Steel Scars (5 page)

Tye and I crouch lower, whipping in the direction of Tristan's gaze. The rifle nose tracks at a snail's pace, following something in the trees. Four shadows.
Outnumbered
.

They emerge with their palms out, showing empty hands. Unlike the soldiers on the Road, these four have their uniforms turned inside out, favoring stained brown and black lining over their usual rust
colors. Better camouflage for the woods. Not to mention their names and ranks. I can't see any insignia or badges of any kind. I have no idea who they are.

A calm breeze rustles the grass. It ripples like a pond disturbed by a single stone, its green waves breaking against the four as they approach in single file. I narrow my eyes at their feet. They're careful to step in the leader's footprints. Any tracker would think only one person came this way, not four.
Smart
.

A woman leads, her jaw like an anvil. She's missing both her trigger fingers. Unable to shoot, but still a soldier, judging by the crags of weariness on her face. Like the willowy, copper-skinned girl on her heels, her head is shaved to the scalp.

Two men bring up the rear. They are young, both probably within their first year of conscription. Neither is scarred or visibly injured, so they can't be masquerading as wounded back in Corvium. Supply soldiers, most likely. Lucky to haul crates of ammunition and food. Although the second, the one at the very back, seems too slight for manual labor.

The bald woman stops ten feet away, her palms still raised. Too close for both our liking. I force myself to stand from the grass and close the distance between us. Tye and Tristan keep still, not hidden, but not moving either.

“We're the ones,” she says.

I keep my hands on my hips, fingers inches from the gun belted across my waist. A naked threat. “Who sent us?” I ask her in testing. Behind me, Tristan tightens like a snake. The woman has the bravery to keep her eyes from his rifle, but the others behind her don't.

“Will Whistle of the Stilts,” she replies. She doesn't stop there, though it's enough for the moment. “Children taken from their
mothers, soldiers sent to slaughter, countless generations of slavery. Each and every one of them sent you.”

My fingers drum quietly. Rage is a double-edged sword, and this woman has been bled by both edges. “The Whistle will do. And you are?”

“Corporal Eastree, of the Tower Legion, like the rest.” She gestures behind, to the other three still watching Tristan. I nod at him, and his trigger finger relaxes a little. But not much. “We're support troops, conscripted to Corvium.”

“Will told me as such,” I lie quickly. “And what did he tell you of me?”

“Enough to get us out here. Enough to risk our necks for.” The voice comes from the lean young man at the back of the line. He angles forward, around his comrade, his smile crooked, teasing, and cold. His eyes flash. “You know it's execution if we're caught out here, right?”

Another breeze, sharper than the last. I force my own empty grin. “Oh, is that all?”

“We best make this quick,” Eastree says. “Your lot might protect your names, but we have no use for such things. They have our blood, our faces. This is Private Florins, Private Reese, and—”

The one with the crooked smile steps out of line before she can say his name. He crosses the gap between us, though he doesn't extend a hand to shake. “I'm Barrow. Shade Barrow. And you better not get me killed.”

My eyes narrow at him. “No promises.”

    
THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

    
CONFIDENTIAL, SENIOR CLEARANCE REQUIRED

    
Day 23 of Operation RED WEB, Stage 1.

    
Operative: Captain REDACTED.

    
Designation: LAMB.

    
Origin: Corvium, NRT.

    
Destination: RAM at REDACTED.

    
-CORVIUM intelligence enclosed: fort statistics, city map, tunnel overlay, army schedules/timetables.

    
-Early assessment: Most promising are Corp E (eager, angry, a gamble) and Aide B (connected, officer's aide recently stationed to CORVIUM). Possible for recruitment or Stage 2.

    
-Both seem willing to pledge but are otherwise ignorant to SG presence in NRT, LL. Invaluable to have two operatives inside CORVIUM. Will continue progress, request to fast-track recruitment?

    
RISE, RED AS THE DAWN.

