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I note that Martin and Javiero have fallen back, but are still watching me. There is some trepidation to their gazes. I try to ignore them. “How did you find me?” I ask Marie.

She leads me farther into the camp, over to the edge of the ravine beside a steep bit of scree. It’s close to where two mechanics work loudly on a disassembled motorbike by a floodlight, a generator rumbling beside them. Marie says, “Scouts spotted you two days ago. It’s not often you see a Changer heading across the plains at night, so Commander Paco told us to keep close if you came this direction.”

I think about my decision back at the foot of the mountain, wondering at my stroke of luck. Without the turn into the foothills I might have been sleeping out in the open again, hungry, cold. A real sleeping roll and a bit of gruel sounds like heaven to me.

Someone calls out Marie’s name from across the valley. She scowls in that direction, looking suddenly distracted, and indicates a nearby tent. “This belongs to one of our scouts. He won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon, so feel free to use his sleeping bag.” Her name is called again. “You have about five hours until everyone is awake. Sorry about the generator, but we only have so much room here so the mechanics have to work round-the-clock. Try to get some sleep.”

I’m about to ask after the promise of food, but Marie turns and strides back toward the command tent without another word. I stifle my annoyance, realizing I’m lucky to have a warm place to sleep at all, and crawl inside.

The bedroll is flat and uncomfortable, but it is better than the open plain. I lie on my back, unable to sleep, the sound of the generator grating on my nerves even though I have slept through bombing runs since I was a child.

A bundle is thrust into the tent without comment half an hour later. There are new clothes that prove a proper fit, if a little big, and an individual tin of army rations inside which I find biscuits, cheese, even tuna. I revel at the small luxury, eating slowly. I am wide awake now, and my mind turns these events over and over again in my head.

My platoon has been six months on the Bavares without backup, and only the barest supplies out of Bava. We have lost half our number during that time, but we have also done disproportionate damage to the enemy. I’ve always thought of us as valuable—indispensable, even—and told myself that we have received so little from Bava because they have nothing to give.

Yet here I find an immense camp of friendlies. There must be over a hundred and forty soldiers here, an army by our guerilla standards. They have motorbikes, mechanics, at least three Changers, and a Smiling Tom. This is a major operation.

Why not tell us about it? I’m a soldier, so I am used to being kept in the dark by the higher-ups, but this seems silly.

I stare up at the ceiling of my borrowed tent, fingers laced behind my head. The new clothes feel awkward, and I realize I hope that Giado has kept my old, ratty ranger’s jacket safe. I wonder if Marie’s superior officer, this Commander Paco, will let me take some rations to my platoon. I’m still not completely certain that we succeeded in the hijacking of that enemy cargo plane.

My mind keeps wandering back to the purpose of this little army. Marie did not answer my questions, but indicated I may get answers in the morning. I consider possible stratagems, trying to predict the orders that have found such a large group out here hidden in the mountains, and lay out the facts in my head:

We are, for all intents and purposes, behind the enemy line. This is the biggest friendly army I’ve seen in years. They have hidden up here for at least eight days—long enough to have heard the mayday of the cargo plane me and Selvie captured.

If they are here to mount a full-scale attack on the enemy, why did they not do it when the enemy was most vulnerable, back when they were moving their operation up to the new air base?

I leave my tent, troubled. No one has asked me to remain in quarters, and with my new clothes the few people awake at this hour ignore me. I am able to walk freely throughout the valley.

The freedom feels comfortable, like I’m back with my own platoon where we sleep and wake when the need arises and nothing stands on ceremony. But I remember the training I received as a boy and I know that this is not how a real army behaves. There should be military police, night watch, proper shifts. As a Changer I should have already met the quartermaster and commander. I should be apprised of current orders. I am technically an officer. After so long behind enemy lines, these realizations come back to me slowly.

There are several supply tents, and I am shocked to find them packed full of crates. Ammunition, weapons, grenades; tins of crackers, meat, cheese, biscuits, and even cookies. There is enough in just a few supply tents to keep an army this size moving for over a year. I lick my lips, and my face grows hot as I remember Rodrigo returning with just two tins of biscuits.

All the army could spare, was it?

I am confused now, and more than a little angry. There is so much I can’t explain, and the pieces that I do have don’t seem to add up.

I look around for a familiar face, but do not see any of the three Changers that brought me in. I find one of the mechanics working near my tent.

“Do you know where I can find Marie?” I ask.

“At this time of night? She’s either in her tent or with Paco,” the mechanic responds without looking up.

I cross the valley, looking on the camp with new eyes. It is too casual, too slapdash. I do not know where Marie is bunking down, but I want answers now, and I decide that I will have them even if I have to wake the commander.

Commander Paco’s tent is no longer dark. I can see a gas lamp flickering inside, and the shadows of several people. The scratch of a radio being tuned catches my ear. I freeze just outside the tent as the frequency picks up the familiar chord of a popular violin concerto. I know from experience that it is an enemy propaganda channel.

I remain still, listening to the haunting sound, and I hear Marie’s voice suddenly cut across it. “I don’t approve,” she says, as if it is the continuation of some previous conversation.

There is a snort of derision. A male voice answers, “You don’t approve? So what if you don’t approve?”

“You said we could do this without getting our own people killed.”

“I said that to get you on board,” the other voice responds, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. I decide this must be Commander Paco. “But you’ve always known the options. We’ve been negotiating this thing for almost two weeks. If we don’t step on it now, someone back in Bava—someone who matters—is going to find out what we’re up to and then… well, I’d rather not face a court-martial. Would you?”

I realize I am still standing beside the entrance to the tent. I look over my shoulder to see if I’ve been spotted, then move around to the side of the tent and hunker down on my haunches, listening. My hands shake.

“No,” Marie agrees after a long pause. “But I still don’t approve.”

“So what?” Paco says. “Have you raised them yet?”

The music suddenly cuts off as the radio is tuned, and then blanks out. It takes me a moment to realize the user has switched to headphones. Some time goes by, and a third voice, male, says in clear, crisp monotone, “Echo-A, receiving, over.” Then he says in a normal voice, “I’ve got them, Paco.”

“Good. Tell them we’ve found Gift Horse.”

The radio technician repeats the claim. There is a long silence, and he says, “Confirm. We have Gift Horse location. Over.”

There is a long, tense silence. I can barely hear over the pounding in my own ears as I try to get some sort of grasp upon what is going on.

The technician speaks up. “Paco, they want to know the location.”