The base bar had been a supply closet before an enterprising soldier found a couple of tables and a portable radio. As they squished up to the hut, she caught the sour smell of too many drunk men crammed into a small space, sweat and puke and piss cutting a sharp undertone to the constant stink of sulfur that marked out the engineers and their experiments. The propaganda posters had even made it here. On one, a line of soldiers proudly proclaimed, WHILE THEY REST, WE MARCH. Another showed a man with a blaze of spark between his hands. FIRE AND GLORY TO THE HEROES OF THE WAR.
Linné stopped in front of the proud profile of a strong Union boy, blue eyes shining, blond locks curling under his aviator helmet. A red-and-gold monstrosity flew over his head, scarlet maw snapping out fire. OUR REALM IS THE AIR.
Typical. The men didn’t even have planes, but they got propaganda. Linné wondered if the public even knew Tamara Zima’s regiment existed.
“Stop gawking. I’m cold.” Tannov pushed the door open and nodded inside.
Linné hesitated on the threshold. She was tired of the looks, as if she’d crossed some horrendous line whenever she did anything. But it had been a long time since she’d enjoyed someone’s company, and a long time since she’d tried some contraband alcohol.
And she was with Tannov. What would anyone dare to do to him?
Only three men were in the bar, and one stood behind a makeshift counter. Empty crates were stacked to provide shelf space for the bottles that got smuggled onto the base, and a haphazard collection of tin cups littered the bar.
The men eyed her warily but didn’t comment. “Find a seat,” Tannov said.
Linné took a spot in the corner at a table piled high with bulletins. Each one told another story of the bravery of their boys, their victories at the front. No talk of defeats or setbacks. Lies were the enemy of the Union, but demoralization was the enemy of the army.
She’d drunk from bar glasses enough to know how often they were cleaned on average. She gave Tannov her issued mug and he returned with it, full and steaming. The best drink for autumn was sweet-spicy ginger tea, and the best of that was spiked with sugar beet rum. Linné took a sip that burned all the way down her throat. The men watched Tannov carefully as he poured a dollop of tea onto his saucer and slid it under the table. One of the little base cats darted beneath them and settled in, lapping.
“So,” he said, scooting his chair in, “you’re not too fond of being one of Zima’s firebirds.”
Firebirds, for the girls who shot fire and flew through the air. She’d heard worse terms for women. “Is that what you call us in the Extraordinary Wartime office?” She took another drink. The ginger reminded her of nights at home, sitting across from her father as he imparted his wisdom from behind his study desk. She’d never been allowed the strong stuff, not when he was watching. She’d gotten her alcoholic education when she joined up.
“It’s what everyone calls you. When we’re feeling charitable,” he said. “You’ve certainly earned a reputation among the regulars.”
“Impossible. We haven’t even seen combat yet.”
“That’s part of it.”
She didn’t have to press for details. According to the army, the Night Raiders took up a lot of time, a lot of attention, and a lot of money and had far too little to show for it. Tannov told her jokes he’d heard about new shoes for every woman, aviation dresses, makeup in the Strekozy cockpits. Linné detected a hint of resentment underneath it all.
“Of course they resent you. You use resources. You take planes, even if they’re those planes. And Tamara Zima’s not military. Everyone knows she was given a command post—and this assignment—because of her… political ties. No one thinks you deserve to be here.”
“Shouldn’t we fight?” she said.
He raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “You asked me to tell you.”
She sighed, trying to cool the spark burning in her palms, and tipped back her tea. “Go on.”
“Officers from the front to the capital want to delay getting you into action. Some are campaigning to scrap the entire effort.”
Her temper flared again. “So we should leave the secret of flight to the Elda?”
“You should leave it to the men, they say.” He shrugged, as if he didn’t believe them.
“What men?” She laughed. “The draft age is lower than ever.”
“Maybe our allies will help,” Tannov said.