    
THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

    
CONFIDENTIAL, SENIOR CLEARANCE REQUIRED

    
Operative: Colonel REDACTED.

    
Designation: RAM.

    
Origin: REDACTED.

    
Destination: LAMB at Corvium.

    
-Request denied. Corp E and Aide B nonessential.

    
-Move on from CORVIUM. Continue assessing WHISTLE contacts/RED WEB Stage 2 assets.

    
RISE, RED AS THE DAWN.

    
THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

    
CONFIDENTIAL, SENIOR CLEARANCE REQUIRED

    
Operative: Captain REDACTED.

    
Designation: LAMB.

    
Origin: Corvium, NRT.

    
Destination: RAM at REDACTED.

    
-CORVIUM intelligence vital to SG cause at large. Request more time at location. Pass up to COMMAND.

    
-Firmly believe Corp E and Aide B are strong candidates.

    
RISE, RED AS THE DAWN.

    
THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

    
CONFIDENTIAL, SENIOR CLEARANCE REQUIRED

    
Operative: General REDACTED.

    
Designation: DRUMMER.

    
Origin: REDACTED.

    
Destination: LAMB at Corvium, RAM at REDACTED.

    
-Request denied. Orders are to continue Stage 1 assessment for Stage 2/Asset Removal.

    
RISE, RED AS THE DAWN.

    
THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

    
CONFIDENTIAL, COMMAND CLEARANCE REQUIRED

    
Operative: Captain REDACTED.

    
Designation: LAMB.

    
Origin: Corvium, NRT.

    
Destination: DRUMMER at REDACTED.

    
-Strong opposition. Many military assets present at CORVIUM, must be assessed for Stage 2 removal.

    
-Request more time at location.

    
RISE, RED AS THE DAWN.

    
THE FOLLOWING MESSAGE HAS BEEN DECODED

    
CONFIDENTIAL, SENIOR CLEARANCE REQUIRED

    
Operative: General REDACTED.

    
Designation: DRUMMER.

    
Origin: REDACTED.

    
Destination: LAMB at Corvium.

    
-Request denied. Move out.

    
RISE, RED AS THE DAWN.

Following protocol, I light the thin strip of correspondence paper on fire. The dots and dashes detailing Command orders char away to nothing, consumed by flame. I know the feeling. Hot anger licks at my
insides. But I keep my face still, for Cara's sake.

She looks on, thick glasses perched on her nose. Her fingers itch, ready to click out my response to orders she cannot read.

“No need,” I say, waving her off. The lie sits in my mouth for a moment. “Command bent. We stay.”

I bet the Colonel's damned red eye is rolling in his skull right now. But his orders are stupid, narrow-minded, and now Command thinks the same. They must be disobeyed, for the cause, for the Scarlet Guard. Corporal Eastree and Barrow would be invaluable to us, not to mention they're both risking their lives to get me the information I need. The Guard owes them an oath, if not evacuation in Stage 2.

They're aren't here, in the thick of things
, I tell myself. It helps ease the sting of disobedience. The Colonel and Command don't understand what Corvium means to the Nortan military, or how important our information will become. The tunnel system alone is worth my time—it connects every piece of the fortress city, allowing not only clandestine troop movements but easy infiltration of Corvium itself. And thanks to Barrow's position as aide to a high-ranking Silver, we know less-savory intelligence as well. Which officers prefer the unwilling company of Red soldiers. That Lord General Osanos, the nymph governor of the Westlakes region and commander of the city, continues a family feud with Lord General Laris, commander of the entire Nortan Air Fleet. Who is essential to the military and who wears rank for show. The list goes on. Petty rivalries and weaknesses to be exploited. There are places of rot for us to poke at.

If Command doesn't see this, then they must be blind.

But I am not
.

And today is the day I set foot inside the walls myself and see the worst of what Norta has to offer tomorrow's revolution.

Cara folds up her broadcaster and reattaches it to the cord around her neck. It stays with her always, nestled next to her heart. “Not even to the Colonel?” she asks. “To gloat?”

