I get the importance. We have to pull some teeth out of the beast’s mouth before we dare stick our hand in, but it doesn’t lessen how scared I am. This war has taken so much already. When Vel leaves my sight without looking back, nausea roils in my gut. Thank Mary March is geared up and bunkered down beside me.
What’s left of our team moves along the hillside slowly, getting in position to open fire on Loras’s signal. Which will be low-tech, as well. We’ve fought under incredible disadvantages, limited by lack of communications since the base went down and dwindling resources. The Nicuan destroy things rather than let our people use them. They’re mining farmland, so the La’hengrin are starving while the nobles get fatter in Jineba and Kayro. I’ve come across so many fields with the bodies of helpless farmers littered across them, blown to bits when they tended their crops.
This nightmare feels endless. Turns ago, when I agreed to this, I didn’t realize what it would mean. I was naïve. I’ve been so many women in my past, played various roles, but it will be a different Jax entirely who leaves La’heng.
If I do.
Right now, I feel none too sure.
As one, our unit waits until Loras sends up the flare from across the way, where he’s guarding SpecForce. Farah is here with me, and she raises her weapon. We open fire as one, scattering the centurions crossing down below. March is beside me, raining death, as SpecForce goes to work. Sasha takes out two piles of crates himself; those are weapons that will never be used against us. Hammond is starting fires all over the place. There’s some risk as we have Beta Squad, along with Vel and Zeeka, down there, but I trust they can look after themselves. They’ll avoid the towering infernos Hammond lays down and do the rest of the job while the centurions deal with our distractions.
That’s exactly what they are, too: sound and fury, covering the real target—the warehouses. Zeeka will slip inside them, one by one, while we keep the enemy busy. Mary grant they don’t catch on and turn their attention inward. Vel screwing with their comms will help; if they can’t readily compare notes or issue orders, they’ll be crippled, as centurions aren’t known for being quick thinkers—too many turns of blindly following orders.
Sometimes I get lucky and kill a centurion. Secretly, this thrills me. In my head, they all wear Cato’s face. That’s probably wrong; some might be more like Gaius, but it permits me to unload without mercy, until my rifle beeps a warning. Then I drop down and let March cover the gap in the pattern.
“How’s it look down there?” I ask him.
He peers through the scope. “Burning. Explosions. Men dying.”
“Their men?”
“I think so. It’s pretty hard to tell. We won’t get word from Beta Squad until the mission’s complete.”
“We’ll know if Z succeeded when he detonates.”
“True enough.”
I raise up to fill in when March’s gun goes hot. Around me, the others are doing the same, switching fire. We learned from the mess at Legate Flavius’s estate, at least. Lately, our raids have been surgical; turns of teamwork are paying off.
Five minutes later, a boom rocks the ground. Even from here, I can see the fireball spiraling up from the building down below. Another follows immediately, then another, and another, until all five warehouses have been leveled, leaving only smoking craters. A ragged cheer rings out from our crew.
Farah says, “Z really knows his explosions.”
Elsewhere, it’s pandemonium, with a few crazed centurions staggering around, hands over their ears. I feel almost guilty about gunning them down.
Almost.
By the time my team and SpecForce finishes mopping up, there’s nothing moving down below. I should feel…something at this colossal loss of human life, but I’m happy. Triumphant, even. I don’t like what this war is turning me into; before, I worried I was becoming a monster because I had so much technology inside me, but that’s not what determines your humanity. It’s the capacity for empathy, caring about other people.
And I’m losing mine, millimeters at a time.
I can’t fret about it now, however, as I’m worried about Vel and Z. No celebration until I see them clear the rise, weary but whole. I run to him, and March is right behind me. To my surprise, we end up in a kind of group hug. Vel seems taken aback by this new development, but he doesn’t recoil.
“It went well?” I ask.
“A few close calls, but we handled them.” Which means there was fighting.
I check him out visually, but I detect no damage. Then I make my way over to Z, who is surrounded by a congratulatory mob. “You did it. How does it feel?”
“Wonderful,” he answers gravely. “And terrible.”
I know exactly what he means.
We can’t celebrate long, however. This victory is critical, but there’s more work to be done. So we join up with Loras and SpecForce, then march ten klicks before the commander stops us. Over a quick meal, he has some new orders for us.
Loras stands in the center of the makeshift camp, arms folded. “I won’t lie to you. I never have. There’s still a long campaign ahead, but we’re winning. I’ve laid out some new targets. As we head for Jineba, we’ll be taking out key Nicuan personnel.” He outlines the strategy—where but not who or why.
“Legates?” I guess.
“And their families,” Loras answers. “Does anyone have a problem with that?”
