Gunwitch (33 page)

There was a knock on the door, and Chal’s face relaxed as suddenly as it had tensed. She smiled. “The river will carry me, and carry you, Rose Bainbridge, where it wills.” Chal uncrossed her legs and stood. “I will give you some privacy.”

“Privacy? Just tell the private to put the uniform on the bed. And tell him to fetch me more water.”

Chal moved to the door. Rose turned so her back was to the door. Fifteen years in the 101st with mixed male and female squads had desensitized her to her own nudity, though not to the same degree as Chal, who seemed just as comfortable naked as clothed in any circumstance, but Rose did not want to embarrass the poor private.

Rose heard Chal open the door. “Put the uniform on the bed,” Chal said. Footsteps, a man’s intake of breath, probably from seeing Rose’s naked back, then Chal said, “I am going to see to young Janett’s change of wardrobe.”

She turned to face him. She felt him watching her as she turned around. She no longer had a maiden’s body, she knew, or even a young woman’s, but she had never had children, so her breasts had not sagged fully and her waist and hips were as slender as they had ever been. She suffered a moment’s self-consciousness when she thought of her accumulated scars, especially the flogging scars on her back, but decided she did not care.

The major was not wearing his uniform, which lay on Chal’s bed. He had on an old woolen shirt, undyed and sweatstained, and a pair of buckskin trousers. His black boots looked out of place. Except for the boots, and his youth, he reminded her of Nicholas. His eyes met hers.

“I should go–”

“No, Ian,” she said. “You should stay.”

“I brought my uniform,” he said. He looked her in the eye as he spoke, but she knew he was seeing her naked breasts. He gestured to toward the bed to indicate the uniform, then realized what he had done, combined with how she was undressed, and his face flushed. Nicholas had been just as shy, at first, and just as easy to make blush. Nicholas had not been her first, as she had been his. But Nicholas had been the last. Nearly five years ago. Five years suddenly seemed a long, long time. “I should go,” the major managed to say.

“It’s been nine years since I wore a uniform, Major Haley,” Rose said as she stepped closer to him. “And I’ve never worn an officer’s uniform.” She reached out and touched his chest with her hands. His muscles beneath the fabric were warm and firm. Her touch made him catch his breath. She looked up into his green eyes. “I think you will need to help me.”

“Maybe … maybe if I put it on again for you?” he suggested.

“Yes, that would be a great help,” Rose said. Her fingers slid down his chest to his stomach, then to his waist. She slipped her fingers into his waist band, and tugged. “First, though, take these off for me.”

* * *

Fewer than a hundred men remained in Fort Russell, and a third of those were wounded. None of them, hale or hurt, slept that night. Every barrel of powder was opened and divided between the soldiers. What could not be carried was packed into the walls and men too wounded to travel were given strikers and told to light the powder at the first sign of the enemy. Likewise, all the crates and barrels and bags of potatoes and cured meat and flour were divided into packs for the men to carry. What could not be carried was left for the rats.

Rose wore Major Haley’s uniform with her 101st Pistoleers regimental badge bent and wrapped tied to her right arm. She had wanted to remove the gold knots of his rank from the epaulets, but the major–Ian, she corrected herself, because she liked his name as much as she liked his face–
Ian
had insisted the knots were part of the disguise. He had frowned at her when she put the badge on her arm, but had not said anything. His uniform was too big for her, but it smelled like him, so she did not mind. Every time one of the enlisted men saluted her, though, she was tempted to take the whole thing off.

With Captain Keele’s assistance, she interviewed the older veterans and found ten men, nearly a whole squad, who had served with members of the 101st Pistoleers on past campaigns. None of them seemed eager to do so again, but she took that as a necessary survival instinct of veterans. She assembled the men in a dark corner of the fort. She dismissed Captain Keele, who snapped a salute to her as if she really were a major and not just wearing a major’s uniform, then walked away.

Rose did not remember Leftenant Kilburn, but a lot of men and officers she did not know had died in Brittany. “What about any of your men?”

“And all the shot and powder you can carry. All of you. Myself included. It will be a long night, I expect. Followed by a much longer morning.”

* * *

Just before dawn, Corporal Jickell followed a pace behind her right shoulder as she walked through the chaos of the fort’s preparations looking for Chal. Sergeant Tabart and the rest of her men were sitting in the dark. Most of them were probably asleep by now. She longed for some shut-eye herself.

She found Chal, Ian, Margaret and Janett huddled near the northwest corner of the fort. Ian smiled when he saw her, then looked away, embarrassed by the smile and wink she gave him back. Chal looked satisfied, as if she were the village matchmaker, but said nothing.

Janett and Margaret both wore raw cotton shirts and buckskin trousers. Margaret looked like one of the Mancino children, she thought, rumpled, with her brown hair scarcely contained. Janett, though, managed to look more like a lady on a fox hunt than a scout. Margaret was clutching a pistol in both hands, and Janett had a rifle slung over her shoulder.

