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. Through the cold morning fog, Holden could make out the bodies of a dozen trenchers still laying on Hours later, Holden pressed against the berm of the trench and the southern edge of those hills. peered over the stacked sandbags. Brinn and Rogers waited on either

COURAGE AT THE CROSSROADS 77 side. A dozen more trenchers stretched beyond them to the left and finished off the last few enemy wounded with quick bayonet strokes. right, cold rain pattering off their brass helmets as they readied their “Trenchers, report!” Rogers croaked, nearly breathless. Blood spattered rifles and affixed bayonets. his face, but the steady rain was already washing it away. Voices cried “How long until the sun’s down?” Rogers asked. back to report the losses. The number was mercifully low.

“A few minutes,” Brinn replied, holding his hand up to the horizon to “Medics incoming,” someone called. Behind Holden, medical measure the finger spans between the sun and it. “It’ll fall behind the personnel climbed down into the Cygnaran trench from the rear left side. Be ready for them to move from that flank first.” line carrying folded stretchers between them. Their uniforms showed white instead of Cygnaran blue, and they bore the symbol Rogers nodded, tipping a shower of rain off his helmet. “Right. Our of Ascendant Solovin on their helmets and pauldrons. Under the job is to hold position. Brinn, be ready to fall back to the medical tents direction of a Morrowan chaplain, the medics hauled the wounded if I so order. Holden, shoot any red that looks inclined to kill your from the trenches. They would bring them back to the battlefield beloved sergeant.” hospital, a modest thing about a thousand yards south of the front Both men agreed. Turning from them, Rogers moved through the lines next to an equally modest rail line. press of soldiers to the chain gun team on the west flank of the trench. The medics left the bodies of the dead behind. They would be seen to Privates Copley and Thatcher were checking the heavy weapon, later, if time allowed. ready to sling it up onto the trench rim at Rogers’ order. Holden primed his own rifle and set the worn wooden stock to his cheek, He shot his rifle, catching the fleeing father in the back. The man fellto trying to predict where the enemy might emerge. splash in the flowing blood of the village’s other dead. With an angry snarl, “Whistles,” one of the trenchers said. Idle chatter in the trench died, Holden rammed another cartridge into his weapon and tracked down his letting Holden make the sound out a moment later. It was the shrill next target as he stalked between the burning homes of his victims. whistles of Khadoran sergeants readying their soldiers to attack. Ahead of him a giant of a man swung his axe through others, mowing them Moments later, plumes of white smoke erupted far behind the enemy down like wheat. Bodies and pieces of bodies went sailing, and Holden threw trench line. The thud of three Khadoran mortars echoed across the back his head and howled with delight. He’d been afraid at first, but now he battlefield just after. Rogers shouted to take cover, sending men reveled in following this butcher. diving for the trench’s dugouts. The small holes dug in the earth barely accommodated four men. Holden made for the closest, “Wake up, Holden,” Rogers said. hauling himself into the dark with a grenadier named Carter close behind. Shells whistled through the air to detonate atop the trenches. Holden jolted up, nearly hitting his head on the ceiling of the dugout. The pressure of the explosions punched the wind out of his lungs. Next to him Brinn grumbled in his sleep and rolled over, pulling his Dirt rained on top of him as one of the thick wooden beams holding sodden woolen blanket up over his head. up the ceiling cracked. Holden crawled out into the cold night air of the trench, trying not to Over the scream and roar of artillery, Rogers shouted for the look at the stack of fresh bodies. “What is it?” trenchers to hold steady. The barrage slowed, with the last few shells “Holden, you’re a wreck. Other men can hear the things you say detonating in front of and behind their lines. Clods of wet dirt still when you sleep.” pattered down as Holden scrabbled out and readied for combat. Other trenchers did the same. Through the rain of earth and clouds “I’m not—” of blasting-powder smoke, the silhouettes of Winter Guard charged “Shut up and listen. We know you blame yourself for Planter, and across the cratered no-man’s-land. Collins, and the others.” Rogers dug into a pocket while he spoke, “Drive them back!” shouted Rogers, and the other trenchers searching for something. “I saw you during the fight yesterday. You responded with incoherent cries. They stood up from the trench and froze up. Didn’t fire a shot. You’re the best marksman in this unit, and opened fire on the running men. Bullets punched through the front I need that talent on our side. Ah, here it is.” rank. To Holden’s left, the chain gunners hauled their weapon up and He held out an old golden crown, warn smooth at the edges. opened fire. The steady thump of the chain gun added to the erratic popping of military rifles as it mowed down the closest Khadorans. “What’s this for?” Holden took the coin and turned it over in his hand. It was well worn and so old he didn’t recognize the king Brighton and Simons, two fresh Northguard recruits, kept up a steady stamped on its face. rhythm of gunfire. One fired as the other reloaded. They traded back and forth, shooting the closest Winter Guard on the left flank. Carter “Holden, you can’t control everything, but you blame yourself as if and Lewis, the grenadiers, kept back in the trench and fired rifle it’s your fault. You second-guess and end up doing nothing. If you grenades up and over their comrades’ heads. The explosions ripped don’t know what to do, if you’re at a crossroad and don’t know through the reds, dropping a half-dozen men between them. which way to go, just flip this coin. It’s how I decided to enlist. Hell, it’s why I helped you get on the train.” A few Winter Guard reached the trench line and opened fire. Whitfield and Nauls dropped from blunderbuss shots. Gunser fell “This is old, Rogers. Might be worth something.” with a gushing wound in his leg. An instant later, a wild axe swing “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get another one. Now grab your gear and split Aberwall’s helmet, even as a chain gunner fell back into the help me wake up the others. I’m sick of waiting for the Khadorans to trench with a hole in his throat. attack us again.” The skirmish was bloody but swift. Even without Patriot, the The two of them went down the trench and roused the rest of the trenchers managed to gun down most of the Winter Guard before unit, most of them reluctant to be woken after only a short sleep. they made the trench line. The rest put up little resistance. They

