Django Wexler - The Thousand Names

They walked for a long way, and without any challenge from the sentries. When they eventually came to a halt, well outside where the sentry line should have been, she waited a long moment before stalking closer.

“. . don’t like it,” Will was saying.

“I don’t like the whole damned thing,” Buck said, and spat. “I don’t like being out in this goddamned desert, and I sure as hell don’t like the idea of drinking horse blood. And what I like least is having some fucking Desoltai son of a bitch cut my pecker off. The sooner we get away from here, the better. Getting to pop Smiley here is a side benefit.”

“Someone might hear,” Will said.

“Nobody out there,” Buck growled. “This is our section tonight, remember? And anyway, who gives a shit whether you like it or not. You do it, or else you explain yourself to the sarge.”

“I know. I’m just saying I don’t like it, is all.”

“Oh, by all the fucking saints. Give me the damned thing, then.” Winter heard the flat crack of flesh on flesh. “On your knees, sir .”

By now she was only a few yards away. Buck had set the lantern on a flat rock, and the trio were backlit, throwing long, twisting shadows across the sands. Will stood a pace or two back, closer to Winter, while Buck forced the bound figure to its knees. He had a pistol in his left hand, while his right went for his belt knife.

God above. They’re going to kill him. Winter bit her lip, hard enough to draw blood, and groped in the darkness until she found a stone a little larger than her fist. When Will turned his back on her, she charged.

He was barely taller than she was, so she aimed high, bringing the stone against the side of his head in a powerful two-handed swing that met his skull with a sick-making crunch . He dropped like a discarded doll, without a sound, and Winter stepped across him toward Buck. He’d taken an automatic step backward in surprise, so her desperate blow whistled a foot from his face. Before she could recover her balance, he hastily shifted the pistol to his right hand and raised it to eye level, backing farther away.

“What in all the hells- Saint ? Is that you, you little bastard?”

Winter considered throwing the stone at him, but she didn’t think she could do it before he pulled the trigger. She nodded slowly.

“What did you go and do that for?” Buck frowned down at Will. “Will, you all right? Say something if you’re all right.” After a moment of silence, he cursed softly and glared at Winter. “You’ve killed him, you son of a bitch.”

“Buck-”

“I should leave you for the sarge,” he said. “He’d know what to do with a traitorous little shit like you. But we ain’t got the time, not tonight. Give the good Lord my regards.”

He pulled the trigger. The hammer snapped down, flint striking sparks, but they fizzled and died in the pan without triggering the shot. Buck lowered the weapon, staring at it, then looked up again in time to catch Winter coming in fast. His hand shot up above her head to block the path of the descending stone, but she let her momentum carry her forward and brought her knee up hard between his legs, then gave him a sharp elbow in the back of the head as he doubled over. He groaned and collapsed into the dirt, the pistol falling away.

“Fuck the goddamned Savior with a red-hot poker,” Winter swore, fighting for breath. When she closed her eyes for a moment, she could still see the tiny glow of the pistol’s spark. Her breath came fast and ragged.

Buck groaned again. She turned and kicked him hard in the side, then again, until he got the message and rolled over, eyes still squeezed tightly shut. Winter retrieved the long knife from his belt, then found the pistol where he’d dropped it. She examined the weapon cautiously. There was a cartridge in the barrel, but no powder in the pan; he’d forgotten to prime it.

“You always were a lazy bastard, Buck,” she whispered. Setting the pistol aside again, she bent to free Lieutenant Warus.

They’d blindfolded and gagged him, as well as binding his hands, which explained his silence during the fight. When she removed the dirty cloth from his eyes, he looked around curiously, then up at Winter.

“Lieutenant. . Ihernglass, isn’t it?”

“Yessir,” Winter said, and nearly saluted before she remembered she didn’t have to. “Seventh Company.”

“Far be it from me to question good fortune,” he said, “but what are you doing here?”

“I followed these bast-these two from Captain d’Ivoire’s tent.”

“What were you doing there?”

“Looking for the captain. Or for you, I suppose. One of my corporals was detailed to watch the tent, but he seems to have gone missing.”

“I see.” He looked up at her. “Then you have no knowledge of what’s going on?”

She searched his expression. “What’s going on, sir?”

“It’s mutiny,” Lieutenant Warus said. He touched the puffy side of his face and winced. “They’ve got the captain and the colonel, and probably your men as well.”

“Mutiny?” She could believe a lot about Davis, but that? Not on his own hook. He’s not smart enough. “By whom?”

“Captain Roston, at least. Some of the Fourth appears to be behind him, and apparently some of our men.” He looked down at the incapacitated pair. “Do you know these two?”

She nodded. “Will and Buck. From Senior Sergeant Davis’ Second Company.”

“Davis.” Fitz gave a little sigh of disappointment, as though he’d been told he’d be late for the opera. “I suppose I should have known.”

“What should we do with them?”

“‘We’?” He looked at her questioningly. “If I recall correctly, you served under Davis.”

“Long enough to know that whatever side he’s on is the wrong one,” Winter muttered.

“I see.” Fitz climbed to his feet, rubbing his hands to restore some feeling to them. He knelt to examine Will briefly. “This one is dead. I’d like to take the other with us, but I’m not sure the two of us are up to carrying him. Are there any of your men you trust?”

Dead? Winter looked down at Will. He’d never been one of the worst of Davis’ lot. Not that he’d been kind to her, but he’d just gone through the motions of cruelty to fit in with the others. She hadn’t meant to kill him.

“Lieutenant?”

She shook herself and took a deep breath. “Yes. I have a few.”

• • •

Bobby was awake by the time she, Graff, and Fitz returned, carrying the semiconscious Buck between them. Graff told a couple of surprised rankers to sit on the man for a while, and then Winter led the lieutenant and her two corporals back to her own tent. She saw Fitz’s eyes flick to Feor, still curled up in her corner, either asleep or pretending to be, but he made no comment.

“This is bad,” Graff muttered. “A bad business.”

“I’m afraid that’s something of an understatement,” Fitz said. “We don’t know how much support Captain Roston has, but for the moment he seems to have the situation well in hand.”

“What happened to Folsom and the others?” Bobby said.

“In the best case, they’re captives,” Fitz said. “Shortly after the captain left to meet with Captain Roston, Second Company men arrived at the tent with loaded weapons. I believe they took your men into custody and led them away, then left a detail behind to collect Captain d’Ivoire when he returned. From what I overheard, they plan to hold him and the colonel captive while Captain Roston assumes command.”

“They were going to kill you,” Winter pointed out.

Fitz touched the massive bruise on his cheek again. “I’m not certain, but I believe that Senior Sergeant Davis bears me some personal ill will. He certainly seemed. . vehement.”