Rose had wanted Chal to lead Ian and the girls out of the fort in middle of the night, but there had been no way to properly cover them. A few soldiers had deserted the fort once darkness fell. Ducoed had sent their heads to the main gate as a reminder that the terms of the surrender did not take effect until dawn.

Rose told Corporal Jickell to wait for her, then walked up to Ian and put her arms around him. She went up on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. Trying not to think that she might never see him again, she asked, “Have you ever been kissed by a major before, Mr. Haley?”

“Not that I am at liberty to say, Miss Bainbridge,” Ian replied.

Margaret was waiting for her and hugged her when she backed away from Ian. The pistol in Margaret’s right hand thumped Rose on the back. “I wish you were coming with us,” Margaret said. “You will take care of Da, won’t you, Miss Rose?”

“I will try, Margaret.”

Janett curtsied, then shook Rose’s hand. She noticed Rose looking at the rifle on her back, and Janett said, “Chal has been showing me how to load and fire.”

Chal waited for her, smiling, standing with her arms crossed. Before either one could say anything, Colonel Laxton appeared out of the darkness, flanked by Major Eason and Captain Keele.

Margaret ran to the colonel and hugged him, thumping him on the back with the pistol as well. Janett joined her.

When the colonel had untangled himself from his daughters, leaving them in the hands of Ian, he came to Chal. “Thank you,” he said, with a quick bow. He gave Rose a nod, then walked away.

* * *

Colonel Laxton ordered the main gates opened when the first cold, yellow arc of the sun cleared the horizon. The colonel rode at the front of the ranks on one of the few remaining horses. Major Eason and Captain Keele also rode, just behind the colonel and the standard bearer. Rose walked, with Corporal Jickell a pace behind, surrounded in a tight square by Sergeant Tabart and the other men in her squad. She had her rune-engraved pistol in her hand and two others in her belt. Corporal Jickell carried three loaded pistols in addition to his musket. The rest of the squad all carried a spare pistol as well as their muskets.

Behind them came the men bearing stretchers with the wounded. Under the blankets of the wounded were loaded muskets. Finally, the last of colonel’s command marched in ranks four abreast, steps in sync with the drummers.

The battlefield looked very different under the gray light of dawn. The trenches and embankments remained, as did the wreckage of grunzers and mortars. Of all the men who had fallen, though, only dark stains remained. And sometimes their shredded flesh.

The column snaked its way back and forth across the battlefield, following the route picked by the colonel to get around and through the lines of trenches. Rose ignored the blood and entrails and looked at what they were up against.

Ducoed’s force stood in an arc along the base of the hill, running from the northeast along the treeline to nearly the river. Only a small avenue remained open along the bank of the river, to the south. The arranged troops were a mixture of black and white and native, in no consistent mode of dress. Swedish and Italian uniforms were present, as were English army, and farmers and slaves in old cotton rags and men in buckskins. Behind those stood the squat grunzers that seemed to be all boiler. None of the grunzers had smoke stacks, she noticed, making them look very different from the grunzers she was used to. How could they work without fireboxes to heat the water?

More importantly, Rose thought, where was Ducoed?

A group of fully armored men hissed and clanked, leaking steam as they walked, broke away from the line of enemies and came toward the head of the English column. Except for the steam leaking from their joints, they could be old-style heavy cavalry, without the horses. Rose had never seen anything like them on the battlefields of her life. The men in armor moved like grunzers, but could not be grunzers. They were far too small, just over man-sized. Steam-powered armor, maybe? But steam-powered armor would be too hot– Too hot for a normal man, she thought. But who knew what was in those suits of armor?

Colonel Laxton continued to lead the column forward until it was even with the oncoming group. Then he raised his hand and gestured for the halt.

The armored troops spread to create a shallow vee. At the point of the vee, Ducoed, still in his Leftenant’s uniform, stood next to a big man wearing buckskins and a cloak of pelts. The big man had his arms crossed. Even from nearly a hundred feet, Rose could feel the power of the big man. A cold darkness emanated from him, giving Rose gooseflesh. Maybe Ducoed was not the threat here, after all. Again she wondered who or what Ducoed had allied himself with.

“That is far enough, Colonel Laxton,” Ducoed shouted. “You may step aside and inspect your command as it leaves the field.”

Rose risked a look back at the column. The tail end had fallen behind, stretching the column from the northeast to the southwest. As the front of the column halted, so did the rest. Few of the stragglers made any attempt to rejoin the main group. Rose nodded to herself. She looked at the fort, but saw no sign of anyone. The fort looked deserted with its unmanned towers and naked flagpoles. She turned to face the front.

“I am surrendering command of Fort Russell,” Colonel Laxton shouted. “In accordance with the terms of our agreement.”

Ducoed nodded. The big man next to him did not move.

Colonel Laxton stepped his mount forward. When he was halfway between the head of the column and the waiting Ducoed, he reined his horse to a stop again, then turned to face the column. He drew his saber and held it up in a salute. All along the column, men saluted in response. Rose tensed, her pistol in her hand, held low along the line of her leg.