I remember that pit full of children…and say nothing. Beside me, Deven shakes his head; his pain is oceanic, hidden behind his devotion to the cause. “I lost three children to the Nicuan, two in this war. Why should theirs get to live?”
There’s no answer to that. I pack my things and fall in with the others. There’s a long way to go before our next op.
CHAPTER 53
Revenge is a dish best served cold.
It’s been a long turn full of skirmishes, near misses, hunger, exhaustion, dirt, and bivouacking in hostile environments. We’re buying time. Keeping them after us while the medical teams circulate wider and wider, deploying the cure. The waiting game feels like it has no end, but as long as we keep the Imperials snapping at us in the provinces, they won’t notice that the cities are slowly attaining their freedom. They won’t realize how few La’hengrin are required to obey, as they’ll continue to serve until they receive orders to rise up.
Today, though, Loras has decided to do something terrible; he’s waited a full turn for his retaliation for the destruction of the base. Kayro is a smaller city, sparsely populated with La’hengrin. There’s no way to evacuate all of them. Loras is unconcerned; he says if they knew what was coming, they would gladly give their lives for the cause. But he’s taking the choice away from them.
It doesn’t matter what I think. He programs the coordinates into the targeting array, then he launches the MO himself. It streaks away, deceptively small for the devastation that will ensue when it detonates. We have four more bombs like this, enough to strike terror into Imperials’ hearts. And that’s the point.
I walk away. Out of camp and into the quiet silence of the surrounding forest. A dangerous risk, but I need some distance. I’m tempted to keep walking. Loras has become someone I don’t recognize, like the push for freedom is burning away his compassion. But I’m not his moral compass. If Farah couldn’t talk him out of this—I don’t even know if she tried…because she’s changed, too; the war has made her cold, occasionally cruel—and, well, I need to stop thinking about it.
Feels like forever since I’ve been clean.
We’re nomads.
Hunting and killing on the move. We’ve raided so many estates in the provinces. Executed nobles and centurions alike. Each life we take weakens their resolve, wears at their certainty that this is a winnable conflict. The strikes also damage Nicuan hierarchy and infrastructure. But it doesn’t feel good when you burst into someone’s home.
At night, Loras pores over field reports, assets seized, casualty lists. As time wears on, we’ve become more organized, perfecting a coded system of passing messages cell to cell. It’s simple to decode if you have the key, and it’s always changing. I know the Imperials are frustrated because they can’t crack the cryptography. Why won’t they leave?
La’heng doesn’t belong to you. Admit defeat and go home.
I hope Loras doesn’t make us watch the news, reporting on how many died in Kayro. I don’t need to see the number to know it’s millions, many of them La’hengrin. In any city, they outnumber those they serve. Not all Nicuan on world are combatants; there are office workers and domestics, traveling in the nobles’ entourages. They die just like everyone else.
I’m tired of bloodshed, tired of ruthless destruction. I’m afraid Loras is becoming as much a monster as the Nicuan. When, early on, he said he would do anything to free his people, I couldn’t have credited this.
Footfalls sound behind me, then I hear Vel’s voice. “It is horrendous.”
“Yes,” I choke out.
Annihilation on that scale cannot help but offend the soul unless you’re dead inside. He draws me to him in patient motions, stroking his talons through my hair. I listen to him breathe, counting the differences between us. The exercise is soothing; it calms me.
“The Nicuan nobles cannot last against such opposition,” Vel says eventually. “The La’hengrin have no comparable targets for escalation. The legates could strike another city, but if they evacuated their own people beforehand, word would certainly get out.”
“You don’t think the Imperator would sacrifice nobles for victory?”
Vel cants his head, pensive. “He might. But the moment he did so, the surviving princes would remove him from office. He would triumph only at the cost of his career.”
“Most Nicuan are too selfish for that.”
“Precisely. So they have no means to match Loras, no way to hurt him as greatly. Though it was a regrettable decision, it will end the war.”
“You know more about this stuff than I do.” It’s not comforting, exactly, but if he’s right, then I’ll live with my participation in this, as I do everything else. By blocking it off and refusing to feel it.
“Jax,” Zeeka calls. “We’re moving out.”
“Roger that.”
When Vel and I get back to camp, the stealth shuttle’s already loaded. Since we travel with the MO and launching platform, we can’t move like the other cells do. I guess this is a benefit of traveling with the commander in chief of La’hengrin forces. I’m the last to board, after Vel. March is already waiting, strapped in and looking worried. He comes into my head with a sweet familiarity.
I let Vel take this one. It’s a big step for him, bigger than it sounds, but after our conversation in Tarn and Leviter’s flat, I’m not wholly surprised; this is March’s way of showing me he means what he says. You okay?
Not really. But I’ll deal. There’s no choice.