“Batinha’s too busy fending the Elda off themselves to help us. Ojchezna won’t risk losing trade benefits. Kotimaa always hated us, and Sokoro has a civil war of its own. If anyone’s going to come to the army’s rescue, why not women? Why not the One Hundred Forty-Sixth Night Raiders Regiment?”
“They don’t want you here. You have to face facts, Linné. War is a mess, especially this one. No one wants to be pulling your carcass out of a burning plane.” He shrugged again. “The men would rather die themselves.”
“So they claim.”
“I don’t doubt them.” He set his cup down and regarded her with frankness. His eyes had been blue before, she remembered, clear reflections of the sky. Now they gleamed unnatural and tawny, proving his ties to the Skarov every time she looked at him. And he was scrutinizing her entirely too much for her liking. “It’s been our job to run off and die for years. You’re the people we’re supposed to be dying for—and now you want to be out here with us.”
Linné didn’t like his use of you. She’d been the lion of Koslen’s regiment. Had Tannov truly forgotten her? She ran her finger around the rim of her cup. “Plenty of women have gone to war. Nadya Noreva, the Blood Duchess, the Huldrani dryads—not to mention normal people like me.”
“Half the stories are legend. The other half are outliers. Nadya Noreva joined—well, the way you did.” Except Nadya had become a heroine and had been given prizes of land and money for uniting the North. And Linné had been pushed off to the nearest sideline. “Let’s all hope the Blood Duchess was a fable. Most women who have gained fame in the army have done it through magic or command, not for their individual prowess. And no one has ever tried to make it easier for women to join on a large scale.”
“We’ve never had a war on this scale. And we need the Strekozy. Who else is going to combat the Dragons and Skyhorses?”
“The regiment’s reserve aircraft are nearly finished,” Tannov said.
“But they’re not here.”
“Have you seen a Dragon around these parts?”
“Excuse me.” The bartender stood at the table, clutching a cloth between his hands. He looked as if he’d rather be standing before an Elda firing squad than before them.
“May I help you with something?” Tannov asked. He spoke the same way as always, friendly and open and genuine. But the man flinched as though he’d drawn a pistol.
“I’m sorry, miss,” the barman said.
Here we go.
He gulped. “I’m sorry. But you’re not allowed to be in here.”
“The lady is my personal guest,” Tannov said.
“I’m sorry, sir. And miss. But Colonel Hesovec’s particular orders. No women.”
He did look sorry, in his own way, though whether he was sorry for her or sorry for bringing himself under the scrutiny of an Information Officer, Linné couldn’t say. And it wasn’t his fault if Hesovec gave him the order.
“I hope you’re not attempting to interrupt a dedicated Information Officer during the course of his duty,” Tannov said.
The barman swallowed. “Of—of course not. I didn’t realize—”
“What’s your name?” Tannov said. His voice was soft, and though he smiled, it held no hint of warmth.
Linné stood quickly. “I’m finished. And this place smells like piss.”
“Whatever you say.” Tannov followed suit, still staring at the barman. The barman stuttered an apology and fled.
They walked away from the makeshift bar in silence. The rain had let up a little, enough for the little stray cat to
make a dash from the bar to the warehouses. Linné didn’t know whether she ought to thank Tannov for sticking up for her or tell him off for abusing his power.
He caught her eye. “Your turn for a cigarette.”
“Your rations are better than mine,” she complained.
“And I’m a more generous soul, accordingly. Don’t be stingy.”
She’d already seen how petty he could be tonight. She dug her cigarette case out and let him take whatever he wanted.
“What’s wrong?” he said as he stuck the cigarette in his mouth.
“Nothing.”
“You gave me a funny look. And you flinched when I took a cigarette.”
She hadn’t realized. But when he activated a flicker of spark at the end of his fingertips to give her a light, she nearly pulled away from him again. You’re different, she thought. That was the problem. She wouldn’t have expected a few months in the Information Unit to change him so utterly. The war claimed lives, one way or another.