78 COURAGE AT THE CROSSROADS A few hours before sunrise, the trenchers gathered around Sergeant “Fire high. If you don’t hit them they might go for cover. Holden, Rogers, a few grumbling about the early muster as they shoveled give us smoke for the advance.” tinned rations into their mouths. Once the sergeant began speaking, As Carter fixed his rifle with a fresh grenade, Holden readied a even they quieted. smoke canister. Rogers counted down from five, pointing at Holden. “I talked with Lieutenant Landry late last night. We expect a heavy He reached one and closed his fist. Holden rose, hurling his grenade fog through midday, giving us concealment from sharpshooters and before dropping back. Carter pulled the trigger and sent his projectile spotters. Landry’s going to use the opportunity to make a push on sailing up to arc down on the enemy trench. the east hills today, and we’re going to give him the chance to get “Now! Bayonets up!” Rogers cried. Carter and Holden followed him. there. A platoon of the Seven-One-Five is joining us to support this Carter held his rifle like a spear and Holden drew his trench knife. offensive. Two squads are joining our attack.” They burst from the smoke on the Khadoran trench. Carter’s grenade That earned a few murmured comments. Brinn called for quiet. had dropped three Winter Guard with shrapnel and caused the Rogers continued. “While the reds are busy defending the hills, others to dive for cover. Screaming, Rogers and Carter leapt down we attack on the main front. When they attacked yesterday we hit among the scattered men. Down the trench line, other blue-armored them hard, and Landry and I doubt they’ll have moved in reserves soldiers poured in toward the panicked Khadorans. to replace the wounded yet. When we clear the trenches, we move Rogers landed between two men. He stabbed the first with a thrust to support the main offensive and hit them on two fronts. While we and cracked the skull of another with his rifle’s stock. Carter landed attack, I want Chambers and Colhoun to get my damned warjack up on a third. He fell to his knees atop the man, stabbing him in the and running.” Those two men nodded and made for the supply bay heart. Holden fired as he hit the rim of the trench, catching his target to get tools and a fresh pack of coal. in the chest. The man he shot fell, firing his blunderbuss uselessly Rogers sketched out the plan of the attack. The trenchers would split into the ground. into two groups, one led by himself and the other by Brinn. The two The other three Winter Guard went for their axes, but Rogers extra squads would support them on the approach and help them and Carter had the advantage of reach. The Khadorans had to take the nearest Khadoran position. Brinn did a quick inventory of lunge forward to try to get to them with clumsy slashes, opening their supply of ammunition and smoke grenades, divvying them up themselves up for the thrusts of bayonets. The last of the reds died among the gathered men. trying to escape the trench.

