COURAGE AT THE CROSSROADS Season 2: Here Dead We Lie By Matt Goetz The blond youth ran over the muddy soil, sliding down one side of a The haze drifted, and Holden spotted the shooter. A woman amid the wet crater and clambering up the opposite side. When he emerged, he trees on the Khadoran side of the battlefield pointed her scoped rifle darted from the soot-black trunk of one tree to the next in short, erratic at Planter’s running form. sprints. The trencher helmet he wore was too big, and jostled on his “I see her,” Holden said. head so much he was forced to hold it in place with a free hand. “Shoot! He’s almost there!” Holden kept his rifle trained on the boy, just above the heavy bouncing pack he wore. The occasional lump of coal spilled out of Holden was aiming when something emerged from the rolling the pack’s top when he hurdled a stone or fallen tree. clouds. It looked like a soldier in a disheveled uniform, but its face was wrong. Its skin was papery and grey, its eyes and mouth “Come on,” Holden whispered. three black and withered holes. It lurched forward like a drunken The boy, Planter, wove toward the inert form of a Sentinel warjack. puppeteer’s marionette. Despite its lack of eyes, it fixed Holden with Planter was within fifteen yards of the warjack’s steel and brass body those black pits, and with one hand it made an entreating gesture to when the Khadorans took their first shot. It hit just ahead of the him. running boy, pelting him with charred bark and splinters. Somewhere, a crow cawed. “Run, kid,” Brinn said, intense but not loud enough for Planter Holden tried to shoot the grey man, but the shifting white clouds to hear. The older, heavier man clenched his rifle to his chest and swallowed it. When the clouds blew on it was gone, vanished, as if it repeated himself, this time with a voice like a quiet prayer. Holden had never been there. He didn’t know if it ever had. swiveled his rifle toward the report but couldn’t spot the shooter through the rain and the haze of blasting-powder smoke and mist The woman fired, and Planter pitched over. Blood soaked through his drifting over the battlefield. pale hair. The woman vanished behind the tree, likely pulling back toward the Khadoran line after killing the boy. She left only a plume Another shot rang out, hitting behind the running coal porter. It of fresh gun smoke. showered him with wet dirt, and he threw himself down. Coal spilled from the pack over the boy’s head, and his helmet went spinning. He Holden’s eyes were wide, and he barely gripped his rifle as he sank lay there, panting, while Holden whipped his rifle back and forth to the wooden duckboards of the trench. He shook and stared down looking for a target, finding nothing. with unfocused eyes. After a moment of silence, Brinn crouched next to him and put a hand on his trembling shoulder. “Get up. You’re almost there,” Brinn urged. Holden glanced to the fallen boy and saw him rise to run a dead sprint for the warjack. He “It’s okay. You tried.” had only a few yards to go. The beautiful woman walked forward, the heels of her boots knocking out a steady rhythm on the ship’s deck. She leaned close, smelling of leather, 76 COURAGE AT THE CROSSROADS rum, and blood. Next to her, Planter’s grinning corpse stood at the head of “Maybe,” he said, counting the dead men in his head. The platoon’s a gaggle of rotting men. He held out a curved dagger for her. She took the last push to take the high ground four days prior had almost made it proffered blade with a casual ease. to the line of dead trees that defined the hilly perimeter, but a rain of Khadoran shells and rockets had driven them back after killing many “Please,” Holden begged as she brought the blade to his face. “Please don’t where they stood. The squad sergeant died leading that advance, do this.” leaving Holden and Brinn’s friend Rogers to fill the role. Holden “Only you can stop it,” she said. shrugged. “I doubt the Khadorans will wait until she shows up. If she’s coming.” “Join us and it all stops,” Planter’s corpse chimed in. “Go to hell, you pessimist,” Brinn replied. With one hand he steadied “Join us and we can make it end,” the dead men crowed. the spyglass and dug out a wet handkerchief with the other. Swiping at Then the knife began to do its work, and he screamed. the lens, he examined the enemy across the