Maybe he guessed her thoughts. He smiled a sad smile, a little twist at the corner of his mouth. “It’s still me,” he said. “I haven’t changed any more than you. It’s a job.” Linné arched an eyebrow, and he let his head flop back. “I’m serious. You think our lives are all about dragging off traitors and spying on the regiment?”
“Also threatening hapless bartenders,” Linné couldn’t resist adding.
“He was being a prick. Honestly, Linné. The only reason our job’s such a mystery is because people like you make it that way.”
Linné made a derisive sound. Perhaps Tannov had forgotten who her father was, but she was not some country girl who had learned of the Skarov through the gossip of her friends. The Skarov were built to keep secrets. They were built to be secrets.
“I’m serious. Ask me something. Anything about work.”
She glanced at him sidelong. What was his game? “Okay. What did you do today?”
“I listened to the radio and I read everybody’s mail. So far, your regiment sisters are extremely law-abiding, boring people.”
“Have you ever interrogated someone?”
“I’ve had to practice.” He blew a thin stream of blue smoke into the air, letting it mingle with his exhale. “Get the technique right, just in case.”
“Tortured someone?” she pressed.
He laughed. “Give me a break.”
“Do you really think there are traitors here?” she said.
He shrugged. “Every base needs Information Officers. A lot of them want action near the front. Few of them want anything to do with Weavecraft. What I think doesn’t have much to do with it.”
There. That was how he’d changed. He didn’t answer questions so directly anymore. He spoke openly, like a friend. But he still managed not to say what she needed him to say most.
The glowing end of his cigarette turned her way. Before he could accuse her of flinching again, she said the first thing that popped into her head. “Can you really shift shape?”
His yellow eyes widened. For a moment she swore the pupil changed, elongating into a vertical slit. Then he blinked, and his eyes were back to normal. Well, yellow normal. “Depends on what shape you’re asking about.” The cigarette-end turned back ahead. “To the mess, or walk?”
Neither of those options included parting ways. In the mess she’d be safer, surrounded by witnesses. Surrounded by girls who whispered and peeked at her from behind their hair. “Walk,” she decided, and they set off.
They were the only ones out in the slush, aside from the perimeter guards and a couple of metal messengers, scuttling and slipping in haste to get inside. Even the constructs had more sense than she and Tannov did. She’d have to dry her whole uniform out in front of the little stove in the barracks. But the rain washed away the perennial scent of ash and engine grease.
“Things—aren’t the way they were,” she said after a while.
“For you, too,” said Tannov.
“They want to be soldiers, but they don’t think it takes any work. I say things Koslen would never have been kind enough to say, and they hate me for it. The boys think it’s funny. I can’t—” She didn’t know what to say—rather, she didn’t know what to say first. The women despised her. The men mocked her. Zima had manipulated her to influence her father’s enemy. Hesovec disdained her. Anger pulsed so hot her fingers blazed, nearly incinerating her cigarette.
“We were like brothers, in the old regiment.” Tannov smiled his classic open smile. “Well, sort of. It’s not the same here, is it, little lion?”
It was only the same with Tannov, and only sort of. And even though her brain told her to watch out, beware, she couldn’t bring herself to listen tonight. She had only Tannov and Dostorov, and she couldn’t pretend she didn’t care about them.
She told him everything. It was stupid, but she did it anyway. They walked the perimeter of the base, and her anger flowed out of her with every step. And she felt lighter when she finally realized she had nothing else to say.
“Maybe it will get better,” she finished. “In combat. But I can’t—” Be sure. Believe it. “I don’t know if we’ll see combat at all.” And if they never saw combat, she’d never be able to prove herself.
“You won’t if Hesovec has his way. But you’re making progress. We’ll be watching your first flight tomorrow. And from there it’s a short jump to the front. We’ll be Heroes of the Union in no time.”
She’d been trying not to think about their first flight all evening. It was bad enough using her spark to power Zima’s army radio. How was she going to stream it into a plane?
