“That’s where we’re keeping the French recruits,” Roswell said, pointing to the camp on the plain. “We’re a bit early. We’ve told them there’ll be a simulated attack this morning, but not from where.”
She handed Alexis a pair of binoculars and Alexis scanned the camp. The enhanced image showed her not only a magnified view, but displayed some sort of assessment for everything in the image, attempting to identify which tents and domes were likely used for cooking and which for arms storage. Along the outside edges of the camp there were some fortifications dug, simple trench and berm structures to slow an advancing enemy. These were manned by a few soldiers in French colors, but most of the camp seemed to be going about the business of their day without another thought.
“To answer your question, though,” Roswell went on as Alexis scanned the camp below. “The 451st’s light companies are mostly women, but only one in ten of the heavy. It’s the same one in ten for the infantry, I suspect, but I’ve never counted.”
“Why so many in the light companies?” Alexis asked.
Roswell grunted. “Mightn’t you better ask why so few in the heavy?” She shrugged. “It’s purely physical. There’re fewer women with the strength to handle the heavy cavalry. If one’s suit needs repair in the field one must be able to handle the components alone.” She looked Alexis over. “You’d not make even the light cavalry, I suspect, but the air corps might have you. Little heavy lifting there.”
Alexis felt, rather than heard, a sort of rumbling begin.
“Ah, they’re about it,” Roswell said. She pointed toward the ridgeline. “If they’ve stepped up their pace enough for us to feel it, then they’re on the upslope and should be just about — there!”
Alexis had no need of Roswell pointing it out to her. The ridgeline was suddenly overcome by a wave of figures flowing over it.
“Good lord,” she breathed.
At first she had trouble adjusting to the scale, thinking they were closer to the ridge than she’d originally thought. Then she realized that the figures were larger, almost twice as large, as the unarmored French recruits on the plain below. The mechanical battle suits were four meters tall and the ground shook from their heavy stride as they rushed down the slope.
Below, on the plain, the French recruits in the camp had all stopped, frozen in place as they watched the approaching horde.
“They’ve likely never seen cavalry before, not out here,” Roswell said. “They’ll break in a moment.”
Some of the French at the berms had weapons raised and appeared to be firing.
“Low power lasers,” Roswell said. “The suit computers will determine if it would be enough to do damage. Doubtful, that, though. They’re set to simulate the sort of weapons the locals brought with them — nothing but hunting rifles and the occasional dueling pistol. Certainly not what I’d wish to face cavalry with.”
“I should think not,” Alexis said.
Below them, first one and then another, then a steady stream of French soldiers left the fortifications and rushed back through the camp, some even abandoning their weapons. As they passed, other men in the camp began running as well. Before the attackers were even halfway to the camp, the defensive lines were nearly empty. By the time the armored charge came to a halt just before the trenches, there were only a few figures to be seen still at their posts, and those, Alexis suspected, were simply frozen in terror and unable to move.
Roswell pulled out her tablet and raised an eyebrow.
“They did better than I expected,” she said.
“Better?” Alexis scanned the mass of people at the far side of the camp. The rout had slowed and then stopped as the attackers paused and she could hear men calling out orders in the camp.
“As I said, they’ve never seen cavalry, much less faced it. Some of them fired enough to have realized it really was pointless, rather than simply running at the start.” She continued to study her tablet. “The point, I believe, has been made, though. Perhaps they’ll realize now that this isn’t some sort of lark, and that they’ll be facing real, seasoned Hanoverese troops at some point. Oh, look —” She pointed midway up the slope to where a single set of battle armor stood still. “— they actually got one.” She raised her own binoculars. “That’s Thacher — oh, she’ll be wound up over that.” Roswell waved Alexis toward the waiting aircar.
Once back in the air, Roswell had the driver circle the French camp. Alexis noted the differences between this camp and those they’d overflown closer in to Atterrissage. While the tents and layout were much the same, the camp below them looked rather slovenly compared to the others. The lanes that ran through it were not as straight, nor were the tents themselves so neatly aligned as the others.
