Брайан Макклеллан - War Cry

“You’re alive?” is all I can manage.

“I am at that, my friend,” he responds with gusto. “They tell me that a Changer pulled me from the wreckage, so there is someone out there who I owe a debt, but…” He makes a gesture as if this mysterious wizard has disappeared into thin air. His smile is lopsided, and disappears for a moment. “Benny, I’m afraid, did not survive the crash.”

I want to reach across and slap him for mentioning that machine before our friends, but I know it is just in his nature. “Your wounds?” I ask.

He squeezes my hand and pulls back. “Paralyzed from the waist down,” he says, slapping one thigh. “An enemy bullet. These useless hunks of meat will never operate the pedals again.”

I let out a soft sigh. “Rod—”

“No, no,” he cuts me off, as if I am his little sister. “I will not be defeated by a mere bullet. Selvie says she can create a mechanism that will let me operate the flaps with my elbows. I will fly again, or my name is not Rodrigo.” He rolls his eyes at my stricken expression. “Don’t be such a downer. We are alive, my friend, and that is what is important.”

I can see a pain in his eyes, though he hides it well. I am surprised that his optimism has survived the crash, but grateful for it. “Where are we?” I ask.

“In Bava,” he answers. “One of those officers’ hospitals.”

“How did we end up here?”

Rodrigo’s face sours. “You met Marie?”

I bristle at the name, the betrayal still hot in my memory. “I did.”

“She is an old lover of mine. Years ago, a torrid affair,” he says, waving it off, “but her father is a general. Seems she pulled some strings.”

“So we have you to thank for this?”

“Me?” he scoffs. “I’m surprised I made it back in one piece. Our last separation was not a pleasant one. No, it turns out she’s taken a shine to you.”

I feel like I should be flattered. “She betrayed us,” I say bluntly.

Rodrigo’s face is somber. “Let it go,” he says seriously.

“How?”

“Not how ,” a voice interrupts. “That is your own problem. Why might be a better question.” Marie stands in the doorway. She is both prettier and older than I first expected. Her hair has been freshly cut and her uniform is clean and sharp. Despite our location, she wears a pistol at her belt.

I stiffen. Rodrigo turns white and ducks his head. “I should go.”

“Please do,” Marie says.

“No, stay,” I utter at the same time.

Rodrigo wheels his chair, one-handed, past Marie. She makes no move to help him though it is clear the motion is very painful. She watches him go coldly, then turns back to me.

“You and I should talk,” she says, closing the door. I remain tight-lipped, stubborn. She doesn’t seem to care. Rodrigo says she’s taken a shine to me, but there is absolutely no indication in her demeanor. “You need to forget what happened up in the mountains.”

“I see no reason to.”

“The operation was sanctioned by high command.”

“What operation?” I ask. I’ve been putting the pieces together in my head, and I think I have a pretty good idea by now, but I want to be sure.

Marie pulls a chair over beside my bed and sits down. She is still distant, cold, but I sense this is meant as a gesture of trust between us. I don’t buy it. She says, “For five months, Commander Paco and I have been organizing a false mass-defection. It has been a colossal effort of misinformation that included fooling some of our own generals. It was an enormous risk, but we desperately needed that air base intact.”

“You could have told us about it,” I say. “You could have given us a part to play.”

“We couldn’t find you.”

“We got radio communications from you all the time! And Rodrigo was in Bava almost every other week!”

“The radio was too risky, and Paco thinks that Rodrigo is a loose-lipped fool. Besides, Gift Horse had to look genuine. If we gave you the chance to set up an ambush it might have tipped off the enemy before we had taken their base.”

Gift Horse. A code name for handing my platoon over to the enemy as a distraction. It is a bitter pill.

“You got most of my platoon killed.”

“And saved almost all of the strike force in the process. It was a distasteful strategy, but I would do it again in an instant.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I demand.

“Not in the least.” She lowers her voice until her tone is almost gentle. “Teado, your friends did not die for nothing. I’m sorry it had to happen like it did.”

“I won’t forget it.”

“Why not? This is war. We forget things which are inconvenient to remember. Just like I will forget the grenade I dove on when you attacked a government strike force.” She unbuttons the front of her shirt and pulls it down. Her chest is crisscrossed with week-old scars, the skin barely beginning to heal. I remember the grenade I tossed over my shoulder during my mad scramble to escape Paco’s camp.

She buttons her shirt back up. “No one died,” she says. “I was Changed at the time so it didn’t do any permanent damage, but Paco still wanted you court-martialed.”

I feel a cold sweat break out on the back of my neck and almost laugh. After all this, will I get shot by my own side?

“I won’t allow it to happen,” she continues. “Unfortunately, I had to paint you as a hero to get high command to ignore the whole thing. It wasn’t hard. With no warning your platoon almost destroyed an enemy strike force five times your number. And you… well, that was a pretty bit of fighting.”

“A hero, huh? Am I supposed to be grateful?” I am taken aback, my breast swelling with conflicting emotions.

She snorts. “Yes, in fact. You are. But I’ll give you a few weeks to come around to it.” She stands up, adjusting her uniform and giving me a tight-lipped smile. “In the meantime, I expect you to enjoy the hospitality here and get better. The remnants of your platoon are expected to be healed and ready for duty within eight weeks.”

This declaration is like a punch to the gut. I should have expected it, but… “You’re going to split us up?” After all we’ve been through, I don’t think I can bear to be assigned to a whole new platoon.

Marie shakes her head. “No. You’ll be joining my platoon.”

More conflicting emotions. “Even Bellara?” I can’t imagine that anyone in the military command would allow two Changers and a Smiling Tom in a single platoon.

“Even Bellara,” Marie confirms. “I have use for such an experienced group. I’ll make sure you don’t go to waste. That is, if the war is still going once you’ve healed.”

I am looking at the wall now, feeling distant and confused, but this last sentence brings my head around. “What do you mean, if the war is still going?”

Marie comes around to the other side of the bed. Her face draws close to mine, and I see suddenly that the coldness is a mask. Her expression softens, her eyes mellowing. “I don’t believe in half measures, Teado. I agreed to that mission, including Gift Horse, because the stakes are higher than they’ve ever been. We may have ended the war.”

My breath catches in my throat. I am instantly suspicious, because I’ve heard promises of peace since I was a child. “From the capture of one base?” I ask.

“It was a vital piece of the enemy’s attack corridor in this region.” Marie glances toward the door, and her voice is merely a whisper. “No one wants war anymore, Teado. The capture of the air base shows we still have some bite, and that gives us leverage. Talks have already begun.” She stands up, clearing her throat. “But you haven’t heard any of that.”