Tannov stopped. They’d reached the long officers’ barracks, including the Information office. He fished out a key and held up a finger as he disappeared inside. The rain had stopped, and clouds skated across the sky, taking the storm north. Linné watched them until Tannov returned with a pile of opened mail. “For the aviators.” She grabbed it, creating a fat, wet thumbprint on the top letter. Tannov’s grip tightened around the pile. “Do you want my advice?”
“The advice of Tannov my boneheaded friend, or Tannov the dedicated Information Officer?” She’d meant for it to sound like a joke, but it came out brittle around the edges.
“The advice of the great Mikhail Tannov, your boneheaded friend who joined the Information Unit.” His eyes sparkled. His yellow, foreign, animal eyes. His hand slid from the mail to her cuff. “Colonel Hesovec will do what he can to be rid of you, but if he has to use you, he’ll use you. Don’t give him any other choice. Convince him that you’re ready. Convince someone who can order him around. Make your first flight count, and the one after that. Keep pushing. The bastard’s like a wall, but he’ll crumble eventually.”
10
PRACTICE MAKES PREPARED
Linné was late getting back to the barracks, late enough that she was the last one in and everyone’s eyes were on her as she shut the door. She shook the rain out of her hair. “Don’t you have anything better to do than wait for me to come home?”
“Always thinking of yourself.” Katya tutted as she snipped a stray thread away from a jacket. “All done,” she said, tossing it to Olya. “Magdalena, you’re next.”
“I don’t need mine fitted,” Magdalena said, a hint of panic in her voice.
Katya had been taking everyone’s measurements and adjusting their clothes for weeks. She hadn’t talked to Linné, and Linné didn’t care. She didn’t need her uniform fitted, either, and she didn’t need someone else to do it. The others watched in amusement as Katya advanced on Magdalena, snapping her measuring tape menacingly. Even though Magdalena was a good foot taller than Katya, she shrank back against the wall, holding her palms out to ward off Katya.
“You have to put your arms up.” Katya laughed. “I need to measure your breasts.” Giggles erupted all over the room.
“You’ll tickle me,” Magdalena said.
“Only if you don’t hold still. Nadya, come help me,” Katya implored, but Na
dya shook her head.
Linné drew the stack of damp letters out of her coat pocket. “I’m dousing the lamp in five minutes,” she said, tossing Pavi a letter from her boyfriend. The others leaned forward on their beds, and those who slept at the back of the hall clustered around. Even Katya stopped harassing Magdalena for a moment to see if there was any correspondence for her.
The girls got a lot of mail. It seemed that every sweetheart, sibling, parent, and uncle wanted to know what life was like in the Union’s most experimental regiment. Some got more mail than others—Revna seemed to write home every week—but every single girl had received something since training began. Everyone except for Linné.
She didn’t need it, she reminded herself as she handed Revna two letters. No one would write to her except her father, and she hadn’t needed him since she was five.
As she gave Elena a letter, the high whine of the siren began. Chatter died away.
“What is it?” Revna asked, reaching for the prosthetics she’d stowed beside her bed.
“Either we’re under attack or they’ve rescheduled our first flight.” Linné tossed the rest of the letters onto the nearest bed. She grabbed her aviator helmet and headed for the door.
“I wish they would send her back to the front,” she heard Katya say as the door closed behind her.
She ran, trying to outstrip the others, trying to keep ahead of the growing unease that made her hands shake as she slid to a stop, panting, at the edge of the airfield. She wasn’t ready for this. How could this happen? She’d always been ready. She’d been the first out of their supply palanquin when her old regiment went to the front. When she feared something, she ran toward it. She’d never wanted to hide before.
The clouds had broken open to reveal a bright slice of moon. Zima waited until the others pelted up behind Linné. “Good morning, ladies. Now that you’re going to start practicing together, you might as well get used to your new night schedule. Navigators and pilots, pair off. Engineers, come with me to assist with takeoff.”
We Rule the Night Page 13