“Not today.” I force my best smirk. It placates her.

And it convinces me. The last two weeks have been a goldmine of information. The next two will certainly be the same.

I force my way out of the stuffy, shuttered closet we use for transmissions, the only part of the abandoned house with four walls and an intact roof. The rest of the structure does its job well, serving as the safe house for our dealings in Corvium. The main room, as long as it is wide, has brick walls, though one side is collapsed along with the rusted tin roof. And the smaller chamber, probably a bedroom, has no roof at all. Not that we mind. The Scarlet Guard has suffered worse, and the nights have been unseasonably warm, albeit humid. Summer is coming to Norta. Our plastic tents keep out the rain, but not the moist air.
It's nothing
, I tell myself.
A mild discomfort
. But sweat drips down my neck anyway.
And it's not even midday yet
.

Trying to ignore the sticky sensation that comes with the rising humidity, I pile my braid on top of my head, wrapping it like a crown. If this weather keeps up, I might just cut it all off.

“He's late,” Tristan says from his lookout at a glassless window. His eyes never still, always darting, searching.

“I'd be worried if he wasn't.” Barrow hasn't been on time once in the past two weeks, not for any of our meetings.

Cara joins Tye in the corner, dropping down with a merry flop. She sets to cleaning her glasses as intently as Tye cleans pistols. Both of them share the same look, fair-haired Lakelanders. Like me, they're not used to the May heat, and they cluster together in the shade.

Tristan is not so affected. He's a Piedmont boy originally, a son of
mild winter and swampy summer. The heat doesn't bother him. In fact the only indicator of the changing season are his freckles, which seem to breed. They dot his arms and face, more every day. And his hair is longer too, a dark red mop that curls in the humidity.

“I told him as much,” Rasha says from the opposite corner. She busies herself braiding her hair out of her dark face, taking care to divide her curling black locks into even pieces. Her own rifle, not so long as Tristan's but just as well used, props against the wall next to her. “Starting to think they don't sleep down in Piedmont.”

“If you want to know more about my sleeping habits, all you have to do is ask, Rasha,” Tristan replies. This time he turns over his shoulder, just for a second, to meet her black eyes. They share a knowing look.

I fight the urge to scoff. “Keep it to the woods, you two,” I mutter.
Hard enough sleeping on the ground without listening to rustling tents
. “Scouts still out?”

“Tarry and Shore are taking the ridge, they won't be back until dusk, same as Big Coop and Martenson.” Tristan ticks off the rest of our team on his fingers. “Cristobel and Little Coop are about a mile out, in the trees. Waiting on your Barrow boy, and looking to wait awhile.”

I nod. All in order then.

“Command happy so far?”

“Happy as they can be,” I lie as smoothly as I can. Thankfully, Tristan doesn't turn from his watch. He doesn't notice the flush I feel creeping up my neck. “We're feeding good intelligence. Worth our time for sure.”

“They looking to oath Eastree or Barrow?”

“What makes you say that?”

He shrugs. “Seems like a long time to put into a pair we don't mean to recruit. Or are you suggesting them for Stage Two?”

Tristan doesn't mean to pry. He's a good lieutenant, the best I've ever seen, loyal to his bones. He doesn't know what he's picking at, but it stings all the same.

“Still working that out,” I mumble, doing my best to walk slow as I run from his questions. “I'm going to do a turn around the property. Grab me if Barrow shows his face.”

“Will do, boss,” echoes from the room.

Keeping my steps even is a battle, and it seems like an eternity before I'm safely into the green trees. I heave a single collecting breath, forcing myself to calm down.
It's for the best. Lying to them, disobeying the orders, it's for the best. It's not your fault the Colonel doesn't understand. It's not your fault
. The old refrain levels me out, as comforting as a stiff drink. Everything I've done and everything I will do is for the cause. No one can say otherwise. No one will ever question my loyalty, not once I give them Norta on a silver platter.