“And when it comes, I’d like our troops to be safe,” Crash said. “Our boys will have enough trouble surviving the cold. We need to plug this hole.”
“But . . .” But it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t in any way good.
“Captain Wild Wish,” Crash tried again, gravely. “You lost one of yours yesterday. This is to prevent that happening again. For all of us, from here back to Stanclif. That town and the people in it is the price of a winter’s mercy for our whole front line – because they won’t show us any. It isn’t our choice, but a necessity. They put those civilians in the firing line.”
Wish said nothing. There was nothing else – never a choice, really, since the fighting had started. But mercy was a cruel word, there.
“He’s back,” Gaussica interrupted, and Dalliance confirmed, “Got him.”
Wish scowled at them. Were they even listening? Didn’t they care? But watching their dead focus on the task, pointedly not looking at her, she understood. It was better not to think about it. Crash was right, again, and still staring at her, waiting for it to set in.
She couldn’t say anything. She wanted a solution, wanted to race for an innovative answer, but her mind was going blank. Numb.
“I can make it back to Bluefern in fifty minutes at a run,” Crash said, as if her silence had confirmed it. “I’ve got what I need. We can call it an even ninety minutes: take your shot on the hour, if you have one. Get close if you need to, but only if you can get clear in time. Take your shot sooner if you think it’s necessary. Jonus, leave them your flares and monitor the road. We’ll be watching for a signal either way – yellow when the mage is down, red if he succeeds in shielding the town, green if the job’s complete. If you can’t get to him, retreat without delay. Understood?”
“Wait,” Wish said, swept up in the rapid flow of practical orders. She wanted to talk more. To put it off. But by his icy stare, it had all been said. She took another breath, and replied, shakily, “Let’s check our watches.”
21
Naysayers like to dwell on finicky points of collateral damage, but it was a remarkable advancement, by anyone’s measure, that in the space of mere decades our cannons supplanted magic users as the greatest thing to be feared [on a battlefield].
History of the Imperial Artillery, Sir Ebwin Darnfale, p. 79
Wish had endured countless miserable hours on the front, and behind the lines, and in the nights when she relived horrors both in and out of sleep. She wasn’t sure any were quite as maudlin as sitting waiting for the destruction of Sober Sound. A small part of her continued frantically straining for another solution. What if they sneaked in and assassinated Terrifold and planted bombs around the warehouses as she’d first suggested? Somehow evaded thousands of men in uniform. But within minutes of Crash leaving, too much time had already passed for that to be possible before the artillery opened fire. And besides, he was right. It was only a matter of time before alarms started sounding over Haven and the missing patrol. The Stranded were sure to come around eventually. And Iggy needed saving. It all demanded a quick end to this nightmare.
But Wish had to do something. She scouted the streets through her scope, following women as they carried baskets, cleaned windows, and straightened out decorations. A woman in a postal uniform was delivering a sack of mail and there was a woman in overalls with a toolbox – taking up the jobs of their absent men. Another woman was pushing a pram, comforting her crying baby. What if Wish fired a few warning shots and got them to retreat? Shouted at them to evacuate? Impossible without giving their position away and alerting that mage.
Terrifold was a distraction, at least, as he strutted about town on show. She got the impression he enjoyed being seen. There was little question that when the time came she would be able to neutralise the man, and she said, “Sorry to have brought you all this way for nothing, Gaussica, but I’ll handle the mage myself.”
Gaussica made a noise that could’ve been dismissal or surprise. He had volunteered to go into the town, but she had told him to wait while she assessed the situation.
“I’ve got him at six hundred yards. Dalliance?”
“Yeah, roughly.”
“We’ll give it a five-minute window before the hour. If he looks like he’s about to step out of view within those five minutes, I’ll drop him.”
“He’s a parser, remember,” Gaussica said. “At his level, he might conjure a shield as a reflex, without even seeing the danger coming.”
“Faster than a bullet?”
“Faster than a bullet. He is the best of them.”
“And that reflex shield would save him?” Wish asked. She wasn’t overly familiar with how strong such magic was against bullets, because the trick to killing mages was to never let them know what was coming.
Gaussica considered the question carefully. “Maybe. It might still knock him down.”
“Then I’ll be ready with another bullet,” Wish said.
“Me too, boss,” Dalliance put in.
The Azirian hummed, baiting her with a little unspoken doubt. She tried to resist biting, sure Gaussica would prefer to glide into Sober Sound to duel the man head-on. Probably reciting bad philosophical quandaries and apocalyptic poems as he went. She huffed, “Alright. You have some sinister prediction to go with that look?”
“No. My preferred method is to cut off a mage’s head, to be sure. I have a hammer that can break their shields, but you need to be close.”
“You’ve got a hammer for everything, don’t you? Where do you carry them all?”
“There’s still time. It would be the surest option. I’ve seen the fire. I will look into his dead eyes, but it might not touch you, yet.”
There it was, the nonsense that had been missing all morning, in his focused quiet. Wish said, “Those visions of a dark burning future include children screaming? It doesn’t bother you?”
“It’s not their flesh,” he said, a response so sure it gave her a shudder. He added no more, staring intensely into the doomed town.
“Hey, Gaussica,” Dalliance ventured, “You got any useful tips for us shooting him?”