The trenchers rushed forward over the broken ground, their rifles When the fighting was done, Rogers called for a headcount. Other held tight to their chests. Some slammed into the precious cover of than the few who’d died on the approach, the trenchers had reached the trees, snapping off wild shots into the haze. In front of Holden this first line of enemy trenches without injury. There were other there was a metallic ring, and the head of Private Thatcher snapped trench lines to the north, other Khadoran soldiers to battle, but for the back as he pitched forward into the mud. Holden and Rogers hurdled first time since reaching the battlefront, the Cygnarans had a moment Thatcher’s twitching body and dashed for the charred cover of a of relief. fallen tree. They were clearing the trench to make sure the last of the Winter To Holden’s right, a squad of trenchers fired a volley from cover. Guard were dead or had fled. The distant noise of combat to the east A whistling Khadoran shell detonated among them, throwing up still echoed over the battlefield from the hills, but in the trench all a geyser of earth. A trencher was hurled by the blast, his limp and was quiet. broken body bashing off the trunk of a limbless pine. “I think they’re all gone,” Holden said as he emerged from a “Forward!” screamed Rogers. The sergeants of the 715’s squads Khadoran dugout and brushed mud off his grubby knees. echoed his cry. The crackling of rifle fire on both sides, the thump of explosions, and the cries of the wounded made their voices indistinct. “Good riddance. Brinn, let’s be ready to support Landry on the hill.” Holden snapped off another shot with his grandmother’s rifle, The unit began to move east down the trench when a shrill noise jammed a fresh cartridge into the breech, and vaulted the fallen tree. froze them. Holden looked toward the sound. Bullets and blunderbuss shot rippled the air around him, splintering the blackened trees and exposing the pale, dead wood within. From the haze north of their position, a neat wall of men jogged forward. They wore heavier armor and had carbines braced on top The trenchers reached the twisted barbed wire south of the Khadoran of their large square shields. Another row marched behind the front lines, some catching rifle fire and pitching over to hang in metal webs rank. There were more than Holden could count. Behind the ranked of thorny wire. Holden saw the silhouettes of Winter Guard ahead in men a towering form emerged from the fog, over ten feet tall and their trenches. wielding axes over six feet long: a Khadoran warjack.

Rogers veered for a crater in front of the Khadoran trenches, Holden didn’t wait for Rogers to give them an order. He clawed free of signaling for Holden and the others to follow. Holden shot on the run the Khadoran trench and sprinted back toward Cygnaran lines, running and pitched himself into cover an instant ahead of another withering past the bodies of Brighton and Simons. He ducked between the trees volley. The bodies of Brighton and Simons tumbled after him. Only and passed the grisly remains of the trenchers from the 715, breaking the grenadier Carter remained, sliding down the crater’s rim behind. into a sprint when he hit the pockmarked mud of no-man’s-land.

“Call what you saw!” Rogers shouted over the sound of battle. Holden’s companions wavered and broke before the Khadoran advance. Their flight from the trench wasn’t an organized retreat. It “Ten guard, tight formation in a fire bay,” Holden responded while was a rout. As they ran another man died, shot in the back by the reloading. Rogers nodded and pointed at Carter. oncoming kommandos. The warjack screamed a piercing whistle

COURAGE AT THE CROSSROADS 79 and surged forward, bowling through two of its own soldiers as it “Fire!” Rogers screamed, and the trenchers opened fire. Rounds did. Its heavy tread shuddered the earth. Carter turned and fired a caromed off the front ranks, repelled by Khadoran armor and shields. grenade from the hip to detonate on the warjack’s faceplate. Enraged, Behind them, a second wave advanced and returned fire, their it barreled on, snapping Carter’s bones with the impact and crushing carbine rounds striking men in the trenches. Holden shot repeatedly his body into the mud. at the approaching enemy, finding his rhythm and shooting true, but the enemy advance did not slow. The men of the 715 held one of the Holden weaved through the trees until he saw a plume of coal smoke chain gun positions and poured rounds at the kommandos, but their up ahead. The shape of Patriot was visible in the fog, and he could shields held the worst of it back. hear Colhoun shouting, asking what was going on. Holden screamed for Colhoun and Chambers to get to cover as he leapt down into the “Grenade!” Brinn shouted. Lewis primed his explosive and aimed familiar Cygnaran trench line. for the second rank of kommandos. It arced and detonated behind the shield wall, flinging broken men away from the blasts. Holden Already extra soldiers from the 715 were filling their old position. and a handful of other sharpshooters kept firing, targeting men They were mostly trenchers, though there were a few sword knights who were exposed when dead men’s shields fell away. Several in battered armor as well. more kommandos died, but behind them the red of Khadoran The nearest sergeant tried to get Holden to explain the situation, but reinforcements drew closer through the haze of smoke. Holden fired was interrupted when the last few survivors emerged from the fog a round that caught a charging Khadoran in the face. The armored and trees. Brinn and Rogers led the retreat, shooting over the heads man pitched back into the wet mud. In the gap the dead man created of their own soldiers at the rampaging warjack. Holden screamed in the enemy line, the hollow-eyed creature was waiting. Only now, and fired round after round, but most caromed off of its armored hull there were two. leaving nothing but dents. Numb, Holden fell back. The sound of the battle was replaced by the Swatting aside narrow trees with its axes, the ’jack screamed steam thudding of blood in his ears. A rushing wall of Khadorans blocked once more and rushed toward the tiny forms of its fleeing prey, the two creatures from his view, but he knew they were there, waiting. whipping its weapons behind them. Holden braced his rifle and Around him his allies were turning back the Khadoran assault even breathed, then shot a round through one of the warjack’s glowing as it reached their own trench. The Khadoran kommandos broke eyes. It paused for a moment, shaking back and forth like a wounded over the trench to his left, falling down onto the soldiers there. The bear. It gave the fleeing trenchers another few yards of distance, but fighting turned into a bloody brawl of men tackled to the mud, trying the wrathful warjack was only slowed, not truly injured. Shaking its to strangle or stab their enemies with bayonets and trench knives. head, it looked at the trenchers with one baleful eye and sprinted, The chain gun had fallen silent, its crew collapsed over the weapon slashing with its axes. as two kommandos stabbed repeatedly with their bayonets. Holden The thud of chain-gun fire echoed through the trees, and a shower looked right to see Brinn hurl himself into battle with his trench of sparks fell off the Khadoran ’jack. Battered, limping Patriot knife, stabbing through the helmet of the closest enemy with a brutal emerged from the trees, his gun barrels glowing and smoking. The downward strike. A short jab from an enemy bayonet punched light Cygnaran ’jack squared its shoulders and set its shield, issuing through Brinn’s backplate and he stumbled and fell. The enemy was a train-whistle noise as a challenge. being turned, but not without cost.

