Wartorn Obliteration

appetizing food.

'Put a second portion on top of that,' she said quietly.

The young cook blinked, as surprised as if his ladle had started speaking to him. 'What?' He sounded utterly mystified.

'Double the portion.' Radstac gave him a meaningful gaze from her colorless eyes in her scarred face. It seemed to convince him that the easiest thing to do would be to just dump another share of the stewed meat and vegetables onto her plate and let her be on her way. Which is what he did.

Rations of course were just that—rationed. No soldier, at least none in these lowly ranks, was permitted additional servings. If you wanted extra food, she knew, you had to be lucky and skillful enough to forage it on your own.

She still possessed all her familiar accoutrements of combat, despite the Felk costume she was reluctantly wearing. Leather armor, bracers, kidskin boots, and the finely balanced throwing knives tucked therein, hidden from view. Naturally her left hand still wore the weighted leather glove. A weight of gears, of twin recessed prongs that she could extend with a sharp snap of her wrist. And, just as naturally, she retained her faithful combat sword, a companion through more battles than she could bother herself to number.

It was when she was almost out of sight of the squad circle that a voice rose behind her. She took two more steps, past the corner of a storage tent, and halted. This, of course, was the game of it. If anyone did confront her, question her, discover that she wasn't a legitimate member of this army, it would be the end of the whole farce.

And such so-called comedies, she understood, tended to conclude in hilarious tragedy.

A sergeant followed her around behind the tent. He had a thick face, a neck that swelled the collar of his uniform. His eyes were noticeably tiny but highly alert.

'What entitles you to a larger meal than the rest of us are enjoying?'

Radstac balanced the tray on one hand, her right. She was already planted into a ready stance. It was still possible that with enough groveling soldierly behavior she could extricate herself from this.

The sergeant's tone was surly; but there was something else playing beneath his voice and a particular glint in those minute eyes.

'I asked you a question.'

Which was significant in itself. Though this man was of rank, he wasn't yet enforcing that status. He was asking her a question.

'I'm especially hungry,' Radstac said, lacing something tacit into her voice as well.

A small stub of tongue came out of that thick face to lick the sergeant's lips. 'Are you...?' They were unseen here, behind the tent.

Now it was almost comic. Radstac shifted her stance just slightly, still balanced but now posing herself provocatively. She let her mouth move slowly, sensually. It was all caricature. But evidently effective.

The sergeant's breath caught. Then he heaved his heavy chest. 'I could overlook this.'

'You could,' she agreed.

'But I need something to make me forget.'

'Show me what I need to do.'

He did, eyes widening in surprise at the ease of this. His hands moved hastily, and he drew himself out of his trousers, holding his hardening shaft proudly and nervously.

It wouldn't be so much to do this thing. But Radstac had no assurances that this would be the end of it.

'Why,' she said, eyes lowering, then lifting, 'I see I've mistaken you for a man. How embarrassing.'

That thick face reddened. It was a trite vulnerability she'd targeted, but this sergeant was acting out the clichй perfectly. Trying to hold up his undone trousers with one hand, he snatched a knife from his belt. It fumbled slightly clearing the sheath, but he swung it, a fast arc for Radstac's throat.

She was faster. Elbow moving, hand flashing upward. She batted the blade cleanly out of his hand, reversed the movement, and pounded her open gloved palm hard across his mouth.

'So, you try to rape me, then kill me. An interesting use of your authority, Sergeant. But not, I think, something your superiors would approve of. Why would they believe me, you ask? All I need do is give you a hard shove, and you'll stumble back into sight of that squad circle with your trousers dropped halfway down your legs and your lip bleeding. I'll follow, calling out for help. Then... well, then we'll see. Maybe you'll emerge the hero after all.'

All the while she was twisting her left fist where she'd seized the front of his tunic. The fabric wound tighter and tighter, and his face reddened more. It would have been easier just to have loosed the prongs from her glove and have done this annoyance. But easier only in the simplest sense, in the shortest term.

Very quickly the sergeant saw reason, and Radstac went on her way. She had spilled nothing from the tray.

* * *

She turned past a row of stationary wagons, their beds loaded with standard ordnance and guarded by a disinterested unit of Felk. Nevertheless, a few of the male soldiers eyed her as she went by. With her chopped short hair the color of spoiling berries, the white scalp scar across the back of her skull and the two other scars marking her bronzed face, she didn't represent the unimaginative man's ideal of womanhood. Not that she cared a bugger. Sex was a sport in which one seized one's prizes, and playing that sport violently and decadently was perfectly within the rules. In her life she'd had her share of playing.

As she walked, Radstac let out a low tuneless whistle. She paused, then repeated it an octave higher. As she neared the flap of a tent, the same atonal melody was returned. Dusk was making pink of the west, where full surging clouds were rallying. It was already too chilly for her Southsoil tastes. Among this Isthmus's many failings was its inhospitable climate, particularly now that autumn had taken firm hold. She slid a hand inside the canvas flap and, sweeping her small eyes behind her a final time, stepped into the tent.

'Ah, supper! My savory fowl, so delicately sautйed, spiced with flavors exotic and perhaps narcotic—here at last!'

Deo smiled up at her. He was cross-legged on the canvas floor, sword arranged beside him, tunic undone to the middle of his breastbone, exposing the stitches that held together the precise shallow wound across his nicely molded chest. Radstac had given him those stitches. It was only fair. She'd given him the wound as well.

'And if you don't want that,' she said, flourishing the laden plate, 'there are these slops instead.'

'Now, it doesn't look so bad as all that, does it? Give it here. See, it appears thoroughly edible. By which I mean, of course, that neither of us shall die from eating it. The fowl I was talking about? There's a dining hall in Petgrad that serves it. A very choice bird. Difficult to hunt. Even harder to cook properly. But when it's done right —and oh, it was done so very right there—then it was a meal to rhapsodize over. A culinary joy better than your average buck and cork. In fact, better than your better than average—'

Radstac squatted opposite Deo. 'Food and sex. Weaknesses of royalty.'

'Of all creatures walking about on two or more legs, I should say.'

'Indeed. But it's only the lofty that can so completely confuse the two.'

'Nonsense. To compare is not to substitute. Thus...'—Deo picked a sliver of moist meat from the plate, popped it in his mouth, swallowed—'and thus.' He leaned and planted his lips smartly and briefly atop hers. 'There. Two categorically different experiences. But both of the senses.'

She let a small droll smile tighten a corner of her mouth. 'And how do they compare?'

'Oh, you are decidedly the more rewarding weakness.'

'Most kind.'

They ate off the plate together, without utensils, sitting with their legs folded beneath them, their knees touching. Radstac didn't bother telling Deo about the incident with the sergeant. This tent was not being used at the moment and so was their temporary hiding hole. But even its dubious safety wasn't something they could allow themselves to enjoy for long. Over the past days they had ranged furtively across the massive encampment, alighting here and there, stealing water, stealing food, snatching a watch or two of sleep. It was relatively easy to go unnoticed amidst all these units. As with any undertaking of such scope, some disorder must result. For her and Deo it was a matter of stealth, of diligence. It wasn't a difficult thing to be just two more soldiers among so many others, among this grand Felk host.