“We’ve begun ringing the city with these camps for the French recruits,” Roswell said. “They’re eager, no doubt about that. We’ve had nearly an hundred thousand come to join up.”
“So many?” Alexis was surprised. Even Commodore Balestra had estimated that no more than thirty thousand troops would be raised on Giron. No wonder Malicoat was anxious for the arrival of those transports, if he had supplies for no more than a third of these volunteers.
“Some we send home,” Roswell said. “Too old or infirm.” She nodded at the camp below. “These are the latest and I expect we’ll lose ten or twenty percent of them after this morning’s fun.”
Roswell had the driver overfly several other encampments around the city, then set down beside Belial’s boat at the landing field. Hunsley had already returned, with news that the prices around Atterrissage were much higher than he’d like. They determined to seek out smaller towns from which to supply Belial. Roswell offered to accompany them with the aircar, saying that it would give her an opportunity to report back to General Malicoat on the conditions elsewhere on Giron.
Alexis suggested Courboin. She was anxious to see the town again, though she wished Delaine could be with her for it.
Chapter 44
Roswell had their driver put the aircar down in a field just outside Courboin and Belial’s boat settled to the ground just beside it. Alexis was anxious to see the town again, though she wished she’d taken the opportunity to do so while Delaine was still in-system.
“You were held prisoner here?” Roswell asked after they reached the town’s market square and Hunsley took the men off to purchase supplies.
Alexis nodded. “In a converted warehouse just down that road there.” She pointed. “Perhaps a kilometer away.”
Roswell frowned. “A warehouse? They gave you no proper housing?”
Alexis realized that Roswell thought she’d given her parole and would have had the run of the town.
Which I did, to a certain extent with Delaine, but for other reasons.
“The other officers were housed in town.” She pointed out the building just off the market. “There, in fact, but I hadn’t given my parole and was housed with the men.”
Roswell’s eyes widened. “I can’t imagine what you must have gone through there. With common spacers?”
Alexis fought down the urge to snap at her in defense of the men, thinking of all they’d done for her during that captivity. “Don’t you berth with the rest of your company?”
“Well, yes, but cavalry regiments are raised of the gentry and nobility, not the commoners.” She looked down the road Alexis had indicated. “That would be like serving in the infantry, and not as an officer.”
“It was for the best, regardless,” Alexis said, wishing to change the subject. “Come along down this street here. There’s a shop that sells the most wonderful chocolates.” She paused. “Or should we follow along with Hunsley in case he needs help with translation?”
She caught sight of Hunsley and the men. Her purser was deep in haggling with the owner of a vegetable stall, showing the man coins and flashing his fingers in an offer. The seller threw his arms up and flashed more fingers in return. Alexis smiled. Trust that neither a purser nor a shopkeeper would allow a little th
ing like language to stand in the way of a bargain.
She and Roswell left the square and walked down the street to where Alexis remembered the shop being, but found it was not only closed, but boarded up. The windows on the upper stories were either broken out or boarded as well. The brick walls of the building bore streaks of soot and the scent of burning wood hung heavily over the street.
“They must have had a fire. I hope no one was hurt.”
Roswell snorted. “They’ll be lucky to have not been hung.”
“What do you mean?”
“Retaliation.” Roswell said, nodding back at the building. “See the message?”
Alexis looked back at the building and noticed something scrawled across the boards covering the shop window.
“Rentrez envahisseurs?” She frowned. “Invaders surrender, no, get out? What does this mean?”
“We’re seeing more of it close to Atterrissage,” Roswell said. “Reprisals against Hanoverese who’ve come to this world. General Malicoat’s set up a special camp to keep the ethnic Hanoverese safe, at least those who make their way to Atterrissage and ask for protection.”
