Sink nodded. "Yeah, and we've been under constant fire with only casualty LCs coming in. Heard Fifth wanted reinforcing last night and no answer came from Division. Their supplies didn't even arrive. Sort of like sacrificial goats, don't you think?"
"Neither did ours," she reminded. "What in hell is happening in headquarters?"
"Playing cards, drinking Myklenian booze?" Sinklar lifted a shoulder, anger rushing hot inside.
Gretta chuckled sourly. "Makes you wonder what we're fighting for, huh? We've got wounded to evacuate. If an LC doesn't come in tonight, we'll lose a couple."
Sinklar looked out at the setting sun and listened to sudden growing silence. "Guess it does make you wonder, doesn't it?"
She nodded, looking away at the distant purple mountains. "Pretty up here." And then, "Sink, most of us are still alive. You've seen the numbers we've been up against."
"Yeah," he nodded, remembering the masses of men and women who'd come running — jumping from rock to rock— weapons of all sorts in their hands. The battle for their rocky pass had been brutal and endless. "Where'd they all come from?"
"Their mamas." Gretta poked him in the ribs, not too effectively since his armor had been battered hard. Impact broke the interwoven microscopic tubes that held the
chemical agent which intermixed and hardened within nanoseconds.
She studied him, a curious longing in her eyes. "Come on, let's go down to your place and get something to eat."
He took one last look at the quiet battlefield. Three days now of continuous assaults, endless sniping, and constant pressure. Maybe they — and the Targans — had simply worn out.
He ached as he skipped and slid down the slope to his bunker. Gretta pulled an opaque graphstic sheet back and ducked in. Sink followed and stood in the cramped space a couple of privates had excavated with vibrashovels.
Gretta switched on a field light and slapped a ration pack onto the wobbly table made of crate top. Three rickety chairs — from Gods alone knew where — were propped against the wall. His narrow bunk lay along the other side where it collected the dirt that fell out of the wall every time a shell landed nearby.
They didn't speak while they ate, wolfing down bite after bite. Sinklar couldn't help but gaze at her. His eyes traced the line of her jaw, his imagination wondering about the feel of her lips against his.
"I've seen desire, Sink, But you're starting to drool," she said through a mouthful of energy stick.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to. You're just. "
She erupted in a giggle. Then, in a low voice, she added, "Thank you, Sinklar. I've wanted to see that look in your eyes."
Awkwardly, he wiped his mouth and leaned back, aware the chair creaked and groaned. He tried to change the subject. "I never suspected war would be so busy."
She blinked owlishly and shook her head. "Never thought after they blew the post office that we'd live this long. Or this well!" Gretta laughed, lifted the last scraps of ration in grimy fingers, and dropped them on her tongue. "I remember watching a rat run by in Kaspa. Wanted to blast it on the spot."
"Tough times back there." He didn't remember reaching for her hand.
She stared at him through clear, unwavering eyes. "I… I've missed you Sink."
He tilted his head, realizing his toe rested on hers, mov-
ing back and forth through the heavy armor. "I was only in the hospital for two weeks. Those machines work marvels."
She grinned at him. "You know, I thought you were a real nonentity when I first met you in training camp on Rega. All locked away in your head."
He tried to shrug, but the stiffened armor wouldn't allow it. "Maybe I still am. Trying to keep us alive."
"Alive," she mused, tightening her grip. "That's important to you. Why? Why do you care so much? Other officers, they just want to hang around in the rear and drink and talk war."
Sinklar squirmed uneasily and stood, walking to the bedroll laid on the small bunk. With heavy fingers he unlatched the streaked, smoke-stained armor and slid out of the chest piece.
Why does this make me so nervous? I'm coming to love this woman. Can't I share myself with her? Why is it so hard to let loose? I… I can't tell her everything. I can't. Too painful.
He started awkwardly. "Goes back. back to being a kid, I suppose. I… I'm. Well, look at me. Always the runt. The skinny kid who reads all the time. Got two different colored eyes. I'm short, Gretta. Always been short. Not only that, I was raised by the State. In the old days, they called me an orphan. And there are other things. Things I didn't know until recently." He looked around, raising a hand helplessly as he leaned against the roughhewn rock and sighed.
Why do you look at me like that? You just watch, and wait, really listening to what I say. No one has ever just listened to me — let alone a woman as beautiful as you. Why have I always been so lonely?
He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. "I… I guess I look around now, and see all of us. The whole Division isn't anything but a bunch of… nonentities. Wasn't that the word you used?"
She blushed. "Sink, I—"
"Hush. It's all right. I mean, that's why I care. We're non-people. Blaster fodder. You've heard that term? Well, that's us. Orders are," he mocked an official voice, " 'Second Section, hold that pass and allow no one to cross it!' " He pursed his lips and looked up, letting himself
drown in those eyes. "And that's what we do. We died by the hundreds in the Kaspa Post Office. Did anyone investigate to find out why?"
She shook her head, eyes on his, expressing a sudden pain at his harsh words.
"No one cared why First Division was almost wiped out. We don't count, Gretta." His lips worked. "But me, I can make a difference now. Out there," he waved toward Kaspa, "something happened. I… I came into myself. All the stuff I'd studied for all these years suddenly slipped into place. Now, Sinkiar Fist, the freak, can change things. In a small way, I can keep these men and women alive." He felt the fire in his eyes, watched her lips part as she nodded agreement.
"Come sit here," he whispered. "Let me look at you, hold you."
She stood up and paused while her fingers released her armor. "You're all I wanted you to be Sink."
"I… I want you, Gretta." He felt himself tighten. "From the time we came down in the LC, I couldn't keep my mind off you."
She shook out her hair, slipping the armor off her legs so she stood before him in her padded undersuit.
His eyes devoured her as she ran her finger along the quick release; her underwear fell away exposing her full young breasts, the curve of her tight belly leaving her navel and the tantalizing black V of her pubic hair in shadow.
Sinkiar had trouble swallowing as she reached down, breasts swaying, to pull his remaining armor off. He stifled a joyous cry as she undid his undersuit. One warm palm burned on his chest as she pushed him flat. He winced as she fingered the angry scars on his side.
"Oh, Blessed Gods," he whispered as her warm flesh slid over his on the narrow cot.
Magister Bruen looked up from the report on the monitor. He rubbed a fragile hand across his wrinkled chin as he stared at the irregular rock overhead. The single light fixture threw an eerie glow over the chamber and cast shadows behind the spare furniture.
He raised his voice, calling, "Magister Hyde?"
Bruen's eyes searched the carved stone above his head as if the answer might be there, engraved into the very basalt. How could it have gone so wrong?
"Yes?" There came a shuffling of feet and coth.
"Staffa has turned down both the Sassans and Rega. They refused contract to both parties — for a year at least."