“I said you could collect spoils, not parade around all gussied up like a lady bound for a cotillion. You’re on latrine duty for the duration. Understood?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
Edgar wadded up the dress fragments and threw them at Barney, who instinctively caught them. “Put some proper clothes on and get busy with the latrine.” He pivoted and stomped back to the grand wraparound porch, whitecolumns glaring in the sun. He frowned at it, angry that these Verdancians had fields and forests at their disposal, an abundance of rain, and luxurious homes. Well, not all the houses were as impressive as this one, but they were all … functional and attractive, painted in pastels or made of bold brick.
At home in Amarillo, his family’s adobe dwelling didn’t compare. Sand blew into every crevice. No trees tall enough to cast shade. He might not have been beset by mosquitoes at home, but scorpions made themselves a dangerous nuisance. He examined the parasol in his hand. Oiled cotton floral fabric over a wooden frame with a working slide.
I’ll take it home for my wife, he thought.It can shade the sun as well as keep off the rain.
By the time his top officers returned from overseeing their assignments, Edgar was sipping a glass of lemonade, enjoying the breeze and shade of the porch. The citrus cut through the humid air, sharp and clean, nothing like the dust-choked heat back home.
“You wanted to see us, sir?” asked General Schuler.
A female general, he thought in disbelief. She’d come from Fort Smith in the north with a balloon and large contingents of cavalry and infantry. He’d never been to Fort Smith, but he heard about the base on the Arkansas River that defended against mutated beasts, wildlings, and whatever else came down from the mountains. Edgar, who was from the desert-prairie, suspected she felt more at home in these surroundings than he did.
“Yes. Let’s take our meeting inside.” Edgar led them into a parlor with high, open windows and plush seating. His assistant served lemonades made from the fruit the residents had left behind.
Edgar forewent formalities, getting straight to the point. “Colonel Green, what did the sweep of your sector turn up?”
He sipped his beverage, his eyes lighting with a delighted smile. “This is really good. As for what we turned up? Next to nothing. Empty houses, furniture. A few knick-knacks and clothes. Any vehicles in my quadrant were nonfunctioning. However, I discovered the water is still running inside the homes and businesses. I noticed several water towers, so it might be on a gravity system.”
Colonel Finstemayer and General Schuler reported similar findings. The inhabitants were all gone, taking their best belongings with them. Horses, motor vehicles, dogs and cats, gone. Valuable supplies, gone.
“Well, they couldn’t take their cattle and fields,” Edgar growled, glowering at his officers. “The cotton isn’t ready. Much of the corn and soybeans have already been harvested. What about fuel?”
“Their vehicles are adapted to run on ethanol,” said Colonel Finstemayer, licking his lips after finishing his refreshment. “Ours run on petroleum. They don’t mix.”
“Great!” Edgar exclaimed sarcastically. He threw a hand in the air, rolling his eyes. Worried they hadn’t brought enough diesel and gasoline with them, he estimated they barely had enough to reach Marchland. He’d need to be resupplied before they could advance on Nelanta.Another delay.
“Yes, but my troops discovered several barns stacked with hay,” Schuler said optimistically. “At least we can feed our horses.”
“Here are your new orders.” The general straightened, glaring at the empty glasses of refreshing lemonade—something he couldn’t get at home. His heart hardened toward Tupelo, its prosperous citizenry, and its variety of churches and happy homes. He’d even spotted a Jewish synagogue.Probably all mixed-blood and perverts.He gritted his teeth. How could they enjoy such a lifestyle when he and his family couldn’t?
Edgar raised his gaze, passing it among his officers. “Load everything usable onto our trucks. The hay, the ethanol, grain from silos, food, water.” Beyond the open windows, cattle lowed in distant pastures, and porch swings creaked in the lazy afternoon breeze.
“Tomorrow morning, when we head out, burn it all to the ground. I don’t want a rustin’ house standing—not a cotton field, not a single vegetable garden. Scorched earth. Understood? These enemies will have nothing to come back to.”
Mercy was for the weak. If the Verdancian scum had been here, he’d have killed them all too, down to the last child.
“Yes, sir,” they answered weakly, nodding their understanding.
“Is there more lemonade before we destroy everything?” asked Colonel Green, a hopeful look on his face.
The general snorted and pushed out of his chair. “Take whatever you can find. Tomorrow, it all goes. Dismissed.”
Marchland, two days later.
The green-and-gold Verdancian flag snapped high above the ramparts of Marchland Fortress, where First Sergeant Roy Sutter stood watch in the midday heat, his dark hair plastered to his skull, green shirt darkened with sweat. His platoon of archers lined the battlements, interspersed with riflemen. Artillery crews hunched over catapults and cannons. Braziers glowed every ten meters, heat licking upward, ready to swallow arrows or tar-soaked stones. All souls stood vigil, their tension drawn hard as steel on an anvil. Every soldier knew what was coming; when it would fall was the only question.
Roy raised the binoculars again, scanning the lowlands to the north, watching for the glimmer of sunlight on metal or movement along old Highway 61. Even after a week without rain, the earth still sucked at the road, black mud glistening in stagnant pools.
“I doubt they’ll take this approach,” sounded a voice behind him. Roy pivoted to face Lieutenant Colonel Miriam Vance. “But we must remain vigilant.”
He nodded, understanding that any general worth his salt would study both the terrain and history when planning an attack. Centuries ago, General Grant had lost thousands in these wetlands, sucked into the mire while fire rained from this hill. Forced to change tactics, he marched around and attacked from the east. Even then, Grant only captured the city following a long, grueling siege.
“Yes, ma’am,” Roy answered brightly. “We’ll be ready.”
“Waiting’s the worst,” said Vance. She lifted her chin and peered over the parapet.