A chill ran through Alexis. She and Delaine had visited this shop many times. The proprietors were a charming, friendly couple who’d only ever spoken French so far as Alexis had heard, and the shop had been busy. They’d always had a bit of chocolate for a child peering through the window and nothing but smiles and friendly words for their customers.
She looked back down the street to the main market square. Could the people of Courboin really have done such a thing?
“I can’t believe it.”
“We’ve started a revolution here,” Roswell said with a shrug. “A civil war. There’s no reason to expect it won’t become just as bloody as that sort of thing always does. Oh, in an hundred years it’ll all be speeches and fireworks, but here and now it’s a bloody business.”
“But —” She stopped herself. The proprietor’s name had been Steinach, a Hanoverese name, to be sure, no matter that he’d gone by monsieur and spoken perfect French. “His grandfather started this shop,” she whispered finally, still unable to believe that anyone in Courboin could do such a thing.
“This sort of hatred takes no heed of generations,” Roswell said. “It runs deep and it takes little to set it loose. Look even at New London and New Edinburgh — settled for hundreds of years, allies for generations — but I’m certain there are no few on either planet who’d paint themselves blue and take up arms at some excuse. And this —” Roswell pointed at the burned out shell of a building. “This is why we in the Core tolerate the Fringe and all its prejudices. Give that type of fool their own planet and let them have a go at it if they like, just so long as they leave their neighbors alone.”
“Not all of the Fringe is like that,” Alexis said, feeling she should defend her home world in some way.
“No,” Roswell agreed, “most of the worlds are settled by those who just want a bit of space, but even they turn up the odd bit of bigotry far too often. Good riddance to the lot of them, I say.”
Alexis frowned. Roswell must have forgotten that Alexis was from the Fringe herself. She took one last look at the burned-out shop before they made their way back to the market. She wasn’t entirely convinced that this policy of forcing such hatreds farther and farther toward the edges of humanity’s expansion was the best solution … nor, having seen such a thing rear its head in Courboin, was she at all certain there could ever be one.
The market, when they returned to it, seemed to have lost some of its color and vibrancy. Alexis found herself wondering if this smiling-faced farmer or that grinning shopkeeper had held a torch or a bit of rope the night the Steinachs’ shop had been burned.
And what happened to them? Were they killed or have they made their way to some camp near Atterrissage?
She was lost in these thoughts when she felt Roswell grasp her arm and shake her gently.
“Carew? Are you listening at all?”
Alexis shook herself out of her reverie.
“That girl over there seems quite intent on you. Do you know her?”
Alexis looked and caught sight of a girl staring at her. She looked away as soon as Alexis turned in that direction, but seemed familiar.
“I may,” Alexis allowed. When she’d been held here, she hadn’t really spent time with any of the residents of Courboin for more than shopping; most of her time had been spent with Delaine. Still, the girl did look familiar.
“I’d recommend finding out what she wants, if she’s going to be following us all day anyway,” Roswell said.
“I suppose.” Alexis paused for a moment. If the French were willing to engage in such violence against the Hanoverese, mightn’t there be Hanoverese partisans who would do the same against New London’s forces? “I never thought to ask, but are we in any danger? From Hanoverese, I mean.”
Roswell shook her head. “No, whoever planned this romp chose a good world to begin on. There’s been none of anything like that. If anything, the locals have been too friendly with our troops.”
They made their way toward the girl who was watching them and Alexis frowned, trying to place her. There were many people in Courboin she recognized from her time here and many who recognized her in return. As they drew nearer, the girl stopped trying to avoid Alexis’ gaze and drew herself up. She seemed nervous and Alexis couldn’t understand why. She’d been on friendly terms with everyone she’d met when last here.
Then it struck her. The first time she’d seen the girl had been in the lap of Midshipman Penn Timpson, the berthmate from Hermione who’d stopped her messages. The last time Alexis had seen the girl she, along with several other local girls, was leaving Timpson behind after Alexis had all but called him out in a nearby café. She hadn’t seen those girls again during her stay.