cratered battlefield. “Reds are moving to the trench line. Handful of ‘em. Wait, what the hell?” “I heard they’re sending a warcaster to our position,” Holden “What?” muttered as he looked down the barrel of his rifle. The rain that started the night before hadn’t stopped, so he had wrapped the rifle Before Brinn could explain, acting-sergeant Rogers approached them, in an oiled cloth to protect it from moisture. a tin cup of coffee in one hand. Despite the wet and cold, despite the bullets that had left scars on his armor and the exhaustion creasing “What? Who told you that?” Brinn said around a mouthful of tinned his face, Rogers maintained a wry grin. meat. As he spoke, Brinn shot a glance over his shoulder to where other soldiers were emerging from their dugouts to get their own “See something fun, Brinn?” Rogers asked as he clambered up to breakfast in order. He and Holden had taken the first leg of the their position. He shared his watery coffee with them. morning watch. “No, sir.” Brinn didn’t sound convinced as he handed over the “One of the new recruits from Northguard. Fowler, I think.” spyglass. “Reds are mustering for a push. Just thought I saw something else.” “Do you think it’ll be Maddox? Does Sergeant Rogers know?” “Stuff the ‘sir.’ What did you see?” Holden shrugged, keeping his gaze over his rifle as he played it over the line of the Khadoran trenches. “Dunno. Just what I heard.” “Not sure. It looked a bit like a soldier in no-man’s-land. In the fog.” Brinn moved to Holden’s right and lay down in the sandbag-rimmed Holden’s head snapped to Brinn, fighting to keep his expression fire bay, pulling out a spyglass. “I damn well hope so. We could do neutral. “Did he look strange?” with a warcaster.” “Couldn’t tell. Barely caught sight of him.” Brinn swiveled the glass over the field north of the trench. He Rogers looked through the spyglass, a small smile on his face. hesitated on the inert Sentinel. He didn’t mention Planter or comment “You’re sure?” on the three other dead coal porters lying at the warjack’s feet. It had been days since Planter died, but no one had dared to venture out to “Dead sure.” rescue the bodies. Rogers swept the glass back and forth for a few moments. Satisfied, “I think Patriot might still work, if we could get him fired up again. he handed it back. With a warcaster guiding him—” “Let’s hope he’s on our side. At least you’re right about the reds. “Warcasters have their own ’jacks. Besides, Patriot’s not worth much There’s a bunch of the bastards on the west line ready to come up anymore.” Holden couldn’t bring himself to look in that direction. and over.” Rogers shrugged. “Anyway, get some rest if you can. He kept his gaze fixed on where he’d seen the thing in the smoke in Both of you look like hell, and I need you fresh if the northerners are case it decided to reappear. mustering for another push.” The Khadorans made sure the platoon couldn’t get its ´jack working Brinn nodded acknowledgment and slid back down, grabbing his tin again, despite its best effort. Even before the ’jack’s heartfire burned of food and shoveling the rest into his mouth. out, Patriot had been in rough shape. Holes perforated its heavy “Holden, wait up.” Rogers said as Holden started to move. “Brinn shield and hull, and a slash through half its face had destroyed one told me about Planter.” eye. Patriot stood there for weeks in the rain, still as stone after its boiler had burned cold and its nearly four-ton weight had settled Holden swallowed. “I’m sorry, Rogers. It’s my fault.” down into the mud. “Stow that. Lieutenant Landry let you keep that old rifle because you “Well, a warcaster might draw some of their attention,” Brinn dead-eyed ten out of ten on the range, so we both know you could continued as he squinted at their Khadoran counterparts across the have made the shot. I need you to tell me if there’s something else churned and muddy field. “At least give us the chance to take the going on.” east hills.” “I . I don’t think so. Smoke came up before I could fire.” The hills were a strategically important position, a patch of Rogers frowned at the younger soldier’s answer. “Well, rest up. high ground staking the east side of the battlefield. They held We’ve got Khadorans to kill.” a commanding view of both the field and potential Khadoran reinforcement routes to the northeast.