"Easy, son," Sheppard said, gently pushing the barrel away from his face. "I'm not your enemy." This time around, the words seemed to work and the young bluecoat let his rifle drop. "Where's your commanding officer?"
One of the other soldiers, a girl with ragged red hair, threw him a confused look. "Aren't you?"
"Our brigade marshal is gone," said the boy with the rifle. "Haven't seen him since the order came down to advance." He gestured up at the airship.
"Advance to what?" demanded Sheppard. "What's your objective?"
The boy blinked. "Kill the enemy?"
John shook his head, disgusted. "What's your name, son?"
"Bryor."
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen cycles, sir. Indentured straight from the orphanage."
"Bryor, you're brigade marshal now, understand me? I'm fieldpromoting you."
The girl gaped. "That's against the rules-"
"New revisions, just in," Sheppard said over her. "I'm letting everyone know." He had an edge here, however tenuous, over these conscripts; all that officer training school stuff was paying off as these kids paid attention to him, sold on the idea he was of senior rank to them. "Bryor's in command here. He's going to keep you all safe until the battle's over." John blew out a breath. "Which shouldn't be much longer, I hope."
Sheppard peered up over the lip of the dugout. The fighting had moved on for the moment. He made ready to vault up and over.
"Sir!" said Bryor, his voice cracking. "I… Don't know what to do! I need orders!"
"No, you don't." Sheppard said flatly. "You're the leader now. Your only mission from now on is to keep your unit alive, get it? You want orders? Stay down, don't attract fire. Survive."
John heard a voice shouting his name and the sound of hoof beats getting closer. "But we're supposed to fight for the banner," said the boy.
The colonel ran his gaze over the cluster of soldiers and saw nothing but a group of frightened children. "Not today"
"Sheppard!" It was Vekken, and he emerged from the smoke on the back of a riding animal. He spotted John and beckoned with his weapon. "I secured transport! Quickly! Climb up!"
He ran over. The animal looked something like a shaggy-coated horse, but with a head that was more lupine than equine. It hissed through a bridle at him. Sheppard noticed that the mount had blue detail on its saddle. "Where'd you rustle up this thing from?"
Vekken jerked his head. "The previous owner had a fall."
"I'll bet he did." John hauled himself up on the back of the beast. The animal was longer than a horse, and there was more than enough room for both men to ride easily. Vekken swatted the neck of the animal with a stubby riding crop and it launched away into a gallop.
Daus's man rode hard and fast; it was clear that he was an expert horseman. Sheppard hung on for dear life, clutching the rifle to him as they threaded through the battlefield. They re-entered the zone of densest fighting and the wolf-horse snarled at the gunfire, spitting out foam from its lips.
"What does your Runner hope to achieve, Sheppard?"
John noticed that now it was just the two of them, Vekken didn't feel the need to address him by his rank. "My guess is he's angling for a draw."
"And what then? Will he invade every other honor engagement and contest? Battles bigger than this one are waged in skirmish enclosures every week on Halcyon. Our people welcome them. They give our society structure and an example to follow. Your Runner's interference will alter nothing."
"Haven't you ever heard of the phrase `Give peace a chance'? You might wanna try it sometime."
Vekken laughed. "You dress like a soldier, you carry yourself like one, but I see now that it ends there. Are all you Earthkin so shy of bloodshed?"
"Sadly, not nearly enough," replied Sheppard.
Ahead, the blue bunker was becoming visible, the soldiers defending it mired in a sea of advancing tancoats. More shells shrieked down from the air and a chain of yellow fireballs erupted around them. The animal balked and reared back, throwing the two men off and into the mud. Sheppard got to his feet and hauled Vekken up.
The adjutant glanced at the wolf-horse. A shrapnel wound on its thigh was pink with new blood, and it gave off a pitiful mew. Without hesitation, without even a flicker of concern, Vekken shot the animal dead.
"What the hell did you do that for?" Sheppard exploded.
"It was useless to anyone in that state. Better to finish it quickly." He moved away, toward the sound of gunfire. "This way."
Sheppard's face hardened. On the wind, he heard the familiar crackling snap of Ronon's pistol.
Dex's path wasn't hard to find. Injured bluecoats and tancoats alike were scattered about like fallen trees. Vekken grinned. "It seems your scientist McKay was correct about the Runner. He has indeed left a trail of destruction for us to follow." Shells and guns crashed across the landscape in a constant rumbling chorus. The adjutant bent, pausing for a moment to study the face of a comatose bluecoat rifleman. "Good economy of use in his blows. He fights well for a man who dresses like a low-born."
Sheppard snorted. "Could you be any more arrogant? I mean, really, I'd like to know. Every time I think you can't be more snobbish and patronizing, I'm proven wrong. I'm just wondering if there's some kind of upper limit."
"There is no shame in acknowledging one's own superiority, Lieutenant Colonel. A man who knows his place in the world is content."
John's lip curled. "I bet you have a whole book of those little homilies, don't you?"
They entered the tunnel network at the foot of the hill; shots came from up above them, and Sheppard heard Ronon's voice in a wordless snarl of pain and anger.
Vekken continued, unconcerned. "If you find Halcyon unpalatable, then I am sure you could take your leave to the Great Circlet and go…" He smiled to himself. "Oh, but that's right, I am remiss. You have no home to go to, do you? After you surrendered the City of the Precursors to the Wraith."
"We didn't surrender it," Sheppard retorted it. "We…" He swallowed, catching himself. "They saw it destroyed and then they left."
The adjutant gave him a quick look. "The Wraith can be easily fooled, if one knows how to do it." He looked away. "But I suspect you stay here for another reason. The Magnate spoke to me of Dr. McKay's interest in the dolmen. I wonder, you think us so objectionable, and yet you would tolerate us just to take a look at an old, crumbling stone obelisk? The Lady Erony has always suggested that our scientists should give it closer scrutiny. Perhaps she is correct."
John realized he was on unsteady ground here, and he trusted this man about as far as he could throw him. "McKay is interested in the Ancients." It was the truth, in a manner of speaking-just not the whole truth. "It's scientific curiosity, which I guess might be hard for you to get a handle on, seeing as you people seem to think you know everything already."
Vekken laughed again. "You amuse me, Lieutenant Colonel. For that alone, I think you should not yet leave Halcyon."
Sheppard bit his lip and refused the urge to retort to the man's comments; instead, he shifted carefully into the flag bunker, his nose wrinkling at the smell of burnt metal and ozone.
Ronon Dex was sitting atop an ammunition crate with his pistol laid across his lap. The snub barrel of the gun was cherry-red with heat from its discharges. The Satedan had the powder blue pennant of Baron Palfrun's Dynast in his hand and he was tearing a strip from it. He gave Sheppard a weary nod, and returned to shredding the flag into a makeshift bandage. Dex had a line of puncture wounds on his upper left arm where needle rounds had struck him. His coat was dotted with dark smears of blood and mud.