“One whistle means go to hell,” Holden hissed. Rogers smashed the butt of his rifle into the face of the closest enemy and charged another. His bayonet thrust scraped off the Khadoran’s The Khadoran warjack veered off for this new foe, giving Brinn, shield but left the man off balance. Rogers shouldered the man Rogers, and the other grenadier, Lewis, the time they needed to make against the wall of the trench and slammed the stock of his rifle up the trench. Patriot received the charge with its shield, its feet sliding against the Khadoran’s throat, pressing his full weight up to crush back in the slick mud from the impact. As the Khadoran ’jack swung the man’s larynx. an axe up and over the shield, Patriot buried its chain gun in the other ’jack’s guts and fired a long burst of bullets. With a black spray of “Holden, get up!” he shouted. Like a drunk, Holden’s head swiveled fluid from ruptured vital lines, the bullets punched steaming holes in unsteadily toward him. “Get up, god dammit!” the other ’jack’s boiler. The two collided again and tumbled into the Holden rose to take in the bloody melee around him. He could see, mud, the larger Khadoran ’jack growing weaker by the moment as then, how it would end. His comrades would drive off the enemy. Patriot clambered on top of it, spending the last of its ammunition in They would charge again, to be driven off themselves. Back and a close shot under the other ’jack’s chin. The rounds chewed through forth, back and forth, over a useless muddy patch in southern Llael. hull armor to pierce the cortex. In the next moment, both warjacks If a Khadoran bullet, blade, or bomb didn’t claim him here, then vanished in the flash and roar of an intense arcane explosion. one of those . . . things would. There was no way out. Already the Holden felt like cheering, but a barrage of shots punched into the kommandos were being overwhelmed. The sword knights’ heavy sandbag he was hiding behind. The assault kommandos pressed their Caspian battle blades proved too much for their shields to stop. advantage and jogged across the battlefield, firing on the run. Holden Rogers slashed the throat of the last Khadoran in the trench and called to Lewis, “Get a grenade ready! They’re in tight formation!” turned back to Holden. His lips moved, like he was asking “Are you When the first few kommandos came within range, they dropped into okay,” perhaps. Holden couldn’t be sure. But the parting gift of a a crouch behind their shields. Bracing their carbines on the top rim, Khadoran bullet caught Rogers in the base of the skull, blowing out they fired a salvo of squat canisters trailing ribbons of smoke toward his neck and spraying Holden with gore. He sagged forward into the trench. Most fell short, but a few landed among the trenchers, Holden’s arms with wide, surprised eyes. spewing out choking clouds of thick smoke.