No wonder she’s hesitant, when all she’s seen of me is a screaming harridan slapping Timpson in the face.
Alexis tried to put on a friendly expression, while wondering what the girl could want.
“Bonjour,” she said as they approached.
“Bonjour,” the girl said. She smiled shyly, not at all what Alexis expected. The girls she’d seen with Hermione’s midshipmen that day had been anything but shy. “Allo. Mademoiselle Carew, oui?”
“Lieutenant,” Alexis said, nodding, “but yes. Oui.”
“Je suis … I am, Marie Autin.” The girl, Marie, spoke her English slowly and held out her hand. Alexis took it, still puzzled. “The ship … Hermione? It is come back?”
Alexis shook her head. “No, I’m afraid Hermione is long gone from here,” she said, “gone before my last stay, even.”
Marie frowned. “Not ship, but le officiers? You have come back?”
“I have, at least. I’m on another ship now, Shrewsbury. The other officers from that time, they’re …”
Alexis wasn’t quite sure how to explain what had happened and she had no idea where Hermione’s other officers had been sent. An older woman came out of a nearby shop. She carried an infant, probably not quite a year old, who she held out to Marie. She nodded to Alexis and Roswell, but spoke rapidly to Marie.
“Oui, Mama,” the girl said, and took the child.
Alexis looked from the girl to the child with sudden understanding. An infant less than a year old and some eighteen months since she and Hermione’s officers were last on Giron made the connection clear.
Penn Timpson, you utter, irresponsible arsehole.
A simple visit to the ship’s surgeon for an implant would have eliminated the risk of this sort of thing. For the crew it was mandatory, but not for officers, and Timpson must not have bothered. Marie must not have bothered either, which was understandable given Giron’s low population. Many colony worlds, unless they’d been settled as a religious colony, welcomed as many new residents as they could get and paid little notice to the proprieties. Still, with a war on, Marie might have been in an awkward position. No matter how French
the population of Giron considered themselves, it couldn’t be thought proper to come up pregnant by the ostensible enemy.
Of course now New London was Giron’s ally, if not liberator, which made for an entirely different situation. In addition, with New London forces in place on Giron, Marie could make a case for support. It would be a simple matter for someone on General Malicoat’s staff to test the child’s DNA against Timpson’s medical records and the errant midshipman would quickly find his pay docked no matter where he’d been reassigned.
And serve him right, as well, it would.
Alexis nodded to the child. “He is —” She trailed off with a cough, unsure if it was the sort of thing one should ask on Giron, but Marie was looking at her questioningly. “I mean to say … Aspirant Timpson’s?”
“Oui,” Marie said with a shrug. She looked at the child and her face seemed to glow as she smiled widely. She took one of his pudgy little arms and waved it at Alexis. “Say ‘allo’ to Lieutenant Carew, Ferrau. Allo. Allo.”
Ferrau said nothing. He simply looked at Alexis blankly, pursed his little lips, and blew a bubble of spittle that popped and dribbled down his chin.
Timpson’s get, indeed.
Roswell cleared her throat. “I think your men have bought out the market, Carew. Perhaps we should be on our way?”
Chapter 45
“Six bells of the forenoon, sir, you asked for me to wake you.”
Alexis opened her eyes at Isom’s words. She’d been almost napping, her tablet lying on her chest. A particularly dry treatise on attacking fortified systems was a wonderful sleep aid, she’d found. This document was supposed to be quite the thing, but it was a long slog through.
“Thank you, Isom.” She threw her legs over the side of her cot and sat up. Belial’s master’s cabin was small compared to the captain’s quarters aboard a frigate or 74, but a luxury after a lieutenant’s berth. Nearly twice the size of her cabin aboard Shrewsbury, and all for her. The cot itself was so much larger that Alexis found herself rolling from side to side in the night just to enjoy the space.
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