The Price of Valor by Django Wexler Page B

but she guessed it would be counterproductive. “I’ll make that clear, sir.”
    â€œThank you. That’s all for now.”
    Sur Gothin and Sevran saluted and left in the direction of their camp.
    â€œShould I be calling you Colonel Ihernglass,
sir
?” Jane said, smiling.
    â€œIn front of them, yes.”
    The smile faded. “You don’t have to put on a show for them. You remember what the general told you. If they don’t respect you, we can always shoot a few of them.”
    â€œThat wouldn’t help.” Winter looked sidelong at Jane. “When you were running the Leatherbacks, did you shoot anybody who talked back?”
    â€œI had to crack heads from time to time.” Jane frowned. “But we were all on the same side, more or less. This is different.”
    â€œIt shouldn’t be. The other side is over
there
”—Winter waved in the general direction of east—“the Leaguers, not the Royals.”
    Jane shook her head. “It’s a nice sentiment, but I still don’t trust them farther than I can spit.”
    And that,
Winter thought as Jane walked away,
is exactly the problem.
    *   *   *
    â€œLieutenant?” Winter said. “Are you there?”
    Cyte folded the tent flap open and blinked in the sun. It was nearly noon. “Sir! What can I do for you?”
    â€œI have some ideas I want to run by you.”
    Cyte waved her inside. The ex-student had a tent to herself, next to the one Bobby and Marsh shared. A folding desk featured centrally, occupied by an unrolled leather map painted in fine detail. A magnifying lens and a pair of dividers sat atop it. Winter looked at them curiously.
    â€œWhat are you looking for?” she said.
    â€œOh.” Cyte flushed slightly. “Just . . . an exercise, sir. I plan my own route of march for the army and try to guess where the enemy might be. Then, when the general’s orders come down, I figure out where I went wrong.”
    â€œOr where the general went wrong.”
    Cyte laughed. “That seems unlikely, sir.”
    Winter smiled. Something about Cyte reminded her of herself, when she’d first come to Khandar. Cyte didn’t have the fear of discovery driving her, of course, but she had the same quiet dedication to mastering all aspects of her new profession that had driven Winter to memorize the drill books. That enthusiasm had been beaten out of Winter by a succession of vicious, lazy sergeants and the general lassitude of life in the garrison; she hoped that she would do better by Cyte.
    â€œWe’ve been having some . . . problems with the drills we came up with.” Winter sketched a summary of what had happened that morning, and Cyte frowned.
    â€œThere’s bad feeling between the Royals and the Girls’ Own, then?” she said.
    â€œYou might put it that way, yes,” Winter said dryly. Cyte had a gift for maps and history but could sometimes be oblivious of what the people around her were thinking. “By the way, have you been handing the Royals all the scut-work on purpose?”
    â€œScut-work, sir?”
    â€œLatrine ditches, horse lines, that sort of thing.”
    â€œOh,” Cyte said. “I thought you asked for them to get all the nasty stuff. Captain Verity came by to tell me while I was drawing up the rotas. Did I get it wrong?”
    Jane.
Winter ground her teeth. It wasn’t that she couldn’t
appreciate
Jane wanting to shift the worst chores away from her girls and onto the Royals, but . . .
She’s not helping.
    No sense in taking it out on Cyte, though. “Don’t worry about it. But in the future, try to divide things up evenly. It’ll be good for morale.”
    â€œOf course, sir.”
    â€œNow, when you lay out today’s camp, I’d like to do it a little differently.” Winter grabbed a pencil and a piece of scrap paper and started