80 COURAGE AT THE CROSSROADS And there it was. The way out. Holden nodded and lay back, trying to maintain his composure. What the woman said as she loaded him up into the train car hurt The other Cygnarans were busy fighting, paying Holden no attention. him more than any enemy’s weapon could. Laying down, covered in the dying Rogers’ blood, Holden joined the wounded on the muddy, bloody wooden duckboard floor of the “You’re a hero.” trench. Rogers sagged on top of him, lips still twitching as his blood flowed forth. Holden sat across from himself. The two Holdens faced each other in a wide and empty field of darkness rimmed by cold and impossible stars. Points of “Medic,” Holden cried, his throat raspy. He repeated. “We need a light flared and died in the distance, each one an echo of the sun that would medic here.” Then he lay back and waited to be taken away from all never warm this world. It was an infinite theater with no audience. of this. The other him cocked his head like a curious bird, studying Holden from Holden tried to lie still, tried to maintain the illusion of his injury as the corner of one eye. He said nothing, but had a wry smile on his face. the medical crew rushed his stretcher away from the front and to the Roger’s smile. medical tents, but Holden couldn’t help himself. He picked his head “What are you?” Holden asked the other him. up, looking north toward the trenches. “I’m you. The you who stopped fighting. The you who understood the In the area Rogers fell, Holden saw a thin figure in tattered clothes inevitability of his fate.” obscured by the blasting powder smoke. It loomed over where Rogers died, staring down like a collector stares at a rare sample. It “Am I . . . am I losing my mind?” Holden asked in earnest, but the other him looked up toward him then and cocked its head in recognition. smiled like he’d told some fantastic joke.

“Why does he still have a rifle?” asked the battle chaplain as he “Who said it was your mind to lose? I think the rest of us should all have jogged up to the medics. a say.”

“Wouldn’t let it go, sir.” Holden clenched his eyes shut and clapped his hands to his face. Behind his hands he said, “You’re just a nightmare. You’re here because of my “Get him onto the train. Khadorans flanked us to the west and are grandmother and Wyatt, because of Brinn and Rogers. You’re here because advancing on the tents.” I keep letting people die.” The medics both said “yes, sir” as they veered toward the rail The other Holden laughed. The noise was a piece of broken glass. “You idiot. spur. Through half-lidded eyes Holden saw the chaplain give him As if the gods care about them any more than they care about you. You’re a skeptical look, but if he meant to stop them, if he saw through just a grain of sand caught in the teeth of an awesome and terrible machine.” Holden’s ruse, he gave no indication. Holden looked up. The other him had begun to weep a viscous black fluid The medics trotted him up to the side of the train where dozens of from his eyes and mouth, mutating them into the pits that adorned the wounded men were being loaded into boxcars. A few doctors were creature’s face. The endless fluid flowed down and stained his face, running tending to them, performing triage to determine who would receive onto his tarnished uniform. medical attention and who wouldn’t. “If they don’t care, why is this happening to me?” Holden asked. Then, without warning, a trio of Khadorans burst from the tents flanking the train on the west side. One of them wore a massive “Because it had to happen to someone.” The other him leaned forward. Oily pressure cylinder on his back and carried a weapon with a tongue rivers ran down his face. “Because you made the wrong choice at the right time. of flame licking at its barrel. The medics panicked at the sight, some Of all the possible fates to befall all the people alive, you failed to act when you dropping their stretchers as they dove for cover. Holden banged should have. Or acted when you shouldn’t. In the end it doesn’t matter.” down on the ground, bouncing off his stretcher as the flamethrower- wielding kommando leveled his weapon and chuckled in a deep Holden stared at the other him. It leaned closer, that black weeping dribbling voice. Flying from between the tents, a black crow cawed. to fill the space between them and flowing close to his feet. As if the vitality of the other Holden flowed with that foul liquor, its skin grew sallow and As a reflex, Holden shot the kommando on the left, reloaded, and began to wither. Its face drew tight as its teeth dropped away like a handful shot the kommando on the right. Both teetered and crumpled, dead. of tiny stones. The flamethrower operator was stunned by this sudden display and swiveled to burn Holden to ash. Holden gaped at the grotesque version of himself, choking on his words. “Then how can I stop this from happening?” Holden loaded a fresh round and shot through the tank on the man’s back. The bullet ruptured the tank and it detonated, consuming the Sweet child. As if it was ever up to you. man in a flash of fire.

There was a moment of quiet. Holden felt the eyes of the wounded upon him. He heard them murmuring. One of Holden’s stretcher- bearers approached. “You say you’re wounded?”

Holden couldn’t meet the woman’s eyes. “I didn’t mean to—”

She cut him off, speaking loud enough for all to hear. “If you weren’t here, all of us would be dead. Get on the train.”

COURAGE AT THE CROSSROADS 81