Briggs sighed, leaning on his good leg. “No disrespect intended, Captain Moreau. Sometimes we grunts out here holdin’ the line feel forgotten, is all.”
Luke, almost a head taller than the quartermaster, slapped a friendly hand on his shoulder. “You arenotforgotten, Callum. Remember that.” Briggs nodded, glancing inconspicuously at his boots. “I’ll leave the trucks with you for a little while. General Stark sends some official reports for the brass that I need to deliver.”
Briggs glanced up at him. “General Longstreet is down at the docks, inspecting the ships, but Lieutenant Colonel Vance is right up there.” He pointed over the opposite rooftops to the battlements commanding the river.
Luke called over his shoulder to Lark, still perched beside her crate of pigeons in the Jeep. “Sutter, you ever see the Mother River?”
She scooted to the edge of her seat, alert and eager. “No, sir.”
“Well, come on then. Everybody else, take a break, visit the cantina. Meet back here at 1600 hours.” Redirecting to the quartermaster, he asked, “Will you be done unloading by then?”
“If not, all these useless grunts’ll be on latrine duty for the rest of the month. You hear that, lackeys?”
Lark clambered out of the Jeep, tugged her cap snug, and fastened a loose button on her shirt. Assuming she wouldn’t need them, she left her weapons beside the pigeons, her knife still in its sheath strapped to her calf.
They climbed stairs until her legs ached, finally arriving atop the rampart. Ancient iron cannons, massive ballistae, and trebuchets bristled along the wall. Kegs of gunpowder and iron balls, two-meter-long bolts, and massive stones were stacked in easy reach of each weapon. From a tower, scouts scanned the far shore through binoculars and telescopes. As Lark gazed out over the chest-high, half-meter-thick wall, the Mother River sprawled, appearing as if it had swallowed half the world. She couldn’t even see the opposite shore.
“That all used to be farmland,” a voice behind her said. Lark spun around, staring into the face of a tall, square-shouldered woman in a crisp uniform, silveroak leaves on her shoulder boards. She stepped up to the wall between Lark and the captain, her boots polished like mirrors.
“The river was a couple of kilometers wide in the spring, and ran deep, powerful, with currents that could drag a small craft helplessly to its doom—or so the locals have told me. See those pilings?” She pointed to a few concrete posts rising from the muddy surface. “That’s where the bridge was. No bombs dropped here—it was in between these bluffs’ days as a fortress—but all the big cities along its banks went up in fire and smoke, setting off a tremendous earthquake. The levees across the way crumbled like Jericho’s walls, and the river swamped it all, as far as you can see. But over there,” she pointed, “a hundred and seventy kilometers from here, sits our counterpart—Fort Ruston, with twice our numbers, three times our firearms, four times our ammunition. Scary, huh?”
Lark didn’t know what to say. She knew her father was here, protecting the kingdom, but the weight of his sacrifice, the danger constantly facing him, hadn’t struck her until this moment.
“Colonel Vance.” Luke saluted her. Lark hastened to follow his lead, snapping her heels together and her hand to the edge of her hat’s visor.
She returned their salutes. “At ease, Captain. And you are?” The Lieutenant Colonel studied Lark with interest.
“Lark Sutter, from Saltmarsh Reach.”
“She’s got potential,” Luke said with a wink at Lark.
“If she’s been assigned to the Verdancian Elite Recovery Team, I would expect so. General Stark is faring well, I gather.” She held out a hand, and Luke deposited a packet of letters tied with a cord.
“Yes, ma’am. I believe one of those is a personal letter to you from the general.”
She dipped her head in appreciation before returning her attention to Lark. “Sutter, you say? Any relation to First Sergeant Sutter of this base?”
Lark nodded. “He’s my father. Would you know where to find him?” Lark didn’t want to breach protocol, but an ache grew in her heart, and she had to see him. Hope flickered in her eyes as she beseeched the high-ranking officer.
“I believe he’s training recruits on the south parade grounds.” She gave a crisp nod to indicate the direction. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to get these up to the citadel as I’ve a meeting in twenty minutes. General Longstreet runs Marchland like a clock—and God help the cog who makes it late.”
“Thank you, Colonel Vance. I’ll give General Stark your best.”
For the first time, a smile wiggled across her lips. “Please do. Carry on.” Vance spun on the heel of her polished boot and strode away at a swift clip.
Luke turned to Lark. “That was Lieutenant Colonel Miriam Vance, second in command of Marchland Fortress. Impressive, isn’t she?”
“She’s younger than I would have expected,” Lark commented.
Luke nodded. “Two things cause one to race through the ranks—superior excellence and the deaths of higher-ups. I suppose both were at play in her case. Speaking of higher-ups, I’ve one letter Queen Frost ordered me to deliver personally to Lady Cassandra Cade, Warden of the River, and the noble seat of Marchland. I take it you’re heading for an overdue reunion?”
“Yes.” Bristling with nerves, Lark sucked air through her teeth, its whistle bringing a smile to Luke’s face.
“Go on, then. And don’t be scared. Believe me, he’ll be overjoyed to see you. Spend enough time out here on the wall, and even the coach roaches back home’ll give you the warm fuzzies—and you’re a sight better than one of those.”
His light-hearted quips set Lark at ease, and she smiled in return. “Thanks. See you at sixteen hundred.”
Lark followed the street and walkways south, soaking in all the sights and sounds of the fortress, until she spotted a large grassy rectangle occupied by a platoon of young men and women, instructed by a sharp fellow in his late forties, sleeves rolled to his elbows, resonant voice booming.
