“If we could arrange to lob a few tons of pine needles over to land on top of that cannon, it might drift over and pay those blokes a visit.”
“Unfortunately, I forgot to pack my pine-needle-launcher,” Amaranthe said.
“Mercenary leaders are supposed to be prepared for anything, you know.”
“I’m failing on all sorts of levels lately.” Amaranthe flicked a finger toward the cube. “I wonder if it’d get annoyed and come visit if you shot it.”
“I’d think that would be a given, but why would you want it to visit?”
“I wouldn’t, but maybe we could convince our enemies to shoot it.”
“Uh, yes, and how do you plan to do that?”
“I noticed that the curving hull of the Behemoth causes projectiles to ricochet off at an angle,” Amaranthe said. “In fact, that first cannonball landed not far from where the cube is now.”
Maldynado stared at her. “You’re not thinking…”
“It couldn’t hurt to try. If one of their bullets comes anywhere close, and the cube notices, maybe it’ll drift over there and say hello to them.”
A long moment passed with Maldynado staring at her before he said, “There are times like this when I wish I’d gone to the military academy and joined the army.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s a soldier axiom about not sharing a foxhole with anyone crazier than yourself. If I’d actually joined, I’d be able to quote it precisely. That would be apt right now.”
“Ha ha.” Amaranthe considered the curving hull again, then pushed up to her hands and knees. “Don’t worry. I think we need the bullet to strike a few meters in that direction if there’s hope for it to land anywhere close to the cube. I won’t draw fire to our foxhole, such as it is.”
“I don’t want you to draw fire at all.” Maldynado reached for her.
Amaranthe sprang away from him-she didn’t want his protectiveness to convince him to volunteer for the drawing-fire assignment. Utter foolery shouldn’t be delegated; one should take the risk and accept the consequences oneself.
“Wait,” Maldynado blurted as she ran from cover. “They’ve got the brand. They’re going to light the-”
A cacophonous boom tore across the field, and Amaranthe flung herself into the snow. The cannonball didn’t come anywhere close to hitting her-it wasn’t a weapon meant to fire at a moving target-but it startled all the needles off her branches. Instead of landing in a controlled roll, she face-planted in the snow as the cannonball clanged off the hull. The reverberations thundering against her eardrums made her feel like the clapper in a clock tower bell.
Ignoring her pulsing eardrums, she jerked her head up, trying to see where the ball landed. It’d already struck its target. The tree next to the one the cube had been working around wobbled, then fell to the snow.
The cube, lacking any animal instincts, didn’t draw back with a start, but its beam did wink out, and it paused, hovering in place.
A hand clamped around Amaranthe’s ankle. “Get back here, you fool woman,” Maldynado growled, hauling her back to the barrier of bodies.
The action sent a barrage of snow down her trousers and she would have cursed his ancestors if she could manage anything so coherent. As soon as he let her go, she scraped handfuls of the cold stuff out of her undergarments. “Not calling me ‘boss,’ anymore?”
“Not when you-emperor’s teeth, Amaranthe, it’s just as likely to think the attack came from here.”
She’d thought of that and pointed toward the hull overhead. “We can flee inside if it heads this direction.”
She lifted her head to see if it was going to head anywhere at all. It’d left its position by the pine tree, and it took her a moment to find it. The dark form was floating across the snow, not toward them but toward the cannon and clump of men around it.
Amaranthe refrained from a triumphant fist pump and a chortle, instead extending her arm, palm up toward the cube, as if showing off a particularly fine dish she’d delivered to the table.
“I see it,” Maldynado grumbled. “That doesn’t make you any less crazy.”
No, probably not, Amaranthe thought, wondering if she’d take such risks if she weren’t feeling like she herself deserved to die after all the carnage she’d wrought. Nonetheless, she took satisfaction in the startled cries and curses from the cannon men. The two soldiers took advantage of their distraction, firing fresh rounds into their midst. Maldynado had reloaded, and he fired again as well. A yelp of pain announced someone’s shot finding flesh.
Then the cube had closed sufficiently, and its red beam lanced out. It struck the iron barrel of the cannon. Amaranthe expected shards to blow off, but the intense heat melted the metal on the spot.
The men stumbled backward, their clothing and features illuminated by the beam. Not soldiers, Amaranthe verified from their unshaven faces and longish hair, though she’d already guessed as much.
Torn between fleeing and needing to avoid being shot, the men tried to crawl away on their stomachs. She hadn’t thought anyone over there had had time to reload the cannon, but the cube’s beam found black powder somewhere. An explosion rang across the field, hurling smoke and shrapnel into the air.
Amaranthe and Maldynado ducked low behind their barrier, but not before she glimpsed the men abandoning their crawl. They leaped to their feet and sprinted across the field, impressively fast given their lack of snowshoes.
When the rain of shrapnel abated, Maldynado rose to his feet. “Huh.”
“Don’t overwhelm me with your enthusiastic approval.” Amaranthe stood as well, still trying to scoop and shake snow from her trousers.
“No, I don’t think I will.” Maldynado bent a knee toward her and laced his fingers again. “Come on, let’s jump in there before that cube grows bored with disintegrating the cannon and comes to visit us.”
Though she, too, wanted to catch up with the others-she hadn’t heard a peep from inside and had no idea what was going on-Amaranthe lifted a finger. “Wait, we need to check on the soldiers we stayed behind to help. After all, they helped us with that initial warning.”
One of those soldiers was already running in her direction.
“The professor,” he blurted, glancing around. “Where’d she go? Is she all right? And her daughter?”
“Inside.” Amaranthe pointed up. She couldn’t answer the second and third question yet. She decided not to feel disgruntled that these men were far more concerned about Starcrest’s family than her and Maldynado. The soldiers had traveled across the continent to help Starcrest, after all.
“That thing is…” The man stared up at the hull, doubtlessly having a hard time imagining a door up there, but he had to have seen at least part of their group scramble through it. “Unbelievable.”
“Among other things, yes,” Amaranthe said. “Where’s your comrade?”
Not dead, she hoped. Not another one….
The soldier’s chin jerked down. “Shot. In the leg. I need to take him to…” He looked bleakly at where Fort Urgot should have been. “Back to the city. To a doctor. He’s bleeding a lot.”
“Take him to the submarine. It’s not nearly as far to drag him, and I bet Tikaya’s nephew has some first aid gear in there.” Amaranthe had bandages in her own pack, but she didn’t want to delay-she wanted to find out what was going on inside. For all she knew, Basilard needed first aid right that second. Besides, the soldiers ought to have the same gear as she had.
“Yes, right,” the man said, “but what about…” He waved toward the hidden entrance.
“We’ll take care of them.”
The soldier hesitated, glancing back and forth from his fallen comrade to the ship.
“Krater?” his comrade called. “Hurry up, I’m bleeding all over the slagging field.”
That made up his mind. He nodded once. “Understood. I’ll tell the others. Good luck, ma’am.”
Ma’am? She’d apparently been promoted to an actual person, thanks to their shared battle.